tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59960183745201708202024-03-13T23:53:00.052-06:00A Porch of My OwnSuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-55244208959243872302023-11-15T15:56:00.001-07:002023-11-15T15:56:29.336-07:00Broken Glass<p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"><img id="id_6ad9_79a3_494c_87f0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaDee4QqVhq6ixRh4y8FxDq4iQUD4534rkcLLa3OpcCpNyhFkNGFaK1wRb7VfxJybKyADn1tvHnSWXvvUUOQo6F1LT9Tcg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 455px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">“If We're Broken Glass</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">I'll find the pieces back to you</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">And if this Broken Glass</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Won't pull together I'll turn to glue</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">And if this glue won't hold</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">I'll turn to gold</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">And shine for you”</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">It’s been 9 years now since Rickie died. And we were left with a world of broken glass. We tried to leave our world as it was when he was here. But it became apparent after a couple of years that the world as we knew it wasn’t going to shine without him. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">So 7 years ago the decision was made to leave that broken life and embark on a new one. And my kids and grandkids and I, along with other family, and people that joined us on this journey and became instant family, embraced this new life with gusto. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">We’ve had so many adventures since that decision was made. Rafting, hiking, tubing, skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling, train riding, kayaking, horseback riding in the mountains. So many meals and drinks at local breweries where the kids shared their stories. Stories of coming down the mountain in a blizzard, Wolf Pup lessons, learning new skills, 4’ of snow in one week. Bear sightings, hiking in the forest while the snow falls on us, standing high on a ridge looking down at the river below. Sitting in the hot tub with all the stars in the universe above us. Campfires with Christmas music and s’mores, bundled up in our new jackets and boots. Sledding down the hill at Turkey Springs and up at Wolf Creek. Making snowmen and snow angels. We’ve been to Creede, Winslow and Sedona AZ, and Las Vegas NV. Going to the hot springs and smelling like sulphur, walking the river downtown with all the Christmas lights, riding in a hot air balloon. Dancing and theater and live music. Driving scary mountain shelf roads to Ouray and Silverton, trips to Telluride and Palisades. Trips to the Great Sand Dunes, Mesa Verde, and the Ghost Ranch. Visits to Santa Fe and Albuquerque. And to Crested Butte, Denver, Taos, and Roswell. 5K walks, drives to see the golden aspens and where the last grizzly in Colorado was killed. Jeep rides to Imogene Pass and tours of mines. Cutting our Christmas trees down in the forest as an eagle screamed overhead. Herds of elk, one time walking single file through a snowy field on the way to the Piedra River. Shopping in Durango. Walking dogs and watching the Cowboy Poetry Gathering parade. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">And we’ve marveled at everything we’ve done. And marveled at ourselves for doing it. We’ve not taken one moment of it for granted. It’s all been magical. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">When I sold the ranch I promised the kids and grandkids we’d have adventures. We wouldn’t lose that place we all loved and replace it with just something ordinary. We’d be bold. As Rickie would have expected of us. I always thought he’d be a little disappointed in us if we didn’t take the opportunity we had and make something of it. The small acreage and tiny cabin we struggled to pay for and worked so hard to make into what it was from the empty ranch land it was with </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">trash everywhere, was what enabled us to live this life. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">And I’m so proud of us all and how we’ve shone. We shine for you, Rickie. And because of you. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"><img id="id_b23d_17e_fb1f_2d54" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaByVSq76X9j1FOaV0mxk17tuC6aXYUNaeASNu6_a7nbgxnydk_MZW995OqlBvJ26UV_stXw25OvXcB_3MXAcjCz32MXKg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 454px; height: auto;"><br><br></span><a href="https://youtu.be/9v0kAej6yyQ?si=wr7TNQJnVWDQLy8O" id="id_7b9d_45a2_184d_975a" target="_self">Broken Glass by Mayaeni</a><br></p> Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-39061254064290782372023-07-29T10:33:00.001-06:002023-11-15T14:24:46.356-07:00I’ll Fly Away <div>The Durango airport is like a step back in time. It has one concession store and one gift store. There’s a baggage area, a few ticket and rental car counters, and a waiting area. And one “gate”. When you get on and off a plane you walk on the tarmac and climb stairs. As if you’re leaving on a private plane or Air Force One. There’s the small TSA screening area between the front area and the “gate” area. And double doors that are opened when people get off an arriving plane. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>I took Kathy and Ali this morning for their return trip to Houston. We hugged and said our “I love you’s”. As they got in the TSA screening line I stood off to the side trying not to cry. It’s been a rough week for the family, especially for Kathy. We lost one of our “anchor” people, the ones that keep us rooted. Behind Kathy and Ali a woman was in line for screening. With her was a huge bear of a man. He wasn’t fat, just huge. Bear size with a blond beard and a ball cap. I’m guessing the woman was his mom. They hugged and said their “I love you’s”. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then he came over and stood in the small area I was in. His mom turned around and threw him a kiss. We both stood there until our people were out of sight, focused on them as they moved through the screening. Ready in case there was a problem. Ready in case they needed us. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the old days before bad people realized you could use planes as weapons for chaos and destruction we would have been able to sit with the people we loved until they got on the plane. And watch out the window until the plane took off and was out of sight. Our people hanging up there in the sky for hours on their way home or on an adventure or responding to a call from someone who needed them. Come here, come now, my world has taken a hit. We need you. And we go, we don’t make excuses, we don’t say it’s too far, we have obligations. We just go. We might designate the one to go as the others take up the slack at home but we go. </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s hard watching someone fly off. Wondering when we’ll see them again. Knowing sometimes we never do. And so the younger Bear man and the older gray haired woman stood watching our people until they were out of sight. Hoping the love we send them off with gets them safely to where they’re headed.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-65086178410128112502023-04-05T08:37:00.001-06:002023-04-05T08:37:25.506-06:00Musings When I Turned 67I ran across this I’d written on my 67th birthday, almost 7 years ago, and I wanted to add it to the blog. It’s good to look back on your life sometimes. <div><br></div><div><img id="id_765_15cc_2b87_f273" src="https://alexdenk.eu/blogtouch?id=102tQM-HhY22dyL76eDWbR-ueLx4_JdY9" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 497px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Today I'm 67 years old. Closing in on 70. The 60s never seems that old to me but 70 does. Maybe I'll change my mind if I get there!</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">I've been thinking about all the changes my Mamaw saw and how that's different from what I've seen. She lived the longest of my grandparents. The whole world changed in amazing ways for her. From horses to automobiles to planes to spacecrafts. She walked down a country road to the store and lived to see men walking on the moon. She lived through the Korean War, both world wars, and Vietnam, and all the smaller fights around the globe. She buried a son killed in WWII and a 13 year old daughter who died from heart disease. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">She was born into a country where women couldn't vote. Where people of color couldn't eat and drink where white people did or go to the same schools. Where they were hung without trial for looking at a white woman and sometimes for no reason at all, not that that's a reason, but sometimes no one even tried to think of an inexcusable excuse. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">She had no contact with Arabs, Hispanics, Muslims, Hindus, Asians. If she knew any LGBT people, she wouldn't have known it because they kept it hidden. She didn't know many people that weren't Baptists and even then, if she did, they were likely to be Methodists. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">She lived before telephones and television. She never learned to drive. She worked outside the home when I was a kid and had been a farmer's wife before that. But mostly she took care of our family, cooking and taking care of things at home. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">She saw the world change in more ways than I ever will. We had all hoped we would soon be living as the Jetsons did, but it seems we've made slower progress than in the time of my grandmother. Our biggest change is the Internet. It's an encyclopedia at our fingertips and a way of instant communication with our family and friends and even those we would never meet otherwise. It inspires revolutions, for good or bad, and it educates us on what goes on around the world. It teaches us and shows us how to repair plumbing leaks or frame a wall. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">We have an international space station but it doesn't seem like we've moved as fast as we thought we would once we walked on the moon. We never went back and there's no space travel for humans easily available. We send satellites up for communications and spying but we've not managed to use that avenue for weather control or harnessing energy. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">We still rely on fossil fuel for energy, and renewables are in the baby stage and much of that in other countries, not ours. We've made no progress controlling flooding and droughts. We still have epidemics in diseases that could have been eradicated years ago if people would stop their mistrust of science and if countries would fund it. We've made some progress in recycling what we use but we still toss out unheard of amounts of trash and building materials. And in some countries people are still digging through dump sites to find something to eat. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Though we've come a long way in accepting people that are different from us, many people want us to go backwards. Some even calling for our country to break up, as if our country didn't learn a lesson in heartache and horror from that last civil war. I see a lot repeating from the 1960s when I was young. Riots, blaming, hating and mistrusting on all sides those that are different, even trying to pass a slew of unconstitutional laws to make us all believe the same. The open-mindedness that people fought so hard to achieve, even dying for, is being pushed back against. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">And a see a lot of cries for isolationism. We can no longer follow that path. That's one thing the airplanes, satellites, and internet ended. Our world is smaller and what we do in one place affects all of us. Just like we get the smoke from the rainforest burning in South America, we can get something worse from a tiny nation (or big nation, even our nation, as we aren't immune to power hunger) with a crazy leader and nuclear capability. We're still seeing what can be done by a small group of people with explosive vests or assault rifles. What someone just as crazy can do with a nuclear weapon is unbearable to think of. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">A woman I don't know told me a few years back that her only concern was that she didn't want the world to change. Well, the world's gonna change. How it changes is the only control we have. We can go backwards or forwards. While there are some things I don't want to lose, like porch swings and cheese toast, we have so much room for improvement, so much good that can come out of our advanced knowledge. We've got to move forward in our education and not slow down and for that we need it to be a priority and it needs to be funded. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">I hope my grandchildren and their generation aren't content to let things carry on as they are, and certainly I hope they don't want to go backwards. I hope they accomplish what we couldn't. I see some of my generation and the generation under us raising their children to look backwards and not forwards. But I have hope that most of them don't and that among those who are raised that way, many will think for themselves and look ahead. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Just some musings on my 67th birthday. Looking out my window, it's a wonderful world and looks not that much different than it would have looked 50 or 60 years ago. But outside my view I want it to move forward. And move forward at the speed it did for my Mamaw, and all in good ways. I know some people want things to stay the same for their grandkids, and as far as having clean rivers and wild places, I do too. But on other fronts, I'm like most parents and grandparents and I want it to be better. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">"It's your world now</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">My race is run</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">I'm moving on</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Like the setting sun</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">No sad goodbyes</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">No tears allowed</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">You'll be alright </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">It's your world now.</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 21.5px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">It's your world now</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Use well your time</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Be part of something good</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">Leave something good behind."</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 16.38px;">~The Eagles</span></p></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-45116402071829033702022-12-03T12:49:00.001-07:002022-12-03T17:45:47.311-07:00I Kept the Roses <div><img alt="" id="id_8181_c8ce_b7f5_589" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/X819BHXLOOyJIEmKM8oKW6NUXVEdw5NEAZIcIH9WkqKR-q7DIqxikHONC8l35NuiMpg" style="height: auto; width: 455px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /></div><div>I watched a Hallmark movie this week called Time for Him to Come Home. 4th in a series of “Time for someone to come home”. It’s based on a song Blake Shelton and his mom wrote and a book his mom wrote. It’s a nice feel good movie, as all Hallmark ones are. It has a bit of a mystery. It has the very handsome Tyler Haynes with the kind eyes. Kind eyes being the key to being handsome. And it has an adorable Canadian singer named Tenille Townes. She’s singing the title song with the line “Mama called and said it’s time for me to come home.” Bringing tears to the eyes of all of us who wish our mom was still around to call us and say the same. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>Then I found this song of hers. For all of us who know what it’s like to have a broken heart. And what to do with all the things remaining when the one we love is gone. I’ve found people do it differently. Some never change a thing. Some toss everything out the first month. Some, like me, keep a lot, but “give up that bar on the East side of town”, or in my case a tiny house on a tiny ranch because the memories are too painful and the dream has died. A lot of us give up friends, or more accurately they give us up. But I think everyone keeps something. And it’s often surprising what we choose to keep. </div><div><br /></div><div>The song is about a love that didn’t work out, but the sentiment of what to save is sometimes the same. </div><div><br /></div><div>🎶I tore all the pictures from all of their frames</div><div>And all of your T-shirts, I gave them away</div><div>I gave up those friends we both hung around</div><div>And I gave up that bar on the east side of town</div><div><br /></div><div>I quit driving by to see if you're home</div><div>And I took your dead number right out of my phone</div><div>I came to my senses and I gave up drinking alone</div><div><br /></div><div>But I kept the roses </div><div>Right by my bed</div><div>And they should make me lonely </div><div>But I'm smiling instead</div><div>'Cause you weren't the one, babe</div><div>But you were the closest</div><div>I let the rest of us go </div><div>But I kept the roses🎶</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://youtu.be/XbHNw3x1YYg" id="id_7aae_786f_6607_4e8f">I Kept the Roses </a><br /></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-71791342688880640912022-03-28T17:07:00.001-06:002022-03-28T17:07:52.501-06:00What is the longest project you have ever worked on?<p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; align-self: center; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">This was one of the questions on a StoryWorth book project my daughter and son-in-law gave me. I’ve shared some of the stories here and this is the latest question.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; align-self: center; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><img id="id_304e_b944_5db2_9601" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/olp0gPE9ZpXha4T7Sa10SxI7NX8btKJmz2iSwbhArTcFyR-SECdmwj4NGcwNNsb4qz4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 489px; height: auto;"><br><br></p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; align-self: center; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I did two long projects. One was the garage conversion at the first house I bought in Colorado. I did the floors, the painting, and some of the insulation. And demo on a lot of shelves. I also assisted as the carpenter’s helper on removing windows, framing walls, and hanging doors. And I handled the whole permit and inspection side of things. The first time I’d ever gotten building permits and had inspections.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">But I did the most work on the other big project, the one I did at our tiny cabin in central Texas. It’s the project I’m most proud of. After Rickie died I moved forward with adding a bedroom and bathroom with laundry area, a project we’d hoped we might be able to do when he retired.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The original cabin had 464 sq ft. After the addition the total cabin area was 809 sq ft. I had the same company that did the original cabin shell do the addition shell. Because of the way the chimney was positioned the addition was connected to the original cabin by a hallway with small outside decks on each side.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The ceiling in the addition was 12’ tall at the peak. The carpenter tried to talk me into letting him add a drop ceiling because he thought it would be easier for me to finish. I had told him I was going to try and install the tongue and groove planks myself. Rickie and I (mostly me) balked at doing that in the original cabin and only did the walls ourselves. We hired someone for the gable ends and the high 13’ peaked ceiling in that original cabin room. The carpenter told me that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that I could do that ceiling but if I decided I needed help to call him and he’d come help me. It’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me!</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The carpenter had been an accountant in Mexico and we talked a lot while he was there about life and about what I wanted to do myself. He was very kind to me and told me how to make frames to do the metal skirting I planned to put on the addition. His son was also a carpenter and helped with the shell project. They were only there a week building the shell and they stayed in town. One night I cooked some soup and cornbread for us and we shared a meal.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">They did the addition shell, including metal roof, and the small back deck and stairs. I did the front deck myself. The biggest part of the project was the tongue and groove planks for the walls and ceilings. I had to cut lots of angles for the gables. It took me some thinking to figure out how I would do the ceiling. We had a tall stepladder that would just allow me to get to the top. I had bought a cordless nail gun and hung it from a belt on the ladder. I’d cut each piece, alternating lengths, climb the ladder and install it, then back down and do the same. Moving across one side and then the other.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I had to rip boards at the top of the walls and the ceiling peak. I was not comfortable using the table saw we had. So I cut them with a cordless jigsaw. I also had to cut some of the back part of the “tongues” off when I used different planks. We had enough left over from the original cabin to do one wall but when I changed to the new planks they didn’t fit tight. So I had to cut the back part off to force them to fit. And I had to do this on others that didn’t mesh together well as I got to planks bought at different times.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I framed out a drop ceiling and installed planks on it over where the bathtub would go because I knew I would have a hard time finishing the ceiling once the tub was in. I couldn’t do the whole ceiling until I finished the walls. And I couldn’t do them until the plumber and electrician did their work. After the tub was installed I framed up an end wall as the space for the tub was about 8” longer than the tub.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I improvised a lot as I went along. Sometimes I’d have to tear something down I’d just finished. Like the first framing for the drop ceiling over the tub when I realized I didn’t support it correctly on the side walls. I used coffee can tops and other odd things I had on hand as patterns for some of my cutouts.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I unloaded and cut and installed the plywood subfloor. The 4x8’ sheets are heavy and hard to handle but I managed to get it done. I stained the ceiling planks before I put them up and painted the walls and trim after they were up.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I bought, loaded, hauled, and unloaded most of the supplies myself. I’d transfer things to the Kawasaki Mule, which was lower than the pickup truck. Then drive to the side of the front porch and unload them there. The tub was very heavy and challenging. At some point I went into town and just had the lumber yard there deliver the last of the planks I needed. I moved the planks around so many times during the process. I had the compound mitre saw set up on the front porch for most of the project. Sometimes I had it inside when there was room.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">After I had finished the planks on the walls and ceilings, I did the trim work, including window sills and trim. Then I installed the vinyl plank floors (LVP). I didn’t do any electrical, HVAC, plumbing, or the tile work around the tub. I installed the hardware for a sliding barn door for the bathroom. Then I built a barn door for it out of leftover corrugated metal and the pine planks. My neighbor Scott ripped the two side pieces for me on that so I’d have a smooth even finish. And he helped me lift the door into place. I had to make some adjustments on it as we discovered when hanging it but it all worked out. I made a door handle from a piece of a tooled leather belt Rickie had.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">John and Zac came out one weekend and they helped me put the framing together for the metal skirting. I finished the frames and installed most of the corrugated metal panels. Caleb and Cameron were out hunting one week and they did some of the metal skirting on the front. I knew I needed venting for the crawl space so just left spaces that I filled with vents and trimmed them out.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">A lot of the project was just figuring out how to do things as I went along. </p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I had room for a washer and dryer at one end of the bathroom. I installed some shelves over that area. After the addition was finished I put some roofing shingles under the skirting to keep skunks from digging and spread granite gravel all around the cabin to cover this and for xeriscaping. I had a door to the small new back deck and I painted it pink.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">There was the original back screen porch this new deck connected to. I’d removed enough screen to make room for a screen door to go from that new deck to the old porch. I put a 4x4 post in and put a screen door so you could access the old porch and new deck.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The whole project took about 8 months. I learned a lot about myself and what I was capable of doing. It got me through that first year after Rickie died and life as we knew it came to an end. It gave me confidence that I could handle anything thrown at me. And confidence to tackle projects I’d never done before. To never let the fact you didn’t know how to do something stop you. That was always Rickie’s motto, a variation on “just do it!”</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px; font-family: GTSuperTextBook, Georgia, serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; text-rendering: auto; caret-color: rgb(4, 42, 33); color: rgb(4, 42, 33); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><img id="id_66df_5c2d_fd64_6662" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/XU-5b6NAhcGES5CHG3R-xIEoDZMXsmEJLn4mXCZa2ezHg2wmZJl1CU1FA3b0NHbVoIk" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 490px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p> Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-2828547650627676412021-11-11T16:25:00.001-07:002021-11-11T16:29:47.233-07:00Ironing - A Family Tradition<div><img id="id_7db9_88da_bb85_9c8" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/A2Xuz3VFsEI6PeONGW1n_2dwzl6Iv2bs9DosRJReKLs_x_ZHtVNIPAgAKwhjswun_zY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto;"><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><div>I was a young mother of two boys, 20 years old, when my cousin Tommy was killed in Vietnam. The Marines came to tell Aunt Margie her middle son wouldn’t be coming home, or at least when he did it would be in a box, his body frozen for the two week trip home. </div></font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">We were a close family, cousins as close as siblings, aunts and uncles parents to us all. We all lived in the same area and not a week went by that I didn’t see my grandparents and parents and usually an aunt or uncle or two. Calls were made and one by one, or two by two, or in small groups, we all made our way to Aunt Margie and Uncle Bob’s house. They lived about two blocks from my parents. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Everyone was stunned and pretty quiet. It wasn’t that we were shocked something like this could happen. Our family had experienced death before, and more often than most people I knew. An uncle killed in France in WWII. An uncle killed in Korea. Various other deaths unrelated to military service; a baby brother who didn’t make it past 3 days, an aunt who died at 13 years of age. A family friend shot by his girlfriend. As far as military service, we knew full well the cost of going to fight America’s wars. So we lived with the thought Tommy might never make it home.</font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">As we all arrived, someone every few minutes, at Aunt Margie’s, hugs were given but I don’t remember that anyone really told her or Uncle Bob they were sorry for their loss. It was a communal loss, each member loved by everyone. It’s that way in close families. He belonged to all of us, a member of our tribe as we say today. Family as we said back then. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I settled on the sofa and watched Aunt Margie iron clothes. She wasn’t crying or screaming, as I’m sure she felt like doing. She just quietly ironed. Jeans, shirts, pants, anything she could find to iron. Someone told her not to worry with that, just to come sit down. But she said she couldn’t. She had to stay busy. She said it quietly as was her way. She was a pretty, quiet woman and she’d had a hard life. Of all the women in our family, she was the one who seemed to me the most fashionable with an understated, classic style. Her thick black hair cut in a short bob at times and piled on her head at other times. She wasn’t too big or too small, just the right size. She had a lovely soft laugh and an easy smile. Rare in my family of loud, boisterous people. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Watching her calmly iron clothes as her son lay dead on the other side of the world broke my heart. And it still does. I’ve seen people scream and cry and fall on the floor upon hearing bad news, of facing the loss of a loved one. But I’ve never seen anything more heartbreaking then Aunt Margie quietly ironing clothes as the family who loved her and who loved Tommy sat all around her. I’ve seen that same strength and calmness in others of my family, facing the loss of stillborn babies, of husbands, of children, of parents. And each time I think back to Aunt Margie and her quiet grace. We all learned from her and from others like my own parents, and it’s passed on to the generations that didn’t even know her. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I rarely iron anymore. I choose to wear clothes that don’t need ironing and I’m not a fussy dresser. I’m retired so I have a boring wardrobe. Once, years ago now, when I was going through a life changing period in my life, I faced depression and despair. My best friend, who was worried about me, made me an appointment with her therapist. It was a week later before I could see her. In that time I managed to shake it off and I was much better. Because I had the examples of plenty of strong women in my family. When I talked to the therapist I jokingly told her the terrible thing about my being so down was that all my clothes were permanent press, as we called them back then, and I didn’t have anything to iron. I said if I’d had some clothes to iron, as was our family tradition in times of great stress, I’d be ok. We had a nice talk and life went on and so did I. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I ironed a few clothes today. Not mine. I own two shirts that need ironing. I seldom wear them, and when I do I take them to the cleaners 45 miles away in Durango. Today I was helping out a loved one who has no time to iron. And as I do every time I run the hot iron over the fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles, Aunt Margie comes to mind. She’s there in her sleeveless button shirt and tan “pedal-pushers”, as we called cropped pants back in 1970. Ironing her family’s clothes, looking up every so often to ask if any of us need anything. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><img id="id_86ba_984e_538d_5c9e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/N1XxE9RYGOA6EVkXwNy9cSxKPp2OOITyg3DEeBujbLi6YXdIieFWt-5gdoIqm0Rgqc8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 453px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-17502278097095342662021-10-18T13:27:00.001-06:002021-10-18T13:50:54.244-06:00What were your favorite toys as a child? <div><img alt="" id="id_7dc6_fe0f_a371_c02e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/BkY7mh3k5ilk5r-fivtAB2SLGnNIov1ye-N4T92dDh9FZaJPJq-GWtvnruNFIRsYMio" style="height: auto; width: 456px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><font color="#0c2930"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">When I was growing up in my large family of 7 siblings, we played a lot of board games. Clue and Monopoly were the ones we played most often. </span></font></div><div><font color="#0c2930"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></font></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">I wasn’t a big fan of dolls. I don’t think I ever had a Barbie doll. I know I had a baby doll one Christmas when I was about 7 because there’s a photo of me holding one. But the only doll I remember was one that was a toddler about 2-3’ tall. You could hold her hand and make her walk along with you. It was nothing electronic that made her walk. You just had to kind of sway her from side to side causing her legs to move. She had a hole where her mouth was so you could feed her a fake bottle. One day my older brother David and I crammed saltine crackers in her mouth. Of course, you couldn’t ever get them out. After that you could hear them rattling around inside her if you shook her. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">We played “Cowboys and Indians” in the back yard a lot, shooting each other with play guns and galloping around the yard. We also played Tarzan, which was a very popular TV show then. We didn’t have any gear for that, we mostly just ran around doing our Tarzan yells and pretending to jump in rivers full of alligators. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">We also had jump ropes and one Christmas I got a pogo stick. I never could jump on that thing. I always started falling over! Other outdoor games we played were hopscotch, Red Light Green Light, and Red Rover. None of these required equipment. We never had any concrete driveways or sidewalks so we didn’t even need chalk for hopscotch. We used a stick and drew the diagram in the dirt. We also played “catch” with a baseball and gloves.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">We had a swing set and one year we got a thing called a twirl-go-round. It had four seats and a handle at each seat that you pulled back, opposite sides pulling/pushing together. This made it rotate around.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">And, of course, books to read where a favorite. I spent many days up in our big mimosa tree in the back yard reading. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">We all had bikes to ride too if we were old enough. It was pretty safe to ride in our neighborhood of small streets back then. When a rec center opened a few blocks away the older of us kids rode with a younger one on the back of our bikes during the summer to go swimming there. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930;">Other than the playground equipment we had, none of our toys were expensive. And our swing sets weren’t the top of the line variety. </span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930;">Buying bikes for 7 kids was costly but we never had high dollar bikes, just the kind like you’d find today at Walmart. T</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930;">he dolls we got were generic brands. Even if there had been American Girl dolls we couldn’t have afforded them. Back then there were Madame Alexander dolls but we didn’t have those and could have cared less. I’m sure we didn’t even know there was such a thing. We had the most fun in our back yard where imagination was the only thing required for most games.</span></span></div><div><div class="small-12 medium-2 columns" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(12, 41, 48); color: #0c2930; display: flex; flex-direction: column; float: right; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0.9375rem; position: relative; width: 128px;"><ul class="meta hide-on-print" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #6e7677; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 1.6; list-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 1.25rem; padding: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: inherit; display: block; height: auto; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"></li><li style="box-sizing: inherit; display: block; font-size: inherit; height: auto; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"></li></ul></div></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-49093770667866802842021-10-01T12:07:00.001-06:002021-10-01T12:07:54.063-06:00What is one of your favorite children's stories?<p data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="19.200000762939453" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; margin-bottom: 1em; caret-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); word-spacing: 1px; font-size: 1.2000000476837158rem; font-family: serif; border-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); color: rgb(114, 119, 121);"><img id="id_55e5_6e05_4eb6_deb2" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/mJKYOSSj7VPcvIXXiMRV9dzuoOVWSsusIKMRKgAVGh-DEFPZHyvgQqHq2-4Mr6I60oY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-size: 1.2000000476837158rem;">I read Little Women over and over. In fact, I had the kind and sweet Beth in mind when I chose Sarah’s middle name Elizabeth. As it turned out Sarah’s personality was more like Jo than Beth! A writer, an independent woman with a mind of her own. Though both sisters cared for other people not as fortunate as they were, it has served Sarah well to be like Jo. </span></p><p data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="19.200000762939453" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; margin-bottom: 1em; caret-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); word-spacing: 1px; font-size: 1.2000000476837158rem; font-family: serif; border-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); color: rgb(114, 119, 121);">All of us girls who read Little Women wanted to be like Jo, of course. And most of us like to think we are, though that’s debatable. She was, I suppose, my first hero in literature. Someone who didn’t fit the norm of what was expected of a woman during her time of living. Someone who wanted a certain kind of life and she went out and found it. And if she hadn’t met her unique and lovely husband who liked her the way she was, she would have still lived her life on her terms, not the terms of others. </p><p data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="19.200000762939453" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; margin-bottom: 1em; caret-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); word-spacing: 1px; font-size: 1.2000000476837158rem; font-family: serif; border-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); color: rgb(114, 119, 121);">Another little book I liked was the kids’ book The Little Red Hen. It’s about a hen who did all the work on a farm to grow food for her family. She asked for help all along the way and all the other animals turned her request down. She’d always say “who will help me plant the wheat” or whatever stage the process was in. “Not I” said the pig, the cow, etc. But when she had the bread baked and asked “who will help me eat the bread”, well, everyone said I will to that! And she said no, you won’t! Most of us don’t have the nerve to tell people that, especially if they’re our family or close friends! </p><p data-removefontsize="true" data-originalcomputedfontsize="19.200000762939453" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; margin-bottom: 1em; caret-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); word-spacing: 1px; font-size: 1.2000000476837158rem; font-family: serif; border-color: rgb(114, 119, 121); color: rgb(114, 119, 121);">Laziness was the greatest sin in my mother’s book. She was one of the hardest working people I knew or will ever know. But she always let it slide when it was time for the lazy folks to pay the piper. She didn’t have the heart to refuse anyone. But that Little Red Hen put her foot down and it was good for the spirit to see it! And hopefully taught everyone reading the story to be helpful. This book always reminds me of my mom.</p> Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-67092276884391702162021-09-05T11:07:00.001-06:002021-09-05T11:10:23.500-06:00Where Did You Go On Vacations As A Child?<p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><img id="id_536d_52bd_e358_3724" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/4ImQkxqyZe3wwNEfOob5zrYXBFYsLjgY5eHQl8p6P-vYBlBJA4g9tjsXo5_3XqVrkPw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 455px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px;">I can’t fault my parents for their vacation choices, though for the most part I disliked them. A family with 7 kids to provide for and not much money, we were lucky to get to go anywhere. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I always wished we were one of those families who went to the kinds of places I saw at the movies. A fun summer camp in the mountains like Hayley Mills did in The Parent Trap, where I could learn to canoe, practice archery, and have campfires. Or to a country house in Maine, like Hayley did in Summer Magic. Hayley, it appeared was living the vacation life I wanted! </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I also longed to go west on vacations. To ride the range with Roy and Dale. To see the mountains in Colorado and California. To go to Laramie and Cheyenne, places where the “real” cowboys lived! To ride horses where the creeks and rivers were clear and bubbly. To watch an eagle fly. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I wanted to spend the summer in a big Adobe ranch house in a place with a Hispanic culture. Where the ranch hands spoke Spanish. In my mind I would immediately pick up the language and converse with them. Desert flowers would bloom around the ranch and saguaro cactus would cover the flatlands. Soft guitar music would come from the courtyard as twilight approached. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">None of this happened. Not even close, not even a budget friendly version. We never got in the car, all 9 of us in our 3 seat station wagon, never pointed it west and just drove away. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">My family was firmly rooted in the southern culture where we lived. All the men were hunters and fishermen. Our vacations, if we weren’t visiting family in Louisiana, were to fishing camps in the middle of swampy woods. We sometimes went to Lake St. John in northeastern Louisiana. We rented a cabin with our favorite aunt and uncle and cousins. The men and boys fished. I have no recall of what us girls did. I can remember somewhere cleaning little bream, scraping the scales off with a spoon. I asked my dad if it hurt the fish when we cut their heads off and he said no, they didn’t have any nerves. I suspected he made that up but I chose to believe it as I held the squirming little fish down and ended their lives. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">Once we went to a horrible fish camp a friend of my dad’s owned beside a small lake. There wasn’t an indoor bathroom. You had to walk out on the wooden porch to get to the “outhouse” type room. Getting up one night to go there, I saw the moon shining on the lake, lighting up hundreds of alligator eyes lurking just above the water. I was horrified. That trip also sent my siblings and I scurrying as fast as we could to escape some wild hogs we ran across in the woods. When we saw the movie Old Yeller, I could identify with the time the boys had to climb a tree to escape wild javelinas!</font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">But one time we went on a vacation that down the road changed my life. We had gone to the mountains of Arkansas to visit my mom’s Aunt Leta, my Mamaw’s sister. She lived in Star City, Arkansas. We went up to the mountains during that trip, not staying with Aunt Leta. I don’t even know where we went. I remember we drove on a road on the edge of a mountain and I saw chipmunks for the first time. I fell in love with small clear mountain streams. So different than the huge muddy, swampy lakes and rivers I was familiar with, filled with alligators, water moccasins, cottonmouths, snapping turtles, and giant alligator gars. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I vowed that one day I’d live somewhere where water was clear, where rocks were everywhere, and it didn’t rain all the time. It took years for that dream to come true. I married young and had kids. We seldom had money for vacations and anytime we went anywhere it was usually close to see friends or to Louisiana to visit relatives. But one time when the boys were around 9-11 we also went to Arkansas. To Lake Ouachita camping. And I remembered how beautiful the mountains were, how different from what I’d always known. How clear the water was. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">Many years later, when Rickie and I bought our property in central Texas and later built our little cabin, I finally made it to a place of clear streams and rocks. And hills if not mountains. Today I live in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. As Merle sings after losing his love in Kern River, “I live in the mountains, I drifted up here with the wind”. And so I did after losing Rickie. I think had he lived we might have come here together, as we’d talked about it many times. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">It took me 60 years but I feel like I’m finally where I always wanted to be. While my childhood vacations weren’t normally to my liking, one was and it was key to choosing both my home in central Texas and here in Colorado. Though the credit for both those places belongs almost exclusively to Rickie. Who taught me you don’t have to stay somewhere just because you’ve always been there. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I’m grateful for my family, strapped for money and having to travel with all of us kids in the car. I can’t imagine how stressful planning these trips must have been. Trying to get 9 people’s clothes packed, enough food for the road, and refereeing our squabbles. We rarely ate out, even while traveling. We stopped at rest stops for lunch and cooked our meals when we arrived at our destination. And though I didn’t like the places we went, I can appreciate that our parents tried to give us a break from our everyday lives. And, for me, that one trip influenced me more than they ever knew. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p> Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-44636047782666611272021-08-23T10:35:00.001-06:002021-08-23T10:39:21.771-06:00My First Car<font face="Trebuchet MS">For my 72nd birthday Sarah and Justin gave me a subscription to something called StoryWorth. Every week I get a question to answer about my life. At the end of the year I get a book with all the stories. I thought I’d share some of the stories here on my blog as I write them. So many questions I wish I’d asked my parents and grandparents when I had the chance. I hope you enjoy reading some of my stories. </font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br /></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><img alt="" id="id_67e2_217d_1341_365e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/wwjnMNH7XcdkuQOL4gZNXovmLc6SCVxUfZZ9iJy53uv53D20A8EckUk9_RjdRHHziO4" style="height: auto; width: 587px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /><br /></font><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px;">My first car was a 1967 Ford Mustang. I was a high school senior and it was my graduation gift from my parents. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px;">My dad had been to the Ford dealership for some other reason. That evening he told me while he was there that he got to talking to the salesman and he showed him this Mustang. He was offered what he called a good deal on it and he thought he’d get it for me. I couldn’t believe it! My older brother David already had a 1965 Mustang. I don’t know if he bought that himself or if my parents helped. I was very naive and uninformed about financial matters back then.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px;"> </span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></font></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">The cars most of my friends drove were older model cars, handed down to them or bought used with what little money they had from part-time jobs, or help from parents. They were huge long cars. Some with big fins on the back. The small sporty Mustang was nothing like what we were used to. It became a favorite as soon as Ford released it. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></font></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I wish I could say that I understood it wasn’t what kids in my middle class neighborhood normally got for graduation. By middle class I don’t mean what’s considered middle class today but the modest middle class lifestyle of the 1960s. A brick home with maybe 1400-1600 sq ft on a quiet street in a new subdivision. Small lots, one tree planted by the builder in the front yard. A chain link fence in the back yard. Working class people who took vacations close to home or to visit relatives. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></font></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">But I had no grasp of what kind of money my parents had or of what anything cost. I knew we were better off than when we lived in Monroe, Louisiana where I shared a bedroom with my three sisters and our baby brother’s crib was in our room also. But I didn’t really know if it stretched my parents to buy me this car or if it was an easy purchase. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></font></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">My car was a burgundy color. I don’t think it was a popular color, not like the cherry red ones you see a lot at car shows now. It wasn’t my favorite color but it didn’t matter, I loved it! Only one problem. It had a standard transmission and I didn’t know how to drive it! </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></font></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">My friend and fellow student David Krupa taught me how to drive it. He lived across the street from us. He bravely sat in the passenger seat as the Mustang jerked along, often dying, while I tried to learn to use the clutch and shift gears. Our heads bobbing back and forth with each gear change! Sometimes when I’m going down one of the high mountain passes here and downshift to control my speed I think about learning to drive a standard back when my friend and I were kids and with the confidence - or ignorance - of youth, jumped in the little burgundy Mustang and headed down our street in a car I didn’t know how to drive. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></font></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I only had the Mustang a year. I got married the summer after high school and by the next summer I had a baby. We needed a bigger more practical car and replaced it with a Plymouth Satellite. I’m not sure that was more practical but it was bigger. I’ve had a lot of cars and pickups since then. Some I hated, some I liked, and a very few I loved. Most I’ve forgotten. But I’ll never forget the little burgundy mustang and the time I was innocent of the world and the cost of things, and how lucky I was and didn’t realize it. </font></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 16.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19.6px;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br /></p></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-67347222878219042992021-03-28T13:52:00.001-06:002021-03-28T13:52:35.149-06:00Pensando en Ti, Thinking of You<div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><img id="id_3400_379b_9eb3_cf4b" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/igFMjXfHuzC0pOhC0HjkoSGBnRDzgh0SuR9wIcXe_Msu_6cvG7DKZmR2xRFHzjoqXys" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 484px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><div>I opened the sliding glass door to the third floor balcony. It was a tiny balcony, maybe 3 feet deep if you counted the 6” stuccoed railing. Just enough to step out on. No furniture was there, there wasn’t room. Yesterday I had pulled back the curtains in time to see the setting sun turn the Sandia Mountains the red color that caused exploring Spaniards to name the range after a watermelon. It only lasted a couple of minutes, you had to be right there at the right time. </div></font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">The hotel I was staying at in Albuquerque had a nice big courtyard, landscaped with trees and plants native to the area. Tables to sit and enjoy the space were placed all around it and there was a nice outdoor fireplace area. The evening before I had wandered out there to sit a while at a table. A man, close to my age, sat by the fireplace alone. I wondered if he was waiting for someone, maybe killing time until the bar opened, or waiting on his wife to come down so they could go someplace good to eat. I had thoughts of my favorite place to eat there, the High Noon Saloon in Old Town. Maybe, like me, he was there alone, not for a getaway but with a purpose. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">There were balconies overlooking the courtyard. However my room was on the opposite side of the hallway from these rooms. The balcony off my room overlooked the busy I-25. It runs from Las Cruces in the south to Wyoming in the north, right through Denver and the more populated areas of Colorado. The traffic noise was unbearably loud for this small town girl. On the opposite side of the highway I could see a Target and next door a Cabela’s. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">It was early morning and the sun was up. I’d finished my mission the day before. A torn rotator cuff diagnosed with the upright MRI I had driven over 4 hours to have. Because I was claustrophobic and that was the closest one. In a few minutes I would finish packing and head back home, surgery to repair the tendon in my future. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">There was no logical reason to open the sliding door that morning. The traffic noise had already reached rush hour proportions. It wasn’t soothing. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">But 35 years of traveling to New Mexico from the hot and humid Gulf Coast had conditioned in me to always open the doors and feel the cool dry breeze. Even though I now live where I can feel that most of the year, it’s just second nature to me. It brings back all the memories of trips there with Rickie, and sometimes with Sarah. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">We’d get off the plane, or out of the car, and that’s the first thing we’d notice, the air. We’d take a deep breath and smile at each other. And wish we could always breathe that kind of air. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">So without even giving it a thought I opened the balcony door and finished packing. A smell, a coolness in the air, and the memories came back. Happy memories. As I drive out of town headed toward Santa Fe, then north on small two lane backroads, heading home, Selena came up on my playlist, singing Pensando en Ti. I don’t speak Spanish but I knew she was singing my song.</font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">These memories weren’t sad for me. I was in a peaceful place in my mind. Even the 45 minute road construction delay didn’t distress me. I look forward to returning when the weather is warmer and staying in Old Town Albuquerque. Maybe return to Santa Fe on the Turquoise Trail and stop in Madrid for a little break. Take my time. As New Mexico, in its sense of timelessness, beckons you to do. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><img id="id_7423_bbd5_1fec_dd1f" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/N1KuKHVR-4wPozX70nBtjZClo74391cckl-FETQ_4qWDTBv4YSCdXNfJnshJX22oy7U" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 514px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-48392591086455568102020-11-17T12:10:00.001-07:002020-11-17T12:11:56.117-07:00Broken Memories<img id="id_839c_fd6f_b854_d20f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/I9337pz-cHI_ImXNSIXxI_djsZkQqAdXDJWO0F6d2rV7e0yh4cJ_SIpsicR5R_U" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 460px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I bought these little plastic snow globes from the dime store 50 years ago. I probably paid a quarter, maybe less for them. One for Larry and one for John, who were toddlers at the time. They both have cracks In them and won’t hold water. Both were made in Hong Kong. The Santa bobs in and out of the chimney. Well, he did when water was in the globe. Through many life changes, moves, and downsizes they are two of the few Christmas decorations I have left from when the boys were little. Every year I unpack them and put them somewhere I can see them. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">They began to leak a few years ago. First the Santa, then the snowman. Since then I’ve considered finally letting them go but I just don’t have the heart to. I started downsizing quite a few years ago and I’m particular about what I keep. A lot of more costly, more beautiful things never made the cuts, but these little unprepossessing snow globes always stayed. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Part of it is the memories of my boys when they were little. That was a long time ago and Christmas memories fade here and there as time goes by. Only certain parts of them stay with you, replaced by newer memories of more recent Christmases. And more recent Christmases have thousands of cell phone pictures and videos. The 50 year old ones just have a handful of faded square photos to help you recall the day. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Still, there were more valuable reminders of long ago Christmases I could have kept, I’m sure. Why these broken tiny plastic snow globes? Today I could buy beautiful $50 snow globes, ones that play a favorite Christmas song we could all sing along to, as the heavy snow swirls around the ceramic figures in the glass globe. Or more affordable similar ones at Home Depot for $25. What’s the appeal of these 25 cent ones?</font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I think it’s because at the time I bought these for the boys this was the only way I could afford a snow globe, to buy a cheap plastic one at the dime store. We were very young, just one year out of our teens, my first husband and I, and we scrambled each month to pay bills and buy necessities. There wasn’t a lot of money left over for splurges. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">For Christmas my mother-in-law always bought the boys a big winter coat, and thank goodness she did. </font><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">One Christmas John was just 2 months old. My mom knew we went out on New Years Eve with my in-laws, who purchased tickets for a meal and party at the SPJST Hall. So my mom bought me a new pair of dress shoes instead of buying John a present. She still had 5 kids at home and things were precarious there so she had to be careful with her budget too. She said he was a baby and wouldn’t know and she knew I needed new shoes. This was the state of our finances during these early years. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">But the boys looked forward to Christmas and we made their wishes come true, some way or another, as all young parents do if they can. But foolish things, like snow globes, were not in the budget. So when I saw these at the dime store, and they didn’t cost too much (our grocery bill each week was $9 or less, so 50 cents wasn’t to be thrown around lightly), well, I decided to get them for the boys. They were little guys then and they loved them. They’re in their 50s now and I’m sure they don’t remember them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">But I remember them and their story. And I remember the times for me when a little plastic snow globe purchase for a quarter had to be thought out. These times helped form my character. How I look at the world and at the problems and obstacles other people face. They remind me that I’ve had a good long life, they remind me to have empathy for others, and they remind me to be thankful. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">So every year I unwrap them from their tissue paper and find a place I can see them. And as I watch the snow fall outside my window some days, I remember two little boys giving them a shake and watching the snow in the plastic globe fall. </span></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><img id="id_2b82_f44a_557f_ab63" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/yAF_4w5DS-ALDB8l4tAjjInSYp9OaxmISPD2_vmmTfkDkZMy-Du48Hgg_Wt88zA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 495px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-19966351961269861302020-08-22T15:16:00.001-06:002020-08-22T15:16:28.648-06:00My Happy Place<div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><div><img id="id_cfd6_247f_7198_1a75" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/m5YLYR_fESEd3539RNP2GDM_v4RkpZ8kpmFkODnb08WH6an5x3OKdq_Fg95Oa8g" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 462px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div>I’ve been in a funk for a couple of weeks. It’s a lot of unconnected little things. Nothing major, and with so many people having big issues with the pandemic, I really am lucky. Still, sometimes you just get down. </div></font><div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Fall is in the air in the mornings, which I love, but it’s always tinged with sadness. It’s my favorite season and it was Rickie’s also. All the things he liked best happened in the Fall. So it’s always the hardest season to get through, even though it’s still my favorite. We’ve had some beautiful mornings and you can just begin to see some of the trees thinking about turning. Not yet, but somehow you know it won’t be long. There’s a nip in the air. Not enough for a jacket, just enough for a shirt with some sleeves! It doesn’t last long and by noon it’s warming up. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Monday I’ll be 71 years old and I’ll have </font><span style="font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS">seen 10 more birthdays than Rickie did; he was 61 when he died. A few I got before he was born because I was 3.5 years older than him. I never take these years for granted. I hope I’ve made the most of them, these years he never got. I’ve tried to make them count, for me and for my family. And while I’m always appreciative of the time I’ve been given, it always makes me sad that Rickie didn’t get these years. That he didn’t get to see the kids and grandkids grow, didn’t get to see all the beautiful places I’ve seen here. </font></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I’ve tried to keep his memory alive. Because he wasn’t given these 10 years and I was. To tell his stories. To tell what he believed in, what he stood for. What he’d tolerate and what he wouldn’t abide. To remember his laugh and to remember his tears. To remember how he loved his family. To remember how he tried to make us strong. So that when we had to we could go on. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Today I decided I needed to get myself out of this funk. So I grabbed my little backpack and hiking pole and headed for what is my happy place here. Down a gravel road in a beautiful valley. Pagosa Peak and Eagle Mountain looming over the rolling fields where cattle graze. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_73c4_86d4_65cd_bdd4" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/SI0pp0bmxX08zXesICTA-1YYxrVwa_gbIvZjzT0eCS8OJ2-pA1z18Eh77tgkEG4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 459px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">The Piedra River Trail was the first trail I hiked here. It has some nice memories attached to it. Even to how I came to know of it. I ran into a kind fella older than me downtown by the San Juan River my first Spring here and he told me about it. It’s a beautiful trail that runs along the river. There’s another trail parallel to it but higher up the mountain, the Ice Caves Trail. So named for some places where the mountain has split and there are crevices in the ground where ice accumulates and lingers for months. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 16.38px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Last year was hectic and I never had the chance to hike this trail. So I’ve been wanting to go all summer. It was always put off because I was waiting to see if someone else would go with me. But everyone had things to do, or for one reason or another, it wasn’t right. So I kept waiting and today I just decided to go myself. There are always other people on the trail so if anything happened someone would see you. Except the first time I hiked it there was no one there at all. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I met some lovely people on the trail. A couple of women older than me, a lot of young women hiking in small groups, some couples, some friendly dogs . A young dad who was amazing. He had 3 kids between maybe 7 and 11 years old and he had a 3 or 4 year old in a carrier on his back. They had already hiked the Ice Caves Trail and were doing this one. I had seen them coming off the Ice Caves Trail when I began my hike. We visited a bit and he asked about the trail ahead. I left them down on the river’s edge with the kids wading in the water. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">There is one section where the trail is rocky and it runs right on the edge of the hill. If you slide off you aren’t going to drown in the river or be carried off because the water is only inches deep in most places. But the hillside is very rocky and you’re going to get hurt. In one place the trail had washed out and there was solid rock that slanted toward the edge. Going downhill is harder for me than going uphill because of my knees. I had an elastic knee brace on and was using my hiking pole, which is really helpful. Still going down I ended up actually doing a little jump to get over it. So I was a little worried about going back. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">But I went on to the most beautiful part for me. Where you can get down to the water. We saw a bear track there one time and all the grandkids get out in the water and stand on a round boulder to take their picture. It’s so dry now that boulder isn’t surrounded by water at the moment. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">As I headed back and got to the rocky part on the edge I saw a lot of people had come in since I’d gotten there. I had to step off the trail several times to let people by. I recognized the wife of the last couple as someone I was acquainted with. They’re a bit younger than me, I think, but in my age group. I noticed her husband went first over the part where the rock surface was. She actually bent over and held onto some rocks to get by. They came by me about 10-15’ away from this place. I said hello and remarked that if I was still there when they came back it was because I couldn’t make it over that slippery place!</span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Now here’s where men don’t live up to my expectations. It’s not that I’m a needy person. And I’m used to doing things myself. I think of myself as a capable person. But at that place a helping hand would have been nice. And Rickie would have said, to a total stranger, here, let me give you a hand so you don’t slip. But I’ve learned lots of people aren’t like Rickie. Or like the late husbands, Paul and Dale, of my friends Deb and Kerri. I know that’s what they would have done too because all of these guys were always looking out for others. And all the male kiddos in my family would have done the same. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since Rickie died, it’s that what you expect people to do when you’re alone is not what most of them are going to do. Not only in this situation but in all other kinds. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">So here’s what the man said to me, and in a scornful voice - “you really ought to be with someone.” As if somehow it was a failing on my part that I wasn’t. Well, yes, old man, shouldn’t we all. Life would be much easier If we all had partners. But it is what it is for those of us alone. If we wait for someone to drop what they’re doing and go with us we’ll never do anything. Because we were only the number one priority to our partners. And we don’t need you to remind us of that. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Then he said he’d listen for my yell in case I went over the edge. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">So, I went ahead and jumped over that spot and it was much easier going that direction, which was up, than going down. And there’s a lesson in there somewhere, I’m sure, about keeping moving upward. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I stopped shortly after that to take a drink and a young man that had been in the line with everyone making their way over that part of the trail asked me if I was ok. He had heard the exchange. I thanked him and told him I was. So on this trail today I salute all the young people that were friendly, helpful, took time to visit, and noticed a 70 year old woman, making her last hike before she turns 71. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I was the only person alone on the trail that I saw. Sometimes you’ve got to walk your trail alone. Because it is what it is. </span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><img id="id_d848_45e4_5b2_981b" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/sLCQ7B3zXK4WumEK8Aiytg_ojyCDsrQFYnJRNH7kxPhCHzVpKRYAve7H65qYWME" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 352px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS" size="3"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div></div></div></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-47389015211876569672020-07-02T15:54:00.001-06:002020-07-04T08:38:14.908-06:00The Good Life<div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">I used to say “life is good” all the time. And it was. Since Rickie died I’ve never said it again and it’s been almost 6 years. I had this shirt when he was alive and I haven’t worn it since then either. One day I put it o<span style="font-size: medium;">n and it made me cry so I took it off.</span> Folded it up carefully and put it back in the drawer. On the bottom of my t-shirts, under the Jimmy Buffett concert tee. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">I’ve always known it’s the little things that make life good. The painted bunting at the bird feeder, the tiny flower you don’t notice if you aren’t looking down. The full moon lighting up the yard. Dinner from the grill and a cowboy margarita, kale and garlic from the garden. The sunflowers, poppies, and larkspurs coming back each year. Floating down the river on a lazy summer day with the grandkids. Laughing with Rickie over some silly thing. The first norther blowing in and dropping the temp 40 degrees. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">And it’s also some of the bigger things we had in our life. Big to us, not to everyone, things it took us years to acquire and many sacrifices. Having the property in the middle of Texas with the tiny cabin and bunkhouse. Plans to retire there. Modest vacations to New Mexico, Colorado, and in Texas. We never made a lot of money so these things stretched our finances. But we gave up other things to have them. We planned to live simply when Rickie retired and spend our days working on our place, floating the river, having dinners in the yard with friends, taking the tiny camper we had bought on trips west. Rickie would continue hunting and doing some fishing with the kids that wanted to. We’d sit by the campfire and on the porch and watch the longhorns and wildlife go by. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Life was good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">But my life is good now. I live in a beautiful place and I share it full time with part of my family. Some of the kids and grandkids come to visit. We have new adventures. We do things we never did before. The family has been lucky so far with this virus and at least right now, no one has been sick with it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">I have beautiful moments in my life. Like when Bix ran downstairs and into my Bear Den, the part of the house I live in, with his binoculars. He yelled “get your phone to take a picture, there’s a deer in the yard!” Walking him to the school bus stop back before school was moved to distance learning. Planting a garden with him and teaching him what I know. Setting up a stock tank with fish, something we both love having, a memory from the ranch when we always kept goldfish in the stock tanks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Giving the grandkids the opportunity to learn to ski and snowboard, being able to set them up with gear and a lesson to get them started. Seeing them ride down the mountain, bringing their friends, seeing the mountains through their eyes, hearing their stories. Going down the sledding hills, everyone laughing and screaming, faces flushed from the cold. Sitting by the campfire surrounded by snow, a billion stars overhead, making s’mores like they’ve done since they were small. Their friends calling me Grandma Sue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Riding horses up in the mountains, single file up the trail. Hoping you get a glimpse of a bear, and hoping you don’t! Looking down at the town nestled in the valley. Rafting down the river, ripping with snow melt. Something I never thought I’d do. Hollering when the 42 degree water splashes over you and glad you heeded the advice to put the waterproof pants and jacket on. Hearing stories from Ben, the best guide ever, some of them even true! Another lazy trip with the kids paddling beside us in inflatable kayaks and Ali taking over from Ben steering the raft for a bit, the end of summer making the float easy going. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">My first hike in the first Spring here, alone by the Piedra, no one else there, directions given to me from an older man I met on the downtown river walk. The man who said he’d been here 19 years and you couldn’t dynamite him out of here, giving me hope that I’d feel at home here too. The bartender I didn’t know who offered to send her dog with me so I wouldn’t be alone in case a bear was around. Though I didn’t take her up on that I’ll never forget it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Hiking on the trails, some along the river, some in the woods. Feeling your skin prickle when you find the huge bear footprint in the mud by the river. Walking a little faster when you pass the perfect spot for a mountain lion to pounce. E</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">veryone stepping from rock to rock to get a picture in the middle of the river. Skating on the ice in their hiking shoes when it’s frozen over in the winter. Watching them scoot up and down the steep river banks and the boulders as big as a truck. Then trips hiking up to Treasure Falls, the first falls we saw here, pointed out to us by our shuttle driver Cindy the first time we went to Wolf Creek to see what skiing was all about. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Riding the train up to Silverton with a friend, hanging out the window over the mountain edge taking photos. The Pumpkin Patch train and the Polar Express train, two of the special ones for kids both young and old. The air crisp and clear on the Fall one and Santa and the lights at night for Christmas. Cutting our first trees down here in the National Forest after a trip with friends to learn the ropes, taking them home and decorating them. Celebrating and decorating for Christmas the first year I was here, for the first time since Rickie died. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Squeezing as many beds into the house and into my sister’s condo as we can, making room for the grandkids and friends that come. Everyone doubling up and no one complaining. Trips to Durango and Telluride and Ouray. Trying new drinks at the local breweries and bars. Walking the 5k and seeing the hot air balloons rise above the river. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Hearing everyone’s stories at the end of the day, told with animated faces and much laughter. Especially the ones that didn’t go quite right. Like the time John and Nic went skiing in a blizzard without a lesson and the time Celia tripped over a kid that fell off the lift. He was fine but she had to make the trip down the mountain in a rescue sled. The time I dismounted from a horse and my foot hung up in the stirrup and I just fell off, laughing the whole time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">This has been my life here in Colorado. As I look back at it so far, I feel so lucky and so thankful to have lived it and to continue living it. It has been more than I could ever have hoped for after the dark hours, days, and months after losing Rickie. I’m so grateful to my family, who hated to see the ranch go but who have embraced this new adventure of Colorado full speed ahead. No regrets. No “should haves”. No “why did yous”. Just jumping into life with both feet and a holler and a smile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">These are tough times right now for many people and I feel very fortunate that our family has been mostly well so far. There is much heartache in our country. And in our family some are facing difficult challenges. But today I felt the need to look back over the last few years and acknowledge the many blessings my family and I have had. To acknowledge the ways that life has been good to us. It’s been full of many small wonders and some big ones. Sometimes you have to stop and reflect on that, to ground yourself in it as the world spins around. </span></div>
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Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-63941393654891212512020-05-11T08:45:00.001-06:002020-05-11T08:45:13.945-06:0039 Years Ago<div><img id="id_a3ee_fbd6_ce70_1204" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/28b7HD6YqV2mFYGoocB2aAmgGxODLOK9R_02D6oga1EJKORnWY-rsa4pjDc4Stg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 453px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><div>39 years ago today I broke a promise I had made to myself to never, ever, if I lived to be 100, to ever get married again. If I’m truthful, I was somewhat uneasy in my mind when I did that. Rickie and I hadn’t known each other long. I had gotten married the first time when I was 17 and I’d been a single mom almost 2 years. I wasn’t very trustful of getting married again. The choice was to stay with the known life as it was or to take a risk for an unknown life. But something told me in my heart this was a chance at happiness and it might never come again. Those chances come and go to us fleetingly and sometimes we have to make life changing decisions in an instant. As Guy Clark says, “life is just a leap of faith, so spread your arms and hold your breath, and always trust your cape.” </div></font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">And so I did and I’m thankful for that every day. I wish we’d had more time. I wish we’d been able to have some retirement years together. I wish a lot of things. But I never have to wish I’d made a different decision 39 years ago. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Rickie touched the lives of all of us who knew and loved him. </font><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">And he changed us in ways we don’t even realize sometimes because those changes have become such a natural part of us. He gave us courage. He showed us there’s always an option, there’s always another plan. Reach for what you want and if it doesn’t work out, try something else. Don’t settle just because it’s safe. Don’t beat yourself up when you fail. Shed some tears, then pick yourself up and move on. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">He taught us to notice the little things along the way. The tiny flowers and the tiny moments.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"> That nature heals. To always have a garden even if it’s just some planters on the patio. To kill your own snakes, both literally and figuratively. To notice the sunsets. To treasure the changing seasons and see the beauty of each. That it’s often the changing that is the most important. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">That we don’t need a big house to be happy and that that should never be the goal of life. To seek out a place that gives you peace and try to find a way to be in that place. To work hard. That a job well done is the best reward. To take pride in keeping your place neat and tidy.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">To forgive hurts even when people don’t say they’re sorry. That people can seek redemption and find it. That we did the best we knew how in the past and as Maya Angelou said, when you know better, do better. Don’t beat yourself up where you failed, but try to do better in the future. That we are the sum total of our lives, and if we judge to judge on that. Especially when judging ourselves. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">To just stop and look around you. That sitting on the porch watching the birds is a fine way to pass an afternoon. To help others if you can. To be thankful for what you have. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">And even with his </font><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">death he reminded us once more to treasure each day. To treasure each other. We never know when we’ll run out of time. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">And, in true Rickie fashion, the best advice in life I can give you is to live it. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_1116_a786_e3ad_333f" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/plROi4EgLbI_ivbNNUnMGoCMCPGXM_fZ-CT_IZkjYqv_-12kKFZcL6s809wavyQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 455px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-12740112508557329432020-02-12T09:16:00.001-07:002020-02-12T09:16:04.057-07:00Early Morning Conversations<div><img id="id_3aaa_89e8_4840_c17a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/FHW_1yBMzaGfpmuTIIr91wSgiVkxFvtHUld4Q492ONkTQUbYRnM9etMNtH-LViE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Usually once a week I take Bix to school instead of him riding the bus. He gets to stay home a half hour longer and I get to have interesting conversations with him. Our reward this morning was seeing our first Canadian geese of the season flying in! I’ve been looking for them and some flew over the school while we waited in the line to unload. Bix remarked that they flap their wings a lot and fast. I told him that’s one way to tell they are geese. Or ducks but the geese have the longer necks. As anyone who loves the natural world knows, you never just say oh, look, geese. You always have a conversation about them, a teaching moment. We watched them while we waited and are going to start checking the lake on the way home for sightings. Winter isn’t over but it won’t be long now! </span></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">We also talked about while the cold snowy winter can get tiresome, it keeps us from having some of the annoying things we had back in the warmer Texas. Like tarantulas in the house and scorpions in the bed. I told him how a scorpion in the bed had stung me 4 times one night while I slept. I woke up in burning pain. He wanted to know what I did. I told him I killed it with a shoe and took Benadryl. I explained these scorpions won’t kill you unless you have an allergy but they are painful. We also talked about the cold winter keeping other annoying bugs away, such as roaches and the long centipedes we also had in Texas. And we discussed snakes and how Texas had so many poisonous ones. He said he bet you could even find a cobra in Texas! And how the cold winter gives us the beautiful moderate Springs and Summers, and the gorgeous Falls. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">We agreed there were pros and cons everywhere. And you have to sometimes deal with some of the parts you maybe like less in order to have the best parts. I hope that plants a seed in his 8 year old mind. That you can settle for the mediocre so you miss the more challenging parts, or you can accept the more challenging parts in order to have the best parts! Like they say, you have to climb the mountain for the best view. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">But this morning we were just glad to see the geese return. And with them the sure promise of Spring and all the best that follows! We do love the snow and enjoy it, but this time of year we begin to yearn for it to melt and warmer weather to return. Soon the lakes will be filled with the geese and some will stay until next winter. They’ll have their babies and we’ll watch them swim behind their moms. And the cycle continues, the Spring made more beautiful for having survived the Winter. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><img id="id_ca8e_23a9_bd5f_ee0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Jeoh06eVNOUBh0FkOKP79KG2is1nmaXSGiW024OTny9lohsctRhgai-zPFeIldQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 464px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-26680697191118369512019-12-28T14:16:00.001-07:002019-12-28T14:18:42.462-07:00Little Things <div><img id="id_e41e_ae4f_cdf5_8176" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/XhMtWu2yxSn_F7E9v6sMLFxWAkR5fy3-Kegb_ad0eDxeaJQBL3XvCVaIlZo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 437px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">These things that were on the screen porch at the ranch aren’t valuable except to us who collected them. Skulls of a hog, a fox, and an armadillo, dried stink gourds, rocks with fossils, pieces of rusty metal and barb wire, bottles, feathers, and bird nests. But I packed them up when I left and packed them again when I recently moved to a different house closer to town. I moved them myself to the storage unit and moved them from there to this new house. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Sarah and her family and I share this house and I have a partial garage that is connected to my new Bear Den. It can’t be used as a garage because the previous owner took half of it in as more living space in the walkout basement. So I’m developing it into what we’re calling the Cantina. It’s a cross between the screen porch at the ranch and a place to hang out. It has my table because I didn’t have room for it in the Bear Den but didn’t want to turn loose of it. It has some of my sign collection, my growler collection, a cabinet that Justin’s mom gave me before she passed away, and a little rustic black cabinet that Sarah and I bought in Junction back when we just had the little camper there. It cost $30 and we used it to hold our tiny 13” TV that could only get one channel out of San Angelo and sometimes not that. It was before internet and satellite. We just had an outside antennae that blew around when it was stormy. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I can’t finish the room yet because there are a few things I need to get out of there still. My washer that is waiting on hookups in a closet under the stairs and some things waiting to be donated or picked up by others. Still I was able today to unpack the 10 boxes of ranch stuff. One box went into the shed attic, and a few things were moved to the lean-to on the back of the shed where I’ll hang them when Spring comes. But I got most of the things on this wall. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">They hold no value and to most people they aren’t even attractive. But to me they are the triggers for many good memories. How Rickie and I sat on the porch as he showed me the rock he found with little tiny shell fossils from back when that area was under the sea. The canister of deer jawbones that he used to teach us how to age a deer. The hog skull from the one feral hog he shot from the back porch. When my friends and I went to the ranch the next weekend for a girls trip we found it cleaned to the bone by the other hogs. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">The turkey feathers from my favorite wildlife there remind me of how many we had on our place, sometimes over 100 in a group. The time the electrician was installing the breaker box on the side of our little cabin, the result of a 15 year dream, and he felt someone watching him. When he turned around about 75 turkeys flew up when startled by his movement. How he was awed when he told us that story. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">The whiskey bottle I found under a cedar tree left by hunters when it had been a working ranch. The wreath we made from cable that had once held an old wooden deer stand, long collapsed when we bought the place. The tiny green wooden camper that I kept to always remind us of how far we had come from the early days and how lucky we were to have what we had. A plaster of paris deer footprint Sarah made the first year we had the property. The washer pitching game Rickie loved to play with the grandsons. The brush he bought for Gus and Woodrow, who soon decided they weren’t going to stand for being brushed. Some green marbles made from coke bottles that were salvaged when a train carrying them crashed; we bought those at a flea market in Boerne one year on the way out to spend the Thanksgiving holidays at the ranch. The dinner bell that would call Gus and Woodrow up from the pasture. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">The memories of a life well lived and well loved. If you tried to sell them you wouldn’t find a buyer that would give you a nickel for them. But I love them enough to pack them up when I’m leaving new furniture and appliances and cabins behind. And when I get older, if I do, and my memories fade, I hope I can look at these little things that made a good life for Rickie and me and for the ones we love, and recall the stories attached to them. And the feelings attached to that memory, though it often comes with tears attached. And remember how lucky I’ve been to lead the life I’ve led. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-25415551148590791252019-11-21T23:44:00.001-07:002019-11-21T23:49:40.318-07:00Five Good Years <div><img id="id_fdc9_746b_2eaa_c11b" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/E8jCS198W8m-Sr6EQcd9xKlJFbllGSZR_VYAhr9_fweMis5W8UMR7dtMpKw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 473px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="3"><br></font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><font size="3">In the last couple of years leading up to when Rickie was supposed to retire he said to me many times “if we can just have 5 good years retired together, I’ll be happy. No matter what happens after that. Just 5 good years.”</font></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;">On November 3, 2012 I posted this on Facebook -</span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); min-height: 19.6px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span><br></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;">“Opening day. Rickie in deer stand. I'm trying to be quiet in the cabin. Remembering back to the early days on opening weekend when Rick and his friend John C used to come out & occasionally our son John. We had the tiny trailer then and most of the time not hunting was spent around the campfire. I didn't come; it was just the guys. Those are good memories for them. Now we're all 20+ years older and have more comfortable quarters. But still. Who knew time would pass so quickly.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;">The thing I feel luckiest for with these memories of the horrible camper we had then and of the times spent at the ranch in the early days, is that even then we knew we were lucky and blessed with what we had and with the opportunity we had to be there. I don’t have to look back and say “I wish I had known then how special those times were.” We all knew. And I still try to realize the wonder and the opportunity we have now with the Colorado home. Both then and now I know, in spite of the heartbreak, that we lived our dream and not everyone gets a chance to. Though I have to say also we took advantage of the chance. None of it was an easy choice and we sacrificed a lot to make the dreams come true. I don’t regret a minute if it. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;">This time of year when so many memories of family times at the ranch come up, I’m always sad for what we lost when Rickie died. And wonder if I should have stayed and just died of sorrow there. But I’m reminded of an old joke I heard years ago. A man was on top of his roof with flood waters all around. Someone came by on a raft and asked him to get on and he said no, God will save me. Then someone in a little boat came by and tried also to save him. Again he said no, God will save me. A third time someone in an air boat came by and asked him to get on. He replied as before, God will save me. Then he drowned and went to heaven. He asked God</span><span style="font-size: 16.38px;"> why he didn’t save him. God said “I sent a raft and two boats, what more did you want?” </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;">Sometimes we have to save ourselves whether we think God had a hand in it or not. And here I sit in Colorado watching the snow softly fall outside, having walked with Bixby to the bus stop, fixing to work on unpacking boxes in our new home, hearing from new friends this week, meeting new neighbors, having Colorado friends help me with the move, and looking forward to Nat and Austin and their friends coming over tomorrow. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;">We know what’s behind us but we never know what’s ahead of us. In 4 days it will be 5 years since Rickie died. We didn’t get one day together of the 5 good years he hoped for. And sometimes when I think of that I can’t breath. But I’ve survived the 5 years, some times just barely. I didn’t stay at the ranch just to die of sorrow. And I’ve made some wonderful memories and spent some treasured times with the people I love. Was it 5 good years? It was 5 bittersweet years and I have treasured every one. As we did in the early lean days, I know I’m lucky and blessed to be here. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;">And I’m glad I got on the boat when it came by. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16.4px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(69, 69, 69); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><img id="id_ae1f_662d_538c_a502" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/wYVYgD0SEerPeceU8XE2jryIsjOwW7I3B_uRcLbHB5ctc0aBjpjGXU14ZoM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 519px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-size: 16.38px;"><br></span></p></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-54312516204335542632019-09-06T10:09:00.001-06:002019-09-06T18:11:19.734-06:00Ever So Softly, the Seasons Change<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><img id="id_7ee4_992_9c33_c819" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/YsOi0_9Z3hMuBcRVydyJa6rIojHbbSywSSQQnUh19sx6z9Ao-nYROKqlTpo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 453px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Bixby’s got his Pampaw’s naturalist gene. He said “whoa!” yesterday when he stood beside this 3’ tall grass on the hill. He wanted to know why the seed heads hadn’t fallen off, as he ran his fingers along them gathering the seeds. I told him it wasn’t their time yet. I told him turkeys like to eat them but our turkeys here have more unpopulated areas to go to so we don’t see them in the yard. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This morning, heading to the car to go to school, he took my binoculars to spot the robins in the snags, on their way south. Yesterday we saw flocks of Canadian geese and talked about how they’re headed south too. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was out early this morning putting the recycling out. The temp was 56 but it felt cooler. Those wonderful mornings when Autumn starts to slowly roll in, like fog over the ocean. Next week we’ll be in the 40s at night with highs in the 70s. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The scrub jays in the Gambel’s oaks by the chicken yard gate were raising a ruckus about something. A couple of nights ago a skunk sprayed one of Bixby’s dogs in that area so maybe the jays were fussing and cussing at a skunk. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s the time of year when the bears go into eating overdrive, the time called hyperphagia. Piling on the weight in preparation for the long winter sleep. They’re very active now. A realtor friend of mine went out to look at some property this week and was lucky to see a mama bear crossing an open field with 3 baby bears running full speed to keep up with her. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Soon the aspens will change, as will the cottonwoods along the rivers and creeks. One yellow, one more golden. I’m reminded of a night in Albuquerque years ago when Rickie and I were there. We had gone out to eat that evening and as we came out we faced the Sandia Mountains and the Rio Grande, lined with golden cottonwoods. A full yellow moon hung over the mountains and the cottonwoods shined like billions of gold coins in the light. The beauty overwhelmed us. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Later this year I’ll take a drive over to Chama and turn north. The mountains there are full of aspens and it’s a beautiful drive. A train runs up into that area from Chama. I understand they serve a turkey and dressing meal halfway on the trip. That ride’s on the wish list for one day. Friends here report it’s a great trip. Rickie and I had a good life and experienced many wonderful things, but here in Colorado I find myself wishing he could see all the things I now see without him. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And maybe he can, maybe he sees them through his grandchildren. When Bixby takes the Durango train to the pumpkin patch, when Natalie rides her pink board down the mountain, when Lexi runs out into the falling snow and holds her face up to catch the flakes, when Zac rides a horse high in the mountains, when Jeremy hikes to the edge of the ridge. When we all gather around the campfire in the snow with the stars brilliant overhead, making s’mores as Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas plays softly on Celia’s phone. Maybe he sits beside us, marveling not at the world’s wonders, but at the wonder of these grandchildren he loved, that they find the same joy and love he had in things both big and small. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe that’s where the the true wonder lies; the generations, as the seasons, ever so softly easing into a new one. Carrying some things with them, leaving some behind, adding their own beauty to the change. I hope you take some time to enjoy this season, the ending of one, the beginning of another, when everything slows down. It goes by fast. Don’t let it slip away unseen. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><img id="id_7b07_cce_a32f_15cc" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/aFzUZVPL4_lwOx-ayJFUaEDcBHia3M0RR5hBmSSiLFKoesMGJxZYTo95TpM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 485px; height: auto;"><br><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><br></p> Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-36232391037191711282019-07-29T14:46:00.001-06:002019-08-23T08:18:25.462-06:00My Turbulent Sixties<div><img id="id_a464_ed34_1015_7d28" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/wNCdOvv4plPKU8QKaaaVxlruqQ7fke3AF3PWdpbURCalLssl2bAo9iRoe5U" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 470px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>No, not the 1960s, though those had their own issues. But my decade of being sixty-something years old. It didn’t turn out like I planned. Then again, most things don’t. </font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">They started out ok. I retired from a boring career and was set to divide my time between the ranch and our house in Boerne. I hoped to make some trips with Rickie to South Texas, his territory, as he finished up his career. I imagined him dropping me off on the beach at Corpus, where I’d soak up some sun and drink an icy margarita at a local bar there while he went to work. Our house in Boerne was only an hour and a half from the ranch and we planned to spend as much time as we could there, getting it ready for when we could both be there in February of 2015 when Rick would retire. He got 2 baby longhorns from a ranch his company owned. He’d always wanted some and being so close we could run out after work and back if needed to check on them. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Two weeks after my retirement began, my mom’s struggle with Alzheimer’s sent her to a nursing home, never to go home again. Rickie got transferred back to Houston right before I retired and we had to sell the Boerne house we’d had for less than a year. I spent the last 2 months of working staying in a little run down stone motel finishing up my job. I covered some of the holes in the floor and replaced the toilet seat myself. There wasn’t a manager on site and sometimes I was the only person there. But the rate was good and I could walk around downtown after work. After that I spent most of my time in Houston as my siblings and family rotated almost every day at the nursing home. After a year and a half, we lost our mom and I moved to the ranch alone to wait for Rickie to retire. I learned to be a ranch hand during those 3 years. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Half way through my 60s, my world was turned upside down. Rickie was 2 months away from retiring when he died that Thanksgiving week. Everything we had planned for, had worked for, had sacrificed for, had looked forward to, died with him. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">The next 5 years were ones of change. Trying to build a life I could sustain, one I could carry on with, filled every moment of them. Finally realizing I couldn’t stay where I was for many reasons, I had to bury that dream we’d had for almost 30 years, along with burying Rickie. I tried to make it work without him. But the amount of work, the isolation, the sadness, all took it’s toll. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I reluctantly let go of my ranch hand persona and headed for the mountains. Here I was welcomed by everyone I met and I found some peace. There was much to learn about being a mountain girl but I found some joy along with the peace. My kids and grandkids had new adventures as we all tried to live up to what we knew Rickie would have wanted for us. Had we not tried something new, I feel he would have been disappointed in us. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I missed the central Texas lifestyle we had and I still do. But it was never the same without Rickie. I had to accept that and make a new life, as people in my position do. Everyone says we have our memories, and I’m glad we do. But memories are a double edged sword, and sometimes they crush you. And you have to walk away from the day to day reminders of the moment of impact, as a friend refers to us losing our partners. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I downsized from 54 acres to less than 5 and thought that would fit me. But I didn’t take into account the work and equipment required to maintain a hill at 7000 feet elevation. Or 4 feet of snow in one week and the steep driveway. Trying to clear brush and keep it cleared because of fire mitigation, foreseeing work needed on the older home and the septic system and well, all these things and more, made me realize the need to move closer to town, with a flat driveway and less property. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">It’s time to get ready for the next decade, my 70s, and what I hope is my last decade. I know some badass 80 year olds but it’s risky and most people lose a lot of quality of life then. But we’ll see. As I know well, our days are numbered and we don’t know the number. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">During the last year, as y’all know, Sarah and her family came to share the house and I did a garage conversion for more space. The new place has separate areas for us as well and we’re ready to settle in. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">We’re set to move shortly after I turn 70</font><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">. I’m looking forward to less work and more hiking. More travel to visit family, more new adventures. I enjoyed ranch work when Rickie and I did it together and I enjoyed the feeling of improving a place. But I need to hang up the saws and tools and change gears a bit. I want to plant flowers and a few veggies, not clear hillsides. I want to mow and weedeat a yard not a hill. I want to decorate for holidays not build a house!</span></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Bring it on 70 and let’s see what you’ve got! I hope you keep the heartache to a minimum. The 60s kicked my butt, so give me a little break and let me slide out of this ole world knowing I gave it my best and didn’t take it for granted. Because some of us didn’t make it this far. We left a lot of graves along the trail. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><img id="id_399_7cda_7a5f_6245" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Z8sm3oBk-VHXaS--8O-Nu5CuOc8HqZQiNWmJ8Hoh85fG6hjXW3kgVpAd8FQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 461px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-68480874978201667132019-07-06T19:51:00.001-06:002019-07-06T19:51:22.992-06:00On A Good Day
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS">I spent July 4th moving stuff to the storage unit. It wasn’t a happy day for me. I wasn’t feeling the holiday and selling and buying houses has been more stressful than it should be. It was 5 years since my son-in-law’s mother Miriam had died, and 5 years and a week since my brother David died. I was wondering why in the hell I’m not tossing out some of this stuff I’m moving, and handling things I brought from the ranch just made me sad. Every song that came on made me cry and think of loved ones lost. When Zane Williams’ On A Good Day came on I played it over and over. Sometimes it helps, sometimes not. I’ve played it a million times since Rickie died. I was thinking I should ask my brother Andy to learn it so he can sing it for me when I’m gone instead of I’d Like to be in Texas for the Roundup in the Spring. I’d asked him to learn that a few years ago. That’s the kind of mood I was in. </font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Then something happened. It was a little thing, and in the way little things often are,</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">it wasn’t. As I was waiting to turn out of the storage facility onto the highway there was a couple with a motorcycle stopped across the highway on the shoulder. They weren’t old but they weren’t kids either. I’m not sure why they were stopped but as they got back on and took off, the woman held onto her cowboy hat with one hand and gave me a little wave to say thanks for letting them go first. I had to wait on 3 more cars coming behind them before I could pull out.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We were down the road a ways and I saw the cars in front of me were all swerving to avoid something in the road. I couldn’t see what it was but it was moving in my lane like an injured squirrel or bird. As I got close and also swerved to avoid it, I saw it was the cowboy hat the woman on the motorcycle had been wearing. I looked behind me and vehicles were still swerving to avoid it. That made me smile and the whole day suddenly changed. Up ahead around the curve I saw the couple on the motorcycle just moving on, never looking back for what was lost.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And I thought I ought to do the same. At least for a little while.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"><br></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS">“....And on a good day, the steam from my cup</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS">Rises in a ribbon like a prayer going up</font></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And I can close my eyes and not see your smile</span></p><p class="p2"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And I feel like myself again for a little while</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS">And the mountains breathe, just like they did before</font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS">On a good day I don’t miss you anymore”</font></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://youtu.be/a1JLc_t6SPI" id="id_6696_6115_c3d1_95b6" target="_blank">Zane Williams On A Good Day</a></span><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></p> Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-7723223445333883352019-06-30T19:24:00.001-06:002019-06-30T19:24:31.484-06:00Some Days Are Diamonds<div><img id="id_a79c_c92f_acbe_a84e" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/qmUeZYlQz7_TcSqYh0FBSJb05_JvRLfEH6R6UZ0bEqCBEf7wx50OvYjMKAg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 415px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><font face="Trebuchet MS">Last week I had to drop some paperwork off downtown. The office I went to had several winter prints on the walls, all of a mountain man in a red coat. Snow was on the ground and bending the branches of the conifers. The mountain man had been hunting and in some prints had Canadian geese he was sure to make a meal of later back at camp. </font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">I didn’t know the artist so I tried to find the prints on the internet when I got home. I believe the prints were Paul Calle’s artwork. I found these beautiful prints he did of a mountain man in a red coat. I love the vibrant colors and the way the man looks in</font><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"> them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_51ee_1428_309e_d48" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/g4_5d-sXvGeIIL9SOyvYBpfPnbV54GPv_CmEJawpWtFtFE8UBiZD7COW57A" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 461px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">We had a tough winter here this year, especially for a Texas gal. It seemed it would never end and we were all running out of room to pile the snow. The roads were narrowing down as the snow plows pushed more and more snow to the side. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Last week there was more snow in the mountains in northern Colorado. One of the meteorologists said she didn’t know if this was the last snow of winter or the first snow of the next winter! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Here in Pagosa it’s been beautiful sunny weather lately. The flowers are all in bloom and things are as green as Ireland. The rivers are running full speed ahead with the last of the snowmelt. We’re finally all able to get outside without shoveling snow or worrying about the roads being plowed. The roads and towns are full of summer visitors. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_41d7_49d1_1a39_c2e2" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/as9rkLDoY1m5wtb3tAOD_ryieE929Sr3kbankDMPe3-dMfv1xwA2ZUdOGwk" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 459px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">But as I looked at the mountain man prints downtown a remembered feeling of winter came over me. It’s the feeling of breathing in the crisp dry air here when it’s cold</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">. The air is so clear then and what colors there are - the blue sky, the dark green Douglas firs and Ponderosa pines, the winter coats and hats everyone is wearing - stand out brighter than they do in the warm humid climates I lived most of my life in. And the snow covers everything, hiding the clutter and the cast offs of people. The sun turns the snowy ground into fields of glittering diamonds. Here and there you see deer and elk tracks, and maybe the footprints left by rabbits or foxes. And of course, the magpie prints the chattering birds leave behind. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">It’s a feeling of being alive. Of being able to see the breath of your life. The air so cold you feel a slight bit of burning pain </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">as it enters your lungs. You’re aware you’re breathing, it’s not just something you do automatically. It’s a wonderful feeling and you only get it by enduring the problems that come with being in a cold snowy climate. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">And I’m thankful I’ve gotten to feel that. If you get a chance to feel that too, even if just for a short visit to a wintry place, don’t take it for granted. Stop for a minute, hopefully on top of a mountain with a view spread out below you. Or maybe gathered around a fire pit in the back yard with those you love, talking about the adventures you had that day. The stars sparkling overhead, flipping the snowy diamonds that were beneath your feet during the day. Whatever you do, don’t let it slip by unnoticed. These moments are numbered for each of us and we don’t know the number. Soak them up. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_3943_335e_54b1_8723" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/2drsTLB8nQRA804ddddfMAmH0PEkSJMJEPWqbE-R6aDd8mBHvxw0YYGY0vQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 457px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-6016655555353704362019-06-06T10:19:00.001-06:002019-06-06T10:19:04.924-06:00Downsizing Again!<div><img id="id_fde0_e426_f2e4_7f3d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/Fj5FPe-bCh8FhXsXWuALn8WCwL9zAYenn7tzQvF1NIpneWAtTTfeCxRNttw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto;"><br><br><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><div>A few weeks ago I spent several days clearing an area behind the garage. It’s on a hill and had a fence that was falling down. I had to use the loppers to cut brush out and the chainsaw to cut some little oaks out. I cut the fence out, took fence posts down, and removed plywood off the front of a shed that used to be a dog run. The only way to access that shed had been to crawl through little openings sized for dogs. </div></font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">It took me about 3 weeks of aches and pains to recover from all that. Looking at the hill remaining to be cleared I figured I had several years of work left. I can really only clear it when it’s not leafed out, so a short time frame in the Spring and Fall. But I figured I’d work on it a little at a time and over several years I’d finally get it cleared. </font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><img id="id_75bc_9094_28f3_804" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/wWgMSctqi_lToQ0AD3nisQ2nFw5Hv-EGa-MUCakvXl_zemJfKRY5Q8OIZNk" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 427px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">But one morning it just hit me that I was fooling myself to think I’d get all that done. I’ll be 70 this August and I can tell every year that it gets harder and harder to do this kind of work. In addition to the new clearing the part of the hill already cleared has to be kept that way as it constantly tries to take it back. If it was a flat area it could just be mowed to keep it down. But it’s on a hill and I have dragged a mower up to do part of it before and then used the weed eater to do what can’t be mowed. It takes about 2 weeks to get it all done and then it’s time to start over. I just don’t have the equipment or strength to do it any other way. </span></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">When I bought the 5 acres I thought it was a good transition from the 54 acres I left in Texas. I figured I’d just leave everything wild except right around the yard. But with fire mitigation and regrowth, I saw you really shouldn’t do that. </font></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">My daughter and her family live here now but between working full time and parental duties, they don’t have much free time. And we all moved here to have new adventures. I haven’t been hiking in over a year and there are so many places near here I want to visit. Rickie and I used to clear our place and considered it fun. We were working together and there’s a sense of satisfaction in clearing a previously unusable area. But no one I know thinks that’s fun and without Rickie I don’t even think it’s fun anymore. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_a091_158c_e943_9af5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/1ARZxipm0jj4PicUUVR-r3sbzMD6avBzOS9rKh16C4ccycMFaG2ziSzO4eY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 416px; height: auto;"><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">So I’ve decided to sell this place and move closer into town. I’m looking for a place with a flat driveway and yard that can just be mowed. With some planting beds where I can have flowers and maybe a few vegetables. A place that doesn’t require much work so I can have some new adventures. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">This place needs a younger owner, an outdoorsman, one with better equipment than I have and someone that would like to maybe keep some chickens (which we have) and even a couple of goats. Someone that wants to live in the country but can’t afford or doesn’t want a big ranch. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">In the years since Rickie died I’ve done construction projects at the ranch and here. For years I’ve always wished I had been a carpenter or contractor. These projects let me fulfill that wish and they showed me I could do it. The ranch one also helped me get through the first year after Rick died. So I don’t mind leaving a place after I made it better. We always left every place we had better, even when we were just renting. And doing a lot of the work myself enabled me to get the investment back. </span></div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_d594_aa7e_2611_3888" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/xhMOgG16BWSbNOHVzpA4jev5d2Y1NUkr7ZyPVVteIBLtETW1TsQO_SHP_UI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 406px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">But life is lived in stages and I see a new stage ahead for me. We’ve never been ones to falter at a decision just because it was difficult or required leaving something behind. Life is a journey and for me, it’s time to downsize once again. The kids and I have grown used to each other and we want to stay together. I was fine being on my own for years but now that they are here, especially my little grandson, it would break my heart to be away from him. He comes over every day, sometimes just to check on me and see if I’m ok. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">We’ve found out that selling a house here often takes a good long while. Everywhere else we were we sold our houses in a matter of days or maybe a couple of weeks. But it’s a different market here so I’ll probably be here a while longer. Then finding a house that works for us all will be a bit of a challenge. I doubt we’ll find a place with two whole separate houses as we have here. But I’m willing to compromise my part of the house and the kids are too so that we can stay together and enrich each other’s lives. Wish us luck! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">And if you want to see the house, here’s the link. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><a href="https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/425-River-Run-Dr-Pagosa-Springs-CO-81147/96835732_zpid/" id="id_baf_a172_c3ea_4b58">Pagosa house for sale</a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><br></span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_23bb_947d_d2a9_8242" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/zRL_pzkCm-OAdyuOHIdLDDfogfrfvdB7TMkJSqTamo75LBVdI8e8kqRcaaY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 414px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-14290540933053804082019-05-06T09:13:00.001-06:002019-05-06T09:13:02.434-06:00The Things We Keep<div><img id="id_ba7f_8d2e_198a_5689" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/XAvrdVRjgiFZXaMA69bqsQtJxKoICCwg6CHPfkkP7uS-VVh1jn6uVYB9NCU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 351px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><br></div>When I moved all my stuff to the garage while I did the conversion, this lamp ended up behind things on the work counter that I hadn’t found a place for yet. Cleared most of that out yesterday and found the perfect place for it. For some reason Rickie loved this lamp and had told me he hoped we had a place for it when he retired to the cabin. <div><br></div><div>His collection of Texas history books are in the cabinet along with some of his little things. An owl feather, rattlesnake rattles, the Buck knife he always carried in his truck for cutting up jerky and sausage on trips, some porcupine quills, a piece of pottery made by a man from Mexico whose aunt owned the Mexican restaurant in Junction. A jar of dirt from Shotgun Ridge and a jar of Texas caliche. A dead mummified hummingbird I found, and a jar with the shotgun shell from the Ridge with its name and shell casings the hunters left in the Knight blind over the years. A baseball from a game he played in 1970. </div><div><br></div><div>A quilt Elizabeth made from his shirts and a cabin quilting she made for me when I moved here, a fox skin from before he decided no one should shoot a fox at the ranch, some blackbuck antelope antlers a friend of his took from a dead blackbuck he found by a Texas ranch gate, an old jar Natalie bought me with ski lift tickets from the kids that come over, and some family photos of grandkids Jeremy, Emily, Bixby, and great-grandson Anthony. On the side is a scarf Sarah and Justin brought me from Italy and a wrap my friend of 40 years Deborah gave me when I moved here. </div><div><br></div><div>I love this little corner. It tells a lot of our life. ❤️ I hope y’all have a corner like this with some of your treasures. When you downsize these are the things you keep. They tell your story. Not the expensive things you bought that have no value except money. My carpenter came over after I was moved in and as I showed him around he said “everything you have has a story, Sue.” And so it does. ❤️</div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5996018374520170820.post-46725450110536549942019-04-14T13:43:00.001-06:002019-04-14T13:49:17.755-06:00Will the Circle Be Unbroken<div><img id="id_3299_7eed_e224_ff13" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/J3BDexut_S2onOjWT-uzR_-RDqLbvBjKRX-SIq8Kw1vqQQA9-Nir-58DUW0" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 432px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div>Yesterday morning my 7 year old grandson Bixby came over. He only stayed about 5 minutes. We looked out the window and chatted about what we’d do that day. Then he said he was going back home. I asked him if he wanted some breakfast. He said no, he only came over to check on me. </div><div><br></div><div>When I was a little girl we lived in a duplex, our family on one side and my grandparents on the other. We were connected by a small front porch. Every evening after supper I’d go to my grandparents’ side to watch TV with them. Together we watched Ed Sullivan, Red Skelton, Lawrence Welk, Dragnet, The Wizard of Oz, and the country music shows that were on Saturday night. My chair was the one by the door and I’d lay back crossways on it with my head on one arm and my feet hanging over the other arm. The chair was in a corner by the front door and my Papa would often have to tell me to keep my feet off the wall. We didn’t talk much on those evenings, just quietly watched TV. </div><div><br></div><div>Our side of the house was chaos, as you’d expect with 7 kids. It was a small two bedroom home with a small addition that functioned as my parents’ bedroom on one end and our dining area on the other end. A sofa separated the areas and there was a place for our washer and dryer also. The back wall was all windows that looked out over the backyard. All four of us girls plus our baby brother shared one bedroom and our other two brothers shared the smaller bedroom. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_5044_8e6c_ecc4_4a77" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-j4flF7bFn8Zdo71Dn305NXQ6PiqMflCYDz992Q190ybfM14JMBmD2Ai_wU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 463px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div>I longed for quiet and calmness, even as a child, and was drawn to my grandparents’ side. Nothing was ever out of place there and it was quiet. In their bedroom my grandparents had a chest of drawers with two little doors that opened to a shelf on the top. A wooden sailboat was embossed on each door and the whole chest was stained a medium maple color. Behind those doors my grandmother kept treasures like tiny gold safety pins, antiseptics, and bandaids. Whenever we needed those she’d open the little doors and take them out. Sometimes we needed Mercurochrome or <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Merthiolate on our cuts and scrapes. These came in little brown bottles with glass droppers. One of them burned like crazy and one not so much. One turned your skin red but I can’t remember if both did. They contained mercury and aren’t sold in the US any more, as far as I know. We were always in hopes we’d get the one that burned the least when we had a cut! The choice was in the hands of the grandparent treating us and the one that burned the most was considered the most effective. Naturally. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My grandparents had a second bedroom that no one ever slept in except one time I can remember. Uncle Justin and Aunt Sweetie Mae, my grandmother’s brother and sister-in-law, came to visit one time. But most of the time it was just my Mamaw and my Papa, and in the evenings me. I loved my grandparents’ side. The beds were always made, nothing was where it shouldn’t be, no toothpaste in the bathroom sink, no muddy footprints on the floor. There were rules to follow that kept it this way but I was willing to accept them for the orderliness of the home. It was an escape for me from the loud, bustling side of the duplex where I resided most of the time. I loved being with my family but I’ve always needed to be alone sometimes. Rickie and I were each the same way and we understood that and were never offended by it as some people might be. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_f0e_29cb_f2af_97e2" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ha-SK0J6tvrjMvLMZx50eB1MQhmpf44Q_ystF8_J8fxhH_741Z_ofVDWeWs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 440px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We didn’t watch scary shows at my grandparents’ house like so many shows are today. The Wizard of Oz was the scariest thing I remember seeing. After it was over I was afraid to walk back to our side of the duplex and hurried across the tiny porch to our door, afraid the flying monkeys would be lurking overhead to get me!</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">With the garage conversion here in Colorado, I’m now the Mamaw on the quiet orderly side of the duplex. Bixby’s side is where all the action takes place. Though he’s only one child, not seven, he has dogs and cats and video games and working parents and the disarray that accompanies all that. I don’t have a chest of drawers with two little doors with sailboats on the top. My brother has</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> my grandparents’ dresser. But from time to time Bix comes over to get a bandaid from the little shelf in the pantry. I don’t subject him to red staining medicines that burn and maybe poison him but sometimes I’ll get the triple antibiotic gel out. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Sometimes in the evening he’ll come over for a while. He’ll tell me he’s just coming over to hang out with me. He’ll climb up on the bed and lean back against all my pillows and watch TV or play a game on the iPad. Sometimes he’ll tell me things that happened or things he’s learned. Last night he came over with his big plastic popcorn container with 4 small ones. They all look like the boxes you get popcorn in at the movies. I keep two kinds of popcorn here, the butter one he likes and the kettle corn I like. He gets his out and pops it. We decide where to store the large popcorn bowl and he leaves me with two small ones and takes two back home. He tells me not to forget where we decided to keep them. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Went I went to my grandparents’ house each evening, I never wondered if they wanted me there or if they’d rather be alone. It never occurred to me to wonder. We had our system and our rules and we each gave a little in order to have the bond. I didn’t know it at the time but those evenings formed me into the person I am. They gave me a break from the hustle and bustle of my family and taught me to respect how my grandparents lived. I sometimes wonder if they recognized the introvert that craved order in me and knew how much I needed to be there, that while I loved them and being with them, it was also something I needed. The calm, the quiet, the order. I don’t think I could have verbalized it myself at the time. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">And now that the circle of our family’s life continues, and I’m the Mamaw with the orderly little house, I don’t have to wonder how they felt when I came over. I know. Bixby and I have our way of doing things, our own rules we follow, much as the little boy and his elderly aunt in Truman Capote’s A Christmas Miracle. He never overstays and he doesn’t come every day. And I have rules that are modified a little to fit a 7 year old that’s a bit more outgoing than I was. One late afternoon I came home from helping out at a garden club event and found him on the bed watching TV and having a snack. He knows how to find his shows on the Apple TV and he knows where the snacks are. And he never has to wonder if I want him here or if I’d rather be alone. He knows it’s his home too and we each give a little to have the bond. And I wonder if he’ll be formed by that as I was. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_4741_775b_6ee8_9ed6" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/SLY1Bq9zr29uHltYiqFgJGBtA4wayKT-L_UOaK6AF3tXpCTPzNTznI4dP9g" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 420px; height: auto;"><br><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116054197324232137noreply@blogger.com5