Reflections On Leaving Our Mountains

I always new the time would arrive when we had to leave our home in Sandia Park. I never wanted to think about that day but just like every thing in life I've
known, there is an end. Although a person in his 80's should be accustomed to
the conclusion of all things, I hide behind the the wall of denial that all this
is part of wonder of living yet also part of the torture one goes through up to
old age. The death of one's grandparents, parents and sometimes, children.  The
homes you close and friends who have gone.  The beautiful objects that you collect and admire, that too will fade into the night when the time arrives.

I walked through our home we designed and built to last forever but forever
was a dream too far and my heart only told me that dreams are only part of the
deception that plays out in the stream of years.  I gazed at the pieces
of my past, the furniture, old and worn, owned by my aunts, Rose, Min and Ettie and the ancient sewing machine Grandma Bettie worked at while I, a mere child,
watched in awe on tip toes as she made that machine do her bidding. All these
objects will travel to other places, I know not where, but will the new owners
know how much they meant to me and how they stirred the memories of the past? I
fear not.

The mountains will remain unchanged when we leave.  We will begin to change as
soon as they're out of sight.  Until the end of my run, I will ski the slopes
and hike the trails with Annabelle and hope that these memories remain alive.