Today's Quote

If only I possessed this vision . . .

I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.
Michelangelo

I’m writing a book. I don’t know where it’s going to go story-wise, but I see it in much the same way. I wish I could see it and set it free. I suppose it will come as it is supposed to.

I’ve wanted to write a book for years. There is a book in me. At least one. Biggest stumbling block: where to start.

So I started. It started with a short story, that happened to pass over the desk of someone (a friend) in the publishing world (I used to design and edit books in my life before the art market and wine bar), who then emailed me and asked me to flush it out a bit and send her what I came up with. That was months ago and I didn’t really expect to hear anything more of it. I know the publishing world and 100 million books and stories are submitted every year, okay so I’m exaggerating, but A LOT are submitted and NOTHING comes of 98 percent of them.

Surprisingly, I heard from her—this week—and she “encouraged” me to turn it into an outline and submit it (the outline), not as the story, but as a book.

I took the short story, added more of a beginning and voila, I figured out where to start. Age eleven. Lots of stuff happened in my life before that, which I suppose is why I want to write a book, and given I am forty-six, clearly lots of stuff has happened since.

You Just Never Know

I'm really bad at good-byes. I suck at them. I hate them. I remember every summer, when I was living with my mother but spending summers with my grandparents, having to say good-bye to them and how hard it was. Whenever I had to go back to California, I missed them so much.

Two of my earliest memories are of the day my mother and I left for California. I was five. I had not known anything other than living with my grandparents and that kind of safety and security. I felt as though I was being ripped away from everything I knew and loved. Pretty insightful for a five year old given that was exactly what was happening.

I remember quite a lot from that time, probably because overall it was so traumatic. I remember the day I was playing outside, drawing with chalk on the sidewalk and I looked up to see a car that looked exactly like my grandparents' car. I remember getting up and running toward it, literally screaming, "Oma!" The woman sitting in the passenger seat of the car, probably terrified of this wild child running toward her, rolled the window up. I still remember the pain of it, thinking my beloved grandmother was there, and then realizing it wasn't her at all. As I write about it, I can feel it all over again.

I eventually went back to live with my grandparents full-time, when I was eleven; six miserable, horrible years later. In the meantime, I had spent summers with them, and every time I had to say good-bye was like reliving that day when I was five years old all over again.

I remember, with regret, every time I drive to DIA, the last time I saw my mother and how distant we were that day, what a hard time it was for both us. I never would have dreamed that would be the last time I saw her.

Almost without fail every time the boys and I part, we hug, kiss, tell each other we love each other. Tonight I did not. I was in a hurry, they were downstairs, I didn't even say good-bye. I regret that. If, God forbid, something happens to any of us while we're apart, I want the last thing we've said to one another to be "I love you."

I remember when my grandmother was so sick that my mother and grandfather thought I should go to California to live with my mother again. I didn't know how I felt, but seeing my grandmother in so much pain day in, day out, was more than I could handle at sixteen, so I went along with what they thought was best. I don't remember the last time I saw her. I don't remember. I don't know how that is possible. I don't remember. I don't remember.

I was very active in church at the time, in a youth group, and a "folk" choir, that many of my closest friends belonged to as well. That last night, before I moved back to California, I sang a solo called, "Lord Watch Between." I still remember every word.

Lord watch between
You and me
For the time we're apart
Turn our eyes and our hearts
Toward the future

While we're away
May he bless you
And keep you safe within his love

May he lift his face
Grant you his grace
That you find comfort
In this place

Lord, watch between
You and me
For the time we're apart
Turn our eyes and our hearts
Toward the future

Things I Need to Write About . . .

but don't have time to right now. So I'll write this instead to remind me to write about this:

1. Wednesday's Concert in the Park
2. Something Beckett did yesterday, that I can't remember right now, but by the time I write again, he'll have done something else I can write about.
3. Ditto for Frank
4. Three years ago today (July 10), Frank, Beckett, Alina and I got in the car at 3108 Sumatra Place and drove away. We didn't stop (well we did STOP occasionally), until we got to Colorado Springs.

And actually, that I'll write about right now. Doug was already in Colorado Springs, he had been for two months. In those two months I packed the house and prepared for our move, while working two jobs and having sporadic help from nannies who worked for us and then didn't and then came back and then left again.

The morning of July 10 the movers arrived to take all of our belongings and put them into a moving van. I remember that before they got there I took our video camera and walked through each room, talking to Doug the whole time, telling him what I remembered about each room, about my memories of our first home as husband and wife, the first home both of our children knew. I cried and cried, wishing he was with me to say good-bye to our home. Doug and I watched that video when I got to Colorado Springs and we both cried then.

It is so unbelievably hard to fathom that we've been here three years already. And it is astounding the life we have built for ourselves in that time. It seems as if it has been at least ten.

Tonight I am at Second Street Art Market and Wine Bar. It is full. We have a piano now, and there is a guy playing tonight. He is great, absolutely perfect for this place. Customers starting coming in around 4:30 and the place has been full ever since. Regulars have been in, who I've had an opportunity to chat with and new folks who haven't been in before and have come in tonight too. It is a great night for it.

I'm happy through my tears.

Where's the Groove?

I can’t seem to find a groove to get back into. Okay, we’ve only been home thirty-two hours, so perhaps I’m pushing myself a little too hard.

Worked today, but didn’t get half done what I wanted to get done and know that whenever I come out of this fog, I’ll realize I have a thousand things to do and will wonder what in the hell I was thinking by not getting it all done.

Frank leaves for Eagle Lake this coming Sunday and will be gone until Friday. It’s his second year at summer camp but it’s still hard for me to let him go. I’ll worry every day. Last year I could go online and look at photos of him, and while they were a day or two old, at least I could see he was alive. I’m not really as worried as I make it sound, it’s just hard to let my babies go.

When we were on vacation there was a moment when I pictured them in my mind three or four years from now, wondering what our family vacations would be like then. Probably more trying, unless we figure out the “groove” of a vacation that they both enjoy. We’re such a unit, the four of us, and even though there are times when they are serious rascals, the reality is they fight far less than most siblings do, of that I’m sure, as I have been in the company of other families whose kids fight ten times (or more) more than our’s do.

Lightning storm, better sign off and shut down now.

July 5

We are home from our first family summer vacation this year. Since Friday, I got really sick and thought we would head home on Saturday. After being up most of the night and sick most of the morning, we left Hot Springs, South Dakota around 11 or 12, I really can't remember. By the time we hit the Colorado border, which meant we not only went through South Dakota, but Wyoming too, I was feeling better. Thankfully.

It was raining almost the entire way but we decided to check out the Greeley Stampede anyway. It was fairly sunny when we arrived, found a (free) parking place right near the entrance and went in. It was around 3:30 and we found out at the information booth that the fireworks were scheduled for 10pm after the concert.

The boys rode several rides, Beckett went on a roller coaster and I thought that would be his last ride of the day. He screamed to get off the entire time and almost killed himself getting off (before the ride came to a complete stop). He braved up and went back to the rides he was comfortable with before the rain started.

We found a (beer) tent to wait out the storm, which didn't seem as though it was going to ever stop. We decided to get tickets for the concert, since that would kill two birds with one stone. First, we'd have something to do until 10pm and second, we'd get out of the rain.

The concert was a lot of fun, Bucky Covington opened for Blake Shelton. We made it through about half of Blake's show before the boys had had enough and wanted to wait for the fireworks back at the car. Given Blake's show didn't start until 10, we had a long wait for the fireworks. Finally around 11:15 they went off and it was a great show.

Getting close to midnight, we still didn't know where we were staying but saw a row of hotels that looked promising. The first we stopped at had a room and in fifteen minutes or less we were all in bed and probably close to asleep.

When we woke up this morning Beckett thought it was great fun that we all slept in our "clothes" or lack there of instead of dragging in the bags, finding jammies, etc. We are so infrequently spontaneous, it was a refreshing change.

We took the back roads home from Greeley and were all anxious to go and pick up Ballou who was equally anxious to get in the suburban and come home.

It was a long week, but great to have undivided and uninterrupted family time. We have another family vacation planned at the beginning of August during which we plan to go to Pennsylvania and see Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle John and Aunt Julie and Frank and Beck's cousins, including the newest member of the family, Ally's son. It's hard to think about another vacation before I've finished the laundry from this one, but we are all looking forward to it.

Uncle Jeff called and he and Doug talked about going to New York for Uncle Andy's wedding in October. We'll see if we can make that one happen or not.

Tomorrow I plan to dig in at the wine bar with fresh eyes, the new staff needs a TON of training on wine, which we'll dive into right away.

Is it Friday Already?

I cannot believe today is Friday; I keep double-checking to be sure since it doesn't seem possible.

Wednesday we visited Mt. Rushmore first thing in the morning and it was amazing. The visitor's center is so informative and well put together. We watched a short narrative about how the project came to be along with the processes, etc. It was breathtaking to sit and ponder.

From there we traveled through the backroads of the Black Hills over to the Crazy Horse monument; equally breathtaking and awe-inspiring, and massive. We were scheduled to go up closer and perhaps go out on the arm, however, the threat of lightening canceled all such plans.

We spent a great deal of time in the visitor's center, cultural center, artist studio and home. The boys spent their entire saved allowances, plus more money from mom, on the artwork for sale by Native Americans in the cultural center.

On our way back to the car, Doug told me to look up to see the bald eagle circling over my head. It was a beautiful sight. Prior to this trip, I don't believe I have ever seen an eagle in the wild. Doug repeatedly tells me I have, but I can say I have not ever seen a BALD eagle. And the other eagles he says I've seen, I wasn't one hundred percent certain of.

Now there is no question. I have seen at least two on this trip and many golden eagles as well. It was one of those things I wanted to do, or see, before I die, so another thing to cross of the list.

After leaving Crazy Horse, we traveled once again through the back roads toward Mt. Rushmore. Doug had read about another place to view Mt. Rushmore from the top of Iron Mountain Road. It was an amazing drive through the forest with corkscrew turns like none he or I have ever seen before. Along the way there are several single-lane tunnels and beautiful old bridges. We found the two viewing areas Doug read about and decided against trying to make our way up this highway to view the July 3rd fireworks as it is treacherous enough in daylight, far too dangerous at night.

From there we made our way back to the hotel so the boys could play once again in the waterpark before dinner.

Yesterday we decided to leave Rapid City a day early and head instead to Hot Springs ahead of schedule. We called and were able to make the changes we wanted to and headed out for the day.

We drove past Mt. Rushmore a final time to Lake Sylvan, where we stopped for a few hours of hiking and relaxation. Lake Sylvan is a beautiful spot and a highlight of the trip as a whole.

Our next stop was Custer, one of the more gentrified towns we have visited on this trip. Our guess is the wealthier visitors to Sturgis each summer actually stay, and shop, in Custer. There were several lovely cafes and galleries to wander through.

The last stop for the day was Hot Springs, where we are spending two nights. The River Rock Resort and Spa is a lovely place to stay. The staff appears to wear many hats, from checking us in, to booking the spa package, playing the piano in the lobby and waiting on us at dinner.

We went out exploring the town late yesterday afternoon and got the boys an early supper. Doug and I took a little nap while the boys watched cartoons and then went downstairs for dinner.

The restaurant downstairs is the Blue Vervain, one that moved from Manitou Springs up here a year ago. We knew of the Blue Vervain, but hadn't had an opportunity to eat there before it closed and thus were quite delighted to learn of the relocation. We trusted the boys to behave and let them know we were simply downstairs if they needed us.

Doug and I have not had a quiet romantic dinner in months and we enjoyed the time immensely. We ordered a bottle of wine and took our time, talking with the waiter/piano player/front desk clerk about wine and food. Dinner was as perfectly prepared as I anticipated it would be and was such a treat. I started with a shrimp ceviche and Doug had a thai gazpacho which he said was much too spicy for me to even think about trying. I had seared scallops as an entree and Doug had a thai peanut salad. Both outstanding. We decided to be bold and try the chocolate beet torte with beet sorbet for dessert. Far too eclectic for us to serve at the wine bar, but a fun experiment for us to try for ourselves. It was unique, particularly the sorbet, good but only for a bite or two, then too overpowering.

I slept so soundly last night.

This morning the boys were up EARLY in anticipation of their visit to the Evans Plunge. Doug is spending the day there with them followed by a visit to the Mammoth dig site. We found a local bakery/cafe for breakfast and then parted ways for the day.

This morning I had a massage followed by a raindrop therapy treatment during which nine essential oils were "dropped" on my spine and feet and then rubbed into my muscles. I smell like an herb store, but feel amazing.

This afternoon I have a facial scheduled along with visits to the dry sauna, sand and granite rooms. The sand room is a warm room where sand covers the floor topped with cloth. Large pillows are scattered throughout the room and you simply lay on the floor as you would at the beach. VERY relaxing. The granite room is similar, with a warm floor on which you lay and relax. Two things I've never seen before, but find interesting, and of course, relaxing.

My two hour break is the perfect length to update the blog, do some reading and perhaps take a nap.

We haven't yet decided where we will spend the fourth. It doesn't really matter to me, anywhere we find on the way home is fine. July 4th was my grandmother's birthday. It was always such a fun day when I was growing up, often the day we had our annual family reunion.

Hence, anyplace we are other than Ostrander Road always seems foreign to me, so each year is simply a new experience and not one where we try to create any traditions necessarily. Often we don't see fireworks at all, so it isn't something the boys are disappointed about.

One year, Doug took me to Vancouver and Victoria over the fourth. We always laugh about him asking what kind of events were planned for the holiday and the hotel clerk reminding him we were in Canada.