Down in the Valley

I'm in Vail. I'm sitting on bench in a plaza in the shadow of a five story chalet style condominium. The manufactured pavers are designed to resembled cobbles. They're too uniform. I'm off to one side of the square dressed to look like a Bavarian village. The exterior is new, whitewashed, limestone walls cut from nearby hillside which is green yet and carved up for people who enjoy sliding down on sticks when there's snow on the ground. It is green, but you can see the pine beetle damage; lodgepole pine trees in shades of burnt umber and sienna, cadmium yellow and green aspen. Charlie is at home with Gigi and Jill is in a conference room back at the hotel. I spoke with Charlie this morning over the phone. He whispered, "Hi, Daddy." I said, "Good morning!" Then he said, "Love-a-you" from the back of his mouth because his sinuses are clogged. "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" was playing in the background in synthesized notes from one of his electronic gizmos. That particular toy has all the letters of the alphabet on it, each one, when pushed, plays a unique song. "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" is letter Q. W is "When the Saints Go Marching In."

It takes discipline to stop and look at the environment like Charlie does. Mostly it means I have to empty my mind of all excess worry. When I do that, I am able to see things like Charlie does. If Charlie were here he'd be interested in the two tiered bronze fountain dribbling water from a small bowl on top to a bigger bowl and finally to the basin. Lion's heads provide form and function to the base of the fountain structure, streams of water flowing from their mouths. The door to the café is a rectangle. The peak of the roof forms a triangle. The half white moon on the blue sky looks like Wedgewood. Charlie can always spot the moon. The world is becoming familiar and visceral to him. He can depend on the moon, the sky, the clouds and the sun.

The village is just beginning to come alive. Foreign tongues echo off the stone surfaces as a crew assembles a sound stage for the kickoff of Oktoberfest. A big white tent is raised. Charlie would notice the covered walkway overhead linking one building to the next. He would notice the steel arches supporting the bridge. There is a clock in one of the towers with a blue face and gold roman numerals. Charlie would say, "tick-tock."Every so often he mentions the pendulum which dangles in the grandfather clock in the mint green room at Grandma's house. "Pendulum. Clock. Grandma." What makes him think of that? The swinging arms of an ambling pedestrian? The sway of a wind-blown bird feeder hanging from the soffit by a length of twine? From another clock, in a different tower, a bell chimes twelve times. Charlie might think of Poe and the undulating roll of the toller's stomach in the belfry as he dances and yells, keeping time, time, time. Perhaps he'd notice the twisted, frolicking ironwork which to me, looks like Sanskrit.

A foursome of Asian tourists as delicate as rice paper is crossed by a construction crew whose mangy pants and work boots are caked with red clay. I am keen to contrasts. Charlie and I watched a brazen bulldozer scoop buckets of heavy wet earth. We had to go all the way to the tranquil botanic gardens to do so. We saw a cockroach the size of an ipod nano on the tile floor outside the men's room. To my knowledge it was the first cockroach he'd seen outside of the pages of a picture book. The roach was not a featured exhibit. We met a boy named Jack during lunch. Charlie was almost a Jack. Jack's sister was named Bella. Jack and Bella were eating in the cafeteria with their Grandparents. Grandma was talkative. Grandpa was not. She couldn't get over how similar in color and texture Charlie and Bella's hair appeared. "It's almost exactly the same," she exclaimed. I wasn't as impressed.

I am reminded of Charlie. Animal reliefs are etched on the patchwork of concrete slabs, brown bears and Rocky Mountain Big Horn sheep. I hoped we would spot a Big Horn at Roxborough State Park but we didn't. Charlie was my spotter in the pack.

"See'em. Big Horn." He'd say.

"Where?"

"Down dare," he said pointing to the lower elevation foliage in the distance.

"Are you sure? You see a Big Horn down there?"

He adamantly responded. "Down dare. Big Horn."

A mountain goat is part of starry mural on a clock. A goat has a beard. A sheep does not. A green hose snaked over the ground makes a tripping hazard. Charlie might recognize this. "Be careful." He will say when he senses danger. I removed his socks the other day. He kept repeating "suppry." I didn't know what he meant.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Suppry!" He pointed toward the kitchen.

"I don't understand. What are you saying?"

He was frustrated. Obviously he knew what he was talking about. After I took off his socks I brought him from my lap to the floor.

"Show me what you mean," I said.

He ran toward the kitchen, stopped in the middle of the hardwood floor, bent over and touched a shiny maple plank with his finger. "Suppry," he said, "Socks off."

"Oh, I see. The floor is slippery. You need to take your socks off."

Charlie likes the hose. He likes to hold it all by himself and water the flowers and shrubs in the yard. "Help you." He says. He does a pretty fine job. I have to keep on him to point the end down or he ends up dousing himself, but he takes orders and instruction fairly well. He grips the hose firmly with two hands for better control. He is able to walk the hose from plant to plant and generally is able to discern an intentional plant from a weed.

Charlie would want to tackle the steps leading down to the square. He is adept at using the railing. He detests most aid I offer him. "No!" He protests. "Charlie. Do it." He beams when he accomplishes a task on his own. I tell him how proud I am of him.

Well Charlie, now the sun is going down. I'm sure the moon is out, but I can't see it. Mommy and Daddy are at Oktoberfest. I know it is September. I don't understand either. There are many people packed into a small space. If you were here, you'd have to hold my hand or you could ride on my shoulders. You would have fun! Mommy almost did the chicken dance. You'll have to ask her about the chicken dance. You have to tuck your hands under your armpits and flap your arms like the eagle that soars over the water at the mall. The Fricker band is on stage. I think the leader's name is Hans. He is wearing velvety green lederhosen and he's stoking the accordion bellows. An accordion is like a piano with lungs. We miss you tonight. The Hans Fricker band played Edelweiss and it made us think of you.

I saw a white dog with black spots lapping lager from a stein. The man next to me is trying to impress a girl by speaking in German. What do you think it means when he says "I think it means…" after each phrase? The girl doesn't know or care what he saying. They must be in lieb.

Mom has been walking around by herself. A vendor is someone who sells something aggressively from a collapsible tent. Mom said she was forced to model a coat specially designed for handicap people, with a built-in neck brace. Single men become quarrelsome at events like Oktoberfest. Old women get cantankerous. It must be the music. Be a good boy. We love you. Kisses.