the rest of the photos

We got up to the library at the top of the hill and soon realized we were limited to outside due to it being after 5pm. We saw those cute little benches on the lawn overlooking the hill and decided to sit and enjoy the weather for a bit. The beautiful grass you see in the pics is all sod that stops right at the edge and drops off into dry shrubs and dusty dirt down the face of the peak (matched the bunnies much better). So we sat down on the bench and were chatting about the rattlesnake signs and the new construction and after a bit I noticed the bottom of my right thigh was stinging like something bit me. I only had thin linen pants on so I wondered if I had gotten a presidential splinter.

We were all alone up there, but I started out by wedging my hand down the back of my pants and feeling around for a thorn or bug or cactus plant. Nothing. We moved on, took more pics and eventually left. When we got back to the car, I told Rich I wanted him to look at my butt because I was about to have a huge tumor. He just looked at me.


So we went to dinner at this great little fish grill joint. Dinner was grand. I was very brave and brought no hoodie into the restaurant and managed not to freeze. But when we went back to the car my leg was still bothering me. So Rich told me to drop my pants and we would look. It went something like this:

Rich: "Baby, I don't see anything." Me: "No, it has to be red and swollen. It really hurts. Isn't there a bump or something?" Rich: "No, kitten, there's nothing. You're fine." Me: "I don't believe you. Where's my mirror? I'll find it." Rich (laughing): "Great, you get the mirror. I'll get the camera." Me (craning to find a spot that must be there somewhere): "Is that it? No, that's a mole. Oh, that? No, that's a freckle. I'll just keep poking until I find the spot that hurts. Well ... now nothing hurts. Dammit." Rich: "Are we done?" Me (laughing uncontrollably): "Yes, yes, we're done. Let's go home before I pee in the seat from laughing."

Yeah, I can be a little compulsive about stuff. But didn't figure this picture needed to be categorized as part of the Reagan presidential library catalog without an explanation.