Favorite Things

So, during her first two days of high school, Rachel was asked what her favorite book and favorite food are.

This got me thinking. I can't pick favorites. I could not tell you my favorite book, or food, or movie, or color, or song, or . . .

There are just too many choices, too many situational factors. Take favorite color. To wear? Doing what? To look at? For my kitchen? For my car?

Favorite book? How could you pick?

But, ask me my favorite place. Go ahead, ask. That one I can answer.

My favorite place is Aspen, right here, right where I live.

Wow! How lucky am I?

I'm done now!

Not sure if those who know me would agree . . .

You Are 40% Control Freak

You have achieved the perfect balance of control and letting go. You tend to roll with whatever life brings, but you never get complacent.

Are You A Control Freak?

Ok, these things are addictive . . .

Your Linguistic Profile:

55% General American English

15% Upper Midwestern

15% Yankee

5% Dixie

5% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

I'm pretty impressed with myself

You Passed the US Citizenship Test

Congratulations - you got 10 out of 10 correct!

Could You Pass the US Citizenship Test?

The Proof is in the Pudding or Intelligent by Association Part Deux

Since the answer to the question posed in my previous post obviously depends on what I said, here it is (along with its context):

Yet many white women implied or stated outright that race had been little more than a passing thought until they married a black man and had children. Bridget Xxxxxxxxx, the BFN newsletter editor,

"grew up in Glenview [Illinois], it was an all white environment. My education since being in an interracial relationship has been phenomenal . . . race is a fiction . . . I'm sensitive to the whole argument of the white mother who doesn't want her kids to be black [but] that's not what this is about. It's about providing a situation in which it's okay for your kid to identify with their full heritage."

Xxxxxxxxx favored the addition of a multiracial category to the census, although she also saw a need for "constant vigilance against discrimination." She did not think the two desires were at odds.

So there it is.

As I paged through the book looking for my quote (I didn't make the index), it was strange to be skimming over events in which I was involved. They seem distant, removed, part of a different life. In addition to being the past newsletter editor of the Biracial Family Network, I am a past president. Once so active and now, it's all so far gone.

The fly leaf states,

The activists themselves - a loose confederation of organizations, many of them led by the white mothers of interracial children - wanted recognition. What they got was the transformation of racial politics in America.

I haven't read the whole book so I'm not in the best position to comment, yet, but it does make me reflect. What we were trying to do definitely seemed important but I'm puzzled as to why we were able to be so successful. We really were a small, disorganized group. It was perhaps a rare confluence on events, personalities and agendas. I'm cynical enough that I'm finding myself analyzing the goings-on, looking for where and how we were used to further political agendas which we did not share. And yet, upon my first superficial analysis, I don't find any evidence.

Intelligent by Association?

So, if I'm quoted in a book written by an Associate Professor of Public Policy at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University and published by the University of Michigan Press, is that a measure of my own degree of intelligence?

Does this mean that I'm published?

Mark One or More by Kim M. Williams.

Free Music

One of the many bennies of living here is the number of free activities provided with an eye to the tourists but in which the locals partake voraciously. One such long-standing activity is the free Thursday night concerts on Fanny Hill in Snowmass Village.

The first summer that we lived here, we went every Thursday. It's quite the social gathering. I've heard a story that Leon Russell was playing the first show of the summer season a number of years back and he got so frustrated with what he considered the rudeness of the audience (in that they paying more attention to each other than they were to him) that he packed up and left. People picnic, party and dance as the sun sets over the spectacular Colorado scenery.

This year, we went out for The Blind Boys of Alabama which was a treat. I especially like their version of Amazing Grace, played to House of the Rising Sun (if you click on the link, give it a sec; the audio clip will load, it's just a little slow).

But, far and away, the best Fanny Hill concert I've seen was last night. (Concerts are also held on other nights of the week, usually depending on what other special events might be going on in Snowmass.) Last night, Nickel Creek played to an especially packed crowd and it was sweet. They seemed jazzed by the turnout and put on a rollicking show. They performed my favorite track, The Lighthouse's Tale. It rained a bit but only for a short while and then we were graced with a double rainbow. For part of their encore, they each (Chris Thile, Sean Watkins and Sara Watkins, plus their bass player and their guitar engineer) came out and did a solo number. Chris played an amazing piece by Bach on his mandolin. Chris and Mark Schatz, the bass player, took a turn at Southern Appalachian clog dancing which was really fun and put me in mind of Riverdance. (I know it's not considered cool to like Riverdance but I did and I won't deny it.)

We had friends visiting from Montana and she's a huge Nickel Creek fan. They stayed an extra night when they heard about the concert. Attending with someone who was as excited as she was made the concert all the more enjoyable for me.

Best meal I had in Paris

. . . wasn't in Paris.

Le Manege in St. Germain en Laye was fabulous. The owner was accommodating and helpful, steering us away from a sub-par wine we were trying to order. The food was quite delightful and we were never made to feel that we were imposing on anyone, as we were in every restaurant we ate at in Paris.

We were walking down the street in St. Germain en Laye, looking for a restaurant that wasn't in St. Germain en Laye because we were looking at the wrong page in the restaurant guidebook. So there we were, looking obviously lost when this helpful older woman walking her dog noticed our plight. She approached me and recommended Le Manege. Some in our party were loath to follow the recommendation of an old woman on the street but the hungrier of the group prevailed and voila!

I love happenstance.

Best meal I had in London

We ate Indian. We ate Italian. We ate French. We ate English. But the best meal I had in London was Spanish.

El Blason. Yum!!

My brother, who lives in Chelsea, was greeted by name by Carlos, who had wonderful menu recommendations for us. The selections were outstanding and there was plenty of food for all, including the vegetarian among us.

Worst meal was far and away the English fare we were subjected to at Cafe Creme in the Thistle Westminster Hotel by Victoria Station. Swill!

We did have good English fare at the Duke of York, next to the Victoria Palace Theatre where we saw Billy Elliott. I especially liked the mushroom tart.

Small world, small town

I'm walking up Mill Street to meet my mom for dinner at D19 early Friday evening, a fairly busy time for pedestrians here in paradise. There are plenty of people about, strolling, window shopping, enjoying the mountains.

Generally, when I'm walking around town, I will see someone I know. It is, after all, a small town with approximately 6000 year round residents. So, waving and exchanging greetings is routine.

As I approach a group of four chatting outside Bentley's, I realize that one is familiar. But not familiar in a recent way. More in like a decades old way, a glimpse from my past. I approach the group, apologize for interrupting their conversation and wait to see if I look familiar. It was rather fun watching the recognition dawn. "Bridget?" Yep, there I was, greeting my boss from, oh, 20 or so years ago. Ed Tapscott, the former head men's basketball coach at American University, former interim president and general manager of the New York Knicks and most recently, the president and CEO of the Charlotte Bobcats, whom I haven't seen since the mid to late 1980's, is standing on the street here in Aspen. He's in town to attend a wedding and, 10 minutes either way, we would not have run into each other. He had no idea I lived here. I have no idea whose wedding he was attending.

Just another day in Aspen . . .

Wish List

I want it.

Hopefully, I'll get over it soon . . .

Are we having fun yet?

Just back from vacation . . .

Adventuresome? Yes. Memorable? Yes. Fun? Not so much . . .

Got invited on a river trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon. Very hard permit to get so the impetus was to try to make it happen. Scheduling conflicts seemed to be conspiring against us but we prevailed. Now the Middle Fork at the end of July is a mighty shallow river. Big, overladen rafts are not a good idea. So, of course, that's what we were rowing.

From day one, it was a challenge. We got hung up on rocks more times than I can count. We tore a 9 inch gash in the floor of the raft. We wrapped in Powerhouse Rapid and it took approximately 40 people to pull us off the rock. Our boat had Rough Rider II painted on the side and we became quite well-known, dare I say, infamous.

In addition to being victims of our inexperience, Mother Nature had some fun in store for us too. On day 3 of our adventure, we learned that the river was blocked by a blow-out, a flash flood which had washed debris out of a tributary and had built a log dam across the Pistol Creek Rapid. While we waited with approximately 200 other people (mercifully spread over 25 river miles), the Forest Service debated on whether or not to remove the blockage. Two and a half days after the blow-out, the log jam was dynamited and later that evening the river was reopened. But not before half of our group decided they had had enough and flew out at Indian Creek. Group dynamics had not meshed from the start and were quickly reaching the stage where fisticuffs were inevitable so the split was welcomed.

So the six from Colorado floated on, trying to salvage some fun. But for us, still on a big, overladen boat, fun was elusive. We broke an oar, running the kayak slot in Tappan II that the guide book warned us not to run. I swam Earthquake Rock Rapid, an inadvisable move. The groover exploded in the scat machine. I miscalculated the distance from the take-out to the put-in (where our vehicle had been left) and neglected to transfer our bag of clean clothes from our car to the shuttle. After 9 nights of camping, it's amazing the import such a small detail can take on. I was 2 days overdue for work with many obligations hanging over my head and I was with five others who were in no hurry to get back.

And yet, the more distance I'm able to put between me and the trip, the more I'm able to identify some positives. We had really good weather. We were able to sleep under the stars almost every night. The place is gorgeous. The hot springs were clean and clear. We ate well. The company on the second half of the trip was good. We were part of an event that will be talked about for some time. We were one of a handful of groups to run the river after it changed dramatically. We had a yummy sushi lunch in Ketchum, Idaho on the way home.

With the benefit of wisdom gained by experience, I would do it again.

Photos at Kodak Easyshare Gallery