Of Marble and Gunshots

This past weekend, to celebrate our anniversary, Greg and I stayed at a B&B in central Colorado. Perhaps more B than a B&B, for it was a bit rustic, and the owner didn’t feel like cooking breakfast on morning #2 (though to his credit, he did say we could cook our own breakfast with his groceries). Whatever; small towns can often translate into new definitions of things you thought you knew.

It was a much-needed break to get away and have nothing to do for 2 whole days. We read, tried out the canoe (an amusing tale for a later blog), hiked, ate junk food, and slept. At one point, we entertained the idea of heading up and checking out the marble quarry which makes the town, Marble, so famous.

So the morning that we did get breakfast, the owner joined us and upon hearing our interest in the quarry trip, decided to regale us with stories of the craziness of this small town. He’s lived there for almost 20 years, has served on and off as a town-councilman and mayor pro-term, and knows quite a bit about town politics.

So he tells us about the crazy people who own the land through which 20 feet of the trail to the marble quarry passes through (got that?). The trail cannot divert through this old mining claim as there is a cliff to the left and right of it, and seeing an opportunity to make money and establish some dominant hierarchy within the town. . . they’ve decided to charge people $5 per person to walk this 20 feet of ‘their’ trail.

At this point in the tale, our host got a weird gleam in his eye and proceeded to tell us that we shouldn’t pay the fee if we were to go. I agreed that it was ridiculous, but shouldn’t the town government be taking care of this? Don’t they need a permit or something?

I was wrong; such is the corruptness of this town that people are powerless to stop these money-hungry folk. And so, our host suggested, we should instead put green paper into the slot that asks for money with a snippy little note on it saying something to the point of “Good luck with your venture” or something to that point.

I was starting to feel like a pawn in this whole game, and suggested that Greg and I saunter through without paying and without the sassy green paper.

No, the host didn’t like that idea.

Why not? Says I, clearly naive to the ways of Marble.

Well, a couple tried that a few years ago (which tells you how long this ridiculous feud has been going on) and the owner, frustrated that people in town were telling tourists not to pay, fired a warning shot over their heads with his rifle. They, of course, took the man to court, and his whole defense was that clearly this wasn’t an issue, since it was just a warning shot and not actually aimed to harm them.

Greg and I glanced at each other over our French toast, eyebrows raised. Our host then excused himself to go clean up, cheerily gave us a bit of green paper (because they’ll probably think it’s a $10!) and then left us.

We decided not to hit up the marble quarry that day, or the next.

Clearly, everyone here is crazy; both sides of the argument. Additionally, anyone who thinks that warning shots are normal behavior doesn’t need $10 of my money and I’m surely not going to provoke him with a bit of green paper.

:)

The Beginning of Wedded Bliss

I've been thinking a bit about my husband Greg. Regarding this blog, he really is my muse, so to speak, and he has kept me entertained for 6 years now. 3 of those we were dating, 3 of those we were married, and tomorrow is our anniversary.

So, in the spirit of celebrating our anniversary, I thought I'd regale you with a Greg story that happened 3 years and 1 day ago today. . . or, perhaps to clarify, 2 days before the wedding.

We were married in a small mountain town called Ouray, on the Western side of the Rockies here in Colorado. I grew up over there, and as we both loved it we decided to make the 5 hour trek and meet all our friends and family for the Grand Celebration. It was a medium-sized wedding, about 100 people showed up for it, and in the couple days before we were to be married, we hung out with everyone, going to some hotsprings, visiting camp and cabin sites, shopping, eating, touring old mines, and. . . Most important to this story, taking a 4-wheel drive trip.

My dad, Greg and I all knew the route well, I've been doing it since I was 2. It winds up and over a mountain pass, and then drops you off in Telluride so you can then take a regular road back to Ridgeway and finally, back to Ouray - where we started. The ride was great, we all took pictures, checked out old mines and ghost towns, took more pictures, and then headed down the backside of the mountain into Telluride. Brad, Greg's best friend was riding in the backseat, and the three of us were in the middle of a conversation almost into Telluride when there was a horrendous THUMP from the hood of Greg's Explorer followed by an earpiercing shriek of metal on metal for 10 long seconds before the sound finally died with the engine. There was brief silence followed by a torrent of cursing from Greg.

Apparently this had been a problem that Greg was going to fix, but didn't think needed immediate attention like apparently it had. And so our getaway/honeymoon/driving car was completely disabled. . . on the side of a mountain. . . .5 hours away from where we lived. . . .2 hours from our wedding site. . . a day and a half before the wedding.

Greg and Brad (they both are mechanics, Greg just doesn't do it as a profession anymore) hopped out and immediately went about trying to figure out a way to fix the problem. Something about how a ball bearing welded itself onto the engine. . . Not really fixable for running the motor, but we could coast and be towed alright. And that's what we did. We coasted into Telluride, and my dad towed us over the pass and then let us go once we were to the top. It's just miles and miles of downhill, and I joined Greg for a 30 minute equivalent of 'Mr. Toad's Wild Ride' as we careened into Ridgeway with no power steering or brakes.

The Explorer's prognosis was no good. It would take at least a week to fix. Which was too bad since we were going to be on our honeymoon in now, 1 day. My mom called a friend back in Denver who hadn't yet arrived for the wedding and begged him and his dad to bring her car over so we could use it. They said ok, but that they'd be a little late. The wedding preparations were done, we had one more fun evening with our friends and prepared to get married the next day.

As I prepared throughout the day with hair, makeup, dressing, flowers, and whatnot, I was wondering where our car was. Hours ticked by and still it didn't show up. Greg was wondering as well and sweating it out. What were we going to do tomorrow if it didn't show? We didn't want to spend half the day with our parents trying to find a car rental in some other town!

The day passed by quickly and soon I went to the church for pictures and then hid upstairs as Greg showed up for his pictures . . .And still no car. I sent my bridesmaids out on car-watching duty periodically to see if it had showed yet, and nope - no car. As I was walking down the aisle, through the open door I saw my mom's car screech around the corner and do a 4 wheel skid into the parking lot. . .And I smiled.

I arrived at the end of the aisle, and after being given away by my father, walked up the stairs towards the altar with my soon-to-be-husband, and looked up at him and winked.

"The car's here" I whispered, and we both smiled as we took our vows.

Of Burritos and Flying

We were in California for a long weekend this past week. It was a trip to celebrate the wedding of Greg's best friend, Brad. All in all it was a nice, uneventful weekend, until of course, it was time to leave.

Allan, another friend of ours, dropped us off at the airport for our departing flight 2 hours ahead of time, and Dan, another friendly guy we know, called to see if we were hungry for lunch. He works for United, we were flying out of American, and he could come eat with us and hang out until we left. It was a splendid idea, and we were both hungry. So off he went to grab some burritos, and we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until it was 30 minutes before boarding. Greg got up to go see if he could call/find Dan and see what the ETA for him was. Greg wandered off and I stayed with the luggage (God FORBID you leave it alone for more than .05 seconds, who knows what the terrorists may do to it!) and read my book.

I tend to dissappear into books, so I didn't really notice how much time had passed until they started boarding. I looked up and didn't see Greg, I stood up and still didn't see him (at 6'7" he's easy to spot in a crowd) This was a small, regional terminal seperate from the main airport, so it's not like there was a huge crowd that he could have dissappeared into. At this point, over 1/2 of the people were boarded, and I was baffled. "Where did he go?!" If we missed this flight, this was the last one to LA to get back to CO, so it was mildy crucial we be on it.

Scanning the crowd again, I looked outside past security in the main lobby, and there he was. Standing in security. With 5 minutes before our plane took of.

I raised my hands in sign-language question. He raised his and had a burrito in each.

Apparently Dan couldn't get through security without a ticket, terrorist burritos and all that, so Greg had to go out and get them. In coming BACK through security, the two people in front of him were triple searched, and he couldn't get through.

"This is the final boarding call for flight 1497, would passengers OurLastNameHere, party of two, please come to the gate?"

Greg got through security at this point, and came tearing over to get his bags. He threw me a burrito, and we boarded. I never saw Dan, and we ate on the plane. They were excellent burritos. :)

And that, my friends, is how we nearly missed our flight for food.

Of Showers & Breakfast

The other morning I was making breakfast as the two of us prepared for another work day. Greg was upstairs showering, and it seemed like it was going to be yet another ho-hum day, when a tremendous clatter sounded from the upstairs bathroom. Mildly curious, I paused in the middle of egg-scrambling listened for a minute, but then went back to what I was doing. When you’re married, I think you do get used to the occasional bump and crash as men aren’t the most graceful of creatures.

But. . .it was not to be a quiet morning. 5 minutes later, the water turned off, and Greg stomped to the top of the stairs. Dripping wet and wrapped loosely in a towel he held up two bottles and then demanded in a voice much-too-commanding for 4:30am:

“Do you use Dove Moisturizing Shampoo or Icy Pineapple Cleansing Shampoo?”

Well, I use both of course, (because sometimes you feel like an icy pineapple) but feeling that wasn’t the best of answers, I replied “Dove Moisturizing”.

He stomped back into the bathroom only to quickly return with two new items.

“Do you use Deep Mango Facial Scrub or Dead Sea Facial Scrub?”

Again, the answer here was both, because deep cleaning and dead sea are entirely different granular sizes, but again, I chose one. “Deep Mango.”

He ‘hmmphed’, and disappeared into the bathroom to return two new items.

“Do you use Energizing Citrus Body Wash or Cooling Cucumber soap?”

I sighed, I was growing weary of this game. Clearly in the morning I wanted to be energized, but in the evening, if I wanted to take a shower, cooling cucumber is soothing after a hot day outside. What man wouldn’t understand that?! But I’m getting wiser as I grow a bit older and bit my tongue. “Energizing Citrus.”

Apparently, he had gone to grab his razor while showering, and all sorts of fruity sudsy bottles fell upon one foot. Thus, the purging. But, lucky for me I know he just placed the rejects under the sink, and I will begin slowly bringing them back into the shower as the energetic, cooling, tingling, soothing, or pore cleansing spirit moves me.

The Tour

I'm not a big sports fan by ANY stretch of the imagination. Even when I played sports I had a slightly bewildered look on my face, never fully understanding the rules and surprised when the goal/hoop/bases changed to the other side and we were going the other direction. I was that kid who occasionally scored for the other team.

But every year I get a bit excited for there is one sport that I will watch faithfully for a month. The Tour de France. And that started today!!!!!

Unfortunately it did not start well.

My hopes have already been dashed for a big win for Jan Ullrich this year. A huge drug scandal went down, and a number of racers were pulled out, including three of the big boys, Giro d'Italia champion Ivan Basso, 1997 Tour winner Jan Ullrich (my favorite now that Lance is gone) and Spaniard Francisco Mancebo were pulled out by their teams after being implicated in an investigation into a doping scandal in Spain. They've not been found guilty yet, but can't ride regardless.

*sigh*

And I'd really like to think that they'll be found innocent. Seems a bit political to be doing a drug bust so close to the actual race, and pulling out the most favored and seasoned contendors for the yellow jersy.

So Lance, it's probably a good thing you didn't ride this year. Either you would have A) been implicated as well and tarnished your reputation regardless of the outcome or B) had no competition whatsoever and won in a ho-hum 8th race.

Other than that, happy first day of the Tour!!!! Much excitement now to see who will be the next big champion after Lance, and even if you don't like the cycling it's worth watching for the scenery!

How I saved a whole Mexican Village

This past Monday, Greg and I were in Colorado. However, someone in Mexico with my debit card number spent a little over $1,600 of our money in some sort of shopping spree.

We saw the first charge Sunday morning. It was only $187 at that point, and we called the banks 24/7 hotline which was, inexplicably, not working. So we kept trying throughout the day, and it wasn’t until Monday morning that we were able to cancel the card number. By that time, the damage had been done.

Things are sorted out now, a day off of work to fill out police reports, bank papers and the like and our money is being returned. Not from the person of course, they got away with it, but from our bank. Thankfully we were covered for this type of problem.

So I would like to rationalize this: My co-worker, Joe, and I were discussing this.

“You know,” I said, “I would really like to think that this was some person who desperately needed the money.”

“Yah,” Said Joe “Someone with 8 or so very sick kids who were dying and badly needed medical care he couldn’t afford, so he used your card.”

“Right,” Says I. “except I think it was some restaurant that this person used my card at.”

“So maybe they were some hungry sick kids.”

“A $346 food bill in Mexico points to either some serious food consumption, or a ritzy restaurant.” I pointed out. “Also, there were some clothing stores with a couple hundred dollar charges to each of them.”

Joe digested this for a second; “I got it! The whole village was hungry, their clothes were threadbare, and no one knew what to do. No one had the money to afford clothes or food, and people were going to die. This person, with your card number in hand, knew what he had to do. He had to take the whole village out to a few big dinners, then, he had to buy them all clothes. Now, a village is safe thanks to your money.”

I think I like this explanation over the rational alternative. It is rather heroic and has a purpose. “How I saved a whole Mexican Village” seemed an appropriate title, and it does end happily. Since we got back our money, and a village was clothed and fed, no one was really hurt – right?

Laughter is the best medicine

So on my way home last Friday I was riding the shuttlebus to my main bus home. It had been a long day - I was tired and grumpy. I noticed a couple across the aisle laughing to each other. . . .they'd stop, look secretively at me, then they'd start laughing again. I was sure that on top of my tired day . . .I was now being laughed at. My Ipod was playing in my ears, but I had no music I really felt like listening to, so I turned it off (with the buds still in my ears so no one would make the potentially fatal mistake of talking to me).

Then I noticed a strange noise from behind me. I turned and there were two larger women, sitting at the back of the bus, breathless from laughter. They were silent for a few seconds, and then one of them snorted with a non-too-successful attempt at holding back more laughter, and the other one shrieked with delight before they started laughing again. They giggled, they sighed, they were silent for a few seconds, and then they'd squeal and start hysterically laughing again. It was absolutely ridiculous, two grown women probably in their 50's, laughing like they were 4. A smile started to creep across my face, and I glanced back at the couple who previously I thought were laughing at me. The girl pointed with a 'you see?!' sort of motion at me. And I got it. They were laughing at the women behind me.

I'm not sure what the women were laughing about. Every minute or so one would try to catch her breath to say something. . . but whatever she was trying to say became unintelligible as the other started giggling, snorting, the sentence ended in some high-pitched noise, and they'd both start laughing again.

For almost 10 blocks we went like this, and I saw every new person who got on the bus got through the same line of thought that I did. First "why is everyone laughing at me?" and then "Oh! Those women are ridiculous" as they started to smile too.

Pretty soon I was giggling with the couple across from me, and a few other strangers started laughing as well. The two women thought this was even funnier. . . and, if possible, laughed even harder, with less control. I thought they would be the first known cases to die from laughter. . .there was no oxygen going to those dear brains.

By the end of the ride, we were all infected with what these two women had.

Joy.

I had to think that it had been a while since I had laughed that hard and how ironic it was that two complete strangers without really saying a word to me, were able to lift my spirits so high.