Reasons to Celebrate

It has been a crazy few weeks.  A week ago today, on a Thursday afternoon, I met with my cardiologist to go over the results of the cardio testing he had done the week before.  The testing had been done because of recent bouts with extremely low blood pressure, an irregular EKG, and chest pain.  The PET stress test showed some low blood flow that could indicate narrowed arteries.  The physician assistant had attended me during the testing, and he was the initial person to go over the results. He suggested that the next step should be a heart catheterization.  Stunned, but trying to keep my wits about me and evaluate my options in a rational state of mind, I listened to all he had to say about the test.  I then told him I would not elect to have the procedure.  I didn't think it seemed necessary given my personal and family history.  He didn't disagree with me, but said I had to talk to the doctor who would be in momentarily.  He then excused himself to talk with my doctor.

Soon, my dear cardiologist, a man for whom I have great respect, admiration, and affection strode into the room, came directly to my side, put his arm around my shoulder and looked me in the eye while he said these words, "Sally, we're doing the heart catheterization." I guess my mind had been changed!  He next asked me when I was going on that vacation where I was doing that blogging thing with my friends.  (I'd told him about my trip the week before when we'd met before the testing.)  "I'm leaving tomorrow morning at 6:30 a.m." I said.  "Ok, you can go.  When are you coming back?"  "Monday," I said.  "I want you in here next week for the heart cath,"  he said.

And so, on Tuesday morning, after a wonderful trip to Vashon Island to meet with my blogging friends, I arrived bright and early at the hospital for the procedure to check on those arteries in my heart.  

I must admit that I was anxious at times throughout my entire trip to Washington.  I had a horrendous rush to get from one gate to the next when I landed in Denver to fly to Seattle.  This came after being restricted from any exercise for three weeks.  "Oh great," I thought, "I'm going to have a massive heart attack at DIA."  I didn't.  I made it.  I made it through the flight, and landed safely in Seattle.  Once I was with my blogging buddies, I felt like I was surrounded by companionship, support, and understanding.  

I walked into this comfortable, inviting main living room at Lavender Hill Farm, and felt like I was back at a much loved home.

I was tired, so tired, once I arrived at our destination.   Linda (Bag Lady in Waiting) and DJan (DJanity and Eye on the Edge) had safely navigated the task of picking me up at the airport, finding the ferry, and found a place for us to eat.  Thankfully, I didn't have to do all of that.  I just sat back and went along for the ride.    Once the three of us were inside the farm house, I sat down in that chair that Jann (Benchmark 60) is sitting in on the right sided of the fireplace, snuggled up in a blanket and fell asleep.  

Soon, Deb( Catbird Scout) and Sandi (Flying Into the Light) arrived, and it was time to hang out in the kitchen while we helped (a little) Sandi make dinner.  Who can be anxious and worried around these two?

As the weekend progressed, I made up my mind that I was going to put that dreaded procedure that was awaiting me when I returned home on the back burner.  I was not going to let my fear and anxiety rob me of enjoying this trip.

Deb found a few places for us to explore, and so after breakfast on Saturday morning, we took off to see what we could see.  The path of our first trek, a walk in the woods, was covered with leaves.  

I'm a Colorado girl, so I'm not used to seeing ferns growing up along side the pathways,

or orange mushrooms, 

or trees covered in moss

or leaves the size of dessert plates, 

or sights like this.

At sea level, I could have walked forever it seemed.  My heart was calm, no fluttering was going on, no rushing, and no chest pain was felt.  "Maybe, I need to move to a lower elevation," I thought.  I was surrounded by such beauty, and support, Jann helped down the slippery slopes, and such friendship, that I honestly felt the healthiest, and happiest that I'd felt in many, many months.  It was true, this day, this trip, was good for my heart in every way.

From our walk in the woods, we went to the shore.  

We saw an eagle in flight.  I collected rocks and sea shells with Deb and Sandi.  I don't think DJan picked up any rock or shells.  I think she is not one to weigh herself down with such things.  If she filled her pockets with rocks and sea shells, how could she hike those high mountains and jump out of airplanes?  

On our walk on the shore, we found a large dead jelly fish.

Jann and Linda kept watch from the stairs leading to the shore.

I felt like a young girl again as I explored the surrounding with my girlfriends.  My heart felt light.  My spirit of adventure and excitement seemed to be returning after a long absence.  

Last year, I came home from Vashon Island with a reminder of the weekend: a gift from Deb.  She had found this heart shaped rock at the shore where we walked a year ago.  This heart shaped rock, a reminder of Deb, sits in a place of honor on my desk where I write.  It reminds me of the hearts that are knitted together because we are bloggers who bonded in a sisterhood of understanding and support.

This year, before we left, we were all given another treasure by Deb.  This is what I found on my breakfast plate on Sunday morning: a beautiful new heart.

With these all these memories stored carefully in my heart of flesh, I somehow went into that surgical procedure on Tuesday morning with no anxiety or fear.  I was perfectly calm, and that was before they gave me the drugs!  Actually, during a cardiac catheterization, one is awake.  I was given versed, but I remember most of the procedure and found it not to be that troublesome.  At times, I would feel something and the nurse would say, "They are looking around in your heart dear, you will feel that."  

Now for the good news:  my arteries are "as smooth as a baby's bottom."  That is a direct quote from the doctor.  He said I will live to be 100 with the arteries I have.  When I told him my mother is 97, he said, "You got her genes."  

I still have the occasional rapid beats, and the arrhythmia that can sometimes throw me off balance, but for now, those problems are also under control without medication.  

I spent the last two days recovering from my trip and my procedure.  I've done a lot of reading, and taken naps, and been pampered by my hubby.  I am doing very well.  Thanks for all of your good wishes, dear blogging friends.

I know I have much to celebrate: good friends, a heart that is free from blockages or plaque, good genes, a supportive and loving husband, loving children and grandchildren, and much improved medical reports in all areas that have been troublesome in the past year.  I now must get in even better shape if I'm going to be around for another 30+ years.  

A Weekend to Remember ~ Time With Blogging Friends

I began blogging in November of 2008.  I thought perhaps my mother would read my blog, but beyond that, I didn't think anyone else would ever read it.  I decided to blog because I wanted to practice the discipline of writing.  Little did I know the worlds that blogging would open to me.  Little did I know how important my blogging community would become to me.

My very first blog reader was Jann from Benchmark 60.  That's Jann, in the photo below.  She is dressed in green and sitting in the middle on the left side of the photo. Back in those early days of blogging,  Jann commented on my blog and then encouraged me to write more blogs.  I owe my blog presence to her.  In time, in the mystical way that is the way of the blogosphere, I began to read the blogs of many other bloggers and form friendships with the blog writers.  

A year ago, two of the ladies in photo below met and decided that the rest of us should meet and spend the weekend together.  We all rented a house on Vashon Island in Washington State and spent a fabulous weekend getting to know each other.  I wrote about it here:  Vashion Island 2012.  That weekend was so magical and special, that we talked of meeting again in a year.  We decided you can't improve on a perfect location, so this past weekend, we again met at our wonderful destination spot, Lavender Hill Farm on Vashon Island.  

Breakfast out on Vashon Island

I flew in from Colorado on Friday.  We spent Friday afternoon and evening, all day Saturday, and this morning together.  We talked, laughed, read, ate, walked, and just had a wonderful time catching up with each other.  This year the weather was cooler than last.  We spent a lot of time in front of the fireplace.

The "glow chair" was moved from its spot by the window 

so we could sit together in our new favorite spot.  

The sun did not shine on our wonderful yellow chair this year.

We could not see Mt. Rainier.

We did not see blue skies.
We saw fog and mist.
It was all beautiful.

We were also rewarded with beautiful fall foliage.

The view from the porch was stunning even if it did rain. 

The lavender bed are not blooming, but lavender is always beautiful in any season to me.

Orange is the color I will carry home with me.

It seemed to punctuate every landscape

as we visited the Farmers' Market,

walked down the main street,

and 

hiked in the woods.

I have wanted to store the colors of this fall in my heart this year. 

Since the leave just began to change, I've wanted to drink in the colors every chance I got.

I was especially blessed to see the rich colors of fall in the beautiful northwest this year.

I won't forget the red, the oranges, and the vibrancy I felt on this special weekend.

These two feed the soul and the body.

Deb, in pink, just saw some wonderful bird outside the kitchen window. I was able to capture the look of awe on her face.

DJan, the adventurer, in the sky and on the shore, led the walk we took along the shore, and took my arm and helped me walk up the steep hills.

There is so much more I want to write about, but I must get some rest.

Tomorrow, I fly home.

The doctor cleared me for this trip.

My friends said he had to let me come because the time would be

good for my heart in every way.

It was.  Indeed, it was.

Thank you dear Vashionistas for another wonderful time together.

I can't wait until next year.

I will arrive home Monday afternoon.

On Tuesday morning, at 7:30 a.m.,

I will be meeting my cardiologist at the hospital.
He gave me a reprieve, for a few days, but as soon as I get home,

he will be doing a heart catheterization on me.

I am worried about the procedure because no one like to have medical procedures.

I am reassured when I consider that the doctor did let me go on this trip, so he must not be too worried, just worried enough to check everything out.  

In the meantime, I will trying to take this advice:

Keep calm 

and

Dream On.

Trick or Treat or Smashing Pumpkins?

This morning as I was driving out of our little village, I saw a man standing next to his parked car taking photos of a herd of deer that were munching on the manicured lawns in our neighborhood.  "Must be a tourist," I thought.  Those of us who live here see deer in our yards all day long.  It is quite commonplace to walk around our block of homes and see a herd of five to ten deer grazing near the sidewalk.

I must admit I have a love/hate relationship with these creatures.  At times, I am enthralled with watching them.  This spring, as I awoke one morning, my first sight of the day was of a few baby fawns scampering across the back lawn.  That is a delightful way to start the day.

Then, these creatures eat my flowers, and I am not a very happy lady.  I become determined to keep them from eating my delicate blooms by spraying everything with Liquid Fence.  Learning what plants they really don't like to eat, I concentrate on planting these.  Gardening is a challenge here.

During the spring of the year, we mainly see the doe.  At the beginning of spring, they appear to be quite thin except for their bulging midsections.  Soon, there are reports of one or two of them giving birth to baby fawns in the back yards of various neighbors.  

I must admit it is fun to watch the fawns grow and develop.  As summer progresses, it is interesting to watch the young bucks sprout antlers.  These antlers begin as little buttons and grow a bit bigger day by day.  Soon, these outgrowths are covered in velvet.  

Then, in early fall, the large buck suddenly appear.  I have no idea where they have been since late last fall.  The entire dynamic of the deer population seems to shift.  Life seems less carefree among the herds.  I notice a few of the doe begin to follow a large buck as he proudly and arrogantly walks through my back lawn area.  I also notice that the bucks claim a certain territory and begin to strip the plants of foliage that the other deer have mostly left alone on summer.  I finally give up in protecting my plants.  In fact, I pulled up all the remaining potted plants and placed some pumpkins on the porch as fall decorations.

Imagine my shock today when I glanced out the front door and saw this:

I was actually speaking to my husband on the phone when I noticed this big buck eating one of my pumpkins!  I had no idea deer liked pumpkins.  For some reason, I was pretty upset about this buck thinking he had the right to come up on my porch and claim this pumpkin for his dinner.

I tried to scare him away, but he just nonchalantly licked his chomps.

As you can see, I made quite an impression on him didn't impress him at all.

I hope you can watch the video.  If you can, notice how this creature is biting through that pumpkin.  I was quite intrigued with the power of those jaws.

Each month brings new sights in our neck of the woods.  It is October.  My neighbor asked me today if we get any trick or treaters.  I told her "no."  Last year, I didn't have one trick or treater on my doorstep.  I need to call her tomorrow and revise my answer.  We had trick or treaters early this year.  We had a buck on the porch who went beyond smashing our pumpkins.  He ate one!  

P.S.  I just mentioned to my husband that perhaps we should make sure we throw away the piece of pumpkin the buck left behind.  I don't want Mama Bear to come around and eat that!

Oops...

My cellphone rang this evening.

The screen on my smart phone told me the call was from my grandson Mason.

"Hi Mason."

"Hi Grandma.  You know how you said your were sending me some money for my birthday."

"Yes," I replied.

Oops...

It turns out there wasn't any money in his birthday card.

"Let me check my checkbook," I said.

Sure enough.

There was a check made out to Gillian for her birthday money, 

but I had forgotten to write out Mason's check.

Oh how embarrassing!

His mother, my daughter, thought it was hilarious that I forgot to even write the check.

I guess I am losing it.

At least, I remembered it was his birthday.

I have five birthdays to remember in the span of a month.

Three birthdays in September and two in October

The story of my two October grandbabies...

One day fifteen years and nine months ago,

my daughter Amy called me with the wonderful news that she was going to be a mother.

I was so excited for her and for me.

I was thrilled at the prospects of having another grandchild.

However, with this wonderful news,

there was also a bit of an uneasy feeling in my heart.

My other daughter Keicha was trying to have a baby, but thus far, her attempts had been unsuccessful.

Just a month or so before Amy's happy phone call announcing that she was expecting,

Keicha had called in tears and told me she was trying in vitro fertilization one more time.

"If this attempt is unsuccessful, I'm not going through this again," she tearfully said.

Now, a month or six weeks later, Amy was pregnant.

"How will we tell Keicha?" I asked.

Still mulling over how to break the news of Amy's pregnancy to Keicha,

I answered a phone call from Keicha a few days later.

"Mom, I'm pregnant." was her happy news.

Only one egg was fertilized, but at least one egg was viable.

I let out a sigh of relief.

I then called Amy and told her she could call her sister with her happy news.

We had double happy news!

It was a bit of a scary few months in the first months of Keicha's pregnancy.

She was highly at risk of not seeing the pregnancy through.

Soon, it looked as if we would have two babies in October of 1998.

On October 4, 1998, my dear Mason Lloyd Hopfenspirger was born.

I was present at his birth, and even was blessed to witness it.

I was the very first person to see that boy.

That was a very special moment in my life.

Immediately, after his birth, there was a problem.

We were told he might not live through the night.

The next day, thank God,  all was well, and he looked like the healthiest baby in the nursery.

36 hours later, on October 6, 1998, my dear Gillian Marie Chapman was born.

Six weeks later, Keicha made the trip to Colorado from Utah for Thanksgiving so the cousins could meet for the first time.

Late at night, Keicha, Gillian, and Gillian's dad arrived.  I snapped a picture of the two girls showing off their new babies to each other.

I always laugh because each one only has eyes for her own child.

For the next photo, I had them both face the camera.

As you can see, I was one happy grandma with my arms full of two adorable grandbabies.

Over the years, these two cousins have had many photos taken together.

Aren't they cute?

Age five...

Mason hasn't always liked the attention and love that Gillian has shown him.

"It's embarrassing.  I don't want a picture!"

Gillian, Mason, Julie & Jason

There have been lots of fun times at Grandma Sally's jumping on the trampoline,

and dyeing Easter eggs.

This happens even now that they are teenagers and almost too cool to dye eggs.

Easter 2013

Easter candy tastes good at any age.

Hannah, Mason & Gillian After the Easter egg hunt at Grandma's

They've gone from this

to this.

The table is getting a bit small.

This Easter, Mason showed Gillian some of his cooking talents.

All of my babies are growing up.

Gillian and Mason are standing side by side in this photo of all seven of my grandchildren.

Bridger, Parker, Regan, Jim holding Atticus, Sally holding Hannah, Gillian, Mason

It is time we had a new family portrait!

I know one thing these kids still love to do.

They love to go to the penny arcade in Manitou.

This past April, we made our trip to the arcade for fun times.

Gillian vamped it up in my sunglasses as Bat Woman.

Mason became the #1 Ice Cream Man.

They have outgrown the kiddie rides.

They are growing up way too fast.

Where has the time gone?

This year, I somehow managed to get both birthday cards in the mail for these two grandchildren who are so close in age, but I forgot to write out the check for Mason.  

I guess their old grandma is showing her age.

They are in ninth grade now.

The years have flown by so fast.

I hope they both always remember how much I love them and what a blessing they, and all of my grandchildren, have been to me.

Tonight, when I spoke to Mason, I asked, 

"When are you going to go get your driver's permit?"

His answer was a true sign of the times.

"As soon as the government is open again."

Come on congress.  I have two grandkids that you are impacting.

They want to get their driving permits.

They are now in ninth grade, the year that American civics is studied.

They aren't getting a very good lesson from you guys in congress.

I digress...

this post isn't a political commentary.

It is a a lesson in family history.

I will put a check in the mail tomorrow for Mason.

I hope he doesn't think that adults just can't be trusted these days.

I told him to look for a check from me in his card since I didn't make up to his house

 to celebrate his big day.

Oops, I forgot to put the check in the mail.

Please forgive me.

Gillian got her present.

Your's is on the way.

Gillian Marie & Mason Lloyd,

happy, happy birthday.

I love you.

Love,

Grandma Sally

XO XO

September Song

My September song began the day I gave birth to my firstborn.

On a beautiful September day, the seventeenth day of the month of September in the year 1967,
 I became a mother.

Forty years later, my wonderful son celebrated his birth by completing a 206 mile bike ride from Logan, Utah to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

The next morning we were photographed in front of a large clock in the condo in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, he had rented where we would stay to celebrate his successful ride and birthday.

The clock had this quote in French on its face:

The Time of Your Life.

Ryan & Sally Mother & Son September 2007 Jackson Hole, Wyoming

I loved being this boy's mother.

I still love being his mother.  

I grew up the day I gave birth to him.

My life became much fuller and had a greater purpose.
He has always brought joy to my life.
He is a happy man who never fails to make me laugh.
I am quite proud of him.
After him, came four more children.

Before I knew it,

this boy, my firstborn, became a man and on another September day he presented me with his third child and my fifth grandchild.  His namesake, Ryan Bridger, called Bridger,
became another joyful September song to me.

Julie, living in Salt Lake at the time of Bridger's birth came to meet her new nephew.

Julie & Bridger 1999

A few years later, my youngest son presented me with a third September joyful song when he and his wife gave birth to Atticus Roberts.  Atticus became my seventh and last grandchild.

Julie & Atticus 2002

September is one of my favorites months.

There was a time, when I was raising my five children when the trees were heavy with fruit waiting to be harvested and to be preserved.  

September days were filled with making breakfast, lunch,  and dinner,

Picking fruit and canning it,

Picking tomatoes and canning them, and

Caring for five children born in a span of ten years. 

September was a happy, busy time.

Ryan and Jonathan September 1979 The firstborn with the last born

There was a time in September, when I would walk out onto the back deck of our home and I could smell the fall air rich with the smell of grapes ready to harvested.

The air had cooled, and the first light frost would have set the flavors in the grapes.
Now it was time to make grape juice and grape jelly.

Julie & Sally harvesting grapes.

The grapes had to heated and crushed to make the wonderful, sweet tasting juice.

Now, September brings me reminders of crushing grief.

September is Suicide Awareness Month.

Today is the last day of that month.

A verse has been added to my September song that I didn't see coming.

I did not want this verse in my song.

This verse tells a story about a chapter in my life that I did not want included.

And, yet, because I have this verse in my song, I must raise my voice and sing, or speak, since I am not much of a singer.

The first night I returned home after my daughter's suicide, I wondered how I would make it.

I no longer understood anything about my life.

My past made no sense.

My future...well, I couldn't even foresee a future because I was trying to make sense of the present. 

"Catastrophic loss is like undergoing a loss of our identity." 

Jerry Sittser said this in his book A Grace Disguised.

I only knew this truth because I was living it in the days after Julie's death.  

It was several months later that I would read this truth and know that I had experienced a 

loss of my identity when I lost my daughter to suicide.
I didn't know who I was.
The script of my life had been altered.
A verse in my song had be thrust in that made every verse before it seem discordant and out of rhythm.

A dear friend, Sandy Decker, one the first ones I called to tell of Julie's death, came to Julie's funeral and gave me a book.

The title spoke to me.

It was a picture book.

I couldn't really read words yet; I was too crushed.
So this book was perfect for me at that time.

I read it the first night I was home from spending a week with my family near the place where Julie had lived.  When I climbed into my bed that night I was
too numb to  fathom how
 I would get up and live the next morning.

In the story that is told by the book, the narrator is walking along the beach of an ocean.
As most of us do at the beach, she begins to look for shells.
She comes across a broken scallop shell, but leaves it search of a perfect shell.
Then, she realizes that this broken shell is like she is with her broken heart.
She realizes that this shell had not been totally crushed by the pounding surf.
She realizes she can learn from brokenness.
She learns she will need
courage
 to remain on the beach,
to live with the pain she is feeling,
to not embrace
a vision of a perfect shell,
but to instead,
to embrace brokenness.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;
and those who are crushed in spirit He saves.
Psalm 34:18

The message of the book spoke to me.
I knew with the Lord's help I could live with my broken heart.

Life was not perfect.
It was never intended to be.
Day by day, I would learn to live as a broken person in a broken world.
I learned I could only do this by grace that was given me by the
Lord who said He would be with me,
the brokenhearted.

He also gave me friends who become my life support.

During the first September after Julie's death,
Team 8:08 was formed to walk in the Pikes Peak Suicide Prevention Partnership Walk.
The walk has three purposes:
1) To raise money to raise awareness to prevent suicide,
2) to remember loved ones lost to suicide,
3) to support survivors.

Julie's friends from high school formed the team and asked if we would come and walk with them.
Below are Julie's main five women in her life.
Each one is an awesome woman.
Each one loved Julie and was loved by her:
Sharon, Leana, sister Amy, sister Keicha, and Sheridan.

The Core of Team 808 Sharon, Leana, Amy, Keicha, Sheridan

Thia, Melissa, Trinette, Sharon, Sheridan, Keicha, Joni, Leana

Look at this team.
Each one was brokenhearted because one person took her life.
Each one will never forget Julie,
nor will they ever forget how her final act broke their hearts.
Each one reminds me and helps me remember what an awesome girl and woman my daughter was.
They carry her memory.
They help me remember how many wonderful facets she had.
They help me remember that she filled her life with wonderful friends.
Each one would have been there for her in her greatest need, would have done anything to save her,
if only she would have reached out.
Several were there many times before when her demons would overtake her mind.
One, her sister Amy, probably saved her more times than even I know about.

Team 808 September 2010

This year, Team 808 walked again for Jules.
Again, Leana was the driving force to organize the team.
Thank you, Leana.  I love you.  You are such a dear and loyal friend to us all.
This year, the team included,
myself, my husband Jim, my daughter Amy, Julie's & Amy's father and my former husband, and my niece, Cristy.

Some of us walked while others ran.
Julie's father won a first place medal.
Julie would have been so proud.

Julie's closest cousin, Cristy sent a message written on her balloon.

There were many at the walk that day.
Many names were read in remembrance.
As I looked at the others gathered to remember a loved one, I was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of lives who have been touched by suicide.

I reflected on the new verse of my September song,
the verse that talks of loss, remembrance, and broken hearts.
This verse in my song now is sung every September when I am reminded that it is once again
Suicide Prevention Month.

Thankfully, this particular verse does not end in hopelessness.
It ends in hope and healing.

Despite the verse in my song that I did not want included,
there is a refrain that is repeated throughout the song of my life.
The refrain speaks of
joy,
hope,
healing,
and of the faithfulness of God,
who now holds my sweet Julie in His arms
and comforts me with His presence.
He sends me
people,
so many wonderful people,
who have loved and supported me and my family.

This is my September song.
It is a beautiful song because it speaks of love.
A mother's song always begins and ends with love.

Reflections: My 50th Class Reunion ~ Pueblo East High School Class of '63

My inner processor has been on overload this week.

Sometimes I wish I could be like my husband and just attend an event and then be done with it.

That would not be me.

I must process the entire event to make full meaning of it.

Fifty years ago, I graduated from high school.

Just writing those words causes me great disbelief.

How can that be?

Where did the time go?

I will be attending two high school reunions this year because I moved just prior to my senior year.

Pueblo East High School in Pueblo, Colorado was my high school home
 for grades nine through eleven.

It was here where I met the high school sweetheart whom I would marry thirty years after high school.

The girlfriends from this class are among my dearest and closest friends.

I have written often about this wonderful group of women.  

We meet every three months for lunch, so I am well versed on the lives of these girlfriends who live nearby, but I had not seen many from this class for at least 50 years.

I was instructed by my dear friend, Donna to take good notes,

Donna & Sally 2010

so, Donna, here you go...

First of all, I missed you.  

I wish you could have been at the reunion with us.

I loved your response to the question I posed on whether or not you would be attending.  

You said,

Pity the girl that leaves the party early.
That certainly may have been true in high school, but

I found that all of us were so happy to see each other again that the pettiness that may have been there in high school seemed to melt away.  

I think you would have been happy to know that the reunion was a wonderful success that left us all basking in the glow of friendship.  We truly missed all who were unable to attend. 

Recaps:

Friday Night

I'm afraid, I didn't take many photos. I was having too good of a time just catching up with all of my classmates to take a photo.  Our first night of the reunion, we all gathered on the patio of Gray's Coors Tavern , home of the famous Pueblo slopper. (click on the link to read about the slopper)  Judiciously, I did not eat a slopper.  I did overhear a lot of conversations regarding those who chose to eat a slopper.  "I hope I don't have a gall bladder attack tonight."  I guess our age was showing when it came to food choices.  

A Pueblo Slopper from Gray's Coors Tavern

It was a hot Friday night in Pueblo.  The town was hopping.  There was a very big football game in town.  Central and Centennial were playing for the Bell.  Many were stopping by Coors on their way to the game for a quick hamburger.  Traffic was heavy.  It was hard to find a parking place.  Some things never change.  Friday night football games between the town rivals still create a sense of excitement.  Already, as we walked towards the reunion, I felt the years begin to fall away.  I was off to see my high school buddies.  

As soon as I walked onto the patio to register, I was asked to remove my sunglasses so those at the registration table could see who I was.  "The eyes don't change," I was told.  "You won't be recognized if we can't see your eyes."  True.  I found us all looking deeply into each others' eyes and seeing the girl or guy from long ago.  Also, some of us still had good enough eyesight to read the large letter name tags from a distance.  That helped too!  

My husband had thought he might skip out of the reunion early, go to the football game, and then return later to pick me up.  It was my reunion after all.  I sent him over to a table where other spouses were sitting and went off to connect with my friends.  Soon, I saw he was drawing his own crowd.  The underclassmen went over to see a favorite upperclassman, my hubby Jim.  He had as good a time as I did.  

Time after time, I found myself being spun around by a guy or gal I had not seen in 50 years.  "Sally French.  How long has it been?"  Someone asked me where a certain guy was.  I answered with, "He's that one over there that looks like an old Fonzie."  I was told to remove the adjective "old" from my description.  "Where is so and so?" was another often asked question.  "What, she has short gray hair now???"  "Yes, don't we all?"  

The evening was way too short.  I left thinking to myself, "We had the nicest group of people in the whole world in our class."  Truly I just could not get enough time with these people.  They were all so nice!

Saturday Recap

Many spent Saturday morning and early afternoon touring the old hometown.  I met up with my dear friends Dove and Eileen and Dove's husband David who heading toward the old Denver and Rio Grande Railroad Depot.  There were joined by Dennis, former class president, who was here from out of state.  He and I discovered our mutual history:  our father's both worked for the railroad at the same time.  He had even worked at the depot in as a baggage handler during his years in high school.  

Eileen, Dove, Dennis, Sally

Oh the memories this old depot held for me.  It was great sharing stories with my friends of their memories of the building.  We sat on an old railroad station bench for our photo.  We then posed in front of the building for another photo.  

Sally, Dove, David, Eileen

Somehow, Dennis and I started discussing the work of William Stegner.  I imagine it began when I told of recently reading Angle of Repose.  From there, we then began to discuss what I am currently reading, Crossing to Safety.  I could not help but draw parallels from that book to the weekend.

Saturday Night Recap

"The Trajectory of Our Lives"

Again, I didn't end up taking many photos on Saturday night.  (Dear Blogging Friends, aren't you glad?) I was having too good of a time chatting and catching up with friends to take photos.  

Here are a few:

Our awesome leader:  Carol and husband Andy worked tirelessly to keep all reunion committee members on task.  The reunion was a huge success.  Thanks, Carol.

Elaine and Marilyn worked so hard on the planning.

Elaine & Marilyn

Iris put together a phenomenal "year book."

Iris & Ginger Loyal Eagles

These two can still light up a room with a smile.

Sharon & Kathy

The table decorations were made by Carol D.

I think she would be voted homecoming queen again if a vote would have been taken.

Carol D. and Cliff J.

Val brought her cheerleading outfit.

It was made of wool.

The waist was tiny.

It had been lovingly preserved.

Val is still one of our great cheerleaders!  I can always count on her for the best hugs.

She is always in your corner cheering you on.

Love you, Val.

Val & Sally

Kathy, pretty in pink, or any other color, handled all the finances for the reunion.

What a job!

Here she is with Frank, Ray, and Ray's wife.

What wonderful people these four are.

Kathy, Frank, Ray, and Ray's wife

Karen, Val, and Dennis caught up on the past 50 years.

Karen, Val, & Dennis

Annette says that Jim taught her to drive.
She says she is a good driver and has him to thank for that skill.

Annette & Jim

I love these ladies!

Here is a photo of just a few of the girls who mean the world to me.

The EHS Girls of '63

It was a treat to spend time with the guys from the class also.

After the reunion, I could not help but think what a wonderful group of men this photo represents.

I am proud to know each these men.

The EHS Guys of '63

Sunday Recap

On Sunday morning, the group gathered at the high school to tour the school, and to enjoy a continental breakfast.  Jim and I attend the breakfast and then left for home.  I understand the tour of the school was great fun and brought back many happy memories for all who took the tour.

Reflections

I was an interloper of sorts to this group.  I did not go to grade school and junior high with these 'kids.'  I moved to Pueblo and joined this class in November of my freshman year.  East High School was a brand new school.  It had been built to handle the great influx of baby boomers who had reached high school age.  In 1959, Pueblo, Colorado was larger than Colorado Springs, my hometown where I had attended grades K - 8.  I joined this convocation of Eagles when they were taking its first year of flight. It was great fun to be a part of a brand new school creating new traditions.

I was welcomed into this group immediately.  We had such good times together.  There were:  sock hops, bon fires, rousing football and basketball games, proms, homecoming parades, and exciting pep assemblies.  We drug Main after games on Friday and Saturday nights.  We ate the best French fries after these games.  We had slumber parties where we talked and laughed all night long.  I loved my times at East.  And then, my senior year my father was transferred to another town and I had to leave the nest and go to another school.  I did not graduate with these classmates.  No one seems to mind.  I am still one of them.

Pueblo, Colorado is a steel town.  It is a blue collar town.  It is a town of immigrants.  It is town that has gone through hard times.  It is a town where people don't forget their roots.  Life is centered around family, school, and church.  Ethnic and cultural foods and traditions, religious affiliation, and familial ties are greatly honored.  Perhaps that is why these people are such nice people.  I just kept hearing from everyone at the reunion that we sure had a nice group of people in our class.  We seemed to just enjoy being together again.  

I found it interesting that we didn't seem to need to listen to or dance to the old tunes from the '60's like we did at other reunions.  I think this reunion was not so much about a look backward where we were trying to recapture those days of our youth that had vanished.  This reunion was more about reflecting on how short life is, and about how important the people in our lives are.  

When the former class president spoke to the class, he said he wondered if any of us ever even imagined this day that would occur fifty years later.  I'm sure I did not.  I thought we would be forever young and idealistic.  Fifty years ago we had no idea how much the world and our lives would change. The 60's were in their infancy.  Martin Luther King had not had his March on Washington when we graduated.  The Viet Nam War was just beginning.  President Kennedy had visited Pueblo in the summer just before our senior year.  We could not imagine that he would be assassinated before 1963 was over.  Our dreams for the future were just as hopeful as those our parents had instilled in us, the generation that was born just after World War II.  We were all born just as the war was ending.

As I have reflected over this reunion, I find it hard to sum up my emotions.  Mostly, I came away with a sense of gratitude for a time, a place, and for the people who were there with me in that time and place.  Dennis, our class president, spoke of the trajectory of our lives in his remarks.  Certainly, we had all been launched from this same Eagle nest with great dreams to soar through the future.  Now, fifty years later, to me, and I think to others, it did not seem to matter to what heights we either soared or did not soar.  It only seemed to matter that we were able to be together again.  The flock had made it safely back to our beginnings.  

The words of Terry Tempest Williams in her introduction for one of the editions of William Stegner's Crossing to Safety   sum up the thoughts I have been processing about attending this milestone:

Stegner shows us again and again that it is love and friendship, the sanctity and celebration of our relationships that not only support a good life, but create one.

As I grow older,

I value these primary relationships and experiences more than I ever could have imagined 

when I was younger.

Thank you, 

East High Class of '63

for your

love,

support,

and friendships.

I can't imagine what my life would be like without you.

Your laughter echoes in my ears.

The tears you have shed as you have shared your trials and triumphs with me are stored in my heart.

You have made my life rich and full.

You are all Golden Treasures!

Breath...

Thoughts about:

breath

breTH

noun

the air taken into or expelled from the lungs

The Book of Genesis tells us:

- then the LORD God formed the man of the dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, ant the man became a living creature. ~ Genesis 2:7

Idioms or cliches about breath:

out of breath

time to catch one's breath

under one's breath

breath of fresh air

catch one's breath

Don't hold your breath!

gasp for breath

I don't have time to catch my breath.

waste one's breath

with bated breath

take your breath away

How many times have we all used these idioms?

I was taught how to breathe during childbirth.

I was taught how to breathe when I learned to do Pilates.

I had the great blessing to watch each of my five children take the first breath of life.

I held my father's hand during his last days and would literally tell him,

"breathe in"

"breathe out"

in an attempt to help ease his breathing as he struggled through the effects of congestive heart failure.

When I have an asthma attack,

I use my flow meter as an aid to understand how my breathing is doing.

At high altitudes, as I gasp for breath, I use my finger oximeter to check my O2 saturation levels.

My therapist cautioned me about 

holding my breath.

She said that she thinks that when I get worried and anxious and stressed,

I am doing great harm to my body when I don't breathe deeply and practice stress releasing breathing.

She said that she thinks I go around "holding my breath" too often.

She means I am not relaxed and taking life as it comes.

I am uptight.

I'm not breathing deeply.

I am stressed.

She is right.

My GI doctor told me that when the body is not breathing easily in deep sleep at night,

it is out of balance.

When adrenaline is pumped up, one's body goes into 

fight or flight

response.

When one sleeps deeply and well, one's body is able to 

rest and digest.

These two bodily responses to life need to be in balance.

Breath gives life.

I've been thinking about breathing a lot lately.

Interestingly, this past week, I had my breath collected.

I know, that sounds crazy,

but really I did.

I spent three hours at National Jewish Heath

where a nurse had me blow into a balloon type object so my breath could be 

collected and analyzed.

Why?

This test is called the

hydrogen breath tes

t. (click to read about the test.)

It is used to diagnose several gastrointestinal conditions.

I should have the results on Friday.

And then, today, for the first time since the first of 2013,

I let out a huge sigh of relief.

It has been a rough year for my family.

There have been a few bumps in the road.

Two of my children have been searching for jobs.

Both have always worked since they were sixteen years old.

Both have been highly successful.

This year there were reversals in employment for both.

Job searches are trying, difficult, discouraging, and disheartening.

I have prayed daily for the Lord's provision for these two and for their families.

The Lord has provided every single day with what was needed for their needs.

Then, two weeks ago, one was offered a job opportunity where the salary was the same as the last wonderful job.  Opportunities for growth and advancement are also there.

Today,  the other one also got a wonderful job offer with the same salary and benefits as the last great job.  Opportunities for growth and advancement are also there.

I am breathing again!

I am doing the happy dance.

I am so relieved.

I am so thankful.

Praise the Lord!

Many prayers have been answered.

Time in The Classroom ~ Becoming a Teacher

Missing the classroom begins when the shelves are stocked with new school supplies.

The beginning of any new school year always causes me to be a bit nostalgic.

I found myself in the school supply aisle at the store the other day.

Who can resist looking at those new notebooks,

and pens,

and pencils?

I know I can't.

I love this time of the year when the shelves are stocked with all those new school supplies.

This year,

I didn't buy a new notebook.

I didn't even buy a new pen.  

I don't need a new pen since I bought my favorite pen of all time:

the wonderful Bee Blossom Seven Year Pen.

(I do love this pen.  It is the best pen I've ever had. It might not last seven years, but writing with it is pure joy.)  

Ok, maybe that last statement is a bit over the top, but some of us really love our pens and pencils.

Missing the Classroom

Maybe, just maybe, it was my love of pens and pencils, and of books that set my destiny in motion.

As far back as I can remember, I wanted to teach.

I decided I wanted to become a teacher in kindergarten.

I loved school.

I loved my teacher.

I loved the classroom.

No wonder, I get a bit of a lost feeling when the school year starts without me.

My journey to becoming a teacher was a long one.  It took me longer than I ever expected to actually become a teacher.  In high school, I'm not sure I had my pathway mapped out for the future the way I wish I would have.  I knew for sure that I wanted to teach.  I also knew that would mean I would need to go to college.  No one in my immediate family had ever graduated from college when I was in high school.  My father had attended Colorado College in Colorado Springs, but he had dropped out just short of finishing his degree.  I think he only needed about seven credit hours to finish.  Somehow, the financial concerns during the Depression Era, and marriage, must have gotten in the way, and he never finished. 

My father was a man who championed education and placed great value on reading and writing.  He was always reading.  He wrote well.  He was a wonderful story-teller.  He encouraged great discussions at the dinner table, and he encouraged us to read and to think.  He also was realistic when it came to helping me select the courses I should take in high school.  He thought I was foolish to take Latin instead of Spanish.  I think we was pretty much right on that.  Latin always helped me with my understanding of vocabulary and grammar, but I should have also taken Spanish.  I regret that I did not.  He also insisted that I take typing.  He said that I would need that skill to get a job.  He was right on that advice.  He thought it was fine to take college prep English, but he also knew that I really needed help in the mathematics department.  He tried to help me all he could as I suffered through high school algebra.

When I graduated from high school, I was offered scholastic scholarships to two different state colleges.  I insisted that I wanted to attend what was then called Colorado State College in Greeley, Colorado.  It was the "teacher's college."  And so, on a September day fifty years ago, I went off to college on the first leg of a journey that would take more years than I ever imagined to becoming a teacher.  (This photo of me, decked out in my new going off to college outfit,  was taken one late summer afternoon all those many years ago by my high school boy friend.  Yes, he is now my husband.  And yes, I did wear this outfit, right down to shoes and the purse, on my first day as a college co-ed.)

Off to College

My head is full of many happy memories of my college days.  I lived in a college dorm, worked in the college dining hall, joined a sorority, Sigma Kappa, and met many wonderful friends.  One of those friends is still one of my dearest friends.  I am so grateful I had these opportunities and experiences.  Unfortunately, after the first semester of my junior year, I left college.  

I thought I would get back to school to finish my degree, but before long, I met a young man at work.  Six months later, I married this young man.  He and I spent nearly sixteen years together as husband and wife before we divorced.  During those years when we were married, he would finish his college degree, earn a masters degree, and earn a living as a high school teacher.  We also have five children together.  Those years, short on money and time, I spent my days taking care of my children and home. Going back to school to finish what I had started years before was only a dream that I knew would have to wait until later.  

After my divorce, I found my self in the unenviable position of being a single mom without a job or a college education.  During this time, in the Summer of 1981, I went to a conference where I was inspired to follow my dream to get that long desired college diploma.  That night when I returned home, I wrote the following words in my journal:

August 6, 1981

"The time frame in which we attain our goals may be altered but never lessens our inner need to fulfill them."  These words were spoken tonight at the conference for women by Dr. Lindquist at Weber State College.  My deep inner needs include a need to write seriously, to finish college, and to teach.  With the Lord's help, I do hope to fulfill these goals in the timeframe in which I have to work.

In reality, meeting such goals right after my divorce seemed like a dream that would never happen.  I had no money.  I didn't have a job.  I hadn't worked in years.  I didn't have any marketable job skills, except, I could type.  (Thanks to my father's instance, I could do that.)  

In time, I found a job as a secretary for a school district in Colorado Springs where I had relocated from Utah.  My salary was low.  I was a single mom.  I need to work.  I could not take off the time to go to college.  Even if I did finish my college coursework to teach, I could not take the time off to do observations of classrooms and student teaching.  

So, I went a different route.  After a few years, I went back to college at night to work on a BS degree in Business Administration.  Finally, in 1987, twenty-five years after I had begun work on my first year in college, I earned that long sought for college degree.  

Earning a BS in Business Administration 1987

I was very proud of what I had accomplished in that moment, but I still didn't have a teaching certificate.  I had not let go of that dream yet, but again,  it seemed rather bleak that I would ever actually turn this dream into reality. 

Fast forward to 1992.  I married my high school sweetheart during that year.  I also began working as an accounting assistant doing bookkeeping for the school district in Pueblo.  About a year later, the carpel tunnel syndrome  and cubital tunnel syndrome problems I had ignored for years finally caused me seek treatment.  My surgeon said I could not work during the time I was recuperating from surgery, and in fact, told me to expect to be on workman's comp for at least a year and a half.  He also told me he would never release me to go back to doing the kind of work I had been doing for the past ten years.  In the meantime, I lost my job and my benefits.

Looking back, this turn of events was a God send.  My doctor would not release me from going back to work, but he didn't say I couldn't go to school.  So, in January of 1994, just a few weeks after surgery to release my trapped ulnar nerve from the cubital tunnel on my right arm, I began college again.  Julie, my youngest daughter was a college freshman at the same University.  She proudly wrote my name in my books for me since I could not yet write with my right hand.  Equipped with a tape recorder, I began the coursework that would lead me towards my long sought goals. 

A year and a half later, after taking all those English courses that I loved, and after a wonderful trip to England to study Theater in London, and after student teaching on my 50th birthday, I finally graduated summa cum laude with a BA in English and a secondary teaching certificate in English/Language Arts. I thought I was pretty old, to be entering the teaching profession, but as I look at a photo from that time, I marvel at how young I was!

Sally & one of her favorite professors Dr. M. Barber Oxford, England 1994

I guess the rest is history.  I did land a teaching job after graduation.  I began my teaching career by teaching seventh grade English in the toughest middle school in the school district.  I was told not to smile before Thanksgiving because the kids would eat me alive if I did.  I don't know when I smiled; all I know is that I never cried.  That year deserves a book.  I will tell you about it in another post.  Just know, that I was hooked on teaching, even though my first year was worse than rough.  

I don't know that I have ever gotten the bug to teach out of my system even though I retired from teaching at the University level seven years ago.  I miss those times in the classroom.

To Be Continued...

The Vicissitudes of Life Encapsulated in One Day

At times during the day, I've been at loose ends.

I flitted from one attention grabber to another.

I couldn't settle on one activity because another would call my name.

I was distracted.

At one moment, I have been sad, crying, and in mourning.

During the next, I would find myself rejoicing over the beauty of the day.

I couldn't settle on reading a book.

Couldn't seem to pick up my journal and begin to write even as thoughts tumbled through my mind.

I don't want to eat dinner,

yet I am searching for a snack.

I don't want to talk to anyone,

even as I long for a good conversation.

I want to be alone.

No, I really think I want companionship.

I have many tasks that need to be completed.

My desk if piled high with papers and books to be sorted through.

I don't think I even made my bed today.

Did I?

I don't know.  

Does it matter?

It is nearly time to go to bed again.

I've been tired,

but heaven knows I could never settle down to go to sleep.

Do you ever have days like that?

Today, 8.08 began at 8:08 A.M.

when I finally awakened enough to look at the clock.

Damn digital clocks.

Even they send reminders of Julie.

Julie,

as the story goes,

once said her ideal man was BOB.  

Digital watches were the new "in" thing when she was in high school.

8:08, meaning BOB, became a symbol of Julie's life.

Memories of her began to flood my mind.

I wasn't alone.

Many of us were reminded of her today.

In my memory

I vividly saw her twirling her hair around her slender fingers.

I saw her showing the grandchildren how to hula hoop.

I've been missing her so much lately.

I've needed her humor, her silliness, her kindness, her take on life that could be wise.

Julie, Amy, and Mom

I grieved because I can't be her to her sister Amy.

I know Amy needs her in her life so much at this time.

I called Amy to tell her that I wish I could be her sister to her,

but of course, I can't be.

Only Julie could be Julie to Amy.

Only, Julie could be Julie to any of us.

She was our family lynchpin.

She is gone.

What will hold us all together?

Grief no longer incapacitates me.

Or does it?

I went on with my day.

I had lunch with my sister.

I made tea for my husband and served him tea and cake on the porch.

This evening,

the two of us,

my dear husband and I,

took a walk in the neighborhood.

The air was crisp and cool, reminding us of an early fall day in the mountains.

We followed a beautiful buck in velvet who was just ten feet ahead of us on the path.

Peace and beauty filled my soul.

It was a good reminder that:

Life is full of vicissitudes.

And yes, there are days when those vicissitudes are encapsulated all in one day.

Thankfully, at the end of this day, I could agree with a quote from Jerry Sittser's book on grief.

I had experienced the ups and downs that come when one continues to grieve.

I could also honestly say, 

I was struck by how wonderful ordinary life is.

Simply being alive became holy to me.

~ Jerry Sittser

A Grace Disguised:   How the Soul Grows Through Loss

Our Getaway - Part Two

Just as June was ending, my husband and I had a getaway prior to his back surgery.  I wrote about part of that getaway in "Our Getaway - Part One." (Click to read that posting.)  Now, as we are beginning August, this posting I am finally writing is old news, but I did want to share with you some of the places where we traveled on our getaway.

Just looking at the photos I took has actually caused me to long for another getaway.  In the meantime, I will take some refreshment and joy by remembering the beauty we saw as we traveled to some beautiful parts of Colorado.

The Fourth of July is never my favorite time to be on the road.  In fact, I prefer to stay home that weekend or get to my destination before the holiday begins.  Unfortunately, this year, our decision to take a small road trip during the holiday was a last minute decision I insisted on before we faced my husband's surgery.

Thankfully, we found great accommodations in Glenwood Springs despite it being a holiday weekend.  We did not plan on spending time in the pool during the heat of the day on the Fourth of July, and we didn't want to go in and out of tourist shops in town.  Jim wanted to go over to a small town near Glenwood Springs called Carbondale, Colorado because he found that was where the nearest dog park was located.  It had been a long time since I had been to Carbondale, so I was up for the 13 mile drive to find a dog park.

We had even thought of driving on into Aspen for the day.  Aspen is only about an hour from Glenwood and just about an additional 30 miles from Carbondale.  While the prospects of going to Aspen for the day were intriguing, I didn't really want to be limited to where we could go while we were there because we had the dog with us.  So, as we drove towards Carbondale, I pulled out the map and suggested we go to Marble, Colorado.  Jim immediately and incredulously responded with, "No, are you kidding?"  You see there is a story behind this response.  One that will take another blog post.  It involves a wild ride I once wanted to take him on over Schofield Pass.  Google Schofield Pass images for a reason why he did not want to go to Marble with me.  I guess he doesn't trust me.  I assured him that I had a different route to Marble in mind for this trip, so he agreed to take my word for it that he would like my plan.

I'd forgotten how beautiful the drive between Glenwood and Carbondale was.  As Mt. Sopris came into view, I asked him to pull over so I could photograph this beautiful mountain.  As you can see, my selection of spots in which to take a photo was not the best, note the telephone wires, but you get the idea of how beautiful the area is.

As we pulled into Carbondale, we headed towards the dog park.  Boston was ready for a nice run and a refreshing drink of water.  

While Boston romped and ran, I walked down towards the entrance to the park to a community garden that had caught my eye on my way into the dog park. I loved the sign that the gardeners had created.

Can you imagine the joy that gardeners in this spot enjoy?  What a view!  The neighborhood around the garden and the dog park was lush with beautiful yards and flowers because of ditch water that ran through the area.  

After Boston was duly exercised and watered, we took CO 133-S to Redstone, Colorado.    

Once we got into town, which is more like a village than a town, we wished we'd planned our trip better.  (This is the story of our lives!)  Our timing was slightly off.  We headed down Main Street just after the Fourth of July Parade ended.  In fact, some folks might have thought we were part of the parade!  This town would be the perfect place to watch the perfect small town America Fourth of July Parade.  Every tricycle, wagon, child, and dog seemed to be decked out in red, white, and blue.  The town is tiny, so the street is closely bordered by mining era houses that are decorated for the holiday.  Being a mountain town, the flowers were stunning in their profusion and rich hues.  I just could not bring myself to stick my head out of the window of the car to take photos.  Trust me; it was a magical, patriotic place on this day.

We were starving, so we found a place to eat that was dog friendly.

We will return to Redstone, and next time we will plan our trip better.  We hope to catch a tour of the castle there and even perhaps spend the night at the Redstone Inn.  Both of these things have been on 

my bucket list for quite some time.

Just outside of town, one find the interesting and historical coke ovens that were built by the Colorado Fuel and Iron and the coal "coked" by these ovens was transferred by the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad.  Both the CF&I and the D&RGRR figure largely in my personal family history, so I am always fascinated by the history of such places as the coke ovens near Redstone.

After taking a short time to photograph the coke ovens, we needed to go to a place I had been longing to re-visit for a long time:  Marble, Colorado.

I had not been to Marble since my girlhood days.  I don't even remember when I last went there on one of my father's fascinating road trips through Colorado.  If only I had a recorded oral history of his voice as he told us about these places in Colorado.  He had such knowledge of these places, and he told the story of each place in such an interesting way.  I used to love these trips with him.  Now, all those stories are lost somewhere in the recesses of my memory, but I remembered the town, and thankfully, it had not really changed.  It is still a place off the beaten path that is somewhat undiscovered.  It is hard to read the sign, but it states that the population is 85 and the elevation is over 7,000 feet.

Just as I remembered, marble is everywhere.  It almost litters the ground, if marble could litter.  

Naturally, many sculptors live in this area.

 This is a rock solid mail box holder!

The sizes and shapes of the white marble against the blue of the mountains and the green of trees and grasses is a delight to the eye.

As we drove through town, it was hard to believe that in the rest of America crowds where thronging and celebrating.  This was the view that welcomed us as we drove toward a small church in the town.

Here is the perfect setting for a small family wedding the mountains, or for a peaceful Sunday morning service.

We parked the car near the church, and I wandered to side yard.  I found this beautiful sculpture next to the church.

 I could not help but lift my eyes towards the heavens and think of my darling daughter Julie as I sat in this peaceful place surrounded by beauty and peace.  I thought of her in the presence of real angels and rejoiced that she was in a place of peace.

My reflection was soon interrupted by a visitor.

Boston joined me on a marble bench and brought a big smile to my face and gratitude to my heart for this dear canine companion.  It seemed that this was the perfect ending to a perfect day.  Soon, the three of us, Jim, Boston, and I, headed towards Glenwood Springs where Jim and I would enjoy a great evening soak in the hot springs.