Remembering

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While we were in Denver, we did a lot of driving, a lot.  Normally, I get a little crabby when I have to be in the car so frequently, and for such great distances (Denver is a lesson in s-p-r-a-w-l), some places an hour from another while never leaving the metro area,  but this was worth it because we got to visit people we hadn’t seen in years.  There’s nothing like sitting with someone, gazing in their eyes, hearing their voice, smelling their familiar scent, watching their toes wiggle while they talk, so much better than an e-mail, a letter, or Christmas card, no matter how heartfelt.

I think that one of the surest signs of a great friendship is the ability to feel as though little time has passed since last meeting, even if it has been years, so easy is it to get into that comfortable space, the place that is home.  I am grateful that this is the case with all pictured here. I love you, guys!

 That’s me and Linda – you remember her.  We had a great time hanging out at her house with her cutie kids Allie and Hunter.  They are whip-smart, fun, and adorable, of course!  I love how they have all the cool toys I never had as a kid, like a cash register and a playhouse in the yard.  Boy, I can remember gazing wistfully at them in the Montgomery Ward catalogue – wouldn’t it be fun to play store in the playhouse?!  We also finally got to meet her husband Buzz – a handsome man with kindness to match, and a perfect fit for her.  Thanks, too for the refrigerator full of fun drinks and the hobo burgers, yum!

Say Hello to Chara, whom I met through my friend Whitney, and was later my boss at Williams-Sonoma (a pet peeve – It is Williams-Sonoma, not Williams and Sonoma.  Chuck Williams’ first store was in Sonoma, okay?)  Sorry, digression.  She’s now a nurse for teeny-tiny babies and the mother of triplets!  I wish I took a picture of them (so sweet and each their own person) and their dear papa, Matt. 

The four of us had grand times together – playing games, making each other dinner, sneaking a full bag of tortilla chips, cheese dip, and Twizzlers into the movies(*EDIT – Yesterday I almost wrote that we brought a roasted chicken, too, but thought, no, that’s too much, I must have dreamed that part, but no! The G-Man confirmed it)!   One of my fondest memories is of martinis at the Fourth Story Restaurant at the old Tattered Cover in Cherry Creek.  They had a nice jazz band, and we ate and talked and drank.  Well, at least they did.  I am not a big drinker, and Matt teased me because I still had a bit left in my glass when everyone else was working on their second or third.  “You want a to go cup for that honey?”  I laughed so hard that I spilled said drink all over myself and received even more ribbing from Matt.  Good times.

 

Hello Michael, Mary, and Jesuscito!  If I were a bit more organized, I would have scanned the picture we took of them in this same spot twelve years ago.  Their son Max was holding Crybaby Arthur the cat, and Gussie (the best crate-trained dog I’ve ever seen) was standing next to Mary.  Now Max is out on his own, learning all about grid power and the intricacies of bikes.  Arthur gave us one of his best cries, but, sadly, Gus’s crate is no longer in the dining room.  Soon enough there will be more changes, as Michael and Mary will be in their next home, a cool Mid-Century modern place in Littleton.  We can’t wait to see the pictures.

While living in Denver, we had great outings to thrift stores, various breakfast places in search of the best biscuits and gravy, and spent a special Thanksgiving in Santa Fe.  We stayed in adjoining rooms at the very cool El Rey Inn on Cerillos (the only place we stay when we go back), had killer burritos from the Burrito Company (still there and yummy good!), all while taking in the finest Sante Fe has to offer.  I was even mistaken for Max’s girlfriend while poor Gregory was back at the inn with a raging fever.  I probably look too old now.  Ahh, time.

 Andie Card!  Thanks to Linda helping me land a job at Amici’s, I met my dear Andie.  We bussed tables together on Friday nights and then drove around in her old Bug laughing our heads off at her driving skills, the odd behavior of customers, our co-workers (oy! a book could be written), and, of course, our selves.

Andie has the quick wit most of us can only aspire to.  Sometimes, she is on to the next joke before I even understood the last.  She makes me laugh, and then she makes me cry with laughter.  She’s also fiercely indepdent, strong, and one of the best people to have in your corner.  I’m glad she’s in mine. 

p.s. If you look in the reflection on the car you can see my legs there near the mirror, like a granny.  “Hey there honey, let me take a pho-to of you in that snazzy car!”

This is Rena, Jeff, and their adorable kitty, Jackie Chan.  Like Linda and Andie, I’ve known Jeff a long time.  We met in an incredibly boring Oceanography class my first semester of college – way back in 1989.  I think I had bangs then, and he had one of those long tails of hair down his back.  Once he cut it off, he grew facial hair and joked, “It transplanted itself up front.”  I liked Jeff right away because he would make fun of the professor using nutty voices, “Back at Woods Hole…” 

Rena came into the picture after we moved, but we became fast friends on visits.  She is the perfect complement to Jeff, smart, independent and funny in her own right – a fine couple.  They are a hoot to hang out with, know tons about geology (I’ve forgotten almost everything, I’m afraid), are great at games (I’ll post pictures of us playing the Wii another time), and just darn nice!

I feel so privileged to have so many wonderful friends!  Thank you all…

I have always loved New Mexico, great wondrous place that it is.  Due to it’s close proximity to Denver and family connections, it was a frequent vacation destination for my family.  It was also the destination of my first vacation with Gregory, before we were married, so it is quite the special place.  My Grandpa and Mom were both born there, and my Nana lived there until her death in 1988.  Nana lived in a great old adobe house near Old Town Albuquerque with hollyhocks growing in the yard.  She was a woman with a large presence, though I cannot recall if she was actually large. 

She sat in a chair in the front room, receiving guests like a queen, her oxygen tube protruding from her nose and snaking about the living room.  One time, my dad stepped on the tube while we were there, and she told him, rather non-chalantly, considering he’d just cut off her air, “Jim, you’re stepping on my snake.”   I looked around in terror, ready to run from this horrible creature that somehow sneaked into her home, before she laughed, and I realized it wasn’t really a snake.  It was just Nana, being herself.   It was this kind of behavior that both frightened me and delighted me. 

On another occasion, when I was visiting with my grandparents and my cousin, Stephanie, I was cheerfully playing in the living room while she was holding court with my grandparents.  She suddenly asked me why I wasn’t playing outside.  I looked out the window and noticed it had started to rain, one of those great afternoon storms, and said as much.  She proceeded to call me a pansy (one of her favorite flowers) and tell me that a little water wouldn’t hurt me.  Perhaps cut from the came cloth as she, I stuck to my guns and stayed inside.  Now, on occasions where the rain is warm like that day, I go outside, arms wide, and spin, raindrops falling on my cheeks and tongue, and say, “Hello Nana!”  

The whole of New Mexico is like my Nana for me, really, frightening and utterly delightful.  Frightening for the stormy weather, enormous clouds building and exploding with thunder, lightening, and giant raindrops that make me and the dusty earth quiver and dance.  Frightening for the hot sun that puckers my skin and dries the landscape.  Frightening for the wild animals, howling at night, or slithering along paths, looking for carrion, looking for me. 

Yet all that frightens me, delights me, too.   I love the giant thunderheads just before they break, the scent of ozone after an electrical storm, the moisture lying delicately on top of that dusty ground, soon to be only a memory.  I love the way that same hot sun browns my skin, lightens my hair, and my mood.  I love the adobe houses that dot the sun-baked hills, redolent with the scent of pinon and juniper, next to the brilliant blue of the sky.  I love watching the birds and rabbits dance with wild pleasure, searching for their next meal.  I love it all.

Goodness me!  All this and I haven’t even talked about the people or the food, both are wonderful.  I have found New Mexicans to be very open, deeply spiritual, and an extremely kind.  These pleasant attributes translate very well in the kitchen.  When we are in New Mexico, Gregory and I gorge on the local food, sometimes eating it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  We simply cannot get enough of the flavors: posole, beans, green chile, chile rellenos, tamales, enchiladas, burritos, sopapillias, oh my!  There are no two ways about it, this food is heaven on a plate.

The pictures, by the way are the Church of San Francisco, near the Plaza, in Santa Fe.  San Francisco is the patron saint of animals, birds, and the environment.   Legend has it that St. Francis, on his deathbed, thanked his donkey for carrying and helping him throughout his life, and his donkey wept.

The church is a beautiful place to take respite from shopping and wandering Santa Fe.  In particular, I enjoy walking the labyrinth in the courtyard.  There’s that sky I talked about, too.  No pictures of the food, though.  We gobbled it up!

RFK died forty years ago today.  Just like MLK, I was three years from being born.  Again, just like MLK, I think of him practically every day.  He both inspires me and reminds me of myself – a bit overzealous and eager to prove himself as a young person (have you ever seen him question Jimmy Hoffa?), but mellowing with age.  What might he have done with more time?  What will I do with mine?

He had a wonderful grace about him and magical way of inspiring even the most downtrodden.  I love watching footage of him interacting with crowds.  I am amazed at how people wanted so badly to touch him that he needed members of his staff to hold him about the waist, to keep him tethered, so to speak.  Otherwise, he would have disappeared into the throng there to see him.  He never seemed frightened or perturbed either, only eager to shake one more hand.  The footage I love most, however, is of him interacting with children – his own or perfect stangers.  There was no denying his love and concern for their welfare. 

 And then, there were his words.  Here are, in my opinion, a few of his most inspiring quotations.

“Few will have the greatness to bend history; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation … It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is thus shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

“Laws can embody standards; governments can enforce laws — but the final task is not a task for government. It is a task for each and every one of us. Every time we turn our heads the other way when we see the law flouted — when we tolerate what we know to be wrong — when we close our eyes and ears to the corrupt because we are too busy, or too frightened — when we fail to speak up and speak out — we strike a blow against freedom and decency and justice.”

 “What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness; but love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or they be black.” Indianapolis, Indiana, April 4, 1968 Announcing to the crowd that Martin Luther King had been assassinated.

“Fear not the path of truth for the lack of people walking on it.” From his last speech.

 

When I was a kid, and my dad or brother would buy a new album, they would play it over and over again, driving me nuts, wishing I could yell “fire!”, or turn off the power to get it to stop, but realizing that even if I did, the effect would last but a minute before the truth was discovered.  So, unless I wanted to go to the park, which, generally, I didn’t, there was no escaping it (until I bought my car – sweet freedom!).  The music came into my bedroom, the bathroom, upstairs, and even outside on warm days, as we Sohns are not shy about volume in voice or otherwise.  I was, as they say, surrounded, no choice but to surrender.

I just could not fathom why anyone would want to hear something, even if it was good, so many times.  All that repetition just made me crabby and desperate for industrial strength ear plugs. 

That was then.  Now I get it.  Thanks first to rediscovering Astral Weeks by Van Morrison about five years ago and to Sam Beam, of Iron and Wine, I really get it.

An aside for the G-Man.   When we lived in Denver, they would sometimes show the fans outside McNichols Arena (a.k.a. Big Mac – now gone) after a concert on a slow news night.  On one such night after Van played, a woman who had likely partaken of some illicit substance, screamed, “Van Morrison is pure love!”  As a result, neither one of us can say his name without adding that as well.  Good times. 

I am digressing.  I do that.  Anyhoo, I got a taste of the repetition with Mr. Pure Love, and then came to a full understanding with Iron and Wine.  This is rock steady, keep on wiggling in my chair, singing softly along kind of music.  I love to listen to Sam Beam’s gentle voice when Gregory and I play cards.  More often, as my friend Sarah will attest, this is sewing music.  It’s just so perfectly suited to stitching.

I put one cd on, and as soon as it is over, the next.  I can do this on a loop for hours, never ever growing tired, just stitching along, but often sitting in silent amazement when a disc is over.  How could that be?  Where did the time go?  Wasn’t I just singing “Sunset Soon Forgotten”?  Golly, that’s only the fourth song. 

With Van Morrison (pure love!) and Iron and Wine, it is like they whisper the lyrics in my ear, and while I hear them and whisper back, I dream of myself and my place within the songs, in fields, under trees, peering through a crack in the door.  What can I say?  Magic.

January 26, 1991.  What I thought was possibly the worst day of my life turned into the luckiest.  First, my car was literally blown off the road and into a ditch in a gale force wind on Highway 93 en route to Boulder, Colorado.  Second, I had to take a ride with strangers to actually get to Boulder, something I had never done before, nor have since.  I was terrified!   Are these people going to kill me?  Thankfully they didn’t.  Third, my sort-of boyfriend, upon my late arrival at my final destination of Fort Collins, instead of asking me if I was okay, demands, “Where’s my stuff?”  I had to leave it in my car that was in a ditch on the side of a road you #$&!  I would not speak to him again for another eight years.

Now that I had no plans to see the not-so-nice guy, I went to a hotel kegger with my friends.  There on the bed, I chatted with a very cute and sweet guy I had met once before.  When he got up to fill his beer, he asked me to save his seat.  I did.  We went out on our first date two weeks later, February 9, 1991.  Two years and a little over three months after that, we were married, May 29, 1993.  Today makes fifteen years – the absolute best of my life.

Sometimes, I can hardly believe it is true.   I look at him with amazement and pure joy every single day.  He’s with me!  He’s my absolute best friend, confidante, and partner in crime.  Our life together could not be more perfect, really it couldn’t.

Thank you wind, thank you strangers, thank you jerk!

I love you, Buddy.  Happy Anniversary!

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