My sister, CLH, planned to spend Aspen's spring off season working in Boston, filling in at her old restaurant for an ill manager and debating whether her off-season spell in Boston would outlast Aspen's blue period. One factor she had to consider was how, if she stayed East, to get all her stuff from Aspen. "I'll pack it for you," said I, the loving sister.
She decided to stay and I, as promised, went to Aspen to pack her up. I needed a weekend away and filled with hard work, because I was in my own blue period. RDC had just left for two weeks and I hated my job (and so, capitalistically, myself). So I eschewed recorded books for the time and selected good driving rock and roll. Being from Connecticut, living in Denver, I miss the miles of flat out highway driving.
I brought Blake because I knew he'd be happier with me anywhere than at the vet with birds who (gasp) might be prettier than he or home alone with a neighbor checking in. Besides, I don't like sleeping in empty apartments.
On Friday, work let out early. Blake and I left Denver around four, blasted music, drove fast on I-70, and arrived just before eight. As I reached for the list of stuff CLH had faxed me of what was hers in the apartment, I realized tee hee hee that I didn't have my book bag, which contained my wallet, the list, my journal, my glasses, everything to do with my lenses, my birth control pills.... Whee, did I ever feel clever. The woman who sublet from CLH's roommate lent me $15 for gas so I could get home (it takes almost half a tank in the four hours what with the steep climbs and all) and agreed to cover Blake when it got dark (soon) and uncover him and give him fresh water in the morning.
Yes. I had to leave my son overnight, my baby with his special needs; birds are neither low maintenance nor many people's idea of a normal pet. I didn't like the idea much but knew he was likely safer there than frightened out of his wits riding in the car in the dark. Friendly as she was, I hated leaving Blake with strangers--who else but a bird owner knows that birds have nightmares, especially when nervous, which he was in this strange place, and can hurt themselves in their cages in the dark thinking there's a monster in there with them? But a friend visiting had had a cockatoo; he understood both birds and my worries. I was somewhat comforted.
The subletter's boyfriend worked in a coffee shop in Aspen. He called there and kindly asked his colleague to set me up with whatever I needed. When I got there, the worker just as kindly did so. I got a double espresso (which I loathe) and tossed it back like a shot. Not that I've ever done that either.
After shoving a couple of preliminary boxes in the Terrapin, I left Aspen at 8:30 and took Independence Pass back to Denver, figuring it's hairiest right at the start and that's when I'd be most awake, plus it cuts an hour off the drive--when it's open. At 12,000 feet, it's open only in the summer--in fact it had opened the week before. Aspen is at the southern end of a valley and Indy Pass winds up the mountains of the southern wall. The pass is very very windy indeed and has lots of bits without guardrails or enough girth to fit two cars. The first time first time I drove it, on our first visit to Aspen, in August 1995, we encountered a hailstorm and a mud slide and at the top there was snow beneath us. In August. I am glad it was dark this night; that kept me from looking over the edge.
When I got home, well before midnight, I was so wired from the caffeine that I couldn't get to sleep for another hour, plus it was the first night in Denver I have spent with neither RDC nor Blake. I figured RDC had called Aspen when he got to Florida, so I called there at midnight, waking DMB at two a.m. to find out that since he hadn't called me, he hadn't been as fraught with worry as I feared. I took the boxes--and the snow tires--out from the trunk, scoured my teeth, and had to read myself to sleep, which happened around one. When the alarm rang at five, I thought, as usual, "Eh, it can wait." Then I remembered my trusting baby. Out the door and back to Aspen at 8:00 (the Pass is beautiful in the early morning). Blake was fine, if a little shivery.
I had things well under way by 8:30, when CLH called and was horrified at what I'd had to do. She had already told me that my doing this would pay her back for fifteen years of her picking up our restaurant tabs; she didn't know what more the extra round trip could expunge from my record.
I packed the whole damn place--clothes, kitchen, books, Christmas stuff, on that Saturday. No furniture, at least. Before five, I had to sort, pack, box, weigh, and label everything. At five the packing store would close until Monday; after five, UPS wouldn't take reservations for Monday pick up. (True, this was Aspen, but there's a limit to how long you want to leave your beloved belongings outside with a check on top for all the world to peruse.) There is a certain frenzy that I self-induce and enjoy in certain situations. Add/Drop in Scheduling, Rush at the Co-op, packing when I have nine hours to do I don't know how many normal hours worth of work.
If Mailboxes, Etc., was looking forward to a quiet Saturday half a year away from Christmas, they didn't get it. Not only did I buy all my boxes and tape there (and unassembled boxes are among the many things that do not fit in a Tercel's trunk) but they got to ship the TV, VCR, stereo, and microwave too, because they guarantee their work. I filled my car as full as possible with the heaviest stuff so I could send it from Denver: a cheaper departure city and to split the bill in two chunks. A Tercel holds very little, but if carefully packed does expand.
At least, while some long thing happened at MBE, I was able to pop across the street (Puppy Smith; who comes up with these names?) to Aspen's splendid library. And there I found all three volumes of The Lord of the Rings on audio tape. A whole summer's worth of commuting reading there. That was a bright spot to the weekend.
When I was done I called CLH. I moped: at this point it wasn't just work but ten hours of driving, during six of which I thought only of Blake and sleep, four hours of sleep, nine hours of mad-dash physical labor with a deadline, and thirty-six hours since I'd eaten anything but a shot of espresso and a few bananas. She listened, which is why I love her. One of the reasons. That call was another bright spot. Then she suggested I call DAO, a friend of hers whom I'd met in February, and have supper. He'd make me laugh.
I was whipped, what with no sleep and lots of driving and packing, and my appetite slain by nerves and caffeine, but I called; all three of us were glad I did. With DAO, who is extremely acerbically riotously funny, I nonetheless nearly fell asleep at the table; then I did sleep for ten hours (but not at the table). So dinner was yet another bright spot.
On Sunday, Blake and I took the long way home again. The car was packed to the gunwales and Blake was with me; I figured if we keeled over we'd have more help on I-70 than on Indy Pass. As an Omni survivor, I was extremely amused to observe, driving up to Eisenhower Tunnel (10,000 feet) in a four-cylinder Tercel with stones and stones of stuff with a cockatiel on top, that I passed an Omni with a lone person in it handily. A fourth bright spot.
Safely back in Denver, I unpacked the Terrapin into our oh-so-spacious flat and was glad that there'd be only one person to trip over all this for two weeks. (I put lots of it on RDC's side of the bed.) Only then did I permit myself to pee and call RRP. I had to call someone, because my life garners meaning only by telling it to others (hence this site?). CLH knew; RDC was on vacation; DEDB in France, and ABW wouldn't sympathize properly. I laughed about it all with RRP, swam, drank a lot of water, and crashed again. Luckily, of all the times I crashed that weekend, none of them was while in a car. A whole series of brightnesses.
CLH's reaction to my forgetting my wallet (without which I couldn't have bought packing materials or bribed UPS) and the second round trip was "As if I didn't feel guilty enough having you do this already." RDC said, "You're fine and Blake's fine and the car's fine so don't worry about it it's over." DAO's was closest to my own. "You're a knucklehead" was his opinion. LEB expanded on that one: "Yes, you are a knucklehead, but a loving sister." That much I knew.
Go to Stories Index, Words, or the Lisa Index
Last modified 23 November 1997
Speak your mind: lisawherepenguindustdashcom
Copyright © ljh