One-Sentence Journal, Week Twenty-Six

So I’ve missed a few weeks since the last time I did one of these. Big deal. It’s my blog, I’ll do what I want, and that means picking up where I left off. There’ll be a few more than seven days of entries this time; next week it should be back to normal.

  1. 03/14/2014:  I’m trying not to get too caught up in the sun and warmth of the diabolical teasings of mid-March in Montana.
  2. 03/15/2014:  Stepped out on my front porch this morning, took a deep breath of frosty air, and was rewarded by the sight of a bald eagle swooping low as if she were considering landing in the tree just in front of me.
  3. 03/16/2014:  I was pleasantly surprised at band practice today to discover just how far last month’s battery of live shows has taken the new material.
  4. 03/17/2014:  A windy, gray, soggy morning did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of all the new beevlings from gamboling around the neighboring fields kicking up their hooves.
  5. 03/18/2014:  I rose at a godless hour this morning to travel to Houston, Texas, home of endless toll roads, sky-scraping overpasses, and a zillion pounds of impatient automobile metal.
  6. 03/19/2014:  My evening plans were thwarted when I discovered I’d left my credit card at last night’s dinner location, merely an hour-plus of soul-crushing traffic away.
  7. 03/20/2014:  Happy Spring Equinox, and I was pleased to find some trails to wander on the fringes of the Greater Houston Awfulplex.
  8. 03/21/2014:  Returned home to a mailbox that included some awesome Richmond Fontaine swag I ordered weeks ago and promptly forgot about.
  9. 03/22/2014:  A beautiful sunny day for a road trip and camera safari.
  10. 03/23/2014:  Blasted off on a whim to Spokane with my obnoxious mutant offspring that led to another excellent bonding session via the Power of Rock.
  11. 03/24/2104:  “If you can’t party with the big boys…. ” is my response to Sid’s announcement that he picked up some form of food poisoning or something at the 24-hour roadside Mexican joint we dined at last night; readers of this entry (unlike me) will be spared the graphic details of his descriptions of the malady.


Author: Chris

Chris La Tray is a writer, a walker, and a photographer. He is an enrolled member of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians and lives in Missoula, MT.

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