I spent a lot of time today absorbing the indescribable beauty out of the window on the passenger side of my car today. (But naturally, being the verbose masochist I am, I will try to describe the view despite the odds of success.) The sky was an intense blue over the thick blanket of new snow, and the air was clear for miles and miles. I, like many of the people around here who didn't live in Colorado since birth, was stunned anew by the realization that I get to see these sights any time I want. Like the reaction I had a couple weeks ago, when I looked up across the Lowe's parking lot, to see Long's Peak in a ray of sunshine against an overcast sky, I noticed that the view was gorgeous, even while we were parked in the industrial area by the recyclables drop-off dumpsters. Once we were out on the highway, the landscape was even more breathtaking. I wanted to pull over the car, so I could properly frame photographs of the pastoral perfection, but the air was cold, the spray from cars on the wet roads would have made me filthy, and I had places to be. Even pictures from a speeding car were decent today, so I settled for those.
We spent the day in Boulder, taking care of a mix of fun and business. I still needed to have blood drawn, and the next closest lab covered by my insurance was down there. (I sure hope that insurance does indeed cover all of this, because the bill for the gajillion tests my doctor ordered would come to over three thousand freaking dollars if not. Please, insurance, pay the bill. Just a nominal copay, right?) I ended up dumping out fourteen vials of blood, and as explanation, know that usually my limit is about four before I end up needing to sleep the entire rest of the day. I do not donate blood because I don't react well to bloodletting, and I have tiny, deep, shitty veins that like to roll, collapse and dry up. I did the math. If you assume that a vial holds around a tablespoon of blood, maybe slightly more for the big ones, then you're looking at about seven or eight fluid ounces of blood, or roughly one cup. Needless to say, I refused to drive, and I insisted on eating a big, healthy lunch.
One of my favorite things about going to Boulder is that no matter how you're dressed, or how weird the people in your group might be, you are guaranteed to pass someone weirder and more outrageously dressed than you are. Between my brother-in-law's office and the 100% gluten free restaurant that is frequently the setting for Stay Out of My Namaste Space quotes, we saw our pure Boulder creature. We made it almost half a block before we started whispering between ourselves, "Did you see..." "I really couldn't figure out what that outfit was supposed to be..." I don't know how to describe this woman, other than she appeared to have been abducted back to the Middle Ages, where some cruel court jester dressed her in a striped leather skull cap and a hooded cloth coat. How apropos that our next stop was Shine, where the Mr can never stop giggling and teasing the waiters about the specialty beverages with a rose quartz "infusion." Get over it, Mr S-P. That beer was good, wasn't it? I can say I enjoyed my "three laughing monks" potion, that tasted deep and spicy and gingery. And it was sure nice not wondering whether my lunch was going to cause problems for me later in the week. Whether they can prove their magical claims in scientific terms or not, eating at that restaurant makes me feel pretty good by the time I leave it. I'll put up with a little voodoo to have some fun and good food.
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