We had a simple mac and cheese dinner with Anna and Michal the night Dad arrived, with wine of course. BTW, he wore the Depends things, but they're a nuisance because there's no fly. I told him now he knows what it's like to be a girl and then I cut a front slit in one pair. But he really had no problems like that while he was here.
Glen and I went to pick him up the next morning for the drive to Boulder and Dad was not in good shape. He said he had woken up "with the worst headache I've ever had in my life" and realized his whole body and every joint hurt. He didn't do anything but tried to sleep. Hours passed and the next thing he knew he woke up and realized he didn't hurt anymore. But it must have been quite severe—he said at one point he thought he was going to have to cancel the trip. We figure it was altitude sickness, which is highly unpredictable. But given the recent bout of pneumonia and the 3,000 or so extra feet, it makes sense.
The drive down was longer than usual—I had arranged to visit a crazy cheesemaker in Cainesville. Dad came in and met Randy and tasted the tomme and enjoyed it. But he was exhausted by the time he got to Boulder and then we had a little crisis because there were two beds in the bedroom and apparently no sofa bed in the living room. Dad did NOT want to share a room and insisted on sleeping on the sofa which I was not going to let happen.
We shelved it, took a toes up, then went to dinner at Hell's Backbone, where Blake treated Daddy like the amazing treasure he is. He was very happy, but tired, and drank no wine. Back at the suite, I won the bed battle and I slept on the sofa with Glen on the floor until I realized after a few hours that it was a sofa bed after all. Not sure where the original assessment came from.
So a good night's sleep, a leisurely breakfast with Jen, a nap and a good drive around Boulder and the monument. Dad continued to feel dizzy and unsteady on his feet, so we didn't get out of the car much.
Dinner with Blake again—Glen and I declared it close enough to celebrate our anniversary, so we drank sparkling. Daddy didn't sleep well again—probably the combined effect of altitude and alcohol.
Easy drive to SLC, and home in time for a good rest before dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and a fun evening watching Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney at the Edison, which has a Mighty Wurlitzer and an amazing organ player who accompanies the films. Right down Dad's alley.
Tuesday we drove up to a saloon in Huntsville for lunch—seems like everything meant driving up another few thousand feet. Another nap, then soup and sandwich at home with the World Series and Sam who had just returned from Boston.
And so it went—a drive out to Golden Spike the next day, which fortunately had a wheelchair available, then a nap, then a Bacchanalian dinner at The Paris, whose owner is generally acknowledged to be the biggest a-hole in SLC but he ADORES Dad—served a 7 course dinner with significant wines and comped the whole thing. (Eric had to take a break to talk to his lawyer about some assault charges.) He's been waiting since last year to have Daddy back—messaged me and Anna earlier this month to make sure he was coming. Amazing gesture, but too much food and wine for all of us. Whatcha gonna do??
Our last day, we went up to Deer Valley for lunch—highest altitude yet. Dad was panting hard and slightly panicked when we got there, but partly because he needed to pee and there wasn't a restroom close enough. After that crisis, he settled down to enjoy his bloody mary, topped with wasabi foam in a black sea salt-rimmed glass.
So. The visit was wonderful. Everyone here loves Daddy so much. We're so lucky.
But this will probably be his last visit up here. Dad's balance is so shaky and the lack of oxygen was really hard on him—I would have rented a wheelchair and asked Dr. Wiggins for an oxygen prescription if I had had any idea. I think John Rector used to get oxygen when he went to Vail, right?
Anyway, see you all at Thanksgiving.