Why?

This one requires a background story. The following is my memory of the first time that I set eyes on our house.

It was about 6:00 p.m., and we were on our way to look at a house to potentially purchase. The route to our destination took us down the street that is home to our current house.

My eyes first landed on the for sale sign in the front yard..pan..... to The House- a perfect little light green bungalow. The perfect component of it being the porch, which houses the porch swing. This is something that I have coveted since I can remember, a remnant left over of a childhood spent on my best friends porch swing.

The house sits caddy-corner from a high school track field, which, I was told was no longer in use as a school, but was being converted into an arts center. The field serves as the neighborhoods off leash dog park. Disclaimer: This is where my memory might be a little skewed out of proportion, a chronic symptom of the romanticism in my DNA. As we drove by the house, everything converted to slow motion. I watched as the neighbors -leashed dogs in hand, gleefully exited their homes and trolloped down the walk to the dog park, all the while -get this- calling out Hello's to the passer-by's. Maybe I had seen a few too many musicals at the time. As I recall, it had been a particularly long and dark winter.

I was sold. I wanted, I needed that house. But the problem was that it was way out of our price range. So, as the story goes, we made an offer on the other house, the one that we were on our way to see, we were out bid and sad for about three weeks until.....the perfect little green house- with it's swing and it's dog park- dropped in price, making itself affordable to us!

That was a very long back story- sorry, I can't help myself- having your undivided attention and all- I get excited. Here's the meat of my story.

So, we buy the little green bungalow and we move in. The start of 'The Beginning Of The Rest Of Our Days', staged in front of the setting sun, gin and tonic in one hand, a book in the other, sitting on the porch swing...together, happily ever after until....

Enter................................

THE MARCHING BAND.

Oh My God! This Is Surely Hell.

First, let me ask you this: Did you know that college marching bands compete, much like college sports teams, to be number one in the nation? And that to be number one, it takes a whole lot of practice, like 4 hours a day of practice, in the morning and in the night. Second, did you know that there really is such a thing as 'Band Camp'? I thought it was a farce the only happens in the movies, usually revolving around the flute player, but believe me, Band Camp is real. So is their never ending schedule.

And all that practicing takes place in the field caddy-corner to my house- to my porch swing, in the very field that people are suppose to act gleeful- and my interpretation of Glee does not include trombones, drums and the devil himself with a head mounted microphone.
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Later....
This is to prove just how serious I am:

This is 1/4 of the kids. Yes, those of them that are not in the photo also have instruments, probably a trombone, tuba or drum.

Getting his fix

I haven't posted for three days because Chris and I have been spending all of our spare minutes driving aimlessly throughout the back country dirt roads of the Colorado flats. Why? Good question. This is a good one:

We're searching for the perfect east to west, or west to east, dirt road that is relatively flat and straight and at least 2 miles long. Wait, there's more. The road must not only meet the requirements that I've just listed, but it must also not have power lines, houses, tall fences, mean dogs, scary people with guns, or bulls..and it needs to be smooth enough to drive 30 mph on.

You'd think- or at least I thought that this would be a relatively easy task to accomplish.

I was so wrong. I've lost days of my life...days of blogging! All for the love that a wife has for her husband.

I forgot to tell you why we're doing this. This road, given that it meets all the necessary requirements, will serve as a tow road for our new tow winch. Or from my selfish skewed reality, it will allow me to fling Chris a mile into the sky so that I can get some peace and quite and work on taking some photos.

We found a road, it's not perfect, due to some very tall and sharp barbed wire- which resulted in me getting a tetanus shot- but I successfully towed Chris for the first time completely alone, meaning all by myself. He claims that it was an awesome tow. I'm very proud- it's o.k. to brag a little when you're really feeling it- like I am right now.

Here's a picture of him- get out your reading glasses. I'm going to guess that he's at about 10,000 feet. Can you see him? Clean your computer screen- that was my problem. He's almost in the very center of the photo. You can also click on the photo to enlarge it.

Here's a couple other photo's from the day. Colorado really is a beautiful place.

And of course, a happy man after his fix.

I'm alive!

It's been raining here in Fort Collins for the past 3 days.

At about 1 and 1/2 days of non-stop rain I started to wonder if we were entering the great volcanic winter. I kept watching the news, listening for headlines telling us of the super volcano that has finally erupted someplace on the opposite side of the planet.

Upon no news of mass destruction, I figured that the world was just too busy with their obsession of Michael Phelps to inform us that we should start contemplating whom in our family would become the best meal upon starvation. - this has been a hard decision for us, given that we are a somewhat skinny family.

But alas! The sun has returned! And as far as I know, there has been no new mass destructions on the planet earth, except of course, for all of the ones currently burning hot, those of which I will not list because I've promised not to become political on this blog. Politics have proven not to be good for my relations with other people, like you.

So I'm doing a 'Happy Sun Dance' right now as I type. I've been reminded of how much I love- and need the sun, for my own happiness (that's code talk for 'sanity').

This is a picture to illustrate that the sun is out. Really, I've been contemplating how to show everyone this piece of art without seeming too vain and materialistic, and this is the perfect opportunity, it being a stain glass window, and the sun shining on it. and all.

Happy days are here again!

A happy marriage: Take 2

Me: You're fired.

Chris: You can't fire me. I'm the CFO, CTO, CDO and CFFTEO!

Me: Wait, then what am I again?

Mystery solved

The first time that I saw her pass, I looked up and down the block to see if there was a marathon in progress that I was not aware of. I actually did. Up and down the block. Was the Kenyan team about to round the corner? Nope. There was no one else, so back to my daily battle with the dandelions I went.

An hour later, there she is again! Running shorts, running tank, hat, 4 minute mile pace. Was there a number pinned to her back? I couldn't tell, she was too fast. She was there and then she was gone- leaving only dust lingering in her trail.

It's evening, I'm relaxing on my porch swing enjoying a gin and tonic. What's that? I can make out only a movement in the shadows, I watch. It is short in stance, thin and fast. It's her! This time, she's across the street on the running track. So fast. Around and around. I sit there and watch. I watch her for at least an hour. Nothing changes in that hour except for her direction on the track. Her knees must hurt.

This goes on and on, for about 2 months. Always alone, no running mate, and at a pace that looks to me to be a 4 minute mile. She's short and extremely fit, with a keen resemblance to a gazelle- a woman gazelle. Always looking forward, in the zone- as though Catherine Ndereba might be on her heals.

I'm at the dog park with Dyggs. A woman is telling me about a neighbor who ran the Chicago Marathon this past October. It was her first marathon ever and she was going to win- she actually thought that she had won. It's a quarter mile before the finish and she's still running her 4 minute mile, she gives a high five to a spectator, never breaking her intense gaze forward.

then suddenly

Those of you who know me know that I'm, well, curious. O.k., nosy. I have to know, I must know you're story. Everyone's got story. No one is an enigma. That would be a waste of a life.

This woman almost killed me with her 4 mile pace- no story-enigma like life. She was too fast to run with, even too fast to greet- that is, if she was even capable of noticing you through her intense gaze.

I told my sister this story, because she also ran the Chicago Marathon. She, being a curious one too, found the youtube clip above and sent it to me.

I opened it and watched. I almost fell off my chair. "Holy $#%*! It's her! The Enigma!" I screamed! Chris came running. "#@*$! It is her!" He screams back.

To this day, we sit on our porch swing enjoying our coffees and tonics, and we watch her pass in the morning, and in the evening. A gazelle like 4 minute pace. Eyes glued onto the molecules hanging on the horizon. But I can now understand. I have her story, all the story that I need. She is no longer an enigma.

She is an 'almost champion'. That's gotta kill. It's gotta leave a mark- a deep, infected mark. I'm sure that her life has been changed for forever and I am positive that she will run until she can no longer run another step.

Happiness is...

Meet the newest member of the Galli family.

She's greasy and heavy and made of all sorts of metal. I never thought that I'd ever be so happy! And the labor pains were nothing! As easy as writing out a check!

We haven't given her a name yet, as we don't feel that we know her completely - she's deep, all of those sprockets and clamps.

We've just picked her up in Utah and have been out in the flats breaking her in, she's a joy.

What is she you ask? She is a Winch. Not a winch like me, she is much stronger, and definitely much more quite. She's a tow winch, designed to tow paragliders into the sky, with the potential of reaching 3500 feet in elevation.

We purchased this 'rig' from Cloud Street Design. http://www.cloudstreetwinch.com/ and if you've been reading the life of galli thoroughly then you'll know what a 'cloud street ' is and this should make you very exited, your foot should be thumping.

Here's how it works, and no Jen, it is not as dangerous as you might think-there are no training wheels, but life is a dangerous ordeal- this addition just makes it more fun.

First, a special thanks to Mr. Galli, for the amazing photo's. I'm thinking that you should join Team Galli and be the team photographer. Not much money to be made here, but I promise that you'll get a great tan.


This is part of the preparation stage. I'm clearing the lines of the paraglider.








As the truck drives forward, the winch lets out line, then increases the tension slowly as the pilot pulls up the wing and steps forward. Just like that, the pilot is lifted from the ground and is on his/her way to cloud street neverland, at least, those are our hopes.


Once the pilot feels that he/she is high enough, they release the line, which falls to the ground under a drogue, and is reeled back in by my beauty, the winch. The pilot is then free to fly and to hopefully break, make and re-break records.

We can now fly anywhere in the world, given we can drive our truck and winch there. We no longer have the need for mountain side foot launches- this is huge! No more trespassing for us! Think of all the money we'll save by not having to be bailed out of jail...I'm joking Deb.

So we are now free to roam. The money press fits in the bed of the truck and we should be just fine. Happily ever off.

A happy marriage

Me: "You're fired."

Chris: "You can't fire me."

Me: "Why not?"

Chris: "Because I already fired you."

Me: "Good point."