The Seven of Us

Sometimes we meet someone who changes our lives forever.  In the seventeen years we've been in Haxtun I've met several of those people--most by accident. It's only by looking in the rear view  mirror that I can really see the effect they've had on me. Sixteen years ago we moved into a little tiny house with an amazing yard.  It was at 237 W. Bryan Street in Haxtun, and it sat just across the alley from an old man named Chuck Edwards. Mr. Edwards was kind.  He was certainly past seventy, though his awkward kyphotic curve made him appear older.  He was a thin man, and his personality was as modest as his physical stature.  He just went about his day--mowing his yard, taking care of his flowers, walking to the post office, driving to Sterling for a senior's dance or to Fort Morgan or Denver for an appointment at the VA hospital. He never drew attention to himself,  and he was always alone, though he had older children and grandchildren nearby.  ...

Don't save stamps. Don't get me wrong: I used to collect stamps.  As a teenager, I collected Olympic stamps. Then I collected stamps with pictures of exotic fruit. Finally, I gave up; my kids had destroyed my stamps, and  giving up was a better option than trying to save them. There's another kind of stamp saving, too.  Years ago, my friend Mike*  taught me about holding grudges and refusing to forgive.  I was better friends with his wife, Ellen*, who was an overwhelmed mom of five at the same time I was an overwhelmed mom of four. I saw her at least once a week, and we commiserated and laughed about the challenges of being a mom. It was pretty apparent that she felt that her husband wasn't supportive, and I understood her situation. Being a mom of many young kids is hard, isolating, and just draining. She wanted to go out and play like her husband did, golfing with friends and finding time for himself. She resented being at home ALL of the time. One day,...