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First, the good surprise.  Remember when I said that the Christmas cactus that was given to me by Dolores had no buds and would probably not bloom, this year.  But, I was wrong.  After giving me blossoms three times during this year of COVID, it now has three buds – with more to come, I’m hoping.  Of course, if I get to head north on the Wednesday this article is published, I won’t get to see them in full bloom.  Maybe, Daughter #1 will photograph them and send the images to me when they “show their stuff.”

My wallet disappeared during this past week.  It wasn’t lost.  It was not stolen.  It simply disappeared.

My good friend and house helper, Rita, saw me as I held the wallet in my hand and asked her if I should pay her for her services that day.  She decided I should wait until Friday, when she planned to return.  So, I closed the wallet with the magnets it has and tossed it into my red purse.  Just that day, I had changed purses from the black one I usually carry to the red one that would go with me as I travel in December.  I figured that I would know where the red one was at all times, better than the black one.  The red purse into which I tossed the wallet was sitting on the floor in front of the loveseat that I have in the living room.  Rita left and I continued with my day of work on the house.

The last three months I have been involved with people who have died.  Or, at least, I knew that their life was almost at an end, and I was waiting.

Dolores, Teacher Extraordinaire

My first loss in these months was Dolores, an educator of many years.  She and I were both employed by the Englewood Public Schools, although not at the same school.  Here students were all young people with developmental disabilities.  She was part teacher, mentor, friend, guide, confident, and mother for these children.  Somehow, the work done by the teachers responsible for these children never receives the recognition they deserve.  And, yet, the responsibilities of bringing them into the world of being productive adults is so critically important.

It is also the reason that the organization ARC receives all of my give-away goods.  ARC has really great work and social programs for young people as they grew out of Dolores’ school program.

Daughter #1 and I drove to Georgetown, last Saturday.  Since I’m not going to be available on either weekend of the Georgetown Christmas Market, we made the trek earlier than usual.

Attending on the usual weekends means hundreds of people on the sidewalks and traffic-free streets.  Those same hundreds in the stores, in line for coffee and pastries and lunch at the Happy Cooker restaurant.  And, in the town park where the vendors had stalls with their wares.  A door keeper in top hat and tails at the Shoppe Internationale, allowing only a certain number of people to be in the store at the same time.  Usual weekends also means unbridled holiday excitement!

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!