After a much longer trip than we expected, with 5 days added on for not the happiest of reasons.
The funeral was simple, and we saw family we haven’t seen in years. Also on the way back, we got to see friends we normally see at Liberty con, so that was good.
And at home we found Havey has made himself hoarse from crying while we were gone. At last I assume this was so, since my going to the bathroom upon coming home occasioned a bizarre fit of crying outside the door…
We rolled into Colorado this evening, with smoke in the air and a blood red moon.
It’s a bitter-sweet homecoming, filled with the knowledge our time in this, my beloved state, is coming to an end. Not today, not tomorrow, not this year and possibly not the next, but almost for sure 2022 will see us packing up and leaving the mile hi city, something I’d never thought I’d do.
No, it’s not the politics, though that’s not helping, as it’s already changed the texture of life in Denver beyond recognition, particularly in this fucked up year of our Lord, the year when the mask mandate dropped the remaining masks.
It’s not even the persistent back of the head niggling fear that we’re going to get stuck behind the lines. (And being by heritage Portuguese I’m assured by friends who scarpered from various places that when the Portuguese leave it’s already too late [seems to bear out by the number of relatives who came crashing into our lives with only the clothes on their backs and their lives all through the seventies.])
It’s the undeniable effect of high altitude and low oxygen on our systems as we age. So, that’s about it. Against biology, even Odds strive in vain.
This trip — the longest we’ve been away and not flying — just made it very clear. There is no way to wind up our affairs and appurtenances here in under one and a half and likely two years. But after that, barring death, the death of the republic, open war, or other disaster, we’ll be on the move.
Where, only G-d knows, since this is the only place I’ve ever wanted to live since I was eight.
I’d say — having sang with Kansas all across Kansas — it was apropos that as I drove us — I drove more highways this trip than I’ve ever done prior to that. Enough to break the fear? probably not. But it’s not a panic fear anymore at least — into Denver we were singing along with the Eagles “After the thrill is gone.”
But it’s not. Every time I roll into Denver, there’s that closing of the throat, that prickling of the eyes, that certainty that I am home in the place that’s been part of who I am — if only in dreams — as long as I can remember.
So, tomorrow I clean and unpack. And then it’s back into our routine, (and regular posting, though I’ll use guest posts a lot the rest of this week,) but now with the long term plan of consolidating, fixing, getting rid of excess stuff, and planning an eventual move.
Into whatever adventure comes next.