I spent my weekend. All of it. It burned a hole in my pocket because I was here:
Four girlfriends and I felt a self-styled spiritual retreat would be wonderful. We’ve done organized retreats with churches but it would be a refreshing change to not have to be up at 7am and live the regimented life. Freedom is conducive to deep study and spontaneous chats. We’d bring food we like, read books we like, sleep in as long as we like, and let our days unfold organically. If that happened to include a little vino? Cheers, friends.
We drove to Breckenridge, which is a popular winter destination for skiers and riders. It’s the off-season, which meant small crowds but gobs of natural beauty.
A fox said hello to me. It was adorable and we think it was hanging around because the lodge where we stayed kept fresh baked chocolate chip cookies flowing.
It snowed, off and on. Breckenridge is a town that depends on copious snowfall. Reminders were everywhere.
In the center of Breckenridge, there is a large pond with feisty and enormous trout. We fed them what appeared to be dog food which was sold in gumball machine for 25 cents. I missed my kids, but at that moment I was relieved I wouldn’t have to spend $1.50 for a cup of trout chow…
…and then a muskrat came along and stole the food. The fish went mad and there was much thrashing. Now I wished my kids were with me. They would have loved it and taken sides. Team Trout vs. Team Rat. The battle is probably still raging.
Breckenridge has plenty of tourist-trap shops and funky little local places. It’s the typical mix you will find in any place that hosts visitors from around the world—doofy souvenir t-shirts and pricy art prints, all in the same block.
In one shop, I was able to channel my inner Lady Gaga. My version has blue hair.
I found a copy of the Sunday New York Times on a rack at Breckenridge’s Starbucks. It is housed in an old bright yellow bungalow, built in 1938, and it is the cutest, quirkiest Starbucks you can imagine.
When I noticed they had the Times for sale, I checked to see if I was truly inside. Yes, truly.
I gave it to the barrista, telling her I was in it and needed to buy. Squeal!
If I were a fresh-faced daisy, I would have withered under her glowering indifference.
These are my four lovely friends. One is a studious librarian. Guess.
Thanks, ladies, for your support, creativity, brilliance, and for keeping my arms up.
You’d know if you were there.
I recently joined Twitter. If I’m not following you, I should start. Let me know how.
While away, my husband won a PS3 gaming system and The Beatles Rock Band. Early Christmas! We thought about keeping it hidden away for 2 months, but we couldn’t. Squeal!
A 21-year-old Starbuck’s barrista just shuddered at the thought someone is happy.