Rejuvenation

We've been home close to a week and I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the experiences I had in Colorado. We tried to count how many times we've been and I think it's twelve or thirteen. But this is the first year I really felt like I was able to fully appreciate the majesty of the Rocky Mountains.

First, there's the preparation. Last time we went (2008), I had to pack in the biggest suitcase we had. This year I packed in the smallest. I took just as many clothes...they're just smaller. And I didn't have to fight with the seat belt on the plane. Last time I almost had a melt-down because Ron was telling me to ask for the extender. This year there was plenty of belt to tighten.

Once we got to Estes Park and made our way into the Park to "our" rock (claimed many years ago because we spent so much time there) I was big horn sheep-like in my ascent and descent. It was one of those moments I'll not soon forget.

A couple of days into our stay Tyler and I decided to walk up Old Fall River Road. It's a one-way dirt road that stretches nine miles. We didn't do all nine miles - maybe a couple of miles - but it was a steady incline and we did some off-roading to explore big rocks and caves and waterfalls that most people don't get to see from their cars. We had lunch on a huge rock and I got two great war wounds. And I learned a lesson I'd repeat almost on a daily basis: going back down is often harder than getting up.

Then there's Alluvial Fan. In years past it had been a huge struggle for me to even walk up the pathway to the information marker. I had to stop three or four times to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. This year, I had to stop - to let Tyler catch up to me. It really was indescribable.

Years ago, Ron, Kate and Tyler climbed to the top of Alluvial Fan while I sat perched down below. In the last two or three years, Tyler has made the trip by himself, armed with a walkie-talkie so I could monitor his progress. This year I was determined to go with him. And I did. We climbed for about three hours and got higher than ever before. At one point the water was too high to continue bouldering alongside the river so we had to go up and over a huge pile of fallen trees. We were at about a fifty or sixty degree angle and it was pretty intense. Tyler was a great guide, although I know he was terrified for me.

After the tree pile incident, we wisely decided not to go back the way we came, but rather take the Fern Lake Trailhead back down. All in all, it was about a four and a half hour trek. And, had the weather cooperated, I'd have done it again. And again. As it was, we did scale Alluvial one more time, but rain cut us short and we had navigate some pretty slippery slopes. At one point during our first climb I told Tyler that had I known what it was like up here I'd never, ever have let him do it alone.

I found myself regretting all the things I missed out on for all those years. But, I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to really take in the beauty and serenity that surrounded us. As my grandmother used to say, "How can anyone see this and be an infidel?" And, there's always next year, with new trails to explore and new heights to be gained.

The Joys of an Older Home

I love our home. It was built in 1937, in the midst of the Depression. I'm guessing it was originally a two bedroom, one bath home. Somewhere along the way an upstairs bedroom was added, as well as a large master bath. The remaining attic space was finished off just before we moved in and it's now my office. It's a great space - cozy and comfortable. Except for the HVAC. The duct work they ran isn't very powerful so it's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Right now I've got four fans going just trying to circulate the air. Noisy, but tolerable.

Our home has wonderful original features like glass doorknobs on all the doors (even on the inside of the closets), original hardwoods (that are in dire need of a face lift), the original return air vent covers and a picture rail in all the rooms downstairs. Our walls are lathe and plaster, so we can't nail into the walls; our pictures hang from decorative cording affixed by hooks on the picture rail. It's a great home.

However ... just like anything that's aging (including me), little aches and pains begin to make themselves known. Last night's torrential downpour brought to our attention (again) that we need to replace the sump pump. It's really loud and - according to Ron - not all that effective. We have a small drain in the basement/garage, but he says we need one of those drains that span the width of the garage door. "Right before we go on vacation?" I ask. Really? Arrrrggghhh.

Another "perk" of owning an older home is a plethora of large, mature trees. We have seventeen trees on our lot, seven of which are walnut. You know how I feel about those trees. Trying to dodge the falling walnuts and the threat of rolling your ankle whilst walking through the yard has made our outdoor space a health hazard. And last night, again in the torrential downpour we lost two monstrous branches laden with walnuts. Ron cut up the fallen limbs last night, which I chunked into a pile. Today after my walk, I got out the wheel barrow and made ten trips to the burn pit, lugging branches, walnuts and other miscellaneous junk across the yard.

I love our home. But there are days when a condo looks pretty good. But only for a minute. Or two.

Dear Diners

Thank you for coming into my restaurant tonight. I know that, for most of you, dining out is a real treat. My job is to make your experience enjoyable and I'm happy to serve you. Please keep in mind that while I'm taking care of your needs, I'm also taking care of anywhere from two to six other parties. That's approximately 24 drink orders, six to ten appetizer orders and 24 entree orders - all at one time. I pace myself so that I can attend to your needs in a timely manner. I check back frequently to refill drinks, bring extra dressing, napkins or replace silverware. Again, I'm happy to do so. And I work hard. I walk an average of six to ten miles during my shift. I don't sit down and I've got sidework to do in the midst of taking care of you.

Here's my point. If my service has not been acceptable to you, please tell me. Otherwise, please tip me generously. The standard is fifteen - twenty percent. And if you're using a gift or discount card, it's customary to tip on the total amount of the bill before the discount.

In the restaurant industry, tips are the bulk of my income. I get paid $2.14 per hour and taxes are taken out of that. I also have to declare my tip income, which is also taxed. I'm a college student and the money I make in the summer has to last an entire year. Or maybe I'm a single mom who relies on tips to buy diapers, food and medicine for my children.

If you can't afford to tip me, then maybe you should stay at home and eat.

Basta!

No, it's not an unfinished derogatory term. It means "enough" in Italian. And I'm talking about the fact that Tori Spelling has deemed it good parenting to get her three-year old a Twitter account. What is this world coming to? I've never really understood what the point of Twitter is. It seems a bit ego-centric to think that the world (or at least those who follow you) needs to know your innermost thoughts. Or your most mundane. But a toddler tweeting? Really? It seems that most celebrities these days go out of their way to shield their kids from the public's prying eyes. Maybe Ms Spelling is feeling a little left out in the cold, not getting enough press and thinks perhaps by exploiting her child she might drum up some copy. I suppose if I followed her on Twitter I might have some more insight into this puzzling development.

Now, I know some could argue that blogging could be considered ego-centric. And maybe it is. After all - in my case - it's just what I find amusing, or thought-provoking or worthy of my considered opinion. I would LOVE it if a thousand people read my ramblings every time I create a post. But I'm realistic enough to know that it might be two or three people who accidentally happen upon my musings and I guess I'll have to live with that. I guess if I tweeted about a new post I might get a larger following. But probably not. My social network is woefully small, especially given the fact that Tori's little darling had 10,000 followers within six hours. Or was it just 1,000? Who cares? Still way more than me.

Tweet, tweet.

Current Fascination

I've always loved watching cooking shows. The first one I can remember is "The Galloping Gourmet" with Graham Kerr, an entertaining British chap who was a silly, silly man in the kitchen. Imagine my delight when I rediscovered TGG on the new Food Channel (formerly Fine Living). And, even more delightful was learning that Julia Child is on right before Sir Graham. What a hoot!

What's so unique about these two chefs (as compared to the likes of Giada di Laurentiss and Ina Garten, for example) is that a lot of their dishes just don't come out right. The other day Julia tried to make an upside down apple pie and it was a complete mess. Looked more like applesauce than a pie. And Graham's stuff is always sticking in the pan or boiling over. And they both just throw things around left and right, tossing towels, pots and pans onto the floor or into some bottomless pit of a drawer. Julia also has an interesting way of staring off camera into the teleprompter (I'm assuming) and it just makes me think that even though she was a groundbreaking chef in so many ways she might have a hard time on "The Next Food Network Star." Of course, I'm pretty sure these two shows were shot live, so there were bound to be missteps. All the same, it's pretty entertaining.

I like Giada because she's so calm. She manages to do three or four dishes per half hour and she pretty much does all the prep work on camera. Julia is forever saying "Let's pretend that I've chopped this onion all up" or "Let's pretend that I've measured two cups of milk and put it in the sauce." Giada takes things nice and easy and doesn't get flustered because everything is always perfect. Now, who knows? It might take twenty takes to get it right, but the end result is beautiful.

Another new favorite is "David Rocco's Dolce la Vita." Set in Italy, there's really not a ton of cooking, but more of an emphasis on the sweet life that is so Italia. He does manage to throw together some pretty authentic Italian fare and it seems simple and delicious. I think the magic for me is that it's filmed in Florence and some other locations we've visited.

Probably my very favorite chef is Jamie Oliver. I would eat anything he prepared, even if it had mushrooms in it. I first fell in love with "The Naked Chef" and have since happily watched Jamie as he trekked his way through Italy and set up shop in his county home. Oddly enough, I've never bought one of his cookbooks (or anyone else's for that matter). I can get the recipes online. What really intrigues me is technique, because once you get the basics down you can apply it to all sorts of dishes.

So there you have it - my current fascination. My day isn't complete without watching at least one of these talented masters of the kitchen. And, even though we're eating much differently than we used to, I like to think I'm getting better and better at tailoring our food to fit our lifestyle. Like the other day. I made my own sundried tomato pesto because we ran out of Dean and DeLuca's. I looked online at a couple of recipes and then made up my own. Tyler says it's delicious.

Come over for dinner sometime and find out if my fascination/obsession is paying off ...

The Dichotomy of Life

More than once in the last few years I've had an unsettling awareness that there are aspects of the human experience about which I have no clue. I know that sentence is awkward, but it's grammatically correct (I think).

For example, last month Ron and I spent an hour or so at Amethyst Place helping plant a garden. Amethyst Place is a not-for-profit organization that provides housing (and much, much more) to women in recovery. What's different about Amethyst Place is that the women are allowed to have their children live with them. As I watched these young women, most of whom are single parents with several children, I found myself thinking about the life experiences that they've had . . . the seemingly insurmountable obstacles they've faced and, quite frankly, will probably continue to face for awhile. Their lives are certainly not easy.

Another example comes in the form of a documentary on HBO titled "Every F---ing Day of My Life." It's currently "on demand" and I would encourage you to watch it. But, I will warn you. It is very difficult to watch. It chronicles one the of the most horrific accounts of spousal abuse ever reported. It's one of those things that you will not soon forget, nor should you. I have absolutely no concept what it would be like to constantly live in fear of my life and the lives of my children. The fact that this woman is still alive is a miracle.

In stark contrast to those two examples is a show Ron and I watched last night called "Selling New York." It's about several real estate firms that specialize in high-end housing in NYC. And by high-end I mean $12.5 million dollars, with the commission being around a million dollars. Town homes that are 11,700 square feet with indoor lap pools and 2,400 square feet terraces (bigger than our entire house). Again, no concept of what life at the upper end would be like. Not a clue.

Earlier I said that the awareness I was experiencing was unsettling. By that I don't mean it makes me uncomfortable, although the thought of spending that much money on a house verges on vulgarity - who really NEEDS to spend that much money, even if you have it? I actually feel more humbled. And grateful (and perhaps a little bit guilty) that my life has been really very blessed.

I don't mind that unsettling feeling because it reminds me to see the good things in my life and to be thankful. And it forces me to think beyond myself and to embrace - if only to a tiny degree - the vast sea of humanity that lives around me. I think that's a good thing.

A Season of Sadness

It's not been a great year. Last August, my friends Tom and Leah lost their ten-day old son, Zeke. In May, scarcely nine months later, their four-year old son, Wyatt, died. In my grieving process I found myself asking God, "Why, why, why?" knowing full well that the answers would be slow (if ever) in coming. My heart aches for this family, who are good and faithful people. Why should they experience such unbearable pain and heartache? Not once, but twice?

"We live in a fallen world" seems like such a flippant explanation. So does "Bad things happen to good people." Both statements are true, but I've found myself needing (wanting) something more specific.

In searching for peace I've read Oswald Chambers. I've read the Bible. I've prayed. I've listened to music. I've slept less. I've been more given to retrospective thinking. And here's what my tiny brain has been able to grasp. There is little - if any - order in this earthly existence. It's mainly chaos and mayhem. Hence the great suffering and devastation. BUT. In God's heavenly kingdom there's an order to things that we can only imagine. There's peace. There's love. And there's joy. I take comfort that Zeke and Wyatt are living in that place. The sadness is still with me, but it's tempered with hope.

Just as I was beginning to feel like my head was an inch or two above the water, my Uncle Bob died. On Father's Day. At first I was bereft at the thought of him dying of Father's Day. But he was a great father and had just spent the weekend with his three sons and their families. And so perhaps it was fitting that he joined his heavenly Father on Father's Day. Even though he had eighty-five full and faithful years, the loss is still keenly felt by those who love him.

So this season of sadness. I'm ready for it to be over. But I realize that it might go on for awhile. Dying is a part of living. Sadness is part of the human experience. It's how we choose to respond and act that determines whether we survive or not. I'm so grateful (such a small word for the magnitude of feeling it holds) that I have faith in God. Seriously.