and so we got up and moved

Yesterday afternoon, right about 1:00 we were working on finishing up some math things in our classroom.  I had drawn the lesson out way too long and I knew it.  I hadn't given them much of a break and I could tell by the looks on their little faces and the squirming in their seats that it was definitely break time.  So I closed the math book, put down my dry erase marker, and announced to them~

"Ok everyone, on your feet!  We need to get up and be moving. Let's pretend that we are Norman and we are walking across America.  Come on, let's have some fun!"

And so we did~

Their faces lit up.  They beamed as they were remembering their old friend.  We marched briskly throughout the classroom, navigating twists and turns between the desks.  Slowly we pretended to trudge up Monarch Mountain as we pushed our carts filled with supplies. Imaginary weather elements descended upon us as the snow/rain came down.  After 5 minutes of "travel" time, everyone made the stop at their own desks and the last 15 minutes of math class together were so much more productive.  They were awake and refreshed.  All because they had the chance to get up and move about.  They needed it and the truth be told, so did I. And if this is true for 22 little 6 and 7-year olds and their now 59-year old teacher, then guess what?  The same can be surely said for you my friends.  During the course of any day, work day or one of rest, we all need to be getting up and finding some way to be active.  Our bodies say "thank you" for so doing.

I wrote a blog post a couple of weeks back about the walking club that our elementary school has each year.  Monday, Wednesday and Friday the students at Olathe are expected to get out and walk at least a lap or two around the track.  This year we are doing a special kind of activity called "Climbing Colorado's Flat 14'ers".  The distance to scale and then descend several mountains in our immediate vicinity has been calculated in the number of steps it would take to do so.  Those steps are then converted to laps around our track.  When the kids began to make their laps this year in early September, I decided that I would join them this year.  It has proven to be a lot of fun.

Now I'm not a fast walker and you certainly won't see me running along the gravel lined path as many of the kids do, but that's not the idea in the first place.  The plan is to just get out there and move each noontime.  The kids know that I will join them and it's always kind of sweet that each time I'm out there, some little person will come up to me and say nearly the very same thing every single time~

"Do you need me to walk with you today teacher?  I can do it if you want."

So there we are, whoever it is, walking hand in hand together for a lap or two.  They always chatter away to me as if we have not seen one another for years, even though in reality it's only been a couple of minutes.  I always think, "Geesch, I need to start looking more alive here." So we hold onto one another's hands and even though I really am just fine to walk alone, it still feels nice to grasp onto their little tiny hands as they give mine a squeeze from time to time.  It's that "power" of the human touch that enables us to do things that are difficult sometimes and this is a good example of that.

When I finally finished my first walking card, the one that said I had made twenty laps around the field and was virtually standing at the top of Mt. Sneffels, something happened.  It was the something that would have given Art Linkletter fodder for his old television show, "Kids Say The Darndest Things".  I handed off my card to our PE teacher and said proudly that I had finally made it to the top and was ready for my second card.  There was a little boy from one of the other classes standing behind me as he waited for his turn to have his card punched.  When he heard that I had completed the beginning card he reminded me that I was not the only teacher out there walking and that another staff member, a dear and sweet woman who has become a new friend, was also climbing flat 14'ers.

"Mrs. Renfro, you are just now finishing your first card?  She's been on her second card for a long time now!  You need to hurry up!"

I love kids~really I do!  :)

As we age our bodies change with us.  I wish I had the energy I did as a 30-year old.  Shoot, I now wish I had the energy I had as a 50-year old.  I can only dream about the days when I too was a carefree first grader and could scurry about on the playground as I played with my friends, never even breaking a sweat.  But with whatever energy and good health is left in me, I intend to keep moving.  Some day in the years to come, I will more than likely look back at my life as a 59-year old and wish that I could do some of the same things I'm doing now, then.  Several people reminded me of that on my birthday this past weekend and you know, they do have a point.

This is the day that the good Lord has made for us to be alive in.  I woke up and if you are reading this, then so have you.  What shall we make of this Tuesday, the 28th of October?  Whatever you choose to do, may it be something that brings you happiness and peace.  Take care of yourselves my dear friends and family.  We all need to stay as healthy as possible.  I kinda like living and being around this place and you know what else?  I like having you all around here too!

The view from the front yard here at home.  I will never scale them in person but I don't mind being at the summit virtually.  All it takes is a little bit of time, effort and willingness to do so.

~and tell my dad that I finally made it!~

When my father died in 1982 and my mother in 2007, they didn't get to leave behind vast sums of money or property to any charitable organizations.  There was no half a million dollar bequest to the local hospital, no place of higher learning that their name was assigned to because their last wills and testaments deemed it to be so.  Through years of living as they went through the ups and downs of life and the living of it, most of their finances were depleted by the time mom had passed away after living 5 long years at the nursing home.  So at their leaving this place called planet Earth, they ended up offering a legacy to the world much more valuable than gold and silver was in the first place.  They left a "living legacy", one that I am proudly a part of.

Did you ever know my folks?  If not, let me introduce them to you.  They were good people.  You would have liked them.  A lot!

These photos were taken in Hutchinson, Kansas in my house back there.  At the time though, it was their house and they had only been living in it for about 6 weeks.  My dad was 59 and mom was 61.  They had moved to town from their house in the country in Harvey County in early October, on my son Ricky's 2nd birthday.  Dad was dying from cancer and he knew it. He wasn't down to years or even months.  He was down to weeks.  His last wish in life wasn't to take a trip to the Bahamas, to skydive, or to shake the hand of a famous person.  Dad's final wish was that our mom have a home safely in town where we kids could always be close by to help her when she needed us.  Thankfully God saw a way to make that happen for them and the move was made in just the nick of time.  3 weeks after these photos were taken, he was gone.  25 years later, so was she.

59 years ago today, in a little hospital in Newton, Kansas my mother gave birth to a tiny little 6 pound baby girl and she was me.  My father said my name would be Peggy Ann, naming me after a family friend over in Sedgwick, Kansas whose name was Peggy Carter.  Over the years they would call me Peggy or Peg and sometimes even Annie which I actually kind of liked to be called as well.  They raised me up with 6 other siblings as part of a Kansas farming family.  They were not perfect parents but I am wondering who is?  They were the very best parents that they knew how to be.  We were always fed, clothed, cared for, disciplined and loved.  From them both I learned the value of being honest and hard working.  I was taught to care about others, people that I knew as well as total strangers.  They both were able to see me complete my college education and become a teacher.  Mom lived long enough to see me get my Master's degree in 2003.  I wanted them to be proud of me and I believe that they were.

Two years ago, on the eve of my 57th birthday I wrote the blog post shown below and am reposting it if you would care to read.  I'm thankful that my parents chose to have a sixth child and my little sister Cindy is really thankful that they didn't stop with me.  As one of the "living legacies" that they left behind, I try my best to live my life every day as they would have wished for me.  "Scott blood" and "Brown blood" runs through my veins.  I am strong enough to go through anything.  They told me so and if they did, then surely they were right.  They were my parents and I loved them very much.

A blog post from October 25, 2012

20,819 days later~

My mom always liked to tell the story of how when she was pregnant with me and had gone into labor in preparation for my delivery, that her doctor was nowhere to be found.  Seems that the good "Doc Schmidt" had decided to go out drinking and dancing with his wife at one of the local clubs in Newton, Kansas at about the same time that a little baby named Peggy decided it was time to find out what this "being born" stuff was all about.  His nurses tried for several hours to find him to let him know that Lois Scott needed him and she needed him RIGHT NOW! They were having no luck at all.

I was baby #6 for my mom and with that in mind, the nurse (a Catholic nun named Sister Marietta) told my mom not to worry.  "We don't need him anyway Lois.  You and I have gone through this together five times before!" At just about the time that I would be ready to deliver, they heard his footsteps coming down the hallway, whistling a tune as if he hadn't a care in the world.  I don't know what my mom or Sister Marietta said to him, but I'm gonna guess that knowing my mom, it probably wasn't said with a "happy face" on.  At 10:32 in the morning I arrived and when Dr. Schmidt held me upside down and gave me my first birthday spanking, I started out on this journey called "life".  My father gave me the name "Peggy Ann Scott" and upon my conception, my parents' blood became mine and now so many years later as I type this, I realize just how special that makes me.  

20, 819 days later here I am, on the eve before I reach my 57th year.  This has been a strange week, a tough one, a REALLY rough one and I'm not kidding.  Without going into detail, just suffice it to say that I am surely hoping to never have another one like it again.  I guess some weeks are like that, not sure why though.  How well I now understand in life why it's good that we never know what lies ahead of us~how most of us would never have the courage to get out of bed in the morning if we did know.  I am positive beyond the shadow of a doubt that I would be one of the "afraid".  

Earlier this week, I lost my voice and it wasn't the kind of losing your voice that happens when you have a bad cold or laryngitis.  Rather, it was the kind of "losing your voice" that happens when you simply don't know what to say.  At times it seemed to be a depressing kind of week for one reason or another.  Every day it has seemed as though something has gone wrong and try as I might to fix it, there are just some things that are out of my hands.  Usually when I feel like that, sitting down at the computer and pounding on the keys to write a blog post is a sure cure for it.  But not this time.  I tried to no avail as I sat there looking at a very blank screen.   For two days I just didn't know what to say.  For some reason, the words are finally starting to come forth.

I must admit that I do not understand life sometimes~do you ever feel the same?  You know, here you are going along life's way, truly minding your own business and doing the best you can under some trying circumstances.  Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, things change in a moment's time and what you thought was safe and secure ends up being not the way you hoped it would turn out to be.  And you know what friends?  That can end up being a little scary, even for the bravest of souls.

The journey of Peggy Miller hasn't even been close to what my dear and sainted grandmother, Bessie Scott, would have called the journey down the "straight and narrow".  My life's road is a series of turns, hills and roads filled with giant potholes.  I am an alumni of "the school of life" and I keep having to go back for refresher courses now and again.  Pretty sure they will always save a seat for me there LOL.  The events of this week have just further proven to me that I am not, nor have I ever been, in charge of the events of my life.  Someone much smarter and greater than I will ever profess to be is in charge of my life, in charge of "the plan".  As I enter the first day of my 57th year tomorrow, I pray to continue to be cognizant of that fact and by so doing, my life may be somewhat easier.

I have a big day tomorrow~taking off a personal day from school to remember the blessings of reaching yet another year of life. Lots of things to do.  I plan to make a special journey over to my mom and dad's graves~to leave something for my mom.  Every year for the past 20 years or so I'd always sent her flowers on my birthday, thanking her for not stopping with child #5.  She always understood what I was talking about and rather than fussing about my buying them for her, Mom just said we'd enjoy them together.  When she died in 2007, the tradition stopped.  Tomorrow on the first day of my 57th year, it begins again.  I always wondered how they did it~how they raised 7 children that were spread out over a span of 17 years.  The older I have gotten, the more the realization sinks in how blessed I was to be born into this world in the first place.  

Friends, if your mom or dad are still living, please call them~if only to say that you were thinking of them.  I'll see mine in Heaven someday....until then, I just remember that my life is all a "part of the plan".  Good night everyone! 

Two of the women who had the greatest of impacts on the life of one young girl.  My mom, Lois Scott and my maternal grandmother, Bessie Belle Scott.  Both of them gone now~always will remember and love them.  (at Haven on Labor Day of 1978)

~as I reach my father's age~

Come this Sunday morning, along about 10:32 a.m., I will be able to say it.  I have reached my father's age.  

When my father died two weeks before Christmas in 1982, he was only 59 years old.  He had not yet reached his 60th birthday before cancer in both of his lungs and later in his brain would take him from us.  He was alone when he died in the early morning hours there in the hospital back home in Hutchinson, Kansas.  We had all gone home to rest for the night and when the nurse finally called to tell me that he was dead, it was an almost unbelievable thing to imagine. The strange thing I remember is that I was already awake and thinking of him.  He breathed his last as his very kind and loving heart stopped beating at 3:30 a.m. on Saturday,  December 11th.   I loved him so much in life and continue to love him long after he has been gone because, well because he was my dad.  John Scott, Jr. was the finest man that I ever knew and I'm so glad that God chose him to be the father of a little tiny baby who grew up to be me.

For whatever strange reason, in the back of my mind and deep inside my heart I have been waiting all this time since his death now 32 years ago to finally become the age that he was when he died.  I'm not sure why turning the age of 59 has so much meaning to me.  It's really not because I'm soon within the next year to turn the astoundingly awesome age of 60 but rather,  I just want to be the age that he was.  I've been considering a lot of life since I lost my father when I was only 27 years old and I've come to one startling and awakening of a conclusion and that would be that my dad was a very young man when he died.  Not the older person that I always thought in my mind he was, but instead a man who might have had so many more years of life ahead of him had it not been for the lemon sized tumors that presented themselves in his lungs.  He is gone now and I would never call him back to have to live the life that was his for the last 18 months before he passed.  In my mind I can still picture him sitting up in a chair or on the edge of the bed sound asleep because lying down was not an option. Breathing was just too difficult for him to get rest any other way.  Dad's congestive heart failure made it impossible to do surgery and so he underwent rounds and rounds of chemotherapy and radiation to buy a little time for himself.  My dad "fought the good fight" that the "Good Book" speaks of and when it was finally all said and done, in God's mercy he found his way back home.  We buried him 4 days later near the grave of my sister who had been killed in an  accident 13 years earlier.  25 years later, we would lay our mother to rest beside him as well.  I'm an orphan now and it just sucks to be one.  Even though I was no longer a "kid", I still needed my parents.  Plain and simple.

I'm not sure what kind of a 59-year old person I will be.  When you look at it, it's only a number.  For my dad, it was his last number.  One final birthday here on earth and since it was his last one, I know that in his own loving manner he would wish for his little girl to have many more birthdays beyond the one that arrives the day after tomorrow.  For that wish to come true, I will surely pray.  I love life and I kinda would like to keep living it :)

My birth certificate registers my name, the one that my father gave me.  I was the 6th child out of seven and I never forgot the "gift" of my birth.  Times had to have been tight every once in a while for my parents and with that many mouths to feed, I'm sure that a whole lot of sacrifices had to have been made.  The sweet thing was that they loved me and my five brothers and sisters enough to have yet another little one, our baby sister Cindy who arrived two years after me.  With that, their Kansas farming family was complete, 17 years after they started it.

God knew just the perfect family for me to born into.  As my good friend LeRoy is always saying, "I love it when a plan comes together!"  For that I will always give thanks.

I have so very few photos of our family all together.  This one was taken in the wheat harvest fields of Kinsley, Kansas in the summer of 1976.  This is not all of us, only a very small part of the clan.  My brother, two of my sisters, two of my nieces and my parents.  Frozen in a moment of time.

The only photo I have of when I was a baby, taken after Grandfather Brown's funeral in 1956.  My mom told me that he held me once and said, "Wouldn't it be nice to be this little once again?"  Although I never knew him to remember, I take a lot of solace in her words of remembrance.  I am the person that I am today because those two people shown above loved one another enough to have me.  For my first birthday and for the all the ones to follow, I am beholden.

Autumn's Splendor

The days continue to fly by us and according to the calendar we have already spent our first month of the glorious season of Autumn.  A beautiful time of the year it is, with trees still filled with leaves that have changed into their true colors of red, orange, golden yellow and brown.  Last weekend I noticed that with all of the wind and cooler temperatures we have been seeing here along the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains that many of the leaves have already begun to fall down to the ground below. It just seemed a good time for me to take a picture of a few of them while I still could and so I did just that.  They change so quickly it would seem, going from adorned in color to pretty much bare over night.  

Aspens with just a few leaves remaining near Silverthorn, Colorado early last week.

A beautiful grove of them I see each day as I head to school at Olathe.

Not even sure what kind these are but it doesn't matter.  The "kind" they are is absolutely gorgeous.

I'm not all that crazy about Winter, the season that perpetually follows Autumn and in the "dance of the seasons" I have always felt that Old Man Winter was kind of bossy and pushy, always wanting to cut in before his real spot on the dance card arrives.  The appointed date and time for its arrival has always been the 21st of December but sometimes, for lack of nothing else to do I suppose, it decides to show up ahead of schedule much to the chagrin of folks just like me.  Not much we can do about it except to accept it and plow through it, both literally and figuratively.  My little sister's birthday is the first day of winter and she has always loved it.  Not me.  Not ever.  Not in a million years.

In the years past, I have tried to make some peace with wintertime and the accompanying weather it brings us.  Back home in Kansas we had to get used to all kinds of heavy snowfall and wind, both recipes for ensuing blizzards.  There was ice, sleet, freezing rain and the inevitable power outages that went along with it.  But we survived because, well because we had to.  It wasn't my favorite time of year but I always vowed to outlast it and miraculously enough, I did.  I spent my very first winter living in Colorado last year.  I wasn't sure what to expect of it and because I am such a non-fan of cold and snowy weather, many of my friends back in Kansas and elsewhere were surprised that I would even consider moving here.  After all, this part of the world is known for snowy winters, and skiing, snowboarding and a plethora of other snow filled activities.  The part of the state we live in, along the Western Slope side of the great Rocky Mountains, is down into a valley and it seems that geographical feature offers us a bit of protection against the greatest downpours of snowfall.  Having said that, I suppose that this winter we will receive snow by the boatloads.

Although we did get snow last year, it didn't seem all that much worse than living back in south central Kansas.  The worst part, at least for me, was the knowledge that if I wanted to get back home there to visit family and friends I would have to travel over the 11,000 feet pass at Monarch Mountain.  Monarch is at the top of the Continental Divide, another geographical feature around here that does just that~it divides the continent.  I made the journey over it at least 3 or 4 times during the snowy season last year and had no issues.  I watched the weather and planned accordingly.  The only time I was caught off guard in my journeys back and forth between my old home back there in Kansas and my new home here in Colorado, was when I found myself in a ground blizzard between LaJunta and Lamar, Colorado.  I made it but it was not the funnest of things to do on an early Friday morning in the dark.  

Of course, only someone foolish would try to say that there is no beauty in wintertime because of course, there really is.  It's just that I prefer to admire it from within the house where it is nice and warm.  I've tried to see some of that in photos I have taken over the last few years and when I really get cranky about yet another dumping of snow or layer of ice all over everything, I can take a look back at those pictures and remember that the same Creator who makes the leaves turn colors also spreads the white stuff all over the ground in a billowing snow white  blanket of moisture.  That same moisture, when it melts, provides much needed precipitation around these parts.  A good thing to remember when I find myself bellyaching too much about the inconvenience I feel it sometimes provides.

Our yard last year after receiving 15 inches of snow one week in December.  Looking off towards the San Juan Mountains that are now covered not only in snow but beautiful rolling white clouds as well. Didn't hang out much laundry that week!

The sun tries its best to come out and shine a bit during the very late afternoon hours one weekend this past February.  Its attempt cast an eery glow in the sky but made a beautiful image just the same.

Last year in very early December after slip sliding home from school one day.  My Grandma Scott would have said to me, "Peggy Annie, you get inside the house before you freeze stiff a grinnin!"  

Today is the 21st day of October in the year 2014.  There will be no snow today, at least here in this part of the world.  Wherever you are, I hope you find some pretty fall colors to see as you busily go about your day.  I hope you slow down a bit, just like I did, and admire them for a while.  I never thought so much about Autumn until I found my own self in that "season" of life.  In the years to come, I will find Winter.  Maybe then it really won't seem all that bad after all.  Perhaps I only thought that it was.

~words for a friend~

I have always loved the writings of Max Lucado, an author and pastor from San Antonio, Texas.  Over the years I have collected many of his books, reading them more than once in fact some of them three or four times.  My latest Lucado acquisition was called "Traveling Light~The Journal", a 30-day devotional study with a spot after each section to write down my own thoughts about life and some of the trials we all have to go through during our time here on planet Earth.  My month's long time of reading it is almost done and with that, I will find myself wrapping it up in brown paper bag material and sending it on to a very special friend of mine back home in Kansas.  It's time to continue on in my journey of completion of 60 things to do before I turn 60 next year and do what item #5 says~

"Buy a good book, read it and then pass it on to another person each month."

     Have you ever wondered why it was that certain people cross in and out of your life on a daily basis?  How it comes to be that you meet someone in a particular place and time as you either become their casual acquaintance or perhaps even a lifelong friend of theirs?  Back in my home state of Kansas there are many people just like that for me.  Even though I left them behind when I moved across the big mountain and came down into the valley on the other side of the Great Continental Divide, I still remember them so very well and over 611 miles of distance cannot erase them from my heart and memory.  It's one of the reasons that I am so thankful for Facebook these days as I check in on them every evening to see if all is well back in their part of this great big, yet ever shrinking universe.  
     October has been "Breast Cancer Awareness" month and you cannot help but to notice it as you look around you.  The color "pink" is worn proudly by the survivors of that dreaded disease as well as by their family and friends.  Over 40 years ago, my father's sister, my aunt Violet, passed from breast cancer.  It was long before the days of the use of advanced treatment and medications that today are quite commonplace.  The older I have become, the more women I have come across who have done the battle with breast cancer, beat it, and survived.  My good friend back in the little Kansas town of Ellsworth is one of those strong women.  Her name is Joyce and it is to her that Max Lucado's "Traveling Light-The Journal" will be sent next week.  I have been following her story on Facebook and my heart has been full after reading about what it has taken to endure the battle against the "C" word.  Joyce, to you my sweet and dear friend from "the land of long ago and far, far away",  I send you much love and fellowship.  I hope you enjoy reading the book and when you are done, please send it on to someone of your own choosing.  You will know exactly who that person shall be.  
     In one of her recent posts, Joyce admonished every woman out there reading it to get to the doctor and have a mammogram.  As for me, I am overdue in getting mine so as I read her words it was like a thump upside the head for me.  Come November when I go in  for the grownup equivalent of a "well child checkup", I promise dear Joyce to schedule mine.  They are not the funnest of procedures to go through, those mammograms.  But the sacrifice of a few minutes of time while you are still healthy is more than worth it in the end.  Early detection, early detection, early detection.  Plain and simple.  I love life.  I love living.  For as long as I can, I am choosing to stick around and see how this all goes :)
     Longevity seems to run in my family, well at least for the women on my mother's side.  Grandmother Brown lived into the winter of her 106th year of life.  She was strong as an ox, never entering a long term care setting until she was 101.  We still carried on great conversations and got outdoors together even after she moved to the nursing home.  My mother, her daughter Lois, lived to the age of 87 while one of Mom's other sisters, Aunt Dorothy, lived until 82.  This good day, October 17th of 2014, marks the 101st birthday of the only aunt that still remains for me, my Mom's other sister.  Aunt Beck took a tumble a few weeks back and is now in a care center until she gets strong enough to return home.  I have no doubt in my mind that she will do just that.  She's stubborn that way.  Just like her own mother and sisters.  Just like her niece is too.  
     And so now the day begins here along the Western Slopes of the Rockies, here in my new home of Montrose, Colorado.  "The 22" are more than likely still sound asleep in their beds in the very early hours of this Friday morning.  In a couple of hours more they will arise and ready themselves for another Friday together of learning and having fun. I have a desire to remain strong and healthy, not only for myself but for all of them as well.  I have found that not only do they need me, I need them as well. It's a mutual kind of arrangement, you know? 
    Yesterday one of them, a sweet little guy, came up to my desk to ask a question of me.  He stood there for a moment, going back and forth on what he wanted to say and finally decided to tell me~

"Oh, I guess I just wanted to say that I love you teacher."

And we both smiled.

From earlier this past summer, June of 2014~my Aunt Rebecca and I.
May I be just like her when I finally grow up :)

~upon the subject of growing older~

I have come to learn that there are a few things about growing older that I really don't mind at all.  Only a few mind you but I have come to appreciate them just the same. As I fast approach the arrival of my 59th year of life on the 26th day of this month,  I guess that I am reminded of them even more each day.

I can remember a crazy time back when I had just turned 50 and I was eating in a local fast food place with a friend back in Hutchinson.  The person taking my order, an early twenty-something girl who probably meant well, gave me my change back and said in a loud voice....

"With your SENIOR discount, you saved $1.57 today ma'am."

I had never been so mortified in my life.  For crying out loud I was only 50, not their customary age "55" kind of patron who would have qualified for that 10 percent discount on food purchases.  What in the heck was that kid thinking, giving me an old person's discount?  It was a while before I went back there again.  But you know what?  I finally reached age 55 and when I did, I figured out that it was "ok" to tell them I qualified for the offering of that special perk.  When I ultimately learned to put "vanity" away where it belonged, I soon learned that lots of places offer discounts to people of a certain age group and why not take advantage of it?  So I did and still do every chance I can get.  Hey  $1.29 here, $2.18 there.  It all adds up and as a wise person once said to me~

"It spends just as well in my pocket as in theirs."

Growing older has allowed me the opportunity to see many more places and meet just that many more people who have now become my family and friends.  There are so many good folks back in Kansas, a lifetime of them, who are my family, friends and former co-workers.  Last year when I moved here to the Western Slopes of Colorado, I made many more new friends who have become like a "second family" to me.  All of the many rich experiences that I've been given over the course of nearly 6 decades have taken me to places spread all across the United States and connected me with strangers who became my friends.  If we measure our true wealth in the number of friends and family that we have to call our own, then I must be surely quite well off.  For those I know, I am most grateful and beholden.  From the friends of my youth back home in the "land of long ago and far, far away", to those I now know as a nearly 60-year old adult, they matter in my life and I will never lose sight of that.  Ever.

Yet perhaps the greatest thing about growing older is the somber  realization of the brevity of life.  It sounds strange sometimes to say that but indeed it is most certainly true.  Life is short.  Time passes by us in the blink of the eye.  The older I get, the more I see it and the more I see it, the greater is this need inside of me to spend every minute as wisely as I can.  I have wasted a lot of time in my 21,537 days of life and believe me when I say it, none of that lost time shall ever be returned to me.  Long gone.  That's where those minutes and hours are now.

For me, this "aha moment" about life's brevity has brought about it a heightened awareness of things around me that years ago I might well have disregarded altogether.  Much of that greater acknowledgement of things has been captured in the pictures that I often find myself taking.  For instance, the ones shown below are good examples.

I drive right by this spot every single day of the week, Monday through Friday, on my way to and from school at Olathe.  Every day.  Without fail.  It's a view looking back towards the of  Black Canyon of the Gunnison.  There are clouds in the sky all the time.  Cumulus, stratus, nimbus.  Nothing new out here or any place else in the world.  But for some reason as I was heading towards home in Montrose last week about 5 in the afternoon, I gazed towards the east and saw this view and I just had to pull over and take a photo of it.  In my eyes, it was a spectacular thing to see and to preserve in a digital image.  So I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and took the photo and even though I was tired and needed to get home, I sat there for a few minutes more and just looked at it.  I may never see the clouds like that again over the Black Canyon but for a brief bit of time last week, they were mine to enjoy and to make a memory in my heart.  Only an hour later, I found another sight to take a picture of, as shown below.

I drive right by this spot as I go to WalMart , each and every time.  It's at a four-way stop sign and usually I always just make the turn to the west and head on down Niagra Street in Montrose.  But last week as I came upon the stop sign, those beautiful trees in the picture caught my eye and even though I really needed to get to the store and back home again, I found myself just going straight on to the south and pulling over to the side of the street to take the picture shown above.  The clouds and the sun were just right and the quietness of the street is shown in the photo.  Just like after taking the photo on the way home from school, I found myself sitting there and looking at the gorgeous autumn colors of the leaves as they had changed.  Last year I had seen this very spot but had never taken the time to pull the car over and take the picture.  This year I am another 365 days older and have grown even more aware of how quickly the Colorado wind and cold temperatures will take those leaves away.  This year I was taking that picture, no matter what for even the life of a leaf is brief in nature.  For all living things, that reality is sure to come to pass.

For some reason, it seemed right and good to take the photo shown below as the sun set into the west last Friday evening here along the Uncompahgre Range near Montrose.

I thought of my Grandmother Brown, a dear and sweet woman who lived to the winter of her 106th year.  When I was a little girl, I can remember seeing the sun peeking through the clouds like this and asking her in my little tiny and innocent voice~

"Grandma, is that where Heaven is?  Is that what it looks like?"
And she told me that she thought it was just like that, with streets paved in gold.  My grandmother made it there before me, so now she knows for sure.  Once when I was much older, we visited about it again.  We made a pact, my grandmother and I, and the agreement was that whoever got there first would be sure to watch for the other one to come along.  I believed it then.  I still believe it now.

I am fortunate to be able to spend every Monday through Friday with a classroom full of 6 and 7-year olds who keep their "old teacher" quite busy.  Those 22 little people keep me young both in spirit and heart.  I look at them and pray that their lives will be blessed with all kinds of goodness.  I want them to grow up, strong in body and spirit.  And in as much as I always find myself asking them the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?",  I am forever reminding them to enjoy just being kids for as long as they can.

And the little 7-year old that used to be me says, "AMEN".

~upon walking to school~

I walked to school yesterday.

No, I didn't take out on foot on Locust Road and head towards the north and the small community of Olathe, Colorado.  It was the usual 11 mile drive along Highway 50 that I always make about quarter after six.  Yet I did walk to school.  Kind of/sort of in a different way and you know what?  It was really fun!

Yesterday was "Walk To School Day", a global effort of sorts to encourage children to get to school at least part of the way by their own foot power.  Our school was a participant with several of our staff members heading over in the early morning hours (on foot) to the high school/middle school parking lot to wait and meet the buses when they arrived full of students.  Once a bus arrived, an adult would walk back the distance over to the elementary school with a group of kids.  In other parts of town, parents who would normally just drop their children off at the front door instead dropped their children off at points several blocks away from school to walk with others who would meet them there.

They called it a "walking school bus" and in essence, it was.

I signed up to walk a group of bus kids over to school yesterday morning and I'm glad that I did.  The early morning Rocky Mountain air was crisp and cool with not much breeze blowing, all in all a pretty decent day for walking.  Shortly after 7,  I started out with one of my friends and co-teachers at school named Toni and headed towards the middle school.  We laughed as we went along as I noticed how different our strides were.  Her long and very strong legs were a challenge to keep up with.  The 17-year age difference between us told on me rather quickly.  I could throw in things like her being way more used to the altitude than I was and on and on and on as I try to think of excuses.  But the real truth is that she exercises a lot and me, well some days not so much.  We had smiles on our faces and excitement in our voices as we went to meet the kids and I figured as long as I could take in enough oxygen and continue to carry on a conversation as I walked over with her that I was probably not going to do so bad after all.  I didn't die from walking and lived to tell the story.  Toni, if you are reading this I want to say "thanks" for walking with me.  It always makes the time more pleasant if you have a friend to talk with along the way.

I felt like a mother hen with 19 little chicks walking behind me in the early morning hours yesterday as we headed to our final destination~school.  Some pretty responsible 5th grade boys were at the end of our long line and they took care to make sure that none of the little people had any issues.  No one fell down.  No one cried.  No one complained about having to walk the last leg of their trip to school yesterday morning.  Joe, our wonderful principal, met us with a smile on his face and a hearty "hello" to all of the kids at the halfway point to help us cross the busy street that we came upon.  After that it was smooth sailing to walk the final couple of blocks to Olathe Elementary.  When we were finished and as we crossed over onto the playground, one of our staff members was there handing out stickers for all of us to wear that announced we had "walked to school" today.  I stood in line for mine too and wore it proudly the rest of the day.

When I was a little kid growing up in south central Kansas, our family always lived on a farm several miles away from school.  Each morning in the early hours, we'd all "hot foot" it down to the mailbox and wait for the school bus to come and pick us up.  The Scott kids did that for years and years until our parents built a restaurant and service station in our hometown of Haven, Kansas back in 1967.  After the restaurant opened up, we kids mostly would get up at 5 in the morning and ride into town with them.  My little sister Cindy and I would wait eat our breakfast at the restaurant and then walk the 6 blocks to our elementary school there every morning.  From the 6th grade on into high school, that's how I got to school as I walked down Kansas Avenue from Ulrey's corner straight down the street 4 blocks and then to the east a couple of more.  As I was walking with the kids from the first bus yesterday, I could not help but to remember that time so very long ago when two little girls from the "land of long ago and far, far away" did the very same thing.  Day in and day out.  Always.

Yesterday's activity of walking to school together was extremely beneficial to all concerned.  It jumpstarted our day and gave those that participated a proverbial "shot in the arm" of extra energy.  Although it is only scheduled for once this school year officially on the calendar, I think it would be fun to do it more often and there was some talk yesterday of scheduling another one in the near future.  I hope that we do.  My mom, a woman who never learned to drive a car and often relied on foot power to get where she needed to be, often spoke of the benefits of walking.  Her proclamation to us kids when we sometimes griped about having to walk to school each day, especially if the weather was too cold or too hot will forever be engrained in my nearly 59-year old brain.

"You kids get going.  Walking isn't crowded.  It won't kill you!"

With a smile on my face, I realize that she was right.  It wasn't and it didn't :)

I survived "Walk to School" day at Olathe Elementary and had a lot of fun in the process.

My dad standing outside of our family's business in Haven, Kansas.  It was from this spot that my sister and I took out every morning for our own "walk to school".  Great memories that will forever be stored up in my heart.

~from the top of Mt. Sneffels and thinking about Norman's footsteps~

A few years back Mike and several of his buddies climbed to the top of Mt. Sneffels, a 14,158 feet high mountain to the south of us in Ouray County.  Through some hard work and perseverance, they all made it and managed to live to tell the story.  The photo below shows him at the top surrounded by a panoramic view of beautiful scenery.  He loved doing it and would like to try yet another 14'er in the future.

The area that we live in here along the Western Slopes of Colorado is surrounded by a ring of 14'ers.  The view outside of our kitchen window is of the San Juan mountain range, the largest by area of all the ranges of mountains in our state.  Already on this the 5th day of October, they have their initial cover of snow for the season and since it is not even really winter yet, their snowy peaks will get even snowier as the season progresses.  As a flatlander from the Sunflower State of Kansas, I will long remember how it felt to see that massive and magnificent geographical landform the first time I came here in January of 2013.

At our elementary school in Olathe the children participate in a walking club throughout the school year.  Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday during our noontime recess period all of the students head for the walking track to walk at least a lap or two before they go to play on the equipment or with their friends.  It's an expectation of them and I am happy to see it be so.  They need exercise, to move about in the great outdoors.  Soaking in fresh air and sunshine is good for kids and by the way, one more thought.  It's good for grownups too!

This year I decided that when it was a walking day for "the 22" that I would join them every chance I could.  If I expected them to get out there, then why would I not join them?  So I have.  This whole walking club idea was the marvelous thought of our wonderful P.E. teacher at Olathe and this year she came up with the idea of turning physical exercise into a mountain climbing experience for the kids.  This year's walking club is referred to as climbing "Colorado's Flat 14'ers".  Eight 14,000+ mountains were chosen and the number of steps it would take to get to the top and then back down to the bottom again were calculated.  Then those footsteps were translated into laps around our school's walking track.  Essentially when walking club is completed in May of 2015, students will have had the "virtual" opportunity to climb all eight of those mountains.  The first one we are doing is Mt. Sneffels, a climb of 12,000 steps or the equivalent of 40 laps around the walking track.  When we finish with Sneffels, we can then go on to Mt. Democrat, Mt. Sherman, Mt. Lincoln, Huron Peak, Handies Peak, Wetterhorn Peak and finally Creston Peak.  If I did the math right, that's the sum total of 360 laps around our track and since we have the next 7 months to do it in, we should have no trouble at all.

I doubt that there will ever be a photograph of Peggy Renfro standing on top of the real Mt. Sneffels or any of the other peaks mentioned above but at least in a virtual kind of manner, I can and shall.  As of Friday's walking club time, I'd finally made it halfway to the summit of Mt. Sneffels and hopefully by the end of the week, I'll have made it to the very top.  Of course, once you get to the "summit" it will be necessary to come back down again so I may not get to Mt. Democrat for a week or two but it's not like it's going anywhere anyways.  Each of the kids in class know that they can find me out there on the track with them and as they "lap" me (hey, it happens a lot) they always stop and ask me how I'm doing.  Sometimes one of them will slow up a bit and take my hand as they ask "Do you want me to walk with you Mrs. Renfro?"  I always wonder if I really look that bad or if they just miss me or something.  So sometimes we walk together for a minute or two and then I send them off running so they can get in an extra lap before they go to play.  You know, there are always plenty of things that I could do inside my classroom while the kids are outside but to me, it just makes sense to get out there with them for awhile.  Adults need fresh air and sunshine and what better way to get it than to get out and move?

I think of my good friend Norman Horn who, in less than one week's time, will have walked over 3,000 miles across America.  The somewhere near 107,000 steps it will take to complete our walking club activity during this school year will pale in comparison to the millions of steps that Norman will have made by the time his journey ends in Atlantic City on October 11th.  Surely if one 30-year old man can brave the elements and be on the road for over 6 months, one nearly 59-year old school teacher and her students can climb some flat 14'ers.

I nearly chose this past Friday to not go outdoors and walk during the noontime recess.  In the moments before it was time to dismiss the kids to go outside, I was thinking of every excuse in the book as to why I should stay inside instead of going out to walk.  There were papers to grade, things to clean up, activities to ready for the afternoon.  How on earth could I afford to be outdoors walking for nearly 15 minutes of time when I had so much else to do?  I was just going to dismiss them to go outside and then hope they would not realize that I was staying inside.  As I was passing out the walking club cards, the ones that are checked off after each lap is completed, one of the little girls came up to me and said,

"Teacher, can I please walk with you a lap this time?"

So out the door I went.  

Walking along the alfalfa field adjacent to 50 Highway this past spring~

Mike and Sally like to walk together every day.  She always joins us on our walks together.

At the end of a walk last spring~

~and we managed to keep them all in order~

     I had an interesting visit yesterday after school with a newspaper reporter back home in the small south central Kansas town of Andale.  He was doing a story for a special feature coming up in the local paper for that area (my hometown of Haven included) on the 100th anniversary of Haven High School.  In particular, he wanted to know about a time back in 1971 when the students at Haven moved into their brand new high school building a few blocks away from the old one.  The reporter was curious as to just how they moved the gazillions of volumes of books from the library in the old "pink gym" to the brand new library shelves that were located way more than a stone's throw away.  I knew the answer to his question and as I spoke with him about it, memories of a lifetime more than 4 decades ago came rushing back to this Kansas farm girl.  I may not know where I put my keys/cell phone/or purse some days, but I have never forgotten the experience of that morning, now so long ago.

     

     The newspaper clipping shown above ran in the Hutchinson News the day after students helped to move every single book from the shelves from one library to another.  That young 16-year old girl shown in the picture was the sole recipient of each of those books once they made the journey over.  She is me.

     I'll have to admit that the years have somewhat dimmed this old memory of mine and I no longer recall whether it was a school day or a Saturday.  But what I do know is that it took the concerted effort of a whole heck of a lot of kids and one courageous bus driver to get them placed upon the shelves.  We began in the early morning hours and by shortly after lunch time, the entire process was mostly completed.

     It all began that day over in the pink gym where our school's librarian, a quiet and reserved woman named Gladys Gilmore, was stationed to hand off the books to students.  Those same students were supposed to then become a part of a "human chain" as they boarded a school bus awaiting outside of the building to transport them to where I was stationed over in the new building.  If everyone followed directions and worked together, it would be an easy task.  More than likely.  Probably so.  I guess.  

     I may have forgotten the day of the week this was done on but I have never forgotten the task of shelving all of those books.  As the morning went on, things would appear to have be going pretty dang good with only minimal issues of students somehow switching places on the bus, taking their section of books with them.  Mr. Dewey's decimal system went awry from time to time but thankfully nothing major like misplacing entire sections of that sacred manner of organizing books.  Kids will be kids, you know?  That fact has been proven throughout history.

     By mid afternoon we were done and the end result would be a library graced with books and other periodicals that students many years into the future would be able to use and enjoy.  I was a library aide for my sophomore and junior years of high school and perhaps it was there that I truly learned to appreciate the written word and to have a love for the acquiring of knowledge.  Because I was the library aide that year, I was the one who was chosen to be the person to hand all of those books off to.  It was the early day equivalent of "on the job training for library aides~101".  

     Gladys Gilmore, now long gone from the earth, was a "keeper of the books" who made a lasting impact upon the young girl that I used to be.  Her gentle spirit and kind way was a good example to the shy and quiet teenage girl that once, I was.  As  I look back on it now, Mrs. Gilmore was a role model for me in the four years that I went to Haven High School.  I never really thanked her for that and I had to grow up to realize just how much she and other adults from that little south central Kansas town did for me and for so many others.  Yet I know now and most thankful for it.

     I was thankful for a nice memory yesterday afternoon and my heart was full after that phone conversation with a young man who was born 17 years after I graduated from high school.  He sounded like a great guy and a reporter who would do a good job in telling the story of my hometown's "place of higher learning".  I will be anxious to read it some day and remember more stories along the way.  It took the passage of a lot of years and moving more than 600 miles away from my home in Kansas before I truly and fully realized it but I'm sure glad that God chose Haven, Kansas as the town I would grow up in.  If you ask me where I am from, the answer will always be the same.

The old school~

Just behind those windows on the bottom floor was the infamous pink gym where the library was located.  One day, over 40 years ago, a whole lot of books found their way to a brand new home.  My first year of being a teacher (1979-80) was for U.S.D. 312 of Haven.  I taught for their district for 20 years.  My very first teaching assignment was that of a 7th and 8th grade Title I math teacher and my classroom was actually in that old building, up on the second floor in Mr. Hayes' old Algebra room.  Lots of great memories were to be made there.

~October~

     Nostalgia always sets in just about this time of the year for me as the calendar today is turned over to the very first day of the month of October.  I love this month for a lot of reasons as we celebrate the birthdays of both of my sons, my own birthday at the end of the month, and the occasion of my only living aunt's birthday on the 17th.  The Lord has blessed her with 101 years of life here on earth and because we now live so far apart from one another, I cannot see her as often as I would like.  But I always stop over at her house every chance I get back there.  My own mother (her sister) is gone now and my Aunt Rebecca is a lot like her in so many ways.  It feels like I'm with my own mom when we are together and you know what?  I like that feeling.

     It was an equally nostalgic feeling yesterday to go to my Facebook page and see the photos that a friend had posted for me of the dismantling of the water tower in my hometown of Haven, Kansas.  I knew it was coming, having been a witness to the installation process of the new one over on the northeast side of town for some time now.  Each time I went back to Hutchinson in the past year I always found myself driving over to Haven.  I'd stop and take a picture of the progress of the construction of the new one but I would never leave town without driving by the old one, the one next to the city building on Kansas Avenue in downtown Haven.  Often times I'd stand there and take a photo or two as I was fascinated by the remembrance of all the stories I'd heard over the years of teenagers and young adults who would scale the tower to the top, scratch their initials onto it, and then shimmy down before getting caught.  Perhaps some of the stories were just that, stories.  Yet even if they were, those tales were the stuff that great legends were made of and now as I quickly approach the start of my 60th year of life in 2015, I still get a smile from the thoughts.

     October is always the month that the good folks of the town of Haven, Kansas celebrate their annual Fall Festival and true to the calendar, they will be doing just that in a couple of weekends more.  Last year Mike and I made the trip back there, over the big mountain and down to the other side.  It was important for me to get back home because my class was celebrating our 40th year of graduating from high school.  I had made my "homesick" mind up that no matter what, I was going to get there.  Nothing would stop me and thankfully nothing did.  Right before we were to leave, the weather forecast called for the first snowfall of the year atop Monarch Mountain and my heart sunk to think that I'd have to miss getting back there because of the weather.  But all of my worry was unfounded and we made it over and back 3 days later with no issues at all.  It was wonderful to see all of the kids that I once went to school with and to talk about the old days and times.  This year, even though I would love to, I cannot return.  The journey is a long one and I am hoping instead to come back for a weekend at the end of the month to celebrate another year of life.  Time, weather, and Monarch Pass will tell if I can/cannot make it back.  Yet for the heart full of memories that I made last year, I will be forever grateful.  If you were lucky enough to grow up in Haven and better yet, still live there, then consider yourself most fortunate.  It's a great place and nothing will ever convince me otherwise.  I hope you all feel equally blessed to have been raised up in the different places that you were.  Those places are where our "character" begins and we can thank the many people back in wherever that part of the world was, for all the things that they did for us when we were kids just beginning to explore and figure out this thing that they refer to as "life".

     In the darkness of the very early morning hours here, I am writing this blog post.  The clock on the microwave reads "4:53" and outside on Highway 50 only one lonely car and a couple of semis have passed by.  The motorcycle traffic, heavy all summer long, is starting to slow up a bit.  Now with autumn's arrival and the chilly weather that accompanies it, I will not be surprised to see that kind of traffic winding down.  I remember towards the end of October last year gazing out the window one afternoon to see a cyclist flying by as he hurried towards the east.  It was like he was a member of the "last man out" club or something.  I saw no more of them for the rest of the year.  Cyclists were soon replaced by skiers heading up to the slopes all around us and the cycle of the seasons continued.

     A busy day lies ahead for "the 22" and I.  The days, the time just fly by.  I hope to enjoy the season of Autumn and this sweet month of October with them and try to look at life more often through their eyes.  They see things in the way that we all should sometimes but as we grow older, we get too busy with the worries and stress of life to remember it.  The 11 boys and 11 girls that I am blessed to teach each day are good reminders to me of a life that I once lived myself, now so very many years ago.   From time to time, it's kind of fun to be a kid once again with them if even for just a short while.

     Have a great Wednesday everyone out there!  This is the first day of October, 2014 and a great day to be alive in and if you end up thinking that today was good...just wait until tomorrow cause it's going to be even better.

From a year ago now, back home in Haven standing in front of the old Grier Pharmacy building.

Mike and his sister Nancy after the parade at the Fall Festival.

The members of the graduating class of Haven High School, 1973.  About 25 of us made the journey back.

Meeting up with Sonya, a young woman who was in the first grade the year I began at Haven Grade School as a teacher.  She grew to be a very wonderful and beautiful woman and a momma now herself.  Time flew.  We both got older.

The Farmer's Co-Op elevator on Kansas Avenue in my hometown of Haven, Kansas.  They can take down the water tower and they will.  They better just leave the elevator right where it is :)