A Porch of My Own

A Porch of My Own

Saturday, January 6, 2018

Family Additions




So. For reasons not quite understood by me, I adopted two cats from the animal shelter last week. It wasn’t that I was lonely; I consider myself pretty much a loner and for the most part, I’m perfectly happy living alone. I’d prefer to live with Rickie but that’s not an option, so alone works for me. He was a bit of a loner also and that’s one reason we worked well as partners. 




Part of my adopting the cats has to do with volunteering at the animal shelter each week with the group of gals and a few fellas that walk dogs. We also do mailings occasionally and there are some other events and a thrift shop that I’ve not worked with and really have no plans to. But being a volunteer, sooner or later, I feel like you have to put your money where your mouth is, so to speak, and support the efforts of the organization you volunteer for. 




So this quiet gray cat, with a reputation as a loner (you notice a theme here, right), named Heathcliff gave me a “who the hell are you and what the hell do you want” kind of stare one day. Naturally, I recognized a soulmate. After a few weeks, I heard myself say to the cat lady “l think I’d like to adopt Heathcliff.” Then I kind of looked around to see who was saying that. No one there but me. She said he had to go to a quiet home. He came back to the shelter after a previous adoption 7 months before that didn’t work well. He was starving and scared when he returned. Well, a quiet house is my house, so I said ok, we’re good. 




Then she said well, would you take two? And I’m thinking, cat lady, I’m not even exactly sure why I’m taking one. But what I said was “sure, why not.” So Heathcliff and his best friend Solar came to live in the cabin with me a week ago. Solar, a black and white shorthair, is a curious cat and she made herself at home pretty quickly though she’s still a bit jumpy. She was named Solar because she came to the shelter on eclipse day. She had been there 5 months. I wanted to keep their names but Solar doesn’t roll off the tongue so well so I’m calling her Solo, at my daughter’s suggestion. Sort of keeping with the universe theme as naturally, it refers to Han Solo and could be a nickname for Solar. And she’s kind of the adventurous of the small pack of two. And Heathcliff is the brooding one as befits his name. 


Heathcliff stayed in his carrier for three days then moved upstairs under the bed. After 3 days staying hidden there and only coming out at night, he began to come out during the day and evening. He listens when I talk to him, though he ignores what I say, and he won’t let me get near him. He’s still unsure about this whole sharing the cabin thing. He’d probably prefer me to move out. I give him his space because that’s what we do here. 




Another reason that maybe contributed to the adoption was that I’ve always had wild animals to observe and interact with. I miss my wild turkeys from the ranch and naturally, I miss Woodrow and Gus. Though not the work and expense so much! I have a few deer here and some magpies and we heard gobblers last Spring, but I can’t feed any of these animals like I used to in Texas because of it drawing bears in. Then the bears get in trouble and Colorado has to kill them. So, cats are about as close to wild animals on a regular basis for me here. 


But. I have a few rules we have to follow, at the same time as we have to keep it real. I’m a bit of an OCD gal as far as the cabin goes (don’t look in my car). Now that the cats have settled in some I made a couple of small changes. I shut them out of the den, although I’ll let them in if I’m in there. That room is so cold and I have to use a space heater to supplement the gas. I’ve had it running 24 hours a day since the cats arrived. With the expensive propane bill I can’t take a huge electric bill also. So we’ll mostly stay out of there. They don’t care anyway, their fave place is the loft. 




I had a bench with a longhorn that looked like Gus on it by the stairs. They both like that bench and Solo will get on it and swat at Heathcliff on the stairs. But the material resembles very much a scratching post, and that was their observation, so I moved it to the foot of my bed and shut that door. I’ll let them in at night when the bench is covered with excess pillows and blankets. I like it there anyway. 




I went to the antique store and found a little chest with a marble top - marble is one of my favorite things right now - and put it where the bench was. They can jump up there and no harm done. And I have a little more storage. There is an old newspaper from 1989 in the top drawer and I’ll keep it there. I don’t like the drawer handles. I had one antler knob left from the ranch closet and used it on the door. I’ll look for something similar and replace the handles. 




I also found a wooden sled at the antique store. It’s not real old but I like it and it was reasonably priced. I’ve been trying to add a few Colorado things to the cabin. It’s made by a Colorado company called Mountain Boy Sledworks. They’ve been around since 2002. Some are made in Colorado and some in China. It doesn’t say on this sled. I also found some WWII 10th Mountain Division snowshoes which were cool. They were also $345 so they’re still at the antique store. 







So the new residents of the Rockin’RS Western Division are gradually making themselves at home and we’re all three settling in for some possible snow over the next several days. I loaded up the firewood rack on the front porch, we have plenty of cat treats and people treats and I’ve got some new books to read. Solar has been observed watching a little television and Heathcliff is happy in his loft. 

And so begins the winter of our content. 

Are cats strange animals, or do they so resemble us that we find them curious as we do monkeys? John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

The problem with cats is that they get the exact same look on their face whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer. Paula Poundstone




Friday, December 29, 2017

Walking on the Ashes of a Dream



As 2017 winds down, I’ve spent some time looking back on my year and one of the biggest decisions I’ve ever made. The decision to leave Texas and everything Rickie and I had spent almost 30 years building. It was scary; it was stressful; it was immensely sad both for me and my kids and grandkids; and lots of people thought it was crazy. And some still do. But it was mostly necessary. People tell me, when they hear my story, that I was brave (some say crazy) to leave my familiar home and come here, not knowing anyone. But it would have been harder to stay. We can’t fight our nature and it’s not my nature to sit around and cry and wring my hands when things go all to hell. I’ll do that for a while, most people will. But then it’s time to pick yourself up and take stock of your life. What you have and what you want.



I can sum up what I wanted in one sentence and often have when people ask me why on earth I left our place and came here to Colorado. And it’s this - while I’ll always be sad, there has to be some joy left in life for me. And so I set out to find that for me and for the kids and grandkids. As I told them, Rickie left us an opportunity for adventure and I meant to take advantage of it. Not just for me but for them.



And it’s been the best thing I could have done. When I look back at photos of the ranch, it makes me sad. But it’s the life we had there that I’m sad about and that I miss. If I went back it would still be sad because what I miss isn’t there anymore. I read something a widow wrote the other day about why she moved when her husband died. She said his memory ambushed her at every corner she turned and she was emotionally drained all the time from the sadness. That summed up where I was.



It’s been a busy year here and it’s been an adventurous year for the family and friends that have been able to come over. We’ve all done things we’ve never done before. Some have been skiing and snowboarding, we’ve been horseback riding in the mountains, rafting and kayaking down the river, hiking, train riding, sitting in the hot springs, and practicing our snowshoeing for this winter. We’ve seen some beautiful sights and we’ve driven down some scary roads.



I’ve had a Christmas tree for the first time since Rickie died. This is the 4th Christmas without him. I decorated the cabin and put the lights that used to be on the ranch cabin up outside. There was joy in the house with grandkids here. And then more joy as I went to Denver to celebrate Christmas with Sarah and her family.



I accomplished some goals here at the new cabin this year. I had a deck built; I furnished the cabin since I left almost everything I had at the ranch; replaced all the broken mini blinds; moved piles of stone; mulched my planting beds and planted trees and perennials; dismantled an old greenhouse: replaced all my door locks (17!); painted the kitchen and bath; had my bedroom, living room wall, and staircase painted; cleared a pile of junk on the hill; replaced the appliances; painted the front and garage walk-through doors; made gravel paths, edging, and a garden area by the deck; and had someone haul off a giant pile of old posts by the driveway that had been there about 10 years. I’ve started a list of things I want to do next year.



I sold Rickie’s truck to our grandson and traded in my SUV for a Subaru, the state car of Colorado. I joined a great group of people that walk dogs at the animal shelter each week (and then we have lunch and they teach me all about Colorado) and I go one night most weeks to meet some friends to hear live music and have a drink. I know my neighbors and could call on them for help. I’ve sort of learned to drive in winter weather. Sort of.  And just this week I adopted two rescue cats from the animal shelter. All part of learning to live again.



In everything I do I see Rickie’s hand. Without the sacrifices we made all those years to have the ranch, I wouldn’t have been able to sell it and buy this place. Without his belief that we have to take every chance to grab happiness and joy when it presents itself, I wouldn’t have had the courage to go off on my own like I did. Without all the skills I learned from him, I wouldn’t have been as confident to do some of the things I do. And without his love for the natural world and how he instilled it in me and the kids and grandkids, I wouldn’t have picked this place of peace and beauty.

I sometimes wish we had sold the ranch when he was alive and come here. He would have loved the adventures we’ve had. And I believe had he lived we might have done just that after he was retired a couple of years. We talked about it many times and he was always ready to do something different. He was the only one in my family like that. And he taught me to be that way and I’m grateful. It’s made all the difference in my life. That road less traveled.

My grandson Larry Michael told me that Rickie lived on in me because he changed me into the person I am. And that when I went to Colorado people would know him because of who I now was. Sometimes when I’m doing something or making a decision that I never would have before, I’ll say Rickie is gone and so now I have to be Rickie. Sort of like Negan on Walking Dead and how all his people say they are Negan when asked who they are. In many ways, I am Rickie and so are all those he influenced.



It’s been quite a year, this 2017. I hope 2018 finds us courageous enough to face what life tosses at us and that if we find ourselves faced with choices, we don’t always take the familiar one. That road less traveled does, indeed, make all the difference.

Ashes of a Dream by Mike Stinson

Saturday, December 9, 2017

Leaving Your Mark Along the Trail



As a lot of photos of the ranch cabins and the Kangaroom tiny house in Austin show up on the looking back feature on my Facebook page, naturally it makes me sad that we did all that work and then left them. But it also makes me proud that we did it and passed it on to others to enjoy. And in the case of the Kangaroom Casa de Abuelos, to enable the new young family to make extra money to offset their mortgage obligation. Our motto was always leave it better than we found it, even the times we lived in a rental. 




And as I enjoy my new Colorado cabin, it makes me happy to see all the work Matt did and passed on to me. Life is a journey not a destination and we leave our mark as we pass by.




I hope you’re leaving your mark as you go on your journey and are proud of what you left along the trail. And I hope someone left their mark for you. 

Saturday, November 25, 2017

The Older I Get

“The older I get, the more I think, you only get a minute, better live while you’re in it, cause it’s gone in a blink.”




Driving back from Denver this week I was struck once again by the spectacular beauty of nature in Colorado. I had checked the webcams at Wolf Creek and the road was clear and the weather apps didn’t show any snowstorms on the way. So I took the scenic route along the mountains and plains. The consensus of the weather folks seems to be that winter is late coming to Colorado this year. Once it sets in I’ll most likely have to go up I-25 and that rolling treeless country isn’t my kind of place. 




I drive through Bailey, one of the prettiest sections of the trip. The narrow road winds along the South Platte River. There are no shoulders on the road there and the forest and the river come up close and wrap you up. I skirt the little towns of Buena Vista and Salida as I go into and out of the Colorado plains. The Arkansas River tumbles along past them. 




In Conifer a big mule deer buck stops traffic as he crosses the highway. A small herd of buffalo graze in a pen near Fairplay. A group of young men wearing football jerseys play a game of football in a ranch pasture beside the river where fly fishermen cast a line back in the summer and early fall. Their jerseys are big, as if they covered shoulder pads on a different field in a different game. They all look like Dallas Cowboy jerseys but whether they are professionals here on a Thanksgiving break, or are fans, or college friends, or family, I can only speculate.  




As I left Denver V-formations of Canadian geese fly over heading to a warmer climate ahead of the cold snows that are surely coming soon. I can hear their honking and am reminded of how much Rickie loved the wild geese. As I pass a high school football field I see it’s covered with them, taking a rest and a feeding break. We used to see them by the millions in the rice fields west of Houston before subdivision after subdivision replaced the flooded fields of rice. 




In the higher elevations there are patches of snow under the trees and the sun dims. A few cars are parked at Kenosha Pass, their occupants off somewhere down the trail. Once I get to Wolf Creek there is more snow. At the summit kids and parents are sledding down the hill. Later in the season snowmobile, cross country skiing, and snowshoe trails will embark from this area but for now the kids have it to themselves. 




It’s been 3 years today since I sat on the deck of the screen porch and held Rickie’s hand as we waited for the formality of the medical examiner’s proclamation. On the Masterpiece series Poldark, Ross says that his mother was the star his father set his course by. Rickie was that to me. Since then I’ve had to set my own course. And it has led me to this beautiful place and here I’ve found a home. As with the ranch, I find I have to keep returning to it when I’m away. It centers me and the loneliness of it comforts me in a way that’s hard to explain unless you are also a person like me. One of the things about losing your best friend at this stage of your life is you realize you’ll never have another best friend. On the rare chance that you should run into someone who maybe has potential to be that friend you don’t have time left to form that bond you had. So in its place you embrace the loneliness of being best friends with a memory. 




All is well when I make it home and the first thing I do is go around and raise the shades to let the sunshine in. No matter the temperature outside this is what I do the first thing every morning. In the same spirit, I try to let the sunshine into my life.


Because the older I get, the more I think, you only get a minute, better live while you’re in it, cause it’s gone in a blink.


Alan Jackson The Older I Get


My granddaughter Lexi introduced me to this song. Click on the link above to hear Alan sing it. 





Wednesday, November 1, 2017

I Can’t Remeber If We Said Goodbye



“I only miss you every now and then, like a soft breeze blowin’ up from the Carribean. Most Novembers I break down and cry, but I can’t remember if we said goodbye.”

Heard these lines from Steve Earle’s song Goodbye today. November is a month that swings back and forth for me. It’s the month 3 years ago that we began life without Rickie. It was always our favorite time of year. The hot summer heat finally broke for a while, it was hunting season and all the excitement associated with that, and the holidays were coming up with family gatherings and visits. We had some time off from work and from school for the kids, and we spent more time at the ranch than any other time of year. Orion was back in the night sky, the Milky Way was clear and bright, and it was time to put a pot of chili on the stove.



Whenever that first front flows down bringing the north wind, I’m overwhelmed with memories. It feels like a punch in the gut and I try not to double over when it hits. Rickie’s favorite day of the year was the day the first norther blew in. He was very in tune with the natural world and living with him taught me to notice those changes, both big and small.



We had our first snowfall here in Pagosa yesterday. It was snowing when I got up and a few hours later it was gone. But it stayed cloudy and cold all day. I got a fire going in the fireplace and read all day. I’m reading Where They Bury You by Steven Kohlhagen. His wife, an author in her own right, is in the dog walkers group that I’ve been welcomed into here. We walk dogs each week at the animal shelter then we go to lunch. The book is set in the New Mexico and Arizona territories during the Civil War days. It’s interesting and I’m learning some history of my new part of the country.



The last two weeks I’ve been trying to get some things done before the real winter weather settles in. I hired a fella to come haul some old wood and junk off and to take down an old greenhouse frame. He never showed up and the other bid I got to do it from someone else was more than I was comfortable spending. So I cleaned the junk area up and then took the geeenhouse down myself.



One day I went up to the tree line and did some trimming. I found a little 2’ tall Douglas fir there. This was Grandma Hattie’s favorite kind of Christmas tree; in fact the only kind she would have. I can remember taking her to the store to pick one out. I hope I can dig it up and transplant it in the yard for Bixby. We like to have trees for people in our family. Then he can decorate it every year for Christmas.

I found a deer trail leading up into the woods. Once the bears go to sleep I’ll explore it. I haven’t been back there yet. Rickie would have already been up there and mapped it out! I’m feeling a little bad I’ve let it go so long.



A longtime friend of mine from Houston was out a couple of weeks ago. We rode the train from Durango to Silverton one day and went horsebacking riding another day. The weather was beautiful, the leaves had changed, and it was good to have adventures with an old friend. They are few these days, old friends, and to be treasured.



I made a trip to Houston the end of September for my granddaughter’s wedding. It’s a priceless gift in life, this starting off on a new adventure together. That feeling of everything being new. I wish Rickie could have been there, and maybe he was. Because we were there, those of us who love Natalie and Austin. And we carry him with us. Maybe that’s why I never said goodbye.


Tuesday, October 10, 2017

You've Got a Friend in Me

For almost three years my friend Deb and I have been talking on the phone once or twice a week. It's always as the day winds down. One of the times I think we miss our husbands the most, when we'd be talking over the day with them. Deb lives across the country from me and her husband passed away about 6 months before Rickie did. Suddenly, as he did. One minute they weren't feeling well and the next they were lying on the porch lifeless.




Our lives have run parallel in other ways. Both single moms with two young boys when we met the men that would become our second husbands. The men with whom we would find the happiness we hadn't found before, our soulmates, to use a word I'm not crazy about, our best friends. They would help raise our kids as their own, learning how to be a parent, not by easing into it, but by jumping right into a ready made family. We each then had a daughter. All of our kids were grown, married, and with children of their own. Our youngest grandchildren, the children of our daughters, were toddlers when our husbands died. 


And we were left to pick up the pieces of dreams ended and families stricken. 


I haven't always known Deb. Back when the ranch cabin was first seen on tiny house blogs I received some Facebook friend requests from people I didn't know. Normally I don't friend people I don't know. I can be annoying to some people with my outspoken comments, and vice versa - ha! - and it's also a safety issue. But the times are changing and people meet in different ways. So I accepted friend requests from a few women I didn't know and I have come to count them all as real friends and some of the people I enjoy most keeping up with. I'd welcome any of them into my home. 


Deb reached out to me after Rickie died and, while I'm not normally a phone person, I've come to look forward to our conversations. Living alone like we each do, it's a way to talk over things on our mind, share what we've been up to, and have some human contact. The thing I miss the most with Rickie gone is just the day to day conversations. One of the hardest things was not having anyone to call when I was traveling and let them know I made it home safely. There was no one who was waiting to hear that. Everyone has their own lives going on, as they should, and the person that cared the most whether we were ok was gone. It's not the big things you miss the most; it's the little things. 


And so began our friendship, first as a way for us each to cope by knowing there was someone else in the same boat as we were. As time went by and we became real friends, we included things like asking after each other's families and asking each other's advice. We cried together and still do sometimes, though not as much as at first, and we laugh together. And talk about things only we and other widows and widowers understand. 


This week Deb told me about a speaker she had heard Sunday. The woman had been a widow for 12 years. Something she said stuck with Deb and she shared it with me. It was that we can't live the life we had before. That's gone. We have to make a new life for ourself. The two years I stayed at the ranch I was trying to keep life as it was. Everything was the same except Rickie wasn't home. I think that's normal but there comes a realization that you can't keep that kind of life up. It comes slowly and I don't know that I even consciously thought of it as that way. I just instinctively knew I couldn't stay and survive. 


Deb and I talked about how we have to actually do the making of a new life. While we've had support and love from family and friends without which we would not have survived, no one has taken us by the hand and said, here, this is what you'll do. We've had to figure it out ourselves. Taking welcome advice and help in some matters from loved ones, but ultimately, at the end of the day, we are alone, and alone we have to find our place in the world we find ourselves in. We've each tried to do that in our own way. 


So, this post is for you, Deb. Thank you for being my friend. And for making those end of the day calls where we talk over the little things in our lives and sometimes the big things. If there's one thing I've learned these last three years, it's don't wait until people are gone and wish you'd told them how much you value them. 




Saturday, September 9, 2017

In the Land of the Stranger, I Rise or I Fall





"The home I redeem from the savage and wild
The home I have loved as a father, his child
The wife of my bosom, farewell to ye all
In the land of the stranger, I rise or I fall"

I heard Fess Parker sing this on the old Davy Crockett at the Alamo movie a couple of weeks ago. The real Davy Crockett wrote this part of the song, called Farewell, as a poem. It touched me, both the leaving a place you created from nothing and loved part, and the last line. Davy and I are kindred spirits in this, as I'm sure we are in other things.

I found an extended version of Riders in the Sky singing the song and downloaded it. There's a video clip of Fess Parker singing the abbreviated version with the real Davy's words from the movie. Naturally, it will break your heart because not only did Davy die but we know the adorable Fess Parker as Davy is going to die before the movie is over.



I drove back from Denver today where I spent the week with the kids, enjoying their company, learning about Bixby's school days, and doing some shopping. There's a bit of Fall in the air, especially in the mornings, and the aspens in the high places are just beginning to turn. Farmers on the plains of Colorado have bales of hay piled high and irrigation going on a few fields to cut again later. Gus and Woodrow wouldn't believe all the alfalfa in that part of the state! I feel like Fall will be here and gone before I know it and I want to savor every bit of it.



I've come a year's full circle from the beginning of my journey to leave the ranch and move to Colorado. It was the first of October last year when Sarah and I came to Durango to meet with a realtor, a decision that was made in September. The year has gone by quickly. From those first very hard weeks to now, it's been a journey of discovering whether I will rise or fall.

My adopted state has been good to me, both in the people I've met and the land I've found. I feel my roots sinking like those of the trees I've planted this year. I didn't create this home from the ground up like we did the ranch but I'm putting my mark on it and the family is too. To the framed photos that Rickie took of the ranch I've added ones of the family and me and the adventures we've had here. Our story is expanding and our circle of experiences grows.

Sometimes we just have to trust that the decisions we make will lead us to a better place. Not necessarily a better physical place but a better place in our mind. Life is a journey and we're not meant to be stranded in the past, adrift without a sail. That's my belief anyway. We're meant to rise up from whatever befalls us, or to try to anyway.

Davy did, and that's why we're still singing his song almost 200 years later.

Fess Parker Farewell