When it gets too wet for Roo, it's wet

Though it's unlikely that Roo and I will be back to check in ten years, if we do, I bet there will still be puddles of old water from the rainstorm that ended on Monday.

It rained for four days, non-stop. Eight inches fell on the second night alone. By the second day, no one's rain gear could stand up to it, and those of us who ventured outside started to look like running mascara. Yellow slickers, red ponchos, it didn't matter. Everything turned grey. The river exceeded its banks to such an extent that only the tops of tall trees stood above water. Tires began to squish like waterlogged sneakers.

Roo always gets her walks, but even she wearied of the deluge. Getting soaked in the rain is not the same as dunking oneself voluntarily, and now that she's four, a little of the shine seems to have come off walking in the rain. That's not to say she didn't want to go for walks—she just didn't complain when I cut them short. And then, instead of being allowed to lie there and get warm and sleep through to the other side, she had to listen to me practice the ukulele. Those, I'm sure, were the grimmest moments for her. I caught her more than once giving me a look normally reserved for mouses.

It was clear from other recent deluges (Maine and Missouri both had serious flooding while we were there, though those were mere drizzles compared to this) that our stock of a dozen old towels wasn't going to suffice. I picked up another six at a dollar store. By the time it was all over, all of them were drenched and muddy. It took Rooki and me a couple of days to dry out completely.

For various uninteresting reasons, we're stuck for the moment in eastern Oklahoma, but, if we have to be stuck somewhere, this big ranch is a beautiful place for it. Pinch-zooming on the cell phone distorted the picture below, but it's kinda pretty anyway.

Recently I read a book about Tombstone. I was interested in the subject because Roo and I have spent a lot of time there, and, as the owner of the only airplane in permanent residence at Tombstone Municipal Airport (don't ask—it's not exactly what you might call a flying airplane. I use the word 'permanent' advisedly), not to mention holding the honor of being credited with stopping a new Shootout at the OK Corral, naturally I feel a certain connection to the place. It was a top-notch history, and that led me to read the author's book about Bonnie and Clyde. So, it was interesting to pull up at a stop sign the other day and see a sign in the window of the sand-colored building in the picture above saying that it was the bank where Bonnie and Clyde pulled off their last big heist.

That's all I've got right now. I hope the rest of you managed to stay dry. That storm stretched from south Texas to Canada—I know a lot of you got as wet as we did. Hopefully you had the same blue skies and shirtsleeve weather today that we did.