Funny how easily you fall into old patterns.
The Godmother, The Godfather and I go back years. Decades. We go long periods of time and not seeing each other, then come together again as if it's only been hours since our last meeting.
With The Godmother feeling better, drugs in place, movement easier, a sense of she will beat all of what is ahead, we have slipped into our old ways....our usual places at the table set years before when they dated and she and I were roommates. The same places when we watch TV, only the chairs and sofa are different, and it's a much larger screen. We comment on the program, discuss the actors, bicker over what kind of pizza. Our voices rise and fall in the same patterns as years ago, familiar to us all, comfortable, soothing, especially now.
We shower in the same rotation, first her, then him, than me....each waiting for the bathrooms to be free. He and I have our coffee, she nags me to put the milk away, he and I share the paper, and discuss local news. The only change is there is my dog Sherman, is no longer here to nudge bowls to be filled...
Old stories are told, we laugh as hard now as when it happened. Some could be told here.. some are best told only to each other.
I walked to the local store yesterday, there since I lived here aeons ago, the same storekeeper in place. It's snowing, the dry flakes of the high country settling on my coat, on my Canal Street hat and gloves, on my Macy's coat. They move off the sidewalk with the movement of my passing, something that would never happen in the city. There, they would stick cold and wet to everything, making the day miserable. Here, they add to the beauty of the area, the crisp cold of the clean air, the mountains hidden behind this veil of white.
People are different... a sense of hippiness that hasn't left many... I call them 'hipnoids', they've not accepted that the 1960's are over.
You walk the Pearl Street Mall, where Boulder closed off the old main drag and created a pedestrian mall, where I used to hang out in my high school days, and what seems to be the same group of people still hang about in front of the Courthouse.. and when you walk past, you walk through a cloud of smoke that will let you be chipper for a bit.
You can't smoke cigarettes in Boulder, but, this is okay.
When I lived in this little community, north and east of Boulder so long ago, it was minute, now, it holds enormous, expensive homes. Godmother's house is small, exquisite... inside and out are a testimony to Godfather's craftsmanship with wood and carpentry. You feel immediately at home; comfortable, content, warm.
Today, we drove into Boulder proper, fighting the storm that has moved in, heavy flakes falling, building up on the roads, keeping the wipers busy on her car. Errands done, we head to the infamous Target store, and I keep her far from the picture frame aisle.
Her pain built, so, we came home... her to nap, me to shovel the driveway of the inches deep powder. Although it's not the wet stuff of New York, it still took a shovel to move the still coming down mass of white, inches on the drive, on the sidewalk... falling fast enough that it had coated everything after I'd cleared it off. By tomorrow morning, I'll have a few inches to shovel yet again.
I love the snow here, it crunches quietly when you walk on it... a lovely sound beneath your feet. When you walk around the downtown area, people are en masse, yet, there isn't the fast hustle of the city. I have to slow my feet, not just for The Godmother, but, to not walk up the back of those in front of me. Voices are soft in the snow muffled air... cars crunch by on the streets... it's soft, serene.
Now, I have seen Boulder in full swing, and even then, it's not sharp, jagged. It's unique. People here are on the edge of all that is New Age. I've always said people in L.A. are in training to move to Boulder. Mork would never have been noticed in this town, it's why they set the series here. You see students who drive cars that cost more than I've made in a year, and you see people who live in Nederland who still live in the same cabin they moved to in 1967... and still don't have running water.
She's settled on the sofa, the drive is shoveled, The Godfather is cooking one of his famous steaks on the grill along with some crab legs the size of his arm. I try and pretend the crabs have little peg legs to replace the ones we are eating... I feel better about it that way.
The snow falls faster, we are inside, surrounded by old wood, rich fabrics, and the laughter of old friends who complete each other's sentences.
Life can't get any better than this sometimes.