Back from Hiatus

When we last saw our hero, he was sleeping by day and working as a mild-mannered Guest Registration Manager by night. In the four intervening years, he changed jobs again, joined the church "choir," took up new interests in classic movies, old time radio and model trains, and was adopted by a local family as though he was a stray dog. (Still no wife; refer to previous sentence for explanation.)

However, despite having connected his little mountain home to the outside world via the internet, he also stopped blogging. Now he's looking to change that. Nothing drastic, mind you; he has a lot of dishes to wash and usually works too long at the office. But he's also written a couple new poems, taken a few field trips and tested some good cocktails, all of which he thought he might tell you about occasionally.

And he still rants like a ninety-year-old codger as much as ever, because somethings never change.

The Holy Cross is My Light

For months I've been looking for a crucifix lapel pin to add to the cowbell and sundry bling affixed to my Y name tag lanyard.  (You will remember that I had been given a papal crucifix pin but it was stolen right off my jacket a few years ago. )  I'd been checking local Catholic stores to no avail, but finally found a nice one online which arrived in the mail a few days ago.

It is a St. Benedict crucifix, which contains St. Benedict's Medal at its intersection.  St. Benedict's Medal is a well-known sacramental used to invoke God's protection from evil, especially the Evil One.  The pin came with a little card, explaining the letters on the medal--abbreviations of Latin prayers of deprecatory exorcism.

I'd put that card in the drawer of my dresser valet, where I keep my Miraculous Medal blessed by John Paul II, my decade rosary blessed by Benedict XVI, some other small religious items and scraps of paper.

Earlier this afternoon I came into the bedroom to find this startling sight:

The drawer was cracked open and the St. Benedict card was sticking out.

I had not touched the valet since emptying my pockets last night.  I had been nowhere near my dresser today.  I had not even opened that drawer since putting the card inside a few days ago. And I've been alone here all day.

I snapped a quick picture, and sprinkled holy water after praying the prayer on the card:

The Holy Cross is my light
The devil won't be my guide
Be gone devil
You won't persuade me to do evil
What you show me is evil
Drink your own poison yourself

It is Tuesday of Holy Week, where in today's Gospel Jesus gives the morsel to his betrayer and "after Judas took the morsel, Satan entered him."  The devil is very real and so is spiritual warfare  And it can be unnerving to encounter it.

Today is also the sixth anniversary of the election of Joseph Ratzinger as pope, who took the name Benedict.

Very eerie.

St. Benedict, pray for me.  St. Michael the Archangel, protect me in battle.

The Lord Bless Charlie Mopps

David, my Y roommate from 2005 (not to be confused with David, my boss) and I spent the last month brewing our own beer.

This is something that I've wanted to do for some time now.  When Dave-o returned to Estes earlier this summer, he and I got to talking about homebrewing and we decided to try it together.

Being our first foray into beermaking, we used kits for everything.  We made a trip to the Boulder homebrew store and purchased a kit that included the fermenting and bottling buckets, bottle capper, and other indispenible brewing items.  We all picked up an ingredients kit for an Irish red ale.  The only things we didn't get at the homebrew store were bottles (these are readily available at your local liquour store; all you have to do is drink the beer that's in them) and the brewing pot.

David was convinced that we could easily find a large stock pot suitable for brewing at any trift store for a cheaper price than what we would have paid at the homebrew store.  This didn't quite prove true; however, after scouring most of Northern Colorado, we did finally come across one.

The ale we made took a few hours of intitial preparation and brewing, then ten days in the fermentation bucket.  My kitchen stove and counter top served as the brewery, and the apartment had a certain yeasty air about it for most of that time.  Then we bottled

This past Sunday marked two weeks.  The sugar we'd added to the beer just before bottling gave the yeast just enough fuel to produce carbonation.  In fact, David and I were pleasantly surprised that when we removed our bottle caps we heard that familiar sound of escaping gas.  We weren't quite sure how things would turn out.

Our fears were unfounded.  The beer is quite good, a nice balance between malt and hops.  And it went well with the crock pot chili we had for dinner.

Now we're contemplating our next batch.  I'd like to move away from the ingredient kits and see what we do on our own (though I don't mean come up with our own recipe; that's a bit premature).

We have quite a bit of the first batch left yet to drink.  Anyone want to help?

In Thanksgiving for the Gift of Life

I celebrated my 28th birthday last Sunday in usual fashion, with a fine cigar and a glass of whiskey (scotch this year; in the past, it's been bourbon). I perform this ritual alone, after dusk, out in the cool of the summer evening, when I am able to sit with my thoughts.

That isn't always a good idea. A couple years ago I was feeling uncharacteristically sorry for myself--the effects of a quarter-life crisis, among other things--and the occasion's particular vices did not help the situation. For the most part, however, it is a positive tradition; I reflect upon the previous year's blessings and give thanks to have lived so long.

Sometimes my mind returns to that November night when I could have lost my life. And so I'm intentionally conscious of this gift more frequently that once a year on my birthday.

Every morning, my very first prayer intention is, "In thanksgiving for the gift of life." Regardless of how lonely I am, how few things are going according to my feeble plans, or how deep in self-pity I may be, I'm always grateful to have been awakened by the radio and opened my eyes to the dappled sunlight through the bedroom curtains.

There is great joy in the details of life: the shimmer of melting ice mixing with scotch; the rolling wisps of smoke rising in the breeze; the dry sweetness of ponderosa. The delight of making a beautiful girl giggle; the scar on my mother's chin; curling up with a dog on a carpeted floor. The bread and the wine.

I exist because of the selfless love of my parents; I recognize the selfless love of a Creator who has touched the tiniest speck with His Beauty so that we might know Him; and my life has meaning when I share, however insignificantly, in that selfless gift of Love.

It Never Rains in Estes Park....

The weather in Estes recently has been very cool and rainy. Most of this week will be in the mid-50s and low-60s, and we're looking at possible thunderstorms as well (and a full day of showers on Wednesday). And last night's low hovered just about freezing.

This may seem like unseasonable weather if we think about the past few years. But that's not a good barometer; the past few years have been drought conditions. This cool weather and constant precipitation is actually normal. I remember when the fambly vacationed in RMNP about ten (?) years ago, it rained in the early afternoon almost every day.

We've been experiencing that this last two weeks--both sprinkles and downpours. We need all the moisture we can get to mitigate fire danger, especially considering the abundance of trees killed by pine beetles. Although it'd be nice to have a bit warmer temperatures.

Now if you'd excuse me, I think I'm going to go get under a blanket with a book.

Do I Smell Especially Papal Today?

I don't really know how concerned men are about hygiene and grooming; that's not a conversation I usually have with other guys. I myself try to keep reasonably clean and presentable.

My bathing habits have changed since moving to the mountains. Estes has lower humidity than Iowa. I don't usually sweat anymore while sitting motionless in the summer shade, so I don't find the need to bathe everyday. Every other day is regularly the norm, after I go for a run. Even so, cologne is a vital part of my daily routine.

I got a bottle of The Pope's Cologne in the mail the other day. It's a light, citrusy fragrance, perfect for summer. Tina was so--uh, we'll say enthralled--by it that she was sharing the scent with the housekeepers as they came in to the office at the end of the workday. Believe me, it smells much better on the skin than it does from the bottle.

This damn hippy-hair doesn't make grooming any easier. I'm going to get rid of it real soon. It looks too greasy on the days I don't wash it. (That and I keep shedding on the furniture.) Gail, my friend and personal hairstylist, suggested that I don't wash it for two or three days and see how it looks.

That reminded me of the summer in college when I didn't wash my hair at all. That was an interesting experiment. By the end of the three months, my head was like the proverbial duck's back. That was also one of the summers I worked at the hospital in Red Oak. It's possible my appearance made some patients more ill than they had been when first admitted.

Now I just need to rid myself of the nasty habit of picking at my beard. I would shave it off completely if I didn't have such a fat face. And if I had the time or ambition to shave every morning.

I Know What You're Thinking

You're thinking that I've forgotten about you again. That I was so ambitious and excited to blog again, but now I've lost steam. That you haven't heard from me in a couple weeks, so there must not be much going on.

That is the farthest thing from the truth. In fact, I have been pretty busy. Please allow me to enumerate using my trademark bullet points some of the things that have been occupying my time.

• I took a class in Denver called "Understanding the Catholic Gospel." I drove down to the Archdiocese's John Paul II Center for the New Evangelization every Wednesday for eight weeks. Had I only been a little more patient; now the instructor is offering it as a distance class.
• I've started working with Aimee Cooper, my Gospel class instructor, in training for door-to-door evangelization. We're going around the student neighborhoods and campus of CU Boulder. Don't worry, I'll post more about this soon.
• Estes got two feet of snow the weekend of April 17, so I spent countless hours shovelling the driveway. It was a wet, heavy snow that weighed down the pines, broke lots of branches, and even toppled a 30-foot tree in my neighbor's yard. On top of that I lost power much of that Friday night and some of Saturday. Good times, good times.
• Summer is slowly creeping up on us at the Y. Among other things, we're starting to open up cabins that have been closed for the winter; I've been making overtimes the past few weeks helping with that. That's the main reason why I've been scarce around here. (Which reminds me: Would you be interested in a summer job here?)
• This weekend I've a trip planned to Chicago. This was the second-choice destination for my spring vacation (first choice was Seattle to visit Sarah, but my entourage wasn't able to make that trip). Will be meeting up with old college friends Tonia. Lacy, Andy and Ryan, who has graciously offered to cram us into his apartment and herd us around the Windy City.

Expect the next post to recap the Chicago trip. There might even be pictures on which your eyeballs may gaze....

What Dreams May Come

It's said that we dream every night during REM sleep, though we hardly remember those dreams. Most of them are incoherent and probably not worth remembering anyway.

However, I think sometimes we have dreams so distinct, so bizarre, and so close to waking that they stick in our minds.

I can still remember having reoccurring dreams during high school years in which I had dental problems--my teeth kept falling out, or I could remove all of them at once, palette and all. (Yeah, those were fun ones.) I also had a long involved dream last summer while camping which included a bear attack on the family, brought on by my sister, who had placed enticing food on my cabin's screen door windowsill.

The past couple weeks I've been remembering several dreams.

Throughout the past week I'd been concerned about the milk in my fridge turning bad; its expiration date was last Monday and there was still a lot of it left. So every day, I'd smell and taste it before pouring a glass or a bowl of cereal, or making broccoli soup. All this paranoia culminated Friday night in a dream about milk.

But my most recent bizarre dream was last week. I was back in college, taking a class from my philosophy advisor, Dr. Holland. Joining me was Andy Miller, with whom in real life I'd shared many classes. The course was not about philosophy but rather poetry; however, we never actually discussed the subject of poetry. Instead, Dr. Holland told the class about her good friend who'd just had a miscarriage and who was also "the best chef in the Catholic Church."

I've been racking my brain trying to figure out where all that came from.

On a different subject, yet no less surreal than dreams: Friday morning I returned to work after my days off to find a voicemail message saved on the main office phone. I assumed it was a lost and found message, but I recognized our former boss Cowboy Brad's voice immediately. It was from Tuesday, St. Patrick's Day, and the message follows verbatim:

Brad: Cottonwormseatthecabbagethisyear? Cottonwormseatthecabbagethisyear? Cottonwormseatthecabbagethisyear?

(In bad Irish brogue): Ah, by gosh and begorra! It’s the luck of the Irish and nothing to shake a shillelagh at! It’s St. Sethy’s day!

Kathy (Brad's wife, in the background): Hello, Uncle Seth! It’s your Auntie Kathy!

Brad: Ah, ha, ha, ye little leprechaun!

Even Now, Return to Me

Yeah, I'm still around. Just working and shoveling snow. Please allow me to highlight various happenings using bullet points:

• The trip to Iowa was great, though not so much the driving. A couple days in DSM wasn't enough to see those friends, and I wish there was even more time with the family at Christmas. Would have been nice to see the northern Iowa crowd. Will be back in the great state in May for the baby sister's graduation from the college.
• What happened to January? Just this morning, I realized I needed to change the calendar in the kitchen.
  
• I do in fact support Mike Huckabee for president. I hope this will not cause people to hate me. But I like underdogs. Also I agree with his issues.
  
• Much chaos and destruction at the Y. The Master Plan has finally been put into effect...muh-ha-ha-ha! Many buildings have met with the wrecking ball: B&G and the woodshop, most of the cabins in Staff Circle, Fairchild (thus goes a great piece of Y history, a section of the original Wind River Lodge. Alas, but it is all in the name of Progress!), even the inside of the first floor of the Longhouse. That's where Housekeeping will be relocated. And if construction moves along, we may be there before summer.
• Speaking of which, it's time for all you crazy cats to fill out your online application to work in Estes this summer!
• David was on the website the other day and found this promo video:
  
  You can search YouTube and find a couple other employee-made videos, too.
• Tina had hernia surgery last Friday. She'd put it off for about seven years, and when the doctors got in there, they found that it was horribly infected. This may be the cause of the past couple years' health problems. She's doing fine now, though I heard that she popped a stitch the other day doing something (stupid, no doubt) in the kitchen. I will chastise her on Friday when I see her, where I'm also afraid I'll be forced to see the scar and the gross bruise.

Anyway, gotta get home and wash my face. I've got this black smug on my forehead....

No, I Have Not Yet Met My Imminent Demise

It's something I'm sure my friend Andy Miller is wondering.

Um, so I almost forgot about this thing. I don't have a wireless signal at home, haven't gotten to the library much, and I don't play online at work.

Mostly been entertaining this summer. The Parents and Brother were here last week and had a great time (even if, for some reason, it appeared that I didn't. Dad kept making comments as such). They even dragged my fat ass up a few mountains. Actually, I was surprised that I felt as good as I did; maybe I'm not as out of shape as I look and feel....

I am, however, nowhere near capable of climbing Long's, as Sarah hopes. She and a friend will be arriving in a couple days. Have been stocking up on beer; perhaps I should go to the store in order to have something to feed my guests.

I do get a couple weeks break before Mom and Dad return with Schmids in September. And a few days ago, plans were finalized for Tonia and Mother Mary's Mountain Getaway Weekend at the end of September.

When are you coming to Estes?

I Should Be in Bed

At the moment I'm in that state between being tired and unable to sleep. Part of the problem is that I've been working too much recently and my brain doesn't shut off easily.

I was wiped out this last Thursday after a exciting day with Luke, Corey and Carrie. I met them in Boulder on Wednesday morning and then came up to Estes that afternoon. Thursday we went into the Park, then downtown Estes, Fun City, and after dinner we hit up The Wheel. Good times, good times.

Hopefully they'll send me the pictures (hint, hint).

Miscellanea

I just logged in to see that the Google banner has ads for American Standard and Delta Faucets. I wonder why that is. Perhaps housekeeping leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

It snowed Friday afternoon and night. Woke up on Saturday to about an inch of wet snow on the ground and car. Same business that evening, though no thing lasted the night. Frost on the windshield even this morning.

David's had back surgery. Haven't heard from him personally in a week; Tina talked to him Saturday. I was lucky to talk to him before his medication had taken affect; Tina wasn't. All he does is babble. He should be back at home tomorrow, and he's said that he'll be back to work next Monday. Hopefully that's the medicine talking.

Two weeks until the American staff arrives. About time. A few are beginning to trickle in. I hope you alumni can come out to celebrate the Y's 100th anniversary during the staff reunion.

Springtime at 8000 Feet

Still snow in the mountains, but the weather's been beautiful here the last few days. Spring is here; I can smell the pine in the air. The world is opening up again after this miserable winter.

I took a walk around the lake yesterday after work. Lots of people out. I'm going to get a bike and use it to get to work a few days a week. I need to start doing some exercise again. This is mostly due to the fact that I feel like a beached whale. I can barely get past my gut in order to tie my shoes. I look five month pregnant; if i didn't have a beard, I'd probably be mistaken for a future mother. Not to mention all the grief I get from Tina, who is "losing weight" and "will be looking good for summer."

I'll be in Iowa for a few days next week. Flying again, this time into Omaha on Wednesday, where some family member will pick me up. Then off to Des Moines for interviews.

Perhaps I'll write about it in sooner that a month.

Out of His Faucets Shall Flow Rivers of Living Water

Yes, I have water. In fact, it was working when I went home that seventh day. There's a bleeder hose outside that's been running ever since in order to keep things from freezing again. Wasteful? Absolutely, but then I also don't have to pay for it.

Other things that have happened:

• I realize that I'ven't mentioned that we finally remodeled the Housekeeping office. My lost and found room is a reality. Things are working out great.
• Other work-related news that I've neglected: Tony and Jess have moved to Boulder; now Mary Lou is leaving again, going back to Harmony to be the baker. David took over Cowboy Brad's position, and Robbin is the new Laundry supervisor. The Y's making major departmental overhauls, including merging the Conference and Family Reservations offices, and Housekeeping, Conference and Food Service are all now under the umbrella of Guest Services and a new director.
• I'm able to get home without the use of chains by going the long way around the "neighborhood."
• Went to Ft. Collins for the first time in weeks. It was fantastic to finally get out of Estes for a bit.
• I'm gearing up for another trip to Denver the second weekend of March. It's the Archdiocese's Living the Catholic Faith Conference, and I'm excited to go again this year.

Ooo. 24's on.

Seven Days

That's how long my apartment has been without water.

Friday: Low water pressure in the morning. Left the water running while at work. No water pressure when I got home. Called property manager (PM) at 6:30pm, who said "I'm not going to do anything about it tonight." Spent the night at the apartment.

Saturday: Water dribbling only from tub faucet. Met PM at 3:30pm at house, who said "You should have water about 7 or 8 tonight. No water at 7:00. Spent the night in a Y cabin.

Sunday: PM left message at 3:45pm "You've got water in the kitchen, but not the bathroom. It's a matter of time." Spent the night in a Y cabin with Johnnie and Alvin.

Monday: Spoke to PM at 2:45pm, who said, "You have water now. The reason there was no water in the bathroom is because I forgot to turn on the valve." No apology. Normal water pressure when I got home. At bedtime water dribbling only from bathroom sink faucet. Spent the night at the apartment.

Tuesday: Spoke to PM at 10:15am, who said, "I'll send the plumber over." Spoke to PM's secretary at 3:15pm who said, "The plumber couldn't get up your road, so he'll try again tomorrow." Spent the night at Dennis' house.

Wednesday: Spoke to PM's secretary at 3:45pm, who said, "The city installed a bleed valve. Everything should be fine now." Got car stuck on side of road. Pulled out by neighbor. No water from any faucet when I got home. Checked that all valves were on. Still no water. Left message for PM at home, saying, "There is still no water at the apartment. I hope you have a good night." Spent the night at Dennis' house

Thursday: Day off. Went to Public Works and Zoning departments at town hall. No record of home owner's association for my neighborhood. No one knows who owns road or is responsible for plowing. Have yet to return to apartment to check water. Have yet to hear from PM.

It's been warm the past couple days, so now the road's more slush than ice, but still impassable without chains or four-wheel drive. If I could just get the road plowed, it would solve the lesser of my two problems.

Anyway, it shouldn't be this hard to get the water running at my apartment. And there's not a chance in hell that the PM would let this happen at her own house. I would move in a heartbeat if there was somewhere to go.

Better put the chains on and go check on the apartment. Then it's off to see the PM.

Free at Last, Free at Last

Thank God Almighty. Today I drove my car for the first time in six weeks.

The chains worked, and I was able to get up the road without much trouble. And what did I do to celebrate this momentous occasion? Paid my rent, registered the car, and bought cat litter for emergency traction.

Maybe I should open a bottle of wine.

I am Miserable

I've been bitching to Tonia and the parents; I might as well widen the scope.

This damn snow is unrelenting. It's fallen at least once every week for the last seven. And that cruel mistress Mother Nature takes a day or two and melts the snow during the day than freezes it into a thick slab of ice overnight.

I haven't moved my car yet. I did get snow chains in the mail yesterday; however, I'm afraid that if they don't work and I can't get my car up the road, there's no place for me to put the car. Other than maybe the ditch, which is where I put Tina's truck Sunday afternoon.

It cost me $100 to get the truck pulled out. The guy who did it is the same one who towed away the Malibu, and he also lives on my road. But I got no sympathy--or price break--from him. That's probably how he could afford his four-wheel drive vehicle.

Hopefully February with bring 60 degree weather like last year.

DAMN YOU, EL NINO!

I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! JESUS, PLEASE STOP DUMPING SNOW ON US!

We got more yesterday. Eight inches at my house. The road's not plowed. Nobody's plowed my driveway since the last snow. I haven't moved the new car in three weeks, except into the garage after my landlady left for Arizona.

Oh, Arizona. How beautiful it must be there. Hell, gimme the 65 degree weather they've got in New England.

I haven't been anywhere but work and Mass, and that's thanks to my good friends Dennis and Gail and Ann. Tina's let me take her truck to Safeway for groceries.

Today the wind is whipping the snow around at 50 mph and creating drifts, some as deep as a foot. There's no use shoveling; it doesn't let up.

And there's a chance of more snow again tonight.

WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO DESERVE THIS, O LORD!

Digging Out

My, my; what a couple of weeks.

First of all, I did in fact purchase a "new" car--a forest green 2000 Buick Regal with leather seats and other luxuries--for only slightly more than the settlement for the Malibu. Unfortunately, my sister thinks this car is as grandmotherly as my former one; Tina, however, thinks it's "sporty."

I haven't moved the car in a week and a half, though, because we've had a little bit of snow. Last week's blizzard delivered two feet and more on the whole eastern part of the state, and just as we had dug out, Estes got an additional two feet dumped on us Thursday.

The thing that's frustrated me the most about these storms is the fact that the road I live on has not been plowed. Ever. So there's two feet of new snow on top of two feet that's been packed down by the people fortunate enough to own four-wheel drive vehicles.

The day after Christmas I contacted the real estate agency that does the property management for my landlady following several fruitless attempts at discussion with Kathy, whose speech was affected by a stroke a few years ago. Apparently, no one knows who is responsible for having the road plowed. I haven't heard back from the realtor, and of course they didn't go to work yesterday or today. I've never been impressed by this agency and this is another reason to add to the list.

You can be sure that I'm going to rain down hellfire. That'll melt the snow.

The Tree Victorious

I had a bit of an accident last Thursday night.

On the way back home from St. Malo, the wind was whipping snow into blinding clouds. It was difficult to see at points, so I was going slower that usual. Coming up past Aspen Lodge is a roadside call box, and for some reason it caught my attention. At the time I wasn't sure why I hadn't really noticed it before--one of those random thoughts that occupy the mind as it periodically wanders during driving.

From there, maybe half a mile up Highway 7, the road begins to snake back and forth through dense pine. There's not much of a shoulder to speak of; the trees huddle close to the road on the east, and the valley slides off to the west. And so, when the wind paused, the snow settled, and I rounded a bend and saw the pine tree stretched across the pavement, I had nowhere to go but straight into it.

I slammed the brakes, which didn't any good, and had what seems like an entire minute to prepare for what was going to happen. And just before impact I cried for help.

I don't remember the crushing of metal--what I think a bugling elk sounds like. I don't remember the windshield breaking. I do remember the powdery smell of the airbag, though I'm sure that I didn't hit it. And also I remembered where the call box was.

Here's what the car looks like:

And this one shows the remaining tree branches better.

I went back to the scene just south of Lily Lake a few days later to find the tree. It wasn't hard; it was in three massive pieces along the roadside. It must have been a foot and a half in diameter and nearly thirty feet tall. Had the trunk been any higher in the air, it would have probably missed the hood and come straight into the windshield.

So today, on the feast of the Immaculate Conception, I thank the Blessed Mother for her protection.

I just wish she'd help me go car shopping.