Three Scenes from Breckenridge
Scene 1
The summer after I turned 26 was one of those (pitiful but infrequent) times when I thought everyone was a better Christian than I was. For months, it seemed, I had been asking God to answer my prayers but I kept getting a busy signal. One day I overheard our church accountant say that whenever she needed direction from God, she took a long drive in the mountains. “I should do that,” I thought. “But I’m not as good a Christian as she is, so maybe I should stay in the mountains for a few days.”
So I rented a condo in Breckenridge. It took three hours to get there: one hour on the highway and two hours driving around in circles looking for the condo. Finally, I decided to swallow my pride and call the owners. The man who answered asked me what street I was on, so I got out of the car, walked three feet to the nearest street sign, and read him the name.
“Is there a big building in front of it that looks like a condo?” he asked.
“Yeeeess . . .” I replied.
“You’re standing in our driveway.”
The next three days were no improvement. I brought my Bible, my journal, and my guitar – all the key ingredients of Christian devotion – but enlightenment never came showering down from the heavens. I spent the nights curled up in the silence, lonesome and shivering. During the day I went hiking, ushering up one-sided prayers all the way to the top of the mountain and back. I took the same trail for three days in a row and got lost every time. During my descent I kept taking a wrong turn at a fork in the trail, which sent me straight back up the mountain the same exact way I had come down. Of course, my surroundings always looked the same (trees, trees, and more trees) so it took a while to figure out that I was actually lost. “Dangit!” I shouted internally, “It’s just uphill both ways with you, isn’t it God?”
On my third hike I decided to avoid getting lost by following two women and their dogs. After a while they began taking a narrow and ambiguous turn off the trail. One of them noticed me. “Oh. You’re following us?”
“Yes, yes,” I replied cheerfully. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Um . . . I don’t really understand,” she said. “We’re going over here to pee.”
They stared at me. I stared back. Why couldn’t I explain myself? Why couldn’t I tell them I was just an impatient person with no talent for reading maps? Why couldn’t I say that I had not received the God-given internal compass that is generously bestowed upon all “good” Christians? But for some reason my mind was blank. Surely these women thought I was some ambling pervert who follows hikers into the woods to watch them pee. Instead of explaining myself, I simply mustered a nervous chuckle. “Sorry!” I blurted, and ran off.
Scene 2
At age 28 I found myself in Breckenridge once again, not because of any spiritual mission of my own, but because my friend, Jessica, had a crush on a guy named Dan who went to grad. school with us. After class one day we all went out for beers and Dan happened to tell us that he was part of a competitive barbeque team. “A competitive what?” we asked. “A competitive barbeque team,” he explained, completely straight-faced. “Last year we took third in pork.”
For some reason Jessica and I found this completely hilarious and we continued to ridicule him for the rest of the term. Dan told us he could prove his skill if we attended the annual barbeque festival in Breckenridge that summer. In part, we drove up there with the simple intention of spending a weekend away. But, at the same time, this event (which we started calling the “meat festival”) appeared to be the perfect chance for Jessica to win Dan’s affections. Even though both of us were dangerously inept in the field of romance, we determined that Jessica would somehow make herself irresistible and I would be her wingman. Wingwoman. Sidekick. Whatever.
Anyway, the meat festival was a series of about 100 tents selling different forms of barbeque. We bought a booklet of tickets and proceeded to search for Dan’s booth, eating tiny cups of meat along the way. By the time we found him, we had probably eaten about ten pounds of brisket. Dan was happily surprised to see us. “Jennifer! Allison!” he shouted gleefully from behind the grill. “I’m so glad you could make it!” Then he came out of the tent and asked us to meet his fiancé, Jedediah, who was busily stacking sausages behind him.
Needless to say, the surprise appearance of a fiancé was a bit discouraging. We politely made our greetings and walked away from the booth, defeated. “What just happened?” we kept asking each other over tiny cups of shredded beef. “How could he not know our names?” and “Why didn’t we know he had a fiancé?” and “What was her name again? Jedediah? As in Springfield?” and “No, I think that’s Jebediah.” Befuddled, we continued stabbing pieces of meat with toothpicks and shoving them into our mouths.
Needing something sweet to balance out the barbeque, we bought funnel cakes for the drive home. Just then it started to rain and we were miles away from where we had parked so we had to run through the icy droplets. I was a few feet behind Jessica, who was hunched up with a cold, drenched funnel cake in her hands, dodging in between pedestrians with an irregular, meat-laden jog. She had just been rejected by a guy. She was making erratic, high-pitched shivering noises through her teeth. The poetic disappointment of it all sent me into such a hysterical fit of laughter that I had to stand there with my legs crossed for five minutes.
Once I recovered we made it to the car and sat there in silence. I thought about what the trip really meant. Jessica had missed a shot at her heart’s desire and I never had a chance at succeeding as her wingwoman. In the end, the only things we came away with were soaking wet funnel cakes and two stomachs full of meat.
On the way home the rainstorm turned into a downpour, the highway flooded, and we thought we would surely die. The Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack was piping through the CD player, which was strangely appropriate for the climate. Slowly but surely, we made it home. Jessica dropped me off at my apartment . On the way back to her place she pulled over at 7-11 and threw up in a trash can.
Scene 3
This week I found myself once again swerving through Colorado’s picturesque peaks and valleys on the way to a teachers' planning retreat in Breckenridge. For three days I talked and laughed with my colleagues. It was the perfect balance of fun and productivity. The impending school year was like a golden beacon renewing my calling as an educator. Most importantly, for the first time in my life I left Breckenridge feeling content and self-assured.
It was a long drive back and, with no one to talk to, my mind began to wander. It’s amazing how some familiar scenery can send the memories flooding back. I remembered the frustration of getting lost on the hiking trail. However, I also remembered that I came home from that trip and, before unpacking, made three lasagnas for my friends and family. After I stopped comparing myself to others and started worshipping God using my own talents and abilities, we started having two-sided conversations again.
I also remembered Jessica’s fruitless efforts to find love amidst the barbeque smoke. About a year after that trip we were listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack and I turned to her and said, “Do you know what this music reminds me of?”
“Sailing home from Breckenridge after the meat festival?” she replied. We both smiled.
Sailing home from Breckenridge after the meat festival. I thought about how that phrase had probably never been uttered before in the history of the English language. And I thought about what good friends we were. And I thought about how I had finally found direction in my life without even noticing.
The summer after I turned 26 was one of those (pitiful but infrequent) times when I thought everyone was a better Christian than I was. For months, it seemed, I had been asking God to answer my prayers but I kept getting a busy signal. One day I overheard our church accountant say that whenever she needed direction from God, she took a long drive in the mountains. “I should do that,” I thought. “But I’m not as good a Christian as she is, so maybe I should stay in the mountains for a few days.”
So I rented a condo in Breckenridge. It took three hours to get there: one hour on the highway and two hours driving around in circles looking for the condo. Finally, I decided to swallow my pride and call the owners. The man who answered asked me what street I was on, so I got out of the car, walked three feet to the nearest street sign, and read him the name.
“Is there a big building in front of it that looks like a condo?” he asked.
“Yeeeess . . .” I replied.
“You’re standing in our driveway.”
The next three days were no improvement. I brought my Bible, my journal, and my guitar – all the key ingredients of Christian devotion – but enlightenment never came showering down from the heavens. I spent the nights curled up in the silence, lonesome and shivering. During the day I went hiking, ushering up one-sided prayers all the way to the top of the mountain and back. I took the same trail for three days in a row and got lost every time. During my descent I kept taking a wrong turn at a fork in the trail, which sent me straight back up the mountain the same exact way I had come down. Of course, my surroundings always looked the same (trees, trees, and more trees) so it took a while to figure out that I was actually lost. “Dangit!” I shouted internally, “It’s just uphill both ways with you, isn’t it God?”
On my third hike I decided to avoid getting lost by following two women and their dogs. After a while they began taking a narrow and ambiguous turn off the trail. One of them noticed me. “Oh. You’re following us?”
“Yes, yes,” I replied cheerfully. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Um . . . I don’t really understand,” she said. “We’re going over here to pee.”
They stared at me. I stared back. Why couldn’t I explain myself? Why couldn’t I tell them I was just an impatient person with no talent for reading maps? Why couldn’t I say that I had not received the God-given internal compass that is generously bestowed upon all “good” Christians? But for some reason my mind was blank. Surely these women thought I was some ambling pervert who follows hikers into the woods to watch them pee. Instead of explaining myself, I simply mustered a nervous chuckle. “Sorry!” I blurted, and ran off.
Scene 2
At age 28 I found myself in Breckenridge once again, not because of any spiritual mission of my own, but because my friend, Jessica, had a crush on a guy named Dan who went to grad. school with us. After class one day we all went out for beers and Dan happened to tell us that he was part of a competitive barbeque team. “A competitive what?” we asked. “A competitive barbeque team,” he explained, completely straight-faced. “Last year we took third in pork.”
For some reason Jessica and I found this completely hilarious and we continued to ridicule him for the rest of the term. Dan told us he could prove his skill if we attended the annual barbeque festival in Breckenridge that summer. In part, we drove up there with the simple intention of spending a weekend away. But, at the same time, this event (which we started calling the “meat festival”) appeared to be the perfect chance for Jessica to win Dan’s affections. Even though both of us were dangerously inept in the field of romance, we determined that Jessica would somehow make herself irresistible and I would be her wingman. Wingwoman. Sidekick. Whatever.
Anyway, the meat festival was a series of about 100 tents selling different forms of barbeque. We bought a booklet of tickets and proceeded to search for Dan’s booth, eating tiny cups of meat along the way. By the time we found him, we had probably eaten about ten pounds of brisket. Dan was happily surprised to see us. “Jennifer! Allison!” he shouted gleefully from behind the grill. “I’m so glad you could make it!” Then he came out of the tent and asked us to meet his fiancé, Jedediah, who was busily stacking sausages behind him.
Needless to say, the surprise appearance of a fiancé was a bit discouraging. We politely made our greetings and walked away from the booth, defeated. “What just happened?” we kept asking each other over tiny cups of shredded beef. “How could he not know our names?” and “Why didn’t we know he had a fiancé?” and “What was her name again? Jedediah? As in Springfield?” and “No, I think that’s Jebediah.” Befuddled, we continued stabbing pieces of meat with toothpicks and shoving them into our mouths.
Needing something sweet to balance out the barbeque, we bought funnel cakes for the drive home. Just then it started to rain and we were miles away from where we had parked so we had to run through the icy droplets. I was a few feet behind Jessica, who was hunched up with a cold, drenched funnel cake in her hands, dodging in between pedestrians with an irregular, meat-laden jog. She had just been rejected by a guy. She was making erratic, high-pitched shivering noises through her teeth. The poetic disappointment of it all sent me into such a hysterical fit of laughter that I had to stand there with my legs crossed for five minutes.
Once I recovered we made it to the car and sat there in silence. I thought about what the trip really meant. Jessica had missed a shot at her heart’s desire and I never had a chance at succeeding as her wingwoman. In the end, the only things we came away with were soaking wet funnel cakes and two stomachs full of meat.
On the way home the rainstorm turned into a downpour, the highway flooded, and we thought we would surely die. The Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack was piping through the CD player, which was strangely appropriate for the climate. Slowly but surely, we made it home. Jessica dropped me off at my apartment . On the way back to her place she pulled over at 7-11 and threw up in a trash can.
Scene 3
This week I found myself once again swerving through Colorado’s picturesque peaks and valleys on the way to a teachers' planning retreat in Breckenridge. For three days I talked and laughed with my colleagues. It was the perfect balance of fun and productivity. The impending school year was like a golden beacon renewing my calling as an educator. Most importantly, for the first time in my life I left Breckenridge feeling content and self-assured.
It was a long drive back and, with no one to talk to, my mind began to wander. It’s amazing how some familiar scenery can send the memories flooding back. I remembered the frustration of getting lost on the hiking trail. However, I also remembered that I came home from that trip and, before unpacking, made three lasagnas for my friends and family. After I stopped comparing myself to others and started worshipping God using my own talents and abilities, we started having two-sided conversations again.
I also remembered Jessica’s fruitless efforts to find love amidst the barbeque smoke. About a year after that trip we were listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack and I turned to her and said, “Do you know what this music reminds me of?”
“Sailing home from Breckenridge after the meat festival?” she replied. We both smiled.
Sailing home from Breckenridge after the meat festival. I thought about how that phrase had probably never been uttered before in the history of the English language. And I thought about what good friends we were. And I thought about how I had finally found direction in my life without even noticing.
posted by Alice | 3:14 PM
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