~She was right. It did turn out "ok".~

To my dear and much remembered friends back home in the Sunflower State, I send a greeting~

"Happy Kansas Day!"  

It's January 29th, 2015 and the 154th anniversary of statehood for the 34th state of the Union.  I was born in south central Kansas and it was there on the prairie that I lived most of my life until I got married two years ago and moved away to be with Mike here along the Western Slopes.  I've been gone long enough that I no longer miss it each minute of the day but I will always remember it within my heart.  That will never change.

In the early days here I never stopped to reflect why it was that I was so homesick for that wonderful state.  I was just that.

Homesick.  Very much homesick.

As things have gotten better for me, in fact really a whole lot better for me, it's been easier to stop and remember all of the things that I was trying so desperately to forget about in the first two months I was here.  I recall things with a smile on my face now as I picture the woman that I was as I little by little had to give up my hold on the state of my birth.  For the record, I really did have to do that.  You can't live in two states at once and do very well.  It was either going to be Kansas or Colorado and since there was this guy named "Mike" who needed me here,  I ended up choosing Colorado.

For six weeks I refused to change my car tags.  I guess in my mind I was just pretending to "visit" here.  Sooner or later I'd have to go back and why go to all of the trouble of changing them?  Even after I finally gave up and switched them I still was glad that at least the back of the car held the insignia of the dealership back home, one that was encircled by the shape of the state of Kansas.  I held onto little things.

Changing over my driver's license from Kansas to Colorado was not fun either.  I actually took care of that one, primarily due to changing my last name, in the first week I was here.  It nearly killed me to see the worker in the driver's license office cancel out my Kansas DL, one that I had carried since age 14.  When she asked me how I liked Colorado and I told her that I did not, her voice turned into one of sarcasm.  As long as I live, I will never forget the way she sounded or what she told me as she put the final "stamp of invalidity" across my old license.

"Well it looks like you are NOT in Kansas anymore Dorothy!"

And as much as I hated to hear her say it, she was right.  I was not.

 I'm not sure when I turned my way of thinking around.  Kind of strange but I'm really unaware of that moment in time when I finally decided that it was "ok" to live here.  It just came about.  One day instead of looking at the mountains and feeling smothered by them, I realized just how beautiful they really were.  Rather than that claustrophobic feeling of being trapped by them, those beautiful Rocky Mountains now invite me to stay and learn more about what it is like to live around them.  After so many weeks of hating it here and seriously considering the fact that I probably ought to just go back home to Kansas, I now love it in Colorado.  I often think about everything that I could have missed by leaving in the middle of it all.  

Things got better.  A whole lot better.

So Kansas, dear Kansas, I say thanks for being such a good next door neighbor to all of us here in Colorado.  I'm much obliged that you gave me my "start" in life, in fact 57 years of one.  You taught this very shy Kansas farm girl a lot of things; ones that would carry me well through my life.  It was there with you that I learned how to have strength and perseverance, gain fair amounts of courage, to work really hard, and to gather wisdom for my years.  And oh yes, one other thing.

I learned to develop deep within my heart an unending love for the people that I left behind there; ones that still mean all the world to me this day.  

And those people?  They are called "KANSANS".

               My new life is here now along the Western Slopes of the Rocky Mountains. 

I have always loved teaching children about the state where I was from.  I had the chance to do just that when I visited St. Patrick's Catholic School in Owego, New York back in 2013.  They had been pen pals with the kids from my school in Hutchinson.

The message that a friend sent to me in the deepest part of my loneliness during those first long and difficult weeks.  She was right.  It did turn out "ok".

~she only thought that she would~

     The days continue to go by quickly and it is with amazement that I look at the calendar this morning to see that we have only a few more days left in the month of January.  A little over a week more and we can say "farewell" to the first month of the year in 2015.  So what shall we make of these days that are left before saying "hello" to February?  Time itself will tell.

     There is a slow drizzle of water running from the faucets in the kitchen and bathroom here in our house.  We knew that the thermometer would dip downward towards the 10 degree mark in the early morning hours today and waking up to frozen pipes would start the day off in a not so good manner.  It's sure been a long time since I had to experience that kind of trouble.  As a kid growing up on a farm back home in Kansas, frozen pipes were sometimes one of those unexpected occurrences that happened on a somewhat regular basis in the wintertime.  I can remember having a run of two or three days when it got that cold and we'd have to wait to do the dishes.  We'd keep stacking them up on the counter and with fingers crossed, sooner or later the sink drain would thaw out with the sun's warmth.  Mom would boil big pots of water on the stove to pour into the sink and try to expedite the process.  Funny, I can still remember the sound that the drain would make when at long last it would open up.  Didn't take long for Mom to get us kids into the kitchen and we'd quickly get to work at washing and drying a half dozen meals' worth of dirty dishes.  The Scott Family had no fancy dishwasher from a big department store to use after every meal.  I remember once asking her why we never had a dishwasher like I'd heard several of my friends at school tell of.  Mom's answer that day is stored up in my memory.  Eight short words that said it all.

"We do have a dishwasher.  Seven of them."

And that was that.

     The older that I have become, it seems the more that I remember about those times so long ago.  Things like the simple act of water drizzling from a faucet in the dead of winter trigger a whole lot of memories.  I find it pretty fascinating to think of how the human brain does all that.  I have made more than a couple of remembrances in the nearly 6 decades of life that I have been around on this great planet Earth.  Many of them have involved winter and its accompanying cold weather.

     There was the "frozen tundra" of the upstairs bedrooms of our house out in the country, the one we lived in as I was growing up.  You had to hustle in the winter time to get yourself dressed for bed and under the covers before frostbite would want to set in (ok, ok it probably wasn't that bad).  Waiting in the cold weather for the school bus to pick us up at the end of our lane, sometimes for a long time, was an every day occurrence for the kids in my family.  The embarrassment of having to put socks over your cold little hands when you had lost your gloves was yet another.  Mom was a stickler on that.  You started the winter season with a warm hat and gloves and if you should happen to accidently misplace them, well you used a pair of socks until you found them.  It seemed horrible at the time but hey, it sure cured you from being careless with your things.

     My memories are a mixture of a lot things, some good and some of the "not so good" kind.  Regardless, I am thankful for each of them because for "better or worse" they have shaped me into the kind of person that I am today.  I have been blogging my own personal recollections for a long time now and by the end of this year I will have approached the 1,000th blog post made.  It has been a good experience for me to write down the things that have had an effect upon the life that I have lived.  I never started doing this with the intent of going this far.  Now that I have, I find no real reason to quit doing so.  One day when I actually do bring this to a close I will print off all of my weekly entries and put them away for the day that I am no longer here.  Perhaps it shall bring comfort to my children and grandchildren in the years ahead to read about a woman who loved them each very much.

     Amazing thing about the human brain and its ability to store away things from years past.  The dear and special people that we have known, the happy and loving moments that we have all encountered are tucked deep inside the crevices of our "gray matter" and when we least expect it, they come to "light" again within our most human of hearts.

She didn't freeze to death by sleeping in a cold bedroom upstairs in the wintertime.  She only thought that she would.

~little by little, sometimes extremely so~

Before I had old Oblio the Roundhead, I wasn't really all that much of a cat person.  I could take or leave them; mostly leave them.

Really.

Then life changed.  One sumer day in June, I was over at my sister-in-law's house in Haven and she was smiling as she told me about a litter of seven kittens that had been "birthed" under her shed.  We went out and sure enough, there they were.  They were all just about the same as identical, a beautiful yellow color and nearly all of them female.  Tiny things, those newborn kittens were, and when you looked at one you were really looking at all of them.  They were that much alike.  

I swear that I only made the drive over to Haven from Hutch that day to visit Paula.  I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of making any commitment to bring a cat home to my house.  Things changed shortly after I saw the one who would later be adopted by us and I say that with a slight degree of uncertainty because heck, I still don't know if I brought the real first one with us.  On a mid summer's day back in 2010 my son helped me get her back to our house in Hutchinson and she was given the name of "Oblio" after the main character in the movie "The Point".  

Life with little Obie was interesting.  She was just a kitten and I was scared to death that somehow or another she would get lost in the house and we'd never be able to find her.  One day when I came home from the store, Oblio was nowhere to be found.  I looked everywhere, expecting the worst.  For over an hour I sought her out but sadly she seemed to have disappeared.  Just when I was about ready to cry, I heard it.  A slight,  plaintive mew that was coming from somewhere in my bedroom.  I followed the little sound all the way to one of the drawers of my dresser.  I opened that bottom drawer up and sure enough, there was little Oblio.  Somehow she had fallen asleep inside the drawer that I had left partially ajar, one that I had later closed before I left for the day.  The "lost" was found.

That little cat got in a whole lot of trouble, especially 6 months later during the very first Christmas she was with us.  Since she was the first one that I had ever taken care of, I didn't realize that putting up a Christmas tree would be such a big challenge.  Didn't take long for us to learn that lesson.  Time after time little Obie would attempt to scale the tree, so much so that I soon put out a plea on Facebook to try and find some solution to the problem.  I got lots of different advice on how to keep that crazy cat out of the tree, none of which worked.  We suffered through the holiday season with the tree only tipped over one time, a miracle as far as I was concerned.  Having Oblio changed my life in so many ways, all of them for the good, and it was with a tinge of sadness in my heart that I moved here over the big mountain to the other side of the Great Continental Divide without her.  I knew that the move of over 600 miles would be hard for her so she stayed behind and now happily lives with my son.  For the past nearly two years I've lived without her, never once considering getting another cat. 

Well, that is until I met Crosby.

We found her, this calico long haired cat, over at the animal shelter shortly after we returned home from our Christmas back in Kansas.  We'd been talking about getting a cat for a while, especially one who would be a good mouser and take care of any stray critters that might invite themselves in to our house.  The day we went in, little Crosby was just about the only one that they had left and it took me all of about 5 seconds to decide that we'd be giving her a home. Two days later we picked her up from the vet's office and adopted her to live with us.  We were looking forward to lots of fun times with her as she followed us around the house and loved us every chance she could get.  

That didn't exactly happen.  No, not in the least.

For the first three weeks all she did was hide from us.  Her favorite perch was the box underneath the spare bed where she steadfastly remained, refusing to come out for any reason.  She used the litterbox and ate/drank on her very own timetable, mostly when we were not around.  Cats are actually quite good at that.  In other words, they'll let you know if they need you for anything but mostly, they don't.  I was beginning to worry a bit.  What if this cat really didn't want anything to do with people?  

Little by little, sometimes extremely so, Crosby has begun to come around.  Nearly a month into living here with Mike and I plus Sally the Dog, she has ventured out to join us.  She even dared a couple of days ago to jump onto the bed as Mike and I were sleeping, a weird feeling to be sure.  In the early morning hours as I type the words for this blog post, I can hear Crosby making mad dashes of sudden bursts of energy in the kitchen.  The simplest of things, an old straw from a long ago purchase at McDonald's, is entertaining her.  

You know it took me a while to get used to life around here and when he could have easily grown impatient with me, Mike Renfro became just the opposite.  He seemed even more patient with me as he reminded his lonely and homesick brand new wife that it takes some time to get adjusted to living in a new place.  

He always reminded me.  "Baby steps, baby steps."  

And what is true for people may well be true for animals as well.  Good friends and family kept reminding us that sooner or later Crosby would make up to us and you know what?

It looks like they were right.  She did.

Christmastime of 2010~
A 6 month old bundle of yellow-orange fur.
Oblio the Roundhead

She still remembered me, even after I moved away.
A visit back home to Kansas in early 2014.

Crosby, formerly known as Cobble at the shelter, has made a new home here with Mike and I.

~whether I have "a plenty" or not~

When I was a little girl growing up back in Kansas my little sister and I would often go to our grandmother's house on Sundays while our folks worked at their jobs.  They would drop us off at her bungalow style home on Locust Street in the small south-central Kansas town of Halstead and then head off to their own jobs on Main Street.  Mom worked at Wasinger's, a restaurant in the middle of town and Dad pumped gas at the filling station at the opposite end of the block.  They were getting "on the job" training as it was to prepare them to be business owners in our hometown of Haven in the years that would follow.  Grandmother Brown was our "babysitter" but we never once thought of it that way.  To the two little girls that we used to be, it was just a time to go and have fun with a dear and sweet woman who loved us very much.  

There was lots to see and do at Catherine Brown's house.  She had collections of all kinds of stuff.  Two built in china cupboards were filled to the brim with the things that were special to her.  I remember most of what was in there, even though I was only 7 or 8 years old.  They were special things that every once in a while she would get out and tell us their story.  There were these beautiful ceramic cardinals whose brilliant red color would always catch our attention.  They belonged to our grandfather, a dear and kind man that I would never remember knowing.  Andy Brown held me once as a tiny baby and my mom always remembered what he said of me that day.

"She is so pretty and tiny.  Wouldn't it be nice to be this little once again?"

Those ceramic cardinals became my mother's once everything was taken care of after Grandmother's passing at 106.  When we lost our mom in 2007, they ended up with me.  Now they sit high atop a shelf here at home in Montrose.  Their brilliant red color really has not dimmed that much with the passing of time.  Thankfully in the move here to the Great American West they stayed intact.  Not a chip to be found on their fragile bodies.  I got them out the other day and began to display them once again.  Some day in the future they will be passed on to my own children to enjoy.

I've been thinking a lot lately of the many personal possessions that I have amassed over the years, things that made the move from Kansas over the big mountain and here to Colorado.  It took many trips back and forth until finally during the last few trips I just began to give things away to friends and family back there.  I gave away a lot, so much that I no longer even recall what it was and who I gave it to.  But the weird thing is that I don't even miss those possessions and to me that was a sign that I had too much to begin with.  As I look around at what I still have it is with the realization that a whole lot more should be parted with and I've been asking myself some questions.  

How much do I really need to have?  What is really the most important thing to me?  Are my possessions getting in the way of how I live the remaining years of my life?  

I have been reading about minimalist living for many years now and as of late I have become intrigued by the "tiny house" movement.  To be honest, I'm really not there yet but the truth is that I'm leaning way more towards living with less than I am with living with more.  In a day and age where the rising cost of living continues to smack us all in the face, I think that it is wise to consider this.  Although Mike and I would like to continue to work and not completely retire for another 4 or 5 years or so, there will be a time in the future when we say "enough" and settle down to enjoy our remaining years doing as we would wish to do.  We want to travel and see the kids and grandkids or visit places that we have never seen before.  It's a goal ahead of us, one that we look forward to but before that happens we still need to rid ourselves of so much stuff.  I'm not sure that you can really enjoy life if you have to worry all the time about taking care of your many possessions and hey, this may not be true for you but it is most certainly true for me.

It's strange, you know?  If I really look at my "list of 60 things to do before I turn 60", there are numerous items that pertain to beginning to live a more simple life.  I didn't even realize it at the time I made it and as a matter of fact I have just now this very minute seen the trend that runs throughout my list.  There is not one item of the 60 named that refers to making a ton of money with stocks and bonds to secure my retirement and certainly nothing that refers to purchasing any big ticket item in the time ahead.  This list talks of time to travel to places that I've been before and places that I have never yet seen.  It speaks of being at peace with whatever life should deal me and the need to continue to enjoy the days that are left for me.  It's been an awakening for me this morning on this 19th day of January to realize that way back in August of last year when this list was being formulated that I really was telling myself just what had the most meaning in my life.  

I wasn't aware of it then.  I am aware of it now.

I love the pictures that I see of the little houses that are called "tiny" and I marvel that anyone could live in the square footage that is available.  Although I am not 100 percent positive that I could be one of them I surely do believe that I could live with much less and be very happy.  In the last few years I have grown increasingly aware of the things that are most important to me.  Since my move here to the Rocky Mountains, I have been refined on  God's mighty anvil even more.  The 60th item on my list is the most important one for me and if I can remember that one, then whether I have a "plenty" or not, everything will turn out "ok".  

Always has.  Always will.

"#60-To remember always the One who made me."

                                                    The "blessing"~

                                                A person just never knows~

and yet it is still fun to dream

     The geraniums in the kitchen windowsill are in full bloom once again.  Their bright red blossoms make it seem more like summertime instead of the cold winter season that waits just outside the front door.  I enjoy seeing them and remembering how each of them started out as just a tiny little plant in a 4-inch container.  For two years now they have made it, just like me.

     It's taken a lot of trial and error (plus some blood, sweat, and tears) to get plant life established here in the soil of Colorado.  I've had to get used to the fact that our season to grow things here is different than back home in Kansas.  The higher altitude, differences in climate, and lest I forget, the clay-filled soil around our house all have presented a challenge or two.  
     Nature's creatures have also caused us to do battle, especially true of the ground squirrels from last summer.  One by one each and every pepper plant that we put into the ground nearby the house was mowed down by a renegade band of those pesky rodents.  Finally we purchased a trap, baited it and waited for someone to pay a visit.  I lost track of how many of them we actually caught and then took out into the wild to release.   We used the trap all summer until one day in late July we caught something different than we were used to seeing.  It was a creature of the black with white striped kind and after that, well after that we decided that we'd done enough trapping for the season.  We never put more peppers into the ground but we were thankful that at least they stopped munching on our basil, one of their original "help yourself to the Renfro's fresh veggies" treats.  It turned out very beautiful once those stupid things left it alone.

     The seed catalogues continue to arrive each and every day in our mailbox, enticing us to sit down and dream of what we'd like to plant in the months ahead.  Although I have said now for two growing seasons that I will never put another seed into the ground again, only to watch it not make it, I know that I probably will.  Our plan is to have lots of herbs that can be grown in large pots on our front deck and a few veggies in raised beds near the house.  The area along the alfalfa field is great for putting in perennials that will bloom and grow all summer long.  I may throw "caution to the wind" and even give Russian Mammoth sunflowers a try here once again.  After last summer's quite dismal attempt to get them started I had said to Mike that never again would I waste the money, time or effort to get those beautiful specimens of Helianthus annus growing. I changed my mind a few days back as I was sorting through some photos that I had stored up on my computer.  When I saw this one, I realized that maybe I should give it a try once again.  Who knows?  Maybe the third time will be a charm.

Summer of 2013~one of seven that made it out of over a gazillion seeds planted by a very homesick and lonely flatlander (that'd be me).
     According to the calendar we are down to the final 62 days or so until the arrival of Spring, yet even when that magical day arrives we cannot just start throwing seeds in the ground here.  Around here folks look to the mountain called "Horsefly" and when the peaks are barren of snow then is it safe to plant.  I can see that gardener's "helper" right outside of the kitchen window and according to what it looked like yesterday, I figure we have a little bit more than 62 days to wait.  We will need to wait and wait we shall.

But in the meantime, it is still fun to dream.

Two kids from the "land of long ago and far, far away".  They grew up, changed and when they least expected it found one another again.  We are alive and thriving here in the Rocky Mountains of southwestern Colorado.

~considering all bad habits, I guess there are worse~

The waning crescent moon is shining brightly in the sky in these very early morning hours of Saturday, the 17th of January.  It's going on 5:30 here along the Western Slopes and save for Crosby the cat, I'm the only one up.  Even Sally, the little heeler dog that is Mike's "best friend" went on back to bed after her early morning "going outside to the bathroom" ritual.  The little city of Montrose is still fast asleep, at least it would appear from the vantage point of our house atop a slight rise in the road.  In an hour or so the sun will be thinking about coming up and a brand new day shall begin.  What shall we make of it?  Each of us.  Any of us.  All of us.

One of the goals on my "list of 60 things to do before I turn 60" this year is to sort through all of the many photos I've taken over the years.  With the advent of the digital age and cell phone cameras,  I've found myself taking quite a few of them.  OK, OK a LOT of a few of them.  Right now my camera phone has more than a thousand pictures on it and good sense would dictate that's probably too many.  Yet I continue to take photos of anything and everything I come across.  It's the only way I know to capture and attempt to slow down this elusive thing we all call "time",  something that has a way of flying by faster each and every day.  

So last evening I began the process of going through a few of the ones stored on my camera phone, deleting the ones that were exactly the same.  I eliminated about 50 of them that were all of the same types of sunsets, only taken a few seconds within one another.  I was doing pretty well at taking care of a few of them, you might even say that I was on a "roll", until I came to the one shown below.  When I saw it, well I just had to stop and smile a bit as I remembered the story behind it and the loving gesture that my good husband Mike provided before we snapped the final photo.  It's the one shown below.

We took this photo of our left hands together in late June of 2013,  just a little over a month after we were married.  It was the last shot of about a hundred of them that were taken of the very same thing.  Each time that I would check the photo out to see what it looked like, I would become quite dismayed at the appearance of my left hand.  After my accident in 2011 in which "old lefty" was encased in a long cast for the better part of 9 months, my arm and hand just never looked the same again.  To me, my left hand now looks about 20 years older than my right one does.  The muscle tone is gone and instead of fitting semi-close as the skin over the right hand does, the skin on my left hand now pretty much just sags, looking old and withered.  After nearly 4 years now of it being that way, you'd think I'd be used to the way it appears.  Accepting of it, you know?  But I'm still self-conscious of it and most times I wear a long sleeved shirt to cover over the scars and what I perceive to be the abnormal appearance of it now.  Silly I know but it is what it is.  

But that night during the first summer of our lives together when Mike and I were trying to get a photo of our wedding rings, he reached over and did something very special and kind.  It was in a most loving manner that he said to me "Wait a minute."  With his right hand he reached over and pulled up the loose skin that always wanted to fall down, creating its own set of wrinkles, and held it tight while I took the picture.  By so doing, he sent his new wife a message that said~

"Hey, I do understand.  Let me help you.  I know what to do to make it better for you."  

I never forgot that loving gesture and the kind spirit that was behind it all.  It was one of those "for better or worse" type of moments as I look back at it now.  Kind of like when we acknowledge that BOTH of us snore in our sleep at night but that's just part of being married to one another.  No need to wear ear plugs or sleep on the couch for crying out loud.

In the recovery process for "old lefty" I had the occasion to take a lot of photos, ones that I will never delete from any camera.  They are the proof of what I went through and of what I survived. The scars, the disfiguration of what used to be a normal appendage on my body are reminders of an unfortunate and spur of the moment mistake in judgement that I made one early August morning in 2011.  When I am even older and more gray than I am at present, I can tell my grandchildren all about the time that their grandmother decided to jump a curb while riding a bicycle very fast.  The pictures will be my proof :)

After the external fixator device was removed in Wichita.

The surgeon who saved my wrist.

2 months into the recovery process, right before the third surgery.  It was all the farther I could turn my left wrist over.

Coming home from the hospital in between the first two surgeries at the scene of the crime, my own front yard.  I'm pretty sure the dent in the ground that my body made is still there.

Hey, I survived.

It's a given that the process of weeding through photos is probably going to take a while and I'll be pretty dang lucky to get through them all before I turn 60 in late October.  But the way I figure it, I still have 280 more days to go before I reach that magic number.  Should be plenty of time to get through them.

In the whole scheme of life, there is one thing that I know for certain.  There are way worse habits than taking too many pictures.  

Way worse.

as we give things time

I have now lived in Colorado long enough that certain things are beginning to repeat themselves and thus are becoming quite familiar to me here along the Western Slopes.  I've witnessed two seasons of alfalfa cutting and the subsequent baling of hay as well as the removal of the overhead pipe for water transportation over Cerro Summit, one of the first landmarks I learned of when I came here.  

Cutting the alfalfa field on a warm summer's day last year in 2014.

Watching the sunset atop Cerro Summit in September of 2013.

I have watched the deer migrate to our front yard for the past two summers and even have seen them hang around for awhile this year.  Kind of a strange thing to think of, this living in an area where animals as beautiful as these frequent the neighborhood.  One time I did see a deer back in Hutchinson though, a small little fawn that had gotten separated from its momma somewhere north of 30th Street.  I just happened to be out on the front lawn at the right time one summer afternoon.  I heard some yelling and looked over just in time to see it scamper through the alleyway and keep on heading south.  That poor creature made it as far as the elementary school just a few blocks away from my house before being captured and returned to the woods by the nature center.

My first summer here~2013

The summer of 2014

Just a few nights back, right before the sun went down in the west on a cold winter's evening.

And then there are the sheep.  Not a couple or even twenty, actually more like about a gazillion. I saw them for the first time on New Years' Eve of 2013.  This massive group that seemed more like one giant moving ball of wool was grazing in the alfalfa field adjacent to our house here.  I had no idea they were coming and when I texted Mike to tell him what I had seen when I returned home from town, he told me that they come here every year to clean out what is leftover from the fields.  It was the weirdest of things to see them that day as I was momentarily convinced that a renegade band of wooly creatures had escaped from somewhere and had taken up refuge right in my own front yard.  Ends up that it was an organized escape and that for the next few days they would be our own new neighbors.  Mike saw them just a few days ago on the other side of the road in a field just a ways down from our house.  

They are back.

New Year's Eve~2013
That's a whole lot of sweaters, stocking caps, and mittens out there.

I would never probably have enough time in the years that remain in my life  to write a "how to" manual for surviving life in a new and different place.  Yet if I did, the main message that I would want to convey is the same one that was offered to me by so very many people who cared about what happened.  Short and sweet in only 3 little words.

"Give it time!"  

And you know what?  I'm really glad that I did.

Alive and well along the Western Slopes in the winter of my soon to be 60th year.

~for the record~

I found out something interesting about myself yesterday as I did a little research on the computer to determine what kind of social security benefits I could expect to receive in the years ahead. There are all kinds of buttons you can click on to determine what your social security monthly payment will be.  I have to admit that it was a bit unnerving to select the "submit" button on their webpage to determine the life expectancy for a woman born on the date that I was but I did it regardless.

For the record and according to statistics, it seems as though I have only another 26 years and a few leftover months to live.

So assuming that magically the number is correct and I don't die sooner or live any longer, what on earth am I going to do with the less than 3 decades of life that await me?  The answer is that I am not sure.  I guess that I will just have to live them to find out.

And further for the record, no matter whether you are a man or a woman, young or old, the same shall be said for you.

My maternal grandmother, Catherine Brown, lived to the winter of her 106th year.  Her last four years of life weren't all that happy as she entered long term nursing home care at the age of 102 but at least she made it a long time before that happened.  Grandmother had actually been able to take
pretty good care of herself until the age of about 100 and only then did she move in with one of her daughters.  She lived a long and absolutely wonderful life and for the most part was able to keep her wits about her until the very end.  Grandmother left a magnificent legacy behind, one that included being a strong role model for the little granddaughter she had whose name was "Peggy".  If I should live past 100 then I would pray to be just like her.

For the record, no matter what age I should live to I want to be just like her.

I try my best to never take for granted the blessings that come with every breath I take each day yet I am sure that I do from time to time.  You know how we humans can be.  We get up every morning, head out the door to work or school, come home at night to eat supper and watch a little TV, then head to bed and fall asleep, intending to wake up in the morning to start it all over again.  It's just the way we are but yesterday when I saw that magic figure that women born on the date I was are predicted to live until the "ripe old" age of 86.1 years old and that basically I'm down to my last 26.9 years of being....well, I guess it gave me pause to stop and reflect.

It might have made me think a bit but just for the record it didn't keep me up all night worrying about it.  Life is what it is~LIFE.


So after I finish this cup of coffee and drink perhaps one more, I'm going to get dressed for school and head out the door to begin yet another day of living on this great planet called Earth.  My life has brought me to the most interesting of places, not only geographically but personally as well.  I'm actually kind of excited to see what my remaining time shall have in store for me.  Whether my earthly existence is completed in 26 years, months, weeks, days, or even hours is not important to me.  What is of the utmost importance is how I spend them.


And you know, for the record I intend to spend them very well.  I intend to live.

My new life here in Colorado began

 underneath a basketball goal in an elementary school gym back home in Kansas.

~upon forging a new tradition~

Mike and I went to the Ouray Ice Festival this morning to enjoy the sights and sounds of life at the nearly 8,000 foot level. For a brief moment while we were there, I pretended that I was really at the Kansas State Fair back home in Hutchinson.  The butter sculptor lady who generally fashions a farm animal of some type had now become the ice carving guy who yielded his mighty blow torch to create an ice podium for the winners to be recognized from.  You know I always marveled at how the nice woman at the fair can slap that butter onto the wire frame she uses and always ends up with a pretty realistic looking animal.  I was equally amazed at just how good the ice carving man was as he melted away sections of the ice to come up with the "just right" winner's stand.

The dusty, hot pavement of the streets of the fairgrounds back in Hutch was replaced with snow packed walkways.  People dressed for the weather in bright ski clothes and tights, colorful caps and boots with some mighty fine traction on them.  This was not shorts and flip flop weather but actually it didn't seem all that cold to us as we walked along, quite comfortable with the temperature in the mid 40's during our time there in the morning.  The equivalent of the fair's midway was pretty packed this morning but even with all of the people there, foot traffic moved along quite smoothly.

Walking down those snow covered paths was what actually put me in mind of being back home and attending what it is commonly known as "The Great Kansas Get Together".  All along the way, just like back there, vendors were selling their wares and offering free things if you would just take a moment to stop by.  Only instead of kitchen gadgets and household goods, these folks were hoping you would by their brand of ice climbing and cold weather equipment.  One thing I will say is that the displays were pretty colorful.

There were jackets galore,

Colorful ropes,

And boots for climbing.

Hey, just like at the state fair a person could find some free items as well.  We didn't come across any pens, pencils, coasters, or "grips" to loosen a stubborn lid with but Mike and I did both came away with a new tube of chap stick and some cool stickers.  Oh yes, and one other thing that we came across.

Every single person we encountered had a smile on their face, laughter in their voice, and a childlike spirit about them.

And lest I forget, about 15 minutes into our walk along the path I told Mike that sooner or later we'd best be looking for some kind of bathroom somewhere.  I didn't see any around but I figured with a couple of thousand people visiting the ice park they would have had to do something.  Sure enough they did.  I took a picture of it because, well because I was glad they were there.  Of course there was a little line waiting for them to be available but it was a very civilized group of folks who stood there.  Everyone was kind and patient as they exercised an attitude that said~

"Hey, you go first and then I'll go.  You go first and then I'll go."

What fun it was to watch the competition as climber after climber tried to scale the ice walls.  I admired their fortitude and bravery, each one trying their best to manage to make it to the top.  You had to feel bad for those who gave it their all but couldn't quite get there.  We watched one climber, shown below, who almost made it but then could not find a place to grip and slip back on his rope.  He was disqualified but what an effort he made.

We stayed for most of the morning, enjoying the clear and sunny skies that were above us, both Mike and I in agreement that it was time well spent.  It was not our first visit to the Ice Festival nor will it be our last. Ouray is within 30 miles of us here in Montrose and what a shame it would be to not take advantage of an event such as this.  We preserved this day in our memory in the photos that we took.

It has been two years now that I have not attended the Kansas State Fair back in Reno County, the place where I came from.  I used to go every year without fail.  I have missed that tradition so very much but the truth is, I no longer live there.  My home and my life is in Colorado now and for Mike and I, new traditions are being forged.

Watching some very zealous ice climbers do things that I'd never dream of trying, is just one of them.

I will never pass up an opportunity to perform a random act of nonviolent, civil disobedience.  Signs, signs, everywhere a sign.

~to know and understand that sometimes our days are not always easy~

One of the personal goals I had for this school year was to read to my students each of the books in the Laura Ingalls Wilder series.  The compilation of those nine bestsellers that were written by Laura to tell of her life in the pioneer times of the mid to late 1800's have always been a favorite of mine. I truly have lost track of the number of times that I have shared her wonderful stories with children over the past 37 years.  Suffice it to say, it's been more than a couple.  They always seem to enjoy hearing them, perhaps in part because the stories tell of a time of so very long ago.  First graders in my classrooms at grade schools back in Haven and Yoder, Kansas  heard them told in the early 1980's and now first graders in Olathe, Colorado are still hearing them in the year 2015.  Two things are for certain with that statement.

Laura's books are "timeless" and there is a good chance that I am getting much older.

We have made it through the first two books and just yesterday began "Little House on the Prairie", the story of the Ingalls family's journey from the big woods of Wisconsin to the prairies of what is now southeastern Kansas.  Perhaps of all the books Laura wrote this particular one will always be my favorite.  I have visited the site, near present day Independence, Kansas,  many times over the years.  When my own children were little, it was a place that they enjoyed going to over and over again.  Although the original house is long gone, a replica was built in its place and there are markers around in the prairie grass that indicate different things that happened in the story.  If you should ever find yourself close by in your travels throughout that part of the Sunflower State, it is most certainly worth the drive to go by there and pay a visit.  Some day I hope to go there once again.

The first chapter of the book tells of Pa's decision to move the family to the great American West and of the arduous journey that would lie ahead of them.  The most touching part of the first chapter for me is where Laura writes of the stark realization that her family is leaving, venturing out into the great unknown.  On the day of their departure all of the aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents come through the big woods to bid them farewell.  Although she doesn't come right out and say it, her words convey a sense of profound sadness as she writes of Pa's closing of the shutters on their house so it will not have to see them drive away.  Boy did I ever make a "text to self connection" with that part.  The book has a few sad and even scary parts to it but that never stops me from reading it.  I want children to know and understand that sometimes our days are not always easy.  That there are trials and challenges ahead for Laura and for they themselves is a fact of life.  It is a blessing to be able to tell them of a time when things were much more simple and that people survived quite well without the modern conveniences that we all enjoy today.  Laura's books entice her readers to use their imagination, to envision just what it would be like to be living as she did, now so very many years ago.  As far as I am concerned, that very enticement is the earmark of a great piece of literature.  

Two years ago I made my own journey to the Great American West when I left the security and familiarity of my lifelong home on the plains of the very same state that Laura once lived in.  Thankfully I came by car and not by a horse pulled wagon or anything yet it was still an arduous journey in its own right.  I had absolutely no earthly clue in the world of where I was going or the roads that it would take me to get there.  Good thing for me that I came over Monarch Pass that winter morning in January of 2013 in the dark hours of the night.  I would have never had the courage to pass over that more than 11,000' summit in the daylight hours that very first time.  Since then I have passed back and forth over it more times than I can remember anymore but the memory of that first time will forever be with me.

Laura was a pioneer, one that now after several decades of reading her stories, I can identify with in so many ways.  There was excitement of traveling to a place very unknown to both of us yet still a bit of fear and anxiousness of a new life that would prove to be very different for Laura and for myself as well.  I look forward to reading this particular book to "the 21" during  this month of the 154th anniversary of Kansas' statehood and sharing with them a few facts about the state of my birth.  I didn't really plan for the two things to coincide with one another but now it has worked out to do so.  

Laura's time in Kansas would prove to be short before she and her family would have to move on.  My years there would be many.  More than half of a century of many.  She was grateful for her memories that were made there and it would be the world's greatest understatement of all time to say that I too was most thankful for mine.  

Strange how life turned out for two little girls.  One was named Laura Elizabeth and the other Peggy Ann.

                                         The "blood" of two states now runs through me.  
                                        I am alive and well here along the Western Slopes.  

~upon never having the occasion to go looking for it~

From Montrose, Colorado where the temperature managed to make its way towards the 50 degree mark on this good Wednesday~Hello dear friends and family.

It was two years ago, just about this time of the month, when I visited southwestern Colorado for the very first time.  Mike was anxious to show me all of the scenery around these parts and so off we went each day to find something wonderful.  I must have said "WOW!" at least a gazillion times over and over again as each new sight appeared, even more spectacular than the one right before it.  For a flatlander from Kansas it was like stepping into a whole new world, one that had been literally right next door to me all along.

I just never had the occasion to go looking for it.

That first Saturday we spent time at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park located only a very short drive from home here in Montrose.  We would have stayed longer but with a fairly decent covering of snow on the ground we could only walk around by the entrance and the visitor's center.  But believe me when I say there was way plenty to see from there and I'm sure going to guess that a smile was on my face the entire time.  This past summer we were there once again only this time we were able to venture further down into the paths that lead you deeper into the canyon.  If you have never had the chance to come here to see it, please do!  You really will enjoy it.

                                    
                                                                 January of 2013

July of 2014

Even with all of the spectacular things there were to do around here, the greatest of them would be found about 40 miles to the south of here and about another 1,800 feet in elevation at the beautiful place called Ouray.  On the Sunday before I went back to Kansas that very first time, Mike took me there so we could watch the ice climbers.  I remember that when he asked me if I wanted to go, I had no idea what he was talking about but I was here to experience it all and so we did.

I remember watching them with awe and thinking "How on earth do they do that?" We stayed for about an hour, maneuvering ourselves to different spots around the Ouray Ice Park, a manmade arena for this very sport.  It was wonderful to listen to their yells back and forth to one another as their voices echoed through the natural walls of the canyon. The ping of their ice picks provided quite a melody as they scaled the ice covered canyon walls.  Their comradarie with one another was very evident and even though I would never try a feat such as this, I admired so much the ones who can and do.  This weekend we are planning another trip there to see it once again and I'm sure that we will enjoy it this time as well.

I liked this picture that I took right before leaving that day.  Those guys and gals are brave souls.

Before we left, Mike and I stood for a picture at the Box Canyon entrance sign on that sunny and actually quite mild Colorado winter day.  

The view of the majestic mountains on the way to Ouray.  The view just before Ridgway, Colorado.

Looking back on it I think that weekend, my very first one here, I must have realized that sooner or later I would make my home in this place too.  Even though the mountains at first made me feel trapped here, they also provided some of the most spectacular scenery around.  I waited kind of late in my life to make this move but now that I am here I have grown more accustomed to it as each day passes by.  

A golden ripe field of Hard Red Winter wheat as it waits patiently to be harvested every June in south-central Kansas is a beautiful sight to behold.  The rolling landscape of the magnificent Flint Hills area of northeastern Kansas can take your breath away without your even knowing it.  The quaintness of the Amish community of Yoder, very near my hometown of Haven, will etch a memory into all of your senses if you should ever chance to see it. A lifetime of living in the Midwest provided many memories for me.

 I have seen the picturesque New England village of Owego, New York and witnessed the Susquehanna River as it flows through there.  My toes have dipped into the Atlantic Ocean near Cape Elizabeth, Maine and into the waters of the Puget Sound on the opposite side of the country.  I have flown to California and seen the bright lights from the city of Los Angeles on the ground below me.  Finally after saying for so many years how much I wanted to see it some day, I have visited the Grand Canyon in Arizona.  From one side of this great country called "America" to the other, it has been my privilege to experience so many things.  

Now in the winter of my soon to be "60th year" from the outside of my classroom at Olathe, I have the chance to have one mighty fine view of the San Juan Mountains and the Grand Mesa.  It's most certainly never where I thought I would be but in God's perfect timing, it's where I landed.  

And stayed.

~my life has been made better~

In the very unpredictable life that I have lived, there is one thing that I know for sure.

"My life has been made better because I was a teacher."

The first day back to school after Christmas vacation is now over.  It's in the books, so they would say.  It was really nice to see "the 21" again and all in all, I'd say the day went pretty darned good.  We got through many of the things on our agenda for this Tuesday, the sixth day of January and experienced things that were not even close to planned by me.  The kids were ready to be back in class and the truth is, so was I.  As fast as this day flew by, it will be no time at all that we will find ourselves finished with this school year.  A teacher can only pray to get everything done to prepare them for the next grade.  Time is so precious and not a moment can be wasted.

When I look in the mirror each day as I ready myself for school, the face looking back at me is not the one of the 23-year old first year teacher that I once was.  Come to think of it, it's not the face of a 40 year-old teacher either.  My hair has begun to show tiny bits of gray, the worry lines around my eyes and across my forehead have become more and more prominent as time goes on.  After 37 of years of doing this, I don't get down on the floor to work with kids near as much I used to and if I do try it, I do so with the issuance of this bit of caution.

"Hey you guys, if I cannot get up again you know what to do, right?"
They always assure me that they do.

I feel grateful for the job that I have and the fact that the good people of Olathe Elementary are always behind me and encouraging me all the way just makes it that much nicer.  At age 59, I am one of the older folks here and thus, each day I'm surrounded by teachers and staff members who were born just about the same time that I started in this business of teaching.  They are very kind and respectful to me especially during those times when I have seem to be having my share of those special times in our later years referred to as "senior moments".  Just one of those perks from getting older.  I have learned so much from them and thankfully I long ago gave up the crazy notion that I could never acquire any knowledge from someone younger than myself.  They are great teachers, ones who will stay the course in the years to come.

I don't know how many years I have left in education but I certainly hope there are at least few left.  When I go home at the end of the day I'd be the first to admit I am exhausted.  Some days I'd have to say I'm just plain worn out.  Yet even though my nearly 60-year old body is tired, there is one thing that I can say with certainty.

My heart is not.

I just feel pretty thankful right now and in my gratitude I remember all of the people here who help me to get through each school day.  The kitchen staff who bring us our breakfast each morning help to get the day started off right.  The custodial crew always stays on top of making sure that  my room is cleaned up.  The office ladies help me to keep things straight here and by so doing make my day go so much smoother.  My principal supports me in all things and is genuinely interested in what goes on in our classroom.  The teaching staff is behind me all the way, lifting me up when things are sometimes difficult for all of us here.  I'm not sure I could ask for a whole lot more.

My bank account will never reflect that I signed a contract with six figures on it.  There are no trips planned to exotic places around the globe.  The Renfro family watches our budget just like all the other folks I know and even having said all of that, yet one more thing is for certain.

"Teaching has made me a very rich woman."
Day is done and it is way past time to go home yet here I still sit in the room that occupied nearly 10 hours of my life today.  It's a good place, one filled potential for all concerned, myself included.  I'm pretty sure when my last day on earth arrives that I will leave with the knowledge that for myself, I have done the right thing.  I may not have been able to reach every kid out there who needed help but for the ones that I have been blessed with....well, I did my best.  What more could you ask of a person?  I have said before and will say many times again in the future the very same thing.

"If you could read this, please be sure to thank a teacher somewhere."

I am glad that I have given my years to teaching.  It has been done with absolutely no regrets.

for this chance to be alive

Welcome to Monday and even though I have done a lot of complaining over the years about this first day of the normal work week and the end of the weekend, I have grown to appreciate it for what it really stands for.  Just like the other six days of the week it represents one good thing.

"the chance to be alive"

It's very cold here, yet we are not alone in the business of shivering these days.  Montrose's temperature at this very early morning hour is at 10 degrees.  Up on Monarch Mountain it's only 5 degrees warmer.  Back home in south central Kansas we are about even with the good folks in Wichita who have had more snow than we do here in our part of the state.  I remember some mighty cold days back there in the Midwest, especially as a kid growing up on a farm.  Frozen drains, having to break the ice throughout the day for the livestock so they could drink, my dad plowing through the snow with his Ford pickup so we could get out of the driveway, and upstairs bedrooms that were something akin to iceboxes, are some of the things that will never escape my memory for as long as I live.  Although those cold and wintry days were not the most pleasant of things to remember, remember them I do.  They helped to shape my character and to refine the strength that I would need in the life that would lie ahead of me.  It was all for a reason even though I was not aware of it at the time.  I just thought it was cold!

It will be very strange to return to work and school this day after being gone for 16 days straight.  I have missed the children and am anxious to have the chance to see how their vacation time went.  There will be stories aplenty to tell of the fun, excitement, and gifts that the Christmas holiday provided for them.  It will be nice to see their faces again and to get a hug from them all.  Today is an inservice day for teachers and staff, a day to prepare before the kids return tomorrow.  Much lies ahead for us to do in the coming weeks and with as quickly as the first semester has gone, the second semester will be over in the proverbial "blink of an eye".  My task at hand is to see to it that "the 21" are prepared for the second grade before they leave the classroom at the end of May.  I intend to do everything that I can to make that happen.  

Yesterday Mike and I took a quick trip to Ridgway to see the sights before going back to work today.  I never know how to quite phrase it, this going to Ridgway thing.  It's about 20 miles or so to the south of us here thus  I used to always say we went down there but yesterday Mike reminded me that part of the state is at a 1,000' higher elevation than we are down here in our valley.  So does that mean we went "up" there?  

Life's questions.

It was a beautiful drive, one that I went on with Mike now nearly two years ago when I came here for the very first time.  Yesterday I took a picture of my favorite spot in the journey, one that you can see just as you come around the bend in the road.  I loved it when I first saw it in January of 2013 and even though I have seen it many times since, I am still wondrously enthralled by it each and every time I am a witness to it.

It always seems, especially in its snow covered state, to be the entrance to some magical kingdom or something.  It's the kind of view that makes a person say "WOW" each and every time they see it.  To think that this farm girl from the plains of Kansas now lives within a 30 minute drive of it is kind of amazing to me.

Time for this new day to begin.  Time to return to the "real world", a place that really is not bad at all.  For the lovely Christmas memories that I stored up in my heart, I am most thankful.  For the friends and family that I saw back home, I will see you all again very soon.  Know that I am doing "ok" here.  No wait, let me rephrase that.  I'm doing better than "ok".  My life continues to play out according to "the plan".  I never once thought that plan would take me here but that's why I'm not in charge of it any way.  I only foolishly have thought that I was.

Sitting down for a "meeting of the minds" with the greatest teacher I have ever known, my sister Sherry.  We attempted to solve most of the world's problems over coffee and muffins during the 5 days we were together.