May 23, 2007Travelog: Colorado Springs

While exploring Colorado Springs, we stayed at the B&B Cheyenne Canon Inn, at the base of Cheyenne Mountain where NORAD is tucked inside. It is a beautiful 13,000 square foot estate operated and tended by a former ski bum turned real estate agent who grew up just down the block. This is his ground zero.
This grand old gal has worn many masks: she was a family home, a casino, a meeting place and speakeasy, a brothel, and now a squeaky clean B & B. One hundred and thirty five years of floors contentedly groaning out a lively heritage, accessorized by claw foot bathtubs, stained glass windows and period antiques. The Inn survived a devastating flood only later to be taken by fire and in an amazing stroke of luck was rebuilt to its original grandeur when the architectural plans turned up.

We comfortably roamed the house in our embroidered bathrobes in the evenings, watched a movie from their library and leafed through local historical books. A neighborhood chef prepared the most wonderful gourmet breakfasts and chatted about the town and its inhabitants. Wine and h'ors d'oeurves in the afternoon in a glorious sitting room as large as my home and had ceiling to floor windows that drew the world in. What a relaxing way to end a day after walking the Garden of the Gods, shopping in Manitou Springs and experiencing Pike's Peak.

Innkeeper Nancy assured us that the masseur was excellent. And he was: skilled, friendly, a graduate from the Culinary Institute of America, refreshingly honest with a great sense of humor. Afterwards we luxuriated with champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate on the front veranda as we waved to passerbys.

We liked the local haunt, The Blue Star, but the Broadmoor is just minutes away for a fancier dining experience and a round of world class golf. If you go, we hope you will remember us to Kevin, Nancy and Craig.

Memories, 2/9/07

Standing at the counter, I am watching this elaborate rail system weave up, around and through the warehouse dry cleaners. Neatly pressed and bagged clothes are in clusters, tagged and identified for pick up. Corresponding tag numbers are on our ticket, because those are our possessions and we want them back to reuse.


Memories are like that. Every once in a while, the sound of a baritone voice in a restaurant or someone whistling while they work or the sweet scent of skin on a tshirt sweeps me up and whisks me along fast moving rails to a memory. In that instant, I pull forward those long tucked away moments to feel them again in real time.


I grew up in Silicon Valley long before somebody, somewhere made it into something it's not. My home was at the cusp of apricot orchards and involved all day bicycle wanderings into the foothills and to the percolation ponds for pollywogs.


Back then, the days were long. Back then, a little girl could wander and explore. Sometimes I was so lost in play it would startle me to realize the day was darkening and street lights were coming on, and I was a ways from home.


My dad would begin his nightly walk, cigarette in hand, up and around the neighborhood, in a leisurely stride and happy whistle. That was my call home. I would dash out from under a bush and fall in step with him, taking his hand. Even when darkness had fallen and dinner was warming under a tent of foil in the oven he waited on me, asked about my adventures, and led me home. How glad I am to have these claim tickets now that he's gone.


Not It, 2/9/07

An opportunity arose to vacation in Hawaii. In addition to the normal things to see, the waterfalls and restaurants, the culture, hiking the scenic trails and exploring plantations, we discovered there was a nesting ground for green sea turtles. I love turtles.

With great anticipation to witness something profound, we headed there with swimsuits beneath our shorts and snorkel gear in the back seat. Reading about this place on the short drive, we learned it was the last remaining black sand beach on the island, that all the rest had been covered by lava flows by the nearby active volcano, and that green sea turtles had been returning here for years, although their numbers were diminishing.

The gray black sand was gritty as we dashed towards a beautiful cove. Where were the tour guides and vacationers with their digital cameras? How could this be, an empty beach save a lone sign cautioning us not to touch the turtles but not prohibiting anyone from swimming there. We talked about it a while, the care to take if we were going to undertake a swim along, and all agreed to proceed.

There, on the rocks where the sand met the sea, were three enormous green sea turtles, taking the waves and the seaweed in stride.  We put on our gear and gently eased into the water twenty feet away. I dipped my mask halfway in, watching them maneuver the rocks with their flippers to balance and turn. They were magnificent.

I slowly snorkeled the cove, stopping to investigate and explore, when I noticed one of the turtles three or four feet below the edge of my toes. He seemed kind of interested in me. I quieted as he glided by and drew away, returned to gently sweep a safe distance away, checking me out.

On one such glide, in the most deliberate way, he looked right at me, as if inviting me along. I snorkeled along above, excitement filling my lungs and watching him closely, he swimming below and just ahead, setting the pace, every now and again checking that I was still there.

We did this a while, who knows, 5 minutes?  It was so fun I completely lost track of time. When I looked up, I noticed we were far from shore, and reluctantly had to turn back.  When I neared shore, I wistfully looked back to where the turtle had been, and was shocked to find him right on my heels, below and behind, following me at a safe distance.

This had to be a coincidence. So I tried again, gliding along and turning away from shore, and he headed out just ahead, a sidelong glance to make sure I was following. Right then I named him Not It.

My young son was in the water near the shore with my ex and we glided past them for a couple of underwater camera shots. What they most remember is the laughter they could hear coming from my snorkel. It was one of the best days ever!