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The past few weeks have been a foggy and dizzy blur. I will attempt to recap.
Denver was a fantastic, fantastic addition to my November. A one hour direct flight - Phoenix to Denver, one bloody mary and wa lah. Miss Mollie was there to get me and we were Longmont bound. Bound to complete the trio with our bride to be, Miss Canadian, Tuque wearing Ashley Clayton.
And that's where we spent most of the weekend, Longmont, Colorado. Alas! The three meatballs reunited after nearly five years. And the phenominal thing is that we never skipped a beat. We truly didn't. Five years of emailing, texting and brief phone calls of life updates might as well have been five days, because we were right where we left off. The three of us stayed up until the wee hours of each morning catching up, drinking rum and coke and subsequently piling into one large basement bed. It was SO refreshing to see these gals. And, although it may have been financially straining to do so that month, it brought to surface an important lesson: maintaining these relationships, those that enrich my life so emmensely, and those withstand the distance of Phoenix to Colorado to Czar, Alberta, are of such substance and importance to me. Investing in them, are worth every cent.
I flew back into Phoenix Sunday afternoon, grabbed a $40 cab to my nearby condo and launched directly into my seven mile run scheduled for the day. Surprisingly, not as bad as I had anticipated, expecially considering I had a bloody mary on the flight home. The first mile or two were not the most direct routes.
And then magically, it was Monday. And then, in the blink of an eye, thanksgiving. Yet another quick, direct flight. Phoenix to Memphis, only this time, sans alcoholic beverages of any sort.
As I deplaned and said farewell to my new Army friend Tyler, I entered the barbeque aroma-ed and scrub-until-you-die and it'll still be dirty Memphis airport. There ahead, I could see my anxious Uncle waiting at my gate. Huge smiling Uncle Girl, dressed in his worn jeans, boots and working-man's jacket, slumped over. And yet, he was beaming. The thing about Uncle Girl is, he's rarely awake past 9:00 p.m. And yet, there he was, at nearly midnight. It felt so good to be in the presence of family. I scampered full-speed to give him a hug and we walked arm in arm to the truck and rode back through the darkness to Jonesboro. Even through the shadows, it was odd to see trees and pastures of what appeared to be green vegetation.
And I blinked my brown eyes and thanksgiving had vanished. I had found myself, again, at the Memphis airport. Upon landing in Phoenix-town, my jolly roomate Kate swooped me up in her shiny silver Honda Accord, and off we sped. The landscape was back to the desert, but it felt like home.
Condo. Change of clothes. $5 dollar Chinese lunch. Christmas Tree/Decoration Shopping. Peppermint Schnapps, Manheim Steam Roller and Cocoa. Bed.
And then, like it always creeps up on me - Sunday. Out of thin air! After an eight mile run, I dragged my near-dead corpse to the 1st Annual Battle of the Bloody Marys at my girl Meggie's house. And yes, I was a competitor and a fearless one at that. Many would not be stopped in their tracks to learn that the "shit talking" was at a high.
After six grueling rounds against my first competitor, Mike (Meggie's dad, an urban and seasoned drinker originally from Illionis), the judges casted their votes. And I, "Arkansas," took him DOWN. Thus, I advanced to the second round. The competition was steeper. "Illinois #2" and I battled it out for 30 minutes, getting judged on the likes of spiciness, drinkability, presentation, incorporation of secret ingredient (maraschino cherries), you name it. At one point I felt so confident, I actually said, "Keep shaking and stirring Illinois, but you can't beat a bloody mary from the dirty south." I was living in the competitive moment. And then, the time came to announce the judges' final selection.
Once again - I took Illinois DOWN, making me, "Arkansas," the reigning champion of the 1st Annual Battle of the Bloody Marys. WHAT WHAT!
I'm such a rockstar.
Upcoming areas of focus include kicking ass (finishing) in January's PF Chang 1/2 marathon, planning New Year's Mexico trip, investigating further into my close relationship with the former President of Panama (I always knew I was royalty), and listening to more Annie Lenox, Ray LaMontagne and George Harrison (I've got my mind set oooon you).
Christmas will be here before we know it.
Denver was a fantastic, fantastic addition to my November. A one hour direct flight - Phoenix to Denver, one bloody mary and wa lah. Miss Mollie was there to get me and we were Longmont bound. Bound to complete the trio with our bride to be, Miss Canadian, Tuque wearing Ashley Clayton.
And that's where we spent most of the weekend, Longmont, Colorado. Alas! The three meatballs reunited after nearly five years. And the phenominal thing is that we never skipped a beat. We truly didn't. Five years of emailing, texting and brief phone calls of life updates might as well have been five days, because we were right where we left off. The three of us stayed up until the wee hours of each morning catching up, drinking rum and coke and subsequently piling into one large basement bed. It was SO refreshing to see these gals. And, although it may have been financially straining to do so that month, it brought to surface an important lesson: maintaining these relationships, those that enrich my life so emmensely, and those withstand the distance of Phoenix to Colorado to Czar, Alberta, are of such substance and importance to me. Investing in them, are worth every cent.
I flew back into Phoenix Sunday afternoon, grabbed a $40 cab to my nearby condo and launched directly into my seven mile run scheduled for the day. Surprisingly, not as bad as I had anticipated, expecially considering I had a bloody mary on the flight home. The first mile or two were not the most direct routes.
And then magically, it was Monday. And then, in the blink of an eye, thanksgiving. Yet another quick, direct flight. Phoenix to Memphis, only this time, sans alcoholic beverages of any sort.
As I deplaned and said farewell to my new Army friend Tyler, I entered the barbeque aroma-ed and scrub-until-you-die and it'll still be dirty Memphis airport. There ahead, I could see my anxious Uncle waiting at my gate. Huge smiling Uncle Girl, dressed in his worn jeans, boots and working-man's jacket, slumped over. And yet, he was beaming. The thing about Uncle Girl is, he's rarely awake past 9:00 p.m. And yet, there he was, at nearly midnight. It felt so good to be in the presence of family. I scampered full-speed to give him a hug and we walked arm in arm to the truck and rode back through the darkness to Jonesboro. Even through the shadows, it was odd to see trees and pastures of what appeared to be green vegetation.
And I blinked my brown eyes and thanksgiving had vanished. I had found myself, again, at the Memphis airport. Upon landing in Phoenix-town, my jolly roomate Kate swooped me up in her shiny silver Honda Accord, and off we sped. The landscape was back to the desert, but it felt like home.
Condo. Change of clothes. $5 dollar Chinese lunch. Christmas Tree/Decoration Shopping. Peppermint Schnapps, Manheim Steam Roller and Cocoa. Bed.
And then, like it always creeps up on me - Sunday. Out of thin air! After an eight mile run, I dragged my near-dead corpse to the 1st Annual Battle of the Bloody Marys at my girl Meggie's house. And yes, I was a competitor and a fearless one at that. Many would not be stopped in their tracks to learn that the "shit talking" was at a high.
After six grueling rounds against my first competitor, Mike (Meggie's dad, an urban and seasoned drinker originally from Illionis), the judges casted their votes. And I, "Arkansas," took him DOWN. Thus, I advanced to the second round. The competition was steeper. "Illinois #2" and I battled it out for 30 minutes, getting judged on the likes of spiciness, drinkability, presentation, incorporation of secret ingredient (maraschino cherries), you name it. At one point I felt so confident, I actually said, "Keep shaking and stirring Illinois, but you can't beat a bloody mary from the dirty south." I was living in the competitive moment. And then, the time came to announce the judges' final selection.
Once again - I took Illinois DOWN, making me, "Arkansas," the reigning champion of the 1st Annual Battle of the Bloody Marys. WHAT WHAT!
I'm such a rockstar.
Upcoming areas of focus include kicking ass (finishing) in January's PF Chang 1/2 marathon, planning New Year's Mexico trip, investigating further into my close relationship with the former President of Panama (I always knew I was royalty), and listening to more Annie Lenox, Ray LaMontagne and George Harrison (I've got my mind set oooon you).
Christmas will be here before we know it.
4 comments:
I'm sorry, but did you say Mannheim Steam Roller?!!!!
STOP the insanity. Who ARE You???
And... as you investigate further, I think you will find that we are related to the George W. Bush of Panama. Darn it.
U of Phoenix Spy:
I may be guilty of Mannheim Steam Roller adoration, but it could be worse.
I could think "presentation is everything," place an over-emphasis on pie gates, alphabetize my spices and become a member of the hand bell choir.
But I don't...
Just as I am cheering about Mannheim Steamroller (which just happens to be playing right now!) I see the trash about beloved pie gates, presentation, and organized spices. How soon we fall from grace! May you delight to know I have been bumped from the handbell choir (totally due to work schedule) but I suspect it was really the huge grin I had each time I got to ring the big cohoona.
Watch yourself, you may become victim to Neil himself!
Gee... I wonder who put that comment up there???
I wouldn't get your hopes us that any of us will be putting on Neil - even during the holidays.
(although, I'll confess I did SORT OF alphabetize my spices - but not religiously)
BUT - seriously, if we get another pie gate in our stockings this year... you won't hear the end of the jokes.
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