Oops.

And so the months have ticked by as they tend to do, but I've been doing something other than blogging (obviously). Shame! But let's recap since our last visit. At the end of September, my fairy god mother Sue came to visit the Denver area. She was responsible for hosting more than her fair share of my birthday parties as a child, as well as my graduations, my Christmas Eves, and my back to school shopping sprees from the 3rd grade and on. The woman is a saint, to say the least.
October was a beautiful month filled with pumpkins and kabocha. Randy came for a visit and we did the usual traipsing in RMNP. It was bitter cold in the Park, the wind sneaking in through every seam in your clothing, and I humored myself with shadow games because I am old enough now to know when trying to warm up to climb is a waste of my energy.

November ushered in the holidaze, with Theo, Randy and I skipping off to SoIll for Thanksgiving. The climbing there is spectacular, and bouldering on sloping sandstone was like getting to eat dessert for four days. Such a treat! Except that it rained for two of those four days, and so that was more like having someone take away my dessert and leaving me with cauliflower instead. In December, the 8th Annual Cookie Party migrated to the Maxwell House for the year while Jen and her family are in between houses. The party seemed to be a success, we incorporated an ice luge in the back yard and held part of the party in the Shed. The family came wandering my way for the Christmas holiday, and I had the true joy of hosting Christmas dinner for the three favorite men in my life: Theo, dad, and Randy. We had some wonderful meals, Theo and Randy got to beat one another to a pulp via the NFL game on the Xbox, and I got to redeem myself in the creme brulee department. It was a blissful Christmas all around.

And that brings us to December 31, which also happens to be the 10 year anniversary of my year long globetrotting excursion. One decade ago, New Years Eve, I landed in Bangkok, Thailand with a backpack that seemed to equal me in weight, a crashpad, and a reservation at the Best Western. I boarded a bus at the airport and asked for the hotel, beginning a circuitous journey across the sweaty chaos that is Bangkok. By the time the clock struck midnight, I was the final passenger on the bus. Firecrackers sprouted across the cityscape and millions of cars honked out in unison as the driver called back to me, "Happy New Year!" But he was clearly puzzled. Why was I still there? Where, exactly, was I going? "The Best Western Hotel," I repeated. He pointed down a neon lit street: "There! Best western!" But I couldn't see the familiar blue and yellow sign; in fact, I couldn't see anything vaguely familiar at all. I took out the address I had written down before I left the States and showed it to him, whereupon we realized that he was merely trying to take me to the 'best western-style hotel' along his route. He hailed a taxi for me and sent me on my way.

Thus began a year long excursion that sent me bouncing around the globe like a ping-pong ball. I hopped from the limestone cliffs of Thailand over to Spain where I was denied the purchase of a car, and was forced to buy a beater in England. I spent the next four months driving around Europe with my steering wheel on the wrong side. I was introduced to the slopers of Fontainebleau, an honest croissant, a proper cuppa tea. Two months in South Africa taught me about vulnerability, trekking in Nepal and seeing the Himalayas was the closest I've ever come to feeling God. By the time I got to North Vietnam, I knew that I was a different person all together. I arrived back in the States a few days before Christmas, fully aware that I had permanently transformed my entire understanding of this world we live in. A decade later, I still think of that year as the single most important thing I've accomplished in my life.

Happy New Year, y'all! May 2009 bring you treasures, wisdom, and laughter.

Wedding and whatnot

Last night we went to the wedding of one of my oldest childhood friends, Melissa. We went through elementary and middle schools together, then had an overlapping circle of friends at different high schools. We both eventually settled for college in Colorado after short stints in the Pacific Northwest (me at Puget Sound, Melissa at Lewis and Clark), and I spent the better part of my sophomore year sleeping on her couch in Fort Collins. So it was a real treat to see her getting hitched, and I admit that I got completely, and unexpectedly, choked up when I watched her walk down the aisle. I'm such a mamby-pamby.
The wedding was in Keystone and it was a picture perfect day, so I'm quite happy for the both of them. Bryan will have to work rather hard at keeping up with her on the ski slopes (I gave up many years ago...), but they seem to be a perfect match.
Jen had an end of summer fiesta last month which was delightfully pleasant. I can't believe how many kids are at our parties now. It's mayhem. Jen's shoving us into the next phase of our lives whether we're ready or not. I just had to post this great picture of Violet hitting the bottle. Jen gets her girls trained early...

R.I.P. Bunny

Many moons ago when I was a wee lass in the first grade, my mother took a trip home to Japan to visit her family. When she returned, she bestowed a large stuffed rabbit upon me as a gift. It was pink and white, with fluffy fur, big black eyes, and a chocolate nose. It sported a bow tie and arm band made of Japanese brocade in vibrant colors and I loved it immediately. Forever the logical one, I named it Bunny. I thought Bunny was so fantastic that I took it to class with me for Show & Tell. Everyone gave their "oooohs" and "aaaahs", and Bunny remained a favorite companion for many, many years to come. It saw me through sickness and health, I washed it when my cousin's dog peed on it, I was tormented by not being able to take it to summer camp with me. But there was not much I could do last week when Pippi introduced herself to Bunny. I happened to be driving down to Santa Fe last weekend when I got the phone call.

Me: "Hello?"
Theo: "I have some bad news."
Me, thinking the worst: "What?! What happened?"
Theo: "You know Bunny...?"

And I knew. Really, it was a relief because I thought something far more horrible had happened. But Theo said he had walked into a Bunny massacre. Fur and filling everywhere, scattered throughout the entire house. The head in one spot, an ear over there, a foot in his office, handfuls of foam littered the stairwell. It seems that Bunny's era has come to an end. As Jessica remarked: it's a good thing I love my dog so much, otherwise we'd have a second casualty on our hands. So, RIP, Bunny. We've had a good run. This is a very good lesson in non-attachment for me.

I continued on to Santa Fe to hang with my Pops for a few days. We went to the Santa Fe Opera on Monday night which is such a treat. The venue is like none other - the absence of walls makes it an open-air theater perched on a hill in the high desert. It's pretty incredible, really. You can feel a breeze across your face as you watch world-renowned singers in fabulous costumes on a gorgeous stage. I never knew if I'd be an opera person or not, but when I went for the first time last summer I actually cried during La Boheme. This year we saw The Marriage of Figaro, a comedy, so there were no tears but I still thought it was such a joy to watch.

The Santa Fe Opera is funny in that people "tail-gate" in the parking lot prior to the show. Maybe this is common throughout the opera world, I wouldn't know, but this isn't any Football tail gate party with bratwursts and Schlitz. People actually bring wooden tables (not the fold-out variety), matching wooden chairs, tablecloths, vases with flowers, I even saw one party with a candelabra as their centerpiece. It looked absurd. They sip wine and munch on who knows what - probably cheese and pate - while they sit at their portable formal dining room in the middle of an asphalt parking lot. It cracks me up. The really goofy thing is that next door to this regal and majestic setting is the flea market. These two entities sit alone, side by side in a rural post just north of the city. You have to appreciate New Mexico's diversity. Don't get that much here in the Boulder Bubble.

Identity Crisis

I went to a concert at the Denver Botanic Gardens week before last that was billed as a Cajun Dance Fest. Buckwheat Zydeco was one of the three bands playing - it was a load of fun. You can bring in food and wine and have a little picnic while you listen to the music in the grass soup bowl. They have a concert series there all summer long, and I'd highly recommend the venue to anyone who has opportunity to take advantage of it.

What else is going on? I got my passport back in record time - like 10 days after I sent my application in. I was stunned. Who knew that a branch of the federal government could be so efficient? More interesting is that they changed my name back to an 'i' instead of a 'y' with no questions asked. Stunned again. So since then, and it's been months now, I've tried to change my name to 'i'. And let me tell you - it isn't easy. It turns out that changing the spelling of your name as an adolescent is a breeze. The real bugger is going back after a few decades since you've had several jobs, passports, bank accounts, drivers licenses, and credit cards. My paper trail is all askew now.

Anyway, passport was task number one; and now that I'm comforted by the fact that I can still get out of this country on a moment's notice, I guess bank accounts will be next? The stupid part is that when I give my name to someone for whatever reason - a reservation, a doctor's appointment, etc - and the person asks if my name is with a 'y' or an 'i', I have no answer. I stumble every time. "Uhhhhh..." And then they look at me like I'm an idiot because I don't know how to spell my own name. Then everyone feels really awkward, and I can't be bothered to explain the story anymore, so I say, "Just spell it with an 'i'", and then I hand them a credit card that has my name with a 'y' and it only compounds the confusion. So dumb.

New Blog!

We went to RMNP on Saturday, making the trek to Upper. The mosquitoes were really doing their mosquito thing, namely driving me mad. I bathed in Deet and it helped, though I worry that my skin may melt off. Highlight of the day is that it was Jen's birthday, so we hauled up a chocolate cake to surprise her with. By "we hiked" I mean "Theo hiked", but I did pick it out so I do get some participation points. Chocolate cake always tastes good, but it tastes particularly good at 11,000 feet, or whatever the heck Upper Chaos sits at. BTW - 6,000 steps to Upper (my pedometer told me so... see previous post).

Speaking of cakes, I have just launched a new blog called Tea for Three. It focuses primarily on food, and it is giving me something else to write about for awhile. ClubShed will stay the same, but I wanted something else that was less hodge-podge. I could have blogged about climbing, but I have read a good chunk of the climbing blogs out there and can safely say that the universe does not need one more of those. A spray a day does not keep the ego away... I know that some people do check this blog for climbing updates, which I will continue to post with great enjoyment when the mood strikes. But I apologize to the readers who do not know me and want a heavier climbing focus, because all these non-climbing posts must be completely inane to you. (You: "What IS it with that girl and her dogs? Can't she just stick to climbing?" Me: "No.") I don't climb everyday, but I do eat everyday. And usually I do it with great gusto, so it seemed a fine topic to branch off onto. Unlike ClubShed, you don't have to know anything about me or the family to enjoy it, so feel free to share it with your friends and family. I do hope that you find some delight in it; suggestions are welcome!
As for the dogs, Colin arrived with Dixie last week and Finn was so good with her that I wanted to give him a "Best Behaved Pooch of the Week" ribbon. Dear cousin Dixie - she's a cute one! We have a rule in the kitchen: 'No Doggie Loitering Allowed'. As you can see from the photo, Dixie is a rookie and figures that as long as 50% of her body is outside the kitchen, that counts. Pippi is a competitive athlete - she keeps her paws perfectly lined up at the doorway, like a sprinter at the starting blocks, getting as close as she can without actually breaking any rules. Finn is a seasoned pro - he relaxes at the back, knowing he is largest and will simply mow down anyone else who gets in his way.

RMNP 08

My God there was a lot of snow up here this winter. Middle of July and some problems are still buried. If we happen to have an early winter this year, we're screwed. Theo and I went up for our inaugural day of the season on Sunday which was fantabulous. The mosquitoes were not horrendous, though I imagine that will be changing in the coming weeks. I'm going to have to put my bouldering hat on now, but it's probably about time anyhow.

My interesting tidbit of the day is that I learned it takes me approximately 3,500 steps to get from the parking lot to Lower Chaos. That's just shy of two miles, which seems about right. However it takes me 4,750 steps to get down, which I find confusing. I've been wearing a pedometer for a while now because of a competition we're having at work; in theory, the goal for the average person should be 10,000 steps per day. And now that I'm counting, I can tell you that it ain't easy. My neighborhood walk with the pups is 4,000 steps. My trail run with them is about 6,250 steps. A trip from my desk to the bathroom and back is about 28 steps, my desk to the mail and back is 203 steps, the Shed is 25 steps from my back door, and I can log about 170 steps when I bike back from my neighborhood store. The biking part, obviously, should be zero steps, but I think the bumps on the road must trick it into giving me a few. If I walk it I get about 1,500 steps, but that takes too damn long just to get half and half.

Retirement, Taos

T'was a little hectic around here the last two weeks. I was helping plan a retirement party for my dear mamacita, and this is exactly how I found myself baking 100 chocolate cupcakes and six loaves of poundcake prior to my departure. I've never gone through so much butter in one day. It was practically obscene, and I even cut out 1/3 of the butter from the frosting because I just couldn't stand the thought of it anymore. The party went off without a hitch - we had about 100 people attend, a musician that sounded like James Taylor, and a tent to deflect the menacing clouds; though, in the end, they were all bark, no bite. We also had about three times as much food as we needed due to our rookie status in planning events this size. I was practically begging people to eat as the night wore on, and in the end I digressed into a "dessert-pusher", walking around with a tray of cakes and just about shoving them down people's gullets. We finally wound up donating several trays of food to a local homeless shelter, mostly because there was no way Mom and Richard could possibly eat 16 pounds of hummus. No photos as I was preoccupied with force-feeding people, but it was a lovely affair and I think that mom, especially, had a stellar time.

After the festivities, I meandered over to Taos for the next week so I could participate in a workshop facilitated by Pamela Houston, one of my favorite authors. I loved the class, learned an enormous amount, and was reacquainted with my long lost love of the town. It was so refreshing to be in there.... Taos is a lot of what Boulder is and everything that Boulder isn't; the combination makes it a fabulous place to be. If I ever stumbled upon some money, I'd buy a place there in a heartbeat. It is one component of the three C's that I desperately want: a Chateau, a Cabin, and a Casita. France, Squamish, Taos. Better start saving my pennies.

Belated Updates

I really don't know where the days go, but that seems to be a side effect of summer. Late spring saw a long awaited memorial for Lou and Lolly, Theo's grandparents. While Lolly passed away well before Theo and I ever started dating, I did get to spend quite a bit a time with Lou. To know him was to love him: he was both an intelligent and passionate man. And one helluva gardener. Lou and Lolly's ashes were planted with a plum tree at Theo's aunt Thea's house, and the family gathered to say a few words and sprinkle some dirt, ashes, and laughter. The only cousin missing from the tribe was Theo's sister Phoebe, but otherwise all cousins, their partners and children are accounted for in the above photo.

To escape the heat one afternoon, Theo and I hiked up South Arapaho Glacier with the pooches. The views were beautiful and it was a great respite from the swelter of town. Pippi had a small incident with a marmot. Turns out, unfortunately, that marmots look and sound exactly like one of the dogs' squeaky toys. Just the living, breathing, mobile version of it. All the more fun! In the end the marmot won, but Pippi's battle wounds are recovering nicely. I'm quite sure she didn't learn a thing from the incident.

I, on the other hand, have learned a thing or two. About weddings, that is. The planning to this point is negligible, but I've absorbed a few interesting facts that I thought I'd share with you. First of all, the great American retail staple of Ebay has taught me that there are a lot of really goofy looking wedding dresses out there. Really... Who designs those things? They're like Little Bo Peep meets the Beaded Lace Monster. Along those lines, I have also gathered that there are a lot of rather large bridesmaids out there who are desperately trying to ditch their dresses post event.

The second thing I learned is that China is the place to have a dress made these days. For every former bride listing a dress, there are at least two listings for establishments who will make you nearly any dress you want, any color you choose. You just have to have faith that you actually know how to take your own measurements and they actually know how to sew. I've been to Hong Kong - I can vouch for the tailor industry there; but with the advent of the internet, it seems they've gone global. I kind of want to try it out just for the sheer novelty of it all. Who knows if they actually even mail you a dress, but it would certainly add a little spice to the planning process.

Lastly, I've learned (and I'm only going to say this once) to listen to your mother. She told me not to take my ring off when I go on runs, or to yoga, or to put on lotion, because eventually I will forget it somewhere. What?! What sort of idiot would actually forget to put their ring back on? Erm.... which is exactly what I did last night when I left yoga. I took it off and hung it on the little hook in the locker I was using so I could put lotion on. In my sickened state (I have a head cold right now), and with my blissed-out yoga brain, I left it on the hook, gathered my things, went home. Bolted upright in bed two hours later when I suddenly realized what I had done. Panicked. Found small comfort in the fact that I was the last person to leave the locker room in the last class of the evening. I arrived at the studio an hour before they even opened this morning (to the yoga teacher's surprise, "Wow! You're here bright and early this morning!" Me: "Yeah, whatever. Stop chatting and open the door.") I bolted to the locker I had used and there it was, hanging right where I left it. Whew! So let this be a lesson to all you boys and girls: Mothers really do (on rare occasion) know best!

Rocks, Reunions, Rings

We traveled to California weekend before last to celebrate my grandmother May's 93rd birthday. While I'm comforted to know longevity seems to be in the genes, that fact didn't seem to relax our pace for those 48 hours. We arrived on Friday evening and enjoyed a homemade sushi dinner at Randy's with his household plus mom, aunt and uncle. Certain moments proved to be a bit awkward, but more on that later... After food we raced up to Yosemite for a midnight arrival and had a blissful night of sleep in the forest under a near full-moon. It was fantastic to be back in the Valley and actually get an entire day of climbing in. I spent a lot of time reflecting on my life since my previous visit and could appreciate what a turning point that trip was for me. I marveled at how smells can transport a person enormous distances in the blink of an eye, which is one of my favorite ways to re-live a previous experience. When I drive home to New Mexico, right around the Colorado/New Mexico border the flora and fauna change just enough so that when I roll down my window, the scent in the air lets me know that I'm home. Trash bins have brought me back to the alleys of Nepal; a particular pile of bird poop once sent me into South Africa again. And forests. God, I love forests. Each one has such a distinct odor, and I was enormously pleased to find that Yosemite smelled just as I remembered it.

We landed back in Berkeley in the pre-dawn hours, collapsed onto the floor, and then cleaned ourselves up for Grandmother's birthday brunch in the city. The meal was at the same restaurant as it was for her 90th, and while the food is fine, I suspect that their specialty is actually their location. The restaurant perches on the 52nd floor in a downtown San Francisco skyscraper and allows for spectacular views of the bay, the bridges, and the big city life. Grandmother was very pleased with the celebration, and we were as close as we've been in years to getting all six of the cousins together. Toei had flown in from Tokyo, so our only Missing Person was Hanako who is firmly planted in England right now. I have added her into the photo to complete our group, which only makes me notice that my painting skills have not changed much in the past 30 years (see previous post).

After brunch, we drove to the beach where Theo gallantly dropped to one knee and proposed (!). I accepted, of course, and though I wasn't exactly surprised at the proposal, I was surprised at how exciting it still was. We had gone ring shopping together a few months ago, and I made the fatal mistake of announcing this fact to my mother in hopes of easing her suppressed fears of me being the Never Married Daughter. She, in turn, came to me a month ago, feigning ignorance: "Your cousin heard that you were looking for rings. How on earth did she find out?"
Me: "Huh. I can't imagine. Especially considering I've told a grand total of ONE person. My list of suspects is quite short." I glared at her.
Mom: "Oh! Hee hee!" She blushed and ran away.

But that did not stop the mighty mouth from striking again. When she arrived for dinner at Randy's house on Friday night, two days before Theo proposed, the first thing she said to me was, "Let me see the ring!"
Me, frantically waving left hand in front of her face: "I don't have a ring, mom. Do you see a ring on this finger?"
Mom, baffled: "But, I thought... your father said... wait... I'm so confused..."
At that point my uncle George came into the house wielding a bottle of champagne: "I hear we have something to celebrate!"
Me: "Oh, boy..."
Theo: wanting to crawl under the table...
Randy: smirk, smirk...
Everyone else: Well this is very normal and not awkward at all. Please pass the rice...

Moral of the story is this: if someone brings a bottle of champagne, just drink it and celebrate life. Otherwise, it will sit unopened on the kitchen counter, looming over dinner like the elephant in the room.

Anyway, we are very happy, and I have to admit that the ring is a beauty. It was custom made by an Armenian man and has a very Middle Eastern look to it. It sings of far-away lands that include genies and magic carpet rides - it's like my own little unique piece of wearable art. I feel a bit like Smeagol/Gollum from Lord of the Rings when I find myself staring at it ("My precious..."), but it suits me to a T.

And if you want to know any details about my wedding, please contact my mother. I'll be doing the same...

Why try a Y? I've got an eye for an I.

I am prone to following through on the periodic wild hair. And when I do so, I do it with such gusto that I often suffer the repercussions for decades to come. For instance, when I was in summer camp between seventh and eighth grades, I decided that I would become a vegetarian. Not because I was trying to save the animals or make a statement, but it was just because I wanted to know if I could do it. I was at camp for six weeks, the meat was grisly at best, and I thought, "Let's see if I can not eat meat for the rest of camp." It was purely a test of self will. Could I do it? What would make me crack? I was a successful non-carnivore through the rest of camp, and when I made it home, much to my family's annoyance, I decided to keep up my test of will power through that October. When October passed, I thought, "Huh. Great! Why change?" With the exception of the annual Thanksgiving dinner (which I ate with gusto), I wound up not eating meat for the next dozen years. A dozen years! Just like that. Some call me stubborn, but I prefer to think of it as being tenacious.

After that first dozen had passed, I was forced to reconsider my position when I found myself to be a globe-trotting, rock-climbing, new-experience loving person. First of all, after all that time of never thinking twice about it, I caught myself day-dreaming about meat. My hunch is that this was due to so much time climbing that my body suddenly wasn't getting enough protein. The other primary factor is that I spent a year hopping from country to country, often alone, and felt I was in no position to decline anything that was being offered to me. These people were taking me into their homes. I was not going to then turn my nose up at what they brought to the table. And so, just like that, I flipped the switch and began to eat meat again. I didn't tiptoe into carnivorism, either, I went gang busters. Chicken was fine, but I devoured liver pate and bratwursts from street vendors like there was no tomorrow. Nepalese goat? Sure! I'll take two! My digestive system didn't even flinch and I've never looked back.

Another choice I made around the time I stopped eating meat, (the sixth grade, I believe?) was to change the spelling of name. I was incredibly bored with Robin, but an entire name change seemed unrealistic. So I merely swapped the "i" for a "y". Presto! New identity. It's amazing what one letter will do. But holy pain in the ass now. It's what? Over twenty years later? And suddenly, I'm tired of the "y".

When Mom came to visit last weekend she brought a painting I did when I was in kindergarten (I think she's removing all evidence that she ever had children). I distinctly remember painting it, mostly because when I was signing my name, a drop of paint fell off the brush and landed in the 'B', so I added another dot on purpose to make it look like a face. I've been looking at that painting and suddenly decided that Robin is the name I was given, so who am I to go around changing things? Besides, I kind of like it now. I guess it's grown on me after being in exile for a few decades. But it isn't as easy as running down to the grocery store and buying some ground beef. Every job I've ever had, my passport, my drivers license all have a 'y'. I don't really know how to undo it all since it was never formally done to begin with. So maybe I'll use both. I guess I'll take whatever spelling people give me. I need to renew my passport in the next month and I'm already obsessing over it. Y? I? Y? I? What will wreak less havoc within modern day bureaucracy? Will I cause myself a year long delay in getting a new passport if I fill out my paperwork with an I? I can totally see that red-flagging the system. I'll be branded forever by the NSA as a name-swapping, rule-breaking terrorist. All because of some middle-school punk who wanted to be different. That'll show me, eh?

Easter weekend

We had loads of visitors last weekend during the Easter holiday, though none of them were here because of Easter. My father's sister and brother-in-law celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary and so the folks were in to offer their congratulations. I got to see some cousins that I have not seen in upwards of 15 years, which is bizarre considering that they live 45 minutes from me. All is well on that side of the family, and I'm happy to have shared such a huge milestone in their relationship as 50th wedding anniversaries seem to be going the way of the dodo.
Having both parents in town simultaneously was exhausting, though I must say we made sure we were well-fed. Mom says I was stressed, though easy for her to judge while she got to nap as I chauffeured her to and fro. We did get to enjoy a lovely meal at my favorite Japanese restaurant in town, Amu. We also went to 'High Tea' at St. Julien's and felt sick from carbohydrate overload. Mom earned quote of the weekend when she said, "Huh, I've just figured out that this whole Easter thing is a pretty big deal to a lot of people." Well, yes, mom. See, a long time ago there was this one dude. And his name was Jesus...

What else? Theo bought a kitchen contraption called the Vita-Mixer and has announced that we're going on a new diet. Which is a pretty loaded thing to tell your significant other. "We"? What is this "we" thing you speak of? So he has become obsessed with pulverizing endless amounts of vegetables and juices, and I now get to take my vitamins in liquid form. We're currently going through bushels of spinach. Which, incidentally, is not a bad drink when ground up with mint and pineapple nectar. Tastes a lot like wheat-grass. Most people are blessed with a cup of coffee or tea while they lounge in bed on a Sunday morning. Me? I was shaken awake today and handed a tall glass filled with outrageously pink pulp the consistency of baby food: beets, carrots, spinach, and oj. Tomorrow I'll poop purple. My automatic reaction to this new "diet" is to go into baking hyper-drive and the counter has been loaded with goodies. Last week was a delightful lemon cake. Yesterday I made eight miniature loaves of chocolate chip banana bread. I must demand balance in my life.

Meanwhile, the dogs are well rested. Nothing new to report there.

Doh!

Jessica and I had a rather expensive brunch yesterday. We met at our usual spot, had our usual meals, paid our usual tab of $25. When we left at 11:30am, Jessica realized her car had been towed. I did recall seeing white and yellow lights out of my periphery from our table, which, at the time, meant nothing to me - but I suppose hindsight is always 20/20. Turns out she had paid for parking until only 11am, and due to some unfortunate miscommunications regarding unpaid parking tickets, she got towed.

Jess walked to the courthouse, I biked home and told her to give me a buzz if she needed a ride to pick her car up. She did call, and I was on the phone at the time having a flustered conversation with my father who was trying to ask me to do something in the worlds most circuitous way. I hopped into my car, still talking with and trying to make sense of my dad, took a wrong turn due to my lack of focus on the task at hand and proceeded to scoot around another vehicle so I could flip a U-turn. Which is when I got pulled over for speeding and am gifted with a $100 ticket. Incidentally, I'm only three blocks from my house, and only three blocks from the courthouse where I needed to pick up Jess. I had to hang up on my father who couldn't seem to understand that I was in the process of being pulled over. The cop goes on to point out that if I go to the courthouse and pay the ticket before my court date, the points will be dropped from 4 to 2.

"What a coincidence," I said, "that just so happens to be where I was heading right now anyways."

"Oh," Mr. Cop replies, "you just missed it. You'll have to turn around now."

No shit.

So I picked up Jessica and took her to the impound place where she is out $170. All told, our pleasant brunch turned into a $300 affair. And it was good, but certainly not that good!

Big City Life

We had an evening out on the town last night, courtesy of a new club/bar in town called Elixir, and the whole experience was sort of goofy. We had "bottle service", a first for me, where you purchase an entire bottle of alcohol (in our case, UV Vodka) and a host of three different mixers. Now, the whole gig was free which is why we were there, and I get the idea, but would I do it again? First of all, the average bottle service there costs about $180. Probably not much by national standards, but let's remember that this is Boulder and we country bumpkins have been uninitiated thus far and still experience sticker shock. Ok - there were about 8 of us, and we each averaged two drinks which makes each drink north of $11, not including tip. Pretty pricey.

A quick Google search shows me that price of the entire bottle we were drinking is south of $11. Though the bottle looked hip and tasted fine to my unrefined palate, common sense tells me to head to my local Liquor Mart and buy a bottle for my own private party. But I'm not at Liquor Mart, I'm in a club/bar/time warp. Obviously, a big part of the price is ambiance, so Let's Discuss.

First of all, I'm aware that I am not Elixir's target audience. I didn't recognize a soul in there, and everyone looked to be imported from Denver. But people also seemed like they were having a good time, and there was one woman who was wickedly good at limbo. I danced a bit, music was mediocre. The club portion is underneath the bar portion, so it's pretty hard to forget that you're in a basement. The most entertaining bit was the club's waitstaff who dressed Vegas-esque style: micro outfits in shredded black. It's fine if you can pull it off, but you have to exude a certain 'tude in spades to make it work. Their 'tude was lackluster, more like someone at TGIFridays or Bennegins who has to wear suspenders with buttons pinned to them only because it's part of the costume. I'm not sure it'll last, but I'm content with having done something out of my Friday night norm.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was disturbed this morning to find that we're out of oats (my favorite breakfast), which didn't really matter because we're also out of milk. I resorted to the ol' peanut butter standby, only to find that we're out of Creamy. As a final bid to eat, I was forced to choke down a Crunchy pb sandwich. Desperate times, desperate measures.

The Loyal Tenenbaums

Theo had a surprise birthday party for his mother Lisa last Thursday. A large chunk of the locally dwelling Tenenbaum clan was present: Lisa, 1 of her 2 kids, 3 of her 4 siblings, 4 of her 5 nieces, and all the significant others & kids that come with the bunch. Lisa was indeed surprised... It was the perfect way to get her completely frazzled before she headed off to relax at Ojo Caliente to use the gift certificate we gave her for her birthday last year.

Costa Rica

Caroline and I toodled off to Costa Rica for 10 days at the beginning of this month and had a fantabulous time. Surf, sun, and seafood - what more could I ask for? The beaches are pristine, learning to surf was an ABSOLUTE blast, and we generally had an amazing reprieve from the Colorado winter. We took a bunch of beach-side yoga classes, had Mayan card readings done, rented bikes to cruise the coast with, and met a host of really wonderful people. Bikinis and watermelon smoothies everyday... it was total bliss.

ClubShed Upgrade!

Nothing like some home renovation to chase away the winter blahs. ClubShed has undergone a few changes to incorporate Phase II: the Steep Wall. It sits at a nice 65 degrees, finishing off at 55 degrees where it comes into the main wall. I haven't climbed on anything so steep in awhile - think it's time for a new sit up regime.

Project foremen

Theo built the new masterpiece with the help of Eric; I contributed with my mad skills in snack retrieval, tea brewing, vacuuming, and moral support.

Work in Progress

Finished product!

ClubShed Ape-O-Meter. Where are You?

Robyn’s Comedy of Errors

The Season of Sugar continues here in the sleepy little town of Boulder. Normally, the frenzy crescendos right around now with the annual cookie party at Jen’s house. But with Jen being a million months pregnant, she has (wisely) decided to take the year off. Great for her, but the situation has forced me to eat my words from a year ago when I stated that no matter what, I would NOT be attending the other neighborhood cookie party that always pales in comparison.

Alas, I cannot not have cookies in the house during the Christmas season, so due to the absence of the preferred party, I bucked up, sent in my RSVP, and prepped my six dozen cookies. It had been snowing for about 36 hours. My skirt got tucked into my boots, a scarf wrapped around my nicely coifed ‘do, and I set out with loaded tray in hand to walk the two blocks North.

As I approached the party, I became suspicious when I saw zero footprints in the sidewalk snow. It should have been going on for at least an hour. I tiptoed to the door and peered into the front window. I heard no noise, but I did see decorations tossed here and there as if they were waiting to be put up. Hmmmm.

I called Theo and asked him to check the invitation. Yes, he confirmed, the address matches. I was bewildered. Could you check the date? “It’s from 1-4pm on Sunday.” Today was Saturday. Doh!! I turn around and high-tail my party-dressed self back through the snow. This was more embarrassing than anything, but then I realized that I was counting on those cookies for dessert for a dinner I was having that evening. Crap-o-rama. After devising a Plan B, myself and three friends had a lovely dinner Saturday night to celebrate the season. I made red beans and rice, the perfect wintery meal, and even had a hambone leftover for the pooches holiday treat. Plan B dessert was stewed plums with a little triple-cream brie over the top, much better than the cookies would have been anyway.

Sunday arrives, I went to the cookie party (again), had a decent time, came home with a boxful of sugar, felt sick from eating too much, took a nap.

Monday (today) rolls around, and typical of Moody Monday, we realize that we are starting the day with no dog food and no toilet paper – two things that a morning here cannot go without. I scrape the piles of snow off my car, load up the furry beasts for a field trip to the store, and attempt to free myself from the snow bank. No luck. I quickly realize I have a flat tire. Super. Ok! Everybody out of the car! We’re going for a walk.

I hoof it to the store, buy emergency dog food and TP, thus restoring a sense of calm. Theo gallantly volunteers to change my tire, so he and Luke pop by during their lunch and I pay the two cutest tire changers I have ever seen with a bag full of cookies from yesterday’s party.

I toodle down to the tire store and get my flat fixed which set me back $212 ($12 for the tire, $200 for the clothes I wound up buying while I killed two hours waiting for said tire). On my way home, I get smart and go to the store to get some proper bags of dog food. Swaddled with 60 lbs. worth, I slip into the gutter and soak myself with muddy slush. Super!

Ah, warmth. Bestowed with loads of doggie kisses upon my arrival at the homestead, I decide to reward them with the hambone I saved from Saturday’s dinner. I head into the kitchen. Wait a minute… What’s this? The cookies are gone! Sticky crumbs coat the floor and an empty box is in front of the stove. Oi Vey. This is the thanks I get. Sometimes the manners in this house are reprehensible.

Finn left me only one small packet of candied almonds. So I ate them, with my cup of tea, and will now spend the rest of the evening making another six dozen cookies for a new cookie party tomorrow night hosted by a friend at work. Why I happen to know so many people who have cookie parties is a mystery, but I suppose we sugarholics must stick together.

Theo's Mad Skillz

While I sit around on my duff staring at a computer screen, making tea, crunching numbers, making coffee, then checking my email, Theo is hard at work moving beams and making sawdust. He's been doing some amazing projects recently which are turning out beautifully:

Theo in the "Great Room" of a current project. He made and assembled this exposed beam entry way. Afterwards it was disassembled, the wood distressed for aesthetics, and the entire project was pieced back together again in the exact same configuration.


A finished project: Theo did the recessed paneling for the entryway of this 10,000 square foot new home. Beautiful house, though not particularly modest in stature.







Standing in the same entryway, if you look up you can see the tongue and groove wood ceiling he did. OK, so this house wins no awards for being eco-friendly, but the home-owners are incredibly happy with the way his work turned out.


And the house we live in? A constant state of un-done-ness. One room doesn't even have trim up, and hasn't for several years now. (Not that I'm complaining, because I certainly can't do it, but there is some irony to be had...)

Haiku #4: by Pippi

Ate bagged tomatoes -
left evidence under chair.
Ha! Too late to scold.

Haiku #4: by Finn

Treed a cat today
Mom was pissed, I got scolded.
Just you wait, Kitty.

Sugar Season

We were climbing in the shed recently and I spied an empty box of Milk Duds in the trash can.

"Oh yeah!" I exclaimed, "It's Milk Dud Season!"

Basically, October is the Month of Sugar, where it is perfectly acceptable to eat all forms of candy, including the ones that you haven't had since you were six years old. Like nearly everyone I know, I only buy Halloween candy that I like. Then I poke a tiny hole in one corner of the bag so that I can sample the goods in the days preceding the holiday. By the time Oct. 31 rolls around, we only have about half of our candy left to give out. I need to make sure it lasts through the evening, so I then have to ration candy to the kids: "Ooh! Look! a scary monster! One for you, two for me. Ooh! and you're a vampire! Lovely!! Two for you, three for me..."

By the time I turn off the lights and retreat to the back of the house, I am sick, grumpy, and have a sugar headache that feels like someone is jackhammering into my brain. So unpleasant.

The Naked Pumpkin Run happened as usual on Halloween night. This is when a few dozen people get together and carve pumpkins, strip down to nothing but their running shoes, put the pumpkins over their heads and then go running en masse through downtown Boulder. RUNNING. See it once, and it'll be burned into your memory for the rest of eternity. Mind you, it's usually pretty damn cold on Halloween night to be streaking. They turn into a blur of wobbly bits of flesh. Pretty awful, actually. Sometimes it's snowing and they wipe out, smashing their pumpkin masks as they hit the pavement. And then what? Then you're just some naked guy out for an evening stroll in public, with stringy bits of pumpkin goo hanging to your eyelashes. Craziness.

And the saga continues...

Tonight is game one of the World Series, AND Colorado gets to keep playing as the sport's biggest underdog. I cannot imagine a more American pastime (though frankly, I'd like to pass some credit to the fact that the Rockies have a Japanese player... my bias...)

A woman I work with committed to joining the online frenzy to get tickets and actually succeeded, so she's banking on no sweep and bought tix for game #5. And why the hell not? She may never get another chance!

Squish Photos by Mike Chapman

I hardly took any climbing photos when I was in Squamish last month. Shame on me, I know. Luckily, the talented local Mike Chapman takes loads of photos and has graciously consented to me posting a few of them to show you a peep of life in the forest:

How 'bout them Rockies?

When someone says the word "Rockies", I automatically envision a large chain of mountains that swoop down the western half of North America. They are the hills in which I live and play and camp and climb and run and hike. I know I'm not alone in this line of thought. So it comes as no surprise that when everyone starts talking about the Rockies, as in Denver's baseball team The Rockies, and how well they're doing in the World Series playoffs, the general response was: "We have a baseball team?"

I suppose stranger things have happened, but no one I know saw this coming. I have to admit, while I did at least know we had a baseball team, I don't think I had any idea that they were a major league team. Maybe they were some local thing. Or a state thing? A farm team? I don't know what I thought. Actually, I don't even know what a farm team is. But it has something to do with baseball. Regardless, they're doing well and it's made the locals very excited - we didn't know who they were a few weeks ago, but now everyone's a resident expert and die-hard fan. Go Rockies!

Squish

Oops. Did it again. Summer is over, the leaves are changing, what have I got to show for it? I went home to Santa Fe for a few days and dad and I attended two shows at the Santa Fe Opera. I'd never been to an opera before, but I have to say that I loved it. Santa Fe does this great thing where you can go an hour early and they'll give you the low-down on the history and storyline of the show you're about to see. Big plus. They also have little screens on the chair back in front of you that translates all the text into English as it's being sung. Big, big plus. The first night was La Boheme and yes, I actually cried. The second night was a lively Italian number, a comedy about a swamp creature who was fooled into thinking one of the Greek Gods wanted to marry her. The costumes were spectacular, as was the dancing. It was like watching some alternative stage-version of Dr. Suess.
The first two weeks of September were spent lolly-gagging around the forests of Squamish, Canada, aka Squish. I got to meet and fall in love with Josie, the uber-offspring of Tim and Anne. All smiles and few teeth, this amazing child is just getting her walking/running legs under her, speeding ahead in life at full throttle (occasionally she speeds directly into a wall, but I think that's par for the course). Tim and Anne are doing beautifully in their new lives across the pond. Besides allowing me to nest in their house, they also provided a complete tour of the local climbing... high quality boulders in a dense forests with a two minute approach all make for the perfect setting. Canada is rather expensive these days with the ever-plummeting US dollar, but still, I can hardly complain.




Randy and Courtney signed on for the last week of my trip, as did Tim's parents from England, making for a cozy group of eight under one roof. We had a spectacular time hucking ourselves at rocks, and I was rather thrilled to get so much climb time in after taking the entire summer off. Highlights include bugging little sis Jeanie who is in school at UBC in VanCouver. She rolled her eyes at us plenty, but I know she loved every minute of it. Besides, there is no greater joy than sucker-punching a sibling.
Speaking of sucker punches, apparently Randy didn't get enough so he followed me home to Boulder after we left Squamish and spent the next two weeks stinking up my house... er... visiting me and Theo. We had loads of laughing and climbing (incredible foliage right now!!) and some stellar dinner parties. It was sad to see him go, but he was off to bigger and better things, namely proposing to his girlfriend Courtney in NYC. For whatever reason she said yes, so CONGRATS you two!! I took great pride in my role of Chief Ring Shopper, making sure Randy stayed focused on the task at hand as we paraded from store to store. He may be the family genius at just about everything else, but that guy doesn't know jack shit about jewelry. Glad I could finally be of use!

Haiku #3: by Pippi

Oh! My! God! FOR ME?!
A blueberry!? Oh! My! God!
Bliss... More more more more!

Haiku #3: by Finn

How dare you offer
me such ordinary fare?
You may keep your crap.

The Bright Side

My goodness. That last post was awfully snarky. Due to guilty conscious, I now feel obligated to post about the positive things going in my life, and also offer photographic evidence of said positivity.

Happy Event #1: I went to a Lynch family reunion at Lake Nacimiento, CA mid-July. Besides getting to see loads of delightful people that I have not seen in eons, I got to swim in a lake, visit Hearst Castle, and teach my little sister how to play 52-Card Pickup. Granted, in this photo the group is standing on an incline, but those boys in the back are actually that much taller than everyone else. They each stand at about 6'5". Bright whippets, too. One at Harvard and the other entering grad school at Berkeley this fall. Maria's father's ashes were spread and the whole clan is psyched to reconvene next summer. I'm promoting RMNP, we'll see if they bite.

Happy Event #2: Jodi and Kraig bought a house in Denver. They've ripped the whole thing apart so they can put it back together properly, and last weekend I helped put in floor joists and a bit of brick mortar. When that got boring, we entertained ourselves with shadow games.

Happy Event #3: Colin spent about 10 days with us while on leave from Montana. So overcome by the sheer magnitude of perfectness that emanates from my dogs, Colin was inspired to get one of his own. He chose 3-month old Dixie at the shelter, and she's one cute Catahoula!! I was reminded of how much work puppies are and suspect that Colin is in for a ride...

Happy Event #4: Finn did not kill Dixie. He thought about it, and gave her plenty of Stink-Eye, but he held it together remarkably well. For a wannabe puppy-killer.

Going down, down, doooowwwnnnn...

Many apologies to those of you who thought I was above such immature behaviour, but I'm going to take this opportunity to sink to a new level:



Fact: Previous employer refuses to pay Theo for his final invoice

Fact: Previous employer refuses to pay me for my final invoice

Fact: We had to eat approximately $8.5k due to working for assholes

Opinion: Previous employer frequently utilizes shady behaviour and poor work ethic

Rumor: Previous employer did not bother to get adequate permitting prior to demolition on new project. City says this is not their first offense. City therefore fining them $25k.

Fact: Those fuckers had it coming to them.

Novel Statistics

Yes, it's true. I'm writing a novel (fiction). Yes, it is also true that I have never written fiction before. It is also also true that I am really enjoying the process. And this is a good thing, because statistically speaking, the personal enjoyment I receive is the only thing I'm going to get out of this. Am I on my way to riches and fortune? Highly doubtful. Highly highly doubtful. BUT, will I be able to say, "I wrote a book once"? Yes! And I think this counts for a lot, especially considering the checklist of things I want to accomplish during my life. So that's what will drive me forward now, because anything else and I'm just fooling myself...

Here's how it works:
1. Person writes book (1st draft)
2. Person rewrites book infinite number of times
3. Person attempts to get agent for said finished manuscript
4. Agent tries to sell book to publishing house
5. Person gets advance from publisher
6. Person may get a bit more from royalties if book is huge seller
7. Person sells movie rights and becomes a millionaire

Easy, you say? Well. I like your enthusiasm. Here are some current stats. I may keep you updated if I feel so inclined:

Number of chapters I'm anticipating in my novel: 14
Chapter I am currently writing: 5
Optimistic finish date of Draft 1: end of August
Months it will have taken me: 3
Percentage of manuscripts an agent accepts: 2%
Likelihood an agent can get accepted manuscript published: 50/50
Average advance: less than $10,000
Guarantee for publication of a second book: none

So, you see, even if everything magically falls into place, I will not be retiring anytime soon. Awful stats for a meager, pathetic prize. Unless, of couse, you write the next Kite Runner (he got $500k). But c'mon. Don't hold your breath.

That's the scoop as I know it! Wish me luck. And good luck to you if you decide to attempt the same.

ClubShed... naked

Nothing like having keen youth in the area. They push standards, keep energy levels high, and make sure things stay fresh. Turns out they also do the dirty work for you. The Landman brothers channeled this energy into ClubShed last night, devoting many hours to stripping the wall, cleaning the holds, and beginning the process of setting all new problems. It's something we only do once every other year or so as it's an enormous amount of work. The wall currently looks like a blank canvas just waiting for some art.

The process was not without its flaws. They couldn't find the right bit for Theo's drill, so they did it all by hand. Ouch. Talk about tendonitis! And once everything was down and washed, they couldn't agree on how to go about setting problems. So there's only one up now. We might have to host a Setting Party to get the ball rolling. And it was hotter than all get out. It felt like Thailand out there. I have always wanted a sauna, so I shouldn't complain. But this really isn't what I had in mind.

Thanks for the hard work, guys!!

Photos as Promised: Kris/Noah's Wedding

Kris walking down the "aisle"

Kuna doing his wolf thing

Noah the happy groom

Eric D slabbin it between ceremony and reception

Culinary Disaster

I tend to pride myself on my baked goods. I have loved baking since I was really young, though in hindsight, this habit may have developed because I enjoy licking the bowl more than anything. So when the opportunity presents itself, I usually jump at the chance to don my Betty Crocker cap and go to it.

This past Sunday was Eric's birthday, a fact we found out only that morning as Theo was packing up to go climbing with him and his girlfriend. I was staying behind due to a class I'm taking with an enormous writing load. "Should I get a case of writer's block," I suggested, "maybe I'll whip up a cake as a break from my homework." This was on the down-low; I thought it would be a nice surprise for Eric to return to that evening. Theo gave me the thumbs up and they were off.

I sat clickity-clacking at my computer all day. Due to lack of prep time, I opted for a boxed cake to expedite the process. I had a new springform pan that I hadn't been able to use yet and this seemed the perfect opportunity. I whipped up the ingredients, (licked the bowl), and popped the thing into the oven. I only have one springform pan, so I had to do the two layers separately. The problem (at least one of, anyhow) was that I didn't want to let the cake cool completely before removing the side thing and prying it from the bottom because I needed to get the other layer in the oven and therefore, needed the pan. Small surprise, it completely fell apart as I wrestled it out of the pan. "No problem," I thought, "cakes only need one good layer for the top anyway."

Unfortunately, the same happened with layer number two, despite my letting it sit there and cool. "Well... this is what frosting is for, right?" I proceeded to glue the thing together with buttercream, and in the process rolled endless chocolate crumbs into the (previously) white frosting. As it turns out, I needed so much frosting to patch the pieces together that I didn't have enough to frost the entire cake. At completion, the top and about 65% of the sides were covered. It was the ugliest thing I've baked since elementary school.

Thinking we'd get a good laugh out of it later, I left it as it was and went on with my classwork. Later that evening I returned to the kitchen for dinner. It was hotter than all get out on Sunday, about 100 degrees in fact. I noticed that the top layer had ripped itself into thirds, and with the assistance of the heat, all three pieces were slowly drifting away from each other like continents and sliding off their respective sides of the cake. Annoyed, I used a spatula to hoist everything back into place, even considering the use of toothpicks to anchor the thing down. Par for the course, the troops did not return until almost midnight. I had drifted off to bed by then, and was woken by Theo who asked what he was supposed to do with that cake downstairs. I mumbled, "Just give it to him," and so he did.

What I MEANT was, "Give it to him, but please explain that I usually don't make such horrendous baked goods and I used a pan that I've never used before and I'm terribly embarrassed but Happy Birthday anyway, hopefully it tastes good!" Which, of course, Theo being the nicest guy ever, did not explain. And Eric, being the other nicest guy ever, didn't say a word. Theo handed him the heap on a paper plate and said, "Happy birthday, dude! Robyn made you a cake." To which Eric replied, "Oh. Wow. Thanks!"

And then they left.

And I wasn't even there to defend myself. Nor have I seen him since then. So for all I know, in Eric's world, that cake is the entire representation of my baking skills to date. I don't really know what to say besides if you use a springform, #1: don't use a boxed cake mix, and #2: you better grease the hell out of it.

Oops! Time Sure Flies

Funny how time flies by so quickly sometimes. I think I must have been overwhelmed by the horrendous winter finally being over that I abandoned all things indoors, including blog posting. So, let's give readers a top-ten recap of the last two months:

1. I planted my first garden ever at the side of the house this year. Watching sprouts poke their heads out of the ground, one by one, has been a great source of joy. We now have rows and rows of green leafy things. To be sure, there is no shortage of vitamins in our diet these days. I'm eating salad for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. OK... Not really for breakfast. But you get the point. I've planted some kabocha seeds for Japanese pumpkins this fall and will have to get a proper recipe from one of my aunts.

2. We planted four baby fruit trees: three different apple and one cherry. I didn't think any of them would produce fruit their first year, but the cherry tree has surprised me with a total of four cherries. Two of them, I noticed yesterday, have been pecked by the birds (damnit! that's half my crop!), so it looks like I will be making a cherry tart the size of a thimble.

3. After taking eight months off while licking my wounds, I decided to get back in the saddle and pick up a new bookkeeping client. They're a consultation firm in Denver and do cost management for commercials for Fortune 100 companies. To my great relief, they are in every way the opposite of the previous jackass I worked with, which makes them financially responsible, of high moral integrity, and intelligent. I only have to commute twice a week. It rocks.

4. Randy came for a lovely visit. We climbed, ate, laughed, and he enjoyed some nice doggie therapy. Pippi doesn't think twice about having him in her house; to her, he's just as much part of the clan as Theo and I. It's great!

5. Finn, somehow, injured his neck and has been moaning about it for weeks. I wound up taking him to a neurologist in Denver and he now has a chest harness we use to take him on runs instead of clipping the leash to his collar. I actually think it's helping. That and the near daily massages I'm giving him. Spoiled brat.

6. I've started my very first fiction writing class. The beauty of fiction writing, I've found, is if I get stuck, I remember that I can just make something up and it's fine. Very liberating.

7. Theo and I went to Noah Bigwood and Kris Dockstader's wedding in Utah this past weekend. 48 hours of non-stop fun, including dinners, ceremonies, climbing, receptions, and then some nephew-time stuffed in at the end. Exhausting. We were the Beer Mobile, as it seems that alcohol is outrageously expensive in Utah. I'm not sure what would have happened if we'd been caught crossing state lines with all of our booty. Luckily, we snuck in and out, and the Utah Gestapo was none-the-wiser to our keg-toting ways.

8. I had a birthday. Now I'm older, so they tell me.

9. Theo had a birthday. He got a new grill which has already provided countless dinners for us.

10. Climbing has been good. We've been to both the Park and Evans and eveything is slowly doing its melting thing. I predict a wickedly hot summer, but maybe that means a longer season than we had last year? We're keeping our fingers crossed for a trip to Squamish to climb tons and hang out with Tim, Anne, and meet the baby now that they're Canuks.

So, that's the gist of things here, yo! Photos to come...

Hens in a Hen-house

I had about a dozen fellow female climbers over for some climbing, eating/drinking, and foot-pampering one recent evening, and I had an epiphany about where the phrase 'Hens in a Hen-house' comes from. I mean, we all know what it means. But to actually be in the Shed (which, incidentally, is already shaped like a giant hen-house), and then surrounded by that much lively chatter... well, it certainly brings the phrase to life. I think we have discovered the modern-day Tupperware party.

Muppet

Sometimes during these unpredictable spring days, the weather can make a dramatic change in either direction over a course of 12 hours. As a result, I either wind up slowly shedding layers and they get left at various places about the house; or, I gradually apply layers, wandering around picking clothing items up where they got dropped off. That happened to me today, and I realized I look exactly like a muppet.

Flypaper

Theo bought a new truck last week, putting an end to the whole lease ordeal. I was sharply reminded of how much I hate the process of buying a car from a dealership. The minute you begin approaching the showroom floor, you feel as though you've turned into a spool of flypaper. It's a pretty unpleasant experience all around. I have suspicions that the financing guy was on coke, but that's just a hunch.

Speaking of the flypaper effect, Chris Sharma breezed through town. You can always tell when a big name is around in Boulder, primarily because of the ensuing entourage. I knew exactly what was going on when I came home one day to find no available parking. The flies had arrived en masse. For anyone who's keeping tabs, we challenged Chris to the Shed's Ape-O-Meter and he is precisely 6' tall with +2.5" ape.

Belated.

"Happy"

"Birth"

"Day"

I can't avoid this anymore. Happy belated birthday, Randy. I know you've had a rough go of it recently, but please know that Clan Colorado is thinking of you. We even made you a birthday cake. We ate it for you, too.

Easter

There is an annual Easter Egg Hunt for kiddies in the alley behind my house. It stretches exactly one block (which I am conveniently located within), and parents in the community come along in the morning and stash armloads of plastic eggs filled with candy in the alley's nooks and crannies. The great countdown occurs at 10am, and then it's every kid for himself for the next half hour. What I have found, though, is that there are nearly always nooks and crannies that get overlooked by the kiddos. I found this out by accident three years ago when I took my dogs for a walk the day after the hunt and pocketed all sorts of goodies. Now, I conveniently go for a stroll at around 11:30am, well after the kids have moved on to the brunch. I do so under the guise of cruisin' with the pooches, but really, all I'm after is candy.

This year was no exception, and I had a rather good haul of two eggs and several packets of chocolate. I was out again later (first round was with Irie who I am doggie-sitting, second round was with my two hounds) and what do you know? I ran into two teenaged boys. I'm certain (from experience) that they were doing the exact same thing: hunting for overlooked sugar. Crap. It never occurred to me that I had competition. I could feel my hackles standing up on end. Nonchalantly, I asked how the egg hunt was going, and one exclaimed, "Great! I've got four eggs!". I was stunned. Four?! That means that I missed four frickin' eggs when I was out an hour earlier. "Huh." I replied. "Well, good luck with that. I gotta, uh, keep taking my dogs for a walk..."

Ok. So this changes everything. #1, I had no idea other people were on to my candy scavenging ploy. #2, Apparently, I am not very good at egg hunting.

But wait... What's this?! An ace up my sleeve? A-ha! I happen to know that it snowed the night before Easter. And my sleuth-like skills told me that at least one parent put candy out that night, before the snow. So my hunch was that if I waited 24 hours for the snow to melt, a whole new layer of previously snowed-over candy packets would be revealed. I went to sleep that night like a kid on Christmas Eve, rubbing my hands together with greedy expectations.

Monday morning I woke up and true to forecast, the sun was shining and the wind was warm. Time to hit the alley. I leashed up the dogs (must keep my undercover work undercover) and lo and behold: I hit the jackpot. I almost couldn't carry it all. All I can say is that Easter rocks.

Floppy Eared Chicken

I just spent the better part of the last week at dad's in New Mexico. We stayed true to our usual habit of cooking some wonderful meals. This time around we made what the cookbook referred to as Floppy Eared Chicken (aka: Rabbit). Done French style, we stirred in the requisite butter and cream, then added an additional 50% for good measure. Elk risotto was the next night and we entertained a few guests as well, some of whom I have not seen in probably 20 years. I find it strange that I am even of the age where I can say to someone, "Geez! I haven't seen you in twenty years!" and actually remember the time twenty years prior that I'm speaking of.

The waitress at the Italian restaurant, however, did not agree that I was of the age to remember anything of the sort. Dad and I went out on Friday and ordered some glasses of wine to go with our pasta. I was carded, which, initially I found to be quite flattering. Especially considering that I am in my 30's. But I was far less amused when she actually refused to serve me because I left my I.D. at home. I'm eating dinner with my DAD, for crying out loud. She wouldn't budge. I felt reduced to a small child nearly instantaneously. I contemplated asking her for a booster seat instead, but I held my tongue.

Dad is downsizing from 4000 square feet to 600 square feet, so I spent a lot of time going through drawers and cabinets full of junk. Old junk. Junk that hadn't seen the light of day in probably 15 years. To make our task more enjoyable, we split a bottle of champagne on my last night there while categorizing odds and ends. Dad found a little beanie with a propeller on it which he promptly put on, and as such, the two of us made it through about a dozen cabinets in good style. I would come around the corner, snickering, with my armload of newly found treasures and ask the beanie genie what he wanted me to do with them:

Me: "How're you feeling about this Frosty the Snowman cookie jar, dad?"
Beanie Genie: "Pitch it!!!"
And into the Good Will pile it would go. There is something very, very therapeutic about getting rid of crap that you don't need.

Girlz Weekend

Theo and Finn went climbing in Moab this weekend, which meant Girlz Weekend for me and Pip at the Maxwell House. I thought about keeping Finney here instead, but then decided that I'd rather be alerted to a person approaching the house as opposed to a dog peeing on our yard (which is about all that Finn alerts us to). Pip and I reveled in our quiet, clutter-less surroundings, something of a novelty around here:

Friday, 6pm: Boys announce departure

Friday, 7pm: Get hungry for dinner, recall that cooking for one is boring. Find last chunk of Valentine's chocolate, dip in peanut butter, decide that dinner for one is not so bad after all.

Friday, 8pm: Boredom sets in. Decide to dye my hair. Ironically, I dye it the exact same color that it already was.

Friday, 9pm: Watch Brokeback Mountain.

Friday, midnight: Go to sleep in the middle of bed with all of the pillows.

Saturday, 8am: Get woken up by doggie alarm clock. Pippi is used to eating breakfast at 6:30am. By 8am, she is, apparently, having a near-death experience.

Saturday, 8:30: Surrender to dog. Go downstairs, marvel at how the kitchen is still clean.

Saturday, 10am: Meet girlfriend for breakfast.

Saturday, noon-9pm: Marvel at how clean the house still is.

Saturday, 10pm: Watch a chick flick, go to bed.

Sunday, 8am: The kitchen is STILL clean! Amazing!

Sunday, 10am - 9pm: Go on a run, give myself a manicure, bake banana bread, do homework, climb, eat a non-chocolate dinner, return kitchen to its spotless existence.

Sunday, 9:30pm: Boys arrive back at home.

Sunday, 9:31pm: Looks like bomb exploded inside house. Sigh.

A Bitter Brew

I don't even like Starbucks coffee - it's always burnt. But I was curious enough to see what my personalized summer drink would look like. Here I am:

Arizona

Ok, Ok. I hear you. Sorry for the delay in posts.

A few weeks ago, mom and I had a "girls weekend" in the sunny state of Arizona. It was perfect timing for me because I desperately needed to get out of this frozen wasteland. True to expectations, it was a perfect 75/80 degrees the entire time. I got to go for a run in shorts and a tank top and it felt wonderful!

We stayed in Scottsdale, and day 1 was artsy fartsy day. We went to the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art which, at the time, had two nice exhibits up. One was celebrity art (paintings, etc done by actors/actresses), the other exhibit was a fellow who does large charcoal portraits of New Orleans street scenes (done pre-Katrina). We also cruised around a bunch of galleries and then went to a musical at the theatre in downtown Phoenix later that night.

The musical itself was well done and, ironically, about a tone-deaf singer. You can imagine what that was like. But the most memorable part of the evening was the drive down to the theatre. Traffic was at a virtual stand still because of a horrendous accident up ahead, and they had actually closed the highway and were forcing everyone to exit. The two locals in the car, mom's friends, told me that I could drive in the carpool lane because we had more than two people in the car. I questioned whether it was really a lane, and furthermore, with one billion cars stopped on the highway, why was no one else smart enough to bypass traffic by driving there? They assured me that it was a lane, and so off we go. I said I felt like it was awfully close to the cement barricade, they said, "Yes. Just keep going." Why people were screaming obscenities at us and honking their horns was beyond us, but I grew suspicious. Turns out I had gone onto the shoulder of the road and was racing past, literally, thousands of cars that were log-jammed. A-ha. That would explain the cursing. But it saved us about an hour of wait time. We never would have made it to the show at all had it not been for divine ignorance. Anyway, I finally stopped and nosed my way back into traffic. Lesson: if you're driving four inches from the center barricade, you're probably in the wrong place.

Climbing Tidbits

Given the crappy weather, we have been having some really enthusiastic training sessions recently in the Shed. There's been an influx of Brits, and if anyone knows how to train, it's the English (that's what happens when you have chronic bad weather). Therefore, motivational levels remain high.
Bits of good and bad news as of late: Good news is that Randy finally did the Dominator in Yosemite a few weeks back which is pretty exciting. He's been at it a long time; patience has finally paid off. He calls it "the training wheel ascent for the full sit start", but I just call it amazing. Congrats, Randy!!

Bad news is that Dave Graham came to the house week before last looking like he'd been in a helluva bar fight. It turns out that when he was at the OR trade show in SLC, some kid was tossing a broom to him that he had left behind when he was out climbing. In one of those "couldn't repeat it if he tried" moments, Dave looked up just as the guy tossed the broom at him, and the end stabbed him in the face, coming within millimeters of his right eyeball. Anyway, about 15 stitches later, Dave now looks a little Frankenstein-ish. It was really close -- literally grazing his lower eye-lid. Could have been ugly. Besides the obvious tragedy of Dave being blind in one eye, that kid could have been known forever as "The Guy that Poked Out Dave Graham's Eyeball." How would you like to live down THAT stigma? At least we immortalized Dave on the Club Shed Ape-O-Meter though, and for anyone that wants to know, he is exactly +4" (5' 10.75" height//6' 2.75" ape).

Day at the Spa

photo by Caroline Treadway

Dealing with a serious case of cabin fever, last weekend we decided to do as the birds do and fly South. Actually, we didn't fly, we drove, but none-the-less it was certainly South. And after about 10 hours of driving, we wound up in the Lone Star State. Welcome to Texas, y'all!

We got to El Paso and checked into a hotel for a power nap at around 5am. After the most delightful Village Inn breakfast experience I've ever had (someone tells me that Lithium in naturally occuring in the water there and that El Paso has a low crime rate in part because of that. Don't know if it's true, but that staff was HAPPY), we cruised on into the park with Caroline, Chad, Tyler, and a host of others. The sunshine was amazing and climbing on real rock for the first time in months was as rejuvenating as a day at the spa. Which, actually, was my mental tactic for dealing with the cost of getting into the park. We had to pay $20 a head for entrance and guide, which I find appalling. But given our desperate circumstances and the fact that loads of people spend more than $20 to go to a spa on average, I decided it was worth it.

I spent a lot of time climbing like a deranged lunatic and then collapsing in the sun to recharge myself. I haven't been to Hueco in over four years, and before that it was another four. But I still refer to it as the place I learned to climb, learned about bouldering, and had my first climbing trip ever. I do believe that Hueco's current bureaucratic situation is nothing less than a tragedy, but at least I'll always have memories of a truly special experience there.

Anyway, the climbing was stellar - I'd forgotten how good the problems actually are - the company was great, and I am so glad that we did it. There's an insane British invasion going on over there right now, at least three separate parties I think, and we even ran into Vicki, a friend of Anne's that we met in England two years ago. All the Brits were really digging the sun, and I certainly can't blame them. Heck. That's the whole reason I was there, too!

We ate at the craziest ranch for dinner that night - great steaks and really mediocre everything else (so typical Texas) that was out in the middle of No-fricken-Where. Then, bed followed by the 10 hour drive home on Sunday.

Would I do it again? Hells ya! But hopefully next time I'll fly.

The Great Thaw

After five weeks of snowstorms, we Coloradans have some serious snow build-up going on. I have been parking on four inches of ice in front of my house for over a month now. I have to aim for ruts in the plow piles so I can get my low-clearance car into its spot every day. I high-centered there only once so far, but I did feel like a bit of an idiot at the moment. Especially because all I had done was drive around the block. I left the house and promptly realized that I forgot my cell phone. Because of road conditions, turning around was impossible, so I drove around the block, came back to park in front of the house again, and high-centered myself. So embarrassing. And who knows what that's done to the bottom of my car.

Other than the parking escapade, the freeze/thaw cycle has thrown a wrench into my workouts. We get a heap of snow, then maybe three days of sunshine when everything finally begins to turn to mush. But it all freezes again at night, and this has been going on for weeks now: freezethawfreezethawfreezethawfreezethaw. Anyway, you get the picture. So now what we have is thick, solid layers of perfectly smooth ice. Sort of like Mexican glass, and only in certain patches. I have been doing my best to maintain sanity in this house by making sure the pooches and I get out just about every day. Cabin fever is no friend of mine (see the Switzerland post from last March). The problem here is obvious though: the dogs' cumulative weight is about 155 lbs, mine is 2/3 that. It doesn't take a mathematician to figure out which end of the leash has more clout. To top it off, they are both in 4-wheel drive at all times, and they come equipped with four little ice-picks installed on each wheel. I only come in 2-wheel drive, and I am basically equipped with rubber slicks. It's been an issue for a while now, but today would have made a great Bloopers video. There we are, cruising along on some hard-packed snow. Finn picked up on a smell that required urgent attention so he flipped a U-turn without turning his blinkers on. Yoink! I was on my back before even realizing he was going the other direction. And I tell you what, I flipped with some gusto. But, I didn't let go of the leash (which, apparently, was the problem to begin with). I chuckled at the time because I know it must have looked like a scene in a cartoon. But the laughing has subsided now that I feel like my spine is bending in the wrong direction.

All this snow has taught me about two very important things to be aware of when I get older. #1: I totally understand why you read stories about little old men dropping dead when they go out to shovel snow. It's hard work! I thought I had all this upper body strength from climbing, but I was working up a major sweat and was wicked sore the next day. #2: I totally understand why little old ladies fall and break their hips when they slip on something. You really just don't see it coming and that shit hurts. Calcium, ladies! DON'T forget your calcium supplements!

The (Mis)Adventures of Pip and Finn

Last week I sent an email out to dozens of friends and family asking them to keep their ears open for writing opportunities or contacts that they may stumble across in the near future. One friend wrote back and suggested I write a children's book series that I could call "The Adventures of Pip and Finn" after my dear canine companions. I laughed and said that I would probably have to call it "The (Mis)Adventures of Pip and Finn". The stories could wax poetics in the moral lessons behind:

1. Using your indoor voice:
"Don't be like Finn and bark and yell...
Noisy kids wind up in hell."

2. Not putting foreign objects into your mouth:
"I know that kids like things with goop,
but just ask Pippi: that could be poop!"

3. The top 10 reasons to not heckle wildlife:
"No vaccine for little babies...
Only pups get shots for rabies!"

Somehow, the liklihood of getting an agent seems slim...

Over it.

I am SO over the snow. Storm #3 stumbled through here on Friday like the slow kid who struggles to keep up. It gave us about 8" more of the whiteness. So, let's see... that brings our 3 week tally to around 56". For the record, I am 62". With more impending doom scheduled for this Thursday, I'm curious as to how long this nasty little cosmic joke can continue. If we get another 6" this week to match my height, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to begin soliciting donations for a trip to Mexico before I attempt to poke my own heart out with a butter knife.

Boulderites are Fair Weather Winterers. We claim to like the snow and winter, but really, the only reason we can be so zen about it all is because snow rarely lasts more than 48 hours in town. And then it's bright and sunny again, life resumes and we all bask in our quaint little "Mountain Life". I have never experienced an East Coast winter, but my hunch is that it can't be entirely dissimilar to the past month that we've endured here. I have become cranky and utterly unmotivated for anything. The sun has come out again and is currently turning everything into a swampy mush. The only bit of fun I had today was while driving around town: if I take the corners fast enough, I can shoot huge slabs of snow off the roof of my car onto unsuspecting pedestrians.

Shout out by James Pearson

After a recent bouldering trip to Colorado, British climber extraordinaire James Pearson gives ClubShed a double thumbs up in an article he wrote for climbing website PlanetFear.com... Says James: "I am sure that, with money, rest days in Boulder can be very entertaining, but for me they were mostly spent watching Google video and drinking tea. Some days I would train core strength on my friend Theo’s set of gymnastics rings. Theo has the best home wall I have ever seen, good enough to make many a commercial wall in the UK blush."

Awwwwwww, shucks! Thanks, James!

For the full read click here.

Christmas in the Land of Enchantment

New Mexico is one of my favorite places ever to spend Christmas. Besides the presence of family, Santa Fe is of theme-park quality (similar in novelty to the theme parks of Boulder, Las Vegas, or Miami). As a kid, I used to call it "The Land of Entrapment", but I can now fully appreciate the state slogan in earnest. I would love to retire here someday, toodle around in a beat up pickup truck, and have my very own patch of desert. The chilies have burned their way into a soft spot in my heart and besides, I've come to the conclusion that white hair and big turquoise jewelry is a good look for any woman in her twilight years.We cruised around the artist's row on Canyon Road in Santa Fe for the annual Christmas Eve fajarlitos display. Essentially, a large gathering of people walking around in the frigid weather to admire the New Mexican Christmas displays, drink hot cocoa, and sing carols around the bonfires. The day after Christmas we treated ourselves to the mineral hot springs in Ojo Caliente. A bit on the pricey side, I thought, at $22 a head, but where else can you bob about in an arsenic pool? The baths have a long history of medicinal folklore, dating back to early 1800's, and the premesis also boasts lodging, massage, and a restaurant. Other than that we ate an absurd amount of food, and those 5 lbs that I was bragging about losing earlier have found me again and firmly attached themselves to my being. What can I say? They love me.