I just spent a half hour writing a big long post about our return to Denver through the mountains after 40 years away, and pushing one wrong button, I have lost the whole story!!!! WORD PRESS, THIS IS A PROBLEM!!!!
What can I recover? Let’s see, I mentioned that we passed the same mountain meadow pond where 40 years ago, we had watched a beaver doing beaverish things while we waited on the road as the mountainside was being blasted away to build the very road we were now driving on–this all seems metaphorical and somehow reassuring that nature is still there. We had strange sensations as old familiar names started appearing–ones we hadn’t thought about in years, but each one bringing up visual anecdotes. Memory is such a bizarre thing! After a very long drive, we finally made it to Max & Dottie’s house (the picture above is from their porch, from which you can see a sliver of mountains) . A working-class neighborhood, not very interesting but safe enough, but for the sake of reasonable rent, they have decided to stick it out until they can buy a house–Denver prices are disappointingly high. They are still recuperating from a long, stressful move, Max has just finished his first week of teaching while having a cold, pregnant Dottie has been searching for a job (now succesfully–nice to have a profession where one actually gets multiple offers and can negotiate for higher pay!). We’re exhausted, they’re exhausted, but we’re all going to be fine.
We then had more blasts from the past, as we met with friends we hadn’t seen in 43 years–people who knew us when George & I first met at the University of Denver Library School–and spent an afternoon furiously chatting to catch up on our lives, and to recount silly old stories (like the time we made our first Thanksgiving dinner together, and got so drunk and stoned, we forgot to put in the turkey). We were then joined by other old friends, and were able to have these people meet for the first time–what fun!
Tomorrow we go up to Greeley to see George’s 89-year-old father who does nothing but smoke, smoke, smoke, and read. I must be patient and remember that this could be one of the last times we see him. Now we’re sitting in Max’s house, listening to the crickets and the cat eating his kibble. Off to bed!