It Was Love

It was a cold and very windy day in Denver, CO but that did not stop us from having a great deal of fun. April and I met our cousin, Dusti, early this morning and she served as our tour guide for the day. Our first stop was at Lookout Mountain. Despite being nearly blown away, literally, I got to bring my knowledge of Buffalo Bill full circle by visiting his grave.

Our second stop was at the world-famous Red Rock Amphitheater, located in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The stage of the natural amphitheater has hosted performances by some of the planet’s most famous bands including the Beatles.

After boarding the train to downtown, we enjoyed lunch at the trendy and delicious “Corner Office” located just off 16th Street Mall. Our afternoon was spent taking a guided tour of the home of Margaret Brown aka, the Unsinkable Molly Brown. A feminist and just all around awesome woman, Margaret Brown spoke five languages, ran for senator before women had the right to vote, and she was shoved onto the last life boat of the sinking Titanic only after she helped others to safety. After joining the rescue ship, the RMS Carpathia, Margaret Brown raised thousands of dollars before the ship even docked on America soil and gave it to the many women on board who were now widows.

We ended the night with my first homemade meal in over two weeks at Dusti’s home with her family. Dusti is my mom’s (and April’s) cousin. Her dad and my grandma were brother and sister. For as long as I can remember, Uncle Terry and Aunt Carla, were “my family from Oklahoma.” When I was growing up, a couple of times a year, my mom would say, “I’m going to grandma’s house…Terry and Carla are in town, do you want to go?” “Who are Terry and Carla, again,” I would ask, and she would explain, “you know…the ones from Oklahoma.”

I remember being enamored with my family from Oklahoma. They always seemed to bring an extra dose of southern charm with their warm hugs and cavalier use of the word, “ya’ll.” They had real southern accents and knew how to ride horses and were always happy to see me. Even without knowing exactly how they fit into the family tree, I always knew it would be a treat to see them.

Uncle Terry was the baby of my Great Grandma Stanley’s nine children, several of which live near me but many who live in other states. It was always a special time when Grandma Stanley’s children would gather at her home on the corner of 10th and Locust. We must have defied the laws of physics because to this day, I can’t explain how that many people managed to fit into that tiny house. Some nights it felt like standing room only. Adults and children alike would rotate around from the couch in the front room to the table in the kitchen to the living room floor to a bedroom off to the side and on warm days, we would spill over onto the front porch. Adults would stand in the doorway and say, “I’m just looking to see who is in here” and then scan the room to see if a new face snuck in without saying hi. Around every corner, laughter and conversation filled the room. It was loud but not too loud. It was the kind of loud that was warm and affectionate; like the loud you hear from people who miss each other and are just happy to see you. And the best part was that children were never ignored or shooed away so the adults could visit. We were greeted with hugs and invitations to hop on up to the table and tell everyone what was new in our lives. We were made to feel important. That house was filled to the brim with people and stories and happiness and joy. And no matter what, there always seemed to be room for more.

I’m grateful for a childhood filled with visits at Grandma Stanley’s house with all my aunts, uncles, and couins. I’m lucky to be able to drive thousands of miles across the country and know that I’m never too far from family. It was important to my great grandma that her family always feel welcomed at her house and I know without a doubt she would be proud this sentiment has been passed down through each generation. It’s a sentiment that has extended beyond her kitchen table and today made it all the way to Denver, Colorado. Her house on the corner of 10th and Locust no longer stands but it’s okay because it doesn’t need to. It was never really the house that brought us together anyway. It was love.