Small Treasures

As I search for a tablecloth to place on the table, I came across the small treasure of a handwoven cloth I sometimes drape at an angle across the kitchen table.  Carefully folded and placed at the bottom of the drawer, this cloth seldom is used for everyday use.  Needing to be carefully laundered so that the vibrant colors of blue, yellow, red, and orange remain as true as they were on the day I bought the cloth, it remains tucked away so that it won’t be ruined.  Don’t we all have items such as these?

Today, I need a touch of vibrancy in the kitchen.  I need something that makes me think of cultures that are not my own. I need something that reminds me of days gone by.  This tablecloth fits that need perfectly, besides, I decide, beautiful cloths are to used, not just tucked away in a drawer.

While the tablecloth is a treasure to me, it holds no true value to anyone else.  If a neighbor were to stop by, or a family member, the visitor might note the cloth and might even wonder why I had selected it for my table covering.  They might even ask where I got it, or maybe not.  They might think I picked it up one day when I was shopping at Pier One, or World Market.  

I doubt they would ever suspect that I bought this tablecloth in Oaxaca, Mexico, in the Spring of 2005, when I traveled to Oaxaca to earn University credit from the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs.  The name of the course was Oaxaca, A Mexican Cultural Experience.  

It seems nearly impossible that it has been thirteen years since I had the amazing experience of traveling to Oaxaca with a wonderful group of teachers from throughout Colorado to learn the wealth of cultural aspects found in Oaxaca.  The class was taught by a Spanish teacher from Colorado Springs whom had spent time in Oaxaca and was familiar with the area and the people.  All of whom took the class were either Spanish teachers or teachers of linguistically diverse students.

As memories of that time came back to me when I spread the tablecloth on my table, soon I found myself revisiting the memories I made by looking at all the photos I took while I was there.  

Photos and mementos.  Those are the small treasures of life.  

I found I even still had the itinerary for the trip!  It is a good thing I have the itinerary  because otherwise, I probably would have already forgotten many of the details of where we went and what we saw.  The first day we were there, we visited the magnificent Montezuma cypress tree known as the El Arbol de Tule , the largest tree in the world.  I didn’t take a photo that captured the size of this tree because I didn’t have a camera that would do it justice.  Instead, I studied parts of the tree and photographed those parts.





We then toured the church nearby called, Santa Maria del Tule, 


Later, we went to an archeological site called Mitla.  When we were near this archeological site, we saw women draping weavings for sale over the fences made of cactus.


Before I went to Oaxaca, a dear friend had told me to make sure I purchased some of the hand woven cloths that I would find.  These cloths draped on a fence were the first I saw.  I did purchase a cloth here, but not the blue one I use as a table cloth.  I purchased that cloth when we did a guided tour of the city of Oaxaca.  In one the parks that we toured, there were many people demonstrating their weaving techniques.  Weaving is a major industry in Oaxaca.

I’ve always loved Mexico, but Oaxaca has a very special part in my heart when I think of Mexico.

This is a photo of Retired English Teacher before she retired!

 Memories flood back of the beautiful colors of the flowers, 


of the beautiful clothing the women wore,



of the colorfully painted buildings where I spent time in the plaza and on the roof top of the casa where we lived for our time in Oaxaca.


I remember the colorful kitchens where the food we ate was prepared, 


by woman grinding the corn used for our tortillas in ancient ways.


The yellows of lemons, the greens of limes added flavor and color to the blue corn tortilla chips that were graciously served to us in a restaurant that offered us a cool respite from the summer sun on the day when I bought this tablecloth.

All of these memories come flooding back to me when I spread this tablecloth across my kitchen table.  

This is not just any ordinary cloth.  It is one of my treasures.  

When I am gone and my children go through my things, will they place any value on this handwoven piece of cloth?  Will one of them think, “I’d like that because I could use it when I have friends over for margaritas and Mexican food.”  

Will they have any idea of the memories this cloth holds for me?  No.  I don’t think they will.  Why would they?  That is just how it is when others look at the small treasures of other people.  They don’t know the meaning that the owner of that small trinket, vase, necklace, ring, piece of cloth, or photograph attached to each sentimental item found throughout the house.  

Photographs, trinkets, pieces of cloth have value because the owner of that item attaches meaning and value to them.  

I treasure this cloth not simply because it is a beautiful colorful cloth.  I treasure it because it reminds me of another time in my life when I traveled to Mexico to be exposed to rich cultural experiences in a place rich with culture.  

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me of a time when I was learning more about how to teach children from  linguistic and cultural backgrounds that were different from mine.  


I had a chance to visit a village school.  As I observed the children participate in opening exercises for the day, I reflected upon how one of those same children would respond to entering my classroom for the first time in the United States.



This tablecloth is just a material item.  On its own merit, it has little value except to add a bit of color to my table. It provides a vibrant background for me to study as I eat my breakfast.


This cloth was handwoven by a woman I never knew whom had incredible skill, great artistic ability, and was able to take colorful yarns and weave them into patterns and symbols that had meaning in her culture.   

Now, that weaving graces the table of  a woman from a completely different culture whom values the cloth as a treasure not just because of its beauty, but it represents honoring the culture and skill of the one whom created this household item.  

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me of one of the classes that I took to earn University credit after I had earned my Master of Arts Degree in Second Language Learning.  This course, Oaxaca, A Mexican Cultural Experience,  taught me so much because I was able to gain new insight into just one the cultures that were represented in my classroom.

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me of the beauty I saw everyday in place I would never have visited if I had not earned an advanced degree and was not in a profession that required me to keep taking courses in my area of study during the years I was teaching.   

I treasure this cloth because it reminds me just how many wonderful experiences I have had the good fortune to have in my life.

Objects found within a home are seldom just objects.  
Usually such objects hold great meaning for the one to whom the object belongs.  

What special treasures do you have in your home that remind you of a special time in your life?



Memorial Day to the Fourth of July ~ Part I

No blogging has been done since May!  I’ve had a lot going on, so today, I hope to catch up just a bit.

Just where DO I start?  It seems that so much has been going on in my world since the first of 2018 that I just have not had the time, the energy, or the inclination to blog about anything.

Mid-May to Memorial Day

In mid-May, I flew to Utah for to attend my grandson Bridger’s graduation from high school.  I had the most wonderful time celebrating him and his accomplishments and spending time with family.  

Bridger, the youngest child of my oldest child, my son Ryan, is one of those very special kids that has always brought joy to each person he meets.  Honestly, I’ve never met anyone who knows Bridger who doesn’t comment on what a special person he is.  His genuineness comes through in every conversation.  He’s an adventuresome kid with a great personality and good looks.  All of that only takes you so far.  Thankfully, he is also very smart and he is a hard worker who is self driven.  He plans on attending Utah State University in Logan, Utah, next year.  I’m very proud of him and can’t wait to see what the future will bring to him.
Grandma Sally with Bridger
Bridger on the big screen
Son Ryan with Bridger and Daughter-in-law Sheridan

I must admit that some tears were shed when Bridger graduated.  When he tried on his cap and gown, he gathered up his gorgeous curly long brown hair into a thick pony tail as he looked into the mirror  and contemplated how the cap would stay on that head of hair.  As he gathered up his long locks into that thick pony tail, I saw the nape of his neck and instantly saw the exact same looking curls as my daughter Julie had at her neckline.  I then saw a pony tail just like one she would make on hot summer days. Those unique similarities caused me to become overcome with emotions.  I sobbed.  I must admit that I hated bringing a sad reminder to such a time of joy, but that is how grief hits sometimes.  In the tears, I rejoiced that Bridger rocks that beautiful mane and knew that Julie would be so proud of his hair and would say that they were genetic twins when it came to hair.  

I thought of the photo I had of Julie holding Bridger right after he was born.  She was living in Salt Lake at the time with Sheridan and was attending the University of Utah.  Now, eighteen years later, Julie is no longer with us to celebrate this occasion, but Sheridan is now married to Bridger’s father and Sheridan is the one assisting him in his graduation dress rehearsal.  Sheridan met my son at Julie’s memorial service.  I will always be so grateful for the deep and treasured friendship that Julie had with Sheridan that resulted in Sheridan joining our family.

And then, there were more tears on graduation day.  Sheridan has loved Bridger so much and has so loved being his mom that she is really having a hard time with him graduating and going on to college.  Her great boys, Max and Henry, are also a bonus that this family gained when Ryan and Sheridan married.  Max, Henry, and Bridger are as tight as any brothers you will find.  Yes, the smile on Sheridan’s face is bright and beautiful, but her eyes had great big tears falling from them.  Mine did too.  There is a lot of joy and love in this celebratory photo.


There were other great family times that I was able to have while I was in Utah spending time with my daughter and son and their families.  Times like these are treasures.  

Son Ryan, Sally, daughter Keicha, and grandchildren Gillian
Bridger & Regan.

I stayed in my very first Airbnb when I went to Utah.  The place I found was in Layton, Utah, which is midway between where my son lives and my daughter lives.  I loved staying in a place that became like a home away from home where I could stay up as late as I wanted, or go to bed whenever I wanted.  When I got up in the morning, it was great to have a kitchen where I could fix breakfast and make some coffee.  Also, I loved having a comfy couch where I could read, visit, or rest after a hectic day with the family.  This won’t be the only time I use Airbnb.  

Memorial Day is always a difficult time for me and for my family because my daughter took her life on May 29, 2010, on the Friday before Memorial Day.  My children, and those whom love me most and are always the most supportive, know just how hard that weekend and the days surrounding May 29th are for me and family.  I received many texts and calls from my family and friends asking, “Are you ok?”  Or, “I love you.  I am thinking of you.”  I so appreciate the gestures of kindness, concern, empathy, and love.

Most years on Memorial Day I go to the cemetery to decorate the graves, or I try to do a special activity to honor Julie’s memory. This year, I decided not to do any commemorative activities, but instead, I decided to take the day as it came while practicing self-care.  

On the 26th, I took some time to record my thoughts.  I said I was raw.  My emotions were fragile.  I recorded how raw I looked and how raw I felt.  In the rawness, I also recorded how I was rejoicing because I learned more from the great loss of a daughter about love than I ever could have learned any other way.  

On that day, the 26th of May, I also rejoiced because I had yet another day and another summer to look forward to with hope and joy.  I took the day to begin planting a bit more in my impossible garden.  I had flowers to plant.  That always brings me joy.  In my devotions for that day, I was reminded that the Lord’s mercies are new each morning.  I reflected on beautiful scripture card that I keep on my desk.

I love this verse.  I am held by One whom will keep me from stumbling.  What comfort this assurance bring me.

On Memorial Day itself, May 28th this year, we had a picnic in our little village where we live.  The day was warm and sunny.  A neighbor and his wife graciously set up tables in their driveway and in the garage where all of us in our HOA community could visit while eating great picnic type food.  It marked the official start of summer.  I was more than ready to see the season arrive.

As I toured my yard trying to decide where to plant flowers I had to snap a photo of this poor little tree because in many ways, this poor little tree is a perfect representation of the kind of winter I had.  


I planted the tree, a more mature Alberta pine, last fall because I didn’t want to wait for a smaller one to grow.  I had planted a smaller Alberta pine four or five years ago, and it had never been nibbled on by deer.  I observed that mature Alberta pines were thriving all over the neighborhood.  I even saw this label at a local nursery: 
The label gives the name of the tree that I planted, and it states that it is good choice to buy because it is deer resistant.  

I guess the deer in my neighborhood can’t read.  Or, maybe they haven’t had access to the labels and lists that inform gardeners about “deer resistant” plants.  

Several factors figured into the demise of this tree.  We had a terribly dry winter.  The poor deer were starving, and they were thirsty.  My tree was most likely the tastiest looking tree in the neighborhood.  It had been well watered, and the needles must have looked tender and moist and appetizing.  My tree became a food sources for desperate animals.

Desperate creatures do desperate things.  I felt like that tree through most of the late winter and and early spring.  I felt events beyond my control, and people within my family of origin structure chipping away at me.  I felt attacked and stripped as others nibbled away at me when I found myself in a situation I did not create and was powerless to change.  Yep, that tree represented a lot of what I was experiencing this spring.

Quite honestly, during this time, I just didn’t feel like blogging.  I did a lot of journaling.  Writing always helps me when I am going through troubling experiences.  Writing in my journal helps me because by writing in my own personal journal I can record my thoughts, experiences, reactions, feelings, and emotions in a safe place.  Writing gives me a sounding board.  Writing also allows me to sort out all of those thoughts, feelings, and emotions that assail during times of loss, stress, joy, change, or tension.  Writing gives me a chance to reflect, to reconcile my emotions, and reflect upon what is going on in my life.  

Somehow, I got through the difficult month of May.  During the month of May, I also was able to celebrate the graduation of a dear grandson while also having the opportunity to spend time with children and grandchildren.  May brought time plant some flowers, and to spend more time out of doors rejoicing over the beauty found in my neighborhood.  This hillside is just around the corner from my home.  


Just a mile and a half from our home is a beautiful spot that was once a sanatorium.  It is now a retreat center, a nursing home, and the setting includes a cemetery and a church.  I love to walk on the grounds. Truly, I am grateful to live in this beautiful part of the world.  Spring, summer, and fall, I enjoy walking in the special places.  


On the very last day of May, I stopped for a late lunch after running errands and had a serendipitous meeting with a high school friend, her husband, and friend of theirs when they happened to eating lunch at the same Panera where I stopped.  We all lunched together, shared stories and laughter and marveled just how amazing life can be when we have chance meetings and are able to spend time together in rich conversation.


All in all, while the winter had been a rough one for me, and while May had certainly had its low points, it also mostly had some wonderful moments filled with love, family, friends, and milestones.  

More later.

Today, my fellow teachers in Pueblo, Colorado, are involved in the fourth day of a strike.  I hope to write more about this later, but this short post is to serve as an encouragement to those dear former colleagues, students, and friends now walking the picket line.


Each day after lunch I eat one, only one, piece of dark chocolate.  
Today, the chocolates were wrapped in pink. 
 Pink the color the strikers are wearing. 
Each chocolate piece has a message written inside the foil.
Today’s message:

 “Know you have the power within you.”  signed Mom.  

I had just read in my journal about an encounter I had many years ago when I took a stand against power in a school where I taught in the town where the strike is now taking place. I had written a letter to the person in power, a letter I had forgotten about, a letter I wish I now had in my possession, where I had spoken truth to power.  

I told a trusted friend about the letter and worried about the ramifications of having written such letter to my immediate supervisor.  While I still was happy that I had written that private letter where I had said what needed to be said,  I worried about what the ramifications might be in the coming school year.  My trusted friend assured me I most likely would not be confronted because I had spoken truth to power and in speaking that truth I had exposed this person’s less than professional actions that he had taken towards me.  Beyond speaking truth to power and exposing the wrong behavior, he said I had shown this person that

he couldn’t 
intimidate me 
because
I had 
personal power
that was 
willing to confront
his underhanded ways.

Teachers, keep up the fight.

Know you have great power within you
 because you are willing to confront
 those whom would seek to intimidate you
 and silence you
 to keep you from using 
your awesome voices 
for change.  

Stay strong.
Keep speaking truth to power.



#ENOUGH

Enough
In days of old when I was a student,
or,
in days of old when I was a high school English teacher,
we might have had a word study lesson in English class.

Enough,
an adjective,
describes when need or want is sufficient or adequate.
I have had enough nonsense.

Enough,
a pronoun,
used in place of a noun to denote adequate quantity or sufficiency.
Have you had enough?

Enough,
 can be used as an adverb of degree.
Yes, I’ve experienced enough of this nonsense.

Enough,
an interjection.
Enough!  Stop this nonsense.

The students in today’s schools have lessons to teach the rest of us before they can continue to learn traditionally taught lessons on English, math, science, history, civics.

Enough!
an interjection has become a rallying cry.

#Enough
The symbol and word began to appear in social media sites after the school shooting last month.
The symbol and the word already denote a visual message that stands for:
No more gun violence.
No more school shootings.

#Enough
written on poster board and lifted high,
becomes the symbol for a movement.

#Enough
Using this word as a rally cry,
 students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School
 unite, organize,
 and bring together hundreds of thousands of other students
 to march in cities across the nation to send a message to the leaders of this country that they want action against gun violence now.


#Enough,
on poster board is now a
oriflamme for
March for Our Lives.

Marchers lift  oriflammes where the cries of their hearts have been written with these words:
#Enough.


Today, the students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas, rallying behind the use of one word, taught me not a grammar lesson, nor did they teach me a traditional word study lesson. They have taught me how much power there can be when one word is used by many voices to send a message.


The lesson these students taught the rest of us today came out of what they have learned in school.

They have learned, many by personal experience, that schools are no longer safe.
187,000 students have been exposed to gun violence in school since Columbine.

The students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School 
 have learned that if there is to be change, 
they must be change agents.

Today,
students across the nation came together under the rallying cry of 
ENOUGH
to teach the rest of us just how powerful a word can be when it is used to send a message of change.

ENOUGH
I could not get enough of watching the beautiful brave students from 
Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School
use the voices they found and developed after unspeakable horror visited them when 
they attended school on 
February 14, 2018.
On this date, a gunman took the lives of their classmates and teachers in a senseless act of violence.
On this date, school shootings and gun violence became personal to them.
On this day, they came together with one cry,
ENOUGH.

These students learned how to debate in debate class,
but soon they were using the skills they learned in debate class to argue for their cause:
there must be stricter gun control laws in our nation.
The arguments they made for their cause were solid, well researched, honest,  and factual.
No longer were these students just preparing for a debate tournament.
They were preparing to present their arguments on the world stage.
Their arguments were soon heard around the world.

These students had learned lessons in civics about democracy and how it is supposed to work.
Today, they showed us what democracy looks like.

They rallied.
They marched.
They demanded change.

They used their voices to show the world and this nation that our Freedoms are beautiful when we use those Freedoms to strengthen our Democracy. 

**************

Today, I have again been proud to be an American.

I sobbed into the dish towel I held in my hand as I alternately cleaned the kitchen and watched the
March for Our Lives
on television as it occurred in Washington D.C.

I sobbed for the lives lost in a place that should be safe: school.

I sobbed as I thought of the trauma and shock and grief  that the students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas experienced at school.

I sobbed as I thought of how this trauma marred their young lives and sobbed as I thought of how they will carry this trauma and will have to make sense of it for the rest of their lives.

I sobbed because I was overcome with emotion as I looked at their beautiful, brave faces.

I sobbed as I listened to inspirational speeches they delivered with an eloquence and articulation that we rarely, if ever, hear in our world of politics today.

I sobbed because I saw their respect for our Freedoms and for our Nation, and for each other.

I sobbed because though they were young, they were wise and wonderful, and they were united, and they were honest, and they were respectful, and they were real.

They were a breath of fresh air which we do not deserve to have because we, the Children of the Sixties, have become calloused, and cynical, and have forgotten what it is like to believe change can happen when people march for what is right.

I sobbed because I again believe that the people can and will rise up and speak against:
 social injustice, 
greed, and 
political corruption.

I sobbed because I saw our 
future,
our hope,
our children,
stand united 
giving a message
that says
#Enough is enough.


This bright, articulate, passionate, organized, and intelligent generation 
truly has given me hope for the future.

I join with them by sending this message:
#enough.
It is time for change.
The lives of our children continue to be at risk.

I hope I’m around for another couple of decades so I can see just what this next generation of citizens and voters will do with the lessons they learned in school.  
For now, on this day, I was so moved, and so proud to call them my fellow Americans as I watched how they were using their voices to inspire change across America.

#Enough
Not one more.
#Enough
Not one more student should die at school.
#Enough
Not one more teacher will have come between a gunman and the students in his or her classroom.


#Enough
No more school shootings.
#Enough
Stop the gun violence now.
#Enough
Protect kids not guns.
#Enough
Stop the NRA.

#Enough
Congress, you must act.

#Enough!
Congress, it is past time.  
You must immediately enact a comprehensive bill that will effectively address the gun violence issue in our country.  

#Enough
Our children have joined arms to 
March for Our Lives.
#Enough
Our children should never again have to run for their lives.
#Enough





Influential Women in My Life

Today as I have read many articles, blog posts, and Facebook posts about recognizing the women in our lives whom have inspired us, made a difference in our lives, or empowered us as women, I reflected on the many women I have known and and respected in my life as they touched my life as teachers, mentors, doctors, or friends.  Four women stand out when I think of the women whose influences in my life have been most profound.  I list these women in the order they entered my life.

The first woman on the list of four women whom have most influenced me is my oldest daughter, Keicha.  We always shared an affinity for books.  I remember when she was only in junior high she came home from school with a book she had checked out of the school library for me by Catherine Marshall.  I was going through a painful divorce from her father at the time.  The title of the book was, To Live Again.  She gave it to me to give me hope for my future.  Her insight into my pain, and her response to it showed me just how much this girl had the gift of insight into the needs of others and how she would respond to that need in the best way she knew to respond.  

As a daughter she has been one of the greatest supports I have had as we both grieved the loss of my beloved daughter Julie who was also Keicha’s beloved baby sister.  We talked nearly every day in those early days after Julie’s death.  We cried together and shared our pain and confusion.  We shared books and support materials that we found.  She gave me a listening ear, as I did the same for her.  We seemed to be on the same path as we grieved which was so very helpful to me personally.  We learned that not everyone grieves in the same way at the same rate of speed, but we seemed to walk the same path together.



After Julie’s death from suicide, Keicha joined a suicide support grief group.  She then went on to become deeply involved in doing all that she could to educate others on prevention of suicide.  She has walked in many walks for suicide prevention, raised a lot of money, and written public service announcements.  

Keicha began working as a young teen for a credit union before she even graduated from high school.  She then completed four years of college while working at the same credit union.  She recently retired from that organization after thirty years of service.  

Throughout her adult life, she has been involved in more community events to help those in need than I will ever know.  As a member of junior league she worked on many committees and served on many community boards that included Boys and Girls Clubs and the Ogden City Schools Foundation.  She now is executive director of a community based organization in Utah which provides mental health services for those in need.  

She recently bravely wrote about abuse that she suffered earlier in her life in a blog post. Her courage to confront the painful things in her life inspires me.   I am proud of the way she has used her many gifts to serve her community in a way that brings education and mental and physical health services to those in need.  

She is a woman who empowers other women.  She is also a supportive daughter to me, a supportive sister to her siblings, and a mother who deeply loves and encourages her daughter.  

**************

The next woman on my list is my second daughter Amy.  

Some say Amy is my mini me.  I know that we share many physical and emotional characteristics that have at times made it difficult for us to have a smooth sailing relationship, and yet we also have a bond that is probably one of the deepest bonds I’ve ever had with anyone in my life.  I have a difficult time writing about Amy because she mirrors my life so much that I find I cannot be objective about her when I write.


Amy is is strong-willed woman.  She was born this way.  That has been a gift to her and to me, but it has also presented challenges along the way.  

When Amy was a teen, I was a struggling single mom to Amy, her sister Julie, and her brother Jonathan.  I was barely making a living as a school secretary.  Amy got a job on the day she turned sixteen so she could provide the clothes, make-up, and activities that she wanted to have which I could not provide.  There were times when Amy stepped up and helped with the rent because an emergency here or there meant I was not going to have rent money.  She is sacrificial and always wants those she loves to have the best.  

This determined, independent girl child became a determined, independent woman.  She has a soft spot for others in pain, a smile that lights up a room, and a personality that matches that million dollar smile.  As a daughter, she will tell me “how it is” when I need to hear a word of truth.  She has given me some the best advice about matters of life that I have ever gotten from anyone.  

She has fought hard to come back from incredible loss after the death of her sister Julie.  She and Julie were inseparable, so Julie’s death hit Amy especially hard.  She went through a painful divorce as she dealt with her sister’s death.  Her brokenness has not broken her.  She is strong and resilient.  She is a survivor.  She is more than a survivor.  She thrives as she comes through each phase of her life.

I am incredibly proud of all that she has accomplished in life as an employee, as a partner to her former husband and to her current significant other, as a mother, as a sister, and as a daughter.  

*************

The next person on my list is my daughter-in-law Samantha.  She is married to my son Jonathan.

Dr. Samantha proudly showing off the chapter she wrote in a textbook used in her area of study.


I have known Samantha since she was a teenager when she first entered our lives as Jon’s girlfriend.  I have witnessed her grow from a girl who dropped out of high school to a professor of history with a PhD in history from Northeastern University in Boston, MA.  It would be difficult for me to begin to list all of the accomplishments that Samantha has had so far in her professional life.  She was offered a Fulbright Scholarship to study in Bangladesh.  She worked on her doctoral dissertation by doing research and living in Bangladesh with my son her son for a year and a half.  

This past year, she was hired as a tenure-track professor by the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, gave birth to a new baby, nursed that baby, moved across country to begin her dream job teaching and working where her mentor once worked and taught, worked on a book she is writing, and bought a new house that she is working on.  All this while being physically separated due to educational pursuits from her husband, my son, and her oldest son both of whom remain in Pennsylvania while my son finishes his PhD.  

When Samantha steps into a class on Woman’s Studies to teach, those women she teaches are in for a treat.  She inspires me with her work ethic, her accomplishments, her intellectual acuity, and her ability to do all of this with a nursing baby at her breast.  Samantha, do you ever get to rest?

I truly have admired Samantha for her many gifts, her hard work, her intelligence, and I love to talk to her about a broad range of topics.  I most admire that she is such a loving and supportive wife to my son and fabulous mother to my grandsons while also always supporting her mother.  

She truly seeks to empower other women through education and social activism.

************

The last woman on this list is my daughter-in-law Sheridan.

I first met Sheridan when she was in college at the University of Utah when she worked at a retail outdoor equipment store with my daughter Julie while they both worked part-time and went to college.  Sheridan took Julie under her wing at work, and then she and Julie became roommates and best friends.  

Sheridan joined our family after Julie’s death when she met and married my oldest son Ryan.


While Sheridan earned a degree in English at the U of U, she also began a business with her sister.  Together, these two women built a business that has been very successful for many years.  She now is the owner of that business, a boutique in Salt Lake City called Hip and Humble.  She has created not just a successful business, she has created a successful brand.  She also works tirelessly on supporting the neighborhood where her business is located while also working to support other small businesses.  She holds leadership positions in the promotion of Small Business Saturday in November every year.  

Sheridan is an entrepreneur who serves women and empowers the women she employees.  She is a smart business woman with an eye for fashion and a gift for marketing.  She is one of the hardest working women I know.  Sheridan, do you ever sleep?

Sheridan is a wonderful wife and mother.  I so appreciate the way she loves,  encourages, and supports her step-children (my grandchildren) and her sons.  Sheridan empowers every woman fortunate enough to meet her.  She always gives me great understanding, love, and support.  

******

These four women mean the world to me because they are family, but beyond that they truly have enriched and inspired me as a woman.  I am proud beyond measure of what they have accomplished in their personal and professional lives.  They are accomplished women who look out for other women.  They are honest and authentic.  They give to the community.  They have been able to carve out professional successes while also being wives, moms, sisters, and daughters.  I admire them.  I learn from them.  I am proud of them.  I am richly blessed to have these women in my life.  

I love each of you beyond measure.  

Life Lessons Learned From Hair Loss



In 2013, I was officially diagnosed with Frontal Fibrosing Alopecia (FFA).  When I was diagnosed with this hair loss condition, I had never even heard of it.  Somehow, after my diagnosis, in my internet search, I was able to find an online support group for those suffering from alopecia.  Within the online Alopecia Foundation site, I found a group specifically formed to support those diagnosed with FFA.  It was by participating in this internet group that I first found answers to the questions I had  regarding my hair loss journey.

June 2013
My hair right after diagnosis for hair loss.

If you have recently been diagnosed with scarring alopecia, or if you have been suffering from it for years, I am writing this post for you because I hope that you will find support from others whom have learned to live with this disease.  If you have not already done so, I hope you will one day be able to look back on the journey and say, “I am a better person because I have this disease than I was before I had it because now I have learned so much about who I really am as a person.”  

When I was first diagnosed with this condition five years ago, I never would have believed I would one day lose over 50% of my hair, nor would I believe that I would be able to say that I that I have gained more from having this condition than I have lost.  The process of getting to this point has taken much time, many tears, much pain, and a lot of searching for answers. 

June 2014
My son’s wedding
I thought I could still hide my hair loss, but then the wind would blow!

 It was not until at least a year after my diagnosis that I first learned of the Cicatricial Alopecia Research Foundation (CARF).  It is a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing patient education and support for this little-known condition.


In June of 2016, still searching for answers, searching for a cure, and searching for that silver bullet that would give me the solution that I believed had to have, I registered for the 7th International Patient-Doctor Conference in New Orleans, Louisiana, that was sponsored by the Cicatricial Alopecia Research Foundation (CARF).  I was interested in participating in CARF, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing patient education for the little know condition of scarring alopecia or cicatricial alopecia, because it is dedicated to providing “education and patient support,” while also raising public awareness of this baffling disease, and the organization is also dedicated to promoting research into the causes and potential cures for the disease.
 
June 2016
My hair loss when I attended the CARF Conference could still be camouflaged  by wearing a headband.
Determined to find answers for this strange and baffling condition that had turned my life upside down, I was just sure if I attended this particular conference and had a chance to learn from all the experts in the field of scarring alopecia, I’d find what I was looking for: a cure.  

And so, in 2016, my husband I journeyed to New Orleans, the first time we’d ever been to this wonderful city, so I could learn more about the disease itself, find answers I had about treatment, and gain the support I needed to live with this rare condition that had struck me seemingly out of nowhere.  

While, the world of hair loss was still a very new world to me, I wasn’t a complete novice.  I’d learned a great deal about my condition from the previously mentioned support group for those suffering from Frontal Fibrosing Alopecia that was sponsored by the Alopecia Foundation online.  


I’d even written a blog post about my journey with hair loss that I had posted in the online support group.  From that post, I’d made a new friend, one whom was not a part of the online support group, but she was one whom was very knowledgeable about the condition and led a support group in a major city on the West Coast.  She had directly responded to my blog post in writing and gave enough identifying information that I was able to track her down by sending an email to her support group.  She responded by calling me.  I think we spent nearly two hours on the phone the first time we chatted.  Finally, and for the very first time, I actually was able to speak with a real live person who had the same disease I did, and who knew so much about it.  She was involved in helping with the CARF Conference, and she encouraged me to register and attend.

My ever-supportive husband also encouraged me to attend the conference.  He said he would accompany me and would spend the time I was at the conference exploring New Orleans.  And, so when the conference time arrived, off we went to NOLA.  

I remember not long after we checked into our hotel, Jim left the room to get ice, and returned saying, “You know you are at an alopecia conference when you start seeing bald women.”  I was horrified.  Bald?  My worst fear would be realized if I went bald, I thought to myself.  

Later that night, the night before the actual conference was to begin, anxious and yet hopeful, I put on my rather new custom-made hair piece that I had recently started wearing to camouflage my hair loss, and boarded a bus hired to carry fellow scarring alopecia sufferers to a pre-conference reception that was being held in a meeting room at a fancy restaurant near the French Quarter.  Before I’d even left the bus, I actually connected with women I’d already met online.   Conversations with these women soothed my nerves and made me feel less alone as I faced actually walking into a room where other conference attenders had gathered for a reception welcoming them to the conference. 
 
Custom made topper 2015
As I walked up the stairs to the meeting room, my mind went back to so many other receptions I had attended during my career in education.   Those meet and greet gatherings were always so enjoyable because I had a chance to mingle with colleagues that I knew and respected from my professional world.  I always looked forward to the conversations we would have that helped us form more personal connections, but this meet and greet with others afflicted with hair loss petrified me.  My confidence in socializing and in meeting new people had always been high, but after suffering from hair loss, I found social gatherings had suddenly become stressful.  I had lost a great deal of the confidence I had always possessed.  I felt very alone in my struggle, and I also felt very alone as I attended the function.  I only knew a few others because of “conversations” I’d had with them online, and I knew my friend I had spoken to on the phone, but she had many duties that night in making sure that all went well for conference attendees, so I didn’t feel I could latch right on to her for support and encouragement.

I’ll never forget entering that meeting room because as looked around, I was struck by how beautiful the women in that room were.  I don’t know when I’ve ever been in a room filled with more beautiful, gracious, and well-put-together women.  And the hair!  I saw the most amazing hair!  All I could think was, Why are these beautiful women with these amazing heads of hair attending a conference for those suffering from hair loss?  Soon, I was being introduced to others by the friends I made on the bus and by the friend that I made on the phone because of my blog post.  The women I met were so authentic and confident, I found myself asking myself as I studied each woman’s hair style, hair line, and hair color, Is that hair real, or is it a wig or hair piece?  Those of you who suffer from hair loss will probably chuckle when you read this because that is what we do.  We study hair lines, don’t we?

Soon, I learned each woman there was there to learn the same hair secrets I wanted to learn, and I learned we were there for each other.  In fact, by the end of the meet and greet, I was actually asking others, “Is that your bio hair?”  “How much hair have you lost?”  “What has your journey been like?”  “How have you disguised your hair loss?”  “Where DID you get that AMAZING hair.”  Others were asking me the same thing. 

Suddenly, I had a whole new group of friends who knew and understood the journey I had been on.  I could relate to them.  They could relate to me.  We were interested in each other’s stories.  Finally, I was not alone. 

The next morning, the conference finally began.  There was an impressive list of doctors and experts in the field of hair loss listed as speakers.  Always the student, and having attended so many educational conferences during my professional life, I was ready to learn as I entered the conference presentation room armed with my registration packet, a newly purchased composition book, and writing utensils

The first speaker gave an overview of the basics of cicatricial alopecia.  I took few notes, as I already knew the basics:  cicatricial alopecia is a form of hair loss accompanied by scarring.  I knew this.  I was attending the conference to learn more than just the basics about this condition, or so I thought.  Really, deep down inside, I was attending because I was just sure I would find a cure, a solution, something to STOP this dreadful disease from playing havoc with my life, my appearance, and my emotions.  

The speaker giving the overview had my attention, my pen was ready to take notes, but my mind could not seem to accept what I heard her say, “permanent and irreversible.”  I wrote those words down almost against my will.  Even as I knew these words were true, I could not fully accept them as truth.  As she spoke, I found myself thinking: She is a specialist in the area of hair loss, chairman of the board, and she knows all there is to know this awful condition, so how could she start off the entire conference program by saying scarring alopecia is permanent and irreversible? Wasn’t there something she could say that would give me hope?  I didn’t come to the conference to hear that I had a permanent and irreversible condition.  Those words confirmed what I already knew but could not accept.  

In truth, once scarring has taken place where hair once grew, the condition is permanent and irreversible.  The goal is to stop the progress before scarring has occurred.  There was so much unknown about the condition I had that I just could not begin to process it all.  Perhaps, whenever one is diagnosed with a disease that is life altering, it takes time to process what the condition or disease means to the person with the disease.  Words on a screen after doing an internet search that describe a disease or condition or disorder do not convey the full impact that diagnosis has on one’s psyche, nor do those words speak to how difficult it may be to accept and live with a diagnosis.  

Case in point: I attended the CARF Conference two years ago, and I am just now able to write about the impact it had me on my blog.  As a blogger, I had written about my family, the death of my daughter, health issues I had regarding my heart, and about a disastrous fall I had taken which resulted in six months of putting my life on hold, but I could not write about experiencing hair loss.  I had to process much of what I learned for years before I could write in depth about it.  I sank into a pretty deep depression.  I cried.  I hid.  I spent money on wigs, toppers, scarves, headbands, and hats, but I could not write about it all.

When I attended the CARF Conference in 2016, I was sure I would find the perfect treatment option for me so I could stop the devastation that comes from losing one’s hair, and so I could stop the sometimes “severe itching and burning” in the scalp that accompanies this disease.    

I did not find a cure for this disease at the conference.  No one has.  I did not find the silver bullet that would stop my hair loss.  My hair continued to fall out.  Today, much of my scalp is now covered with scar tissue that is permanent and irreversible.  

At some point in my journey, I decided that if I could even find a treatment or solution for the itching and burning that accompanied flares to the scalp that I’d be happy even if the hair continue to fall out.  Somehow, I did finally come to a place where most of the time I do not often suffer from intense pain, burning, or stinging in my scalp.  My scalp rarely feels like it is crawling these days. In fact, my dermatologist recently told me that my scalp is the “quietest” it has been in all the years he has been treating me.  But, I am not cured.  I may finally be in more or less remission, or my disease may have more or less “burned out.”  Only time will tell.  

I do not know what caused me to be at this stage in the physical manifestation of the form or scarring alopecia that I have now apparently entered.  I dabbled in using many of the drugs known to help with the disease, but reactions to the drugs, or unwanted side effects caused me to not use the treatments.  I stopped all medications and treatments except for the rare days when I have flare.  On those days, I apply a small amount of clobetasol solution, or tacrolimus to inflamed area on my scalp. 

When I was diagnosed, my disease was so advanced, and there was so much scarring that really there was little I could do about the condition. I had an advanced case before it was ever treated because I was not diagnosed until I had significant scarring.  Early diagnosis and treatment is thought to give the patient with scarring alopecia a better chance for stopping or at least slowing down the progression of the disease.

Since those early days in my journey into the world of hair loss, I have learned there is more to this journey than just finding the right medical treatment.  This journey involves doing a lot of work in the innermost parts of the mind, the heart, and the emotions.  As I have sought healing for this condition, I have learned healing is an inside job.  I have learned I must heal from the inside out.  

February 2015
My 70th Birthday
Wearing a hat which is pulled down to hide my hairline at the beach in Florida.

As I look back on the nearly two years since I attended the CARF Conference, I have to ask myself what I have learned about myself.
  • I have learned that my journey with hair loss is similar to the journey of loss that I experienced after the death of my daughter.  Certainly, the loss of one’s hair can never be compared to the loss of a loved one, but the journey itself is one also marked with five to seven stages that have been identified as the stages of grief.
  • I’ve learned that my identity is not found in my hair, my appearance, or how I present to the outside world.  Learning this truth, is a gift.  I have more freedom in self-expression now than I had when I had a head covered with hair.  My identity has nothing to do with how I look or how others see me.  
  • I have learned that I am resilient.  Resiliency can’t be taught.  Resiliency is only achieved when one goes through loss, trial, or hardship.  Resiliency is also a gift because according the definition to resilience in Mirriam-Webster, it allows one to adjust to and easily accept misfortune or change.  I don’t think that most of us actually easily accept misfortune or life altering change, but I do think that once we learn that we are resilient, we find it much easier to be resilient each time we meet misfortune.
  • I’ve learned that the fear of losing most of one’s hair is much worse than actually losing a large portion of one’s hair.  Quite honestly, in those early days after I was diagnosed with FFA, and after I saw the photos of what might happen to my hair, I was consumed by fear.  After the initial shock of the diagnosis, I went into denial.  I told myself I would have a different outcome than the poor women in the photos illustrating FFA which can be found in the literature about this disease, yet when my appearance began to resemble that which I feared most, I no longer was afraid over how I might look.  
  • I have learned that as in so many other areas of life, acceptance is the first step in getting on with the hard things in life.  Acceptance itself is a process.  It takes time.  It takes making peace with those things over which we have no control. 
 
My New Wig
November 2017
Recently, as I spoke with another hair loss sufferer, we spoke of how we are almost thankful that we have had to have this journey because we have learned so much about ourselves on the journey.  We have learned resilience and authenticity.  We’ve learned to adapt and live life to the fullest anyway.  We’ve learned that reaching out and helping others along the journey gives us joy and enriches our lives.   

I am passionate about being involved in educating others about this disease.  Beauticians and doctors are on the front lines when it comes to being the first to observe what might be happening when a woman first begins to show signs of losing hair, but unfortunately most beauticians and many, far too many, doctors have never seen scarring alopecia and don’t recognize its symptoms.  I consulted the first dermatologist six years before I was diagnosed.  During those six years, I consulted three more dermatologists.  None recognized my disease until I finally insisted on a biopsy.  By that time, I had advanced and significant loss.

I am passionate about research for this disease because I do not want my daughters, my sons, my grandchildren, my nieces or nephews, my cousins, my siblings to have to suffer from this terrible condition.  I don’t want anyone to go through the effects of this disease.  It breaks my heart when I read of each new diagnosis.

I am passionate about providing support for others whom have been diagnosed with scarring alopecia.  I am so very grateful for those whom went before me because of the way they have taken an affliction and turned it into ways to help others.  There are so many of you out there that have led the way for me.  Thank you.

For all these reasons, I intend to write more about the hair loss journey I have been on. I will add my voice to all those others suffering from little known orphan diseases.  Scarring alopecia or cicatricial alopecia is just one of many immune disorders that qualify as orphan diseases. 

This is my disease.  I own it. I will not let it own me.


Girl Friend Party
Christmas 2017
Wearing a wig and my favorite boots - a winning combination.







January Health Scare

New Year’s Resolutions

I don’t make resolutions, because I know I won’t keep them, but I do try to evaluate the habits I have that keep me from living life the way I want to live it.  At the beginning of a new year, I think of getting up earlier, being more productive with my time, writing more, losing weight, exercising.  I doubt I’m any different than anyone else.  I just hope to look at the new year through new eyes so I can gain a new perspective. (In the photo below, I am using 2018 glasses as a headband.)   




I had such hopes for the first of year.  I was for sure going to get back to blogging.  I have truly missed it.  I knew the only way I would get back to blogging by reading, commenting, and writing again would be if I made some changes to my daily schedule.  I would have to stop settling in my chair with a cup of coffee, my iPad, and checking out Facebook, and my new time waster,  Instagram.  Honestly, I have wasted, yes wasted, way too much time with this kind of start to the day.


I read two newspapers before I get going, so by the time I even think of getting up out of that favorite chair to make my breakfast, the morning has been whittled away to nothing.



Yes, I resolved, this year, I was going to get up early and get going with being productive in 2018.

On the January 1, 2018, we didn’t get up early because we had been out celebrating too late.  We aren’t kids anymore, so staying up partying until way after midnight means that we start the new year by sleeping in.

The night before on New Year’s Eve, we spent a wonderful night celebrating with my cousin and her husband at their beautiful home.  They have a group of friends from high school days that they celebrate with, so we were happy they invited us to join them.  I said we were the chaperones since these “kids” are half a decade younger.  We had so much fun.  The party was a great success.  Our host cooked a marvelous meal.  After eating, we watched the fireworks that were set off from the top of Pikes Peak, then we drank a bit of champaign, sang Auld Lang Syne, toasted each other and the new year, took a few more photos, and then headed home.





We had plans for the first day of the year that included taking down Christmas.  Jim and I decided that the tree would stay up another day because we were too tired to take it down on January 1st.  In fact, we didn’t take down any of the Christmas decorations.  We would do that the next day, on January 2.

Early in the morning on the second day of January 2018, my husband woke me out of a deep sleep by calling my name in a voice that startled me.  When I was finally able to respond, he said, “I don’t feel well at all.  I’m sweating.  At times I’m hot, then I’m cold, and I am really dizzy.”  I was immediately out of bed and standing next to him at his side of the bed.  Indeed, he was sweating.  He was in a cold sweat.  In fact, his forehead was very clammy.  I asked what he was experiencing, and was told he’d been like this for at least 45 minutes.  He said he’d gotten up and made his way to the bathroom but barely made his way back because he was so dizzy.  

I ran for the blood pressure cuff and took his blood pressure.  It was extremely low.  I asked what he wanted me to do, or I guess I actually gave him two choices: did he want to go to the hospital by car or by ambulance.  I asked about other symptoms while I quickly threw on clothes and shoes.  He said he wanted me to drive him to the hospital and said he had no other symptoms.  (He actually kept a few important facts from me because I think he knew I would have called an ambulance had I’d known all his symptoms.)  His dizziness made it difficult for us to make to the car, but we made it.  The nearest hospital is only ten minutes away, so I wasn’t too concerned as I made my drive, but honestly, I kept wishing I’d called an ambulance.

Once in the ER, he told the nurses that he had numbness in his left arm and left foot.  He also had chest pain.  That is when all the tests began as they tried to find out what was going on with him.  

The hospital near us is a new one, and the hospital and the staff are wonderful.  We had help immediately.  He had a CT scan, EKG, and blood work done in less than an hour.  All tests came back looking good, but Jim continued to be dizzy, and he continued to have severe numbness on his left side.  

He slept from the time I got him there around 7:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m.  After speaking with specialist at the University affiliated hospital across town, it was determined that Jim would be transported to that hospital for further testing and observation.  It was suspected that he had experienced a TIA (transient ischemic attack).  

After nearly twelve hours in the emergency room of the original hospital where I had taken him, he was transported to Main by ambulance.  I was skeptical that anything would happen that night in the way of talking to a neurologist or of having tests.  I could not have been more wrong.  

Jim was admitted to a room in a new wing of the hospital devoted only to stroke victims.  On the very day that this new Comprehensive Stroke Center for southern Colorado was announced in the news, Jim became one of its patients.  We could not have been more impressed.  He was barely in his room when he was visited by the neurologist who already had been speaking with the ER doctor and had seen his tests from the ER.  Soon, a hospitalist was at his bedside also.  That night Jim had three MRIs and was constantly monitored while also being evaluated for stroke symptoms continually.  He was also given many tests for his heart.  

Thankfully, all tests came back not showing a stroke, and his heart also checked out well.  (Jim had a heart attack when his LAD was 95% blocked in 2011.)(click the highlighted area to read about this event) As a result of all of the testing and his symptoms, it was determined that Jim most likely did have a TIA.  The first twenty-four hours after such an event are the most dangerous, so he was monitored until late in the day of January 3, then after making a few changes in his medicine, he was discharged, and we went home with grateful hearts because it all could have been so much worse.  

I did not expect to begin 2018 with a medical scare.  We both have had a big wake-up call when it comes to listening to our bodies.  A word of caution to us all:  If it seems things are really off, if dizziness is nearly knocking one to the floor, if blood pressure is extremely low, if parts of the body are numb, then get to the hospital, preferably via an ambulance.  Time is of the essence if one is experiencing a stroke.  Also, a TIA is not to be dismissed as a small matter.  Within the first 24 hours after such an event one is at risk of a stroke.  Also, one is more highly at risk of having a stoke after experiencing a TIA.  

We have both resolved to focus on making better choices when it comes to our health.  Jim is working hard on his diet and is losing weight.  I am trying to do the same.  We are trying to eat at home more and eat out less.  We are trying to get to bed a bit earlier.  We are exercising.  Jim is always better at that than I am, but we both are trying to do better in 2018 than we did in 2017.  

Here’s to a healthy and happy 2018 for us both!


Today, we took it easy and rested.  I didn’t want to go to church with all the flu that is out there.  I also felt we just needed to rest up because yesterday I felt like I was fighting off some bug.  Thankfully, today whatever was making me achy and chilled and tired headachy and sick feeling left me.  We went for a nice walk this afternoon.  As we walked, linking my arm through Jim’s, I said, “You know I don’t take this ability to walk together on this crisp January afternoon lightly.  We are so blessed to have each other and to be healthy enough to walk and enjoy life.  That opportunity has been denied so many from our same age group."  We’ve lost friends and acquaintances in the past year to heart attacks, cancer, falls, and other illnesses.  

One thing I know for certain:  we have absolutely no guarantees in life.  Resolutions may be the thing we think we should do at the beginning of the year, but I have decided that for me instead of worrying about how I am spending my time, I’m going to focus on being grateful for the time I have to spend.  I think gratitude is a great informer when it comes to making choices on how to spend time.

Each day is a gift.  Each moment we have to share with each other is a treasure.  If we spend too much time staying up late reading, that is ok.  At least we can still read.  Besides, we love sitting side by side reading late into the night.

If we sit and sip coffee all morning and don’t accomplish anything, that too is ok.  We love our morning routines of chatting, reading the newspaper, and catching up with the world.  

If Jim has to hustle off to work, I try to hustle off to do something productive while he is gone.  I’m grateful he can still work and that he loves his work so much.  

On our way home from our walk today, we changed up the route a bit.  It threw Boston off his game.  He is used to our same routine and route.  As we approached our home, he threw us off a bit too when he suddenly jumped up on a bench in our neighbor’s yard.  He used to love to jump up on walls and benches as a pup.  Today, I guess he felt young at heart and just had to jump up on that once favorite bench of his like he did when he was younger.  Or maybe, he just wanted to have a closer adoring look at his master.  Maybe he too was grateful for walk on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in January and he just want to make sure his master knew it.  These two love each other.  This photo is priceless.


Life truly is best lived in the moment.  Treasure each one you have with your loved ones.  Let them know it by giving them one of those adoring looks when you gaze in each other’s eyes. Or, you might just want to kick up your heels and do what you used to love to do when you were younger.  Moments like these are something to bark about.  


Daughters ~ A Mother’s Treasure

Few in life “get me” like my daughters.  Few in life understand me like my daughters.  There are no other women in my life to whom I am closer than my daughters.  I trust them implicitly.  They are wise beyond their years and have spoken truth and wisdom into my life at times when I most needed truth and wisdom spoken to me by someone I respected and trusted.  My daughters are those women.  I can’t even imagine my life without my daughters.  Thank God, I was blessed with three of them.

Tomorrow is my oldest daughter’s birthday.  

Keicha Marie Christiansen graced my life with her birth 
on the 25th day of January over forty years ago.  

(I’m not telling you her age because I don’t know if she wants me to tell you.)  

Her entrance into my life seemed to be a metaphor for her life.  Born a day before her due date, she was early.  She is always early.  She never runs late.  Her birth was easy.  I had three hours of labor before she was born after there were only three hard labor pains.  She then presented herself with great efficiency. She is still efficient.  She doesn’t waste time or energy.  She just gets things done.  She was a petite baby.  She is still petite.  She was beautiful, and she still is.

Keicha and I on her 40th birthday

This past week, Keicha and I were chatting by phone as she left work and headed home.  In the midst of the conversation, she said, “Oh cool.  They have the shelves up in the new library.  That is so exciting.  I can’t wait to go in and see the new library.”  I asked where the new library was.  She then told me it was the old library that been remodeled.

My mind went back to those early days of Keicha’s life and my memory recalled days of watching her run into the building to get books with such great excitement.  I remembered her holding my hand and walking along the wall to jump off at the end and run to playground that was nearby.  I remembered how from her earliest days she loved books and libraries.  Keicha is a reader.  She always have been.  It did this mom’s heart good to hear how excited her adult daughter was to get to go back into that old library now made new to explore the new surrounding and find new books.

I guess if she has one downfall it would be that after checking out stacks of books for summer reading, she would stash them under her bed and forget to return them.  She read Gone With The Wind and the age of thirteen and that began a very long fascination with all things related to the book and the movie.

Keicha and I have shared many books, book talks, and ideas from books for so much of our lives.  I love that about Keicha.

It has been said that a daughter is a little girl who grows up to be a mother’s best friend.  There is much truth in that statement.  As a young mother, I had no idea that my baby girl, my toddler, my teenage daughter would someday become such a treasured and trusted friend.


Keicha is many things to many people.  She is an awesome mom to Gillian.  She is a much loved sister to her siblings.  She is a wonderful companion to her significant other.  She is a competent, hard-working employee.  She has worked hard within her community over the years through volunteering for Junior League, Boys and Girls Club, Ogden City School Foundation, and she works tirelessly in the area of Suicide Prevention.  There are more organizations and boards that she has served, but I don’t even know what they all are.

I’m very proud of all that she does for so many, but most of all I am just very proud to call her my daughter.  I don’t tell her enough how much she means to me.


Keicha, you are truly a treasure to me.  I do not know what I would do without you.  We have traveled down some very rough roads together.  We have had to stand shoulder to shoulder on the very worst days of our lives, the day we lost your sister Julie, and those hard, hard days that came right after that day that changed our lives forever.

Together we walked through those dark, dark day after Julie’s death.  Together, we cried, we screamed, and yes, we even laughed hysterically at a very inappropriate time not long after Julie died.  We have stumbled through seven and a half years of learning how to live after great grief.  For whatever reason, the two of us, you and me, seemed to always be on the same wave length as we dealt with our great loss.  How would I have made it without you?

I wish this bond we have which was forged out of grief had never had to happen.  I wish we could have just had more and more days of you three girls laughing together while making your mom a bit crazy, but that was not to be.




We have learned that we can do hard things.  We learned that together.  You have inspired me, made me proud, and always been an honest sounding board.  You have told me the truth when I needed to hear it.  You are smart, funny, have a flare for making your surroundings beautiful.  You have style.  Oh do you have style.  Your taste is exquisite.

Keicha, you are my daughter, my beautiful daughter.
I am so blessed.




Happy Birthday!

2017 - A Reflection

2017
A year I won’t soon forget.
2107
A year that in many ways, I’d just as soon forget.

 2017
A year captured in photos and in my journal. 


January


We share a footstool.
We share a life.

One cold evening in January, as my husband and I sat side by side, I snapped a photo of our feet as we shared a footstool together.  He is, as is typical, wearing a pair of his unique socks.  I love this side of his personality: he wears interesting and cool socks.  I am barefoot, but my nails are done in a shade that I wore most of the year: most likely Senorita Rosalita by OPI.  

Perhaps, in many ways, this is my favorite photo of the two of us for the year.  It captures much of our unique and very different personalities.  It gives a glimpse into our tendency to sit side by side sharing a space as we share our lives, and it represents the deep comfort that comes to me as we share not just our home and hearth, but how we share our lives in a mostly peaceful and contented state.  Evenings spent side by side, find us reading, recapping the days news developments, or I might write in my journal while Jim watches some movies, or t.v. programs on his iPad. This to me is true bliss.  

I began a teaching job in January.  I worked five days and became very sick on the third day.  I resigned on the fifth day.  The rest of the month I was sicker than I had been in years with a virus that ended up giving me bronchitis that seemed to hang on forever.  

In January, on my son’s birthday, I learned that he and his wife were expecting a new baby, a boy.  It was the great surprise, and the great blessing of the year.  

February


We planned a get-away in February for a combined Valentine’s Day and birthday celebration for me, but bronchitis hung on, and I was not well enough to leave home.  Needing a bit of cheer and some flowers to brighten my days, I bought some miniature violets to add to an arrangement on the living room coffee table.  Flowers bring hope of spring in the midst of winter.  

I’ve learned I can’t live without flowers in my environment.  

Jim took me out for a special Valentine’s Day lunch at the Cliff House in Manitou where I saw crocus blooming in the garden as we walked in for lunch.  I couldn’t believe how much joy I felt upon seeing the early indicator of spring.  Later in the month my daughter Amy and her daughter made the journey to my house so we could celebrate our birthdays together.

March

The weather improved.  My health improved.  I was able to get out of the house and exercise.  I’m so grateful for the beautiful place where I live.  Our home is only fifteen minutes from major shopping areas, but when I am in the neighborhood, I am surround by amazing rock formations, trees, and views of the mountains.  Some of my happiest times are spent walking with Jim and Boston in our ‘hood.


My journal records the work I was doing in becoming “unstuck.”  As I have progressed through the grief journey I have been for the past seven years, at each stage of the journey, there have been times when I felt that I was getting stuck in one or another area of grief.  Working with a therapist has helped me greatly as I have mentally, spiritually, and emotionally processed the death of my daughter Julie.  

I clearly remember a day in March when these words words that Julie had left on sticky note on her desk came back to me: 


Live Well!

As I have struggled to become unstuck, these words spoke to me so often in 2017.  The words spoke to me as I continued to fight through the effects of living with autoimmune diseases that have brought changes to my health, my appearance, and my ability to function fully.

Words can become touchstones in my journey through a year dotted with political unrest and division, broken relationships, compromised health, and the effects of an aging body.

I often write quotes or scriptures on 3 X 5 cards that I keep next to my reading chair.  I pick these cards up and re-read them when I am feeling anxious, overwhelmed, sad, or in need of wisdom.

Not long after Julie passed away, I wrote these words from I Peter 5:10 on a slip of paper and placed the note on my refrigerator.  These words are a daily reminder on how God through Christ continues to restore me, make me strong, firm, and steadfast.


March was a hard month where I saw so much division in relationships.  I personally experienced great loss of a relationship which I value greatly and hope to see restored.  

Psalm 42,  a Psalm my pastor preached on in March, spoke so deeply to me.

From my journal:  “Mark says we are not to ruminate about our problems.  We are to talk to God about them.”  I began to ponder how I ruminate.  I  have sought to turn my focus on God, talking to Him about my problems.  My roommate from college, wrote a poem based on Psalm 42.  She wrote:

Why are you cast down, O my soul?
Why this unrest within me?
Hope thou in God, for I will give praise
For His answer, whatever it be.
The Psalms & Ecclesiastes in  Poetry
by Elizabeth Cary Bishop
Published by Gospel Folio Press

April

April, what a glorious month.  April brought me the best gift of the year.  My eighth grandchild Leon Roberts Christiansen was born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, to my son Jonathan and his wife Samantha.  He was also welcomed home by my grandson, and Leon’s big brother, Atticus.  This is a photo of this precious child after his first bath.  


In April, Jim and I took a trip to New Orleans.  We needed to get away.  What an escape this wonderful trip was for both of us.  We stayed in a wonderful B & B called Ashtons.  Our room was spectacular.  So was the food, the ambiance, and the company of others staying there.  The flowers on the fireplace in our room were the perfect touch.  


The B&B has the most amazing porch.  We, two who love to porch sit, spent a lot of time on this fabulous porch.  Jim took my portrait.  One is me before I was ready for the portrait.  The other is the official portrait.

May

My two October babies, the grandchildren born 36 hours apart in 1998 graduated from high school this year.  I flew to Utah to spend time with daughter Keicha and to celebrate Gillian’s graduation.  Her mother gave her a nice party after graduation.  Here is the beautiful Gillian with her mom and dad.  


A few days after Gillian’s graduation, Gillian, Keicha, and I flew to Colorado for Mason’s graduation.  Here is a photo of my very happy daughter Amy with her handsome son, Mason.  


June

In June, Jim and celebrated twenty-five years of marriage with a trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico for a long weekend touring both Santa Fe and Taos.  I snapped a selfie of us as we headed out of town on our anniversary trip.  


As with any journey, who you travel with can be more important than your destination.

I have been very, very blessed to have this man, the love of my life, as my constant, steadfast, supportive, loving, and most caring companion on the journey we began twenty-five years ago.  We are hoping for another twenty-five years together!

July

In July, the other great event of the year took place.  My son Jonathan and his wife Samantha returned home to Colorado.  Samantha was hired to teach history in a tenure-track position at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs.  We are so excited to have these two and their two sons back home in Colorado.  Jon won’t officially move here until this coming spring as he finishes up his PhD in Scranton, PA.  

A mini-family reunion was held to meet new grandson Leon and to welcome Jon, Sam, Atticus, and Leon to Colorado.

A mini-family reunion


Atticus, Samantha, Leon, and Jonathan

August

A few years ago, Jim and I built a small patio in our front yard.  This has become my favorite spot to spend summer evenings.  We sit and rest there after our summer evening walks, or sometimes we even head here to eat a light supper.



In August, the eclipse was experienced and viewed from this patio.  I was fascinated by the designs cast on the stones by the shadows made by the sun and and the moon.



During much of late spring and all through the summer, I experienced the unpleasant and unwanted effects of high levels of inflammation in my body due to the inflammatory condition which I have developed that has caused me to lose much of my hair.  I was in pain throughout my body, tired, and felt generally unwell.  I went on the medication Plaquenil.  It brought down the high levels of inflammation and it even helped with the pain I had in my hips and shoulders.  However, the side effects of intolerance to heat, to the sun, severe gastric problems, and drastic drops in insulin levels caused me to stop taking the drug.  I now am not treating my auto-immune condition with any medication and am doing well.  I find that I have times when I have flares, and then I have times when my system is “quiet” and I seem to be in remission.  I’m learning to live with and cope with having a chronic health condition.  I’m learning to take the good with the bad and hope for the best.  

September

We made the second trip of the year to Grand Junction to see my 101 year old mother in September.  She is still doing remarkably well.  



October

Jim and I traveled to Chicago in October to celebrate his birthday. This was our first trip to Chicago, but I doubt it will be our last.  We loved our time in Chicago! Even though it was his birthday trip, Jim surprised me by getting us a room on the top floor of the Thompson Hotel.  We had a view of Lake Michigan and of the shopping and restaurant area that was located right outside the door of the hotel.  In the nearly weeklong time we were there, we spent our time eating, walking the Magnificent Mile, exploring the many museums in Chicago, shopping, and because my son Ryan was in town for business on the last evening we were there, we even go to have dinner and spend some time with him.  We also were able to get tickets to see Hamilton.  


November

Thanksgiving Break meant that son Jonathan and his son Atticus were able to take a break from their academic studies and come to Colorado for a reunion with the Jon's wife and baby.  We also were able to spend time together as a family.  I can’t wait until the academic year is over and Jon and Atticus move here permanently.  


For Thanksgiving, Jim and I traveled to Northern Colorado to spend the weekend with daughter Amy and Jewett in their brand-new home.  This mom is so happy to see her daughter happy.  This year has brought so many blessings to our family, and this happy relationship between Amy and Jewett is one of the great blessings of the year.  It was also great to see my grandchildren Mason and Hannah.  


December

Right after Thanksgiving, I noticed that the overachievers around town already had their homes brightly lit and decorated inside and out for Christmas.  I began early with a bit of decorating, and then decided to cut the decorating I normally do in half.  I only set out Christmas decorations in the upstairs part of the house.  I also took the time to ponder what activities would bring me the most joy and the least amount of stress as we went into the hectic holiday season.

From a  December 12 entry in my journal:  

4:00 p.m. Tuesday afternoon.  The light is fading, but the glow of the afternoon fellowship brightens my heart while my body sinks into my cushy chintz chair.  The light on the page comes from the Christmas tree next to me. So often I long for friendship, fellowship, and yet seldom do I provide the hospitality that fosters such connection.

These moments of contentment need to be captured.  Snapshots of my surroundings are sent to my memory bank, yet while I love my comfortable home, it is when it is filled with others that I have the most joy.  

...The ladies (ladies from my Bible study group), six of them came at 11:00.  They left a bit after 3:00...Everyone made themselves at home, they were at ease, and open.  

...As the ladies left we talked about how this is such a busy time of year, but it is nice to set aside time for fellowship, for connection with others...It truly was a day when we focused on being present rather than on giving presents.  (I took no photos that day.  It is good sometimes to just connect and not record by taking photos!)

So much of December was like that for me.  It was a time when I tried to be present with myself and with others.  There were many gatherings.  One with my high school friends.  Another with the couples from the neighborhood.  Then there was a smaller gathering at the home of a neighbor.  Our writing group, which had not met through all of 2017 met for lunch at the home of one of the ladies.  All in all, the month did bring me a great deal of joy and little stress.  




In December, I tried to focus on that which means the most to me:  my faith, my family, and my friendships.  I am richly blessed in each of those areas.  


Jim and I spent Christmas Eve with his daughters and their families.  We then had a quiet Christmas Day at home alone when our plans to drive to Erie, Colorado, to be with daughter Amy had to change when she woke up terribly ill.  While we were disappointed not to spend time with Amy, we made the most of day and went to a movie.  We saw The Darkest Hour.  

We did get one Christmas photo taken when we went to view the light and decorations at the Broadmoor Hotel on the Friday before Christmas.  


The year 2017 had its challenges, but as I reflect upon the year now gone forever, I am filled with gratitude for all of the goodness that another year brought into my life.  



Deciduous




Deciduous*
(dih-sij-oo-uh s)

adjective

  1. shedding the leaves annually, as certain trees and shrubs
  2. falling off or shed at a particular season, stage of growth, etc. as leaves, horns, or teeth
  3. no permanent; transitory


Deciduous, this word of the day from dictionary.com popped up my inbox on the first day of autumn.  The word, one learned in biology when students are introduced to the classification system, was certainly not a new one to me, yet the word took hold in my brain as if it were a negative concept with which I did not wish to consider.  

The word deciduous on the surface was certainly an appropriate word given the season.  As an adjective, it describes well what happens in fall:  deciduous trees and shrubs shed leaves.

That “word of the day” from the first day of autumn would not leave me alone.  Soon I was beginning to feel like a professor had assigned me this word as topic for a writing exercise.  Instead of sitting down and writing,  I let other tasks and interests shove the writing chore to the side.  I began to feel as if I had this large and long neglected writing assignment hanging over my head for weeks upon weeks.  

We are now well into autumn.  I am just now writing about that which I have been thinking for weeks. 
**********

There is possibly no season more glorious than autumn. At the beginning of the season, the word deciduous evokes an entirely different response than it does at towards the end of season. 
In Colorado during the first days of autumn the newspapers will often have a headline that reads, There Is Gold in Those Hills.  


Maroon Bells
Near Aspen, Colorado
Fall 2015
Photographers head to the hills seeking a different golden reward than those long ago  prospectors who first settled in Colorado sought.  On those weekend when the leaves are at their peak in color, the mountain highways turn into urban like traffic jams.  Such ephemeral beauty is short lived.  

Nature dictates that each leaf on each deciduous tree will change from green to gold, red, or orange.  The aspen tree, robed in brilliant gold in the mountains of Colorado, demands our attention even as she knows she dare not boast of her fugacious attire because in no time, her frock has fallen to the ground.



The shedding of each leaf only adds to the beauty that a clump of deciduous trees creates.


*********
I ponder the fleeting beauty that the first days of autumn brings.
Perhaps it is my age that causes me to think, “all of this will be over in a heartbeat."
When one reaches the autumn of life, the change that autumn brings brings new meaning.
One cannot help but draw an analogy of the evanescent aspect of the season of autumn to one’s own life when reaches the eighth decade of living.

In autumn memories of spring when one wore frocks of green are beginning to fade.  One looks about and sees others around them also robed in glorious colors and says to oneself, “I think I love the autumn of my life best of all.”  There seems to be even more vibrancy in this season. One almost forgets that such days are fleeting, temporary, transitory.  

One becomes most aware of the deeper meanings of deciduous in autumn.  

The outward appearance of deciduous trees may appear different in each season, 
but a deciduous tree is always 
deciduous.
Spring,
summer,
autumn, 
and 
winter, 
a deciduous tree remains deciduous.  
Only its appearance changes.

*****************
The transition to these later days of the autumn of my life have been days when I’ve found myself shedding much of what I thought defined myself and my life. 

*****************
At the end of this past summer, I received an email  from a person I did not know asking me if I would be interested in working as a mentor/coach for both inservice and preservice teachers participating in training that would be funded by  a grant which had been awarded to the  University in the town where I live.  The person who sent the email introduced herself,  told me a bit about the position, and stated that I had been recommended for the position by several of her colleagues at the University.  All of these professors whom had recommended me were dear personal and professional friends of mine.  I wrote back and asked if we could meet to discuss the specifics of the position:  time expectations, responsibilities, the wage, etc.

A few days later I had the opportunity to meet the one whom had sought me out for the position.  She was joined by the principal investigator for the grant project for which I was being recruited.  Immediately, I was drawn to the scope of the work that would take place because the University had been awarded this grant.  I was drawn to the tasks I would be assigned.  The work I would do would be exactly what I once loved best to do:  working with teachers involved in teaching English as A Second Language.  I was drawn to the two intelligent and personable women with whom I was meeting and with whom I would work.  I wanted to work with them.  I wanted to do the work,  but I knew I needed to fully understand the scope of the position before I let my emotions say, “YES.”

They said the position was for twenty (20) hours a week, or a half- FTE (full-time equivalency).  I have worked at the University level enough to know that 20 hours would really mean that I would put in no fewer than thirty hours a week.  I also knew that I would have to develop lesson plans and a schedule that would work for myself and those I would be teaching, coaching, and mentoring.  As I sipped my Starbucks drink, and spoke with these wonderful professionals, I kept telling myself to not jump in with both feet.  I reminded myself not to forget that I was no longer in the summer of life.  

I left the meeting excited about the opportunity, so excited.  I tried to ignore the reality of the scope of the position.  I reminded myself that they even offered me ten (10) hours a week if that would work best for me.  

As I left the Starbucks where I had learned the specifics of a possible new opportunity,  the skies over the mountains turned black.  I watched heavy storm clouds begin to blow into the valley where I live.  Soon, a thick veil of rain and hail hid the clouds that had descended down the mountainside and into the valley.  I knew better that to drive into that storm.  I knew better than to even begin to enter the mouth of the valley because soon the road that led to my home would become a raging river.  I drove to the top of a bluff and sought shelter in a REI store.

As I shopped, I kept weighing the benefits of taking this job, all the time knowing I didn’t really want to work that many hours.  Yet, I wanted to feel productive again.  I wanted and needed professional and personal exchanges.  I missed that part of my life.  Deep in thought, I wondered through the store while the storm raged outside.  Hail was pounding the roof.  Then I heard, “Hi Sally.”  I turned to see Leanna standing there.  Leanna was one of my daughter Julie’s best friends from high school.  She has been such a faithful friend to our family since we lost Julie seven years ago.  “What are you doing these days?” she asked.

I spilled out my story about the job offer.  I told her how conflicted I was.  “Twenty hours are a lot of hours,” she said.  She even added that she was working that many hours in a demanding job and it was a lot.  I knew she was right.  I knew she had given me the answer I needed to hear.  

I told her how Julie used to ask, “Mom, when are you really going to retire?”  Julie wanted me to retire and enjoy life.  It was as if Julie had sent Leanna to me.  Leanna said, “I’m running the biggest race of my life tomorrow.  Julie has been on my mind.  I think of her everyday when I run.  She is the one who got me into running again.  I think she put you in my path today as I worry about the weather and the run.”  I think we both had tears in our eyes as we hugged and went our separate ways.  I know I did.  Those chance meetings can be just what we need somedays.  


***********
I had such great clarity after I talked to Leanna.  All she had to say was, “Twenty hours is a lot.”  She is thirty years younger than I and in fantastic shape, yet she knows the toll that must be paid when one works twenty hours on a professional job  that requites a great deal of preparation and emotional and physical strength.  At this time in life, in this season, I did not wish to pay the price that I would have to pay to do a job I once loved and still greatly missed.
I was able to let that which no longer fit in this season of my life fall away.  

***********

I’ve been doing a lot of sorting these days.  I've sorted through that which no longer fits for where I now am in life.  I have let much that I once treasured, but which I no longer have to hang on to,  fall away.  I am remembering with great joy those golden days that were before these days that signal that autumn has reached the midway point, but those days no longer define me nor do they constrict the days I now live.

**********

Most of the leaves have now fallen from the trees near my home.  Some were hit with frost and snow early in the season, and so those trees, the beautiful maple trees outside my window,  did not wear on their usual showy red colors for long.  

The oak leaves have fallen and are now dry and brittle.  I see heaps of dry, crumbling brown leaves in the gutters of the street.  The wind catches them and blows them under bushes, or under porches.  It seems those gloriously colored leaves have been forgotten and reached a rather ignominious end.  

The shedding of that which is no longer needed by the tree in autumn does not attenuate the value of the tree or of the leaves which have been shed.  A deciduous tree sheds its leaves because that is what deciduous trees do.  As one ages, one also begins to shed that which no longer fits in the season of life where one now resides.  

The brittle, dry leaves are not useless.  They have a purpose.  They serve as mulch.  They protect the roots on the trees and other plants during winter.  They release nutrients back into the earth.  Nothing is lost.  These leaves are important for the life and growth of the tree even as they are shed and seem to be cast aside.

I’m learning that as I let that which is no longer needed to fall away, I too feel as if the roots at the core of my life feel protected, insulated, and nurtured.  I am honoring the season of life where I now live by recognizing the need for times when I need rest and restoration.  I have been trying to do that which feeds my soul and soothes my body as autumn comes to an end.  

It is good to recognize the seasons of life and embrace the lessons that each season brings.  Seasons are not permanent states.  All of nature changes with the seasons.  Seasons are transitory.  What was true of one’s life in one season is no longer true in another.  One cannot grow if one hangs on to that which identified a season that has now passed.  A deciduous tree cannot insist in fall to wear only green, nor can the leaves refuse to fall.  A deciduous tree is beautiful in any season.  A deciduous tree honors the seasons by changing as the season dictates.

There is great comfort in living in this season where I am able to allow that which is no longer needed to fall away.  


Postscript:  
*Sometimes a word study evolves into a written piece.  I think about the meaning of a certain word.  I look at the synonyms and antonyms.  I keep lists of words that work with the word I have have been pondering.  English teachers play these crazy games with words for entertainment.  (I even like to diagram sentences.)  This post was written using words that were a part of my word study for the word deciduous.  It also is a post that sums up what has been going on in my life recently.  I’ve been sorting through that which is important in my life and allowing that which is no longer important to fall away.