'Cheeeeeeese.'

'Babe, did you take these?', I asked Aspen about a week ago as I uploaded a series of photos from our Samsung TL220 to iPhoto. Gracing the set were a number of close-ups of our 2.5-year-old son, Carson, gazing into nothingness with his summer-blue eyes. I shifted the laptop screen in my wife's direction. 'Uh, I don't think so.' Amusement briefly crossed her face before the phone rang and we went on with our day, not giving the pictures a second thought.

A few days later I bounded up the basement steps to the sounds of:  'Cheeeeeeeeeeese. FLASH!!! giggle-giggle-giggle.' It was Carson, perched on the couch with the camera in his hands, snapping a series of self portraits. Ah, the culprit! Still not sure what this means, but we figure it's just a matter of time before he uploads a video to Youtube.

Copyright © 2012 Carson Hilbelink

Postscript: After a closer look at this first set, we were pretty sure that Carson didn't take them (One-handed? Come on.) Those were found to be the work of unGuy (age 5). I would have guessed the same on the second shoot if I hadn't witnessed it with me own eyes! 

Call of Duty 4 - The Run!

'I'll teach you not to steal my Shot Bloks!'

In the most recent Trailrunner Mag (December 2011), a runner from Las Vegas in the 'Letters' column boasts that he always carries a gun, a knife, and pepper spray on his runs, stating that 'it adds a little weight, but the peace of mind is worth it'. 

Really???? Is he running down 'The Strip' at 3:00 AM?

It brought to mind the diversity in how we each manage our own sense of security. I live in the foothills of Colorado, where the most one should fear is a possible attack by a wild animal. Yet, I see the metal gates, home alarms and floodlights popping up everywhere. I remember having a discussion with a former FDNY firefighter and a rather large retired fire chief (also from the Big Apple) regarding the level of safety up in these hills. The FDNY guy said that he always packs heat and felt much more secure in the boroughs of New York than in the sleepy ascents of Conifer, to which the gregarious Chief replied, 'If someone breaks into my house, The first thing he'll see is my fist going through his face.' Ah, Chief. Good on ya, man. Maybe you should be joining me on my night runs.

If I Could Save Pee In a Bottle

Aspen and I live in one of those neighborhoods with a single road feeding a dozen or so less-traveled roads. The main drag is curvy with posted speed limits of around 30MPH, making the 3-mile trip from the highway to our house seem like an eternity when you’re in a hurry. Of course, while driving that slow, you’re afforded temporary glances of neighbors’ spreads, dogs, horses and other farm animals, and the occasional elk or deer grazing nearby. Sadly, the views are coupled with the errant unsightly home or derelict property. I suppose they start to become part of the scenic woodwork after a while. Creating quite the opposite effect was the amount of roadside trash that began to surface when the snow started to melt. Once Aspen brought it to my attention, trash started popping up out of nowhere on this stretch, diverting our attention from the road and threatening the promise of any future houseguests. Finally, one day we decided to stop complaining about it and put our words into action, choosing a well-traveled 1.5-mile section of the main road and setting out to collect all of the trash on its shores. I put unGuy in the backpack and we parked our car on the side of the road with a sign stating ‘Trash Pickup Ahead’. We decided to work in tandem, combing one side of the road and then returning on the other. The task began in earnest, as we gleefully upheld our self-appointed roles as refuse stewards, joking about who would be the first to stumble on a dead body or porno magazine. About two hours and seven or eight full trash bags later, the novelty had worn off and the end of our journey couldn’t have felt more distant. But, shortly before our car came into view, a woman stopped to thank us for our efforts, reviving our spirits and serving as just reward for our voluntary deed. We didn’t find any corpses or porno, but I did learn a thing or two about the demographics of our neighborhood:

Someone:

• likes to drink and drive, beverage of choice being Miller High Life 40s. We found about 15 of these scattered throughout the 1.5-mile stretch, each in their own bag, and the bottle was always partially filled with beer or other undesirable liquid;

• smokes a LOT of hard pack Marlboro Lights;

• drinks a bunch of this beverage called ‘Talking Rain’ but can never finish the bottle;

• chews that bottom-shelf tobacco Husky and spits into a beer or soda bottle, whatever’s available;

• likes to eat a small bag of chips and drink a 20-oz. soda while driving, finishing off the snack by rolling up the chip bag like a joint and stuffing it into the empty bottle before throwing it out the window;

• has a Lhasa Apso named ‘Milly’; and

• named ‘Sharon’ had a birthday in December.

Except for several lipstick-coated cigarette butts and maybe Sharon, I’d be willing to wager that the rest of the repetitive trash was borne by men. Slobs. Regardless, we’re delaying the unglamorous task of separating the trash from the recyclables until our stomachs have had a chance to recuperate. For now, the shoulders of this short segment are free of litter, bounded on either end by more trash-riddled roadway, and no one to scour its banks. I have a feeling we’ll be scavenger hunting again soon.

Neurotic Cord Pullers

I recently started taking the bus to work a couple times per week to save on gas and wear-and-tear on my car. There’s a Park-and-Ride just a few miles from my house, and the bus route dumps me pretty close to work. Although it adds an extra half hour to each end of my commute, I appreciate that someone else is behind the wheel when traffic is brutal. During the ride I’m preparing emails for work, drafting blog posts, listening to music or watching a movie on my iPod. The time just flies. Sometimes I just stare out the window or observe riders as they board or disembark the bus, and I’ve come to recognize the same people occupying the same seats day in and day out. But one thing puzzles me. Each day without fail, the same person pulls the ‘Stop Requested’ cord when approaching my stop. At this point, the same half-dozen people get off the bus driven by the same bus driver each day. It’s almost as if said cord puller is afraid that the one time he doesn’t perform his daily duty the bus would breeze on past this popular stop. If I were a bus driver, this would drive me nuts.

Happy Val-in-times Day

Valentine’s Day is always a fun holiday for us. I usually write a ‘Love Letter’ that we send to our friends and loved ones, detailing our exploits and setbacks from the past year. We figure that everyone sends theirs on Christmas, so why compete? Most years, our Valentine’s weekend includes some sort of trip to a mountain town involving a stay at a bed and breakfast. It used to be the St. Elmo Hotel in Ouray until they promptly priced themselves out of our range. This year I registered for a trail race in Moab and combined the event with a couple night’s stay at a local B&B. I played it coy for a few weeks until the subject of lodging came up and I had to spill the beans. Aspen still has no idea where we’re going (but will find out in the morning). Grandma and Grandpa will be taking care of unGuy for a couple days.

I stopped at the store on the way home from work today to pick up some Valentine’s Day ‘stocking stuffers’. Big mistake. Joining me were a bunch of men picking up last-minute gifts for their wives. I’m sure this is quite amusing to the female cashiers and customers. The epitome was this guy who took approximately 12 seconds to pick out a card for his wife, prompting a woman standing next to me to declare, ‘Ha, ha, that’s about how long my husband would take, too.’ I spent a considerable amount of time looking for the perfect card, and then some chocolates to be arranged in an interesting manner, which Aspen will discover in the morning. I was a bit uncomfortable standing in the checkout line with all these goobs and their feeble last-minute attempts to show their mates how much they love them. I got those same smirky looks from the ladies and wanted to shout, ‘This is just extra stuff! I planned ahead! Really!’ But the icing on the cake was the 12-second-card-choosin’ guy at the front of the line with his card, a two-pound bag of cocktail wieners and the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Nice job, dude.

Merry Giftness

Pardon the delay in posting here. We recently returned from a snowy Christmas in Wisconsin, and there simply wasn’t any time to gather one’s thoughts. I’ve since been gently reinserted into my daily routine and am ready to unfurl my wealth of observationisms to anyone who cares to listen. Every year, I witness the seasonal travesties foisted upon us (thanks Dave, for the grammatical inspiration!) with no regard to tradition. It seems a guy is worthless if he doesn’t surprise his mate with a Lexus and jewelry for Christmas. Colorado is already sick with car commercials and 'he bought it @ Jared' tripe; the current crop only exacerbates the perception that we are less than standard if we’re not driving the latest SUV or wearing our perceived wealth on our wrists. Since when does the birth of Jesus = gems and wheels?

Relative Elevation

I’m currently working on my account of our recent trip to the Grand Canyon, and with so many smaller items attached to one great theme, it will take some time to process everything into print. In the meantime, I have a short anecdote to impart upon you.

As you may know, my wife Aspen and I have just moved into a new home. I’d say that we’ve probably gained about 2,500 feet of elevation in our new digs which has an unobstructed view of Pikes Peak. While we were looking at houses, many flaunted either a view of the Peak or the City of Denver. I remember a brief moment as we stood with our realtor, Chris, on the deck of one home boasting a bird’s-eye vantage of the city skyline. Chris extolled the value in having such a view, whereas I casually mentioned that I much preferred the Pikes Peak vista. As one whom owns a home overlooking the city, he explained that living with that exposure served as a reminder that he had conquered city life. I thought it to be quite a powerful and convictive statement. A couple days ago, I revisited that moment and began to consider why I prefer the view of a great mountain over that of a rising city. Almost immediately, I realized that I needed that view to remind me of how very small I am. I see no reason to dismiss Chris’ motives for where he chooses to live, because I think it’s natural for most to want to watch over something, whether they have just climbed a tree or are standing on the patio of a high-rise loft. However, I do believe it speaks volumes about how we each perceive our position in the Grand Scheme.

Observationisms

Upon joining this scene, I began compiling a list of potential blog topics. Instead of concentrating on items directly related to, say, music or running, I hope to broaden the criteria to the lowest common denominator. The most popular blogs have sort of a universal appeal by tackling subjects to which almost anyone can relate, while those dedicated specifically to one subject can only expect to grow as large as their niche. Building such an inventory is the easiest ingredient in maintaining a successful blog. Determining what will be of interest to you is much more difficult, since you may not care that I run on trails or have a kid. But the list continues to grow. Some of these are worth a diatribe, while others are simply spontaneous observations designed to spark some dialogue. I call these morsels Observationisms. I’ll throw one down from time to time. Most of the current crop are simple complaints about how things are done or made, and maybe I’m looking for some enlightenment on a subject I know little or nothing about. After all, doesn't ignorance breed controversy?