AfricanKelli

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2011 will always be known as the year of Willie Nelson Mandela. Granted, there were a few other monsters crossed off the bucket list, but none of those wake me up each morning with a smile and a wagging pom pom tail screaming, “TODAY IS GOING TO BE THE BEST DAY EVER! CAN I GO OUTSIDE NOW?”

A few of my favorite photos from the year, including too many of the prized pup:

A year that begins in Africa can be nothing short of magical; 2011 didn’t disappoint.

Holy crikes. That’s how you do a year right. Thank you 2011! (I hear your younger sister 2012 brings great promise.)

~K

Spending a few days in the South working at a project site.

Be back soon, y’all.

xo,

K

Denver 30 was an attempt to step back from my blog for a bit and have more time for other things. For one, I’ve been taking a writing class for the last two months that wrapped this week. It was taught by Nick Arvin, who has published a successful novel, a book of short stories and has a second novel coming out in March. As a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, you’d think he’d be a cocky, leather elbow tweed coat jerk. And you’d be entirely wrong. He is a soft-spoken, kind and generous man who led our little class through a handful of other novels with thoughtful discussion and encouragement on our own projects. I was taken by his humble presence.

There has been a sweater knitting class too. Work travel. Thanksgiving. Ignite Boulder.  And oh, that little holiday in three weeks I spend six months planning for.

Denver 30 — all 110 photos of this lovely city — was an attempt to honor my father. He, who I idolize, isn’t such a fan of what I share on the interwebs. As an an intensely private, quiet man, I’d guess he’s fairly shocked to be in in someway responsible for creating a loud-mouth, all knowing, non-stop attention sponge of a daughter.

I’ve read in several memoirs that in your early 30s, people find a self-confident swagger and stride they could have only dreamed of, say, that pimply year of high school when jeans were never quite long enough to cover awkward limbs akimbo. Or maybe that was just last year, which had decidedly clearer skin, but ankles still in full view.

To my father’s credit, I did spend November considering thoughtfully about the blog. And yet, the plan backfired. The introspection brought me to a tail-feather shaking realization that frankly, you just can’t please everyone.

Let the blog trolls do their anonymous cowardly acts of malice. Let the crowds roll their eyes at my love of Christmas — the carols, the Excel spreadsheet planning of gifts, expenses and mailing calendar, the decorations and the pure joy I find in celebrating. Let the fashionistas laugh at the fact I still have a hard time finding jeans that cover all of my socks. Let the nutritionists scorn my autopsy, which will surely show veins coursing equal parts chardonnay and Diet Coke. Let those without pets snicker how a pound pup could complete change my life for the better.

Instead, I have some gifts to wrap, a soda to guzzle, carols to sing gleefully off key and a very happy Willie Nelson Mandela to snuggle.

Shake your tail feathers, Chickens.

~K

My friends in Phoenix are melting. And, surprise, surprise, nary a soul is happy to hear I’m blogging from my patio, in the shade, sipping a milkshake with the world’s cutest dog at my feet. I’m a wee bit smug pleased this is the first summer I can say I intentionally wanted to be out of the heat at made it happen. Although as far as the weather karma goes, I’m keenly aware this also means I’m going to be begging for Scottsdale guest rooms come winter. White stuff is rumored to fall from the sky, stick and make doing all the incredibly fun things I’ve been doing fairly difficult. I’m considering becoming a nomad.

I honestly am spending 90% of time my time outside this summer, without a sunburn, outside of a pool and even on occasion wearing jeans and scarves. Together. In the summer. JEANS AND SCARVES.

A bit of my leathery tanned Arizona heart leapt just reading that.

In other news, I’ve visited some great restaurants in the area lately with friends in town. Julia Blackbird’s is New Mexican cuisine in the Highlands neighborhood. The green chile is fantastic and the patio is delightful. Lots of shade, flowers and of course, the guacamole and tequila aren’t too bad either. It is reasonably priced, quality food with a relaxing and pretty environment.

Delite is a retro bar off Broadway and the perfect place to grab a pre-dinner drink. Next door to Beatrice + Woodsley, we people watched and enjoyed reading the creative list of cocktails. Be wary; the bartender is far too generous. By the time we took our seats at B+W, I needed food. Pronto.

Thankfully, I’d come to the right place. Beatrice + Woodsley is like walking into a fairytale. The wine is served with Alice and Wonderland inspired tags. There are giant aspen trees inside, with gauzy mosquito netting between tables glowing from hurricane lamps and candles. It is romantic and a bit dreamy.

The food was a wash. Some plates were excellent, others were simply not. It’s a little pricey for such inconsistency; next time I’ll likely have an appetizer and skip the rest.

Today I had lunch at Zoka’s in Pine, Colorado. If you are visiting me this summer — we are going here for lunch. The drive from Denver is about an hour into the mountains and couldn’t be lovelier. Zoka’s has a huge porch, with dog tie up stations at each table and the waiter gladly brought a bowl of water. The food was great, the scenery was unbelievably gorgeous and the outing was the perfect time away from the city.

Lucky, spoiled and happy to be living without an air conditioner,

~K

Have you heard about the great woolly mammoth discovery in Snowmass, Colorado? Well. We happened to visit during Ice Age Days (featuring such fun events as “sloth races! costumes (and presumably, irony) provided!”) While you couldn’t visit the site where archaelogists were digging up ancient buffalo, mammoths and other animals — you could take a 2 mile switchback hike up a nearby mountain and “peer over the edge into the excavation site.”

Sold.

One of my many nerdy loves? Dinosaurs. I love them. I always have, but especially since reading Jurassic Park in early high school.  Visiting Sue a few years ago was certainly a highlight. And now? Hiking up to see an excavation site? HOLY DINO BONES. I couldn’t wait.

Poor Charlie, a wee bit hungover from far too good of a time the night before with his wife and their friends Lyle Lovett and Lance Armstrong (long story), wasn’t too keen to keep his promise made the day before to do the dino hike with me. Alas, I wasn’t letting him off the hook. In fact, I was more determined to help him work off his haze and chirped along the trail until I am pretty sure he sped up to make me winded and quiet. It worked temporarily.

While the path was lined with fields of flowers and truly amazing views, the top was strange. This is the first hike I’ve ever done where the summit included a marble ying yang sign. Like a helipad, but too small for such things. Someone thought it made sense to create a marble, tiled circle on top of this little mountain. But never mind this strange pattern that greeted our summit. Where were the dinos? Wait. What? The construction equipment way over there? Those are the dinos? But you can’t see anything! We’d been duped!

It was hard to be too angry considering how gorgeous the hike was. Plus, the few pieces of pipe I could see in the excavation site quickly became mammoth vertebrae. By the time we got to the bottom of the mountain, I’d spun an entire tale of what the archieologists were looking for and what they’d found. Poor Charlie, I’m fairly certain, wanted to kill me and the barista who’d provided an extra shot of espresso pre-hike.

To which he only said, “I don’t think mammoths are dinos anyway.”

After a debate whether the Flintstones had woolly mammoths or not — and whether “actual people” lived with these animals — we agreed to disagree. It was a dino hike, whether we saw actual bones or not.

~K

I am simply the most blessed kid on earth because this man is my father:

He has my complete love and admiration.

To all the great fathers in the world — may you be celebrated and adored this weekend!

~K

I spent my last day in the Valley, among other things hugging many friends and hiking Camelback Mountain.

A sign I will always be Arizonan at heart? My tan officially matches the landscape.

The car is packed, including my bikes. I’m off to a new home in Colorado. Thank you all — near and far — for your well wishes, gifts, notes, meals and parties during this crazy month. What a month it’s been! I will miss this great desert, in great part to the many, many people of Arizona I love. I will miss you dearly.

Now, please start looking for flights to Denver. I will be preparing the homestead for your many visits, especially those with a relocation mission.

xoxo,

K

My current moving alert isn’t red. Or orange. It’s beige. I’m surrounded by beige. Boxes, boxes everywhere. It’s mayhem.

My happy spin on the current homeland Code Beige!: packing is a lot of fun for a girl who loves to organize. I currently own only socks with pairs. Only towels, pillow cases and white T-shirts without that random mascara stain. Only earrings that I’ll actually wear. Only shoes I really love. Only dishes, books, fabric, yarn, plants, and furniture that I plan on using for a very, very long time.

T-minus 56 hours left in Phoenix. Time to write a new story!

May the movers be gentle,

K

Since my first recordable cassette tape player, I’ve used music mixes to communicate what I can’t.

Tomorrow night my friends are throwing me one hell of a going away party. In turn, I’m making party favors — my “Arizona –> Colorado!” two disc mix.

What I hope it says is: I love you. More than you could know, I love you, and this town and this state. I love the cactus, Camelback Mountain, always having a tan, the best Mexican food outside of, well, Mexico. I love how my friends’ parents adopted me after my parents moved to Texas. I love that I always have a place at Sunday dinner. I love my church. I love my community garden. I love the African in the guest room, even though he still doesn’t know how to run the dishwasher (or unload it) 2.5 years later. I love the schools I attended. I love the birds chirping outside as I type this, especially the baby quail.

But more than anything, I love the little ones. It’s my friends’ kids I will miss the most.

CD 1: Arizona

1. Windows are rolled down: Amos Lee

2. Far Away: Ingrid Michaelson

3. Dots of Maps: Say Hi

4. Summer Wind: Frank Sinatra

5. Carefree Highway: Gordon Lightfoot

6. There is no Arizona: Jamie O’Neal

7. Desert Song: Edward Sharpe + the Magnetic Zeroes

8. Draw Me a Map: Dierks Bentley

9. After the Storm: Mumford + Sons

10. Arizona: Brian Haner

Disc 2: Colorado!

1. I gotta move: Ben Kweller

2. Rocky Mountain High: John Denver

3. Colorado: Chevy Chase

4. Colorado Sunrise: 3OH!3

5. Hold you in my arms: Ray LaMontagne

6. Sn Hands: Local Natives

7. The Long Way Home: Norah Jones

8. A Change is Gonna Come: Sam Cooke

9. Don’t Fence me In: David Byrne

And in turn, I know you love my sense of adventure and wanderlust. And my sappy mix CDs.

~K

Friday, I got the sign off on a good job in Colorado. This meant happy hour at our favorite local haunt — Four Peaks.

Saturday, I met the future tenants on my little home. I’m tiding up a few pieces of my life in Arizona that have remained gray far too long.  As the dominos fall, I skip, smile and then quietly cry when I can get a moment alone. As my friend Candace said, it’s a bittersweet time.

Two short weeks left in this home, that I’ve had for 8 years, and this town, that I’ve had for 31. Holy Moses.

~K