Published..at Last! - by Nancy Phillips

Books. Was there anything more wonderful? Barely 6 years-old, clutching my very first library card, a passport to an entire building full of books, I could scarcely breathe. I have had many library cards since then and never gotten over my love of books. I never dreamed I would write one.

As an elementary school child, I wrote “poetry,” doggerel really. In high school, I tried my hand at short stories. Sentimental stuff. Embarrassing. I don’t even like short stories. After college, it was a job, marriage and children. Only after the children had become adults and moved on to their own lives did I rekindle my desire to put things into words. I learned about a writer’s group and hesitatingly asked if I could take part.

As a counselor in a shelter for battered women, I wrote about social workers, clients and children. I cranked out hundreds of pages. A novel? My fellow critiquers thought so. They were just being kind. I made a clean copy, put it in a box and hid it in a closet.

 Over the next 20 years, I produced about 20 manuscripts. I printed each novel and consigned it to the closet. Only once did I get up my nerve to send sample pages to a publisher. They came back with such dizzying speed I knew my writing wasn’t good enough.

The real publishers wanted blockbusters from known authors, or something by a celebrity. “We should start our own publishing company,” somebody said. “Vanity press,” warned another. “Not anymore,” a third chimed in.

Small regional publishers were springing up around the country, offering work by local writers in unique settings, and it was selling.

One of the group knew how to prepare print-ready manuscripts for companies that could turn them into an actual book, with a cover and pages. “Nancy, your Leadville book would be perfect. It’s finished, it’s local, it’s historic. People besides us would love it.”

Gulp. Did I dare? Already in my 70s, I wouldn’t do it any younger.

Thus began a period where every member of our group pored over the manuscript, stalking typos, inconsistencies, errors. Photos were gathered to recreate1880 Leadville on the cover. Our publishing company, now named Penstemon Publications, bought a block of ISBN numbers, as others were eager to see their work touched by the magic of print. A local published author wrote a blurb for the back cover.

Chin up. “Ship it,” I said, and we did. In less than two weeks, the print copy was in my hands. I could scarcely breathe as I held it in my hands. I read it from cover to cover and ordered a hundred copies. Ten days later, three huge boxes with the word heavy stamped on them arrived at my house. There they were, as perfect as we could make them. Books. And people wanted to buy them.

Now, a year later, it just might be time to take another look in that closet

Calendar Traditions - by Rich and Jane Thompson

Both of us had been widowed and were in our mid-60s when we married in 1999. Seven adult children and three grandchildren were part of the equation when we spoke our vows. Since then the number of “gkids”has grown to eleven.

It became apparent to us that we had a challenge — and opportunity — to become the glue binding the disparate family members and generations together. A practical, even artistic means of accomplishing that purpose presented itself at the first end-of-year holiday season. We began our family calendar tradition modestly, cutting and pasting photos from the previous year of family gatherings and adding handwritten captions. We then had our “masterpiece” photo-copied and bound for each family at a local print store.

From the beginning, we inserted the most recent contact information of our extended family, so that each person would know how to be in touch with the  others throughout the changes over the following years.

Much has changed since that first effort. We learned to use Mac Pages to insert and modify the digital photos, and add captions and titles for each month. We don’t use the templates for calendars available online or at the photo store because  we like to have more options for text, sizes of pictures and varieties of  layout.

The family calendar has proved to be an aesthetic experience as we collaborate on what pictures to include and how to arrange the photos we have taken, as well as those family members have sent us. Over the years, we have come to include scanned images from previous generations as an appendix to the 12-month calendar. This genealogical component has inadvertently turned the calendars into legacy pieces. And the old pictures in boxes in the basement are being used and displayed for the next generation.

But we aren’t perfect. Some of the women in the family have complained that the pictures we chose to include didn’t flatter them. Also we have learned to be careful that all the cute little kids get equal coverage. Nevertheless, the calendar has become an anticipated event in the family; it is used and treasured. One son has even archived every edition.

We have recently wondered who might carry on the calendar tradition when we no longer can do it. Perhaps the family creativity will take another direction. But in the meantime, producing the calendar is a delightful activity in our lives, and wrapping and giving the copies is a highlight of the season.

Thankfulness - by Norma Glad

My heart overflows with thankfulness for the many opportunities I have been given throughout my life, most of them resulting from decisions, some made by others, some by me. Some were carefully reasoned, yet more often they had to be made blindly, not knowing where they would lead.

One wonderful opportunity came from both sets of my grandparents, decades before I was born. My grandparents were all born in Russia. In the movie “Fiddler on the Roof,” Jews in Russia were attacked by Russian soldiers or peasants on orders from the government. These fateful pogroms, as they were called, often resulted in the deaths of entire communities.

Because of the pogroms, my maternal grandparents decided to leave their ancestral land and journey with their children to the United States of America — The immigration of my paternal grandparents is another story. How thankful I am for their difficult, risky decisions. Then my parents, who met in Cleveland, Ohio, made a decision to open opportunities for their children. When they had saved enough money to buy a house, they chose one near excellent public schools. My mom and dad were so proud when my sister and I became the first in our family to graduate from college.

More opportunities occurred when my late first husband, who died in 1960, joined the navy in the last years of World War II. Because of his service, I became a URW: UnRemarried Widow, eligible for a widow’s privileges from a deceased veteran. This opportunity provides a monthly stipend and almost unlimited medical care.

Yoga was an opportunity that almost got away. Thirty years and many life adventures ago, I noticed that a yoga class was starting. I had heard about the benefits of yoga but had never done it. I decided to try it and leave if I didn’t like it. I loved it. I knew at once that yoga was for me. I studied for 10 years and then seized the opportunity for a yoga teacher certification. I have been teaching ever since.

When I was young, I thought I would live in Cleveland all my life, never expecting that I would live and work in Maryland, North Carolina, California and Colorado. Fort Collins has turned out to be full of opportunities for me to be an active senior. Examples: swimming pools at my condo, the Senior Center and EPIC; the indoor skating rink at EPIC, and snowshoeing.

I am glad I made the decision to join the caring community at Congregation Har Shalom, where I have had the opportunity to study Torah, the first five books of the Old Testament. I don’t have much background in Bible studies, yet I “sit among scholars” as did my grandpa the scholar. I like to imagine him looking down at me from Heaven and saying approvingly: “Nyomelle! (Yiddish version of my Hebrew name) a woman, continuing my studies! Only in America could it happen!”

Moving Again - by Judy Warner

I feel like I’m suffocating as we pack our dwindling household belongings one more time.

We’ve been told by our financial adviser that without our recently rescinded meal allowance (by corporate head-quarters), we can no longer afford to live in this independent living community.

 Some couples have left; others have decided to cook in their apartments, as we have. They obviously have a larger food budget than we do. Daily special prices in the dining room are in the $8 to $9.50 range. If we don’t eat there, we are spending $400 to $550 on groceries.

I’ve spent many hours online researching various living situations and quickly realized all senior living is exorbitantly expensive no matter what level of care is desired. Therefore, we are moving into an apartment complex, back with mixed age couples and families. The amenities which we have had, of housekeeping, night guards and everything under one roof, will have to be put aside until our health conditions grow worse.

I’m trying to keep an open mind about the new people we will be meeting. Management of the new complex assures us that their renters are graduate-school age or settled into careers. We ask ourselves: Will it be refreshing to talk about something besides failing health? Will we enjoy watching families being busy as they always are? Will we fit in with those still trying to attain status and wealth?

It has been heartbreaking saying our goodbyes to the residents here. They graciously allow us to know we will be missed. They longingly ask us to come back and visit or drop them a note. This request is usually followed by a nervous giggle about how they plan to stay here, at least for a little while longer.

So it is with mixed emotions and an intent to stay positive that we face the next adventure in our lives.

When I was recently asked if I would ever come back into independent living, I thought for a moment and answered that I couldn’t be sure. It can be terribly depressing as wonderful friends are losing their health. However, we’ve thoroughly enjoyed hearing their histories and being entertained by their simple, sweet humor.

Even Later Life Can Surprise You - by Joannah Merriman

I was t he flrst of 30 cousins on my mother's side of the family, a readymade extrovert . From the time I was a preschooler until I left home for college, I was the ” big sister,‘ often taking care of babies in my own house and in the lake houses of my uncles and their families.

 Born to an Italian mother and a Lebanese father, I was full of family, delicious food, and boisterous conversation as a child. No demure ladies' teas for me. My parent s loved and nurtured my siblings and me, though my father gave me strange half-encouragement about spreading my wings: ” You can be anything you want to be . . . as long as you get married and have children, as all real women should.‘ I did want children but didn't want  to be stuck in the Midwest forever.

A good writer, voracious reader, decent pianist , accomplished swimmer, I was never much for strenuous out door activities. I was a bit of a klutz, so running and hiking were not activities to which I was drawn. I loved horses but never achieved my dream of riding to school on my own glossy, black Tennessee Walker. A good Catholic girl, I got married right out of college, exactly as I was expected to do. I had never thought too far into my future past the college degree, marriage, children.

Surprising myself began when I moved t o Denver in1969 with my psychology degree, accompanying my first husband, fresh out of law school. Then to Fort Collins in early 1974 with a future second husband, father of my children,  to open a retail record store, then three, and finally a chain of eight .

During my 46 years in Colorado, I have taught childbirth education and completed t wo master's degrees but couldn't seem to stay married. When my second marriage ended in divorce nearly 30 years ago, I was content t o be a single parent . I began walking to manage stress. Nothing strenuous. Just step by step.

However, in 1988 I met a wonderful man, a big surprise, and settled into a surprising, loving life with him, teaching, writing, caring for my three children, two cats, and four golden retrievers.

In August 2013, I began the Camino de Santiago, a 500-mile walk from the French Pyrenees to the western Spanish coast , with a backpack and a pair of hiking sticks. Solo.  Me, the hiking-avoidant extrovert.  My friends and my partner were stunned. ” You?‘ they said? ” You?‘ ” Yes, me,‘ answered my own astonished self. I want ed six weeks of solitude in an unfamiliar place, and I got it . As is my habit , I began writing about my thoughts and preparations months before I departed. Captured it on a website for any interest ed people to see. This year I will walk 500 miles again, on another path but still following the Camino to Santiago de Compostela. It seems  he older I get, the better my life becomes. Now that's a surprise.

Uprooting -by Judy Warner

Thirteen months ago, my husband and I made the bold move into independent living. He was then 75 and I was 70. He was diagnosed three years ago with Parkinson's disease, and I've had multiple health problems including heart failure, diabetes and moderate kidney failure.

We made t he decision aft er hours and days of discussion, deep thought and prayer. My thoughts were more about his health concerns than mine. Over the past few years, I've observed moments and days of frustration, anger, mental lapses, and too many fearful moments when I was  he object of that anger. He was quick to yell and threaten, which over our marriage of 50 years had seldom occurred.

He agreed to visit some senior apartments and independent living facilities.

 Finally we decided on an independent living community. My reason was based on No More Meal Planning and Cooking. Plus, our apartment had a full kitchen. Also, there are washers and dryers in each apartment rather  than a laundry room to share with others. Prices were comparable.

We pared down yet another time. We had started 10 years ago when we moved into a two-bedroom townhouse. Now we had to fit comfortably into a 980-square-foot apartment . The first year has brought many mixed emotions; I was surprised at myself. 'We don't belong here. These people are at least 10-20 years older than we are,‘ I thought .

But in the next phase, I developed an eagerness to enjoy the residents' stories, their values and their kindness. I loved  he reality of watching elderly couples care for each other and literally practicing their marriage vows of 'in sickness and in health every day.

I find I am not as active as I would like to be. I've always heard that t here just aren't enough hours in the day to participate in everything. But to me, far too many activities are repetitive.

Now we are again at a crossroads. Major changes and decisions have been inflicted on the residents, prompting thoughts of moving. This particular community is no longer the bargain we thought we had. Thus, another round of emotional decisions is upon us. Stay tuned.

Challenges in a Lessened Hearing World -by Norma Glad

I wear two fine hearing aids and still can’t hear all the sounds and conversations going on around me or directed at me. Living in a lessened- hearing world is a constant challenge. I have done what I can to meet that challenge.

I bring helpers on my adventures. One of my most valuable companions is humor. Sometimes I can say, “I don’t hear everything people say, but I hear things people didn’t say!” This usually elicits a chortle, which might ease others’ nervousness about how to communicate with me.

Another valuable helper is nerve. I often need to ask for repetition of the phrase or words I miss.

I am equally appreciative of my other traveling companions: resourcefulness, courage, strength, persistence, patience and wisdom.

I need courage to ask a question or for repetition. Pretending I know what was said has gotten me into more trouble than asking for clarity.

Strength and resourcefulness have been wonderful companions. Both remind me to use old ways and learn new ways to find solutions I might not have previously had in mind.

Patience: In many situations I hear some of what’s being said and can get the main ideas so I can ask my friends to fill in details later.

Wisdom is a great friend which helps me sort out what to worry about and what not to.

Persistence has been wonderfully useful throughout my lessened- hearing adventures. Recently audio guides were available at a museum. My heart sank. Other guides I had tried hadn't worked for me, with or without my hearing aids, but I thought I would try one more time. Success! They worked.

When I go to a class or an event, I come early to get a seat up front or near the speaker so I can lipread. I choose not to go to most plays and lectures, but I love musicals. Before going, I Google the production and read the plot summary and sometimes the lyrics so I know what to expect and can enjoy the show.

Hooray for closed captions! Cinemark movie theatre has a device which attaches to the chair arm; I can read the dialogue on a small screen and watch the action.

My CapTel telephone has a small screen. A caption operator types the dialogue of incoming calls so I can read what’s being said and get messages.

Yes, I miss a lot. My pet peeves are low-volume speakers and those who don’t seem to care whether listeners hear them. Do they realize that communication is a two-way street? And I often miss punch lines of jokes; everyone else laughs, and I wonder what they’re laughing about.

I hope to raise aural consciousness. Baby boomers might be in their own lessened- hearing worlds. They’ll find technology of some help but not the entire answer.

I truly wish that these challenges weren’t part of my life — but they are. So I stay positive and do the best I can to meet them.