Marcy Life Notes

The night before we left for Denver, the sky turned a brilliant shade of orange. 

In an effort to pack, I walked around my apartment aimlessly realizing that “fashion forward” and “warm” do not necessarily coincide when you are piecing together winter outfits. I was looking forward to…no…I was craving a change of scenery. I couldn’t wait to say goodbye to the surroundings of my life and to be distracted for two full days. There was only one thing in my LA world that made me want to stay. 

I had never been to Denver and I realize now that I have missed out. The city is cute and the surroundings are beautiful. In a warmer season I would have loved to venture into the Rockies and embrace mother nature in a noncamping, nonhiking sort of way.

As the sun set, we walked around downtown trying to absorb some of the Christmas spirit that seemed to be floating through the air. 

Eventually we made it back to the hotel and took a requisite nap before  heading to dinner at The Palm, a steakhouse restaurant. While waiting for our dinner companions to arrive we nestled in at the bar and took part in a wonderful session of liquid therapy. Suddenly the bar-side chatter came to a stop as Wendy brought out a 13 pound lobster for our viewing pleasure. We will call him Larry for the purpose of this blog entry. 

Everyone ooo’ed and awe’ed and I was slightly impressed until I heard a passerby mention that Larry must be at least a hundred years old. Now, I am not a marine life expert so I cannot confirm the age speculation, but it was at this point that I became absolutely horrified. Poor Larry spent his long life at the bottom of the ocean, living happily among the crustaceans until some profiteering fisherperson came by and plucked him out of his happy home. The poor guy makes it to 100 and this is how it all ends – becoming a sideshow freak at a steakhouse in Denver. 

If we had been in a coastal city I would have been tempted to pay whatever exorbitant price required to free Larry and put him back into the sea. Maybe there he could have reunited with Lola, his 12 pound lobster wife (or so I like to think). 

The experience made me flash back to a night when my mother brought home lobsters for dinner. I was probably six years old at the time. My brother and I spent the evening filling the sink with temperate salt water to make our little pets comfortable, only to be saddened when they inevitably found their way into the boiling pot of water on the stove. At the time, I was consoled by the promise that a headfirst dunking results in an instant kill. Now I know better. 

I am not a vegetarian, but I do think that every life form is precious. A belief that I often try to forget as I gnaw on a chicken skewer or bite into a medium-well done filet.