It's about 65 F outside today - or, at least, that's what my porch thermometer says.

The local Wundergound station says that it's 59.4 F, which is more precision than I needed or wanted. I understand, per the miracle of the Internet, that it's supposed to be snowing up at the condo for the next few days. It snows in Colorado, you know.

                                         

This is a dirty yellow-water creek near Red Mountain Pass, between Silverton and Ouray. Absolutely beautiful ravine full of snow and evergreens.

With it being so cold outside, I'm wondering - why are we here in Arizona, when it's cold? If it's going to be cold, I'd just as soon be in the snow, up in Colorado : )              

So, why are we here? - oh, yeah. We're here because Ethel is building a pool.

I've pretty much figured that part out. I've reached a point in my job where could go full-time remote with no problem. So why don't I just move back to Park City? Leaving Park City is still the dumbest thing I've ever done, and I could go back with no problem at all. So why don't I do that?

I don't do that because Ethel won't let me.

(editor's note: "Ethel won't let me" is semantically equivalent to, and verbal shorthand for, the much more verbose statement "Ethel won't do that, and I can't do that without divorcing Ethel, and since it's more important to me to be married to Ethel than it is to do those other things, we can succinctly say that Ethel refuses to go along with that course of action, thus resulting in my not following that course of action".)

Because we have a local grandson, Ethel ain't going anywhere. Because Ethel ain't going anywhere, Ethel is putting in a pool (and fencing, and various plants) and thus putting down even more land anchors, which results in "Ethel won't let me even more".

(editor's note: we don't actually have a "local grandson". We have a grandson who will be living here until his daddy, Floyd, decides that he has enough equity in his house to move back to the land of humidity and fried foods and pay cash for a nice home full of bugs - possibly in Charleston, SC or Savannah, GA. In the meantime, we're playing along with the pleasant fiction that we have a "local grandson". The problem with playing along with the pleasant fiction - as though it were fact - is that it results in silliness such as Ethel putting in a pool. It's a lonely, pitiful hell, being the only person capable of rational honest thought in a large group of adults who just stare at you funny - sorta like Cassandra, only in the present tense).

Outside, the pavers (that's what you call the people who are doing the paving) are paving with pavers (that's what you call the little tiles that they use when they pave). They have a big Whomper machine - they spread out a bunch of sand around the pool, wet it down, and then ran their Whomper around and around, to pack down the sand upon which they will be putting the pavers (the pavers will pave with the pavers, using the pavers to pave).

Of course, they won't finish today, which means that they are leaving a huge area of packed, wet sand in my backyard for my dogs to play in/on/with.  But there's no reason to talk about that. In the given context, it might even make a sort of sense :)