Thirty Days of Gratitude, Days One and Two

I can't believe it is November, again. To me, that means three things: Thanksgiving, my birthday, and a month of gratitude. I've often used this blog as a way to express my gratitude for the blessings in my life and, this year, it feels even more important to me to make that effort; grief can steal gratitude like a thief in the night and I really want to guard against that as much as I possibly can.

So, this month, the blog will have a theme.

Since I was super busy yesterday and didn't have a chance to write, I'll have to play catch-up today, with two things for which I am grateful. Luckily, that's quite easy; I'm eternally grateful for The Teenager and the Man-Cub.

Those kids bring me joy every day of my life.

Yesterday, I got to spend some time on the phone with The Teenager. She filled me in on her first Halloween at college, and, despite some drunken antics by her room mates, she seemed to have a good time. She and Katie texted me pictures of their adorable costumes and it almost felt like being there, although, I am way too old for beer bongs and frat parties (another thing to be grateful for).

As I said, yesterday was a very busy day for me. I spent the day putting away my Halloween decorations, which required approximately five trillion trips up and down the ladder to the attic. I also got out my Thanksgiving decorations and I cleaned the house.

Then, later in the evening, the Man-Cub and I attended the ASTRA club's annual Halloween Zombie Prom.

The Cub deserved a fun night out, considering he had spent the previous night volunteering for ASTRA at the elementary school Halloween Carnival (dressed as a giant banana, because, when you wait till the last minute to pick out a Halloween costume, you take what you get). He and the rest of the kids really got into the spirit of the theme this year, especially the girls, who purchased-and trashed- dresses at the local thrift shops.

The dance was pretty well-attended and watching the kids do the entire Thriller dance while in full-on zombie costume was the highlight of my career as an ASTRA sponsor, since that was exactly what I had envisioned four years ago when I came up with the idea to have the dance as a fundraiser for our club.

I can be grateful for that today, as well.

Huh.

This month of gratitude thing is off to a really good start.

Thanks, kids!

Ghosts of Halloween Costumes Past

Just because we aren't haunting the porch this year doesn't mean that it has to go completely to waste.

 

Hey, girls, I have a joke! Why can't witches have babies? Because warlocks have hollow weenies...

That is hilarious!

Wait a minute, I thought it was because warlocks have crystal balls!

 

Crystal balls! Ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,ha!

Witch jokes are sooo racist...

 

You are so uptight, you need to get groovy, man..

Groovy, ha! What's she smoking?

 

I'm not smoking anything; I'm high on life....er...on death, I mean.

Happy Halloween, y'all!

Happy Halloween

Earlier this week, Hugh and I made the decision not to haunt the porch this Halloween. It's been a hard couple of weeks and we didn't really feel like we had the time or energy to do it at all, much less to do it well.

I have conflicting feelings about the decision. I know it is the right one for us, but I will miss the excitement on the faces of our little Trick-or-Treaters as they await their turn in line. I also feel a bit of guilt over not providing the Man-Cub and his friends the opportunity to make girls scream in terror, but, I figure they still have a couple of years for that. Hell, their driving, alone, could probably accomplish that.

When we made the decision, I assumed that I would spend the evening handing out candy to the various ghosts, goblins, fairies, and princesses who came to our door, and, I will at some point. However, I have also been pressed in to duty to chaperone the kids in my ASTRA club at the elementary school's Halloween Carnival. My shift runs 5-7, which is prime Trick-or-Treating time, and, since the Man-Cub is in the club, he will also be required to volunteer his time in one of the booths; this leaves our home unmanned for the deluge of beggars (Hugh will be in Neighboring City, officiating at a wrestling event) and that makes me nervous.

I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Speaking of figuring things out; the Man-Cub is expected to dress up for the carnival. He currently has no costume to wear, no idea of what he might like to be, and is feeling no apparent urgency in procuring a costume. His Zen attitude is admirable, unless you happen to be his mother, who will be pressed into service to create an awesome costume at the last minute, in which case his attitude is frustrating and infuriating.

I'm sure we'll figure that out, too.

Anyway, Happy Halloween. I wish you a fabulous day and the very best candy in your Trick-or-Treat bag. In the event that you find your haul consists mostly of peanut-butter taffy wrapped in black and orange waxed paper; I wish you a dozen eggs and really good aim.

 

Adjusting to our New Normal

Yesterday, in the effort to live up to the motto of "Life Must Go On", I dragged Hugh and the Man-Cub out to the pumpkin patch. While the excursion wasn't the same without The Teenager, we all managed to put on a brave face before diving into the search for this year's annual sacrifice to the carving gods. And, it turned out to be a lovely way to spend an absolutely gorgeous autumn afternoon (seriously, the weather has been crazy-gorgeous here, unseasonably warm and mellow).

We each found the perfect pumpkin, including one that we chose for the absent Teenager, and, once home; carved our masterpieces while watching Moonshiners and eagerly awaiting the first roasted pumpkin seed (they turned out pretty spectacular as well).

So, I accomplished the first traditional family holiday activity without The Teenager in the house, and, while weird, it did not break me.

I just might make it as a half-empty-nester after all.

Well, Staring At a Blank Screen Isn’t Going to Get Me Anywhere

I’ve attempted to write this post about fifteen times over the past week and, each time I think I have the words, I am proven completely wrong. So, I think it best to admit the truth; there are no words.

There are no words to express the depths of my sorrow. No words to bring comfort to my broken heart. No words powerful enough to erase the pain of the last week or adequate enough to describe the events that led to it.

And, that’s ok.

It’s ok to feel like I am being held under water, aware that life is going on around me but unable to distinctly hear the conversations or to clearly see. That will pass, of course it will.

It’s ok to grieve; I will.

I do.

But, my dad would be so disappointed if I allowed that grief to paralyze me. If I allow it to diminish my capacity to love life or give it a chance to steal my joy; I will dishonor every lesson that my dad ever taught me.

And, I can't have that.

So, instead, I will focus on the blessings that are so abundant in my life. I will make myself do the things that I know need to be done and I will do my very best to be joyful in the execution.

And, one day (soon, please let it be soon), the words will come.

And, it will be ok.

Writing the Unwritable

The world lost a beautiful man and a kind soul with the sudden passing of Ronnie Dean Elliott on October 19, 2014. On the bright side, Heaven’s football team gained an outstanding coach.

Ronnie was born in Amarillo, Texas on September 3, 1943 to Alfred Glen and Pauline Elliott.

His family moved to Monte Vista in 1958 where Ronnie attended Monte Vista High School and pursued the two greatest loves of his life: sports, and Dorothy Lehnerz; he was successful in both endeavors, playing football, basketball, and baseball, and, winning Dorothy’s heart. Ronnie and Dorothy were married on November 22, 1962, and spent almost 52 years together before his untimely passing.

Ronnie attended Adams State College, graduating with a BA in Business and a teaching degree. Ronnie made his living in education and as an administrator of the Colorado State Veteran’s Center, but, he lived his life for his family and for sports.

In his seventy-one years of life, Ronnie coached flag football teams, tackle football teams, youth basketball teams, and Babe Ruth baseball teams. He led by example, with grace and dignity. He believed in hard work, dedication, loyalty, and team spirit. He couldn’t abide a quitter and loved the underdog. He saw the potential in each individual he coached and he worked tirelessly to instill self-confidence and pride in his athletes. He was patient, brave, and compassionate; three skills which prepared him for his most challenging coaching assignment: raising three daughters. 

In addition to coaching, Ronnie spent twenty-eight seasons refereeing High School football and basketball games. He enjoyed the physical challenge, overlooked the hecklers, and, called ‘em like he saw ‘em. He was installed in the Colorado Football Association Hall of Fame in 2003, in honor of his contributions.

His love of sports continued to the day he died, with avid participation in Fantasy Football Leagues, where he was affectionately known as Puff.

Ronnie was an active member of the Ski-Hi Stampede Committee, volunteering his time and talent for over twenty years. He counted Committee members among his best friends, and, it was for them that he actually rode a horse. Once.

Privileged to have shared in his life, wife Dorothy, daughters, Kristy (Clay) Corzine, Michelle (Steve) Gottlieb, and Brandi Elliott, grandsons Bryce Corzine, Joshua Gottlieb and Brecken Reiser, granddaughters Samantha Corzine and Brooke Gottlieb.

In addition, he is survived by sister, Glenda Osborne, Step-sister Joan Messser, lifelong friends, Merv and Darla Self, friends and family too numerous to mention, and, by Roper, the dog his wife swore he would never have.

Ronnie was preceded in death by his parents and by his son, Richard Glen Elliott, and grandson, Mitchell Elliott Reiser, with whom he was no doubt reunited on a heavenly football field.

Practice started at 10:30 a.m. on the morning of October 19, 2014.

 

I love you, Daddy, and I miss you, already.

“Hope” is the Thing With Feathers

 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

 

-Emily Dickinson