As I sat working on my laptop, an email blipped onto the screen with the headline, “I have a package that was stolen from your porch.” It turns out the box was empty, and the neighbor, one block north, had footage on his surveillance video of the thief ripping the box open at 1:23 a.m.
I later discovered the package had been delivered by the post office at 7:37 p.m. about 30 minutes after we’d locked up the front and headed into the back of the house to read. No one had rung the doorbell to alert us of its presence so it sat out all night, ripe for the work of porch pirates.
The package was from a dear childhood friend that I have known since age 5. It contained 9 handmade Christmas ornaments. She lovingly sends these each year.
I filed a police report and requested that the post office ring my bell when deliveries are made in the future.
The neighbor who captured the video footage said he thinks people from a homeless camp wander our area at night.
The only way I could come to terms with this was to imagine that the person who has the ornaments was going to either hang them in his tent or give them to children that might otherwise not receive any gifts.
This got me thinking about the perspective it takes to steal a package from someone’s porch. It is not something I could ever do. I would know that I was hurting someone and causing them loss and pain. But those who do this, do not think that way. We are those who “have” and they are those who don’t. This separates us.
What can we do to create more of a community, to take care of those in need to prevent this desperation? Something to think about as we approach this Christmas.
My poem, “Sometimes” has been included as one of a hundred by international poets in the anthology, Poetry in the Time of Coronavirus, Vol. 2. Proceeds benefit Doctors Without Borders and Partners in Health.
The performance at the Oriental Theater has been changed to July 30 due to the COVID-19 restrictions.
Rescheduled LTYM Denver & Boulder Shows Good morning, LTYM community. Things have been rapidly changing, for us all, and for our LTYM spring shows as well. As of this week, both the Denver and Boulder LTYM shows have been rescheduled. The new dates are as follows: LTYM Denver: Thursday, July 30th at 7:30 pmLTYM Boulder: Saturday, August 29th at 7:30 pm***For those who have already purchased tickets: Your tickets will be honored on the new dates, and in the event that you cannot attend the new show date, you will get a refund for your ticket.
Ticket links have been modified so that any new tickets purchased are for the new show dates.
We are so grateful for your continued support of the shows, our amazing casts, our fantastic local sponsors, and our 2020 charity, A Precious Child.
Wishing you a healthy and peaceful beginning of spring, and stay tuned for more information coming soon!
“Amanda looked at her. It was a whole separate life that she had created: that was the miracle of parenthood, and it never seemed to be anything less of a miracle; you made a whole world; several worlds–one for each child. And then let go of those worlds, as a creator might do of a world he has created; you let go and watched.”
From Forever Girl by Alexander McCall Smith, p. 314
When I look towards the lake, I see a graveyard of aspen stumps, like sharpened pencils poking out of the land. Seventy trees are gone.
We foolishly took down the green wire fence that had protected us from beaver chew, thinking they might remove a few big ones that were blocking our view.
Instead, we have devastation. We came early April to put the fence back up, but there was too much snow. A month later, they had chewed down even more.
The little memorial I had made for our cat, Smooch, once nestled among the aspen, now lies exposed.
Every time I look out the window, I feel uncomfortable. I am hoping that on our next visit, the green leaves that will be out on the remaining trees will help. It will take years for the little ones left to grow to a decent height.
For now, the stumps are reminders of how important our newly installed green wire fence is!
The first thing that went wrong was my pack being flung to the floor of the backseat as we bumped our way down the lumpy dirt road to the trail head. When we stopped, I discovered that the screw-in cap to the Camelbak had been a hair short of closed, and every icy cold drop had drained out. This would not have been a problem if my husband had packed the water filter–but he hadn’t. Thankfully, I had put a jar of home-brewed ice tea in the cooler for an after-hike treat. I loaded all 28 oz of it into my Camelbak, and my husband had 32 oz of water of his own. Somehow, over the course of the close to 8 mile hike, I managed to sustain myself with small sips of the raspberry ice tea. The abundance of wildflowers distracted me: monkshood, elephant head, chiming bells, paintbrush, columbines–just a few of the blooms we saw filling the meadows. We set a goal of doing 1,000 hikes together when we got married. Yesterday’s was 1,156.
Arriving at the familiar trail head, we noticed a sign that said the upper bridge on the trail we planned to hike was closed. We knew this could be a problem, so we opted for the adventurous route: veer off the main trail at the bottom and go straight up on the side of the creek that would ultimately intersect with the upper trail, without needing the bridge. This may sound simple in words. In reality, though, we were on a steep route that took us straight up 800′ and ran close to the forceful creek which tumbled vehemently down. At the same time, we navigated fallen dead trees, limbs and overgrowth which made it trickier than a well-worn trail. My husband and I have been hiking together since 1978. Approaching our destination this way got us both stoked and when we did reach the main trail (and could see the broken bridge over the wide, raging river), for a few moments, we felt young again! We went to the lake as planned, hiking a total of 8 miles, with a 2,300′ elevation gain.