In the early 90s, when the company for which I worked for 20 years outgrew its office space in a glorious old mansion near the Governor’s Mansion in Denver, the Board of Directors decided to be pioneers. There was an area in the lower downtown Denver area near the the railroad tracks that was all but abandoned. If there is such a thing as skid row, that area fit the description. Once-beautiful buildings that had been long-abandoned lined the streets. Confluence Park and the South Platte River were within walking distance, but folks rarely walked there because of the threat of crime. A vacant but relatively new building was for sale, and that’s where they decided to move. The company purchased the building.

It wasn’t a reckless decision. For several years just prior to the move, the city had begun talking about the possibility of a major league baseball team locating in Denver. A potential buyer had raised his hand and agreed to move a team to Denver. Now they all just had to figure out where to build a ball park.

Voila! There was all of this vacant land — or if not vacant, filled with only crumbling buildings — in lower downtown. It was perfect — close to downtown Denver and buildings that could be purchased at a steal for restaurants and bars. And my company’s office building right in the thick of it all. For the first couple of years, women employees were advised to walk together to their cars. Once the baseball park was built, crime — at least that kind of crime — diminished mightily.

Just across the river and I-25 was an old Denver area then referred to as North Denver. It was the home of Italian immigrants who had moved to Denver in the 1850s to work on the mines. They established the area, including St. Dominic’s Catholic Church, and restaurants known to old-time Denverites such as Carbones and Pagliaccos and Lechuga’s. In the 80s and 90s, the area had begun to include a Mexican population and subsequently, delicious Mexican restaurants. None of these were fancy, but all were family-friendly and delicious.

With the coming of Coors Field, the area began to change again. Can you say GENTRIFICATION? The small brick homes began disappearing as young lawyers and financiers and doctors and such began buying the homes and razing them to the ground. Suddenly the neighborhoods that had long ago been filled with old people sitting on their porches or small Italian or Mexican children playing in the streets while wonderful smells came from the windows now consisted of boxy modern-looking McMansions.

People stopped calling the area North Denver and began calling it the Highlands. Those same old people whose homes were long paid off found themselves looking at property tax bills that they simply couldn’t afford. Many had no other solution but to sell their homes.

I’m not anti-progress. While many people rebuilt homes, probably a similar number of people simply remodeled the insides with the standard open concept and fancy Wolf stoves. The area is safer and cleaner. You can probably still hear the sounds of children playing, but this time they are having Play Dates. Now the cost of housing in the Highlands is out of reach for most Denverites or Denverite wannabees.

As for lower downtown (now called LoDo because every neighborhood needs an acronym these days) is a thriving and vibrant area. The Board of Directors didn’t check with little ol’ me on whether or not to buy the building back in 1992. Nor did they tell me how much they paid. All I can say is that it was undoubtedly a hell of a deal.

And little ol’ me doesn’t have an answer for gentrification. Everything cycles and perhaps this will too.

No question about it. What made me smile this week is seeing Bill receive his second vaccination on Thursday. Give the man a few more days, and he’ll be ready to rock and roll. Give me a few weeks, and I’ll be able to rock and roll with him. With masks on, of course….

Have a great weekend.

Give it a Shot
This morning, Bill received his second COVID-19 vaccination. I’m not sure as I write this whether he will have a reaction this time. It’s common with the second dose, but most often short-lived and not serious. Fingers crossed. Mine is scheduled for March 2. Much to her surprise, Jen was able to receive her first vaccination yesterday afternoon. A friend of Maggie’s is a pharmacist, in charge of the area’s CVS drug stores. He had made his rounds and had one remaining dose. He called Maggie and offered it to Jen in lieu of throwing it away. Given that she has had two serious surgeries within the past year, it made sense. Now she has to figure out how to get her second dose — whether she has to do it here or if she can get it done in Colorado.

And the Reason for the Question….
…..is that after being in AZ since October 2020, Jen is finally going back to Fort Collins. She broke the news to her grands yesterday afternoon, who apparently took it like champs. Bill and I have grown accompanied to her company and will miss her. But who we will really miss is Winston Churchill Sanchez…..

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, and for the first time in probably 30 years, I missed going to Ash Wednesday Mass and receiving ashes. Different churches did it different ways this year. I took the gospel about the hypocrite to heart this year, and decided I didn’t need ashes to show my faith. I admit that I missed the tradition, however. This year, as many years, I gave up something that I will miss. But, unlike the hypocrite, I’m going to stay quiet about it, and sacrifice by myself.

Cold Enough For Ya?
While our family and friends suffered through literally bone-chilling temperatures (it was -2 in Denver Sunday when I spoke to Court), we have been enjoying nice weather. It’s been in the 70s until this week, when the temps dropped to the mid- to high-60s. By the weekend and beyond, we’ll be in the 70s again, creeping up into the 80s.

Heading East
I will receive the second vaccination on March 2. So today I made reservations to fly back to Denver for a 10-day visit. I miss everyone. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we don’t have one of those weird March snowstorms, like we did on March 19, 2003, when Adelaide came into the world.

Ciao!

Monday afternoon, my telephone rang. It was my son Court FaceTiming me. He rarely does that, so I, of course, presumed his house had burned down. Lo, and behold, he was just calling to chat. When I answered the call, he immediately started laughing.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Just calling to say hi,” he said. “But I didn’t realize you were at a Mardi Gras party.”

I was, in fact, but had forgotten that I was wearing Mardi Gras beads in gold, purple. and green. I explained to him that we were at Bec’s house celebrating Mardi Gras a day early. Some people have those annoying things called J-O-B-S, and aren’t available to party hearty on a Tuesday.

You might recall that Bec holds a big Mardi Gras party every year on, well Mardi Gras. She invites the whole fam damily, and there are a slew of us when we gather. This year, for obvious reasons, we were pared down to Bill, Jen, and me, along with Bec and Eric’s peeps.

The smaller group meant that Erik wasn’t on call to make his traditional jambalaya and gumbo. We were sad about that, but our consolation prize was a shrimp boil. I call that a WIN. Her boil included fresh shrimp, smoked sausage, potatoes, onions, and corn on the cob. Lots of lemon and lots of Old Bay.

We love to gather together, and we will all be happy when we can get back to our larger groups. Generally, it’s a veritable feast — a true Mardi Gras meal. One year our niece Jessie even made beignets.

You might recall that every Mardi Gras Bec serves the traditional King Cake with the baby in it. Oh, not a real baby. That little plastic naked baby that, for whatever reason, we all fight over. In New Orleans, getting the piece with the baby means you host next year. We’ve never done that as we are all happy as clams (or oysters) to have Bec host the feast. It felt familiar, however, as we all ate the beautiful cake, and Carter and Mackenzie battled over the baby. This year Kenzie was the victor.

Josey was the bartender and her signature beverage was French 75s, a cocktail mix of gin, champagne, lemon juice and sugar. The drink was made famous by Arnauds Restaurant in New Orleans. It was delicious, and dangerously strong. Bill and Erik joined the French 75 club…..

A bit of the afternoon involved Carter teaching his Aunt Jen how to master the Rubik’s Cube. He has literally memorized the algorithms necessary to solve the puzzle. His record last night was two minutes. He’s 13. Sigh…..

As usual, it was a lot of fun, and a wonderful way to celebrate before today’s Ash Wednesday solemnity.

I don’t dislike Valentine’s Day. It isn’t even what I would consider a Hallmark Holiday, because ol’ St. Valentine lived back in the three-figure years, way before God created Hallmark. St. Valentine’s been around for a very long time. It’s just that I’m not entirely sure how he was able to get an American holiday named after him, especially a romance-based celebration. The fact of the matter is that the St. Valentine who we honor on February 14 was only one of many St. Valentines. There are, in fact, 10 or 11 others named Valentine who achieved sainthood. The only romantic thing he ever did was sign a letter to a close friend with your Valentine. That was before he was beaten with clubs and beheaded by someone angry that he wouldn’t refute his love for, and devotion to, the One True God. You don’t read that in those sweet Valentine’s Day cards.

This year Bill got me a box of chocolates and a very lovely card. A few years ago, he bought me a HUGE box of chocolates the day after Valentine’s Day on sale. I didn’t mind at all that it came late, and enjoyed the chocolates for many weeks. Last year, I asked him to do the same thing again. Except he didn’t go the day after Valentine’s Day despite my nagging gentle reminders. By time he went the next day, the candy was put away for the year to make room for the chocolate Easter bunnies. I was ticked. (Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Nothing says I love you like I WANTED MY DAMN CANDY.)

A week or so ago, I had a meltdown. A serious meltdown. It was one of those meltdowns that had very little to do with what brought on the meltdown. I threw myself on the bed and had a good, long cry. Bill was helpless because see above: it didn’t really have a cause that he could fix. He was sitting on our bed, and suddenly jumped up and said, “I know what will make you happy.” He went to his dresser drawer and pulled out a big box of chocolates that he had bought early for me for Valentine’s Day.

Well, I took one look at it and started to laugh. I laughed, and laughed, and laughed, especially when he gave me the card as well. I didn’t even open the box or the card, but I was past my sadness. Friends, that’s what romance is all about. When one person knows you so well that he can figure out how to make me laugh at just the right time.

Sunday, he gave me the box of candy again, and I accepted it. I even opened the card, that had such a lovely sentiment that I knew he had spent a bit of time finding the right card…..

By the way, St. Valentine (the one we honor on February 14, is interred in a small town in Italy. In the way of the Italians, they have preserved his head. This is what St. Valentine looks like today….

Romantic, isn’t it? I think it’s the flowers.

Happy Presidents’ Day…..

We’ve had a lovely winter thus far in AZ. The temps have mostly been in the 70s with a few rainy days mixed in. Today the temperature is predicted to only reach the high 60s, a veritable cold front. Since our Colorado family and friends are currently experiencing temps in the single digits, and our friends in Alberta, Canada, are “enjoying” temps in the range of minus 40, I’m not complaining.

The temperature in Montpelier, VT, where Heather and Lauren and the boys live, was 12 degrees yesterday when I checked. It made me think about a text message I got earlier in the week from Heather. Her text said: Joseph just said it is so hot here today it feels like Arizona. She attached this graph indicating the weather in VT…..

I guess when you’re used to temps in the single digits, a “heat wave” of 30 degrees is short-sleeved weather!

Joseph, you make me smile.

Have a great weekend.

I recently read author Elizabeth Little’s second book, Pretty as a Picture. I liked it so much, that I immediately put myself on the wait list for her debut novel Dear Daughter. The books are very different except for the personality of the main character. In Pretty as a Picture, the protagonist is a movie editor with a caustic personality, a biting sense of humor, and a deep-down vulnerability. In Dear Daughter, the protagonist is a snotty rich girl with a caustic personality, a biting sense of humor, and a deep-down vulnerability.

Having said that, I enjoyed Dear Daughter nearly as much as her second book. And I couldn’t help but like both women, despite their sarcastic personalities.

Jane Jenkins is a little snob, known only for being the obnoxious daughter of a rich heiress. She parties hard and is a favorite of the paparazzi because she is so outrageous. Popular until such time as she is arrested for. and convicted of, murdering her mother. The problem is, while Jane thinks she’s innocent, she can’t be sure as she was totally high the night of the murder.

She is released five years later on a technicality. Harangued by the paparazzi, and one media person in particular, she sets out to find out who killed her mother, even if it is she. She learns that her high-classed mother actually grew up in a small town in South Dakota, so that’s where she heads, in total disguise.

Much to her surprise, the town is full of many secrets, some having to do with her mother. Her search for the truth is relentless, despite the fact that people start to figure out who she is.

I found the premise somewhat unrealistic. I understood the media’s interest in her, but couldn’t quite understand why they (and mostly the one reporter) were so distraught that she was let go. Still, Jane Jenkins is unlike most main characters in the same way that Melissa Dahl was in Pretty as a Picture, which made the story much more interesting.

I recommend the book.

Here is a link to the book.

Fiction
It’s been fun this week to write entirely made-up stories about our recluse neighbor. I assure you, none of them were true, at least to our knowledge. I will tell you that Bill is truly convinced that Jason is part of the witness protection program. In Bill’s mind, that addresses all of the issues that continue to surprise us. One day, when Bill’s butt was sticking out of the car, he looked up to see a large plain, white van pull up in front of the house. I man in a suit ran up to Jason’s door and dropped off a package of some sort. Now, this could be anything, but I assure you that in Bill’s mind, it is further proof that poor Jason is running from some bad guys. We will keep our eye open and you informed.

Shots
On Tuesday, Bill and I drove to Phoenix Municipal Stadium, where I got my first COVID-19 vaccine. I can’t tell you how happy I was to finally get the first shot. I have had absolutely no side effects from the first shot. I’m told it’s the second shot that most often causes some side effects. I will happily put up with the side effects if I can rejoin the world, even wearing a mask and continuing to social distance. Bill gets his second shot next week.

Bad Guts
Our family unfortunately suffers from bad guts. When I way “our family,” I am talking extended out. One of my uncles died shortly after he returned from WWII from what was then called an ulcer. Since then, many relatives have had stomach issues of one sort of the other. You know my sad story. This week, I took Jen to the Emergency Ward here in Mesa because of severe cramping. Thankfully, she was not admitted. She was released, however, with a diagnosis of diverticulitis, which is what I initially had before my surgery. Thankfully, there was no performation, and she was released with orders to hydrate hydrate hydrate. She continues to recover, and feels much better.

My Chair
While Bill is out working on his car, Winston enjoys using his chair for a resting place. The other day, Jen captured him stretching out in Bill’s chair. When she showed Bill the photo, he simply shook his head and smiled. Jen caught him in a big stretch. It looks, however, like she told him, “Play dead!” It’s no surprise that Winston doesn’t beat out Bill for the chair…..