Colorado Rocky Mountain High

Here’s the truth. I basically come from a family of native foreigners. It’s pretty much why I am the way I am. Why I love to travel so much. Why I have this itch to see the world and, on occasion, live there.

My dad is the original native foreigner. I might be stretching the meaning of the phrase. In my case, I guess it means a person who has finally returned home after years away. But in my father’s case, he never made it back. So, he has become a native of another place, this place we call Jacksonville. He grew up in Indiana, but moved here at the ripe age of eighteen looking for a career in rock and roll and never looked back. Although he did look all around the rest of the world, making a life for himself traveling six months out of the year. So, in truth, I think it must be in my blood.

And not just my blood, either. Both of my sisters love to travel as well. One is only fifteen, but she has already seen more of the world than any other fifteen year old I know. The other, older sister has successfully moved to four of the countries most prominent cities. After four years of Tallahassee, three years of New York City, and two years of DC, my sister has become a native foreigner of even another kind. By marrying a man from Denver she has now become another kind of native foreigner, native through association.





So that is how I wound up spending my Thanksgiving holiday in Denver, CO. When we got there, it was snowing. Two days prior, it had been 78 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny. But I wasn’t complaining. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve seen snow fall. It’s been years. So, despite the freezing temperatures that dipped into the teens, it made me feel like I was in a winter wonderland. It was wonderful. When I wasn’t shivering.

The first thing we did to keep the blood flowing through our veins was hit up the Breckinridge Brewery. It’s a tradition that every time I go to Denver I visit a brewery, and this time was no different. It was grey, snowing, and freezing. Beers were on special for two dollar Wednesdays. There was some strange and interesting fan/heater contraption. And tastings were free.

After a few rounds an employee kneeled down by our table and said, “So you guys want to see the Brewery?”



“Absolutely,” we said in unison. Brew tours were usually by appointment only, but we were squeezing our way on to a specialized “friends” tour that the man was giving his friends, and us as well. We got to climb on the equipment. We got to feel all the hops. We got our picture taken by a world-renowned photographer (a “friend”). We even got to see the CEO’s office. It was a complete mess and looked straight off of Spiderman. It was basically the best brew tour I have ever been on. We literally saw it all. And that’s the truth (about brew tours).

The next day was Thanksgiving. We ate a lot of food. We drank Bloody Marys. I discovered red beer (basically a bloody with beer instead of vodka…). I met and mingled with a lot of my new extended family. We walked around the neighborhood in sub-degree weather to rid ourselves of the Turkey Slump. And we played trivial pursuit. I learned that it takes two men to mount the horse simultaneously in an accurate game of elephant polo. I also learned I am terrible at trivial pursuit. That’s the (sad) truth about me and most games.

We made sure to partake in Black Friday via Cherry Creek, an overextended marriage of Avondale meets the Town Center. We took in dinner at Rioja on Larimer St. in downtown Denver. I dare to say it was better than Thanksgiving. It was delicious out of this world, like if Biscotti’s only served entrees all the time. Plus some. And we ended the night by driving through downtown looking at the Christmas lights strung across every prominent building in sight. It was pretty gaudy (truthfully, aren’t they all?), but beautiful nonetheless.



On our last day of Colorado rocky mountain high, we ran some errands. I closed a bank account. I picked up some things from the cleaners. We picked out a Christmas tree. Oh, and we went to the candy factory. Hammond’s, the nations largest supplier of handmade candies. And naturally, we took a tour. We sampled some tasty flavors as we took the tiny fifty feet tour from behind glass walls, watching the candy makers boil and spin and fold and mold the little delectables into the wonderful morsels we were chewing on. We wound down, preparing for our red eye flight home, by watching the Tim Tebow show and playing some scrabble.

It was an amazing vacation. I did amazing things and spent time with some of the most amazing people in the world, my family. But the truth of the matter is, as great as all that was, it was just like being any other place. We ate, drank, and were merry. We saw the town. We went on some tours. But these are all things that can be done, and are done, here in Jacksonville.

I think that’s the best thing about all the traveling I’ve done. I now feel like a native foreigner pretty much anywhere I go. Because, if you remove the landscape and you rearrange the name, anywhere could really be anywhere else. And although the experience is always different, life is life, and it’s lived all over the world just like the rest of us. One day at a time, with some good times in between. And that’s the truth.

Thankful for what?

I know Thanksgiving is a national holiday, but in my mind, its best done in the south. At least, we have the best traditions and when I say traditions I mostly mean the food, because honestly, food is really what we do best. Here in the south we are amazing at giving food. And we are pretty darn thankful for it too.

But beyond the food I love the traditions that come with each holiday. And just like any great family, mine has it’s own fair share. In fact, I think each person in my family has their own idea of what our tradition really is.

Sometimes those traditions revolve around food. For instance, my sister absolutely refuses to have Thanksgiving without sweet potato soufflé. And not just any sweet potato soufflé. It has to be the right kind too. With melted marshmallows and lots of cinnamon sugar. I insist on having broccoli rice casserole, and I'm not even sure I still like it; I just have to have it. I have always had it and without it… Thanksgiving just doesn’t seem right. But what’s wrapped inside all of these traditions is my family. Individual recipes that have been passed down generation-to-generation that make the food so special and unique. Or special memories of cooking a casserole or a pie with someone.

My grandmother on my dad’s side makes absolutely the best pies I have ever had. And she makes them all from scratch. Any time we ever spent Thanksgiving with his side of the family she had at least five pies baking at one time and ten batches of cookies. There’s apple pie, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, rhubarb pie, pecan pie and sugar cookies, Italian wedding cookies, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raison and brownies. Once the festivities are over and we are on our way home we are undoubtedly sent back with at least a years supply of sweets. And she made it seem effortless.

But when we don’t spend it with her, my dad has to replicate the pie fascination in her place. Usually he does a great job. And my sister is always there to help with some sort of Martha Stewart touch, like little cut out heart shaped dough that decorates the pie lid. Once, however, the pie did not go so well. My dad added two parts salt and zero parts sugar to our apple pie, making one of the most savory pies we’ve ever experienced. That pie made us laugh harder than I ever thought a pie could. And I will never forget that moment.

Every year we have to go around during the prayer and say out loud what it is we are most thankful for. Of course, pretty much everyone says family as we stand there surrounded by family. But it’s true. I have a great family, and I am most thankful for that.

One year we asked my grandmother on my mom’s side to tell us about one of her old Thanksgiving traditions. She was born in 1914, so it was fascinating to hear how traditions might have changed over the many years. We all sat there, anxious, as she thought in silence.

“Well,” she said, “every year my daddy and my uncle would go out and kill us a squirrel. That was my favorite part of the meal, eating that squirrel.”

We were shocked. A squirrel! I mean, I didn’t even know people ate squirrels. Much less my grandmother. And what a memory it must have been because she talked about it for the rest of the meal. We all sat there, trying to listen while trying not to listen at the same time.

But traditions are one thing that American’s can share, even if they happen to be different all over the country. This past year I spent my Thanksgiving in California with my aunt and uncle and about twenty of their friends and family. None of which were people I knew. I think I might have known the neighbors, but barely. So, being from the south, I of course prepared myself for a feast. I didn’t eat the entire day except for a small breakfast, trying to make room in my stomach for all the food I was about to devour. And I prepared my broccoli rice casserole, as my contribution.

Well, I was sadly mistaken. Apparently California does Thanksgiving a little differently. This time, instead of giving thanks to all the delicious food we were about to eat, we gave thanks to health. And that mostly meant not very much food. We had two salads; some interesting twist on stuffing (potato chunks baked in the oven), turkey, bread, and my broccoli rice casserole. To go between twenty plus people. It bore a slight resemblance to the two fish and five loaves situation, but there was no miracle to be made to fill our ready bellies. It was basically just another dinner, but with a lot of people and a fair share of wine. Not to say I didn’t appreciate the experience, or the new take on Thanksgiving dinner. I just had to go home and eat another meal.

And this year my mom, my sister and I are flying to Denver to spend Thanksgiving with my brother in laws family. I am now prepared for the idea that it will likely introduce new and different traditions on this great American holiday. But, its kind of what makes it exciting. Perhaps we will have some side dish of granola. Or maybe we will all wear fleece. Whatever it is, I’m ready and willing. It’s great to share this time with the rest of the country. It what makes America great. We might all have our own ideas on how it works, but at least we are all working on the same thing. This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for that. And, of course, there will be sweet potato soufflé and broccoli rice casserole. It just wouldn’t be thanksgiving without it.