No matter the distance, no matter the length of time that passes between each reunion, no matter how often you chat or you write, these relationships pick up right where they left off.
My VBGFs [very best girlfriends] are like that. These gals know when I am preoccupied by something before even I know I am preoccupied by something and they can read my mind upon the passing of the briefest of sideways glances.
They know my taste in men, in chocolate, in clothes, in activities, and in wine. They know how I live and how I learn and that I get freaked out by change, and that I like to pretend that I am hard-ass and that nothing bothers me, but in reality I am huge ninny when it comes to feeling sick, or sad, or scared, and that sometimes I just need a hug and someone to tell me that it’s all going to work out.
There’s no judgment, no drama, no ill-will, just a strong circle of love, of support, and of kindness.
Our reunions begin with squeals of glee and end with laughter in the memories we’ve made and excitement for the next time we get to spend a few unencumbered days basking in each other’s company.
I am so lucky to call them mine.
I’ve had a few memorable showers in my 29 and 3/4 quarters years.
I know, I know…what kind of statement is that anyway?
But hear me out.
I’m talking a shower where you turn the heat up as hot as you can stand it without feeling as though your skin is about to melt off your body.
I’m talking a shower that fills your bathroom with so much steam that it becomes difficult to take a deep breath; and in the very same moment, feeling the dirt, the grime, the sweat, the laughter, and the sand melt off your body and swirl around the drain, waving as though shouting gleefully, “until next time!”.
I’m talking a shower that leaves your skin pink with heat and the beginnings of a slight sunburn and memories from a weekend outside under the hot Rocky Mountain sun.
Now that’s a memorable shower.
Great Sand Dunes National Park, Taos NM, Zapata Falls, Lower Cataract Lake
We had our first thunderstorm of the season today.
Over the last month or so, we’ve had some “thunderstorms” sweep through the county, but each of those bouts of thunder and lightening were in the company of snow; needless to say I was surprised to see that this particular thunderstorm was accompanied by RAIN, not snow.
It didn’t last long, a mere 5 minutes or so, much like our typical summer afternoon rainstorm, but in those five minutes, I stopped what I was doing and sat quietly at my desk, office window cracked, and let the cool breeze blow over my bare arms, goose bumps prickling across my skin. I breathed in the scent of rain and listened to the thunder rumble over the mountaintops and realized that though I am thrilled to get a sneak peak of summer, the deluge of rain means our soft spring snow is going to melt faster, thereby bringing the ski season to a fast approaching end.
Sick, you say?
Perhaps, I say.
Though, that just means you haven’t yet had the opportunity to ski in bikini weather :)
I am a frequent visitor of a local coffee shop known as the Pourhouse. It’s the kind of place where you walk in and everyone knows your name, you can always count on getting the scoop on the local gossip, and perhaps take a moment to admire photos of the “sick lines” enjoyed by one of the barista’s during his most recent pow sesh.
This morning upon my arrival, I inquired as to the well-being of one of my favorite baristas, Dave. Due to previous conversations, I knew that he was planning on leaving the county for greener pastures and because I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, I assumed that he had already left.
I was shocked to learn that he had passed away last week; hit a tree while skiing at Breck and had died upon impact. I had heard about a death at Breck last week, but details had not been released and in the midst of end of season chaos, I had brushed the news off with little consideration.
It’s funny how the gravity of that consideration changes when you realize that you knew the person, not just knew, genuinely enjoyed the company of the person involved. Life is fragile thing and I guess when your time is up, your time is up.
Cheers Dave. Your happy, adventurous spirit will be missed. We’ll ski some sick lines in your honor this weekend.
There is a family of moose who have taken up residence in Summit Cove, specifically around Tally Ho Court.
A few times a day, Mama Moose takes her twins on a stroll, stopping occasionally to sample the local fare, namely Aspen trees and loose ground cover.
The twins, though new to ‘moosing’ and still working out the kinks of their spindly legs, follow along gamely; pausing every once in a while to observe the neighbors observing them.
You know what’s interesting?
My thinking spot in Chicago was a spot right on the lake; a little spot as far out on a little point of land as you could go without leaping into the icy depths of Lake Michigan. A spot way away from the noise of the road and hustle and bustle of the city.
Here, in the midst of the beauty and seclusion of our mountainous sentials, I still find myself reflecting on my life in a little spot right on the banks of Lake Dillon. It’s not always the most secluded or the quietest, but I still find myself seeking out the ebb and flow of the water and the wind.