Under a Red Roof

Oh, Brother!

May 29, 2012 in Drinking, Eating, Exploring, Loving by Colleen | Permalink

Hi there! I hope you are ready for a slew of Denver photos, peeps. Because they are a-comin’! Starting with a Friday afternoon adventure downtown and over the bridge, with my handsome brothers, walking, talking, lauging, and smiling.

I used to work in the tall building, the Republic Plaza, up above that second black line, on the 36th floor, with stellar views of the city and Front Range. It was a mortgage company, and I was in college, a full-time student, worker bee, and romantic, dating a certain cutie-pie who I am now beyond proud to call the hubster.

On the Sixteenth Street Mall with that fine contrast of old and new.

The piano player had a sweet voice and a light touch on the keys. I tipped her and got a dazzling smile.

A glass elevator with no Chocolate Factory in sight. Too bad.

We are headed just to the left of the church, to a place I spotted on my way to Grandma’s house, roaming the streets in my thumping-bass rental car.

I love architecture and bridges!

Everyone is reaching for the sky

And happy for sunshine.

The Platte River

The sculpture looks like a giant pile of intestines, but is cool, nonetheless.

Live wire, eek!

We’re all fine now.

Horsing around.

Finally made it.

The Colorado flag whips and snaps,

over a small French Bistrot,

Z. Cuisine.

Aaron tries the absinthe.

Chris is not so sure.

I am, however. Gimme! Gimme!

Sneaky sister.

I love my brothers!

…

Happy, happy 19th wedding anniversary to me and the hubster! I still get giddy when I think about us, truth be told. Our bright-as-a-penny love, better than just about anything good (kittens!) and sparkly (stars!) and fine (whiskey!). Yup, yup.

Tags: Denver, Traveling

Alchemy

May 8, 2012 in Exploring, Friendship, Loving by Colleen | Permalink

Hello Tuesday –

A fine beginning to a day. The most welcome spring light shining through the window and a still life of one little boy’s investigation of the smallest of shells and my jewelry. He picked up each and every one, absolutely delighting in the tininess made BIG, the sum and the parts manifesting through a lens to his brown-ish eye. “Your eye is brown-ish, too, Colleen. Greg’s eye is blue.”

I like that he said brown-ish at the ripe age of four, that he can see the nuance, that there is green and some yellow in there, too. I like that he can speak his mind with me, sharing what makes him nervous (big kids watching him go down the slide) and happy (sitting next to me during dinner, sweet sigh) and sad (his friend when he is mean). I like that I can be my goofiest, cavorting around the yard and house, in my usual way, with him in on it, making up stories during long piggy-back rides while I sing to Radiohead. The gorgeous alchemy of two happy souls moving in tandem before he rests his head on my lap and drifts off to sleep. Another play-date and sleepover for the record books.

The G-Man

May 1, 2012 in Loving, Making by Colleen | Permalink

May day! May day! The first time I heard any variation of that expression was on the Hardy Boys Mysteries on TV as a kid. Man, did I love that show, and Parker Stevenson. He was pretty good eye candy, drove a cool van, and was super smart! Oh dear, what a TV baby I was. The handsome G-Man was, too, though we didn’t watch the same shows. Until meeting him, I grudgingly watched any sort of Star Trek (only liking when Spock was on screen), for instance. Now, I quote it, “Earl Grey, hot,” and “Make it so, Number One,” while wishing for a Holodeck in the basement, among other things. Love holds very mysterious powers, my friends, indeed.

And love him, I do. How could I not? He likes art and picked out the Suitcase painting! He looks good in glasses! He builds sheds! He is a computer genius! He is good with children (a fun sleepover with our little friend last night) and cats and people, with a particular fondness for a petite sassafras named Colleen Sohn. Lucky, lucky me.

Live and In-Person

April 13, 2012 in Exploring, Listening, Loving, Traveling by Colleen | Permalink

Remember me telling you that we bought tickets to Radiohead?

Well, goll-ee, if it didn’t seem like ages ago and impossibly far in the future. But the date arrived, and we drove to Seattle for an overnight adventure to see one of the greatest bands of all time. You can disagree with me if you like, but I shall cover my ears while uttering, “La la la la…”

We’re just north of Boeing Field here, in Georgetown, a cool little enclave that is home to the tasty Calamity Jane’s restaurant, top photo, and across the street from the old stock house building. At said restaurant, you can get a side of Cheetos! Toss my every intention of eating somewhat healthy out the window during lunch because, damn it, I’m gonna have a delicious grilled ham and cheese with a side of these. I’m gonna smile and laugh and enjoy it, too.

Then I’m gonna walk it off, while taking scores of pictures, of course, because that is what I do.

The hat and boot, which is actually part of a pair, though not a matched one, are ginormous!

We’re in Fremont now, enjoying sunny skies before the show. The huge vent was blowing ever so powerfully, and I took it all in, becoming a light pole swallower in the process. I’m sure stranger things have happened.

Man, do I love bridges. This is the Fremont.

My favorite work of art. Wearing aviator glasses. Gulp.

The George Washington/Aurora Bridge that is infamous for other reasons, as well. Call it what you like.

“The TV baby shot me.”

Hello tall buildings!

A very fine view.

At the show, we sat next to another couple our age, the woman and I bonding over the weight of it without uttering the words. We saw it in each other’s eyes.

Afterward, and before my giddiness wore off, we sat on the hotel patio, enjoying the light and the cool evening air. Of course, we discussed everything Radiohead.

Like how the lights and general atmosphere were the best we’d ever seen, but the bass sometimes drowned everything out and made our bones rattle. How Thom and I are the same kind of dancers, and how his voice is just as good live. How tall Ed is. How we loved watching Jonny playing the lemon shaker and the piano with his guitar lying in his lap. He can play anything, even in pain. And how I cried when they played “How to Disappear Completely.” I was just so damn happy to be there, with my best friend in the world, watching and listening.

The next morning we went to the market.

Being a Tuesday, there was hardly anyone about, which was kind of nice.

Maren, we saw your hum-bao guy after we bought our piroshky. A smoked salmon, a beef, and the cardamom-cinnamon twist. Bread-y, dough-y heaven.

On our way home again. This could be an album cover.

“Glasses and Seatbelts.”

Sunshine AND bridges!

A link to more Radiohead goodness. You never know when you’re gonna need a fix, unless you’re me, of course. That would be daily.

Everything in its right place, indeed.

Tags: Seattle

Not Young

April 4, 2012 in Feeling, Loving by Colleen | Permalink

Sometimes I cannot help but feel the heaviness of impermanence. Like I’m carrying a bowling ball, but if I dare set it down, even for a moment, to rest my arms and soul, that I will lose something precious. Irretrievable. It takes all my courage to go on, to breath it in, let it go, and move forward.

The cats, at seventeen and thirteen, are not young. Paris has cloudy eyes and has now started to limp a little when she walks. Milo’s had an occasional gimp for several years. They are going to die. So are you, me, and everyone we know. One fine day. Just let the cats go before I do, for I fear their ways will not get them far in the company of others. They are ours. We are theirs. We understand each other.

A friend of mine has breast cancer. Such heavy words. Another friend had it last year. My neck has a muscle knotted so damn tightly that sometimes I think will snap at the slightest movement. Signs of transiency and frailty. My body, despite all it can do, is not young. My hair is turning grey. I wear bifocals. My cheeks and knees are sagging. It’s only going to keep going. I hope for a long time. I hope at least until my novel is published, kissed those lips again, looked into those eyes, hugged that beautiful soul, seen the summer blue of the sky. But we never really know, do we? What will our last moment be? Happy, I hope, near to grace and all that is fine.

Embrace the everlasting that vanishes with the tide. Watch Paris sit on my lap like a granny and Milo step lightly, helping me put sheets on the bed. Read this sentence and feel gratitude, for this breath, for rainbows in the evening sky (arriba!), for friends near and far, for love, for this moment that is all we have.