Bill and I pulled into our Denver driveway late Friday afternoon. We spent the next few hours unloading the car, unpacking our suitcases, and trying to figure out where we keep all of our things. My brain is losing power faster than Country House ran the Kentucky Derby. I can easily illustrate this point by telling you that I spent about three or four minutes unsuccessfully trying to get into our hotel room 340 using my key card. It took me this long to remember that our room number was 240. I’m only thankful that the occupants of room 340 weren’t there. Or perhaps they were huddling in the corner of the room shielding their children from the crazy stranger trying to enter.
Every year, my siblings pick a horse for the Kentucky Derby. We don’t bet, of course. We don’t even wear hats or drink mint juleps. We just pick a horse for which we can cheer. This year I chose War of Will. Though he didn’t win, at least he didn’t get caught in the drama.
I decided to pass that tradition along to some of my grandkids. I texted Dagny and suggested that she and Maggie Faith look at the field of horses, and choose a winner. If the horse she chose came in either in first, second, or third place, I told her I would give her (or Maggie) a $5 bill.
Maggie chose Gray Magician. As for Dagny, she selected Maximum Security. At the end of the race, while the owners of Maximum Security were still celebrating, I texted Dagny (whom I knew wasn’t watching the race) and told her she’d WON!
Awesome! she replied.
It wasn’t until later when she came to collect her winnings that I had to break the news to her that her horse had been disqualified. She, along with others who had lost a whole hell of a lot more money than Dagny, was pretty disgruntled. Unfair, she proclaimed.
With the Derby behind us, it’s just a matter of getting settled into our real life in Denver. Easier said than done because just like we immediately get swept into family celebrations when we arrive in AZ in late December, we begin celebrating here almost before our car doors are locked. After all, our youngest grandchild Cole’s birthday is May the 4th (be with you). He didn’t celebrate with Bill and me until yesterday, when he and his family came to our house for dinner. Birthday Boy gets to make the meal plan, and he chose (as he did last year) spaghetti and meatballs. Slurping tomato sauce-laden noodles helps get him in touch with his Cambodian roots…..
And, of course, what every 5-year-old kid needs is a Barbie birthday cake…..
Hey, it’s what he wanted. I like a boy who is comfortable in his own skin.
Happy birthday Cole. Sorry about betting all of your birthday money on Maximum Security!…..