A Senior Romance - by Richard and Jane Thompson

He: It all started at the Alamo in 1999 — where Rich proposed to Jane by drawing a line in the sand which she crossed to accept.

 She: Wait a minute. The romance really started in San Francisco when your younger son informed me that just before she died, his mom told you to marry me. That was a surprise even though we had been friends for 20 years. I had been a widow for seven years and needed to know if we could become more than friends.

He: I had not been a widower that long, but long enough to realize what so many of our age have experienced in losing a spouse. I also knew that since we had both been blessed by long, happy marriages — 32 years in your case and 42 in mine — we both knew what it means to cherish memories and love and yet move on to new lives.

She: We took enough time to explore our relationship before I crossed the line at the Alamo. I learned how generous you were both to me and my children and I think you learned that I could deal with adversity and we had similar senses of humor. That really was the beginning.

 He: Now in our 80’s we still make time for romance but it looks a little different. As people age and hair thins, bellies bulge, hearing goes and we keep losing our keys, we need to remember that love is patient and kind and forgiveness is more important than ever.

She: And loving involves being attentive to the little things. I really appreciate your doing the dishes after dinner so I can answer my email. There is nothing like playing and exercising and working together as a team.

He: And enduring love should be more than gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes. It also means directing our vision and efforts toward causes in the community beyond ourselves as an expression of our shared spirituality.

She: Definitely, but we need to spice up the romance too. I love that you often suggest sitting down in the living room by the fireplace with a glass of wine and a snack to talk about the day’s events or think of travel adventures we would both enjoy. Our weekly date nights with dinner out and a movie or a play give us another chance to celebrate life together

He: Romance certainly includes intimacy. We know that “making love” is more than sexual relations. Couples of any age need to remember that the best four letter definition of intercourse is talk. Communication, which also means truly listening, keeps relationships growing.

She: We know that healthy people even in their later years can enjoy happy, fun, intimate relationships. He and She: Both of us, in the lyrics from Funny Girl, want to always be able to say, “Make each day Valentine’s Day!”

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.