Mountain Drive

Went for a drive with The Kid to Rocky Mountain National Park today. Admission was free because they're trying to boost local tourism. Aside from a screaming tantrum on Trail Ridge Road that scared the hell out of the marmots, we had a pleasant time. The Old Man works weekends, so he didn't come.

This is the view of Long's Peak from Highway 7, very close to my old district, where I used to work when I was a game warden. It reminded me how much fun it was to work outside half the time, and how much I miss the freedom of driving around in the mountains.

Here's Long's Peak. I heard from a crazy friend who hiked it that you have to start the hike at 2:00 or 3:00 am just to finish before the thunderstorms hit.

The last time I drove from Allenspark to Lyons I was in my work truck, pregnant. I'd have had my

shotgun

rifle

ticket book

statute books

zip ties

tool box

seizure tags

extra five gallons of gas

ATV ramps and

a winch.

I was probably coming home from a bear call. It might have been one of those nights when I was exhausted and almost falling asleep at the wheel. I was probably wondering how I would have a baby and be a game warden at the same time.

Driving through the mountains today reminded me of who I am, how hard I worked for my career goals, and made me miss the rather kick-ass wildlife law enforcement career.

The Kid in his carseat talked to himself about

excavators

big mountains

go that way now

and always about

Going On Bear Hunts.

Items littered the backseat in a radius around The Kid:

wet little socks soaked from the river

muddy shoes

crumbs from a bacon egg and cheese McMuffin

empty water bottles

inside out sweater

a pink sippy cup with tooth grooves on the lid

crumbs from Gold Fish Crackers and

a small blue blanket with gnawed edges.

I wouldn't trade the toddler gear for all the game warden gear in the world.

Synesthesian Sage

Dreams never have music in them, do they?
The park bench dream fills my head though, fills my ears, fills my muscle and bone with sounds.
No music; just insect purr.
I'm barefoot walking one of the two clear hardpan tracks of the dirt road.

The park bench is black curved metal.
Ten feet from the road through tall grass there's the smooth bench warm in the sun.
No music; just raven wings.
Vibrations pulse, press, beat from life teeming in the sky in the trees in the grass in the ground.

Dreams carry smells (memory joggers) in them.
Sage is the smell is the sound of this dream, the sage I've crushed under my bare feet, the sage my feet swing over while I'm on the park bench in the sun, waiting.
It's the music.
Music carries the body - have you ever noticed? - draws the breath, holds the breath, makes the heart beat in cacophonous riotous totally irreverent rythyms, changes your mood.

He sits by me; the birds sound louder.
His hand in mine is a sliding fingertip stroke on steel guitar strings, but he says nothing.
The air is deafening.
We couldn't talk if we wanted to over the din and the sage.

Quote

"I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life." Henry David Thoreau

Music and Motion

Mountains cast shadows
from foothills
to farmland
to me and my car radio.
Forty five miles per hour
one window down
wind and sideways sun
in my fingers in my hair.

Music and motion marry
drum beats
guitar strings
whistling warm air
memories and melodies
hum so loud
my skin my bones vibrate.

Time After Time
I Had a Good Time
Fade Into You
Pictures of You
All I Want is You
Only You
I'm Here Without You.

More Than a Feeling
Better As a Memory
Chasing Cars
Forever.

Stopping and Thinking in Moab

Here's a quote from High Fidelity, one of my favorite books, by Nick Hornby:

It seems to me that if you place music (and books, probably, and films, and plays, and anything that makes you feel) at the center of your being, then you can't afford to sort out your love life, start to think of it as the finished product. You've got to pick at it, keep it alive and in turmoil, you've got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you're compelled to start all over again. Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship.

And this one, from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, where Richard from Texas is telling Liz the way it is:

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so that you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful.

From Girl Power to Excavators

The Kid is obsessed with excavators. Apparently two going on three year olds have their obsessions too. Tonight when I was putting him to bed I asked him if he wanted to hear the "We're Going on a Bear Hunt" story. He said, "Excavator story." So I made one up. So here it is.

Once upon a time a little boy who lived in the yellow-blue-purple house neighborhood saw a BIG machine on his street.

It was yellow.
It was rumbly grumbly.
It had a long arm with a bucket.

The little boy walked down the street towards the BIG machine. He saw a puppy dog.

"Puppy dog, do you know the name of the BIG machine?"

The puppy dog drooled a little on the sidewalk. "I don't know, but the BIG machine is yellow, and I want to find out."

The little boy and the puppy dog walked down the street towards the BIG machine. They saw a kitty cat.

"Kitty cat, do you know the name of the BIG machine?"

The kitty cat sprawled on the sidewalk and did not look at them. "Yes, of course I do. But I'm not telling you."

"The machine is yellow," said the puppy dog.

"Of course it is," said the kitty cat. "Did you also know, slobber-face, that the machine is grumbly rumbly?"

The little boy and the puppy dog and the kitty cat walked down the street towards the BIG machine. They saw a little girl.

"Little girl, do you know the name of the BIG machine?"

The little girl kicked off her soccer cleats. "No, but it has a long arm with a big bucket. Let's get a closer look."

The little boy and the puppy dog and the kitty cat and the little girl with the bare feet walked down the street towards the BIG machine. They saw a tall man with a hard hat.

"Tall man, do you know the name of the BIG machine?" The little boy asked. "We know it is yellow, it is grumbly rumbly, and it has a long arm with a big bucket."

The tall man spread his arms high and said, "What is yellow and grumbly rumbly and has a long arm with a big bucket?"

The puppy dog drooled and the kitty cat swished her tail and the little girl squished a bug with her big toe and the little boy thought and thought. Then he knew! "It's an EXCAVATOR!"

"Right!" said the tall man. "The day is over and the excavator is done picking up dirt, picking up rocks, and picking up wood." The tall man put orange cones around the excavator and brushed the dirt off the metal bucket.

Just then, the little boy heard his mommy calling him for bedtime.

The tall man was sleepy.
The little girl was sleepy.
The kitty cat was sleepy.
The puppy dog was sleepy.
And the little boy was the sleepiest of all.

He ran home as the sun sank behind the mountains and the bicycles rolled into the garages, and he drank some milk, and he went to sleep.

Here's to Good Friends

I'm back from my trip and wanted to say thanks to my good friends who made the trip so meaningful. We had fun, we had long talks, we ate good food. I love you guys/gals.

Listen to "Where Everybody Knows your Name" the theme from Cheers, and you'll get the vibe I'm feeling.