As mentioned in previous posts I was raised just east of Boston in a small suburb called Weston. I grew up in a family of five - me, the second youngest. The oldest is my sister Molly. Molly is a highly credentialed physician - board certified in several specialties including pulmonary medicine in addition to attaining her doctorate in the field of neurophysiology. While Molly was in medical school in Denver I would often fly from Boston to Denver to visit. A trip to Denver in those years was highly cherished. This was when the airport was still close to downtown and known as Stapleton International Airport. Everything just seemed to be special there. Perhaps it was my age (late teens), being away from home, the lure of the flatirons near Boulder or the countless hikes in the backcountry. One thing I’ll always remember was picking up a 6-pack of Coors, popping them in an ice-cold cooler, driving to the west end of the airport at night and watching the jets take off just overhead. I loved feeling my parked car shake as the plane blast was directed right at me as it started its ascent. Molly was with me on my first trip heli-skiing in British Columbia in 1982. She skied each of the 7 days and was right with everyone. Although I was caught and buried in an avalanche that year it didn’t diminish an epic memory. Another memory permanently etched in our times together was on a camping outing in the mid 1970’s. Molly, Rob (one of two brothers you’ll meet in another post) and I had traveled to Aspen and were overnighting in a local campground by the river. Partaking in a little after dinner “smoke” session we walked back from the river to fire pit to roast some marshmallows, chanting in unison, “The Osborne’s are going to get f----d up.” Not sure why but the memory will always live with me. Btw, we sure did.