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When I was kid, we used to sing, “Christmas comes but once a year.  So, you’d better make hay while the snow is falling.”  As kids, we figured that the sing/song meant that merchants had to make their money during the busy Christmas season.  And, I suppose we were right!  But, now I wonder.

Snow has been falling, lately.  Maybe, “making hay while the snow falls” means making those people connections that may be gone because of  times like this.  Maybe, it means getting things done because we have time to do them.  Things that we have been avoiding until “the snow is falling.

As promised, with this article, I want to celebrate the women in my life.  And, a few more men because as I was working through these past few weeks, I realized that there are additional people (men) that must be included in the accounting of my friends, helpers, and relatives.  While thinking about all of these people, I was made aware of how many folks with whom I come in contact, sometimes every day, whose names I’ve never learned – never taken the time to simply say, “Will you please tell me your name?  It will be nice to know.”  I’m hoping you will stay with me for this long haul.  These people deserve our attention.

At the top of my list, of course, is my family.  My mother Hazel taught all of her daughters to be independent and never ask someone to do anything you were not willing to do yourself.  And, she could make something out of nothing better than anyone else in the world.

Just before Thanksgiving, we had our second snowstorm of the season.  Of course, in the high country, there has been more than one storm, but here in the city, we’ve had only two, so far.  I’d heard on my public radio station that we were in for some snow – how much I didn’t know.  When I went to bed (I usually hit the hay about midnight, or so), I looked into my back yard and could tell that there was only brown/green grass – no snow.

Rising at my usual time, the yard was shining with very white snow.  My morning habit is to make my daily oatmeal (microwaveable), open the living/dining room curtains, and check the front porch to see that no package deliver person left anything for me to take into the house.  These people work really late and start very early, and I sometimes find a package that had been delivered either very late, last night, or very early, today.

I’m going to write this in as delicate a manner as possible; but, know that this is not a delicate issue.  And, I can only speak from the woman’s perspective.

Have you thought about public restrooms, especially those found in restaurants?  I think about them every time I find it necessary to enter one.

First, let’s talk about the temperature in most of them.  They are COLD – really COLD!  Sometimes, I think they are cold because they are usually located along the outer walls of restaurants.  Maybe, but there seem to be no working heat vents in those rooms.

This holiday rolls around every year, and we all contemplate what it is we want to say we’re thankful for.  Of course, we’re thankful for our family, good health, good friends.  So, this year, I’ll be thankful for my daughters and son-in-law and my granddaughters who are all healthy and safe.  I’ll be thankful for the roof over my head, the food on my table, and my dear friends.  I’ll be thankful for my health, my physicians, and the personnel who provide medical care for me.

This year, we can also be thankful if the horrors of the pandemic have not visited us, while praying for the well-being of those who have known the ravages of the virus, whether known to us or not.  My state’s governor has issued appropriate warnings about congregating and putting ourselves at risk for the pandemic.  Continued use of face coverings.  Physical distancing in public.  Hand washing.

I’ve decided that with this article, I will include several, maybe three, of my photographs.  Nothing is recent.  But, I’ve kept some photographs of images from past years.

Ted Kooser, my favorite poet in the whole world, published a new book of poetry (Red Stilts) in September 2020.  Of course, I ordered several – one for myself and some for relatives and friends.  Signed by the poet.  Everybody should have a copy of Ted’s work.

For many years now, maybe, ten or twelve, I’ve been writing poetry.  I remember starting to write while at Ghost Ranch one summer.  I found that I really enjoyed selecting a subject and writing about the topic.  Children at the Ranch, the red and yellow and orange cliffs, the old sway-back horse who stepped on my foot, so many topics, right there at the Ranch.  I kept writing and writing.  I write regularly for the Tips and Chips, the monthly newsletter for the Denver Gem and Mineral Guild.  Nothing published by a book publisher, yet; but there is always hope.

On Tuesday, September 8, we had our first snowfall for the 2020 season.  Of course, it had been snowing in the high country for some time.  I seem to remember a long time ago when the first snow of the year was on Labor Day; and, as I remember, it was after Larry and I had finished our college work and moved to the metro area.  I don’t remember the exact date, but I do know that it was a tree-trimming storm.

With leaves still on the trees, the snow became too heavy to be tolerated by tree branches.  Fallen limbs littered streets, sidewalks, and yards.  Whole trees fell on houses, across sidewalks, and on parked cars.  Navigating an automobile through the maze was less that pleasant; even, dangerous.  The clean up took some time and chainsaws and trucks and people power.

Please forgive me for the length of this post.  A journalist friend in Nebraska has cautioned me that blogs should be about five hundred words long.  Well, this one has to be longer because the people I’m talking about would be short changed if I tried to tell their stories in five hundred words.  So, once again, please bear with me.

The other day when I had almost nothing to do, during this pandemic, I took stock of the people I know.  Wonderful women and men.  I thought about the men I know – and how many of them have the same first name.  Not all of them, of course.  But, many.  If I consider them in alphabetical order – I like alphabetical order (my spices are in alphabetical order) – this is what I find.

Bill lives across the street on the corner.  He has the sweetest dog Chloe.  She is tiny and spunky.  He always offers to help.  I know that he helps a friend – another widow (I really don’t like that word) who lives across my side fence.

Bob, husband of my daughter and father of my two grand children.  Clearly, he loves his family and wants the best for them.

I like the changing of the clothes season.  Oh, I know.  There is the Changing of the Guard.  And, the changing of the seasons.  People like those.  But, I like the changing of the clothes.  In fact, I love the changing of the clothes.

The temperature cools a bit.  Maybe, it snows or rains.  If the temperature drops toward freezing, the hoses have to come off of the outdoor faucets to keep them from freezing.  Some conscientious gardeners cover viable plants with light tarps … and take off the tarps in a day or so when the temp returns to autumn normal.

We begin to see the real disappearance of our favorite flower stalks.  All of the tomatoes are picked and canned or stored.  The rest of the zucchini go to friends and relatives – whether they want the squashes or not.

Animals put on their winter woolens, just like we do.  If they are fortunate, they have added a little weight to make it through the winter.

Joining the Sisterhood

A heartbeat or the lack of one can change your life, forever.  It’s been three years and almost three months since it changed mine.  Larry (he was 78 years old) and I were in the ICU at Swedish Hospital.  He had been there for a day.  After his monthly chemo at the oncologist’s office, he had a problem with being cold – freezing, he said – to the point that the nurses brought out warm blankets.  The blankets helped some, but he was immediately transported to the ICU at Swedish.

When I arrived at the ICU, there was an argument going on with Larry at the center of it.  A nurse told me that he was refusing – very vocally  – to wear the oxygen mask, even though, at home, he slept with a CPAP mask on every night.  “His oxygen levels are too low,” she said.  I asked them to wait just a moment while I put down my things, and then, I turned on him.  I told him that he was not going to be mean to his caregivers – he was being mean to them.  I told him that they were following the doctor’s orders and both he and they would be in trouble if he continued to refuse to wear the mask.  “So,” I said, “you will put on this mask as you are being asked to do.”  He put on the mask.