Admiring

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I see, Rob. I see Rob.

Old pals.

Up early and and late, late, late. A delinquent blog poster. Yup. This was our super fun Saturday the 11th. Fluid day it was, waking to blue bird skies and thinking we would embark on a mountain view filled hike near Boulder, Juniper bedecked in a brand new backpack of her own. Sadly, the northern latitudes had ideas of their own, with a Portland style low ceiling of clouds, so much so that even the Flatirons were obscured from view. So we tramped around with the masses on the Pearl Street Mall instead and enjoyed some of the best tacos ever, at, wait for it – T/ACO. Mushroom, barbacoa, pork belly, and carnitas, oh my!

Juniper was a champion crowd doggie, wanting to make friends with everyone who made eye contact, human and canine alike, sniffing her heart out along Boulder Creek before heading to our next destination, my dear friend Rob’s fine photography on display at Bin 46 in Longmont (Go, go, go!). It was happy hour, and we acted appropriately, sipping a dry rose like it was summer, nibbling on some of the best burrata and wild trout spread. We enjoyed the art, of course, and best of all, the company, before wandering the streets of Longmont, decades since we had last and appreciating all of the changes. I must also add that we are now those people, on the patio on a chilly day so we can eat with our pooch. There are worse things.

p.s.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day and Happy Birthday to my Great Aunt Mary, who would have been 109 today!

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Beckon

The hubster was out of town last week, arriving home late Friday. Lucky man missed the raucous madness and gawped come the light of morning at all that had been done.

We spent the weekend catching up, with each other, with sleep, with lawn (ahem, dandelion) mowing, with errands, with food, with cuddles and quiet and loud-ass traffic. Life, basically. Good, sweet, delicious.

And this morning, these blossoms beckoned from across the street.

Nothing much and everything. All at once.

Happy Monday!

 

Nighttime

Nighttime walking, positively giddy with neon and gliding geese. Quiet and brisk, my hat pulled down over my ears, fingers laced with the hubster’s. Everything I don’t need to see is hidden, forgotten, mostly, save my worries and woes, which, thankfully, are few at the moment. Goodness, yes.

Our little brick house is one step closer to reality. We had inspections yesterday, by fine and thoroughly kind professionals and were grateful for good news and even excitement from our structural engineer (“One quarter inch of settling in sixty years – incredible!”) and celebrated with high-fives and me gasping, “I could hug you!”

So now, my head is full up with ideas I can rightly execute and thinking about contractors, plumbers, tilers, cabinet installers. Someone who will repair and sand the neglected floors. Another who builds fences, so I can spin like a dervish in the back yard with only the hubster and Google satellites to witness it. Excitement. Cabinet fronts! New windows! Light fixtures – sixteen on their way! This is happening, and we are not going to eke it out like Portland. Sixteen years of projects and paint will be done in rapid HGTV style, with us camped out in the basement, using a pink toilet and a sink short enough for elementary schoolers to delight in the oh-my-goodness-I-don’t-need-a-stool wonderment of it all.

And it was SEVENTY degrees outside when I wrote this. In February. Oh, Colorado!

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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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