Retired at Last

Winter                                                Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

Kate’s sewing on the machine she keeps here at Jon and Jen’s.  We retrieved it last night and brought it back to the hotel room.  The room supplies an ironing board and iron, with her cutting mats and rotary cutters–and those $23 to transport scissors–she’s in her favorite place, sewing.  She said yesterday that her retirement couldn’t really start until she could start sewing.  Well, it’s officially started now.

The Sierra Club legcom meeting is at 5 pm tonight, so I spent an hour organizing material for the agenda and sending it out.  That’s finished.  Good thing Jon asked last night what time the meeting was.  I said, “5 pm.”  “Oh, so at 4 pm our time?”  “Huh?  4?  Yikes.”  I would have missed it for sure.  Not used to this jetset lifestyle.

Once again breakfast has cowboy hats and bluejeans.  One young boy, maybe 14, wore a t-shirt that read:  “Nothing’s more important than beating that COW COLLEGE on the other side of the state.”  Coach Bear Bryant  A clutch of young girls came up around his table where he sat with three slightly older boys.

Then began the mock teasing, playful hits, frowns and cagey responses.  One blond headed girl leaned over a boy with a RockStar hat, whispered in his ear, then went across the room and got him a cup of  coffee.  They were prodigies among children.

Tonight I plan to take Jon and Jen out to a country Japanese restaurant called Domo.  Sounds interesting.

The Cheeky Monk and The Irish Snug

Winter                                                          Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

And so it is.  The cold month I mean.  -7 last night here in Denver.  Not Minnesota cold, but still, it counts.  The snow though has mostly disappeared from the city streets and will be all gone by the weekend when highs in the 40’s hit the high plateau.

Kate and I went to the REI flagship store yesterday, a large brick building that used to be a tramway (don’t know what that is) now stuffed with ice axes, mountaineer boots and more fleece than you shake a sheep at.  It has a very Colorado feel with many young, hyper fit folks looking for the right gear for climbing a 14’er and then skiing back down.

Denver has a young persons feel with many interesting bars like the Cheeky Monk and the Irish Snug.  Gastro pubs.  Kate and I stopped for lunch at the Cheeky Monk, a woody homage to some form of Belgian culture with Belgian waffles on offer as a dessert item.  Kate had a beer sampler that included Stone’s Lucky Bastard and Avey’s Czar.  Potent stuff.  More so than Kate anticipated.

We’ve both eaten a bit too much fried and fatty with corresponding complaints from our digestive systems.  You’d think at our age…

In spite of its proximity to the mountains, the Rockies loom on the western horizon, Denver is a flat city, very Midwestern in that way.

Since this is the time period of the Great Western Stock Show the restaurants have many cowboy hats, cowboy boots and the occasional sequined Rodeo Queen.  It all gives Denver that Western feel that it sometimes lacks in the summer.

OK.  Off to the Denver Mint.

This Shooting

Winter                              Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

A decent snowfall here last night but not a lot.  The sun shines bright on the old Front Range.  Colder though.

This shooting.  It seems apparent to me that the general atmosphere of current political debate can give permission to some marginal folks to take action.  Reference to Second Amendment remedies leaves little room for the imagination.  So, I wish the tea party folks would tone down their rhetoric.  It seems to me the decent thing to do.

Here, though, I am hoisted on my petard since I will defend the right of even dimbulbs to say what they will and I count the tea party among them.  That same principle though allows me to say what I think of their analysis.

We were radicals once, and young.  The movement of the 60’s had its violent fringe, restricted to bombs, yes, but nonetheless.  I have some sympathy for folks who feel aggrieved and inclined to say the most inflammatory that floats to the surface.  I also have sympathy for those who say their language should not be seen as per se violent.

Still, I look back on those days, the anti-war, anti-establishment, anti-racist days, and remember that we did feel a certain joint responsibility for what others of us did.  We knew we were connected by our analysis and our perceived common enemy.

A common enemy shared, at least in part, with the tea party folks:  the Federal Government.  We thought they over reached with the draft and the war.

Here’s the big lesson from those times that I would pass on to my ideological mirror images.  We were wrong about the government being the enemy.  The government is only what we allow it to be.  The government is the sin-eater for the nation.  It collects the hurts and hopes and problems of us all and attempts to sort them out, improve things when it can.

Do they often get it wrong?  Yes.  Do we in our own lives?  Yes?  Our governmental process is sloppy, takes too long to come to a decision and, like generals, seems bent on fighting the last war rather than the next one.

Still, it is our form of resolving disputes and it is, I agree with Churchill here, the worst form of government save all the rest.

I would hope the tea party folks would back away from defensiveness, difficult, I know, and examine their message to see if it says what they want, check to see if gives succor to those fringe folks who would move beyond the pale of political discourse, no matter how heated, into the realm of violent action.  If they do this, they will gain some admiration for restraint, if  they do not, they risk losing it all.

Happy Grandpa

Winter                                             Waxing Moon of the ColdMonth

When Kate and I arrived down south here in Denver, we got a 40 degree temperature swing.  At 8 am this morning, my weatherstation recorded -14.  When we got to Denver, it was 26.  If we’d left Minnesota at 50 degrees amd gotten a similar bump, it would be 90 here.

Now, there are school closings here with a snow that would only bring out the sanding trucks in Minnesota.  Strange.

After a nap, the grumpy traveler became a happy grandpa, taken upstairs by granddaughter Ruth to see her princess walkie talkies and her changeable Cinderalla doll.  Back downstairs grandson Gabe carried his toy train, Thomas, and came to me, “Up.”  So we did.

Gabe and I looked at the Dreidel lights Jen had strung over the window sill.

After a Mexican meal at the restaurant next to our hotel, the kids went home and the grandparents walked through the snow a short way to the hotel.  This snow is finer than most of them we get in Minnesota, light, but not fluffy.

Bedtime here in the Mile High City.  With snow.

Caution: Rant About Air Travel

Winter                                           Waxing Moon of  the Cold Month

The grumpy traveler has arrived in the mile-high city, which I discovered at the Denver Airport is actually 5,280 feet above sea level.  How about that?  I say grumpy because air travel wears at me with the death of a thousand cuts.

First, when I went online yesterday to print out boarding passes, I was met with the opportunity to pay a checked baggage fee.  Kate wanted to check a bag because, being the raving terrorist lunatic that she is, she wanted to bring a good pair of scissors for sewing.  $23 to transport those damned scissors.  As long we’re on it, where did a word like scissors come from anyhow?  That spelling.

Second, parking at the airport.  In  this case you get to choose between an intolerably long ride on Airport Shuttle, a tour of the Twin Cities, or trying to park a large pick-up, our Tundra, in a slot made for a compact car.  Our Celica.

So we’re at the airport.  I don’t have to tell you the small insults visited on us under the auspices of national security.  Good news?  No body scanners yet.

The plane itself.  The logistics of the human body and the number of seats you can cram in–the maximum–create a very cosy, one could even call it crammed ride.  And I had the four  year old behind me who spent most of the flight taking the tray table down and putting it back in place.  Often.  Not news, but a nuisance anyway.

Don’t ask me about getting the bag.  Remember Denver’s airport?  It was the one that opened two years late because they couldn’t get the luggage system working.

Finally, getting to your rental car.  Ah, the third lane out at ground transportation.  Finding or waiting for the express bus, ha, that takes you to your car.  At a site far enough away from the airport itself to be in Wyoming.  Afterward, the always entertaining sales pitches by the rental car clerk.  No.  I don’t want an SUV with snow tires.  No.  I don’t want to pay $20 a day to supplement (unnecessarily) my already too expensive car insurance.

But.  The woman who took the yellow sheet about the car’s condition was very nice and helpful.

And thus endeth this complaint about travel by air.

Live From the Front Range

Winter                                                   Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

Ancientrails hits the road tomorrow, coming to you cyberlive from Denver, Colorado in the new and rapidly expanding area around the old Stapleton Airport.  There will be wonderful grandchildren stories, important updates on children and a report on the interior of the Denver Mint.  Don’t miss anything.  Especially those grandchildren stories.  I can already tell you how they begin:  Ruth is the most amazing 4 year old I’ve ever known and here’s why.  Same for Gabe only 2 year olds.

We’ll be there a week, the newly liberated Kate and the still liberated me, easing in to this new full-time togetherness thing.  We took a reluctant Vega and Rigel, along with old hand Kona, over to Armstrong Kennels.  Like always, once they got out of the truck and into the lobby, ok, the entry area, they started sniffing around and seemed quite alright with us leaving.  So we did.

Lunch at Azteca which was on the way home, a nap, a business meeting.  This had good news.  Our finances are in the best shape they’ve been in since ever.  A propitious moment at which to retire.  We sorted through the various tasks remaining before Kate’s big party on the 20th, considered the positive news of Kate’s retirement again, and finished.

I’ve been putzing around on various computer related matters since then.  I’ve managed to create or acquire three nagging problems, ones I’ve not been able to fix and it annoys me, but we’re leaving tomorrow and they will wait until we get back.  Fortunately, my netbook, which travels with me, isn’t one of them.

Homecoming

Winter                                                                    Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

I’m sitting here, waiting on Kate to come home from her retirement party at work.  It’s at an Applebees, noisy and with people I don’t know so I stayed home.  With my hearing loss a noisy room makes a party, not my favorite place to begin with, much worse.  Since we’ve never found anything to help my unilateral hearing loss, it’s important to know my limitations.  Still, I miss being with her right now, though our work places have always been separate.  A doctor can’t take her husband to work with her so he can see what she does.  As a result, I’ve not hung out there, gotten to know her colleagues.  We did go to group events in the first years, but those long ago petered out as the corporate side of medicine fragmented the docs.

Kate came home while I was writing this.  She had a wonderful evening out and received several gifts, including a pricey bottle of champagne.  Which, of course, I can’t help her with.  Darn.  Excitement still radiated from her polished, sprinkled fingernails to her equally polished and twinkly toes.  Now she’s up and we’re getting ready to take Vega, Rigel and Kona over to Armstrong Kennels, their home away from us while we fly to Denver.

Guess what?  5-10 inches of snow predicted for Denver on the day we arrive.  Oh, joy.  The good news is it will be 25 degrees warmer than home at 26.

Today is a get ready to travel day.  Stuff to do.  Talk to you later.

Giddy Kate

Winter                                                               Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

A very floaty, giddy Kate rode with me back to her truck at the Hair Salon, then climbed in the green Tundra and drove off for her final night of full time medicine.  This is one happy chippy.  Fun to see her so excited.

Before that we went out to lunch at a favorite spot, a sushi place on old Hwy. 10, Takaido.  Not sure what the deal is, but the inside of the place offered little more than shelter against the wind.  It was cold.  I wanted sushi, but couldn’t imagine it in that chilly a space so I got salmon teryiaki with kani in bento box.  The hot tea warmed my hands and the restaurant slowly warmed to bearable.  They took over a fast food building and the outer walls around the dining area are glass and thin masonry.  Brrrr.

The Spectacle Shoppe called and said our glasses had come in, that’s why we were in that part of town.  This place has a really interesting collection of frames.  The owner has a quirky aesthetic, one that I like and so does Kate.  We’ve bought our last several pairs of glasses there, utilizing left over money in our flex-med account.  This is a big source of business for these folks; they even have a $75 off deal for folks using up their flex dollars.

All of Kate’s glasses were done; she had new lenses put in old pairs and bought a pair of new prescription sunglasses.  Aha.  She can see faraway now.  Good for driving.  My reading glasses were done, but new tortoise shell round frames were still waiting on their lenses.  I’ll have to go after we get back from vacation.

As to vacation.  In spite of the fact that we’re going to Denver, I find myself in an oddly sedentary mode.  Wish I could just flash there and flash back, not go through the whole airport rigmarole.  Why I like the train.  But, the timing on this one ruled out the train.l

Never Ending Terror

Winter                                                                 Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

The big day has arrived.  Kate’s last shift.  She’s off right now getting her nails done–her constant scrubbing in and out of rooms made fancy nails silly–and her toes, since she wears sandals almost all year round.  This way she’s dolled up for tonight and for the next week in Colorado.

Back a bit I bought a print by a Minnesota artist, Mike Elko.  It hangs to the right of this computer and looking at it right now triggered a major aha.  The print is the faux cover of a magazine, Practical Paranoia.  It features a cartoon woman with sixties hairdo and clothing, a tear trickling down her face and this copy next to her:  He keeps saying, “If you question me, then the terrorists have won!”  Is all of this really necessary or is he just trying to make me crazy?  I live in…

NEVER ENDING  TERROR!

A Bush era piece, I bought it in part as a lest we forget, a cautionary tale about government gone loony.  As I looked at it right now, I realized a huge difference, a huge positive difference between the Bush and the Obama eras.  We don’t feel this way anymore.  There is no longer the Cheney–Rumsfeld–Bolton–Wolfowitz–Kristol nexus, a sort of demented nerve ganglia that twitched and pulsed cries of alarm at every shadow.  Obama has calmed us as a nation while continuing to actively pursue terrorists, and a sober analysis of the Bush methods.

A Peculiar Place

Winter                                                                  Waxing Moon of the Cold Month

The last Thaw tours are over and they were good ones.  I’m glad I leave the exhibit with a positive feeling.   This art, important and beautiful as many of its pieces are, doesn’t engage my heart in the same way European and Asian art does.  Individual pieces and cultures do, but not all of it, though I suppose that’s really not too different from the rest.  This was an opportunity to see and become familiar with some remarkable objects from an unusually broad and deep collection.  If I’m ever in Cooperstown, I’ll stop in to see the rest.

The museum is such a peculiar place, bricks and mortar, bureaucracy and guards, elitist opinion all woven around the true stars, mind bending, heart wrenching, beautiful, disturbing works from all over the world.  Many of the works are old friends now, The Cardinal, the Man of Sorrows, Germanicus, Doryphoros, Song dynasty ceramics, the collection of Chinese paintings, the Tea House and the tea wares, the ukiyo-e prints, the Benin head and the Bierstadt, Moran and Copley American paintings.  Dr. Arrieta.  The Delacroix, the Cezanne, the Monet.  Kandinsky.  the tryptych Blind Man’s Buff.  the Bryce Marsden.  The strange and disturbing telegraph operator.

When I come into the presence of these and many other pieces, we pick up things where we left off the last time I visited.  Hello, Cardinal.  You’re looking serious today.  Does Jerome bother you or does he give you inspiration?  Mr. Marsden, are you there behind the surface, the paintedness?   You gods, the jam session must have been a good one, you look exhausted.  Yes, your colors still move me today as they did they last time, Mr. Kandinsky.

Do you ever wonder what the paintings and the sculpture think after the lights have gone out and all the art lovers have gone home?  Many of them are, after all, of vampiric age.  Lucretia is a spry 345.  The Jade Mountain 225.  Doryphoros?  2,100 years young.  A real antidote to that sinking feeling when you turn 64.  As, for example, I will do next month.  Over all those years they must have accreted some wisdom, some knowing.  Think of all things they’ve been around for.  To be in their presence is to inhale the passage of not just days or months or years, but centuries and millennia. As I said, the museum is a peculiar place.