FEW MORE WEEKS?

Andrew's prospective employer responded to his latest email saying that "you are still my top candidate for this job; however, I received a resume from an internet marketing manager at another [of our] resorts late last week. Since this person already works for the company and has the identical job we're hiring for (albeit at a smaller resort), I'd feel remiss if I didn't talk to him in person.  I am trying to make sure he is really interested in the job before he comes out for an interview, but if he is, I am hoping he can fly out next week sometime.

So....despite this being the longest, drawn-out hiring process you've been involved in, I hope I can ask you to be patient with me for just a couple more weeks."

Again, I say, "FEW MORE WEEKS?!"

I'm sorry, this is totally unacceptable. He's been THE candidate for this job since APRIL. So some Joe Shmoe decides he thinks he might want the job "late last week," and the company decides to stop the whole hiring process for him? After flying Andrew out for his 2nd in-person interview, contacting his references and getting great responses, saying he is the "top candidate" for the job, but--what? I am totally dumbfounded.

For a little while I was thinking that this hiring manager was trying to delay the process because the company was on the brink of a major change, such as an acquisition by another company, bankruptcy, some catastrophe like that. In that light I could sympathize and feel grateful. But this is just ludicrous. It doesn't seem believeable, does it?

Mind you, we collectively have 2 realtors, 4 parents, 2 grandparents, 8 siblings, 4 nieces and nephews, 11 aunts and uncles, countless friends and acquaintences waiting for our news, waiting to hear the next steps, waiting to take them with us, help us make it happen. And we have nothing.

That's it, it's wine o'clock.

Death in the Family

I found out this week that my Uncle Joe, also my godfather, was found dead on the floor in his home on Tuesday. I did not know Uncle Joe, I have very little memory of him. Only a vague sense of his presence at Christmas at my Polish grandparents' house, sometimes Easter and Fathers' Day. I don't remember him ever speaking to me. I remember Aunt Jane and a little bit of my cousins, but not much. We stopped seeing them on the holidays when I was pretty young, when they stopped showing up.

Joe was my father's only brother and they were not close. They became more distant as Joe succumbed to alcoholism and started getting himself in trouble. DUI's and accidents, once he hit a school bus (empty, thankfully). Soon Joe distanced himself from his own family, his wife and kids. I don't know much more about it than that. I think he may have returned to live with Aunt Jane again in recent years but apparently the alcoholism was still a problem and that was what ultimately killed him.

I feel awful for my Dad. Even though they were not close, I am sure Dad wished they would have been. Despite the fact that Dad was always walking in Joe's shadow as a kid, despite Joe getting in trouble and getting away with it, while Dad's actions were closely scrutinized as if under a microscope. Dad worked very hard to gain my grandparents' approval while Joe had it in the bag. But it was my Dad who took care of my aging grandfather after my grandmother died. It was my Dad that made me spend time with "Jadju" (our phonetic spelling of Dziadek, Polish for "grandpa") when he was living alone, taking him for trips to the doctor and going food shopping for him. Heh, I hated those trips, Jadju wasn't exactly a warm, loving grandparent. But I give my Dad credit for making sure that Jadju got to see his grandchildren, even if he never asked.

When Jadju died, I don't think Joe had seen him in years, despite living just an hour away. My Dad was with him til the very end. I remember seeing my Dad hug Joe at the funeral, like a brother. My Dad cried. I cried for my Dad that day. I wasn't so much sad to see Jadju go as I was sorry for my Dad, who never quite won his approval, and who had lost touch with his only brother. It would have been nice to see them reconnect at that point, but it didn't happen. I know my Dad invited him and his family to numerous family gatherings since then but they never came. The last attempt may have been my wedding. My mother received their reply card with "will not attend" penciled in, and that was that.

So for the first time since my grandfathers' funeral, I will see my cousins and my Aunt Jane at Uncle Joe's funeral on Monday. It is really weird to have cousins that I don't know. Joe Jr. is about the same age as me. I have no idea where he lives, what he does, what he's like. Carolyn was older and I thought she was really cool when I was little. There was another one... Christine, maybe? Kristen? I forget. She was a toddler when me and Joey were playing together at our grandparents house. She was blonde. That's all I remember.

Funerals suck. But I particularly dislike the ones that are filled with regret.

"We don't take kindly to your type 'round here...'

We are getting very impatient over here. No, sorry, we ARE very impatient now. Not knowing your cross-country moving fate is torture. Will we stay or will we go? So far no word from Andrew's prospective employer. He sent them a list of references a week ago, and they responded the following day saying that they'd be in touch "in a few days." Well, according to all previous correspondence with said company, "a few days" can mean "1 to 2 weeks." Our realtor says to have faith, that "things are a lot slower out here," and so we try. But it is hard. We have so many people waiting in the wings for the Big News as well, and so I answer at least different people a day with, "no, no news yet." And while we really should start to act like we have our answer, and get this house ready to sell, get our stuff in the attic packed, clean the heck out of everything in preparation for open houses--it is really difficult to do this in the "I don't know what's going to happen" state of mind. Who wants to get knee deep in brown boxes for no reason? And cleaning, we can put that off til the dust bunnies become dust bears again (Maggie actually chases and catches dust animals... they get stuck to her nose in a very cute but kind of gross way).

Already we have taken the following pre-moving actions: Sorted through storage, trashed the trash, donated the old and kept the good. We have painted the peeling ceiling in the upstairs bath and gave the walls a nice Martha Stewart "Weathered Wood" wall color to match the mismatched peach and putty floor tiles. Turned out pretty nice. I have sold my car--this was a big one, and made me sad--and I have learned how to drive manual/stick shift because that's what Andrew drives. My poor Freelander sits alone in the driveway awaiting her new owner to pick her up in a few weeks. I miss running errands with Maggie in tow. Andrew's car is on a lease so we have to be careful about letting her in there with those pointy leather-scratching claws.

I have also been making a gradual mental seperation from the house. My house. My kitchen. My garden. I try to look at it as valuable merchandise rather than my own possession. What can I do to make it look like it's worth more? It's funny how you begin to see your home completely differently when you take that perspective. What was I thinking when I put that shrub there? That's no good for curb appeal! And my goodness, where did all this dog hair come from? Why didn't I notice it before? Oh god, does my house smell like DOG? No one will want to buy a house that smells like DOG! Hmm, I wonder if we can get the neighbors to get rid of all that junk in their yard, it makes the neighborhood look trashy. See what I mean?

I have begun to worry about Maggie and the move. How is she going to be in condo living? What if we don't have a fenced in area for her? What if she drives the neighbors nuts while she barks at moose, deer, elk and bear? What if one of these animals comes and takes her away? What if she gets lost in the mountains in the dead of winter? What will we do?!

I am also starting to worry about me a little. Like, I am already pretty lonely during the day when I work from home. But there are more people in my town than in all of Grand County. What will it be like to live and work from home in such a sparsely populated area? How will I save myself from seperation anxiety?

But oddly enough I am not worried about money. It's all mixed up.

Tonight Andrew has a hockey game and I am going to see him play. I love watching him in his element. I first felt the pangs of love after watching him play a game before we were officially dating. Something about that sweaty mop of hair under his helmet really got to me. That and his speed and grace on skates. Sounds funny but he really is good with his feet. That could explain the skiing.

Ok, thinking about the skiing settles me down a bit--between all my weird nightmares lately I every so often find myself gliding down snowy slopes in a happy dream. In the middle of June, mind you. Things are definitely all mixed up over here. I could use some good news.

The Extended Account of my Rocky Mountain Weekend

Ok, so I haven't given you much information yet. Your wait is over. During our visit to Winter Park and Grand County in Colorado, we crammed in as much condo browsing and sight seeing as possible, with a good dose of general driving around and wandering, sampling the restaurants, the pubs, the shops and the people.

Thursday

Thursday night we arrived late at night and so our drive through the mountains was dark. Pitch dark. They don't put street lights on the mountain passes. Ironic, because should you swerve this way or that you might fall 2000 feet to your death. But no matter, we had headlights which worked just fine until we hit the snow storm. They were a little weak while driving through dense low clouds as well. Once we hit Winter Park we were ensconsed in rain and a chilling dampness (in which I was wearing capris and a tank top) that would last all night and most of the next day. I did not pack for this. It was 90+ degrees when we left home--how cold could the mountains possibly be in June?



Friday

Friday morning I dropped Andrew off at his interview at the base village of Winter Park, then I drove off to explore the area. I love driving around aimlessly, discovering new things. I seldom take the same route anywhere twice, if I can help it. So this was pure heaven for me... following signs to "downtown" only to discover that downtown meant a smattering of shops along one main road, most of them closed at the time, and not a soul in sight. Well, it was early, plus the summer season wouldn't officially start until the following day. So I kept driving to see what else I could find. I kind of had an idea of the lay of the land from studying my maps of Grand County and reading my relocation guides. I headed on to the Fraser Valley.



As I drove, the valley opened up before me and all around me, washed in colors of blue and green, violet and grey. The sun peeked out over the peaks and I could see the Continental Divide to my right, Byers peak to my left, with a grand open plain in between. I kept going. The further I went, the more beautiful the landscape became. The air smelled clear, with a hint of Christmas. The evergreens and aspens covered the mountainsides in full bloom. Sagebrush and wildflowers padded the floor of the valley. Clouds dappled the entire vista with their purple shadows. It was breathtaking.

When I was done my self-guided tour, I turned around and headed back to pick up Andrew. He had a great interview. He grinned like he hasn't in a long while. We went back to the hotel, he changed out of his suit. We went into town and had breakfast at a great little bakery. Then for the rest of the day we enjoyed a guided tour of the area with the realtor I've been talking to for the past few weeks. He was great. So enthusiastic, so knowledgeable of the area. So excited about the changes that are planned to update and upgrade the ski resort. We could barely get rid of him at the end of the day, he was still talking as we got into our car to leave! We both liked him alot. He had all kinds of plans to show Andrew the best fishing holes and how to hunt... well, we'll just see about that. As you can imagine, I am not an advocate for hunting! Fishing is ok though.



Friday night we had dinner at a German restaurant, where I ate things that rhymed with "worst." And they were surprisingly good! I had something that looked like a hot dog but tasted like the best kielbasa I have ever tasted. And some kind of breaded pork... not what I usually go for in a meal, but "when in Rome... " A bottle of wine went a long way in the high altitude. Felt like we each drank a bottle, rather than shared one. I think that we didn't feel this effect so much on our ski trip because we were so active, and so tired, and burned every calorie we had. But last weekend I truly experienced a Rocky Mountain high from far less than my usual weekend dosage of wine.



Saturday

Saturday we had no set plans until the afternoon, so we had breakfast at the same bakery (it was sooo good!) and head out for a drive up to Grand Lake. Our realtor lives there, and had highly recommended that we check it out. We drove about 40 minutes north of Winter Park before we saw the first lake... Lake Granby resevoir. It was HUGE.



Connected to that another 10 minutes north was Shadow Mountain lake, also man-made, then Grand Lake. Grand Lake is the smallest of the three, but the largest natural lake in the state. We stumbled upon the historic Grand Lake Lodge and had lunch on "Colorado's favorite front porch" overlooking all three lakes, the snowcapped Continental Divide, and evergreens everywhere in between.



After a light lunch and some wine we took a little walk down their "nuptial trail" and took some pictures. We had nearly lost all track of time until we got back in our rental truck and called our dinner dates, Stephanie and Ben. They had already arrived at our hotel and were waiting in the parking lot for us. Oh no! So we sped back as fast as we could without breaking any laws and met up with them there.

After a bit of freshening up we commenced a bit of a pub crawl through downtown Winter Park. We enjoyed nachos and beverages and quiet conversation outside on the patio at our first stop. On our next stop we enjoyed the bar and slightly louder, funnier conversation. By our third stop we had the munchies and got a table, ate appetizers and pizza and I don't remember much else, but the conversation by then was definitely not quiet. Eventually we somehow ended up back at the hotel room but I don't remember much of that. I'm bad, I'm sorry. I had probably the same amount of wine I would have had at home but it definitely did me in much faster and more intensely than at sea level. I think it was only 10:30pm or so but my body time also had me screwed up, thinking it was 12:30am, past my usual bedtime. And yes, I woke up with a wicked headache!

Sunday

Sunday was a travel day, and unfortunately we had to wake up at 7:30am and get ready to go. It looked like I had tried to pack the night before, but very pathetically, and had laid out the WORST OUTFIT COMBO EVER for myself to wear in the morning. A wool sweater, shorts, jeans, a t-shirt, a tank top, a dirty pair of socks and flip flops... yeah. So I repacked, reassessed my wardrobe for the day, and somehow managed to get myself out the door without forgetting anything.



The drive to Denver Int'l Airport was a beautiful one, once the clouds lifted from street level and we were able to see 3 feet in front of us. The scenery went from rainy mountains, to snowy mountains to rainy and then sunny. I saw waterfalls, rivers, mining shacks, backcountry ski trails clearly marked with bright orange "AVALANCHE WARNING" signs that said "blasting may occur at any time." Which was clearly not a worry to some people. Our realtor had told us about these die-hards, "yeah, they pull a few of them out of there every year." Ouch. No thank you. I'll be keeping to the groomed slopes on the resorts, preferably the blue trails.

Denver itself seems so tiny next to the backdrop of the mountains, once you emerge from the range and past the foothills on I-70. The area surrounding the high-rises is uncannily reminiscent of New Jersey to me. Flat, crowded, industrial, commercial, superstores and supermarkets and corporations galore. Of course I am only viewing it from the interstate and I am sure that only these types of establishments choose to call the boundaries of the interstate "home." The airport, however, is quite stunning with its modern architecture. Much prettier than Philly's. And maybe it's just me, but the people within, both employees and travellers, seem a bit less grumpy than those in my home city. Maybe it's the cowboy hats. How can anyone be grumpy in a cowboy hat?

MORE photos to come.

P.S. Andrew's prospective employer has asked to speak to some professional references, and so we still await the official job offer before any decisions are made.

All I kept thinking was...

"Where are my oil paints? I need oil paints. I neeeeed to paint."


The vista at Grand Lake, Colorado

I loved it.

As for news, we await an official job offer before the wheels are set in motion. This could take another week. More photos and details to come.

:)

Holy Ruby-throated hummingbirds, Batman, it's Thursday already!

...and there is so much to do!

Which is why I am only here for a second, to say "wish me luck!" and "sigh-a-nora!" and "bon voyage!" (I took french in high school, not spanish, hence the sigh-a-nora). At 3:30pm I pick up my husband at work in Philly, then we rush to the airport and hopefully have a bite to eat before our flight leaves at 6:05pm. Then we arrive in Denver at 8:30pm Mountain Time, which will be 10:30pm Philly time so I imagine we'll be pretty beat by the time we drive 1.5 hours from Denver to Winter Park. Still, I hope we have enough energy to keep our eyes open long enough to see exactly where we are. Or the stars, it will be nice to see a sky stuffed with stars. Gotta remember my binoculars.

Then Andrew has his interview at 9am tomorrow morning, and I'm going to occupy myself with a little of WHO KNOWS WHAT... I guess just checking out the surroundings? Maybe I'll rent a mountain bike and do the 5 mile trail from Winter Park to Fraser.

After Andrew's interview we'll rally for lunch and then we're meeting with a realtor at 1pm. He's going to take us on a driving tour of the area, including Winter Park, Fraser, Tabernash, Granby and Grand Lake. In Grand Lake we'll see Colorado's largest natural glacial lake. Oooo. It's supposed to be really blue. Aaaaah.

After our tour, we have dinner reservations at some German restaurant where they serve things that rhyme with "worst." You know, bratwurst, liverwurst, who knows what else. It is supposed to be good though... and the facade of the building is charming, like an old world ski lodge... in Germany.

Saturday we have no plans set yet, except that the grand opening for summer takes place at Winter Park Resort and beginning at 11am there will be free music by a band called Dread Clampitt, who is not a reggae band as I might have guessed, but rather a bluegrass band from Florida. Interesting.

Then BFF Stephanie and husband are hopefully going to make the trek from Aurora to Winter Park for some happy happy super happy hours and Dunch. Or and early Dinner. Or a late Lunch. Must be a Colorado thing. Or as they say out there, "Caw-lah-rad-doh." Round here in Philly it's "Collar-rod-oe." If I live there, will I say Cawlahraddoh too? Will I start to say "Ya-uh" instead of "Yyyea-ah" too?

Silly things to even be thinking about right now. I have to go pack my toiletries (and oh yes, I do have a lot of them) and print itineraries and resumes and directions and and and... and finish a logo and send an estimate to a new client... oh my. Bye bye, wish me luck!

Come Thursday, come faster

Tick tock, tick tock, the minutes seem like hours this week. So much is going on to keep me occupied, yet I can not seem to concentrate on any one thing without interrupting myself to see what else I can find online about Winter Park, Colorado. Actually, by now I know so much you might think I've been there before. It helps that a certain beloved local sends me all the colorful stories from the Denver Post that I need to read (or maybe shouldn't have read...). Also, the Realtor out there that I've come to know has snail mailed packets chockfulla of relocation guides, maps, local newspapers, county statistics and property information. It is all very, very interesting. For example, take the following excerpt from The Newcomer's Guide to Grand County:

"So welcome.

"We're glad you're here. Just don't try to change us. And remember, you're not in Kansas anymore, and not Denver; and, definitely, not Vail. A few things you are going to need to live here:
--A dog.
--A post office box.
--Good snow tires.
--Sunscreen.
--A hat.
--One or more snow shovels; often, year-round.
--A jacket or coat; always, year-round.
--A mountain bike. There is 600 miles of trails in the Fraser Valley alone.
--Boots, including cowboy, skiing and hiking.
--A tuxedo or a gown, which you'll wear once a year at the Grand Foundation Gala. Otherwise, jeans.
--Lots of liquids, especially just after you arrive.
--A sense of humor.
--A sense of adventure.
--A healthy supply of awe."

See? Interesting. And it goes on to reveal more interesting suggestions for living in this seemingly proud yet simple, remote area. The impression I have from all this leaves me with mixed feelings of intrigue and nervousness. It is not like Breckenridge. Breck, located in Summit County was quaint, upscale, yet as contrived as the touristy t-shirts peddled in every other window (and yes I bought two). I get the feeling that Grand County is anything but contrived. But again, I am basing this preliminary opintion upon lots of literature and absolutely no first-hand experience. An opinion that is sure to be grounded more in reality after Andrew and I visit the area from Thursday through Sunday this week. And I can not wait to see, it is really killing me, all this not-knowing. I feel the anticipation straight through to my bones, making it difficult to sleep and eat and draw. I am doing my best.

Meanwhile, the paycheck I received last week from the Crazymakers bounced today, leaving our bank account in the red and me in the redder. This alarms me, not only because this should never, ever happen, but also because I was hoping to use the part-time day-job as a temporary financial cushion while making the transition from PA employee to CO freelancer. They'd just have to learn to trust newfangled technologies such as email and JPEGs. But it will be a lot more difficult to be in their faces and have them write a valid check when I'm halfway across the continent. I have seen worse happen to their licensing agent when his royalty payments bounce.

On the upside, I have at last been officially "published" in a magazine for the first time in my illustration career. This is a big milestone for me. Then yesterday, I received my first response to my ad in the same issue of Modern Dog magazine. So hey you, get thee to a bookstore and pick up a copy! I have an illustration on page 10, an ad for PoshPoochy on page 16, and my own ad on page 107. It's the Pamela Anderson/Liz Taylor/Kate Hamilton issue, you know. Then after you see my scribbles you can write a letter to the editor and say, "more illustrations by Kate Hamilton, please!" ;)

Going with the flowing

The two most common reactions to our preliminary news about our possible move to Colorado are the following:

1. That's great! Go for it! When can I visit?
2. But, but--don't you love your house?

These were the anthems of the weekend, spent in Avalon, NJ with Andrew's family and some of our friends. Apparently, telling someone that you are moving cross-country is the equivalent of an open invitation to hear all of the worst cross-country moving stories and scenarios that can be mustered up by those who would rather you not leave. I can't say I didn't see it coming, and I suppose the motivation behind the questioning is some people's way of saying, "I don't want you to go," or "I am going to miss you." I also can not say that I haven't done the same thing to someone else in my little lifetime. Being on the receiving end of it now is kind of confusing, sad and aggravating at the same time. I am touched that people do love me and want me around. Does this mean we shouldn't go?

It is times like these that I take out my favorite inspirational books, The Artist's Way, The 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women, and the How Much Joy series, for guidance and inspiration. I mean, I already have my gut/intuition/Snowbird/inner child telling me one thing, Go for it! Go with the flow. However, all these new incoming messages do have their way of making me doubt myself... my Self who wants the adventure, the experience, the inspiration and the change from the stagnant to the exotic. More than anything, growth. And then there is my husband who also desperately needs a change; not just in his job, but in his lifestyle. Andrew is a thoughtful, imaginative being who thrives best when he has physical outlets for his energy. Hockey. Skiing. Football. He is built for an active lifestyle, but he is wasting away on the 13th floor of an office building at a cut-throat ad agency, wondering why he is even there.

And the alternative to *not* moving to Colorado? Andrew and I both must find alternate jobs in the Philadelphia area in order to keep the house. My cut from full to part time with the Crazymaker Day Job has begun to take its toll on the finances, and the freelance is just not consistent enough to pay all the bills. Andrew's job pays fine but he just can not take it anymore, so he needs to find something that suits him better, and the more we look for what that might be, the more frustrated he gets. Because the thought of working for a Colorado ski resort is really hard to beat in his book.

So what am I going to do once we get there (if we do)? That's another tough question. But for some reason I am less worried about that than I am about trying to find another full-time job in Philly. Something in me says that once we get out there, I am going to find my way. The freelance will pick up. The day job may last a while if I work remotely (if they can stand it, being afraid of email and whatnot). I have a feeling that tells me not to worry about it yet. It will be ok. This of course is difficult to explain to concerned parents and relatives who need answers right away. It is even a little weird to ME. I don't even know if I am going to like Winter Park. I will have to decide whether I do or don't during the course of a long weekend. It is crazy, isn't it? Yet at the same time... I am excited and bubbling up with inexplicable positive energy.