Very few things in the world make me happier than a picnic. Coffee. Running. Driving. Cooking. Okay, I like a lot of things a lot, but I really do have a special affection for picnics. Which is why my picnic in the Badlands, all gloriously alone and silent and sitting on top of this giant rock I stupidly climbed, but without encountering a rattlesnake – that’s why this was such a special lunch. The lunch itself wasn’t special; I’ve been eating PB&Js for days. Bought a loaf of wheat bread, a jar of Polaner blackberry all fruit and a jar of super chunky JIF (and why, praytell, is there no super chunky natural peanut butter out there?) at a wonderful tiny grocery store in a wonderful tiny town two days ago, and it’s been breakfast and lunch ever since. Don’t feel sorry for me. I adore PB&J. Seriously. Anyway. I’m just saying it wasn’t the sandwich that made this picnic wonderful. It was the Badlands. It was the fact that I could somehow breathe so slowly and softly and deeply there. It was the fact that I made it there all by myself. So, what I’m saying really is that I haven’t changed much since I was, oh, two or so. Lots of growth going on here.
Tonight I’m staying in Sheridan, Wyoming at the Hampton Inn, which, after the Motel 6, feels like the Plaza. Right now I’m having a dirty vodka martini at Oliver’s Bar and Grill, and I’ve gotta tell you, I’m liking Sheridan. My fellow patron here at the bar just clued me in on the best place for tomorrow’s 1:45, and my buffalo burger and truffle fries will be here any second.
Wish you were here.