Piper on the Mountain

Records

2012-01-07T20:16:00.007-07:00

He spent the whole day working on a record player, just for me. It's a lovely old '60's console, with speakers and big knobs to turn the settings. He tinkered with all the tiny parts and wires, took it all apart, and put it back together better than it ever was.

I asked him if he's ever fixed a record player before. He hasn't ever even worked on one before, and I'm keeping him forever.

I found some of my records yesterday, the ones hidden in some box I packed a million years ago. It was like stumbling into those old friends of yours that you shared that one magical summer with when you were 18, and never saw again. I remembered them, always fondly, and squealed a happy gasp to see them again.

My life could literally be measured by boxes.

I never settled down, not even all the times I was sure I was settling down. I packed boxes, and never unpacked them. I just hauled them around and stored them, place to place, year after year. This week I looked inside boxes not unpacked since I left home after high school. Nearly twenty years ago.

I suppose all sorts of analogies could be noodled from this. A tale told all on its own. It's as cliche as it feels here, rolling off my fingers, to say I've been finding myself again. In all these boxes. Unpacking myself.

I'm settling in, I've moved all of me into our home.

We're listening to my vinyl tonight. Music is always so much fuller and more alive pouring out of a finely tuned record player, isn't it?

(I can always find good words here)

Enthusiasm Like There's No Tomorrow

2011-10-31T09:17:00.013-06:00

One of these days I'm going to get back in this blogging game full throttle. I really am too, with gusto... enthusiastic gusto! And it's going to be so great, I can already tell.

Until that day dawns, however, it's possible I'll only manage to post when I've got something I just CANNOT wait to share. Not that all my news isn't newsflash worthy, of course, but you know, sometimes some stuff is just way more worth blasting over the internets than others. And this is one of those times. For sure.

It all started last week when my friend Denise emailed me saying she and her family were going to be in Aspen on Saturday for the new Warren Miller movie ...Like There's No Tomorrow (her husband is the producer) showing at the Wheeler Opera House, and asking would I like to bring my family to the show? To which I was like, um... HECK YES!

If you don't know this about me, I am a huge fan of Warren Miller films. I've been watching the movies as long as I can remember, but never before had I been able see one on the big screen, so I was super excited.

Moreso than my excitement for the movie, though, I was just so happy to finally get to meet Denise and hang out with her. She is even more lovely and delightful in person, her daughters are completely precious, and her husband is just as cool as I knew he would be (we've been Twitter and IG friends for a long time, too), and it was such a treat for us to get to spend the day with them.

Me and Denise after a delicious lunch

The Wheeler was a great venue for a big screen viewing first timer like me. And I wasn't the only person snapping pictures inside the theater.

During intermission, the boys raked in all the cool swag they could grab, and got their Spyder posters signed by the pros in the the film. When Tommy Moe asked Jackson what he's going to be into this winter, he said he's going to try snowboarding. Noah said he's going to ride on the snowmobile with his mom.

Warren Miller's ...Like There's No Tomorrow, was so, so awesome. If you love mountains, excellent music, and especially if you're into wintertime fun-times, you will get a rush out of it. There's even a legit Yeti sighting, or two, in the film. Warren Miller films are always excellent, but this one on the big screen was epic for me. I couldn't have loved it more.

I also couldn't love Denise more. She's a good girl, that one.

There was one kind of poignant moment during the intermission when we were asked to tweet "[______] like there's no tomorrow" @warrenmillerski (best one entered you into a drawing) and we all got to consider for a moment what we really should be doing since none of us are promised tomorrow. I wasn't able to scramble for my Twitter app and get it typed out fast enough, but looking over Denise's shoulder I saw that she was typing the same thing I was thinking... LOVE.

Here's to LOVE. And doing it like there's no tomorrow.

*this is not a sponsored post. that kind of goes without saying, no?

Indian Summer

2011-10-09T08:58:00.013-06:00

The other day I opened our mailbox and was surprised find two magazines with my new name on them. Veranda and Town & Country, my mother's long time favorites, subscriptions as a gift for me. Mom is so good like that, always sending inspiration of some kind. And her taste is excellent, it's true.

She sends me the richest inspirations; the finest of clothes, food, and decor. Email forwards from her beloved Horchow, and Neiman Marcus, and thoughtful reminders to look for such hot goodies in the thrift stores in Aspen.

I do love the thrift stores in Aspen.

The only thing is, which I don't think she's considered, is that normal people don't dress dripped in furs and couture leathers here, not even in Aspen. Even if I did find such finery, wearing them would kind of make me a spectacle. Like a tourist from some far off European place... or Oklahoma.

It's been a while since she's been here, so maybe she's forgotten I'm not really a stranger to these parts. I'm semi-native, I guess.

This house we live in, I've been coming to it since I was a little girl. I have memories here as far back as I can remember. Nearly every detail in the guest house is exactly as it's always been, even still. Perfectly 70's, and it will never change as far as I'm concerned, the memories are just too sweet.

Anyone reading this must be so confused by now, I know. This is what makes attempting to share the story of how I ended up getting married so tricky, there are lots of details. Details that span my entire lifetime.

I've been meaning to get started telling the story sooner than this, but we've been extremely busy. The remains of summertime have been ripe for glorious outdoor adventure. So, of course, we've had to been out in the middle of it as much as possible.

Life has never been so sweet.

***

edited to clarity: I don't actually live in Aspen (not that there's anything wrong with that), just close enough to shop there. (did I mention I love the thrift stores in Aspen?)

Speaking of Stinks

2011-09-12T12:25:00.007-06:00

Would you believe me if I told you that onion breath doesn't stink to me? What if I said I actually don't mind it at all? What if I told you I actually kind of like it?

The reason why is because my mind directly associates the smell of green onion breath with my beloved grandmother. She was the most lady-like, most delicate, kindest, loveliest person in the world, and she ate green onions with cheese on a cracker as a snack every day. It was her guilty pleasure, I suppose. And now, even though I don't like green onions myself, because of her, I kind of don't mind any body's onion breath.

Smells can trigger nostalgia in the strangest ways.

I've been thinking about this because our dog. She got sprayed by a skunk when she was let out to tinkle the other night, and she ran all through the house before we could finally get her back outside. The god-awful stench still lingers. It's almost as if our house has pores, and it's been on a month long whiskey bender... the scent just seeps out, cleanliness notwithstanding.

I've never had a dog that lived in the house before. Growing up in the country, our dogs always lived outside. We loved our dogs dearly, but if they stank it didn't really matter because they weren't coming in the house anyway. And I have to admit that I've been very un-understanding of my friends when they have told me their pet tales of chewed up shoes and destroyed sofa cushions. I have bit my tongue when I wanted to say that maybe their terror dog needed to be taken on a one-way trip to the desert.

I really do love this dog though, she's actually completely awesome. My husband, being the dog whisperer that he is, has her trained amazingly well. I find myself enjoying this little dog immensely, in ways I never expected. I like having her around, laying on my toes, and following me everywhere, even into the bathroom (and here I thought my days of being followed to the potty were over now that my boys are older). Her ways continue to grow on me.

I'm attempting to combat the skunk stench by attaching it to nostalgia somehow. And the only way I know how to do that is to think of my friend Amy, whom I love dearly. She claims to not be repulsed by the stink of skunk at all. She's the only person I've ever heard of who doesn't hate it. I wonder why though, now especially. I wonder if she'll ever divulge her pleasant skunk association. There has to be one, I just know it.

It's Time

2011-09-02T20:55:00.008-06:00

My oldest boy just turned 12. He got an acoustic guitar for his birthday from my husband, and I think it might be one of the most important gifts he ever receives.

I think these things as he's sitting next to me on this L-shaped couch, strumming. His talent is pure, and magnetic... genetic. It's remarkable, but he doesn't even know it.

I'm hardly ever on the computer anymore, but here I am, next to him doing this, and my deepest urge is to write about it. To compose a blog post. To do this thing again, from the hip, like in the days of old. It feels right, and urgent, and necessary, and good. And I'm glad.

I may not be able to write often, but write I will. I'm going to write again, I have some things to say.

As a matter of fact, I do have a really big story to tell, and I think I better get busy doing that. In between the random goodness, of course.

I need to write about how I ended up getting married, and about living in the mountains, and about how I'm happier than anyone could imagine. I need to write about how dreams really can come true, and about beauty for ashes, and about peace.

I'm happier than even I ever hoped I could be, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.