Flagstaff is groovy.

BREAKING NEWS: Rain in Flagstaff. We accept it just as if we wanted it.

Lori and I went to Yoga in the Park in her subdivision. It's seductive, this lure of neighborhood parks, block parties, and cultured organized activities. Not seductive: my yoga pants. There's a reason the dog faces downward. The instructor, a lithe, willowy young thing, tried to help us all with our poses, but she had to give up and put her mat next to me. Ma'am, are you crying? What are you doing with your leg? Why is your head like that? Do you want me to call someone?

We all spent a lot of time in downtown Flag (locals don't use the whole word) this weekend, enjoying crafts and arts. I never know the difference. The place feels good.











Arizona Snowbowl (a ski resort) has reached an agreement with the City of Flagstaff to buy its reclaimed sewage water, pipe it to the top of the Peaks, and make fake snow with it. There are environmental concerns, as you might suspect, besides the concept of taking a dump in someone's church and sticking around to pee there all winter long. The Peaks are holy to the Dine', the Hopi, and eleven other tribes.
But, I just said the place has a good vibe, and so it does.

This is not a Steve Martin scimitar. She's actually balancing it on her head.

Seriously? She's balancing it on her head?

We're as languid as slugs on a salt-free cracker. We should move on before a ranger lays down a mineral lick. We have a few ideas:

I can wedge the rig in here.

San Francisco Peaks

Peeking Peak

And, boy howdy! is it raining! 

Did you know this about olive oil?