Cloud giant

For the first seven years of Lori's and my relationship, we lived in Wisconsin. For the last 20 years, we've been parents, living in our current house we bought the summer before Michael was born. Two distinct parts of our lives, highlighted by different priorities, explorations, and joys, make up the fabric of who we are.

In between those two eras (the second still in progress but the next entailing an empty-ish nest coming up soon) was our time in Utah after we moved here but before we bought the house and became parents. The years of 2000-2003 seem like an insignificant blip, almost an extended vacation. And the further I get away from it, the more mysterious it seems.

I wrote about some of the pre-kids time in Utah a few years ago, fondly recalling the things we did for fun on the split schedules we were on. I've been thinking about those years beyond the highlights, instead wondering about the everyday things. What did I eat for breakfast each morning (given I was waking up at 10 a.m. most days after late worknights)? What did Lori and I make for dinner on nights I was home? How often did I do laundry or run the dishwasher or clean the catbox? (Lori might claim not often ...). Did I listen to music in the apartment? How often did I work out? 

Was it really three years?

Yes, it was three years in the apartment in Cottonwood Heights, and it wasn't insignificant, no matter how rote I'm recalling it. I'm not sure why it's been on my mind lately. Strangely, much of it doesn't seem that long ago. "The Osbournes," taping music videos off VH-1 Classic, Heroes of Might and Magic III, downloading songs on Napster, walking up Bengal Boulevard to get some exercise, grocery shopping at the Super Target, driving I-215 and Foothill Drive into downtown, our first DVD player -- the list of trivialities seem so recent and not two decades ago.

Three years passed, not three months. By 2003, that was 30 percent of our relationship. Over 30 years, that's still 10 percent of our time together. It still feel so odd. Perhaps parenthood and homeownership changed our perspective. I sometimes wonder if that perspective will change -- or rather, revert to pre-2003 -- when Ben starts college, eight months from now. 

The apartment on Bengal Boulevard seems like a dream. The one thing that does seem distant about it was the view and the balcony. I'd stand out there like a cloud giant, gazing at the mountains during the day, and at the lights sparkling up the valley at night. For a flatlander, the view was something else. 

I didn't get enough days out there on the balcony, no matter how much I was actually out there and appreciated it. Funny how that's a perfect metaphor being a parent and watching your kids grow up.