Archive | August 2016

and a Fond Farewell

Thirty years ago I met a man who needed a loan from the bank where I was manager…we became true and fast friends, hiking the hills in the valleys ’round Glenwood and Aspen, cross country skiing wherever we stopped the car, eating and laughing at all “the valley” spots, even camping up past Crystal City…then he fell for a rich gal with whom he built a luxe cabin high up Four Mile… I could not stand her, though I tried, so our friendship stopped, and I married a good guy, which marriage did not last long, so I returned to Denver to live where men shine their shoes and work is plentiful…through the years he popped in when he was in town, shoveled my walks when I was recovering from surgery, celebrated a birthday now and then, held my grandbabies when they were tiny…my Jules and I watched his first parachute jump, and he and I celebrated Y2K at Julie’s house head bobbing to Prince like it was 1999…His beloved screwed around on him, forced the sale of the dream cabin, took his money, and when she couldn’t/wouldn’t find work, she’d show up on his doorstep and he’d give her a bed…the mother of his children, donchyaknow… she’s just a disgusting, skinny-assed skank, Rox… these past six months or so, he’s lived in Denver, and we’ve once again hiked the hills, explored new restaurants, attended museum openings, seen great flicks, and solved all the problems of the world and family in long, hilarious talks… I can’t say I was ever in love with him, but we get each other, y’know? which is better, to my way of thinking… and it has been lovely to have someone who knows me from way back just hangin’ ’round… until yesterday, when he off handedly mentioned that when his lease is up in December, he’ll be moving back to Glenwood, back to the house he owns up there, where she, the harpy he “detests,” lives with his 20 year old son…back to his family… they need him…
I need no one, I suppose, or so I told him when I said I’d just as soon stop seeing and talking to him while the Summer is still upon us, and the sun is still high… I’ll miss him now or later, so I’d just as soon start while I have beaucoups distractions, holidays to plan and work to do, rather than mid Winter when things are slow and lend themselves to gloom… Fare thee well, Christopher Zoot Brules Anderson Sims…has been grand, as always…we shall both be fine and well, and better for having known each other… but we’re both way too old to keep doing this, so I’m done now…and finally glad to say it….

rude awakening

utter destruction
horrid putrid smells
crackling sounds
scorched burning shells
flying bits
cover the floors
incinerated yolks
stick to doors
seven eggs
put on to boil
and then I fell asleep
only to awaken when the pan cooked dry and the eggs exploded into every nook and cranny of my once clean kitchen and the house now stinks to high, high heaven with an odor that promises to linger throughout the entire day…
and I, not knowing at first what was happening, yell for Emil to get down, to get out of the cereal, only to see him sitting on his blanket looking at me like I’m a wild banshee flying up from the couch while attempting to remember why I was sleeping there
<deep sigh with a quick tsk>


I am kept ever humble…

whilst tearing out  errant vinca vines from out the front garden, I reached down to pull up my sagging socks, only to realize ’twas the skin round my ankles drooping there


Dalwhinnie, straight up

cool, quiet breeze

vapor trails dissolving

heading north east



it must feel so good

to dig your claws into the stiff coir

attempting to shred it

with all your might

as you pull it across the porch…

hey, wait!  where’ya goin’?

put that back where it goes, Mister!


I see you bindweed

riding Virginia Creeper

across the back wall.

Do not even think

I will allow you to stay,

after all the hail.






as smooth as

as clear as

as fragile as

and delicate as

and graceful as

but strong,

and leak proof,

thank God,

lest one drop o’ Dalwhinnie be lost


six forty nine A M

with all the peace and quiet of the morning warming in the fresh sunlight shining through the leaves as the mourning doves coo and Donald Trump clips screech from the clock radio

it will be a hot one…