I'm going to my 45th high school reunion soon. While the event itself wasn't my motivation to lose weight, I must say the timing is convenient. But there's one thing that's not changing and that's my hair. A lot of my friends are talking about their hair and whether they should let it go to their natural color or keep dying it. I spent a lot of years, and a lot of money, trying to cover up who I am. I won't do it anymore. God made me this way. He promised to love me when my hair is white. I'm just going to trust that and keep on being me.
Heading east today. Stopped for a bite to eat. Who doesn't love listening to the Allman Brothers singing "Whipping Post" in IHOP, right? Alone again, but so much to be grateful for...so much to look forward to. Life is an adventure. What will I see today?
My grandma always cooked rhubarb and served it as a sauce...sort of like applesauce. There was always a covered dish in the fridge with this sweet-tart, pale pink nectar of the gods. She had to swat me away from it or I would eat the whole thing.
I used to cook up rhubarb when my father-in-law would bring us a mess of it. At dinner last night, my older daughter told us she often came home and there would be two buckets full of rhubarb on her porch and she knew Pop had been there.
Isn't it always the way? You dink around in the weeks leading up to a trip, sometimes actively trying to find things to do. Then the last three or four days are crazy. We had to juggle some things around this weekend in order to accommodate Big's swim meet so the place to cut corners in time was my stay in the mountains. I came back last night at nearly midnight so I was too whupped to write my usually essay. Go out and enjoy a perfect day and we'll catch up tomorrow morning, k?
Remember these? Everyone had them on their porches and in front of their trailers. What treasures they are. We never owned any, but I remember hot summer nights when we were visiting people. We'd come outside after supper and sit in the dark on the porch, hoping to catch a cool breeze. A tall glass of sweet tea sat sweating in a puddle on the matching table beside you. The metal felt cool on your bare legs. Some were made with springs to allow you to rock...well, more like bounce, really.
I moved to Glenwood Springs in 1986. At that time, there were two stop lights and if it took five minutes to get across town, it was a high traffic day. I-70 was being constructed through Glenwood Canyon...the last section of a highway that bisects North America from east to west. It is the most expensive stretch of interstate in the country with tunnels and flying bridges that have westbound traffic on top of the eastbound lanes. There are frequent rockfalls in the canyon, some of which close it down completely for days. John Denver protested the building of the interstate through the canyon, not only for aesthetic purposes, but also for the environmental impact. He postulated that the canyon was too narrow to accommodate a four lane highway and said he could prove it by throwing a silver dollar from one bank to the other. Legend has it, it took him several tries but he finally achieved the feat. To no avail, however. Nothing impedes the progress of an interstate.
I close my eyes and see her. Fresh faced, a light dusting of freckles from the summer sun splashing across the bridge of her nose...the nose she got from her grandmother's side. Her innocent blue eyes and ready smile were endearing. Her long legs gave her the appearance of a filly gamboling about with the abandon of youth. Her skin was firm and smooth without blemish. Her hair long and sleek, one side carelessly tucked behind her ear as an afterthought. Her arms crossed her chest in an attempt to hide the budding breasts tucked in her stretchy training bra. She knew the touch of men long before it was appropriate. She felt shame, even though it wasn't her doing. She didn't know how to fill up the space that was "her". Her lips felt the first brush of gloss in her vain attempt at growing up. She lay in bed at night under a thin sheet, the hard-shelled beetles tap-tap-tapping on the ceiling, the heat bringing beads of sweat to her upper lip. She was beautiful in her plainness. She was graceful in her awkwardness. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to be free.
The thermometer at the bank read 102° as I pulled into Delta. The sharp glare of the late July sun glinted off the glass of the passing cars creating a kaleidoscope on the walls of the tired storefronts. A group of brown-haired children played in the dusty lot near an old antique store, their skin the color of beechnuts from countless hours of summer fun. I adjusted the radio and "Old Black Dodge" by Sean Rowe came on. I looked up from the dial and something caught my eye.
I drove to Ridgway yesterday to visit my good friends Linda and Jim. I met Linda on FB two years ago through a mutual friend. She grew up kind of across the river from me. We both graduated in '71 so there's a ton of common ground.
My friends have company so guess where I got to sleep? Their little 14' camper out behind the house! OMGosh! This is so reminiscent of Little TOW-Wanda. What a treat! That really brought back memories. What an amazing journey those three months were as I traveled the back roads and wilderness of Colorado. It seems like forever ago.
Hotter than blue blazes yesterday so Little and I escaped to the high country. Redstone, Colorado is an old mining town. There's a castle there. Formerly known as Cleveholm Manor, Redstone Castle is a treasure. The mansion was built by a coal baron for his East Coast city wife or she wouldn't join him in this wild and wooly land. Nowadays, Redstone Castle can be rented out for special events and tours are given regularly. I went to a party there once that was quite memorable.
