April 30 -- One Year Anniversary

Look on http://sagehippiephd.blogspot.com/ for the post entitled "Tiggy's and Valarie's Most Excellent Journey."

Today marks exactly one year since I arrived in Denver, in search of motel accommodations during a pretty hefty evening rainstorm.  And now, as I sit with the memories, I look out my window tonight and in Littleton, we've been having a mix of rain and snow the last few days.  Those who've followed my progress as a new Coloradan remind me, "This is what spring in Colorado looks like."

And it's still okay with me...the rapidly changing weather, the pronounced difference in seasons, all of it.

As I reflect on where I'm at with my goals, I'm okay with that, for the most part.  I'm more than a little embarrassed that I haven't yet gotten around to visiting the old high school friends who preceded me here, people I'd sworn I'd look up "right away" after getting here.  If any of you read this, please forgive me and let me try to make things right.  There are no more excuses that I'm still unpacking or anything like that.

You see, the older I get, the more I realize the folly of carelessness, of delaying seeing those who are close to us with delusion that "there's always plenty of time."  We can't take the length of the future for granted, nor the presence of dear ones in our lives.

My Facebook/high school friends are well aware that Kevin Douglas Cook, my "big brudda," passed away exactly a month ago.  His demise has hit me especially hard; besides being my only sibling, he was the family member I looked up to as a role model of independence and confidence.  Kevin's birthday is coming up on May 21st; he would have turned 71.  One of my few remaining family members recently sent me a huge bundle of photos she had unearthed recently.  I will be culling through them, and posting a pictorial tribute to Kevin on his birthday.

I also, belatedly, became aware of the loss of another family friend.  Dorothy ("Dottie") Frye passed away in February.  She, another woman and my mother had been very close since their high school days, keeping up correspondence and visits, even as the years passed and the three of them ended up miles apart.

 Like Kevin, Dottie had a strong maverick spirit.  She never married, but there were conflicting stories about a certain young man--the "one who got away."  Many said Dottie allowed her overbearing mother to  interfere with this romance, while others said she was strong-willed and preferred her decades-long career in insurance as a means of independence.  All I know is that Dottie, and the anecdotes about her I heard Mom relate over the years, served as a touchstone for me of female strength.

As my Mom deteriorated physically and mentally, I kept up the correspondence with Dottie.  Her letters became less frequent and detailed, and finally she admitted in one of the last ones I have that her vision was failing.  No problem--I'll just call her sometime, I thought.  After all, I've got the phone number written in Mom's old address book.

Then, Kevin's illness took center stage a few months ago, and I kept thinking, "Gotta call Dottie."  Before I knew it, Kevin died and I had the hurried trip to and from South Carolina for his memorial service.  The day after I got back home, I got out the address book, dialed Dottie's number--and there was no answer.  After taking a deep breath or two, I did a Google search, and it didn't take along to know...

Dottie was dead.

So, as I go about my life these days, and see or hear something funny or irritating, at first I think, "Boy, I should call Kev/write Dottie, and see what he/she thinks..." before I realize, "I can't...not anymore."

And it hits me...two people who had profound influences on my life are gone.  Not just people, but pieces of who I am.

Once again, I am reminded of cherishing those in my life, new acquaintances and old friends.  Especially now that I'm settled down here in Littleton and marked this year milestone, I must live for now and reach out, even with all the imperatives in my schedule.

Before it's too late.

Boots, Blue Jeans & Bling: My First Colorado Christmas

December 19, 2015--The Christmas cards went out soon after Thanksgiving, and those I'm getting in return are gradually decorating the inside of my front door.  Except for my son's gift, securely hidden away till its presentation time on Christmas Eve, the others in my small family have been sent their parcels.  I trust they have them under their Christmas trees, and haven't allowed curiosity to persuade premature unwrapping.

I'm so anxious for Christmas, but with a bittersweet recollection of the holidays of the past two years.  It was in 2013 that my mother went to the hospital right before Christmas, and remained in a rehab facility through the new year.  Last year, Mom was in a nearby nursing home for the holidays, when her round-the-clock needs could no longer be met at home, even with the heroic assistance of her hospice home workers.  Christmas 2014 was painful and lonely, and I was actually relieved to see an end to the season.

Among my recent mail was a letter from Valley Funeral Home, which did a wonderful, compassionate job assisting me with Mom's final arrangements this past February.  Unaware that I had moved to Colorado, they invited me to a "Candlelight Service of Remembrance" on December 13, a memorial service for those who had passed away this year, and ending with an invitation for guests to light candles in those loved ones' memories.  Had I still lived in the area, I certainly would have gone.

If it makes any sense to say that I'm pursuing the Christmas spirit with ferocity, than so be it.  When I learned that Colorado had a round-the-clock holiday music source in KOSI 101.1 FM, I made it a preset in my car on Thanksgiving.  I alternate it with Colorado Public Radio (cpr.org), which is now featuring their "Colorado Classic Christmas."

With this acoustic backdrop, I was able to bring myself to bring out the decorations.  As I tacked up the stockings my mother knitted for each of us on the wall in my living room--the first year they have not hung on a fireplace mantle--I allowed myself to feel some sadness, and even some occasional, private tearfulness.   The straw wreath, painted green and adorned with tiny trinkets by Mom years ago, is also adorning the living room wall.  The macrame Christmas tree that Mom received from a patient and then embellished with tiny lights used to hang in the dining room window in California is in my bedroom window, to provide a sweet seasonal sight for passerby neighbors.

My challenge, it would seem, is to fondly remember Christmas family rituals past while creating a new set of observances in my new home.  Having a warm, welcoming church home does a lot toward this goal.  I was thrilled to learn that some of my friendly new neighbors in my complex are also fellow parishioners at St. Frances Cabrini.  Last year, I celebrated Christmas Mass in California, and have keep in close touch with those old friends at St. Robert Bellarmine.   As a way to keep making new friends here in Littleton, I help out as a greeter at 11:30 AM Mass.  I can't wait to experience the handbell choir and Schola Cantorum at St. Frances Cabrini on Christmas Day, especially with the acoustics in the building.

I have experienced no shortage of friendship since moving to my new apartment complex.  There's a cadre of young college-aged young men upstairs, and they soon adopted me as a kind of "grandma figure."  These gentlemen have been eager to assist, especially since we have had heavy snowfalls. They have suddenly appeared and come to my aid when I'm scraping the snow off my car windows, or been clearing a path with my shovel behind my rear tires.  There are other concerned neighbors, including those who like to warn me to be careful as I pick my way around patches of ice on the pavement.  I am watchful -- the cane I now use on advice of my physical therapist is very handy to gauge the depth of a patch of snow, and also to help me know where curbs are buried.

It's also good to have my son here, who is establishing life here for his wife and himself.  While he gets things settled, it will be nice to have a family member here, with whom to have Christmas Eve dinner at our now-favorite restaurant.

My workplace is deliberately casual, because we want clients be able to relax and relate to us.  As a way to be festive, I have been pairing my jeans, shawls and Western boots with my velvet blouses and Christmas jewelry.  Again, as I put some of the antique pins, I feel as if Mom is present with me...

Sometimes, in the early morning just before sunrise, Tiggy and I look out my bedroom window while CPR is playing on my nightstand.  Across the landscaped lawn and private road that divides our complex from our neighboring apartments, The Pinnacle, are lampposts, illuminating the night in precise intervals like beacons.  They are beautiful, and provide a scene that could have been painted by Thomas Kincade.

It's good to be back blogging.  My wishes to all for a blessed Christmas season, wherever and however you are celebrating.