The hotel cleaning person turned the temperature in our minifridge down. Really down. As in, my milk is an undrinkable block of milk-ice. I am not particularly grateful over this.
Other than that, things are going fine here. They have painted our old apartment complex yellow-beige -- and if there's ever been a color-word that should not exist, it's yellow-beige! blerg! -- but we don't have to live there any more. I heard nearly as much thunder yesterday as I did living here for four years. (I like thunder.) There were border collie pups romping and ponies frolicking in Crow Canyon. Also the congenial folks who turned up to see me were (as hoped!) congenial. And more of that today, one expects.
In related news, chocolate chip bread pudding with chocolate whipped cream is an idea whose time has come.
Now I am off to clean my stinky self and to work on the SF story that fell on my head before we left. Probably it just did that so I wouldn't start thinking I was exclusively a fantasy writer. Contrary brain.