The last time this happened this late in May, it was midday and I was standing in the living room of a second floor rental, having recently moved to Alaska and waiting on a house to close, looking out the window while talking on the phone with a woman in California who would years later become my ex-wife. The problem with portents is we rarely recognize them for what they are, very often it is only in retrospect we recall seeing the sign, Bridge Out.
Cliche but true, that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.
That was May 17th, 1989.
As expected, I’ve become increasingly stronger with each passing day, and thank my lucky stars that eventually I met Happy Wife, who zapped the chill out of this frosty May morn with her scrumptious preparation of Huevos Rancheros (w/ Hatch Chilies from the Land of Enchantment):
60 by Tuesday; go figure.