I have been in Boulder, Colorado, this past week and will be here for another ten or so days. It is spring here (and I left late autumn in Buenos Aires), when the front range mountain weather is at its most volatile and interesting. My younger daughter, her husband, and their two daughters, Brooke and Brenna, live here. They work for the University of Colorado. My granddaughters are nine and six. Yesterday I attended the elder granddaughter’s soccer game at a recreation field below Boulder’s famous flatirons. These gorgeous climbing rocks:
I loved the day being a soccer Mom, or I suppose that would more accurately be a soccer Granddad. Brooke’s team won, 4 to 1, and Brooke made two of those goals.
She had incentive. Her father and I offered to give her ten bucks for each goal she made; he would pay for the first, I would pay for the second, and then we would alternate. I gave her a one dollar bonus for making some really good passes during the game, so Brooke has now figured out there is money to be made in sports.
In the old days, when my body still functioned well enough, I used to climb around here. Now I gaze at these fantastic rocks and the snow-capped peaks behind them, and marvel with memory.
I have not worked in a while, not since a day or two before coming up here, but I think the next ten days will offer more opportunities, and there are some interesting cafes strung along Pearl Street in Boulder. I’ve got shopping to do, things that one either cannot find or cannot find at the same level of quality down south. Like Levis 505 jeans, substantial padded coat hangers, refills for my Pelikan and Mt. Blanc pens.
If you’re in the neighborhood during the next ten days, let me know and we’ll down a Fat Tire or two.