You know how people who have been married to someone for a while can be both replused and endeared to a habit of their lover? For instance, let's say the wife likes to hum when she does the crossword puzzle on Sunday mornings. There's a point in the marriage where the husband has to get up and drink his coffee in another room because if she hums one more fucking time... But THEN, their marriage gets to a point where if she does NOT hum while doing the crossword puzzle, the husband gets all disconcerted and starts counting the children and making a serious inventory of his life because something is clearly missing. Then she starts to hum, and he's all good again.
Well, I have that kind of relationship with Denver.
There is so much to list about this city that I love, but to help set the mood, and to justify my deep feelings, here are a few:
- We live on the edge of the Rocky Mountains. To the East: Plains. To the West: Rockies. I love the dusting of snow in the hills, and how sometimes you get this gorgeous reflection on the hills back to the city when the sun rises. I love that I'm a twenty minute drive from a different climatic zone.
- It is sunny here at least 300 days per year. NO JOKE. That rocks.
- I love Mile High Stadium. I love walking down the ramps after the Broncos win, I love getting sunburned at a game in December. I love the view of the mountains on the one side, and watching people on the roller coasters at Elitches on the other. I love the feeling that you get, that you are a Denverite, when you get goosebumps on the season opener, and look out on the city, or the mountains (again, it depends on where you're sitting), and just feel like you're home.
- I love the casual-ness of the city. We are generally more laid back here, and to that, I say cheers.
- We love beer here. Fat Tire, Dale's Pale Ale. Our mayor is a brew-pub owner. We almost had a Coors child as a senator, but he's a punk, and we knew better.
Now for my weird dependent funky love thing about Denver:
When it is about to snow, the city smells like crap. And when I say crap, I mean it. It's like the stockyards of Kansas somehow are mystically transported to the Denver-Metro area. I can't explain it, but bring clouds, and 20 degree air to 5,280 feet above sea level and that's how you make eau de poop.
This morning, it had dusted snow, and all day flirted with the possibility of starting up again. We're supposed to get a good snow in the next day to two days (just in time for the three day weekend, right?). The Kid and I walk out of our house and to our car this morning and it was instantaneous. Oh, the snow poop smell, I thought, and then thought, Ah, how comforting. Yea! The snow-poop smell!
I told The Kid, "hey, it smells like snow!"
No sooner had I said this and The Kid grabs his sleeve and starts gagging. "UGH, mom! It smells like poop out here!"
So, 1) I now know I am no longer crazy and YES, indeed, the city smells like poop prior to a snowstorm, and 2) all is right with the world. Someday, The Kid will come to love the snow poop, ah, yes, he will...