Location, Location, Location

May 17th, 2010 by Cindy Strandvold

If realtors are correct saying that location is the most important aspect of where you choose to live, then Iíve got it made. At first glance, you might not think living on the edge of downtown would be ideal.

But I love it.

Within mere blocks of my house I can find restaurants, shops, a museum, the post office and the library. Not to mention some of our cityís world-renowned sculptures. During the summer, I can even hear the Thursday night outdoor concerts from my own backyard.

But my favorite thing about where I live is the proximity to the recreation trail where I take my daily walks. Not far from my house are several county enclaves where I can hear roosters and turkeys greeting the new day. Goats contentedly munch green grass and new calves bask in the sunshine. A little further down, next to the river Iíve seen elk, great blue herons, raccoons, and muskrats. This time of year, I eagerly await the hatching of the seasonís first mallard ducklings. Watching them grow entertains me all summer.

Whatís the best thing about where you live?

MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

May 10th, 2010 by Quinn Reed

MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

††††††††††† This year Motherís day was wonderful and continues to be my favorite day of the year.† My son who lives in Alaska chatted with me on the phone for an hour and informed me that he and his girlfriend bought a microwave oven on Craigís list in order to make homemade soy candles as a Motherís Day gift.†

††††††††††† My 29 year old daughter spent the day with me and during the morning we were out and about and ran into many people I know.† The reoccurring comment was ìYour daughter looks just like you.î† I donít really know how I feel when I hear that comment.† I remember when Suzanna was ten years old hiking up the hill to catch the bus to school.† My neighbor who watched her said, ìYour young daughter looks just like you, in fact, she even walks like you!î† At the time, I remember thinking, ìPoor Suzanna.î In my heart, I was hoping for more for her.†

††††††††††† Yesterday, I phoned my mother who lives in a nursing home in New Mexico.† When my daughter talked with her, I overheard the following ñ ìMom and I went to the nursery this morning and looked at plants and it was so much fun.† When I was a little girl, my Mom made me help her in the garden and I hated it. Now, I love gardening, it is so meditative!î

††††††††††† Unlike the comment that we look alike, which is the luck of genetic draw, I knew exactly how I felt about her turning out just like me in the gardening area.† I was very pleased.† I had exposed her to the beauty of digging in the earth and it had imprinted on her.† In this regard, my daughter is just like me and it is all I hoped for.

The Obstacle is the Path--Zen saying

May 3rd, 2010 by Cheryl Courtney

This always reminds me of that old camp song. The lyrics go--so high can't go over it, so low can't go thru it, so wide can't go over it...gotta go thru it.

This is life, an no matter how confused I am or discouraged, I have to go thru stuff to get to the other side.

How many times in my life have I wanted an easier and softer way? And† how many times have I valued the lesson once it is finally learned?

Lately my path seems filled with thorns and brambles. I have to trust that somewhere in all of this turmoil is the path. Because, life is unfolding as it should and now is all I really have.

From Good to Rags

May 1st, 2010 by Shelley Widhalm

My father told me he knew I was a clothes hound when he and my mother took me to my grandmotherís house, and I, as a three year old, kicked out my leg to show off my new shoes.

"You loved your new shoes. That was a real treat for you," my mother said when repeating the story.

In high school, my mother gave me a budget for my back-to-school clothes, and I would try dozens of outfits on, then make a final decision, dragging my mother along in crisscross patterns through the mall.

In college and after, I retained my love of clothing, but could not spend, spend, spend. Though I could shop and select out a few pieces, I was not of the Saks income, more like that of coupons, bargains and sales, which I use to my full advantage to select out a few pieces to add to my wardrobe each year.

But the recession has made shopping dreary. Why? The clothes I used to buy from department stores and small retailers, all mid-grade, are of a lesser quality. They last a season. They shrink or they stretch. They lose their shape. They fall apart. And some of them get those little nubbies that should be the domain of sweaters only.

This reduction in quality is a way for stores to cut back on their costs, but it is putting a damper on my love of shopping. Now, Iím wary. I check if the material has spandex. I look for small, even stitching and tight, straight seams. I look at the thickness of material. I look for the bias and cut.

In the past, I did not have to be so careful. Now, Iím a wary consumer in a depressed economy who wants the shopping to be an experience and pleasure, not another chore to replace the clothes that fell apart the last season.

Jam and Jive

April 26th, 2010 by Fay Ulanoff

Prepare lunch you say

Diet you will

First and utmost you must eat and eat you must

Slather your bread, with a rich fattening, vitamin fortified cream cheese layered on,†one inch thick

Not just any whole wheat bread, but the healthful kind, full bodied, with extra fiber to keep your body running smooth

After which you apply a rich thick grape jam, followed by a spoon full of pure virgin white sugar, carefully sprinkled on top.

And just to be on the safe side, and to make sure your sandwich slides all the way down your gullet, pour yourself a glass of homogenized whole milk, with a dash of half and half to give it that extra bite

Now put your feast onto a favorite plate, cut it into two equal parts, then place them next to your cool glass of milk and you are ready to Jam and Jive

Traditions Must Go Forth

April 26th, 2010 by Helen Colella

Checking out a suggested add-a-friend on Facebook I found a post linked to one my childrenís favorite eating establishments when they were growing up. None other then Coloradoís legendary tourist attraction, Casa Bonita.

Itís been years since Iíve patronized this Mexican- themed restaurant located in the town of Lakewood, a suburb of Denver. But as soon as I saw its name in printÖoh, how the memories returnedÖ

The pink and gold, fairyland-like facade on the building made to resemble a hacienda, †blaring Mexican music that greets you as you cross the parking lot on your way in, the colorful lights leading to the entrance and the a massive wooden door with wrought iron hardware.

Once you step inside youíre instantly transported back in time to old Mexico where replicas of the main house of a hacienda with antiques, rustic furniture, hand hewn doors and beamed ceilings amaze and delight. After you soak up the initial ambiance you find yourself following long, twisting and turning cobblestone path toward the restaurant.

The journey takes you past blossoming gardens, hidden courtyards, posters of Mexican activities, and a window that shows the tortilla making crew hard at work.

After you order your food, perhaps an all you can eat menu selection, you move along in a cafeteria type line for pickup and seating. A hostess greets you and leads you to your table in surprise location. You may be led to the middle of a plaza in small village during a festival where the palm trees, mini lights and colorful lanterns emphasize the atmosphere of the town that includes a church, general store, post office, other business buildings, homes of the local residents and a 30 foot waterfall. You may be seated in the town square, a gold or silver mine, a cave or cavern with stalactites and stalagmites nearby.

Your no sooner settle down to enjoy your meal when the fun begins with a whirlwind of entertainment including live cliff divers, flame jugglers, Mariachi bands, authentic dancers in colorful costumes, a wild gorilla chase and a shoot out between the Sheriff and Black Bart.

All this comes before the hot servings (all you can eat) of Sopapillas and honey.

After the dessert itís time to explore the haunted tunnel known as Black Bartís Cave, watch a puppet show, visit the magic theatre, play games in the arcade to earn tickets for prizes and peruse the souvenir shop.

Casa Bonita is a family attraction that has drawn children of all ages since 1974. Itís where many birthdays are celebrated, end of the school year parties are held, out of town guests are entertained or where you go just to have a good time.

Right now Iím thinking about reliving that experience and taking my grandson when he comes to town. After all, itís a tradition that must go forth.

Old Friends

April 17th, 2010 by Phyllis Kennemer

This week I visited with some old friends ñ and I do mean ìoldî. On Tuesday, I had lunch with three couples and another widow, the surviving members of our long standing ìSorority Group.î As you might have surmised, we five women were in college together and were members of the same sorority. We attended what was then Colorado State College in Greeley. Upon graduation we had become teachers in high school business, high school home economics, junior high math & social studies, elementary special education, and elementary school/library media. After graduating we went our own ways, but after about five years, we all ended up teaching in the Denver area. We would sometimes meet for lunch and once as we were chatting, one of the gals suggested we include our husbands in the next get-together.

I was a newlywed and we didnít have much furniture yet, but I offered to host the first dinner. I made lasagna and we ate it on a tin camp table sitting on folding chairs. We women had worried that our husbands were too different (automobile mechanic, gourmet grocer, house painter, school principal, and government executive) to get along. Our fears were unfounded. The guys hit it off right away and made plans to play poker after dinner at our next gathering. We established an every other month schedule, so each couple hosted the dinner once a year (skipping July) and, thus, we continued for close to thirty years.

Once we all retired, our traveling schedules have interfered with meeting quite so frequently. I moved to Loveland in 1996 and my husband died in 1997. We continued our dinner routine for a few more years until another husband died and that widow moved with her daughter to Bennett. Now we meet for lunch in restaurants whenever we can find dates that will work for all of us. During the past fifty years, our lives have been separate, but intertwined. We have watched our children grow up and have attended their weddings. We share pictures of our grandkids. We support each other in times of joy and sorrow. Long-time friendships are among lifeís greatest blessings.

It's My Turn

April 12th, 2010 by Cindy Strandvold

Cindyís been a little busy lately, so I thought I would help out and take her turn on the blog this week. See, she won second place in the big Pikes Peak Writing Contest and all she can think about is what she should wear to the awards ceremony.

Now that I think about it, you should say I won second place in the contest. After all, Iím the main character in ìThe Secret of the Legacy.î Without me, her little story wouldnít stand a chance. In case you donít know, my name is Flash and Iím a cat. Himalayan to be exact. Personally, I wouldnít have a bit a trouble with what to wear to an awards banquet. My bright blue eyes, chocolate brown fur and seal point markings are elegant enough for any occasion.

I understand Cindyís dilemma, though. Being a human, she lacks even a marginally adequate fur coat. Have you ever seen a naked human? Exactly. No wonder they wear clothes!

Anyway, sheíd better hurry up and get her mind back on writing my adventures. Weíre working on the sequel and Iíve still got super-villains to defeat, inventions to protect, and bloodhounds to outsmart. Donít worry, I can handle it. Itís all in a dayís work for a multi-talented Feline Extraordinaire like myself.

You know, if I put my mind to it, I bet I could write the sequel myself. I mean, how hard could it be? I whipped out this blog easily enough, didnít I?

Why should Cindy get all the glory anyway? Just because sheís real and Iím a figment of her imagination? How unfair is that? Maybe Iíll crash this whole awards ceremony thing and insist on more recognition for us main characters. Actually thatís not a bad idea, Iíve already got the outfit. Thereís only one teensy weensy problem . . . be honestódoes this collar make me look fat?

Drat. Thatís what I was afraid of.

Memento

April 6th, 2010 by Heather Schichtel

I am working on a memoir. It is quite a process to write a storyÖ.about yourself.

A couple weeks ago I sat in a memoir workshop. The instructor asked us to pull out a memento we had with us and write down why it had special meaning. MementoÖ. an object given or kept as a reminder in memory of somebody or something.

I looked through my purse; shuffled through old receipts, my wallet, sunglasses, and cell phone. At first glance, I didnít carry a thing in memory of somebody or something There was nothing special in my big, black, bag. So, I kept quiet and listened to what others had to say.

ìI have one,î said the man behind me, ìI have a tattoo on each arm to remind me of my quadruple bypass surgery. My left arm has a heart with a band aid on. My right has the names of my grandchildren. They are the people who got me through this surgery.î

Well, I certainly donít have a memento like that.

The woman down the aisle stood up. ìI have my i-phone which has a GPS. The last map on it was a run up Horsetooth I did three days ago. Iím training for a half-marathon. This winter has been the first time Iíve felt strong enough to run since my chemotherapy. The half-marathon is in three weeks and I think Iíll be able to do it.î

Story after story was told; heartbreaking, yet strong stories, stories of the human spirit.

I opened my purse again and found an old syringe used for Samanthaís medicine. I pulled out the ëtoolí used to open oxygen tanks for Samantha. This tool doubles as a key chain. Ironically, it was wrapped around my Childrenís Hospital badge.

Are these mementos? Are these keepsakes? Is the scar from my c-section just as much a keepsake as my great-grandmothers quilt? They all tell a story of who I amÖ.MY life.

I watched the people around me pull out items and create stories; the tiny threads of their experiences and I thought that being a writer, being able to capture life within a plastic syringe, is pretty darn cool.

Phone Numbers

April 2nd, 2010 by Shelley Widhalm

Iím afraid to change my phone number.

I donít know why, but I still have my Virginia area code though I live in Colorado. I know that I should change it to 970 and take my last step toward residency.

Donít get me wrong. I love Colorado, particularly the mountains, the bright cerulean blue skies, the clean air (until you get to Denver) and Old Town Fort Collins. I like seeing the mountains from the Mountain Avenue parking garage, the archway by Coopersmithís and the sculpture of three geese with their wings touching as they lift out of the middle of the triangle of shops and restaurants in downtown.

In 2001, I moved to the Washington, D.C. area and stayed for seven years. I was homesick for Fort Collins, and now that Iím back here, Iím homesick for D.C. and Virginia, for the monuments, the Smithsonian museums, the Blue Ridge Mountains and the ocean, plus all the different towns and cities within a dayís drive.

I donít know whatís wrong with me. I canít put a book down once I start it, and I canít let go of the places Iíve been. I get attached. I roll through the memories of the places I love. Itís like they put grains of sand and pieces of brick and bits of stones into my heart, weighing me down wherever I go.

I got used to the fast pace of D.C., the business-clad coffee goers, the formal luncheons, the politics in the air I breathed, and the lack of bike trails except in places where you had to drive and park.

I took a long time to settle in, both in D.C. and back here. I guess part of it is being sentimental and a wonderer of the big what if? I hadnít wanted to leave D.C. after I had been laid off and couldnít find a job. I moved back to my hometown to be close to family, more of a security than being alone in a big city without an income.

I wonder how long it takes for where you live to become home. I donít have sparkly red shoes to click. I just have memories and this clinginess to nine numbers.