In 1974, Frank (then boyfriend) and I moved from Telluride to Durango. Telluride had less than one thousand registered voters at that time so Durango seemed like a booming metropolis with abundant opportunities. Frank got a job at the Ore House - a popular-to-this-day restaurant - as a dishwasher. We were off and running...sort of.
I went back to college at Fort Lewis up on the mesa and studied music. Frank became Ore House bar manager. I began a singing waitress career at the Strater Hotel. We got married. Frank got hired as a manager at the ski area. We bought a house. I bought a restaurant. We had a baby. I opened another restaurant. We had another baby. Life was delicious. And then it wasn't.
The oil economy went south with the savings and loan banks. The tourist stream from Texas and Oklahoma dried up. We sold out and moved on with two kids, a cat, and a packed Subaru.
We left our friends - a decade's worth of friends. Friends that worked with us and for us. Friends that were at our wedding and restaurant openings. Friends that skied - fast - and celebrated holidays with us. We left them, but as I found out last week, they didn't leave us.
Last week, there were champagne and laughter-filled dinners and lunches and more dinner and lunches. We had cups of coffee sweetened with "Do you remember..." and news of passages, too young, and divorces, so sad. With it all, I enjoyed a sense of wonder that friendships can't be extinguished. They continue to glow as they started. They are fueled by shared curiosity, possibility, sadness, and love. They are never ending.
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