I should be more grateful for towels.

This past weekend I was at a conference - my first time away from home in a LONG time. A friend of mine and I had planned to drive together, so I left work with her so she could pack and I could tuck my little Blazer snug away in her garage. While she was packing, I laid on her couch and watched an entire episode of CSI without talking to anyone, folding anything, or getting up AT ALL. An entire show. I'm still reeling.

We arrive and at check in, I am casually informed that there is no. internet. service. None. It would have been less distressing if they would have said "Sorry for the inconvenience, but we don't have any towels. None at all. You'll have to dry yourself with the shower curtain." That I could handle with grace and dignity, even though I probably would have broken something from the knees down because, as I discovered, even with that adorable little towelbathmattything, the floor is wicked slippery.

AND it gets BETTER. The brochure reads "For cell phone reception, we suggest standing in the middle of the parking lot." I couldn't make that shit up. So imagine me, standing all hunched and shivery, in the sleeting rain, trying to talk to the Peanut who refused to even speak to me because I left in the first place.

At least I know for CERTAIN now that I will never become addicted to heroin - this place had a rehab feel to it and I don't want anymore. Please.

So, even though we did have a wonderful time (we really did), I am glad to be home. And this morning, after I slept in so blissfully late after our Superintendent (who I always KNEW was a genius) canceled school, I awoke to an Ansel Adams landscape right out my back door:

And a deck that looked like it was made of marshmallow.

So we stoked the fire, brewed some tea, and snugged right in with a good book (I read The Book Thief while Taylor chose to reread Droughts and Earthquakes).