Distinctly Montana Magazine

15 w w w. d i s t i n c t l y m o n t a n a . c o m only a little imagination. You can also doze off, for instance. As I settle into my imperial phase, I enjoy dozing off more and more, which is good because I can't help it anyway. I know what you're thinking, it's the somnolence of televised golf that's doing it, and I have to admit that all of those hushed voic- es whispering "he's about to do it, any minute now" are kind of sleepy. But it's not just boring sports that put me to sleep. Everything does. I managed to fall asleep in the hot tub the other evening, and woke up soft-boiled. I'm worried I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel one of these days and wake up plowing through the fresh produce at Albertsons. And I should point out that I haven't lost any of my sense of adventure. It doesn't have to be my house. It can just as easily be my sister's, or my brother- in-law's, or hell, yours. See for yourself. Invite me over to your house, or trail- er, or mansion, set a hamburger and a beer in front of me, preferably on a tray in front of your television, and I'll fall asleep at your house too. I'm not par- ticular, is what I'm saying. Maybe you can see where I'm com- ing from, and maybe not. My beloved wife, the light of my life, does not. She implores me, in so many words, to "pick up my lazy ass." My wife is the kind of woman who works eleven days in a row and takes a long hike on her day off. She feels about indolence and idleness the way I feel about leeches and cockroaches; she doubts a benev- olent God would permit them to exist in a just world. That's how I ended up spending last Saturday going up the Mt. Otis Trail with my wife. She, clad in her Adidas and spandex athletic wear, me in a T-shirt that says "Jimmy Buffett Died For Our Sins" and a pair of old cowboy boots, we ascended the just-about two miles together. Or, if not together, al- most together. Which is to say that she got to the top before me. And by that, I really mean that she stayed up there for fifteen minutes be- fore coming back down to see where I was, and what could possibly be the holdup. Reader, she found me sitting on a big rock with my water bottle in my lap, cap unscrewed, asleep. I'm the only person I know who can fall asleep on a hike. My wife is a little younger than I am. Even if she were ten years older than me, she'd still be in better shape. What she doesn't understand is that yes, she's right, I love the view from up there. It's beautiful. Please, by all means, go up there and take some pic- tures, bring the pictures back down, print them out, frame them, and hang them on the wall in front of my arm- chair. Next time, I mean. Maybe the best way to appreciate Montana's natural splendor, at least at my age, is to draw the blackout cur- tains, pour a bowl of cereal, kick up the footrest on my old La-Z-Boy, and watch the third VHS tape in my Lonesome Dove boxset again. For one, there are no grizzlies in my living room, just my old dogs and the dependable sound of their wheezing. The great indoors offer less chance of wildlife viewing than the National and State Parks I used to visit all the time, but the chance of seeing the cat as she makes her nightly jaunt down to her nest in the basement is wildlife spotting enough for me. The best part is two steps into the living room from the kitchen notwith- standing, the elevation gain is mini- mal. My wife seethes. "How can you sit there like that?" It's really very easy, I tell her. If you do it right, the first part to hit the chair should be your butt. My wife, by the way, is constitu- tionally incapable of relaxing. She wouldn't know relaxation if it burst into the house wearing a hockey mask and wielding a chainsaw. She loves to LUCCA ITALIAN 1/3 v what an honor! best italian food in montana

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