A Porch of My Own

A Porch of My Own

Monday, July 29, 2019

My Turbulent Sixties




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. 

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.  

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

We’re set to move shortly after I turn 70. 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!

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. 








Saturday, July 6, 2019

On A Good Day

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. 

Then something happened. It was a little thing, and in the way little things often are, 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. 

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. 

And I thought I ought to do the same. At least for a little while. 


“....And on a good day, the steam from my cup

Rises in a ribbon like a prayer going up


And I can close my eyes and not see your smile

And I feel like myself again for a little while

And the mountains breathe, just like they did before

On a good day I don’t miss you anymore”


Zane Williams On A Good Day