An email arrived from a reader who enjoys social nudity.
“There is a nudist resort, Kaniksu Ranch, just north of Spokane that I visited several times before I became a member,” wrote a man who told me his name but asked that I not print it. “Needless to say, it is closed in the winter. One year, over the Christmas holiday, I decided to get away from the dark and cold and flew to Phoenix. My version of snowbirding.
“I found a nudist resort down there and was enjoying the weather when I heard familiar voices. There were about 10 Kaniksu members down there too! It was like a family reunion.”
So what is the moral of this story?
Just wondering: How important is a white Christmas to you? A) Hugely important. B) Not a big deal. C) If the streets are OK, I’d like it to be deep and crisp and even. D) Bing never dreamed about a brown lawn Christmas. E) What’s the point of living this far north if you can’t count on that? F) Other.
Editor’s note: Several readers were kind enough to share pictures of themselves from the 1970s after The Slice solicited same not long ago. And I fully intended to share a few featuring notable hairstyles. But virtually all have certain technical problems that make them poor candidates for sharp reproduction. So I’m just going to say thanks and bag it, as they say.
Yes, yes, I know what you are thinking. Being blurry might make those photos perfectly emblematic of that era, if you catch my drift.
But I can’t really have some of my older readers wondering why I am running pictures of people with furry animals perched atop their heads.
Annual nag: Don’t buy “Northwest” themed calendars that are really “Coastal Northwest” calendars.
Warm-up question: Is it your experience that the volume of grease that comes off a Christmas goose in the cooking process somehow seems to exceed to the total volume of the bird?
Today’s Slice question: How would life as we know it be different if you were authorized to write prescriptions?