78 degrees

No, it is no where near 78 degrees her in Ft. Collins, Colorado. That is unless you happen to be living in a house with my grandparents. My grandfather and I go through this daily ritual of him turning up the heat and me turning it down. Last night it was 74 and he complained of it being cold. Ahhh, well. I would honestly rather be hot than cold. Which makes me wonder about me going to Mongolia, Land of the (cold) Mongols.
So, yes, I have moved to Ft. Collins to take care of those whom I (lovingly) refer to as the elderly loons. Last evening for example I could not find the more than half a loaf of bread that was left and neither could my Grandma. This morning it was in its spot by the toaster. She doesn't remember where she found it or even that it was lost. We looked for at least 15 minutes for this elusive bread. What bugs me is not that I had to eat my peanut butter sandwich sans bread (think about it) but that now I will never know where that bread lay waiting to be discovered for more than 12 hours. Well, as the French say, "C'est la vie". Of course they also say, "Vous etes vieil et fou" and sometimes even "Est-ce que tu voudrais jouer au ping-pong avec moi ce soir?" although that last might actually just be me.
I just got a job working at La Quinta Inn here in Ft. Collins. It is managed by two brothers from India. Wouldn't be nice if they were from Mongolia and then I could learn the language from them instead of from these awesome audio files the Peace Corps made available that sounds like they were recorded in 1982 with a tape recorder in an office some where with people shuffling papers, which isn't like totally out of the realm of possibility.
After typing that last sentence I started to dream that the realm of possibility was an actual Realm ruled of by the Monarch of Fancy, riding a horse christened Embellish, with his trusty hound Wonder, on whom dotes his only daughter, the lovely Imagine. But one day Imagine is kidnapped by the evil villains Tedious and Insipid putting the lovely Father/Sovereign out of mind with grief and anger. The handsome Prince Envisage sets out to rescue the dark maiden with the almond starry eyes only to find that she has converted her captors to scholars and gentlemen with the help of two forest creatures, Wit and Witticism. They all return to the Realm of Possibility where Imagine and Envisage spend some time to get to know one another before rushing into a foolish marriage, only to discover that although they are both perfectly lovely people, they are just not meant to be together. Imagine eventually finds a nice writer to dally with and goes on to inspire many of his works. They sleep, sometimes in separate rooms sometimes decidedly together, for the rest of their lives. He her artist, she his muse. Envisage discovers his French roots (and his homosexual tendencies) in the brothels of Paris and dies early but surprisingly peaceful in the arms of his lover, Espoir. Fancy the king is buried between Wonder and Embellish next to a joyous spring in the mountains.
Wow, that was quite the whimsical tangent wasn't it. I shouldn't take myself so seriously and try to lighten up a little.