“Platte River Symphony,” 9″ x 6,” Gouache, Copyright © 2016 by Donna Lyons

“Creating Life’s Score”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2023

Several months ago, I read beautiful comments written by a woman about her late musician husband. She wrote eloquently about his work as a symphony.

It started me thinking. I wondered how our own lives would be remembered musically or otherwise.

If we created our own symphony, or at least our life’s score what would it contain. We all play a part in creating such a score. Would we carry the melody? Would we add the harmony? Would ours be lyrical? Hauntingly beautiful? Bombastic?  The answer is probably, all of the above depending on our life’s circumstances or experiences.

Then again, what about tempo. Would ours be fast or slow? What about the volume? Might we blend the tempo with volume?

Perhaps our lives have varied the fast tempo with loud “notes.” Or, most likely, there have been slow, soft, melodic, reflective times. Alternating tempo and sound may reflect certain aspects of our lives both the most wonderful and cherished along with the sad, plaintive times.

On occasion, we might have been creating the more discordant portions of our life’s score. Blending and intermingling with the “notes” of others could well have broadened our own symphony.

Most likely, our life’s score will involve interacting with others. Much as musical scores involve the interplay of parts, so too does our life. Unless ours is a solo version only, mixing, matching, and blending with others creates that life score.

Compositions from our childhood may vary from those in our different adult years. A recurring theme may yet emerge in this score.

How will our life’s score be played and enjoyed by others? Will we smile at those last notes? Will we be pleased?

June 2025

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“Prediction,” 11″x9″ watercolor, Donna Lyons ©2013

“Nature”

By Marty Coffin Evans ©2017

The birds chirped, the dogs raced around the yard and all seemed fine that sunny Sunday morning. Or, was it?

“The dogs are chasing the birds in the back yard,” my husband said. Chasing amounted to them running back and forth beside the fence, looking up all the while. Their racing action was not unlike what they did when squirrels happened along the fence or up in the trees.

While we didn’t know it at the time, this turned out to be different. Later in the morning, I noticed Simon had something in his mouth, although just what, was not clear. My bribery attempts were futile. Eventually, I corralled him enough to remove the item from his mouth – part of a dead baby bird. Oh no, I thought, as I carefully wrapped up its remains.

Back outside Simon went only to resume his search under the big, sprawling Bird’s Nest Spruce near the fence. Adding to his anxious quest, a pair of birds were calling and flying overhead going from side to side above the shrub. They flitted, occasionally diving closer, as they continued their quest to find their fallen young.

Looking up high in the neighbor’s tree, we spotted a large nest. Apparently one of their young had fallen from the nest presumably landing near or under the shrub.

Simon soon appeared from under the sprawling shrub again with something in his mouth.  Fortunately, this time he dropped it. We carefully retrieved this baby bird which too was dead.

It seemed like for an hour or so the parents called or sang a repeated plaintiff song apparently hoping to find their fallen chicks. At some point they must have decided all was lost. Their song seemed to repeat itself with its trills and notes.

When did these little chicks fall from the nest?  Did the squirrels cause this mishap? How many little birds remained in need of their parents’ care? We’ll never know.

With sadness for this little family, we said we were sorry. Yes, it’s nature and yet, it dimmed the joy of that sunny Sunday morning.

Some comfort came from the verse in Matthew (10:29), “Not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.” We hope so.

May 2025

“Late Morning, Early Spring,” 15″ x 11″ Watercolor, © Donna Lyons 2018

“A mysterious stranger”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2015

We looked up the little incline as we walked the Boulder Creek Path. There to our right, just below the 28^th Street overpass, was a man dressed in a dark brown jacket.

Leaning over, he carefully smoothed out a piece of cardboard. Nearby he had a green plastic bag.  Satisfied with his efforts, he quickly scurried into his concrete niche.

How old was he?  We never saw his face only his back as he gave methodical care to these items for his “home.”

Neither my friend nor I spoke as we continued walking. We passed another homeless man, this one smoking a cigarette while semi-sitting on the low wall by the creek. We saw him first as we walked west, then again as we made our walking loop back to our cars. Dressed in a light colored jacket, he appeared tall and possibly younger than the mysterious stranger living in his niche under 28^th Street.

Do you smile and say Hello? The creek side fellow seemed interested in those passing him by, whether on foot or bicycle.  We’ve heard about people feeling invisible.  Was this fellow invisible to the passersby?

Who were these fellows?  How did they end up living on the streets and underpasses in Boulder? Whose family members were they?

I thought back to a time in San Francisco when walking to a convention center meeting, we picked up free baguettes from a basket outside a bakery.  Armed with our two baguettes, we offered one to a fellow on Market Street.  His pleasure was not discernable. Later at Fisherman’s Wharf, we offered our second one to a fellow sitting on the sidewalk. Our bread was not the kind he hoped for that evening.

What do these snippets hold in common for me?  I remember the San Francisco experience although that happened probably 20 or so years ago.  I definitely remember our brown-coated mysterious stranger scampering into his makeshift home.

As I stand by the back door late at night watching the dogs make one last trip outside, I think of these men.  Rather, I really think about the one in the brown jacket.

It’s cold outside. How will he make it through the night? Will he become a statistic we read about at some later time in our newspaper?

Depending on life circumstances, some may say, “There but for the grace of God go I.” I hope our Lord looks out for these men (and women too) as they wend their way through life.

Gratefully, the Bridge House, Boulder’s Homeless Shelter and area churches provide a place for some to stay overnight during the colder months along with needed sustenance. Perhaps with spring’s arrival, the elements will be kinder to these strangers in our midst.

April 2025

“Tender Mercy,” 8″x 6, Gouache by Donna Lyons © 2023

“Making that Bucket List”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2022

Not long ago, I attended a party celebrating my friend, Diana. Caring Bridge entries about her cancer journey likely prompted this. Realizing she didn’t have many months to live, she decided to host the party rather than our doing so as we’d planned.

What a great time to celebrate with others who matter in our lives – family, colleagues from different work locations, service club members and more. Her parting gift to us – “Diana’s Bucket List.”

Introducing her list, Diana noted she had done some of the listed things and wished she could do them again. She included activities she never got to do.

What would such a list of 21 items encompass? Hers contained ones pertaining to people (9), places (6) and things (6). The “people” examples included being a grandparent (devoted, joyful, committed), reconnecting with someone not spoken to in a long time, asking for or forgiving someone needing forgiveness, and practicing gratitude every day for family (daughters in her case), friends, relatives and furry friends.

“Place” examples take us on cruises whether with Viking up a river or one through the Greek Islands, touring Ireland, canoeing the Quetico and hearing the loons again along with sitting on a beach and listening to an ocean.

Diana’s “thing” items stretch us a bit as they included volunteering somewhere, taking a class in something new, reading a book outside of what we’d usually select, mastering (not just studying) a second language and picking up/ learning a new musical instrument or revisiting one previously played.

Tucked in the middle of her Bucket List: “Take time to notice the light outside, its changes throughout the day, how it modifies the look of trees, grass, sky, clouds, mountains, and how those differences make you feel.”

Diana hoped we’d do one or more from this list in her honor. How wonderful to remember and celebrate another this way!

March 2025

“Gift of Friendship,” 6″ x 9″ Watercolor, By Donna Lyons ©2008

“I love you”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2024

“I have some bad news,” my friend Art said in a soft voice. He went on to tell me of his Stage IV lung cancer diagnosis.

We talked and shared memories from our 40-year friendship. Both of us recalled his presentation at an Industry Education Council meeting where he had described the upcoming Equestrian Events during that summer’s Los Angeles Olympic Games. We didn’t linger on those memories as soon others filled our conversation.

How often do we tell others of their importance in our lives? My friend was doing just that. He had a list of friends, beyond those in the family, where he was telling the story of his current health challenge. Certainly, family members will surround him, and his wife as will friends nearby.

In the coming days, he would learn about the treatment for his diagnosis. He did not want flowers, but, rather requested prayers. Cards and calls would be welcome. Perhaps now, these can come in a more regular basis instead of sporadically.

Years ago, I learned my lesson when calling my Aunt Lucille, former secretary Phyllis, and close friend, Nancy. Little did I know, they’d be gone months later. I was so grateful for making those calls where we connected over fun stories. I hope I told them how much they meant to me.

My friend’s gift of friendship, begun those decades ago, expanded with his caring call. I was most grateful to have a place on his list of those to call. It sounded as though he’d rest a bit before contacting another.

We said our goodbyes with “I love you” through our emotion-laden voices. I look forward to talking with him again soon.

Several days later, when I shared this writing with my friend Art, he responded, “I cannot tell you how much reading your thoughts mean to me at this hour. You have been such a wonderful friend for these many decades and even now you reach out with such kind words to reflect on the essence of our relationship. You are such a blessing to me in every way.” Love, Art.

We need to remember to tell others we love and care about them. It’s never too late, until it is!

February 2025