We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout,
We've been talkin' 'bout Jackson, ever since the fire went out.
I'm goin' to Jackson, I'm gonna mess around,
Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson,
Look out Jackson town.
We've been talkin' 'bout Jackson ever since we moved to Dodge City. Jackson has been on the sand bucket list for several years. But it isn't easy to get there from here. Until this past weekend. When I just got in my car and drove myself there.
I asked a young lady to take this picture of us with Einstein. We were telling her that we were friends from high school, that this was my maid of honor, that this was my anniversary, blah, blah, blah. "Just push the silver button on top," I say.
"Oh, my Mom has a camera just like this," she replies.
Oh, I have a 'mom camera'. Guess I'm not as young as I feel. Guess that zit on my face wasn't fooling anyone.
The quintessential Jackson picture. Part of the thought is that if we stood in front of really large things, we would appear smaller. At least you can't see that our faces are still breaking out.
We ate some really good food, talked and laughed, and maybe teared up a time or two. We rode the ski lift to the top of the mountain.
And we hiked back down.
And we decided that we should not wait another 25 years to get together again.
I am immensely glad that I made the trip. And I will go back to Jackson and take the STP with me. Because he is a fan of good food, and talking and laughing, and beautiful countryside. He does, however, consider 'country music' an oxymoron, so we will not be belting out a duet of 'Jackson' in the car on the way. (Sometimes it is not a bad thing to travel alone.)
Taking numbers 13, 48, and 49 off the non-resolution list.