Su’s weekend in Fat City
This is probably an example of shameless promotion of my employers, but I absolutely adore getting up on Sunday morning and finding the Sunday Aspen Times daily and weekly editions right on my doorstep.
Home delivery is a free service for anyone living between Aspen and El Jebel, with possible exceptions if you’re way off the beaten track. All you have to do is fill in a request form, which is usually printed in the paper (sometimes usurped by late paid ads), or you can pick one up at the main office or call and have them fax one to you.
There were some glitches at the start, so if you filled out a request and didn’t get the paper, please let them know. I had to bitch and nag for several weeks, followed by more bitching and nagging when I got TWO packages of papers every Sunday, but now everything is running flawlessly.
Another shameless plug: Starting in the middle of July, it will also include a complete weekly local TV guide.
My Saturday-morning highlight is the Farmer’s Market. For the past three weeks I have been pea-ing my brains out, determined to lay in a year’s worth of frozen shelling peas, whose season is almost over already. To that end, I shelled and froze 30 pounds of peas, which rounds out to about 9 quarts of peas and 20 pounds of shells.
This is tedious work indeed and my lust for fresh peas has significantly diminished, but I know how I will feel about them in dark December. Last year I subsisted on three quarts and would have fought to the death to protect them.
For Christmas, my daughter Skye gave me a device called a Food Saver, which vacuum packs and seals everything from frozen peas to clothing for compact packing. I was a little leery of it at first, but am now an addict. They nail you on the plastic bags, but considering what I paid for the peas it’s a small price to pay for preserving them.
A small breather and then next: Olathe corn!
I ventured down to the jazz event Sunday evening, having drawn a free ticket at work. My handicapped sticker got me into the parking garage and coming in via Spring Street, which has been closed for a long time, I got an impressive view of the new Obermeyer project ” man, what a colossus that place is!
The jazz tent was also impressively large, crawling with security. When the opening band began playing it felt as if an enormous artificial heart had been implanted in my body, going BOOM BOOM BOOM.
My concert-going experience is more along the line of Brubeck in a New York jazz club, Pete Seeger in a high school auditorium and Perlman in rehearsal at the old tent. It took only a few numbers of the Marcus Miller Band for me to realize that I was seriously out of my milieu and head for the comfort of home, far from the pounding heart.
I had a hard time getting out of the parking garage because the security guards assumed I was coming in and kept waving me up until I rolled down the window and cried, “OUT! How do I get OUT?”
Phew! Back home to my peas, my Sunday paper, my book and “Desperate Housewives” ” my kind of weekend here in Fat City.
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