I’m recovering from the block party so I’m tired today but these words needed to go somewhere so here I go again.

20 November 2008

I just talked to my brother on the phone. I could have walked next door to talk to him in person because he’s curled up on my Mom’s bed at this moment, recovering from some foot surgery. He sounded a little sleepy from the pain meds but not sleepy enough to miss a chuckle with me. I’d be worried if he didn’t make me laugh, he always makes me laugh at least once during every conversation and I make him laugh too. He’s the oldest of my three brothers but he’s still my “kid” brother because I was three when he was born.

Since Alan was my first brother I remember being surprised at how daring and naughty he was when he was a kid. Not that my sister and I weren’t naughty, we were just little girl naughty, not wild little maniac boy naughty. Now that I’m up close and personal with a whole tribe of little boys I realize that my brothers weren’t exceptional they were just little boys. I believe that little boys are born with their heads full of magic and their hearts full of courage and I adore those traits in every one of them.

While my sisters and I managed to escape childhood without too many mishaps my brothers were spending time in the emergency room. I stopped counting after the boyhood accidents evolved to teenage life and limb threatening events. Mark could have lost his life when a bull tap danced across his belly and set up a massive infection from all the torn internal organs. Tim sacrificed a finger in a motorcycle accident and an eye in a brush with death with the chemical fertilizer anhydrous ammonia. Those were just the memorable accidents not the yearly runs to the hospital for the breaks and bumps.

Alan set the pattern for the brothers early when he jumped out of his high chair and broke a collar bone. Not too much later he was racing through the yard sticking his tongue out when he tripped and put his lower teeth through his tongue and buried his upper teeth in his lip. Lots of stitches in such a little mouth. Then there was the time he gashed his head….oh, you get the picture. He was an active, busy boy who grew to be a hyperactive fast-forward young man.

In the spring of 1977 Jim and I got the happy news that we were expecting our first child. I remember that we had confirmation with a pregnancy test and didn’t want to share the news until after my first doctor’s appointment. But when we spent a day at the cabin with my folks and sibs we just couldn’t keep the secret. The first grandchild was barely a year old and was delighting all of us so my close knit family shared our joy. Alan made me laugh that day when he was giving us a lift to the bottom of that rocky hill. He stopped suddenly, came around to the bed of the truck and told me that I needed to ride up front with him because the road was too rough for the baby. I thought it was a funny thing for a 19 year old boy to worry about that tiny unborn child so I was pretty sure he was joking with me. A few days later the phone rang in the middle of the night and it would be a long, long time till he joked with me again.

Alan had worked at least twelve hours that day. He’d been mowing lawns with a group of cousins and after a meal and a shower he took off to meet some friends for a beer. The blood tests after the accident revealed that it was just that, one or maybe two beers a few hours before he headed home. He wasn’t driving impaired he was driving exhausted.

I wasn’t a Christian at that point in my life and Alan’s accident is part of my personal Christian testimony but that’s a story for another day. For now I have to tell you that there were things that happened that night and in the months that followed that turned many of our hearts toward God. And the first was the accident itself.

Alan will never remember what happened that night but we know exactly what happened because there was an eyewitness. A tow truck driver was returning from a late night call, the streets were almost empty. He followed Alan’s pickup down a four lane street for about a mile and noticed that the old red truck was wandering across the lanes a bit. The tow truck driver was concerned that my brother might be dozing off and was about to make some kind of move to get his attention when Alan’s pickup suddenly rolled across the oncoming lanes headed straight for a heavy metal light pole. The driver watched helplessly as Alan woke up, realized he was going to hit the pole and cranked the steering wheel to the right. The truck slid broadside into the pole which hit square into the driver’s side door. The impact fractured Alan’s skull and shattered his left leg.

Within seconds the tow truck driver had radioed for help and was there to move things when the paramedics pulled Alan from the crushed vehicle. The hospital was two blocks away…two short blocks away from the scene of the accident and in the days before cell phones the tow truck’s radio dispatcher had the paramedics on scene in moments.

I don’t think I have enough words to tell the whole story here. But if I did I’d tell you about the first three days when they told us that Alan wouldn’t survive his injuries. I’d tell you that my heart and my body went into shock and threatened to miscarry that tiny baby Alan had teased me about. I could tell you so much about the 4 ½ months when the joker’s voice was silent and nobody could tell us if he’d ever come out of the coma. There are stories about the bedside vigil with an ever changing group of family members who talked, and talked and poured their love into this lifeless boy who grew thinner every day. And if I could finish the story I’d tell you about the day our baby brother called the hospital and chattered away on the phone until Alan finally answered him. I can’t tell you about the joy. And I can’t really explain the months and years of therapy and the family that pushed and pulled and prodded until this skinny boy learned to sit and crawl and walk again.

What I can tell you is that Alan is happily married today. He owns his small home. He works a little bit, he drives a little bit and he still has the best sense of humor. He makes me laugh. The tiny baby I carried celebrated her 31^st birthday this week and has given us 4 grandsons. We named her in honor of the Uncle we were afraid she would never know.

20 November 2008

“Cel - e - brate good times, Come on! (bridge) Woo Hoo!  Cel - e - brate good times, Come on!”

Sing it with me! Oh, don’t give me that, you know this old song by Kool and the Gang. If you weren’t a fan in the 80s you’ve probably heard it at every wedding reception you’ve ever attended. So, I’d better hear some voices and I’d better see some dancin’ around here! I drug the music out here on my front porch and I don’t want to be the only fool dancing out here in the street in my bare feet.

Oh, guys…you don’t know how happy I am this morning. I was feeling so discouraged yesterday and so worried that our neighborhood was going under the bulldozers. After all the website problems of the last week I was afraid that I would find a big yellow sign on my front door that said, “THIS BUILDING IS CONDEMNED.” I was afraid I was going to be homeless.  I couldn’t imagine having to pack up all my junk, all these stories and all these pictures. I had no idea where I might find another bit of cyber real estate and start over. But the worst part was trying to imagine what my world would look like without all of you! I couldn’t bear the thought of losing all those friendly faces that dance down the side of my profile every day. I couldn’t think about all the lonely mornings wondering where you had moved and wondering what you were up to and praying that you were all happy.

But in the middle of a gloomy afternoon here in the mountain west the sun suddenly broke through and I could feel hope flying through your keyboards. I was away from my computer when it happened but I came home to 47 e-mails in 4 hours. You people were HUNGRY for talk and I was ecstatic to hear your voices again! I’m still ecstatic!!

I don’t think we’ll ever fully appreciate what the AARP website people have been going through in the last week. I can’t imagine how hard they worked to pull this thing out of the ditch and I think we owe them all a huge THANK YOU! Raise a glass in their honor and let’s toast those hard working people. To all of you who spent hours hunched over your computers, to all of you who listened to our cries for help and our frustration and probably a few screams of anger. Here’s to you, guys! We love you and thank you!

So, the block party starts here and now!! You might have to bring a coat because we have some freezing drizzle this morning but this is Colorado…it was 78 degrees two days ago. Pull out the grills and let’s get cookin’. I’m cranking up the music and dancing in the street so I need some dance partners…on your feet, ON YOUR FEET!! I don’t hear you…..

“There's a party goin' on right here
A celebration to last throughout the years
So bring your good times and your laughter, too
We gonna celebrate your party with you

Cel - e - brate good times, Come on!  Cel - e - brate good times, Come on!”

Oooooh, did you just feel that cold chill run up your back? After repeated attempts I successfully posted this journal this morning. I walked away from my computer for about 3 hours and when I returned I had several comments and nice messages about this journal. Here's the part where the spooky music starts....I could access this journal by clicking on the links from the nice comments but when I came to the front page of my profile the journal was gone! Kaput! Missing in Action! What the heck? So some real nice comments are floating around in cyberspace with my missing journal, weird! Here it comes again....

19 November 2008

Okay, okay…I was going to title this “Technical Difficulties” but I’ve lost track of what chapter I was on. It’s been a rough week in the online community, are you guys okay? I’ve been worried about you! I’m guessing that there are several of you who are just like me. You pop out of bed at 4:30 with a big smile on your face. You make a pot of coffee or brew some Sweet Coconut Tai Chai. You turn on your computer and you stroll over to the online community where you can meet up with your friends for some good thought provoking discussions or just some downright silly talk. Okay, maybe you’re not like me but you’ve been enjoying your time here in the neighborhood. You may not ever speak a word but you like walking through the neighborhood on warm evenings when you can smell something cooking on the grill, hear a dog bark and catch a glimpse of a family through an open window. It may have been a regular week for you if you don’t say anything here. For those of us who see a “social networking site” as a place to network and socialize it’s been a real rough week!

I’m not going to debate what’s happening on the website here. I’m not even going to venture a guess but I understand the rumors that are flying and I understand the bewilderment, the frustration and the anger that we are all feeling. I know there has been a mass exodus of people fleeing from the neighborhood but I find it interesting that their new neighborhood seems to be suffering some technical difficulties too. Is it possible that one of our old neighbors inadvertently packed some malicious code in with their piano bench? I mean it would be like moving into a new neighborhood then letting Uncle John’s son, Punkie move in with us for a few days till he can get his life together. Before we know it the neighborhood is in turmoil because Punkie has sideswiped Mr. Nice Guy’s car, Sweet Suzy is pregnant and Punkie has disappeared with Grandma’s silver. Who really knows what’s happened here in our community, who really knows?

What I do know is that I’ve made good friends here. I’ve made friends who wish me well. I’ve made friends who enjoy my stories and share some of their own. I’ve made friends who make me laugh every single day. So, I’m digging my heels in and I plan to stay in this neighborhood until things get better or until AARP brings the bulldozers in.

Now, with all that said, I’m going to pass along a few tips about how to sneak around here until things get better. As things have melted down I’ve been finding a few back alleys where I can occasionally slip in and actually talk to my neighbors again. Let me explain:

1.       Posting a Journal ~ If you are reading these words the website is either up and running again or I’ve sneaked this journal in. In this last week I would write a journal, click on Publish and wait, and wait, and wait, and finally give up. But when I opened the front page of my profile, WHAT?? My new journal is posted there just like it’s supposed to be!

2.       Making a comment ~ Okay, we can admit that most of us are getting gray hair, right? So sneaking in a comment just gives us a chance to grow more of it. Write your comment like you used to back in the days when our neighborhood was healthy. Click on Submit and then SUBMIT to the one minute wait until your comment actually posts. Sometimes its two minutes, sometimes four so count the fuzzballs on your sweater or calculate how many days until your hundredth birthday, start planning the party. This one is tricky because if you click on Submit more than once and go away for awhile you might be surprised to come back and find that you’ve stuttered and like a bad LP you are singing the same verse over and over and over again. I’ve been especially surprised when I’ve waited and waited and finally decided that this comment will not post. I go visit someone else and when I come back my comment is right there where I left it!?!?

3.       The Message Center ~ Oh, Golly….the Message Center is a Mess! We see that we have messages but if we can actually get into the Post Office it feels like Christmas and the line is a mile long. We click to open our message and after a long wait we get that blasted @#$%^& OOOOOPS page. Try this: Refresh or Reload your page. For some reason this will often bypass the Pink Page of Death and let you read your message. Problem is that even if you can read it you probably can’t respond. Whatever you do COPY, COPY, COPY everything you write so that you won’t run screaming from the Post Office when your words vanish instead of flying through cyberspace to your friend.

4.       Groups ~ I’m not even going to talk about Groups because I’m not much of a Group person and I haven’t had to sneak my way into a group since the whole neighborhood started falling apart.

5.       Friends ~ This should have gone at the top of the list but I’m running out of time. I panicked when the neighborhood started to crash. You do realize that the friends we have made here would just vanish from our lives if the website crashes. If you know some special people here you might want to exchange e-mail addresses. In the magic moments when the Message Center is working you might want to message your buddies and send them your e-mail address. Don’t post it in a journal or you might invite some neighbors who you really don’t want to talk to. But find a private way to swap addresses just like you’d do if you were moving out of the neighborhood and wanted to send a Christmas card. If the website completely crashes I’d love to know that my friends are as close as my e-mail box because it would be almost impossible to find them otherwise. Heck, if our neighborhood goes under the bulldozers I’d be willing to buy us all a great big house down the road where we can move in together. Kinda like the Hippies that some of us were….now THAT’S a scary picture!!!

I love our neighborhood, don’t you? I love finding my friend in her garden or painting barn pictures. I love praying with a friend who needs my prayers. I love playing with my brothers or listening to them tease each other. I love being part of this time and place and I love all the laughter you give me every single day. Hang tough, my friends, if AARP is true to their word they are working on the problems. So all we have to do is keep the hope alive while we sneak around in here for a while longer. Come on down the alley and visit with me, I’ll leave the back door open.  

“It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine, could you be mine?”   Mr. Fred Rogers

I'm still freakin' out about the meltdown of our online community so as long as I can't talk to my friends I'll just keep posting some stories for all of you. Maybe it will take our minds off things, huh? This is an old one written in front of the windows in my little mountain home.

March 2007  Frisco, Colorado

I sat down on my way to the library today. I was a little breathless and had worked up a sweat so it would have been a nice break for me except for the fact that I wasn’t seated on a bench or a grassy spot but rather in the middle of the street. I didn’t intentionally sit down in the street and I was back on my feet in very short order. Unfortunately, the patch of ice that sat me down in the first place was still under me and nearly encouraged another unladylike tumble. I quickly executed a rather stylish, arm flailing, legs akimbo type of dance, and took three unbalanced steps onto a patch of mud. It was the only island of solid footing in a sheet of ice that was disguised under a skiff of snow. I dusted the snow from my backside, readjusted my coat, pulled my toque down low over my dark glasses and made a quiet exit. When I hit the pavement my first thought wasn’t about what hurt but about WHO SAW. It is unlikely that anyone might have witnessed my crash but I felt pretty certain that I had just provided some coffee slurping, newspaper reader with a moment of surprise and mirth. Actually, it was near a couple of condos and there could have been dozens of spiky haired, pajama clad tourists howling in uproarious laughter. Oh, girl, just get over it!

Here in Mountain Mama country we are experiencing that split personality type of weather that is common at this time of year. Old Man Winter shook out over three feet of snow onto this county last week. This week Mother Earth blew some gentle Chinook breezes and cranked up the sunshine and turned everything into a mushy, muddy, melty magical mess. For three days the people in this mountain community thought it was spring. I watched people trickle out from their houses blinking and rubbing their eyes. The dazed expressions gave way to joyous smiles as bulky coats and heavy boots were shed. I saw lots of short sleeves and even one misguided fool in shorts. There was a lot of banter with strangers as we all joked about the streets running as heavy as Ten Mile Creek during runoff. But after three days of warmth and light we woke this morning to grey skies and snow. The coat collars were turned up, and like the BEAR I saw last month, these people sniffed the icy air and turned to lumber back into their cozy dens.

So the ice that surprised me this morning was a babbling brook just yesterday. I’m learning all the tricks of traversing this mountain landscape and I ignored one of my earliest lessons, “If it looks like pavement and is covered with a light dusting of snow it is slick as snot and you are headed downhill fast!” Frisco didn’t pave the streets until the 1970s and I’ll bet the old timers were opposed to trading their muddy, mucky roads for icy pavement during this season of wavering weather. Even the bike path is paved so I stick close to edges and flounder through the crusty snow banks when I see a smooth stretch of any pavement ahead of me. I’ve learned to watch every step while I shift my weight to keep my center of gravity over the foot that is firmly planted on the ground. When I come upon an obvious stretch of solid ice I remember that nothing in this town is level. One careful step onto this flat sheet of ice is guaranteed to send me careening down a treacherous slope so I usually backtrack to some safe crossing.

I’m glad that my fall didn’t hurt anything but my ego. By tomorrow morning I’ll be wondering about those mysterious bruises. It could have been worse. I could have been carrying a small child or a nice bottle of wine. I could have landed on a delicate wrist bone or a big rock. Or I could have seen noses pressed against the glass and heard all that hysterical laughter. Oh, my.

WHEW....I had to take my coat off because it felt like it hit the 70s yesterday and I was working up a sweat! I guess no matter how many snow pictures I post I'm going to have to go to the mountains to see some. We had a little bit on Friday morning but the sun melted it off quickly. It was cold by afternoon but Jim and Decklyn and I were doing demolition so it felt pretty good until it turned bitter cold. The backyard project is still keeping us busy but every day gets us a little closer. I'll be so glad when it's all done!

I'm only going to stay a minute because I'm still a little leery of wasting my breath while AARP continues to work on the technical issues of the last week. Rumor has it that today will be the day when we can talk to each other again and I'm sure hoping that's true. I posted my first comment this morning and it took just under a minute to actually post so maybe, maybe, maybe....keep your fingers crossed! In the meantime, I'll just leave you with the thought that I sure miss you all when I can't comment on your pictures or profile or even send you a message. Let's keep sending good wishes and some prayers for those folks who are trying to get things fixed again because I really don't want to lose touch with you guys. It sure is hard to be friends when we can't talk to each other, isn't it?

Okay, I'm ready to post this so I lick my finger, stick it in the air, click my heels three times and whisper, "There's no place like AARP, there's no place like AARP, there's no place like AARP."

14 November 2008

I could hear it in the dry leaves outside my window in the middle of the night. I could see it in the pale color of the early morning sky. And I could feel it in my spirit, could sense it in my being before I saw a single flake. Snow! Colorado weather in all its glorious unpredictability brought us blue skies and temps in the low sixties yesterday. Today they don’t think we’ll get out of the 30s and there is a skiff of snow on most of the Denver area.

I’m a snow baby, I love the white stuff. I love it in every version. The white rabbit fluff that covers everything with feathers light enough to move with a breath. The sodden, heavy stuff, impossible to lift in a full shovel. The ethereal crystalline flakes that we see when the air is dry and cold enough. I just love snow, any snow. Here in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains we get our share. Some years are drier than others but we can usually count on lots of snowy days through the winter months. But our snow, like many Colorado places, can be a fleeting thing because we have abundant sunshine so the snow doesn’t hang around for long.

I was born in February so maybe this pristine white that fills my head and my heart came from being a real snow baby. I might have sense memories of lying in a basket while the wind blew wild snow flurries outside the window. I know I have great memories of snowy days in my childhood. I grew up in the house next door so when I walk down the street I can visualize the igloo we built in a friend’s yard. I can feel my mitts stiff with snow and remember how much trouble we got in. We never did figure out how we got caught because the coffee can fire pit in our igloo never sent smoke out the smoke hole but filled our icy creation instead. Maybe somebody’s Mom looked out her window to see kids and smoke come pouring out the door. The ornery little boy who brought the matches probably got spanked for that one!

I remember taking the sleds and toboggans to the cabin. I remember one trip down the hill that ended with a trip to the hospital, worried sick about my sister Sandy and the awful sound when she hit that tree. She came away with a concussion and we all came away shaken. I remember school teachers who sent us out for recess in the snow until the temperature dipped below some invisible line on the thermometer. And I remember walking home from school on snowy gray afternoons to find our Mom pulling cookies out of the oven. She’d prop the oven door open and let us warm our frozen hands and feet while eating those cookies. She’d tell us her own memories of Colorado snowy days in her childhood when the oven wasn’t gas but fueled with wood.

After years of snowy road trips and skiing across countless miles of forest Jim and I made snow memories with our own little family. I can still see Heather’s enraptured little face at the window one morning. “SNOW, it’s SNOW, Mama!! Pretty, pretty SNOW! My Papa made it?” Bradi never enjoyed snow as much as her sister but tolerated the family ski trips and hikes to find Christmas trees.

Now at this age, I still love the snow. I loved the frequent snowfalls when we lived in the mountains. I loved lacing into boots and purple gaiters every day for a long walk to the library. I loved curling up in my chair near the window and watching the sky darken and then fill the deck with inches of pure white. The fireplace was right next to the sliding glass door so Jim and I would snuggle up to the heat, drink a glass of Port, eat chocolates and watch it snow.

I know I’m pushing the season because we’ll probably see 70 degrees on Monday but I really can’t wait for the snow. I’m ready to dig out the toque and mitts and find my snowshoes. I’ll be ready, I can hardly wait!

.....so I'm taking another break. I don't know what happened to the website earlier this week but my suspicion is they were fine tuning something and in the process have had a major meltdown. I'm hoping they are scrambling to put things back the way they found them before they start tinkering again but who knows.

I realize that you are all busy like me and don't really have the time or patience to wait 2-4 minutes for a page to load or a comment to post. And I can hear the screaming when you write a nice message that vanishes into the pink OOOOPS page. But I'm sure hoping you'll be patient and give those techies some time to fix things. Please, hang on with me!

While I'm waiting I'm making snow words in my head and doing deconstruction with Jim. The huge old shed that he moved with contents intact is ready to come down and I LOVE demolition!!! Give me a Cat's Paw, a Crowbar, a Hammer and a cordless screwdriver and I'm in Heaven!! It sure beats waiting around for pages to load and it helps release some of that Oooooops page tension. So, I'll be outside in a little sprinkle of fresh snow with music in my ears. Time to go DEMOLISH something!! 

....for a couple of hours! It seems that AARP.org has been having some severe technical difficulties for days now so I'm going to find something else to do for awhile. Actually, I'm spending the day wrestling grand monkeys out at the little house on the prairie so I won't be able to log on until tonight. It's frustrating to be able to see my friend's pages but then be unable to post a comment or even send them a message. I'm not good at being muzzled!

Let's send lots of good thoughts and prayers for those IT guys who must be tearing their hair out (I hope!) and I'll see ya' tonight, or tomorrow night, or two weeks from Monday, YIKES!

11 November 2008

Raise your hand if you don’t really enjoy growing older. Okay, now raise your hand if you’re going to keep doing it anyway. Oww, maybe I should have said, raise your hand only to the level where it doesn’t hurt that old football injury or aggravate your carpal tunnel. I’m getting old enough to feel a few of those aches and twinges that seem to get worse with the changing weather and since our weather is always changing I creak and groan often. Actually, I creak, Jim groans. He’s more vocal when he stands from a kneeling position or lifts something heavy over his head. The cysts in his “worst bad hand” still lock a trigger finger on some cold mornings and he’ll mention that he really needs to have another surgery done. I just find myself staring in the mirror and thinking, “Helloooow? When did you get here?”

Big excitement in the big city here this week, when construction workers made an interesting find. They were busy excavating a brand new parking garage when they unearthed human remains and parts of the box they were buried in. It really wasn’t a surprise and the Foreman had already notified the Coroner to be on standby because the odds were against them. All work halted while the Coroner’s staff gathered all the bones and the coffin pieces that were discovered. They will eventually be relocated in a local cemetery with the respect they were shown the first time they went under the ground. Construction will continue until the next call to the Coroner.

Our beautiful Botanic Gardens and the park that flanks them started life as a cemetery. Back when the big city was just a sprawling cow town in the shadow of the majestic Rockies this was hallowed ground and one of the very first cemeteries in Denver. The site was selected and a 26 year old man became the first burial in 1859 shortly followed by another young man and then two gentlemen who were buried in the same casket for some strange reason. Over the years it is estimated that 12,000 souls found a final resting place in the old City Cemetery. By 1890 the cemetery was nearly abandoned and overgrown with weeds. So the decision was made to move bodies to one of the more scenic and well kept graveyards so they could turn the old cemetery into a park. Of course there are lots of stories of how the whole operation was mishandled and in the end it was believed that only 5,000 graves were actually moved. If you factor in the spook business you’ll hear lots of stories of “cold spots” and depressions in the grounds of the park and the gardens. And lots of people think the space is haunted. I just find it hauntingly beautiful.

In the 1950s the old cemetery was much closer to prime real estate as the city had grown up around the barren hill. So when the Denver Botanic Gardens started taking shape they knew that buildings, parking lots and those tons of beautiful flowers would go up over the ancient burial grounds. Therein lies the reason why the Coroner is on call whenever construction starts anywhere in the vicinity. The Construction crews take great care to stop work immediately when they unearth anything. The Coroner’s office treats the remains with respect and sees to it that they find a new resting spot.

I’m not sure how I got from growing older to a short history of the old Mount Prospect Cemetery and I’m not really sure how I’ll get back. When I heard the latest news story I immediately thought of the way Jim calls my genealogy hobby “Diggin’ up Bones”. I think I’ve been seeing the changes in our weather and feeling those changes in my own bones. I’ve been waiting for winter even though our late fall days are beautiful and warm. And I’ve been thinking about all the genealogy mysteries I have yet to solve. I guess I’ve been thinking about growing older and I’ve been thinking it really isn’t so bad after all.

10 November 2008

I just hit the 300 mark for my photos and if my words don’t fail me I should have 100 journals up within a few days. I think it’s time to celebrate!! Time to break out the party hats and confetti and little whistles! C’mon, guys, raise that steaming cup of Chai, tip that mug of coffee or take a slurp of that Snowshoe Slog and celebrate with me! I know there are folks somewhere on these pages who like to talk as much as I do so I’m sure I’m not the first to hit these milestones. I think AARP.org should send up some fireworks when somebody in this online community blabs as much as I do. You know, like the fireworks you get when you win some games…psssssssssssttt……BANG! And then all the little sparkly stuff rains down on your computer screen. YOU WON! YOU WON! YOU WON!!

I don’t know about you guys, but I love my friends who inhabit the online communities! It’s like having pen-pals all over the world. I like reading their letters and seeing their pictures and hearing about life in their little corner of this wonderful world we all inhabit. I’m surrounded by friends here, friends to the North, to the South, East and West. Friends right here in my home state where I can picture their surroundings because I’ve been there. Here in my Rocky Mountain home I can visualize a Wolfman in North Carolina and share a childhood memory with a Native American friend with a contagious smile. I can give my cyber-sibling a nickname because he loved playing “Sugarfoot” when he was a boy. I can ride along with a friend and her beloved husband as they remember journeys in their RV. I can take a trip to Tennessee and learn some of the lessons of the South and I can sit in the peace of Jen’s yard as she puts her garden to sleep for another winter. I could go on and on (and I usually do!) about all the places you’ve taken me, all the memories you’ve let me share. I feel like a world traveler blessed with friends from all over.

So, I really don’t need a celebration for these 300 pictures and these thousands of words I’ve shared with you. I celebrate every day, every time I come into this community and find you all here. I love every minute we have to play together, my dear friends. But if you happen to feel like a party….don‘t forget to invite me!