The Quiet(er) Life.
So. Big News time.
Hank is, after nearly a decade, working somewhere else.
…
….
…..
Wow.
It’s really exciting. Really awesome. And really gonna be quiet around here.
He still has his own company. He still does what he loves. He still can be his own team a bit but also has a new super awesome, super talented, super team.
It’s a really, really great gig. They do really, really great things. Like work with The White House. And with non-profits. And linking up some fundraising efforts for amazing foundations.
(This is Andrea. Not Ahn-dray-ah. Not Ahn-dree-ah. Ann-dree-ah. Andrea. Simple and lovely and one of the people at the really great gig place. Infectious laughter, this one.)
And the best part? They’re in Boulder. Nirvana for Hank. People, Pearl Street, take-your-dog-to-work, bike around, take the bus, get good coffee…this might even be his moksha. (Yeah. You should look that one up. It’s that good.)
It’s so quiet here at home that I hear this dance of delirium between the sound of the wind and the fish tank’s filter. Yes, the same fish tank that has been running without a fish in it for, oh, about three months now. Our first fish, Frank, was a bubbly looking mottled goldfish who swam upside down a lot. I thought he had died nearly every night, but whenever I’d tap on the glass in the morning he’d flip back over and swim around. Well, except for that last time.
Maybe I should get a new fish.
Ewan and I took a little trip to our Beloved Boulder for lunch with Hank this week. Again, I realized how much I love that place. It’s just the perfect mix of freak and hippie and urban and weird and artsy and yoga and metro for me. Please, Santa, bring us a gazillion dollars so we can buy the Mork & Mindy house and live there happily every after.
In the meantime, we shall find excuses to meet for lunch weekly, I think. And soon, we shall take the bus, which will blow Ewan’s mind, by the way, since he is fascinated by buses. I mean butheth.
An aside: please never spell “busses”. It’s just not correct. I don’t care that it’s been spelled so wrong for so long that now it’s socially acceptable. It’s not. Lexicographers be damned for that inclusion as well as “supposably”. Ugh and irritation.
Now back to Beloved Boulder.
We sauntered around that some-kind-of-wonderful Pearl Street ISO grub. Found it. And then had to coax some small person to eat his mac ‘n’ cheese. Then he tried to stuff a cookie down Hank’s throat. Good trade, I think.
Next treat? The Prana store. Muy hearts on this one.
Ewan boogied his heart out to the tunes of Jamiroquai and then tried to scare me.
I think it was his fancy Converse low-tops that made him cut a rug. Flames on those, baby.
Love this building. Love this quote even more. It’s up in my kitchen this week, maybe longer. Gotta do my time on that two hours a day thing.
What else on my love-o-meter? My new hat. Check it.
Oh, Boulder, I love thee. You’re weird and sometimes smell too strongly of patchouli, but you have a tender place all your own in my heart. My soul, really.
Because, truth be told, I’m weird and sometimes smelly, too.
Kindred spirits are we.
