The little Bronco camper parked on Main Street in the early morning, Fairplay Colorado.
I weighed myself this morning, and I was 188 pounds. This is about what I've weighed for the last few months. This is amazing because I weigh about the same eating a lot of good homemade food every day while living at my daughter's house, as I did while self-isolating in Arizona eating canned food.
I was concerned that being here for the summer, I would put on weight because the food is better and I tend to eat more. But so far, that's not happening, and I'm glad of it.
Like many kids, I was a picky eater and it definitely wasn't easy being a picky eater in the 1950s. Times were different then. Most women were excellent cooks, especially in the South, where I was raised, and you were expected to eat everything put in front of you. It was called "cleaning your plate" and was non-negotiable for the kids.
in the South, it was customary for women to receive glowing and effusive compliments for their cooking, from friends, family, and especially guests. And the biggest compliment a woman could receive was everyone cleaning their plate and asking for seconds. Of course, there was always something on that plate that a 10-year-old kid such as I wouldn't like, and more often than not , it was something green.
No matter how many places I tried to hide, that despised piece of broccoli Dad would always see it and tell me to "clean your plate before you can go back outside and play". And it wasn't because he didn't like the sight of broccoli. It seems there were children "starving in China." And he was so concerned about their welfare that he felt making me eat broccoli would somehow benefit them half a world away.
I was young, but I wasn't stupid, so I suggested my broccoli could be sent to China, and it would benefit the starving kids far more than me eating it. My dad thought that was funny and somewhat enlightened for a 10-year-old. However, he still kept me and my broccoli at the dining room table while my sister was set free to go to the living room and watch Pinky Lee on TV. It was then when it dawned on me that my dad may not always be right, but he was always the boss.
The life of a flower... The bud.
The bud opening up.
The blossom.... I guess you can tell that I'm grasping at straws in the picture department. I need to get out and do something interesting, and picture worthy. My current attitude could be laziness but I'm blaming it on concerns about the Bat flu.