Tag: writing
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Chapter 69. One Year Later.
We settled there some 48 years ago. The half-acre property sitting in the middle of an urban area gave us all we needed: space for our two cats and two dogs. And it would ultimately give us the place where we would acquire and say good-bye to more cats, dogs. . . . among them our 7 beloved…
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Chapter 66. The House is Sold.
We closed on the house yesterday. Prior to the official closing, we met with the new buyers, a couple, both lawyers in their early 30’s. I had prepared a spreadsheet of items, contractors, people who fix broken things, electrical information, swamp cooler, you know, house stuff. I also printed out information on the architect who designed the house…
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Chapter 65. A Passing
The husband of a friend died yesterday. I only met him briefly and I’ve only known her since last April when she and I worked on a fundraiser together. I liked her immediately. She is straightforward in that East Coast way. Blunt. To the point. No time for nonsense. It’s a new friendship, one I hope to nurture more deeply. …
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Chapter 64. We Live in a Hallmark Movie
I didn’t think this up. My niece, Laurie, did. I was chatting with her this morning, and she commented on the Christmas light show in our Town Center. “You live in a Hallmark movie,” she said. She’s a genius. She really is. For forty-eight years, GB and I lived in the solitude of our half-acre garden. The architecture of the…
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Chapter 63. Dementia
I have a relative with Lewy body dementia. I thought I’d write about this because of the devastating impact this form of dementia, and others, has on the family. And the patient suffering from it. You’ve heard the jokes, “Oh, dementia by the time they have it, they’ve already forgotten about it.” Not exactly true. My…
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Chapter 61. Aging sucks. Or not.
I look at my hands, and I see the same wrinkly, veined hands as my mother’s. And my grandmother’s. And it isn’t just the outward appearance of my hands. It’s the way I hold things. A little digression here. Remembering this reminds me of the years when my mom worked downtown. She added an additional thirty minutes to her commute…
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Chapter 57. From April to September: What Changed
Living at Everleigh is a gigantic change in our lives. I suspect I like it more than GB does because at the house, I was responsible for everything. Shopping, repairs, maintenance, garden, meals, social calendar, chickens, dogs, cats, grandsons. I did that, plus work full-time for 48 years. He got to enjoy it. No wonder I was exhausted. Then…
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Chapter 55. The Importance of Stuff
For as long as I can remember, I have made statements like this: Things mean nothing to me. They’re all replaceable. If the house burned down today, I’d be fine just so long as I saved the animals. I always wondered if I meant it. A couple of weekends ago, we had an estate sale. Rebecka (the estate…
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Chapter 54. My Forever Friends.
I’ve probably told pieces of these stories before, but I’m going to try to put them together in this writing. It’s more for my benefit than anything else. I suspect I was born loving dogs. My earliest recollections contain a large, furry presence protecting me. That was, of course, Tessie, the Doberman my grandfather, Louis, purchased years…
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Chapter 52. Ghosts
I shouldn’t have, but I did anyway. I returned to the house today to look for an iron. As I walked through examining all our belongings placed for sale, I was fine. I was even okay when I looked at the overgrown vegetable garden. I was all right when I looked at the St. Francis statue that protects Paulina’s…
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Chapter 47. Moving
Moving is horrible. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. We downsized from a 2200 square foot house, not large by today’s standards, to an 1100 square foot apartment. We downsized from a half-acre garden to a front porch and a patio. We downsized and then did it again. And again. And one more time. We took each room of our…
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Chapter 46. Alba
I guess sometime in 1978, I received a call from GB’s receptionist. She was taking belly dancing lessons and heard a story of a girl from Nicaragua who needed help. The receptionist suggested that GB and I would be the right people to do this since we were always rescuing animals and why not a little girl?…
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Chapter 42. It’s Time to Talk about Monkey
Monkey arrived in our home in, I think, 2011. GB and I had been hiking with our two Newfs, Doc and Nisha, near Evergreen. As we approached our car, I noticed a rescue group holding an event. I spotted a little Shih Tzu and GB said, “Go look”. I did. I walked up to the little Shih Tzu who…
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Chapter 40. Going Home.
In 1940, my grandparents, Louis and Celia Altberger, were living in a one-bedroom apartment in Denver’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. My mom had married the previous year and was living in Pueblo with my dad. Louis, always the man with the big ego, came home one day with a puppy in his arms. What the hell is that? Asked…
Air. 