Oh, give me a home...

Oh, give me a home... where the incredibly old roam. Where the baby and a cranky cat play.

Phil and I are feeling the effects of old age. Yesterday, we walked to a house-warming party which, according to Mapquest, is only 1.26 miles from our dwelling. There were several things that caused us distress, for which we are paying for dearly today.

Picture, if you will, two parents. Phil had Amos strapped to his chest and bundled up as much as one baby can be bundled. I was carrying the diaper bag containing enough diapers and baby supplies to survive a nuclear holocaust.

We talked a neighbor into walking with us. Mari Beth has incredibly long legs that can cross one city block with two strides. I am not of long leg. I am Lothar, of the short people. Top that with Mari Beth's need to power walk, and I suffered mightily as we tried to keep up with her. We tried to explain that we are a bit slower than a marathoner because we were toting Amos. It didn't sink in with her until I yelled "STOP!" and had to rub the cramp out of my leg. After that, she graciously offered to carry me on her back. That's what neighbors are for.

We finally arrived at our destination and entered the largest, most incredible house in our neighborhood. The folks we were visiting had been our neighbors across the street from us, and they sold their gorgeous home and garden for this gigantic new construction further west. Most of the neighbors on our block would grumble and complain that our former neighbors had abandoned us, as we are a dizzy collection of crazy people who get together for parties or whatever occasion we can think of in order to drink a great deal of alcohol. How could anyone want to leave that kind of paradise? So, we did what only grumpy neighbors should do: we all descended upon this new house to eat a ton of barbeque and ooh and ahh at the spacious home.

Well, we quickly learned why one would want to leave such a place as our block. This house is magnificent. Four stories of glorious beauty with the best views of the mountains and downtown. Phil and I stood on the top floor terrace with a few of our current neighbors as we surveyed the incredible surroundings. We pointed out things that some of us had never noticed before (Jonathan: "I've lived here 20 years. How come I never noticed the GIANT lit-up cross over there on that mountain?!"). We all felt humbled and small by the vast beauty that one can survey from the third floor of a home costing far more than half a million dollars. Some of us declared that we would become squatters in the next door home that had not been sold yet. I decided that we should push our former neighbors into turning their new dwelling into a bed and breakfast for us. The consensus was that all of us thought we had nice homes, but alas, we suck.

So, we toured the giant house. Up and down the stairs. From the basement to the third floor, up and down and back again. Food was on one level, seating was on another. Views were here, bathrooms were there. Wine was downstairs, chocolate cake was upstairs. Cooler air was in the basement, delicious bbq was upstairs. I had more exercise (on top of the marathon with Mari Beth) than I had in quite awhile. Remember, now, I was also carrying Amos everywhere since he had been unstrapped from Phil's chest.

We walked home in the 34 degree air after stuffing our bellies with delights. Once we were home, my back seized up and my sciatic nerve decided to rebel. I was completely gimpy.

This morning, Phil and I awoke to Brokeback Porters. He is hunched over with sore shoulders and back from toting Amos and his growing body. I am limping around with sore shoulders, sore butt (from the sciatic nerve), and an unexplained pain in my left temple.

Then, Phil tells me that he is feeling old because he saw pictures of his high school 20th reunion that we did not attend. He recognized some people but not all. Most astounding to him: "I just looked from picture to picture and wondered who all of these old people were."

So, tonight we attend another party. Thankfully, we are not walking to this one. Tonight is the annual Comedy Works Christmas party hosted by the lovely A-list comedy club that Phil performs at on a weekly basis. We expect laughter, merriment, libations, and good food. I also expect to wake up tomorrow needing an IV and a full body cast.

So, if I am slow to update the blog, blame it on the holiday parties. My old bones just can't do it like they used to.