Hello and long time no newsletter. Crazy what having a job does to your time management.
Places of note:
- Rocky Mountain National Park
Highlights:
- The van is blue now
JUNE
June 1st and many miles have been eaten in the past two days. Idaho is in the rear view mirror and the ‘Entering Colorful Colorado’ sign is through the dash. I accepted a job at a hotel in Estes Park, Colorado. In July, Ty and I accepted part time positions as camp hosts at Meeker Park Campground.
COLORADO
What life is like living in a campground? Baby aspen trees next to porta-potties. Very large spiders, black flying ants. Rainy afternoons, cool mornings. Paint all over my overalls. Looking at the clouds. Taking care of hummingbirds (we have 5 hummingbird feeders). The days don’t all mingle together like they used to. The days are distinct, each a definitive moment in time. Full bodied and sparkling. I drink a liter of coconut water every day.
Rain at dusk. A young white tailed buck is grazing 50 ft from the van. I hold the hummingbird feeder in my hand just inside the door. Have you ever had 6 hummingbirds flying an inch from your hand? The wind is so strong, you would not imagine how much noise and movement such a delicate animal makes. Something catches my eye a few feet from the buck. A brown smudge leaps 3 feet into the air. A little bunny is playing in the bush. I turn my attention back to the buck. There is something about an animal that you can not touch. When silence is required, when stillness is required, you must actually fully appreciate what is in front of you. You can not grasp and hold and change the shape of it. You can only watch and enjoy.
JULY
SWITZERLAND
I get to see my brother, my sister, my grandma, and my mom. I pet cows and workout in an underground hotel gym. I can only be so grateful to be in the presence of all of the people I love the most in this world, all at once.
My sister and I fly to Europe together and back. Once in Boston it’s time for me to leave.
Airport Drop Off (a poem)
I’m being driven to the airport in a Lyft.
And I wonder if it would be too much
To ask the driver to hug me goodbye
Kiss me on the head
Wish me a safe flight
Because I’m driving to the airport in a Lyft
And at the gate there will be no goodbyes
Because I’ve said them all already
And the goodbyes didn’t feel so sad then
But they do now
AUGUST/SEPTEMBER
COLORADO
The first stop on my commute is the viewpoint of Longs Peak and Mount Meeker on a morning with a full moon. I pull out onto a dirt patch wearing my slacks and ballet flats, and take a picture on my iPhone. Alone on the highway, I of all people, get to watch the glorious moon's last moments before it becomes hidden behind the 14,000 feet peak. I thank the universe for its divine timing.
The second stop on my commute is Lily Lake. I handpick the song that will play when I reach it, the point at which the sun rays first rise, and the point where the road begins to descend into Estes Valley. It is a momentous occasion. However, once August hits, the sun stops rising in time for me to hold my sacrilegious ceremony. Pitch black corners and eye shine, most days I am the only car on the road. It is never a matter of if, but of when, the elk appear. Sometimes it is as soon as I turn onto the road, other times down in the valley, often a lone male standing right on the corner, as if he is waiting for his ride. I don’t dare drive above 40mph or else I risk my tires not stopping in time. I turn my headlights off for them so they can cross without confusion.
The final stop on my commute is work. Most days I feel like the president of the United States. I am standing atop a parade float, waving, kissing babies heads, signing important documents, talking to famous people. There are fireworks and cheering. In reality I am standing at a desk making small talk with tourists while refilling coffee pots and waffle batter, or I am riding the golf cart on a dirt road chatting up retirees in RVs. I work 60 hours a week and my only non working time is spent working out, showering, or laying down in bed. I have not had time to write. I have not even opened my laptop since May. But people are wonderful. There is Kathy’s husband from Houston, with a voice so deep and thick, the auditory personification of the cigar that sat in his shirt pocket. Kathryn, who saved me a slice of pizza from her dinner the night before. She has some complaints but is so full of love and joy. She gives me a hug when she leaves, then calls a week later asking if she can pray for me. There is Laney, tall and lanky with a silver bob who stays for 7 days. She broke her coffee part by jamming it into the wrong spot, but I don’t dare tell her she was the cause. Each morning I ask about her adventures and she smiles and tells me. There is the man who tells me he doesn’t believe in divine timing, but when he runs back to give the housekeeper a tip she is holding the keys to his house in Chicago. There is the young couple from Missouri who I laugh with about driving and accents. There is the fire evacuee who tells me I should have children, which is a strange way to say that you wish there was more of someone in this world, but I’ll take it. There’s Annie and Cathleen and Ron with his bike. Annie who had stopped at our campground on the way to her new home in Telluride, Colorado, all the way from the East Coast. She keeps prolonging her stay, afraid to face her new future. Kathleen who talks to me about pelicans and gives Ty and I a psychic reading of Mt. Meekers personhood. The French Canadians who smile at my broken french. The jolly German family who shows me pictures of moose they had taken, and who linger a few extra moments before saying goodbye. It’s always a strange feeling saying goodbye to someone you quite like, knowing, you’ll never see them again. The young girls who point at my bow all breakfast, and the littlest one who works up the courage to compliment it. And the girl who, through tears, tells me she had drawn a picture of us and put it in the housekeepers tip envelope. There’s the lady from japan, who after saying ‘wiser’ 20 times, finally learned how to correctly pronounce weather. Each time we speak she slowly repeats random words I have said back at me. When she leaves she waves goodbye many times through the glass window. There is the young French couple who calls the hotel each morning asking if I can go into their room to turn on the AC, with many apologies they tell me they do not know how it works. There is Ed from Louisville, Texas who shows me his sketchbook and takes my picture to draw.
I live in a travelers town and it has taught me one thing. People are wonderful. People are wonderful and how nice is it to laugh with them for even a moment. Every interaction is so brief and yet each one feels like I am taking a puff of smoke for a momentary high. Each day I wish that perhaps I will remember them all, knowing I won’t.
Until next time, hopefully much sooner.