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Another glad to be back post for you! We saw Dolly Parton at Red Rocks on Wesdnesday, rolling along home at 1:15 in the AM Thursday morning, a late, late, late night for this pair who is usually in bed before ten.

Hoot and holler was it worth it! I got an awesome hat! I got to see a concert at Red Rocks, the first in twenty-one years. Though I thought it was Pearl Jam we last saw before remembering it was actually Lyle Lovett on the day Jerry Garcia died. He soulfully sang Friend of the Devil to wild applause as his first song, and it made a deep impression, just not a chronological one.

Like much of the past seven months since our return, it brought a whole host of memories streaming back, hanging out with friends, waiting for the music to start, watching wild lightning, getting dumped on, burning in the heat. The shows, of course, the shows! My very first was INXS, in 1986, fifteen years old, thinking I was so cool. Then all the bands: Big Head Todd and the Monsters, the Doobie Brothers, Sinead O’Connor, The Sugarcubes, New Order, P.I.L., Harry Connick Jr., Pearl Jam, and that Lyle Lovett show, too. All of them like it weren’t no thang, when, dammit, it’s Red Rocks – the greatest concert venue in the world! Beautiful, magical, insert a million top-shelf adjectives. Oh, yes.

And then there was Dolly. My goodness, Dolly Parton, seventy years old and kicking ass on the concert stage! Her heart and mind, warm, open, and funny, telling stories. No other band, just her small troupe of fellas that have been with her forever. She played a saxophone, strummed guitar and banjo, picked a dulcimer, blew the harmonica, and tickled the ivories – so many instruments! Her voice the best instrument of all, clear and beautiful and fine. The woman is a national treasure.

For a long time now, the hubster and I haven’t bought each other gifts. We’ve got the love of our dreams and the life we want, so it seemed unnecessary. Until. Until we bought this house and have been working almost every single day for thirteen weeks to fix it up. Knowing that we have about thirteen more. Having that giant dumpster in the back yard for more than two months, big time stinky smelly from a laborer tossing something other than construction waste in it, something oh-so FOUL. Hoping for favorable winds so we could open a window or take a break out back. Yeah, blech.

And then the realization that our birthdays are our FORTY-FIFTH! As a good friend said, halfway to ninety. Holy shit. So we bought a telescope for our mutual delight at star gazing and imagining what if? We looked at Jupiter Wednesday night and three of its moons, Mars, too, from our own, sweet smelling, dumpster-free yard. The wonders of the universe and height of splendor, peeps, the absolute height!

And because I don’t have the attachment for my camera, YET, I snapped photos of my yard gazing while the hubster’s eye was on the sky. Good times, happy nights, and more to come!

Be well…



The two of us celebrated our anniversary, twenty-three years wed (huzzah!), with a very fancy dinner at The Broadmoor’s Penrose Room. I wore a beaded cardigan and a pearl ring that were once my Grandmother’s. He wore a jacket for the first time since New York city, circa 2004, when we saw A Raisin in the Sun. That time, I wore a snazzy dress and he wore the jacket, the pair of us alone and slightly defeated in a sea of shorts and t-shirts (this is not like Sex and the City!). Thankfully, our disappointment that we had so carefully carted such fancy duds from Portland to Manhattan was short lived because it was high summer, and beautiful, everything warm and aglow with night lights and neon. We strolled hand in hand back to SoHo and our rented apartment, everything New York quiet, the hush of a place that only nearly sleeps.

Friday night, not nearly as warm, but lovely still, with stunning views (oh my goodness, we live here!), was a bit of a dream. Every need considered, every taste bud tickled, amuse bouche, lobster bisque, lovely sweets, I even got a pillow for my back. We ate and giggled and laughed and ate and wondered and ate some more. We felt grateful, for all of our privilege, all that we have and can do.

Cut to my Sunday morning bath, the sharp contrast from Friday, me luxuriating in a tub without walls. Life is good!



My not-so-little brother joined a new team of fire fighters and our Grandpa had the honor of pinning his new badge. It’s taken an incredible amount of time, training, and dedication (and will continue to be), and I could not be more proud of him. And these pictures, such sweetness!

This photo is a double entendre. Rough, rocky, bumpy, crumbly as all get out. Our life at the moment. A wee glimpse: the one mostly working sink (the cold water doesn’t always turn off) in the house is in the basement bathroom. It is too small to put dishes in, so we fill cups with water to wash in a giant bowl in the shower that doesn’t work. The refrigerator is in the dining room, but our makeshift kitchen is in the guest room in the basement, so we have to cart everything down stairs and from our pantry in the laundry to make any semblance of a meal. Not all of our necessities are unpacked because we lack space, so I must improvise – glasses as bowls, paper as coasters and trivets, plates as lids. The window in the living room is boarded over until the new one gets installed later this week (we hope!). The plug nearest to the television is broken, so we have to snake an extension cord from the dining room and hope we don’t trip because there isn’t any light from the window being boarded over and the fact that there isn’t a fixture in the dining room (soon!).

But, getting to that double entendre, there IS light, too. The oak floors are refinished and positively beautiful. The bedroom is painted, and we have the luxury of sleeping there! After more than a month of having clothes in the basement and the garage (cold underpants!), they are all in the bedroom. My shoes are lovingly organized on a rack the hubster installed and not in a jumble on the floor. The hubster’s office, the absolute winner in the gross category, is painted. It took me three days of prep and two days of actual painting to get that job done, filling with spackle, I kid you not, more than a hundred nail holes, washing the walls, and covering some very disgusting stains with four coats of primer. The plumber comes tomorrow to install a basin in the laundry room and move the pipe for the sink under the soon-to-be window (also boarded up). The drywall gets installed at the end of the week. Fingers crossed for kitchen flooring the following Monday, then cabinets after that! A real kitchen! A fully functional sink! Stove and dishwasher to follow!

Oof, that’s a lot, but I could not be more grateful. I could be a refugee wondering about my next meal. I could be in a rotten marriage. I could be sick. But I’m not. I’m in a city filled with kind strangers and natural beauty of such exquisiteness that I shout near daily, “I live here!” I have the best man I know by my side. Life is good.

And fear not, I am taking lots of pictures and will share them when all is finished and looking lovely and fine.


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