Category: Colorado Life

For the last few weeks, I’ve written about the Glendale Boys’ support group. What about the Glendale girls? 

As they reached middle school, the girls were just as at-risk as the boys. They, too, needed a support group. The reading teacher, who had known the girls in elementary school, saw the need, stepped in and ran a weekly meeting for them at the community center. This time, I was just an observer.

The Girls Group was,  obviously, different from the Boys Group. For one thing, it was more peaceful. Instead of arguing and fighting, the girls talked, played music and danced. Instead of grabbing whatever we brought to eat, the girls cooked. They were definitely more well-behaved on field trips. 

The goals for both groups were the same: Stay in school and out of trouble. Both groups challenged themselves to do things they thought were impossible. Both groups made a commitment not to have children before they were ready. I hope they kept that promise. I hope they are all doing well.

My favorite Girls Group activity was a game they created called Talk Show. It was modeled after their favorite after-school activity ~ watching Oprah on TV.

At the end of every Girls Group meeting, the leader would say, “We have thirty minutes left. What should we do?”

“Let’s play Talk Show!’ they would shout. Hands went up, eager to volunteer.

April, a beautiful, articulate girl, who had a lot of experience watching talk shows because she often skipped school would almost always be Oprah. Lady was always one of the experts because, as everyone agreed, Lady was an expert on almost everything. 

Liz, a shy girl without many friends, preferred to be a guest. The remaining girls volunteered to be additional guests or experts, depending on how many girls were available. And the show was ready to start.

Chairs were set up in the meeting room. Experts lined up in front, guests seated in back. Oprah would emerge from the hallway, holding her hairbrush like a microphone. The audience would stand, clapping and cheering enthusiastically.

One Talk Show episode still makes me laugh:

Oprah looks over the audience and announces: “Today’s show is about How To Tell If A Boy Really Likes You.” Everyone cheers.

Oprah: “Let’s get started. Liz, do you think it is hard to know if a boy likes you?”

Liz pretends to cry. She sniffles and blows her nose before starting to talk. “I just think nobody would ever like me because I am so shy. If a boy liked me, I’m sure I wouldn’t know it.”

Oprah: “We have to trust our instincts.” The leader and I look at each other, wondering if these girls have any idea what Oprah is talking about. Then she adds “And be true to yourself.” 

Oprah says it is time for a commercial so she can confer with Lady, who has written a book that will be a best seller soon. 

When the action resumes, Lady holds up an old dictionary with the corners torn off. “It’s all right here in this book I just wrote. My book is called, Boys Say And Do The Dumbest Things. Especially When They Like You.” 

By this time, the girls are laughing so hard they can hardly breathe. Oprah tells the hairbrush it is time for another commercial so the audience can pull themselves back together.

“The main thing to remember,” says Lady when the group has her attention again, “is that boys don’t usually have a clue about what to say. So if they say anything at all, it is probably because they like you.”

Then Oprah says, “Lady, I never thought of it like that before. This is really a Light-Bulb. An Ah-Ha Moment for us.” The girls dutifully nod their heads and then roll their eyes.

“You know, I love surprising people and making them happy,” Oprah continues. “So I want everyone to know that you are getting a free copy of Lady’s book to take home with you today.”

The audience claps wildly and files out the door. They can’t wait for next week. 

After a successful camping trip the year before, Julie, Marcie and I decided to try another one. Something new.

We rented a large cabin on top of a hill at the YMCA of the Rockies in Estes Park CO. Marcie and I said “no tents this year” but we were willing to try a family cabin in the woods. We were delighted to find a beautiful cabin in a campsite far away from any neighbors.

The weather was cold, the creeks were flooding and we should have gone back to sleeping in tents! Because we had electricity, a real kitchen, four bedrooms and two bathrooms, the boys thought they were on vacation. They reverted to their at-home behavior and became unbelievably lazy. We learned that the boys worked together only as much as the elements required.

Our first big challenge came when we realized that they had smuggled a small television in one of their suitcases. Instead of being outside enjoying nature, as we had hoped, we found them huddled together in one bedroom watching an afternoon soap opera. We confiscated the contraband TV and listened as they protested, as one loud vocal group, about how unfair it was of us to take away the TV, when they went to all the trouble of sneaking it in. The louder they got, the more we just shook our heads.

The most memorable part of the week, however, had to do with Marquis’ birthday, which fell on the third day of the trip. At first he balked at even coming on the camping trip because. as he said, “I have a life.”

We reminded Marquis that his entire “life,” other than his mother and grandmother, would be in Estes Park that week. And besides, we would make him a cake.

From that moment on, the cake took on a life of its own. What flavor should the cake be? What about the frosting? What size? ~ all decisions of great importance.

On the day of his birthday, I brought Marquis back to Denver in treacherous, pouring rain, for a job interview that was canceled thirty minutes before we got there. By the time we got back to Estes Park, Marquis and I had spent five hours together in my car while the rest of the guys cleaned the cabin, baked his raspberry cake and frosted it with butter cream frosting.

After stuffing ourselves with spaghetti and salad, it was time for the birthday celebration. We sang Happy Birthday and told Marquis to make a wish.

Marquis thought a long time about his important wish. And then he blew out the candles. Through his NOSE! It was so gross. Marquis had seen a similar trick in a movie and couldn’t wait to try it. Needless to say, he killed the cake!

Even though everyone was dying for a piece of Marquis’ birthday cake, very few were brave enough to scrape the top layer of frosting off the cake and eat it. 

Happy Birthday, Marquis, wherever you are. I hope you are doing well. I’m making a wish for you today.

My last years working as a social worker were the best gig ever. I worked part-time for the Cherry Creek School System and part time for the city of Glendale.  I started my day at noon and worked until 8:00 p.m. visiting families and supervising a tutoring program for students. Together with the city recreation direction and the victim’s assistance social worker, we planned social events and ran a support group for teenage boys.

We started the group when the boys were in middle school. Our goals were simple ~ keep them in school and out of trouble. We started with six boys, a mixture of ethnic groups and ages. We later added three more boys, refugees from Ethiopia and Bosnia. The refugees were no problem. The American-born boys were a handful.

In the beginning we bribed the boys with food to come to the support group. They didn’t like each other and they didn’t like our rules ~ things like staying safe and not hurting each other.  Gradually they began to see the value of the group. They learned to trust us and each other. They learned that the group was a safe place to talk about being angry instead of needing to fight.

The boys group stayed together for almost four years. At the end of the first year, the recreation director decided that we should all go camping. In the mountains. In tents.

I’m not a great camper. I much prefer a hotel with a pool. Except for the boys who were refugees, our guys had not spent much time outside the one-square mile, Glendale city limits. I wasn’t convinced this would work but I was willing to try.

Our campsite was on top of a very steep hill at the YMCA of the Rockies, near Winter Park, CO. It was rugged. There were no bathrooms. No showers. No kitchen. The boys had to carry huge containers of water up the hill every day, for hand-washing and cooking. They had to pitch a tent and cook over an open fire. I think we were there for three or four days. As you can imagine, these were not Happy Campers. Most of the time, they were Grumbling Campers. Dissatisfied Campers. Campers Plotting A Revolt. 

We didn’t allow them to use racial slurs against each other. In fact, the penalty for a racial slur was push-ups, in multiples of ten, for every offense. One boy did fifty push-ups before he got the message that we were serious.

I’ll remember a conversation with one of the boys about why we didn’t want to hear him use the n-word. “There is nothing wrong with that word,” he tried to explain to me. “It just means a lazy, useless black man.” 

I was incredulous. “Did you hear what you just said?” I asked him. He never did another push-up in front of me.

When it was time to go to sleep the first night, after an exhausting day of setting up camp, hauling water, and a goodnight campfire, the boys came to tell us three adults that they couldn’t sleep. They heard noises in the woods. They missed their families back home. They asked us if we would please, come and sleep in their tent. 

“Are you sure there is room?” we asked. It was not a very big tent.

“Sure. We’ll make room.”

So we dragged our sleeping bags into their tent and prepared to go to sleep.

One of the boys suggested that everyone say goodnight to each other. One by one, we went around the tent saying, “Good night…Sleep Well…Sweet Dreams…See you in the  morning…” and adding the name of their friend to the list. It was a tender moment in the lives of six boys I will always remember with a smile.

I don’t know where these boys are now. They would be in their early 40’s, probably with children of their own. I believe they all finished high school. I know that some of them went on to get mechanical certifications and college degrees. I pray that none of them got in serious trouble along the way.

Good night, my sweet boys. You will always have a place in my heart, if not in my tent.

First, an update on the Conoravirus  situation in Mexico. Ernesto tells me that the virus outbreak is about two weeks behind the U.S.  Cases are  beginning to be reported as more and more people are tested. People are trying to keep their distance from each other, but it’s difficult. It’s not their nature to be alone.

Concerts, meetings and events have been cancelled. Hospitals are desperate for beds, medical equipment, testing kits, masks and gloves. The country, as whole, is not prepared for what is coming next. Neto, who is caring for his 92 year old mother, is asking people not to visit. His only exercise is walking to the beach to look at the ocean and watch the waves, and then going back home.

Meanwhile, the president of Mexico denies that there is a crisis. He has a reputation as a “people’s president” and continues to hug people and kiss babies on his frequent stops around the country. The governors, however, are more realistic. They have closed borders and beaches. American and Canadian airlines have stopped flights to Mexico and a few tourists are scrambling to get home.

It’s a tough time. That’s why I want to switch things up a bit. To give you a diversion from the everyday grim news. To give you a reason to smile and feel hopeful. 

I’m happy to report that the Boulder osprey pair are back on their nest, high in the sky. You should see them! They are wonderful, majestic birds. I’ve watched this couple for the past four years. Now I watch them every day. You can watch, too, at www.bouldercounty.org/open space/management/osprey-camera

I love the osprey, especially these two. They’ve been together since at least 2012. They meet back here every year, flying in from different migratory areas. We don’t know where they’ve been or what they’ve been up to. I like to think they go to Mexico ~ maybe one is in Mazatlán, and the other is in Cabo. Or maybe they stay in the U.S. ~ one of them in Alabama and the other in New Orleans. I believe they smile when they see each other again.

Every year suspense builds as we don’t know when, or even if, they will return. This week both osprey returned within 24 hours of each other and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

Next there will be mating. And more mating. And more mating. If your children are ready for the birds-and bees talk, this is a perfect opportunity. After weeks of getting reacquainted (Ahem!) at last the eggs are laid. That, too, is must-see-TV. Sometimes the mother lays as many as four eggs, or as few as two, over three or four days. 

And then, the long wait until the eggs hatch. The mother sits on the nest for a long time (about thirty-eight days) in all kinds of Colorado weather ~ often rain, snow and violent winds. Meanwhile, the father brings fish to keep her warm and satisfied. Occasionally he gives her a break. He sits on the eggs while she flies over Boulder Creek, stretching her wings and looking for trash to bring back to decorate the nest.

The season follows with lots of real-life drama. The chicks hatch. The parents feed live fish into their tiny mouth until they learn to feed themselves. They grow bigger every day and then they fly. Fly! For the first time! That moment takes my breath away every year. Finally, at the end of the summer, they fly away for the last time, to parts unknown. I whisper, “God-speed, little birds. I wish you a long life with abundant fish and clean, clear waters.”

During, this hard time, remember the birds and the other animals that make our world a beautiful place. Hopefully, we will be stronger when this is over, more caring for each other and for our planet. Let’s practice kindness and compassion. Like the osprey, let’s make our homes a refuge, a place to re-connect. A place that makes us smile.

This week I learned that I cannot post anything on this blog that will eventually be part of my book, A Citizen of the World. Oops!! It has to do with publishing rights, something I know nothing about. Here goes another trek up the learning curve. Where are the sherpas when I need them?

So I need to broaden the scope of this blog. I will still tell you stories about Ernesto’s life and my adventures living in Mexico, but I will also include entries about whatever is on my mind for the current week.

This being Thanksgiving weekend, I’m especially thankful for some of the whacky and wonderful things that make me laugh in this season of cold, dark days. 

I’m thankful for the Canadian geese that have overtaken Denver by the thousands. I know they poop everywhere. That’s not cool. But they also make me laugh out loud. They stroll through the parks. They stop traffic as they cross the street. They sit down on the golf courses causing the golfers to play around them. Honking at them and chasing them does no good. They are an organized, if somewhat inept, bunch ~ following their leader no matter where he takes them. (I could digress into political analogies, but I won’t this time.) 

I’m thankful for all the birds that sit on the telephone wires. They, too, make me laugh. They sit there for hours, not making a sound. They don’t sing or squawk. They just sit there, quietly observing traffic, meditating and thinking their bird-thoughts as we frantically hurry to our next destination.

I’m thankful for Elf on the Shelf. Last Sunday my grandsons came to decorate my house for Christmas for the 8th year in a row. It is my favorite holiday tradition. The boys (now young men) have Christmas decorating down to a science. The whole house is done in about 20 minutes. At this rate, they could hire themselves out. It’s a lot easier than shoveling snow. 

This year, during the decorating bonanza, I asked if Elf on the Shelf was going to appear again. Max told me “No, that guy is creepy!” I don’t agree. I find Elf to be a charming spy. I like the way he changes clothes and shows up in different places around the house. I remember one year when Max was younger, he worried because Elf on the Shelf sat on their kitchen counter all year. Max figured he could be a good boy from Thanksgiving until Christmas, but expecting him to behave for an entire year was too much. No wonder he considers Elf a little creepy. 

And speaking of shoveling show, I am thankful for the day laborers, all of them from Mexico, who shovel snow throughout my HOA community. Last week, after a huge snowstorm, the men shoveled all day ~ from early morning until well past sunset. They laughed and talked to each other in Spanish until all the steps and sidewalks were cleared. They were unstoppable. I am grateful for them. They, too, make me smile.