Can I first just share my excitement that for the first time in my entire life, I heard Don't Eat the Yellow Snow on the radio? Okay, sure, it was satellite radio, but still. I was driving across the frozen tundra, or at least the snow-covered fields of rural Colorado, the delicate perfume of cattle feed lots still lingering in my nose, when I heard a familiar wind-swooshing noise as the next song on the radio started up. I immediately recognized it, but waited in disbelief for the actual music to start before I accepted that I really was hearing it. I turned the volume up way louder than I let anyone else play tunes in my car, and sang along to the saga of Nanook of the North, but I was horrified and disappointed when it faded out just as the "watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow" chorus began. Bait and switch, that's what it was! Ah, well. Those few minutes made the long drive pass a little faster.
It was indeed a long day, but such a productive one! I was in Fort Collins for my weekly check-in with the office, and then I drove out to Greeley for not one but two interviews with potential clients. I was admittedly nervous after yesterday's blizzard that one or both wouldn't make it, but they both showed up. Even better, they were both interesting women who I would love to work with. I talked with each of them at length, separately, and am determined to do everything I can to impress them with what I can do to find them houses that fit their (quite reasonable) demands.
By the end of the second interview, I was wiped out, though. Barely able to string words together into sentences. I admitted to the young woman that I had nothing left in the tank, and that my doctor had told me I should be getting long naps every day, which just isn't always possible. Thankfully she wasn't horrified that I was worn out in the middle of the afternoon.
I don't know why, but in the next parking lot over from the library where the second meeting took place, there was a fire truck spraying water in three directions, for several minutes. It was beautiful, the big arcs of water, not as choreographed as the fountains at the Bellagio, but no less hypnotizing to watch. But where the Bellagio water is recycled, this ran in swift streams down the library parking lot, and drained into a storm sewer. What was the point of this? Also at that library, was a bench dedicated to a Renaissance woman with the best epitaph I can imagine. I'd like to be remembered this way. (See photo)
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