You wanna be where you can see, troubles are all the same,
You wanna go where everybody knows your name. (Theme from Cheers)
Did I mention that I had a lovely dinner with the Cress family at my/their house? A steak as big as a tractor tire, but much tastier. Of course, I've never eaten a tire, so I'm just assuming...
On Tuesday afternoon, Dr. Gloria Beim delivered the stellar news: I have no arthritis in my hip. None. Nada. Zippola. Did I mention this already? I ran out of ginko a while ago and with the hormones fluctuating as they do these days, sometimes I forget. Anyway, it's comforting, since my mother has two artificial ones, a titanium shoulder and pins in her fingers, all due to the disease. Lindsay Wagner's got nothin' on my mom. (For all you younsters' benefit, Lindsay played The Bionic Woman on TV, way back in the stone age. Now she sells mattresses through a gauze filter.) So, all I have to say about the lack of joint trouble is, thanks Dad. Instead, I have bursitis, with an excessively tight IT (iliotibial) band, probably due at least in part to the fact that one leg is longer than the other. I'm not sure who to thank for that. Anyway, a shot in the rump, some new orthotics and a bit of physical therapy and I'm on the road to recovery. My literal pain in the ass is already fading. (We'll save talk of my figurative pain(s) in the ass for another blog entry.)
Gunnison was Gunnison, complete with people I know in restaurants and shops, walking along the street, at the gym, on the cot next to me in PT, talking on the radio, everywhere.
My friend Stephen invited me to attend a spoken word performance at the Gunnison Arts Center Wednesday night. I started downtown from my digs at the Comfort Inn, but soon realized I'd forgotten my purse and wallet. Blast! How on earth was I to buy a beer? I turned around and high-tailed it back up Main Street, figuring I could make it to my room, snag the bag and be back at the Arts Center is eight minutes flat. Not so fast. That's what the sheriff's deputy told me when he pulled me over. Well, actually he said, "Slow down," which is the same thing. Thank you Deputy Medina for letting me off with a warning. I arrived just in time to catch the last of the milling and mixing prior to the performance. It felt like old home week. Mark Todd was there, a guy so famous around these parts that people still ask me if I'm related to him. George Sibley hung in the wings. No, not the actor George Sibley. (Remember Babe?) This is the writer, teacher, philosopher George Sibley from Colorado. I don't think anybody in Gunnison doesn't know George. Mark read a couple of poems in his spirited way. The young poets were impressive, too. Stephen did a fine job as MC. Last night, it was dinner with my pal Delaney. We vowed to make it our ritual to eat at the new Mexican restaurant every time I come to town. There's always a new Mexican restaurant in Gunnison. It was fun hangin' with all my homies in G-town. To those of you I did not get the chance to see, I apologize and promise to connect next trip. Yes, there will definitely be a next trip.
A thunder storm just ripped through here. The sky rumbled and flashed, the heavens burst with a deluge. Sheets of water defied the awning over my hotel room door and soaked the walkway. That's what I love about Colorado. It's exciting! Don't like the weather? Wait a few minutes. And the rain? No biggie. It's here and gone in a few minutes. The sun will come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be sun.
I've included a little eye candy, a shot from Monarch Pass, for your viewing pleasure.
Aloha. A hui howdy.
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