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Just a dusty old box

We’ve I taken the art of aging gracefully to a whole new level

By Terri Benson

Hilltop’s premier senior communities offer a world of gracious living, personalized care and unsurpassed amenities. n Luxurious apartments featuring great views, spacious floorplans, and paid utilities n Quality restaurant-style dining n Lushly landscaped outdoor spaces and walking trails n Social activities and trips

The Commons (970) 243-3333 625 27 1/2 Road

n 24-hour emergency response system n Flexible care options to meet your current and future needs n Customized wellness program to help you “Stay Fit for Life!” n Temporary assisted living stays

The Fountains (970) 243-8800 3203 N. 15th Street



MARCH 2017

couldn’t put it off any longer. If I waited another week or two, I’d be cooped up in the house instead of spending my time out in the garden, mucking around in the warming soil, preparing for flowers and veggies. With winter nearly at an end, it was time to force myself to perform the dreaded, rarely annual spring-cleaning. Up until now, I’d managed to get out of digging through the boxes of paperwork that had been a fire hazard for several years since we’d closed our construction business. My reasons were very creative, and my husband, Rick, had always grudgingly accepted them until this year. But over the years he’s gotten pretty sneaky when he wants me to go along with one of his schemes, and this time he really had me over the barrel. He dangled the most compelling bribe possible under my nose—a page from “Better Homes and Gardens” showing a Martha Stewart-like sewing room. He promised he’d help me turn the attic into my own special place and all I had to do was empty it out. That photo was my dream come true. It showed a sun-filled nook painted in happy contrasting colors. Pretty wicker baskets brimmed with neatly folded fabric. A glossy white pegboard, every little tool and spool in place, complemented the equally glossy bookcase full of craft supplies. A long,

smooth cutting table ran along the wall under a window draped with pristine cotton curtains and decorated with hand-appliquéd flowers. It seemed so easy to replicate. My current sewing room was a hall closet, and all I had to do to achieve this dream was make the attic look like the picture. With visions of a glamorous photo shoot starring me and my new sewing room in my head, I forced myself up the narrow, dark stairs to the attic and opened the door. I was immediately hit with the aroma of stale air, dust and a scent suspiciously like mouse droppings. A seemingly endless sea of file boxes, some half crushed under the weight of others, filled the small space. The tiny window, which only vaguely resembled the one in my dream photo, was crusted with dust and the bodies of unlucky bugs that had fallen prey to spiders before they, too, gave up the ghost. I tried to sigh dramatically but accomplished nothing more than a coughing fit. Girding my loins, I lugged the dusty boxes, one by one, to our seldom-used dining room. By the time the attic was empty it was time for a cold drink and an antihistamine. An hour later (I’m a slow drinker, okay?), I sat on the floor and opened the first box. What I expected to find was a mishmash of old invoices, catalogues from a distant decade and correspondence to and from long-forgotten clients. I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t find anything furry with four legs, alive or dead. But what I actually found was completely different. The first file I opened held several years’ worth of report cards for my now-grown children. I read the

Beacon march2017  
Beacon march2017  

Beacon March 2017