home is, indeed, where the heart is...

I just finished decorating for Christmas and it went a lot better than it did last year. We were new to the house then and there was a lot going on. My Dad was very sick and we had a troubled teenage niece living with us. All I really wanted to do was go to Colorado and help take care of my Dad, but, that wasn’t to be, so I felt misplaced and sad the whole season. Plus, I missed my old home so much.    

That house was a grand old beauty, bright white with stately columns and two big holly trees in front. And, how that house came alive at Christmas time! The rooms were big, colorfully painted, with 13’ ceilings and Victorian woodwork. We always had three, if not four, Christmas trees, decorated in different themes. There were eight painstakingly restored wooden mantels, also adorned in different themes. There was the “angel mantel,” the “nutcracker mantel” and the “Santa mantel” where the stockings hung. The front door was adorned with a huge glittering gold wreath; another hung from the cantilever porch above. It was a holiday wonderland, replete, perfect and filled with so many memories…26 years-worth of happy Christmas memories.   

Our current home is simple and small – a cozy, well-built log cabin in the forest on the lake. And, while it is a pretty place, “replete” is not a word that would ever apply. The glory here comes from the surroundings, not the home’s scope or spaces.

Last year I tried to make the decorations that graced our old home fit our new house and it didn’t work – not by any stretch. The 10’ artificial tree looked bent and sad, trying to fit into the sunroom, which seemed to be the only place for a tree. The little white tree looked gloomy and odd in the dark downstairs TV room. The angels clearly missed their mantel, looking less than serene all haphazardly stashed on a small round living room table. The Santas, upon being placed on their equally small shelf, seemed to lack their customary cheer. Only one of the resplendent glittering gold wreaths could be used and it looked profoundly out of place.

Seeing these failures made me leave the rest of the decorations in their bins. Enough! It wasn’t a very cheery Christmas anyway….

My Dad passed in February, which left a hole in our hearts that will never be filled. Our niece went back to her family in California in March. And so far, this year’s holiday season seems much calmer. Of course, I miss my Dad so much – he was a real Christmas kind of guy – lots of lights, a big yard display and a train choo-chooiong around the base of his Christmas tree – we are now settled in to our lake life and new home. I still miss my wonderful old home, sometimes, especially during the holidays,

My holiday decorating mission was different this year. The things that have no sentimental meaning or that clearly don’t fit in our new space will be donated. So, too, will any Santas or angels who seem, again this year, to be uncomfortable in their new, much more humble surroundings. I understand that they may want to take their chances at the Goodwill, hoping to find another more spectacular home, perhaps even with mantels, to grace. Bearing no ill will, I would pack them away gently, donate them and wish them well.

This turned out to be easier than I thought it would be. The 10’ artificial tree looks magnificent again, this time in Mr. Clark’s recently added outdoor kitchen. You can see it from the lake and it looks cheery, indeed. We got a pretty little Norfolk pine at a local tree farm to grace the sunroom. The guest cottage deck also sports a festive live tree, adorned with tiny solar-powered lights. And, that sad little white tree looks just fine, now that the TV room has been repainted. There were a few ornaments that no longer fit  the much smaller sunroom tree, and a few decorations that seemed to cop an attitude as I unpacked them, so to the Goodwill they go, along with that pair of glittering gold wreaths that clearly have no place here.

I hung a simple, sweet smelling Pine wreath on the front door and it looks just perfect with a simple red bow and a few festive Pinecone and berry picks. The stairway rail to the loft shines bright with an almost but not quite tacky display of shiny Christmas balls and the addition of candles in the windows makes it all look even more inviting.

As for the Santas and angels? Maybe it’s my attitude, or their placement in thoughtful, more appropriate, if still small spaces – whatever it is, they seem content this year. Not one single volunteer stepped forward to take a chance on regaining past glory via a trip to the Goodwill.

The lesson? Home truly is where the heart is; last year my heart was not in this house. What a difference a year makes, both in good and very sad ways. This home will never be my old spectacular and most beloved home; I will probably always miss that grand old beauty at Christmas time. I know I will always miss my Pop. But our new home is warm and cozy and so much easier to manage. As time goes on, we will make more happy memories here. This house may be small, but it has a great capacity to hold love…  

I’m glad the Santas and angels decided to stay. I would’ve missed them and they, I do believe, would’ve missed us, as well, because for them, as for us, home, whether it’s a fine, roomy, antique mantel or a small round table near a wood stove, is truly where the heart is.

The price we pay for love...

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” – Queen Elizabeth II

My Dad died in early February, but I don’t think I really realized he was gone until October 25, my birthday. That was the first time in my whole life that he didn’t sing “Happy Birthday,” give me some kind of gift and tell me how special I was to him.

I don’t remember much about my childhood birthdays – they were always well-celebrated with a cake and some kind of party. I do remember every grown-up birthday I had – up until this year – my Pop would call in the morning, sing “Happy Birthday” over the phone, and tell me how clearly he remembered the day I was born and how very special I had been to him ever since. He called me “Beeps” or “Little Beeper,” and I could hear in his voice, how very much  he did, indeed, love me.

In later years, he sent a card with a pickle on the front and a $100 bill ( or Ben, as he called them) inside; where he found all those pickle cards, I do not know.

But this year, even though I half expected it all day long, he didn’t call. There was no song. There was no pickle card. There was no Pop.

Grief is an odd meandering beast that comes and goes in strange ways and at strange times – for me, usually when I least expect it. This year my family was visiting on my birthday – kids, sister and my Dad’s wife. It was so nice to be together simply enjoying the lake and each other’s company. It had been a rough year for us all, with my Dad’s long illness and then the shock and sadness of his death. The weather was perfect and there was so much love and laughter in the air. We, of course, spoke of him fondly and wished he was there, but somehow the happiness was bigger than the hole…

Until, late in the day - my birthday - I realized I will never see my Pop again. I will never hear his voice or see his handwriting again. He really is gone forever, now only present in memories. Those were the first real tears I’ve cried since he passed, the first real gut wrenching sobs I’ve sobbed…gone, my Pop is really gone…

My therapist said I “hit the wall of loss” that day and yes, for the first time probably did realize that my Dad Pop is gone. She says I have a year of “anniversaries” – times and dates that were significant to him and I, and that after I get through this first year, the “anniversaries” will get easier…or not.

And, so the journey begins. The emotional fog I was apparently living in has lifted and now I have to grieve for my Pop. That’s not much of a birthday present, but it’s a necessary step down a path that will probably stretch ahead of me for a long time…

I’m thankful for all of those “Happy Birthday” songs and pickle cards and fond memories my Dad shared of his “Beeper” as a baby, child and grown up. I had a really good Dad for nearly 59 years and that’s a lot of years, especially when they are filled with love…Oh, Pop! I miss you so much.

Change is hard; change is good.

I sat in the car outside of the thrift store and cried today. I’d seen the last of the nice things we had at our big beloved old Center St. house on display – three Oriental rugs. One had been in the T.V. room, one in the dining room and one in our bedroom. They were pretty and thick and had lovely memories attached to them.  

We tried to use them in the new, much smaller lake house, but after a year of wishful thinking, it was clear they just didn’t fit – not in size, not in style and not by way of having had any new memories associated with them. They were part of a time gone by and so to the thrift store they went.

The store benefits the local women’s shelter, so the rugs went for a good cause. A lot of the things we brought from Center St. have ended up there, because they, like those last three rugs, never fit into the new house/lake life.

Before I ended up sobbing in the parking lot, I’d stopped in to donate some things purchased for the lake house that we no longer needed or wanted. As I was toting the items in, wrestling with them and the front door, a volunteer rushed to my aid.  

“Another pretty rug!” she exclaimed. “We’ve been getting so many nice rugs in lately. Look at that one! Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was our TV room rug on proud display.   

“It is beautiful,” I said. “It used to be in my home. We donated it. Those over there were ours, too.”

The woman looked shocked and uncomfortable, which was not my intention, so I added something about “downsizing to a smaller house, the rugs didn’t fit there, we were happy to donate them, etc. for such a good cause, etc.…”  

The vehemence of my reaction to seeing those rugs for sale in the thrift store surprised me. I’m an old Hippie who has never developed much affection for “stuff.” Given the choice between a family trip and a new sofa, we always picked the trip. So, for years we had lots of good family experiences and pretty shabby “stuff,” (plus money was always tight.)   

The last ten years at the “Big White House” on Center St. had been different. With the kids grown and established in lives of their own, and ample air miles and hotel coupons (thanks to Mr. Clark’s extensive travel for work) money was not as tight and trips were still happening. So, one by one, we redid each room - plush rugs, antiques, things of quality that looked nice in the spacious rooms of that stately old home.

By the time it came time to move, we had a lot of nice things and a lot of happy memories to go with them. Since the new house is a small log cabin, there wasn’t room for much from the “Big White House” and log cabin “style” is different from the previous columned grace, so we gave everything of value away and donated the rest. That, along with so much else about that move, was hard, but I didn’t realize how hard until I ended up melting down in the parking lot today…

What’s the big deal? They’re only rugs…but they’re not only rugs. They are the last of a life that we will never have again. Those rugs, those nice antiques, those nicely decorated and so very inviting rooms were the pinnacle of a certain time in our life - 25 years of hard work and rich experiences. They represent a time that was so good for our family; we loved that house and we loved each other in that house. Those rugs represent a history that this log cabin in the forest, pretty as it is, will never have. The history and memories it has to offer are still forming…like the ever shifting furniture, rugs and details on its walls and in its rooms. We’re still trying to settle in here…

Our children grew up in that “Big White House” and it was always full of their friends, their laughter and noise, their play and experiences, their challenges and occasional tears. After they graduated and went off to college, they always came back there – for birthdays, holidays and then weddings. So many good times and bright shining faces gathered around that dining room table, on that plush rug, for so many years…So many memories of that TV room rug covered with happy lounging people and sleeping animals, beloved pets no longer with us…

Mr. Clark and I are at a time of life when some opt to stay where they have been and savor the fruits of their many years of labor. Others opt to scale back and move to an “Active Senior” environment. We chose to try the adventure/challenge of a new type of life, in a different kind of home - in the woods, by the lake, far from anything or anyone we knew.

This choice meant giving up the ease and solace that familiarity brings; it means starting over, turning the page and seeing what comes next. So far, there’s been ups and downs; there’s been a lot to adjust to and we are still very much in touch with (and at times wax poetic about) all we gave up.  

But part of starting anew is to give up the parts of life, both personal and possessions-wise, that simply don’t’ work in the new life. That is why those lovely rugs went to the thrift store. Try as we did, those old well-used and loved rugs didn’t work under our new, much smaller dining room table, TV room or bedroom. We needed new rugs on which new memories will be made…

Change is hard; change is good. Let’s hope it helps keep us young.

    

Livin' on "Lake Time"

“Livin’ on Lake Time” - if you’ve visited a lake town you’ve seen t-shirts, coasters, painted wood wall decorations, etc., etc. promoting this happy notion. “Lake Time” conjures up images of flip-flops and sun hats, boats and bathing suits, cold drinks in the hot sun, fishing, camping, and having fun. There’s nothing quite like the way time stands still during a long leisurely day on the lake…

What I discovered a short while after we made the permanent move to “Lake Time” is that it also applies when you need to have something fixed or built or done by someone other than yourself. Good luck with that, because it’s going to take a good long while for anyone who lives and works on “Lake Time” to show up or get anything done. It turns out “Lake Time” is its own zone where time really does stand still and not just when you’re having fun.  

Just after the move to our lake house we discovered some electrical and plumbing issues. I Googled plumbers and electricians in our area and a few came up. Two of the electricians did only commercial work and the remaining one said he was “booked, at least a month out, probably more.” Same with the plumbers – two did commercial only, and the third said he “wasn’t’ sure when he could get to me.” I had no phone book; there were no ads in the local paper, so, I turned to the dog groomer, a lifelong resident. She gave me one name, Rullie H.

“He’s a plumber, electrician and certified mortician,” she said. “Might take him a while to get to you, but Rullie’s the only one to call. He’ll show up and get the work done. His wife works with him, real nice gal. She sells real estate and is mortician certified, too.”   

I called Rullie and Mrs. Rullie answered right away. She said they could make it by the end of the week for the “serious problems” but the rest would have to wait. True to their word, they came late Friday and dealt with the “potential hazards,” as he called them. Mrs. Rullie said they’d be back “in a few weeks” to fix the rest, but they never came.  

Eleven months later, we had a true plumbing emergency, so I called Rullie. Mrs. Rullie said it “sounds like real mess. We’ll be out by the end of the day.” After they got the job done,  I reminded them him about the minor problems; they fixed one and said they’d “be back once things slow down.” Apparently, they stay real busy…

It’s the same with contractors, tree companies, handyman services, etc. If they return your call (and don’t sound too scary on the phone), some will come out to do a bid, most won’t. The ones who do show up are “booked a ways out” and “might be able to get to it in a month or so.”  There are a few who say they can “start tomorrow.” I fell for that once, but never again. There’s a reason those guys don’t have work – they’re either too sketchy to let into your home or they’re really lousy.

It’s not clear if there’s not enough workers to do the work that needs doing or if it’s something else. Most of them seem nice enough and/or have good intentions. It’s possible we’re always at the bottom of the list because we’re new here and nobody knows us, which means they don’t have to face us at church on Sunday or risk having their Mama’s gossip about them being “too sorry to work.” Maybe it’s “Lake Time” which passes at a real leisurely pace, or maybe they just save plenty of time for their own “Lake Time.” Whatever it is, it’s consistent and frustrating.

When our old pontoon boat needed repairs, covered storage and to be sold we called a local marina. “Great! We can getcha’ all taken care of by the end of this week. We’ll have that boat fixed, in storage and sold in no time!” Three months later I called back; the boat was in storage, but they were “waitin’ on a part – should be in next week.” Another month passed; by now it was early spring/tax refund time which means if a boat’s going to sell, it needs to be on the market.

“Oh, yeah. We got her all fixed up,” the marina guy’s mom said. (She works the front desk and does the books.) I b’lieve he’s got that boat near sold. He’s just gotta’ sell that man’s boat, so that man can buy your boat.” Three weeks later, I get an urgent, frantic-sounding call. The boat was sold if I could just “come off the price a little bit.” Fine; done. That only took five months.

This whole time I’d not been billed a cent – not for storage or repairs or commission on selling the boat. “We’ll settle up at the end,” is all Mom said. Cash flow’s gotta’ be rough at times…

Last November I ordered kayak storage rack from the company that built our dock; it never came. Last week (10 months later), the company was scheduling a crew to come do some warranty work; they asked if I still wanted the kayak rack. “It’s on the work order, right here.” Nope, made other arrangements.

It goes on and on…We had to have a lot of expensive work done on our well and pump in December. They replaced all but one part – a part that sticks if the water in the well gets low. At the beginning of what was a very dry June, I called them about replacing that part, explaining how when it sticks I have no water, so I have to go lift the huge pump house lid and bang on the part with a rubber mallet (so as not to get shocked – I learned that the hard way…)  Three months later, they’ve still not been out to replace the part.

In late June I called, “a work order was never made.” Mid-July, “I don’t know why they didn’t replace that when they did all that work in December; it’s right here on the old work order. Shouldn’t be too much longer…” I called again last week (mid-August), “Should be able to get somebody out there by the end of the week.” Nope, they didn’t make it. I’m still hoping for a part that was on a December work order…”Lake Time.” 

Recently I got into a verbal altercation with the woman who “works the desk” at another marina. We scheduled an annual maintenance check on the new pontoon in early June. “Should be two weeks or so,” she said. Three weeks later, I called to tell her the boat was now running rough and we had guests coming for the 4^th (of July.) It took her awhile to find the work order. “It’s pretty far down in the pile,” she said. “We should be able to get to it in time for the holiday.”

Nope, I called again in early August, less urgent, as the running rough had apparently been bad fuel. The lady said they’d “pick it up a week from Monday,” which they actually did. On Thursday, I called to check on the progress. “They’ve not gotten a chance to look at that boat,” she said. When I asked her if they would be able to get to it so that we could have the boat back for the weekend, “We should be able to,” was her response. “I don’t see why not…” Friday, late morning I called

to see if they were going to service the boat that day. “We should be able to,” she said, one more time. “I don’t see why not…”   

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question,” I said. “Will the boat be serviced today or not?” She hung up on me. When I called back, the answering machine was on. I left a terse message about wanting the boat back by early afternoon – they could do the maintenance check before they brought it back or just bring it back. Whatever suited them was fine by us.

One of the young mechanics called right back. He apologized, saying “this happens all the time,” then brought the boat back untouched. At least there was no charge…

During the first few boat rides we took, right after the move to the lake, I felt almost annoyed. “This isn’t very productive,” I thought. “What a waste of time…I’m just sitting here doing nothing…” But wait, isn’t that the point of living on the lake? To do a lot more of nothing, out on the lake?

Since then I’ve gotten better at doing nothing on a boat. These days, I can spend entire days on the lake without a single twinge of guilt. Does this mean I’m living on “Lake Time?” Not yet, but maybe there’s hope…  

Cock-a-Doodle-Doo! or Welcome to the Neighborhood

My neighbor, Mr. F., might have a hidden bunker full of kidnapped Amish girls, only where we live they would be Mennonite girls because there is a large Mennonite population. I have no evidence that Mr. F. has this horrible secret – if I did I would certainly alert the authorities. It’s just a feeling I have, a gut hunch – there’s something more than creepy about this seemingly friendly old man. I just can’t put my finger on it…

I met Mr. F. a few weeks after we moved to the lake house. I ordered a kayak and the fellow delivering it had a tractor-trailer truck that wouldn’t fit down our long, narrow, steep driveway. Mr. F. - ever vigilant and on patrol of our dead-end road – spotted the truck and came to the rescue on his green golf cart. He invited the driver onto the golf cart and brought him right to my front door. (I use “my” instead of “our” because my husband’s work involves a lot of  travel, so even though it is an “us” that lives here, mostly it is an “I.”)

I retrieved the kayak from the tractor-trailer in my old station wagon and returned to find Mr. F. sitting in his golf cart, apparently eagerly awaiting my arrival. He introduced himself and welcomed me to the neighborhood which is 10 houses spread along the lake. It’s one turn off another dead-end road and we’re pretty far out in the country - a good 25 minute drive from anything that could be called civilization.  

Mr. F. is small, thin, wiry man, in his late 70’s (maybe?) He has white hair, dark beady eyes and he wears thick glasses. He always wears a shirt with his name on it - the kind mechanics wear in a car shop - the patch with the business name has been ripped off. Usually his shirt is only half-buttoned; out of laziness or pride? I hesitate to guess. But you can tell by the way he carries himself - chest out, arms back, head held high - that at one time, at least in his mind, he was quite a ladies’ man.

Chickens are Mr. F’s hobby and he bears an uncanny resemblance some of one of his proudest, loudest little Bantum (or “Banty” as he calls them) Roosters. At any given time, Mr. F. has over 100 chickens of all shapes, colors, sizes and varieties.

“I like to cross ‘em myself,“ he says, almost gleefully. “You put that rooster in with that hen, watch him go at it, then see what you got when the eggs hatch.” There’s an un-nerving creepy edge to the tone in his voice and the look in his eye, when he talks about watching that rooster “go at it.”   

I have one hen, a gray Silkie; her name is Fame because “she’s gonna’ live forever…”  I don’t know how long hens live, but Fame’s been with us for over 10 years. Mr. F. spotted her immediately and began to “talk chicken” with me. “Just call me, ‘The Chicken Man,’” he said, innocently enough, but I felt there was something not at all innocent about him.  

He invited me over to see his “set up,” and not wanting to appear un-neighborly I went, but only after my husband got home on the weekend.

Mr. F.’s shirt was again, half-buttoned. He showed us all of his hens and roosters and chicks, told us how he built each pen, and seemed to be glad to have visitors. The longer we were there, the more antsy my husband became. Pretty soon he looked at his watch and said, “Whoa, we’ve got to go.  A contractor’s coming to look at some work and we’re already late.”

Mr. F.’s response was, “I’m gonna’ go make a German Chocolate Cake. Do you like German Chocolate Cake? Now I can eat me some German Chocolate Cake. Let me know if you want any help with anything. I’m a pretty handy guy and, well, what with your wife home alone so often and such, somethin’ might come up. Here’s my numbers – home and cell – you can call anytime, day or night. It was a friendly gesture, normal enough for a rural neighbor, yet the whole thing was disconcerting, odd in some intangible way…

“You stay away from that man and don’t make him feel welcome on our property,” my husband said fervently, once we were back in the car. My husband is a computer guy - cheerful, smart, not emotional or intuitive. He’s rarely fervent; I took heed.
 

A few days later, Mr. F. showed up on his golf cart with five red pullet hens and a handsome Bantam Rooster.

“I’ll give you these if you want ‘em,” he said. “’Course your husband’s a busy man, travels a lot, right? I’ll have to help you build the pen. I’m sure you can use fresh eggs. These here will be layin’ in no time.”

I thanked him and said I’d have to talk with my husband, who said Mr. F. was to have nothing at all to do with the project. He said he didn’t want to build a chicken pen, but if I really wanted those chickens he’d build the pen to keep “that creepy old man” off the property.  

I relayed that message to Mr. F. the next time the green golf cart appeared unexpectedly in my drive. Mr. F. is a chatty man with fast moving eyes and no conversational skills. He talks quickly, his topics are all over the map, and he asks a lot of questions.

“Did you know Pine Sol’l take care of any kind of bug bite? Any kind at all, just dab you a bit of it where you got bit – wherever you got bit, don’t matter where – and you’ll be just fine…Your husband travel every week? Just home on the weekends?..How’d you like living out here in the woods? I love it. You know why? Because at the end of the day I take my shower, then sit on my back porch nekkid and no one can see me. Do you ever sit on your back porch nekkid? You can, you know, now that you’re here in the woods. No one’ll see you…How much land d’y’all got? Four acres? That’s a lot of land. Makes me your closest neighbor…”(Not creepy, not creepy at all…)

There is a Mrs. F.  He took me in the house to meet her. She was using a walker and nodded, but didn’t speak.

“She’s had a stroke, barely gets around,’ he said, “but we try, Baby, don’t we try…”

Sometimes I hear Mr. F. yelling at something, mostly in the evenings. I don’t know if it’s his chickens or his wife or the Mennonite girls, but he sounds like he has quite a temper.

Slowly but surely Mr. F.’s unannounced visits have happened less and less. I like to think he’s beginning to sense the coldness we feel towards him, maybe the hint of suspicion, too…Yet, every time he appears in the drive he asks a lot of questions - personal questions, inappropriate questions.

“I hear them dogs barking. How many dogs you got? Sounds like a bunch. Any of ‘em bite?...Your husband still on the road all the time? Only home on weekends? Bet you get lonely and scared, out here all by yourself. You need anything, you just call. You’ve got my number. Use the cell; I keep it on vibrate so it don’t wake the Mrs. She needs her rest…”

A few months ago, Mr. F. brought me eight eggs “for your broody hens to hatch…” How he knew I had two broody hens I do not know and do not want to think about. When a hen is broody, she sits on the nest all day and night – won’t even get down for water. Is that old man coming around when I’m not here and spying on my chicken pens? Surely not…or  maybe…

He showed back up the day after the chicks hatched, to “talk chicken” and to offer his advice about how to care for the mom and the chicks. “I’m the Chicken Man, you know,” he said, shirt half-buttoned, a particularly bright gleam in his eye. I thanked him for the eggs and the chicks, told him I’d raised quite a few chicks myself over the years, so was sure I’d do just fine.  

“I can come around and help you with ‘em,” he said. “Must be hard to be her all alone…”

“Nope, I’m just fine,” I said, apparently with something forceful in my voice. “I’ve got all these dogs. I’m good with a gun and I’m used to being alone. We have visitors coming all spring and summer, so me and the chicks will be just fine.” 

And, for whatever reason, Mr. F. hasn’t been back.

  

It’s possible he’s just a nice, if odd, old man trying to be neighborly; it feels equally possible that my theory about the Mennonite girls in the bunker could be true. We may never know…I’m just glad he stopped coming around.

It is still creepy and un-nerving to hear him yelling or playing loud radio music late at night. He told me his broody hens like the music – “it keeps em’ calm…” As for the loud yelling…I hope I’m wrong about the Mennonite girls.     

 (This is the result of  7 20-minute-a-day writing sessions.)

  

  

                                                          my Dad - Rob Sinn-Penfold

                                                     March 22, 1938 - February 10, 2016

The only thing I wrote during the past year and a half is this obituary. (My sister did some editing.)

                                     My Dad was a great guy and I miss him very much.

Rob Sinn-Penfold, husband of Paula Sinn-Penfold and father of Haley Sinn-Penfold, passed away at his home in Boulder on February 10. He was 77. Born on March 22, 1938, Rob was the oldest of Dr. B.M. and Ruth Sinn’s three children and a Colorado resident for 77 years.

Rob grew up in Limon, CO, married Karen (Skinner) Sinn in 1956 and attended Colorado State University. His daughter Lorin (Robyn) Sinn-Clark was born in 1957, his son Kirk Sinn in 1959. Rob graduated with a BS in (the degree) then taught high school Science and Auto Mechanics in Ordway, CO for four years. He earned a MS in (the degree) from the University of Oregon in Corvallis in 1966 then moved to Boulder where he taught middle and high school Science for the next 27 years. He retired in 19XX..

Rob was a talented and dedicated teacher - the kind who challenged students and made a lasting impression. Even after he retired, it was not unusual for a past student to call or write to thank Rob for the impact he’d had on his or her life. The words “demanding” “tough” and “fun” have all been used, at times in the same sentence, to describe Rob’s teaching style.

His Eastern Colorado wheat farm was one of the loves of Rob’s life. It was also the source of many days and nights of back breaking work, sweat and challenge. Rob personally farmed those 640 acres for 50 years; his last harvest was in 2012.  

Rob was a firm, at times impatient perfectionist with high standards for those he loved. He was also one of the most caring men many who knew him have met. It was important to Rob that his children have life skills and that his family – including extended family – be well taken care of. He gave of himself tirelessly to make those things happen. There was also a sense of fun about Rob that those who knew him when they were young remember fondly. As his nephew Ward Penfold wrote in a letter to Rob, “with you we could be fighter pilots on Monday, cowboys and cowgirls on Tuesday, and train conductors on Wednesday – the possibilities were as endless as our imaginations.”   

Rob’s love for his family was equaled only by his love for animals. There was always a lucky dog, a spoiled cat (and later six very happy hens) who lived large under Rob’s vigilant, often indulgent care.

A consummate “Do-It-Yourself-er,” there was nothing Rob couldn’t do, build or fix once he set his mind to it. No task was too small nor challenge too big for him to take on and not only succeed, but excel at. “Hard worker” doesn’t begin to describe Rob; the results of his work were consistent and often amazing. Once asked what animal he would describe himself as, Rob replied, “An ox – strong shoulders toiling unfailingly under the yoke of whatever the task at hand.”  

Rob was an avid reader and historian with a memory for details. There were not many topics he wasn’t an expert on and when asked for, his advice was useful, thoughtful and thorough.    

Among the many other things Rob will be remembered fondly for are his love for Christmas, his elaborate holiday yard displays (including a bright red dump truck spilling huge gifts,) his “Go Buffs!” tail-gating panache, his enthusiastic multiple vehicle participation at the annual Longmont farm show and the Winter Solstice hay ride he treated an ever-growing number of neighbors to. Rob enjoyed a good road trip and he appreciated a fast, well-tuned machine. Some of the best time with Rob was spent in his garage, his hands busy, his wisdom being shared.   

Rob is described by those who knew him as “one of kind,” “fantastic,” “great,” “truly remarkable,” “awesome,” “larger than life,” and “incredible.” Rob lived a life of purpose and principle – a life that touched many and set an inspiring example – teacher, farmer, mechanic, carpenter, historian, mentor, friend – a deeply devoted family man who was much loved and will be sorely missed. As Ward aptly wrote, “It is hard to imagine someone getting more out of life or giving more back in return.”   

Preceded in death by his wife Karen and his parents, Rob is survived by his wife of 37 years, Paula; daughter Haley; daughter Lorin and her family, Ed Clark, Dylan and Sarah Clark, Emmi and Hugh Braselton; son Kirk Sinn and his family, Anne and Riley Sinn; brother Steve Sinn, wife Jan, their children and grandchildren; sister Cheryl Clanin, husband Jack, and their children and grandchildren.  

                                                      

“Some years are more challenging than others…this past year has been a bitch.” – me  

It’s time for me to write again.

My last newspaper column was March 11, 2015. Before that I wrote weekly, if not daily, for years. What happened?

Life and a barrage of changes…bam, bam, bam…one after another. I was too busy making it through; there was no time for reflection or words.

My friend, Kathy, writes. Recently she presented a challenge - write for 20 minutes each day – it doesn’t matter, just write. She does this and it helps her remain creative and contemplative, engaged and alive. Ok, I can do that, I said.

But only after I chronical this past year - a year that nearly got the best of me several times. I need to acknowledge the challenges, the fatigue, the sadness, the grief. I need to let this past year go before I move ahead…  

So, these are the things I did and dealt with and didn’t write about during the past 17 crazy, exhausting, whirlwind, change-filled months:

February 28, 2015 – on a whim, Mr. Clark and I went to see a lake house and bought it that evening. It is now our home – a log cabin on 4 acres, with a dock and a nice cove on Lake Hartwell.

We’d been thinking about “scaling back/downsizing” for a couple of years. This house was pretty and affordable, and in the world of lake houses, you never see 4-acres. Plus, the seller took our low-ish offer that night instantly on the phone. It seemed like it was meant to be…

March, 2015 – we started sorting, donating, trashing and giving away most of the nice (and not so nice, but necessary) things we’d collected during the past 25 years. A big house, two attics and a storage building full of stuff and memories - it was gut-wrenching.

Plus, we really loved that wonderful, big, old house. As young parents, we’d renovated it. Our kids grew up there; their friends grew up there; we all grew there. A big crowd of our most loved ones stayed there when our daughter got married and again for our son’s wedding, which took place in our back yard – a yard so beautiful and lush we called it “Clark Park.”   

It was almost unbearable to think of leaving that beloved home, and yet, that is exactly what our whim/fate/the good Lord had us committed to doing. We gave most everything away – I couldn’t face having a tag sale where people would haggle over the price of our memories.

April, 2015

-          1st – we bought an old pontoon boat. I barely survived towing it behind our old pickup truck - 25 traffic-laden, fear-filled miles – THE scariest things I’ve ever done.    

-          8^th – we closed on the lake house = there’s no going back now.  

-          9^th  – we moved to the lake house. So many trips back and forth, so many tears shed…There were so many times I wanted to take it all back and not change a thing.

-          12th – Mr. Clark began a new assignment in Albuequerque, NM = I’m mostly in this alone at this point…

-          19^th – we got a contract on our beloved Big Old White House - a nice young family who seemed like they would  love and take care of our no longer, but still dear home.

-          23rd – my little, old, very precious Poodle, Zoobie became very sick and nearly died – pancreatitis, nearly always fatal. After a rough, long week, she survived.  

-          Also that week – the boat stopped running and had to be fixed; an electrician came to take care of several severe wiring issues in the new home; the survey required to get dock transferred to us happened + the ranger visited to officially make the transfer.  

May, 2015:

-          2^nd – 4^th – our amazing contractor Charles + crew spent a 24/7 weekend making several messy, loud, but necessary changes to the new home.  

-          4th – inspection of Big Old White House. (passed – whew!)

-          6^th – appraisal of Big Old White House. (came in ok – whew!)  

-          7th – new furniture and appliance delivery to the lake house. (accidentally ordered a gas, not electric stove – corrected with a trip in the junky old pickup truck.)  

-          9^th – shabby, but sincere lake house garden planted. (The soil is awful…)

-          22nd – closed on the Big Old White House = it’s final. The new life is the only life now.  

-          Memorial Day weekend – the kids visit and give the new life 8 thumbs up. Bonus - we spotted an owl family living in a tree right outside our sunroom.

June, 2015

-          8^th  - 11^th - my Dad’s visit from Colorado. He gave up planes and travel years ago, so this was really special. “I wanted to see where you landed,” he said, later proclaiming the new situation “just dandy.” We had a really good time – our last really good time…  

-          End of June – 3 of  our 5 dogs + 1 grand dog got  the “Dog Flu” – a nasty epidemic, very contagious, sometimes fatal.

-           

July, 2015

-          “Dog Flu” persisted through late July. Old Lab mix Petey almost died, but thankfully, all 6 dogs made it through.

-          23^rd - two teenage nieces, sisters, come from CA for their annual summer visit. The 16-year-old had a great time and left on Aug. 2. We invited the 14-year-old to stay  – she’d had a rough few years and it felt like the right thing to do…

August, 2015

-          3^rd - after 15 years we have a teenager in our lives again. This would’ve been a challenging change in our “old life” where there was a support systems, friends, plenty of space and we could get to everything in 10 minutes. Our new life is out in the country, in a small house, a good 25 minutes from everything…

-          10th – niece’s 1^st day of high school – and so the adventure began. Ample adjustments to life styles and expectations + so many trips to the bus stop, the school, the doctor, the therapist, the orthodontist, the YMCA, shopping, etc. She tried hard; we tried hard; it was hard.  

-          17th – tree men did a lot of needed work = safety issues = $$$

-          19^th  – HVAC man does some needed work = comfort issues = $$ (Also, our 36^th wedding anniversary – why renew vows when you can start a new life…?!)

-          25^th - -27^th  – Charles + crew return to build a room for our niece and build a guest cottage, as our new life has no place for our adult children + spouses to sleep now that we have a teenager. .

September, 2015

-          16th – my Dad went into the hospital in Colorado, very sick - pancreatitis + complications.

-          By 27^th his condition worsened significantly.

October, 2015

-          2^nd – 5th – I visited my Dad and family in CO. He’s a fighter, but he was very sick.

-          7^th   - rotten old dock is taken away + gravel laid on our long, steep, eroded drive.

-          14^th  – new dock arrives – beautiful, covered, $$$...

-          16^th – 19th – we send our daughter + husband to my visit my Dad and provide much needed support + bright energy for the family.

For the first time in my lifetime, I was needed elsewhere and could not go. Ed’s new work assignment was not yet flexible, I had a house full of elderly animals on multiple medications, no pet sitter and a teenager = We continued to make adjustments and drive, lots of driving. It’s not easy for the freshman or her ride to start a new life…

-          27^th – I went to be with my Dad and family; I ended up staying two weeks. He was very sick and nearly died. Such hard, sad times for us all…

November, 2015

-          10^{th –}  my Dad went  on hospice. He’d receive the care he needed at home. It seemed like  “time”…(Is it ever “time” for hospice…?)

-          12^th  –  Ed couldn’t work from home anymore; I returned to the lake house, which didn’t  feel much like home. 

-          22^nd – 26^th  – we sent our son + wife to visit my Dad and the family to provide moral support and a few laughs.

-           

December, 2015

-          3^rd  – I went on an antidepressant = life was getting the best of me.

-          5^th – Mr. Clark bought a “new” pontoon boat. The old one was too unreliable, problem-laden and exhausting. “If the only pleasant time we have in our new life is on the lake, we need to be able to get on the lake,” he said = fair enough. (I arranged for the old boat to go to storage, get repairs and be sold.)   

During December and on into January, my Dad had good days and bad; in general, he was improving.  

-          Christmas was quiet. We were glad to have the kids with us; we were all so sad and worried and blessed…

-          27^th – 30th – annual trip to a pet-friendly house in Hiawassee with the kids. It felt good to be away from our immediate reality…

January, 2016

-          8^th – “Good Bye” to our little, old, cantankerous but much loved rescue Terrier Roscoe.

-          9^th – 16^th  – went back to visit my Dad and family. He was better, but still much recovery work to be done…It was good to see that familiar glimmer in his eyes at times. There is hope…

-          16^th  – my Dad fell and had a seizure; another on January 17…

-          27^th  – we discovered that our niece had fallen down an obsessive, intensely emotional rabbit hole due to the “attention” of a senior ”player”/predator named Sergio. Their text records were appalling; we took her phone.

February, 2016

-          1st – Duck the Dog had surgery to remove 2 cancerous tumors from her legs.

-          3rd – niece got her phone back and lying, texting and obsessive behavior started again – since she couldn’t have the phone at night, it happened all day, every day, at school.  

-          5th – we buy a “new” old car, as the ancient Volvo wagon couldn’t sustain the miles it was getting.   

-          6^th – our niece’s grandmother in CA overdosed on pain meds and nearly died. Shortly thereafter, our niece’s mother went back into rehab.

-          9th – niece’s phone was taken by a teacher for excessive texting in his class = her phone is at the school for 20 school days. (After reviewing the phone records, I text the predator with a very clear message to stay completely away or the police will be at his door…)

-          10^th – my Dad’s wife called, tearful, at 9 p.m. He’s gone, passed suddenly after a pretty good few weeks and a very good day. (Probable pulmonary embolism. He went quickly and without much pain.)  Thankfully, I’d had the best conversation with him that evening – we talked a long time; he sounded good.  

And, so the surreal-ness begins…We cannot, any of us, face life without this man. He’s been such a force in so many lives for so many years. My heart/our collective hearts are broken.

-          13^th – 17^th – we sent all 4 kids to CO to be with my Dad’s wife, my sister and the family. The devastation is complete; we all agree – the kids’ energy is what is most needed.

-          16^th – our niece confesses that she’s bulimic and has been for the past 2 years. Duck the Dog gets her stitches out.

-          17^th – I write my Dad’s obituary (see next blog post.) I’m shattered, exhausted, worried, and sad, living behind some type of antidepressant veil – I feel, but not really…this all seems like too much…  

-          20^th – it became apparent that our niece’s bulimia is severe. We talk, research, cry, negotiate, come up with some new house rules and start the search for an eating disorders specialist.

Even though our niece was on the soccer team, doing okay in school and had some solid days, the rabbit hole Sergio lured her down was too deep, the eating disorder too serious…We all tried so hard, but she was getting worse, not better + her reputation at school had been severely damaged.

22^nd – the plumber dealt with the sump pump and septic issues resulting from binge-purging.

-          24^th – the owl family is back! In the same tree as last year = something cheery, finally.  

-          28^th – 1 year anniversary of the lake house purchase. It still doesn’t’ feel like home….

-          29^th – my sister came to visit for a week. She needed time away, we needed time together. We were still in shock – our Dad is gone…The kids came up and we laughed, cried, told stories and remembered…The guest cottage and the lake are healers...  

March, 2016

-          We continued with soccer, the aftermath of Sergio and a variety of new house rules based on our research and discussion. Our niece started seeing an eating disorders specialist…She remained lost….She says she wants to go back to CA. We talked with her mom and grandmother, and they agreed. We’d done all we could do and they were both feeling strong, having worked through their emotional upheavals…”Maybe we can heal together,” was our niece’s hope, our collective hope…

-          19^th – I went to visit family in CO. I’d planned a visit for my Dad’s 78^th birthday, which would’ve been March 22. We decided to keep that plan – we sorted through some of his things, settled some of his affairs and held a memorial service in E. CO, on the farm he worked years.  

-          22^nd – my Dad’s service. It was perfect and powerful, poignant and so very sad. The extended families gathered for lunch after…We cried, hugged, remembered, told stories and the healing began…

-          26^th – I returned home and our niece returned to CA.

-          29^th – I went off the antidepressant; it’s time to feel again.

April, 2016

-          2^nd – my sister came for another visit. The kids came for more time together and to spend some healing lake time.

-          4^th – 8^th – my cousin from CO visited with his wife and two young sons. They fit themselves into the guest cottage and we had a good time. It turns out life at the lake can be almost magical…

-          7^th – my sister went back to CO.

-          8^th – 1 year anniversary of closing on “newlifelakelife, as I call it on Instagram, I change the hashtag to #lakelifeisgood – it’s not a new life anymore, it’s our life.

-          9^th – 1 year anniversary of the move from our old life to our new life. Would I go back to our old life if I could? Maybe. Do I regret taking the plunge into “newlifelakelife? Not really. Change is hard; we just didn’t have any idea how hard when we started into this.

-          24^th – my dear friend of 38 yrs, Rosanne, visited for a week. We had a lovely time. We ate and chatted, took the boat out and talked about our Dads. She knew and loved my Dad; her Dad had recently died. (A month later she was diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer – that’s the fight she’s fighting now…She says her time at #lakelifeisgood gave her strength for the battle.)  

-          26^th – crummy garden #2 is planted – the compost helped the soil, but it’s still weak.

May, 2016

-          2^nd – 6^th – Mr. Clark took a “staycation.” It’s time to start getting some traction again. The To Do lists from last July are still lying around, undone. It’s time to start building our lake life again.

-          3^rd – tree men round 2 = more safety issues = more $$

-          7^th-8^th – our son + wife + her mother visit. Her mom’s had a rough year health-wise, so it was especially nice to have her in the guest cottage and on the lake. She fished and enjoyed the time with us and her daughter. Yes, #lakelifeisgood.  

-          10^th – 8 baby chicks hatch from eggs a neighbor gave me = adorable and uplifting.

-          11^th – Kathy, the challenge issuer and another dear old friend from CO, visited for 5 days. Again, the guest cottage and the lake worked their magic…We had a really good time catching up. She hopes to come back soon…

-          22^nd – 1 year anniversary of the young family closing on the Big White House. I hope they’re happy there. They had the honey bees that always lived in the front column removed + they tore up 25 years-worth of gardenias, camellias, butterfly bushes and well-established flowers from the front yard - replaced with sod, pine straw and privet…It was sad to see; it’s clearly not our home anymore.

-          25^th – Mr. Clark bought a big, fast Wave Runner. “It’s time to raise the ante on the lake fun,” he said. He was right. .

-          Memorial Day Weekend – the kids came for some easy fun lake time…And, so we begin to breathe again…

 June, 2016

-          7^th – a high school friend of mine posts on FB that her youngest son died of a heart attack playing basketball at his gym. He was 28, a decorated Marine, survivor of several tours of duty in Afghanistan - by all accounts a great guy. He was engaged to be married in August.

I can’t imagine! They were a close family and a happy, loving one…That put my year of trials, tribulations, loss and challenges into perspective…Devastation and broken heart don’t even begin to describe that loss…

And so, my time of keeping dates ends and so does my time of needing to process this past “Year from Hell (with a bit of Heaven at times…)”

During all those difficult months a rage would rise within me; it made me bitter and mean. But, as the antidepressant fog lifted and the visitors visited, I began to realize that lake life really is good and my Dad really is gone…I have a life to build and a grief to process…And, the rage began to dissipate; slowly slipping away, to be replaced by a soft and thankful heart that often feels its broken-ness.    

On June 28 my friend Rosanne had the 1^st of 6 chemo’s, to be followed by surgery and radiation – by the time this is all behind her, the battle will have taken almost a full year. I’m looking forward to welcoming that warrior with a great attitude and a Mohawk back to #lakelifeisgood and let the lake and the guest cottage help her heal…Life is precious; we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

The teenage room has been painted and redecorated; it’s a guest room now. Back in her CA life, our niece has good days and bad. We wish her well; she remains perseverant and brave.   

It feels good to be crossing things off the To Do list again, to slowly but surely build the new life. .

And, so the 20-minute challenge begins. Some days will be light and funny, others introspective or serious. It’s like a young friend said, “No, the world didn’t need another blog. Yes, I created one anyway.”  Check back, enjoy or never visit again. The point is, I’m breathing again, which means I need to write.

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