Days like Sunday -- Grand Junction, Colorado

It's Tuesday morning. Somehow, I always seem to get the blogging itch on a Tuesday morning.

It's 4:58. Crickets chirp and Chris' TV buzzes on and on about something or other. The radio/TV are always buzzing from Chris' room. Which I actually like, oddly enough. Not because I enjoy radio or TV, but because I like Chris. And just as I hear Chris' TV whenever I'm standing in the kitchen (or the rest of the house), he hears me when I'm standing in the kitchen (or the rest of the house).

Chris is the most efficient, accomplished eavesdropper I've ever met. My theory is that this is because Chris is a substitute teacher and has spent the last many years developing ears that can hear the thoughts of students too nervous to ask questions.

I'll be in the kitchen, chatting with Boy about my desire to build a smoker out of a flower pot.

"So... we would just need the pot itself. And a few wires and things. And a rack to put our bacon on. And a burner at the bottom that we can use to heat up the wood chips."

"A burner?" Boy asks.

"Yeah, to put under the stainless steel pan where the hickory and pecan chips are living."

"A burner?" Chris magically appears. Offering me a burner.

Chris is the Mary Poppins of roommates. He has at least one of everything. Not in a convenient little bag, of course, but in his room, the shed and the basement.  

"I could sure use a beer..." Ryan idly comments in the living room.

"Beer?" Chris magically appears, proffering the preferred beverage.

I want Chris to eavesdrop on all of my conversations. 

This week was quieter than last. Boy was on call, so there were no epic, "I think I'd like to crawl into a large hole and sleep forever while my legs/lungs recover" type adventures this weekend. There was only the incessant ringing of the on-call phone. When Boy is on call, he can neither drink wine nor travel more than a fifteen minute drive away from his work. Which is eight different kinds of inconvenient when it comes to adventuring and one kind of mean (the mean happens whenever I drink wine in front of him whilst he's on call. This happens... err... not infrequently).

Although there was that one night wherein I stayed awake for pretty much the whole thing and made Boy his favorite pastry (which may or may not have been an act of setting my conscience at ease for the myriad of alcoholic beverages I've imbibed in front of him whilst he's incapacitated by a phone that rings every fifteen minutes).

I've been making many pastries for Boy.

Boy shows love for Girl by taking her into nature on the weekends. Boy knows that Girl needs nature, so sets aside time every week to share some nature with her. Even though Boy's happiness doesn't rely on being able to hear the wind in the trees (without car horn punctuation), to smell the grass (without the pollution of cigarette smoke or exhaust) or to see the expansive sky (without buildings or telephone poles protruding into the horizon), he knows that a large portion of Girl's happiness does. So he ventures out into nature.

Girl shows love for Boy through doing things like staying up all night making mille feuille. This is a French pastry that literally translates into, "A thousand papers."

Which tells you something about the... err... labor intensive quality of the dough.

Girl knows that Boy needs pastries (loaded with cream), so even though Girl's happiness doesn't rely on being able to hear the crunch of a baguette, to smell a freshly baked croissant or to see a "thousand paper" pastry oozing with cream, she understands that a large portion of Boy's happiness does. So she ventures into baking.

Working with teens and young adults at the House has provided me with some sense of community and stability. However, August is quickly drawing to a close and I don't have any other job opportunities in the near future. All the doors I worked so hard to open three years ago are closed to me now. The shoes I wore are filled with others' feet. I went to the university to ask about teaching yoga and was told, "we're full. Totally full."

Can't expect the world to just stay the way you left it, Bourget. 

Starting over in a town like Grand Junction is stupid hard -- especially for someone with a skill set like mine. Yoga, theatre and, err... travel blogging are not in huge demand in Western Colorado. It was a massive miracle that I was able to support myself and fund my last trip through my passions.

I don't have a lot of hope for another miracle. 

But I do have a lot of gratitude for all the little miracles hopping across my path (I like the image of hopping miracles). All the cocktails from Cathy, the fabulous dinner parties, dates with Boy, cards with my family and mushroom hunting with Sara's family.

Sara is one of the people in my life who listens best. I can unload all my fear and stress in her presence (with a mug of super creamy chai tea between my stressed out hands) and know that whatever response Sara offers will be 100% honest and 100% understanding.

And that she will never let me run out of super creamy chai.

Sara's family went mushroom hunting up on the mesa this last Sunday. Since I've been pining for mushrooms (and the hunting thereof) ever since I got to hunt down porcini with four old Italian guys in Southern Italy (none of whom spoke any English), I immediately invited myself to join in on their adventure.

"Sara? So... if you... uh... have any extra room in your car, I would love to go."

"That sounds most excellent," Sara responded in her perfectly enunciated English (she's a speech therapist by day. A fondue goddess by night).

So Boy dropped me off at Sara's home Sunday morning and the adventure commenced (sans Boy, 'cos he had to stay in GJ to answer the on-call phone every fifteen minutes. Blurgh). Sara's husband, father, son, Sara and I all loaded into the family Prius and set off towards the Mesa.

The Grand Mesa is located just 40 miles away from Grand Junction and happens to be the largest flat-topped mountain in the world. It's positively riddled with gorgeous glacier lakes and even more funky looking shrooms.

This is the Lacterius mushroom. To know that it's Lacterius and not some manner of shroom that causes instant death/fairy sightings, you bruise a few of the gills. 

 "There are four problems edible mushrooms can have," Sara explained.  "One, they're too small. Two, they're impossible to clean. Three, they're infested with bugs. Four, they're too delicate and have to be eaten right away."

If the gills turn green after a few minutes, you know you grabbed a tasty/non-lethal mushroom and should most definitely take it home to fry in Kerry Gold butter. But only after you remove all the worms, which is the primary problem of the lacterius mushroom. 

This is a variety of Russula. There are two different types that grow on the Mesa -- Russula Emetica and Russula xerampelina. The first makes you tremendously ill. The second is the kind to take home and fry in Kerry Gold butter. To make a more educated guess as to whether or not you should take this mushroom home, Sara recommends placing a tiny piece on your tongue. Chew a little. Spit that shit out. Wait a few seconds. If your mouth begins to feel inexplicably peppery, then you should definitely not take this mushroom home to fry in Kerry Gold butter (unless you're in the mood for some vomiting and diarrhea).  

Hawks Wing. These are mostly edible, but some people have horrible reactions to them (more of that vomiting/diarrhea business). As I wasn't in the mood to test whether or not I'd be one of the few with reactions to Hawks Wing (I had enough of that vomiting/diarrhea business in Guatemala), I decided to not take the mushrooms home to fry in Kerry Gold butter. 

The underside of a Hawks Wing. I forgot the scientific word for it, but it looks like a rich person's carpet 

other names for this unique mushroom include: scaly urchin and shingled hedgehog. 

A coral mushroom. It's not recommended to take these home (to fry in Kerry Gold butter) because they have many poisonous look-alikes. They also are known to be natural diuretics (which is a nicer way of saying that they too give you diarrhea). 

This is a variety of amanitas. It is both hallucinogenic and fatal. Best not fried in Kerry Gold butter. 

One of my favorite parts about this hike (along with the company and the scenery), was that the mushrooms were everywhere. The five of us just sauntered along an easy trail and plucked friable mushrooms that grew by our feet. There was hardly any exertion involved, no frustration about not finding anything, and no old, optimistic and off-key Italian guy hitting on me with his original music.

There were also chanterelles.

Sara promptly swore me to secrecy regarding the location of her fungi delectables. Chanterelles are a unique breed because they come back in the same patch every year. So if you find yourself a patch of these golden goodies, you've found yourself a gold mine.

Sara and her family have found a veritable treasure trove.

We headed back early afternoon, stopping at a cafe en route to purchase goodies like espresso brownies and sweet potato fries.

worst. threat. ever. 

Days like Sunday help to ameliorate the anxiety I feel whenever in Grand Junction. Days like Sunday and weekends with Boy are the things that keep me in a happy state of mind whilst in an unhappy place, geographically.

I'm doing my best to continue looking for things that fulfill me in the present and contribute to a future spent with Boy. But I'm not seeing a whole lot of options. And it sucks. It hurts. It's awful to think I'll have to compromise the promise I made to myself in 2012.

"Aimee, you are never again going to sacrifice your present for your future. Because the future doesn't exist. It's not a real thing."

I'm still looking for ways around the compromise, but I'm losing my optimism (unlike the tone-deaf Italians).

At least I have my weekends with Boy and days like Sunday. Let that be enough for now. And wait. Patiently and attentively. Wait to see what life unfolds.