Graceful Aging Insights 2019 by PAFC

GRACEFUL AGING Stories and Musings by Larimer County Seniors

Third Edition (2019)

INTRODUCTION The Partnership for Age-friendly Communities in Larimer County is pleased to present the third edition of collected short articles that have been published on our blog, Graceful Aging, over the last two years(pafclarimer.org/graceful-aging). These writings bring together a wide range of voices telling their stories about individual experiences of aging, both the universal and the unique aspects of that process. Through publishing the blogs and this booklet, we hope to enhance intergenerational understanding as well as to highlight graceful aging. Some of the contributors have written in different contexts, while for others this was a first venture into writing for readers. We appreciate the willingness of the participants whose writings are in this booklet to share their stories, and we welcome submissions about growing older; everyone’s story is a treasured part of the whole. Anyone interested in writing about an experience of aging is invited to contact Barbara Fleming, fcwriter@frii.com for details. We invite you to enjoy this collection as much as we have enjoyed creating it.

Not in My time, or Your Time, but in Olden Times.. . . -by Jean Meimann Christen

“And bird, mosquito, bedbug, crab and snake highfived each other, shouting in joy that they had done something they could never have done alone. Working together they defeated the horrible Odon the Giant!” With wide-eyed wonder, the young people in front of me clapped in excitement, for in their imaginations, they had become part of the defeat of the strong and powerful by the weak and small. Back to reality, I packed up my storytelling bag and was surrounded by smiling 7 year-olds with questions, comments, smiles, and hugs. Thus ended another storytelling session with 2nd graders in Poudre School District. As a member of the Spellbinders Storytellers, I am immersed in bringing the ancient art of storytelling to today’s techsavvy children. About 11 years ago, a retired friend told me of a group of storytellers just getting started. They were looking for people to join their ranks. So 1

after my retirement from teaching, I embarked on a four-week training where we learned the techniques and skills necessary to be successful. We practiced learning and then telling stories to the other adult students. I summoned up all my courage to overcome my natural fear of performing in front of an audience. And then I was ready to give it a go in the real world. For me, the elementary classrooms were very familiar, but I was now wonderfully transformed from teacher to honored guest. I learned as I went, taking notes on what worked and what didn’t. Remembering a half hour’s worth of stories without using notes is a bit of a challenge. Equally challenging is using voice, gestures, timing, etc. to keep my listeners engaged. They love the occasional “Knock Knock” joke or riddle I challenge them with between stories. I almost always use music in my program, often playing my ukelele as we sing silly songs or songs with gestures. One of the most-loved is a song that feels just a little bit naughty, called “Don’t’ Stick Your Finger Up Your Nose”. From folk and fairy tales to real life stories, our goal is to pass on wisdom, values, humor, and a sense of community. The magic begins when I put on my storytelling beads and ask them to “click onto their imagination app” where they get to make their own videos while listening to my words. The children get quiet, eyes on me in anticipation. Then begins tales of adventures often related to the classroom curriculum, school values or holidays. Kids especially love Halloween stories, but are also delighted when I 2

weave tales of tricky leprechauns, talking animals who overcome great obstacles, and heroes of all kinds. At the end I invite them to retell my stories to their families and friends. One of my greatest joys has been telling stories in my grandchildren’s classrooms. Whenever possible we timed our trips to New York to coincide with our grandson’s school schedule so that I could be guest grandma and storyteller. Also once a year I would tell stories in the classes of my two grandchildren in Highlands Ranch. It was a great way to get to know their school environment, and hopefully give a meaningful and special gift to them and their classmates. In addition, the two grands from Highlands Ranch used to beg for stories before falling asleep at our house during their weekend visits. Now I have begun telling stories to my five-year old grandson. “The Belly Button Monster” and “Bark George” have him asking, “Is that real?” I’m anticipating being the storyteller in his classroom some day. Over the years I have loved receiving cards and letters from students expressing their appreciation and favorite stories. Among the many memorable comments are: “I think you would be a pretty good teacher too, but I like you better when you tell us stories.” “You’re the nicest storyteller in the world.” “Your stories were gold. They made kids happy. You are speshl.”

The children look forward to my visit each month, and their teachers appreciate storytelling as an important part of literacy education. Storytelling is a gift given and a gift received, linking generations. As a retired person and grandmother, I get the opportunity to challenge my aging brain to learn stories, songs, riddles, jokes. I continue to grow and challenge myself to do a better job each time. The children get to see that older people can interact and bring fun and excitement to their day and their learning. We’re not just old fuddy- duddies!

Jean Christen is a retired elementary teacher who indulges her passion for children by telling stories to 2nd graders and babysitting her grandson. She has begun writing vignettes about her life to pass down to her children and grandchildren. She lives in Fort Collins with her husband, and together they enjoy family, volunteering, and traveling.

Adventure, Part One -by Wes Rutt There are surely lots of ways to age gracefully. I have chosen to continue a practice that I started when I was young. Although age has necessitated some modification, it continues to provide me with new friends, interesting learning opportunities, and frequently some pretty exciting adventure. Before I was old enough to legally drive, my brother and I tore down, rebuilt and started riding motorcycles. I immediately became hooked on having wind in my hair and bugs in my teeth. My mother did not openly object to my newly acquired passion but made it clear that wind and bugs would only take me so far in life. She strongly suggested that I supplement that with a little additional education. So, for some years, I traded in my motorcycle for college. While in school, I met a girl, Nicki, who has turned out to be my perfect companion and partner for a little more than 50 years now. We might have settled down and led a normal, contented and happily-ever-after life together. But it turned out that she loved wind and bugs too. 5

Before the ink on our marriage certificate was dry we were planning adventures together. Since we both were born and grew up in the midwest, our first trip had to be somewhat farther afield. So we flew to London, bought a motorcycle at a local shop and rode over 6000 miles before returning home. Every day was an adventure. With the challenge of remembering which side of the road to ride on, we proceeded to ride our motorcycle through the Alps and even through a busy train station, among many other first time experiences. We never planned more than one day ahead. Many friends were made along the way and we still stay in touch with some almost fifty years later. There have been many trips since then. We traveled through the south right after the movie “Easy Rider” came out. One little motel in Georgia refused to accommodate motorcycle riders. Once a local in an old pickup with his deer rifle in the back window drove up real close to me in a parking lot and stared at me. I tried to remember what had happened to Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper in the movie. However friends were made on that trip too. One year we both found ourselves in jobs we didn’t care for, so we rode from Chicago to Oregon while stopping at all the national parks on the way. On one memorable night we had a bear steal our food pack from the table at our campsite. We unzipped the tent to confront the intruder and then decided to just go ahead and share our food with a new friend. We don’t 6

really stay in touch with the bear but for years we displayed the canvas food pack that he had opened with one sharp claw down the side. On the same trip we flew to Australia where we worked out a deal with a local shop to sell us a used bike and then buy it back from us after we rode it for a month. We camped in an isolated park one night and experienced a wind storm which blew over our tent to the accompaniment of maniacal laughter outside. We lived through that and still made more friends on that trip. As we got older our trips became shorter but just as much fun. Then in 2012, while I had the bike apart in our barn, the High Park Fire hit us. The barn was destroyed as was our faithful ride. We had many other things to think about at the time so we decided not to replace the bike. To be continued…

Wind In My Hair and Bugs In My Teeth Part II. -by Wes Rutt We were physically beginning to slow down by the time of the fire. Reflexes weren’t as quick. Sitting on a motorcycle saddle for hours day after day would have left us hobbling around in pain. We told ourselves that losing the bike was probably a sign that we had had a great run but it was time to be realistic. It would be silly to press our luck. We decided that it was time to sit back and enjoy the many fond memories of our past adventures, so we did...for a while. A few years after the fire we were in Chile returning from the Patagonian International Marathon (an adventure for a different story). Sitting in an airport waiting for a connecting flight, I struck up a conversation with a gentleman from New Zealand who was wearing a T-shirt that advertised an “Adventure Motorcycling” trip. He explained that he was returning home from eastern Europe where he had been on a motorcycling tour.

I told him that my wife and I had traveled rather extensively by motorcycle over the years and asked if there was anything special about “adventure motorcycling”. He informed me that in the last few years a few motorcycle manufacturers had introduced bikes that handled as well off the road as on it, so motorcycle tours could now reach more locations that were impossible to get to on ordinary road machines. I was intrigued because: 1) some years before we had visited Chaco Canyon National Park in New Mexico and had to travel several miles down a very rough washboard road. We literally shook the headlight and one of the turn signals off our road bike before reaching our destination; 2) I was starting to feel the wind in my hair and the bugs in my teeth while hearing about the New Zealander’s tour. When we returned home I couldn’t get “adventure motorcycling” out of my mind. I started researching the topic and discovered that the two most highly praised manufacturers of adventure bikes happened to have shops in Loveland. Nicki has always been the (slightly) more practical member of our partnership, and we had already made a perfectly rational decision to retire from motorcycle riding so I straightened my hair, swallowed some imaginary bugs and determined to be rational. A few weeks later, however, we were picking up some art in Loveland and, as we just happened to be driving by one of the bike shops, I mentioned that it might be fun to drop in. Just to look, you understand. So, although it was a cold, cloudy November day and 9

certainly not conducive to motorcycle riding, we stopped in at Elite Motorsport, the KTM dealer. Roger, the owner, who is about our age, asked if he could show us anything. I said that our last bike was destroyed in the High Park Fire, that we were too old to start riding again, and we were just there to “look.” Roger nodded knowingly. Of course, as motorcyclists do, we spent some time swapping stories with Roger of riding adventures. When I mentioned that we had purchased a motorcycle from Elite Motors in London in 1970, he eagerly replied that in 1971 he too had purchased a motorcycle from Elite Motors in London...same shop and owner.One thing kept leading to another, and Roger ended up giving us such a good deal on a bike, a bike that we had rationally decided we didn’t need or want, that we, now in our 70’s, became the proud owners of a brand new adventure motorcycle. Unfortunately, having a shiny new machine in the barn didn’t do much to reduce our physical infirmities. Some days just swinging a leg over the saddle was an iffy proposition. However, having a motorcycle in the barn again seemed to improve our mental outlook dramatically. Instead of dwelling on memories and starting to feel “old,” we began to plan new adventures. We thought back on what we enjoyed most about our motorcycle trips. What we particularly enjoyed was the anticipation of going somewhere new, the people we would meet along the way, the new things we would discover, and, since this is a story about aging, reliving memories. So how could 10

we enjoy those things again without spending so many weeks and thousands of miles on the bike? In 1970 when we took our first long trip, there was no internet, there were no cell phones, and good cameras were bulky, hard to carry on a bike, and they required lots of film. We often didn’t do a very good job of recording our adventures. Nicki’s sister recently found some old postcards we had sent during some of our trips. They described adventures and discoveries we had almost completely forgotten about. It seemed to us that if we were going to embark on a new set of adventures, we might as well make some use of our hard-won experience and avoid making the same mistakes over again. What we had to do is figure out how to take trips on our new bike that would take advantage of our maturity and experience, provide us with a little more of that adventure we so fondly remembered, and, this time, do a better job of recording everything to help us relive those memories in the years to come. Fortunately here in Colorado we don’t have to travel far in order to enjoy some of the best scenery anywhere. To add frosting to this cake, Colorado is loaded with fascinating history that can make that scenery come alive. We decided that the best way we could experience adventure motorcycle riding at our age would be to research local history and take relatively short trips, stopping often to relieve aching joints and, at the same time, relive the history at sites that might be overlooked by many travelers. But this 11

time we wanted to do a better job of recording what we experience and discover. So we have created a YouTube channel to record our adventures and store our memories. We have just published our first adventure: Adventure Motorcycle Trip #1 - Laporte Loop. Now I understand why it can take years to produce a movie. This is complicated, but we have no timetable or deadlines to meet. As with our earlier adventures, and perhaps life in general, it is more about the journey than the destination

Wes Rutt is a runner, biker, and woodcutter who spends his free time as the Outreach and Education Chair for the Colorado Tree Farmers. Watch the YouTube video of his “Motorcycle Trip#1 - Laporte Loop” with his commentary on the history of the area at www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtdlbsOnGEk

Obituary for Barley -by Fran Green Barley was born on August 23, 2005, in Chesterfield, Virginia, and died on April 1, 2019, at Moore Animal Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. Barley was 100% dachshund, black and tan, and was half wire-haired and half smooth coat. He was adopted by Fran and Bob Green in November 2005 and spent his first week at their home in Richmond, Virginia. A week later he moved with them to Corolla, North Carolina. As a puppy, Barley loved annoying his older “brother” Bagel by biting his leg and tail. While Barley loved living at the beach he did not like to go near the ocean. Particularly frightening to him was the red fire hydrant on the path to the beach. In 2013 Barley moved to Fort Collins. He loved treats, was extremely stubborn and ate all sorts of wrong things: rugs, particularly oriental ones, jockey underwear, Levi jeans, cell phone, CDs, wallet, dead worms and bunny scat. Barley loved to travel in his crate and crossed from NC to Colorado several times. He retained a stubborn streak all of his years and enjoyed exercising his vocal chords.

His doggie friends Cody, Gus, Mimi, Blackberri and Tutu will miss him as will his owners and their friends and neighbors. His ashes will join those of Biscuit and Bagel. After reading his obituary, one of our friends wrote about the time they visited us and we went to a wildlife center in North Carolina. She left her grey jacket on the back seat where Barley was. When we came out, he was nowhere to be found...until we noticed that the sleeve of her jacket was moving. He had crawled inside the sleeve and was stuck there with just his nose and beard sticking out of the cuff. It looked like a seal in the back seat. Adorable.

Fran green grew up in western Virginia, graduated from the College of William and Mary and followed a career path into retail buying and management. She and her husband Bob moved to Fort Collins in 2013 to be closer to their son and his family. She has always been a dog person. She is also a goat person, a musician and, when she finds the time, she writes.

Sort of Aging Vegan – Why? -by Brian Woodruff My wife, Jane, and I have been concerned about eating healthy foods for years. We’ve subscribed to the Nutrition Action Newsletter for decades and have enjoyed their dry humor (the Big Mac is their gold standard by which all food porn is measured), sound research (most miracle food claims are poorly researched), and tasty recipes (always simple prep with fresh ingredients). Recently we read an article in another trade journal about how food may impact aging, suggesting an “aging cure” by drastically cutting calories. We are both serious foodies, so “not eating” held no appeal, but the idea of eating for healthy aging did appeal. Then we watched the documentary What the Health, which spoke about eating for health and issues related to food production. The information underscored our interest in being even more intentional in our food consumption. My wife and I have no desire to live forever, but we have decided to intentionally engage in healthier food consumption. My career was as an environmentalist, specializing in clean air, so I am aware of the large carbon/ environmental footprint eating meat creates. Corporations producing and promoting food may not have our health as their bottom line. Look at the food advertised in living color on TV and you will see the food being promoted is a diet of fat, salt and sugar— a diet that can be deadly over time.

Then why sort of? We LOVE vegetables. We are discovering the joy of vegetables in all kinds of unique preparations. The flavors are rich and varied. There is a bit more prep with vegetables versus throwing meat on the grill, but we’ve discovered the joy and ease of a grilled cauliflower steak. However, we are “sort of vegans” because we are not willing to completely give up meat, cheese and fish. We still enjoy them occasionally but in reduced quantities. We still sprinkle grated cheese on a casserole although much less than previously. Salmon and shrimp are beloved by us both and, at wild-caught prices, we relish them more but eat them less often. We continue to indulge in fish, lamb, pork and a wellcooked hamburger though at a much-reduced rate, mostly when friends have invited us to dinner or when we are eating at a restaurant. On the rare occasions that we shop for meat we buy from local, organic farmers and ranchers through the grocery stores that buy from them. Since we eat less of it the extra price for locally raised meat evens out. We haven’t lost weight; we don’t suddenly feel healthier or even different, but that was never the point. We enjoy the food we eat knowing it is good for us, good for our community (Buy Local!) and good for the planet. Like most retirees we have our med minders, but to date they are blessedly simple, and that’s the way we hope to keep them. We are eating well and excited about the meals we create. We are not “holier than thou”; we will never 16

guilt family for friends for eating differently, and we will never ask anyone to cook differently for us. As ex-60s hippies, we are now free-range, organic, wild-caught, natural, local, consumer freaks – happily and healthily so. Bon Appetit!

Brian landed in Fort Collins 36 years ago, to study atmospheric science at CSU, then wound up staying to work for the City of Fort Collins. After working on air pollution in city and county governments for 39 years, he is now three years retired. Brian enjoys choral singing, reading, cooking, hiking, and traveling abroad with his adventurous wife Jane.

Staying Young While Growing Older -by Jane Everham I have a confession to make. At the age of 16, my two best friends and I made a pact – when we turned 65, no matter where we were, we would come together and . . . commit suicide. After all, we reasoned, life would be over if we indeed did reach that ancient age of 65. At sixteen, we were fully into drama, writing morose (and bad) poetry, nurturing dark thoughts, and conjuring such nonsense as a “suicide pact.” Well, age 65 passed a few years ago, and I am happy to report not only are we still here (we called off the pact), but we are active, engaged, and leading vibrant lives. We’ve slowed down some by retiring but are now almost as busy in the world of volunteering. Twice in the last month I have thanked two friends for revealing that they were 75 while not looking nor acting a day over 60. I was inspired by them. I am active and busy and loving life, but my joints ache some, my short-term memory takes unannounced vacations (without me), and I do worry that “old” will arrive soon. Knowing that folks older than I are still going strong is a relief. In fact, I just had lunch with a 93-year-old spitfire. She admits she didn’t take care of her body as she should have, and declining physicality is a hinderance now, but her mind is fully intact, still brewing with thoughts; she keeps me on my toes by challenging my thinking with probing questions and encouraging my many endeavors. 18

I’ve always heard that old age is not for sissies, but the last of the Greatest Generation and the Baby Boomers are really pushing the bar up and away when old age arrives. I used to joke that I would live to be 104, whether I wanted to or not. The fantasy of relaxing in a rocker on my front porch watching life go by had some appeal in middle age. Not any more. Life is too precious— so many interesting people to know, books to read, podcasts to hear. There are opportunities to serve, to give back for all the blessings I have received. Life is fragile, and no one knows when the end will come. My life has not been perfect, and I would redo some things if I could, but overall, I have no regrets. I will take what I am given but would really like to “die alive,” giving at least a small kick “for more” regardless of my age.

Jane grew up in the Chicago suburbs in the 50's and 60's. She moved to Colorado to attend Denver University and UNC where she earned an Educational Specialist degree in School Psychology. She worked for 34 years in the public schools in Cheyenne, Wyoming and Ft Collins, Colorado. Now retired, she spends her time volunteering with the Larimer League of Women Voters, Foothills Unitarian Church, and progressive politics. She loves to have lunch with friends, reads voraciously, and travels.

Patterns and Paths! -by Norma Glad

My writing group recently chose limitations as our current topic. We are all seniors and have had and are living with firsthand knowledge of some of the limitations our senior years have brought to us. My first thoughts went to my lowered level of hearing. In the past 15-20 years I have put a lot of energy and commitment into doing the best I can with my hearing variability. Wearing a hearing aid in each ear became a necessity for me. Acceptance that I couldn't hear everything was important to me. I soon realized that not accepting the truth could in itself become a heavy limitation. The truth that I had to face: "I am not able to hear everything that is said to me or around me." Some examples of what I do and have done about some of the changes and limitations resulting from my hearing condition: I sometimes choose to leave out of my schedule events, presentations or meetings in which I'm interested. I know in advance that those will be extra hard for me because of background noise or other conditions which make hearing more difficult for me. Some voices are easier to hear than others. Some rooms, auditoriums, restaurants or other public places present extra difficulties to my ears.

I once visited a number of restaurants to find the ones with the best hearing conditions. It turned out that the most expensive ones would be on my list. I often ask a friend who had attended the same event as I to tell me what she remembered of the words or ideas, so I could fill in some of the ideas or words which passed me by. At other times I turn to an alternate sense, such as vision, which helps me lip read. A major irony of my life: My undergraduate studies prepared me to be a speech and hearing therapist. My work in the Cleveland Public Schools included teaching lip reading. Never did it occur to me that I myself would someday need to use that skill. Another use of vision which has enhanced my hearing is observing how people express themselves: body language, bodily tensions, facial expressions. I consider this to be part of the subtle kinesthetic and bodily senses which we might not always be aware of. I belong to several interesting educational groups which are important to me, even though I miss a lot of what is being said. I have asked myself, "Why do I keep coming back here, when I can't hear everything?" My own answer: I like the people in these groups; I like being a part of it. I've been in each of these groups for a long time, so I feel close to many people in the groups. We share similar aims, thoughts and experiences. This is all of value to me.

Sometimes when I can't hear something I want to hear I feel really dumb. Part of this could be envy that they can hear it and I can't. Another recurring thought: “I’m not like I used to be!" Here we are again in limitations of the senior years. I try hard to grab any and all words and phrases which I can hear, and to do what's best for me, as I am now. In 2015 what seemed best for me was to undergo major surgery in order to have a cochlear implant in my left ear. The cochlea from my left inner ear wasn't working well, so it was removed, replaced by an amazing internal magnet and external hearing aid which have greatly improved my hearing. I wear a more old-fashioned one on my right ear. Both need to be removed at night, and attention paid to the batteries. They're certainly worth the extra attention they require. The implant is a great example of how contemporary technology has aided my search for better hearing. With the implant came a microphone and a small remote packet which together direct and enhance incoming conversations so they go directly to my left ear which has the implant. Another example of technology benefitting me is my CapTel telephone. Because I don’t hear everything on other phones, CapTel puts a 6x12 screen on the desk part of the phone. All incoming speech is transcribed into words which are printed on the screen so that in addition to my partial hearing of what was said, I can read it. 22

Caution number one: The conversation on the screen comes in more slowly than most people talk. Consequently, I ask callers to please talk more slowly and/or wait a short time until the captions catch up with what is being said. I often thank them for helping me hear more completely. Caution number two: There are many occasions when the intended words and the printed ones differ greatly. Example: On the first day I received the CapTel phone, a friend called me to tell me about her orange geranium. What came through was orange uranium! Stranger ones also appear which are even more humorous. While hearing limitations can be quite serious and heart-rending, I don't mind having some extra humor in my life.

Norma Glad is a member of Congregation Har Shalom in Fort Collins. She is a certified yoga instructor and leads chair yoga classes at the Fort Collins Senior Center and at her residence.

Attitude Wins -by Suzie Daggett Mom and dad died eight years apart. Shortly after dad died, I asked mom what she wanted us to do with his remains. Her request was for us to wait until she was gone then take them to the beach. I knew just where she wanted us to place them—by their much loved beach house, which they sold years before to move near us in the mountains. Finally, it was time to fulfill her request. The broad mostly empty beach had changed over the years, but the scene from their house, the dunes, the rolling waves, the surfers and the windy open sky remained the same. I found a spot where I knew dad walked daily and where mom could see the waves, surfers and dad from her favorite reading spot. Knowing never to trust waves or turn your back on water, I was watching while my husband prepared for our ceremony. We were in that sweet spot where the waves lapped gently onto the beach. We took a deep breath, said our goodbyes as we gently put a few of my parent’s memories in the sand. We could feel the love they shared for each other and their special time at the beach house. For just a second, I took my eyes off the waves while we got down on the sand for a photo to capture the moment. Suddenly, a surprise rogue wave came crashing into us. It was so unexpected we fell sideways into the water. I managed to keep my phone dry, but, our shoes and parts of our clothing filled with seawater and sand. We smiled, laughed, kissed and realized mom and dad were sharing the moment with us in their own magical way. We were not upset nor 24

unsettled. Our inner and outer happiness showed in our faces and attitudes as we shook sand from our clothes and removed our wet shoes. Our easy adjustable attitude was the savior of the day. We chose to live our lives without drama. Yet, there are those who would be upset and undone by the wave’s action, which lead to a tiny bit of discomfort. They might spend time complaining about being wet and sandy, finding fault where none lies. Adopting a positive attitude in every aspect of life, allows for ease and flow. Mom and dad lived with the philosophy of ‘let go’, ‘what will be will be’ and ‘life is good be happy!’ We taught the same to our kids, allowing for harmony and calm in their lives. I like what the Dalai Lama says about attitudes: “It is very important to generate a good attitude, a good heart, as much as possible. From this, happiness in both the short term and the long term for both yourself and others will come.” This rings true for our family— attitude wins!

Suzie Daggett is an award-winning author of The Pink Door ~ Moms’ Journey to the Other Side, and the author of two other books: From Ego to Soul ~ Discover what your Soul needs and what your Ego wants, and PEARLS ~ 52 Contemplative Insights. website: www.suziedaggett.com

The Tension of Aging -by Susan Devan Harness I feel old. That’s what I told a friend of mine, who is 17 years my senior! He gave me a wry smile. The thing is, I knew it was going happen. I’m all of 59, but aging has been on my mind a lot, especially when I think about my mom’s aging process. At some point in her seventies Mom became more frail, less mobile, but I didn’t assign a value to that. She still walked to the library once a week, she still participated in deep and thoughtful conversations, and she still enjoyed seeing my sons, her grandsons, although conversation with them was more difficult; they were teenagers. But I never considered her “old.” Not like the elderly couple I saw one day as I drove to her apartment—the ones who shuffled across Mulberry Street where it intersects with Remington Street. Their backs were bent and their gazes studying the pavement in front of them. I could sense their worry that the drizzle of rain had made the road slippery. It was clear from their pace, from their careful, tight gait, that their joints prevented them from walking faster. She held onto his elbow with such ferocity, probably knowing a fall would change her life forever. 26

I glanced at the walk signal and watched while the little red hand, which had been white when they began this journey, flashed insistently, turning solid when they reached the half way point. I studied the drivers of the cars, protected behind their windshields, and felt their tension of wanting the light to turn green and hoping the elderly couple would not impede their own journeys to whatever important places they had to go: meetings, coffee shops, classes, shopping. Then, like a rubber band snapping back into place, the tension released. No sooner had the couple’s feet touched the sidewalk on the far side than engines revved and cars began to speed by, and I thought, “This is going to be me someday. Some stranger, perhaps even my children, will be frustrated with the amount of time I take out of their afternoon.” I realized then that the construction of our world makes it difficult to be old. Our roads are too wide, the lights too short. The cars are too fast, our free time too limited. And although our days are long, our lives are too short to get everything accomplished that we set out to do when we were young. And we sit at lights and tap our steering wheels and think about what’s going to happen next and how exciting/ stressful/expensive/difficult that will be, with very little thought about what’s happening right now. So as I think about the elderly couple who carefully made their way down an uneven sidewalk, I pondered whether they were thinking that it would be nice to be

able to cross a street and not be aware that they were somehow interrupting someone’s day.

Susan Devan Harness, author of Bitterroot: A Salish Memoir of Transracial Adoption, and Mixing Cultural Identities Through Transracial Adoption: Outcomes of the Indian Adoption Project (1958-1967) is a member of the Confederated Salish Kootenai Tribes. As a cultural anthropologist, a writer, and an aging person, she is interested in people and their histories.

A Long Way From Little Rock, A Path Apart from the Little Rock Nine -by Linda Johnson

I was born in 1942 in Little Rock, Arkansas. So I was destined, by age, to be in a high school class of 1960. That same winter, nine notable African-American babies were also born, all but one in Little Rock, who could expect to graduate in 1960. They were to be later known as the “Little Rock Nine.” My life’s path took me a long way from Little Rock, geographically and culturally. By 1949 my family had moved to Colorado and most of my school years were spent there. There was one high school in Colorado Springs; everyone in our town attended it. But back in Little Rock, there was grandiose Central High, seven stories tall, with up-to-date curricula, for white students. And there was Horace Mann, an underdeveloped school for Afro-American students, or “blacks” as they were called then. In 1954 the U.S. Supreme Court mandated that the nation’s school would be racially integrated. The ruling met with resistance, especially in Arkansas. Amid violent white protests and in defiance of federal law, Governor Orville Faubus ordered out the Arkansas National Guard to prevent black students from entering white schools. On September 3, 1957, nine brave Horace Mann students, studious and determined, enrolled and would attempt to enter Central High School in Little Rock. 29

Meanwhile in Colorado Springs on September 3, 1957, eight of my friends and I met on the sunny sidewalk, waiting for the bell that would invite us into the halls for our first day of high school. Our most pressing problems were whether we could remember our locker codes, which of our friends would be in our classes, and whether we had on the right clothes for high school. We all wore the same thing: a full skirt just below the knee with starched crinolines underneath to make it stand out, a shirtwaist blouse, a wide cinch belt tight around the waist, saddle shoes and white socks. We had swooned over Elvis and Johnny Mathis and anticipated fall football games and our first homecoming dance. The boys wore jeans with rolled up cuffs and collared shirts, the collar turned up like James Dean’s in Rebel with a Cause. In Little Rock that same day, the nine black students (the Nine), wearing clothing like ours as shown in iconic pictures in the press, tried to enter the all-white Central High School. Their age and attire were identical to ours, but their determination to equally and fairly obtain the best education would cost far more determination and suffering than we would ever know. That morning they had been directed by supporters and organizers to enter Central High School together. Amid crowds of outraged protesters, they were prevented from meeting at the assigned place; one girl, 15-year-old Elizabeth Eckford, faced the armed Arkansas National Guard soldiers alone. In the chaos, Elizabeth fled to a bus stop and rode to her mother’s work for safety. The other eight were 30

separately chased and threatened by white protesters and could not enter the school. On September 23rd, President Dwight Eisenhower, complying with the Supreme Court decision on integration, ordered federal troops to escort the Nine into the classes they had enrolled in and qualified for. They were escorted in amidst a mob of white resistance. All but one completed the tortuous year of 1957-58, with white students and teachers alike scorning and physically abusing them, in spite of the federal troops assigned to protect them. Meanwhile in Colorado Springs, we happily finished our sophomore year, with the biggest policy change being that we could wear blue jeans for final exam week. There was a sparse black population in Colorado Springs, but those who were there filled spots on Student Council and in sports. Thanks to some outstanding black athletes, Colorado Springs High School won the state football championship that year. Back in Little Rock, black students were excluded from all extra-curricular activities and were prevented from even attending a Central football game. Spring finally came sixty years ago in May, 1958. Ernest Green, the only senior among the Nine, was the first black graduate of Central High. Unbeknownst to the crowd of spectators, Martin Luther King Jr. sat with Ernest Green’s family at that graduation. The following year, owing to the violence and political pressure, Arkansas Governor Faubus cancelled all 31

public schools in Little Rock for the entire year, so there was no class of 1959. Seven of the Nine moved away and graduated elsewhere, many in 1960. Elizabeth Eckford got her GED and went on to a lifetime of civil service and activism. The rest attended college and advanced degrees, and luminous careers in their fields. In Colorado Springs, we too attended colleges and had careers, seemingly as seamlessly as third to fourth grade. Only one of the Little Rock Nine, Melba Patilla Beals, has written a memoir. The title, Warriors Don’t Cry, was inspired by the females in her family, particularly her grandmother, India. Melba’s mother had been the first black woman to graduate from the University of Arkansas. (1954). When Melba was overwhelmed by violence and hatred at Central High, she quoted her grandmother, telling her to have faith and to stand up, because “warriors don’t cry.” Her grandmother also assured her that “everything changes.” Indeed, Melba describes slow but positive changes in Arkansas and in the nation coming from the Nine’s harrowing experiences in the name of racial equality. The Nine have remained fast friends and relished their reunion when a statuary memorial to them was dedicated in front of the Arkansas capitol. Grandmother India told Melba that life’s memories are composed of “snapshots of experiences” we can never forget. When Melba saw the memorial sculptures of the Little Rock Nine unveiled in front of the Arkansas capitol, she gasped at how accurately 32

the statues resembled them in September, 1957. Their teenage interests, dreams, and even dress paralleled those of my friends and me in the class of 1960. And the nine or so of us Colorado Springs High School graduates still cherish those friendships. I too have a memory “snapshot” of September 3, 1957, garbed in our teenage idealism, but on that day I was a long way from Little Rock.

Linda Johnson is a local historian and genealogist who has lived most of her life in Colorado Springs. She has published articles in genealogical journals and given presentations on genealogy and neighborhood history. From 1983 to 2015, she owned a theatrical costume rental business, “Ivywild Costumes,” . She is now retired and living with her husband Patrick in Fort Collins.

Empty Chairs -by Barbara Fleming

Mortality is an inescapable fact of human existence; aging brings it into sharp focus. Recently I have seen more and more empty chairs among my circle of friends. How dear they all were to me. Jane always sat perfectly straight. She was a cat woman if ever there was one; she devoted her later years to the welfare of cats— fostering kittens, adopting strays, volunteering at a cat shelter. Jane was intense, passionate, opinionated and outspoken, and no one ever had a truer or more loyal friend. Jean grew day lilies and wrote books. She tended lovingly to her aging cat, volunteered at the Gardens at Spring Creek, and faced each day with curiosity and humor. Her quick wit endeared her to anyone who knew her and her smile, when earned, warmed one’s heart. She was a bright light dimmed too soon. Nancy’s seat was a piano bench. A fine pianist, she played in church for years. Nancy had a robust, memorable laugh, a great sense of humor, a highly tuned sense of indignation about injustice, and a habit of speaking her mind. She was an excellent writer, a loving mother and devoted grandmother, a caring wife and a faithful friend. She was a dog person as well as a passionate advocate for her chosen causes. She lived richly and fully every day.

Dona was a musician, too. A teacher and school principal before she retired, she nearly always found something to be happy about. She lived in the present as much as anyone I have ever known. She never dwelled on past sorrows and losses. She poured her heart and soul into whatever she chose to involve herself in. She was generous and kind and cheerful; like the Cheshire cat, her smile was the last part of her to fade away. Coming more recently to the circle was Susan, a lover of words like me. Her smile would light up the room; she was even-tempered, cheerful and keenly intelligent, always seeking to learn new things. Adventurous, she loved to travel and often went on long hikes with her husband. Her creativity came out in the costumes she sewed for her grandchildren and her ways of playing with them. They constantly delighted her. Margaret—never have I known anyone quite like her. She loved to tell tales of her childhood and adventurous youth. She was fearless, managing to leave a bad marriage with two small children in tow to make her way back to the United States and start anew. She was open and friendly and completely her true self all the time: What you saw was who she was. Despite many traumas and losses in her life, she forged ahead from day to day, living the best life she could and spreading love and friendship around like flower petals.

A longtime friend, Gretchen was the embodiment of courage and determination. She overcame many obstacles in her life and met a diagnosis of chronic disease with calm and fortitude. As long as possible she would not let it keep her from doing what she wanted to do—travel, even as far as Japan, go to plays and performances, attend church regularly. She adapted to the altered circumstances in her life better than most, accepting what she could not change. She was a loyal friend and a good person through and through. So have they all left empty chairs behind—but I fill those chairs now with warm memories of good times together, of companionship and support, and of shared joys, sorrows, laughter and love. I am grateful to have had them in my life and, as my own mortality approaches, to have been enriched by these very different and very special individuals. Each brought with her unique and memorable gifts, and each one has left an imprint on my heart.

Barbara Fleming is a local author and editor. Her most recent book, Road Trip, tells the story of two women on an adventure in their 1927 Model T Pickup. Website: www.authorbarbarafleming.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to each contributor to our Graceful Aging series. Every story that was shared has enriched our readers and helped the Graceful Aging team highlight the wide variety of experiences of aging for Larimer County residents. Thanks also to the Partnership for AgeFriendly Communities for underwriting this booklet and providing space on their website to continue this project through our blog, pafclarimer.org/ graceful-aging/. The series continues to flourish with monthly personal stories of aging.

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All articles are submitted by local writers and are posted on our website at pafclarimer.org/graceful-aging