It is apparently the day to get super cool reports from doctors. At least the one from my dermatologist who did the Mohs removal of skin cancer from my nose was legitimately glowing and positive. He studied the scar up close, and poked at the skin he had moved over half an inch or so to cover the hole left by the carcinoma, and proclaimed it healing wonderfully. I have permission to stop using globs of Vaseline to protect it from dry winter air, and now I get to switch to whatever scar creme he gave me a sample of. (No, I have no idea what the name is. When I use the attached coupon to buy a bottle of it at Walgreen's, I'll know the name, and if it is any good, then I can make a recommendation to anyone who wants it.) The doc and I said our goodbyes, and I told him I hope I never have to see him again, in the nicest possible way.
We took the long way home from Boulder after my appointment. We took a quick detour to assess the progress on the major street and bike path construction by our condo (still not done, but getting much closer), and then we drove up through the open space north of town. Much of that area is part of the original green belt land that surrounds Boulder, and there is something very comforting to find it still undeveloped and natural (the whole point of the green belt), while the rest of the town keeps changing and becoming unaffordable for the people who work there but can't live there. I kept trying to take pictures of the long view east from the highway between Boulder and Lyons, but I really couldn't do justice to what I was seeing. There was a promise of a storm that was never delivered, and it was gorgeous from a distance.
Three years ago, when we came back from Charleston to close on the purchase of the mining claim, we did a lot of driving around Boulder county, wondering where we would end up once we could buy and move home. I kept fantasizing about the acreage properties just beyond the eastern edge of town, while Mr S-P reminded me that it takes a whole lot of money to go bankrupt farming in Boulder. Somewhere out there, we passed a sign that identified someone's land as "Whimsy Farm." At the time, I giggled uncontrollably and wondered exactly what sort of whimsical crops are grown at such a place. I suggested their efforts were dedicated to growing periwinkle and persimmons. On those same drives, we kept seeing pastures with two or three little shaggy ponies living lives of leisure. To this day, I don't know why there are so many different people who keep such small ponies, scattered all over Boulder county, but whenever I see them, I still have the same reaction I did three years ago. I desperately want to go cuddle with them. They're so cute. If I didn't think I'd get caught, I'd put one in my own back yard. I promised myself if I ever made my fortune, and could buy my own expansive property in Boulder county, I was going to adopt two shaggy ponies, and name them Periwinkle and Persimmon.
On the winding drive home through the rural parts of the county north of Boulder, we got a little bit lost. We had to do a turnaround right next to a pasture with a collection of the most adorable ponies ever. There were three little ones of the perfect snuggling size (I stayed in the car, I promise...) and a few larger ones. I've seen horses of many different coat patterns, but not once in my life have I seen one that made me think of a skeleton suit. It was so cool, I almost didn't notice the smaller ponies at first. I think I have a new goal. Now I just need to make my fortune in time to buy land and convince this horse's family that she needs to be living with me instead of them. I'd still have Persimmon and Periwinkle, but I'd need to come up with another fanciful name. It would be a great way to go bankrupt, snuggling with ponies on a farm in Boulder that grows nothing but whimsy.
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