Afthead Holiday Party

On December 10, 2016 By aftheadIn Best Day Ever, Uncategorized12 Comments

I’ve just finished cleaning up from my third annual holiday party. Yep, me, the introverted Afthead throws a holiday party every year, but it’s my kind of party. I pick up five of my daughters friends after school and we craft for four hours. I am their hostess, their coach and their mentor as they learn new skills making gift for themselves, their friends, and their families.

Every year I have a plan. I buy supplies: yarn, pipe cleaners, beads, and Popsicle sticks. In the days before the party my daughter and I make sample projects and test out what is too hard, what doesn’t really come together, and what we can reuse from last year. The event begins with an after school snack while I casually lay out the demo items we’ve created, showing what they could make for their mom, sister, dad, or grandpa. Some things grab their attention, and some things don’t, but ten minutes into the party it isn’t about me anymore: it becomes all about them. I hand them each a gift bag to store their loot and they start crafting.

It is a marvel to behold, an experiment in personalities. We hand select friends who can sit and craft for four hours with breaks only for food and to find the scissors. Learning from our past mistakes girls who want to be the center of attention or who can’t sit still aren’t invited back, because there are lots of parties where you can dance on the table, chase friends or wear pretty dresses. This party is different; I and the girls love it.

This year we hit the perfect mix of guests. There were two new girls on the invite list. I taught one to finger knit and she was a prodigy. Four hours she stood in her snow boots looping yarn over her tiny fingers. She went home with three scarves. The second new girl sat on the floor cross-legged making pom-pom after pom-pom: methodically winding the yarn around one arm of the puffball maker, closing it; winding the other arm, closing it; finding the good scissors, cutting the loops; and tying the yarn around the middle. She’d wiggle the contraption apart and out would pop another pom pom. Then she’d find another yarn and do the whole process again.

The evening’s transition is magical. They start the day calling for my help. Every one of them needs me, my hands, and my expertise. Impatiently they wait calling out Coach Johanna, Jo Jo, Mom, Mrs. Johanna, but by the end they are helping each other and I am forgotten. Today, with an hour left in the party, I was unexpectedly called. They explained that a timer needed so the girls could prepare for a rendezvous. Having no idea what they were talking about they explained, with the condescension of children, what they are learning about Colorado history right now. In case you are also ignorant:

Rocky Mountain Rendezvous (in trapper jargon) was an annual gathering (1825–1840) at various locations held by a fur trading company at which trappers and mountain men sold their furs and hides and replenished their supplies.

The timer rang, and the girls set up shop to trade their precious crafts with each other. There were no fights, no arguments, lots of compliments, and it was all their idea. I contributed cookies to the event, which they appreciated, while letting me know my presence was not needed.

I learn so much from them. Beyond expanding my knowledge of western history, I learn perspective about my daughter’s own strengths and weaknesses in the light of her friends. I learn more about the challenges and struggles they each have and they have together. I learn how each of them has grown and changed since I last had concentrated time with them. But I get to teach too. I teach them that it is important to be kind to each other. I teach them that we don’t have and Elf on the Shelf, because our family thinks the elves are creepy, but we don’t judge their family for having one. I teach about our joint Christmas and Hanukkah celebration. I teach them the wonder of making something with your own two hands and using your brain to take an idea and make it your own. I hope I teach them that even as a grown up there are lots of different ways of having fun with your friends.

This is the one party every year when I don’t worry about what to wear, I don’t need a drink to loosen me up, and I don’t want to hide in my basement to recover. Cleaning up from the event I love the dustpan full of yarn bits and googly eyes. My daughter, having helped and chatted with her friends, starts her projects in earnest when everyone leaves. She’s watched her friends and picked her favorite ideas to make over and over. My extroverted daughter and her introverted momma are both energized when the evening comes to a close.

You can have your cocktail dresses, your high heeled shoes, your signature drinks, and your white elephant gifts. Me? I’ll take a group of kids and some glue for as long as they will have me.

If at First you Fail Spectacularly

On December 5, 2016December 5, 2016 By aftheadIn childhood, Uncategorized25 Comments

Fostering cats. It’s the one thing in life that I can look back on and say, “Well, I sucked at that.” Last year five tiny baby kittens were taken into my care and four died three different ways. I broke when the fourth one had to be euthanized and kept the last one to heal my heart. She has since become a beloved member of our household.

For the past year I’ve held onto this failure. I have to admit that I have dubbed myself the Cat Grim Reaper. I’ve lurked on the foster parent group on Facebook and watched litter after litter of healthy kittens grow and thrive under other foster parents care. I’ve watched sick and hurt cats become sleek and healthy. Quietly I’ve kept my training up to date in anticipation that I was going to try again. Once and for all I was going to cement my definition of the kitten event: bad luck or killer.

Our local shelter just had an influx of animals and needed foster parents to take sick, but not dying, animals home to make room for the new really sick animals. With little input from my family or friends, I volunteered to take one of the cats. He has an upper respiratory infection, his leg is bandaged hip to foot, he just got neutered, and he has a heart murmur that needs to be evaluated once he gets over the other ailments. His name is Bart and he’s a beautiful long haired light grey cat. He loves my daughter and has a purr that vibrates his whole body when she pets him.

As Bart snores away on the other side of the bathroom door – he is quarantined because of his infection – I’m not confident that he’ll make it. He hasn’t gotten better in the five days in my care. We’ve had to change antibiotics, and he’s not eating. The plan was to take him back to the shelter Tuesday to have his heart murmur evaluated, but already they are saying I might have to keep him longer because he’s not improving. He is living in a mist of water vapor as I try to keep his nasal tissues from bleeding each time he sneezes.

Thursday I dreamed Bart was playing with my parent’s cats, and woke with one thought in my head, “This is too much.” Fostering is just too much for me, for my family, and for my other cats. I hate saying that. I feel like some aristocrat looking down her nose at hard work and saying, “Oh no, I can’t do that. It’s hard and messy and time consuming and inconvenient.” No part of me doesn’t feel like a failure. But I’ve had to put a litter box in my bedroom to stop our cats from peeing and pooping on my bed, because the presence of the foster cat near their normal boxes makes them nervous. My daughter sits stroking his soft fur with tears running down her face. “I’m going to miss Bart,” she says. I drive back and forth to the shelter to drop him off and pick him up so his bandage can be changed. I wipe bloody snot off our walls, off of my daughter, and off his fur. The truth of the situation is that this is not our path, and not our way to help. Bart will be our last foster and if he dies I will take the mantle of Cat Grim Reaper and wear it, but I will not partake in a third foster experience. I will find other ways to make the world a better place.

It isn’t all terrible, don’t let me mislead you. There are moments like this. I hope that Bart recovers and some amazing family gets to enjoy this giant purr for years to come.

For all those who care for shelter animals, either at the shelter or in their homes, I applaud you. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, and I wish you all the strength and courage to keep doing what you do.

Help Me Out of my Writing Closet

On October 29, 2016October 29, 2016 By aftheadIn Uncategorized34 Comments

I write in a closet. It’s a cozy place with everything I need to create my stories. There is a Microsoft Surface with a blue keyboard and a mouse, because I can’t figure out how to use the trackpad on that thing. There’s a meandering path to get there and inevitably I find myself distracted by work, husband, child, and friends when I’m on my way to write. Even when I carve out time to visit my writing closet the way is often blocked by obligations.

The thing I like about my closet is that I decide who visits me there. Hand selected friends, family members, and other bloggers get to see what I produce in my closet. If I take a risk and show my work to new people and they don’t like it my closet is off the beaten path so they won’t stumble upon it again.

In my dreams my closet is huge. It’s an auditorium filled with adoring readers and harsh critics who can’t help but love me. I sit onstage and read my work with tears coursing down my face and tissues are handed around as emotions fill every nook and cranny of the audience. There is magic in that space and time stops for my stories.

But, growing out of a closet is scary. What if when I get to the auditorium it’s empty except for me and my mom? (Of course my mom will come, she’s awesome like that. She will even be there early.) What if it’s filled with haters and they throw rotten vegetables at me? What if it’s rundown, rat infested and stinky, and not the space I was dreaming of? It’s so cozy in my closet, and I’m not sure I want to leave except that dream is so alluring…

I had an enlightening meeting with my family therapist on Friday and she told me I have to stop hiding my writing. She said I had to go home and post about my writing on my personal Facebook account, but that terrifies me. Right now my writing world and the real world are very separate, and I’m scared of merging the two. That said, I’m also tired of living this dual life: one where I live out my hopes and dreams through my stories and another where I look down my engineer’s nose and scoff, “Isn’t writing for 23 year old English majors who can’t find a real job?” I even have two separate Twitter profiles. This schizophrenia runs deep.

So blogger friends, as people I trust to hang out in my writing closet all the time, what do you do? Is your writing life and your real life the same? Did you ever hide your writing life from your real life? What happened if you merged the two? Any advice for how to embrace my writer persona? Have you put your writing on your personal Facebook account, and if so what happened?

Oh, and I totally don’t write in a literal closet. I write in a beautiful basement study that was recently remodeled.

In fact, there’s even a real closet in there. It’s filled with games and craft supplies, and anyone is welcome to see it. Even you, my blogging friends.

I’m looking forward to some help! Thanks friends!

A Knit for One Hundred Years

On October 5, 2016October 5, 2016 By aftheadIn Uncategorized7 Comments

How do you acknowledge 100 years of life? The invitation clearly said “no gifts” but my fingers itched to make something to celebrate my grandmother-in-law’s birthday. I wanted to make something soft, useful, bright and bold because she loves red and purple as all 100 year-olds should.

Nothing in my stash seemed right, so I was off to my local yarn shop. Not only did they have this amazing purple alpaca yarn with bright pink highlights, but they recommended the perfect pattern, Trillian and even had a sample so I could see and hold it: an asymmetrical narrow shawl that could be worn several ways. It would be pretty, soft, elegant and functional. Thank goodness for real world yarn shops.

I had never knit a shawl before or anything this big on size 3 needles, and time and birthdays wait for no knitter. It didn’t take me long to realize this was a more involved project than I had anticipated. The knitting began to take over every moment of my free time and several moments of my not free time. Soccer practices, conference calls, long drives, and parties all became opportunities to knit. My husband drove everywhere so I could knit. I became a public knitter out of desperation. At the end I used my plane trip to Austin to knit for 2 hours non-stop each way.

Deadlines are motivating and two days before the big party I cast off my last stitch and wove in the ends. Blocking opened the lace edge and hid the little snare from my cat’s attempt to drive me absolutely crazy with her disrespect of the knitting. The day of the party I wrapped up the finished object in tissue and set it in the gift bag. 10,570 stitches to celebrate her life. It seemed like a big present. Maybe too big.

Truthfully, I had never knit anything for her before. My in-laws aren’t crafters, so I had not made things for them, because I never knew if they would be appreciated. I set my lone gift bag next to a basket overflowing with cards. Everyone else had followed the rules. I was so nervous that my hand-cramping gift would be frowned upon that I didn’t ask her to open it. After she danced, ate, and celebrated with a room full of friends and family I said, “I made you something” as I told her goodbye. Desperate that my little gift bag not be thrown away or misplaced I also told my father-in-law, and his sister. I was worried that she wouldn’t like it, but terrified that she’s never see it.

When the phone rang the next evening with her number displayed on the caller id my stomach flipped as I answered the phone. “Johanna,” she said in her creaky voice, “I love my shawl. Thank you so much for thinking of me.” She loved it. She loved the color. She said, “I wish it was cold so I could wear it now.” And just like her grandson – my husband – the thank yous were done and we were off the phone in under five minutes. Who knew brevity was an inherited trait?

Tomorrow it’s supposed to dip into the 40s. I hope she wears the shawl. I like to picture her playing bridge, at choir practice, or doing crosswords at home wrapped up in warm softness made by my hands. She is 100 in age, but still lives in her own house, does laundry in her basement, and leads an independent life even after being widowed the day I was born. In the end, my 10,570 stitches are nothing compared to her 36,525 days on this Earth.

Community Recap: Automattic’s Worldwide WordPress 5K

On September 30, 2016 By aftheadIn Uncategorized3 Comments

I’m thrilled that my “thought-provoking” equality post was featured in the Automattic’s Worldwide WordPress 5K recap along with three other bloggers. What a great opportunity to celebrate writing and running: two of my favorite activities wrapped up together. Join me next year? You’ve got a whole year to train!

WordPress.com News

From September 19 to September 26, we invited members of the WordPress community to join us in one of our favorite yearly traditions: the Automattic Worldwide WordPress 5K (open to runners, walkers, cyclists, and hikers — and any other type of ambulation). Here are some of the stories and photos people shared from their corner of the world.

Live from Whistler

Our company is distributed, with Automatticians currently based in more than 50 countries. But once a year, we meet for a week to work and socialize in person — and we always set aside some time to run together, too.

Automatticians preparing for their 5K in Whistler, Canada.

This year, our Grand Meetup took place in beautiful Whistler, British Columbia, Canada. And on the morning of September 19, a few dozen of us braved the chilly early-morning weather for a 5K in the lush mountain landscape. If this…

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Equality? #wwwp5k

On September 22, 2016September 22, 2016 By aftheadIn Uncategorized26 Comments

“Gender inequality doesn’t exist anymore.” My husband declares with the emphasis of someone seeing his inherent privilege fade away. He goes on to outline the female project manager giving him fits, the multitude of females at high levels in his company and his aggravating female client. For an engineer who started his career seeing cubicles filled with monthly images of scantily clad women wielding power-tools, this twenty year rise of women from calendar to manager has been rapid and probably unexpected.

I can’t really argue too much with him. I manage a team of engineers, half women and half men. With our matching engineering degrees we make the same amount of money. (Well, we leap frog. When I get a raise, I make more. Then he gets one and he makes more.) We have similar responsibilities, similar jobs, similar flexibility to balance parenthood and employment.

We both coached our daughter’s soccer team. He does the dishes and laundry. I shop and cook. He fixes the broken fence; I sew buttons on when they fall off. I handle plumbing issues and he handles electricity.

We raise our daughter to love math and science. We raise our daughter to sing and love books. We raise our daughter to be a strong person and gender roles aren’t a topic we ever think to discuss. In her world the best mathematician in her class is a girl. The best speller is a girl and the person with the best handwriting is a girl.

But I’m a runner. I love running when I travel for work. Last week I left my hotel room with my phone in hand and my room key in my pocket. I don’t wear headphones when I run, because I know it’s not safe. I hate holding my phone when I run, but I’m somewhere strange and no one knows I’m leaving and no one is expecting me back. On the off chance something bad happens I can call. On the off chance something really bad happens the last known location of my cell phone might be traceable.

I’ve taken a self defense class. I know what to do if I’m attacked. I know where to gouge how to shout and how to best strike someone to knock them out. I know that if someone attacks me with a knife I’m supposed to grab the blade. My stomach clenches every time I think that: grab the blade. Can you imagine? Have you ever imagined? If you are woman, you might have. If a man, probably not.

I never go for a run and don’t think of my safety. I vary my route. I’m aware of my surroundings.

In Austin I jogged out to my favorite run along Town Lake. Somehow I got turned around and found myself out on this amazing path I’ve never seen before. Maybe I usually run on the opposite shore or maybe I go the other direction? Regardless, this new route was filled with people so I felt safe and headed out to enjoy an adventure.

Then I came to a fork. One side continued next to the river and the other diverted off into a wooded sanctuary. One side was safe and the other was unknown. I stopped and waited. Every single runner, walker, cyclist stayed on the main path. No one turned. No one sought out the shady refuge from the 92 degree heat. Minutes passed, and my desire to keep running waned. I turned around and headed back the way I came. As I neared my hotel I wondered what was down that path. Was I just being silly? Then I remembered the woman who was attacked the week before walking in my neighborhood. Better to be safe than sorry.

The genders are equal in lots of ways. But my little girl and I will have many conversations in her life about how to keep herself safe. How to make sure she has a friend watching out for her at a party. What the consequences could be if she drinks too much. How to be aware and not look like a victim. Why she shouldn’t wear “that dress”. If she’s a runner I’ll teach her what I’ve learned, and hopefully she won’t take the wooded path either, even if it calls to her soul. Safety first.

My husband and I are equal in many ways, but I have long hair and breasts and physical attributes that mark me as a potential victim. I am smaller than my husband and I have soft places that bad men want to hurt and probe. My daughter has smaller softer places. I am weaker and could be overpowered by most men, if they wanted to. I have to teach my daughter things I would never teach a son. Just like black families have to teach their kids how to act if a cop pulls them over, which is something that I would never think to teach my white daughter.

“Have you ever worried about you safety?” I ask my husband when I get home from Austin. “Do you worry about being in a park after dark, or walking to you car at the airport?”

“No. Why?” he asks.

The conversation has to start somewhere. With a kneel at the anthem. With a conversation between two almost equals who love each other. Inequality exists.

My musings from my 5k around Austin, Texas and part of the WordPress WWWP5K.

Austin Run – #wwwp5k

On September 14, 2016September 29, 2016 By aftheadIn Uncategorized2 Comments

I didn’t head out for a run in Austin to develop an equality epiphany. My original goal was to share one of my favorite running cities with the #wwwp5k crowd. I started with a simple thought, “Hey! Wordpress is doing a bloggy run thingy? I blog (occasionally) and run (even more occasionally) so I accept your challenge WordPress!” Everything about the blogging while photographing while running challenge made my multitasking soul tingle.

Even better, I found myself in Austin away from my family which meant my normal wife and parent duties could be replaced by a photo blogging run. Austin is one of my favorite running cities, and I have epic running memories there. I did my only marathon in Austin. I had an amazing trail run wipe-out in Austin, and hours afterwards gave a speech in front of hundreds of people. Unbeknownst to me I didn’t bandage my wounds well, so during my presentation blood began dripping down my leg from under the gauze. (Let me tell you, people really pay attention when you are up on a stage, leg oozing blood, and you are wearing a skirt and heels.) Austin is a running happy place for me, and Town Lake? It’s a special idyllic natural haven in the heart of downtown.

Now, I had a run in mind for this blog challenge. A run I’ve done many times out toward Zilker Park. It is about 4 miles, so met the requirements of the #wwwp5k. Yet somehow my plans went awry and I found myself a lost and the miles stretched out as I explored a new path. Other runners, have you ever had that happen? Somehow my 5k stretched into an 11.8k run/walk. (Map and mileage courtesy of Map My Run.)

austin-run

Now, before you get all impressed with my running ability – “Well I’ll just run…let’s say…over twice as far as I planned” – you should know a couple of things. 1. I live in Colorado and was running in Austin. Sea level is totally my friend. 2. I didn’t run all 7.3 miles. I ran out the whole way and then ran/walked on the way back, so I ran a 5k and then went extra at a variety of paces.

Let me show you this amazing running city! First off, proof that I was in Texas. Even the pedestrian bridge that runs across Town Lake features Lone Stars. Yee haw!

It was here, just over a mile in, that my route went awry. I think I turned left off the bridge when I normally turn right. Or maybe I don’t usually cross this bridge? Anywhoo I was not on my planned route, but not lost. As soon as I passed under a bridge, heard high pitch squeaks from above, and saw this warning sign I knew: Congress Street.

Only in Austin. You see, lots and lots of bats live under this bridge. Their nightly flight is an Austin tourist must. It is also something I try to avoid on my early evening runs, because while I think bats are super cool, the idea of running through gobs of them is a little creepy. (Yes, a bunch of bats is called a gob. Look it up.)

Past the bats I start seeing the things that make me really love running on Town Lake. The water, the water birds, the lush greenery and look! Rowers! I don’t see many rowers in Colorado. One specific lady caught my eye. It’s hard to tell from the picture, but the woman in the back of the nearest boat is rowing in a hijab. It was 92 degrees out, I was sweating buckets in my tank top and running shorts, and this amazing lady is out there rowing. I wanted to jump into the lake, swim over and applaud her ability to exercise in that heat with a head scarf. Seeing her got me thinking about equality, and how much of the world is up and arms about what women choose to wear on their heads, or at the beach, or while participating in the Olympics. It seems like we are always wearing too much or not enough to cover or show off our bodies.

Rowers far away

Rowers close up

My brain was working when suddenly, my dirt path changed and I was running on this really cool winding concrete bridge thing.

I’m assuming this gorgeous path is new, otherwise I’ve been missing an awesome run for years. I got into my groove and passed some pretty standard running icons:

The only mile marker I saw. I was 8 miles from somewhere!

Does anyone ever work out at these outdoor gyms? Anyone? Ever?

Ah mile markers. I only saw this one, which really gave me no idea how far I’d gone, since you need two for context, but I kept going. Then I saw an outdoor workout area that no one was using, or has ever used. (Really, does anyone ever use these things that are on all running paths all over the United States? Anyone?) Just past the vacant outdoor gym I came to a shaded path that looked like a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day. It jutted out into Town Lake and no one was on it. This was the location of my equality epiphany.

I jogged in place a bit, then just stopped and waited to see if anyone went on or came off the trail, but no one did. As much as I wanted to explore, the solitude just didn’t seem safe. I ran out a bit farther, then decided that it was hot and I was tired, so I started walking home. I was vacillating between feeling like a wimp for skipping the shady trail and feeling proud for being safe. As I was berating myself I was distracted by this odd sign.

No fishing on this concrete sidewalk please. The hooks get stuck in people when you cast and really, we’ve just heard the sidewalk fish just aren’t biting. Also if you do manage to catch one they taste really gravely. No fishing in this area. It’s best for everyone.

I might have decided, during the walking part of my run, to check out the Pokemon Go scene. Nothing like contradicting your “don’t go down the scary path” safety decision like pulling out your phone and playing a game while walking. I don’t usually do this. I feel that Pokemon Go is a fun thing to do with my kiddo but not something I interrupt my workout time with. But I was walking, and Austin has much different Pokemon than Denver does. Really. I’m not making excuses to justify interrupting my run with playing a game on my smartphone. Well, let me tell you something readers. Those Pokemon developers have a really annoying sense of humor, because this is the creature that popped up on my “run”:

Oh! Look at this cute little guy!

Really. Really Pokemon Go? You are going to INSULT me?

Oh yeah, Pokemon Go developer? You are going to mock me while I’m out exercising? You are going to throw a Slowpoke at me? I mean, I know I stopped running to walk a bit but do I deserve this? I did not, but since I was wasting battery life, and having a charged phone – and not being distracted by Pokemon Go – is key to being safe, I stopped my game. I acknowledge that my aforementioned multi-talking soul took it too far here.

With the sun setting I picked up the pace to ensure I missed the gob o’ bats. (Did you look it up yet?) and then stopped to photograph the paddle boats heading out to watch the evening bat surge.

With that I headed back to 6th street and down to my hotel, managing to catch this last selfie as I went.

Austin, how I love your running scene. Whether I’m heading out to Zilker Park, my planned run, or exploring this newly discovered “Ann and Roy Butler Hike and Bike Trail” and boardwalk, I’m never disappointed. Readers, I hope you all enjoyed the run, and check out Town Lake the next time you are in Austin. Watch out for virtual Slowpokes and literal bats! Oh, and be safe out there, wherever your feet take you.

Second part of my musings of my 5k around Austin, Texas and part of the WordPress WWWP5K.

Well that’s pretty!

On September 7, 2016September 7, 2016 By aftheadIn Tickles my afthead, Uncategorized10 Comments

Some days amidst the calendars and the schedules something pulls me away and makes me pause the chaos. I had one of those moments this morning as I was jumping in the car worrying I’d be late for a meeting at work.

Look at this! Isn’t it stunning? Look at the tiny drops of water sparkling on the petals and the miniature yellow corn stalks marching around the middle.

Oh, and at this angle! Look at all the different reds and oranges in the petals. I love this flower. The best part is that it’s a mistake flower. A neighbor gave it to me and it was supposed to be a spring bloomer that attracted hummingbirds. Instead it’s an orange daisy-like wonder that attacts momma Aftheads in the early fall.

What unexpectedly stopped you in your tracks today?

Ouray Beauty

On June 28, 2016 By aftheadIn Uncategorized8 Comments

Damp and smelling of hot springs we made our way to the concert in the park. Music and a sno-cone tent had lured us away from the warm pool. My daughter and I were both overdressed for the weather in our jackets, but underdressed in our lack of underwear and shirts. We had decided that wearing our swim suits under our clothes would just be “too soggy” for the rapidly cooling evening. My husband’s damp swim trunks looked enough like shorts that he blended in. The band we didn’t know played music we did know. We swayed to the music at the edge of the crowd while my daughter attacked her bright blue dessert.

Ouray is a mountain town, and there were distinct groupings of tourists in their “Ouray” and “Colorado” souvenir clothing and locals in their Patagonia, Mountain Hardware, and skinny jeans. Tourists were not wearing skinny jeans, because no fabric is flexible enough to allow for anything beyond breathing in those jeans: completely impractical for anything but standing and looking cool. Sprinkled between the tourists and locals were the traditional concert-in-the-park attendees. The requisite braless old lady, somewhere between 45 and 95, hula hooped in the front row. She briefly attracted attention of many wondering if her breasts would be exposed during her gyrations, even though no one really wanted to see them.

My daughter was marveling, “Why doesn’t everyone give straws and spoons with snow cones?” when I noticed a woman weaving her way through the crowd. Well, I actually noticed her coat. I am a coat aficionado and this was a spectacular specimen. It hit her mid-thigh and was made out of some chamois colored leather or perhaps waxed canvas. The material had a slight sheen and accentuated her ordinary movements as she nodded at this person and hugged that one. In the fading sunset her coat glowed and looked so soft that I longed to touch it. Laughing, she tossed her head and her long earrings sparkled beneath her asymmetrical black pixie hair. It wasn’t a haircut in response to aging or motherhood, but just the haircut she should have. When she bent to swoop up her son I noticed her jeans – not skinny like the cool people – but soft, medium blue, body skimming, practical and perfect. They just brushed the top of her bare feet as she stood, cradling her boy on her hip.

She was beautiful. It wasn’t that she was thin. It wasn’t that she was well dressed. She was both of those, but what made her beautiful was that she was impeccably herself and she was fully and completely present in the space she occupied. I wasn’t the only person who noticed her, although I may have been the most intent observer. As she would stop to talk to a group you could see the people nearby pausing in anticipation of her arrival. When she left a group they would watch her go before resuming their conversations. It was as if a spotlight followed her and the crowed brightened where she was. She was magnetic. I could spot her in an instant either due to her personality or the ebbs and flows of the crowd dynamics moving around her.

Never close enough to make eye contact or to be graced with a smile, I left without meeting this woman. As I closed my eyes to sleep that night I imagined a life for her. She owned a little boutique shop in Telluride. She lived in Ouray in a house she inherited from her grandmother, and she loved the quaint mountain town. However, as a savvy businesswoman, she knew the real money stayed in Telluride, the richer of the sister towns. Every year women traveled from all over the world to spend thousands in a single shopping trip so they could look “just like her.” She catered to them, fawned over them, impeccably dressed them, and under her attention they became beautiful. Huge packages would arrive at their homes containing entire new wardrobes selected by her hand. The rich women would take out each item and lovingly remember how they felt that day in Telluride. Unfortunately, none of them could capture the same confidence they felt in the shop, because the shop owner didn’t come with the clothes she sold. The memory of beauty didn’t wane so those wealthy women would return year after year to rekindle the feeling, and every year they found it under her gaze.

I fell asleep wishing I could travel to Telluride and wondering what coat she would select for me.

Hiatus and Compromise

On June 22, 2016June 23, 2016 By aftheadIn Tickles my afthead, Uncategorized10 Comments

Oh my dear blogging friends, I have missed you. The insanity of May flowed into the craziness of June and my poor blog suffered. In hindsight I should have told you all I was going to be missing from this space, but alas, I just went and left no forwarding address. Now refreshed and full of stories from a week’s vacation I return ready to blog again.

For starters, let me just say I have finally figured out this “vacationing with a child” thing. Now, 8+ years of parenting has taught me that the second I utter such words that hubris will destroy me leaving me in the land of horrid vacations for years to come. I shall not be daunted! I believe this knowledge will endure! The key to successfully vacationing with a kid is… duh duh duuuuhhhhh…. compromise! Let’s look at some pictorial evidence from my recent Tour de Soutwest Colorado, shall we?

In order for child(ren) to enjoy the seven mile hike to Lizard Lake, you must first incentivize them with a gnome home contest. Then, when the whining and complaining part of the hike begins you may be lucky enough to notice a bonanza of snail shells (What?!? In Colorado in the mountains??? It’s like Mother Nature was on the parent’s side) which will lead to the creation of a snail-shell-walkway which will result in a champion gnome home. Everyone is happy, especially the gnomes. Tune in, because I am certain this home will be featured on gnome HGTV for years to come.

Oh, not more hiking. We adults love hiking, and somehow we think if there is a waterfall at the end the children will like hiking too. That may work for you, especially if the hike is short and the waterfall is amazing like this one is, but maybe, just maybe, giant inflatable pool toys are more amazing? Try coupling the success of passing a swim test with an hour of “Water Ninja Warrior” competition – where your child legitimately crushes you on 6 of 6 obstacle runs. (She’s over a foot smaller than me, how was I supposed to fit? And don’t get me started on her strength to weight ratio….) The whole way up to that waterfall there will be nothing but joy, especially if you couple the hike with really great rocks in the path.

Oh dear God. You are not done hiking yet? You want to hike to a cave? A dark creepy cave? Well parents, just stick a horseback ride on the front of that cave hike and let Yuma the horse do the majority of the hiking for you. Sure, you won’t be able to walk for a couple days while you develop real understanding of the term “saddle-sore” but your kid will love every minute of the ride there, and then might even surprise you by being the only family member willing to follow the guide “just a little farther into the cave.” Try not to hang your head in shame while you let your kid go spelunking into the depths of a cave with some guide you met less than an hour before. She’ll probably be fine and besides, your butt hurts too much to crouch.

EVEN MORE HIKING?!?! What are you insane? Is this a death march or a vacation, I ask you? Well, if you can hike in a creek and, I don’t know, pick up even more cool rocks then maybe you can squeeze one more hike in. Note: we may have failed on the rock portion of “take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints” goal of hiking, but that’s okay, because you are done hiking now, right. RIGHT???

Let me tell you, at some point you have to put your butt down. Sure the top of the sand dunes are very tempting, but that sand is hard to walk on and after awhile there is so much of it in your ears you can’t hear the pleading, “Can’t we just go a little farther?” Fine, go a little farther, but me and your backpacks of water and snacks are staying here, far away from the sand ledge of death – which somehow didn’t claim my family (or any other lives) during our trip. You go on to the top. I’ll wait for you, even without any rocks to gather.