I said it once before, but it bears repeating.

I'm back in the saddle.

The seat is adjusted just how I like it. Set back far, seat tilted up, seat back reclined, steering wheel extended and tilted down... because I will trade knowing my exact speed between 60 and 80 in return for being able to steer with my knees. The equalizer is set just so, and the cd is dialed into "Only" by Nine Inch Nails.

I'm out of the Cobalt and back in the saddle.

I have not yet uploaded the cute little puppy and baby pictures. I have a guest blog sitting in my inbox from Carmela.

I have neglected you, my bloglings. (Bloglets? Nay, bloglings.)

IT FUCKING SNOWED A FOOT TODAY AND I DID NOT GET UP ON THE MOUNTAIN.

But I'm back... I'm back.

I'm a brick-layin', smoke-stack-lightnin', steamin' hunk of burnin' junk.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The Red Sox are 2-1. Schilling is back in fine form, and Beckett threw a fuckin' gem last night. Ah, hope springs eternal.

THE LIFTS SHUT DOWN ON APRIL 16th. AFTER THAT I WILL BE WALKING UP THE MOUNTAIN. THAT'S 3 HOURS UP VS. 20 MINUTES DOWN.

(That all-caps thing is obnoxious. It'll never happen again.)

But that is really neither here nor there, dear readers.

I had a conversation with a friend today who works with non-profit, environmental organization. In May and June, every year, the elk drop their calves in the Lamar Valley in Yellowstone. And, in May and June, every year, the grizzly females emerge from hibernation with their cubs and head down to the valley floor to eat the poor, defenseless elk calves.

(Because I know it's itchin' at you, the males come out of hibernation as early as February, and start scroungin' for food... stuff like dead goats that have been harassed off cliffs by golden eagles, only to fall to their deaths, freeze, and then later thaw and emit such a delicious fragrance that tha male grizzlies are lured from their months-long slumber, yearning for a taste of decomposing breakfast.)

(Holy shit. What a sentence.)

And, y'know? That's good enough for me.