Thanksgiving is one of the better holidays that exists: eat a bunch of food, be with people you care about, and don’t burn your house down while deep-frying that turkey.
That’s my friend Sam, host and chef and selector of the after-dinner Christmas jukebox selection. And I don’t mean jukebox in some new digital iTunes way of the word, I mean a literal jukebox, that plays vinyl 45s (sideways), and allows you to hit G-7 for Street Fightin’ Man — or in this case, probably Elvis’ Blue Christmas.
It was certainly strange to not be in my parents’ living room, eating the usual meal. But I was also certainly among great friends, and had much to be thankful for. Very much. Not least of all Sam and Jim’s deep-fry job, and some southern hospitality as only a Texan-cum-Coloradoan like Sam’s wife Meredith could provide.
So that was Thanksgiving night. The next day, my friends Aaron and his fiancee Nicole came to visit, somewhat on a whim. So they won the unofficial Who’s Going To Be The First To Visit Liam contest. They got no trophy — instead their prize was to have to spend time with me. So really, they didn’t win anything, they lost.
Ever since I arrived in Boulder, I’d wanted to go hiking, but never gave myself an excuse to. Plenty of excuses to walk to my nearby Little Caesar’s for a Hot ‘N’ Ready, but no excuses to hike. Well, the two of them visiting gave me a fantastic excuse since they were planning on doing it anyway, so we hiked up one of the Flatirons. It takes off from Chatauqua Park, essentially the Southwestiest you can get in town before the mountains start. I’d ridden up nearby Flagstaff Road plenty of times, but was excited to see what the trails were like.
Take a guess: they were awesome. Great times. And the weather was ridiculous all weekend long, like 60+ and sunny. Supposedly there’s a winter here. Still waiting.