I was singing along with Judy Garland on the way back from Cameron Park yesterday afternoon when I crested a hill and saw a perfectly defined rainbow that spanned the Sierra range. "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" seemed so appropriate. That moment in "The Wizard Of Oz" when black-and-white suddenly switches to technicolor was repeated when I hit the stretch of Highway 50 through Placerville. One side of the road there is lined with Pistache trees and at this time of year those trees simply blaze in red and gold and make the rest of the world seem lackluster. The speed limit through town is 40 mph and it gives one more time to enjoy that burst of color and beauty. Rainbows are normally such ephemeral things, but that one yesterday lasted all the way from CP until I stopped to take care of an errand on the far side of P'ville. It was a gift.
I've a bone to pick with manufacturers of women's jeans. Why, I wonder, do they put such dinky pockets in those pants? Compared to the capacious pockets in bibbies, the pockets in my go-to-town britches aren't worth spit. Where am I supposed to put my important, don't-leave-home-without-'em stuff like my pocket knife? I suppose I could put it in my purse, but my purse is like most women's and it would take a major excavation to find the knife in an emergency. Manufacturers, please take note - bigger pockets, please.
Back from yet another visit to the doctor, I got curious. So far in the last seven months I've logged almost 1,500 miles to various doctors, etc., this for a woman who hasn't put close to 3,000 miles a year on the truck for years. A far cry from the 40-60,000 driving miles when I was a consultant. Yup, I'm now a stay-at-home stick in the mud and I prefer it that way.
Calling on Judy again, "There's no place like home."