Oil, water and The Promised Land

Things that just don't mix:

- May 10 and a freakish, one-hour snowstorm worthy of a trip to Oz.
- Flirty, frilly summer sundresses and heavy, woollen winter coats
- Strappy high-heeled sandals and flat-out running across a gravel parking lot, a paved parking lot and a few sidewalks while wearing said frilly, flirty summer sundress and heavy, woollen winter coat during said freakish, one-hour, Oz-worthy snowstorm on May 10 ... It just doesn't go together. Oy -- my cold, aching feet ...

In the meantime ... after graduation, we headed to Fort Collins for a celebratory lunch, since we'd have had to wait an hour anyway (at least) to eat anywhere in Laramie ...

It's amazing -- as soon as you cross the border from Wyoming into Colorado, it's like entering the Promised Land.

Clouds disappear, and the sun shines bright on the lush, green, leafy world. The wind dies down to a light, ruffling breeze. Animals sing by the roadside, swaying kumbaya-style. Little songbirds dress people (just like in the Disney fairytales), coffee baristas are friendly and the cockels of your heart feel a warm, fuzzy glow.

All is right with the world.

Until you head back into Wyoming.

A steely gray curtain hangs menacingly at the border. Snow flies at your windshield in a not-so-welcoming embrace as you climb ever upward in elevation. Squirrels and other wildlife flip you the bird. The wind threatens to fling your car off the highway like a piece of litter. The truck behind you tailgates you for the last 20 miles into town. The shoulder strap on your dress breaks. And your coffee gets burned.