here there and back again

Part 1 - Honda in the Snow.

It was only last week, early, that I drove over the mountains to the big city, chasing the snow storm. My little Honda, content in the right lane, slowly climbed elevation to reach and crest a mountain pass that was noted by the flashing highway signs as having "icy conditions." Phew.

Once in Denver, we made our way to my Denver place, a bedroom I stay in once a week while I'm attending classes. Snow was threatening, much of it.
I got to work, bought some wine, crawled up on my simple bed and got to reading about history and multiculturalism while I put the finishing touches on a 10-page essay.
Phew.

The next morning, I woke up, as usual. I looked out the window. My car was missing under 10 inches of snow, some flakes, some drifts. Snow was still falling outside in that white, wet, cold land that yesterday had been so different. All day I stayed in that house with my roomie and her visiting boyfriend. The interloper, that was me. We ate pancakes and finished off all of the coffee. I shared my honeycrisp apples. Classes were cancelled. ADD set in, and focusing was futile. I made it out for a few hours to get more coffee. Coffee. Yes. Coffee. Then sleep.

The next morning, more snow, more snow, more snow. Classes were cancelled but my flight to Nashville was on. I left early. The house, that is. Down the front steps to where my Honda was packed solid in the snow, an avalanche was waiting to happen. I opened and closed doors and trunk, and big drifts of snow fell. But wait, there was more. Using my ice scraper as a "shovel", I dug the little car out. Snow was up to its little canckles. Snow was hugging it's little tail pipe and bumpers. Snow, snow, snow.
I drove it up and back, and up and back and dug some more.
Finally, we slid away from the edge of the street where there was traction and slush and off we went.

Being who I am, I do not let a little weather stop me. I do not, did not, as yet believe that it could stop me. I respect ice and snow, but I will not be one that stays behind in the storm when a plane is waiting to take me to Nashville. I drove to the little train station, the DINK, the little public transport option. No parking overnight.
I didn't think about it, just drove to the highway and slowly merged onto the icy road with all the other folks who are like me, a little to confident for their own good.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for them, many of them drive ginormous cars and they like to go fast. I once again settled into granny gear and plodded on my way, slowly and surely, the turtle would emerge in once piece, as the story goes.

And we did. We made it across flyovers and through exits and down roads where police lights flashed and other drivers, the "hares" amongst us, were stuck together, fender to door. We plodded on. 10 miles to the airport, 9, 8, another big collision, this one all cop cars, a big PoPo wreck. I waved virtually and traveled on to the extended stay parking lot where I found the very last spot, unloaded my car and made my way to the the little place where we wait to be picked up.
I waited and waited.

I saw movement in another kiosk and headed over, the snow blowing wet and cold, my coat an snow boots back on the other side of the valley, I pulled up my hoodie and trekked over to find a group of cold people waiting. They motioned me to the heater and we waited together...and waited and finally a bus arrived.

Warm again, we unfolded into the bus, sat and rubbed our hands and were delivered at the airport...where I began my second journey....

coming soon in Part 2: Southwest Airlines - they do their best.

Apologies Dear Readers

I know many of you read this blog. According to Google Analytics, either there are people reading my blog, or spam trolls on it, pretty regularly from the same locales.

I know it's been sparse and that is because my life has been rich and full and there have been ample writing opps out in the real, as opposed to the virtual, world. There is a lot of life happening happening right now. In fact, the Bird Man just walked past my house, sparking off a big dog bark session...sigh.
At any rate, I don't have time to blog so much anymore, even on holidays...or days off.
I'm living and doing.
Grad school is taking a chunk of time and I'm willing to give time to that.
The man takes a bit, too, again, mutual.
Then there's driving to Denver once a week...8 hours.
And sleeping.
And not exercising...that is going to change very very soon.

I appreciate you all and I hope you check this space often. As soon as my first quarter of school is out, I will be back.
Truly.
xoxo

October, Rocktober

What I love about October,
Honeycrisp apples
my birthday
Halloween candy (but not so much Halloween)
cool mornings
cool evenings
a nip in the air
boot weather
crispy brown leaves underfoot
orange, red and yellow leaves still dangling off tree branches
the dogs are crazy
and I am too.

What I love about school
my teachers
my school friends
notebooks
pens
writing papers
staying up late cause I'm too into it to go to sleep
the people are nice
the guy at the starbucks in avon calls me 'love'

teacher's pet - teacher's pet - teacher's pet

Okay, so I brought an apple to class...
No, I didn't.
But the teachers do like me. I'm inquisitive, which means, of course, that I like to talk and ask questions. I love to raise my hand!

Seriously.
We're talking about things that matter...justice and injustice and neutrality and why and where and how and starting where they are where we are and why are we there.

I get a twinkle.
The teacher's love the kid with the twinkle.

Oh,
and
Yes, I do sit on the front row...most of the time.

Internship: Day 1

The number one rule for Social Work is to protect the dignity of your client. We also fight injustice. We are the superheroes of the world, at least for the people who can't speak for themselves. Negotiating, mediating, advocating, and sometimes pontificating, we are in the midst of it all.
Like the character I created in a screenplay, we are the underdogs who fight for the little guys. Everyday brings a new set of problems to solve and grace to experience.
Today I met three people who would have been left behind, forgotten, the gleam gone from their eyes, their dustball scattered to the winds. All three are old, ill and have few resources. One is cantankerous and spikey, one is silent and confused, one is still and yet sharp as a tack with a twinkle in her eye. She uses words that I love, like copacetic.
Today I learned a little bit more about why I'm doing this. I get to be autonomous, I don't have to be cool, I get to use my gut. I get paid. I do work that matters, not just to someone who wants my work and time, this matters to the world.
Damn I'm lucky.
And my writing and shooting, richer and more interesting.

first day of school

They are hard, first days.
I drove four hours from Grand Junction. The dreaded long drive from the valley and over the mountain. The very long drive through forests of Aspens just turning gold and caverns and lakes.
It's not so bad. I stopped once to eat a pb&j and I listened to a book on tape all the way there.
In Denver, the cars are serious and fast and hard core. I am not. I have forgotten how to "do" traffic. And that's okay. I have decided that I will be a slower right lane person and I'll happily let the stressed out pricks go on their merry way.

I arrived in Denver and I got lost. No surprise there, eh?
I found my way, as I always do, eventually. I arrived in the parking garage and parked and headed to find my room. The class had been moved but a helpful Graduate Asst showed me they way.

I was tired and bleary eyed and you all know that makes me talky. So, I didn't maintain a cool kid quiet demeanor. Oh no. I jumped right in.
You know why?
I love school.
I love the exchange of minds and ideas.
As we did introductions and as one young Coed after another told the story of how they just graduated or just couldn't find the right job after college, I waited my turn.
I told them of my English degree, my daughter, my travels, my 3 or 4 careers, my work with the homeless and my commute.

Yeah, this time around, I am one of the "alternative" kids. The ones who are wiser and more lived in. Not in a bad way, not like the kids who drank too much and tried to get everyone to smoke clove cigarettes. I'm the one who has lived a full, rich life and as I related it, I felt pretty proud of myself. And, not proud in a bad way. Proud in a "yes, I belong here" way.

I am dog tired and bleary eyed and headed for my Denver home and bed.
This co-ed is tired.

streets of dirt and the scent of silver

This weekend we headed down to Silverton, and Durango, leaving the high desert valley for the mountains. It's not far, but with two mountain passes between here and there, it takes time, four hours, approximately counting stops in between for coffee and book hunting and looking.

Durango was bustling with bikers, harleys, I mean, Harleys, were everywhere. Their drivers were too, usually with a handlebar mustache, a few tattoos and a lady with a long braid and a black leather jacket. Bikers look mean, but they are nice. They hide behind the leather and the engine, but they must love riding through a mountain pass in the open air, and they must love the smell of cedar and river and sage, so I know they must be nice.

We ate our picnic lunch at the train station, home to two 100+ year old steam engines that go back and forth between Silverton and Durango a few times a day. I think I rode that train when I was little, I need to check on that, but I want to ride it again now. So does my traveling companion.

We headed out of Durango after a stop at the city park where I chatted with a sweet old man who was out for a walk. He wore shorts and knee braces and had two walking sticks and a canister of oxygen strapped to his back and tubed up to his nose, but he looked more vivacious and happy than many walkers I've seen half his age. (Take note of that...) He told me he'd heard a bear 'back that aways' and warned me to listen for it. I didn't check out the bear, I was more interested in an older man with health problems who still loved the feel of cool air on his legs enough to go for a walk with two walking sticks and a canister of oxygen.

I love people.

We headed out of Durango and into Silverton where we planned to meet up with some friends for a bit and have dinner. The Casey Jones engine, the oldest of the two steam engines had just rolled into town and was heading to the water and coal station just down the track. It rolled away and we followed it, down the track, stopping along the way to watch a Silvertonian feed his three huskies and admire a home made out of a caboose. The train engine was filled with water and coal. More people came by to watch this happen.

What is it about trains? What is it about 100+ year old trains with a name like Casey Jones or Franklin? I think part of it is that this train has been traversing the mountain path, over narrow rails for over 100 years. It's history, it's engineering, it's science and math and natural sciences and religion all together. It's not magic, it's authentic, metal and iron and steam and coal and imagination, real stuff.
We were hungry, and that's when I knew that a man who will wait on a dirt road while we watch a train being filled with water and coal for longer than we thought, who is hungry but hasn't complained about being hungry one time, will watch this with me, with a twinkle in his eye, neither of us daring to leave unless we miss the train steaming up to move on down the track again, it a darn good fit for me.

We had dinner at a Cantina, good, inexpensive Mexican food. It rained. The streets were muddy and the sky was pink and gray and blue, all twilight and mountains. It was still raining a bit and it was cold but we had sweaters and we had our stories and with these we headed to the car and on to home.