Betty J. Slade

 

  • God is in Hollywood, too

    It's graduation season: a time for fresh faces, bright eyes and young minds full of hope and ideas to venture out to new places beyond our little town of Pagosa Springs. I remember the class of 1981. We watched as our first child received her high school diploma. The class song initially recorded by Barry Manilow said it best: "I made it through the rain. We dreamers have our ways, of facing raining days and somehow, we survive. We keep the feelings warm, protect them from the storm until our ti…

  • Is there a doctor in the house?

    My son yelled out as he pulled and pushed at my compression stocking, "I need help." My Sweet Al, along with three dogs and a daughter, huddled around me, excited to participate in this undertaking. This was one of those times when being the center of attention was the last thing I wanted. With a bead of sweat pooling on his forehead, my son uttered a breathless command, "Hold up Mother's leg." My Sweet Al braced his good foot against the fireplace and held my ankle in the air. Meanwhile, my son…

  • Carrying the spirit of a child

    Is it possible to flourish in old age? I believe it is. I'm finding that the surprise of each new day alone is enough to help me thrive. It doesn't take much more than to look upon the excited face of a child as they open a gift to know such wonderment. I would be remiss not to mention my obvious limitations. I certainly don't jump as high as I used to, or even move as fast. That said, my heart is full of thanks for each day that brings about new revelations, those things that take me further th…

  • The bond between a father and a son

    These weekly articles come to me in different ways. Sometimes, my Sweet Al pushes my buttons. I'll write about it in a humorous way rather than killing him. Another time, I'll toy with an idea for several weeks, not sure where it will take me. A word, concept or artistic rendering will inspire. The idea won't leave me until I write about it. My Sweet Al tells me that nobody likes those deep articles I write. They like the humorous ones. I tell him, "I can't write about you every week." I've been…


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