Snow Day

Let me be up front and say that it might not have been the best day for a drive.  Leaving Denver at 6am I ran into the Ice Capades of Doom.  I think the Blue Danube Waltz might have been the perfect soundtrack for the ballet of cars and SUV's skating effortlessly about the highway. 

Once I got out of the city things were good.  Paco and I saw a whole lot of wildlife including some Big Horn Sheep.  Our little puppy nearly went apoplectic.  His fur rose into a majestic strip from his head to his tail.  With his Mohawk in attack mode he let out a flurry of barks set to a bass line of growls.  And then he ran and jumped into my arms.  That's the kind of sacrifice you don't see much anymore, but Paco did indeed put himself between me and the ferocious herbivores. 

And then off to Walden.  Where school was in session despite two and some feet of snow.  Every man woman or child who has a plow or the common pickup with a plow attachment was driving around and pushing snow.  The local newspaper editor spotted me and rejoiced in the exuberant volunteerism.  I reminded him that any opportunity for a Chevy owner to show how much their truck can push or pull as compared to that of a Ford, or the recently upsurgent Dodge, or Ford over Chevy versus John Deere, is one they'll not be sure to miss.   A tiny Bobcat scooped up the snow left behind by a truck that had burst throw a drift and narrowly missed a tractor backing out of a gas station.   Somewhere a waltz was playing.  

After a stop at the bank, where Lucille works when she isn't judging the local Spelling Bee that her sons, Jason and Jeremie, won for several consecutive years, and where Shiloh works, too, all in the small part that isn't being remodeled by the big banking company that just bought them and weren't about to have an affiliated institution looking like their long-deceased grandma's living room,  I  went and visited Randall. 

Randall recently had to put his dog down.  His girlfriend is gone too.  He didn't euthanize her she just took off.  So now after 18 years of living an isolated life in Walden he's ready to leave.  So I went and looked at his place.  It's for sale.  It needs a floor.    And if the house is 600 square feet, 450 of it is filled with drums, speakers and Randall's massive six-string base that looks more like a stretch of highway than something an undernourished and effeminate rock star is supposed to hold for the duration of their reunion tour with REO Speedwagon. 

Randall is very cool.  He is the second hippy I've ever met in Walden.  We chatted about the house for a while but since it's pretty small so was the conversation and we ended up sharing stories of dogs we've had to 'put down' and the real estate visit ended in a tearful embrace.  

Speaking of the endangered hippy.  There are three Democrats in Jackson County.  The years of abuse have left   them sad and delusional.

Then I went to the River Rock Cafe that sits right next to the movie theater that's been  closed since cable came to town and where Nick and his father Rick encouraged me to move to Walden and start a radio station.  They agreed it would have to be country.  I genuinely appreciate their encouragement. 

My final stop was in Gould, a suburb of Walden, and I only mention it because it was here where I was able to gather a great example of a hick sticky note (not to be confused with a "hicky" note.  That's when bored prom dates go out to the reservoir and suck and bite cute little messages on each other.)  My dad was gone but he must be commended for leaving me some firewood and for his brevity.  The corporate world should take a few notes on expediting their communication. 

 

And then Paco and I went home.