Connie Swinney

In school, my teachers had mercy on me because they allowed me to steer clear of geometry, sidestep trigonometry and cruise past calculus coursework. Instead, my senior year in high school, I proudly joined the vocational trades track.

The program set me on what I believe is my life's proper path. The program afforded me the opportunity to go to school part of the day and work the other half at a local radio station.

Otherwise, I would have been on track to destroy my grade point average. Honestly, I've always been a wordsmith of sorts but never been any good at higher math.

My math-and-measure minded roofer hubby will sometimes scowl at me after he tries to test my knowledge with statements about measurements for eaves, underlayment, fascia and flashing or even inquiries about doubling ingredient portions for the cornbread mix.

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By Connie Swinney

Everyone agrees that “everything is bigger in Texas.”

But somehow when we planned our excursion to Colorado, I did not anticipate how much the features of that state could overwhelm a lifelong Texan such as myself.

The first time I ever saw Colorado, it was during a drive-by. I was 22 years old, when I took a bus to Ogden, Utah (curiously, my first time ever to visit a place outside of Texas) to retrieve a 1985 Jeep Wrangler from an old college friend and drive the vehicle back to my hometown of Big Spring.

The bus rode the interstate for much of the trip, so I must have slept through the parts of the trip where I might have viewed mountain ranges. It was the trip back in the jeep through Utah, over to Wyoming and into Colorado that I experienced a sight that left me awestruck.

At one point, after several hours of driving, I looked over and noticed a snow-capped mountain range.