International Parkes Christmas Vacation

Our final days in Vegas funnel into a eleven hour coach trip to the m-m-m-mighty Grand Canyon, passing the Hoover dam on the way. Coincidentally, as if fate had a word with destiny about teaming up with serendipity, we stop in a place called Williams for a spot of lunch. We throw food down our throats and high tail it towards the town border sign for a very necessary photo. In wrought iron the sign proudly wears the Williams monicker and now, so too does Lucy.

The Grand canyon lives up to its name (it’s proper grand) with the massive expanse stretching further than we can comprehend. Vast and humbling, the rock formations are complemented by the glacial locomotion of cloud shadows projecting downwards, creating an even more captivating tableau. Snow has formed on the canyon top pathways triggered by the altitude rise and the onset of the biting winter. An attempted timelapse capture results in failure as the bitter temperatures sap the batteries of our cameras enfeebling their ability to go on. At its widest, there is twenty miles between the canyon walls and scale comprehension becomes futile. Our vantage point looks down, into the canyon allowing us to observe the incredibly rich red and orange rock on display. Our journey back home visits a very temporary stop at Hoover damn, which even in the dark looks intimidating in its presence. The tedious coach drop off to seemingly every hotel in Vegas before ours, finally completes and we spend our last night of Vegas in the Riviera hotel, having a few beers before bed.

The day of leaving arrives and we bid the fondest of farewells to Vegas, knowing we’ll be back one day. Our taxi ride to McCaran airport is short and for those who haven’t had nearly enough opportunity to gamble every last penny, the airport offers a casino floor full of fruit machines in the airport departure lounges. We have a punt and win on our first go. Cash out.

Shortly after takeoff, the plane banks, rotating the world into a prime viewing position for our exit out of shiny Vegas land. A moonstruck view of nighttime Vegas whirligigs below us inside a flared orangey hue. Light spews from one hundred million, billion trillion, vigintillion centillion light sockets, LED displays and lamps turning night temporarily day-like. The window seat is most definitely the place to be on a night flight out of Vegas. Light flare seers through the atmosphere taking on the atramentous canopy and stands oppugner to the night’s right to be dark. It is with the fondest memories that we leave Vegas, charmed by the madness, the excess and the downright gall of a settlers oasis to become one of the most notorious and ambitious cities in the world.

We are on our way to Denver Colorado, chasing the Conversed heels of my best man Glen, who flew back a few days earlier in potential anticipation of an early baby arrival. Our flight moves quick, and drops us in the snowy Denver clime, a marked decrease in temperature in the walk from the plane to the airport baggage retrieval area. We shiver in the minus 32 degree air, but used to the benumbing extremes of cold, it’s business as usual for the staff at Denver airport. There are few things better in this world than being met at the airport. The best hugs you will ever receive will be on the opposite side of a nothing to declare exit. Glen meets us exceptionally well and although it’s only been a few days, he gives us big, BIG hugs. If you get the opportunity, go and meet somebody at an airport, it’s truly lovely to be met.

Glen drives the icy freeways into the Denver suburbs and we tiptoe up their snowy steps, into the stillness of the sleeping house. All except for the inquisitive, Bernese mountain dog Kona, who is awake and losing her mind with the exotic new aromas of stink laden travellers entering the household. Through gritted, whispered tones Glen threatens the pooch with canicide and a somewhat deserved kick up the arse. Maintaining the toe tipping, we are shown around their basement, (our living quarters for the next few weeks) which is incredibly swish, homely and absolute luxury. We hear tall footsteps and down the stairs comes a sleepy eyed Jennifer Parkes with an even sleepier looking Poppy Parkes in her arms. Immediately Jenn’s bump appears accomplished, having been worked on for the last eight months or so. From the creators of Poppy Parkes, comes a virtuoso baby bump. Bump 2, the gurgling.

Gooey-warm hugs and kisses are shared and it feels awesome to know we can remain planted in Denver for a while. Our basement bedroom is extremely cozy, easily rivalling our own for home comforts. We collapse into freshly sheeted, crisp bedclothes and sleep a long deep sleep.

The very next morning, we awake to an empty house, Glen at work and Jenn at a baby appointment. Venturing upstairs to the kitchen, we go straight for the pre-stocked, specially garnered for us, bumper box of PG tips. Overdosing on the world beating, chimp beating (I mean endorsed…) brand of tea leaves, we begin to settle into a homely lifestyle, chain-drinking copious amounts of tea, interspersed with tall glasses of chocolate milk, enjoying a holiday from travelling and eventually hanging out with the Parkes’sss’sss’sss upon their arrival back home.

Jenn, Glen and Poppy are infinitely generous allowing us into their home and making us truly welcome for the entirety of our stay. We feel part of the family unit and feel insanely comfortable. We become honorary uncle Rynan and auntie Looocy for a short time as Poppy gets used to us being around. We get to know Poppy a bit better and are charmed by her already confident personality and developing vocabulary.
“Pweeeeeaasseee”, “Zooooooo” and “Hewlp!” amongst other phrases endear us completely to Poppy, whilst the calming experience of reading bedtime stories becomes a true delight to deliver. Soft gentle story voicing melds with the dimmer switch of tranquility, enabling a quietude of deep sleep.

As Jennifer gets closer to her due date, Lucy begins her work on Steven Joseph’s websites (payment for the photography session in Vegas), spending much of her time in the study/basement/luxury underground apartment. My duties are that of full time Poppy play pal. We play hard, actioning some serious ‘colouring in’, and an insistence on staying outside of the lines (Poppy is such a non-conformist) and gain an insight into the loveliest parts of parenting.

The weekend comes and with the gang all present, we trek out to a fabulous breakfast restaurant called Huckleberry’s. I was surprised to find people queue for breakfast in America, and we have to wait thirty minutes for a table. Once we are seated, we stuff masses of food into our pieholes easily filling the capacious caverns of hunger, but I am taken aback by Lucy and Jenn’s insistence on ordering breakfast pudding. The hungry pair demolish the sweet delights of French toast and roll around clutching their bulging selves.

In another feat of generosity, Jenn who is now scarily close to birthing, gifts me her seat at at an American football game between the Denver broncos and the Tennessee titans. In a rare occurrence, I witness what is known in fairly niche circles as a game of ‘sport’. Upon our arrival, I am surprised to see a number of other individuals who have also been invited to see ‘sport’. A veritable crowd of people inhabit a ‘stadium’ and clap politely upon the gains of each team’s successive points. Well done chaps!

The mile high stadium is electric with the excitement of the game. There is a sharp crispness in the air with the low temperatures occupying the very foundations of Denver’s home ground. The cold seeps into our feet but the sun warms our faces (our middles have been looked after by a large nip of whiskey consumed from a chrome hip flask prior to the game). Whilst having a slight wobble in the beginning of the game, Denver valiantly fight back to annihilate Tennessee. Every Denver touchdown results in the release of Thunder their equine mascot, galloping from one side of the field to the other. Denver score so many in this game, Thunder looks positively knackered by the end of the forth quarter. Having heard it was my first visit to an American football game, Denver kindly gift my presence with a delivery of a world record field goal. A Sixty four yard kick (just under 59 metres) demotivates the opposing team almost into submission. The stadium high fives itself. Well done sporty types. I enjoyed that. A great game of sport.

Christmas decorations, baby incubation, nappy changing demonstrations, sparkly pedicure application, Glen’s cot building frustration, National Lampoon’s vacation compilation of concatenation.

And still the arrival of the arrival date approaches. In a swish of misdirection, Glen and Jenn leave the house and their first born Poppy in our hands. They leave for the hospital to coerce number two out of Jenn’s insides and we are suddenly in charge of the wellbeing of a very small Poppy person. We step into the shoes of parents and for the next few days get used to full time Poppysitting. We have so much fun and become really attached. Serious play occupies Poppy as Jenn preps herself for birth. Later, we pick Poppy up from Daycare to eventually find she has picked up a bad Christmas cold which stops her in her tracks. Full of a nasty, chesty infectiony cold, she sits still through the entirety of Finding Nemo, weirdly not moving a muscle. Whilst picking her up, Poppy sneezes into my mouth and passes the malaise me-wards.

Morning becomes afternoon and we get the call. A Parkes is Born! Oliver Kai Parkes arrives in the world! G, J and O stay in hospital for a couple of nights to catch their breath. The next morning, we visit the new Parkes addition, and he is a super perfect little smasher. Poppy is incredibly gentle and superbly inquisitive in his appearance at the hospital. Jenn cries beautiful tears upon the meeting of her brood in an incredibly touching moment that has us all equally teary. Ollie cries like a tiny pterodactyl chick, his lungs too tiny to project a wailing blast, whilst mummy Jenn and daddy Glen are super proud and relieved Ollie’s intestines are on the insides of his body (apparently this can happen).

Christmas day arrives in a bleary ill stupor and we fall deep into an infected state. The hum(bugs) have their office christmas party inside our bodies, getting their germ-groove on to Slade’s “Well I wish it could be Christmas every day” and kiss under the microbial mistletoe.
We are unable to give little Oliver smooches for fear of passing on the nasty old illness and confine ourselves downstairs. We sleep for much of Christmas day keeping the contagion limited to our basement.

Our stay in Denver flies by in a click of a finger and before we know it we have to think about moving onwards. More than anywhere else, we had become rooted in Glen and Jennifer’s luxury apartment/basement and feel extremely wrenched in the upheaval of moving on. Friendships deepened and bonds strengthened, things become emotional upon leaving and we find it a real struggle. Our gratitude extends eternally and wish there was a lot less sea between us. We have to say goodbye and give our best Rynan and Looocy hugs on tiptoes. A tearful goodnight signifies the stopgap of staying is over. The adventure continues.

“Right Lucy, how do you snowboard again?…”