Trump helicopter presser

Enjoy the good weather while it last, White House Correspondents, soon you'll be wearing overcoats.

No more comfortable inside pressers like civilized people the world over.  How did this happen to such a lovely group of people?  Orange Man bad.

That White House lawn is so green.

When my dad drove the whole family from NE Pennsylvania to NW California, what a thing, the entire large family in a car instead of flying. He wanted his vee-hickle sent with everything else. What an adventure. 

It was March. The snow had just begun to melt completely. Everything was a mess. 

And the whole weather situation got better and better the farther west that we traveled.

Until  California where everything was green and growing and blooming and be-you-tea-full and we all fell in love with the place. They whole state. We saw scenes like these cows on green grass all over the place.

How could everyone in America not want to live here?

And then three years later flying back from Japan was even better. From gray uniform condensed overpopulated tight somewhat depressing Tokyo where they don't even have the good sense to speak English, to the large luxurious fenced green farms of California that from the air looked exactly like the introduction to Green Acres. With the actual Green Acres television show in English!

I cannot even express how brilliant that is.

Green. I fell in love with green. I fell in love with bright primary colors especially green which is actually blue and yellow, so secondary colors too. Whatever. Shut up! I'm making a point over here. 

On to Louisiana which is nothing if not verdant with pelicans and armadillos but the lawns are not the same bright green. 

Louisiana lawns are made of awful sod. The kind that extends runners over the top so the whole lawn is crisscrossed with runners, terrible scratchy stuff to picnic on. Sort of like a potted spider plant (I learned them as "helicopter" plant but I cannot find that online) and it all turns brown rather quickly and stays brown most of the year. It is uncomfortable and it is ugly and it's brown as often as it is green.

I have never seen lawns so luxuriously green and thick as the lawns in Denver. 

It blew my mind.

It was the one saving grace of the place. At the time. In my narrow view.

It had snowed. A huge storm, actually. A few days before we got here so everything was torn up and covered with snow and melting and dripping and spraying on the road with sand all over.  Dad said the place was beautiful but right now they have to clean it all up. We were depressed. This was one ugly city. Wet. Torn up. And the whole state no more than one hundred years old at most. Branches all over the place. Strange architectural churches. We couldn't see it get any better.

What a dumb place to live.

So we made a snowman. As we rolled the first snowball the lawn revealed underneath was still dark thick bright green. The lawn still very much alive. The snow didn't kill it. While the lawns in Louisiana were all brown and had been for months.  We couldn't believe how thick the lawn was. We couldn't believe how healthy. How each blade of grass was its own plant, not an assemblage of several tufts of grass plants. Oh, what luxurious lawns! Everyone owns their own golf course!

I've never seen anything like it. 

Kentucky Bluegrass. 

Totally ace. Nothing else like it. 

Now how can this be? Kentucky Bluegrass right next to naturally growing cactus. It's a dichotomy. of nature. A puzzle. What are we, luxuriously verdant or barren desert? We're both at the same time. That's what humans do to a place.