I'm going to whine just a teeny bit about working in Yellowstone Park. Don't judge me. Don't turn away. This is therapeutic for me.
First of all, it is raining, which means by the morning, it will be snow.
I have tomorrow off.
If the roads are passable, a phrase I never expected to say at the end of May, I'm going back to West Yellowstone to poke around.
Roomie's socks still look pretty good.
Maybe I'll cut holes in them while she sleeps.
I'm feeling spiteful. The snoring has pushed me to the edge of a dangerous cliff.
I called her tonight. She's lounging on the beach in Biloxi. She's going gambling later.
She thinks I should run away soon before the bears get me or before I go postal on someone.
O.K., thanks for hanging in there. I'm finished.
This prim lady is spending quality time in one of the original rooms at the Old Faithful Inn.
The room still looks like this and I am as serious as a Sunday sermon.
The great great great grandchildren of the mice in this room are still there. And again, I am serious.
This picture from the late 1800's shows tourists at a bear feed.
I'm wondering how many of them made it back to camp with all of their limbs attached.
The life guard sat on a 25 foot tower and swung from a rope, Tarzan style, to reach the other end of the pool.
Employee housing was in there also. I'm sure it was damp, hot and noisy. Nothing has changed.
Don't even go there....I will draw a line in the sand.
They even made up cute camp songs. This one was to the tune of O' My Darling Clementine.
There's a camp up in the mountains
With the fir trees all about.
Years ago they named it Faithful,
It's the best without a doubt.
Cheer for Faithful, cheer for Faithful.
She's the finest of them all.
Here we live just like a savage,
From the Spring until the Fall.
At least we're not savages anymore.
Well, it's time for me and my rubber chicken to say good night.
Don't worry, hubby. I'll try to clean up some before you come to take me away from Yellowstone.