When I was semi-ready to finally leave college back in 1972, I took off for Dallas, Texas, with my polar opposite, known to those who loved her as Sexy Sandy, although she was born as Mary Sandra. How we ever became friends in the first place, let alone apartment mates, is beyond me. We both worked on the college newspaper staff. Sandy was a sorority cutie with big brown eyes framed by long brown lashes. She had wavy brown hair and a twisty little walk that basically said, “Yep, I’m sexy!” Whenever there was a campus queen contest, which was often, Sandy was always nominated. Me, I was the nondescript hippie chick on the sidelines taking pictures.
In spite of our impossible differences, though, we took off for Dallas in my ‘68 VW, grabbed the first furnished apartment and first jobs we could land, little Kansas girls in the big city. Sandy was determined to live large, however. Her employer had a credit union, so she immediately bought a slick ‘72 Olds Cutlass Supreme…in spite of the fact that we were rummaging through the Dallas Morning News each week looking for store grand openings that offered free food so we could save on our grocery bill.
Anyone who knows me knows I have always been low maintenance. Wherever it is I’m going, even a wedding, I can be ready in 10 minutes, 15 minutes if I can’t find a decent pair of panty hose. Sandy, on the other hand, would take a good hour just to get ready to dash out to the neighborhood market for a loaf of bread. She had this suitcase full of eye shadow, lipsticks, and nail polish that she had to match up with whatever she was wearing. I’d sit nearby, her captive audience, admiring how she could handle a mascara wand and cigarette at the same time. I was in awe of her.
In spite of our poverty, we joined a fitness club, Fabulous Figure (aka: “Flabulous Figure” for those of us who were hopeless cases), and Sandy insisted upon wearing high heels with her passionate purple leotard outfit (mine was basic black) when we went to this strip mall where it was located. You never knew who we might see outside in the parking lot, and Sandy wanted to accentuate her calves…just in case. Now I will give her some slack, though. She took off the heels once she got inside to exercise. After each session, we would laugh about how fabulous we looked…although we rarely broke a sweat.
Well, I only lasted a year in Dallas before I came running back to smaller pastures. Sandy remained behind, eventually marrying an up-and-coming Texas political aide/lawyer. After the birth of her first child, we eventually lost contact with each other. That sometimes happens when two friends move apart and become busy, especially in the days before PCs and emailing. Life happens.
Probably 15 years after I’d last had contact with Sandy, I decided to try to re-locate her when I noticed in a college alumni book that her name was not listed. I found an address, however, for her younger brother, wrote to him, and before long received a shocking response. Sandy, the vibrant beauty, had died of pneumonia at age 41. She left behind five little girls, including a set of twins. She would be 60 now. What a tragedy that she missed out on all the fun of raising her children…the school activities, parties, boyfriends, make-up sessions (oh, what a blast she would have had with those) graduation, marriages, grandchildren. She would have embraced it all in typical, fabulous Sandy style.
Do angels wear purple and get to strut their stuff in heaven? I can only hope so.
Our vacation cabin, also known as Cozy Cottage and The Hobbitt House, is located among the aspen and pine trees on the side of a mountain about four miles from Cripple Creek, Colorado. The bottom floor has eight sides, and there is a bedroom loft. The best amenity it offers is: HOT TUB!!! It's at the bottom left of this picture, off the deck.
This shot was taken from the loft, down into the living room. The two stained glass panels look like dancing athletes to me. There were two more sections of library shelves in this room. Big Bore enjoyed reading all the aviation books available. I brought along my own reading material--Stephen King's The Shining, which is the perfect creepy book for holing up in Colorado.
The living room opens into the kitchen. Big Bore was sous chef, while I washed dishes at a sink that's in an alcove left of the refrigerator, not in view. That black spot next to the stove is a dishwasher, but I've never used one before (true!!) and was afraid I'd muck it up. 
Ahhh! Here's the sunset, as seen from the hot tub. Does life get any better than this?
Back in the late 1960s, there was a semi-famous family group named the Cowsills, sort of Partridge Family wannabes, that hit it big with a song called “Hair.” (“….Give me a head with hair. Long, beautiful hair….”) I loved this song because, at the time, I had long, chestnut hair that was about my only claim to sex appeal. Other than those flowing locks, I was, and still am, rather nondescript. Plain Jane.
