Articles by Colleen

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The volunteer hollyhock is over SIX feet tall!

The spent hollyhock flowers make faces at us. Boo!

Native bee house, with at least 30 tubes filled with eggs for next year. Woot!

Also, I don’t recall if I’ve ever shown the shed before. It came with the house, and had a rather ugly peachy-beige paint. We used all of the salvageable boards from the original and very much falling down fence to spruce it up. I love it!

morning shade

rabbitbrush

happy dog…

Volunteer penstemon!

ratbida

 yellow harmony dianthus

first crocosmia blossoms

mallow

Before my Grandpa died, he insisted that we take all of the potentilla bordering his back porch. Rather sadly, this is the only one that survived the move and the severe storms of the past couple of years. The whole of last year, it had ONE green twig. Even though some critter has munched on it, you can imagine my delight that it’s got more green branches than I can count and is blooming! Way to go, Grandpa!

echinacea

red hot poker

With the red birds in a tree, crocosmia, and the poker ramping up, our garden is zooming with hummingbirds!

My favorite person had a birthday. I made his favorite chocolate cake, of course!

Our cousin, fellow D & D party member, and all around wonderful person, Cori (and her family) helped us celebrate.

HUZZAH!

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Good

Find tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stone, and good in everything.

William Shakespeare

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Duck Musubi at Lucky Dumpling

Lunch buffet at our favorite Indian restaurant – Mirch Masala. Second to naan!!

Ingrid’s brood…

neon, always neon…

Time in the garden – it’s really coming along now!

Did someone say walk?

the Platte River

freshly canned cherries!

I am writing this on Wednesday, the second day back from an unexpected staycation. We were originally going to snake a winding route along Western Colorado, with stops in Telluride and Grand Junction, places this native is slightly embarrassed to admit I’ve never been. Both of us were super excited to scale mountains and skim creeks previously unknown to us. Then I blew out my knee while trampolining (kid at heart, right here!) and couldn’t walk. Giant sad face.

I spent a week on the sofa and hobbling around on crutches, as any amount of weight on my leg made it scream. The lesson? Listen to your body! Don’t push to get your money’s worth at the trampoline gym when you already feel satisfied. Rest and enjoy the time you’ve had. I really wish I had done that. Boy howdy.

Ever the optimist mated with yet another, we didn’t really feel it was a loss, save for the annoyance of pain. It was nice to putter around the house, watch scads of gardening and home improvement shows, start and finish projects. We cleaned and organized the shed, which finally enabled us to get our bicycles out of the basement. Then there was a trip to the garden center and the purchase and planting of a dozen more sweet scented lovelies, like dianthus and phlox. Greg built a much needed roof over our wood pile. If you give a good look, it’s in the third picture of the garden and looks great! We’re especially glad to have made it entirely from scrap.

You may be laughing that this was more work than play, but, oh, we did play! We enjoyed whole days lounging in the garden, watching every growing thing, birds and  insects flitting about, sipping mango iced tea. We grilled to keep the house cool and ate out a bit, happy for old favorites and to try new to us Lucky Dumpling, enjoying that gorgeous and yummy duck musubi. Then there was a nice morning at Garden of the Gods, lunch in Manitou Springs, and an evening with our Portland neighbor Ingrid and her brood of five on the Colorado Springs leg of their epic summer vacation.

We also went north to meet two of my nephews and parents for lunch. That was followed by a stroll along the Platte to get Juniper’s wiggles out before heading to Michael and Mary’s for a retirement and 40th Wedding Anniversary celebration. Fun…

And the cherries! My sweet neighbor Judy offered up her fruit laden tree, and I picked almost seven pounds of ruby jewels, watched a movie or two while seeding and stemming, and canned what I hope to be enough for two generous pies. My cup runneth over, peeps, in all aspects, again and again and again…

Speaking

I was going to die, sooner or later, whether or not I had even spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silences will not protect you…. What are the words you do not yet have? What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language.

I began to ask each time: “What’s the worst that could happen to me if I tell this truth?” Unlike women in other countries, our breaking silence is unlikely to have us jailed, “disappeared” or run off the road at night. Our speaking out will irritate some people, get us called bitchy or hypersensitive and disrupt some dinner parties. And then our speaking out will permit other women to speak, until laws are changed and lives are saved and the world is altered forever.

Next time, ask: What’s the worst that will happen? Then push yourself a little further than you dare. Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end.

And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had. And you will lose some friends and lovers, and realize you don’t miss them. And new ones will find you and cherish you. And you will still flirt and paint your nails, dress up and party, because, as I think Emma Goldman said, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.” And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.

Audre Lorde

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Ambrosia

To be effortlessly yourself is a blessing, an ambrosia. It is like a few tiny little puffs of opium which lift you ever so slightly off the hard surface of the world.

Laurie Colwin

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