I forget how beautiful Denver is.
You fly in, the Rockies breaking the skyline on one side, the flat plains leading out to Kansas (where there are bad writers) and the farmlands that grow winter wheat. I always look out that way, thinking of the wagon trains that came that way... how I'd have hated it, the long, long trek, dust in my hair, in my skin, in my clothes... the never ending walk West. Wondering when it would end, then coming face to face with the Rockies... soft foothills that rest against purple mountains capped with snow even in summer. Sheer rock cliffs, that you can see go on for hundreds of miles.
You've walked forever, given up your home, your family, perhaps a child along the way... suffered so much, to be faced with the Continental Divide.
Denver was founded for one reason; wives took one look and said, "Jack, I ain't moving. Let me know how that California thing works out, okay?"
I spent teen years in the Land of Coors and Boulder. I worked in Denver, Boulder, Loveland and Longmont. I've lived all up and down the Front Range... loving every town. I spent my summers working in tourist towns, and my winters skiing... back when ski passes were reasonable, and skis were 185cm at the shortest. It was a good time to be in this state.
My kids were born here, grew up here, three of them live here. My oldest and dearest friends live here, I worked with them, we saw each other get married, and have children. I've had my good times and bad, and I love this place.
It's changed, some of the art work is...um, odd. Sadly, I don't know how to move a photo from my phone to the blog, or I'd post the art of the pinto horse on the huge red chair that stands in front of the Denver Art Museum, something that so caught my fancy, I had MissH drive around the block in order for me to climb out and take a photo.
It would stand out, even in New York.
The hospital room was full of flowers, and held The Godmother, who decided with my presence, she was ready to come home. Shame, really... their menu was amazing. I felt a cough coming on, and told the nurse I felt I should be checked in.
We packed up her things, hobbled out the to car and drove the trek northward, her wan and pale as only she can do wan and pale, going to bed early. The Godfather and I ate and talked, I found myself restless, worried, and sending emails out...those kind you think..."Um, maybe I should have waited on that."
I spent the night on a fold out sofa, with one eye open....The Godmother was home, and even though ill, I know her penchant for scaring me in the middle of the night. Sure enough, this morning, a perkier woman greeted me, saying, "I heard you get up at 3AM, and was so tempted to stand outside the bathroom door and scare you...but, I was afraid I'd laugh so hard, I'd tear my stitches."
I'm glad she was thinking about her, and not the fact I'd have done my usual response perfected when we lived together, when I'd walk into the dark hallway, hear her say, "Well, hello there!" and fall over in pure fright, twitching and gibbering partial words, as I have in the past when she's done this particular trick.
I'm also glad she's feeling good enough to even think about torturing me.
Today, we head into Boulder, to see a doctor or two, I'll hit up Einstein's for their wonderful Holiday Blend coffee to bring home, and then I'll make her take a nap.
I'll take one, too... with my door locked.
You can't trust TheGodmother... you really can't.