It's Springtime in the Rockies.
Before I moved here, I had a framed print that was titled "Springtime in the Rockies." It was a photograph of a steep mountain covered by acres of wildflowers. There were purple, yellow, lavender, red and yellow flowers. The sun was shining. The only snow was the snow capped mountain in the distance.
I gave the print to a friend of mine. I'm glad I did. It's all a lie.
Springtime in the Rockies consists of snow, still more snow and yet again more snow. The only difference with Spring snow and Winter snow is that the Spring snow melts...everyday, which leads to mud. Which freezes every night (the temperatures are still in the twenties at night) and then melts during the day and then it snows at night and we begin this process all over again.
There is not a purple, yellow, lavender, red or yellow flower to be found anywhere. However, there are multiple snow capped mountains and they aren't in the distance. Many of them are around our house where Mike has piled up snow throughout the winter.
This is what I've learned about living in the Rockies during the Spring. You do not wash your car until June-ish. First of all, no water is available outside since it's all frozen. The hoses are frozen and if they aren't, once you drag them outside they will be. If you venture down to the only car wash in the county, usually the soap mode is also frozen. If you miraculously manage to get your car washed (let's say you go down to Denver and it's sunny and there are flowers in the mile-high city) once you drive down most roads in the county your car will be covered with a combination of mud and mag-chloride which is a highly toxic chemical that is put on the roads to prevent ice. Thus, the only thing I've learned about living in the Rockies in the Spring is "Don't wash your car."
I do yoga almost everyday. Notice how I didn't say I "practice" yoga almost everyday. Those yoga fans who practice yoga know what the word "namaste" means, I don't and those of you that read my blog, know that I often (or always) never opt to look up the meanings of words. So I "do" yoga almost everyday. It helps keep most of my old-age and beating-up-my-body-by-riding aches and pains at bay.
Last night I was doing yoga and Mike walked by. I asked him if he wanted to join me and he said "sure." I didn't really want him to join me, I was just being nice and I thought for sure he wouldn't. Kind of along the same lines when you tell someone you'll have to get together, but you don't really want to and then they call you. So he flopped down on the floor next to me and I, still being kind but also a little annoyed, gave him my "bricks" and my "strap" that way he wouldn't hurt himself and I AM more flexible than him.
It was hard to do yoga with Mike. It was hard not to laugh. It's hard to breath correctly when you're trying not to laugh. It's hard to relax when you're trying not to laugh. Mike did a lot of grunting and, unbeknownst to me until last night, he doesn't know the difference between his right and left hands.
This morning Mike accused me of being competitive with Yoga. Isn't that kind of an oxymoron? This time I laughed and didn't try not to. He says he's not going to do Yoga with me again because I am more flexible and I'm secretly gloating about it.
Besides horses, yoga is the only thing I do physically that I'm better than Mike at. So yeah, maybe I am gloating and I'm kind of glad he's not going to do yoga with me anymore. I get to keep my bricks and my strap all to myself and I might even look up the word "namaste," just so I can keep that to myself also.
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