Things I want to keep in mind.

Category: Miscellaneous

Like holy water…

“When the well is dry, we know the worth of water” Benjamin Franklin

I can attest to that.  On Saturday afternoon, our water stopped working.  We didn’t know if it was the pump in the well or if the well had gone dry.  A frightening proposition – since digging a new well would be very expensive and not very convenient – at all.  Replacing a pump could be expensive as well but wouldn’t involve excavation of our yard and trying to find water!

I am very lucky. My husband is a fix-it-guy.  He knows a thing or two about a thing or two.  And if he doesn’t know, he can figure it out.  He exhausted every avenue he could think of to get the water back on.  Time to call in the big guns.  Just up the hill from my home lives my uncle, the plumber/fix it guy.  If you call him, you don’t have to wait hours for his arrival.  Within minutes, he cheerfully arrives at my door.  He goes through the same steps my husband did and determines it is probably the pump.  Also, luckily, we know a family of excavators – they installed the first pump – they are moments away as well.  We were not placed on a waiting list, we didn’t have to make an appointment.  They arrived on Monday morning and two hours later, we had a new pump and water running freely!

We spent exactly 44 hours (and a few minutes) without water.  Until you are “waterless”, you have no idea how much you rely on it.  You can drink bottled water – a lot of people do – but there is washing dishes, clothes, your hands, brushing your teeth, taking a shower and most importantly: flushing the toilet!  FLUSHING THE TOILET!  You can do without a lot of things…but you really do need to flush that toilet.

Countless times, you walk to the sink and turn on the water – nothing.  Then you remember.  You also begin to monitor, very carefully, how much fluid you consume and how often you will be vacating your bladder.  Things you, normally, wouldn’t give a second thought.  (And we won’t even talk about vacating anything else!)  And since you don’t “flush” with each use (saving on water use), the bathroom takes on an unpleasant urinary type odor.  Too much information? Sorry – wanted to give you the full effect.

I am also very fortunate in that I live across the field from my sister.  As soon as we knew we would be without water for awhile, my husband loaded up our truck with every receptacle we owned and filled them at her house.  We had jugs available in each bathroom for “flushing”.   On day 2, I was able to shower in her lovely new and very warm bathroom.  If we had been without water for any length of time, they would graciously have opened their home and bathroom to us for as long as we needed.

My husband and I were elated to have our water back on.  We looked at the water with renewed adoration.  I sang a happy tune as I did a load of laundry.  He took a nice long hot shower and washed twice!  We are so grateful for our water.   Even more grateful for our wonderful neighbors!!!  THAT is why we live here.


It’s just food…

Cooking can be fun, if you like to eat.  If you don’t – it is a chore.  Luckily, my husband likes to cook and has been the main chef in our household for about 15 years.  He began cooking most of our meals because he would get home from work earlier than I did.  I would arrive home to a warm meal.  It was nice.  Of course, now he acts as though I NEVER cooked or don’t remember how.  If I am cooking something, he gives me helpful tips.  I just smile and say thanks.

I have had a long, sordid relationship with food.  As a child, I was very finicky and refused to eat many things that my mother served.  She tried forcing me, coercing me, begging me and then, finally, just leaving me to eat whatever I would.  For a time, I had to take iron supplements because I was anemic.  I honestly don’t remember much about that period of time other than the little brown plastic men with the yellow helmet that were filled with liquid vitamins and iron.  I had to drink one a day.  I remember hearing my mom tell the story about the doctor saying to feed me whatever I will eat — add peanut butter every chance you get.  To this day, I eat pancakes with lots of peanut butter and Karo syrup.

As I grew older, I developed a childs’ eating habits — candy, cookies, cake.  In high school, when I was very active and burning a lot of calories – I lived on bread and sweets.  Once I started college, and continued that diet without the activity — I ballooned up 20 lbs.  (Most of us do, it is the known as the “freshman ton”).   That type of food was filling and comforting — any stress or anxiety was met with donuts, ice cream and Doritos.

When I returned home from college, with a broken heart and a 1.6 gpa, I was at my all time heaviest.  I felt horrible.  I was ashamed, sad and lost.  I tried every fad diet: over-the-counter diet pills, protein shakes, binge-purging, water and bran cereal, chewing gum.  Of course, none of it worked because food was the main focus — no matter how you sliced it.  I tortured myself for almost 3 years.  I refused to buy more than two pairs of pants at that size.  I isolated myself because I didn’t want anyone to see how heavy I had gotten.  I drank a lot.  I felt so alone and lonely – unlovable.

Then I met someone.  I almost hate to give him any credit for helping me recover because he is my ex-husband – but alas, he did.  If for no other reason than because once we started dating, we spent every free moment together and I couldn’t continue down that self-destructive path without him being witness to the devastation.   I dieted, exercised and starved myself and got down to a normal weight. I got a good job, we got married, we moved, we had a baby — my life was busy and difficult and reasonably happy. (We later moved back, had another baby, and divorced – but that’s another post).

Over the years, I began learning about diet, fitness and good health — and eating disorders.  I realized that eating had become a crutch – I was trying to fill my anxiety.  But starving myself could be equally as detrimental.  Though I felt better if I was denying myself that food – it was something I could control — the anxiety remained.  It was hard work maintaining that control.

It has taken almost 40 years of my life to slowly, painfully work through all of those maple covered demons.  I’d like to say I am completely anxiety free, calm and at peace.  I’m not.  But I am better.  I am aware of the triggers.  Sometimes, I can even catch them BEFORE they trip me into the pit.  I no longer eat to excess or starve myself when I feel out of control.  I AM still a very finicky eater.  I try to eat when I’m hungry and stop when I’m full.  If I eat small meals/snacks every two hours or so — I avoid feeling the nausea that accompanies a full stomach.

Most events/holidays in life are celebrated by eating a meal as a group.  The focus is cooking and the smells and the conversation over the heaping plate of hot food.  Everyone overeats.  Its’ tradition.  If you don’t like eating, you lose a lot from the holiday. Your plate is scant and you finish LONG before everyone else.  And if you are trying to overcome the fear and anxiety of overeating – the holiday is a nightmare from beginning to end; so much aroma, so many things to nibble, so much desire to join in the fray.

The Rummage

The rummage.  (Definition: an unsystematic and untidy search through a mass or receptacle).

As a child growing up in a very small town on an Indian reservation in Montana, like most of the residents in our valley — we didn’t have much.  My dad was a logger, working in neighboring towns at logging camps.  He would come home on weekends.  Mom stayed home with us kids – cooking on a wood stove and washing clothes on the back porch – no matter the season.  They owned their home, such that it was, and one vehicle.  Money was very sparse – but they made do.  Everyone did.

I don’t have a lot of specific memories of those days.  As children, we really had no idea how “poor” we were.   As far as we knew, we were royalty living in a castle.  Though the castle was always cold and the roof leaked when it rained.  We did have an indoor toilet, however!!!  That was an improvement from the modified granary we had been living!  My mom and dad were very proud to have their own place and unbeknownst to us, they had plans for further improvements as time and money would allow.

Meanwhile, we lived in the very old house and entertained ourselves as children do.  My mother’s companions were the few family members who accepted her, her sisters-in-law (who were also considered interlopers within the family); and the women from the Catholic church.  Mom belonged to the Altar Society – a group of women at the church who performed some sort of service – making quilts and helping the needy.   They had bake sales and meetings.  To be honest, I don’t really know what they did, I just know she attended the meetings and made friends with the other members.  In helping those less fortunate, they had an old building at the church filled with discarded clothing, shoes and other items.  I do remember that Tuesday was Rummage Day.

The building was called “The Rummage”.  It was an old Indian agency building right next to the church – I’m not sure what it was used for initially but it was full to bursting with OLD stuff.  Shoes, clothes, a veritable treasure cove for little children.  There were old bras to stuff, clothes for dress-up (including high heel shoes!) and some jewelry – but that was a rarity.  The Rummage was open every Tuesday for drop-off or for shopping.  Each item was sold for a dime.  Most of the clothing could be washed and would be in relatively good condition.  Some of it should have bypassed the rummage and gone directly to the dump.  There were boxes of old shoes, old coats, old dresses, old hats.  Truly, it was a fire hazard but there were no restrictions in those days and many were served by The Rummage.

The building and the contents therein smelled old and musty.  My mom and Delores would smoke and sort through the clothes, trying to keep them in some semblance of organization.  We kids would gleefully look through the piles trying to find something to buy for ourselves.  It wasn’t until we were a little older that we realized shopping at The Rummage was not an adventure for everyone.  The stigma became much more evident as we approached puberty – that glorious time when you become aware of comparisons, judgments and ridicule.

In those days, hand-me-downs, used clothing, “rummage” as it were, was very common.  It wasn’t just a fad, it was a necessity.  I wore hand-me-down clothing until I was in high school.  We didn’t have to shop at the rummage very much as we had other resources for hand-me-downs.  And I was really lucky because my mom could sew and, in my wardrobe, what wasn’t hand-me-down was sewn by my mom.  Although, I could never figure out why she always chose such wild and bold colored material.  At the time, I thought she was a little eccentric. I now know that she bought whatever material was on sale – it was never her intention to “choose” that wild and bold material – it was affordable.  Still, she sewed some beautiful clothing.  Our prom dresses were lovely!

I think I was lucky to live when and where I lived.  Most of us in the Jocko Valley (my home) were in the medium to low income range.  Many of us had hand-me-down or home-made clothing – it was bad form to criticize or judge.  And most of us knew The Rummage was there if we needed it.


Prepping for the holiday

Thanksgiving memories.  Cold weather, big meals, touch football games on my grandma’s front lawn.  As children, we usually tried to have a sleepover on that weekend because my best friend at school was also my cousin and we would be spending Thanksgiving day together anyway.  (I loved staying over at her house!)  There usually wasn’t enough snow to go sledding on Grandma’s hill nor was there enough to preempt our yearly football game.

Things were very different in those days.  We didn’t have snowpants, warm winter boots or thinsulate gloves.  We wore layers of our regular clothing, hand-me-down coats and mismatched gloves – at best.  And we were happy as could be; out in the cold, playing and laughing.  If we were really lucky, my uncle would come out and play with us too.  He was a good quarterback and brought lots of fun to the game.  We were very competitive and each game would usually produce at least one argument and one injury.  Still, I think of those days with fondness.

Thanksgiving as a parent is very different than as a child – but then everything is different from a parental point of view.  Thanksgiving dinner itself is a LOT of work, with lots of preparation and planning — timing is everything if you want to get everything hot and on the table at the same time!  I am lucky, as my husband does most of the meal – my job is the potatoes and the jello salad.  No one ever complains about whether everything is hot or not.

Timing also becomes an issue as the kids grow older and start having families of their own.  Holiday travel can be expensive and stressful – depending on the distance traveled and the weather on that given year.  There has to be equal sharing of holidays too, with the “other” parents.  (An additional stress for the adult children – trying to appease both sides of the family!)

As parents, it can be feast or famine.  Some years, the house is full to brimming – others, it is just the two of you.   We’re pretty lucky in that most of our kids live fairly close but there will come a day when the kids will want to stay at their own homes and start their own traditions. My husband and I have decided that it is best to have a traditional holiday dinner even if it is just the two of us.   We are learning to roll with the flow and not let crazy expectations cloud our holiday cheer.  Being together is the important thing – however that looks.

Times are changing too.  In recent years, the retail market is trying to entice everyone to catch “early” sales for Black Friday — staying open on Thanksgiving day with irresistible hot prices!  Most of us are able to refrain — but the campaign is formidable and with Christmas around the corner – the retailers would have you believe this is your ONLY chance at these deals.  I love a good sale as much as anyone but I easily resist – why lose a perfectly good day like that?

We should also acknowledge that holidays are not always goodness and light.  Some memories are not so affable and there are those who dread the holidays.  Additionally, the holidays are a reminder of those we’ve lost or of things we want but don’t have.  The fairytale holidays are not always within our grasp.

So.  Thanksgiving is coming, with Christmas fast on her heels.  Prepare yourself like you would prepare the holiday meal – thaw the turkey (think about what you can be grateful for, not about what you DON’T have but what you DO have).  Bake the dinner rolls (get ready for that obnoxious relative you’ll be forced to face).  Peel the potatoes (prepare to face the absence of someone you’ve lost).  Stuff the turkey (find some peace and grab hold).  Every holiday has the potential for being memorable and each of us has the potential for making it happen but, like the holiday meal, everything may not be hot and on the table at the same time.

Thanks, Elizabeth or God or whoever

**I will have to really make this fast.  I am babysitting today and my charge is on his way home with papa — may not make the full 300 words for the day!

“Ole to you none the less” (Elizabeth Gilbert — TED talk)

There are times when I am frustrated, sad, depressed, anxious and I feel at a total loss for how to pull myself up and, serendipitously, (is there such a word?) I will find my answer in a song, a conversation, a book, or the answer will just plink itself down in my mind.  Today, it happened to come in the form of a TED talk about creativity.  **See above link

I have been thinking about how much I love writing.  I have also been feeling like I have nothing to write about, nothing of import or consequence.  Silly to continue to pursue  the notion of writing – I certainly will never attain fame or fortune.  I am just kidding myself.

This morning, I opened my email and there is a new TED talk about creativity by Elizabeth Gilbert (author or Eat, Pray, Love).  I knew I was pressed for time so I decided I would listen to it and try to write later, perhaps during Ollie’s nap…or while he is watching a show.  As I listened…I could hear the anxiety begin to settle and drape at my feet, like a big shroud I had been wearing that finally fell free.  The Aha moment, the audible “plink” in my mind.

If you are a writer or artist or if you are just a person who feels a little bit of angst over something you must do or “create”.  Give this TED talk a listen.  Maybe it will plink for you too — maybe it won’t.  Ole to you none the less.  Toodles (made my 300!)


I am now entering my 4th year of retirement.  Overall, I would say I do enjoy having so much free time and minimal commitments.  I spend time with my grandsons – which is fun.  I have a lot of leisure time — in the cold months, I spend way too much time watching TV – but in the warmer months it is GLORIOUS!  Retirement is reminiscent of summer vacation as a child.  No school and we could play all day, every day!

My husband and I enjoy traveling and during the wintry months, we try to plan trips to avoid the dreary, drawn-out snow and cold.  This year we will be going to Hawaii, Arizona and on a cruise to the Caribbean in January, February and March – respectively.

There is a small tug of guilt as I write of our travel plans.  For most of my life, because of lack of funds, travel was a real luxury.  If I try to remember travel from my childhood, it is very foggy at best.  I remember riding in a hot car, sleeping in a pop-up tent trailer and eating a lot of bologna sandwiches.  Our vacations were spent visiting family and entertainment was just playing in the yard or exploring the neighborhood and wilds of Lake Worth, Texas.  Don’t get me wrong – it was fun and as a child, I didn’t know any different (though my dream was to go to Disneyland and ride EVERY ride!).  But in those days, there were no plane trips, no cruises and certainly no European vacations!  We were lucky to go to kids’ day at the county fair!

My husbands childhood was similar to mine.  His family was large and they didn’t really travel either – they went to a cabin and camped on weekends.

When our kids were little, we tried to take them on entertaining “jaunts” each summer.  Usually, we would scrimp and save and choose a place to visit something historical and stay in a reasonable hotel with an indoor pool.  We would eat out, go to museums or on tours then come back and play in the pool.  It was affordable and we felt like we were really living large- at least I did.  Not having to cook was a treat in itself!

One year, we took a BIG trip across country to visit my step-daughter and her family in Kentucky.  I am so glad I took a lot of pictures because the memories of that trip are a blur!  I do feel a fondness about it so we must have had fun….I suppose my kids probably have a plethora of different memories, good and bad.  We saw a lot of country and a lot of the inside of our suburban!

At any rate, one of the reasons I retired early was so that we could travel while we are still physically able.  My husband is 10 years my senior and while we are both in good health, we are also very pragmatic – either of us could break a hip or develop a life debilitating illness at any moment (morbid, I know) and we may as well enjoy ourselves while we can.  There will be plenty of time to sit around the house and watch “our shows” and do crossword puzzles as the years proceed.

To be honest, as we are traveling to new places and seeing new things, I feel like a child again and it is summer – we can play ALL DAY!


It’s a good thing I don’t write a blog for a living.  I would be destitute.  I have been in a “blog” slump for awhile now.

Lots of topics to write about but none that grab me enough to actually complete a thought.  Political things depress and aggravate me — I avoid reading the paper or watching the news.  Yes, my head is in the sand.  Inequality for women is maddening – sexual harassment; disparity in wages compared to men; life’s general inequity between men and women in the family setting; the list is endless.  All of those topics touch me – but just barely.

I have never been very involved in politics.  I don’t really feel qualified to debate any political issues because I will readily admit, I am unversed in current affairs.  I get most of my information from Facebook, Last Week Tonight or headlines in the paper.  I have chosen to remain ignorant because knowing is just too frightening.  I stay in the periphery of knowledge and keep my own sanity.  I feel silly and a little bit guilty as I admit that and see it written in black and white — but it is what it is.

As for the issue of sexual harassment, I am no longer in the work environment but I can recall a few occasions of being sexually harassed.  I minimized them at the time – just like every other woman who needed a job.  Do I wish I had spoken up?  Yes.  Would it have made a difference?  No.  In the later years of my career, I experienced some periods of “harassment” that were not sexual in nature but gender based.  In one instance, I was demeaned by a couple of men in a meeting.  It was a frustrating experience because it was done to “put me in my place” as a woman – and the other men present, while they may have disapproved,  said nothing in my defense.  I still feel the burn of shame and anger of that day.   It was the day I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to change their view of me, no matter how successful or smart I proved myself to be.  In their eyes, I was a pushy uneducated woman.  End of story.

Being retired removes you from the real world.  I think that is what makes it harder to retire young.  If you are in your mid-60’s or early 70’s, you have truly reached the age of majority.  You are ready for codger-dom.  Every aspect of life is meant to be getting slower, older, less active.  Your body is losing elasticity and strength – your mind is losing clarity. (**Side-bar: I am generalizing, not everyone reaches codger-dom at the same time…). For those of us in our late 50’s or early 60’s, we’re not quite there yet.  We are the mid’s.  Too young to be retired but, in the view of our cohorts, too old to be part of the mainstream.

I retired young – at 56 – because my husband was retired and is ten years my senior.  We knew that if we wanted to travel and experience the best of  “retirement” years, we should do it while he was still young-er.  Don’t get me wrong, I am enjoying my retirement – but there are days when I feel a bit adrift.  I don’t have a particular purpose and certainly have only rare moments of feeling accomplished.  With ALL of this free time – why aren’t I writing?

Good question.  For one thing, I watch too much television.  Damn you Netflix!   I don’t read enough.  If you want to be a writer, you have to be a reader too.  I let myself sink into old habits and old insecurities.  Like most people who write, I procrastinate.  I find something else to occupy my time and mind.  Most of all, I listen to that voice in my head that tells me I’m really not a writer….

More fear

Another mass shooting.  A crazy guy with a bunch of guns.  A cry for better gun control laws.  Another media frenzy.  We all buy into it; the panic, the anger, the deep seated fear.  We listen to report and dreaded report, on multiple channels and over a multitude of media forums.  Our world seems to get crazier and crazier by the minute.

What can we do as an individual?  How can we live amid this madness?  How do we avoid joining the frenzy?  How do we prevent depression, anger and doom from ruling the day when we feel so powerless?

In truth, no matter how many mass shootings there are, no matter how inept our rulers are, no matter how ruthless our “enemies” are; as individuals our power is limited to our minuscule corner of existence.  We CAN remain informed and mindful of how we are governed. We CAN contact our representatives and let our voices be heard.  We CAN teach our children to be good, caring, strong citizens.   We CAN be good citizens ourselves.  We CAN make right any wrong within our purview and not turn a blind eye.

In times like these, we may feel so powerless, we withdraw, throw up our hands and change the channel. We become apathethic, complacent and hopeless.  Conversely, it is easy to buy into the mayhem; to join the ranks of twitterpaters.  The sky is, indeed, falling.  We become angry, inflexible, verging on hysterical. In both cases, depression and anxiety prevail.

In the paper today, one of the articles I read said the FBI is investigating whether or not the gunman had been “radicalized” by someone.  Aren’t we all at risk of being radicalized on a daily basis?  Watch or listen to the news for 10 minutes and feel the fear mongering sink in.  We have to pay attention to our world, we can’t bury our heads in the sand. BUT we don’t have to join the herd.  Turn OFF the news, set your phone aside.  Walk outside. TALK face to face to someone about something other than the chaos.  Remind yourself that the one thing you can do as an individual is to live your best life beyond and in spite of the frenzy.  Have courage, as often as you can.



Time goes by unfettered.  You certainly can’t slow it down or hold onto it – even if you want to.  When you are young and in the thick of living, time is your rival.  You must keep up with that ticking clock – it rules the day.  As you age, the clock becomes a different kind of rival.  The focus isn’t trying to fit as much into that little face of hours and minutes but to keep that little face from bowling you over.  (In this modern day of technology, the clock no longer has a face….but a digital readout.  I’m outdated in my analogies…)

I recently attended the celebration of life for one of my high school teachers.  It was interesting to see the ensemble of retired teachers in attendance.  They looked so old.  Made me feel young-er, sort of.  Stepping into the old school and sitting in the gym, where I played basketball and sang in concerts and played french horn in the band – I began to feel old again.

The teacher we were celebrating was the business teacher from 1972 until approx 2001.  He coached basketball, football, wrestling and was involved in several other extracurricular business class organizations.  He had a daughter, a son and several grandsons.  When he retired from our school, he moved to another larger city to be near his daughter and son.  He continued to work as a teacher until he was diagnosed with liver cancer a couple of years ago.  By all accounts, he was a very fun-loving, caring and giving person. He loved his wife, his family, playing golf and teaching.  He died in July but they arranged this little celebration for those of us who could attend his funeral in July.

I grew up in a small town and attended a small, rural high school.  My graduating class had 26 students.  Most of us had attended all twelve years of school together.  In those days,  the teachers lived and raised their families in the community as well.  Because they were a part of the community, they were committed to the school and to teaching.  They certainly weren’t there to make money!

Attending the celebration of life was a walk down memory lane.  Of course, there was talk about his life, what he loved, how kind he was and there were funny stories about different points in his lifetime in our valley.  It was sad and funny – as it should be.  Seeing my old teachers, talking about those old days, made me ruminate about my life as a teenager.  I have always known that I have limited memories of those years.  Of course, my focus at the time was about my appearance, my peers and my nonexistent love-life.  In addition to pondering those old days, I also observed the crowd and considered the celebration ceremony itself and how I would do things differently at my own funeral/memorial.

In recent years, I have attended more funerals than in my younger years.  Stands to reason, I am getting older.  Parents, friends, and other family members, are reaching the age of mortality.  These things come to the forefront, not only as we age, but as we lose friends, family or acquaintances through illness or accidental death.  It just feels more prevalent as you consider your own age in the process.  And since my mother is ill and in a memory care facility, I am always thinking about preparations for her funeral.

This was a celebration of life, well after death.  While it was still a bit raw for his immediate family, it wasn’t as difficult or as emotional as it was two months ago at his funeral service.  This ceremony was meant for those of us who couldn’t attend his funeral but still wanted to have a chance to say our good-byes.  There were several speakers, music was played and there was a reading of an open letter written by him a couple of months prior to his actual death.  All very touching and heart-felt.  Then the family requested any comments or stories from the audience (an “open mic” as it were).  Several people shared stories or memories about the teacher, mostly funny little anecdotes or expressing gratitude for his work as a teacher or coach.  Then – hobbling up to the microphone, came a retired teacher – who decided to tell her own life’s story about the horrors of teaching.  She said very little about the man we were honoring.  She was talking to hear the sound of her own voice.  It. was. painful.  And far too long.

This made me question the logic of having an open mic at a memorial/funeral service – it seems there is ALWAYS someone who takes advantage of the opportunity for a captive audience.  I’ve been to several funerals where this has occurred.  So I’ve decided that at my mother’s funeral (and at my own) there will be a precept for the open microphone – something along these lines: “We have limited time so please only share stories ABOUT the deceased.  No need to try to convert anyone to your religious beliefs or to discuss your own life history.  AND if you can’t say it in 10 sentences or less, you really should write it down and send it to the family as a personal message.  Better yet, write it in your journal and have it read at your own funeral.   Thank you for your cooperation.”

Of course, I am being facetious – we really wouldn’t say that but we would want to….  A funeral/memorial should be about the person you are honoring.  Stories about THEM.  Stories that generates a pleasant sensation and something that will bring peace to the family as they remember the person they’ve lost.

Be amazed

The clouds are a very dark gray this morning.  Looks like we’ll be getting more rain.  It has been an interesting summer here in Montana.  It was hot and dry and we experienced a plethora of forest fires – all over the state.  In our area, we had more than our fair share.  From mid-July until a few days ago, we endured very smoky days.  Air Quality was listed as hazardous for the entire month of August.  And then — it snowed in the high mountains and poured rain in the valleys.  The smoke is gone, fires have burned out and everything is very “fall” like.  Nature turned the page to the next season.

I often dream of living in a warm, moderate climate – where the temps occasionally get high or low but for the most part, remain the same year round. But I think I would miss the seasons.  Each season has its own beauty and unpleasantness – the transition period from one to the other is usually the very best time.  You know something different (possibly better) is coming.  Just about the time you think you can’t tolerate one more snow storm, the sun rises and you see the beginning of new life; green grass, trees blooming and flowers poking their heads above the slushy snow.  Last week, when we had reached our limit with the smoke and heat — the rain and snow arrived.  A special gift.  We’ll get weary of all this rain but indian summer will fall into place – warm sun, beautiful fall colors and breezy days.  If I lived in mild weather – would I long for the seasons?

In truth, our lives are like the seasons.  We dream of mild days with no disruptions, no barometric changes.  Could we live in a Utopian world where everything was “fine” every single moment of every single day?  That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?  No one would be sad or lonely; we wouldn’t compete with each other or fight over ridiculous differences; there would be no need for using mood changing medications/alcohol and such; everyone would feel loved and cared for.  Of course, we COULD live in that dreamland – but it is just that; a dream, “never-never land”.

The disruptions and transitions of life are often difficult.  Most of us fumble through trying to find a way out of the gray clouds or a way to stay in the sliver-like ray of sunshine.  Sometimes, we need help but never ask and wallow in our desolation.  Other times, we ask and have great expectations for deliverance from our misery and fear – only to find it short-lived.  We lament our misery and wonder why we can’t find peace.  We internalize our pain and envy others who seem so much more content.

Our lives are wrought with changing seasons; clearing our path of old growth in preparation for the new.   We tire of the same old routine but fear starting over yet again.  We prefer staying in our comfy clothes, on our comfy couches and beds and staying inside – out of the elements.  Change often means a loss of some kind and we wonder if we will survive the conversion.  (Close your eyes and think of the times you thought you would never get through a particularly difficult time.  Be amazed at the realization that you DID get through it.)

Somehow, we manage.  We move on, adjust, re-align our delineation of security and comfort.  We prepare for the coming season of our life — put on an extra layer of clothing for warmth or find a cool stretch of shade; knowing there will be rain or snow – we hunker down and wait for the worst to pass.  If we didn’t have the storms, fires, rain, snow, dry heat – we wouldn’t have the sun, shade, grass, flowers and new-trees.  The same applies to our lives – we lose people we love; we feel lost ourselves, at one time or another; we feel sad and lonely; the old growth is destroyed and the new growth appears with little notice, but it does appear.  Without fail, the next season does appear.