Rocky Mountain High, Part II

(I fear this is going to get into Roman numerals I don't know off the top of my head...)

So, you need to meet Sara Hagedorn Calvert, referred to as Sara H. from here on.  I MUST call her Sara Hagedorn, because that's how I've been hearing her name for 12 years, now.  But Hagedorn is a rather cumbersome name to type, and there you have the "H".  (In your head, you can say Hag'-uh-dorn...I do.)

I shamelessly stole one of the pictures on her FaceBook page, because it's my favorite.  Look at the dudes in the background...

This is Sara H.

Isn't that a beautiful face to be waiting at the top of the escalator to welcome me to Colorado?

She's even cuter in person. 

The best way to describe Sara H. is "passionate".

About food, politics, music, books, culture, agriculture, family...

She's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and funny. 

And stubborn. And quick tempered. (Lest you think I'm just buttering her up, here...)

I'm not going to take a ton of time, here, describing her, because it will come out in the rest of the story, which is exactly how I got to know her...in little increments, over the course of five days.

Anyway, we had plenty of time to visit at the airport because all the Great Lakes luggage took just forever to get to the baggage area.  We stood there in front of the conveyer watching the same six grey-black bags with wheels go round and round and round.  Occasionally, a new suitcase would pop up out of the mouth of the baggage belt and we'd get all excited! Just one.  To join the other six. 

It's so funny to watch people waiting for their bags at an airport.  They try to be all cool, but there's a sense that each person is thinking, "Well, DARN! They DID lose my bag. Glad I packed that extra underwear in my carry on...". And the look of relief when they see their bag come clattering around like an old aunt that takes her time getting across town.

We grabbed my bag and dashed to the parking lot, because we were HUNGRY and still had to drive into Boulder for dinner. (You'll notice that food plays a large role in this narrative.  In fact, it's almost like another character, hovering in the back of the stage, coming out for its hour in the spotlight, then receding, waiting for the next cue.) 

It was dark, when we headed out, and I really had no idea how far or which direction we were going, but we visited as fast as we could, catching up on family news and current personal events. It was no time until we pulled up to her house and I met

Max.

The world's second smartest, most adorable dog.

(After my Molly, of course.)

He wanted to come home with me. I wanted him to come home with me.

We couldn't seem to work out a fool-proof plan, so he's still in Boulder. *sniff*

Then off to eat!

We went to The Med, in downtown Boulder. It was HOPPING! There was so much energy in the that place that I lost any jet lag I might've had. (I know. What would you call it? Mini-plane lag somehow lacks the punch I was looking for, here...) Be sure and hit the link...it was fantastic.

I had the Ravioli Raimundo, which was a chicken-mushroom ravioli with vodka-tomato cream sauce and Sara H. ordered the Canelloni Lorenzo, which was braised pork, spinach, ricotta and parmesan cheese rolled in fresh pasta and baked with marinara & bechamel sauce.

I'll give you a moment to wipe the drool off your chin. I know I have to.

Both dishes have names like Italian guys, don't they? Raimundo and Lorenzo.  They were rich and comforting, the perfect pair for us. Later in the week, even, we were fantasizing about Raimundo...

And back to Sara H.'s house for a big glass of wine from her private cellar, and then early to bed, because the next day was PAT GREEN!!! Can't be all worn out for THAT....

To be continued...