April 1984, was the month and year that yours truly started writing rose-colored glasses. That is eighteen months of telling all. In these eighteen months. I have had my share of recognition because of this column. My friends introduce me to strangers as “The poor man’s Erma Bombeck” and one evening in Fort Lupton a group of ladies asked me if I was rose colored glasses…no name, just rose colored glasses. I have enjoyed my share of letters to the Editor and women ask me how I can possibly know their husband and kids well enough to write about them. I certainly have enjoyed all the attention, having no previous writing experience, it makes me feel good to write down the way I see things and have people enjoy reading and identifying with it. Last week I got some special recognition that I would like to tell you about.

A few years back there was a TV game show called, “Let’s Make a Deal”. On this show I ridiculously dressed contestants would try to win various prizes from host Monty Hall, by trading dumb things for (hopefully) the good prizes behind doors number one, two or three. Some got good deals and some got not so good deals. Seems most of us like to make a deal. It also seems like men are better at making deal’s than women, men enjoy the challenge. And what better place to make a deal than…the local car dealer. It is only natural for people to want to make a deal with a car dealer, their name implies it and their advertisements most often say, “come on down, let’s deal” or “we have the best deal in town.”

This week my column is going to take on a new face. In the past I have looked at the lighter side of life, but this week I would like to give you my feelings about some of the more serious problems that we seem to be faced with. I promise I won’t make a habit out of being serious in future columns, but this week after watching 45/85 on TV. I have been thinking about the past and present and I would like to share my thoughts with you.

I have just experienced “one of those weeks”. Everyone knows what “one of those weeks” is…it is one week in any given month when it seems like one thing after another goes wrong.

My, “one of those weeks” started last Thursday morning. Actually, it all started with the rose-colored glasses column that I wrote last week. When I got the paper. I read my cover and what I had feared came true. I managed to do the one thing that I had vowed never to do again. I had written the words, “sipped diet Coke” and hadn’t capitalized the word Coke. Now. I know better than that, I got into trouble with the multi-billion dollar Coca Cola Company before for doing the same thing. I distinctly remember thinking the words…“sipping diet pop” but the old fingers pushed the c and the o and the k and the e keys on the typewriter again. Now I will probably get another letter from the soft drink giant’s legal department, telling me that I have put their trademark in jeopardy because of my carelessness. Boy how embarrassing, all because of a stupid typewriter.

Six weeks. That is how long it has been since “Clark” started attending school for full days instead of half days like last year. I have had six weeks to accomplish all the things that I dreamed of doing when those days finally arrived. The days when my time was all mine from 8:30 in the morning until 3:00 in the afternoon. My, the sky would be the limit. with all the time in the world to do what I had been putting off all year. Well, let me tell you, six weeks have passed and I have accomplished exactly…nothing. One of the problems I have found is that I have a hard time managing all my new found freedom. I either have nothing to do for a couple of days or I have planned three different activities for the same time on the same day. After having a little kid around the house and under foot for over six years. I feel like I have been paroled for good behavior.

What a wonderful informative world we live in. Seems like everything we buy has directions enclosed. Every new fangled thing that we buy tells us what to do, from the “open this end” on frozen dinners to how to plug in your new video tape recorder. These directions are not only printed in the English language, they are printed in Spanish, French and German, so everyone will have a chance to understand how to operate the latest gadgets on the retail market. The directions for all the new items that we buy nowadays must cost the consumer a small fortune, the cost of the printing the booklets and the plastic bags that they put in to protect them have to add a few dollars onto anything we buy.

Last June, I wrote a column telling the story about taking “Clark” to school for his kindergarten DIAL screening and the results of that screening. In the column that I titled, “A one footed Kangaroo.” I told how “Clark' passed all his fine motor skills and concepts tests, but failed to pass the test they called gross motor experiences, (jumping, throwing, hopplng, etc.). In other words. “Clark” proved he was very bright, but to say the least, not very athletic.

Have you ever experienced a time when it seems that the whole world is out to prove the old saying. “Time marches on” is true. I have just experienced such a time. Seems that I have read and heard, and the places that I have been recently have been a reminder that time is marching on and I am bopping along to the beat of the drummer. I guess the best four word description to explain how I feel is “Plain old middle-aged.”

Sing one verse then repeat the chorus of T.I.D.E., tide.

Soap Operas, what would our lives be without soap operas. Just think how dull our lives are compared to the soaps. I have a favorite soap. The Young and the Restless, and I get upset if I can’t watch it everyday. The title of this great piece of entertainment says a lot about the show. Maybe all the characters aren’t young, but you can’t find fault with the word restless. If everyone in this country lived this pace in their lives, the national life expectancy would be about 26.8 years and our legal expenses would be unbelievable.

Last Friday and Saturday we went to the opening of Cheyenne Frontier Days. Frontier Days seems to be Wyoming’s answer to the once a year cowboy’s dream. All you need when you go to this big shin-dig to the north, is blue jeans, boots, cowboy hat, and a desire to have a good time. If you have everything except the cowboy hat, you can buy yourself a pink or blue straw one with a string of feathers hanging on the back, at a dozen places along the midway. Now this particular kind of ca boy hat doesn’t seem too authentic to me. I just can’t seem to picture a real cowboy riding his horse on the range, in a pink hat with hot pink feathers flapping in the breeze. (Well, maybe in some parts of San Francisco it would be alright, but that is neither here nor there.)