Easy skankin' (skankin' it easy)Easy skankin' (skankin' it sloooooooow)

Cruised down the road to have Thanksgiving Dinner (I) at Bells's house. Thanksgiving Deux: Return of the Bird is tomorrow.

It was clear and the sun was going down behind the Tobacco Root Mountains as I drove. It painted the landscape pink.

They cooked a fat bird.



Mrs. Bells and Aden.



Thundercake played its first gig under that moniker.



I am not sure the pictures adequately communicate just how real we kept it.



This one dude stage-dived and was body passed all around.



I have a lot to be Thankful for...

Little things, Big things

Location, Elevation

The Wide, Wild West

Mountains, Rivers, Sky

Beauty and Grandeur Every Day

Being in the Moment

Here, Now

Family Friends

Simplicity

Laughter

Love

Peace.

Have a great Thanksgiving. Hug your mom. Tell her you love her. Kiss your wife. Smile. Remember.

Golden slumbers fill your eyesSmiles awake when you riseSleep pretty darling do not cryAnd I will sing a lullabye

Lookout!

I slep last night as if Sir Paul McCartney himself snuck into my bedroom and sang me to sleep with a lullabye on acoustic guitar. 9 1/2 glorious, uninterrupted hours.

Ahhh.

Actually, if I was in a room with Paul McCartney and an acoustic guitar, I am pretty fucking sure I would not be sleeping for a while. I'd be wide eyed, asking, "Remember when... you said, 'the love you make is equal to the love you take?'... that was awesome."

Prior to the catatonic crash, I resembled a very cranky two year old in dire need of a nap. I went for a run, and I was so exhausted, every step was a drag. Somewhere in the fourth mile, I had to take a leak, but there was nowhere to do it. Then, after another mile, I tried running on a trail through a field, thinking the muddy trail would be frozen enough to glide through. No.

Each step in my brand new shoes added another layer of mud until my shoes were so heavy and awkward it felt like I was running in KISS-era platform boots, sliding all over the fucking place.

In the meantime, unbeknownst to me, I had cut the holy hell out of my thumb and was spraying blood all over me, my i-Pod, my shirt.

I ran through some snow and gravel, in very poor footing, I might add, to try to get some of the ten pounds of mud off my shoes.

I finally made it home after this 6 mile death march, and I noticed my bleeding thumb. This distracted me enough from my other problems to allow me to walk in and track 8 pounds of mud all over the carpet and wood floor.

Nice.

Cursing like a sailor, I removed my (sisterfucking) shoes and cleaned up the (goddamn motherfucking) mud. In doing so, I stubbed (the everloving shit out of) my little toe. My vision went white. I am pretty sure I turned into the Incredible Hulk for a while because my memory is fuzzy, and when I came to, my pants were shredded, the dogs were looking at me funny and I was not wearing a shirt.

Oh, and somewhere in-betwixt all the mud, blood, swearing and hulking, one of the animals puked on another rug, which I cleaned up.

But today?

Today I feel like a million bucks.