Meditation. Straight up on the rocks.

My new happy place. This is where I was this past weekend. It was the first time I've been relaxed in months. Went with the Merser girls (MG1 and MG2 in order of birth) and had a great time hiking, eating, exercising, eating, getting pedicures, talking about everything under the sun and eating. I could write all kinds of things about my three days at the spa, but, well, that's not my style. You get it.
Any relaxation got shattered upon our exit by the flight from hell. Las Vegas had 60 mph winds at our time of departure and we were delayed for about 5 hours. When we finally left, they rushed us onto the plane without any time to contemplate the fact that we were being herded towards our deaths, and took off vertically at enormous speed while the plane wavered from side to side. MG2 screamed "Oh my god, somebody help me!" So, since I was inebriated (thank god), I helped. What she doesn't know is how hard I was laughing, partly out of nervousness. As I squeezed her hand and told her it was okay, I giggled hysterically. Funny how you react when you're certain you're going to crash to your death. She and I agree, it's not death that scares us, it's the falling and crashing part. Who wants time to think about it and feel the fear? But lots more about fear of flying after I meet with my counselor from Flight without Fear.
Over the weekend I learned that Sancho's name is not Sancho Pancho, but Sancho P. Coltrane. That's where Sancho P comes from; hence, Mr. P who is now called Mr. Poop because he poops a lot and often. I don't think he likes his new name.
SSMG commented that our conversation is once again consumed with dog talk. We've been talking to each other for two years now since the departure of Sam and Muffin, and now, finally, we can relax. What a relief. Thanks Mr. Poop.