For years, I have collected Westmoreland Glass. When I first began collecting in earnest, the Brookridge Pharmacy was still in business at Bellevue and South Broadway in – what else? – the Brookridge Shopping Center. At that time, drugstores often had special items such as toys, knick-knacks, candy, school supplies, as well as fancy glassware for sale. My first two pieces of Westmoreland Glass were purchased at the Brookridge Pharmacy.
In my house, the living room is separated by four tall, turned spindles, from the ceiling to the half wall that separates the living room from the hallway leading to the basement. When I receive a greeting card (for a gift or something) from a relative, neighbor, or friend, I clip it to the cord that I’ve strung between the spindles. That way, I can enjoy the sentiments longer than if I store them immediately in a box … or even if I stand them on a table.
When we were in elementary school and, again, when I was a teacher of young children, we always at sang a special song at this time of year. It goes: “Halloween is coming. Halloween is coming. Halloween is coming. Oh, what fun!” And, here we are – Halloween is coming. SOON!
We gather the candy. Make the popcorn balls – even with COVID in the wings. We buy tiny toys. Anything that kids might want to receive from their pleas of “Trick or Treat.” I always give fancy pencils, along with some chocolate. The kids love pencils, and I love chocolate! It’s always a test for me not to eat all of the candy before trick or treaters arrive.
In my big, back yard, live four large and one medium-size trees. To keep them healthy, they need to be trimmed on a regular basis. About every five years. And, today is the day for the cottonwood and the soft maple. But, not for the European linden or the “bug tree.” I can never remember which bug it is named after, but it will occur to me before I finish writing this article.
This past Saturday, Daughter #1 and I planned to take a day trip to see the color. In Colorado, “seeing the color” means heading to the hills to see the aspen, hoping that you’ve chosen the right day. An early snowstorm … strong wind …rain can put the aspen color on the ground.
Armed with submarine sandwiches, we headed west up Highway 285 toward South Park. We thought there would be color on Kenosha Pass, but the “real color” would be further into the mountains.
I wonder why when I get gasoline in my car at the 85 octane level and have 30 cents off of the price of a gallon, the receipt shows I paid 30 cents more than the original cost of the 85 octane gasoline. Definitely, not the reduced rate! So, I when went into the cashier’s little building, showed him the receipt, complained about the cost, and waited for his answer, he assured me that I had pushed the premium button. I assured him that I had NOT! My car does not like premium gasoline. And, I definitely was not happy. Nothing changed. So, the next time I go to that service station (that belongs to my favorite grocery store), I may just take along a black marker and warn everyone who pulls up to that pump to avoid it at all cost!
Have you ever considered what it must be like to be a widow (or, if you are a man, a widower)? I’ve been a widow for more than four years. I’ve already told you that I HATE that word – widow. But, that’s what I am – a widow. Every form I complete wants to know: married, single, widow. I always wonder why the form’s maker wants to know. A woman becomes a widow with the lack of a heartbeat.
About a week ago, Daughter Number One and I took a short trip into the past. The Cheyenne-based Big Boy steam engine had been trekking through the middle states, Louisiana, and Texas, with travel to its final state being Colorado before heading home to Wyoming. The track from the eastern edge of Colorado to Denver was perfect for the Big Boy’s trip, mostly straight with some curves.
I know. I told you I wouldn’t inundate you with cute pictures and stories about Lady Patricia, my almost five-year-old, white miniature schnauzer, so just consider this an update. She does some funny little things, this girl.
Lady has found her voice. For more than a month, she made no sound, at all. Then, one day (about a month after she came to live with me), one of my Keith’s and I were talking in a part of the house away from where she was. Her safe space is in her bed on the loveseat in the TV room – or just out of the bed on the loveseat. When she heard our voices, she barked – as though she was telling me that someone strange was in the house. That was the first time, ever, that she made any sound. Since then, she has also started barking when the doorbell rings – either my doorbell or a doorbell on the TV. I think Katie, our border collie friend, taught her that.
Writing haibun poetry is my favorite kind of poetry to write. A combination of prose and haiku, haibun is better for me to tell a story than any other kind of poetry. So, this week’s blog is a haibun of our ride on the Royal Gorge Railroad. (The Cranky Crone)
Slow and Easy – A Haibun
Slow and easy is the ride on the Royal Gorge Railroad. Powered by diesel, the ride does not include the soot and grime that accompanies a ride behind a coal-fired engine. If you’ve taken the Cumbres-Toltec train between Chama, New Mexico, and Antonito, Colorado, or the Silverton Train in southwest Colorado, you know about soot and grime. Both of those rides pass through beautiful country, but neither of them takes you into the depths of a canyon like the Arkansas River Canyon. Before the Arkansas River goes crashing through the canyon, it has started somewhere near Leadville, Colorado, fed by winter snowpack.
Eons of time make
A canyon deep and narrow
Run a train through it