Carnes: Who wants some 2020 cake! |

Carnes: Who wants some 2020 cake!

“It’s a (bleeping) cake and here comes the icing!”

These prophetic words were said by my grandfather back in the early ’70s, but if I remember correctly, he was referring to the Arab oil embargo and the associated gasoline supply shortages.

But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t apply just as well today.

In the ultimate insult to injury, we are witnessing history, which is, of course, something we all do on a daily basis, but like 9/11, the 2008 financial crash and Bronco Super Bowl wins, this is the history we’ll never forget, as all of 2020 has been one for the record books, especially if your book is entitled, “2020 Fiasco” (Failed In All Scenarios — Completely Omissible).

We already have COVID-19 burnout, and thankfully most of us are surviving, yet we had to deal with a short ski season, murder hornets and to-go dining, and this canyon inferno is the icing on a year of cake with a recipe consisting solely of cow dung and smoke.

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It has doubled in size almost every day, and I can only hope it hasn’t continued since my Sunday night deadline.

Just when it looked like the river rafting companies might make a go of it, the river decided to burn.

Right as restaurants, bars and hotels were figuring out a way to stay alive at 50% occupancy, I-70 became impassable.

And right as Charlie Brown was trying to kick off the college season, Lucy did the same stupid thing she does every single time, only now it’s with an ugly smirk and a try-again-in-the-spring attitude.

Glenwood Canyon?

We can now look forward to years and years of even more surprising rockslides.

Eviction notices are being hung on doorknobs and mortgage defaults are being mailed, but thanks to the 5 percenters, real estate in Happy Valley is setting new records (we don’t appeal to merely the top 1 percent, as there’s not enough of them to spread out amongst the Rockies). Meanwhile more and more of our summer and winter part-timers who already own homes up here are making it their fall and spring home as well.

They could very well be our saving grace, at least for a while.

But at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the NFL goes bust, Halloween is canceled and we don’t see any flakes until January.

So what do we do now?

We do what we always do: We plan, we adapt, we fight, scream and claw our way through the rest of 2020 all in hopes that the world will turn around in 2021. We hope for rain against the flames, vaccines against the virus, profits for businesses, rent for renters, water for rafters, guests for hotels, patrons for restaurants and bars, and that some creative tailor will make ski shirts with built-in neck gaiters (oversized turtlenecks don’t count).

Though in the meantime, I must admit the double whammy of masks and fire reminds me of Jim Carey’s “The Mask” where he slaps it on and shouts, “Smokin!”

Only this ain’t funny.

Then again, by now the clouds could have let loose with a torrent of fire-quenching rain, but as the Old English proverb (sorta) goes, you can’t have your (bleeping) cake and eat it too.

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