Naive Medley

Day two here at the foot of the Continental Divide. The air is thin, but it sure smells different than the salty air of the Bay. I continue to wade through vast regions of my youth. Street signs remind me of places I have worked and run and played. I had a hamburger at Tom's Tavern. I had rice and beans at Juanita's. I had spaghetti from the Gondolier. I know that there are other restaurants in this town, but I was fortunate to have all of my favorites in the first thirty-six hours of my stay.
I haven't been eating and ignoring all other sensory inputs. Yesterday morning I went for a run and got my first private view of the Flatirons. As much as Boulder changes, these slabs of granite still loom large over the west side of the town. I once chose to leave this view and pursue a life outside the long shadows of the Rocky Mountains. I ended up in Oakland - with a girl I met at Boulder High School. When I was riding back into Boulder this time, I was struck by just how simple the geography is. Mountains in the west, Kansas in the east, and you'll just have to fill in those blanks for north and south.
The mountains remain, but so much else has grown and changed. Last night I watched a videotape my older brother had made of the move from my mother's old house to her new one. She moved from a house to a townhouse. She changed cars from a Chrysler New Yorker to a Dodge Neon. Her life fits in a much smaller space now. Happily, she still has a guest room. It was in that guest room, late at night after a day of fun and endless conversation with family and friends, she asked me: "So, how many times today did you think about moving back to Boulder?"
I leaned back in the big brass bed that used to live in our family's mountain cabin, so many years ago, and I told her: "Zero." It wasn't because I have no desire to live in a college town near the mountains, or because I have had my fill of Tom's burgers and Gondolier spaghetti. When I think about moving back to Boulder, I do it in my mind. I go to the place where I grew up. This is not that place. Not anymore. And that's okay, because I am enjoying coming to this new place - the one that seems so familiar, and so very comfortable. I don't want to forget this place either.