My brain has always been my favorite organ. I love its quirkiness, its ability to continually ask questions, forcing me to research answers.
When I was young, my parents advised me to keep my brain in check. “Men don’t like women who are smarter than they are.” Ah, the ‘60s. The good old days.
I didn’t take their advice. I let them know I was offended and would continue to nurture my brain because I liked it. Lots.
Now I must admit that I think my brain isn’t quite the beauty it was a few years back. It lacks focus. It’s a bit lazy. But it’s still happy and inquisitive.
What I like best is that I’m still able to work it. And others are interested in what it has to say.
I’m active doing things that challenge my brain. I’m on the Board of Bergen Spay and Neuter Alliance, an organization that provides cat/dog sterilization throughout Colorado utilizing a mobile veterinary van. I write grants. I work on strategic planning. I argue with Kristin, the founder and executive director. I’ve been President of the Board since 2019 and hopefully, someone else will take over shortly. We need new ideas.
I’m on the Board of The Urban Farm, a local nonprofit that helps kids (and grownups) learn about agriculture and farm animals. This organization has my heart because in 2010, I suffered failed spinal surgeries and was left with a permanent spinal cord injury. I spent several painful months in bed. I finally decided that I needed to do “hard labor” and get my sorry body moving. I decided to volunteer at the Farm. I mucked stalls. I came home exhausted but elated. It was at the Farm that I met Juan, the thirteen-year-old I mentored who today is an amazing young man and one of my best friends. It was at the Farm that I met Harold and Susan who became dear friends and with whom we spend each Tuesday afternoon drinking champagne, eating popcorn, and watching documentaries. Afterwards, Harold snookers me into an argument about something. It was at the Farm that I became healthier, and it led me back to skiing. It also returned me to my childhood when I spent so many wonderful years riding my horses in the stockyards of Denver. The Farm is in a period of tremendous growth and change. I get to be part of that. This morning I met with the Executive Director, and we talked about a board retreat in September. I told her I’d be in Kenya until September 12 and she said they’d hold it when I could attend. We also talked about a new capital campaign and a change of direction in the Farm’s programming. I like the Executive Director. She has a Newfie, a bulldog, and a little grifter type dog. She brings them to work every day. As we talked about futures, I got to get licked by a bulldog and snorfed by a Newfie.
I spend Wednesday afternoons at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Sanctuary. I talk to people about what to do, how to get there, what we have, and what they should look for. I meet lots of birders, fishermen, hikers and people looking for bison and badgers. It’s not the most intellectually challenging part of my week, but it’s fun and the best part is when I get to give the “oath of the Junior Ranger” to kids who have completed the little workbook.
I’ve been on a committee with the Denver Foundation for about six years. I think this’ll be my last year, and it’s been educational for me. I learned jargon I’d never heard before and would ask what it meant. It was always something simple, like donor. “We don’t say donor because it creates a power dynamic.” Oh. What does that mean? I listen to the conversations and think, what the hell. Someone wants to give my organization money? Yes. Just say yes. If I don’t want their money because it creates some horrible relationship, then, guess what? I don’t have to accept it.
Sometimes people make simple things complicated. The Denver Foundation is the center of woke. They give away a ton of money; they do a great deal of good. I’ve enjoyed the relationship even though I frequently left meetings wondering why they all talked that way.
I also reviewed grants for the Denver Foundation. At first, I thought it would be so much easier to review grants than to go begging for them as I had for so many years. Wrong. Selecting a few from many is just not easy. Or pleasant.
There is another organization that has captured my heart: the Katie Adamson Conservation Fund. Created by a former Denver zookeeper, Dave Johnson, in memory of an intern, Katie Adamson, this group essentially focuses on projects that enhance habitat of animals (and people). For example: elephants in Tanzania were invading farmlands, making farmers very unhappy and rather hostile towards elephants. Because elephants are terrified of bees (who knew?), KACF installed beehives along fences, thereby reducing the conflict.
I love that.
They take trips, work with local organizations, and all in all, make the world just a bit better. But they need some organizational help. So, I’ve sat down with Dave and his husband, Ray, and offered my old-lady services to help them create a sustainable structure.
I like this. I get to use my brain and that makes me not only happy but feel like I’m still part of the world. And that’s an issue for us old ladies. We tend to disappear or, at minimum, get ignored. But thankfully, these organizations still seem to need what I have. Now there’s a whole lot I can’t help them with. Social media escapes me completely but I know enough to tell them that they need to do a whole bunch of it. I no longer have the corporate connections to raise significant dollars. But I know enough to lead them in the right direction. I can still figure out a budget, and I can make the case for an organization to adopt a realistic one. Dave, like so many founders, oh and Kristin, too, take little or no salary. Not acceptable. What if a rhino gores you, Dave? What happens to the organization? Kristin, what if you get run over by a truck? No more Bergen!
Oh, I’ve been singing this old song for a long time now.
I’m grateful they’re still listening.
Air. 
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