Dudley Stables

Last night I had a dream about a horse.  I could feel its course black mane and when it ran I loved seeing the muscles ripple below the tan skin. Waking up, I began thinking about why I have always liked horses.  As a little girl, I remember reading books about horses. Then, when I was around thirteen years old, I would go to Dudley Stables in Greeley, Colorado and stand on the split rail fence to pet their solid necks and long noses. To me, their oval shaped eyes and long eyelashes were beautiful. One day the owner asked me if I wanted to help around the stable and he would let me ride the horses for free. I agreed because I did not have five dollars to ride a horse for one hour. Working during my summer vacation, I  enjoyed the smell of leather, manure and straw.

My job was cleaning out the stables, hanging up the bridles, and sometimes feeding the horses. There were about six horses and my favorite was a large, bigger than the rest, buckskin by the name of Buck. The other horses were heavy looking, wide-backed horses.  If Buck was not available, I would ride the other horses and felt every step they took. Even though it was a bouncy ride, I used to like to get the horses to gallop. All of the horses did pretty much what they wanted to do.  They would decide when it was time to return to the stable and no matter how hard I tried to get them to continue, I could not turn them because their thick neck was like steel. All the horses sensed when the hour was up and would return to the stable whether I wanted to or not!

One day, a man wearing Levi jeans, a white western shirt, boots and a cowboy hat, was speaking with Mr. Dudley.  As I cleaned the stalls I could hear parts of their conversation.  It sounded as if the  cowboy (which if I had known then was a typical Marlboro type) had two thoroughbred horses and wanted to board them with Mr. Dudley.


The next morning I found two reddish-brown horses at the stable.  The man stood beside one and seemed to be talking to it.  He smiled and asked, "How would you like to help me out with my horses after you are done with your chores?" I asked what I would have to do and he replied, "Just ride. They need exercise and I can only ride one!" By 10:30 I finished cleaning the stables and told him I was ready.  He asked if I had ever ridden before.  I told him I rode all the time on Mr. Dudley's horses. He said, "My horses are very sensitive.  You just need to touch them with your knee and they respond." I pretended to understand what he meant and he helped me up on one of the horses. I followed him out and he headed to Island Grove park where there was a race track. I followed and right away I realized that the horse was different. I felt as if I was sitting on a rocking chair, smoothly moving along. There were no bumps or jerks, no bouncing,just a gentle movement. Once when I thought I was slipping, I pressed my right knee against the horse and he automatically turned.

At the track we ran, walked, and trotted the horses. I loved hearing the rythmic thudding of the hoofs as I galloped around the track. The difference between Mr. Dudley's horses and the cowboy's horses was like night and day! We then walked the horses back to the stable.  Every day I would help the cowboy exercise his horses.  He would give me advise on riding like if a horse bolts, move reins back and forth causing horse to go in a circle and stop his forward motion. Always wear boots and never raise your voice but speak softly to the horse. Don't come up behind a horse because it could scare him. Talk to the horse, they enjoy hearing a confident voice.

Years later, I was on a bridle path that went through an old river bed.  A piece of paper flew up and spooked my horse.  The horse took off and all I could do was hold on to the saddle horn.  Weeds were smacking me on the legs, sand was being kicked up, and I was scared but I remembered that I needed to begin trying to turn the horse.  Gently I moved the rein left and then right and the horse began to slow down.  When I finally had him going in a large circle he had calmed down but my heart hadn't!

Once, a horse decided to return to the stables and turned while I thought we were still going forward.  I went flying off and skidded in the gravel, enbedding my hands and knees with tiny rocks. I was crying and and picking out the rocks from my knees when my riding partner said, "Get back on."  "No," I replied. "Get back or you will never ride again." I got on and the horse walked back to the stable. It was as if he knew he had done something wrong.

The cowboy and I parted ways when my mother, hearing unpleasant rumors from my aunt, decided I was too young to be seen riding with a grown man.  I was forbidden to return to the stable and I stopped helping Mr. Dudley.  I had enjoyed the time I helped with the horses and even now I like seeing horses and all that they can do.

Riding in Estes Park

I satisfy the part in me that loves horses by watching movies like Black Beauty, Flicka, Seabiscuit, War Horse, Ruffian, or Secretariat.  Or, like last night, I'll dream about horses!

Crowning of Our Blessed Mother

The statue of Our Blessed Mother was moved from its niche in the church and placed in front of the altar. Flowers of all different types and colors surrounded her.  As is the custom in Catholic churches, Our Blessed Mother is honored in May by placing a crown of flowers on her head and the choir sings,  "Oh Mary, we crown you today, Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May."

Instantly, I remembered being a young child in Greeley, Colorado and watching girls crowning our Blessed Mother.  I had no idea how the girls had been picked or why they were so lucky to be able to place the flowers on Mary's head. As the years went by and I became a teenager, I joined the Sodality of Our Lady.  In 1955 when I was sixteen years old I was picked to crown Mary, Our Mother.  My mother bought me a white gown and the nuns brought out the blue satin cape with a high collar.  I wore a white sparkly crown on my head and picked two small girls to be my flower girls. One of the little girls was my cousin, Dolores Garcia.  I do not remember who the other girl was or why she was picked.

The ceremony took place on May 20, which also was my birthday, so it was extra special for me. I remember walking up the aisle and wondering if anyone would notice that my legs were shaking.  In my white dress and cape, I felt like a bride with all eyes on me. As I went up the few steps, a crown of flowers was placed in my hands and I gently placed the flowers on the statue of Mary's head. I had practiced the crowning but I still had a fear that the crown of flowers might slip and fall to the floor. The choir and the congregation sang hymns to the Blessed Virgin Mary while I silently prayed that everything would go as rehearsed.

The coronation was perfect and as I took my seat in the place of honor I felt proud that I had been chosen to crown Our Blessed Mother. It must have been a big day for my parents also, because the photo was taken by a professional photographer and in those days only wedding and graduation pictures were taken by professionals.

From Dark to Light

I attended a Chocolate Festival on May 11, 2012, and not only did my eyes bulge out, so did my stomach! Every kind of chocolate was on display....from candy, cakes, cookies, and drinks! The artists decorating cakes work magic with their ideas and their steady hands. The cocoa bean is where it all begins and I was surprised to see the many different types of sweets derived from the bean.  Organic dark chocolate is supposedly the best health wise but I liked a rolled up tiny cookie in three different flavors...chocolate, vanilla and anise.

Tickets were purchased for tasting the variety of the chocolate wares but since I know that where my waist used to be, I did not need to add any more rolls, I did not purchase any tasting tickets.  It did not matter because I was still offered a taste of the goodies.  When I told vendors I did not have a ticket, they would say, "That's all right, here taste this."  So I did!

One of my favorite cakes and cupcakes!

I don't know why one booth made me uncomfortable. The chocolate was displayed just like in the other booths but the subject matter I did not like.  Guns, hand grenades, rifles and bullets  made out of chocolate. The chocolate may have been tasty but I refused a taste of the violent looking display.





A wine frappe was beautiful to look at plus very tasty and fun to slurp.  It reminded me of a 7-11 Slurpee! (Yes, I know the vino had nothing to do with chocolate but it was still good!) I tasted a hot chili fudge and it tasted like chocolate except for the burning of my tongue when I had finished the tiny piece. I went from booth to booth, looking, tasting and enjoying the many ways chocolate can be prepared and displayed. For awhile, my sweet tooth was satisfied!

Not only were there chocolate booths but also jewelry, Miche purses, paintings, coffee, metal art work, and tiny marbles that expand to keep moisture around your plants. I enjoyed the afternoon looking at the different booths and tasting delicious candy. At the entrance stood a giant slice of chocolate cake with a glob of whipped cream topped with a red cherry to get people into the mood of what was in store for them inside the Chocolate Festival.

Memories of World War II

I just finished reading Unbroken, A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand.  I have read, have seen movies and heard stories about this era but this book brought a fresh look to me on how soldiers fought and what soldiers suffered when they were captured.  I was shocked that there is so much I do not know of what happened when we were fighting Germany and Japan.  As I read the story of Louis Zamperini and the atrocities he and his fellow soldiers suffered while in prison camps in Japan, I was astounded.  I tried to recall what I was doing during World War II.

After all, at three years old there are only bits and pieces that I remember.  "Do not pick up any candy or gum that you find on the ground, because it could be a bomb," my parents warned me and my brother.  My father had read an article that the enemy was dropping bombs disguised as candy or gum and unsuspecting children would pick up the "goodie" and be killed by an explosion.  This was enough to scare us and make us aware that we were at war.

We lived about three blocks from the railroad station and I remember standing waiting for a train to go through Greeley and watching car after car loaded with olive green tanks, jeeps, cannons, and trucks. Lots of military looking stuff!

Our home had dark green shades which we would pull down if there was a blackout warning. Usually, when we heard sirens go off, everyone turned off all the lights and we would go sit on the porch and listen to planes flying overhead.  I remember feeling scared and sitting close to my mother.  One time I asked, "What if they bomb us?"  My Dad laughed and said, "Don't be silly, we live in the center of the United States and the enemy could never reach us because they would be stopped before they got here." I still did not feel safe but I was glad my mother and father were there to protect me.

Max and Johnnie were two cousins in the Army and fought in the Philippines. They looked so tall and attractive in their uniforms but when they returned from their stint they suffered from malaria and talked about mud, mosquitoes and thick jungles.  They had a green metal trunk filled with army items. I remember a canteen, a rubber poncho, and a sword.

One day, my mother told my brother and me that she was Japanese.  We tied her up and began hitting her with a small tree branch.  She kept up the farce until she saw that we were both crying and pleading with her that she wasn't Japanese. She used to laugh and say that she could have gotten loose at any time, that she did it to see how far we would go, but when she saw how upset we were she gave up the ruse.  I have never understood why she would scare us in such a way but we must have known and understood that the Japanese were our enemy. My brother has always said he knew she was pretending but I really believed she was Japanese and what I couldn't understand was how could she be my mother and also an enemy.

Some of the houses had a small banner with a star displayed in windows.  Mom told me that it meant that someone in the house was in the service fighting in the war. (I later learned that a blue star meant someone fighting overseas, but a gold star meant that the soldier had died.)

I figure I was around three years old when the war started with Germany and Japan and by the time the war ended in 1945 I must have been around six or seven. After reading Unbroken, I realized that there was so much about those years that I never knew. I do not remember the atomic bomb falling on Hiroshima or anything about Hitler. Pearl Harbor was never spoken about in our house, or if it was I was too young to remember. I do remember my father praising President Roosevelt for actions taken. "He had no choice," my father would say. What I learned about WWII came from reading and hearing about it in school.  As I read the book I found myself crying at all the destruction, the pain that must have been suffered by not only the soldiers but the families left behind, the capacity to forget and to forgive, and knowing the importance of peace in the world!

Doing My Civic Duty

When I received the 7 x 5 pink and blue notice from the State of Colorado, County of Jefferson,  informing me that I was being called to jury duty, I was not happy.  I know it is my civic duty and I should be glad that by serving I protect everybodies' rights and especially my rights. Of course, in small print is the threat that if I fail to respond there may be a $750 fine or six months in jail or both. So, my guess is that I am not the only one that does not like to report to jury duty! I believe we understand how important it is to serve on a jury, yet, it seems as if we all balk when we are called.

I enjoyed the early morning drive to Golden, Colorado.The hills were different shades of green, the sun gave the mountains a warm glow and the morning air was cool and crisp. Arriving at the Taj Majal (as the Jefferson County Courthouse is called,) I marveled at the semi-round building that I had read is no longer large enough to house all the government agencies. It looked pretty big to me!

After going through security I followed a curving hallway to a jury room.  The room had over 300 chairs but there were only about 75 persons scattered about the large room. At 8 a.m. three large screens came on and Ed Sardella, a retired Channel 9 newscaster, began an explanation of why we were on jury duty.  The whole process of our judicial system was explained and we were told that there are three types of cases we might be called to serve on: civil, misdemeanors, or criminal. We were warned that if we did get on a case, we could not speak to anyone about the case, use any electronic device for information, or talk to each other while the case was pending.  The presentation ended with a statement that we, the jurors, were more important than the lawyers, the judges and even the President! Without us, our judicial system would not work. This made me feel a little bit better about serving!

The court clerk let us know that there were three cases on the docket and someone would come and take us to the courtroom where we would go into the voir dire stage (asked questions to see if we were what the lawyers were looking for) and some of us would be picked to serve. She told us that prospective jurors are picked randomly, the jury system is a one day or a one trial system and to wait until someone came to get us.

For two and half hours we sat and waited.  As I waited I heard coughing and clearing of throats.  Some of the potential jurors were on lap tops, many were reading, one was taking a nap with his chin resting on his chest, some were talking on the phone, a few were texting, some stared into space, two women talked to each other while others looked around the room. Two vending machines with junk food and pop were in constant use.

At 10:25, the clerk came and said that all the cases had settled and we were free to go. I was surprised to hear an instantaneous cheer from the majority of persons and then everyone began gathering up their belongings. We marched down the curved hallway, this time going in the opposite direction.  We had all been prepared to serve but most seemed thrilled that none of us  would be on a jury.  I was secretly happy and hoped that it would be a few more years before I got another jury summons!

My Friend's 81st Birthday

The most beautiful discovery true friends make

is growing separately without growing apart. Elizabeth Foley

In the early 1970's, at 4:40 in the afternoon I left my post at the Motor Vehicle Department to go to the bathroom to doll myself up.  Blotting my face with ivory makeup, brushing blush on my cheeks, eye shadow above my eyes, eye liner followed by mascara, smoothing down my eyebrows and combing my hair was my ritual.  Before I was finished the door opened and my friend entered carrying her makeup bag.  We grinned at each other because we knew we were going to have fun after we left work.  She began to apply her makeup and I returned to work...to finish out the last fifteen minutes of the day!

By 5:45 we joined other revelers at the old Auditorium Hotel in the bar area.  There were lawyers, judges, advertising, printing, sales, and newspaper men and women who called themselves the Evil Companions. Talk, drink, some dancing, and lots of discussions whirled around the happy people. This was how we spent every TGIF evening.

Today, May 6, 2012, I am going to see my friend of long ago. I haven't seen or talked with her for over 30 years.  Our lives had gone separate ways and the last Christmas card I had sent her had come back with addressee unknown.  We got back in touch when she told me that watching the Coloado Rockies play she saw a pitcher with my name on the back of his jersey and that prompted her to call me.

Speaking on the phone she told me she had many medical problems..., arthritis, needed oxygen, kidney problems, used a walker, bruised wrist, and a hump on her back.  I did not believe her because her voice sounded just like I remembered...full, vibrant and witty! I also knew that, for the sake of a story, she tended to exaggerate!


In our youth, my friend and I were sometimes mistaken for sisters and I felt flattered because she was a strikingly beautiful woman.  We were about the same height and probably fifty pounds lighter than now. When I picked her up to go to her birthday celebration, I was shocked because she didn't reach my shoulder. I had to admit that all her ailments were true and they were not exaggerations. I felt saddened to see my friend with breathing problems and hearing her moan in pain as she moved along pushing her walker.  I have to give her credit because she gets around though as she said, "I just have to start getting ready five hours in advance!" She will not allow her ailments to win and a quote by Fried Nietzche reminds me of my friend:  "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."

After a lovely lunch, she opened her presents, and when she opened paints, brushes and miniature frames I learned something new about her....she is an artist! I gave her a photo book with pictures of when we worked together and looking at the photos we remembered our youth.  Someone made a comment that in the photos we looked like models. I even had to admit that we did look good!

Her sense of humor is intact and laughing comes easy to us. Her memory is better than mine and she remembered many more things than I did. It made me wonder which is better...to lose your memory but have a healthy body or to have a body riddled with agonizing problems but with a strong mind?  I do not know the answer to that question.  Her daughter, who I remembered as a teenager, is now a woman with a wonderful husband, three grown children, and grand kids. I could see that my friend is surrounded by love and, aside from her aches and pains, enjoys life. She lives by herself with help from persons who come in to assist her.  I enjoyed the afternoon spent with my friend, her family and helping her celebrate her 81st birthday!

Even if many years had gone by, when I heard from my friend it was as if no time had passed.  Our minds, our voices, our sense of humor are the same, yet, our bodies may need some repair!

A friend is one of the nicest things you can have,

and one of the best things you can be. Douglas Pagels

In Another Life Was I Greek?

Kiddingly, I have always said that I must have been Greek in another life.  In my youth, Greek mythology fascinated me.  I delved into the reading about the gods and goddesses as if I was working on genealogy and they were my very own relatives.   I happened to meet a Greek man and he introduced me to his family.  His sisters taught me how to make a grape dessert that was extremely sweet but so good. I like Feta cheese on top of everything. The famous Ouzo drink tasted like the smell of moldy clothes and this is one drink I do not enjoy! Greek dishes, bouzouki music, songs in Greek that I do not understand but like the rhythm, are all things I like.  It was fun watching the men dance in a line while the leader hung on to a handkerchief. The showing of appreciation, after a musical show, startled me because everyone threw plates and money to the center of the room. Instead of hearing clapping all I could hear were plates breaking as they shattered on the floor.  Every Sunday it seemed as if all the Greeks in Denver met in the mountains at Genesis Park to have a large picnic with good food, lots of music, games, dancing and singing.  I could see that family was very important and this made me like the culture more. I began learning a few words and enjoyed how the words rolled off my tongue.  Efharisto meant thank you and kahla meant fine.  Neh was yes.  With my dark hair I was mistaken for Greek and I liked fooling people by making them think I was Greek! Many of the men owned steak houses and loved to gamble.  Men enjoyed sitting around a table drinking coffee and talking. My desire was to some day visit Greece and see the place where mythology had begun, where the joyful people came from, to eat authentic Greek food and to see the ancient ruins.

My dream came true a few years ago when I visited Athens and at the Acropolis I was surprised that the theater is in ruins but it is still used for operas and plays. I got to stand next to a uniformed soldier in white knee highs, white leotards, red beret, pom-poms on his shoes and a white skirt.  These soldiers watch over the tomb of the unknown soldier and belong to the elite Evzones unit.

 I wandered through meat markets, sat at outside cafes on plush couches and drank water from blue, wine size bottles, ate sweet pastry and enjoyed looking at all of the ancient ruins. It was difficult to imagine that much of what I was looking at had been around since before 400 AD.  I could buy water, newspapers, souvenirs, candy, cards, exchange money or whatever else struck my fancy at the handy kiosks. I found the men to be flirty and one elderly man waited outside a church, went up to the women and asked for directions and thanked them by accidentally (or not) touching their breasts.  We were told women are caught unaware of his intentions because of his age and his cane.

Traveling through Greece I saw breath taking views in many of the towns.  I fell in love with sea side Kavala with many small boats bouncing on the water.







 Meteora with its gigantic stone walls cradling  monasteries so high above that the only way to reach them is by ropes and pulleys.  Corinth is a religious and historical place where St. Paul walked and preached.  Thessoloniki, Phillippi, Kalambaca and Veria were interesting stops.  Icon artists, sitting in cluttered studios, worked on their craft for tourists to watch.

At the Acropolis, the Porch of Caryatedes has maidens holding up the ceiling and I learned that the original maidens are in a museum and the ones I was looking at were put up for tourists! The surrounding area with the Parthenon, the many columns, stones, carvings and rocks are all part of  history. I was in awe to be in the ruined temples of the Gods!

At the Acropolis overlooking Athens

The older women all seem to wear black, younger people dress modern, men enjoy being in groups at coffee houses, and there seemed to be a lot of energy in Greece. Dinner is eaten late, around ten o'clock.  Whether or not I was Greek in another life doesn't matter.  What matters is that I was able to visit the country of olive trees and grape vineyards, to taste Greek dishes, and to be able to say efharisto to the friendly people!

Enjoying the view!

I will always remember my trip to Greece and recall a quote by Solon, the Athenian, one of the seven sages of Greece:  "I grow old always learning new things."