Riding the light rail the first time was exhilarating. I got out of my sister-in-law’s car at 7:30 am at the Lincoln station. Still panting from having taken my pills and feeling elongated and translucent from the thin altitude, I walked past the fantastic public art display on the side of the parkade and started interpreting the local lingo on the side of the automatic ticket dispenser.
Who needs brain gym when one is traveling? Just the “game” of trying to find out the arcane code for operating cash machines, water dispensers, toilet flushing devices, ticket dispensing machines is enough to keep one alert. Since my skill set in this area is minimal, it always leaves me feeling like a winner when I score. In high school the counselor called me in to inform me that the technical/spacial component on my test showed in the bottom 5% but that was only, he informed me, because the test couldn’t show anything lower. “I believe you would have had a minus score if the test worked that way,” he smiled into me. Great. Any neurosis that the parents weren’t able to install, the counselor could later construct into my neurological system.
So I was standing feeling about ten feet tall, transparent, panting when the train showed up. I got on it. Didn’t know where it was going but it seemed to be pointed in the right direction.
Frequently, I will just commit to a choice and then ask a living, breathing person exactly how stupid my decision was. In this case I was definitely going in the right direction to a point. However, the train I really wanted was headed to the 16th Street Mall so I had to hop off and wait.
I think the thing about travel that is so fascinating is what one learns about ones self. To learn the lay of the land and not feel lost, it takes me three days in a new city. Once I know how to get lost on public transit and then correct, I have confidence. The anxiety that I will end up in some cosmic dead-end and never be able to return to myself, orphaned for eternity from the only family I have left is assuaged once I peer at a little folded map and see… Oh that is where I went wrong.
When the train got to the University square it was full of students. I had a delightful talk with a young woman who lives in the Midwest in a small town and has come to Denver to begin her path to a Ph.D in restorative art. Her goal is to work in Italy reclaiming some of the ancient works damaged over time. Her main issue was that the love of her life is in California and they see one another only occasionally.
Because she is dedicated to her own growth, she stays and walks her path. Her friends flame the fires of anxiety by telling her he won’t remain true, she can’t continue a long distance relationship. It worries her but she continues.
I admired how fully and clearly she has formulated her future. Envious as I sat there with only a tenth of my youthful dreams accomplished and alone again after the failure of my third relationship. My programming to choose people who are alcoholics and have various emotional issues has unerringly lead me to sacrifice my own goals in order to be loved.
It was almost as if the universe had put her next to me to show me what was possible, what I had missed. I told her of how deeply I respected her choices and wished her luck and healthy love.
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Many of the squares were open and had chairs and beautiful art installations with planters plentifully placed. Men in long sleeve shirts, with vertical stripes, expensive belts and incredibly expensive shoes sat in groups in the slanting light. The sun was beginning to touch the ground through the forest of tall buildings. There was a sense of anticipation, of calm before the rampage. When people dismounted from the light rail, they hit the ground running, cell phones open, everyone talking but not to one another. They were talking to unseen people setting up meetings, checking last minute plans, verifying information. The workforce is uniformed. Standing on one corner, a black and white servant (waiter or counter guy) was strangling himself into a tie and removing his nose ring. I laughed and said, “Now you are invisible.” He crossed the street, stopped turned around then said, “Oh I get it. Yeah. Good.” And off he went.
The Mall is outdoors and extends for over 15 blocks. Along the Mall is a new installation called the Piano installation. Scattered randomly, old upright pianos are painted distinctively and placed out in the open to encourage music in the city.
As I was walking along, I saw a 20 year old playing the Red piano with his dark faced friend sitting next to him. I stopped and took a video. He turned to his friend and said, “Already.” I found out that he has had many videos of him uploaded to you tube but never was one taken so early in the morning.
He informed me that he was a street person. “The mall is my home and when the pianos appeared I thought I should learn to play.” It gave him direction. From sleeping and eating being the main focus in his life, the goal has changed. In three months he has taught himself to play and is composing now. “I decided I want to be a musician.”
I had a few sarcastic thoughts like dancing shadows cross my mind since every musician I know in our town is having relationship or addiction problems… but never mind.
The guy is already on the street, is probably already at his bottom with substances and has no one. Where can he go but up? It was really inspiring to have met two young people in the first hour on my travels who were determined to better their situations.
Because my computer crashed, I am working on a loaner and have to return to this journey to feed images in at a later date.
I will take you with me through the rest of the day on my next blog. It was really interesting so tag along.
Tag Archives: denver
DENVER: a Mile High
I made my way through the Denver airport, kind of muttering under my breath as I do when I am encouraging myself, or calming myself down. So often I have just latched onto others who look like they know where they are going. It usually works. But one day, I may find myself in catacombs, elevators to unfinished stories, dark trackless recesses. However, it worked again.
Just find a person who is shooting off of your plane, jogging to the luggage carrel, pounding toward an open doorway and the mere trajectory of holding onto his or her energy will fling you out of an unmarked door into a labyrinth of vehicles swooping past to pick up their precious cargo of unclaimed family members or executives with a plan in their suitcases.
I was standing in the breeze created by the movement of cars rolling past on the cement edges of the flow when I heard my name being called.
My sister-in-law was in the car yoohooing me. I hadn’t seen her since my stepfather died in April and the seven of us had cleared out his house, settled the paperwork and walked away in four days.
Considering he and my dead mother had kept every receipt since the 1960’s, it was a miracle that we managed. I remember staring down at the receipt for two cups of coffee for 24 cents from 1962 from Little Black Sambo’s restaurant.
So strange on so many layers, the paper was almost tempting me to keep it but when faced with decades of hoarding you have to be tough.
There she was in the car coming to pick me up while my brother drove himself to the hospital. He had been working on a project and decided to saw some of his fingers. After I was in the house, shown my room with the dozens of teddy bears sitting sentinel around the top of the bookshelves and back downstairs, Rob came in with his hand in the air and blood working its way through the bandage. Stitches, he informed us. Call the doctor check on tetanus shot, stitches out in 10 days.
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Home improvements, injury, husbanding for 42 years, my brother is tough and versatile.
The first night I awoke feeling sick and sore all over. My head ached and I felt like I had the flu but also that I had trouble breathing. Carol informed me the next day it was altitude sickness. Must drink lots of water.
After I took my pills in the morning, I felt like I had gotten off of a carnival ride. The room spun around, I was flashing hot/cold, my pulse elevated. I soon learned that that was a response I would get every day after taking my pills in this high, desert plain. Wild.
We go somewhere to experience a difference but when the differences occur, we are resistant. I just learned to sit and relax my breathing for a while until the medication and the altitude made peace with one another. It was kind of a panting meditation.
