A Quickie....

Just a few quick notes with a promise for a BIG blog on November 1 to kick off NaBloPoMo this year. There's something really big that I can't wait to share with you after November 1, but for now, it's shhhhhhh.

I have now gone from my regular chaotic state of being into super-hyper-overdrive. I must find a job. This week. Or next. Period.

It was good to see Ms. Babble last weekend -- she seemed different. Enlightened. That was definitely the highlight of my week.

I'll oddly be missing out on shlepping the kiddos around for trick-or-treating, because of the super-top-secret event that I'm participating in on Saturday. I promise to blog it up afterward. I love Halloween. The Nurse has got all of the shlepping responsibilities covered this year, so how will I celebrate? Maybe I'll just pilfer the good candy from the bowls when I get home...

After dealing with a host of assholes this week, I feel the need to post the advice my dad gave me when I was 12 as a personal motto: Illigitimati non carborundum est.

Push and pull

"I don't know how to be my best self in this type of a relationship. We're just so enmeshed...."
That word again. Enmeshed. Of course it sent me back reeling because I have certainly heard it before. M used that word when she was being nice. When she wasn't being nice, she'd call me an 'energy whore.' We tried to find that balance by maintaining a long-distance arrangement that involved other lovers — which I learned to tolerate quite well. I taught myself to stay detached emotionally but hung on to what I still consider the ideal situation: a close one-on-one relationship, a true partnership. I'll deny it if you ask me if I believe in soulmates, but if you've read this blog from the beginning, you know that would be untrue.

So is it any surprise that the combination of my high expectations and emotional intensity has overwhelmed The Nurse? Not a surprise to me. I have not yet found the balance between suffocating my lover and completely walking away. I have learned to be more understanding and to resist the urge to see things in such black and white terms. I have learned that there is a middle ground between rejection and being overwhelmed, even if I haven't found it. I can acknowledge that a healthy person needs their own space, their own interests, their own friends. Maybe I should have pushed more for both of us to keep these things as I willfully cast them aside, one by one. I used to dance, I used to meet my friends regularly, take better physical care of myself, go to Pilates class. The Nurse has let as many or more things fall by the wayside as well. Enmeshed.

I was warned by my last two lovers that all of my relationships were doomed to fail because of this dynamic. When loving me becomes a sacrifice of your very self, you have no choice but to push back. And when you push, I run fast and far. This is the self-defeating pattern that has emerged in all of my relationships — guaranteeing abandonment from every love.

The question for The Nurse and I — is it too late? Can we each find the balance and reclaim self without pushing each other away? Can I resist the urge to push as she pulls away?

Desiderata

After smudging myself and my house today (thanks bro, for the limitless supply of sage), I'm trying to take in the wisdom of this poem that my mom directed me to today. We're a family that struggles with depression and, um, shall we say, "issues." Anyway, if I try to digest each line of this poem every day, then I'll have my work cut out for me. Peace.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

-- written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920s

shame

I remember hearing at a retreat once a talk about shame. "Shame," we were told, "is the most utterly useless emotion. And the most destructive."
I walk the line each day knowing that it is only our loving God who can truly forgive and love us unconditionally. And I try to believe that I am loved, I am forgiven. But few things in my life really exemplify that. I guess that is the ultimate point of the plea: forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
If I'm going to purgatory, I'm fairly certain that what I'll be punished for (or cleansed of?) is the long list of the things that I refuse to forgive about myself. The things that I am ashamed of. But we don't really wait for purgatory, do we. We punish each other and we punish ourselves everyday. We build walls, carry resentments, lash out...the list is long of our human failings.
How can we accept love in the weight of such overwhelming odds? How can we extend forgiveness, particularly to ourselves, when our culture does not embrace forgiveness? I can hear them chanting in my head now, "crucify him, crucify him."
Sorry if this is kind of rambling. Just my state of mind today.

Not neighborly...

Early this morning I was sitting on my lovely balcony, enjoying the start of an unusually summerlike autumn Sunday when I noticed one of my neighbors walking by. I got ready to send down a neighborly "good morning," when I noticed he was muttering to himself. Not the type to interrupt someone fully engaged in talking to himself, I stepped back just as I heard the words "fucking faggots" float to my ears. Before I could react, he looked up at me and muttered, "bitch." I looked up and saw that he had just passed my car — and might have been commenting on my HRC equality sticker. Before my brain could put this all together and before I started to entertain the idea that maybe I was just being paranoid and that his angry ramblings had absolutely nothing to do with me, he had passed out of my view.
I'm a little floored by the whole experience; this guy has been nice to our faces and pretty conversational on a few occasions. He seemed like a laid back bearded hippy type. Now I'm wondering just how many people are nice to our faces, then secretly scowl when our backs are turned?

Mama mia

Hat-tip to Mombian for her eloquent article about being a lesbian-mom, just in time for National Coming Out Day. And hey, is it just me, or did she work in my comment to her about Rachel Maddow being slapped with too much eyeshadow for people to accurately read her as a lesbian? I'm flattered. Really though, read her article because it very accurately describes our common experience as lesbian moms.

On the 'visibility front,' The Nurse and I attended an athletics fundraiser at a tony downtown bar recently. All three of our girls are involved in sports, so it was important to us to make this the first school function that we've attended as a couple. Most people took it coolly, but there were some visual gasps and one woman actually raised her hand to cover her mouth she was so shocked. But I guess if Rachel Maddow has trouble being read as a lesbian, then I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not setting off the gaydar of most heteros. But then again, their gaydar isn't the most sensitive anyway. Even appearing with The Nurse, doesn't "seal the deal" for many heteros. People have even asked if she is my SISTER! (Um, yeah, we got a good laugh from that one.)

We'll have to revist this later

I guess we won't get to find out how Joe Biden handles the whole "gay marriage" thing at tonights HRC fundy after all. His MIL is in hospice, and he's canceled all of his weekend appearances. Of course, my prayers are with the Biden family, but I sincerely hope that this issue gets revisited.

We are more, sister

"We are MORE, Sister." That's what her email said to me a few weeks ago, refusing to bow at the altar of Obama because he does not fully embrace gay rights. I posted a bitchy blog in response to her "rant," but after watching the VP debate last night, I have to admit that I was angry and disappointed at the candidates. I didn't want to admit the truth — that on the issue of gay marriage, there is no difference between the candidates — they are all emphatically against it.
Instead, from the "progressive" Obama/Biden ticket, we get platitudes about protecting the rights of partners to visit each other in the hospital. Are they serious? We are so past that.
Now, I can respect (and even agree with) the notion that "marriage" is and should be primarily a religious matter and left to the faiths — but Joe Biden left it at that. Instead, he should have pointed out that all couples deserve the same protections under the law, and therefore, anyone (gay or straight) taking part in a civil "marriage" should be required to have a "civil union." Leave "marriage" to the churches. But he didn't say that, and instead pointed out that everyone running is in total agreement about this issue. I wonder how this will play out, as Biden is scheduled to make the featured remarks at the annual HRC dinner tomorrow night.

The Last Good Day of the Year

I woke up this morning with a chill — the second day in a row where I felt like I didn't want to leave the warmth of my lover or the blankets. I know this feeling will persist until next Spring. The beginning of Fall not only brings the familiar temperature shift but also a feeling of resistance that has become recognizable to me over the years too. Death (both big and little) lurks behind every corner, and I wonder, how the heck am I supposed to make any progress and create positive change for myself when nature is telling us hunker down. Or is my life to be at odds with nature in this regard? While the leaves fall around me, the days shorten, and life whithers, am I going to be reborn amidst it all? I certainly can't wait for the alignment that Spring would provide. I must become like a greenhouse, and burst with continuous new life and possibility, defying nature and every natural tendency to shrink into myself and stagnate.

McHangover ramblings

I woke up with quite a hangover after playing the Debate 2008 drinking game last night with The Nurse — we took a drink every time McCain implied he was "a maverick." So I guess I can thank McGrumpy for my McHeadache.
My apologies that I haven't been keeping you all updated on my oh-so-interesting life lately; I've been having trouble getting any thoughts down, because my brain has been somewhat overwhelmed. I know it's healthier for me (and possibly more entertaining for you) if I try to get those things out via my writings and ramblings, so I'll try to do better in the coming weeks.
I've been examining my role in the church again — trying to refocus my purpose there and get some more concrete things planned in terms of supporting women's roles in the church. I'm always fighting not to let myself get too comfortable in my pew and to keep finding opportunities to challenge myself and my church. Some exciting things are coming up on that front that I will blog extensively about when the time is right — about a month or so — so stay tuned. For now, loose lips sink ships.
I'm also mulling over a total career change. I'm trying to give it as much thought as possible but the time is coming soon to move toward action rather than just thinking about it. It's just so easy for me to live in that mess of a head of mine. Depending on how things go, I may soon find myself doing things that I never thought I would ever even consider possible. A deeply spiritual path lies before me that will call on me to muster all the strength and compassion that lies inside and look death squarely in the eye. Sounds provocative, doesn't it? I'm not going to let you all in on it just yet, because I really need to get to that point of action first. More soon, I hope. A psychic told me nearly twenty years ago that one day I might find myself on this path, and that I should follow it. We shall see....

7 years

As I sat here at my computer and looked up at the clock and saw the time, 8:11am (CT), I froze. I instantly remembered exactly where I was and what I was doing seven years ago today. I turned to the TV and flipped it on. MSNBC is re-playing the original broadcast from the Today show that I sat and watched 7 years ago today, my new 3-month old baby cradled in my arms. I dreaded whether I should get in my car and pick up my four-year-old from pre-school as I desperately tried to reach my husband who was in class, using his work beeper. And the tears have started to stream again — because I know what comes next in this broadcast. I know that if I continue to watch, I will see the towers fall. I gasp and cover my face this morning as I remember that soon I will see trapped people jumping to their death, rather than be taken by the smoke and flames. Do I dare to continue reliving 9/11 this morning, flooding my brain with the painful images of that day — images burned into my brain for all time yet softened by the slipping years?
•••
My brain speeds forward, through all the events of that day, and all that has happened as a result in the past seven years. I remember our lip-biting president sitting in a Florida classroom as he is told, looking terrified and not at all in control. And the years of war to come — the lies, the lives lost, the politics of it all. The eerily silent skies that would linger for days. My baby is seven years old now, and her future is still uncertain — still because of all that happened seven years ago today. I don't want to get into all the politics today, I just want to remember and feel and grieve again. My prayers are the living and the dead today. Any more words fail me today.

Busted: Religious while Lesbian

This morning, I'm reacting to a rant posted on MySpace, which mocked religious people (specifically, Christians) and was written as a clarion call to the gay community. The rant painted our current political choice as "the lesser of two evils" and claimed that Obama was "just like the rest," in his lack of support for Gay marriage. He was cast as a "bible-believing, heterosexual male," and therefore not a friend of the gay community. But let's be clear, it is McCain/Palin who are actively campaigning against gay marriage and equality — and have a clear record on those issues.

But as I read it, I was keenly aware that it represents a certain widespread view in our community — that being religious while gay is an act of self-hatred. I am no stranger to that accusation, as a practicing Catholic. Certainly, the Catholic Church is defined by patriarchy and has come out strongly against gay marriage — but anyone who is a practicing Catholic knows that there is no limit to nonsensical dogma that gets disposed of by the people in the pews. The list is long there, and generally speaking, The Faithful have reconciled that Rome doesn't know what it is talking about when it comes to sex or womankind. But that has nothing to do with my relationship to God, my love of the Mass, and the values of Catholic Social Teaching that I hold dear; and so I work from the inside to create change, and I am not alone.

It weakens my resolve to know that I have to divest some of that energy and redirect it back toward my own community — who really needs to understand that we really are everywhere — even in the church pews.

Inspired

I was so flattered this morning when I got an email from my best friend that included this poem that my Beachcombing post inspired. Can I just say that I have the most amazingly talented friends?

Transformation to Treasure

Her faith leads her to the water's edge
Where she carefully scans the sands
And collects the scattered beach glass
To cup within her hands.

She fingers the once-sharp edges
Softened now by sea and shore,
Having endured tumultuous tumbling,
Battered down to their core.

She gathers them to her faithfully,
For she sees within her soul
This transformation from broken bits
Into treasure, again made whole.

Lisalit

Back-to-school

It's been a hectic last few weeks — getting everyone ready for the start of school. Supplies were bought. Backpacks were stuffed. Uniforms were ordered and altered. Financial aid forms signed. But this years ritual has seemed to go smoother than in the past, thanks to The Nurse's organizational prowess, not to mention her deep pockets and actual joy when it comes to buying school stuff. And she's back to school too. It's gonna be a rough year, but I know at the end of it we will truly have something to celebrate.
With all the back-to-school picnics and such, I found myself reconnecting with school parents and this year — finally came out to the few people I'd really been meaning to come out to but somehow hadn't yet. It was a huge relief, and again, I have The Nurse to thank for really pushing me here. Having her by my side has certainly made it all much easier — because I can simply introduce her as my partner and watch as the understanding spreads across their faces. But the few tough cases who still didn't "get it," well, they had to have it very clearly spelled out for them. But so far, it's been really good and all reactions have been totally positive and even loving.
With everyone now firmly entrenched in the new routines of the school year, I am trying to figure out what to do with myself. Every day is as day off and I jealously crave the routines that I am missing out on. Several potential jobs have slipped through my fingers this summer, which is something I'm sadly getting used to. And there are still more possibilities on the horizon, but there is an ever-encroaching fear just beyond that horizon. The terrible "what ifs" are just barely being held at bay by the last reserves of my optimism and the last weeks of unemployment benefits. But I can't talk about that, because if I panic (or even show the slightest concern), I will shatter the facade that holds the rest of the family together. I am strong for them, and for myself too. What other choice is there?

I finally saw Gothika....

I've been meaning to blog about this for a couple of weeks, but remembered today when I got a new comment on my most popular post. The comment was about my Anima Sola tattoo, and how it relates to the tattoo sported by the villain in the movie Gothika:

I was just going through my old movie collection and stumbled upon gothika and well, got interested to put a search...when this page came out. the tattoo in the movie seems to be different than yours. This shows a serene and heavenly beauty in chain and the other one will really make you feel that the girl is in excruciating pain..see the movie..it rocks. — Gordon

Well, Gordon (and fellow anima sola fans), I did see Gothika a few weeks ago. I had been meaning to ever since I learned that an anima sola tattoo is featured in the plot. After seeing the movie (which I thought was pretty good, btw), I can assure you that:
1) I am not a raping, murdering psychopath or maker of snuff films
2) I do not associate the anima sola image with the torture of women (and anyone who sees my tattoo and thinks I do is positively misinformed and/or crazy
3) The anima sola symbolism in the movie was twisted to fit the ideals of the villain — as is often the case with religious imagery/ideals.
Anima Sola does convey suffering, that is undeniable. The woman is in flames, after all. But she is penitent, gazing heavenward, and the flames do not consume her. Her chains are broken. It is suffering, and the release from it. Anima Sola reminds me that we punish ourselves for what we choose to punish ourselves for. Her voice rings in my head with the words "your chains are broken, darling, so why are you still standing here?"
So, I'm taking Anima Sola back from Gothika. She's mine. And she's pro-woman, beautiful, strong, and powerful. She's a survivor. She's got boundless faith, though not always in herself. Like Joan of Arc and St. Bernadette and even myself on my better days.

Beachcombing

I am a earth sign, on the cusp with an air sign. But I've always been drawn to the water's edge, particularly in times of inner turmoil and anxiety. When I think back over some of the most traumatic experiences of my life — heartbreaks, abuse, betrayals, loss and deep sorrow — I can remember grasping for a thread of sanity or just peace and heading for one of Lake Michigan's nearby piers. And just as easily as some people "give it go God," I gave my pain and my tears to the powerful waters — sometimes quite literally casting away whatever physical remnants of loss or grief I wanted to finally be free of. But that is between me and the lake. She keeps my secrets faithfully.

•••
I started collecting beach glass as a teenager and this summer I've probably collected more than I have in my whole life! The combination of being unemployed during the summer, and The Nurse loving the quiet Zen-like treasure-hunting as much as I, has meant many beach days for us. But she's a Pisces and nowhere more in her element than near the water. The beach is the absolute most perfect place for a water-sign Pisces, and The Nurse is blond, to boot, and is a total sun-worshiper. I can see how recharged she gets after a few hours at the beach. I'm not a sun person at all; my skin is fair and freckled and I start to burn in about 15 minutes. Still, I've been consistently drawn to the lake throughout my life, and I love to collect beach glass. Beach glass is made from discarded bottles: coca-cola, beer, and even milk of magnesia that gets broken and tumbled by the sand and water over the course of years. And after all that battering, something quite ordinary is transformed into treasure. It gives me hope. Hope that I can be transformed too — as life breaks and tumbles me in its waves and deposits me on some rocky shore. Each piece of glass that I collect is a prayer-wish, a treasure and a promise. There is beauty to be found inside, if we just persevere.

My Buddha nature, rekindled?

This morning as I was getting the kids ready for their last day of summer camp, I stepped out onto the porch and was met by an ethical dilemma. A spider had crafted a huge web overnight, right over my lawn chair, and caught in the web was a moth, still alive, flapping furiously, but to no avail. I sat in the chair next to the web and pondered the scene. The spider was nowhere in sight, and the moth was still wildly trying to fly out of the sticky mess. Should I free the moth, or, should I decline to deprive the spider from it's well-earned meal? I mean, I don't particularly feel an affinity for bugs and don't go out of my way to spare them. I step on ants. I swat flies. I smack mosquitoes. Earlier this morning I forced a giant centipede down the bathroom drain when my daughter shrieked as she met it in the shower. So why did I even think twice about it. Perhaps it was the helplessness I saw. Or the terror of the moth's certain death. Or just it's fighting spirit — still trying to escape against insurmountable odds. I wondered, is it even possible to free a moth from a spider's web? I reached out with the end of my cigarette (yes, I said cigarette) and burnt the two threads of web that anchored it to the balcony, sending the moth and web cascading gently onto the lawn chair. I bent down and picked up a stick and gently tried to loosen the moth from the web. I managed to get the moth out of the larger web, but it was still trapped in goo, and unable to fly. And it seemed more scared than ever, flapping unceasingly. I laid the whole sticky thing down on the porch post, and began the careful surgical procedure of freeing each of the moth's tiny appendages from the adhesive threads that wound around it's tiny legs and body. I used my finger and a stick to gently try to free it. I couldn't give up on this little guy now. It was still going to die if I didn't get the web off it's body. I pulled gently at the twines of web and suddenly, the moth was free, and flying! It flew right at me and clung to my sweatpants for a moment and then flew away. When I went in and told Little M what had happened, she said, "it was giving you a hug, Mommy, for saving it." I'd like to think so.

Malkovich and Mary Magdalene

Today I had a big job interview for a high-level design position with the City of Chicago. But here's the bizarre part. I was told to go to "Room 3M8," so I pushed "3" when I got on the elevator but then quickly noticed that there was a "3M" button too. When the doors opened at 3M, they opened to something straight out of Being John Malkovich. Ok, maybe not that drastic, but the ceiling was short. Really short, and there were strange steel beams cutting diagonally through some of the corners of the long meandering hallway. When the people interviewing me joked that I might want to "take off my high heels," the Malkovich jokes ensued. It was truly bizarre.
Today is the Feast of Mary Magdalene, and I'm off to church for our annual women-grab-the-patriarchy-and-have-our-way-with-it celebration. Ironically, I've been asked to read the first reading from the Song of Solomon, which aside from being a lovely metaphor for the relationship between Mary Magdalene and Jesus, is the story of a woman searching for her male lover. Let's hope I can keep a "straight" face for that performance. Heh.

Purge

It's now been over 24 hours since I've had a cigarette. Instead of lighting up when I feel the several occasions of light anxiety that occur during the course of my typical day, I'm spraying Dr. Bach's Rescue Remedy on my tongue. The true test will be when one of life's major anxieties shows up — and how I will chose to cope then. We shall see.
I've realized that quitting smoking is as much about letting go of negativity as it is actually putting down the smokes. This realization has got me wanting to dispose of so much mental baggage, which I try to do periodically. I can see around what issues I've let negativity creep back in and where some mental house-cleaning is in order.
Probably the most important thing I can do right now is to not just sit around and think about how to purge the negativity — surrounded by my journal, and copies of You Can Heal Your Life and Living the Life You Were Born to Live — but to actually do something physical. Like exercise. The thing I resist more than any other thing. Just Try. Run. Sweat. Struggle. Feel-Out-Of-Breath. Feel Awkward. Feel Weak. Feel Stronger. Believe That I Can.

Denver, Part III

The mean old lady across the hall was talking to her birds again — she must have had a dozen or so in there. I imagine that there was bird-shit all over her apartment, which would seem to fit her personality. Every time we turned on any music she'd start banging at precisely 10pm. We'd already gotten several calls from the landlady about complaining neighbors. What the hell were these college students doing in a building full of old folks?

When I wasn't in class or working, I spent most of my time in Boulder with Marie. When I was forced to be home, I isolated myself in my bedroom, doing what I could to shield myself from Leah's attacks. Kami was finally getting all she ever wanted, now that she was Leah's sole ally. Our walls were thin, and I could hear them plotting and talking about me.

It was around this time that I got a hold of The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. It was the perfect escape from my hellish living situation. The characters of that story would leave such an impression on my heart and soul, I'd name my children from it's pages. They were powerful women, sometimes caught in circumstances over which they had no control, manipulated by people who were supposed to protect them, but always counting on the ultimate justice of the universe (karma) to come around when it was time. I knew the same would happen in my situation.

I came home from class one day to find that Kami and Leah had moved out. And when I say moved out, I mean taken all of their shit, ransacked all of mine, and left me a catty little note in my diary, just to let me know how terribly amused they were with my life. And oh, they'd be bailing on the lease, and all of the bills that were in my name. Luckily, I knew that Kami and Leah's parents' had co-signed on our lease, but I hadn't allowed my dad to do that. I had really been hoping to make it on my own. But now, that seemed unlikely. It would take years of lawsuits to straighten out the financial mess they'd left for me.

After they were gone, Marie started spending more time at my apartment. We were unexpected allies, and our friendship was blooming. I knew how lonely I was so far away from home and without any friends, but I wouldn't know for years how desperately Marie needed a friend in those days. She'd just gotten her heart broken by her first love with a woman — but she wasn't coming out of the closet yet. We had fun, traipsing around Denver and Boulder, hiking in the mountains and wreaking havoc at the Cherry Creek Mall. We'd skip along, singing songs we'd learned in Catholic school or play practical jokes on couples walking hand in hand through the holiday-decorated gazebo across from the mall. Marie was totally unpredictable and helped me to let my hair down a little. But her immaturity would sometimes stun me and even scare me. Like when she befriended some street-kids in Denver and had them over to my apartment to get high. They were ten and twelve years old! When I cautioned her and pleaded that she not bring them over to my apartment, she said I was paranoid and "no fun."
Marie just did whatever she wanted, with little boundaries.

By the time Christmas rolled around, we were both headed back to Chicago. I'd barely passed my classes, and I'd flunked the only one that really mattered to me: 3-D Design. My brother and my friend Rhiannon came out to get us and after spending some time hiking in the mountains, we headed back across the flat Midwest. I never spoke to Kami or Leah again. And I haven't visited Denver or Boulder since.