I have lived a lot of places with mountains. Well, two or three places. I haven't diversified my addresses much. Anyway, as I was driving home from home on Tuesday, I came up a hill on 270 and saw some beautiful mountains in front of me. I know, some of you think my mountains are hills. They are not pointy or craggy. They roll. They are not snow capped. They are totally green. They do not scrape the sky. In fact, they are quite small. These are not the Wasatch, nor the craggy Sawtooth, and they aren't anywhere close to Everest. But, they're mine.
When we watched American Idol last night, Curly and I both said "Oh, I miss those mountains!" when we saw David Archuletta in Murray, UT. (Then I said "Jinx" and he couldn't talk until I said his name again. Which was this morning.)
I have had a lot of good times in the mountains. I learned to ski in college on the Wasatch mountains in Utah. I think I saw Leonardo Dicaprio once, too, while skiing in Sundance. I met Curly on a ski trip near Roundtop, in Pennsylvania. Some of my best vacation memories are in Sun Valley. And, as a Junior Girl Scout, I learned to sing "I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills." I don't remember the rest. I was never a full-blown Girl Scout, so it's no wonder. I hope I never leave my mountains.