Journal

Boomers say Millennials have no respect for America’s institutions, e.g., Congress, POTUS, the Supreme Court. I say, who can blame them? America’s most hallowed halls have all been corrupted by corporate interests. It’s high time to cut the puppet strings between our government and the lobbyists who pull them.

Like most GenXers, I suspect, I’m just happy that it’s an election year and we may finally be at the end of our epic Boomer-streak. While I appreciate legalized marijuana and a push towards renewable energy, the last five presidents have all been Boomers. That’s enough. Although, I would argue that Obama was actually part of the invisible generation that exists between Boomers and GenX, but always gets lumped in with the Boomers.

I need someone to explain to me how a baby can be born in 1961 and still be considered part of the boom of babies (hence the name) that happened when all the G.I.s came home from World War II. It’s preposterous. There is a huge generation hidden in there. How many babies were born between 1950 and 1965? We could call them Moon Shadow Generation (Mooners for short) or just SDR (stands for sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll— and you call yourselves hippies!) However we refer to them, I want it to go on the record that they are even more overlooked than GenX, and it’s never a good idea to underestimate kids who were left alone to fend for themselves all summer. (“Be home by dark.”)

My birthday is near the end of August, and I never spent a birthday in school, but nowadays the kids are back in full swing by the time I’m blowing out the candles. The school year seems to get longer every year, yet they still study for twelve years. So, obviously they are learning more than we ever did… maybe one reason they have no time or patience for our antiquated systems.

I, for one, am ready for some brand-new tactics when it comes to US policy. Voting for Harris/Walz is a step in the right direction but honestly, I could do-si-do even farther to the left. My husband likes to say I’m so far left that I come around and smack ya from the right. He also gets the credit for more accurately naming what elders call Our Border Crisis to Our Christian Crisis. If these politicians were smart, instead of closing the border they would realize the potential of all those Catholics and send some believers down there to register voters.

Not only are they not smart, but the hypocrisy of those talking heads who claim to be descended from ‘pioneers’ not ‘immigrants’ is shameful. I aspire to be the Ann Coulter of The Left but honestly, I am not sure I can get to that level of crazy with a capital C in my lifetime. How does one with such anti-christ-like views even call herself a Christian? Reminds me of a comedian I saw with a hilarious bit about Jesus being a liberal and God being the Republican.

Jesus was a liberal; had long flowing hair, he wore a dress and (was) basically a drag queen reading to children, okay?

                        …

Republicans do not like Jesus, Republicans like God.

God is a Republican… (big booming voice) “You! Kill your kid!”

“What?!… I don’t want to kill my kid.”

“You won’t kill your kid?… I’ll kill my kid. Where’s my fucking kid…”

Jesus is at Berkeley with a ukelele… -Robin Tran

In the horse race of outdated institutional obstacles to peaceful humanity, I think religion is leading the pack. But lately the American Supreme Court is sure giving it a run for its money. In the last few years, they have changed the course of this country— and not for the betterment of younger generations. These dinosaurs are trying to take us straight into a dystopian future where it will be illegal to get an abortion, stop major polluters, or be homeless. Like life isn’t hard enough when we’ve lost our job and our home to foreclosure, now they’ll legally be able to put us in jail for sleeping on public lands.

I wonder which bible verse addresses that.

“Elon Musk is really doing an incredible job educating the public about how capitalists end up aligning with fascists to maintain their wealth and limit the power of the working classes.” @maxberger

Truth. Here’s the thing: if all the rhetoric was true then these billionaires wouldn’t need to sell their soul to today’s Republican party. They could pay their fair share of taxes, knowing that they can go back out in the free market, pull up their bootstraps, and make it happen again. Or just sit back and wait for trickle down economics to make its way down to them… Right. The American economy trickles these days in much the same way the Colorado River still reaches Mexico. The insatiable greed along the way prevents most of us from ever seeing a drop.

Speaking of Mexico, if Trump gets back into the White House, and Project 2025 comes to fruition, I might just move there. Not to be all doom and gloom, but Agenda 47 (The same thing as Project 2025— Trump changed the name to imply he will be the 47^th—and last! president this country sees.) outlines a bleak future for everyone who isn’t a sycophant. And if it really comes down to fight or flight, in my younger days I would not have hesitated to join the fray, but now “I said, but I’m tired.” -George Thoroughgood

I’m tired of watching corporations like Amazon climb their money piles while using our tax money (a.k.a. the US postal service) to do it. I’m tired of the media being so scripted I have to get my news from Jon Stewart on the Comedy Channel. And I’m really tired of watching the Republican party pretend that Trump isn’t a ridiculous tool for a fascist fairy tale. At this point, the Democrats could put up practically anyone and I’d vote for them. My preference would be Harris/Buttigieg, but I’m not sure the old blue-blazer guard is ready to smash through the privileged patriarchy domed ceiling like younger voters are.

That’s okay. Surely, we can find someone who’s willing and sane and able. How about The Rock or Samuel L. Jackson? I will vote Team Blue no matter what because in my formative years Reagan had Alzheimer’s while in office, and we all realized that the position is more of a figurehead, really. It’s the people surrounding the president you gotta watch.

Most Americans who haven’t fallen so far down the Trumphole that they can’t see the light of day, just want a sane and moderate leader to represent us in the world; someone who will try to keep the peace and trade agreements alive. But a scary percentage of this country is living in a dream-state similar to Alice in Wonderland, except instead of enjoying a psychedelic tea party with a caterpillar, they are drinking the Nationalist Kool-Aid put out by Paul Weyrich, a man on a mission to shred the Constitution. https://www.badfaithdocumentary.com

Meanwhile, our billionaire-in-a-white-hat, Bill Gates is spending his money to re-invent butter without animal or plant matter. Yep, while orphans scour trash heaps in Kenya for their daily bread, Bill’s more focused on buttering his own toast. Savor is a company working to bring us The Jetsons-like food technology, and using Gates money, they have “developed a process that involves taking carbon dioxide from the air and hydrogen from water, heating them up, and oxidizing them to trigger the separation of fatty acids and then the formulation of fat.” https://newatlas.com/technology/savor-butter-bill-gates/

Welcome To Fruita. Sometimes I feel like I’m the one sitting at a tea party in the woods with a bunch of lunatics throwing teacups and cake, talking at no one and laughing at nothing. So, this is how it happens, I think to myself. This is how an empire eats itself. This is how a society sits at their fancy place setting, sipping their chamomile, and watches the village burn to the ground.

Here are three things we can all do to fight fascism in the United States of America:

File an IRS 13909 violation form for the Heritage Foundation, EIN # 23-7327730 re: Project 2025.

Check on our fellow party goers (neighbors) to see how they’re faring.

Vote.

It seems like once we turn fifty, we realize that we’re on the back side of the hill and if there’s anything we want to get really good at, we’d better start practicing— like now. Most people choose a pastime that will weather the years: like golf, fishing, or yoga. Something they will still be able to do when they’re as old as a presidential candidate.

My husband chose golf, which is fine by me because what do I care if he wants to spend his days outside chasing a metaphor for life. And without really trying, I am learning the lingo; birdie this, bogey that. In many ways, golf seems like a good way to get to the heart of someone rather quickly. For instance, you play with others, but the score is only for you, and watching how a golfer handles the ups and downs, i.e., the sand traps or water hazards, often reveals how s/he handles obstacles in real life.

I keep saying I’ll take a lesson one of these summers, but I’m not sure it’s my bag. I don’t fish, and I haven’t been to a yoga class in years— not since my friend Hillary and I attended a Bikram class in Basalt. Man, it was hot in there, and the other yogers kept having to get out of position and move their mats farther away to avoid the smell of vodka and cigarettes we were sweating out from the night before.

Anyway, in my middle-aged years I’ve taken up meditation and if I do say so myself, I’m getting quite good at it. Of course, that probably means I’m not doing it right, considering that actual mindful practice leads right down the path to selflessness… I have had an epiphany though.

As soon as we’re born, we are headed for our own death and each day alive brings us one more closer to the finish line. Mostly we go through our days avoiding thinking or talking about it, sometimes actively pushing it out of our minds when it does pop up, but what if our approach to life is backwards? What if we were to flip the narrative and look back at all we have accomplished along the way as we careen around the corners towards the tape. We could view death (at the end of a long life) as the goal and spend each day rejoicing at getting that much closer to our journey’s end.

I believe in a creative energy that thrives in all living things on this planet and I also believe the whole experience is about exploring our differences. Perspective changes with age (if it doesn’t, you may want to have that looked at) and middle age is all about letting things go and moving on, which comes with a couple of perks: patience and tolerance. The older we get, the more we can see both/all sides of an issue— unless we forget to take our sleep mask off, which these days is no joke when it comes to getting a good night’s sleep.

Perimenopause is like the fourth fairy godmother no one ever told us about— we’ll call her Pudge for short. Mysterious aches and pains, low energy and an even lower give-a-shit-factor, hot flashes, mood swings, the list goes on and on… I picture this tired fairy with frizzy hair and mustard stains, lounging in her cabin in the woods, just taking a minute to enjoy the peace and quiet. She reminds me that life is not just a track-and-field day with endless events for scoring and judging. Joy and leisure make a life worth living.

I’m not saying that we should take a nap this election year, just that every day doesn’t have to be a battle. If we don’t want to perpetuate bigotry and prejudice in the world, then it’s on us to listen to differing opinions. Humans have always had conflict, and always will, but if we stay open-minded to other points of view, we may realize we’re all just running an epic relay race— hopefully with enough time for a favorite pastime.

See, I told you I was getting the hang of this meditation thing.

Are you on Threads? It’s like Twitter, except no one appears to be monitoring the content, which is absolutely random and fabulous! Threads has everything a GenXer could want: political memes, cat videos, sarcastic social commentary, followed by grandma’s secret family recipe for handmade ravioli. Here’s an example of a quintessential Threads post:

“What if mars has water on it because we used to live there and we messed up the climate so badly that we had to send an escape pod to earth with only Adam and Eve in it and the pod was the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs?” -blackspielberg_

This. This is the kind of imaginative musing that makes me like us humans. And as tired as I am of our patriarchal perspective on history, I love it when I come across something truly unconventional. Something or someone that is so far out of the box, it gives me hope for the future of the whole human race. I’m lucky enough not to have kids but if I did, you can be sure-as-shit they’d be learning how to build a cabin and grow, harvest, and distill potatoes for Mommy’s vodka martini. Even as untethered as I am, it’s still hard to watch what we’re doing to this planet— not to mention each other’s children.

Speaking of children, why can’t we just love them for the nonsensical little monsters they are? Who cares if they want to play with a truck, or wear a dress, or play with a truck while wearing a dress… this gender hang-up thing is really getting on my nerves. It reminds me of middle school when I would get passed a note in class (don’t get caught!) and I would have to unfold it about eight times (quietly!) only to be given a choice between two boxes: Yes or No. What a boring existence if we were to go through life with only two choices. In my experience, most of life is a spectrum and sampling the whole smorgasbord is the entire point— always with consent! (I really shouldn’t even have to say that by now, but you know.)

There’s something here on Earth for everyone, and we only run into trouble when we stifle our natural tendencies or desires because of some outdated, preconceived notion that was most likely invented by a repressed and unhappy pilgrim in the first place. Shame is a terrible nanny. If they aren’t hurting anyone, what exactly is the problem with experimental youth? Why are some adults so concerned that they fit in with the norm? A norm, I might add, that led us here.

The natural balance of healthy life on Earth is seriously skewed and I can’t really see anything about our current situation that inspires confidence in our sustainability. In fact, it feels as though we are hurtling through the cosmos like a sequel to the Roaring Twenties, unaware that a crash is even coming. You gotta admit, if you just landed on Earth right now, it would seem chaotic and confusing, to say the least. (Side note: I’ve thought about writing a planet manual with chapter headings like “Don’t eat chicken that comes in a bucket” and “Watch out for anyone claiming to be a ‘man of the people.”

Hopefully the younger generations are less susceptible to the charms of snake oil salesmen. At least they seem to be less concerned with checking a gender box, and more interested in learning how to grow food in the nutrient-depleted soil they’ve inherited. After the economy tanks and we start to rebuild the country’s infrastructure, I’m sure their laid-back adaptability will come in handy. And GenX is more than ready to put the old in old-age again. Enough of this 70-years-young shit, we’ll take it back to the days of sitting on the porch in a rocker for most of the afternoon and into the evening… Take it from us, being self-sufficient and disillusioned with authority from a young age comes in handy as we can make do with what we’ve got and appreciate the simple things in life. Things like a good Sci-Fi story about life on Earth after the asteroid hits.

There’s a time and a place for everything; it’s called college. I loved college. Well, what I remember of it anyway… Even though I never graduated, I owe quite a bit of my ken to those formative years. Like many college students, I had to work to pay my bills while I was in school, and when I realized the point of going to classes was to get a job, which I already had, I quit going to class but kept going to my job. I still hung out with my friends, lived with roommates, and enjoyed the ‘college experience.’ But in hindsight, I wish I’d studied a trade like mechanics or plumbing— some kind of skill that will always be in demand.

Of course I am an advocate for education, and I think it should be available to any/everyone who wants to learn, but taking on massive debt to pay for a degree in a field that’ll probably be overrun by A.I. seems rather hopeless. (Speaking of hopeless, you’d think the hippie generation would forgive student loans before corporate larceny.) Remember the good ole days: smoking grass in the sun, listening to unknown music while wearing cut-offs, protesting the actions of our government— oh snap! College students are protesting the war-is-big-business model right now. And guess what? They’re right. Just like the elders were right about Vietnam decades ago. Too bad we don’t learn from our own history.

I studied some history in college, and I really liked philosophy. To this day I think back on Philosophy 101 and ponder the purpose of us. I have always loved people-watching, witnessing all the different ways in which we move through this world… Like the way we walk. Everyone has a little bit of a different gait because we all had to learn to walk on our own. Nobody could do it for us, and our parents couldn’t buy our way in like they can, and do, for college. Everyone has to find their balance and that’s why we all have our own signature stride.

Makes me think, what if learning about the rest of life is similar to learning the basics? What if we all had the chance to experiment and figure it out for ourselves. For instance, when my husband and I do the jumble, I see the letters scramble and move around to find the correct answer, whereas he hears the sounds they make and solves it auditorily. Imagine what this world would be like if each kid was able to learn in their own individual way, instead of the conventional one-size-fits-all schooling system.

My cousin, Ingrid Hillhouse Moore strongly believed in the benefits of learning through play, especially at a younger age, when we are so impressionable and eager to find new paths. Youth is the time to experiment, to test all the theories and standards that society has adopted. Elders should be available to answer any questions that come up, but now it’s time to sit on the porch, drink hard lemonade and reminisce about all the wonderfully unique mistakes we made in our youth.

Individuality is a beautiful thing. I think when we’re young, more important than attending lectures or classes, is the lesson of living on our own, learning how to make our way in this world and leaving it a little better off for all. Our society has made it all about money, but there’s so much more to learn about life than collecting a big paycheck.

If I could go back to tell my coed-self one thing, it would be this: everything they are going to teach you is a fuckin theory (f-bombs really emphasized the point to my younger self.) In fact, most of what we know about this world is simply theory with a majority consensus. By the way, some theories hold more water than others, i.e., all the species riding on one boat through a major flood without eating each other is not as likely as some would like to believe. In conclusion, I would tell myself, science is a good thing to study, but science is malleable. Always question authority and remember, we’re all just animals with higher education.

Mike Pence won’t endorse Trump for president— it’s like Darth Vader standing up to the Emperor! Is it because Trump tried to have him hanged on the steps of the Capitol? Fair enough. I’ve held a grudge over much less… So, I guess the question is, will the GOP split in half like the Titanic or simply sink to the bottom in one piece? Either way, the water’s coming in and the ship is going down.

Today’s Republican party reminds me of a sick, dying animal that snaps at anything and everything to get near it. Banning books, reviving the Comstock act of 1873, demonizing Taylor Swift: these are the desperate acts of the darkside, but the force for good is strong with younger generations— second only to Obi-Wan Kenobi because he has the patience of water moving through rock.

“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.” ― Margaret Atwood

I like that. Be like water. Don’t get discouraged. Be patient and kind and whenever a narcissistic orange buoy gets in the way, just maneuver around it until we get our way, the way of independent freedom and choice. (Right here in Garfield County, we need to flood the commissioner meetings regarding their newly self-appointed role of selecting library trustees who just might ban books [which only highlights their obsoletion as most young, impressionable minds are online these days.] https://www.protectgarcolibraries.org/)

What kind of dinosaurs still think a demure white woman sitting in her kitchen is the way to reach Americans? The fringe Republicans are laundering the news faster than the money these days. Trump selling bibles is obviously a way for the church to contribute to his political campaign, which is illegal in this country because the old white guys who founded the United States were adamant about separation of church and state. Probably because they were fresh off the boat from a kingdom, but apparently the GOP was held back a grade or two and needs to relearn the lesson. Illustrated by the fact that they just made it more difficult for breeders to breed by restricting women’s healthcare in Alabama.

Makes me wonder if so many of us are conditioned and desensitized that, as a nation, we’ll just stand by like mouth-breathers and watch a dictator in the making. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before— again and again. The rinse cycle of fascism may keep the history book publishers in business, but I have a better idea. Let’s put A.I. in charge of Washington DC. Seriously, what do these people do that an algorithm couldn’t handle, and for a lot less of our taxpayer money. I know what you’re thinking, “what about the inherent bias that we see with A.I.?” Well, it couldn’t be any worse than what we’ve got now.

All the futuristic stories have robots taking over at the manual labor level, but I would rather start at the top— you know, where the big bucks are. Imagine a revolution where the machines take over Congress and we all get to vote through an app on our phones. Then at least we would actually know how the majority feels about the issue, instead of always getting stuck listening to the squeaky wheels. The incessant whining and whinging of these neo-nationalist talking heads is so fucking loud I can’t hear myself think, much less hear the cries of Native women who vanish in atrocious numbers every year. What kind of civilized society ignores the incessant rape and murder of their most vulnerable? A vulgar capitalistic one with an unhealthy appetite for watching others suffer, I’d say. Now is the time to redesign our representatives to protect and serve us, the people. Protect us from the corporate-owned clowns who are constantly trying to undermine our still-a-work-in-progress democracy.

Keep swimming, Jedi Knights.

Here is one version of how the story goes…

Kate Lindvig was a mail-order bride from Denmark who got off the train in Nebraska to meet her new husband, took one look around, and got right back on the train— headed west. She made her way to Aspen, where she ran a boarding house. When one of her tenants couldn’t pay his bill, he gave her title to some land in Old Snowmass.

Kate moved out to the property and lived there year-round, unmarried, for most of her life. Over time, she homesteaded over 600 acres. She rented little one-room cabins to hunters and trappers, while raising cattle and farming the few vegetables that would grow at such elevation. She had electricity powered by the falls (hence the name: Snowmass Falls Ranch) and once in a while she drove her cattle to town the old-fashioned way, to make ends meet.

In the 1940s my grandparents, Bob & Ditty Perry, wanted to buy Snowmass Falls Ranch for a cow camp to graze their cattle in the summers. They had the Mt. Sopris Hereford ranch in Carbondale, which Ditty’s father, DRC Brown, purchased from Mr. Grubb. The ranch was now theirs, with a piece on the hill carved out for Ditty’s oldest brother, DRC Jr., whom we called Darce. (Ever the ‘small world’, my maternal grandfather, Tom Moore, was an architect and he designed the house in Carbondale for Darce and his second wife, Ruthie.)

So, Bob and Darce went to the land sale with the verbal agreement that Darce would spend Ditty’s money for half of the total price and then Bob and Ditty would be the sole owners of Snowmass Falls Ranch. Ditty’s father died when they were young, and her brother controlled her money until she was thirty-five. (A different era! I would like to point out that 2024 marks fifty years since a woman could get a credit card in her own name. And in the name of equality, mine are all maxed out.)

Anyway, Bob and Darce went to the sale together, but they were late, and a couple of brothers had already bought the land for $5k. So, they tracked the brothers down and offered the full amount, plus a couple of good horses. The brothers agreed to the deal and that was that, or so Bob thought. In the 1950s the guy charged with selling Kate’s place, as it was called, had the mining rights and a woman of his acquaintance ended up owning them. She brought this to Bob’s attention, probably hoping he would give her 5k and a couple of good horses, but as some of you may already know, there’s a bit of a stubborn streak in the Perry bloodline. Bob and Ditty took it all the way to the Colorado Supreme Court, where they lost the case. However, the woman could not afford to pay her lawyer, so she gave him the mining rights as payment, and then Bob went and bought them from the lawyer.

At one point, Darce (loveable rascal that he was!) claimed he owned half the ranch. After all, he had accompanied Bob to the sale and, as it turned out, maybe he had not used Ditty’s money. Perhaps he used his own, or even his wife’s money that day. So, my grandfather paid his brother-in-law half again the sale price of the land and finally owned the cow camp outright.

Bob and Ditty had seven children and the next eight decades were chock full of cattle drives, picnics, campouts, hunting trips, packing trips, family reunions, weddings, christenings, memorials— although we never did have a true Viking service by sending a loved one’s body (on fire!) over the falls. And if I outlive him, I’ll have to come up with a new plan for my husband’s funeral as his wishes might be frowned upon by Pitkin County Open Space.

For the last eighty years our family has called this land many things: Kate’s, cow camp, Snowmass… My whole life it has just been there, at the end of the road; a silent yet stunning sanctuary. A place to hideout and daydream, a place to explore. A place with a remarkable story.

When I was in college, my sister and I went skydiving with one of my roommates. We all drove out to a field near Longmont where a Vietnam veteran gave us a quick four-hour session on the dos and don’ts of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. We avoided going tandem on our very first dive because it was a static line that opened after a few seconds of freefall. Still, we needed to know what to do in case the chute didn’t open automatically, and while I can’t remember the guy’s name, to this day I remember one piece of instruction he gave us. I think it has stuck with me all these years because it is damn good advice in general. “When you’re up there, hanging out enjoying the view,” he said. “If you happen to see a dumpster way down on the ground, whatever you do, do not stare at it, thinking, ‘Gee, I really don’t want to land in that dumpster.”

If you have lived in Carbondale for a spell, this perfectly describes what is going on in our town these days. (The mere fact that I use the word ‘spell’ ought to clear up any confusion as to whom I’m talking about; the middle-aged locals, the folks who have lived here for their middle-of-the-loaf years.) We keep driving by all the new construction, shaking our heads, muttering to ourselves, “when the hell did that happen… I sure hope they stop building us out with this bland suburban sprawl.” Then, next thing we know, there’s an enormous cinderblock wall at the entrance of town. What’s the plan here? Keep Carbondale Ugly?

This was a theory held by beloved Satanker, Brad Hendricks. Brad believed we could keep our town the way it was a little longer by leaving junk cars in the yard, by letting trees and grasses grow wildly, by hanging our laundry out for all to see… Basically, by making our town unsightly, we would keep the fancy-pants from finding out how great it was to live here. Well, Kevin, you can take your underpants off the line now because they’ve figured it out.

I’ve decided Kevin is the male counterpart to Karen (no offense to all the easy-going Kevins out there, who do not shove their-way-or-the-highway down our throats.) Inspired by the Kevins, Brad, and all this new construction, I’d like to announce my candidacy for Town Trustee. Just kidding! Whoo-boy, gotcha! Luckily for us all, I live outside the town limits and therefore cannot run for one of THREE OPEN SEATS this April.

If I did live in town, I would probably have gone around the bend by now. I’d be that middle-aged woman in the same old grey sweater who forgot to wash her hair, ordering an oat-milk cortado to get a crackin start on her day at 11:00am— Oh snap. I am that woman, and while I was busy making other plans, Carbondale has turned out to be my hometown.

Through the years I’ve worked here, played here; loved and lived in this little town at the base of a mountain. I understand that change is the only constant, but there’s something to be said for a thoughtful, listening approach to determining the future of our town. We can encourage smart, sustainable growth over hungry hungry hippo building. We can buzz over the vibrancy as long as we don’t attack our heart: the people and places that keep it Carbondale.

I want to smile as I sail down Main Street, remembering the good ole days while nodding to new ones in the making. I want to watch the Forest Service incorporate healthy, mature trees into their plans for improving the place they live and work. I want to see less dumpster rubble making room for new box-style construction and more reclaimed floorplans with an enhanced view of Mt Sopris, putting the mountain in our little mountain town. Since I can’t run for town council, I guess I’ll just keep writing and posting— or wait! Does P&Z require one to live inside the town limits? Lookout boys, one more Karen comin up! I really hope their meetings don’t start too early…