Living far away from my childhood home, I don’t see family and friends from Europe nearly as often as I would like, excepting this year, when my husband and I were blessed with two rounds of visitors, resulting in multiple excursions to Denver’s airport. Our friend Susanne came for an impromptu stay in April, giving us the opportunity to introduce her to a few of our favorite destinations.
Even though she made us hike daily, she also contributed to our waistlines by supplying us with mounds of chocolate, tea, home-made jam, and bread spreads. Those have mostly vanished, but we continue to benefit almost daily from the magic frothing wand that did not report for the transatlantic return.
Thank you again, Susanne. On your next trip we will explore all the trails we missed.
Soon after I squeezed out the last imported fennel tea bag kindly carried in the luggage of the woman who can stand neither its taste nor its smell, I was frolicking with the anticipation of a re-supply. Fortunately for us, my cousin, her husband and daughter decided to stay with us for a (too) short stint in August, before traveling to the West Coast in a rental car. My request for fennel tea was heeded – and my expectations far exceeded. Instead of the three or four boxes I had in mind, I found myself counting twelve! Why the fuss about this beverage? It is not widely available here, and its classification as a medicinal herb increases the price tag. I could try to grow it myself, but have, thus far, been enabled in my complacency by our accommodating guests.
I was no less surprised to find that asking for chili chocolate was answered by ten (10!) bars, as opposed to the anticipated two or three. My resolution to fight against my bulging hips flew out the window, outmaneuvered by an overabundance of goodwill and calories. From my better half who does not care for this flavor of chocolate, I can’t expect any help.
The gift list does not end here. I was thrilled to receive a book that bears the same title as a condition I am (happily) afflicted with: Ornithomania. And my husband to obtain a pair of handsome, hand-knitted socks certain to warm his feet come winter. As if these offerings were not enough, my mere mention of admiring a cloth bag resulted in its bequeathal to us, when we had the opportunity to spend one last afternoon together in early September in Denver, where my relatives had a one night layover before their return to Germany.
It just so happened that my cousin’s husband, a dedicated (should I say obsessive?) runner, had signed up for our most iconic local mountain race, the Pikes Peak Marathon. Five days after arriving in Colorado Springs from an elevation of about 800 feet, he started his run at about 6300 feet, covered 7800 feet over the course of 13 miles to the summit at 14,115 feet, then turned around and did it once more in reverse – and all in under six hours. Hat off, Sven (that is, Pikes Peak Marathon hat on)! I can only dream of such a performance, but you just fit it in before leaving on a 3000 mile drive to California.
Tamara, Chiara and Sven, we loved having you spend time with us and only regret that it flew by. We hope all of you will come back, ere long.
Henceforth, I will respond to the hugely appreciated offer of presents from Germany only after profound reflection and deliberation. I should not need fennel tea or chocolate for the foreseeable future, even though a couple of bars have already disappeared, inexplicably.
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