2001-07-05 - 20:03 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Breather

Back home again to familiar scenes which somehow become cherished when away a bit.

Started the cleanup, rain drove me off the patio where I had been busily vacuuming birdseed scattered by the scavenging, little mites of birds who had somehow pecked through the plastic birdseed bag and had them scattered everywhere. Guess they ate all the ones palatable to them, Hmph !

Funeral will be at noon, interment at Fort Logan Cemetery, gathering at the party room at our apartment complex after.

Heather and I relaxed up there, sat on comfy rocks by the Blue River where it rushes with its mountain water sound through Breckenridge, Colorado, ate a bit, watched little tykes and their parents, the little ones eagerly exploring and trying new things. Noticing that we seemed to be the only old folks in town.

We had a lovely view of the fireworks which by far outdid the ones two years ago, which by the way were good also. The nights of the third and fourth we slumbered, slept, rested and were the better for it. We breakfasted at the Bagel House both mornings, I love their scones and biscotti, Heather does her thing with sweet rolls.

It came time to do the dirty and reluctantly head back to Denver, back downhill to the heat and smog, yuck, a good view of the pollution over Denver can be had coming in on I-70, barf city no less.

Does take me back to my childhood memories, although back then the trip into town took longer, like the string of elephants, rear ones holding the tail of the ones ahead, the car boggling ahead. bit by bit and dad growling at the delay. I did believe and still almost do, that the line of cars on Sunday night, or post holiday night stretched from the mountains clear into town with just a smidgen of space between. Laughing a bit . . . . . I used to think that the entire string of cars waited to move until a few traffic lights in town would let a few cars through, turn red - pause - then green to let a few more cars through. I felt then that if it hadn't been for cars coming to different stoplights as they split off to their homes, that maybe we would grow old and die up there.

Although it seems like forever, now at 65 mph watching the crazies weaving in and out and cutting each other off it is exciting in a terrifying, survivalist way.

Finally in a sweaty mess, home sweet home again.

Tomorrow evening I hope to answer a mountain of e-mail and play catch up.

But for a short time, we were kids again, seeing the beautiful stars at night and hearing the rushing water, knowing that morning would bring fresh things to do, to see, to feel while breathing that clean mountain air as we did back then.

We needed and enjoyed our Breather . . . . . . .

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