Category: Colorado Life

Where have I been for the past six months? Obviously, not writing my blog! Instead I was working on a new project. An interesting, fascinating, huge project. I moved to new digs. Again. Here’s the true story. Nothing is changed to protect the guilty.

Last summer I knew I needed to move to a different home. I thought I would be happy living in a beautiful condo in a 55+ community. My unit was on the third floor, overlooking a golf course. What’s not to love? For me, it was everything. 

I was so desperate to move that I asked my son, Jason, to negotiate a trade ~ my beautiful condo for a filthy, mouse-infested free-standing home occupied by an extreme hoarder. If you have ever seen a show about hoarders, I assure you that this place was worse. After a whole summer of drama, the hoarder and I finally closed the deal on September 15. And then the fun began! But not before the previous owner (P.O.) filed a police report, accusing me of stealing all her things and “ruining her life.” 

My renovation began by moving mountains of P.O.’s possessions. She took some things with her ~ a full Pod plus two U-Haul trailers full of things. What was left behind filled eighteen roll-off dumpsters. Ramón, who had no front teeth, oversaw a crew of ten skinny men, who worked tirelessly for six days filling dumpsters. Every time they thought they had cleared another room in my home, they opened a closet and found a mountain of smelly worthless possessions oozing out onto the floor.

My neighbors were overjoyed that someone new was moving in and that P.O. was moving out. They sat outside in small groups on their lawns and watched the action. They cheered when another dumpster rolled down the street. By the fourth day they were drinking champagne and toasting the dumpster drivers, as yet another dumpster lumbered down the street.

I bought the house, sight unseen because it was not possible for anyone to get past the front door, including an inspector who deemed the house, “the worse (he) had even seen.” When the last dumpster roared away, I was finally able to see the inside of my new home. I was overjoyed. It needed a lot of work and smelled terrible, but it was clearly a diamond in the rough. 

Some people rescue children. Some rescue the environment. I guess I rescue houses. I used more than thirty-five vendors in all. They were kind, funny, incredibly skilled tradesmen. They worked well together and sang while they worked. The put in long hours, and often came on Saturdays to finish a project. They were my loyal friends. I could never have moved into my new home without them. I am forever grateful for every one of them.

My story has a happy ending. I spent four months and a considerable amount of money rehabilitating my new home. It’s now beautiful and no longer smells of urine.

I love my new neighborhood and I have great neighbors. I rented the upstairs of my home to a delightful couple from Columbia. I feel like I am back in Mexico, sharing my large kitchen and living with friends from another country. I know I am lucky, indeed.

My friend, Lucy, died last week.

Lucy and I moved into Heather Gardens Building 210 the same week and we quickly became friends. In a building where most people stay hidden behind closed doors, Lucy was an exception. She was out and about every day. A day without Lucy was a day without sunshine!

Here are the Top Ten Things I will miss most about her.

#10. Her wicked sense of humor. She loved telling me whenever there had been “a murder on the golf course.” She was referring to a goose who had been killed, usually by a coyote. She took me see the murder scene. We never found the goose but the area was littered with  feathers. I helped Lucy gather up the feathers to take home, much to the chagrin of her family, who are still cleaning feathers out of her apartment.

#9. Her laugh. Lucy was often the first person I would see in the morning. Her big smile and hearty laugh always started my day out right.

#8. Her stamina. Lucy walked all day long. She put more miles on her walker than I did on my car. 

#7. Her stories about growing up in Texas. Lucy was a great story-teller. She had a big life and her stories of rodeos and boarding school were magical to me. I grew up in Minnesota, where life is “pretty friggin’ boring” as Lucy was fond of saying.

#6. Her authenticity. Lucy told it like it was. There was no bull-shit from Lucy. 

And #5 … no filters. She maybe never had any filters. I found it refreshing to hear her swear every now and then. I hope this isn’t new information to any of you who knew her. I’m losing some of my filters, too.

#4. Her genuine love of people. Lucy made friends wherever she went. One day she sat on a bench with a new friend. They had such a good conversation, the woman gave her one of her old straw cowboy hats to wear. Lucy wore her new cowboy hat all day long, as she pushed her walker up and down the sidewalk.

#3. Her ability to amuse herself, especially when it was challenging to do so. She talked to her cat. She called dumpster-diving “my new hobby” and was delighted when she found a new treasure to haul home. She watched squirrels steal food from her bird feeder. She took special delight knowing that bird feeders are against the rules at Heather Gardens.

And #2. Lucy didn’t mind breaking the rules. I only wish she had lived a little longer, so we could break a few more.

#1. Her love for her cat. But mostly her love for her family ~ two daughters, one son, and her grandchildren. She loved above them all.

Adios, mi amiga. Vaya con Dios!

Now it is fall. A totally  different season for me to admire from my balcony and my daily walks through the golf course.

There are still leaves on the trees, although they are beginning to drift toward the ground.

There are still golfers, although a lot fewer of them every day. Their days start later and end sooner. Instead of wearing bright shirts and cute shorts, they arrive in sweatshirts and long pants..

Squirrels still chase each other along the paths and tease the dogs. A few ducks still swim in the ponds. Some things never change.

Something else that doesn’t change are the geese that peck their way through the grass and poop on the sidewalks all day, every day. Legend  is that there are about seventy geese that make Heather Gardens their permanent home.

I like the geese. I like their bad-ass ways. I like their swagger and the fact that they own the place. The own the sand traps and the putting greens. They own the roads and the ponds. Although they still prefer to waddle and swim in follow-the-leader lines, they aren’t practicing for a flight to a warmer climate. They have found a warmer climate and they are staying put.

I will miss the geese and this beautiful view while I am in Mexico. I will miss the smell of fresh-cut grass, and greeting the dog-walkers on my path.  I will miss the crisp early-morning air.

But I won’t miss dodging goose-poop.

Photo by Joan Obeslo, Bldg. 210, Heath Gardens

This week I dodged a bullet. Barely. Let me explain. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.

Step One: I received an email that looked legitimate. It said my Amazon account was charged $536.00 for Bitcoins. It further said that if I didn’t authorize that charge, I should immediately call the number on my screen.

What did I do? I called the number on my screen.

What I should have done? Look up my orders on Amazon, to see if a Bitcoin order had been placed. Obviously I don’t know enough about Bitcoins to know you don’t buy them on Amazon.

Step Two:  A very nice person named Austin said that she was glad I called right away so she could stop the order. She said she was looking up my order and verified that someone on the “dark web” had placed the order and hacked into my Amazon account. She said that the hackers were established in California, Kansas, Mexico and Russia.

What did I do? I said “Thank you for helping me.”

What should I have done? Taken a deep breath. Been suspicious. Now Austin had my telephone number and I was headed down a rabbit hole.

Step Three: Austin said that in order to block my Amazon account, I needed to go to my local grocery store and wait for instructions.

What did I do? I said I didn’t want to go to the store because it was late and I was getting hungry. Austin continue to reassure me that this was important and she was there to help me. She told me not to hang up. She gave me her direct phone number in case we got disconnected.

What I should have done? Refused to go. Taken another deep breath. Had a glass of wine. Start to fix dinner. Anything ~ except get in my car and drive to the grocery store.

Step Four: I was at the grocery store and Austin was still connected to my phone. I had a text from Amazon, saying that $500.00 had been deposited into my credit card account. Austin told me to get an Amazon gift card for $500.00 and pay for it with my credit card. “You won’t be using your own money, because I just put $500.00 credit on your card,” she reassured me.

What did I do? Although this seemed strange, I did what I was told. There were no Amazon cards available, so Austin told me to get a Target card, “because Amazon and Target have an agreement to help each other with these fraud claims.” 

What should I have done? Checked my credit card balance to see if $500.00 had been deposited. It hadn’t.

Step Five: When I went to pay for the Target gift card with my credit card, the charge was declined. I left the store. Austin was still on hold. I told her what happened. She said I needed to call my credit card company to authorize the charge. I couldn’t input my credit card number on my keypad, so Austin volunteered to place the call for me. She listened in as I stated my credit card number. When the customer service person asked for my full social security number, I gave it to her! 

What did I do? Exactly what I was told. Chase credit card said they would authorize the charge. I returned to the store to buy the gift card. 

What should I have done? Asked more questions. Hang up. By this time I was very annoyed. I was starting to not like Austin at all. It was now almost two hours since the scam started. 

Step Six: Austin told me to read her the card number and the access code. 

What did I do? I read her the card number and access code.

What I should have done? Taken my gift card and gone home. By this time, I was arguing with Austin. She remained calm. I was a screaming banshee.

Step Seven: Austin thanked me for being so helpful. She again assured me that she would clear my Amazon account with this Target card. Then, she told me I needed to go back into the store to buy TWO MORE Target gift cards. She sent me another text stating that my credit card had now been credited for an additional $1000.00.

What did I do? I argued profusely. I said this didn’t seem right, but again I did what I was told. When I tried to buy two more gift cards, my credit card declined the charge. 

What I should have done: Gone home!

Step Eight: I came back to the car to talk to Austin, who was still on the phone. She said we needed to call my credit card company again. This time the wait time was going to be “more than 30 minutes.”

What did I do? I was now fully crazed. I was yelling at Austin. I told her I didn’t believe her any more. I hung up the phone and started my car. Austin called me back and told me we needed to finish this. I told her I was finished.

Finally, when I was home, nearly three hours after getting the first email, I did what I should have done in the first place:

• Been very suspicious. Know that scammers are everywhere!
• Googled the phone number that appeared in my email. The number was registered in China.
• Looked at my Amazon account. There was no charge for Bitcoins. I called Amazon to report my experience to the fraud detection team.
• Called my credit card company to alert them about the hoax. They immediately canceled my card. Today, they removed the $500.00 charge I placed for the first gift card.
• Checked the Target card to see if there was any balance on there. Of course, there wasn’t. Austin had already taken the money from the gift card. It was a classic scam, and I fell for it. 

I am chagrined to tell you what happened to me. I feel stupid. I know this has happened to a lot of people but I thought it couldn’t happen to me. I know I was lucky not to lose any money, but I could have. I still might.

José Abila has been my handyman, fix-it-guy, and friend for my past five houses. What he has never been is… on time.

José is a kind, patient  man whose glass is always at least half-full. He firmly believes that every day has more than twenty-four hours. He likes to talk and I like hearing his stories.

Born in Chihuahua, Mexico, in the middle of eleven children, José left school early and came to the U.S. at the age of fourteen. There were too many mouths for his mother to feed and plenty of boys to help his father run their small ranch. He decided to strike out on his own.

Jose’s story is a universal story of the Mexican worker. He came to the United States to learn English and to work hard. He wanted to help support his family. Now he has one foot firmly planted on each side of the border.

As a boy, José was eager to learn what was on El Otro Lado ~ The Other Side. He crossed the border in Juarez and came straight north to Denver, where he went to work as a day laborer. He arrived at the pick-up site early and hustled for jobs doing construction and landscaping. He studied English and found a place to live. He learned job skills by watching and asking questions. There really isn’t any job that José can’t do, and do it well.

Last week I told José that he was one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. “I’m like my Dad,” he told me. “I’ve always been able to figure things out.” He also has a lot of common sense (which isn’t so common any more) and a quick sense of humor. 

José stayed in the U.S. for three years and returned home at the age of seventeen. Back in Chihuahua, he tamed horses and rode bulls in local rodeos until a particularly nasty bull slammed him against a fence and broke his shoulder. He might have gotten married, but I’m not sure about that. José still has a lot of stories that I don’t know.

When José was twenty years old, he decided it was time to come back to the U.S. He returned to Denver, to work on large construction projects and he tamed horses in Wyoming in his spare time.

Although he is a small man, José is incredibly strong. He can carry multiple sheets of dry wall upstairs and never lose his breath. He can fix cars and anything else that is broken. He has an eagle’s eye for straight lines and angles, which makes him one of Denver’s best pool players. He goes to Las Vegas often to compete in invitation-only pool tournaments. I don’t think he ever loses. One time he came home with a very fancy car when another player foolishly added the car’s title to the bet.

José loves to laugh. I think he’s been married three times. One time he told me, “I don’t care if my wife divorces me, or if I divorce her. I like being married. I’ll just get me another wife.” 

Like most Mexican men, José’s one true love was his mother. Until she died last year, José loaded his truck every few months with construction material, and drove to Chihuahua to remodel her home. He was devastated when she died last year, an old woman in her 90’s.

José has an important “real job.” He is second in charge of three huge construction projects. He supervises three separate crews and makes sure the work is done on time and passes inspections. He continues to work side jobs, and came as soon as I told him I was moving. 

Although I know that working with José always comes with a lot of frustration, there is no one else I trust more to give me a beautiful new kitchen. The job was originally going to take “two or three weeks.” I should have known better. It is now two months since I moved and we aren’t even close. 

My birthday is tomorrow. On Thursday, I told José, “You know what I want for my birthday, Jose? I want a kitchen.” He just laughed.

“We’ll finish this kitchen soon,” he told me. “But not today.”

I’m afraid I’m losing some of my faculties from being cooped up for so long. I’m on the third floor of an all-concrete building. It’s quiet and cold.  The silence is creepy and I never see another soul. Not in the hallway and not in the elevator. Sometimes I think everyone in my building moved away and no one told me to get on the bus.

I got my hair cut this week. It was my first haircut since I broke my leg. I chattered like a crazed squirrel with the Uber driver and my hairdresser. Before he dropped me off, I wanted to ask the Uber guy if I could just ride around with him all day ~ looking for other passengers to talk to.

On the other hand conversations with my neighbors, when I can find them, often sound like an episode from Golden Girls. Two weeks ago I was hanging out in the lobby when I spotted our building representative. 

“How are you?” I asked.

“Not good,” she answered.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“There were fishies in the washing machine this morning.”

“How did that happen,” I wanted to know.

“Diapers,” she said.

“Really? Adult or baby?”

“Adult. We don’t have any babies here.”

That’s true, I thought to myself. Then I realized we weren’t talking about the same thing. 

I was talking about goldfish. She was talking about feces. Sometimes four-letter words are less confusing.

The same afternoon I met a very nice young man. Well, not really young but certainly not as old as the rest of us.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Not good,” Ron answered. Here we go again, I thought.

“What happened?”

“I lost my dog.”

“How did that happen?” 

You see the pattern here. I was ready to offer compassionate advice about how he might find his lost dog, when his eyes started to water.

“I mean, my dog died.”

We had a good conversation about how much his dog meant to him. Ron recently moved into the building. He walked his dog often and it was his way of meeting people.

“Do you think you can ever get another dog?” I asked, still trying to be helpful. Actually I wasn’t being helpful. I was being stupid but didn’t know what else to say.

“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s much too soon.”

Then… last week, when I was doing my laundry during my Saturday morning 8:00 a.m. appointment time, another very nice young man opened his storage unit and took out a small puppy carrier. I noticed that he shared the storage unit, and presumably his life, with Ron.

“Do you have a new dog?” I asked.

“Yes. We got a puppy yesterday from the animal shelter. It’s a Peek-A-Poo.”

I was elated. Ron was getting a new puppy, after all. 

Yesterday it was obvious that someone’s dog peed in the elevator. Maybe it was a cat? Maybe an incontinent old lady? Maybe it was Ron’s new puppy? I wasn’t upset. I was excited to know that at least one other person still lives here.