Back in 1981ish I lived and worked in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It was dull for an 19 year old and I was motivated to seek out adventure or create my own.
One weekend my friend Patty Pickles and I felt like chocolate chip cookies, and rather than shop at the Cheyenne supermarket, we decided to drive to Denver on a cookie run. I had the cutest little 1979 Mazda RX7... with little flip up lights.
Before leaving, Patty and I cut shapes out of heavy black cardboard and duck taped our makeshift "eyelashes" onto the flip lights of the little car. We "fluttered our eyelashes" at everyone we passes all the way to Denver and back with our back of Chips Ahoy. Laughing all the while.
Another time we drove half way to Laramie very late at night to Vedauwoo (vee-dah-voo) which we had been told was an Indian word for "place where the spirits dwell."
Patty and I climbed to the top of the huge rounded granite boulders and spent the night sleeping on our backs with the massive, starry sky completely blanketing even our peripheral vision. We were so far out that even the modest lights of Cheyenne or Laramie couldn't be seen. Just blackness and more stars than I could ever have imagined.
I will forever have the view of that night sky vividly in my memory from the place where the spirits dwell.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Eco-Grass
I can see my neighbor peeking out of the very edge of his window, shaking his fist in a jealous rage as he spits "curse your damned eco-grass" through his clenched teeth.
Of course that's not at all true... I just have a vivid imagination. In truth, T is probably rolling his eyes at the big bald spots left all over my back yard as I continue to labor month after month to turn crabgrass into lawn. Sweating to convert what used to be a yard filled with coarse weeds into a lush cool climate meadow of tender, green mow-less grass. That's why they call it eco-grass.
In my mind's eye, our yard will be a carpet of soft bright green grass, bent over gently, blowing in the breeze. Instead we have patches of meadow surrounded by patches of dirt. I have read that it takes several seasons of over-seeding to fill in these dead spots. Although eventually we should end up with a lovely eco-lawn... no-mow and weed-resistant (so they say), T already has a beautiful green lush lawn.
While I'm out there with a sod cutter and a shovel manually ripping up the crabgrass in my free time over the past three summers, then scattering eco-grass seed with hopes and dreams, T just lays fresh sod every few years. He has a perfect, beautiful lawn.
But I can still see him peeking out the edge of his window shaking his fist with envy at my lush meadow of eco-grass... in my dreams at night... after I drop in bed dead tired and aching after another day of sod cutting, hauling, and seeding.
Of course that's not at all true... I just have a vivid imagination. In truth, T is probably rolling his eyes at the big bald spots left all over my back yard as I continue to labor month after month to turn crabgrass into lawn. Sweating to convert what used to be a yard filled with coarse weeds into a lush cool climate meadow of tender, green mow-less grass. That's why they call it eco-grass.
In my mind's eye, our yard will be a carpet of soft bright green grass, bent over gently, blowing in the breeze. Instead we have patches of meadow surrounded by patches of dirt. I have read that it takes several seasons of over-seeding to fill in these dead spots. Although eventually we should end up with a lovely eco-lawn... no-mow and weed-resistant (so they say), T already has a beautiful green lush lawn.
While I'm out there with a sod cutter and a shovel manually ripping up the crabgrass in my free time over the past three summers, then scattering eco-grass seed with hopes and dreams, T just lays fresh sod every few years. He has a perfect, beautiful lawn.
But I can still see him peeking out the edge of his window shaking his fist with envy at my lush meadow of eco-grass... in my dreams at night... after I drop in bed dead tired and aching after another day of sod cutting, hauling, and seeding.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Guess Who's Coming For Dinner?
Back when we were dating, M lived in a 20 story building overlooking the downtown skyline. We had three children between us, his charming 12 year old son, my imaginative 10 year old son and adorable 8 year old daughter, and we often had "family dates" at my suburban place or at his hi-rise apartment.
One weekend evening I was making blackened salmon for dinner, and I warned that the apartment would get smokey. M went out for a walk with the kids while I turned up the heat to sear the fish.
As was expected, the smoke alarm went off, so I opened the windows. I knew it take only a couple minutes until the smoke cleared out of the apartment and the smoke detector would stop. But it didn't stop.
Then I heard the sirens. Looking out the window, 19 floors down,I saw the hook and ladder truck pull up to the building. Several firemen loaded with gear made their way through the crowd of 40 or so people out standing on the lawn looking up toward the open apartment window. Our apartment smoke alarm had triggered a building-wide fire alarm that also automatically called the fire department. Before long came a knock on the door. The firemen couldn't reset the alarm or let the apartment residents back in until they saw the source of the smoke: my dinner.
The firemen clomped into the kitchen with their heavy boots and gear as I opened the lid on the pan to show off my pitiful little blackened salmon fillet. It looked like the firemen's eyes would pop out of their heads as they struggled to choke back their laughter.
M and the children made no such effort after they and our neighbors were allowed back in.
One weekend evening I was making blackened salmon for dinner, and I warned that the apartment would get smokey. M went out for a walk with the kids while I turned up the heat to sear the fish.
As was expected, the smoke alarm went off, so I opened the windows. I knew it take only a couple minutes until the smoke cleared out of the apartment and the smoke detector would stop. But it didn't stop.
Then I heard the sirens. Looking out the window, 19 floors down,I saw the hook and ladder truck pull up to the building. Several firemen loaded with gear made their way through the crowd of 40 or so people out standing on the lawn looking up toward the open apartment window. Our apartment smoke alarm had triggered a building-wide fire alarm that also automatically called the fire department. Before long came a knock on the door. The firemen couldn't reset the alarm or let the apartment residents back in until they saw the source of the smoke: my dinner.
The firemen clomped into the kitchen with their heavy boots and gear as I opened the lid on the pan to show off my pitiful little blackened salmon fillet. It looked like the firemen's eyes would pop out of their heads as they struggled to choke back their laughter.
M and the children made no such effort after they and our neighbors were allowed back in.
The Forecast Calls for Rain
Heading out for work, I obediently checked the weather forecast, which called for a chance of rain. It didn't look much like rain, but I was proud of myself for thinking ahead, and dutifully carried the umbrella up to my high rise office in downtown Minneapolis.
Heading home a few hours later, I felt especially bright for having remembered to check the weather earlier. It was pouring. Just outside the big glass doors, under the protective awning above the sidewalk, I popped up my umbrella.
People were walking along the sidewalk across the street from me, but oddly, none had umbrellas. No one was huddled over or rushing along as you would expect of people who were out in the pouring rain.
Then I realized, it wasn't even raining on the other side of the street! I looked with disbelief through the heavy downpour and observed pedestrians standing at the bus stop not twenty feet away, but there was no rain! Ever felt like you were caught in a Twilight Zone episode?
As I cautiously held my open umbrella overhead to protect me from the rain pouring all around the entrance of my office building, and stepped out from under the awning into the pouring rain. I walked with a creepy sense of unease toward the bus stop. The pounding raindrops on my umbrella slowed into a patter, then stopped, as I approached the bus stop. I lowered my umbrella and tapped it on the dry sidewalk to shake off the water.
I looked up. The rain was pouring down at the entrance of my office tower. Looking up, several stories above the entrance were the window washers, spraying the upper windows clean with a hose.
Heading home a few hours later, I felt especially bright for having remembered to check the weather earlier. It was pouring. Just outside the big glass doors, under the protective awning above the sidewalk, I popped up my umbrella.
People were walking along the sidewalk across the street from me, but oddly, none had umbrellas. No one was huddled over or rushing along as you would expect of people who were out in the pouring rain.
Then I realized, it wasn't even raining on the other side of the street! I looked with disbelief through the heavy downpour and observed pedestrians standing at the bus stop not twenty feet away, but there was no rain! Ever felt like you were caught in a Twilight Zone episode?
As I cautiously held my open umbrella overhead to protect me from the rain pouring all around the entrance of my office building, and stepped out from under the awning into the pouring rain. I walked with a creepy sense of unease toward the bus stop. The pounding raindrops on my umbrella slowed into a patter, then stopped, as I approached the bus stop. I lowered my umbrella and tapped it on the dry sidewalk to shake off the water.
I looked up. The rain was pouring down at the entrance of my office tower. Looking up, several stories above the entrance were the window washers, spraying the upper windows clean with a hose.
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