Peace in a small town-Day 6

Woke up early this morning with a craving to walk. I got up and made a pot of joe and wanted to spend time with the Grand Lady and the God who protects her before she needed to turn and take care of the needy tourists today, the eve before the celebration of her country’s birthday. The town began to fill yesterday like a bucket under a waterfall, which this town has. There was a stream of cars coming from both ends. I wanted some alone time with the two of them, before the fray started.

It was just the three of us and a cup of good coffee that I knew wasn’t going to get me around the horn before it was empty. That was okay. We just walked and talked, looking for the Bad Boys but knew they were too smart. They got out of Dodge before Mummy and Daddy and the six kids, three with runny noses THAT NO ONE IN THE FAMILY WANTS TO WIPE walk down the street and into the clothing store where they proceed to touch everything. Yep, the deer are smart.

Some of the locals were out this morning, starting their yard watering and sweeping off the stoops, putting up flags and bunting. Tomorrow, July 4^th, is huge here. The locals celebrate their country’s birthday like it’s the first one. There will be a parade here in town complete with an old fire truck, the Synchronized Dog Walking Team, clown cars, the Ouray Youth Dirt Bike Club, and a water fight. Yep, they seal off highway 550 and arm two parties with fire hoses and the first one to get knocked over loses. At the end, there is a fly over by something of the military. Two years ago you had to be looking because they were moving so quick, they were in an out of the valley before the sound reached you-very cool. I think 300 years ago, in Scotland where my ancestors are from, they had kind of the same thing, only they used axes.

I walked by the Artisan Bakery. They were working, but wouldn’t be open for another hour. The owner waived. I waived back, tipping my nearly empty coffee cup.

I continued north, back up Main. Meadow Gold was making an unusual Sunday delivery to the Backstreet Bistro. They won’t open until 7:30. The locals know that but no one told the tourists. They’re standing outside its door like a methadone clinic waiting for it to open to get their morning fix of coffee.

Last night, O’Brien’s Irish Pub was partying late into the night. Its an Irish pub so that is to be expected. Our room however, was right next door. I am guessing most of the locals hit it early and then went home and to bed before nine, leaving the place for those people. We had our balcony door open so we could clearly hear the drunk chicks. “No, I told him I don’t want him, but he just don’t listen. He said he’d get a job when he gets out of jail and that I should wait. He says he loves me-whoo hoo!” I’m sorry, but isn’t it the drunk chick that always starts the problem in the bar? Think back to all those times. It was a woman who started it. “What are you looking at? Tommy, TOMMY, put that beer down and listen to me, this guy was looking at me. What are you going to do about it?” All Tommy wanted to do was to enjoy his cold beer and maybe watch one of the three games on the flat screens around the bar. But, nooo, now he has to carry out some title fight with some guy he really has no beef with, just to please a woman he wasn’t too fond of in the first place.

Two of Ouray’s Finest sat in their patrol cars right across the street. I mean we’re here, and if any of you inside go sideways we are going to rain down on the lot of you like a Mexican sombrero on a Frenchman kind of close. You start something with two police officers the size of sycamore trees five steps away, you deserve to have stitches. About 2am, the drunk chicks finally went home. “Whaaaduyoumeanweeeregoin?idonwannaleave—wait-Igottapuke.ohiloveyoubaby-kissme.” I was just thinking-wouldn't it be funny if she woke up with her head shaved.

I'm just saying.

Justice served.

Tomorrow, the Grand Lady puts on her formals and presides over a party that is taking place in thousands of towns just like this. There are thousands of clown cars in parades across the nation, probably not too many synchronized dog teams, but maybe. One thing I can tell you, there isn’t one synchronized dog team in a parade celebrating freedom in ANY other country on the planet. Nope, not one. There isn’t a fire truck with the Grand Marshall being a 21 year old marine, sailor, airman, or soldier who just came home from the sandbox, sitting next to the 17 year old Miss True Value princess, nope, not one. There isn’t a country that will wear their nations flag or flag colors as shirts, lapel pin, hat, flag tucked into a hat, scarf, dog wear, or strapped to the back of their Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Not one. Two-hundred and thirty-five years ago, a bunch of dead guys had sealed themselves in a room on an upper floor of a building in Boston and had decided to lay it all on the line. Everything they had and known they were saying wasn’t enough unless it had freedom attached to it, including their lives.

Enjoy.