After a childhood in Catholic school uniforms, making daily decisions about what to wear is stressful. It was much easier when the only wardrobe choice was the color of my knee socks.

I have a job interview in 10 days, and already I'm agonizing as much about how to dress as how to answer the interview panel's questions. Over the years, I've had many interview outfits. I showed up in Cleveland for my first "real" job interview in a truly cringe-worthy ensemble consisting of a knit jumper, a borrowed cardigan sweater, and platform sandals; amazingly, the CWRU Library offered me the job on the spot.

When I interviewed at McKinsey, I wore an early '80s wool "power suit" cut like a man's suit (but with a skirt) and one of those God-awful floppy bow ties, a silk Ginnie Johansen number that I was really proud of. I got that job, too.

I can't recall what I wore to my interviews at MEDSTAT and the Novi Public Library, but I do remember that Donna, one of the NPL librarians interviewing me, had on a beautiful flowered jacket and black leggings. Whatever I wore must have been inoffensive, because I got both jobs.

My last interview--toward the end of the dot-com boom--was with an information architecture company in Ann Arbor. I decided to ditch the suit and dress down in black pants and a twin set. I didn't dress down enough, though. The partner who interviewed me showed up in Bermuda shorts. They might even have been plaid, but what I really remember was how weird it was to sit at a table interviewing with someone with really hairy legs. Although we weren't that far apart age wise, I felt like his grandmother.

Back to my current dilemma: Fashion in the working world seems to have gotten a lot more casual since the last time I went on a job interview. From what I've observed since moving here, Coloradoans dress even more casually at work than Michiganians. I don't even own a suit anymore, and I don't think I'd even feel comfortable in one. I haven't worn pantyhose during the summer in years. All my summery shoes are sandals, and I seem to recall reading that open-toed shoes are inappropriate at interviews. (Of course, I didn't know that back in 1978.) I am in a complete fashion meltdown that only promises to get worse as the interview date approaches.

Maybe I'll just apply at McDonald's. At least then I'd never have to decide what to wear to work.

Given the price of gas, we were thrilled to discover White Ranch Park, just 20 minutes from home. From it, we could see downtown Denver (below), and, with binoculars, the distinctive roof of the Denver International Airport, which is about 35 miles away.

And it wasn't all about the panoramic views. Recent rains finally brought out a dizzing array of wildflowers.






High above the ranches in the foothills, a lone white horse grazed, like a creature from a fairy tale.

Dear Mom,

The youngest of your four grandchildren graduated from high school on Sunday. As a toddler, Anna Kate looked exactly like pictures of you at that stage, except that she didn't have your red hair. (Patrick got that piece of the genetic pie, although he attended his high school graduation as a peroxided blond.)

Like her sister, Gretchen, and her cousins, Alison and Patrick, Anna Kate has brains to spare and graduated with honors. Of the three girls, Anna Kate has the sweetest temperament; Gretchen and Alison don't suffer fools gladly, and the objects of their scorn are lucky if all they have to endure is heavy-duty eye rolling, accompanied by stage-worthy sighs. Anna Kate and Patrick both have a remarkable way with animals, especially dogs; a scruffy little terrier named Peanut owes his life to Anna Kate. (To give full credit where it's due, Anna's mother had the patience of a saint with Peanut, whose housetraining took longer to accomplish than some disarmament pacts.)

One Christmas years ago when we visited St. Paul, two-year-old Anna Kate stood in her crib and yelled--to the delight of her sister and cousins--"I can sing, I can dance, I'm alive!" It proved to be prescient: As she grew up, Anna Kate spent a lot of time singing (Sacred Harp) and dancing (Morris and contra). Like all your grandkids, she also plays a musical instrument, or in her case, two instruments, violin and piano.

In her cap and gown on Sunday, Anna Kate looked charmingly poised on the edge of adulthood. We wish you could have been there to see her and to tell her how proud you were to be her grandmother.

Love,
Kate

Anna and her dad

* Mom died from breast cancer in August 1978. She did not live to see any of her grandchildren.

After yesterday, though, I'm feeling very tentative about Colorado canines. On our afternoon walk, Hana was attacked by a huge Rottweiler. The dog, whose leash was held by a small girl, was in its owner's front yard as we passed by on our evening walk. When the dog saw Hana, he pulled over the little girl (fortunately, she was on the grass). She let go of his leash, and the dog charged Hana with fangs bared and grabbed her. It was like a horror movie; I couldn't get her away from him.

After what felt like five minutes, but was probably a lot less, the owner came out and collared the Rottweiler. He offered to pay the vet bill for any injuries, but didn't apologize. In shock, I said that I'd have to take Hana home to look for puncture wounds.

When we stopped back at the Rottweiler's house on the way to the vet--Hana had a deep puncture wound on her spine--the owner still didn't apologize, but went on and on about how this had never happened before, how his dog always got along with people and other dogs, blah, blah, blah.

I can never walk that route again. For the first time in my life, I'm scared of a dog.