Norman Liden Obituary

February 20, 2025

I have been writing to you now for 18 years. As I considered what to say this year, I started to wonder what you might write to me?

Throughout this year, there were so many things you might have wanted to talk or write about because they were repeats of what used to be small personal parts of our life.

Waiting patiently until Spring to take down the front door Christmas wreath - giving the finches time to raise their family and leave their nest.

Guarding winter socks and mittens drying after snow shoveling - on-alert for a warm sock or glove to get snatched by a Briard´s jaws-of-life while unloading the dryer. Reaching for a treat in the cookie jar wisely placed on top of the dryer to bribe the jaws to "drop it!"

Setting the alarm for 1:00am to catch a glimpse and memory of the Strawberry June moon on camera.

Roasting poblanos in the oven - filling the house in the Fall with smokey luxurious chili smells that bring back memories of trips to Mexico, or Colorado dinner parties where we introduced East Coast friends to the delights of chili rellenos.

And then there was your universal dress code of Crocks. You were a Crock connoisseur and had Crocks in all colors, and for all occasions and events. Jimmy Buffet Crocks for Hawaiian shirts. Men´s Classics to go with a sports jacket. Off-road Crocks to wear to the gym; and - on one occasion - glitter Crocks to go with your blinking LED-lit bowtie and rented tux on New Years Eve! Your favorite pair was bright orange. They stood out like neon traffic cones in a crowd. Curious onlookers would stop you to ask about them and would then find themselves enveloped into philosophical discussions about free will, the science of fun and the meaning of life in general.

I´ve continued your Crock appreciation - although not quite so passionately. Last month I ordered 2 new pairs. They were delivered (bravely) by an Amazon driver during a blizzard and below 0 temperatures. And the irony of Crocks in January reminded me of the 1995 blizzard.

We were snowbound in Franktown. You had a serious case of cabin fever and paced the house in your white Crocks (in honor of the snow) cursing the fact that (at that time) Crocks didn´t make boots. After stomping around restlessly for 24hrs, you declared that the only sure cure for cabin fever was to get out of the cabin! The storm finally stopped - leaving a 3 foot-deep white comforter of new snow. The Colorado sun had pushed back the storm clouds and sprinkled sun beams on the fallen snow like diamonds - seducing us to join her gift of fluffy down. You kicked off your white Crocks, pulled on your Sorels, donned your waterproof Cabela jacket and disappeared into the garage to find our snow shoes. After rummaging around in the garage and some swearing, you returned with snow shoes in hand and happily declared that you´d also found our ski poles and water-proof gloves!

Once sufficiently winterized, we clomped out into the stunning sparkling outdoors. Our pent-up energy fueled us to make it all the way to state highway 83. Amazingly, the state had managed to plow one lane. And even more remarkably, the small gas station and convenience store was open because the storm had forced the owner to stay over-night.

Two horses were hitched to the store´s porch and each were draped with saddlebags. A woman bundled in several scarfs, a puffy down jacket and thick woolen mittens stood guard over the horses. One horse´s set of bags were stuffed with potato and tortilla chips, jarred salsa, microwave popcorn, Oreos, a loaf of Wonder bread, jars of peanut butter and grape jelly, and packages of baloney and American cheese. As we took our snow shoes off, a man wearing a canvass barn jacket and furry trapper´s hat came out of the store with two 12-packs of Coors beer. He buckled each pack into his horse´s bags, turned to us, flashed a thumbs-up and said "God I love snow days!"

They mounted their steads and headed south to their barn on the Highway´s narrowly plowed path. We took their cue, filled our backpacks with equally essential supplies, paid the snowed-in owner and pulled our snow shoes back on. We then plodded our way back home - carefully dodging the "road apples" dotting the horses´ path.

I was remembering this blizzard adventure as I opened my Amazon box. I´d ordered 2 styles - one was the women´s "Beatles Love Classic Crocks" and the other was a pair of women´s "FLX Crocks Echo Boots". Yes Norm, they do now make Crock boots, and I knew just what you would have written to me. You would have asked: "Do these come in men sizes?"

~ DEY

You are such a gifted writer, Danelle.
Your message has captured the essence of Théo. As I read previous posts, I am reminded how unique and captivating Théo, Harpo, Salute and Moz are (were). Norm would have loved all of them. Norm was unique, kind, funny and passionate, just to name of few of his endearing qualities. To know him was to love him. It feels like only yesterday he was with us. He lives on in our hearts.

February 20, 2024
This Dog
Eats each meal
grabbing mouthfuls of food, chewing and spilling as he wanders around the house looking out windows and doors.
Trails of kibble on the kitchen, living room and office floors for later munching.

Takes morning naps upside down.
Tummy and crotch splayed, and 4 paws stretched to ribbons of warm winter sun slipping through the picture window or embracing cool puffs of summer breeze from the ceiling fan.

Conducts daily toy inspections - checking toys that litter the floor, sniffing those still captive in his basket, and after contemplation, deciding what additional toy needs to be added to the litter.

This dog
Howls and sings.
A horn fanatic. Eyes glued to the TV waiting to croon with the CBS Sunday Moring News trumpet theme, dashing upstairs to the balcony to add an aria to the Colorado Casual Furniture commercial, or sniffing my CD collection inviting me to play Miles Davis, Chris Boti or Stan Getz.

Magically shows up when the espresso machine boiler cranks up - vibrating the house with its industrial hum as he waits patiently to lick the remains of the latte froth.

Delights in afternoon walks surprises.
Quiet heals interrupted by spurts of lunging to chase a teasing squirrel or clueless rabbit.
Grabbing and tugging the leash to walk himself home.

Is Co-star of canine-feline Worldwide Wresting Entertainment bouts... until the feline wrestler has had enough.

This dog looks up. Ground sniffing is frequently interrupted with sky gazing:
A chevron of geese flying north. A Red Hawk hunting mice. A Cessna heading to Centennial Airport.

This dog is fond of bedtime.
I slip into cool sheets and pound my pillow into softness
He goes to the end of the bed, turns r
ound and round three times then plops down with a sigh.
As we are on the edges of sleep,
this dog
leaves his end-of-the-bed berth and quietly curls himself into my chest and stomach. We share my pounded pillow and our breathes sync into one rhythm.
~DEY

THE BLACK DOG February 20, 2023
This is a message from Harpo - you know, the Orange Tabby (OT) who´s been living with Danelle for the past 14 years? Well, thanks to her, I have a new roommate. When he first arrived, I didn´t think it would be a big deal. He was a puppy, sick most of the times and went away lots to a place called HOSPITAL. While he was on HOSPITAL vacation, I still had the house to myself and could get pets and treats on-demand from Danelle. It was pretty much like the old days before THE BLACK DOG.

But eventually, THE BLACK DOG began to get well. He didn´t go away on HOSPITAL vacation as much, and hung around the house pretty much 24-7. He was still just a small kid so I came up with a Plan B. As long as he was reasonably little, I figured out he might be fun to play with and I could also steal some of his dog food. I went with Plan B for a while until...well.... he got bigger, stronger and more like a BIG BLACK DOG.

So then I came up with Plan C. Plan C includes wrestling and playing hide-n-seek for around 5-10 minutes and only when I wanted to. Once I pretty much had my fill, then I'd bite THE BIG BLACK DOG on the ear or the nose - someplace that he´ll remember for at least a nano-second - while I made my escape. I had numerous escape routes - the kitchen counter, a cat-condo tree in the laundry room, another condo-tree in the master bedroom, and the entire finished basement via a dog-gate with a cat-door installed thanks to Danelle´s pro-active thinking.

And then the BIG BLACK DOG started to BOUNCE AND BARK. He bounced and barked whenever a doorbell rang - even when it was on TV? He bounce-barked when anyone sneezed including me? He bounce-barked at the trumpet theme to the CBS Sunday Morning News Show or whenever there was trumpet music on a TV ad. And sometimes it was to silent sounds from aliens that only he hears because I sure as hell don´t. It wouldn´t be so much trouble if this crazy behavior was only in the general direction of the actual sound so a cat could get out of the bounce trajectory, but unfortunately the bounce-bark could erupt at a moment´s notice and all over the house - especially at the secret sounds from aliens.

In any case, Plan C isn´t working anymore and I need to come up with a Plan D and reasonably quickly. I know that cats' have 9 lives, but I´m fairly sure I´ve used up most of mine, and I´m 14yrs old, Danelle is 70yrs old and the BIG BLACK BOUNCY DOG is....well.....17mos. old. You are a PhD in Mathematics - you do the math?!

So that´s why I thought it might be a good idea to write you. When you first met Danelle, you were a CAT PERSON. I read Danelle´s journals and you had 3 Siamese cats before Danelle dragged you to the dark side of dogs! You had 3 CATS!?!?

My question is, what's the best way to re-instate my OT statis? To help get the brain-storming going, here´s some ideas I´ve come up with:
1). Stuff one of my cat toys into the front door when there´s a repair man here so that the door doesn´t close. Then MR. BIG BOUNCY BLACK DOG goes bounding out, finds a new home to take over and the repair man gets blamed.
2). Order lots of very expensive non-returnable stuff on Amazon (Danelle always leave her laptop on), sign his name so he gets blamed, and Danelle returns him to wherever he came from.
3). Post his photo on Craigslist as needing to be adopted for $10, 000, arrange for a meet-up with potential adoptee parents while Danelle´s having lunch with a friend, act dumb when questioned on his disappearance and keep the $$$ to spend more on cat toys and secret Amazon orders.

I realize that the writing routine Danelle has with your Legacy site is annual, but if you could get back to me sooner, I´d really really really appreciate it.... remember I´m 14yrs old, Danelle is 70, and the BIG BLACK BOUNCY DOG is only 17mos.
Your Friend,
Harpo

Keep a special place in your heart for Norm.

I hold you in my heart Danelle.

February 20, 2022



When we met, you knew cats. Your little family included 3 handsome female Siamese - Sasha, Snowflake and Zoe. I lived with a 6-month-old shelty mix named Gabe and I knew dogs. Somehow, we managed to blend our families. You worried that Dog would trump Cat, but as it turns out (and as most cat lovers will attest) it quickly was the other way around. Siamese always get their way.



How is it exactly, that horses came into our lives? I´m afraid that´s my fault. My child and young adulthood were spent working on horse farms and summer riding camps - cleaning stalls in exchange for a riding lessons and taking summer camp counselor jobs to work with camp horses. I was that National Velvet girl who never grew up - never grew out of the love of a horse.



And just as you caved quickly to my love of dogs (let me reiterate that it was NOT to your cats´ demise), you indulged in my longing to have a horse. Horse...and then horses....
And eventually together we knew horses - Arabians, Saddlebreds and Morgans. We emptied bottles of champagne celebrating their triumphs in the show ring, and drained our bank accounts with our losses. And when each horse left us, we drowned our sorrow with scotch, checked our bank statements, and in moments of crazed sadness decided to try again.



So, that is how it came to be that a year after your death - on my 55th birthday - I bought a 4 yr. old Morgan gelding named Salute. He was a juvenile delinquent - young, full of himself, ill-mannered and green broke. And he was handsome, affectionate, healthy and smart... very smart. You would have appreciated just how smart he was - you with your PhD in mathematics, and him with a post-grad in equine cleverness.



I´ve had the privilege of knowing many horses, and in those very rare times - if one is very lucky - you have the great fortune to share a coveted rapport with a horse that we love and who loves us back with equality.



Salute was that very special individual - an equine Heathcliff. He was darkly handsome, 15.3 hands high and wrapped in a delicious coat of dark chocolate with a long ebony- black mane and tail, and four dark stockings -- his left hind leg being dotted with a surprise white fleck like an explanation point. A quintessential Morgan, he was short-backed, compact and beautifully rounded, with huge black-brown soft eyes, a chiseled face and delicate soft muzzle which he used incessantly to blow softly in my face.



We developed our own language. I would think something and he would do it. There was an unspoken harmony and unity where we read each other´s moods and had great adventures when happy, and could change each other´s bad days into good. When we´d get in trouble on the trail or in the ring, my friends would say that he let me get away with risks we should never have taken. And in spite of his perchance to whirl and bolt, he never made me walk alone back to the barn.



I think horses were created to teach people to love without a balance sheet. They trot their way into our lives with their grace, beauty and soft muzzles. They stretch and preen cat-like to show their delight when brushed, and wait patiently for us to tack them up which always takes longer than it should. They can shift gears faster than a sports car - bursting into a canter when cued and then stand quietly because we´ve stopped our ride to talk to people in the ring or on the trail. They gift us with their elegance when you set them loose in the arena - not just because it gives them joy to roll or run wildly but also because they know it also gives us joy. They fill our lives with the freedom of movement, and the belief that in all challenges, the solution is to move forward.



As horses I´ve known before, and as Salute reminded me this year, the final lesson of living with a horse´s wholesale love is that they wisely know their lives will be shorter than ours. They trust us to love them enough when the time comes, to take their halter off and let them run free forever.



On the fifth of March 2021 I lost this remarkable free-spirit. His halter hangs on a hook next to my keys to remind me of countless days driving to the barn. I am grateful for the gift of knowing and living with this special friend for the last fourteen years. He was a significant part of my healing after you died -- I learned so much more about trust, patience, and joy.



And movement - to always move forward.

What a year. But, as always, our dear Danelle has captured the sweet along with the sad; the sense of renewal along with the pain of loss. I’m reminded again of just what a “presence” Norm was in the lives of all who knew him - but like the changing seasons and the melting snows and the all too brief but incredibly wonderful companionship of a special dog, life ebbs and flows moves forward, memories of departed loved ones becoming part of our “toolbox” for dealing with inevitable change.

I do love reading your memories and expressions each year Danelle. I feel like we are back to the past years when we would all get together on either side of the "dog park" and enjoy each other's company and conversation. So many fond memories and encounters; each with its own very special place in my mind and heart. Would be so nice to be sharing a Stella Artois and cigar again.
I miss you my friend....rest well.
Dale

Snow Not Shoveled
2/20/21

Norm,
It is a daunting task to try and tell you about this last year but in summary, 2020 was an epic year – both selfish and remarkable. It introduced a pandemic that made it difficult for us to be together. We dealt with wildfires, floods and deep freezes, and cultural unrest that challenged our humanity. But it was also a year that nurtured compassion and resiliency where families, neighbors and strangers turn to each other. A year that gave us an opportunity to slow down, to keep a more careful eye on each other and pay attention to what we could do to make a difference.

But in a statistic not nationally recorded, and in a quiet and private disappearance, it stole my friend Mozart.

I had high hopes for February’s familiar snowy return – that the snow could make the earth less thirsty. And in hopes that we finally had arrived at a time of recovering from our losses and could have dreams of big intentions and high expectations. But this year, February with all its anticipated crisp cold air and pristine white un-shoveled snow, still also summons snowy memories of past winters.

Snow has buried the waterfall. The music created by its spilling waters is now silenced by ice-cycles clinging to moss rock and river logs. While wrens and chickadees peck at their winter feeders, they glance at the frozen waterfall hoping that spring will return soon to wake-up the fall’s cascade. In winter Moz would also stare at the waterfall glacier. I imagined he was remembering past summer days balancing precariously on slippery rocks as he waded into the pond to take noisy slurps of long warm-day drinks, and dried his sodden beard on the pond’s lemon grass borders. In all seasons, he was the self-appointed guardian of the yard – rabbits and squirrels timed their ventures when he wasn’t on patrol.

But now, the squirrels are brazenly foraging in the frozen garden and the rabbits hunker down under Boxwood bushes knowing he won’t be leaping from the snow-crusted patio to chase them away. And every time I trudge out to clear a path to fill the songbird feeders, I remember past Februarys when he would leap high into the air to bite snow flung from my shovel and dive into snow banks where the snow eventually landed.

Mozart’s love and trust were hard-earned and the silence now in the house is loud. I swear I hear his heavy padded paws on the wooden floors and his snuffling as he waited by the door for me when I came home. His leash is draped over my winter coat, my knit cap and leather gloves – hanging neglected on the coat rack framing the back-porch door that used to welcome our daily walks. The blue plastic newspaper sleeve of my Sunday NYT is no longer punctured with teeth marks, and I unload the dryer without his helpful snatching of warm socks and towels.

What is left in the silence of my house, is the realization of how much his vulnerability and independence were intertwined with mine. I think back to the first time we met at the Shelter. I recognized instantly those guarded weary eyes – that stoic, stiff-spine defiant stance while trying to camouflage fear. But I also remember catching a glimpse of a flickering connection hinting of the possibility that resiliency could be our bond. Now, as I look back on these last 6 years while we learned how to live together, I can appreciate that it was just that – a shared belief in our resiliency and re-seeded hopes. We learned much from each other.

So now what lingers most in this otherwise empty house, is this wisdom he left me. Especially on snowy February days.
~ D

Dear Danelle: I feel as though I was with you and Norm in that beach. Thank you for making me a part of this special moment in your lives; I will treasure it forever. With love,

Courtney

Such a beautiful and eloquently said memory Danelle. Your post allowed me to almost be there with you and Norm. I could feel all the things that you must have experienced that day. Thanks for allowing me to be part of such a personal and loving time in your life.

I miss my friend. So many memories during our times together. Each vivid and comforting in their own way.

Rest well Norm. We all miss you my friend.

2/20/20

Norm,
I had lunch with a good friend the other day and while lingering over a bucket of steamed mussels, a plate of truffle fries and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, we talked about our favorite memories. I told her about the time you and I rode our mountain bikes on the Olympic Peninsulas Rialto Beach.

Do you remember?

It was early spring and the fog was soaked in sea salt and ice crystals. The sun tried to break through, creating thin rare ribbons of luminous light, and we were drenched in spite of our Gore-Tex jackets. Occasionally, the sun was able to sear through the mist, and we could briefly glimpse long reaches of rock that stretched from the beach into the sea and hear waves crash drift logs into the rocks' crags and shelves.

I remember that you and I were stunned by the kaleidoscope of life and death offered by this beach. Towering blue-black spruce trees and lush emerald moss and undergrowth were contrasted by scattered fallen trees -- their giant roots, branches and trunks bleached ivory by the sea salt and sun. When the tide came in, the logs were set free to drift in and out with the waves as if given a breath of renewed life. When the tide retreated, the logs were left marooned and motionless on the beach.

We were entirely alone. No one else was brave enough to be out and we owned the beach. Our destination was the "The Hole in the Wall" which was 2 miles from the trailhead, and it was difficult to keep our bearings. The sand was thick making our peddling progress slow, and because of the fog's density we stopped frequently to measure our how far we'd gone by looking back at our tire tracks. When we stopped, our tracks were vivid near the spot where we stood but faded quickly into fog the farther out we surveyed. The lines our tires made in the sand overlapped continuously and I told you that they reminded me of frayed stitches sewn into bleached corduroy. And you laughed and said it's a good thing I didn't have to make a living as a seamstress.

Sometimes during these stops, and in between the tympany of crashing waves, we were surprised to hear an occasional bark. At first, both of us thought it was coming from the shore - perhaps someone was joining us to walk the beach with their dog? But the expected beach company never showed.

Finally, you and I realized the barks were coming from the sea when a slice of sunlight haloed the tiny sable-brown head and whiskers of a small seal happily riding the waves. Our pint-size surfing companion followed us up the coast for the remaining part of our journey. Each time the sun gave us a window to the sea, we stopped, and he or she would bark a greeting to us.

After another mile of labored peddling and companionable barking, the sun permanently melted the fog and we caught our first glimpse of "The Hole in The Wall" which famed extraordinary rock and sand formations called sea stacks. The stacks were created by the sea wearing cracks in the sandy shelves of the shore and forming free-standing vertical structures. You said that it reminded you of the life cycle of the drift logs because the sea would ensure that eventually the same process that created the stacks will also cause them to collapse and be reclaimed by the sea.

We dropped our bikes into the wet sand and stared at the astonishing spiral sea sculptures. But before hiking out to the "Hole" for a closer look, we remembered our little friend and looked back to the waves. Just as magically as the seal had appeared, our diminutive traveling companion had disappeared, and together you and I gave a human bark to the sea to say goodbye.

I love this memory. Like the bicycle lines in the sand, the tracks of all we did while you were here, living through your loss when you left, and my dreams for the future have all become intertwined. These are all memories that could have lent themselves to being saved by camera or canvass, but because of when or how they happened, most can only be saved to the memory cards of our lives. All these pictures I carry with me. And slowly and surprisingly, your energy has slipped into my way of being instead of my way of remembering.

Frances Mayes said: "It's really important to surprise your own life." Writing to you each year surprises me even now, because each time I write, I understand more about where we've been and where 'Im going. You are like the surprise seal appearing and disappearing, and each of my February messages is my way of looking back to give you my bark of greeting and goodbye.
~DEY

Absolutely wonderful as always. The journey continues and thankfully we have dear 2- and 4- legged friends to share the road with us. Here is my annual toast to Norm and Calypso and to you, dear friend and, of course, to Moz, Harpo and Salute!

I decided that this year's message would be about how we regard the passage of time, and I especially wanted to consider it through the mind of a dog.

Living with a dog is a gift which I delight in opening again and again. Their ability to absorb information far beyond ours is outstanding because they use all their 5 senses simultaneously -- smell, hearing, sight, taste and touch -- to explore the world. These traditional faculties are sharpened by their unconventional impression of time. We 2-legged animals experience the passing of time by linking memories with our sense of the present and future. We think in terms of seconds, minutes and hours; and yesterdays, todays and tomorrows. Dogs are similar, but because their internal clock differs from ours they often make different linkages between memory, the present and the future. Very few dogs keep a calendar.

Here's what I've learned about how dogs think about time.

PAST:
The past is represented by sharp flashes of incidents that happened: “the dog thinks a couple of times when I've passed this partly open door, the cat has pounced on me, so from now on I'm going to proceed with caution"(note: this guerrilla warfare activity is fairly frequent at our house).

PRESENT:
A dog's concept of the present is filled mostly with absorbing information through his 5 hyper-acute senses.
Smell --> sniffing your human's clothes as they dress in the morning to get a read on the day's activities: jodhpurs forecast we're going to the barn whereas sweat pants are a sure sign that we're hanging out at home.
Hearing --> sensing someone on the trail long before your human sees them.
Sight --> softening your eyes and tilting your head to acknowledge your human's smile.
Taste --> gobbling down your food to give the impression that you didn't chew or taste it only to leave behind a tidy puddle of least favorite ingredients like peas and carrots, and
Touch --> sliding your head under your human's hand to slyly invite a stoke of your ears.

FUTURE:
The canine sense of the future is immediate and usually framed in anticipation such as waiting patiently by the door for you to come home. But sometimes their perception of the future shows a magical use of logic and reasoning. The dog I now live with thinks about things in delightfully quirky ways. When there's a storm, he is less than thrilled to go out. After his first potty patrol, he files the memory of this unpleasant field trip in his brain under weather-no-fun-must-try-new-approach. Once the memory is filed, he has a number of options for what he does on his second outdoor excursion. However, the next time he asks to go out during that same storm, his choice is to go to a DIFFERENT door in the hopes that the weather might be better out THAT door. That is the essence of magical thinking.

When your travel companion is a dog, it is even more fun to observe their thinking process because the world being explored is often new. Last Fall I rented a house in Steamboat and Moz and I enjoyed a week of hiking in the mountains absorbing the rich fall colors. I captured my memories with camera, pen and paper. Moz recorded his memories according to his 5 senses and his uncanny logic. The fall foliage was gorgeous, the trails were private and contemplative; but my favorite memory of this trip was our very first few minutes exploring our rental home. Luckily, I was able to capture this with my camera as well as pen and paper.

The Intruder
The house is cold, grey and smells faintly of stale
as if not having hosted recent visitors.
I am not worried as I know we soon will fill it with our familiar things, our smells and sounds.

I move from room to room
Searching for light switches
On walls and scattered lamps
their illumination begins to warm the air.
The dog follows
Alert
His curiosity marked with chuffs and sniffing
nails clicking rhythmically on the slate floor.

And then he freezes - a low growl purring in his throat. Who is this intruder?

A grey stone sculpture of a small cougar stares down at him.
Reaching down
from his perch on a sofa table
Staring down
Staring unblinkingly down
Staring silently.

He knows this cougar's pounce-ready posture from the feline roommate he left behind --could the cat possibly have followed us here?

The dog backs up slowly
Thinking
rethinking
and then decides for now that the stone cat lives here and the intruder is the dog.

~D

This year's tribute to Norm was truly beautiful. Danelle, you are a beautiful writer and story teller. Norm would/is so proud of all you have continued to accomplish. You are truly a beautiful person in every way.

And a wonderful story teller you are, dear Danelle. Thank you for once again reminding us all of what is important in life - and beyond. A toast to Norm - and to his exceptional life partner.

I've never thought of myself as a story teller that was always your gift. But as I re-read the messages I've left to you, I guess I have become one. This year my story is about losing a dear friend on my birthday. The persistent cycle of birth and death is stunning, but this story is about life. My friend was a wonderful story teller and her stories were momentary and personal glimpses into the stuff she was made of -- grit, humor, determination, independence, family loyalty, dreams, sorrow and loss.

She also loved horses.

Sometimes a Horse...

It had snowed overnight

The only tracks to the barn were stamped by the caretaker's tractor a geometric pattern stitched into the snow
two long parallel white-on-white chains of embroidery.
Walking between the chains my boots adding punctuation marks like exclamation points shouting into the morning's cold!

I slide the barn door open and breathe in the warmth of equine heat
Of hay
Of manure
Of corn and oats

Horses moving quietly in their stalls

Rhythmically chewing hay interrupted occasionally only to raise their heads to drink water or to peer out to see who the visitor is.

I do not feel like riding
But I needed the elevation that grand movement brings

Sometimes a horse needs time to be a horse
To serve themselves instead of a rider
To enjoy their elegance and freedom
To shiver and preen in their strength.

It is always a rare gift to be alone -- the barn to myself.

I slip his halter on and lead him to the indoor arena And we stand in the ring's center our breath leaving wisps of small clouds as we breath into the chill.

With the same quiet movements, I slip his halter off

He is stark still -- a tilt to his head as he looks at me curiously asking "Now?"

I nod and he bolts off to the far end and begins running as if pursued by some unseen competitor. Racing for the pure joy of the race.
Round and round the ring's circumference
Up and down the length
Snorting and bucking for joy

Sometimes a horse needs time to be a horse

Dragging one of the plastic visitor chairs from the arena wall I plant myself in the center of the ring to wonder at his joy. My back is turned against the far end and I face the way we came in.

I can only hear his chuffs and snorts of breath when he is behind -- no glimpses until he races back again towards the entrance to proudly passes me.

Flagging his tail head held high as if to say "see what I can do?"

Except for his quizzical look when first set free, my nod to set him free, and his exhales of exertion and joy as he raced away; we've not spoken.

Back to the far end yet again and then silence...

It does not occur to me to turn around to understand the silence. Instead I sit and close my eyes I give in to the silence.

A brush of breath and then the gentle press of muzzle on my neck
The horse stands quietly, so very still
I too am quiet and sit still

both of us breathing slowly...Our rhythms marked by more wisps as our warm exhales hit the freezing air

His breath is sweet tasting
of corn oats and molasses and timothy hay

his breath
smells
of life

Hey there, Norm! It's your pal and often nemesis Courtney here. I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's been 10 years since you moved on - and I can still picture you and hear you like yesterday. And I miss you - and Jim - and hope that the two of you are holding forth together somewhere downing good scotch and smoking (Cuban?) cigars and roundly chastizing all of us who allowed the country to get hijacked by the Trumpettes on November 8. Danelle and I and many others sure do miss your insight and wit and your way of saying what the rest of us only think! Danelle is amazing (but you already knew that), an inspiration to all. And she has done wonders with Mozart - and has even had some reasonable success with the CAT! Hah! Just want you to know that I think of you often - and really do miss having you walking among us! Your chum,

Courtney

Hard to believe that 10 years have passed since you left my friend. There's not a day that I go down my driveway and look across the dog park that I do not have warm thoughts and memories of our times together. You were a friend that I could relax with and enjoy life the way it should be enjoyed. Your spirit and smile were certainly contagious. You continue your life in the hearts of all that knew you. You were and always will be my friend Norm.

Dale

“Known and Strange Things”.


A month ago, I wandered into a secondhand camera shop with the flirting notion of returning to photography. It wasn’t totally serendipitous – you and I had such great fun pretending to be artists and I had, after all, window-shopped online enough to collect a list of cameras that interested me. I thought of this list as a sort of photographic contact sheet – images of possibilities and I was curious about what to choose to develop.


As it turns out, I didn’t buy a camera. Instead, I left with a used paperback. The book, “Known and Strange Things”, was written by Teju Cole which at first appeared as a tired book. Its covers were creased and several inside pages were dog-eared from constant reading. But the well-worn condition belied its worth. In truth, it was an elegant collection of essays that I discovered were as much about life as about photography. And isn’t photography as much about life as it is about art?


Cole wanders over many territories in his essays, but I was particularly taken with his consideration of artists who shared an infinity for photographing repeated images over time. Some of these deliberate photographic reunions were comforting and others were unsettling. But all shared what Cole describes as “a quiet gratitude about the simple fact of returning”.


I understand now why I chose this used paperback over a camera. In writing to you each year I am one of those photographers. My camera is my words and I write in order to return each year to reunion with you. You are the repeated image and with each successive visit I bring you up to speed on what was, and give you a glimpse of future possibilities.


So here is my next photograph. Remarkably and regretfully this image is taken ten years to the day of your leaving. But, it will tell you how, each morning, I start my day…





Morning Walks

Just up.

Yawning.

Dog in languid stretches

paws first bowing to the front

then pulling forward - his back arched and reaching from

the rear.



We are walking in step with the sunrise.

Peach-yellow streaks splinter the sky, air punched with

anticipation of the day.

Nature's gift..



The dog quickly covers the ground

four paws framing his nose.

He is reading what trespassed before and what could cross

his path again.

His gift...



Our path is intimate and familiar.

Deer wary but inquisitive - shadowy companions peering

out from tall pine canopies.

Exhales of broad wings above us - a great horned owl

returns from a night of hunting.

Their gifts...



From the center of town the moan of the 6:45 morning horn

wakes.

warns once

The slow rhythmic churn of tracks

warns twice

And then a third farewell

as the low-throated rumble fades.



Each year's path is always intimate and familiar.

Wet tracks frozen in snow

Moody vails of spring fog

Summer sun flames as they burst into the horizon

Wistful drifts of fallen leaves



This deliberate reunion to greet each day

My gift..

I love your words Danelle....deep within the heart and soul. Many memories of my dear friend always bring a warm smile to my face. My thoughts are with you always...

The dog is more agile
Snow to my knees his chest.
Our quest is the mesa's crest and we are the first
snowy explorers with our laboring footprints mapping our expedition.
And the vast white unblemished spaces before us an unpainted canvas.
An acrobat
He leaps forward and back, side to side
bounding and diving
eight leaps to my every struggling step.
Stunning silence to be so alone.
Top at last and we catch
our breath frozen in the air like steam
Our sunken melting prints are joined suddenly by dots so tiny and light that
they barely kiss the face of the snow.
Whose infinitesimal feet I think I know
To magically appear and disappear and
whose mission was stopped by
Wings brushed into the snow like the delicate long fingers of fringe on a silk scarf.
We were not
as it turns out
the first to be here.

I have no math skills whatsoever....While attending Webster College in the early 1970's I had to have a math course in order to obtain my teaching credentials. Norm taught a course at 9:00am (can you believe that in the early 1970's at Webster????) for folks like me titled something like Math and Culture which was about the use of math in society. So Webster....I passed the course, got my teaching credentials and went off and taught school for 9 years before a change in careers....I was a friend of your wife Dannelle's and knew of your relationship with her...For all of these years I have wondered how Life turned out with Dannelle and you...So today is a bittersweet moment as I have just found out how wonderful your Lives were together but saddened to know of your passing....Thanks for the course Norm, Great moustache you had! Rest in Peace. I am sure you and Art Sandler are up there together in some Webster related group....

Dear Norm: what an amazing, incredible, smart, wise, compassionate, funny resourceful, generous and loving woman you married! Jim and I knew that you knew that but I can assure you she has only become more so as she has faced life without you and Calypso - not to mention new challenges - these past 8 years. I and all of her friends are in awe of her and so blessed to have her in our lives. And I sure hope that you and Jim Thomas are hanging out somewhere downing good scotch, puffing good cigars and raising the wonderful, well deserved Cain that you always did so well together - I miss you both so much!! Your irascible and annoying and devoted pal, Courtney

Notes from a year that's past..

Jan 2014
It was a time that I dreaded but had no power to prevent or delay. Delighted in the boxes his Christmas gifts came in almost more than the toys themselves, Calypso played, snuggled and waited patiently by the door for a walk or a ride in the car .until he couldn't. As it should be, his last task was to guard the front door which was his job. While the neighbor who rang the doorbell that last day was unaware of its significance, it made me smile during a very sad moment. He's no longer with me physically, but this and many more memories of his delightful character are.

March 2014
I have decided. I love the Villa, but it is a large responsibility. You teased me for my lists, but I have made one. I know the things I need to do to get ready to move on and to get the Villa ready for its next family. I shovel snow and consult with a realtor, I replace burnt-out light bulbs and get bids from contractors to finish the grand-scheme of renovations we started, I change the furnace filter and research moving and storage options, I have friends over to share good food and wine and then measure furniture for storage. I live in and love the home we created, while simultaneously preparing to leave it. It is incredibly difficult, exciting and scary and I'm not sure whether it would have been easier or harder had you been here.

May 2014
The Villa has found a new family. It will be filled with a husband and wife who are as close friends as you and I, children who love the magic of humming birds, bears trying to steal their feeders, grilling dinner on the deck while watching for shooting stars in the night sky, hoot-owls haunting the arrival of twilight, mourning doves cooing their welcome of a new dawn, and a dog rooming the backyard reading messages left by wild critters who still live there and the scent of Calypso who once did. It is so much easier to leave knowing the Villa will be much loved.

July 2014
I haven't lived in an apartment since college. My roommate is an Orange Terrorist who is a yellow tabby stray cat. I named him Harpo (after the late Marx brother). While he doesn't play the harp he does everything else possible to create chaos and I spend hours climbing up a step stool to pull him off of the bedroom curtains or down from the kitchen shelves. What is not crammed into this tiny place is in storage and I'm restless. During the week I busy myself with friends, barn-time with Salute and satisfying clients to pay the bills. On weekends I go on field trips in search of a new home. Oh yes, I did manage to meet some of my neighbors in the complex when I almost burnt the place down because I couldn't open the fireplace flue.

October 2014
I've found it. Castle Rock has grown since we last lived here, but unlike its neighboring communities, it has retained its quaint small town charm. My new home is tucked back against the 13th hole of Plum Creek Golf Course and while I wouldn't know a putter from a driver, it gives me a feeling of privacy. I've named it the Fairway it is as much like the Villas as it is not. While the golf course helps, it's a patio-home community where neighbors' lots hug each other and home designs mirror each other. I know the things I need to do to feel moved-in. The HOA shovels snow and I consult with my clients, I replace burnt-out lightbulbs and get bids from a contractor to make modest improvements, I change the furnace filter and research new restaurants, I have friends over to share good food and wine and then measure furniture for relocation to their perfect spot I live in and love the new home I've created, while simultaneously thinking critically about each choice towards change. Like leaving the Villa, it is incredibly difficult, exciting and scary and once again I wonder whether it would have been easier or harder had you been here.

December 2014
He is smaller than Remy or Calypso, and is more damaged than any of the many French and English sheepdogs who have been entrusted to our care by their rescue networks. His name is Mozart but I call him Moz. He's a fiercely-little-put-together-package of trying to be very brave and being very frightened. He has broken bones and spirit from his past but is also undaunted in his humor, affection, and expectations. He has filled the Fairway with holiday joy -- delighting in the boxes his Christmas gifts came in almost more than the toys themselves, playing, snuggling and waiting patiently by the door for a walk or a ride in the car, and guarding the front door which is his newly designated job. While the UPS delivery guy who rang the doorbell was unaware of its significance, it made me smile for it reminded me so poignantly how the year began

For 7 years I've been writing you – thinking of these missives as a sort of message-in-a-bottle tossed thoughtfully into the Internet's virtual sea. Some of these messages have come easily and others have been a struggle. Perhaps the first was the most difficult, but this one will be its equal.

Many things make up the sum total of what has been since I last wrote to you. Some things would have made you laugh and toast w/ a glass of smoke-peaty scotch, others would make you rant with incredulity and still others would restore your faith in what is fine with life…

And so, in keeping with that contemplative mood, I will just say that our big, beautiful, bright, playful and always mischievous boy Calypso has passed. It became clear during the holidays that his health challenges had trumped his nobility and I knew that the best way I could help him was to match his bravery and release him from his struggles. With the help of a compassionate hospice vet, he passed peacefully in my arms on January 19th 2014. I want you to remember always that “he went to sleep on the morning before the evening of a Winter Wolf Moon….”.

When you and I first met, you did not know dogs. But through the many canine family members we collected, you grew to know them. All of the dogs that we've had the honor to know and live with were special, but you, more than any of us, know how remarkable “Clippy” was because he chose you. Remember that determined caramel-faced pup marching out of the formation of his litter mates to grab and untie the laces on your running shoe and then pee on it? There hasn't been a better declaration of love since.

After your death, Calypso mourned as fiercely as I did. I kept our jackets and his leash draped on the chair beside the patio door and kept our morning and evening ritual walks. For 6 long months, he would go first to your jacket, sniff, stand statute-still while he absorbed yet again the enormity of your loss, and then turn to look at me as if he were saying “ok I'm ready to go now”. Each time I would find myself shadowing his actions – following him to the chair, standing statute-still while he sniffed and I would take in a deep breath as I also tried to absorb the enormity of your absence in order to move on.

Then, one morning Calypso went instead first to my jacket telling me it was time to fold and carefully put yours away. From that moment on, Calypso was the most remarkable, intuitive friend I have ever had. His daily presence was the foundation of my recovery from losing you. His intelligence, un-conditional trust and love, his humor, bravery and his steady companionship were essential to me. His character gave me joy, laughter, reassurance and courage every day of our lives together…and his absence leaves once again another jagged hole as it not only finalizes the end of the life the three of us had together, but it closes the chapter that was my recovery from that loss.

While this is an incredibly sad time, I cannot leave you with tears so let me try and make you smile again? T.S. Eliot wrote “We've arrived where we've started….” Do you remember when you first taught “Clippy” the pirate trick? Well having lived with this trickery for many years thereafter, I can assure you that his piracy became his trademark. It made me and many friends laugh often, and you will be proud to know that his final act of piracy was that he stole away quietly and confidently with all of our hearts……

17 July 2013

Greetings, Danelle, this is Bob Ogden aka “Og” by Norm. I believe you and I met once many years ago.
Last week at band practice I started telling tales of the 60's to my band-members, none of whom has reached 30. I told them I really didn't do much: was married, a father, a very serious math grad student until January 1968 when I separated from my first wife. I moved out on my own, and luckily Norm's roommate had left suddenly, so I moved in with him. Then I awoke to the end of the 60's, guided in part by Norm.
Norm taught me about cooking, laundry, exercise. old movies, and life as a single man at that time. We shared a love of jazz and blues, drinking and literature, and philosophy. I remember one amazing trip to the Jack of Diamonds Social Club in Saint Louis to hear B. B. King.
For awhile I was very popular with the ladies, and then suddenly I was cut off and lonely. I talked to Norm about it and he said, “Well Og, there's rich years and lean years, periods of plenty and times of famine.” The man was a sage ;-)
He was good to me, and genuinely helped me when I was suffering through difficult times. He tried hard to understand my concerns as a parent and how I missed my daughters, and he indeed accepted that it meant everything to me. He nursed me though two assaults I managed to suffer in those times. In return, I was able to watch over him during a major event in his life.
After I left Washington University for Chicago in August 1968 right after the Days Of Rage, Norm and I saw each other maybe five times, once with you, I believe. After talking about him las week, I decided to seek him on the Internet, and I found this page.
I wish I had thanked Norm to his face, for being my friend in difficult turbulent times. So I am doing the next best thing, by posting this anecdote. Others have lauded him as a well-rounded educator and an excellent teacher, so I wanted to share this slice of the life of this remarkable man.

I only recently learned of Dr. Liden's death and I felt compelled to find his obituary. Like most of his students, he influenced my life - I went on to college to earn an engineering degree. I loved going to his classes and loved the respect that he showed his students. I loved the math bar jokes and will never forget him.

In my life, I’ve lived at various record speeds: 33&1/3, 45 and 78 rpm. As it turns out, there appear to be two primary relativity laws that seem to drive the music of my life’s momentum -- my expectations about the future, and my fragile attempts to control the present. I am stunned by the collision of life rhythms. 2012 sped by like a meteor but making chili rellenos now takes me a half a day, a bid to refurbish the Villa cabinets in 4 weeks turns out to be 2 months, client deadlines seems to come immediately after they were just negotiated, Calypso is 9 & ½ years old in people-years and I’m now 420 in dog-years, and while each year is an on-going duration of fond memories, it is suddenly February 20th yet again.



Six years so soon, 6 years so very very long……



I think of these letters to you as a sort of message-in-a-bottle. But sadly, because I am land-locked here in Colorado I must throw them out to you using the virtual sea of the internet. I collect thoughts, phrases, quotes and passages throughout the long waits of time between each February 20th, and then realize “how silly!” -- I’ve talked to you almost daily in my mind! And so you know the most important of the “stuff” of this last year. You know that it was a difficult one but not the worst. Much of the scratches in the year’s record vinyl veneer can be buffed out as I am resolute in my efforts to control the present.



But then there’s the other relativity principle – the anticipation of the future – and I think of a quote from Eudora Welty that is fast becoming my mantra for 2013: "One place understood helps us understand all other places better."


~DEY

As I remember Colorado, I think of Norm on the trails with his beloved Danelle. I have no doubt when the sun blazes through the Aspens, the red rocks glow, and a warm gust sweeps down a snowy pass, Norm is there - maybe on a mountain bike - rushing the winds of spring to his lovely Danelle. . . .

Norm,
When we think of weird little things people do and say, we often give them a 'pass', a kind of blessing for having known you. (I hope you have forgiven me, CA wine has a place in my soul.) It would be best if we were but to share one more good glass of scotch with you but alas, it is usually Clippy who gets the final round with us.
Fondly, Mark and Sue
We celebrate your place in our lives.

Hey, Norm! I guess by now that you and Jim Thomas have run into each other somewhere that the rest of us know nothing about and Danelle and I often think of the two of you sharing a glass of good scotch and a Cuban cigar! We miss you both very much and I want you to know that your dear Danelle has been my rock and my inspiration through the last year of Jim's life and the months since he died. There are days when I just don't think I can take anymore sadness and there is your wife, pulling me through the darkest moments. So here's a toast to you and to dear Jim: enjoy yourselves and whatever you do DON'T stay out of trouble!! Love, Courtney

I have been told that the way to make your spirit bigger is to work on it.

In your life, your spirit was a large summation of all that I loved and admired – your acerbic wit, your wide wisdom, your inexcusable irreverence, and most of all your passion to live fully and unapologetically.

When you left, I feared that you took these with you – leaving a vacuum of spirit in my life. To fill your persistent absence so often I would say or think “if Norm were here, he'd…..”

But slowly and surprisingly, your voice and energy have slipped into my way of being instead of my way of thinking or remembering and I am resolved to heed the saying and “work on it and make my spirit bigger”.

The moon is still my constant companion and at the dimming of the day I look up to see what shape and color it will wear. It is the time each day when I miss you most. I still feel about you now the way I have before, but I am more settled in the realization that having known you I have everything I will ever need.

My "Norm" memories are strong and vivid.....like they were just yesterday. Always unique and from the heart; that was my friend. I recall visions of a man collecting his newspaper on a cold winter's morning wearing shorts; a Jimmy Buffett party on the boat while it's parked in the driveway and a buddy who helped recover our dog Yukon on the very first day we brought him home. A select few of so many, many marvelous times and adventures.
You have been gone from us for 4 years now Norm but certainly never more than a quick memory away. Your family, friends, students and colleagues miss you and celebrate your life....your memories.
I celebrate our friendship and times together Norm just like we did so often; a nice Single Malt Scotch and an Arturo Fuente cigar. I miss you my dear friend! We have separated ways now...but I know that our paths will converge once again.
I close this tribute with a quote that I feel says it all....

"The better part of one's life consists of his friendships"

Dale

I don’t know why the moon has become my fond and accustomed evening friend. Sometimes it’s just a glance as I wait patiently for Calypso to finish his meticulous sniffing of bushes and grass, reading messages and information beyond human reach or interpretation before he finally gets down to business. On other evenings, I stare – frozen in place and transfixed until I realize I’ve forgotten to breathe or that Calypso has returned to stand silently by my side and join me in my upward gaze.

Tonight, the moon has slightly waned from its full course splendor of last night like a soft yoke not quite round splashed into the ink-blue pan of the sky. The temperatures are slipping, the humidity is rising and the air smells of anticipated snow.

Another February has settled in with its wind and restless weather and I take stock of what I’ve learned since you left our life together 4 years ago.

An evening with Nina Simon or Paul Desmond does not make scotch taste any better to me – I still prefer Cava. Imported cigars are still premium stash in the small glass humidor, but they are now fair-weather luxuries and will be lit and savored only when Spring and Summer bring longer and warmer evenings. I can now name and use at least half the tools I’ve excavated from once-mysterious shelves and boxes in the garage, and I’ve down-sized the snow blower to one that is less likely to drag me off the narrows of the driveway and into the ravines below. Everything electronic and expensive has an average lifespan of 3 years, the plastic owl on the roof isn’t fooling anyone especially the woodpeckers and flickers, old and new friends are extraordinary and priceless, Salute is still the bad boy of the barn, and Calypso and I hike a bit slower and not quite as far as we once did.

And each night as the moon makes its pass, I pause to take in its measure and I say silently to you “good night”.
~ D

It's hard to believe Norm has been gone for three years.
He was a unique individual, one of a kind.
My earliest memories of Norm go back 50 some years to when we were young, naive students racing against each other in city track meets, playing together in what passed for "jazz bands" and generally making our teachers miserable with our fun loving, devil-may-care attitudes.
But Norm was head and shoulders above the rest of us when it came to smarts. He sometimes hid his intellect behind a sense of humor because at an early age Norm had learned that life was not about being smart. It was about the enjoyment that life brings through simple everyday pleasures.
Our friendship sustained as we grew older. Sometimes we were apart for periods of time, but when we got back together we could always pick right up where we left off and enjoy each other's company.
Many years ago Norm and Danelle found each other and she became a beautiful enhancement to our friendship. I was always pleased that Norm had found such a wonderful gal. They were so right for each other.
D remains a special friend as does Norm whose spirit is still with us.
You are missed my friend.

Beautiful words and thoughts from the heart Danelle....they say it all. I miss my buddy....my friend. He's always but a thought or memory away though and that I will always treasure. I toast of Scotch goes out to you Norm!

Dale

OK; can you just absorb those incredible words from your beautiful wife? She is SUCH a star and a gift to all of us who know and love her. Still missing you, old buddy; February is always a little more sad and grey and lonely without you around. We still toast to you every time we go to India's; it's just never been the same!

From your good buddy (whom you tolerate) and her husband whom you adore. We miss you!

Norm,
It’s a cold and moody winter day
and were you here, you would be lobbying for a quick get-a-way to Mexico.

Despite the brave efforts of the gas fireplace, the Villa is chilly
tucked into the white-washed foothills
sections of earth in our private path to the hiking trails above not seeing sunlight since
December.
Deer hoof prints stamped frozen on route.

It’s a pensive winter
yearning for longer days of sunlight and the zing of hummingbirds wings,
the scouts soldiering through spring storms to get here
drinking thirstily from our feeders which I hang religiously, hopefully each April.

It’s a listless winter of contrast – the thermometer rolling back and forth between 50 degrees and single digits as if nature can’t quite decide which season to bring us
At the same time
she is
I am
fixed and restless
resolved but incomplete
unsure.

A moody day watching the clock
continuously
Remembering this time 3 years ago.

Time fixed – my memory restless
will winter indeed ever melt into spring?

Had you been here, you would have been right that we should have escaped to the warmth of the sea and sand.

Couldn't agree more Danelle. Believe I would have reacted the same way on the censorship but our dear Norm has in fact prevailed once again....and would we have it any other way.....I think not :) I always love visiting Norm's guestbook....it brings back so warm and wonderful feelings and memories. Often I look across the "dog park" and look for my Buddy.....he's still there in so many ways! I do miss my friend......

Dale

Hey; we are still missing your self in our lives; we thought about you last night sitting on the patio in front of the fire drinking wine (both of us) and smoking a cigar (Jim). Still so hard to believe you aren't there to party and to annoy your good buddy Courtney! We're so proud of your sweet Danelle and all she has done but she does miss you every day - as do we; you left a VERY large empty space on this planet!

Courtney and Jim

On February 20, 2008, the first year anniversary of your death, I read to you a passage from Beryl Markhan's "West With The Night". On February 20, 2009, the second year anniversary, I sang for you an Emmy Lou Harris song entitled "Not Enough". Sadly, it seems that Markhan's quote was obscure enough to dodge the Obituary Guestbook censors, but the Harris quote was not. At first I was indignant - arguing through numerous e-mails with the website management that the quote was properly cited, readily available on line etc...but to no avail. And so instead, I spent much of the week getting together with many of our old friends in reflection, and tonight I'm sitting on the floor of our music room, Calypso's shaggy head cradled in my lap, and intead of indignation, I'm laughing. Somehow, even after death, you've managed to help create a situation that clashes with convenstion. For this, your friends, your students and their parents, your colleagues, and I love you all over again and all the more. Emmy Lou was right, it's not enough...but it is something, to be reminded of your wit, humor, and wild independant nature.
Love,

"How is it possible to bring order out of a memory? I should like to begin at the beginning, patiently, like a weaver at his loom. I should like to say that this is the place to start; there can be no other"
--- Beryl Markham

34 years ago you turned my life inside-out by entering into it.

One year ago today you turned our life inside-out by leaving.

I loved you then,

I love you now,

I will love you always....

I can beat that last entry-it's been 28 years since I sat in Doc's Calculus class at Creek and 30 years since Algebra 2, but Doc was one of those teachers you never forget. I only just now learned of his passing-God Speed and my condolences to Danelle.

Doc Liden,
It's been nearly 10 years since I was in your AP Calc class; more like 12 since Algebra 2S Trig - but you will always hold a special place in my heart. You made math cool and fun, and I carried that with me - I majored in math in college and it has served me well. Thank you for the memories and the guidance and your wonderful quirkiness.

Danelle- we are truly saddened at your loss. Our thoughts and prayers are with you. May the wonderful memories provide you with some comfort and solace. We're so sorry we didn't know sooner. Sue and Wayne

Doc-

To say you influenced my life does little justice to the direction you gave it. You are one of two who I feel I owe my current course to. I'll hold the memories of your class and the meals I was lucky enough to share with you in the years after with me till I leave too. Thank you.

Norm
I thank you for the opportunity
you gave us to get to know you.
I will remember you contacting me
when I worked for Globus -the tour operator. I was a member of the Switzerland Network Program; You needed help with information and
sites in Switzerland as you and Danelle planned your trip. It was so fun to meet with both of you and share our excitement of the wonderful country of Switzerland. It was even more fun to hear about your Swiss travels when you returned from your trip. We so enjoyed your spirit of adventure and honesty. What a beautiful world it would be if everyone was like you. Truly a gem and you shared so much education and your intelligence with those around you. Calypso was lucky to have such a good dad and Danelle was blessed to know you better than anyone. My heart goes out to her on Tuesdays as that is the day of the week you left all of us. The only consolation is - knowing this is how you would have wanted to leave earth --- quickly and not have to spend time in a nursing home being dependent on others. We thank you for all you shared with us and will always hold a special place in our hearts for you - you touched so many people.
I would have loved to have been a mouse in the corner of your classroom - I know you were a Top notch teacher. Thanks for sharing so much. We will miss you alot and regret we didn't get to have that overnight at our house with you-Danelle & Calypso.

Thanks for the good memories.

Doc, thank you so much for everything. I was lucky enough to have you as a teacher for 3 years. You were not only the best teacher I ever had, but one of the most important people in my life.

It has been very difficult to make in entry in this Guest Book, because it confirms for me a painful truth. Our good friend Norm is gone. What shall we all do now when we want to hang out with that mustached rascal with the pony tail? The void is massive.
Norm was a good friend ever since Junior High. We settled in different parts of the country, but stayed in touch. He and Danelle, and my wife Carol and I enjoyed many visits and vacations together in Colorado, California and Mexico. Norm’s sudden passing has caused us to reflect on all of the good times we had, and how we were blessed to have Norm as part of our lives. Love to Danelle – we wish you strength and encouragement. We look forward to seeing you again soon.

Danelle, I pray for you at this sad time in your life. God will see you through. All my love! Earline

Although I did not know Norm I certainly have known and respected Danelle for many years and had come to know the love they shared. We mourn your loss and send you our love and prayers during this difficult time.

Well Norm, you have left a lot of deeply saddened people down here. They are sad because they loved you and Danelle and because they will miss you. That is certainly true for Courtney and me. I have lost track of all the times we have spent together but I know that they covered the waterfront of human experience--from sheer fun and lots of laughs to stress and pain and loss. But we always came out of it together--all four of us. We discovered a lot together whether it was beer, wine restaurants, new recipies form Danelle's and Courtney's kitchens or cigars. But our affinity for music and in particular great jazz will what I remember most and best. Someone said, probably a very long time ago,that when it comes down to it all there is family and friends. You and Danelle are like both to us. God, I miss you and I always will.

GREAT OFFICE PARTNER
GREAT FRIEND
YOU WILL BE MISSED

Doc-
One of the few professors I'll remember, I would deem my life a success if I were to touch just a small fraction of the lives you have.

It is said that people may forget what you say, people may forget what you did but people will never forget how you made them feel. Norm; you did just that....you always made me feel good inside. I so admired your candid and adventurous approach to life and all that it had to offer. I will always cherish our scotch/cigar outtings and the "retirement" tutelage that you passed on to me. For this and so many, many other things I thank you Norm...you will always be my friend and hold a very special place in my heart. Farewell!

Mr. Liden inspired me to pursue mathematics in college and graduate school. I have no doubt that should I ever get to heaven, I'd see him relaxing at the fabled Math Bar, wearing a pair of cowboy boots and amazing all with his knowledge of spherical harmonics...

How rare it is to have a life long friend from junior high through retirement. Norm, you were there for so many of the important events of my life; high school and college graduation, marriage and the birth of my children, years of teaching and finally retirement. We shared stories of our life's work in education and a love of Colorado outdoor and Colorado history. And, always, there was our love of music. When reminiscing about the past you were always there to help fill in the forgotten details. I will miss the comfort of a life long, dear friend.

Milt Oaks

GodSpeed
and congratulations on being such a wonderful husband and human. Thanks
for all the people you helped. Stories of your students and your effect
on their worlds live on. Wish we had gotten to meet you. Perhaps next time.

Norman, you were my first friend at Webster University, and a truly memorable individual. Later on you were a gracious host for me and my wife, Peggy. You will be missed.

Michael and Peggy

Thanks for being an inspiration to my kids at Creek - your interest in them was an important part of their success. Your legacy is the group of math students who are now following their dreams - but still wish they could come back and play one more game of Trivial Pursuit with you.

How well I remember the hours we spent in the same math and physics classes at Wasson High School and Colorado College. We had such great and fun times teaching those physics labs at CC! You were a great friend and will always be remembered!

Norm, you will be dearly missed...
you were a one in a million. We love you!!!

I REMEMBER ALL THAT WE DID IN 28 YEARS AS OFFICE PARTNERS AND FRIENDS AT THE CREEK. I SURELY MISS YOU. GLENN J. ENDSLEY, ED. D.

thank you for the Scotch ad cigar nights