Returning to Earth

Inspirational song: When We Was Fab (George Harrison)

All good things must end, and it is now time to be back at the Park. The man and I are taking off out of Chicago, and hoping to avoid the bad weather in the northeast on the last leg of our trip. I enjoy being generally nomadic, but it is so hard to be away from my familiar spaces and all the adoring faces who live there. Maybe there is something to the man's idea of customizing our own big RV, and keeping the home with us when we go. I doubt the cats would think it is as cool as the dogs will, but when we are stopped at night, they will probably forgive me. The man pointed out, correctly, that the first time one of the cats tries to sneak out on their own, I'm going to lose my mind. That's why I say build in an airlock of sorts, so they would have to breach two lines of defense to find the great outdoors. I will do what it takes to keep them near me.

I would have loved to have seen the dogs' reaction to our encounter with nature yesterday morning. We woke early and drove into the first set of mountains to take pictures in the morning light. I got a few good ones on my little cell phone camera, and I am waiting for the man to share some of his with me. I wanted to try an experiment to see who could take the best shots of the exact same views. I have little expectation that I would win. On the way down to get the girls, driving along the westernmost edge of town, we passed a group of four mule deer grazing in a couple front lawns. They were awfully patient while we spun the car around so I could take their pictures. If either the red-headed dog or the professional eater dog had been with us, that would not have been nearly such a tranquil moment.

We have made it home now, and have been inspected by all the cats, and lectured by a few of them. My needy white cat stayed upstairs and glared from the shadows at me, just glowing red eyes of anger, until I ran something out to the trash can, and I came back to find her nose to the glass door, worried that I had run off again. I wish we could all stay together more often, us and the kids and the fur babies. I miss those days when we were all one unit. We had a lot of giggly moments on this trip, and it sure felt good to be laughing and teasing with the core family. I want to repeat some of the best lines of the trip, especially since the younger daughter was on fire this time around, but I'm afraid of ruining it all in the retelling. Suffice it to say that my trip was fabulous.

On the Hunt

Inspirational song: Video Killed the Radio Star (The Buggles)

I feel like I have been in a half dozen different worlds today. We saw six houses, and not a single one was remotely like the others. I've always thought of house shopping as a sport (and a spectator sport on television every bit as addictive as football or basketball), and I think we are rather talented at it. We have vision that a lot of people don't always tap into, looking past existing colors, floor treatments, walls, etc, for what each house could be if given enough love and attention. But the burden with having that sort of imagination, and a history of home improvement to back it up, means that we know just how much work and how much money a place requires. We might fantasize about blowing out walls and remodeling on a grand scale, but before we have locked up a potential house and climbed back into the realtor's car, we have added up the additional costs of each place, and judged them worthy or not of further consideration. It is very rare that houses we tour survive the initial rounds of elimination. Of the six today, one warranted further study, or at least keeping watch over it online, while we wait to see whether we are even moving this year.

The house I had been interested in before today is situated on an ideal lot. There is a meadow next to it, and the area is beautiful. But inside the place, the layout is strange. It claims to have been built in 1980, but I swear the intercom system in the house is at least ten years older than that. It looked like a house within a house, and while it was at the farthest reaches of our price range, it would have needed an additional fifty to sixty thousand dollars of work, just in materials. If it were to be the house we lived in the rest of our lives, maybe we would make that investment of time and money. But I doubt that this is really my forever house. 

We saw two late seventies era houses, neither of which even vaguely interested me. We saw a house in a gated community that was very nice inside, but could not have a back fence. The first time my little red-headed dog sighted a rabbit, he would be gone. We saw a flip with such rickety decking and stairs that I absolutely refused to enter it. It was at the top of a super steep driveway, with steep, crappy stairs into the house, in one of the snowiest regions on the entire front range. It didn't stand a chance. And the way they extended the deck on the front of the house was laughably unsafe. We stood under it and marveled at the improperly sistered joists, knowing that not a one of them would have passed inspection.

The house we did like was owned by a couple that could have been us in twenty years. They had interesting collections, including but not limited to a wall full of hot rod magazines to match the 1939 Mercury in the garage, and some antique radios. I swear, if I wrote an offer on this house, I would ask for at least one of the radios to stay. The big one reminded me of the gorgeous old radio that used to be in my great grandmother's apartment in Oklahoma, that my brother had for years, but left with a friend to store and never saw again. Somewhere in a box of my college memorabilia, I have the photos I took of that radio for photography class. I hope I can at least find those, even if I never see the real radio again.

The Infirmary

Inspirational song: Orange Crush (R.E.M.)

I really wanted to talk about my trip last night, but fatigue and the virus just got the better of me. I really have been having a good time, in between the forced sleeps. I love that pedicures are on the must-do list now for every trip to Colorado, and that my baby is right there with me for them. We both kicked off our shoes last night when we gathered with my in-laws, as much to show off our cute, freshly painted feet as for respecting my sister-in-law's carpeting. It was great to be with all the siblings last night. I feel that some barriers have dropped in the last few years, and we are all more relaxed in each other's company than I remembered from when I first married their much-younger brother. Don't ask me whether those barriers existed on their side or mine, I don't know. I do have a history of feeling awkward in social settings, so I won't try to duck out on my responsibility for this one. No matter what the origin, it seems to be fading into distant memory, and for that, I am grateful. I look forward to these nights now, rather than spin myself into knots wondering what things I will say and do that make me feel like I don't fit in.

I had an idea this morning that I would get up and make food to take with me to watch the Broncos play, but I am still not operating at 100%. I got up and dressed in good time, but I had barely finished my breakfast before I was falling asleep on the couch. For a while, I was aware of my man and my hosts speaking in full volume normal voices, but I could not have participated in the conversation if my life depended on it. I didn't return to earth until noon. No time to cook then; we had to dash to pick up the kids and head to the godmother's house. We wanted to watch the game from her father's house, but with me, the man, and her husband all fighting viruses, we decided to keep our nasty germs away from his vulnerable immune system, and the lot of us sat around her house instead, coughing and taking advils and feeling icky together. I said it was like watching sports in an infirmary. It was the best infirmary ever, but it was obvious that none of us were the young healthy kids we were when we all lived in the same house decades ago.

Tomorrow is going to be an exquisite kind of torture. We are meeting our realtor friend and looking through a handful of houses near where the man interviewed on Friday. So many variables have to fall in the ideal way for us to get a house down there (IF he is selected and IF we can sell our house in New Mexico and IF we can get a place there that we like, and so on...), but I have been watching this one house for over sixty days. I just want to walk through it, even if it sells out from under me before all my Ifs come true. I don't know whether to hope it is too ugly inside for me to want it, or whether I want it to be Smith Park West, waiting for me to come claim it. I just know that I have to see the inside of it, or I will never be at peace. Just a few more hours, and I will know some of its secrets. I can't wait.

Going Viral

Inspirational song: This Kid's Not Alright (Awolnation)

I can't think of a worse time to be sick. I have two weeks with the man, and he arrived with bronchitis, and the longer this week goes on, the worse my sore throat gets. It's fully into one ear, and flirting with the other. As of today, it's sinking into my chest. I couldn't get out of bed until almost eleven this morning, thinking seriously about foregoing the traditional pedicure with my daughter. (I dug deep and found the fortitude to do it, and I'm so glad I did. But it was a close thing.) My tail is still dragging. I had to skip hugging all the siblings at a family meal tonight, for fear of spreading disease, and I will do the same tomorrow with my dear friend who is allowing me to watch the Broncos game with her. Now it's late, and I'm more tired than ever. Forgive me for not waxing poetic. I care more for Advil than adverbs right now. 

Day Trip

Inspirational song: Hot For Teacher (Van Halen)

Today I saw a glimpse into my possible future, while holding up a mirror into my distant past, all during one short day trip. It's far too soon to know how likely the scenario is, so take all of the wistful dreaming with a grain of salt. 

Upwards of twenty years ago, when our children were tiny, or even when they only numbered one, we used to drive all over the area, several states' worth, in the man's rattly old Datsun that I named Rasputin (because no matter how badly it was injured, it just never died). We did a lot of camping with our friends, playing games in the woods and drinking around campfires at night. A lot of our trips took us down I-25, and as these were our salad years, I did a lot of daydreaming of a more prosperous future, in the passenger seat as we rolled down the highway. I had a fascination with a valley just north of Colorado Springs, that appeared to be a large ranch with just a few houses and working buildings, called Greenland. I had serious lottery fantasies of buying a big spread down there, and building my own big stone house, with nary a neighbor for miles. We used to talk about it a lot, enunciating the name exactly as Wallace Shawn did in the Princess Bride, "Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed, in Greenland?" Eventually I grew up, and outgrew the dream of a castle on a hill in Greenland, Colorado, but I never forgot it.

Today, we drove down that direction again, through that valley on the way to an in-person interview, a follow-up to a phone interview my man had several weeks ago. He is still in the running for an opportunity to be an instructor in his field of expertise, but the selection process was significantly delayed right before Christmas. We thought we would have an answer nearly a month ago, but now we may not know until February at the earliest, if I understand correctly. If it is offered, we would jump at the chance. How could we not? Not only would it mean getting back to our home state, within a couple hours of most of our friends and family, but it would be in an area where we could consider living a stone's throw from that valley in Greenland. On a clear day like today, that commute didn't seem so bad, but we really should attempt that drive with a little hint of the heavy snows that are common there, to know for sure whether it's feasible. I've been flirting with a house on Zillow for more than a month now (does that mean I'm having an online affair, cheating on my Park??), and today we drove slowly past it, but didn't go inside. We do have a realtor friend who could help us look, although it might just make it harder for me, since it's at the absolute top of our price range, with no room for error. And it's all speculation right now anyway. So many variables would have to align perfectly for us to end up there. I can't imagine it would hurt that badly to dream. They say to focus clearly on the things you really want, right?

Shoulder to Shoulder

Inspirational song: Cheeseburger In Paradise (Jimmy Buffet)

I have learned an important lesson today. Traveling with a sore throat that desperately wants to grow up to be an ear infection is just about the least fun way to fly. I've been on the ground for almost seven hours, and my right ear is still screeching and squeaking in the worst way. But I am happy to ignore the annoyance in my ear and throat, and to pretend that I'm not that soft-in-the-middle-aged woman who has trouble adjusting to altitude and can't keep up with the fast-walking hill climbers here. I am in my chosen home again, and I love it. It was a close thing, but we managed to get our luggage, acquire a rental car, and make it to Boulder in time to collect our daughters and find our seats at the events center before the introduction of the starting lineup of basketball players. My number one goal was met. Unfortunately, with the top player on the team freshly injured (as of Sunday), the kids couldn't pull out a win to make the night perfect. Can't have everything.

I've had a few "only in Colorado" moments already. We hadn't made it off the concourse at DIA before we passed a youngish man wearing a smart top, socks and dress shoes, and American flag boxers. We managed not to stare, but as soon as he was out of earshot, I said, "That looked like a dare." My man said he did sort of resemble Borat. And upon entering the events center, I was wanded (as in metal detector) by a classic Boulder resident, a kid who looked to be college age, who wore his dark blond hair in an elaborate coiffure of dreadlocks.

I am exhausted from travel, sports disappointment, a late dinner with the kids, and a cocktail made with bourbon and tinkerbell juice (I'd say pomegranate squeezings and about 30 teaspoons of sugar). I will have to save my witty observations for tomorrow, when I have a chance to remember what they actually are.

Dreaming Is Free

Inspirational song: A Space Oddity (David Bowie)

Today was not the day I expected. Not one bit of it went as planned, except possibly that I woke on time with my first alarm. It all went sideways from there. I hadn't even finished dressing when I got a text that our flight was canceled. After checking in with the airline, our choices were to wait a day, or spend five times as much on same-day tickets. So now we lost a day with the kids, and I can't guarantee now that we will arrive in time to make tipoff for the game I swore was all I wanted for Christmas. And we paid for a day of dog boarding we didn't end up needing. 

But not everything was a loss. We had a second chance to see the movie we missed the other night, the remake of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. It was worth the wait. I have lived with a dreamer and schemer for a quarter of a century. This movie was made for him. I'm not so sure it wasn't made ABOUT him. Visually, this was one of the most beautiful films I've seen in the last couple years. I wanted to watch it again, as soon as it was over, and I wanted a remote so I could freeze-frame and study the shots. But more than that, it followed the discussion we had days ago, that we wanted to take off in a converted bus to experience the world and capture it in photos. This was like an instructional video. This is our play book. 

We still had time for impulse after the flick, and the man decided to point the car vaguely west, and try to look for an historical display that he had heard about. The information on the Internet was sketchy, so when we arrived at the address for the museum we thought we wanted, it wasn't there. We found its new location, and walked through. The piece we sought wasn't on display, but the artifacts that were there were compelling in their own right. I had a few Walter Mitty moments of my own when I saw the clothing that was featured in a few displays. There were tiny little dresses worn by a senator's wife in the 1960s, wedding dresses from the turn of the last century, and a nightgown from the 1880s. The longer I stared at them up close, the more I could see the women who wore them, as if they were still living, breathing, and moving around. I swore I could feel emotions still attached to the wedding dresses (some hopeful, some anxious, and some smug, actually). Those feelings eventually chased me out of the room, feeling uncomfortable.

As we drove down the country roads, I played one of my favorite car games. I love seeing houses from earlier times, in various states of preservation, and I wonder what they were like at the time they were built. I love imagining the first residents marveling at their brand new homes, when everything in them was stylish and innovative. When all the siding was intact and freshly painted, when all the brick was clean with sharp corners. I wonder what it felt like inside. Was the insulation sufficient? Did it feel warm in the winter there? Were the summers unbearable? Did the windows open smoothly? Did the original electric outlets and wiring seem safe at the time? The houses zip by the car windows so fast, I don't get time to really study them. I have just enough time to get a flash of a dream of what they were like, and then it is on to the next one, or to miles more woods and wild, that does nothing to stop the day dreaming.