Mike,

Two months ago, Beth & I drove up to the Pawnee National Grasslands in the northeast corner of Colorado, close to the borders of Wyoming, Nebraska, and Kansas. We wondered if it was like the Kansas prairie that we drove through last January, or like the prairie that your father grew up in. It turned out to be drier and windier than we expected. So windy it was, we had to drop our plan of hiking to the Pawnee Buttes, the most mountain-like things the early settlers saw on their travel west to the Rockies. In gusts, we could barely stand up. It’s an ideal place for wind power mills, and that’s where most of Colorado’s wind power comes from.

This contains an embedded movie of some tumbling tumbleweeds, to provide a touch of the spirit of the winds.

–rakkity

I reckon there’s a Minnesotan who clicked on this link and promptly passed out. You see, Matt and I usually wait until the last minute when the only trees remaining have bare spots like clear cuts and pine needles like sewing needles. And, typically, we haven’t gotten off our lazy behinds until prompted by the chief decorator, FierceBaby.

Don’t know is my answer. Diane asked me to do our banking and while I was out I just figured it’d be good to get one more chore done.

Where’s the robe?

My Life In Rooms

Look what I found in Ginger’s refrigerator today.

The best and maybe the longest version of Pretty Woman with Roy Orbison, Bruce Springsteen, Jackson Browne, Elvis Costello, Tom Waits, T Bone Burnett & J D Souther.

 

Dan’s wanted a garage for as long as I can remember. He’d drawn up designs complete with elevations and he’d talked to friends and he’d talked to the town planning commission and he’d snooped around the neighborhood looking where neighbors kept their cars and just when it looked like he was about to start, he stopped. Until one day, on the way home from a weekend in Boothbay Harbor with his wife,  Linda. She said, “Dan, it looks to me like you’re too busy to get the garage built. Why don’t I take over the project?”  I believe the next morning he hired his builder. 

 

Dan’s wanted a garage for as long as I can remember. He’d drawn up designs complete with elevations and he’d talked to friends and he’d talked to the town planning commission and he’d snooped around the neighborhood looking where neighbors kept their cars and just when it looked like he was about to start, he stopped. Until one day, on the way home from a weekend in Boothbay Harbor with his wife,  Linda. She said, “Dan, it looks to me like you’re too busy to get the garage built. Why don’t I take over the project?”  I believe the next morning he hired his builder. 

Most people walk out of their dentist’s office with a toothbrush, dental floss and maybe a small bottle of mouthwash. I guess mine wants me back because look at what the hygienist gave me.

Brock began shaving at fourteen and by sixteen he was doing it twice it day. I’ve known him for thirty years, ever since he fixed our first car. I know he doesn’t really know me. It’s the merchant syndrome. If you walk into your local drugstore that pharmacist is the only pharmacist and you never forget her. She gives you your Valium and you leave with a smile, but she sees you as just one of a thousand people for which she dispenses pills.

I grew up fixated on men like Brock. Hairy knuckles, broad chest, the stink of testosterone and not an emotion within a thousand miles. I tried, but never got to be one.

I’d a reason to be back in Somerville when a friend needed help with the foundation of his porch. In his neighborhood, I swung by to see Brock and what he could do with my dented front end.

I also wanted to see his wife, Sharon, who made my knees wobble. She wore lots of red: earrings, lipstick, and tight sweaters – all set off by her chestnut hair. I wasn’t afraid of Brock, but I was of Sharon.

After Brock pulled out my dent, I brought up the obvious.

“Where’s Sharon,” I asked.

“Cost me half a mil to get rid her.“

“I guess that means you’re not married anymore.“

“She’s an addict. Everything went up her nose.“

“Sorry to hear that. You know, I have to say this. I thought you two were the perfect couple. You even look alike. She’s a pretty version of you.“

And that was the truth.

“I tried to help her. I did everything I could but she was wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t work, the bitch was never home. Fought with me and our two sons.”

“Shit.”

“She moved to Alabama and I heard from her sister that she wants me back. Not happening. I’ve remarried. Lisa’s very different. She’s stable. She’s home every night. She cooks my meals.“

“Things have worked out.“

“Worked out? Yeah. But you know what? I love Lisa but I don’t love her like I loved Sharon.“

Diane and I stayed up late watching The Bourne Supremacy, so I wasn’t all that thrilled when my internal sunrise alarm clock began ringing at 6:10. I hit the snooze alarm but woke up every ten minutes until I lurched out of bed at 6:40. I peeked through the drawn curtains to see pink promise, then with the lights out and trying hard not to wake Diane, I dressed myself and, quietly, but still half asleep, walked out onto the balcony.

Sitting next to our room was a middle aged gay guy who launched on me like I was his long lost best friend.”It’s beautiful isn’t it? I couldn’t sleep. We’re here another day and then we go back home. I’m from Pennsylvania.”I was so groggy I could barely babble enough to escape his verbal clutches. What the hell was he doing sitting outside at this hour on a Sunday in ten degree weather? Why was he talking to me? No, don’t tell me. I left him in mid-sentence with some comment about getting closer to the ocean and I walked across the street for my non-telephone wire view of the rising sun. Except where the sun should have been were clouds too thick to fly through. Pink on either side but opaque in the middle.

Optimistically, I hurried back across the parking lot to my car and drove to Adam’s suggested Neddick Nubble which appeared from afar to be the perfect spot. Except the old lighthouse, adorned with Christmas lights, sat proudly right in front of that cloud bank behind which might have been a rising sun.I tried different vantage points but none mattered because I’d missed my best opportunity which occurred twenty-four hours ago.

**************

Last night we ate dinner at the Village Inn and were served by Shane from Chicago. We were this close to asking him if he were named after the character in the 50’s movie, but the next four grey-haired parties beat us to it.