Happy Birthday Roe!

May 24th, 2004. It was a sunny, Florida morning when we met for the first time. Six and a half years later, you're even more beautiful and timeless than ever, both inside and out.  We have shared a life, a home, laughter, tears, smiles, love, and heartbreak throughout this journey together.  You have been my rock, my cheerleader, my partner, my confidante, my everything...  Regardless of where our seperate roads lead us now, there will never be another more perfect, more beautiful you. There will never be another Roe. I am a better person for having you in my life and I am grateful for knowing you everyday.  So, today I celebrate your birthday for selfish reasons.  I can't imagine my world without you in it.  Happy, Beautiful, Birthday to an amazing woman, amazing human being, an amazing friend.  I love you. 

Morning Rant and Snowflake Reflections

Snow flurries are dancing outside my window this morning.  Little swirly patterns move weightlessly through the air like a feathery ice capades performance and I've got a front row seat with a hot cup of tea.  The moment they touch the earth, Mother absorbs the little dancers into her bosom with warm applause and readies them for another show.  This looking glass of mine has revealed many a wonderous scene in the short time that I've been here.  Just yesterday, a chance glance revealed a lone coyote in his glorious gold and gray coat sauntering by with a mission only he was aware of.  I tried to grab my camera to capture the proof, but he disappeared as quickly as he had come.  What is it about human nature that implores us to "capture" things we find beautiful...whether it be in pictures, paintings, on tethers or in horrific cages..or even other people.  We are creatures obsessed with posessing and I do not hold myself guiltless of such.  Even now, I am mezmorized by these tiny white miracles flitting about outside my window and I am compelled to "catch" one and hold it as if it were a willing participant in my need for a closer look. Perhaps this sense of entitlement boils up from our own personal void as a species unable to resist the beauty in the free, unowned, unbridled and in our sadism we kill that which we struggle to become ourselves.  Beautiful. Free. Unowned. Unbridled.  We fumble in our own irony...as we perpetuate our obsession to hold beauty, become beauty, the chains around us grow ever tighter, our spaces more confined, and our freedom a distant mirage. 
Today, I will bask merely in the presence of my surroundings, these dancing snowflakes, the coyotes in the forest, and the Mother who envelopes us all...and I will find peace in owning my breath, my health, and my gratitude for her perfection.

Homies, Vertical Vomit, and Breakdancing 50 year olds.

10:30 came early this morning. Withold judgement at my Sunday slumber, please.  One does not need to be present at any religious establishment that wreaks of little old ladies recklessly doused with Ode 'de Tafetta and singing hymns off key for Jesus to be present.  I'm quite certain he and I were communicating directly this morning when "God! It's freaking cold in here!" fumbled from my chapped lips. Before my squinted eyes had opened to survey the view from underneath Mt. Blanket that I crawled into at 4 a.m., I had already dialed in a prayer request for the pellet stove to spontaneously light itself.  I'm also sure that my gratitutde for having been the designated driver last night (resulting in non-hangoverism) succesfully navigated the heavenly lines of communication.  Jesus and I are alright on this blustery day of rest here in my little cabin.  We're homies for sure.  Speaking of homies... last night was an incredibly entertaining evening complete with spontaneous, vertical vomiting, hearing impairment and mis-interpretations, word associations and upper lip smiling.  Ahh yes, a night on the town with my friends both new and old...

After a fabulous dinner the four of us headed to a small, local establishment in which the displays of dance to the dj's turntables could only be deemed as "art" (thanks to my closest 'homey' for appropriately dubbing it as such).  I do believe the 50's something, mohawk wearing, misguidedly confident woman in the canary yellow t-shirt doing something that was meant to resemble break dancing had jaws dropping left and right...most likely out of concern as opposed to envy over her 'sweet moves'.  I know at least half a dozen people had their phones poised for the 911 call we were certain would be needed.  One of my newest friends of the evening, made sure the shots and beer kept flowing at a steady pace for everyone (myself excluded).  Yeager Bombs, Kamikazi's, Guiness, etc., etc., ...mix that with the champagne from dinner and you've got the perfect recipe for spontaneous spewage. Yep.  It all happened so quickly.  No warning.  One minute he was conversating and then in mid sentence he was unsuccesfully covering his mouth, I was pushing Kate out of the way, and a running blur of a vomiting, gay man whisked past all of us toward the restroom.  We stood in silence for a moment and looked at one another with non-verbal confirmation of what just took place.  Much self restraint was employed in order to not follow suit simply by way of weird gutteral reciprocation. Kindof like a yawn only way more gross.  I held it together though and our lovely host returned glossy eyed but all signs of puke removed.  Another shot? Of course they did, lol.  We decided some fresh air on the patio was just what the doctor ordered and it was here that I entertained my friends with the art of smiling only with your upper lip.  Aghast at my freakish talent, they were overtaken by laughter and sincere frustration at not being able to mimmick my upper lip's contortionist abilities.  Much like you and your frustration right now at trying to figure out what the hell I'm talking about while making bizarre facial gestures.  If you're going to try it though, you have to do it in front of a mirror.  Let me know how it works out for ya. 

Having grown tired of this particular watering hole, we agreed it was time to make our presence known at a larger more 'clubby', sophisticated establishment in which our own sweet dance moves would have ample onlookers and an audience worthy of our own onlooking.  The steady thump of the speakers promised an array of visual displays set to its tribal beat. Like the rest of the lemmings in search of a 'good time' we funneled through the doors, eagerly extended our hand for the stamp, and sauntered in with eyes agape in order to take it all in.  Skinny boys in speedos and shirtless men with god-like physiques mingled through the crowd and displayed their rhythmic prowess atop boxes specifically designated for them to entertain us. Gorgeous women filled the dance floors and those too shy to join in hugged the side lines like they were at the 50 yard line of a championship football game.  It was enough to have made my mother blush. God bless her.  (See, there He is again.)  I love you Dolores! I do. I really mean that, mom. So much so that I have a special ringtone on my phone for you that yells "Dolores is calling" in the most obnoxious Jersey accent I could muster.  It makes me giggle when you call. :)  I digress....

It took all but 5 minutes before another round of shots were had and we hit the dance floor.  The syncopated techno tracks were the ideal platform to bust out moves like 'the robot' and 'the sprinkler'. I was a hit.  I'm not shy about it.  I grew tired of the attention however, and I regrouped with my crew at the bar.  It was then that the dj brought the 'goods' through the speakers and the house started jumping and gyrating to a mix of both old and new hip hop and rock and roll.  The perfect scenario for me to turn my innocent water bottle into a virtual, roaming microphone for the girls doing bad karaoke versions of club classics like " I love rock and roll" and Usher's OMG.  I was like Dick Clark, before the stroke.  They loved me.  

Ahhh... good times, good times.  I could go on and on about the evening and the need to communicate via hand signals due to the loss of hearing in the club.  All I can say is word associations is a fantastic way to get to know even your closest friends better. And if someone says "would it bother her?" and you hear "Did you win the lotto?" and "Did you date a model?", if some strange valet attendant touches your hair, and crazy=socks in your mailbox...you know it's going to be a fabulous evening.
Cheers to my friends both new and old :)

What's In Youuuuuur Cabin Cupboard?

Good morning world :) A chipper 41 degrees here in my office on this fine mountain day has put some pep in my step.  I do believe it might precipitate in some fashion judging by the ominous clouds.  It's been a minute since my last post.  I was dangling somewhere between bronchitis/smoke inhalation/pneumonia for a few days but I think I'm on the mend.  A steady medicine-martini of Thera-Flu, Nyquil, Mucinex, Excedrin, beer, hot tea, and Halls cough drops has either created a stupor of false well being or it has truly given my coughing, sneezing, stuffy head a one-two punch.  A genuine shout-out of endless thanks must be given to my good and faithful family and friends for bestowing upon me care packages that resembled a Walmart/Trader Joe's explosion in my living room. It was an early Christmas of survival-esque like items that truly reflected the imaginations of my caring loved ones.  I chuckled out loud as I rumaged through my gifts that revealed how dire they imagine my living situation to be.  Flannel sheets, toothpaste, rice-a-roni, ramen noodles, coffee, tea, more ramen noodles, chocolate, and boxes of pasta painted my floor in an array of colors and thoughtfullness. A few items however stand out as winning "most creative" in regards to the in depth thought that was given to what it must be like living alone, unemployed, in a somewhat desolate, freezing area of Colorado, in a cabin of questionable structural soundness, where either losing my mind, being snowed-in indefinitely, or becoming the foraging snack of a roaming bear or mountain lion is a very likely possibility.  I adore their forward thinking on these matters.  Anybody else might have just sent the norms, like peanut butter and toilet paper.  I, however, am blessed with geniuses in the mountain care package assemblers department.  As can be seen in the attached picture, I am fully equipped with coloring books and crayons should I feel the need for artistic expression. Don't let the elementary appearance fool you.  Coloring pictures of puppies is very stimulating.  In fact, I was even provided with scissors and tape should I decide to cut my fine artwork out and display it proudly.  Either that or I can put myself out of my own mind jilted misery with this orange handled weapon of mercy.  Should I change my mind afterwards, the tape will suffice in sealing any self inflicted wounds.  A brand new pack of gel roller pens should I be in need of scribing a letter or farewell note is proudly sitting in my pen holder. In addition, (one of my favorites) I received a small rectangular box precisely the right size for a single serving cup of one of those Motts applesauces, although I think it was the generic brand, coupled with a bag of bagels and a loving note that only a mother could write. Also included in my aresenal of mental exercises is a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle and my all time personal favorite.... a bag of mints lest I should offend myself with cabin induced death breath while flitting around my abode hanging my above mentioned artwork and muttering nonsense brought on by... 'the fever'. 

These well thought out essentials were bestowed upon me by the two most important women in my life whom know me better than perhaps even myself...my mom and Sue.  For as much as one could interpret my rants about these items as sarcastic, nothing could be further from the truth.  Were it not for them knowing the intricacies of my brain, I perhaps would be longing for these items.  Because, in fact, I have already perused my coloring books in search of my imminent Picasso, I have examined my puzzle and decided where it will hang, and I have leisurely consumed a mint or two throughout my day (as well as the two Hershey's kisses that were hiding amongst them).  In addition, I have been oversupplied with foodstuffs by not only Sue and my mom, but also my dear friends Cally and Abby. 

As the picture depicts, one can see that I am fully stocked with enough Ramen, pasta, beans, oatmeal, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, peanut butter and jelly for a full winter hibernation should I indeed find myself snowed-in or incapable of societal interaction.  Were it not for these wonderful women in my life, I surely might just succumb to a wintery withering of unrecognizabe proportions.  My deepest thanks, ladies.  My heart, stomach, and artistic nature are all overflowing with gratitude.  :)

Bulbous Eggplant. Near Explosions. Thera-FLiquor.

A cozy, quiet area, with a fireplace and big comfy chairs.  Yet another reason why my heart belongs to Colorado...even the libraries accomodate the inner yearnings of this mountain dweller.  There's the most adorable little old man in a chair that dwarfs his frail, bundled up physique, but he seems to be sleeping soundly in spite of his body's ongoing conversation with Parkinsons. He looks peaceful.  He makes me ponder what his life was before he found himself being warmed by the fire here at the Jefferson County Library.  I believe I will keep him company here for awhile, even if he is unaware.  It's day four here in my new hometown of Evergreen.  At some point in the night, my trusty little space heater decided she too was tired and shut down for the evening.  My sleep position of choice was that of me stuffed into my sleeping bag like the filling of a twinkie, revealing only my eyes so that I might watch the dvd's I rented.  The small, pink, 70's style living room chair held my frame easily enough as became apparent this morning when I awoke in ball formation at the very bottom of my comfy, purple REI bag. To an outsider observing the scene, I might have looked like an oddly shaped eggplant sporting a bulbous shape at the end.  Clearly my internal thermostat must have dialed my subconscious due to the space heater's revolt and demanded I form some kind of spherical shape in order to preserve vital organs from the bitter cold.  All the windows in the house are still open in an attempt to exorcise the demon smoke caused by the pellet stove debacle on Monday night.  The remnant smell of charred air still burns my throat a bit and I wonder how long it will linger. A tipped over, empty mason jar that provided me with the bitter cinnamon flavored Thera-Flu last night was conveniently located at my feet and was more than willing to offer the same service again this morning.  A near encounter with an exploding raspberry muffin in the microwave helped to sober me from my fuzzy state of sleepy.  I saved it just in time. After a mere fifteen minutes it stopped smoking and reached an edible temp to nicely accompany my medicianl elixer posing as cinnamon tea.  I'm a bit feverish, a bit cough-ish, and the mirror has seen me look better, but I'm happy none-the-less.  Even fighting off flu-like/pellet stove symptoms is better in Colorado.  Today I will explore, look for employment, and revel in the yellow and greens of the Aspens.  Maybe I'll see some more Moose today.  I think I'll stop at the liquor store on my way home...perhaps Thera-Fliquor will be just the potion to rid me of these body aches.

Fireplace Imposters and an Evening in Hotel Honda

It’s the first snowfall this morning in my magical Colorado…at least here at approximately 9,200 feet, anyway.   The snow capped mountains in the distance speak of a winter wonderland having taken her leisurely time at sharing the white gold with those of us at more humble altitudes.  The snowflakes are big and plump from feasting on the buffet of moisture on their way down to the aspens standing on their tiptoes in anticipation.  It’s a chilly 38 degrees.  Just cold enough to inspire a sincere appreciation for fleece in multiple layers regardless of the restricted articulation of multiple joints and the necessity for adequate time allotment to disrobe when nature calls.  The pitter patter on the glass and the jolting trickle of frigid rain down my face was a fitting wake-up call this morning to bring last night’s events crashing into my fuzzy, smoke filled consciousness.   In the truest sense of ‘this is all a test’, Monday night falls perfectly in-line with the humorous and ironic series of happenings over the last few months of my existence.

Pellet stoves are a unique little invention in the world of mountain home heating.  Instead of the traditional, cave man style of burning logs for warmth, these plug in, temperature controlled contraptions are fed helpings of ‘pellets’ that truly resemble rabbit food.  In theory, this method provides a more efficient and less labor intensive method of heating homes purposely located in regions where freezing to death is possible.  Excited to fill my new place with the quintessential mountain ambiance, I carefully followed the instructions of pellet feeding and the use of a starter log to initiate the ‘roughing it’ experience.  With disproportionate pride over my success at making artificial fire, and being entranced at the orange, blue and green flames that only modern chemicals can produce, I mentally pounded my chest and sauntered off to unpack my overstuffed suitcases.  I believe the shriek of the smoke detector and my sudden inability to breathe coincided perfectly with my realization that regardless of living at this elevation, dark clouds should form outside the home, not in it.  In hindsight, I probably should have employed the lessons learned in all those annoying elementary fire drills.  I instead, however, donned my proverbial suit of frantic action and most likely resembled a Charlie Chaplin-esque character as I ran to and fro in no particular direction with hands flailing.  Muttering expletives in between inhalations of the smoke now billowing from the belly of this pellet eating beast, I managed to open every window and door before returning to the stove with absolutely no idea what to do next.  Realizing that I must put the fire out, I opened the door of the stove and was frozen in horror as the burning starter log rolled out onto the wood floor.  Smoke quickly became the primary content of my lungs while I jumped up and down on flames as if I were the tribal chief of fire walkers with a minor in salsa dancing.  The Charlie Chaplin routine commenced yet again as I frantically searched for my water jug only to return finding that the open door of the stove provided a new found source of oxygen for flames to join the billowing smoke.  Thanks to the graceful exit of the starter log when all this began, the door couldn’t be shut due to pieces stuck in the door jamb.  In MacGuyver like fashion, I realized that only a Chinese Wok could solve this mounting emergency.  Armed with the smallest shovel ever invented and said Wok, I scooped the evil starter log into the metal bowl, cleared the door jamb, shut the door of this asshole posing as a fireplace, and doused it all with my water jug.   Having far exceeded the allowable consumption of pellet stove smoke, I retreated to the cold, pitch black, night air with my Wok carrying the evil dead log.  After several minutes of breathing in clean air, I made several trips in and out setting up fans, donning multiple layers of socks, pants, and shirts, and grabbing my sleeping bag and blankets for an evening in Hotel Honda.  There is much to be said about the versatility of a 1990 Honda Civic and I am grateful for her ability to serve as a place to slumber offering protection from the elements and mishaps.  Even if the door doesn’t quite seal tight enough to have kept out the rain this morning, I still love her.  And even more, I love where I am… both mentally and geographically.  I can’t imagine any other place I’d rather almost die of third degree smoke inhalation, be teeth chattering cold, and wake up to the most beautiful snow fall ever.  So with no source of heat other than a 9x9 space heater for awhile, I will love my life no less…just a bit chillier. Good Morning, Colorado.  It’s a beautiful day J

Rocky Mountain High

This morning I am dancing on the inside...ok and maybe a little on the outside. It's like this little bubbly song that blew in with the dawn rain causes involuntary smiles and a lighthearted step. The chilly mountain air is a fresh breath of 'welcome home' that I've been waiting for longer than I realized and I do believe I've embraced the realization with a death grip that will be hard pressed to come undone.  I'm even excited about going to the DMV as if a driver's license will solidify my place here and no one can tell me I have a return flight to catch.  She's an addiction, this Colorado of mine.  One of both tangible and intangible perfections, my mistress and perhaps my muse, she is my home on levels much deeper than brick, mortar, and driveway.  She is my safe harbor and my peace of mind. Breathing never felt so easy. 

We Now Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

My apologies for the obnoxiously long dawdle in my own tide pool of indecision and heartache.  Rest assured however, all is well.  In fact, things are beyond well.  My current state of affairs are pleasantly residing somewhere between incredibly opitimal and categorically perfect.  There are only a few things that could catapult things beyond this euphoric state into mind blowing status.  In truth, I'm merely biding the time for them coming to pass.  Call it over confidence, call it dangerously optimistic, call it what you will, but I'll call it like I see it...and I see it just beautifully.    I'll spare you the details of the past few months that painted a whirlwind of events onto a jagged canvas resembling my life. Quite frankly the details and all the bruises that they left are rather unimportant. There's a reason life is full of 'growing pains' and I'm grateful in spite of the emotional stretch marks.  Stepping outside of any narcissistic notions that I experienced any of these emotions alone, I can't even begin to express adequate gratitude for the people in my life that held me up when I was falling, dried my eyes when the tears were blinding, and held my heart in their hands as I stumbled through the maze of mirrors.  And for those whom I may have inadvertently hurt along the way...I'm sorry.  Truly. 
May I remember the lessons learned and be a greater servant to those I love and to those I have yet to meet as a result.