Good, fine, lovely whoopteedoo freaking morning.
It's difficult to imagine a better night of sleep than one that happens with the sound of rain pattering on the roof, sploshing into the yard. It just doesn't happen.
New Mexico style rain is a fast-moving thunderstorm that passes quickly, fills the arroyos and roars into the Rio Grande.
Those are a joy, but a long soaking rain is such a rarity as to lift the soul, the spirits into an entirely different order of magnitude.
Hmmmmm. So having said that, pondering where do I go from here... hitting the post blog entry button and head for the front porch to watch the lightning, or try to write some of the near- bursting whoopteedoo I'm feeling.
Ahhh. Here's something. Someone saw a thing on the Internet, says you can boost your gasoline mileage by 20-30 percent by adding two oz per 10 gallons of acetone to your gasoline.
If it works I'd look for the next discovery that prices are too low to be on the acetone shelf down at the hardware store. I'm going to pick up a gallon and give it a shot.
I see where there's some unusual sunspot activity. Maybe that's contributed in some unsuspected way to me sitting here listening to the rain, or maybe it's just the inevitability of the "It's an ill wind that blows no good" piece of reality.
Maybe this is rain people didn't want down in Texas or Louisiana, rain that was scorned and vilified as a curse down in the lowlands where they tend to selfishly hog all the rain, then complain of it when it comes.
If so, thankee Texans, for nudging it over this way. We appreciates it.
A not-too-well-preserved '60s freak
with a barely-disguised agenda