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On my mind…

I went to my first Superbowl party this weekend, the woman who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about football. It was fun and strange, me wearing a generic orange sweater in a room full of jerseys and true sports fan garb; people who know players and statistics and care about what is happening; people who, mid-sentence, punctuate conversations with long pauses so as not to miss an important play.  We ate and ate, guts busting with tasty vittles, a.k.a. edible provisions, ha! I saw that definition when making sure I had vittles spelled properly because my checker gives it the evil red underline.

The party was at my friends Amy and Don’s house. Amy and I were on the periphery of each other’s lives from middle school forward, and most recently excellent Facebook pals. And Don was one of my dearest friends in high school. We had a free period together and would beg off to some quiet place to read and talk and share secrets. I hadn’t seen him in…I don’t even remember any more, a long time. And it was true and lovely, the old cliche about picking up where we left off, the feeling of immediate comfort in the presence of a friend. I gave him big squeezy hugs to let him know. That’s what I’m about.

The offer on the house we like was accepted, so thank you for the positive thoughts! Since it’s not our first rodeo, we are cautiously optimistic and giddy-leaning, hoping there aren’t any awful surprises once the inspection draws the curtain back on Oz. If all goes well, we close on the 29th, F A S T! Not that it wouldn’t be wonderful. The past year has been such a strange one, with us bouncing around, filmy apparitions uncertain of who and what we are sometimes. How lovely it will be to feel grounded, to make a home, to cultivate a patch of land, practically from scratch. A couple nights since, I have kept myself up late, hatching plans in my head, this tile here, that plant there, everything minimal and clean and neat and nodding toward the southwest. Yeah, that’s it.

 

And a few things, just because:

Do you know about Blank on Blank? Wonderful interviews from famous people, once thought lost, the interviews, not the people, though some are technically lost via death. Anyhoo. They are generally short and wonderfully animated. My faves include Elliott Smith, Louis Armstrong, and Robin Williams, representing wonderful ends of the artistic spectrum.

I’m missing my favorite Pittsburgh massage therapist, Angie Miller, very much as of late. We were kindred spirits and always had a magical time during our sessions. If you’re local and in need, please do yourself a favor and go, go, go!

My friend Whitney Lowe is marveously talented with clay (that’s his work up there) and has a show at the Hatton Gallery at Colorado State. What great luck to get to see him and his beautiful pieces last week! You can see the show for a bit longer, however.

 

Direction

I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving – we must sail, sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

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Snow Day…

 

 

Snow falling this morning, and yesterday, and into tomorrow, too, inch upon inch, each flake a single lively presence, bouncing and skittering down my sleeve, loud enough to hear. More sounds, cars hissing, the scrape of a shovel, the squeak of boots, a goose honking, then three, the creak of their wings in flight. Full winter and the crow squawking, the kingfisher gunning for privacy but only finding me, again and again. The eagle is the quietest, its mere presence more thunderous than us all.

The hubster and I took our engagement photos in front of the miner, so many years ago. Next week will mark twenty-five years since our first date, him in his rugby shirt and me in the cream-colored rayon with the Indian head buttons, eating pizza at Old Chicago. A long time. The best time. And now, back in Colorado, falling in love all over again, with him, with blue sky, with mountains and plains, and snow.

We found a house that we like, a real fixer, small and brick, wood paneling and a fireplace in the basement, a yard aching for some love and care. Think good thoughts.

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The truth is humbling, terrifying, and often exhilarating. It blows the doors off the hinges and fills the world with fresh air.

Augusten Burroughs

 

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