~be at peace with life~

The view out of the window today is different.

Instead of seeing majestic Silverjack Mountain or the beautiful snow covered San Juan Mountains in the distance, Pike's Peak looms on the horizon.  I'm on the eastern side of the great Continental Divide as I wait here in Colorado Springs for a flight out today to visit my son and his family for a few days.  It feels strange to be here but I'm glad that we made it safe and sound.  Mike dropped me off and headed back home to Montrose where Sally the Dog and Crosby the Cat waited for him to return once again.  Now in the stillness of my motel room, I wait.

We took a few pictures along the way yesterday morning, views that I've seen more times than I can even remember.  It has been nearly 4 months since I last saw Arrowhead Canyon or Monarch Pass  and it was really nice to see them once again.

                                         Arrowhead Canyon

                                         The view at the summit of Monarch Mountain

Today is the third day of our spring break from school and I hope that "the 20" are enjoying their time at home with their families.  Right before we all left last Friday, just as we were lining up at the door to go home, one little boy asked me if there was homework to do while they were on spring break.  With a smile on my face, I answered him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is.  Every single day that you are home from school I want you to do one thing and one thing only.  HAVE FUN just being a kid."

"That's our homework?" he replied back.  "I like that kind of homework."  

The older that I have gotten, the more I have realized just how quickly children are expected to grow up.  In the blink of an eye, it's all over.  Once they were little kids laughing their fool heads off and having fun on the playground.  In the next moment of time they are grown up with little ones of their own.  The passage of time is a sobering thought when you stop to consider it.  Letting little kids be little for as long as they can is the greatest gift that one can give them.

I'm on my way to see my little granddaughter today.  It's been a year that I saw her and the last time was when she was only 3 weeks old.  She will have grown and changed so much.  Now she is up walking and toddling about.  We live very far apart from one another but always in my heart she is right there.  I get to spend the next 4 days with her and I will make as many memories as I can.  The last time I saw her, I left a message for her in the sand near the beach of her home.  It said that her Grandma Peggy loved her and always will.  I'm sure the tide washed it away only a short while after I left it but the sentiment came from the heart and nothing, not even the waters of the Puget Sound, can ever change it.

Wherever you are in this wonderful world of ours today, please take care, be well and even though it seems to be changing on a daily basis around our house,

Be at peace with life.

                                   Words of wisdom that are important to remember.

~"Bicycle For Sale" but not the memories that go with it~

It's been a proven point in my life that bicycles and I just don't get along all that well together and in the world of "understatements", it's one of the greatest.  It has been what it has been.  The truth is that I've had lots of fun and ridden, dare I say thousands of miles on them over the years, but I've also had more accidents than I care to admit to while sitting atop one.

Some people said that I should have just quit with the first one and had the good sense to stay off of them.  Unfortunately I am a slow learner sometimes.

A very slow learner.

Hey, I didn't even learn to ride a bike until the summer before I went off to college.  I was from a farming family, kid #6 of 7 in all.  We didn't have extra money for things like a bike, plain and simple.  I don't recall anyone ever mentioning having a bike when I was younger and the only bike that I can remember even seeing was the little one that the chimpanzee trainer on the Ed Sullivan show had for his cute little "friends" to ride on.  Even as I grew older and went to grade school and then high school, there was never this burning desire to get a bike.

The summer of my 18th year that all changed.

The old blue bike that I learned to ride on was actually a nice Schwinn and even though it was used, it was just fine for me.  It took me a while to learn to balance it and now that I look back, I'm sure I must have looked pretty silly attempting to learn back in my hometown of Haven, Kansas.

But learn I did.

In fact I got pretty good at it pretty fast and before I knew it that summer, I had already ridden to the little town of Yoder and back.  That was about a 15 mile round trip and as I stop to think about it, that was quite a feat for me.  It was a summer of fun with my sister, nieces and best friend as we spun around town and had a great time.  The wind blew our hair as we laughed and laughed.  It was the best time ever.

That is until the accident.

In mid-July our town got a new doctor and in addition to being a great physician, we had heard that he was also very cute.  One Saturday afternoon the curiosity of 4 young teenage girls got the best of them and we found ourselves making the decision to ride by his house near the high school and see if we could find him somewhere outside.  In many ways that was a very bad decision to have made.

To make a long story short, we did find him and my first glimpse of him was as I was lying on my back, sprawled out across the front lawn of his house.  My bicycle was upside down in the street and my sister and nieces were all yelling "help" as he walked over to me.  I could tell by the huge baseball size lump on my left ankle that I was already in big trouble, brothers and sisters.

I met the doctor alright and got to know him even more as I was put into the back seat of his car while he and my brother Mike rushed me over to the hospital in Hutchinson.  The rest of the summer and even into my first two months of college, I sported the ugliest of casts that went all the way mid thigh.  It was hot and it was itchy.  It sucked to be me the rest of the summer.  Yet even in all of my misery, I vowed one thing.

I vowed that I would get back on a bike as soon as I could and I did.

Over the years that would follow I would have more accidents while riding bikes and nearly all of them would involve broken bones on the left side of my body.  In 1987 while preparing for my first BAK, I got caught up in the sand near the farm of my friend Ron's folks near Buhler, Kansas.  A quick trip to the hospital was in order.  X-rays showed a broken collar bone on the left side and the plans for my first ever ride across Kansas came to a screeching halt.  14 years later, while preparing for the BAK of 2001, I managed to hit the railroad trestle on the Martinez bike path, going about 10 mph.  Now that was painful and how I was able to ride home from that one I will never know.  By the time I made it back to my house on 14th Street, a couple of miles away, I knew that it was time to head to the emergency room once again.  I had cracked several of my left ribs, sprained both of my hands, and ended up with bruises that ran from my knees all the way to the top of my legs.  I had never seen bruises so big.  My plans for that BAK were dashed as well and it took a long time to get over the pain yet I continued to vow one thing.

I vowed that I would get back on a bike as soon as I could and I did.

I made the decision to make one last try at riding my bike across the state during the summer of 2011.  It had always seemed like an elusive dream to me, one that I still kept vying for even though my track record was pretty dismal.  In the months before the June departure that summer, I actually ended up riding well over 1,100 miles.  I felt very strong and ready to go.  I made it halfway across the state that year before heat exhaustion and dehydration caught up with me near McPherson, Kansas.  After I recuperated from that ordeal I still continued to ride.  I had learned that bicycling was a whole lot more fun than I had ever thought it would be.  Every morning I would hop on and ride for 10 miles.  It was just how the day started.

Then came August 4th.

I accept the fact that I'm probably not the most careful person who ever rode a bike and maybe I have made more than my share of last minute, crazy decisions.  I could hang my head in shame over that one but I don't.  The morning of August 4th, at the very end of my daily ride, I had a little accident.  It was an accident that would change my life forever and be the starting point of my desire to live my life every day as if it were the last one that I would ever have.  Long story short, I crashed my bike in my own front yard as I made the craziest choice that I ever have in my whole life.  I was going way too fast and missed the driveway as I neared my house.  In a split second decision, I thought to my 55-year old self.

"Why not jump the curb, Peggy?  You know, just like the 10 year olds do?  It will be fun!"

It was not.

I knew that I was in big trouble, I mean really big trouble, when I had to literally scoop my arm up off of the ground in order to hobble over to the truck to be taken to the hospital.  The curbing in front of my house was not forgiving and when the whole ordeal was over, it stood as strong and proud as it did the day that it was poured in 1936.  As for me, well I didn't.

The best surgeon in Hutchinson told me in the early hours after the accident that he didn't even know how to help me.  It was that bad.  Four surgeries, 9 months in long arm casts, and the gift of a donor's bone segment later, "old lefty" was healed.  My left arm now sports enough hardware in it that it looks like someone's tool box exploded every time I see an x-ray of it.  The doctors were able to restore my left wrist to about 50% of its original God given capacity but it would never be the same again and the truth of the matter is this.

Neither will I.

I brought my bike with me to my new life here along the Western Slopes and except for a couple of times in the very first summer, I have not ridden it at all.  Most of the time it has hung in what my friend LeRoy describes as its "slothful position" and he is right.  A bicycle that I paid nearly $800 for in the spring of 2011 just hangs there in the shed unridden.

It's amazingly in good shape and that's a miracle considering what I put it through that summer of 2011.  After the accident I took it to the local bike shop so that the mirrors could be replaced and the rest of the bike inspected for any damage.  The guys at the shop just shook their head when I told the story and they looked it over really well.  There was nothing wrong with it.  Nothing at all and for that I was glad.  It was a great bike and I loved riding it but after 4 years of having it, I have made the decision that it's time to sell it.  Why not let someone else give it a try?  Somewhere out there is probably the "just right" person for it.  Who knows?  Maybe I will find them.

Will I ever ride a bike again?  Probably.  This time however, when I choose a new bike, it will probably be a different kind.  I think I'm just looking for one to take a spin around town in and one that will still give me the chance to get some exercise.  My days of wanting to ride 300 miles a month are done but for the memories those days gave me, I am most grateful.

It's true that I broke a lot of bones in my nearly 40 years of riding but for the fun it provided me, it was worth it.  Yet even though I am getting ready to sell that bike, one thing still remains for certain.

I vow that I will get a new bike and continue to ride as much as I can in the days that remain of my life.

It's a little hard to ride a bike when it's in this position.  LeRoy was right when he referred to it as slothful.

I have only ridden a couple of times here in Colorado.  It seems a shame to just let it sit unused and so it's time to sell it.

Day 2 of the 2011 Bike Across Kansas at Scott City.  The temperature was about 100 with humidity to match.

I miss the days riding with these two dear friends of mine from back home in Reno County, Kansas.

August 6th, 2011 at the "scene of the crime" on day #3 of a gazillion days of recovery to follow.  I am sure that the indentation from my body is still apparent in the grass of that front yard.  I was so fortunate because even in as bad as it was, it could have always been so much worse.

~their sweet voices~

And so I have had laryngitis the past two days and when you are a teacher, especially one that loves to talk, that is not a good thing.

Nope.  Not a good thing at all.

By Tuesday mid morning it had already started to set in and by the evening hours I knew that I was in big trouble.  Yesterday my voice was no more than a whisper and before our day even began at school, I told "the 20" that I really needed their help that day.  It was important for them to know that because they too like to talk.

We worked it out.

By noontime my good friend Toni from across the hall offered me a cup of special tea, a kind that would soothe my throat all the way down.  I'd heard of it before but never tried it, so what the heck?  I had nothing else to lose.  My voice was already gone.

As soon as I could leave yesterday, I went on home and absolutely just stopped talking altogether.  I drank another cup of that wonderful tea and fell fast asleep.  By 8:00 last evening, my voice had somewhat returned and even though it was not very strong, at least it was kind of/sort of back.  I know the kids will have to help me today by listening even more carefully and allowing me to stay a bit on the quiet side.  We have two more days this week and then we all receive a much anticipated spring break.

It is needed by the students.
It is needed by the staff.

Life gets pretty stressful at times, you know?
Mine.  Yours.  Everyone else's.

Our bodies react to stress in a whole lot of different ways.  I'd been pushing myself way too hard and way too far in the past month.  I hadn't had enough good rest, hadn't been drinking plenty of water, and allowed challenges that have come my way to get the best of me.  48 hours ago, my nearly 60-year old body told me something and the something was this.

"That'd be enough for right now.  I need you to give me a bit of rest."

I'm not a spring chicken but I'm not ready for the "stew pot" either.  I'm kind of one of those nice middle aged hens that scurry around the barnyard, fill nests with eggs and then go outside and see how the day is going.  Sometimes in the seriousness of life, it's hard to keep all of that in perspective. Taking life way too seriously has always been one of my character weaknesses and I'm afraid that it is a hard one for me to break.  I'm working on it and maybe before I leave this earth I will have figured it all out.

Or maybe not.
I guess we'll see how that all ends up.

So my message to you this day, my dear friends and family, is to take care of yourself.  Get your bodies to bed early once in a while and then dare to sleep in a few minutes at least a couple of times a month.  Drink water, drink water, drink water.  Find some way to have a quiet time each and every day, away from everyone and everything.  It's good for your spirit and your mental health and what's good for those two things is good for your body as well.  And oh yes, one other thing.

Take care of your sweet voice.
You never know when you might lose it.
You never know when you might need it.

My parents and my grandmothers on Christmas Day of 1976.  Their house had just burned down the day before and even though they lost everything they had that early Christmas Eve morning, they came away with the most important of things intact.  They had one another.  7 lives were spared that day and they were lives that truly mattered.

How I wish that I could hear their sweet voices once again!

~in a letter to Lizzy's grandpa~

I've had easier weekends than the one that has just passed and without going into it, I was anxious to get the school week started and move on.  Monday had to be better.

Yet in the early morning darkness of yesterday I found things not all that much smoother as the tote basket that I use to carry my school work back and forth suddenly came apart at the bottom.  Before I knew it, what seemed to be reams of papers were strewn from "here to tomorrow" and I had to scurry to make sure that I got all of them retrieved before the wind took them away.  I proceeded to jam up the copier in the teacher's lounge within the next 10 minutes and after that, well after that the walk down to my classroom seemed a whole lot farther than it already is sometimes.  As I got to my room and opened the door, I found myself saying a prayer out loud right there in hallway of the primary wing of our school.  It was a simple one to be sure and it came from deep in the heart and spirit of someone who obviously  needed a change in attitude.

"God could you send me just one good thing today?  That's all I want.  Just one good thing."

Little more than an hour later, He did just that and it is told of in the following "in a letter to Lizzy's grandpa".

Dear Dave,

I received your nice letter yesterday morning at school and it is with gratitude that I write to you in this way.  Dear little Lizzy came to my desk with it, tiny smile on her face, and pressed the envelope into my hands.  I said to her, "Lizzy if this is a bill for something, you are gonna have to give it to Sally the Dog.  She has all of our money right now."  Lizzy smiled and told me that it wasn't a bill.

When I opened it up and saw the beautiful handwriting on the note I still didn't realize at first who it was from.  Then I scanned to the bottom and knew it was from you.  When the Army patch fell out and spilled onto the top of my messy teacher's desk, a huge lump came to my throat and my eyes began to sting with tears.  When I finished reading your message, one that told me that you desired that I would have this emblem to remember my brother by, I had to swallow very hard.  I could have cried like a baby at that very moment but somehow I got it together and was ok.  I gave your dear Lizzy a hug that was from me to you.  This morning I am still amazed at your kindness and the gift that allows me to have a memory of my older brother and his days of being a soldier, Specialist 4th class,  in Vietnam.  

The kids still remember the day you came to visit our classroom and told us of what it was like to be a soldier and about your time spent in a southeastern Asian country so far away from the beautiful Colorado mountains.  They had never heard of a place called "Vietnam" before you came to speak to them on that Veteran's Day.  You taught those children a lesson of life that late fall afternoon and that is my favorite kind of learning experience.  To be right honest Dave, I don't even remember what I taught them that afternoon but I do remember what you taught them.  It was nice to be able to share with you that my brother Mike was also there at the same time you were and that he was a Spec. 4th class too.  Standing alongside you was kind of like standing alongside my own brother and it was a good feeling.

I have placed the Army patch in a special box with your letter alongside it and it is something that I will forever treasure.  No matter where I go between now and my last day here on earth, it shall remain with me.  Although you could not have known it, the date of your letter was marked "March 21".  My brother's 70th birthday would have been the day before.  He has been gone now since 2007, his body quickly ravaged by the effects of ALS, Lou Gehrig's Disease.  I never once heard him speak of his time there in South Vietnam but I can only imagine the way it changed his life.  It wasn't the most popular of wars but when his draft notice came he did what he was called to do.  My brother was just a farm kid from the plains of south central Kansas but your message reminded me yesterday that he indeed was a soldier too.  Thank you for reminding me and honoring his memory in such a poignant and meaningful way.

We have only a few short weeks that remain at school and we are hard at work trying to accomplish all that needs to be done.  Yesterday morning started off kind of rough in the early morning hours at school.  I was more tired than not and I'm afraid that my spirit was wavering.  I did ask God to just send me one good thing, one thing that could turn my attitude around and not surprisingly at all, He did just that.

It was a letter from Lizzy's grandpa.  

Sincerely and with the deepest of respect for you my friend,
Peggy

The little girl that I used to be missed her brother very much during his one year stay in Vietnam.  I remember being very scared that something would happen to him.  I was one of the fortunate little sisters.  Many other little girls lost their brothers in that place so very far away.

Whether the war was "right" or not, I am still proud of my brother to this day.  His name was Larry Michael Scott and he was a soldier in the Army.

~as we give a year of our life~

The school year will be quickly winding down and as I look at the calendar and see that it is already the 22nd day of March, I find myself asking the same old question as before.

Where did the time go?

Back in August when "the 22" walked through the door that first day of class, I surely did not realize how fast the first 7 months of being together would fly by.  Yet they most certainly have.  Now we are down to nearly the home stretch and there remains plenty to be learned, perhaps in many ways more learning than the first 7 months combined.  

So here we go.

Every year that I have been a teacher, I have found myself learning more and more new things. Many of those awakenings are about myself.  There are days when those children, now called "the 20", have taught me more than I could have ever possibly taught them that day.  They will never even realize it, this "teaching the teacher" something idea but they surely have.  To my students, children who are only 6 and 7 years old, I am beholden and much obliged.

Until my dying day (which I hope by the way is somewhat way out there in the future) I will steadfastly remain true to the idea that children need to learn life's lessons.  It has been my privilege to teach those to them this year.  I fully realize the necessity to teach to the standards and make sure that everything is covered in reading, writing, math, social studies and science.  I want my students to be well prepared for what they will encounter in the 2nd grade next year and even beyond that.  It is easier for some of them than others but I do know that they will get "there", albeit in their own time and fashion.  

But I refuse to miss out on the chance to teach them "life's most important lessons".  Those are the ones that you will probably never see on any of the 50 states' standards for excellence.  They are the ones that will not be found in any teacher's manual or even scribbled down inside of a plan book.  They come so unexpectedly sometimes and if you are not careful, you miss the chance to teach them altogether.  I have missed my own share of them in the nearly 4 decades that I have been a teacher.  Probably there are more than I would want to count but I rarely miss the chance anymore.  I find myself teaching more and more of them each and every day.  In my opinion it would be a shame to let them go by unnoticed.

One of the life lessons that I love the most is the idea of community.  It was a lesson that I had to learn for myself to teach in those early years back in Kansas.  Not one of my college classes prepared me for it but I got the hang of it anyway.  

I love the idea of turning a classroom of children into a community of learners and when you stop to consider it, why would you not want it to be that way for your students?  Imagine, if you would, this pretty big family of kids in which you have 20 brothers and sisters.  You are together all day long, through the good days as well as the bad ones.  It's kind of important to get along with one another and do things like sharing the resources of the community.  There are only so many pencils that have good erasers on them at this point in the year.  Sometimes a guy has to share with his neighbors.  That's all there is to it.  

Since we are a "family" there are those times when we don't get along with our friends and many days one person might tattle on other, get their feelings hurt, or not be willing to go along with what the rest of the group is doing.  There is no perfect family and there surely is no flawless classroom community either yet each day that we have been together I have seen improvements and one thing is for sure.

That makes me feel happy.

The 41 days that remain of the school year will be done and over before we know it.  Soon it will be the last day of school and I already know how much I will miss them when we say "good bye" to one another.  When they line up to leave that day and I give them one last hug as they scoot out the door for their summer vacation, I want them to know one simple thing.

They have been much loved by me.

It's kind of strange but after 37 years of doing this, I just thought of something.  In order to be their first grade teacher it was necessary for me to give a year of my life to them.  Kind of a sobering thought but the greatest of things is this.

They gave a year of their life to me as well and I was so very blessed by it.

Teaching~the most noble and honorable profession that one could ever imagine and how fortunate I am to have been a part of it.

I always love it when a "kid" grows up and still remembers their old teachers.  This wonderful "brother and sister" did just that.  They are 2 of many!  (Christmas of 2012 at McPherson, Kansas)

About 15 minutes before Mike and I got married that day at school.  They were showing me loose and wiggly teeth.  I was telling them to remember to keep reading over the summer.  It was one of those "win, win" kind of moments.

~it was only a picture~

My mom was always good at remembering stuff.  At our restaurant back home in Haven, Kansas she would begin cooking a customer's breakfast order before any of the waitresses could even stab the guest check onto the spindle of the kitchen pass through window.  I'm not sure how she always knew just how a certain customer would always like their eggs cooked but she did.  It's been more than 30 years since I last saw her do that kind of thing and she's been in her Heavenly home since 2007 but one thing is for certain.

I still remember it.
Old pictures like the ones shown below always seem to trigger the memory of those days so long ago.

These photos are not of the best quality, for sure by today's standards, but to me they are more priceless than any image that a fancy digital camera of today could take.  The one on the left shows my two grandmothers in April of 1967 on the opening day of our family's restaurant.  They were so very proud of what their children (my folks) had been able to accomplish.  The one on the right shows that "infamous" spindle that sat in the window between the front part of the restaurant and the kitchen.  If I had $1 for every order that was ever placed upon it in the ten year's time that they were in business there.....well, I'd have a lot of dollars.

Things have been a little busy here at our house along the Western Slopes and as of late, I have felt more and more like the "plate spinner" guy from the old Ed Sullivan Show.  So far, no plates have fallen thank goodness.  One of those things I'm finding myself juggling is the need to continue to sort out my photos and make sure that they get into the hands of the people that I want to have them.  It's important enough for me to get it accomplished that I keep plugging away at it, slowly but surely.  When I saw the photos above in one of my old albums, I just had to stop and remember those days.
You remember them, don't you?

The "good old days."

There is this one photo album among many that contains old photos that were taken with cameras from the days of my youth.  In those days you needed a flash bulb and a roll of film before you could ever dream of taking a picture and with a limited number of shots in all, you were pretty choosy about what you took a picture of.  There were no "do overs" if someone didn't like the way their hair looked or if their eyes were closed.  You got what you got and you took it to the local drugstore in town and had them sent away to be developed.  I look at those photos now and really, I have to smile.  They are priceless not perfect and that's all right with me.

Little Scotty Alvarez and I back when he was five and I was 20.  My parents took a liking to him and his family and literally took them them under their wings.  It was Scotty's birthday and my mom wanted to be sure he had a birthday cake to enjoy.  I was on my knees so that I could help him hold it but it does make it look as though I'm even shorter than I already am.  Obviously whoever took the photo (probably Mom) was standing way off to the side so poor Scotty and I had to look the other way.

Obviously the photographer didn't bother telling everyone to "look this way" before taking this picture back in 1958 on the occasion of my Scott grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary.  Some looked this way, some looked that way and some don't even pay attention at all.  For the record, I'm the little tiny girl in braids sitting on my sister Sherry's lap and WE were the only ones looking the correct way.  Just for the record.

The sun must have been really bright and in our eyes that morning back in 1972 when my very good friend from high school named Kerrie and I stood outside St. Paul Lutheran Church back home in Haven for this photo.  It was a Palm Sunday morning and we were going to be baptized and confirmed into the Lutheran faith together.  We were happy and glad to be finished with our confirmation class.  It was Kerrie's future mother-in-law who would take this photo.  I still remember that outfit that I was wearing.  It was a lilac color and I recall it as well as if it were hanging in my closet today.

There was no special setting on the camera that took this photo to indicate "someone blinked" on the day that my Scott grandparents posed for a photo with 6 of their 8 children.  Grandma Scotty's eyes may have been closed for this one but that doesn't matter.  I know what her eyes looked like and what is more important to me is that my father (back row left) and his siblings are all together in a picture with their parents.  Every single one of them is now gone and a photo like this one, Grandma's eyes shut or not, will never be taken again.

Ok now all I have to say about this one is that I probably didn't like sitting still for my mom to cut my bangs.  That's all I have to say about it.  Ok well there is one other thing.  She's the little girl that still lives within me and the one who, from time to time, reminds me that it's all right to still be a kid.

I'm kind of glad that on my list of "60 things to do before I turn 60 this year" item #18 admonishes me to get all those pictures organized and taken care of.  It's a project long over due and although I may not get to all of them, I will get to all that I can.

In her later years, Mom would always keep one of the "throw away" kinds of cameras on hand and when people came over to visit, she'd often take a picture of them.  Those old cameras took many a snapshot, just like the priceless one shown below.  My mom looked so pretty and happy as she stood alongside her firstborn son, my brother Mike.  They are both gone now and today, on the occasion of what would be my brother's 70th birthday, how very glad I am that I have it to remember them both by.

It was only a picture, taken of a mother and son, from a throw away camera that cost less than $5 to buy.  They paused in that moment in time and stood for a photo together and never realized how much it might mean to their family in the days and months and years that would lie ahead.

It was only a picture.

~Spring~

The day after tomorrow it shall arrive.  Spring, in all of its glory, returns to take the spot that the calendar reserves for it each and every year.  With it come all of the changes the new season brings with it and they are ones that make me smile.  

Life is full of changes and even though it's not always something we like necessarily, it is what it is.  My life has encountered more of them than I can care to recollect.  I'm still living to tell the story.

If I would have seen the road map of the life that the good Lord had already set out before me, I'm not too sure that I would have been all that willing to go along with it.  Yet my destiny and I believe yours as well was lain out long before we were set upon this place called Earth and that the blueprints of that plan were designed by someone far greater than I will ever profess to be.  Things were never meant to stay the same and the sooner a person realizes it, the better off they will be.  It's a fact.

I'm one of the "older" staff members at my school here in southwestern Colorado and as I look back on my teaching resume it is most certainly with the realization of one thing.   I've been a teacher for a longer period of time than many of my co-workers have even been alive.  The changes in this business we refer to as "education" have been many, some of them pretty extreme.  Believe me when I tell you that back in August of 1979 during what was my very first year in teaching, no one and I really mean no one ever gave a thought to the idea that in the future we'd be doing things as we are today.  For example, as I started my first day at school way back then, I kept my students' lunch tickets in my desk.  The first thing of a morning I would go through the cards and ask them if they were eating lunch at school.  Hole punch in hand, I'd mark off the days that they would be eating and it was my responsibility then to send home a reminder notice when they were down to 3 lunches left.  Today in 2015, I simply open up my laptop and enter in attendance and the accompanying lunch count with it.  Someone else does all of the "bookwork" part of it.  A job that once took more than 10 minutes some days to get through now takes a matter of only a few minutes.  In the years that lie ahead I'm pretty sure that someone will come up with a way that makes even today's techniques seem as slow as snails in molasses.

Change.  It's actually pretty good.

If you were going to ask me what the greatest change in my life would have been thus far, it would be without a doubt the move here to southwestern Colorado 2 years ago this past May. Leaving the plains of Kansas and everything in this world that I had ever known that was good for 57 years nearly did me in.  I could never again yank a live plant from the soil without making a connection to it in my own life.  It hurt at first and it didn't just "ouch" a little.  It hurt badly.  As time went on the change in where I called my home began to feel better and I became used to things here along the Western Slope.  With the love and support of my good husband Mike and the brand new family that I was given as a teacher at Olathe Elementary, just up the road aways from here, I made it!  

Change.  Even though getting placed upon God's mighty anvil from time to time for a period of "refinement" isn't really comfortable, it too is what it is.  

In the weeks, months, and years that lie ahead of me yet in the temporary time that I have left in life, it is for certain that I will see many more adjustments and adaptations and the truth is that the same can be said of you.  Resisting change is sometimes at best futile and accepting it is perhaps the wisest thing a person can do.  

One thing for me is certain and the something is this.
We are friends, you and I.
Nothing on this earth will ever change that.

Welcome Spring!

~a good life~

We finished up reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder book  Little House on the Prairie this week at school and in the story Laura and her family must pack up the family "SUV" (commonly known in those days as a Conestoga wagon) and move on to a new place.  They leave their cabin on the prairies of present day southeastern Kansas and begin the journey to a new life far, far away.

I am always intrigued, even after reading that book so very many times to children over the years, that a family of 5 could pack everything they own into the bed of a wooden wagon and move on.  Their clothing, personal possessions, cooking utensils, security devices (AKA Pa's rifle and pistol), entertainment (Pa's fiddle), and a few other miscellaneous items all were strategically placed inside and still there was enough room for everyone to sit down.

How did they do it?
I'm not sure of the answer to that one but whatever it was that they did, one thing is for sure.
I admire them.

The Ingalls family and many other pioneers and settlers of the old times of long ago were of necessity  minimalists.  There was no way around it if you wanted to venture out to new places, ones that couldn't be found by riding on the smooth interstate highways of today.  The road to somewhere new was a bumpy one in those days of yore.  It was a dusty road and the load had to be lightened many times along the way.  Museums all across the country are filled with the antique discards and other personal belongings of early day travelers that had to be pitched along the prairie because they added too much weight for the horses and oxen to pull.  Many a tear must have been shed by those who owned beautiful pieces of furniture that foolishly were packed for the journey but it was what it was.  A heavy load slowed you down and a load that was too heavy stopped you altogether.

I've been moving towards becoming a minimalist for the last couple of years although you might not recognize that fact at first if you came into our house but mentally I am beginning the process.  I have asked myself the question many times over and over.

"For crying out loud.  How much do I need to have to survive in this life?  When is enough truly enough?"

I made the first step towards giving up a few things back in the fall when I decided to purge my cupboards of the many cups and mugs that I had collected over the years.  The children in my class earned the privilege of having a "hot cocoa and marshmallow" party and they drank their chocolate from one of those mugs.  Then they took them home to keep forever.  It was a fun time and even though I thought that I could never give up those very special treasures of mine, it was much easier than I once believed.  Before the kids put them in their backpacks, I told each of them the story behind how I got it and as each story was told I found myself being more and more "ok" with their departure from my life's possessions.  20 more mugs are going to be packed into a box this weekend and they too will make their way into the hands of a child later on this spring as we try for yet one more hot cocoa party.  When that happens I will be down to a grand total of 11 mugs and although that sounds like several still at least it's not near as many as the 62 of them I had before.  The trick has been to not buy any more of them and so far, so good.  The way I figure it is this.

"You gotta start somewhere!"

Both Mike and I have noticed lately that when we go into stores to look around that less and less finds its way into our shopping carts and bags.  Both of us love to browse through the things on the shelves but many times we just don't find anything that we need to have.  Those things that we do end up purchasing as of late have been for reasons of practicality not because of this spur of the moment burning desire to have it.  Actually it is kind of a nice feeling, a freeing one.

Each day as I move closer and closer to the winter time of my own life, there are things that I yet want to do.  My hope is to teach another 3 years or so and then to travel a bit and see the parts of this great country that I have never seen before.  I want to do it before I cannot and it will be much easier accomplished if I don't have so many things to take care of.

I must have been thinking along these lines when I came up with my list of "60 things to do before turning 60 this year".  Several of those things reflect my feelings about the best way to live my life.  I want to downsize, to enjoy life more and worry less.  Although I am sure that I won't have all of my possessions pared down by the time I turn 60 come late October, my intention is to at least make a reasonably good start.

What do we all have that is weighing us down?  What is it that we could do without in order that our lives would be so much simpler?

Probably more than any of us would imagine.

A good life does not have to involve how many possessions you can amass before you die.
Not in the least.

The 9-square quilt that "the 21" made after we finished reading Laura's book this week.  Although it was made from colorful scraps of construction paper it still kind of looks "real".  It turned out to be a great way to recycle and use up all of the scrap pieces of paper that I'd been saving throughout the year.  We had a lot of fun in its making.

~so if every picture tells a story~

Every once in a while, I get out the old photo albums and take a look through the pages. There's a plenty of them, that's for sure.  Item #18 on my list of "60 things to do before I turn 60" encourages me to "finally get all of my pictures organized and off the computer and my cellphone".  Since by my count there are over 20 albums of pictures to go through and more images on my phone and computer than I'd like to admit to, I think I'd better get a move on and do more than just look at them.

It's a given.
I love to take photographs of the people and places that have meant so much to me.

I've taken photos off and on for all of my life.  Yet, after my mom and brother died in 2007, only 6 weeks apart from one another, I suddenly felt this urgent need to capture every image that I could think of.  Their sudden departure from us here reminded me ever more of life's fragility and the need to enjoy each day for what it was worth.  Even with all of the pictures that I have of them, I have never found myself saying~

"Gee, I wish I wouldn't have taken all of these pictures!"
I only wish that I would have taken more of them.

There is an album, one that contains photos that I didn't take.  It's a little one with about 37 pictures in all.  Those photos are my individual "teacher" ones, taken right along with the students on school picture day.  They are from my days of teaching in south central Kansas as well as my two years here in southwestern Colorado.  I always got them every year and of course the package comes along with more individual ones than a person would know what to do with but I'm thankful that I have them all.

It's always interesting to take a look at those old photos and reflect back on the circumstances of life that accompanied them.  That age old adage "Every picture tells a story," is most certainly true, especially those that tell of my time as an educator.  Just like life itself, some of those stories are happy and some are certainly sad.  But they are what are and I rejoice always that I lived long enough to take this 37th one back in the early autumn of this school year.

I'm happy as well to have a photo of what I looked like in my very first years of teaching.  How times change and the people blessed enough to live through them.  From age 23 to nearly 60, it's been my privilege to be called "teacher".

I've always loved to take photos of the new places that I've seen while going along life's way and since moving here to the mountains, now nearly two years ago, I've had the chance to take a plenty.  But I've also seen some other spectacular views east of the Rockies and inside one of the little albums there are many images that bring back lots of great memories of times gone past.  The ones shown below are only two of them.

The view from the path on the Katy Trail in Missouri as you are nearing the bluffs.  My oldest son and I rode our bikes for 3 days and a grand total of about 150 miles in all back in August of 2007.

The view from atop Coronado Heights near Lindsborg, Kansas on a beautiful Indian summer day.  Anyone who has ever visited there knows how pretty the picture really is.  Surely it seems you could see to forever from the top.  My heart smiles to see that stunning Kansas sky.

Although I have my doubts that I will ever totally have things organized in that great big picture file of mine, I'm pretty sure that I will make a big dent in it by the time that my birthday rolls around come this late autumn of 2015.  My children's photos have all been sorted and grouped in albums for them to have as well as my siblings' pictures.  I'll scan in the ones that I want to keep forever and ever and let the rest of them go.

I have done what my mom always admonished me to by labeling the backs of them as to who it is, where it was taken, as well as the year.  In that way, my children and other family members will always know who it is that they are looking at and how they themselves played a part in the capturing of that special image.

Years ago I never realized how much the pictures that I took would mean to me in the days that would follow and even though I have many to look at, lots of times I wish that I had more.  For the times that I found myself without a camera and wishing that I had one, I took the picture in the only way that I knew how to and there seems to be no end to the storage room in that particular place.

I took them with my heart and there they will stay.
If my memory should fade or go away all together, rest assured those memories will not.

My mom and my brother in one of the last photos I have of them together.  The day this photo was taken I never dreamt that we would lose them both only a few short years into the future.  Mom passed away in late September of 2007 and Mike in mid-November of the same year.  I always thought my mom looked very pretty in this picture and they both were so happy.

~I won't know until I try it.~

It was nice to hear Mike's voice as he yelled out the words to me over the weekend.

"Hey come out here!  We've got some Spring!"
And sure enough he was right.  We did.

Funny how the sight of tulips popping out of the ground, so slightly that you had to be looking for them to be able to see them, could make a day in late winter seem so much brighter.  Yet they most certainly did.  This past fall, about a month before the really hard freezes began here along the Western Slopes, I planted a series of about 48 of them into the soil of a new flower bed.  We had been having an ongoing battle with a renegade band of ground squirrels only a few weeks before and I wasn't even sure that the hearty bulbs would remain in the ground long enough to make it.  

But they did and I was surely glad.

             October of 2014 on a very sunny Saturday afternoon in the Rockies.

                           Five months later on a late winter day in mid March.

You know, as I have grown older it seems as though it's the littlest of things that make me happy.  I don't need a lot of money, a swimming pool in my backyard or trips to exotic places.  I just need flowers to grow when I put their bulbs or seed into the ground and when they don't grow, then I become frustrated.  I have learned a lot about this thing they refer to as "patience" and the greatest lesson I've acquired is that I have very little of it some days.  I'd like to say that I am getting better at it and perhaps it would be true to say that I am.

Or maybe not.

Soon it will be time to start on item #10 on my list of 60 things to do before I turn 60 later on this year.  "Convince zinnias to grow from seed here in the clay-filled soil of south western Colorado."

I've struggled like crazy with this ever since I moved here, now nearly two summers ago after Mike and I got married in May of 2013.  I had lots of favorite flowers that I loved to grow back in Kansas and zinnias (pronounced ZEE-NEES by my mom and my Grandmother Brown) were among the ones that I enjoyed the most.  Every summer back there, for more than I can remember to count, I grew them and I didn't grow just a few.  

I grew a lot!

They could be found everywhere in my backyard and along the sides of my old house back there on 14th Street.  I chose the different varieties that appealed to me, mostly for their colors and not necessarily for their individual types.  You can't imagine how many different ones there are to choose from until you pick up a seed catalogue in the dead of winter while you are "dreaming" of springtime.  It was easy for me to come up with a $50 order for zinnia seed in no time at all, especially when snow drifts lay against the entire world outside of my front door.  I never did mind writing out that check because sending off an order to the J. H. Shumway company reminded me that winter's fury and the cold that came with it could not last forever.

It only thought that it could.

Last year I nearly gave up on zinnias.  Absolutely nothing was working out for me with the planting of them.  I thought it was starting to look hopeless, as if I would be forever and perpetually wasting money on seed.  The disappointment of seeing little plants push up through the soil and then promptly die a few days later was getting to be more than I wanted to bear.  Mike sensed my sadness and one day brought home several of them, already started, from the local greenhouse.  We enjoyed looking at them all summer long as they sat in an old flowerpot on the front porch of our house here.  They were nice to have but still one thing was wrong.

It wasn't me who had grown them.

I have a special stash of zinnia seeds this year and by early April I will make that attempt to start them inside the house for a change, rather than placing them directly into the soil outdoors.  We have some good light that comes in from the sunroom windows and if Crosby the cat doesn't decide to check them out first, perhaps we will see some life start to spring forth.  Maybe they will make it.  Maybe not.  One thing is for sure.

I won't know unless I try it.

My very first attempt ever to grow something from seed here.  April of 2013, the month before Mike and I got married back home in Kansas.  I was planting sunflower seeds, about a gazillion of them, just south of the house here.  So many seeds were sown that day.  I believe a grand total of seven sunflowers made it.  

~and I say "thank you" Bob Cantwell~

Long, long ago I figured it out.
I would never have been able to get where I am in this life of mine without the help, love and support of a lot of good people.
Friends and family who have been there for me and even total strangers along the way have helped to shape the life of a little quiet girl named Peggy who grew up on the plains of Kansas.

     Mike and I were wandering around in one of the furniture stores up in Grand Junction this weekend.  We were not there to purchase anything but instead we were just browsing.  In particular we found ourselves in the living room furniture area amidst all the sofas and love seats, chairs and ottomans, and all of the coordinating accessories that a person could dream of owning.  The colors, fabrics and designs were certainly beautiful, some of them with price tags to match.  As we made our way up and down the aisles, my thoughts began to return to a time long ago and a very kind man in my hometown of Haven, Kansas.  It is in his memory that this blog post is today written.

     Bob Cantwell owned the funeral home and furniture store back in the small south-central Kansas town I grew up in.  He was a veteran of WWII, a field medic if I rightly remember.  His demeanor was quiet and unassuming as kindness exuded from every bone in his body.  As the local funeral home director, it was Bob's job to take care of the final arrangements for nearly everyone who passed away in that little town.  Although that would have to be a tough thing to do, Bob Cantwell did it with grace and loving concern.  When my father died of lung cancer back in 1982, it was Bob who came to the hospital in Hutchinson and took his body back to Haven to prepare it for burial on that cold December morning.  I even recall once a few years before my dad passed away that Bob made an ambulance run in his hearse to tend to the medical needs of my grandma who had been living close by our home out in the country south of town.  It sounds strange to think of it in those terms, especially today in 2015 when life has changed so much.  But it was what it was and if you were sick or in an accident, you would have been glad to know that Bob Cantwell was on the way to help you.

     Cantwell Furniture was on Main Street (really called Kansas Avenue back there) and for years and years when he wasn't busy with the funeral home business, Bob and his good wife Joli sold furniture to the people of Haven and the surrounding communities.  Although it was small and with a whole lot less overhead than the store we saw up in Grand Junction yesterday, the Cantwells had plenty of nice things to offer to their customers.  One thing I always remember about going in there from time to time was that their price tags didn't reflect a desire to charge "an arm and a leg" to people who wanted to purchase something.  Their prices seemed fair and indicative of the kind of people that they were whether it was in their business life or their everyday, normal kind of person one.  They did their best to help anyone who might walk through the front door to own a piece of quality furniture.  It was plain and simple.  The Cantwells were good to people.  

Each one.  
Every one.
Especially a young woman named Peggy.

     Long ago now, nearly 30 years ago as a matter of fact, I was a single and newly divorced 31 year old woman with a little 5 year old son.  We were on our own, that little guy and I, trying to survive life on a teacher's salary.  We didn't have a lot but we most certainly had enough.  The one thing I was missing, as far as household goods went, was a couch.  I had looked all over but the prices were out of reach for me at that particular time.  Right before giving up ever having one, a good friend suggested that I should try Cantwell's and see what they had to offer.  So off I went.

     It was a Saturday afternoon and I remember that Bob wasn't at the store, in fact the front door was locked.  I called his house and he said he'd come right down and meet me.  As I stood inside of the simple showroom there, he talked with me as if he had known me all of my life.  As a matter of fact, I can say with a smile on my face that he had.  I told him what I was looking for, how much I could spend and that I would probably go to the bank and borrow the money to buy it.  

   Bob didn't just show me a couch but rather he directed me to groupings of furniture that went well together.  Over in the corner, I found what I wanted.  It was a beautiful blue floral print sofa and there was even a matching white side chair and blue plaid rocker that was with it.  Although I loved it, a first glance at the price tag told me that probably it was out of my pocket book's reach.  I'm sure that Bob sensed my concern and before I knew it, he was headed over to the price tag with a marking pen.  I will never forget what he told me that day.

"Wait a minute Peggy.  I sure thought I had marked that one differently.  That's way too much!"
With that, he sliced nearly $200 off of the price.

I told him that I'd take it and not only the sofa but the two chairs as well.  My plan was to go to the bank on Monday and borrow the money to pay for it.  I asked him if he'd hold it for me and it was then that he said something else, words that choked me up that long ago Saturday afternoon and words that still have a great and profound affect upon me today.

"Don't be going to any bank and borrow money to buy this.  They are going to charge you too much interest.  I want you to take it today and you can pay me whatever you can each month until you pay it off.  I trust you.  I know that you are good for your word."
He smiled at me and then shook my hand.  I gave him a huge hug and it was as if my own father was standing there beside me.  

The couch and the chairs cost $650 all together and were such a well made set of furniture that they lasted me nearly ten years.  Three children in all sat on them, bounced up and down on their cushions and gave them a workout.  All three pieces looked nearly brand new when I finally gave them away to someone else a decade later.  It was quite a deal that Robert Cantwell offered me that day in the summertime of 1986 and I walked away from his store with 3 pieces of furniture that I wish sometimes I still had today.  But you know what?  I came away with much more than that and the "much more" part is this.

Even though he could have made $200 easily more when he sold those things to me, he chose not to.  Even though he could have demanded the money in full before the furniture even left his store, he would not.  Even though he himself could have charged me interest and required a first payment before the furniture was mine to take away, it was Bob Cantwell's decision that was not the way he would conduct his business.  He believed that I could be trusted and that my word meant something to him.  What it all came down to was the fact that Bob saw the "good" in every single person.  He saw the potential in everyone he met and he understood all too well that sometimes times are indeed "tight".  Bob Cantwell believed in me and his trust in me continued the process of refinement that I have felt each time I have been laid upon God's mighty anvil.  Robert Cantwell gave me more than one gift that day and the furniture was the least of it.

I paid Bob $50 every month until the last bit of the bill was taken care of.  When the furniture was finally paid off, I went into the store to thank him one last time for what he did for me that day.  He smiled and said "You are welcome Peggy."  

Bob died in the year 2000 and when I go back to Haven I still think of him every time I drive past the old store that used to be his.  That quiet, humble and unassuming gentleman helped a whole lot of people during his stay here.

A young woman named "Peggy Ann" was one of them and I say "thank you" Bob Cantwell.

~it all started with a bike ride~

     A good friend mentioned to me the other day at school that he enjoyed reading my blog posts and I told him, I'm sure with a smile upon my face, that writing has turned out to be way cheaper and much easier than taking pills for depression.  

     And that is probably more true than not.  

     This blog was essentially "born of depression" although I didn't really think of it in those terms way back then.  In its beginnings, this blog was never intended to be more than just a couple of dozen or so entries to chronicle my journey on the Bike Across Kansas of 2011.  It would begin in mid-May and be finished 4 weeks later.  Well it did begin on Thursday, May 19th of 2011.  My first post was short, sweet and to the point.  It felt weird to be writing, especially knowing that others would be reading those very words that I wrote but after a few posts I got used to it.  The first one published led to about 800 gazillion others that would follow.  It is shown below.

Thursday
May 19, 2011

Bucket List Item #1-Ride the Bike Across Kansas from start to finish

Hey Everyone!  Welcome to my first-ever blog!  This summer, June 4-11, I will be riding the Bike Across Kansas and thus fulfilling Item #1 on the "Miller Bucket List."  I'll be using this blog to hopefully update my family and friends as to my progress each day.

This has been a dream of mine since the summer of 1987.  Now, at age 55, it's "now or never" for me.  My hopes are that keeping track of my journey, day by day, will empower me to stay the course and finish with the rest of the 800 or more riders that will be joining me for the week.  

As of this writing, June 4th is 2 weeks away.  Much has yet to be done in preparation for my leaving--many more miles to be ridden.  But I look forward to this journey and am anxious to share what happens to me with all of you.

Stay tuned!  :)

     As fate and "Miller Bad Luck" ( a second cousin to Murphy's Law on my mother's side of the family) would have it, I dropped out of the BAK that year at the midway point.  After nearly 250 miles of riding, I succumbed to the effects of a mild heat stroke, exhaustion and dehydration. My part of that epic journey came to a halt near the south-central Kansas town of McPherson and less than an hour's drive from my home in Hutchinson.  After heading straight to the clinic back home in Reno County and having enough IV fluids pumped back into me, the dr. said it was over.  I was to go home and rest.  I was disappointed and sorely depressed.  My blog post of June 7th that year reflected how badly I felt, not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well.  That post, the 40th one in all and shown below, gave new meaning to the old saying from the ABC Sunday afternoon program, Wide World of Sports.

"It was the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.  Heavy on the agony part."

Tuesday

June 7, 2011

What a day....

Day 5 on the BAK started out from Hoisington and was set to go to McPherson.  My day started out at Hoisington and ended up about 7 miles into Rice County on Highway 4.  I knew that I wasn't feeling good when I left this morning and about 15 miles into our ride I knew that I wasn't going to be able to ride any further feeling like I did.  Grahame picked me up and I went to the clinic here in Hutchinson.  4 hours later and bags of IV fluid I was given the "no go" from my doctor who said that blood work and UA showed the effects of mild heat stroke and dehydration.  Looking back, I felt bad last night already and shouldn't have probably ridden the 30 miles that I did today.  But I wanted to try.  I am very disappointed but I have learned that there are lots of people in this life who have made a premature trip to the cemetery because of their foolish pride.  I kind of like living still.  So I am listening to the dr. and saying "enough".  There is much I wish to tell you all about the good 5 days that I did have.  Tonight, though, I just want to rest and stay cool.  More tomorrow when I feel a little better.  God bless each of you for the words of encouragement.  I will be fine-just need to rest!  Take care all of you and I will post more tomorrow.  Peggy

     
     You know, I could have stopped writing back then and I almost did.  But I had started to see that writing out all of the thoughts that were on my mind actually was helping me to understand myself better.  In the days that came after the end of that bike ride, many more things in life would follow.  Experiences that were mine in the ensuing 3 years have provided the fodder for many a blog post.  "Old Lefty's" nearly year long saga, my life as a teacher in both Kansas and Colorado, my move to the mountains of Colorado and the accompanying homesick I initially felt here, plus a thousand other things have been written about.  Nearly 800 blog postings in all can be found on my page.  As I look back at them, there are so many that I don't even recall making some of them in the first place.  In fact, sometimes I have to go back and click on a few and reread them to even remember what they were about.  You know, I used to think that was weird.  I had written it but couldn't even recall what it was or why I wrote it.  Then a good friend told me something that made all the sense in the world to me as she said.........

"Peggy, you just had something you needed to say.  Something was troubling you, something was deep on your mind.  Once you said it and got it over with, you were able to move on.  It's a good thing that you cannot remember them all. Not remembering them all means that your writing served a purpose."

And I think that she was right.

     Many times I have been asked how long I intend to continue to write and my answer is always the same.  I will write until I have nothing left to say and even if no one on earth ever read my words, it wouldn't matter to me.  This is one thing that I do for myself. 

All things considered as hobbies go, there's one thing for certain.

It's probably pretty harmless.

 100 miles into the state of Kansas from the far western Kansas town of Tribune.  It began at the Colorado line and would continue to the Missouri border well over 400 miles to the east.  I remember how hot and windy that summer day in June was.  I may not have made it all the way but at least I made it halfway.