Michelle Ray Cox

Category: Aging

• Gravitate Towards Joy

  Posted at 4:59 am by Michelle Ray Cox, on August 31, 2020

  

  The air has a scent of crisp green, even in the afternoon it still smells pungent and fresh. Is there a smell to running water? Is there a special aroma of river water tumbling over rocks ? The smell of wood smoke lingers in the cool mornings, fading to a tendril of scent as the day warms.

  I don’t watch for snakes. However I am on alert for the neighborhood mountain lion and the pesky bear that has been bothering the horses.

  

  Between a hip that needs to be replaced AGAIN, a torn quad that has been an issue for over fifteen years , two replaced shoulders and a knee that’s trying to go wonky on me, I have been frustrated, sad, angry and resentful. The last time I went on a hike it resulted in the painful rolling walk that those with hip pain recognize. For two weeks I struggled with sleeping, moving, walking. Couple this with birthdays that seem to be accelerating at an alarming rate, and let’s just say I have not been a happy woman.

  So no more hikes. No mountain trail running. Instead I walk. I honor and listen to what the pain is telling me. I don’t ignore the sound of my body telling me it is hurt. Forty years of martial arts made me deaf to the voice of my muscles, tendons and joints telling me that “more is not better”.

  One thousand pushups on New Years Day 2010.

  Shoulders replaced four years later.

  A few months into Covid I decided to do a little trail running course on our property, using our two steep driveways and stairs to give me several route and intensity combinations.

  No surprise I overdid it and found areas of hurt and damage that I didn’t know were possible.

  I’ve been a martial artist my entire adult life. I know about injuries and I know what to do. Back to basics.

  

  I walk. I honor and listen to the pain instead of ignoring and fighting it (and making it worse). I don’t treat my body as an opponent to be overpowered and forced into compliance.

  There are enough areas with an incline to get my heart rate up. Especially if I go up and down several times in a row.

  Mick has learned to lay splat on the soft ground and conserve his energy as I trudge up and down the

  Hill.

  Incline.

  Mountain.

  Mount Everest

  Keep in mind that the mileage on those little legs is always at least twice that of my legs. Sometimes I walk backwards laughing as he races to catch up after following scent on the trail. Raccoon? Fox? Skunk? Squirrel? Bear? Mountain Lion?

  I know the little pug sees and hears my effort and is amused.

  My comical little pug , We amuse each other, Mick and I.

  

  Long flat stones surrounded by deep pools and tumbling water. A canopy of trees. Blue sky, white clouds. Green in every variation of green.

  On the river? In the river? What is the proper term for this magical place?

  Standing in mountain pose, hands at my heart, head bowed in reverence to this place, this moment, this experience . Breathing deeply while my eyes are closed I listen to my breath and find myself. Opening my eyes I turn in a full circle. Mindful. In the moment.

  The sound of the Rio Blanco as it makes its way through the valley. Birds. Insects. The feel of the sun. Air in my lungs scented with pine and fir.

  As I go through the flow of my yoga practice on the rocks there is a connection to creation that is profound and magical. It is the sensation of being perfectly present and in the moment. Hearing my breath, smelling sun water and air, moving slowly through balance and strength. I am exactly where I am supposed to be at this time. There is pure joy and contentment as the sun smiles on my face.

  Walk lightly. Speak and laugh lightly, as much as possible.Go lightly along your way. Let go of heaviness. Seek that which is light. Gravitate towards joy. Your soul and body will lead you, if only you would listen.

  Melody Beattie , Journey to the Heart

  

  Posted in Aging, Life | 4 Comments

• Mothers Day Without Mom

  Posted at 6:30 am by Michelle Ray Cox, on May 9, 2020

  

  

  It’s Mothers Day. Keely made me a really great card. We had a long hug.

  Facebook is full of Happy Mothers Day wishes.

  I miss my mom.

  So it’s been kind of bittersweet. The joy of being a mother, coupled with the reality that I’m now one of the many who don’t get to hear their mom’s voice on this day.

  Other friends are celebrating their first Mothers Day as a mom. I remember that feeling.

  No matter how old I get, when I’m down or feeling sick I want my mommy. I want to crawl into her lap so she can rock me. I want that feeling of love and security, of peace, that I always got when my mom wrapped her arms around me.

  It used to be easy to capture that feeling. I could meet her, or go to her house, walk up to her and put my arms around her. There was never a hesitation, her arms wrapped me in love and acceptance without a word being spoken.

  I hope my kids feel that way about me.

  It’s harder, but less complicated now to talk to my mom and get that hug. I have to dig deep into memories to recapture those feelings. But I don’t have to pick up a phone or get in the car. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and feel my moms love all through my soul.

  

  Posted in Aging, Life, Parents | 4 Comments | Tagged Marty Schuller, Mom

• Gray

  Posted at 9:09 am by Michelle Ray Cox, on April 25, 2020

  

  I never saw my mother’s face surrounded by gray hair. I wish I had.

  There is a memory of Mom with an old towel around her shoulders, her old fashioned white bra underneath, wearing her black “pedal pusher pants”. We call them capri pants nowadays. She was dyeing her hair from a box. Dark hair dye ended up on the white bra, there were some choice words about that. My Mom was married to a sailor and she knew how to cuss.

  How old was she then? Forty? When did she start dyeing her hair? I wish I could ask her.

  She never stopped. Once my mom started dyeing her hair she never stopped. Trips to the hair salon were a part of the fabric of her life until the end.

  Many times I stated emphatically that “no one will ever see my gray hair. I’m going to be just like my mom and brunette until the end!”

  At age 24 I went to the salon and had my hair colored. There were some sneaky little gray hairs in there. Little did I know I was making a decision that would affect how I felt about my hair, my looks and the process of aging for the next forty years. I had no idea of the investment in time and money. More importantly I had no idea of the investment in denial.

  Cover the gray. Deny aging.

  Ha. That’s hysterical. Deny aging.

  Camouflage reality.

  My hair is longer than it’s been since I was in grade school. Somehow these last few years it just seemed easier to let it grow. It’s easier to braid and keep out of the way. But the color had to be put on every four to six weeks or the dreaded silver skunk stripe would start to appear. My kids delighted in informing me from their superior height that it was “time to go to the salon” as they peered down at my silver roots.

  Last year I talked to my stylist Jason about going gray. He had all kinds of wonderful advice, we finally agreed that I would go lighter. And that was the extent of my delving into going gray.

  I caught on to the “message of the universe” pretty quickly when the salon closed and I realized that I may be social isolating for quite a while.

  Am I supposed to explore this opportunity? Isn’t this a perfect time and place? I live on a mountain outside of a small Colorado town. Wearing a ball cap and a ponytail are how I spend the summer anyway. Wool caps are the go to during the winter. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I am on this wonderful journey of discovery and authenticity, shouldn’t the outside start reflecting truth and authenticity?

  So the decision was made. The emotional shit storm commenced.

  I am going gray

  I am getting older.

  Everybody can SEE that I am going gray

  Everybody can SEE that I am getting older

  Hide! Hide the FACT that my hair is silver under all that dye.

  Hide! Hide the FACT that the vehicle I walk this earth with is getting older. Wrinkles, bags, rolls of skin, cellulite, sagging everything ,age spots and scars.

  Clothing, makeup and miracle lotions and potions may camouflage all of the above a little, but when I look full on at myself in the mirror it’s all there. Not only is all of the proof of age right in front of my eyes but the change is accelerating at an alarming rate.

  Let’s not even talk about plastic surgery. The siren call that gets louder and louder.

  Don’t get me wrong. I fully support coloring hair, cosmetics , lotions and potions, surgery and everything else we choose to use on face, hair and body. I did. I did because I never really thought about the alternatives. It was part of the culture I grew up in. It was what my mom did, what my friends did, what was expected of me.

  This is my opportunity to think about how important is the appearance of this body? Isn’t this body just the mechanism for my soul to move around in? Do I have the courage to quit trying to hide the fact that I’m aging? Who do I think I’ve been fooling?

  Why am I expending energy and money, experiencing real mental anguish and pain, over THE NATURAL PROCESS OF AGING. Don’t I have better things to do with my time and money?

  “She has not aged well”

  I’ve thought it. Hell, I’ve said it.

  There is a whole book of judgment in that little phrase.

  Who in the hell am I to judge anyone on their looks? Isn’t that the most superficial shallow thing I can do to another human being? Don’t I know for a fact that the real me has nothing to do with how I look? If I’m heavy or light, toned or padded, with makeup or not, wrinkled and gray or smooth and brunette it’s just the outside.

  Who got to decide all these rules that I have somehow agreed to?

  Who wrote the rule about how we are supposed to age? A bunch of beauty industry executives that trumpet “anti aging formula” and “fountain of youth” while fueling our insecurities? Or a twenty something Instagram “influencer ” that panics over a pimple and spends hours a day on makeup. To cover up what she really looks like. Or how about the drop dead gorgeous former model that has a new career of “aging gracefully ” with glorious silver locks and wrinkle free skin. And what does “aging gracefully” mean? I know it doesn’t describe the process for me, I’m more of the three stooges version.

  And of course there is the group think of the “they”

  They will say I look old.

  They will talk about my looks in a negative way.

  They will judge me.

  They will say I look old.

  It’s almost like it is the ultimate insult now.

  They will say I look old.

  Who is “they”? The whole world? My friends? My family? You?

  ” They” compare the outside of Michelle from last year, or ten years ago , or 20 years ago, with the outside of Michelle today. Guess what. I’ve gotten older. I look different. Not better. Not worse. Different.

  Is someone is going to make a judgement about my value based on that?

  Yes they are. It happens every single day. And it says absolutely nothing about how I look, and everything about the values and thinking of the other person.

  I think I shall explore going gray. An exploration of honestly looking at the process of this change for me. I am already overwhelmed at times with the disconnect between how young and free I feel and what I see in the mirror. What a wonderful opportunity to explore all kinds of things.

  Steve and I have been together over eleven years now. He has loved and supported me through all kinds of change. Weight up. Weight down. Hip replacement. Gain weight. Lose weight. Shoulder replacements. Gain weight. Lose weight. Now he is right with me on this. In fact, his hair has NEVER been this long and he is growing it out. There may even be a ponytail in his future. I am having so damn much fun watching his hair grow and curl. And there is nothing better than watching my 69 year old husband flip his bangs.

  Change. That’s really what this is about. What a difference that word makes in how I react to this process.

  Change.

  Change is good. Change is growth

  My hair is changing. It is growing

  I’m changing. I’m growing

  Change is good.

  Last but not least. I reserve the right to panic and run back to the hair salon at any point during this process. If it’s open.

  Posted in Aging, Life after Covid 19 | 11 Comments | Tagged Aging, going gray, gray hair

• Life Flows

  Posted at 9:57 am by Michelle Ray Cox, on January 7, 2020

  

  It’s a lot easier to comprehend how a river twists and turns and flows if you have observed it. Even more so if you have navigated it. Can you imagine trying to describe water and a flowing river to someone who has never heard or seen it? You might be able to comprehend the idea of the flow of the river by looking at a map, but the real experience on the water for the journey gives deeper knowledge.

  In my sixth decade I find myself wanting to understand my journey down this river we call life. I know how privileged I am to have the time to do this. I have the time to read, study, think, journal. And sometimes write a blog to share what I am learning.

  It’s always been difficult for me to take someone’s word for how things should be. In fact, tell me that “this is the way it’s always been done” and I instinctively take that as a challenge to figure out a way to do it better. That created success, and failure in my careers. But I learned. I gained the wisdom of experience. I’ve also come to a place where I will study the wisdom of others and learn.

  There are some things I wish I wasn’t wise about. I wish I didn’t know the depth of pain from losing my parents. The hurt of betrayal of friends, loved ones, family. The fear of financial hardship, literally wondering if I would have enough money for food. The way the path of my life changed when I was cheated out of the $1,600,000 that I sold my company for. The hate and anger I felt then.

  But that is life. My life. The ups (and there have been so many) and the downs.

  I’m thankful for them all. I learned so much about people and myself through the challenging times. I learned how to be strong. I learned how to change. I learned how to accept. And I learned to never give up, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I have learned to truly be grateful for all that.

  I’ve had some dark dark times when I curled into a fetal ball and wanted to give up. Times when I felt that I had lost the connection to my soul. That no one cared. I’ve felt fear so deeply that I was frozen.

  I am so thankful for those times. Because I overcame them and became stronger and wiser. I have an understanding and an empathy that I never would have had without those experiences.

  I have felt joy. Sheer joy. I have loved and been loved. I’ve felt contentment and security. The excitement of adventure and the contentment of reading a good book in front of the fire with the one I love. The fear for my children and the pride of their accomplishments. The list goes on and on.

  My life. My river. Over rocks and around curves it has flowed and continues to do so.

  During those hectic earlier years, the days of building a business, raising children, the busy busy busy times I didn’t feel the need for introspection. I didn’t try to find and connect with my soul. The life force that is Michelle. I was too busy.

  Now, I can take the time to read and study and journal.

  Life flows. The rocky times have led to this smooth graceful flow. For this time. It won’t stay this way of that I am sure. Yeah there are some ripples and bumps every once in a while. But that’s life and is to be expected. Death, natural disasters, accidents and people are going to happen. It’s the way of life and it has been this way for centuries, and it will continue in this way as long as there are humans.

  How much pain have I caused myself and others with my attachment to my thoughts and feelings on how things SHOULD be? By trying to control my world and the people in it. By actually thinking that my SHOULDS could really change the flow of deep water.

  I profoundly recognize that we are each on our own journey. I do not own or control anyone. For me, to show love is to unconditionally accept everyone as they are, at this time. To recognize the flow of their life is different from mine, their experiences are creating who they are meant to be.

  Power. Power in our society is the goal and reward. We have power through our looks, our position in society, our careers, our financial resources. And that is all an illusion.

  Power. We use our looks, our youth, our sexiness and attractiveness for power. If you doubt that, look at the beauty and clothing industry and the message they send. Look at the billions in the cosmetics industry. . Someone gave me the compliment the other day of “you look so young”. Why is that a compliment? Why do we compare our looks to the young when we are not? Why is it a goal worth investing thousands of dollars and cutting into our faces and bodies to create an illusion of youth? Why do we compare ourselves to others and beat ourselves up? Why? Why is looking young the goal instead of acknowledging the natural progression of our journey around the sun? I know what I looked like when I was young and let me tell you I do not look young. This face and body carries 62 years and the effects of a 50lb weight loss. In no way does this face look young. Nor should it. But this face and body are the outer shell of who I am.and really what does it matter. The youth that I have, that I cherish, cannot be seen.

  Power. Careers have status. When we ask someone what they do, or have done, for a living, we are looking for a hint about power and status. The kind of car we drive, the size of our house, who are friends are, which side of the tracks we live on, the labels on our clothes, all relate to status. And status is power.

  And you know what? It’s all an illusion.

  I’ve travelled first class, lived in a 10,000 sq ft house, driven BMWs and Porsche’s. I’ve been friends with judges, senators, the President of the United States. I’ve started a business and sold it for a lot of money. I’ve owned a martial arts school and obtained Fifth Dan rank. I’ve had status and power.

  Outward status and power. In other people’s minds and to be honest in mine at the time. And absolutely none of those things are really important.

  As I sit here today, in my studio in my cabin on the side of the mountain, pugs snoring in my lap, I recognize what real power is. I don’t have status and power here in Pagosa Springs. I have very few friends, I have not really found my tribe. In part because I’ve spent so much time finding myself this year. And in part because I am very particular about who I spend time with. I am secure that the people that should be in my life will come, just as I am content that some have left.

  There is tremendous wealth is this town. Multi million dollar houses are the norm rather than the exception. Sixty percent of the houses here are vacation homes. We are not in the multimillionaire bracket by any means.

  I’m anonymous. Just another 60 plus woman in the grocery store or the restaurant.

  My power is not from the outside, from others views and judgements.

  I am more powerful now than I ever was.

  Knowledge. Wisdom. Humor. Kindness. Acceptance. Creativity. Persistence. Integrity. Contentment. Authenticity. All of these and my connection to self and my soul are much more meaningful and are the powers I seek.

  Life flows like a river. And I am so very grateful.

  

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  Posted in Aging, Spiritual | 8 Comments

• Trees and Solitude

  Posted at 5:55 am by Michelle Ray Cox, on July 22, 2019

  Post Facebook Day One. This is harder than I thought it would be. I had weighed the pros and cons, but I don’t think I put enough emotional weight on the side of the true friendships that have grown over Facebook. Those names with the profile pic beside them that I have conversed with now for ten years. Or some that I have become very close to in the last year or so.

  First day, I am in tears reading some of the comments and responses to my decision to leave Facebook. Really. It’s 3am, and that is what I am doing. I’m giving it a couple of days to acknowledge those friendships, and then that is it. I break the connection.

  But the fact that one of the first things that popped into my mind was to check Facebook tells me I have made the right decision.

  The thing is, I’ve been thinking of Facebook as some kind of entity in its own, as the enemy. The time and emotional vampire. But much of Facebook is made up of friends chatter about their lives. I’m really going to miss that connection. It’s not just news and memes and arguments and rants.

  My world will be smaller now in many ways.

  Which is why I am doing this I guess.

  Turning inward. Striving for silence in my head. Silence to think and grow.

  There is a part of me that yearns to be a hermit.

  This need I have for aloneness and silence goes back to my childhood and teenage years. I’d get up in the dark, quietly leave the house, saddle up my horse and leave for the day. I would ride trails into the woods with no idea where I would end up. Just me and my horse. I’d eat a peanut butter sandwich under a tree while my horse grazed, looking up at the sun through the lace of the tree leaves.

  

  I thought about all the things that teenagers are obsessed with. Boys. Parents. School.

  I found God during those times. I remember being so angry with organized religion. With being told what to do, how to think. This was during the 70’s and there certainly is a little of the free spirit hippy in me. Probably a lot more than I knew then. The seeds of my outside the box thinking were planted during those lazy summer days when I had the gift of boredom.

  My parents struggled financially. There were many material things that I wanted and didn’t get. There were times when we had to wait a few days to get groceries. We never went hungry but the cupboards were pretty empty at times. That is probably one of the reasons I’m concerned about kids not having enough to eat, and the homeless. I know how close we were when we were kids. I know how close I came a few times as an adult.

  But I had a horse. My parents couldn’t buy a horse trailer, or take me to shows. I didn’t even have a saddle for years. But my parents gave me the incredible gift of freedom, responsibility and trust by allowing me to take off on my own for hours at a time.

  Of course it had to end. I sold my horse to buy a car so I could work. I got wheels and the freedom that comes with a car. My life became one of work and school and friends. Not a lot of thinking and soul searching. No laying in the woods under a blue sky. Humid, hot as hell with a lot of bugs, but worth every minute of discomfort.

  Now I walk out my door, up the hill of my backyard, and take a seat on my porch swing. And there I am. Different woods and trees, aspen and fir rather than oak and pine, but the sun is filtered through the trees and I can breath deeply in a way that isn’t possible in a city. It’s not humid, the mountain slope and trees supply a cooling breeze and shade and the bugs are minimal. I’ve found the place that feeds my soul. Again.

  I do yoga in my quirky little gazebo. I sit for hours on a mat, thinking. Meditating. Writing.

  It’s the senior citizen version of the teenage Michelle. Both of us are trying to figure things out. The younger Michelle, so idealistic, rebellious, passionate about so many things. I had so much to learn.

  Now it’s time to sit quietly and think. To look at my life and experiences and take the time to learn and understand, instead of just doing, and reacting, scurrying from one point in life to the other.

  I can walk out my door, put a bridle on Bali, and ride into the woods. I think I will be finding some areas to lay on my back and look at the sky. And think. And to be grateful for this gift of place and time.

  Posted in Aging, Life | 2 Comments

• Age and beauty

  Posted at 9:20 am by Michelle Ray Cox, on March 23, 2019

  

  Does our perception of beauty change as we age?

  I remember when the definition of female beauty was tall with long blond hair and blue eyes. Being short, brunette and brown eyed, I wasn’t even on the playing field. Then, multiculturalism became not only acceptable but set the standard of beauty. Black and white, and everything in between became the norm. But I was still short and built like a Shetland pony.

  It’s pretty easy to see the beauty of a twenty year old of any size or shape.

  Well then came the cougar. The hot older woman that was confident enough to date or marry a younger man. A woman that was confident in her looks and sexuality. Of course they were the ripe old age of 30 or even 40. Not what I would call old. Think Angelina Jolie. The marks of age still sit lightly on a 40 years old face and body. Trust me, you don’t know how great those middle years are until you hit the 50 and 60 decades.

  Since I never considered myself beautiful I didn’t put a lot of weight to my looks for my self esteem. My brain and skills were important to my accomplishments. Relationships, wisdom, achieving goals occupied my time and thoughts. While friends discussed Botox and how to best cover gray and wrinkles, I charged blithely on my way.

  

  Then I got old and all of a sudden my mom was all over my face. And not the young hot sexy mom that I only knew from photos. The older mom. The grandmother mom. Holy cow how did this happen so fast?

  I don’t feel like the grownup in the room. At worst I’m middle aged, with a huge amount of time in front of me to gradually grow old. And while that may be the way I feel, the reality is there is less time in front of me than behind me. My face and body show it as the aging process seems to accelerate at the speed of light.

  Its a good thing my self esteem was not tied to my looks because I would be in a bad place right now.

  So this aging thing. When you join the seniors club you have some choices to make. You can fight the process of aging with exercise, lotions and potions, proper nutrition and keeping a healthy weight. You can accept those lines and wrinkles, age spots and sagging as marks of your journey and time on earth

  You can up the game with Botox and use plastic surgery to change those lines and wrinkles. Breast lifts and tummy tucks are popular with the senior crowd.

  I choose to color my hair. As my mother did her entire life. I’m just not ready for the process of growing out grey hair and I’m not interested at all in seeing what I look like grey. I keep it long because I like being able to put it in a pony tail under a ball cap. I’ll be 80 years old with colored hair and a pony tail. And I won’t give a shit what anyone thinks.

  But I will tell you this. I’m very thankful for lines and wrinkles and age spots. They me that my mom is a part of me even though she is gone. They remind me that I am fortunate to be in my 6th decade. I’m not going to hide those lines around my eyes with sunglasses in every photo. I’m going to wear the clothes I like, the colors I like without regard to what is deemed acceptable. I’ll wear leggings, short skirts and boho clothes as long as I feel good in them.

  Our clothing is a reflection of who we think we are. I’m not an old lady and I’ll be damned if I’ll dress like one.

  Next up is some ink. I have a wonderful tattoo artist that I will be seeing in May. I have one tattoo on my shoulder, a lily with the kanji for Heart intwined in the design. My sister has the same one, it is something that links us together. This new tattoo will be a shoulder to half sleeve story that I’ve been mulling over for years. It will keep the lily but add symbols that reference my mom, Katherine and Keely. My haven of trees and mountains that feed my spirit. My equine soul mates Maestro and Bali.

  I realize that there will be judgment. Some applause and some disapproval. What’s cool is that I am at a place where I don’t care. My body. My life. I’m not going to take this age thing lying down. This is my way of fighting it.

  There is a freedom to this process I think. If you are a rebel at heart as I am, a think outside the box kind of person that has a bit of disdain for conformity then aging can be a wonderful experience. As with everything else, it really comes down to understanding who you really are and what is important to you. I don’t want peace and to rest. Well I do, but not all the time. Some do and I absolutely get that. I’m still hungry for change and adventure. I still want to explore the world and we will be doing that.

  I’m aware that this is a last chapter. In spite of both shoulders and hips being replaced , I’m fortunate to have a body that will still allow me to do what I want to do (thank you keto, horseback riding ,yoga and pickleball!). Now that we are in Pagosa I can explore skiing, snowshoeing, kayaking and stand up paddle boards. There is no end to the hiking trails in the area.

  

  I have a husband that looks and acts like a forty year old. My partner in crime and I love to explore and find adventure and challenges. We will be doing a lot of travel. I realize how incredibly fortunate I am that I not only have someone to do that with me but we also have the resources to do rather than dream.

  As I talk with women in my age group I hear their frustration and shame about aging. The bemoaning of wrinkles and a few extra pounds. I wish I could tell them how beautiful they are to me. How their joy in life and determination to live and experience life fill me with admiration. How much their life experiences and wisdom help me as well as others.

  There is a spirit, an energy, a life force, a soul in all of us. The body we wear is a shell. The beauty of my friends is not on the surface, it’s in the love and caring and wisdom they bring to the world.

  That is beauty.

  

  Posted in Aging, Life | 6 Comments | Tagged age and beauty, over60, tattoos

• Are you living the life you chose?

  Posted at 5:43 pm by Michelle Ray Cox, on October 7, 2016

  

  One cold December night I hosted a Christmas party at my house in Little Rock.  One of my friends arrived at the door in a sweater over her party dress.  It was bitterly cold.  I asked “it’s freezing outside, where is your coat?”  She smiled and explained that she had three boys and they needed stuff, so she was going without a coat that year.

  I was hanging out with a group of women that were into “stuff”.  Not the “stuff” like warm coats and cars to get to work, but expensive “stuff”.  We would have lunch and ooh and aah over the new diamond bracelet, or the new Mercedes.  There was disdain over a fox fur coat, and even mink.   Sable was what was desired.  The love of friends and husbands was shown by gifts, and those gifts had a hefty price tag.

  I am ashamed to say I got caught up in that.  I had a Christmas list that year that read like the Neiman Marcus catalog.

  My friend standing on my front porch with a genuine, not self pitying smile, while she cheerfully told me she could not afford a winter coat was like a splash of needed cold water.  I had a closet full of coats, yet still I wanted, “needed” more?

  She left that night with a warm coat.  She left that night haven given me one of the most important gifts of my life; the understanding that THINGS are not what is important.

  I’ve lived in a mobile home.  I’ve lived in a 10,000 sq ft mansion.  I cried tears in both.  I’ve owned a 1964 Volkswagen bug that I had to push to get started on a regular basis.  I’ve also owned a Porsche and numerous BMW’s.   NONE OF THOSE THINGS MADE ME HAPPY.  And none of those things are still in my life now.

  I now understand that the valuable gifts are not things.  They are people, love, laughter, experiences.  They are what give me joy that cannot tarnish or breakdown.

  I see the sunrise and sunsets reflecting on my Colorado mountains.

  I ride my heart horse Bali with friends old and new on a perfect crisp fall day.  I notice the sun sparkling  of the creek we cross, and I see the trout darting through the crystal clear water.  I hear the laughter of my friends as they fight their way through the trees because I accidentally led them off the path.  Hugs and smiles as we part at the end of the ride.

  I sit on my deck, bundled in a coat and blanket, drinking coffee with new friends from Germany.  They are riveted by the night sky full of starts, which they havent seen in 20 years because of the light pollution in their city.   Think about that.  We gave them their first ride in a truck and their first ride in a Wrangler.  They were full of joy and awe as we drove Shelf Road through fall leaves as they stood in the back seat taking pictures.  Peter and Magda popped into my life unexpectedly (thank you Helene) and I am so grateful for the gift of time spent with them.

  My children are smart, funny, loving human beings.

  Not only does my husband love me, but we get to share our love for horses, riding and adventure.  He always, always says “great!” when I tell him more people are coming to stay with us.

  Then there is my “Tribe”.  There is something magical about finding those people that just really “get” you.  There is no negativity, no backbiting, no jealousy.   Just love, support, acceptance and lots of laughter.  I had that with my peeps in Little Rock.  It wasn’t so easy to find after our move to Colorado but I sure have it now.

  I don’t take these things for granted.  I am so very aware of how short life is.  I’ve lost friends this year to death.  I’ve cried while hearing about the loss of a child or a beloved pet.  There are people hurting because of fire, hurricanes, tornadoes, loss of a job, loss of a relationship.   Sickness, hardship, death, hurt.  All of those have been in my past.  Many will be in my future.

  Being aware of my gifts, appreciating them, gives me the strength to get through those tough times.  I CHOOSE to emphasize the good in each day.   I CHOOSE to see the best in my friends, and to move into an outer circle those that want to drag me down.  I CHOOSE to savor the many little things that can bring a smile.

  Now don’t think I’m all rainbows and unicorns.  I get frustrated.  I get hurt.  I get angry.  But I’m finding that if I am aware of all that I have to be grateful for, its easier to get over the bumps.  So every single day I breath deep and am grateful.

  We went to a Jason Isbell concert at Red Rocks a few weeks ago.  Talk about a gift to really savor; sitting in that venue on a perfect Colorado night is about as good as it gets.  He played one of my favorite songs that includes these words:

  Are you living the life you chose? Or are you living the life that chose you?

  I smiled through tears.

  I’m so lucky to be living the life I choose.

  

   

   

  

   

  

  Posted in Aging, Life | 0 Comments | Tagged Colorado, Jason Isbell, Red Rock Amphitheater, relationships

• The Other Shoulder Surgery Looms

  Posted at 11:20 pm by Michelle Ray Cox, on December 16, 2014

  The other shoulder replacement surgery got moved up a week.

  At first, I wasn’t really happy when I got the call that the surgery had been moved to December 23, and now it just happens to be two days before Christmas.

  However, after thinking about it a little bit I realized this date works out better.

  I’ll be ready to resume riding and other activities one week earlier.

  Steve will be off work a lot for the Christmas and New Year holidays.

  Keely will be out of school.

  My first call was to Steve, we talked about the pros and cons of the date change, but in reality I didn’t have much choice.
  I hung up the phone and read my email. There was a message from Charles saying that if the weather cooperated he would drive up to spend Christmas with us and do all the cooking. Well that could not have come at a better time, because I was about to call my friend Tina and tell her she would be doing ALL of the cooking at Christmas.

  So I called Charles, told him the date had been changed and that it was great he was going to be coming.

  “Well, it sounds to me like you would not want me to be there. You won’t feel well, and you won’t want to do anything for Christmas”

  “Charles, I’ll be fine on Christmas day if I don’t have to cook.”

  “But you will only get home the day before, you won’t feel like doing anything”

  “Charles, when I had the other surgery we left the hospital, drove to Canon City, dropped off the pain med prescription and then went to lunch. I got home four hours after being released from the hospital. Kira and Rita came to stay for a week, arriving two days after my surgery. We went to Breckenridge and came home on a very bumpy Shelf Road four days after my surgery. I will be fine. If I don’t feel like socializing all day, I can go to bed and you won’t get your feelings hurt. But the one thing that you really have to understand is that Steve. Does. Not. Cook.”

  There was silence for a minute.

  “OK. I get your point. We can plan out the menu later, but I’m coming”

  And it works out really well because he can fly in and use my truck for the time that he is here, because I don’t think I’ll want to drive that first week or two.

  Today was my last day at PT until December 29. I’ve had eleven physical therapy sessions and I could not be happier with my progress. I can raise my arm to 120 degrees in the front, 110 on the side. There is no pain. It’s fairly functional. I’m doing some really ugly yoga at home to get more flexibility and strength in my arm and shoulder. And I have another week for it to get better before I lose the use of my right arm.

  So yes, it will suck to be me for a few weeks. And then every day I will see range of motion and strength returning. That is what I am focusing on, the relatively quick return to full function that I will have in the next few months.

  I’ve been practicing driving with the operated shoulder arm. It works.

  Posted in Aging, Life | 2 Comments

• Twenty One Things I Learned After Shoulder Replacement Surgery

  Posted at 7:10 pm by Michelle Ray Cox, on December 1, 2014

  1. It really sucks to throw up after surgery. However, it is not so bad if you are still on pain meds.

  2. When they tell you to bring a large shirt for after surgery they mean a LARGE shirt because that sucker has to go over a very large padded sling.

  3. There is this thing called a “party ball” that is supposed to do a slow drip of pain meds directly into your system via a catheter inserted into your shoulder. It is supposed to last for 72 hours and slowly deflate. If it has not deflated after 48 hours it is not working. Therefore you missed the party.

  4. Percocet is given with the warning that you must not combine with a Tylenol product. Percocet gives me a really bad headache. So bad that I couldn’t even think about my shoulder because my head hurt so much. When I called the nurse hotline I was told to take, you guessed it, Tylenol for the headache.

  5. The nurse said day 3 and day 4 would be the worst because the “party ball” would be wearing off. Since the “party ball” never worked I spent time dreading a worst day that never occurred. The pain really wasn’t that bad and next time I’ll go on Tylenol much sooner.

  6. It is very good to have a husband with a good sense of humor when it is time to get dressed or undressed when wearing a sling.

  7. Do not EVEN consider putting on a sports bra.

  8. It is physically impossible to put your hair in a pony tail when one of your arms cannot be raised above waist level. Getting your head down to the hand at waist level does not work.

  9. Do not plan on going out in public if your husband has not had previous experience putting your hair in a pony tail.

  10. Forget makeup. Forget blow drying your hair. For weeks.

  11. If you put an onion or a potato on the blade of a chef knife and whack it, the vegetable will be cut in half.

  12. Someone will have to cut your food for you at first. This is less embarrassing if you wear your sling in public as you are supposed to.

  13. You are not supposed to lift ANYTHING . I DONT KNOW FOR HOW LONG BECAUSE THEY HAVE NOT LET ME IN ON THAT SECRET YET.
  Do not try to go grocery shopping by yourself for several weeks. You may think you can lift those long packages of chicken breasts with one hand but you can’t.

  14. You know those plastic bags in the produce department that you roll down and then tear apart? You can’t do that with one hand. So you roll all the way down to your waist and place the bag in your hand which is in a sling. Be ready fir some strange looks.

  15. Do not take Percocet before your first physical therapy session if pain meds make you nauseated. You will spend the hour with a ice pack on your neck and worry more about throwing up in front of everyone than how much your shoulder hurts.

  16. Having a shower large enough for two people is a good thing. Having a husband that will wash your hair for you while in the shower is a very good thing.

  17. You are told to keep your elbow close to your side at all times if you do not have a sling on. If you have a sling on, your arm is already in this position. This means that you sweat. It is very very difficult to wash under your arms when one arm cannot be moved. Try it sometime.

  18. Sleeping in a recliner is recommended. It keeps your head elevated. Being in a recliner discourages rolling over while wearing a sling and messing up your shoulder and experiencing excruciating pain. Being in a recliner by yourself can make you lonely and sad.

  19. Having a husband that loves you enough to sleep with his head at the foot of the bed so that he can touch you while you are in the recliner is awesome. Having a husband that will get up several times in the middle of the night to pull the recliner lever so you can get up and go to the bathroom is priceless.

  20. Think through every action before you start it. (See number 13). Making pies and then realizing it takes two hands to put them in and out of the oven was not one of my better moments.

  21. If your husband does not cook, it is good to have friends that come stay with you and cook for you. Thank you Kira and Rita Sharkey for cooking and cleaning, driving me to PT in the snow and listening to me whine.

  Three and a half weeks after surgery I can say that while not fun, this has not been as bad as I thought. Next surgery on the right shoulders is in three and a half weeks and the left will not be up to full speed by then.

  Pray that Steve and I can keep our sense of humor.

  Posted in Aging, Life | 6 Comments | Tagged Kira Sharkey, rita sharkey, shoulder replacement surgery, shoulder surgery, Steve Cox

• Everyone dies, but not everyone truly lives.

  Posted at 2:25 pm by Michelle Ray Cox, on April 3, 2014

  

  Grape Creek
  

  Every day we have a choice. We can use our hours on this earth in a positive and fully engaged way, or we can exist. I don’t want to have regrets when my time comes.

  That’s not to say that every day is full of butterflies and rainbows. If I expect that, I’m naive and sure to be disappointed. There is drudgery…packing up the house in preparation for the renovation was not my idea of how to spend a happy week. There is stress, worry, frustrations big and small. There is deep, heart wrenching sorrow when friends or family members are sick or die.

  But the more positive and happy times that I hold, touch and savor, the easier it is to pull back from the shade of negativity.

  Steve loves to fly his plane. It is his passion and joy. He starts getting antsy if he can’t fly. I love watching him focused and doing what he loves. I have fun when he plays around with steep turns, I laugh when my butt leaves the seat when we hit an updraft. But I don’t enjoy flying the plane at all. Flying is Steve’s passion, not mine. Flying is important to Steve, Steve’s happiness is important to me, so I want him to fly as much as he wants.

  Now horses…horses are my passion and they have been from the time I could walk and talk.
  I’ve had my Paso Fino Maestro for several years. I’d ride every once in a while, but didn’t have any friends that were really into horses to ride with.

  Then I met Lilly, the teenage daughter of one of Steve’s coworkers. She reminds me so much of myself at that age. Totally horse crazy. Lilly started riding Patches, our pony/horse. Then we met Ann my neighbor across the street and the three of us started riding together.

  Through Ann I met Heath Marshall, a mustang trainer here in Penrose. That is when things really changed. There are a lot of people that come to Heath’s to hang out, and take his clinics. That is how I met Monte and Tanya Zimmerman and boy do they know a lot of people, and they ride A LOT. More importantly, they are friendly and welcome others to ride with them.

  So suddenly I had the opportunity to ride more often. Which was fine durning the week when Steve was working. But if I rode with my friends on weekends I left Steve home, and obviously we weren’t spending as much time together.

  Steve didn’t get to fly for months. I had hip replacement in September and couldn’t get into the plane. Then we went to California for Christmas. We we got back, Steve was sick for the rest of his Christmas break. For the next few weekends we had winds gusting to 60mph which is not good flying weather. Next, I got bucked off a friends horse and had a concussion and three broken ribs.

  After not flying for a few months Steve was getting down and a little cranky which is not like him at all. Since the wind here in Penrose was always going to be a problem, I suggested he get a horse so that we could ride together. We talked it over for hours. Riding will never replace his love of flying, but it would allow us to each share our passion with the other.

  That discussion was on a Friday. Saturday I drove to Denver to try out a horse for Steve while he did some work from home. I rode the horse on icy roads one week after the ribs were broken and as confident as I am I knew that really wasn’t a good idea. It was a short ride. The horse was a 20 year old Paso, just like mine, and very energetic. I told Steve he really needed to ride him himself. Some people do not like forward and energetic horses to trail ride. I do, but I wasn’t sure what Steve would like.

  We drove back up to Denver on Sunday. Steve rode the horse, and fell in love. A check was written. The gelding was named “Pepper” which wasn’t going to work because we already have a dog with that name. Steve took a couple of days to think about it and came up with the name “Rio”.

  On Monday we traded our wrangler for a Ram 1500. On Wednesday Rio came to his new home. On Friday we bought a used two horse trailer.

  To say our life has changed is an understatement.

  We are having SO MUCH FUN! Steve loves his Rio and loves to ride. He rode when he was a kid, is a confident rider and has no fear. We ride out just the two of us, we go on awesome rides with friends. On Friday we rode for seven hours following a narrow trail that criss crossed Grape Creek with a group of 12 other riders. We had a blast and made even more new friends. Driving back Steve said “you know, today was one of those days you could only dream of”. We are already discussing where to go horse camping with friends this summer. How cool is that?

  The next day we took the plane to Moab for the weekend. Gorgeous scenery and we got to play on rocks and drive down a hairy scary trail on the side of a cliff. And Steve got to indulge in his passion.

  Life is so darn good. And I know how incredibly blessed I am.

  What is your passion? Are you balancing the drudgery and stress of life with fun? Whatever your passion, whatever feeds your soul, I urge you to give yourself permission to experience joy.

  

  Posted in Aging, Experiences, Life | 0 Comments

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