Altitude-wise, I mean, altitude-wise. The drive from YNP to Cody, Wyoming wasn't long or hard, it was beautiful. It took us forever to get out of YNP. We kept stopping in pullouts and wide places in the road. Durwood kept trying to get interesting shots of the burned lodgepole pines from a few years ago, and the clouds over Yellowstone Lake were stormy and gray and interesting. I tried to snap pictures of any thermal features we saw.
Wyoming has some gorgeous mountains. We loved seeing the angles of the layers and the colors. It's hard to imagine the force needed to thrust that volume of rock into the air like it did, and then there's the carving that wind and rain has done. It's desolate and I'd hate to live there especially in winter but it sure is a pretty state.
It was about 6:30 PM when we got in to Cody so we checked into the motel, hauled in our stuff, and I struck out to score some Arby's for supper. Sometimes you're worn out and it's almost too much trouble to chew so fast food's the thing. Besides we get the turkey, bacon & ranch sandwich on bread and split it. It's not the worst thing to eat from the drive-through, not by a long shot. Durwood's breathing was a little better at the lower altitude.
September 1--Daniel Chester French, The Angel of Death and the Sculptor from the Milmore Memorial. Leo reached out to paint the line and Clara's hand stopped his brush. "No," she said, "no more." Her eyes dropped and even her hair under the veil looked exhausted. He frowned and clenched the brush tighter but then he threw it onto the floor when it left a spatter of burnt sienna. The paint joined layers of other colors. Leo threw his brush when he got frustrated, and he was often frustrated. Clara looked at the paint spatter as if it were his blood that had been loaded on the bristles and her shoulders sagged. She would need to make up for stopping his creative flow. He'd insist on it.
I've heard from both of my fantabulous children today and DS & DIL1 took me out to lunch at HuHot. Missed you, Mom, but the cheesecake rangoons aren't as good as they used to be so you didn't miss much. Happy 63rd birthday to me! God, 63 is an awfully big number... but not as big as 75 which is how old Durwood is. I'm going to go veg in front of the TV. Maybe I'll knit, maybe I won't. It's my birthday and I can do whatever I want. I'll probably knit. Maybe I'll knit something with some of my new vacation yarn.