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Here, in Western Colorado, we don’t have many pallid November days. After all, our terrain is defined as a “high-country desert.” We are known for our sunshine, glorious red-rocked mountains, and fertile soil when irrigated. Yet, it is a place where my soul usually soars.

But, I must tell it like it is. After all, that is the reason I started writing this blog almost ten years ago. I did not want to gloss over, make pretty, be seen and not heard, my feelings as a lady of a certain age. Although my mother, who died before she became a lady of a certain age, I’m sure would disapprove,  I can still hear her say, “Be nice!”  By that, she meant don’t speak your feelings, don’t ruffle anyone’s feathers, or embarrass me.  

I have been pondering pensively on many pallid days for about a month. Cold, and some snow arrived in October. (Thank goodness the snow melted in a couple of hours. I don’t like the stuff which belongs in the mountains.)

Generally, I enjoy the creativity of my neighbors’ Halloween decorations. But, when one of them put up a whole graveyard replete with lots of dangling moss, I was repulsed. Does she not have any respect for the dead? Usually, I delight in seeing another neighbor’s amber-colored pick-up with the skeleton behind the wheel. He is a young man with a young family. I can feel his delight at this time of year. But, unfortunately, the truck did nothing for me this year as my dog, and I walked past it. And, then, there was the most clever decoration of a new neighbor. A skeleton’s arms, legs, and head jutted out of a mound of dirt. An artificial red flower was stuck near the top of the head. Good grief! Did they have to be so realistic?

It occurred to me that this year I had only put a pumpkin on a bench by my front door and hung a simple fall decoration on it. So my poor jack- o’ lanterns are still in storage, along with the ghosts and witches.  

Then, I got an email from one of my high school class of 1965 classmates. I read her name and exclaimed, “Oh, no!” She is the one who keeps us informed of our classmates’ deaths. Sure enough, a man I used to sit next to or nearby in our classes (because both of our last names begin with W) had passed. I remembered him as a sturdy honorable boy with blond hair.

I made a cup of coffee and pondered pensively about what was going on with me. Yep, all the ugly news of our time—war, hunger, homelessness, natural disasters caused by climate change, and holy moly, all the political ugliness had wilted my spirit. So often, lately, I have felt hopeless and helpless. I wondered how four friends seemed to live with vim and vibe. After all, one has long covid, another had a breast cancer reoccurrence,  one is a kidney-transplant survivor, and the last had a devastating stroke last December.  

I greatly admire all of these women. However, I also admonished myself not to put myself down for not feeling like dancing. This is where honesty comes in. I remembered the saying, “Don’t compare your insides to someone else’s outsides.”  

Well, dear reader, I don’t want to leave you feeling hopeless and helpless! However, I realized over that coffee that I had the tools to feel better. These included:  first of all, recognizing and stating how I am feeling and why; second, using the statement, “stop, look and listen,” because when I do, what surrounds me is wonderful; third, grabbing my dog’s leash and taking her for a walk; fourth, listening to music; fifth, making wonderful warm soup; enjoying the comfort of a cat jumping on my lap and giving me kisses; and fifth, using a little slogan that helped so many people shortly before I was born in 1947, “Be calm and carry on!”

Copyright – Elizabeth J. Wheeler, October 29, 2022

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