21,667 Days Later

Denver made good.

Maybe I should explain…

This first part, most of you have heard before. But I’ll recap…

When I was 10, the big thing was the Superball.

Everyone wanted one.

I wanted one more than I wanted my first ‘big’ horse.

And you have to know I wanted that horse a lot!

But for some reason, I just never got one.

The Superball, that is.

Though I did pester.

I did.

Then, without warning, the stars suddenly aligned.

We were on our way to the National Western Livestock Show in Denver, Colorado to…you know…show cattle.

We had stopped briefly—truck, trailer and all—to pick up something at a local mall.

And when Daddy came out he was carrying (I am not making this up) a SUPERBALL!!!

For me!

Forgive me while I remember briefly how I felt: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I unwrapped it in truly record time and held my holy grail carefully while we drove the last few miles to the fair grounds.

Then, still clutching it tightly, I walked into the vast caverns that were the show barns.

Picture it: Rows upon rows of short walls with cattle tied and bedded down on each side.

Here’s a picture so you can really grasp it...

I stood there in the center of the first alley and looked way, way up to the distant ceiling.

This was the place where I could really get some height for my new little wonder.

I raised my hand, grinning at the thought of just how far this little miracle would go…

Then threw it down with everything I had.

It did go far.

It bounced off the cement floor and I think it very nearly touched that aforementioned distant ceiling.

Then it came down.

And this is where I should probably mention a thing called: forethought.

Erm…I didn’t have any.

That ball came down.

And landed in one of those vast piles of straw.

In that equally vast building.

Somewhere.

In order to shorten this already overlong story (too late), I’ll mention, here, that I never did find it.

Though I did invade numerous ranchers’ spaces to search.

Sigh.

Tears were shed.

And life went on…

Recently, Husby and I were on a sailing in the Mediterranean.

It was perfect.

Perfect weather. Perfect food. Perfect sights.

Perfect new friends.

Two of them, Steve and Carol were from (this probably won’t come as a surprise) Denver!

I told them my woeful little Superball story and they shed figurative tears of sympathy.

Then the conversation shifted to other topics.

But they hadn’t forgotten.

A day or so later, they came back from exploring the Greek Countryside and accompanying town wearing big grins and handed me…wait for it…a SUPERBALL!!!

59 years, 3 months and 26 days OR 711 months, 26 days OR 21,667 days (give a day or two) after I lost my first one.

Yep.

Denver made good.