We say farewell to Wyoming

After 33 years in Wyoming, my wife Chris and I are moving out of state. We chose to return to Florida, the place where we did most of our growing up, the place that dug its claws into us as teens and young adults and never really let go. My six surviving brothers and sisters live in Central Florida. Chris had one sister who died four years ago, and a brother-in-law who died earlier this year. Chris and I were married in Ormond Beach north of Daytona, famous for its races and shitfaced spring-break college kids. I keep track of what's happening in the area by subscribing to the Facebook Chat, "I Grew Up in Daytona Beach." I occasionally run across an old classmate at Father Lopez Catholic High School or one of the guys (guys mostly) I surfed with at Hartford Approach. Deaths, too, good people like my brothers Pat and Dan. They've both been gone over a decade and I just wish I had more time with them. We talked on the phone, visited when we could, but the miles separated us over the years and I wish I had done some things differently but did not. Chris regrets the passage of her sister from lung cancer. Her only sibling. I share mine with her.

I wish I could say that I am moving to a more sane place politically but, as everyone knows, Florida Man is a real creature and there are thousands like him, many in the state capital Tallahassee. When I retired eight years ago, colleagues asked me if I was returning to Florida and I said, heck no, don't you spend time on the Internet? If I wanted to move someplace half-sane, I would cross the border into Colorado, my birthplace and the place where I spent 13 years of my adult life. I love Colorado. So do my liberal friends. Most liberals I knew in Cheyenne greeted retirement with a one-way trip to Denver or Loveland or Greeley or Fort Collins or Paonia or Grand Junction. Are there unhinged people in the Centennial State? Of course. I met many while working in Denver. A serial killer lived two blocks away and the neighborhood rapist turned out to be the TV repair man. I'm not making light of this as I was out of town often for work. I left to drag my family to grad school at CSU which I regretted a few dozen times but realize now it was just another step along the path. I remember hikes at Greyrock and Horsetooth. Beautiful sunsets can be had almost every evening. I am sure there were gorgeous sunrises but I was never awake to see them.

What did I learn in Wyoming? Listen more than speak. Appreciate the wild landscapes and even wilder weather. Art is more than the paintings hanging in a museum. It's that too but also a fine poem or a stirring country song. Is taxidermy an art? I was asked this once by a board member from Ten Sleep. I think I said, "It can be." Saddlemaking and knifemaking are artforms in practiced hands. Every house has a piano or fiddle or guitar. Gives them something to do and you can wind up with a family band as did the Cowsills and the Osmonds.

I am out of here. Gone but not forgetful.