An Honest Post

Last Thursday, my friend, Kate, came over so I could share my teensy bit of tech knowledge with her. Counting Kate Armstrong as a friend isn't just like meeting somebody nice, it's like discovering plutonium. Very. Powerful. Stuff.

Kate is a force of nature and amidst all her declarations of power and intentions for 2012, she asked if I would like to join her "Dream Team."


"What's that?" I asked.

"It's people sharing their dreams and holding each other accountable for the tiny goals leading up to the realization of that dream," she explained, eyes wide with excitement.


"Um, okay." It seemed easier than signing up for Team in Training, that's for sure.


"So, in one week, what tiny thing are you going to accomplish toward your dream?"

"Uhhh..."

"C'mon, WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?"


"Well, I haven't written an honest blog post in months." 


"Do that then. You have one week."

So, here it is, on deadline eve. I've struggled with sharing in this space for a number of reasons. Mainly, because I've created this self-branding problem where I'm fairly visible on the web and yet, for all my self-promotion, my innards have suddenly turned shy and serious. Also, despite all the amazing things I experience, I have never felt more boring.

Truth is, change is afoot in 2012. Big stuff. Scary stuff. Changes that would be hard to explain without a blog, so I've vowed to come clean. My life is wonderful but it also includes pain. I tried getting pregnant last year and it didn't take so motherhood still eludes me.

To compound this ache, there are no animals in my charge. With the exception of Kirk's handsome cat, Boudreaux, and the neighbor's dog, Matisse, I am beast-less, which saddens me deeply. I am responsible for not a single being in this world, save myself. Freedom and loneliness - two sides of the same independent coin.

Perhaps this is my mid-life crisis?

Certainly, there is a predictable experience of asking myself, 'Just what have you accomplished? What good are you? Do you even have anything worthwhile to say?' For months, I have harbored serious doubts about the latter question.

So, this is the state of things. One of my part-time gigs has me reading others' blog posts day after day. Let me tell you, there's a lot of nonsensical rambling out there (similar to this post) but there's also a tremendous amount of well-written insight, brave admissions and hilarious storytelling.

And it's about time I rejoined the party.

Wild Animal Sanctuary

Back in late October, Laura, Kirk and I went to the Wild Animal Sanctuary east of Denver. Way out on the flat prairie, a kind soul named Pat Craig corralled 720 acres and the non-profit now hosts nearly 300 wild animals, including lions, tigers, bears, leopards, mountain lions and wolves. After months of promising myself to go, I finally made it.

At the information hut, I read a ton about every wild animal out there but do I remember anything? Nope. However, there is one thing that stuck in my head: Mountain Lions are the largest feline that purrs. There's your Large Kitty Trivia of the week.

Naturally, I took many a photo but there's only so much you can shoot of a cat-from-above.

I liked these two - they frantically paced in unison the entire time. I wonder what made them so nervous?

It was hard to tell how much of that large acreage was actually being used but the happy volunteers excitedly told us about plans to expand. Animal sanctuaries, as necessary as they may be, are sad places. Unlike zoos, circuses or marine mammal parks, these animals are done 'working.' Nearly every animal has a similar story about either escaping abuse, neglect or at the very least, no knowledge of their wild birthright whatsoever. Places like this one take a ton of space, lots of people who care and a boat load of cash to keep them running.

This is Eddy the Black leopard. He had his own show on Animal Planet, "Growing Up Black Leopard." Fortunately, he was born at the sanctuary and grew up literally in the Craig home with tons of love and care. He's a lucky boy.

We saw a few bears and wolves too.

And, on our way out, a single camel with a bunch of livestock - horses, cows and sheep, I'm guessing? Perhaps it was the herbivore section.

'Twas a beautiful day. I'm grateful for places like this.

Conquering Red Rocks

I attended a recent comedy show here in Denver where the touring headliner made a joke about how people don't like to walk anymore. Dead silence. Crickets chirped. He looked puzzled and did not understand why the joke fell flat.

He'd failed to grasp a basic Colorado philosophy: All forms of outside movement are taken very seriously. Not only do we walk with great zeal, we hike, run, cycle, ski, board and climb. For this, I am forever grateful to the Centennial State because without significant peer pressure, I am quite the lazy ass.

The above photo was taken last Sunday from an entrance ramp at Red Rocks Amphitheater - THE best place to see a concert on the planet, or even a classic film. It also happens to be the very same place where folks go hiking and conduct grueling exercise regimes.

Although one can certainly park at the top and walk down, the great majority of locals tend to park at the bottom and hoof it up. I once heard a KBCO DJ scoff when he'd heard a visitor complain: "Hey, if you can't make it, you don't deserve to be at Red Rocks." They are not kidding. (Seriously, they have suggested exercise routines posted on their website.)

So, when guests visit, we inevitably end up at RR, where they 'oooh' and 'aaaah' and point to the tiny Denver prairie-opolis in the distance. It's not just the intense reds and pinks of the rocks, it's the entire natural grandeur of the place. (We think the rocks resemble melted Neopolitan ice cream or super stripey bacon.)

Even performers gush. When Tom Petty launched his Mojo tour last summer, he chose Red Rocks and thankfully, we were there too. Lyle Lovett makes no bones about RR being his favorite venue and plays every summer. Then there's Steve Martin during his comedy tour, who, after coming out on stage, looked around and deadpanned: "What a shithole. I'm gonna have to fire my manager."

And I don't think I need to even mention U2. (After Pollstar magazine awarded Red Rocks Best Small Outdoor Venue for the 11th time, they finally just gave up and renamed it The Red Rocks Award while permanently removing RR from the running.)

Anyhoo, when my dad visited in August, we took him to Red Rocks and we watched people work out there - running the bleachers, upside down push ups, stair climbing - you name it. It all looked painful to me until I saw a woman jogging back and forth, working up the venue, one row at a time. 'Hey,' I thought, 'I could probably pull that off sometime.'

So, this past weekend, I did! Took me about 40 minutes but I heard Rocky music at the end, even though I forgot my headphones. This ended up being a blessing as I would have missed a beautiful song by some girl down on the stage in a cowboy hat and jeans. Her voice was angelic and the acoustics were perfect. Less angelic but equally adorable was the old guy who followed with a crusty rendition of 'King of the Road.'

From the ground, post-run.

Meanwhile, every time I passed someone sitting on the bench, I'd ask, "Encouraging words?" This elicited some funny responses, such as:

"Um...It's nice and cool at the top!"
"Only 90 more rows to go!" 
"Whoever is chasing you, you've lost them."
"If you stop, you'll have to do my homework." 
"Great job! Way to go!"

SweaterGod, I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest so many times but once I got the rhythym, I knew I would not be stopping for anything. Eventually, I conquered 69 really long rows at 6,400-ft. elevation and I felt like a Colorado milestone had been reached.

(No matter that Kirk flew up and down the venue three times - two stairs at a time - with enough leftover time to take a fucking nap - he's a freak of nature, so it does not count.)

  I can't wait to do it again.

Tragedy Hits Home

Photo: Brian Wilkins via Flickr.

So, what's another random shooting from yet another armed enraged man, right? Mass killings such as the one that happened yesterday in Seal Beach, California, have become much too common but this one, this one hit much too close.

When Kirk told me about a shooting in Seal Beach, it made me nervous. I grew up in the very next town, Long Beach, and Seal Beach was one of our many beachy teenage hangouts. My memories there are endless - getting ice cream from Grandma's on the corner, flirting with the lifeguards, bikini shopping along Main Street and happy hours too numerous to count.

Seal Beach Pier

Seal Beach always felt like an old-fashioned, gen-u-ine small town squished between the insanity of LA and shallowness of The OC. A place where flip-flops and Hawaiian shirts were always in fashion, year-round. It was a place where you could always find fish tacos, Irish beer and beach shells for sale. It was one of the few beaches along PCH that had a playground on the sand. People that are from there, stay there, and people that move there....well, they're just plain lucky.

The population count from the 2000 census was 24,157. In 2010, it was 24,168 - 11 more people. And I'm pretty sure I know at least three of those. Not a lot of big changes happen there, which is the crux of the Seal Beach charm. It's nickname? "Mayberry by the Sea."

Sadly, thanks to an angry, deranged ex-husband, Seal Beach became a place of mass murder when Scott Dekraai busted in to a hair salon and killed eight people, including his ex-wife, Michelle Fournier - a girl I knew from high school. It's a sign of modern times that my high school annuals, once kept purely for nostalgia, have now become a reference tool for Facebook invitations and shooting victims.

Michelle Fournier, pictured at left, with Christy Wilson.

But it gets worse. I quickly discovered that Christy Wilson also perished in this horrible event. I didn't know Christy personally but heard so much about her through my close friend, Debbie, who shared many memories with her. Debbie's daughter, Hannah, was also quite fond of Christy and posted this photo of she and Christy together on her Facebook, taken when Hannah was much younger:

Shortly after this, I get an email from my friend, Susie, who informed me that her friend, Laura Webb, also died in the shooting. Laura's mother, Hattie Stretz, was the lone survivor and is currently in the hospital. Hattie was in a chair, getting her hair done while visiting her daughter, when the shooting took place.

There is a candlelight vigil tonight and I so wish I could be there to honor the dead, including the innocence lost in this tiny seaside town. The OC Register is publishing the entire victim list tomorrow and it makes me nervous. As Susie wisely observed in her email today:

"We may have moved away but we come from a village."

I'm keeping so many people in my heart and prayers tonight and in the days going forward, including every single citizen of Seal Beach, California. But mostly, for Michelle's 7-year-old son. Evidently, this gruesome insanity was sparked by a custody battle and the irony is, now that little boy has no parents at all.

Lakeside: Old School Amusement

Saturday night, Kirk and I walked - yes, walked! - from our house to Lakeside Amusement Park, a step back in time for sure. Since we live precisely on the grounds of old Elitch Gardens, we recently had visited the relocated-downtown Elitch Gardens and found it crowded, expensive, disorganized and pretty much soulless. Being so close to Lakeside, we felt obligated to visit this vintage gem on its' last weekend this year.

After walking through our beautiful neighborhood, we showed up around 6 p.m., just in time to catch an amazing sunset. Riding a crazy roller coaster and catching a gorgeous lakeside sunset is an experience I highly recommend.

After paying the outrageous entrance fee of $2.50 (!), we skipped the coupons-per-ride set up and got the ride-everything-anytime wrist bands for around $19 each. Compare this to the $43 ticket price at Elitch and it makes your head spin. (I believe Disneyland is up to $80...?)

Established in 1908, Lakeside is currently owned by Rhoda Krasner, a delightful old woman whose father, Ben, had purchased the park in 1930. Immediately, he began art deco facelift which remains to this day. Sure, the park could use some loving repairs and a few new light bulbs but in a way, the natural decay is part of Lakeside's charm.  A Yelp review from Kelly T. sums it up nicely:

"If Lakeside were a man, he would be one of those old guys that hangs out in Winchell's Donut Shop drinking 50 cent coffee and eating a bear claw while reminiscing about better times with his old poker buddies. He still smokes a cigar every day. He still believes that a martini with lunch is perfectly acceptable. And, goddammit, he WILL have butter on his potatoes, not some awful oily margarine." 

Our favorite ride was definitely the Cyclone roller coaster, a wooden ride that does not do anything fancy except go very, very fast. A real bone rattler. Second was the Lakeside Train that circles Lake Rhoda - so delightful! Especially after dark when all the neon reflects off the water.

Our least favorite was The Spider, which I'd convinced Kirk into trying and well, we both regretted it. Later, while visiting the bathroom, I helped a poor woman wipe barf off her pants from riding the same evil monster. Poor lady, I think she might have been on a date too.

When time came for dinner, we (okay, Kirk) paid $12 whole dollars, for both of us. (2 slices of pizza and 2 sodas.) I can't imagine getting away with that at Disneyland. Also, Lakeside allows, and even encourages, people to bring their own food and have a picnic there on-site. Can you imagine a Six Flags' letting people come in with coolers? With the economy in such turmoil, places like Lakeside make it possible for families to have fun without spending a fortune.

On top of this, every employee we spoke to was polite and charming even though one can assume they are not making high dollar. (Although Admissions Guy could probably use more focus but no harm done.)  Mostly teens, sure, but not surly - no eye-rolling or mumbling, which was nice.

And the kicker? I think the longest we waited in line was 5 minutes. Although, my stomach did get permanently flipped by this damn thing:

Kirk was smart and stayed off it. Wish I had too. Still, I managed to keep everything down and recovered on the ferris wheel. It was a beautiful night and I felt lucky to have this old beauty in my city and in my 'hood.

Long live Lakeside!

Primo Visits

This weekend, my travel buddy, Mat Small, trekked out to Denver for a visit. He's one of many who have made connections at DIA but never emerged from the terminal. At long last, he explored Denver with my help and an old friendship was re-strengthened.

Mat is my Primo, Portugese for "cousin." Years ago, as we traveled through Brazil together, we kept being mistaken for spouses or siblings - neither of which described our platonic relationship. We settled for cousins and forever being Primo & Prima to one another.

Aside from seeing Denver, Mat was on a mission: To convince me to join him next May on a 12- day journey to the country of Georgia, a small nation bordering Russia, Turkey, Armenia, Azerbaijan and the Black Sea. He showed videos. He drew maps. He bragged about their wines and their status as the world's first Christian nation. He even cajoled my friend, Inna - who originally hails from Kazakhstan - to back him up. No luck there.

Still, I'm intrigued. Mostly due to the fact that Mat is a relentless researcher on exotic locals that bring the most bang for the buck. I tease him about his obsessions with world currencies but as his travel partner, it certainly pays off. In fact, Mat usually researches absolutely everything and I just show up. My part of the deal involves photographing the hell out of the entire experience. All in all, a fair exchange.

So come May, who knows? I may be slurping Georgian wine....

Mama Iva Visits

At nearby Sloan's Lake.

Though we are required to love our mothers, I am fortunate in that I also like my mother as a true friend. She is sweet, generous, laughs easily and is generally low maintenance. She does not hold expectations of me nor does she try to tell me what to do. Even though we are very different people, we instead celebrate our commonalities. Best of all? She is smart enough to never turn down offer of a cocktail.

In our living room.

Mama Iva, however, is no passive granny figure. Though she is 78-going-on-60, she chooses to work 40 hours a week as a secretary for an industrial tire company. There, she is universally loved and she returns that love by providing a bevvy of snacks to an all-male sales team every week. I was actually present the day her boss told her, "No matter how old you are, you have a job here. I mean, we'll just build you a ramp if we have to." Having a place to go M-F, 8-5, and be appreciated - it means the world to her.

Mama Iva's decision to remain in the workforce was prescient, as the economy tanked and Medicare and Medicaid have come under the knife, she remains solidly self-sufficient with regards to income and healthcare. Plus, my mother is someone with an active brain. She knows what is going on in the world and does not like to be left out; she was taking computer classes in the 80s.

In fact, a few months back we were sitting in her living room when she leaned over and said to me sweetly: "Will you teach me how to text?" Oh, the joy! She's got an older phone so it's not as handy as my iPhone but she gets it done and fully grasps the medium. She's even texting me photos now.

Mama Iva and Kirk at Red Rocks.

Recently, I convinced her to spare 48 hrs. for a quick visit to Denver. She had not seen my new place ("The Commune" as the family refers to it) so it was fun to show her my life, such as it is. We fed her from our garden, drove her up through the mountains and generally made her comfortable. I even got to send her home with food - I love a good table turn!

At one point during her stay, she asked me: "Will you give me a tutorial on Facebook?" WOULD I?!?! It was during this I gave her some sage advice: "Don't bother with all the privacy settings. The only filter you need to be concerned about is the one at the very beginning when people try to friend you. If the name doesn't conjure a familiar face, a shared memory or a warm fuzzy, just ignore it. Period." I hope she takes this to heart instead of worrying about hurting people's feelings. (This is how we are different.)

He's molting so cut him some fashion slack, okay?

As an animal lover, I was so pleased that Mama Iva got to see some wildlife while here in Colorado. Coming down from the Guanella Pass into Georgetown, we turned a corner and voila! An entire herd of mountain goats. She loved that and the adorable town of Georgetown too. 

I hated to see her go but she's got a full life to get back to - a full-time job, a social life (she's membership chairman of Young At Heart Singles), a big house and several pieces of property to maintain. Still, I miss her and wish one of us lived closer. I'd sure love the chance to feed her more often.