All Grown Up
It was another wonderful Grammy day, with the smell of fall in the air and a crisp chill that made wandering the neighborhood pleasant. Petra and I were getting ready to head out, but she had to get “everything she needed” first.
Everything she needed included some new lip gloss I had just given her, two bottles of sparkly nail polish and a tiny stuffed unicorn. All of which she put in her black Gucci bag, a gift from the Universe several years ago. She slung her bag over her shoulder like any fine woman would do, and we headed out for a day of errands in the neighborhood.
She decided to take her pink tricycle, so she slung her bag over the seat and off we went. We headed to the park first, where we watched the squirrels going crazy over the hundreds of fallen acorns on the ground. We searched for treasure in the sand, as we always do, and found three silver beads, a popsicle stick and an empty Corona bottle, which we filled up repeatedly and moved sand from one side of the park to the other.
It was nearing time for me to catch my bus, so we headed to Family Dollar to get a treat. Petra stopped her bike, declaring she saw a “treasure.” She picked up a discarded scratch off lottery ticket, which had shiny green dollar signs on it. She asked me to put it in her bag, so I did and we went along our way.
We arrived at the shopping strip and Petra noticed a bike rack with a bike chained to it.
“Let’s park here.” She declared, maneuvering her tricycle into position. She dismounted, grabbed her purse, hiked it up on her shoulder and into the store we went. She chose sour gummy worms and I grabbed a carton of coffee. We reached the check stand and Petra tugged on my shirt.
“I’ll pay for this Grammy.” She said.
“Oh. Okay. Do you have money in there?” I asked, as she started opening her purse. By this time the cashier had rung up our order and given me a total. I was curious to see what she pulled out of her purse, as was the cashier. I slipped him the necessary cash on the counter, while Petra was digging for her money.
“Yes. I have money.” Just like every woman in a check out line, she rooted through her purse until she found what she was looking for.
“Here you go” She said, quite pleased with herself, as she pulled out the discarded lottery ticket and proudly handed it to the cashier.
The cashier and I both looked at each other and smiled. The ticket did have dollar signs on it.
“Well thank you,” He said to Petra, who was beaming up at him. Then he grabbed a few pennies and reached down to her. “Here you go ma’am, here’s your change.” She took her change and dropped them in her purse, then strutted out of the store like any fine woman who had just completed a shopping spree.
Blasted! How embarassing
Today was a perfect day in every way. I was enjoying the incredible Colorado sunshine, with temperatures hitting above 70. The sky was clear, with a smattering of fluffy clouds, and I had been incredibly productive with my morning. I had filed stories, done some paperwork, cleaned up around the donation center, and had finished my lunchtime errands with time to spare.
I was driving up Hampden on my way back to the office with the windows rolled down. The cool breeze was blowing my hair around, and I just got a nice haircut a few days ago so I was enjoying the hair blowing more than usual. I was feeling great and lookin’ hot, and to make things even better, the Pina Colada song came on. Actually, it’s a 1979 song by Rupert Holmes called Escape, but most people refer to it as the Pina Colada song because of its lyrics “If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain…”
One of my favorite songs, it brings tears to my eyes then makes my heart swell every time I hear it, which isn’t often. I turned the radio up so I could hear and sing along with the lyrics as I cruised along. I wasn’t disappointed when I hit a red light, it gave me that much more time to listen to the song. I pulled to a stop alongside a garbage truck, and saw that the driver was getting back in his truck, after stepping down to give the homeless guy on the curb some change. The garbage truck didn’t have doors, and I thought he must be lucky to get to enjoy so much fresh air on a beautiful day.
Life was good as I sat waiting for the light to turn, halfway through the Pina Colada song. But then, I suddenly heard the sound of loud, thumping rap music. And it was coming from the garbage truck. Immediately offended, I considered rolling my window up, when I realized, the garbage man was “blasting” me. He was doing to me what I had thought of doing hundreds of times whenever a young “Punk” pulled up alongside me with his music blasting, having absolutely no consideration for me or anyone else and forcing us to listen to their horrible music. He was overriding my music with his own.
Aw Crap. I was now the “punk.” Only I was blasting sappy, 1970’s love songs for everyone else on the road to hear. I nonchalantly reached over and turned my music down, then, without making eye contact, slowly rolled my window up and waited for the light to change.
Brilliance vs. Insanity
We spent an awesome weekend in Breckenridge checking out the Budweiser International Snow Sculpting Festival. Artists from around the world came to carve huge blocks of packed snow into intricate sculptures, each depicting a theme or message. Robert’s favorite was “Bolting From Extinction,” which featured a life-sized elephant head on top of a bolt. My favorite was “Love Wins,” which included an angry fist being stopped by the palm of a hand. The results really were amazing, and I couldn’t help but wonder how someone came upon the particular gift of ice carving. It took dedication, and an ability to work in freezing temperatures.
After viewing the sculptures we headed across Main Street to see something called Fire Sculptures. We needn’t have worried about getting lost, as we were guided by 12 foot flames shooting into the sky. As we approached the square where the displays were, curiosity, then awe set in. The sculptures were made of huge metal pieces, including one that resembled organ pipes. Children stepped up to play the organ, and with each stroke of the keys flames shot straight up out of the pipes into the night sky. Another was a round, hula-hoop looking tube that spun within another hoop, again children took the controls and spun the exhibit, triggering bursts of flames at each turn. The effect against the night sky, along with the very cold temperatures, was mesmerizing, and we muscled our way through the crowd to get a better look.
The third sculpture resembled a large metal spider, with long legs spread out to steady the huge steel ball in the center. Inside the ball was another, smaller ball, and the balls spun simultaneously, with fire deep in the belly of both balls. As they spun faster, the flames morphed and whipped into amazing shapes, and the legs trembled under the weight and force. I couldn’t imagine how someone would even think up such a contraption, then wondered what it would be like to have that thought in your head. Did you see it in a dream? Did you add to it each day? Was the need to build this thing in your head all-consuming? I figured it must be an artist thing. I knew nothing of the artist who created this, but I did know it had to have taken a lot of time and a lot of money to build. Which made me ponder. This was an incredible art display, but what about the person with the same vision in his head, but no money to build it? Were some of the “crazy” people wandering around downtown Denver collecting metal simply trying to bring their own visualization to life? Was their brilliance being confused with insanity? Perhaps money is the fine line between the two.
The Super Host of the Bike Trails
FROM THE TRAIL…
I have done an excellent job of riding my bicycle everywhere I go. I think I have used a transit pass once in the last week. Of course there’s the perceived dedication to minimizing my carbon footprint, caring for the environment and all that, which are perfectly good side-effects of bike riding. But truthfully I’m in it for the cost savings and the biker’s butt. I have acquired the look of a Colorado biker—padded spandex shorts, white logo’d T-shirt, a kid’s helmet that fits just right, and my recent addition of a bell, used for ringing to alert those in front of you of your presence. I ring it a lot just because the sound of it makes me happy.
There are other side-effects however, mainly mental and emotional. Each morning I have a moment of initial debate with myself. I could sleep in another 45 minutes, it might rain, it might be too hot, or, worst of all, I would have to ride uphill in the early morning. Thankfully I have held fast and gotten on my bike, and am rewarded immediately when I hit the street and smell the fresh morning air, the wet dirt from sprinkled lawns, and hear the silence of the city in the early morning.
Spring also happens to be the time of year when all of the baby animals are running about, and they seem more active in the morning. Baby bunnies, curious and not old enough to be cautious, run into my path and stop, waiting for me to approach, before darting off into the bushes at the last possible second. Baby prairie dogs do the same thing, standing along the edge of the path to watch me, their mothers squeaking loudly for them to run away.
There are plenty of designated bike lanes on the roads, which I use when necessary, but given the chance I like to ride on the sidewalks through the historic neighborhoods, or along the parkways and river trails. The smells are constantly changing, and I often catch a whiff of what smells like honeysuckle, then lilacs, then cottonwood, and occasionally marijuana from a local grow house. My commute takes me about an hour, depending on whether I’m riding from my downtown home or my suburb home. I’m fully awake and energized by the time I arrive, and with the feeling that I’ve already had a special break for the day. Like stopping for a leisurely picnic in the shade. It’s good for my soul, and, did I mention, my butt is becoming phenomenal.
The negative side-effect of bike riding is other bikers. Motorists I must admit are mostly courteous and yield. Other cyclists, however, are jerks. They seem to be in a huge hurry, and apparently it is against their code of ethics to ever slow down, even when navigating a busy walkway. And, they never, ever use their bells. They expect pedestrians to yield to them, and I have seen many looks of fear on poor walkers out with their dogs as a cyclist races between them without ever slowing down.
I’m not that kind of biker, so I always make it a point to slow down when I’m approaching anyone on the path, either walking toward me or away from me. I ring my bell well in advance, and when they turn around to look I always greet them with a big smile and a “good morning.” They seem shocked that I would interact with them, but I always get a nice smile and greeting in return. I like to think I’m doing a little to offset the arrogance of other bikers. I’m like the super host of the bicycling path.
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Tabatha Deans 