So you wonder what that title is all about? It's pretty simple, just like everything else in my life (and yours), if you look at it from the right angle.
I've been back in the big Hub since yesterday morning, Friday to be exact. Nothing like the "red eye" from LAX to Dallas, especially if you had arrived in DFW about 16 hrs earlier but for the sick sake of miles decided to go for a little California detour. Well, just check my post from January 21, and you'll understand. If you don't, shoot me an e-mail (still firstname.lastname@example.org, despite retirement and Tech's latest updates to the system) and I'll try to explain to you, patiently, what the word chi-chi means.
But back to the intriguing title—intriguing to most of us, I would think, since there are so many connotations, so many meanings even in a dull person's life, and fortunately none of us belong into that category. Take the title literal: One damn fat fly, let's call him Jake, came out tonight while I was fixing my salmon and trout fillets before they hit the Kamado, chopping my salad yummies while at the same keeping a keen eye on what my potato wedges (olive oil, sea salt, a bit of thyme and marjoram) were doing to each other in 430 degrees of Fahrenheitsian heat. Out of nowhere, doors closed, screens on the open windows: a big-ass fly that had just hatched out of nowhere, waiting to be smooshed. Judy and I commented on these suckers so often.
Judy..... Alas, today it was 4 months to the day that the sun came up at shortly after 8 a.m. (right at about the same time when, today, I talked on the phone with my dad in Berlin) and she slipped away. So, we'd say, where do these SOBs (the flies!) come from, from nil to performing big helicopter-like antics in a split second? I didn't kill Jake. May he live his life in peace.
Lubbock was at about 71 degrees or so today. How wonderful! I hit the club ride and we checked out whether Ropesville had been blessed with a new Wal-Mart, or worse. Not so. I ended up with a nice, round five O on the odometer. That was enough justification not only for a long soak in the hot tub but also to have a beer for Happy Hour and then a bottle of something white for my great dinner. I looked over to where Judy would have sat, but she didn't show up—even though I am sure she was with me. Oh, how it sucks. Well, not totally: I get the whole bottle to myself. But you now what? I'd gladly trade all of my cellared goodies for another half hour with her. No worries: We always talked about that and I feel no remorse, regrests, or re-whatevers, since we were always aware.
Tomorrow is supposed to be another beautiful day out here in West Texas, so the twin pistons will be called upon once again. Carl won't be around, and Rod already has announced that he won't make Lakeway Liquor any richer, so I guess I'll stay dry, too. (If you're not a local but wonder about this ride, post a comment and I'll not only fill you in but will extend a sincere invitation. That includes you, Magali, ma chère.)
Monday I'll leave for a two-day quickie to the LA area, where I'll meet with the organizers of a UCI race (March) that has been put in my hands. Now folks, this is not only unusual but pretty much unprecedented, as far as I can tell, to have organizers fly you to a venue ahead of time to assure that things are okey-dokey. Big props here for Sott and Ty at Sho-Air.
That's all for this Saturday evening. Enjoy the Sunday, 'cause you never know where (or whether) Monday will find you. Stay tuned for a CA reckoning (or not) and more news from München in less than a fortnight. If you don't love this blog for re-acquainting you with what you thought were long-lost words, you oughta be teaching English!
Ciao for now,