Oo-la-la!
Promise Keeper: I promised; she's a keeper.
Back in the early 1980s, I told Carol-Jean if she married me, I'd take her to the great cities of the world. She said yes, and I have delivered on the promise. Of course, I neglected to specify what season we would stroll the capitals of Europe. Two of them, Paris and London, we managed to hit in the middle of an record snowstorm and winter cold. (We trudged beneath the snow-swept Eiffel Tower, but picture above was downloaded from internet, and is not CJ.)And there was a rather hot springtime in Athens, and an unseasonably wet summer in New Orleans.
But I have come to believe weather days number the pages of our lives for easier reference when the memory banks are full of a lifetime's occurrences. Kansas City is marking a February page in white cold lettering as I type this blog. The roads are doing an impressive impersonation of the Olympic ski slopes at Souchi. And there's not much to crow about beyond this winter wonderland. My Broncos got trounced last weekend in the Superbowl. The politicians are gearing up for a presidential election although Barack Obama has three years to go on his four-year term. I'm dieting. My car needs repairs--it's overnighting at Midas. There's no wine in the house. And my UMag column is due.
So, this is the time I escape from it all and remember the promise I made to Carol-Jean that night so many years ago. Hey, honey. We're living in Kansas City, one of the great towns in America. She grumbles about the snow-blower not working, and I know it's score one for us promise-keepers. Maybe summer will be unseasonably hot...
