Root Beer Revival: Root Tea Returns

Posted on November 16, 2010 by Beth

I love Bitter Bar. I love going there and saying things like, “Mix me a drink that will make me like whiskey.”

When I heard about the Root tea event, it sounded like my kind of thing: an old-timey drink, supposedly based on an Indian recipe that was taught to white settlers but then converted to nonalcoholic root beer after Prohibition began in 1920 (courtesy of the Volstead Act).

Root claims to be the “first true American Liqueur in nearly 100 years.” I don’t know how to evaluate such a sweeping claim, but I do know that Root is a product of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, an artists collective in Philadelphia named after Walter Benjamin’s famous essay and founded by Steven Grasse, whose career as an advertising executive exposed him to a tad too much commercialism.

Grasse “rebranded” his agency and started making Hendrick’s gin (which tastes like cucumbers) and Sailor Jerry rum. His latest projects are the Art in the Age store and gallery in Philadelphia, Root tea, and 72 acres of land in New Hampshire, which may become an organic farm someday.

In short, Root tea and Steven Grasse are just the kind of subjects I love to discover and share with the rest of the world on this blog and over at Restoration Nation: originals that combine sustainability and history and the kind of business savvy I admire. Grasse knows how to make liquor that tastes good, which is important to someone like me, who eats and drinks not to get full or get drunk but to find a flavor I love.

Todd and I were the second group to arrive at the Bitter Bar (which is attached to Happy noodle house in Boulder), and it wasn’t long before Mark Stoddard set down a shot of Root and plates of food from the happy hour menu.

Root smelled sweet but tasted spicy. My first impression was of licorice, and the recipe does include star anise. The first cocktail was dominated by the ginger beer, in addition to the lime and mint, prompting Todd to comment that the mixologists at Bitter Bar love their ginger.

There were about ten of us by this time, so Nam, who goes around the country promoting Root tea, and Laura Price, director of PR, talked for a bit about the history of the liqueur, which is manufactured by Modern Spirits in California from organic ingredients. I, of course, asked them why, if Root was an indigenous liqueur, it included cardamon and cinnamon and nutmeg (which are not native to the Americas, unlike other ingredients such as sugarcane, spearmint, wintergreen, and birch bark*). I wanted to know what ingredients were in the original Pennsylvania folk recipe, but I suppose even that recipe would have departed from the original Indian recipe, whatever it was. Still, I wish I could trace it all the way back.

My favorite snack was the pork buns (bao buns), much less bready than those served at a dim sum restaurant and with a filling to die for. They came with sriracha aioli, which was good but unnecessary. (But what is up with those plates? The pattern makes it difficult to create any contrast with the food. They’re camouflage plates.) I also tried kimchi for the first time, a bright red, spicy, cabbage concoction that I loved (see the back of the picture, by the scallion). The pickled beets were cooling and had a firm texture, whereas the veggie crepes (not pictured) tasted like curry and had the consistency of baked squash. The salmon nigiri were all right, but the flavor of the sweet potato rice competed with the fish.

The second drink, which mixed Root with rye whiskey over allspice dram and apple cider ice cubes (left, at the top), was my favorite, although I liked the sweetness of the third drink pictured to the right (Root, yellow chartreuse, cranberry compote, maple bitters, over the Bitter Bar’s handmade special ice cubes) better than the antiseptic flavor of the first (the cocktail with the ginger beer).

As always, the staff at Bitter Bar impressed me with their knowledge and skill, and the people from Root made an effort to speak with everyone at the event. I wanted to leave a large tip, which all of them richly deserved, but was gently encouraged not to. Todd and I estimated the food and drinks were worth at least $50 per person, so if you have a chance to attend a Root tasting, I suggest you do so. It’s a great deal.

*Birch bark replaces sarsaparilla root, used in root beer, and also possibly sassafras bark. Someone at the tasting asked a question about the latter, which is banned by the Food and Drug Administration because it is a carcinogen.

Food Photography with Jennifer Olson at Euclid Hall

Posted on November 4, 2010 by Beth

I’ve been posting photographs of food on my blog for two years now, but I’ve noticed the results are hit-or-miss, to put it charitably. When I heard about a food photography class being taught by Jennifer Olson (author of Colorado Organic and a member of Boulder Media Women), I signed up.

The 14 members of the class met at Euclid Hall to try to capture the beauty of that new Denver restaurant’s food (but, sadly, not to eat it). We met Beth Gruitch, one of the owners of Euclid Hall, Rioja, and Bistro Vendôme. I learned that Olson helped Gruitch open Rioja but hadn’t thought of being a food photographer until she got out of the restaurant business. We also met Chris, the sous-chef at Euclid Hall, and Chris Caldes, a food stylist.

I’d say I was one of the least-experienced people in the class. For example, the woman on my left (also named Beth) was a product photographer. The man on my right had a cool gadget called an L bracket that allows you to move the camera from horizontal to vertical without changing your stance.

After a talk about the basics of photography, Olson got us up and moving around and messing with our food. Here’s a typical shot by me, respectful of the food. And, oooh, look at those beautiful patterns of light on the dish and on the chair!

Nice red and orange sprinkles, too. But what flavor is it, exactly?Oh, I see, it’s red velvet. (Too bad the only thing in this picture that’s sharp at all is the reflection on the fork.) I like both these photos for different reasons, but this class made me realize that paying too much attention to shape or pattern may obscure the best qualities of the dish. Also, Olson pointed out that a lens around 50 mm is best suited for food photography. But because I saw other students climbing up on chairs and shooting with long lenses, I used my 70-200 mm lens for this shot (1/200, f4.5).

I fell into this trap again with the bone marrow. I was thinking so hard about making it interesting that I forgot to highlight the food itself: the marrow. How did those onions get up there? Did they teleport? Look how they’re hanging there so casually, as if they belong. So I tried to fix it (keep in mind, I’m still using the long lens here, f4.5, but a slow shutter speed).That’s better, but the marrow isn’t really in focus; the onions are. And the pretty lemons in back also distract from the subject. Time to simplify.When I showed Jennifer Olson this photograph, she complimented me on the composition but said she wanted the foreground to be sharp. She also pointed out that she was seeing more bone than marrow. When I told her what lens I was using, she suggested I switch to my kit lens (18–55 mm).I tried to recapture the composition above (I love that gray background—maybe it’s another student’s jeans?), but I couldn’t. I think this one is nicely composed, but next time I’ll turn the bone so the marrow is more prominent and shoot at f8 so the marrow is in focus.

I took a couple of photographs in class I thought were successes. Here’s one of my favorites as far as sharpness goes, though the subject is relentlessly brown.Remember that pretty half-lemon from one of the bone marrow shots? I also took one with that, but then the photo was about the lemon, not the fish and chips. This next photo is brighter.Nice variety of colors; someone else moved the green bean to the front. I think next time I would put the fork somewhere else. In fact, I wonder if using silverware as a prop is a cliché.

At the end, Olson critiqued our photos. She was far more generous with praise of my photos than I am here, which made me happy. I’d like to take a private class with her sometime.

What I learned:

First of all, it’s OK to play with your food. It’s OK to stand up in the aisle to take a better photo, as long as you’re not blocking the servers or patrons.
Second, those glistening brown turkeys you see in magazines? Raw. Really, even when they look so crispy? So the photo designed to make you eat the food is of food you can’t eat.
Third, the trend right now in food photography is to focus on the foreground while leaving your aperture wide open. Only the front of the dish will be sharp. (Most of the time, I prefer more depth of field.)
Fourth, use natural light. If you must use flash, improvise a diffuser to avoid harsh shadows.
Fifth, consider buying an assistant on a stick (that is, a pole to which you can clip a diffuser or reflector).
Sixth, a good food styling kit includes tweezers (to move stuff around), scissors, sponges to wipe away messes and prop up food, syringes and spray bottles to apply water, a set of baking rounds to hold food, and perhaps some cheesecloth to cover the flash if you don’t have a diffuser.

Zombie, Zombie, Zombie…

Posted on October 28, 2010 by Beth

I took so many cool pictures last Saturday at the Denver Zombie Crawl that I decided to put a bunch of ‘em up on the blog. There were many other great zombies on the 16th Street Mall, but eventually I got tired of holding up my camera. (Please note these photographs are the property of Beth Partin and may not be reproduced or used elsewhere without my express permission.) The woman with the magenta hair, whose face is half-hidden, is my favorite. I loved her face and her makeup job. But she seemed to dislike my taking pictures of her, so I finally gave up. The portrait of her with the wrapped zombie is the best one I got. Tell me which one you like best.

Mabel’s: New Café in Colby, Kansas

Posted on October 26, 2010 by Beth

I must do one more Kansas post before I’m done with the state for now. I must. I know you’re thinking, Beth, get over your obsession with this incredibly flat, dull state. So here’s a newsflash: Eastern Colorado is flatter than Kansas. It takes all the strength of mind I have to drive through eastern Colorado without screaming the entire way just to stay awake. Without a frost to turn the ground silver, or some great clouds, driving eastern Colorado along I-70 is a snooze.

Western Kansas is also flatter than the rest of Kansas, but at least it has Goodland and a giant reproduction of a Van Gogh painting by Canadian artist Cameron Cross.

And Colby.

I last left you after a whirlwind tour through the Prairie Museum of Art and History in Colby. When I was done photographing Barbies, and they had turned off the lights again, I asked for some dinner recommendations. First they offered some of the fast food joints along the highway, but when I persisted, they mentioned a new place in downtown Colby: Mabel’s.

The day I ate dinner, Mabel’s had been open two days. My server said they had been packed for lunch. And it’s no wonder. In the four blocks that radiate outward from the center of downtown, you can find B Hive Bar & Grill, Salads and Subs, two jewelry stores, three furniture stores, a hospice, Wings upon the Prairie (social services), Stock Realty and Auction, and an art gallery. Perhaps Colby is a kind of urban hub in western Kansas.

Downtown Colby needs Mabel’s, and I needed dinner, so everyone was happy. I ordered the Indian taco, which was good, if a bit different from what I’ve had in the Four Corners area. It came on a fried flour tortilla instead of frybread, the beans were refried, not whole, and I’m pretty sure the salsa was Pace. The tortilla was crispy on the outside and soft inside, and I liked the radishes and purple cabbage. (If I had taken this photo after Saturday’s food photography class, I would have rearranged the lettuce so that you could actually see the ground beef.) The server told me that was the first Indian taco they’d served. I guess the standard American fare on the menu is more popular.

My server was a good saleswoman, convincing me to order coconut cream pie, which had very, very fluffy meringue. As you can see, the cream was a bit runny, and the crust was a little hard, but I liked it because it was not too sweet. Apparently the cook makes everything in Mabel’s from scratch but has no dessert plates.

Mabel’s is definitely worth checking out. I wish the owners the best of luck, and I hope that downtown Colby sprouts more locally owned restaurants.

How to Find Barbie Dolls in Kansas

Posted on October 19, 2010 by Beth

Last week it was Nicodemus; this week it’s Colby, Kansas, right where Highway 24 runs into I-70. I went there for one reason: The Prairie Museum of Art and History, which I’d last visited in the spring 2007. It hadn’t changed much. The museum building, seen here from the back, is a dugout,

but many exhibits await outside, including a few live ones.Buildings from western Kansas dot the site. Volunteers built this sod house in 1984, but it contains furnishings from the late nineteenth century. On my 2007 trip through Kansas down to the Gulf Coast of Texas, I photographed the interior of the schoolroom. I think I may have sat at a desk like that in grade school. My main destination was the Cooper Barn, the largest barn in Kansas and one of the Eight Wonders of Kansas Architecture.
Inside it exhibits old cars, farm equipment, and lots and lots of cobwebs and dust. Upstairs is a room large enough to use for dances. I really enjoy wandering around historical museums like this one. I wish I’d arrived earlier in the day, but I wouldn’t have missed Nicodemus for the world. When I walked back into the museum, they had turned off the lights. I begged the staff to turn them back on so I could photograph Nellie Kuska’s collection of Barbies of color. Not the first thing you’d expect to see in Kansas, is it? And it’s only a small part of her doll collection, which is only a small part of her entire collection. That’s why tiny museums are worth a look—you’ll always find some odd detail that changes your view of the place.

“I Just Blown Here” to Nicodemus, Kansas

Posted on October 12, 2010 by Beth

Driving back from Kansas City to Denver at the end of September, I decided to go north to Highway 24, avoiding the tedium of driving I-70 four times in one month. Happily, Highway 24 lacks political signage and goes by 4 wildlife areas. I didn’t stop at any of them, though I was tempted.

The one place that did stop me was one I didn’t know existed: Nicodemus, the first western town built by and for African American settlers. It was founded in 1877, the year Reconstruction ended. No surprise there, or in the fact that the backlash against Reconstruction was severe enough to drive black families from the South to Kansas, Oklahoma (Boley), Colorado (Dearfield), and California (Allensworth).

Nicodemus is the oldest continuously inhabited African American town west of the Mississippi, though only 30 people live there, most of them retired. It is also the only such town designated as a national historic site (part of the national park system).

If you want to visit Nicodemus, the best time to do so might be the last weekend in July, when they hold their annual Emancipation Day celebration. At other times, it’s a sleepy, tiny town on the high plains of northwestern Kansas.

But it wasn’t always that way. In the late 1870s, boosters described Kansas as the Promised Land to southern blacks who could see the Jim Crow handwriting on the wall and wanted to find a safe place to live and possibly own land. Kansas attracted them because it had been admitted to the union as a free state after a bitter, bloody fight between Jayhawks (who wanted Kansas to be a free state) and Bushwhackers (who wanted Kansas to be a slave state).

The Nicodemus town company was registered by 6 black men and 1 white man a week before the end of Reconstruction in 1877, taking its name from a fictional African slave portrayed in the song, “Wake, Nicodemus!”

As was typical of advertisements directed at homesteaders in those days, Nicodemus was marketed as the perfect place to farm and raise a family. What settlers found when they arrived shocked them: people living in dugout homes, treeless prairies, and less-than-fertile soil. Some, like Willina Hickman, cried when they realized the smoke rising out of the ground came from fires in dugout homes. Ernestine Van Duvall said, “They told us in Kentucky they were bringing us to the Promised Land. I wouldn’t ask no one to come here like it is. I just blown here; I just come here, and this is home.” Others turned right around and returned to Kentucky or other points east and south.

But those who stayed helped swell the town’s population to the hundreds, and it might have grown still larger had Union Pacific Railroad not bypassed the town in the late 1880s. Afterward, businesses began to move out of Nicodemus, though the town was still building a church and a school in the early 1900s.

Finding Nicodemus delighted me, and I would love to see it restored, to see people moving there again to farm. In this day and age, I don’t know what that would take. Town residents are doing everything they can to preserve the remaining buildings and keep Nicodemus’s history alive. A walking tour goes by the St. Francis Hoteland the First Baptist Church,which clearly has some structural problems.Some of the information in this post was gleaned from Nicodemus National Historic Site by Judith Fertig, published by the Western National Parks Association in 2003.

For more about Dearfield, Colorado, which celebrated its 100th anniversary this year, see my August 2009 post, “Black American West Museum, Part III.”

Romance on Brush Creek in Kansas City

Posted on October 7, 2010 by Beth

I couldn’t resist just one last post on the Plaza Art Fair. When I was growing up there in the 1970s, Brush Creek was just a narrow ribbon of water channelized in concrete. Now it spreads from bank to bank, though it’s still as restrained as Cherry Creek in Denver.

Note the boat pulled up there at the dock. Couples can rent a gondola from Ambiance on the Water. Check out my other posts about the art at the 2010 Plaza Art Fair, and about the food at the Plaza Art Fair.

Art and Nourishment in Kansas City, Part 2

Posted on October 5, 2010 by Beth

The first artist whose work stopped me at the Plaza Art Fair: Suzy Scarborough.

I will remember Betsy Youngquist‘s art for its detailed beadwork and eerie quality. I had the idea that food writer Denveater would like it, especially Penguin Boy. I thought some of her pieces were stunning, but I have to confess: I don’t think I could have them in my house. If I’m alone in the house, and there is a statue on a table, I will start thinking it’s looking at me. Same for a painting with a face looking out. Nevertheless, I loved this pelican. Moving here from birds of the sea to sea creatures (though I’m not sure where the gnome fits into that, or the propane tank in the background, for that matter). Thanks, Fred, for making art from recycled materials. Go to his Sugarpost website and play Gnome-Be-Gone.Is this Robot-Gumby, or some other character altogether? Most of all, I enjoyed the expressions on the faces of the people passing by.Finally, you can’t have an art fair without free entertainment, via this violinist-busker.The first post in this series presents some of the food at the 2010 Plaza Art Fair.

Art and Nourishment in Kansas City, Part 1

Posted on October 1, 2010 by Beth

A week ago Friday, after hauling my dad to the lawyer, where nothing much was accomplished for a couple hundred bucks an hour, and then hanging out at Dad’s apartment doing his laundry, I needed a break. I headed down to the Plaza Art Fair, a three-day event on the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City.

Food was my first priority, and my famished state may excuse my inability to remember exactly which restaurant sold me these Cajun Rice Fritters, which were hot and light and laced with herbs. Because I thought I’d bought them at Figlio’s booth, I compared them to the arancini I had at Panzano in Denver, much more dense and infused with cheese.

I even offered one to the couple who joined me at a table, one of whom had grown up in Denver. They liked them as much as I did.

Continuing on the Cajun+rice theme, I then turned to my Gumbo Z’Herbs, thick with okra and tomatoes and greens and offering just a little spiciness.

It’s also possible these snacks came from Starker’s Restaurant, one of the last privately owned restaurants on the Plaza. Certainly Starker’s menu has more Cajun food in it, though Figlio’s catering offers a Bourbon Street selection.

Once nourished, I left the KC couple behind and headed down to Brush Creek to sit under this bridge on top of which a band was playing.

At least I know where this lemon truffle came from: Christopher Elbow chocolates, sold at Hall’s Department Store. It wasn’t identified as Meyer lemon, but the cream and gel filling certainly tasted like it. Of the caramel infusions I bought with it (raspberry, rosemary, and ginger), the ginger was my favorite.

Eating a handful of sweets should decompress anyone, but I think variety really helped me that Friday night. During my last two visits to Kansas City, I spent most of my time out south, in the deadening suburbs that seem to stretch to the western end of Kansas.The Plaza has fallen victim to the chains as well, but during the art fair it’s not so noticeable. It was good to walk in a crowd interested in individual expression instead of sameness.

And good hair doesn’t hurt either. Tyson Leslie here, playing bass in the band 90 Minutes, reminds me of a character in Reservation Blues: Junior, president of the Native American Hair Club.

***

Another post, with closeup pictures of the art at the 2010 Plaza Art Fair, to follow soon.

Some Forms of Life Are Protected

Posted on September 20, 2010 by Beth

I was driving through Kansas last Tuesday night, wondering how I could avoid the anti-abortion signs “gracing” I-70, most of them between Hays and Russell.

I decided to drive south from Hays on Wednesday and go through Great Bend. That way I could get a coffee drink at Java John’s in McPherson, Kansas, a town I had enjoyed on my 2007 birding trip.

At first it seemed to be a good choice. I had to turn around and go back to photograph this sign. Don’t we all want “experienced” equipment? I know I do.

But then I realized the sign craziness extended south of I-70, all the way to Highways 96 and even 156. I’ve heard that one person funds these signs, but I think there is more to it. They’re spread out over a large area. So even if 1 person is paying to rent those billboards, all the landowners go along with it.

Here’s a note to the sign maker: your signs are not having the desire effect on me, a pro-choicer since age 16. When I pass a sign that reads, “Abortion stops a beating heart,” I think, “Well, so does running over a squirrel in your car.”

Then I begin to wonder if insects have heartbeats. Do I stop a beating heart when I swat a mosquito?

Another sign I passed asked, “What is the cost of abortion? 1 human life!” And I think, “Well, a back-alley abortion kills the baby and the mother. That’s two.” If that woman had been able to obtain a legal abortion, only 1 human being would have died.

This sign made me laugh. Note the orca and bald eagle representing “protected” life.

There are nearly 7 billion people on this planet. We are not in any danger of going extinct. (And neither is the bald eagle, recently removed from the Endangered Species List. Please update your sign.) If I had to choose between saving 1 human life and saving a species, I’d go for the species every time.

I know my responses are not “proper” or “kind.” But then, neither is a sign imposing religious views on me as I drive down the highway. I would not feel any better if the sign said “Death to rapists” or “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” The only signs I want to see along the highway are “Rest Area 1 mile” or “Food Gas Lodging” or something about quilting stores.

I don’t want to see ads for adult bookstores either, but apparently the state of Kansas and Lions Den can’t leave well enough alone.

I’m forced to conclude the people sponsoring these signs don’t want dialogue. They don’t really want to change my mind. They want to preach to their own choir, or they want to make pro-choicers feel bad.

Does anyone out there know if other states have collections of anti-abortion signs?

How Genre Fiction Helps My Social Life

Posted on September 14, 2010 by Beth

Last Friday I attended my first writing conference in years. Oddly enough, the very first seminar I attended suggested that the novel I’m writing may very well be a paranormal romance novel.

(A paranormal romance novel is, apparently, any romance novel that uses elements of fantasy or scifi. Someone at the conference said any novel with aliens falls into the scifi genre, but I just read a book titled Heart Mate that takes place on an Earthlike planet where magical ability determines status, and it certainly read like a romance novel.)

I haven’t yet accepted that classification of my novel; if I never can, I’ll do what’s necessary to shift the novel over to the science fiction side. Right now, the genre of the thing doesn’t matter to me: I really want to finish a draft because I spent so long plotting the damn thing.

It’s my second appearance at this conference, the Colorado Gold Conference put on by Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. This time, I didn’t pitch my novel because I’ve written only 50 pages of it, but the first time I did, and the ebook publisher told me that earlier novel fit into the paranormal category. I don’t know what’s going on here: I got my master’s degree in English/creative writing at a school that focused on experimental writing, and apparently I’ve progressed to paranormal.

Somebody tell me what that means.

I attended four great talks at this conference, by Robin D. Owens, Connie Willis, Carol Berg, and Jaxine Daniels. But much as I love listening to learn (and Connie Willis’s knowledge of books and movies was breathtaking), such things don’t count as true adventure for this woman. No, it’s the social activities that challenge me.

So I’d like to thank Sex Scenes at Starbucks for taking good care of me at the dinners and parties. (I may skip the Saturday night dinner next time, but that’s not her fault; the program is loooooong.) She always has the time and energy to meet new people at the conference and show old friends around. At the hospitality suite Saturday night, we met another woman from Kansas City who traveled 600 miles because she heard RMFW’s conference was that good.

If you write genre fiction, check it out next year. It’s always in September.

Fourmile Canyon Fire

Posted on September 8, 2010 by Beth

On Monday I walked around Walden Ponds, birding. I had planned to be there the day before, for First Sunday birding with the Boulder Bird Club, but I had stayed up too late Saturday night and couldn’t get out of bed Sunday morning. So here I was, wandering slanted paths between a couple of gravel-pits-turned-ponds, when I noticed the birds were skulking and the air was hazy despite the fierce winds.

As I rounded the turn where the great horned owls nest in the winter, at about 11 o’clock, I smelled smoke and saw it in the air. It took a few moments for my mind to process the facts: It can’t be a controlled burn, I said to myself. It’s too windy today for any sensible person to set a fire. It must be a wildfire.

Smoke obscured some of the mountains; I couldn’t locate the exact source of the fire. I walked quickly back to the parking lot, and when I got home to Broomfield, my husband was listening to the police radio. People were searching for a large group of kids camping somewhere in the vicinity of the fire, in Fourmile Canyon.

I was planning to write this post about the small events of the past week, a series of slight mishaps that could have been averted with more thought. I wanted to connect my tendency to avoid planning to my ambitions to travel, and how I knew unplanning would get me into trouble at some point. I wondered if I would be able to cope.

But then I heard, via a networking group, of a woman whose home burned while she was in Seattle. She didn’t get a chance to save even a few things. After that, I wasn’t in the mood to write about a concert, or a meal, or a movie.

Travel presents opportunities for growth. So do sudden events that rearrange our lives. I haven’t been subject to many of them, and for that I’m grateful.

Blessings to those who live in Fourmile Canyon and the other areas affected by the fire.

Women’s Groups: Do We Still Need Them?

Posted on September 1, 2010 by Beth

I’m supposed to be celebrating small adventures on this blog until I manage to have some bigger ones. In that spirit, I’ll begin this post with last night’s inaugural meeting of the Colorado Women’s Blogging Group, hosted by Beth Hayden. By the end, I think you’ll agree my subject is a large issue after all.

At least 40 of us crowded into a room at Boulder Digital Arts to talk about our blogs and listen to Beth’s presentation on search engine optimization (SEO). There was diversity of subject, from SEO to women’s health to “thriving, not just surviving” to Claire Walter’s blogs on Colorado cuisine and travel news to my rather garbled explanation of Restoration Nation. And those from half the room; people were almost done introducing themselves when I arrived late.

The real adventure, for me, is to see how women’s groups are still thriving in a metro area that’s considered to be rather progressive and has lower unemployment figures than much of the country. In July I attended the inaugural meeting of an editors group, and although most there didn’t call for it to be exclusively a women’s group, there were no men in attendance.

I don’t think I would call these groups consciousness-raising groups, since they don’t necessarily embrace gender issues, yet I find it notable that there are still so many of them, more than 40 years after the second wave of the feminist movement began in the 1960s. So many despite the fact that “feminist” became a bad word decades ago and still needs to be reclaimed. For example, I was just reading the August 2010 issue of the Denver Voice, the magazine sold by homeless people in the Denver Metro area, and the article “Pink Collar Glam” had the following comments about feminism: “Christine and I were just talking about feminism in the 70′s as being so angry and trying to be more like a man, very masculine. We think feminism should embrace femininity more. And not try to be so dominant, but being comfortable with the fact that we are women.”

I can just imagine feminists of the 1970s frothing at the mouth at the thought that they weren’t feminine. They were trying to EXPAND the definition of femininity. And if they were trying to dominate someone, they were doing so because they were tired of being dominated by men.

And then the interviewer replies: “Yeah, that wave of feminism in the 60′s and 70′s was somewhat of a failure because it was too angry and reactionary. It doesn’t make sense to counteract oppression by trying to re-oppress something else.”

I had to laugh at this author calling feminism reactionary. Look up the word, please. It means “ultraconservative.” It refers to retrenchment, not what 1960s feminism was about. Those women wanted, for example, to be able to apply for jobs and not be told, “We don’t hire women.” They weren’t trying to oppress anyone, though they may have been clueless about the needs of women of color and lesbians.

Todd and I talked about this subject today at lunch. He said if someone tried to put together a group of male programmers, for instance, people would laugh at the idea that men have more commonalities than differences. Apparently, women still feel they have more commonalities than differences. Is that a result of a second-class position in society, or have we simply gotten into the habit of thinking women’s groups will help us?

I told him about the comment I recently heard (from a woman) that women are more emotional than men. That’s nonsense: there are more emotional individuals, not more emotional sexes. If women seem more emotional than men, it’s because they are raised to express their emotions, not because they have more of them.

And then I remembered the almost-all-male fiction workshop I took through Lighthouse Writers, run by Viet Dinh. My young female character got called a tramp by another writer because she had sex with her boyfriend fairly soon after they met. Yet the very next week, when a man presented a story about a male character going to a prostitute, no one made any disparaging comments about the character. No one, including me, had the courage to point out that double standard. Instead, I quit the class and lost my money.

I’m not sure what’s going on here. Am I noticing sexism more because I’m older, or has sexism flowered in the last few years? I would have expected Hillary Clinton’s run for president to have reduced sexism, but I think it may have increased it. Perhaps it was the prospect that her campaign presented of women gaining so much power over men.

Of course, if women don’t get together in groups, how will they fight sexism? It’s not a fight that can be won on a individual level.

What do you think? Have you noticed more sexism lately? If so, what do you think is causing the increase?

The Couchsurfers of August

Posted on August 26, 2010 by Beth

For two years I’ve been a member of HouseCarers, a service that unites people who need housesitters with those who want to be the warm body in the house while its owners travel. I’ve never done a housesit, even though I know I need a good reputation on that site to get the best gigs. But this summer, I have hosted couchsurfers, and it’s been fun.

I was a little nervous about it at first. Our first couchsurfer was a photographer who shows his work in Taos but otherwise travels around the country in his van, taking pictures and camping and hiking. He’s done that for about 12 years. The Friday we spent in the same house, he was so quiet I got the urge to check on him. When I did, I found him charging batteries and such. We gave him a key one night when we were going to be out having dinner. Saturday he left to pick up his friend at the airport and take him to camping, as he put it.

Todd hosted a couchsurfer who sent out an emergency message looking for a place to stay on short notice.

And then last weekend both of us hosted 4 friends from California. They have been taking vacations together for a year or two, and at least one of them is trying to get to all 50 states.

Their schedule was intense. They planned to fly in Friday, drive across Colorado Saturday to raft the Colorado River in Glenwood Springs, drive back and see roller derby with us Saturday night, leave toward the end of the game and begin their drive to South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore, come back Sunday night, go tubing on Boulder Creek Monday morning, and then fly back to California.

It’s definitely not my style of travel, but I think they did a good job of seeing Colorado in a short time. They visited the Front Range, including Rocky Mountain National Park; drove through the mountains and back again; and saw the northern plains (though mostly in the dark). Mount Rushmore was included because they didn’t know when they would get this close to it again.

They were a lot of fun and very inclusive. They invited us to breakfast and other Monday morning adventures, so we got to hear stories from their other trips. And they were generous: when they found out my birthday was Tuesday, they bought me a cake and some gift cards. The cake was yummy. I had 3 pieces on Tuesday.

It reminded me that couchsurfers are a new breed of traveler, interested above all in making connections.

Plate Lunch in Denver Two Times

Posted on August 24, 2010 by Beth

Starbucks latte and shortbread cookies do not really qualify as palate cleansers, but then again, I’m talking latte between two episodes of Hawaiian gorging. Plate lunch is not a refined food, so I may as well chase it with espresso.

On the way south to Golden, where Hawaiian Hut Barbeque is located, I had an iPhone episode. Google Maps works fine for me on the Blackberry, but I quail before the options on Todd’s phone. I read him a list of icons from the screen and asked what to do. Finally he pulled over and looked at it himself. Then he said, “Oh, you had it in pedestrian mode.” What kind of phone has pedestrian mode, anyway? I guess I should take a college-level course to figure out Apple’s intuitive design for this phone. I can’t help it, people; it flummoxes me.

I wonder if repeated iPhone episodes have ever propelled a couple into divorce court. It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to see how many times I could bounce the damn thing. (But, Grandmother, what a big screen you have!)

The first sign all is not right with HH BBQ: it sits just inside a home furnishings store. I suppose that’s not so much weirder than Rise and Shine being inside/next to a pizza shop. I ordered Loco Moco and Todd ordered chicken katsu.

Then the gods of food sent the second sign: the fire alarm went off. Apparently the heat-detecting smoke alarm over the stove had not been set high enough. While Todd and I stood far enough away from the alarm to be able to converse and a couple of firemen ambled over from the fire station next door, I took this picture of the building, which used to be a bowling alley.

The food came in styrofoam takeout containers with 1 large compartment and 2 small ones. The large section was lined with gooey white rice, topped by two hamburger patties (made in-house, according to our waiter), brown gravy, and two fried eggs. Another scoop of rice and a scoop of macaroni salad (made with fish flakes or canned tuna, I think), filled the other two compartments.

The first few bites pleased me, mostly because of their heat and the general gooeyness, but that soon gave way to the canned taste of the gravy. I ate both eggs and 1 burger, but I quickly got disenchanted with separating the rice from the styrofoam. Ever since a garlic pasta incident in the early 1990s—let’s just say Tagamet was involved—I prefer my food to have no contact with styrofoam.

Todd’s chicken katsu was dry and hard, but he liked the sauce and the macaroni salad. A sample of kahlua pork tasted mostly of liquid smoke, which Todd said was used to disguise the fact it wasn’t really smoked Hawaiian-style (wrapped in leaves and put in a pit to cook for a long time).

The best thing about Hawaiian Hut BBQ was the friendly staff. All three people there were attentive. The women’s bathroom, however, was not well thought out (sign number 3).

I suggested to Todd that we visit Oasis Grill, which a friend of ours had recommended as having good Hawaiian food. It’s in Aurora, but I figured that we were already in south Denver. Why not swing around to the eastern edge of the metro area?

Todd thought it was a crazy idea at first, but then he unexpectedly agreed, if I promised not to have any more iPhone episodes.

We found Oasis Grill in one of many strip malls but didn’t go in right away; instead, we went in search of a coffee shop. And then Todd realized the Starbucks was located 2 doors down from L&L’s, yet another Hawaiian place. (I don’t understand why wig stores and Hawaiian food concentrate on the southern edge of the Denver Metro area. Can anyone enlighten me?)

We hatched an even crazier plan: to sample food from 3 Hawaiian restaurants in one afternoon. Let the indigestion begin!

At L&L Hawaiian Barbecue, a chain with over 200 franchises, the fast food setting seemed more fitting for plate lunch, and the large pictures of Hawaiian landscapes reminded me of my honeymoon. I was disappointed that L&L also serves its food in styrofoam takeout containers: so far I was up to 5 styrofoam containers in one day.

But the food impressed me from the first bite. The rice was sticky, not gooey; the macaroni salad was a creamy yellow color, heavy on the mayo; and the BBQ chicken tasted of teriyaki, slightly sweet and tender. Todd liked the kahlua pork better, declaring it “more real.”

Then we packed up and returned to Oasis Grill. Once we skirted the pool table and talked to a waitress, we discovered the kitchen was closed. The staff there also does catering, and this Saturday they were off-site.

I can see another trip to Aurora in my future.

For a review of Da Hawaiian Grill, the kitchen at Oasis Grill, see Ruth Tobias’s post in Denver magazine.

Exploring the East Side of Kansas City

Posted on August 17, 2010 by Beth

On Friday my brother and I moved my father into the apartment where he’ll be staying for two weeks. If he likes the place, he may move there permanently. I had a long day of doing family stuff, but my sister worked Friday from 7:30 am to 6 or so and then helped Dad with various things. I left his apartment at 9 pm, and she didn’t get home until about midnight.

On Saturday, I took a bit of a break and drove around eastern Kansas City looking for the swimming hole my father and his friends swam in when they were kids. He said it was in the Blue River near 53rd and Hardesty and had a large tree growing out of it.

View Hardesty Ave & E 53rd St in a larger map
In the 1930s, when my father was riding his bike from his house on 39th and Benton to the swimming hole, the area south of 27th was called the South Side. (You can still see “South Side” signs in Kansas City; there’s one on Wornall near 75th.) Benton lies between Prospect and Cleveland; after it runs through Brush Creek Park, it ends at Swope Parkway.

I got lost a few times on the east side of Kansas City. I went too far north on Emanuel Cleaver Boulevard and found a remnant of Hardesty, but not the one I wanted. Google Maps directed me back south to Elmwood and the Blue Parkway and another remnant of Hardesty, where I drove to the end of 53rd Street and could see the Blue River sparkling below. There seemed to be no easy way to get down to it, though, and I wasn’t dressed for trekking through the brush. Also, I felt awkward poking around at the end of this narrow street.

I tried driving to the end of 51st Street but was stopped by two gates and what looked like a gravel pit below.

By then I was pretty frustrated, but Google gave me an idea: I could cross the Blue River and try to find Brighton Avenue (also called Denver Avenue), which ran north-south on its west side. When I crossed the river on Blue Parkway, I saw a fenced-off gravel road to the left just past the river, right where Brighton should be, but the first street I could actually drive up was Lawn. That road was so steep I had to force myself to keep going, and then I found myself in another maze of streets. I could have driven south and tried to access Brighton from 59th, but it was 5 pm, and I wanted to get back south.

I didn’t tell Dad about my trek. Instead, I decided I’d write a letter to the Kansas City Star and ask if any readers remembered the swimming hole.

Getting Warm

Posted on August 11, 2010 by Beth

This morning I walked the Santa Fe Trace trail behind my sister’s house, armed with one of my father’s canes. I took it not to lean on but to use as a weapon against any cobwebs that might ensnare me.

I must have torn down 5 cobwebs on a trail about two blocks in length through a remnant forest. Maybe more. I scared away a fawn, and I puzzled over the call of a bird that might have been a woodpecker, but what I remember was the threat of cobwebs: wielding the cane horizontally and vertically across the path to clear the webs and yet still lurching to a stop when a spider in its intricate web entered my peripheral vision.

And I thought, I’m glad there is no one else on this path, watching me wave this cane around as if it were an overgrown dowsing rod. I have become such a chicken.

Truth be told, I’m less afraid of spiders than I used to be. Occasionally I even spare the ones in my house, in my space; the small ones. Those outside, in their space, I let alone.

But that doesn’t mean I want to walk into their webs.

There is more life east of the 100th meridian. More trees, the street canopy of my childhood; more bugs; definitely more humidity. It’s been about 18 years since I spent a summer in the Midwest.

And I thought, My life in Colorado is so sanitized.

Perhaps this is the visit of revelations, or at least the visit of shrugging at uncomfortable truths.

That my father can’t take care of himself anymore and doesn’t want to admit it. And I do so wish to indulge him because I’m used to having him be stronger.

That being the baby of my family has made my life easier. Living in another state, I don’t have to deal with my father’s decline on a daily or weekly basis. I can swoop in, feel useful, and go home. Must be nice, eh?

So why does it cause me so much anxiety?

The Feminist Versus the Electrician

Posted on August 3, 2010 by Beth

Finally this month I called an electrician to fix a switch that’s been going out for months. I come from a long line of procrastinators, but that’s not the only reason I took so long: I don’t like letting strangers into my house.

Not strangers at one of my parties (I meet them, and then they are friends), but specifically, strangers who arrive at my door to fix things.

In this case, I was anticipating embarrassment weeks in advance, because I wanted the electrician to investigate the mysterious, intermittent noise in my master bathroom (not a noise I’m making, thank you very much). It’s rhythmic, like a drip, but when I stand in the shower, I can clearly hear it coming from the fan over my head. And I never hear it when the shower is on.

I told this to the receptionist at WireNut, and she noted it. But she also talks in the reassuring voice one uses for children. I’m pretty sure she was talking that way before I mentioned the noise and the tiny entrance to my attic…

When E stepped into my house, he put hairnets on his shoes and I led him to the bathroom, where I explained that the switch was going out and that I would like him to investigate this noise. With a straight face, he said he would listen for it and that he would check out the attic. And then he gave me an estimate of $168.

The noise chose to be silent while E was here. Nevertheless, he climbed up through the closet into the attic (What is this, Narnia?) and looked at the fan from the top and discovered all the things amiss in the attic. He even had me climb up there and see how the duct from the shower had been taped to a hole in one of the main vents leading to the roof.

Great. Something else to fix. At first he said I should call a tinner, a word I didn’t know. But later he mentioned HVAC.

E went through WireNut’s standard spiel, called a “25-Point Electrical Safety/Energy Inspection.” He informed me that aluminum wiring was used in the 1970s because copper was needed for the Vietnam War and that the main problem with aluminum is its tendency to expand and contract, which loosens the connections. That was interesting.

I also learned I could replace the entire electrical panel because it’s maxed out ($2,000) and that the EMF levels in our house were 1,200 and should be 200.

I thought of asking whether reducing the radon levels wasn’t enough. By the time he was done, I was bored. Todd and I want to sell our house. We don’t want to put any more money into it than the inspector requires.

And then E made a fatal mistake: he began musing about his wife, who in discussing the renovation of their home asked him to remove a bearing wall. I was already feeling self-conscious about the noise in the bathroom that no one else hears. I didn’t need to be reminded how sexist fix-it guys can be.

His aside came between his presentation of all the things that were wrong with my house and my writing of the check. He had just explained why he’d changed the estimate to $217 (because he made the estimate before he took the cover off the switch and saw that the entire unit needed to be replaced). I asked, “Was this a binding estimate?” (The website implies that estimates are final.)

I still can’t believe I pushed that question out of my mouth. Todd, who was sitting downstairs at his work computer, was also impressed.

I remember my tone as polite, but maybe it was mean. Maybe it was the tone that inspired a former roommate to tell me I went for the jugular.

In any case, he caved almost instantly. I didn’t expect that.

The switch works now. I might even call WireNut again, because dealing with E was better than dealing with Jared, the last electrician I let in my house (in 2002). I think he worked for Candlelight Electric, which was recommended by Tom Martino.

I wish I could find an electrician I like as much as Brothers Plumbing. Their employees are always nice.

A Family Gathers. Will the Children Break Their Heads?

Posted on July 30, 2010 by Beth

The day my brother flew back to Kansas City, Todd and I drove to Angel Fire, New Mexico. Bradleys from Texas and Colorado were meeting there for a family reunion.

From Friday morning until Monday night, I was with at least one person. That’s unusual for me. I spend most days working in my office, either editing or writing on my computer. In fact, I spend so much time alone that by Friday night, I’m ready to go out just as Todd begins to savor being at home for two days.

And it was rainy and cool all weekend. So there were 12 adults and 12 kids in two houses. A recipe for disaster, you say?

It wasn’t. I like being in a crowd, but I tend to stay near the edge, watch events, move from person to person. There’s so much going on I find it hard to concentrate.

In the past, I’ve blamed myself for not being a cocktail party playah. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve accepted my tendency to withdraw, find a way to be by myself, even when surrounded by people. It’s my way of resting in plain sight.

What I liked best was the swirl of children. There were two groups of four from two families, one group of three from another, and one new boy, my brother-in-law’s girlfriend’s son. I got to hold the newest baby several times, and she was kind enough not to cry when passed around from person to person.

My favorite part was watching the four-year-olds play together. Ring around the rosy (the adults warned them about hitting their heads against the rock hearth). Hiding in a nook under the coffee table. Head-butting the sofa (the adults worried about their brains spilling out before they managed to grow up).

In between were meals and the fixing of meals and the cleanup of meals, trips to Taos on a festival weekend, and one muddy hike. The schedule went out the window, mostly thanks to the weather.

The most shocking moment came when my brother-in-law, who organized the reunion, declared, “I am not a team player.” He was reminiscing about how much he had hated team-player activities in school and how he only participated because he had to. I had always thought he was a team player. And I, who never was a team player either, was stunned someone had the courage to say that out loud.

Shall We Dance?

Posted on July 20, 2010 by Beth

On Saturday night I took my brother to his first dance performance.

It’s always an adventure figuring out what my brother wants to do when he comes for his annual visit. I try to find new things for him to do, but sometimes it seems he’s happy to spend time at places he’s enjoyed in previous years.

The main problem, though, is his politeness. He’ll agree to just about anything I propose.

Nevertheless, I invited my brother and my husband to the First Annual Mile High Dance Festival at the Cleo Parker Robinson Dance Amphitheatre (20th Avenue and Park, just across the parking lot from Safeway).

The festival was titled “Celebrating Dances of the Americas” in keeping with the Biennial of the Americas that’s been happening in Denver in July. I’m not sure what troupe was performing here in this wide shot; we arrived about an hour into the show.

In between performances, I coaxed my two men over to the right side of the stage. They sat on the grass, while I tried to figure out how to photograph dance without using a flash. At first it was like a cartoon chase: I ran in front of some people to a planter. Then I crouched beside the planter and started firing away. There were no really fabulous angles with a 55 mm lens, from behind the stage or in front of it, and once again I wondered why I have yet to buy a zoom.

I loved the detail on the dresses and headgear sported by Grupo Folklorico Sabor Latino. If only I had captured the stage lights shining through these skirts and the details of the female dancers’ hairstyles. In all my no-flash shots, I got one but not the other.

But these dancers were so exuberant, I couldn’t help but love them the most.

Best of all, my brother seemed to like it. And no one got upset that I ran around for an hour taking pictures.

Beth as Dirty Harry and 007

Posted on July 13, 2010 by Beth

As I hoisted my first gun ever, Kevin mentioned that my hands weren’t shaky. Since I was clenching my arms all the way up to my shoulders trying to aim and look tough, I didn’t feel that I was holding the gun steady.

The comment sounded like a compliment, but then I thought about all the stereotypes pertaining to women and guns. That brought me round to a ridiculous scene in the TV series Sons of Anarchy.

A woman has been raped by two skinheads. She runs into one of them (literally) while she’s out shopping and decides to follow him. She pulls a large gun out of her car and has it pointed right at his head when she hears him talking to his son on the cell phone. And then she can’t shoot him … because she’s a mother, and he’s a father.

Excuse me while I gag.

If I were in that situation, I’d pull the trigger twice as fast because then that boy wouldn’t be raised by a rapist and possibly grow up to be one himself. Removing rapists from the population is a good thing.

But at least her hands weren’t shaking.

Anyway. Kevin is the member of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers who organized this little caravan to the Family Shooting Center, located in Cherry Creek State Park. The idea was that authors could learn about the feel and smell and sound of firing a gun in order to write better about the subject.

I was nervous but excited. I was there because I’d learned how to disarm someone in Krav Maga, and I wanted to know what to do with a gun if I ever managed to wrest one from an assailant. I have no plans to create gun-toting characters.

I started out with a revolver, which I believe was a .38 special. Kevin showed me how to hold the gun, which was different from what I expected: I had to press the sides of my hands, underneath my thumbs, against each other, and wrap my fingers around the grip—except, of course, for the trigger finger. I can’t remember if I was supposed to support the other side of the gun with my left index finger. He reminded me to keep my fingers out of the way of any hot gases escaping from the chamber.

This revolver—I shot two—had almost no recoil, but the shells falling nearby (or on my shoulders) startled me. It took me a while to actually hit the target because I was aiming too low. Then I switched to the Glock 9mm. It had a little bit of recoil, but my main problem with it was pulling back the slide. I was trying to do that with my left hand, and it was difficult.

I had the same problem with the Walther (007′s gun).

My favorite was the .44 Magnum (Dirty Harry’s gun—notice a trend here?), but I wasn’t allowed to shoot a full magazine, just two bullets. I guess the ammunition is expensive. It had the worst recoil, of course, and it was quite heavy and deafening. Good thing I had those purple ear protectors on, which staff offered me because they matched my shirt.

Doug, who runs the center, was very generous, giving us a rather long lecture and then letting us practice for a couple of hours for $25. I think he lost money, since he usually charges a range fee, plus rental for the gun and the cost of the ammunition.

I definitely want to go back. I could take lessons there in shooting handguns, rifles, and shotguns. I could even practice archery, which I haven’t done since grade school, when I had my own set and practiced in the backyard (no neighbors were harmed).

Stealing Toilets

Posted on July 6, 2010 by Beth

It seems fitting that the first post on a blog recently retooled for the anxious middle-aged adventuress should be about losing things.

I have an active imagination. It’s one of the things that makes me a writer, but in everyday life it can be troublesome.

More than a decade ago, my husband and I redid all the bathrooms in the fixer-upper we bought. We were going out for dinner after shopping at Home Depot and had a new toilet in the back of the truck. I suggested we lock the shell, and he laughed at me. “What, you think someone’s going to steal a toilet?”

It seemed plausible to me. People steal copper from construction sites. Why not a brand-new toilet?

It’s become our private joke, but laughing about it hasn’t made me stop worrying. The other day I was digging up the yarrow infesting my backyard and decided to take a break. I slid my blue-and-gray work gloves onto the handles of the wheelbarrow and leaned the shovel up against it. Then I asked myself, “Should I move the wheelbarrow over by the compost pile? It’s so close to the fence here.”

In my defense, my house is surrounded by only a chain-link fence and looks out onto a park and open space. I’m glad I don’t have a privacy fence blocking my view of the mountains, but the low fence doesn’t keep anything out of my yard that wants to get in.

Still, would someone reach over the fence to grab a 14-year-old shovel? A wheelbarrow? The weeds?

No one did, of course, and if I put some of my garden decorations near the fence, they would probably stay put too. If someone did steal them, though, I would remember that—not the weeks or months or years they were there, but the moment they disappeared.

What does this have to do with adventure, you ask?

I still think about the short coat I left in a hostel in Paris when I was doing my junior year abroad. I still wonder how I lost my mother’s class ring.

If I’m going to travel extensively, I will lose things. It’s inevitable that one day I’ll set something down and it will be snatched up (like the backpack my young neighbor stepped too far away from on her tour of South America).

My question is, can I accept this loss?

A New Start—Almost

Posted on June 27, 2010 by Beth

I’m in the process of updating my website. I’ve got a new theme—Thesis—and I’m customizing it. It may take a little while.

After that, I’ll need to revise the About page, which is now out of date.

Time to Rethink

Posted on March 12, 2010 by Beth

Eighteen months ago I started this blog with high hopes that I would make money off the Internet. Although I’ve made friends because of this blog and had a great time exploring Denver, I’ve spent at least $2,000 and have earned $11 (plus tax deductions). I want to use the time I spend exploring Denver and writing these posts to forward my ideas in other areas. So for now, this is the last post.

I’m debating whether to set up a city site about Denver as the first of many such sites about cities I visit. If I did, I would copy the review posts to that site and gussy them up a bit with SEO. I don’t see the point of taking everything off this site and breaking all the links I’ve spent 18 months getting, though, so the old reviews will stay here.

I’m also thinking of turning this site into a photography blog. That’s my passion now, and it’s been finding its way into posts here and there, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.

Whatever I decide to do, I need a break from writing posts. I’ll be using the time to recharge and catch up on all your doings, which I’ve been neglecting.

Have a great weekend. Spring is on the way.

Denver Photos: Commons Park Bridge Railings

Posted on March 10, 2010 by Beth

I featured Commons Park Bridge in an earlier post. You can see the railings below in the bottom left corner of that picture.Commons Park, along Little Raven Street in Denver’s Central Platte Valley, offers wide lawns to walk your dog or play frisbee or sunbathe. Native plants fill the edges of the park down to the South Platte River trail.

Beth at Home and Abroad

Make anything an adventure