Feel the Yearn

At the gym this morning I did the unthinkable - I grabbed a magazine to read on the stair master: Oprah's magazine. But for once, rather than the usual savage beating such magazines normally bestow, I was rewarded this time. Oprah had interviewed Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun. Her point is this - we humans often have complaints and discomfort with our lives as they are and we are constantly seeking a 'fix' for our problems. What if we could (I'm paraphrasing here) develop a passion for our lives as they are, rather than reserving our passion for the life we imagine we would rather have?

"The problem is that we have so little tolerance for uncomfortable feelings. I'm not even talking about unpleasant outer circumstances but for that feeling in your stomach that—or heart—that I don't want this to be happening."

And the solution? Feel the feeling, rather than dismissing it or medicating it away. Stay with it. Hold its hand, because it's what we have in common with other humans. It's what allows us to be compassionate with them even when they're behaving badly. My particular uncomfortable feeling is the yearning itself - I grow exceedingly weary of wishing for things to be different - different job, different hair, different wardrobe, a home, a sense of security, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

As I was driving home from the gym I listened to radio story about a special law in Colorado that makes it easier to charge juveniles as adults - a reaction to Denver's "Summer of Violence" in 1993. The interviewees were chock full of explanations and excuses on the prosecution side, questions and demands for accountability on the defense side. No one discussed compassion, because hey, that's a trigger word that would instantly label the argument as woo-woo and dismiss it as irrelevant.

Maybe it really is irrelevant. Compassion isn't something we can impose on ourselves or on other people. I've often admonished myself to "be compassionate," but if you have to admonish yourself, is it real? Wouldn't that be mere 'acting?' Yes, and it's fake - we can't know how to "act" compassionately if we don't experience real compassion in ourselves. We can't impose it on ourselves. But that's how we're most comfortable - we think if we buy the right product or repeat the right words in the right order, we'll feel better. Sooooooothing, isn't it.

Malignant Growths

On March 20, 2008 I learned that my uncle has a large, malignant growth on his leg, and "fifty to sixty nodues on his lungs, that are probably malignant."

My first thought was "I wonder what 'nodue' means."

My uncle is a retired junior high school teacher in the L.A. public school system who referred to his students as "niggers," "spics," and "beaners." At home he was a violent alcoholic whose wife protected him with scorn and derision for anyone who came near, presumably because she feared their criticism. One Thanksgiving he punched me and my cousin, about 7 and 10 years old, in the head. Rapid fire, "bam bam," all at once, without spilling a drop of bourbon. More than 20 years later I can recall the dull pain in my jaw and hear the ice tinkling in his glass.

My cousin once innocently asked me why I feel bad about his father (my uncle) when he did "the best he could for his nieces" whose "real father was such a screw up." (Yes, that's my Dad he's talking about, who cared about what happened to me, who never laid a hand on me except with love, who paid my freshman tuition, who gave me a safe place to live in high school, who fixed up my series of old cars with his own hands free of charge, who gave me difficult books to read, who taught me to cook, who cared about what I thought and felt, and who told me never to settle for less than I deserved.) When I reminded my cousin of what happened that year at Thanksgiving he grew numb and said he doesn't remember. He wasn't defensive, he just faded away; changed the subject. He doesn't remember ANY of the beatings he received from his father while my mother and her sister stood greedily by, enjoying my cousin's fear and shame.

There was a time when the news about my uncle would have filled me with guilt and angry glee. But I don't feel glee. Just relief. And I don't feel guilty anymore when saying the world is simply better off without some people. Especially those whose only goal in life is to abuse others. I'm not advocating for the death penalty, I'm just suggesting that, if you truly love people, maybe feeling joy when their tormentors are dead is simply . . . normal.

I'm not sure what I feel about this news. It's a lot like having a malignant growth removed.

Denver at the Edge of Spring

March at the Denver Botanic Gardens:

Enduring, stubborn little flower husks that refuse to fall over no matter what.
:)

The View OF My Desk

This time, for reals, here's a bona fide snapshot of the corner of my desk - this time it's my desk at Scott's place:

Regrettably I lack the Photoshop sophistication to add cool labels just like my hero The Bloggess, but if I did I would have labeled: (A) the interesting fruit photo taken either in Africa or at the Sea of Cortez by my wildly talented and well-traveled future mother in law, (B) the folders labeled "Porta-Potty Incident 2008" and "Taxes 2007," and (C) a worth-while little book about verbal self-defense called "Tongue Fu," which is sitting in my inbox waiting for me to outline it.

That green thing (by the way) is my inbox.

Speaking of inboxes, this year I've been embracing the "Getting Things Done" method from David Allen's book by that title. It's been a revelation.

All the best to you and yours. :o)

The View From my Desk

What has Red Flashlight been doing?

• Taxes. More taxes. Other taxes.
• Playing Settlers and Milles Bournes.
• Moving unique pieces of paper from one location to another.
• Suing a telecom provider under the Fair Credit Reporting Act.
• Theorizing about the nature of the universe.
• Teaching violence prevention to Middle School students.
• Going to the gym.
• Negotiating with insurance to repair the port-a-potty damage.
• Watching "The Riches" on DVD.
• Writing detailed disclosures under 'simplified procedure.'
• Wondering why there's no beginner's manual for practicing law.
• Worrying about family and wedding business.
• Setting real estate showings for a start-up, part time.

An now, because I love including visuals, here's the view from my favorite 'desk:'

One drawback to this location: bad, loud music. Otherwise, It's my office of choice.

Court Quotes, Volume I, Issue 3 - What Not To Say

I found today's issue of court quotes on "Thursday Drive." It describes an event from the 1970s. After enduring six years of mental torture and physical abuse, a pair of sisters are adopted by their truly evil stepmother:

The judge stepped down from the bench and came over to where we stood with our attorney, clustered around a wooden table. The moment was celebratory. He had just approved Sue’s adoption of my sister and me.

'Congratulations,' the judge said as he reached out to shake my hand. 'Now she can spank you legally.'

Horrible! Incredibly insensitive. I'll grant it's possible that he didn't know and had no reason to suspect the girls were being abused. But wouldn't you try to curb making 'jokes' like that anyway? Judges aren't (normally) psychic, but that only illustrates why they shouldn't presume everything is 'fine.'

Why Can't We Be Friends?

We heard a great "gypsy jazz" band at a brunch at Chautauqua last week:

It was great. (I just said it was great twice. My brain hurts. Maybe it's cancer.)

I'm sitting at an internet cafe, writing a response to a 12(b)(6) and 56 motion in a case that should never have happened. The defendants are at war with each other and they don't care who gets hurt in the process. It reminds me of the massive brawl scene in the movie "Semi-Pro," set to the tune of "Why Can't We Be Friends?" The motion takes eight pages to say "it's the other guy's fault" and then twist the truth like a pretzel. Eight pages. Eeeeeevil.

Valentine's Day 2008

We made art on Valentine's Day this year:


These aspen trees are wonderful! How does he do it?


I know what you're thinking: "what's that bottle of Nutella doing there?" I assure you it's all part of the secret process.

Court Quotes, Volume I, Issue 2 - The Dream Crusher

Municipal Court. Judge is questioning a young man while the parents look sternly on.

J: Are you in school now?
YM: No.
[Young man wipes his nose with his jacket sleeve behind the unwashed curtain of his long, stringy hair.]
J: What are you doing now?
YM: Hanging out.
J: What do you want to do in the future? I mean, what's your plan for the future?
YM: To be an architectural engineer.
[Parents straighten their backs and put tight little smiles of repressed pride on their faces. Young man looks around the room with a cynical smirk and hooks a finger in his belt loop to hike up his drooping pants.]
J: That's gonna require a whole lot more school. At least four years of college so . . .
[Judge raises his eyebrows and lets the question hang there for a few seconds.]
YM: Yeah.
J: How much schooling do you have?
YM: 11th grade.
J: But you want to be an architectural engineer?
YM: Yes.
J: So why did you stop?
YM: Kicked me out.
Dad: We want to get him into job service or the military. And to get him off the marijuana.

The judge then gave him the typical writing assignment. Maybe a research assignment about the evils of drug use or something.

The whole thing leaves me unsatisfied. The parents seem a bit out to lunch and the kid's fantasy life is clearly out of control.

On a happier note: look what Scott brought home for me:

Dim sum! Is he not the dreamiest? Love you baby. :)

Blogs are not simply 'journals on line.'

I literally had to wipe the dust off my journal this week. Some might say I've been neglecting it in favor of this blog. But those 'some' would be wrong - the content is different.



At the gym I read an article in the New Yorker about diaries. There were excerpts from Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. (urbane), Ronald Reagan (boring), and Andy Warhol (heh). Then I went to the front porch at Scott's house to think about the silly and uncontrollable melange my life has become. And to write something longhand. With a pen. (And take pictures of the steam rising from my Earl Grey - can you see it? It's on the right side, above the glass.)

Then I went downstairs to paint my journal gold.

Nifty Ad Slogan Generator

Here's how the blogosphere works:

I notice the Hatchet seems to be hawking her own line of t-shirts, like "which twin has the Hatchet?" Hilarious. I click through to "The Bloggess" only because her blog has a cool name, but I have such a good time there I add her site to my list of favorites. I grow enamored of the possibility that I, too, may generate my very own pink-T-Shirt-wearing sloganized memorialization of the Red Flashlight. I click through to The Advertising Slogan Generator, and post the results for your viewing pleasure.

Rehearsal Dinner Location

Scott's Mom found us a great location for our rehearsal dinner! The Molkery in Denver:

Historic. Recently renovated. Surrounded by a large park with big playground. Very cool for the ARMY of children that will be there. Thanks, Scott's Mom! :o)

Road Hazards

I've never been in a car accident. In my several years of driving I'm proud to say I've never hit anything or anyone. My car has been hit by other things however, including an airport shuttle, a deer, and on one glorious, windy morning on I-25 last Wednesday, my car was hit by one of these:



Yes, that's a port-a-potty.

Only at the time it was horizontal and flying.

Impacting it squarely on one side my car simply went right through it. It damaged my car but left only bits of itself behind to lie sadly against the guardrail and dot the freeway with crumpled pieces of fiberglass and plastic.

Hood? Dented and scratched. Windshield? Scratched. Side panels? Scratched. Side view mirror? Gone. Front bumper? Broken and now decorated with what I assume is a shredded piece of toilet paper.

In my rear view the next moment I noticed two things: (1) I was about to be rear-ended by a guy watching the spectacle of several port-a-potties flying off the back of a truck, and (2) there was sure to be a massive, multi-car pile-up on the evening news.

I get to tell my story to the police tomorrow. The guys at the Honda dealership got a kick out of it, but I'm sure the police will take a more sober approach.

What about you? Anyone else hit or been hit by an unexpected, bizarre, or inexplicable object?

Court Quotes, Volume I, Issue 1

Sometimes I scratch down quick little quotes I hear in court. This is from Municipal Court in a not-very-quiet little town on the Colorado plains:

Judge: "In addition, it looks like you still owe $130 from your last appearance. Can you pay that today?"
Defendant: "No."
Judge: "How soon do you think you can get that taken care of?"
Defendant: "I don't know . . . I can pay a few dollars today but I still can't find a job."
Judge: "Okay well talk to the court clerk and pay what you can, but remember: sometimes it's easier to send people to jail than it is to keep dragging them back here every month for little ten-dollar payments. Is that what you want to do?"
Defendant: "No, sir."
Judge: "Then I recommend you find a way to pay this off."
[Judge bends over the file, scribbling a note.]
Judge: "See you in a month."

Xavier Enigma

Scott found this:

http://www.enigmasand.com/games/nphys/

Is it a game? Is it art? Is it science? I love it. Have fun.

Art and Commodification

Scott and I went to the Louvre's "Artisans and Kings" show at the Denver Art Museum. I love this painting: Infanta Margherita by Diego Velasquez. (But not as much as I love Las Meninas for its disturbing freakiness.)


Many pieces were from the famous Sevres Porcelain Manufactury:


The thing about Sevres porcelain - they're still making it. And people are still buying it. The Sevres Manufactury survived the very bloody French revolution and its products continue to be a symbol of wealth and . . . er . . . 'good taste.' (No offense intended, if you're a fan.)

Afterwards, happily munching greasy hamburgers wrapped in paper, we talked about the antithetical (or perhaps symbiotic?) nature of bourgeois versus bohemian values. (More accurately I went "blah blah blah" about art and Scott politely listened. Bless him.)

Then we toured a few galleries on Santa Fe. Interesting to view the contrast between "proven" works of value (formerly owned by the Kings and Queens of France) and works artists are currently aiming to sell. Verrrry verrrry interesting.

Come-on-I-wanna- KwanzaaHanukKhristmas-ya

There was snow on Christmas day. It flew through the air in a frozen powdery mist from Scott's shovel while I watched from the front porch, shivering like the winter wimp I am.

The stockings were filled with chocolate, pecans, snowman earrings, gift certificates for automobile maintenance, pizza cutters, maple candies, and polar-bear socks from Dorothy's trip to the tundra this year.

We have been spending time with family and friends - reconnecting, meeting new people, and telling stories. My Christmas cards remain sitting in a box, unused and baleful. Don't worry guys - your day will come. Some time before Valentines Day, I promise . . .

The Cake

Did I mention? We found The Cake. It was at Whole Foods. (No, I didn't take this photo with my new camera phone. It's from the Whole Foods PR people.)

All natural ingredients, several flavors, muy delicioso, they can decorate in a wedding theme, and best of all . . . much less expensive than any of the other bakers we tried! Who knew?!

We're working on finding the right venue. Would love to use the Chautauqua Community House but we have more well-wishers than will fit inside. Scott and I will be tasting dinner options at the Chautauqua dining hall tonight. :)

New Phone

Scott gave me a new phone for my birthday - it's got everything, every bell and whistle. My old Verizon phone was soooo past retirement age. I'm delighted I can now check my e-mail when stuck in traffic. One of the great banes of my existence is the helplessness and guilt of being caught in a jam.

Another great feature: it has a camera! (Repressed artist within cackles with glee.)

Some of my handiwork so far:

Cappuccino Chez Hatchet. Merci, Hatchets!












Poster the kids made at my "Date Smart" class last week. Each foot is a "step" that each kid wants to take to "end dating violence." At this size it's not possible to read but at full size it's great for documenting what the kids were learning. I took this picture so our program coordinator could see how the class progressed. My favorite foot on this poster says simply "groceries!" (Because a trip to the grocery store is one of the surreptitious ways you can get away from violence at home, and call the police.)


Champagne with play-doh sculpture at Liz' birthday party.

Happy birthday, Liz!

(Artistically blurred, no? Very deep.)



Friends celebrating Liz.

For me this picture shows what this little camera is for: capturing the moment.

We had a lovely time.

Thank you, Scott. I love my new phone! You are a handsome jewel of the rarest quality.
:)

Brilliant.

Ashleigh Brilliant is cool. He's a funky, 1970's, hippie-esque artist who doesn't take anything particularly seriously, and I love that! Plus, I'm way into word-art.

Here's a great one-liner from "Pot Shots:"
"If you must keep groaning, please try to do it in a rhythm I can dance to."

http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com/

Just Add Water

This year, for the very first time, I'm considering . . . the formerly unthinkable . . .

holiday newsletter to the family.

Tasteless and evil? Impersonal and manipulative? Inevitable result of geographical distance? Stop-gap measure to stay connected to family and friends while we wait for them to enter the age of the internet?

More and more people are doing it . . . even people I respect . . .

Urbane Cowboy

I'm at an internet cafe. There's a gay man with a purple arm cast speaking a variety of languages into his cell phone, watching me. To see if I notice? To see if I'm listening? Now he's giggling with his super-model friend. Cute cute cute. When you're out, you're out.

We went with a friend to sample a possible wedding venue last night: the White Fence Farm. Closed Mondays. So we traipsed Westward, looking for "the Old Country," an Italian place on Union Boulevard. Closed forever.

And then . . . Red Lobster. It was there, it was open, we entered, we ate, we conquered.

Special evenings are those that seem at first to flirt with frustration and boredom but morph into something memorable and fun. My friend had just quit her job and was in the very rare position of being able to tell her icky boob-watching boss to f*** off when he asked her for two weeks notice. I love it! I almost shot lobster linguine sauce out my nose. Funny how being in the right makes us brave and strong.

My cast-wearing neighbor in the cafe is now singing along (out loud) to "Watching the Detectives." He's here, he's queer, he wants us all to know it.

Mimsy

Twas Brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimbol in the wabe.

Scott and I have been gyring and gimboling all over town, tasting wedding cake. We went to Mulberry's bakery on South Pearl Street. Not great, and no coffee. Not even for sale.

Then we took Scott's mom to do a second tasting at Das Meyer - we tasted a LOT of flavors. But we had a nice, eggy breakfast first. So it was yummy. No headache. It's sure looking like Das Meyer is the place for us. (I've been in touch with Whole Foods but they are not very good at returning calls.)

Now all I need is a dress. Eeeeeeeeeek! Very scary thought for Halloween, no? I wonder what size I'll be in July?

Habeas Corpus

"No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled, or deprived of his standing in any other way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land." Magna Carta, Article 39 (1215). This is the "great writ," habeus corpus. In practice it requires the government to actually produce a defendant and try him in a properly constituted court of law before it imprisons him. It prevents the government from making people disappear.

I read a great article this morning: Is Habeus Corpus a Corpse?, Craig Eley, The Docket, Vol. 29, Issue 9 (Denver Bar Association, October 2007). Mr. Eley makes an excellent point about Alberto Gonzales' treatment of habeus corpus:

Mr. Gonzales' position is that, since the constitution doesn't affirmatively grant the right to habeus, we Americans don't actually have that right. Never mind that the constitution says the government can suspend habeus in times of rebellion or invasion. (U.S. Constitution, Article I, section 9.) But by Mr. Gonzales' logic, Americans also don't have the rights to free speech, free press, peaceful assembly, free exercise of religion, and to petition their government for a redress of grievances. Why? Because the U.S. Constitution doesn't affirmatively grant those rights. Rather, it states that Congress may not abridge those rights. (U.S. Constitution, First Amendment.)

I love it! What a smarty pants. :)

The Girl that Blows Sunshine Tastes Bad Wedding Cake and Lives to Gripe About It

I generally try to find the best in people and situations. I generally try to find a way to turn a bad experience around, find the lesson learned, accentuate the positive, etcetera. In fact, I've often withheld an urge to say (out loud even) that I am offended by people who take offense at what are really just little annoyances.

But sometimes you just have to vent. So here's my moment.

We went to another wedding cake tasting last weekend. We even dragged along a friend to experience the joy / endure the nastiness. Our experience at Das Meyer may have spoiled us for anything else. Rather than bore you with a long diatribe, I'll just give you a list of highlights:

1) These "cakes" were miniatures that she made especially for us. They were too small, about three bites of each flavor. I had made an appointment a month ago, for FOUR of us.
2) In spite of the tiny size, these cakes were more than adequate for the three of us. Because they didn't taste good.
3) They tasted like chemicals and that lovely "these have been inside a dirty refrigerator for a month" taste.
4) The baker-lady had dirty fingernails.
5) There was no coffee.
6) She told us with pride that all of her fillings come from a can or a jar.
7) She told us with pride that her "whipped cream" frosting had almost no dairy in it!
8) She told us with a bit of patronizing scorn that "quinceneras" like a lot of fru-fru and frosting on their cakes. "Isn't that silly. Yee-haw, how 'bout them silly brown people? Ain't they cute?" (Not a direct quote, but that's how it came across.)
9) The baker simply COULD NOT stop talking about herself, even though she had almost nothing interesting to say. Mostly just complaints about other people.
10) These cakes were about 70% more expensive than Das Meyer's.
11) She gave us plastic forks and presented her cakes on styrofoam.

I'll grant you that number 11 is probably not relevant. But once you get me started, it's hard to stop. Hear that, people? I hate plastic forks and styrofoam. So there. :P

Things That are Good, part 3 - Coffee Houses in Boulder

Generally, in order of my preference and/or my experience. (Related tangents, no?)

1) The Trident! Has wireless! But it has no power outlets (yet). It is, of course, on West Pearl Street. Early mornings the back room is a de facto reading room for scholarly types. At night the population generally shifts to a more youthful but mostly studying crowd. Afternoons, well, it's a tangy little melange of adults: tourists, local shop-keepers getting a fix, philosophy talkers, writers, etc.

2) Espressoria, Pearl Street, kitty-corner to Snarf's. Good access to mostly healthy food. Occasionally jammed with dance students.

3) Caffe Sole in Table Mesa, near Weaver's Dive Shop. "Study room" is awesome, in part because the patrons who use it expect quiet and are willing to enforce it.

4) Folsom Street Coffee, at Canyon and Folsom (remember Dunkin' Donuts? That's the spot.) Unreliable wireless, but there are two or three ethernet ports and they may have a cord you can borrow. Very comfy chairs. Jammed with CU students. If parking is an issue outside seating will be an issue inside, so it's good to cruise past and asess the lot before you commit to the inevitable U-turn around the traffic island on Canyon.

5) The cafe in the Dairy Center for the Performing Arts. Very cold air conditioning. Bring a sweater. Always interesting art. Power outlets are far away from the cafe tables - bring an extension cord.

6) Traveller's Cafe - across from the Pulse and the Boulder Bus station. Chairs are made of chain-link type metal welded together. Perhaps an incentive not to stay too long?

7) Brewing Market - BaseMar at Broadway and Baseline. Never tried their internet. I hear you have to re-log every 30 minutes. Sometimes jammed with law students. Excellent access to food - Wild Oats is right next door.

8) Allison Boutique - Pearl street near Foolish Craig's and Mountain Sun. Tiny. Never tried their internet.

9) Buchanan's on the hill. Never tried their internet. I hear there are limited power outlets - bring a splitter and an extension cord.

And if you're a true fan, apparently there's a blog for wireless coffee shops in Boulder -
http://www.nosenada.org/BoulderCoffee/

Things That are Stupendously and Inexpressibly Good

Emma and Logan were born today!
I was one of the first to bid them hello and welcome. (Ribs bursting with pride.)

Guess what I did today?

I'm writing the first prenuptial agreement of my legal career.

:) !

Of academics, privilege, and the practical world - what next?

The play "Third" is currently showing at the Denver Center for Performing Arts. We saw it last night - it was pretty accurate in its portrayal of a hackneyed, aging, liberal academic. The acting was particularly good - evocative of the real thing. It conjured for me my naive undergraduate self, and things I thought would be true about me and my year-2007-world. These things never materialized.

When I was an undergraduate I spent a lot of time pursuing comfort in the form of English Literature. I took Virginia Woolf's advice: “by hook or by crook" I found "money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.”

It sure was a good time.

I thought my life in 2007 would contain more of the same: I would become some sort of professional but my employment experience would continue to challenge my mind and give me plenty of opportunities for cerebral 'play.' The world of academia seemed to hold out the promise that if I read everything in the canon I would be a complete person, worthy of respect and a paycheck.

:)

The reality is, well . . . not like that. I got up this morning, saw my man off to work, bathed, watered the lawn, returned some library books, went to the grocery store, put away laundry, and now I'm sitting down to work. The rest of my day will be spent like this: do some maintenance on my daytimer, make birthday brownies, make phone calls to various court clerks and clients, continue work on an article intended to equip lawyers to pursue or defend corporate veil-piercing claims, write a letter to a client's bank begging for mercy and/or attempting to restructure some (in my view) unconscionable loans, drive up to the law library in Boulder to return books on tax-exempt entities and pick up a book on criminal procedure, meet with the partner at my firm to pick up a client's file, then rush back to Denver in time to share birthday dinner with a friend. Then, if there's time before I sleep, read a bit of the very practical, non-literary, practitioner-type books that move through my life: "Getting Things Done;" "Tongue-Fu, How to Deflect, Disarm, and Defuse a Verbal Conflict;" and "The Criminal Trial from Start to Finish in Colorado."

But I want to read the letters of Jane Austen! I want to read "Gravity's Rainbow!" I want to make a cozy space in a comfortable chair and read for 14 hours straight without stopping! I want "to travel and to idle!" I want to write and paint and read and rub my hands against the textures of this amazing sparkly opera all around me! But I've chosen to do something else. Virginia Woolf's advice is great for young women who've been kept in the dark about the world: she seems to be telling them to get 'selfish' if that's what it takes to pursue the privilege of education.

But Virginia Woolf's advice isn't relevant for young professional women. Once the privilege of education has been achieved, what next?

Sugar Shock

Today was the day of the great wedding cake tasting extravaganza at Das Meyer bakery in Arvada! Between the two of us we "tasted" eight flavors of wedding cake, looked at photographs and floor samples of extravagantly decorated, delicious-looking, and surprisingly inexpensive wedding cakes, and mulled the price tags of a great variety of sizes and flavors.

We tasted:
"Berries in a Cloud,"
Chocolate Carmel . . . something,
Creme Brulee,
Orange . . . something,
Lemon . . . something,
Chocolate chip,
Carrot cake, and
"White on white."

By "tasted" I mean they gave us a single plate with a full slice of each flavor. So basically, we each ate most of about four pieces of cake this afternoon. It's 7:30 p.m. and my head still hurts. Scott, bless him, drove us there and back. Then he crashed while I played "World of Warcraft" in a decidedly slumped and zombie-like state.

We have at least three more bakeries to try out - next time I'll be armed with protein.