Thank you, por todo

“Thank you! Thank you! Por todo! Por todo!”

The little man scurried in and out of the crowd of men that surrounded him, saying these words over and over again. Each man nodded in acknowledgement, as they shook each other’s hands. One turned to put the tow rope back in his trunk. Another kicked the small tree limbs to the side of the road, so vehicles could once again pass by.

We happened upon the scene just as it was unfolding. As we rounded a hairpin turn, on the mountain road we’d chosen to explore in our new home state of Colorado, we saw a commotion. Two small SUVs were parked on the right shoulder of the road. They were only half off the road, since the shoulder dropped off to a steep cliff. Huddled in front, between, and behind the vehicles was an assortment of dark skinned women and young children, all dressed in their holiday clothes, since it was Christmas Day.

On the left side of the road was the problem. A group of well dressed young men, in their shiny best shoes, surrounded a small truck, that had fallen off the side of the road, into a deep snow bank. Behind the wheel of the truck was a tiny, elderly Hispanic man. It was not clear which people knew each other, and who had just stopped to be good Samaritans. But it was immediately apparent that few of them spoke English.

We stopped, of course, because our vehicle contained three strong men, who could contribute to the rescue operation. One was my husband, who always seems to be the one to step up when someone needs rescuing, and the other two were my tall teen sons, whose characters are very similar to their dads. They eagerly jumped from our truck and hurried over to the action.

What followed was a series of tries, pushing and pulling that little truck, trying to release it from the grip of a greedy snow bank. With every attempt, it seemed to become more lodged into place. My sons, not understanding most of what the other men were saying, gestured and nodded, as they thought of new ideas, and followed the pantomimed instructions of the people around them. At one point my oldest son decided to hike a bit up the side of the hill, to retrieve some branches to use for traction. The snow bank that had the little truck trapped was thrilled to grab my boy’s legs, and when he sunk up to the top of his thigh with his second step, there were hearty laughs all around, no translation needed.

For almost an hour the effort continued. A group of people, pulled together in a common mission, in the middle of a sunny holiday afternoon. Finally, a truck came around the corner, that had another willing helper, but this time one who owned a tow rope. Our big Suburban had been no help, when there was no way to tie it to the little truck. Within minutes the two vehicles were attached and with one big thrust, the tiny truck was dislodged.

In the middle of the road, finally free from his bondage, the small Hispanic man jumped out of the truck and eagerly thanked the crowd around him. Most of them barely acknowledged his words. Men who choose to be silent heroes are generally not the accolade type. They were just content to pack up their gear and be on their way.

But their effort meant the world to one small man, who only spoke broken English. “Thank you! Por todo! Thank you! Por todo!” It was all he could say.

And I came away from the scene with just as much gratitude. We have tried to raise our children to be open and accepting of all people, no matter the color of their skin or the size of their wallet. For my fifteen year old, who rarely sees the value of his tedious Spanish classes, it was a lesson in how very valuable having language skills can be. And for my maturing teen boys, who both walked away feeling two feet taller that day, it was a great reminder that we’re all put on this earth to help each other out. Even if we don’t share a common language.

Someone needs help. You help them. And it feels good to everyone who comes out the other side.

To the precious little Hispanic man, who was so very grateful for the kindness of strangers, I have a message for you too. Thank you for giving my boys an opportunity to open their hearts on a sunny Christmas day. It’s a memory I know they will carry with them for a very long time. So gracias, for everything.

Thank you, por todo.


.

Home

Home.

It’s a small word. Non assuming. Just four little letters that every kindergartener knows. So simple, and yet it has the potential to make me weep.

I’ll never forget the first time I heard a song by this name, sung by an adorable artist named Michael Buble. Its lyrics cut through my soul and immediately emptied out the reservoir of tears I hold in my heart.

May be surrounded by
A million people, I
Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home
I miss you, you know.

The first time I heard it, and it’s achingly beautiful tone and melody, I cried for my mom. For almost two decades she was my home. And I miss her, so desperately. She left the planet when I was in my mid 20’s- a new wife, a new mom, a brand new adult. I had planned to know her in a new way, and a sudden stroke took her from me.

With her loss came a loss of home. She was the glue that kept our family together. She’d organized our huge household for decades, and she put the magic in every holiday. I instantly felt at home, with every greeting that met me at her front door. I can still hear her voice, calling out in pure joy, as I’d come home from college. “Ju - deeeee! My Judy’s home!”

They’re three simple words I miss, as much as I miss the home base she embodied.

I envy my friends, who still have their parents, and because of it, their home bases. My dad remarried an amazing woman, who keeps him healthy and happy. But their home together is a place I visit, not a home I return to.

Let me go home
I’m just too far
From where you are
I wanna come home

And so I was forced to move on, and create my own sense of home. For the past decade and a half I’ve thrown myself into making a nest that my children can feel safe in. We’ve changed houses, moved from state to state, but my first priority, even before the moving truck shows up, is making my children feel at home. I want them to remember how my voice was filled with adoration as each one of them walked in the door, whether their bedrooms were unpacked yet or not.

Home. It sometimes takes a while. In our Utah house, the newest house we’ve ever owned, we were settled in quickly. Surrounded by a street full of friendly families, we felt very at home, in a few short months.

Then we bought our fixer upper in New York. It took several years to feel like we belonged there, as we tore down walls, sanded sheetrock, and built a new kitchen from the ground up. All four kids were in school, from kindergarten to ninth grade, and life got crazy. There was little time to do the things that make someone feel like they’re home. Many holidays came and went, and as we built new traditions, surrounded by those specific walls, home started to grow on us.

And here we are again. The New York house now has a new family creating their own memories surrounded by its renovated walls. Our furniture has been cleared out and moved to storage. Our pictures no longer hang on the walls. The only hint that we once lived there is the growth chart scratched in the dining room trim board. It snakes up the wall, a reminder of all the growth that took place there.

Another airplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky I know
But I wanna go home
Mmm, I got to go home

Home. It’s time to find it again. We’re in a new state, a place that we love, but we still feel like visitors. The skiing is great. The views are amazing. But we don’t feel like we’re home yet. It doesn’t help that we’re stuck in a very small condo, the six of us trying to make do until better arrangements can be made. We were sucked dry by the New York house sale, financially, and it just might make sense to stay put, in this lower cost living situation, as we try to recover. But we’ve already been here since August, and we are all ready to move out, move on, to find our new nest.

Another winter day
Has come and gone away
In even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home
Just let me go home

We’re still crunching the numbers. Technically we could go ahead and find the rental house we’ll call home, until we recover all the equity we lost in the house sale. But the bite it will take out of our monthly budget could be used, at least for now, to pay down the debts we owe from our nightmare year of 2011. It’s a hard decision to make. Move into a more home-like place, and be in debt forever, or make this arrangement work, and get on top of the finances faster.

We all crave home. I crave it when I’m reminded of things my mother is missing, with every year that my children change and grow. But I also miss it, as my children do, when it applies to our everyday surroundings. Having a place that feels like ‘your own’. Having somewhere that you can let your hair down at the end of a hard day. Having somewhere that’s filled with people who know you well, but love you anyway.

This week we’ll decide. Either we’ll extend our contract on this small condo or we’ll find a more permanent rental house in town. Both decisions come with big implications. But I’m telling you this - if we decide to stay in this place, this lovely small space that has always felt temporary to me, there will have to be some changes made. We will use a bit of money to tweak this place, to personalize it, to turn it into a place that isn’t just a safe place to sleep and eat.

We need, we crave, something that feels like home.

Real Christmas Joy

I write this post, not to brag about its outcome, or to complain about its frustrations. I write it so I can remember.

Christmas 2011 was a very unusual holiday, to say the least. We’ve celebrated in many different houses, and in many different states. We’ve done the Santa thing so many years they all seem to blur together. We’ve never had a lot of money, but somehow it came together every year. That is, until this year.



This year we were more than lean. For the past six months we’ve been supporting two households, in two different states, while we waited for our NY house to sell. Our family’s been broken up, put back together in sections, then hung out to dry. We’ve been living in a tiny temporary condo, until we could figure out what was going to happen with the empty house we owned back East. Every penny we’ve taken in has gone out to some immediate need.



I saw the holiday approaching and had to give myself some quick pep talks. The kids are older, they’ll understand. This is a good life lesson for them. Sometimes crap happens in life and you push forward and make the best of it. It doesn’t mean life’s over, just postponed for a bit. It doesn’t take much money to just be together and make new memories.

We have all of the things that matter most - good health, loving extended families, a roof over our head, grocery money when the cupboards are bare, and a tight knit family who knows how to rally together when times get hard.

My daughter and I swung by the thrift store to get a small artificial tree (all of our holiday decorations are with our ‘stuff’ , in a moving company storage unit). While we were there, we picked up a few games and puzzles for our youngest family member, who, at 11, still needed something under a tree. We strung up some cheap lights and wrapped some garland around the back of the futon. Bring on the holiday!

We swung over to Utah to pick up my college son, one of my best gifts of the season. It felt so good to have all my chickens back in the nest. All six of us squeezed into our limited living space, but I heard very few complaints.

My kids all seemed to be enjoying each other and trying their best to give everyone the space they needed. No one argued when, at the family meeting, I announced that not only would there be no ‘real’ gifts under the tree, but that each of them would have one bath towel for the time being. (It’s the only way to keep my laundry under control and make sure I am not met with a pile of wet towels after every morning’s shower routine). No one complained that sleeping arrangements were going to be ‘snug’, at best. They just jumped in and did what had to be done, to get through the following weeks.

Christmas Eve came and we all looked at each other, thinking, “What do we do now?”

The only answer was to get out of the house. We piled in the car and drove down to a local pub. While jazzy Christmas carols played overhead, we had the pool tables all to ourselves. The pizza was hot and good, the friendly banter between my children was relaxed and comfortable.



I looked around and realized we’d raised some pretty great people. Two of ours are officially adults. So much of the time I can only see the ways I've failed them through the years. On Christmas Eve I had to step back and see them in a different light. They’re nice people. Kind and helpful to not only their friends, but their younger siblings too (most of the time). They are fun to be around and are going to find their way in the world, mistakes and all, in the years to come.



We came home, watched some Christmas clips on Hulu, then called it a night.

The next morning didn’t feel at all like Christmas. No little children rushing to wake us up, excited to see what Santa had left. But instead I found a note on the kitchen table. Next to the cookies and milk that were left out the night before by our way-too-old-for-Santa 11 year old, was a sign that said “Don’t Stop Believin’”. It didn’t take much asking around to figure out which of his older siblings took the Santa bites from the cookies and took the time to write the note.



Then, as we sat around the thrift store tree, so my youngest could unwrap his few token gifts, I noticed presents for the older kids, as well as my husband and myself. My 15 year old was grinning from ear to ear. He’d felt bad that there were so few gifts under the tree, so he’d taken the liberty to wrap up some things from around the house, silly gifts, so that everyone had something to unwrap.

Laughter filled our little condo as we took turns unwrapping our special gifts. My husband couldn’t imagine what could be in his small present, which sounded like rice when he shook the box. It was the box of matches from the kitchen. My oldest son couldn’t help but grin as he unwrapped his one (not two) flip flop. Little guy was very surprised to watch his older sister unwrap ‘her’ gift, which happened to be his ipod. My son whose name means laughter came through again, and made a pretty empty holiday feel rich and full once again.



An hour later all three of my boys were at the kitchen table, playing a board game we’d picked up for my little guy at the thrift store. Even when they figured out that it only had three of the dozens of pieces it needed, they came up with their own rules and played a few rounds.



After that, they set up the little guy’s simple hot wheels track set and had races down the long orange track, to see who could make their car jump and crash into our homemade gingerbread houses. Later they came up with variations to this game, hiding out in their one shared bedroom for hours.



Instead of concentrating on what we didn’t have, we all made do with what we do have. We don’t have much counter space, so we cooked a store bought lasagna and had a yummy non-traditional holiday meal. We don’t have TV service, so we pulled up holiday specials on Hulu. We don’t have room to spread out and have our own space as the afternoon wore on, so took advantage of what we do have - amazing scenery right outside our window. We all piled in the car and took some beautiful drives down snowy country roads.



Along a winding road we came across a family stuck in the ditch. My big strong teen age sons took great pride in jumping in to help dig through snow banks to find logs for traction, then anchoring their weight behind the vehicle, with every attempt to dislodge it. Somewhere on the outskirts of Golden we found an empty parking lot full of wet, slushy snow, and my boys took turns learning how to do the perfect donut with the family Suburban. There were many smiles that day.



It wasn’t the holiday I’d have dreamed of. There was very little Martha Stewart could have lived with. But it was special, so special to his mom who has tried so hard every year, to make it as fun as possible for her kids. For once, they turned the tables and gave back the gift of celebrating. They showed me, the one who usually farms out the pep talks, what the holiday is all about.

It’s about just relaxing and enjoying the people you love. It’s about finding fun in every day, from wrapping up one of your brother’s flip flops, to finding a way to make a board game with few pieces actually work. They were the gift I wanted. To be surrounded by these four people I love so much and their dad, my best friend. But surprise! I ended up with so much more.

Giving Thanks Week

Finally, finally, finally, he came HOME! After dropping him off at his dorm in Utah, way back in the middle of August, I've missed my oldest boy every day and couldn't wait to hug him again. Finally he arrived to join his pack of brothers. (I can't wait to get their big sister in this picture...)


He's been out-grown by one younger brother,and the odds say the little one will tower over him in a few years too. He doesn't mind though. Pilots need to be small statured (or so he tells me.)




We had a fantastic long weekend...full of a wide variety of activities. We had a wonderful, simple Thanksgiving meal, and were joined by a college friend from New York. She took Meredith's spot, until my girl is back with us.



Isaac got a lot of practice driving in, trying out his new permit on many Colorado highways and back roads. This is one time when I'm happy to let Jeff call "shotgun!"





Sam and I did some old fashioned coloring. I colored flowers and lighthouses. He colored Halo video game characters. Great mother/son bonding time, either way.





We spent a huge chunk of time showing Michael all the bike parks we've discovered in the area. He was as pleased and excited as we thought he'd be. He's ready to get back for Christmas break, so he can perfect his BMX skills and catch up with little brothers.




There were a few video games played, by 'everyone' in the family except me. I still don't have a clue how to use a controller. But none of them can use a sewing machine, so hey, we're even.





We made great use of the new couch/futon we were given by an old friend in Boulder, who was doing some house decluttering. It's changed the way we live, finally having a couch. And Michael sure enjoyed not sleeping on the floor. The advantage was his, since our mattresses are still on the floor, within easy access to lonely cats and dogs who love to 'snuggle/suffocate' in the night.



We played a few fun rounds of board games. This night of Settlers I actually won. The only one at the table who really has no competitive bone in her body and usually just plays to put more players on the board. I have to admit - it was kind of fun to be the victor for once!
We also played a few rounds of The Awkward Family Photos board game. That's always good for a few laughs, although my witty Isaac seems to win every single time with his quick, hilarious answers.






I seem to remember that getting filled up with homemade cookies and buying new clothes are the two main reasons to come home from college, so we ended up in the Target Men's Department, where everyone found a few new treasures. Isaac just loves trying silly things on to make us laugh. It works.







Oh, did I mention we hit a few bike parks? As in about 12 hours total, throughout the weekend. The more time we spent there, the higher their jumps got. This is my little one, soaring through the air with no fear. He gets that from his dad's side apparently.






This little guy counted down the hours until big brother got home. He rarely left his side, and only sobbed for half the morning, when it was time to take big brother back to the airport.





A rare moment when I was able to convince them to stop long enough for me to take a picture. This seems to be their 'natural habitat', where they thrive the best.




And then it was time to visit DIA and let my boy go again. We watched him all the way through security, from our perch on the level above. Then he gave us one last wave before he disappeared down the escalator that leads to the gates. The weekend went by way too quickly. But it was a good trial run, for the four weeks we'll spend in December, when he is back, his sister is finally here, and there are SIX of us living in this cozy condo.

I'm off this week to meet a moving truck in New York, and reclaim all of our personal possessions. Correction: I get to see our personal possessions, as they are being loaded into a moving truck and hauled off to storage for three months. But slowly, slowly we are moving away from NY and placing our roots in Colorado. We've never taken this long to make the break before but the crappy NY housing market took a huge bite out of us.

I look forward to another week of adventure, finally reuniting with my girl back in NY, and having a long drive across the country together as she arrives at her new home state.

Time Marches On

Our sparse furnishings for the past few months, including Sam's minimal birthday celebration.


Getting geared up for a couch to go where the table is now. It almost feels like a home.


(This is NOT the couch we picked, but I love this shot of my 'good sport' husband.)


It’s time to reorganize. I feel like I say that about every six months, as life circumstances change, but this time I really and truly mean it. The calendar is bearing down on me and I need to be ready.

Thanksgiving is two weeks from tomorrow. That’s the day my life goes into hyper drive. Either by train or plane, my college boy will be returning home from school, and I’ll get to hug him for the first time in three months. We’ll also be welcoming another visitor to our feast table. One of Michael’s best friends in NY has a sister who attends college in Denver and cannot get home for this holiday. So she’s joining our family. It’s a tradition my mom upheld through my childhood and I’m pleased to pass on.

So that weekend will be a blur of cooking in our tiny kitchen, serving meals on fancy paper plates, cleaning up as we joke around, and then lots and lots of board games. It will be over in the blink of an eye, I know.

Then as soon as Michael steps on that train platform, or boards that plane, I will be packing for my own trip. The last day of November, the day after my 45th birthday, I’ll be flying back to New York. For one long weekend my daughter and I will do one last purge, weeding out any item that’s not worth hauling out to CO. More loads to the dump, as trash, and to use their wonderful ‘free pile’.

Then Monday morning the packers arrive. For two days they will pack and box up all our belongings. I will have carefully kept out any items we might be needing in the next six months (that will fit in Meredith’s car) since all of our stuff will be going to storage until late spring. I’m trying to remember that ‘more Legos’ are high on that priority list.

Wednesday of that week the truck will be loaded and drive out of our driveway with all our worldly belongings. Meredith and I will spend a day getting the house ‘broom clean’ and then we set off on our own cross country drive together.

It will be the fourth time I’ve made that 2000 mile drive in the past nine months. I know it well now. This time we’ll hopefully have time to stop by to see some of my family, as we pass through Missouri.

Two days after we get back to CO, we load up the new Suburban and head to Utah. It will be time for Michael’s winter break. It will be our first ‘all family’ trip in years. I can’t tell you how excited I am for those moments. We travel well together, and I know the kids will feel like ‘kings’ in our new, bigger vehicle.

(Isaac already admitted that every time he gets in the Suburban he feels like it’s a rental car…it’s just too nice to be ours!)

When we arrive back in Colorado, two weeks before Christmas, we will figure out how six of us are going to fit in this space that has barely fit the four of us for the past few months. That’s where my schedule right now is affected.

I’m the mom. I will be the one who will pull off this feat, of having six very tall, independent people, living (and eating!) in 800 square of living space (with a dog and a cat). Bed space alone is a hurdle I’ve been brainstorming about for weeks.

I have to solve these problems now, because once Thanksgiving hits, my schedule is full and I don’t come up for air until the moment we pull into the condo parking lot in December, with six people unloading their stuff.

I am not even allowing myself to think about the fact that at the end of that journey Christmas will be a few weeks away and again, as the mom, I will have things prepared for that too. It’s always a trick, in the new house, to figure out how the holiday ‘goes’, and this year will be even trickier than most.

We’ve always known we would be getting a new sofa in Colorado. We dream of a large sectional, that we all could fit on to watch movies. We’ve never had that. We lived with my childhood, fifty year old couch, for every year of my kids’ upbringing. It’s time to get a couch that works for us.

But knowing we’ll be in this condo for at least six more months, a huge sectional is not going to work. So we need a temporary couch. One we can sit on to watch movies (we don’t have cable at the condo) that will also work for the person who didn’t get one of the sacred mattresses.

Right now we’ve had only a thrift store kitchen table. On one end we eat meals and on the other end we have our mini office set up. I live by the computer so it was high on the priority list to get an office set up. We also watch our few favorite TV shows on Hulu, so our computer monitor has become our TV screen.

This set up will not work for six people. For one thing, there’s just nowhere to sit down. Right now we either sit on straight back kitchen chairs to watch computer/TV or recline on the mattresses on the floor to read a book. We really, really, really need more (comfortable) seating, especially if this place is going to stop feeling like ‘temporary living’ and start feeling like a home.

Last weekend, we left the sports bar after my Seahawks (again) lost their game, and headed to the furniture store. While the boys hung out at the bike park for hours on end, Jeff and I sat on three bazillion sofas.

We didn’t want to spend a lot. This will be the ‘extra’ sofa, once we get the big sectional sometime next year. But it needs to be comfortable and it needs to be long. All of my kids, with the exception, for now, of the 11 year old, are five foot ten and taller. We need a couch that could accommodate a tall person stretching out for the night.

We finally found it. It was the longest one we found, fit the budget, and is comfortable to sit on as well. It will work great for our red box movie nights and also for the sleeping accommodations we’ll need for the month of December.

So the computer had to come off of the kitchen table and I had to make the living room work as a living room. Once again, the Habitat for Humanity Resale store saved the day. We’ve shopped at them in every state we’ve lived. We’ve always found treasures at great prices. It’s a fun way to feel like you’re ‘recycling’.

Yesterday I popped into our local branch and found a great TV stand and a small, perfect computer desk, then paid 30 bucks for the both of them. The computer desk even came with a rolling chair. Bonus!

Last night we moved the computer to its new home, and moved the TV out of the boys room. The kitchen table got cleared off, wiped down, and moved to the center of the room. For now we’ll still sit around it to watch our Hulu shows, but next week, when the sofa comes, we will officially move it to the small dining area. And if all goes according to plan, this place just might finally feel like a home.

The two older kids will never know how this condo felt for the past few months, when it was just the four of us, getting by on what we could find at thrift stores (while all our favorite furniture sits in a big vacant house in NY). But it was a bonding time for Jeff and me, and the two boys we now have in our immediate, day to day family. We’ve been carving out our new life in Colorado, and this small, nearly empty condo has been our home base. It’s worked. It’s safe and warm and clean.

But in just over a month, it will be brimming with a huge family. And we’ll find a whole different life, as we all learn to live together again, in this new space. I just hope all my planning, all my work in the past few weeks, comes together.

And for each one of my kids, this place feels like home.

Life and Lemons

One of the tricky parts of moving to a new state is holidays. There’s the expected glitches, like trying to figure out where the tree should go in the new house when Christmas rolls around (in front of the window or in the corner out of the way?...) And there’s the new arrangements to be made, as some relatives are now too far away to visit on Thanksgiving and yet some are, for the first time, close enough.

For my kids, one of the most important holidays to figure out, way ahead of time, is Halloween. Every region of the country, every town, every neighborhood, has their own way of doing things on this all important kid holiday. You must figure out where everyone goes to ring the doorbells, if your own neighborhood is not conducive. You must pay attention to flyers on the grocery store bulletin boards and ads in the local papers, or you might miss the big community celebration just down the block.

When we lived near Washington D.C., our small street didn’t really participate in the trick or treating tradition. Instead we joined a family who lived nearby, and drove the kids to the nursing home, where the other family’s grandmother lived. The facility had set up stations where the residents could hand out treats to the children who showed up. Our kids got a bag full of candy, and a whole bunch of senior citizens had a ball, oohing and ahhing over all the clever costumes.

This Halloween found us as new residents in a mountain town in Colorado. We still have one child in elementary school so it was my job to figure out the system here. I happened to luck out when one of the room moms from my son’s class emailed about donations for the class Halloween party. I offered up some paper plates and napkins, then proceeded to pick her brain. If you can’t trust a room mom to tell you the scoop, who can you trust?

She informed me that all the parents show up at school to watch the all school costume parade, then they all file down to their classrooms for the parties. After that, everyone heads to our tiny downtown, where all the local businesses hand out candy and the lines of dressed up children becomes something like a second costume parade.
For round three, there were certain neighborhoods where you could hit the most houses, while climbing the fewest amount of hills. Much of our town’s population lives on remote, winding mountain roads. To snag a somewhat compact neighborhood, with plenty of porch lights on, was a gift.

Armed with that information, Sam was ready for his big day. But I still had another child to think about. Fifteen year old Isaac.

Isaac’s at that really hard age when you mostly want to be seen as a grown up, but on a few key days of the year it would be nice to be little again. Birthdays and Christmas are harder when your list doesn’t include half of the JC Penney toy catalog. The only fun things you can think of usually cost more than your parents are willing to spend.

Halloween becomes a problem too. Who doesn’t like free candy? But the ability to get grub for free depends on dressing up in a costume and ringing doorbells, right next to toddlers in teddy bear outfits. The scene is further complicated if you’re the new kid in town and risk social torture if you’re seen out fraternizing with those lowly elementary aged losers. This was where Isaac found himself last night.

He came up with a fantastic costume. He wore a plain white shirt with the word ‘LIFE’ across the front, and he carried a bowl of lemons. He was ‘Life, handing you lemons’. It’s pretty appropriate for our family this year, as we’ve hit many snags in our effort to move across the country.

There was no way he was lowering himself to go door to door with his little brother. Even worse would be heading out alone. His friends had been non-committal when he’d asked around at school. So he was stuck with me. He was stuck sitting by the front door of our condo unit, waiting for little kids to knock.

He was a pretty good sport about it, especially considering I told him I’d give him the leftover candy, if he helped me hand it out. We watched skits from Saturday Night Live on Hulu while we waited to hear footsteps on our stairs outside.

Then the heavens opened and his night turned around. He opened the door to find one of his best friends from school standing there, with his little brother. One was a ninja, one was a banana. I’ll let you guess which costume belonged to the cool high schooler.

With one friendly, “Hey Isaac, wanna come with us?”, my boy was gone.

He gathered his lemons, threw on a jacket, and was out the door in a flash. An hour later he came back, with a pillow case half full of candy, grinning from ear to ear. No sour lemons here.

We survived. Another Halloween of firsts and we got it worked out. I bought way too much candy, after being told by a neighbor that our condo unit usually had lots of kids show up. But it worked out well, when I overheard our downstairs neighbor tell some costumed kids she had run out. It was nice to be able to share my loot with these people we share so many walls with.

Isaac survived another transition into the world of big kids. Next year he’ll have his license and the whole story will change again. But we won’t be ‘new’ anymore. We’ll be experienced, with one good year under our belt.

Isaac had such a good time this year he’s already talking about next year’s costume. I haven’t been listening closely but it has something to do with stuffed animals hanging from an umbrella. My clever boy is scheming and dreaming and may show up on our neighbor’s doorsteps dressed as the phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’.

Or he may just be too cool to trick or treat at all.

We’ll just have to wait and see.

Born to Play

The tiny homecoming parade was over, so Jeff and I wandered the short strip of stores that line the downtown stretch of Evergreen Colorado. We found stores full of nuts, pastries, original art, and funky clothes. I made several mental notes, ideas for holiday gift purchases next month.

Then we headed back up the uneven wooden walkway that constitutes a sidewalk in our town. Out of habit we popped our heads in the open doorway of a magical place called Little Bear. It’s a two story wooden structure, that shows the wear and tear of decades of lively nights and raucous fun. From the outside it looks like an old fashioned tavern from the wild, wild west. But inside it’s very obviously not a place set up as a cheesy tourist trap.

This place is authentic tavern. It’s a genuine bar, the kind that never seems out of style because it’s just there. It’s there and it’s been there, for more years than I’ve been alive. The stairs that lead up to the pool hall room and upper outdoor balcony are wooden, and literally have dips in the centers of them, where hundreds of thousands of feet have made their mark.

Little Bear is special to us because we stopped here one day, when we were house hunting in the area last spring. We had no idea where we’d be living, when autumn rolled around, and at the time it was just a unique place to grab some lunch.

We cruised through house listings on our phones as we munched on burgers and fries. The kids loved scouting the old battered license plates that lined the walls, looking for places we’ve lived. We all got a laugh out of the wild assortment of women’s bras that hung haphazardly from the ceiling over the small wooden stage.

We were told by the lone waiter/bartender/cook that Little Bear had basically been there forever. Their easy, relaxed atmosphere, and guaranteed live music on many days of the week, meant they were rarely empty in the evenings. We agreed that we’d be back, and moved on with our search for a place to call home.

And sure enough, we ended up in a condo just two miles down the road from Little Bear. And last night we found ourselves once again pulled up to a table. But this time it was a different atmosphere. The quietness of lunch time had given way to a small, but lively crowd, who were all bobbing their heads and tapping their feet to the music of the live band that graced the stage.

We sat down at a table and ordered drinks. It didn’t take long to realize that we’d be staying a bit, as the band was really and truly entertaining, so we ordered a small pizza. Then we sat back and soaked it in.

The guys on stage were a hodge podge of ages, mostly my age or older. But they knew how to play. There was no doubt about that. I’m not a musician, but I’m mesmerized by people who are. It’s a skill I respect because I can’t do it. As the guys rocked out to classic songs from the 60s and 70s I took turns watching each musician individually.

And they were all good. Really good. On their own. It amazed me. The keyboard guy’s fingers danced over the keys with perfect precision and amazing creativity. The drummer seemed to be in his own world, beating out the exact right rhythms that each song needed. The bass player and guitarist also seemed to have magical fingers, moving up and down the necks of their instruments with perfect accuracy.

And the lead singer. Let me tell you, this guy loved being on stage, loved being surrounded by these guys he genuinely seemed to care about, and loved putting everything he had into every song they did. From rock and roll to the blues, he swayed, danced, sang and grinned. They were all, as a unit, a joy to watch.

It reminded me of a song the Bacon Brothers Band wrote, called Not Born to Beauty -

Maybe they got day jobs
To support this rockin' jones
But the rhythm fits them like a skin
And the blues is in their bones

Turn on your MTV
And you won't find them there
You can read that Rolling Stone cover to cover
You won't find them anywhere
But in basements and garages
Hotel lounges, roadside bars
Close your eyes and hear the tunes
And you'll be seeing stars
They were born to do it
They were born to play

Not that these guys were ugly. Quite the contrary. But these guys were good. Playing in a small tavern, in front of just a dozen people, on a stage lined with bras, they gave us more for our money than some bands who actually charge for their shows, in stadiums that hold thousands.

Jeff texted our teenager at home, who loves playing his guitar and fits right in at this place, with his shaggy rebellious hair, and told him to ride his bike down to join us. Within minutes he was munching on our pizza, sharing my soda, and soaking in the great music with us.

I looked at all the empty chairs around us and wished they were filled with the people I love. I kept thinking, ‘I’d love to bring Kurt and Terry here…’ and ‘I’d love to bring Matt and Julie here…’. A few of my siblings, and my in laws, would all love the magic that we found last night.

It was one of those nights you never want to end. Once the pizza was gone, the sodas and beer refilled too many times, it was time to call it a night. When the band took their second break and came off stage to join their wives and girlfriends in the audience, we knew it was time to go. We got up, gathered our stuff, and headed for the door, passing by the table filled with band members.

I was captivated by the average-ness of these guys who made such magic onstage. If I saw them in the grocery store, I’d never dream they could be a part of one of my best nights so far in my new home town. I found one of them outside on the front porch, as we made our way to the car, and expressed my gratitude to him, for such an entertaining show. He was humble and appreciative, and thanked my family and me for showing up. The gratitude seemed backward.

We’ll be back. And I hope when we do get a chance to drag our visiting family to that old worn out bar, there is a band onstage even half as good as the guys we saw last night. In the chaos of life I sometimes forget just how relaxing a loud, rocking night, tucked in an ancient tavern with some people I love, can actually be.

I hope those guys, who maybe saw last night as ‘ just another gig’, realize how much they were appreciated by this middle aged mom. Their talent was impressive. Their love of music was palatable.

There is no doubt - they were definitely born to do it. They were born to play.