Saturday on the Front Range

It’s a beautiful day in Boulder. There’s an art show of some sort downtown and it made for heavy traffic as I went west to find Hwy. 93. But the people all looked happy; kids in strollers, food booths, and people enjoying the sun. But I wasn’t stopping; I was on my way to the mountains, to Blackhawk, in fact.

This is the first time I’ve taken Hwy 93, which connects Boulder to the western edges of Arvada. It finally stops in Golden, right at the junction of Hwy. 6, about 18 miles south of UC Boulder. It doesn’t take long outside Boulder before you realize how close you are to the wide-open spaces, ranches and parking lots for trailheads.

I saw a small corral, populated by a lot of kids in cowboy hats; I think they were having a kiddie rodeo. Cows were grazing off to my right, in the green fields that form a sort of pretty foreground for the rocks that, at one time, heaved violently upward and became the flatirons. To my left, I could see the hazy outline of downtown Denver -- and even beyond that, eastward.

I saw a photographer setting-up a tripod next to an abandoned rock shanty of sorts – it was obvious she was going to use the shanty as foreground for the magnificent mountains jutting up about a half-mile west. I envied her; so far, I feel too insignificant and unable to adequately capture the mountains photographically. I think I have to understand them first.

That’s why I pay attention to the weather they make, how they look in the morning vs. how they look on the way home from work. I have to get to “know” these mountains because, since I’ve already declared that they are alive, I now have to know their “personalities.” It may take me a whole four seasons in their presence to understand them. And even then, I bet they will surprise me every now and then.

On south, a couple of miles north of Golden's city limits, developers are building. The houses seem so out of place in the midst of the rocks, the grazing pastures, the trees, few though they may be, budding. I can’t get over the style of homes that builders are building in the Denver-Boulder MSA, and these are no exception. All of the houses are at least two, and more often than not, three stories (and I’m not counting basements). The only rationale I can come up with is, aside from sheer habit, that it likely takes a two- or three-story home to offer potential buyers a mountain view.

My boss, who lives in Lafayette, just east of Boulder, says he has a lovely view of the mountains. But since I didn’t see them on the first floor of his home, it must be only upstairs that you can see the bare flatirons and the snowy peaks behind them…where Eldora, Winter Park and other ski areas are.

I turned right on Hwy. 6 and began the drive upward. The difference in elevation is about 3,000 feet from Boulder to Blackhawk and today, which is nearly 80 degrees on the flatlands, is 10 degrees colder at Blackhawk.

You go through three tunnels, punched through the mountains in the Clear Creek Canyon area, and the road basically follows the creek. In a number of places, you can see snowmelt, feeding the creek, and the creek is substantially fuller and wilder than when ER and I were in the same area about a month ago. Because of that, SUV's were all over the place, with people either loading or unloading their kayaks. Loads of people were just hiking, and there's one flat place where you can pull off that's right next to the creek. There, I saw families more so than the mountain athletes, and a boy was throwing rocks into the water.

I love the signs in Clear Creek Canyon along the road. Along with the expected “Watch for Falling Rocks” signs, are signs that say “Climb to Safety in Event of Flood.” First, the road that follows the creek is so windy that there’s no way you can watch for rocks; you just drive and hope that a rock won’t fall on you. Second, broken hip and knee surgeries aside, I bet I could climb like a crazy woman if caught in a flood there.

After the third tunnel (which have the appearance of being created during the WPA era – you know, there’s a certain look to WPA projects – drlobojo, you probably know if that’s the case), you come to a divide where you take Hwy. 119 to Blackhawk.

Blackhawk is just as it sounds, an Indian area, and also designated as a national Historic town, so a sign said. And of course, the center of interest in Blackhawk is Casino Heaven. Not just one, but many, many casinos and hotels. You’d think such a thing wouldn’t fit in with the mountains around them, but they seem to belong there. I went to Isle of Capri casino, spent a couple of hours there, and made the return trip, taking-in the opposite view of the one I had on the way up.

At Isle of Capri, I found a slot machine that was generous to me, over and over again. Bird can’t believe that I won’t just stick money I’ve won in my pocket and go home. My rule of thumb is a payout of $500 is the minimum for me to stick the money in my pocket and hightail out of there. You don’t want to make more than $600 on any one game, as you’ll have to fill our IRS forms.

But I enjoy the lights, the people, the sounds of the casino. Bird and ER don’t get the same kind of kick out of the casino environment that I do. And I don’t even know why I enjoy it. I just like going and winning enough to spend a good couple of hours hoping for a big one. No big one today, but I won enough money to play out for nearly two hours. Not bad.

I need to be getting a haircut or doing laundry and I’m doing neither. I so enjoy this little temporary spot where I’m living. I’m reading books that I’ve been intending to read, watching movies I love and making myself simple meals for one. I will be very glad, of course, when ER makes the decision to come, but in the meantime, I will continue enjoying living by myself for the first time in my life. Truly, it’s the first time.

There are so many things to take in here, it’s almost intimidating. How does one decide, among all the beautiful places, what one will do on a weekend? The good thing is, it’s not vacation, and I don’t have to hurry and take it all in as quickly as possible; I have the luxury of getting to know my mountains slowly…and that makes for a better relationship.

For years, the mountains here have talked to me. And I’m so happy to have the chance to answer them -- wherever they lead me.

Apollo 427

Dearest Apollo, you know I love you immensely. Fenway just had that dorky picture on my computer and I thought it was cute. I will put one of you on my blog today: There, isn't he cute, everyone. Backlit by the Christmas tree, in his Ho Ho Ho bandana. I love you, Apollo!

Not in a great mood today because I overslept by so much time, I actually woke up two hours after I was suppposed to be at work. I obviously sleep-walked and turned off my TWO alarm clocks this morning. My body has a mind of its own (which is really a funny statement, if you think about it). And if my body is tired, nothing in the world will wake me up. A sleep doctor in OK gave me medicine for what he called "Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder," and he said that my circadians were actually more like an adolescent's -- I like to think of it as my body operating on Hawaii's time zone. I don't like to take the medicine, and, in fact, I left it in OK because all it is is basically speed -- it's a drug they give to narcoleptics called Provigil and man,if you don't have insurance, you couldn't afford it, because the actual retail price of the danged drug is about $250 bucks for a month's supply. Still, I don't like it.

I now have three checkbooks as of yesterday, as well as three debit cards...one for my new Health Savings Account, which my EMPLOYER deposits enough money each year to cover the $2000 deductible so we have NO out of pocket costs for healthcare because, once we meet that deductible, everything is 100%. Having a plan like that for me is like taking my daddy to an all-you-can-eat buffet. They lose money on Daddy, they're gonna lose money on me. But how cool is that health plan?

I also now have a new checking account in Boulder and still the one in OK. Hooooly cow.

I had to go buy reading glasses last night. Old age beckons. I realized, once it got so bad I needed the glasses, that I've been reading with one eye for ages. I must had compensated. When I was trying to read last night, the right eye and the left eye weren't in sync...I'd see the lines in the book twice, one nearly on top of the other. I suspect that's more than just buying drug store glasses, so when I get the new insurance here, I'm off to the eye doctor.

So Apollo, I hope you like your picture. You are adorable in a much more regal way than your brother....Love, Dama

Regular Irregularity

I’ve had more than one person give me a little flack about not blogging regularly. I know that the best way to create an interactive blog is to make sure that you post something every day. The truth about the Boulder blog is this – the danged Ethernet cable in the place I’m staying is so short, I have to sit on a hard-backed chair at a table in order to access the Internet. I’ve been under that table trying to unhook the cable and install a longer one, but I can’t get the danged cable out of the box plugged into. So it’s that, plus the fact that work is busy, busy at the moment. I like this kind of busy, though. I show up at work and then look up and it’s time to go. The days go by very quickly!



The picture I post today is of my beloved Fenway – the picture was taken at Christmas, and you can probably see he’s behind a baby gate, locked in the hallway of my mom’s house. This is the picture that’s on my desk top right now, and every morning at work, his sweet, sad face (because he wasn’t getting to open presents with the rest of us) gives me a happy way to start the work day. I do looooove my grand-dogs.

One thing I’d like to do is disabuse you, if you’ve held such beliefs, that Boulder is some snobby place full of rich people. It’s not. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently, either. The people I’m around at work are, of course, absolutely wonderful people. But I interact with people in other places and it’s an awfully friendly environment.

Saturday, I did a little shopping, not leaving the Boulder MSA to go to some of the bigger shopping areas that are pretty new between here and Denver. I stayed right here. And the “mood” of Boulder on a Saturday is just very peaceful. No one is in a hurry, and that sense of having all the time in the world washed over me and I was so relaxed.

And even though I’ve spent a lot of time alone, I just haven’t been lonely at all. I’ve tried to explain to ER, who still tries to say I’ve “left him,” that I have plenty to do and plenty of resting still needed for me. I like my own company, too. I have books, I have DVDs, I have my therabands for my home PT and some free weights. I have all I need to entertain myself and what’s weird is, I spend hardly ANY money.

I do miss “home” and got a bit homesick on the anniversary of the OKC bombing, but, as I told ER, I feel like I am finally unwinding and resting from ten years of complete overwork. It might actually take awhile for the past ten years to be exorcised from me…not all of it, because there were some fine times in those ten years in the old work place. (I would like to add here that I miss Mike Morgan and the storm chasers; the weather people here are just nowhere NEAR the caliber in Oklahoma City).

But here, my boss man, who has been a friend and colleague for several years won’t allow me to over work. He and I have talked about how we’ve worked ourselves to death before in our lives. He told me the following: “Dr. ER, I promise, I’m going to spend a few minutes every day thinking of ways to make you a very happy woman.” Now, he’s referring to work, but I told him that I haven’t heard anything like that from a man in a long time! The motto here is “Work hard, but play hard.”

The whole crew is big on going to lunch in groups and these can last up to two hours – my boss “gets it” because those lunches are more than just lunch – work is getting done, morale is being lifted, people are interacting. It makes the work place and the people in it happy. Shoot, he took me out to lunch last Friday and we spent nearly two and a half hours just talking about governance in the western states. Since I love the study of governance, I was in hog heaven.

Changing topics rapidly, I have a movie to recommend. I just happened to come across it when at Target Saturday. It’s called “The Whole Wide World,” and stars hottie Vincent D’Onofrio and Renee Zellweger. Two people I love (who could NOT love Bridget Jones or Bobby on Law and Order: Criminal Intent). It takes place in the 1930’s in the Brownwood, Texas area. Surprise ending. And such a lump in my throat, I had a hard time swallowing. But you should hear Vincent D’Onofrio with a southern accent! It’s worth it just to hear that. The movie was released in 2003; I don't know how I missed it.

And another photo here, just to break up the text a bit. It's Ice-T, being a ho. Goofy cat .

I wonder if any of you can remember or have seen another movie – called “Goodbye Again,” starring Ingrid Bergman, Yves Montand and Anthony Perkins (who won Best Actor at Cannes in 1961 for his character in this movie). Wow, what a great flick. And a great story. It’s in black and white, filmed in France and it’s so obscure, you can’t even get it on DVD – I had to purchase the VHS after seeing it on AMC about a month ago. The story is perfect early 1960’s and it underscores again for me that I was born in the wrong time. I’d love to live back when everybody smoked and drank and we didn’t have so much worry about trying to live a long time. Now, in this flick, though, I can easily see what Anthony Perkins (also Norman Bates in “Psycho”) won best actor and I’m also glad that I’ve never seen “Psycho,” because this is the kind of role I want to remember him in.

I read something interesting about Perkins earlier this week and it’s that he was completely gay until his late 30’s when he met and dated Victoria Principal. And I thought to myself…well, yes, if anyone could make a gay man bisexual overnight, Victoria Principal could do it. Perkins’ wife at the time of his death was photographer Berry Berenson, and she was killed on September 11th, as she was on one of the planes that was crashed into the twin towers. Sad, sad.

So, here’s a nice, long post. I wish I could do it every day…if I finally win my battle with the Ethernet cable, I might be able to do so.

Repeat and Rerun

I keep getting e-mails from people regarding this post from my old blog, so I thought I'd republish it. Note that I'm doing so on a day when more people died in Iraq today than died in the Oklahoma City bombing. Those deaths are a mere footnote given today's media focus on the horrors of Virginia Tech. This bears reading again, though, I think.


Friday, June 09, 2006

An Open Letter to President Bush:

Dear Mr. President:In the immortal, if fictional, words of Dr. Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce, 4077th M*A*S*H, in a telegram sent to President Harry S. Truman (and copied to the Secretary General of the United Nations): “Who’s responsible?”

I think you know the answer to that question, and it’s just two words, if you’re being honest – the answer, should you care to utter it, is:“I am.”

Tell me if you plan to utter those words, as I want to book a skiing vacation waaaaaaay down under, if you get my drift.

It’s been a hell of a week for me, just thinking about life and people and war and politics and it’s given me food for thought. I accidentally caught the documentary “Bush’s Brain” on the Sundance channel last Sunday morning. All throughout, my stomach churned, but particularly the whisper campaigns about Senator John McCain’s adopted daughter (she happens to be a child of color) and Max Cleland are subjects requiring the penance of many.

Who’s responsible? You are.

Not Karl, not Karen, not any other suited youngster trying to be the perfect Alex P. Keaton in your campaigns -- YOU are responsible.

Our country is better than Abu Ghraib, better than what you forced Colin Powell to do at the U.N., better than the “sixteen words” and the close-to-assassination of Valerie Plaime. Who’s responsible? You are.

Our country is better than this war we’re in. I’ve been watching hour upon hour of M*A*S*H while at home lately and the later seasons, in particular, are so good at making sure that the viewers understand the horrors of war. I get it.

And Colonel Sherman T. Potter said to one young man in a very touching episode, “There’s probably been more stupidity completed in the name of manhood than for any other reason.” I think the good Colonel is right.

The Doctrine of pre-emption is one of those “stupidities” enacted in the name of manhood.

This morning, I read Newsweek. Cover to cover, something I rarely do.

Haditha.

The horror. The horror.

But of course, our Marines behaved as they did. Drugged, sensory-deprived. Hot, paranoid…are there no psychologists involved except for psy-ops in this nation’s military? Given the conditions, the behavior seen at Haditha is all but guaranteed.

The conditions we place our troops in right now in Iraq are indicative of man’s inhumanity to man. And there’s only one man who’s responsible -- you.

And even if you take the stage with a backdrop of repeated “buck stops here” messages, it won’t be enough. It's too late.

Too many kids are dead. Because you crossed the Rubicon; you crossed it when you used the word “crusade.”

You added insult to multiple injuries when you declared "mission accomplished," and you can't take it back.

So, so sad.

With all due sincerity and respect for the Office,
A disenchanted subject.

And a big hello to the Domestic Spying folks who pick this up and read it, too, feel free to leave comments.

Don Imus

I don't know about the Don Imus hullaballoo. I guess I'm a bit surprised that this didn't happen before, because he and Bernie get going pretty good. So does Rob Bartlett, one of the guys who impersonates others, including Dr. Phil.

Apparently this time, Don crossed a line. He's poked fun at loads of groups, and his producer has as well -- I mean, Bernie wears a Fed-Ex envelope on his head and plays an Irish Catholic Cardinal. And that gets pretty...nasty.

There's somewhere in all of that where an invisible line exists that one doesn't cross. Don crossed it this time. But the invisible line isn't always clear for the groups of people that Don and crew poke fun of.

I don't think the man should lose his job; he does so much good and if he's truly sorry, and I think he is, he should continue to use the radio microphone to do good. I thought it was pretty cool that he went on the Reverend Al's radio show. Don's not stupid. He got carried away, though, and I betcha the minute the phrase came out of his mouth, he knew he'd gone too far. Because he knows where those lines are.

By the way, the aforementioned two ducks were sitting in the same place today, their bills poked back under their feathers to keep warm. But this time, they sat just outside the handicapped parking spots, so no one had to take drastic actions to avoid them.

Work was fun today. I can't believe I can actually write that!

Weathering Easter

There are few Easter mornings in my life when weather is so memorable that it makes a mark. In 1979, Easter Sunday happened the Sunday after an F-4 tornado tore a path through my home town (Wichita Falls, Texas). Until the May 3, 1999 tornadoes in and around Oklahoma City, the Wichita Falls tornado was the most expensive (in dollars, not lives) tornado in U.S. history.

We went to mass and I was wearing my new Easter dress. Mom and I had purchased that dress early in the afternoon on April 10, 1979 and I had laid out the dress on my bed -- my twin bed, so it covered most of the bed. It was as if a flat Dr. ER was lying on the bed, wearing that dress.

This takes a bit of background, I find:

Earlier in the year, I'd asked Daddy to take out the big double windows in my bedroom because my windows faced due west, and in Wichita Falls, that meant searing hot. No air conditioning could overcome such heat. So Daddy knocked out the windows, and put in a 2' X 3' window instead. It was like a box window; I could put my little high school knick knacks on the little shelf.

When we all ran to the cellar on April 10, 1979, for some reason, I closed my bedroom door on the way out; habit, likely.

When we rose from the cellar, the world was completely different -- the fences were down, Daddy screamed at us not to go near the downed power lines. And we didn't pay attention, at first, to the devastation at our home because our beloved Beagle, Belle, was nowhere to be found.

But later, when I opened my bedroom door (roof was mostly gone), it was exactly as I had left it. The dress remained flat-out on the bed, and I swear, there wasn't a speck of dust that wasn't already there after the tornado. My room was exactly as I had left it. Every other room in the house was damaged to some extent and my sister's room was completely off-limits, as glass was everywhere, it had rained inside, you name it.

And next Sunday, when we went to Easter Sunday mass, a man named Jerry, whose house had nothing left but slab, fell against mom and dad and wept...he was a greeter at church and he showed up to do his "job" at mass even though his life was in shambles.

And I was able to wear my new Easter dress...and I wore it for years after that, it being a style that was sort of timeless. I believe I wore it into college. From thereafter, though, we always called it my "tornado dress."

Today, the weather is different from what I'm accustomed to. I woke at nine, pulled back the drapes and saw that the world looked as if God had shaken confectioner's sugar all over everything. This, on top of the ice that kept me indoors all day yesterday -- the same ice that people in the Denver area obviously don't know how to drive on, and the same ice that caused fatality wrecks in the area since Friday.

Before I left for my (our, eventually) new life here near the Rockies, I made Easter baskets for ER, Bird and Yankeebeau, and I packed the two chocolate bunnies that ER had bought me when, a few weeks ago, I was in the middle of the kind of stomach virus that makes you want to die. So last night, while I watched "Moses, Moses," otherwise known at "The Ten Commandments," I cheated and ate my Dove bunny down to about the solar plexus.

After I pulled back the drapes this morning to see the weather, I checked my phone -- so the first greeting I got this morning was a text message from ER last night, panicking (like he does every year) about me doing the taxes. While I read it, he sent another text message (typed while driving on the way to Easter service), that read, merely, "Poop." I told him poop nothing, my first greeting from another human being on Easter Sunday was a panicked plea about taxes!

So I hope he gets to where he can rise above the emotional level of "Poop" by listening to his nice pastor at church. And I got the nice surprise of finally, after seeing bits and pieces so many times, of watching the entirety of "Notting Hill." Put me in a great mood, it did.

"Jesus of Nazareth" is on the History Channel and that will be my church service today...Michael York as John the Baptist and Robert Powell as Jesus. At the moment, John the Baptist is baptizing Jesus, and he feels unequal to the task. Jesus says, "We must fulfil all righteousness." And then a dove soars heavenward. John says he can hear the word of God, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."

So Happy Easter, all. It's not about death or taxes. It's about eternal life. And I rarely talk about such things because I'm so sure of the Lamb of God. Who has risen.

Freezing raining cats and dogs

My first weekend here near America's heaven and it's icy. Hwy 36, the highway between Boulder and Denver, is closed westbound because of icy roads and multiple accidents. This is supposed to happen all weekend. My big excitement may be doing laundry and taxes.

Tonight there was a story on TV about a Boston Terrier that had disappeared from his suburban Kansas City home four years ago. He was found wandering around in Billings, Montana and taken to a shelter. They noticed that he had one of those microchips in him and they were able to reunite the dog with his "parents" after four long years. This is when we wish that dogs could talk -- I'd love to hear the story about how he ended up in Montana! I nearly got teary-eyed, though, as Bird and YankeeBeau's dogs, Fenway and Apollo, are Boston Terriers and I love them both dearly. So Bird, y'all get those microchips in your babies!!!

Speaking of disappearing animals...you know, Ice-T came to us so small he was really too young to be weaned (those were the days of his sleeping on a potholder in the bathroom with a litter box that was an old aluminum loaf pan!)...and his arrival overlapped with the "time of Mao." Mao, named so because ER was studying China and when she talked, she said "mao" all the time. Mao was sort of a neighborhood cat, but we claimed her most. Each neighbor had a different name for her. But within a month of Ice-T's arrival, Mao disappeared. And she was real "street," too, so it's not like she didn't know how to take care of herself. I still get sad when I think of her being gone -- one neighbor thinks she might have hopped onto a moving van when a neighbor down the street moved. Mao loved me. Ice-T barely tolerates me.

A woman I work with now is such a dog lover that she carries a spare leash and collar with her in her car so she can save stray dogs if she comes upon them; she's even nearly gotten herself killed, running into the street to save dogs. They tell me that it's REQUIRED in Boulder that you have a dog -- an exaggeration, but only a slight one. My peeps at work all asked me early in the week if I was able to bring one of my dogs with me. I may get lonely for a dog and go get ME a Boston terrier!!!

We are, indeed, stewards of these little critters.

Snow and Ice

Bird called this morning to announce that it was snowing in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I had just arrived at work, after scraping freezing rain off my car's window. What's wrong with this picture? Dang, the weather phenomena are supposed to be reversed. I have covered parking at work, thank goodness, but I can see the pine tree needles outside my window with their clear, icy glaze on them. It's been so warm here lately, I'm hoping driving won't be difficult. But, and ER, you listen to this part: at least I only have a five-minute commute.

A few weeks ago, when ER joined me in Boulder, I had some trail mix at a spa and got a taste, for the first time, believe it or not, of dried cherries. OMG. They were so good. Now, I've found that my Safeway sells whole bags of these dried cherries and I'm worried my skin will turn blood-red because I can't stop eating them--I mixed them with plain almonds the other night and yuuuuum!

There's a whole section in the Safeway where only organic food is sold and they have bulk, serve-yourself bins full of organic oatmeal, cous cous, rice, nuts, you name it. There's a section with organic juice, organic vegetables. Not what you'd find at the local Oklahoma Homeland.

Oh, man, the coolest thing about Boulder is that the city's dress code (and the dress code my office follows) is pretty much "college" dress code. Everything is casual. Fridays here are very casual and the rest of the week is somewhere between casual and business casual. Some people, actually, wear jeans every day. When you have meetings with outside people, you dress up...or if bigwigs are in the building, you dress up, but that's the only time. Ohhhhhh, how I love this dress code!!!

I finally figured out how to stream in live CNN audio...I'd grown accustomed to being able to have CNN on all day in my old office and this is as close as I can get. I can't stand not knowing about breaking news when it breaks. News junkie, news junkie. The pet food recalls are making me crazy with anger; I'm tempted to tell ER to start feeding people food to the critters. Melamine? Who would put melamine in food? Melamine are those cheap, plastic plates that you can't microwave or they'll get hot and melt (that should be a sign). I just heard someone on CNN say not to feed your animal anything that has the word "by-products" in the ingredients. What? Dang, almost all dog and cat foods are filled with "by-products." If any of my critters dies, I will go postal.

Ahh, as I look outside, the dreary rain has turned to snow. ER just said snow was falling at my Okie home, too. Nice to share some white weather with y'all.

Alpha

Less than one week in my new "home," I've already observed some pretty cool (and sometimes weird) stuff. First, the bumper stickers here are diametrically opposite to the bumper stickers in Oklahoma. Yesterday's on the way to work read, "What exactly are conservatives conserving?" One of my work colleagues has on her bulletin board a bumper sticker that reads, "I miss Bill." That one certainly needs no explanation.

This morning, as I was trying to back out to go to work, two gorgeous blue-green headed (mallard?) ducks were sitting right in the middle of the road behind the parking places. They were there to stay. One car backed up and went another way so as not to disturb them. One car went past, inch-by-inch, with the ducks barely giving the car a glance. I kept view of them through my side mirrors and avoided them as well. Three cars, all avoiding ducks who were sitting in the right-of-way. No one went for a shotgun; the ducks, rather like the pedestrians here in Boulder, apparently have a tacit right-of-way of their own.

My office looks great; these folks have given me darn near anything I ask for, and the people here -- I feel like I've known them forever. Some of them, actually, I have, indeed known through my travels to conferences and through common grant work and such.

My boss is a scream and he's just as big picture as I am, which is a little scary. But I've got one staff member who epitomizes the word anal and it's not the annoying kind of anal, it's actually cute. Another one of my staff is a pretty laid-back data guy who's as guileless and friendly as they come.

All week, though, I've merely driven the short drive to work, then returned "home," which for now is a residence hotel. I've found myself too tired to do much more than that, although the Safeway that contains a Starbucks and wireless within it, close to where I'm living, gets a daily visit from me on the way to my little living space.

I thought I might venture out this weekend, but we'll see -- snow in the forecast, but I might get out anyway, as they say it won't be a big snow (which probably means less than 6 inches).

I wake up and go to my car each morning, though, and look up and see the flatirons and the snowy ski areas towering above them and marvel that, at last, I am finally near the mountains that have "talked" to me for so many years. What a lovely place.