To Speak or Not to Speak... the Answer is Obvious

I joined Toastmasters two months ago. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for many years, but I never dug up the courage to follow through. I thought it would be nerve-wracking, I would be under a lot of pressure to succeed, and I would be out of my league with other speakers.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Toastmasters, it’s an international organization and its club mission statement is “We provide a supportive and positive learning experience in which members are empowered to develop communication and leadership skills, resulting in greater self-confidence and personal growth.”

Formal speaking in front of a group, large or small, can be intimidating to many people. It certainly was for me. I’ve had to speak in front of groups, and I always get nervous and end up with the “ums” and “uhs” and “you knows” in plentiful supply during my talk.

Finally, at the urging of a friend, I attended my first Toastmaster meeting with a club that was still fairly new. It made me feel better to know many of the members had been attending for months, instead of years. Yet we also have seasoned members who help keep the club running efficiently and effectively and mentor us as we grow.

I make the majority of my living writing and editing. Although I enjoyed the two months of Toastmasters, and intended to keep going, I had to wonder - what does this bring to the table in regard to where I am right now in life?

The answer came to me as I was preparing my first formal speech called the Icebreaker. I had to introduce myself to the audience, letting them know a little about me.

If you haven’t tried to condense your life into a few minutes, let me tell you that it’s more difficult than you might imagine. I’ve had many diverse careers, raised a family, married and divorced, went on several grand adventures, and have many interests - all of those helped shape the person I am today. Narrowing down the focus was challenging.

I was only given four to six minutes for this speech. It seemed like forever when I thought about standing in front of the members for that amount of time. Yet when I actually wrote out my speech and timed myself during practice, I talked for over eight minutes.

Now the tie in to my writing. I had to be super organized, like I do when I’m trying to write a story, stay on task, and make sense of everything I included. During my speech I needed to cut out the extraneous words and thoughts, because I simply didn’t have time to go off on a tangent. When I write I need to trim up the prose, because my readers wouldn’t have patience for my off-the-subject rambling, no matter how brilliant I thought my writing was.

Just as organization is key to an effective presentation, with a clear introduction, body, and summary, organization is also key in fiction and non-fiction writing to trim unnecessary words and keep the story moving.

When I timed my first speech about growing up on the farm, and realized I had to cut a minimum of two minutes off, and preferably more since I wanted to throw in some well-timed pauses for effect, I had some problems deciding what was important and what I could cut.

Are you kidding me, my entire early childhood was important, right? Wouldn’t my audience want to hear about my adventures riding dirt bikes in the pasture, climbing the apricot tree even when we weren’t picking the fruit, going through my grandfather’s old shed and finding decades-old copies of Life and National Geographic?

Here’s where my writing experience helped.

Kill Your Darlings.

Be ruthless. Just because I was in love with a scene or a description or a character, didn’t mean it belonged in my story. Or in my speech.

I thought my first speech went well, considering. I was nervous, had to rely on notes, and needed to speed up at the end to finish within the time limits. It’s going to take practice and time to become proficient at giving speeches, just as it does to become proficient at writing.

Even if I never have to give a formal speech in front of an audience other than my Toastmasters club members, what I’m learning about communication and leadership is invaluable. I can see how, as I become a better speaker, my writing will become clearer and more interesting.

My initial worries about Toastmasters were put to rest after the first meeting, and now after my Icebreaker speech I can safely say that it’s not as nerve-wracking as I thought it would be. I don’t feel pressured from other club members - I feel fully supported. Although the long-time members are much better speakers than I am, no one makes me feel like I’m out of their league. I’m part of the club, supported, mentored, and encouraged every step of the way.

Not to mention it’s also - dare I say it - fun!

Mushrooms, Anyone?

A mushroom goes into a bar and sits down to order a drink. The bartender walks over and says, ''I'm sorry sir, but we don't serve your kind here.''

The mushroom sits back and asks ,''Why not? I'm a fun guy!

Actually the mushroom wasn’t a fungi, he was a fungus. If he was one in a crowd of mushrooms then they would all be fungi.

Scientific names confuse me. And they ruin my jokes too.

A few weeks ago I walked into my bathroom and noticed some very odd things growing in a potted plant I had sitting on the windowsill shelf. They looked like little yellow lawn ornaments, with a stem and an egg-shaped top.

On closer inspection I realized I had four perfect mushrooms growing (you can only see three in the pictures.) They were about three inches tall. I was certain they hadn’t been there the day before, but it was possible they were but still too short to easily see.

My first thought was  “Ack, I have fungi growing inside my house.” That couldn’t be good, right? What if I breathe in the spores? Could it make me sick? Could it kill me?

I immediately moved the offending pot with plants and fungi out to the garage, thinking I should dispose of it later. Still, I was curious. What was this? Was I the only one who inadvertently grew mushrooms? I tried to keep excess humidity out of my bathroom, so was I doing something wrong?

Before I took drastic action and threw the baby out with the bathwater (goodbye lovely little medicinal houseplant) I decided to do some online searching. To my surprise, delight, and relief I found immediate answers after typing in Yellow Mushrooms Indoor Plants.

The first site I opened was helpful and interesting. This particular mushroom is the Leucocoprinus birnbaumii. The site was Tom Volk's Fungus of the Month. I was relieved to read that there was nothing to worry about, the mushroom couldn’t hurt my plants, and wouldn’t hurt me if I touched it. He did write we should avoid eating it no matter how cute it looks. No worries about that!

The spores most likely came in with the soil. Although I had moved the houseplant from my living room to my bathroom almost a year ago, it took awhile for the conditions to be perfect for my unintended - but now interesting - mushroom farming.

The second site I found was equally as positive. The mushroom expert who created this site even urged kids to send in their drawings of this cool looking ‘shroom, but still cautioned parents to let their children know mushrooms growing in potted plants should not be eaten. 

The last webpage I opened was not so positive. The author called the mushrooms "less than desirable, basically useless, and mostly ugly". I sort of felt sorry for the little fungi when I read that. Maybe they are undesirable, serving no useful purpose in my house, but they certainly aren’t ugly, at least in my opinion. I thought they were intriguing and beautiful in their own way. 

Then I did a search to see if inhaling the spores could cause respiratory distress or fungal infections in the lungs. I found a lot on black mold that could be associated with respiratory issues, although not all mold was in that category. I couldn’t find any warnings about mushroom spores being dangerous. That did ease my concerns.

After my research, I thought I would bring the plant back into the house, but I put it on the shelf where it had been earlier. I had to decide if I would keep the mushrooms as a unique decoration.

Turns out the decision was out of my hands. The sun shining through the window must have been fatal to the little guys, since the next day they were shriveling up.

Ultimately I decided to reseed my houseplant and replace the soil. Although the mushrooms were uber-cute and very interesting, and even though many experts declared them to be safe for people unless included in a salad or soup, I wanted to proceed with caution.

My brother had a lung transplant fourteen years ago, and has fought off various fungal infections in his lungs over the years. I’m positive this is not the same type of fungus, and almost certain it wouldn’t be harmful for him to breathe the spores. Still, for my peace of mind, I would rather not have any type of fungus blowing out spores anywhere in my house when he visits.

Although this story had a sad ending for my little yellow mushrooms, it was certainly an interesting learning experience for me. I discovered that it really wasn’t my fault the mushrooms grew, that it was just a circumstance of the proper humid conditions since the spores were present in the potting soil. I also learned to appreciate the beauty of something new and remarkable, and to do a little research before panicking.

It’s a good lesson for life in general, and maybe even how we treat others - humans, animals, and plants. Just because something is surprising, brand new, and looks different doesn’t mean it’s dangerous or frightening. A little research is better than a knee-jerk reaction to these little surprises that might pop up in my flowerpots (and in my life.)

Although research has its downside too. For instance, after finding the joke at the beginning of this post, I realized it was scientifically incorrect and I’m not sure I could ever, in good conscience, tell it again. 

You’re welcome.

Unforgettable Thanksgiving

There are some things in this world that we simply cannot forget.

Today I am writing about a To Do list. One that I wrote probably six or seven years ago in preparation for Thanksgiving dinner, which I have hosted for my family and friends almost every year since I've been single. One that only stands out in my mind because of the P.S. attached to it.

I wish I would have dated it, but I guess it doesn't really matter the year. What matters is how it made me feel. How I feel every year right before Thanksgiving when I am busy getting the house ready for company and the food prepared for the big day.

That was one of the first years I made my itinerary for the day – probably to keep me on track and to make everything seem manageable. Planning and carrying out this dinner can be difficult by myself. For some reason, that year I must have been more stressed than usual.

As a reminder to myself I wrote this little note – serving two functions. One to remind me exactly what this day is about, and to be thankful for all that I have. The second to make a practical list to follow so I wouldn't forget anything. I don't know how many times I've left important dishes in the refrigerator or microwave until long after dinner and dessert.

So here it is, in all my humdrum glory. I typed it up (so organized!) and set it on the counter at night. When I woke up in the morning and took a look at it – this is what I found...

  

My daughter added that last part. You know, the part that says everyone loves and appreciates me even if it all doesn't go as planned. You know – the part that brought tears to my eyes when I first read it. The part that still does.

Oh, my wise and loving daughter. You really "get" it. You truly understand. Those few words have stayed with me through many Thanksgiving preparation times, and no doubt will remain with me until the end of my days.

What a wonderful gift. What a treasure. Perhaps you never knew your words would touch me forever. They will, my dear. Always.

So this Thanksgiving, I am doing it all over again. I'm getting better at planning ahead, but still, this Thursday it will be busy, a bit crazy, and hopefully I'll get all the menu items cooked and ready to serve, and the cat hair off the sofa, before my guests arrive.

Whether it all goes as planned, or it falls apart like a house of cards in an earthquake, it will be fine. We will laugh, we will reminisce, we will tease and joke, take pictures, and remark on how the little ones have grown so tall.

I am so blessed every day, because there is love around me. In the end, nothing else matters. This Thanksgiving, I'm sending a special thanks to Cera. I will always remember, and cherish forever, that simple postscript from a Thanksgiving many years ago.

Love Thy Neighbor

I previously blogged about some of my neighbors, and how helpful they were when I was trying to re-landscape my front yard (take out two monster shrubs that threatened to eliminate anything in their paths.) 

Now, during an unusual November cold snap, I need to add to it.

We were hit with a record-breaking eight inches of snow. It's unusual this early in November. Usually the first snowfall sort of meanders to the earth, sometimes melting, sometimes sticking around until the sun hits it.

Last night we had snow, about an inch and a half. I merrily scooped it off my three-car driveway. Haha, what great exercise, and nice, fresh air...

Then this morning I woke up to about three or four inches. Rats.

I had places to go.

I spent an hour outside, managing to clear the sidewalk, the walkway up to my door, and a little path up the driveway. Grateful that I chose a vehicle with four-wheel-drive, I went to lunch. Two hours later I returned home.

The snow was almost seven inches deep. Curses...

So I bundled up, grabbed my shovel and proceeded to join several neighbors attempting to get ahead of the weather. I noticed that the downpour of snow seemed to be lessening. Then to my surprise and delight one of my subdivision angels had driven his 4x4 with snowplow attached down our street. He visited each driveway that had a person shoveling (I assume he didn't want to plow driveways without permission) and proceeded to clean off the rest of my snow in five minutes. It probably would have taken well over an hour by hand.

Wow! I was so thankful! He went up the street, and helped several other folks out as well.

Aren't people grand? Most folks just want to do the right thing, to help their neighbors, to make this world a little better place.

I'm so thankful for the blessings I've been given. There is so much in my life to appreciate – my family, my friends, and even this awesome neighbor that I barely know.

Happy Snow Day. Happy November. Happy Thanksgiving. Please remember to always count your blessings!

Distraction

I admit it. I am sometimes easily distracted.

Especially when I hit a snag in writing, or I've been editing for too many consecutive hours. Or when what I'm doing has become monotonous or tedious and I need a break.

I've noticed if I stay in front of my computer too long and my dogs and cats get bored, they will do almost anything to get my attention. The cats jump on my chair, and try to sidle onto my lap. The dogs will push against me, often bringing a favorite toy so we can have some play time.

The other day I was on a roll, figuratively speaking. The words were pouring out of my head and my fingers had trouble keeping up with the flow. It was great! However, something was amiss.

Where were my fur-babies? They weren't bugging me. I turned around to look for them and here's what I saw:

Thankfully I had my camera at hand so I could take several photos of Atticus Smash, sleeping while Luca kept a watchful eye on me. After several photos, I thought the law of averages would be in my corner, and I had captured "the look."


I went back to my typing, but a short time later turned around again. I made some oohing and ahhing noises at the bundle of kitties. Out came my camera, and several snaps later I was satisfied. My cats, Atticus Smash and Nemo, slept through it all.

Third time was charm – not only with my typing but also with the last of the animals. 

Dude was trying to look as cute as could be. I thought he succeeded quite readily.

So it went on all afternoon. They all looked so cute, and sweet just lounging around, sleeping, being perfect angels.

It worked. I broke down and took the dogs for a walk, and cuddled with the cats.

Sometimes it's nice to be easily distracted.

Yes, I Am a Runner

I'm a runner. I didn't start running until a little over seven years ago. And after all this time, it still feels a little awkward to just come out and say it. Mostly because I'm a wimpy runner. I walk uphill, mostly run on flat land, and manage to pick up the pace on downhills. I'm still slow though.

Cathy and Zan - Famous Idaho Potato Start

Despite the humble way I get those miles in, it's a fact. I do run. I've done numerous races – 5Ks, 10Ks, and half marathons. Thirteen miles is about my comfort level for an organized run. It forces me to train, but it's not so daunting it makes me nervous.

I've run several half-marathons more than once, including Zeitgeist, which is a fun race on rolling hills, all of it paved. And the Famous Idaho Potato run, again all on paved roads or paths, but it's a flat course mostly by the river on the Boise Greenbelt, which makes it a wonderful run. 

The most challenging one has been the Race to Robie Creek, starting at 2725 feet, climbing 8.5 miles to 4797 feet, then dropping for the next 5 miles to 3065 feet. After the first mile, when we start our big climb, I always regret signing up, but I get over it by the time I make it, wheezing and gasping, to the summit. 

The only marathon race I've run was a beautiful 26.2 miles in Susanville, California, the Bizz Johnson Run. The entire course was on trails, first carved out from an old railroad trail, then on a lovely path that meandered along an awesome river. It was an easy course for a marathon, but was a tough one for me because of the distance.

It was true for me what they said about hitting the wall. Around mile 22 or 23, I just lost it. Everything in my body that could feel, hurt. My stomach decided to treat me to gastrointestinal problems. I was exhausted and discouraged, but on I trudged.

Finish Line at Bizz Johnson Marathon

The nice thing about these types of races are the people. The volunteers, race directors, and especially other runners. One runner, Manny from Texas, ended up walking and slowly running with me the last few miles, encouraging me, and telling me I would get the first sip of the ice cold beer his friends had waiting for him at the finish line. He even hung back a second so I could run across the finish before him. When I realized I had made it and completed my first marathon, I burst into tears. It was so awesome!

Finish Line at the Buffalo Run

The next big challenge for me was the Buffalo Run on Antelope Island in Utah. I chose the 32 mile option – a 50k ultra-marathon. Although I thought I had trained sufficiently, this one totally wiped me out. My "run" across the finish line was more like a stagger. My feet were killing me, I could barely move. But I did it.

I am signed up for one more ultra-marathon in June – this one is the Bryce Canyon Ultra, and again I'm running the 50k. Doesn't this look spectacular? It should be an amazing experience, with the scenery along the trail. I'm sure initially I'll wonder why in the world I would subject myself to this torture. Until I start running past the breathtaking scenery, and then again when I make it to the finish line, that is. It does have a nine hour cutoff though, and I almost hit that with my previous ultra. I guess I better start training in earnest now.

Thanks Steve Moore!

I'll be posting a few pictures in June. Hopefully none that look like this...

Whistling

In my previous post I mentioned I love music. I would like to add that I really like almost any kind. I was raised on a mixture of classical (from my dad and mom), sixties and seventies (from my older brother), and a bit of country thrown in (from my friends). I admit that some of the rap and hip hop music I could do without. But there is that certain beat...

Here's a picture of my daughter's boyfriend of three years. His name is Slay. He is awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I am letting him take over half of my garage to turn into a shop. He's fixing up his 1947 Dodge pickup truck, and also just finished putting together an old Yamaha motorcycle. Slay is clean, keeps his workspace organized (more organized than I am in general) and loves my daughter, my dogs, and my cats.

This past weekend my brother was at my house. We had a great visit. On Monday, we were invited to lunch, which I accepted at the last moment, which meant I had to take my shower fast. I told Marty to go ahead without me and I would be there as soon as possible. I took a very fast shower, dressed, and headed out of my bedroom, whistling some happy tune.

When suddenly... I realized as I rounded the corner to the kitchen, I was not alone. At first I thought it was my brother, and wondered why he hadn't left already. Then I realized it was Slay. He was sitting at my counter, eating his lunch before he continued working on his truck.

First I was a little embarrassed whistling my way down the hall. Then I thought – what the heck? So I made some comment about my penchant for music, and guess what? Slay wasn't laughing at me. It was really no big deal. His girlfriend's mother was a little wacky and definitely happy, so... so what?

Yes, I thought to myself as I continued this conversation in my head. Whistling? Not the worst thing anyone could catch me doing.

We proceeded to talk about his current progress, and how he and my daughter were getting packed for their trip to Hawaii. Our conversations are comfortable. I like Slay, and I am really happy he is with my daughter.

I'll continue to sing. To whistle. To hum. I'll try to tone it down when I'm out in public, but I can't offer any guarantees. What can I say, my life is good, and I'm happy!

Music - I Love Music!

I love music, and love to sing along with my favorite songs. That's quite normal, right?

I'm sure I'm not the only one to sing in the shower, and possibly not the only one to sing at the top of my lungs in my house when I'm alone. I can carry a tune, although I don't have a "recording-ready" voice. But that's not important, not for me.

Today I caught myself singing away while I was doing laundry. I don't even remember the song, or if it was one I made up. I just stopped and thought to myself – "If someone came in the door right now they would be laughing like crazy!"

And that's okay. I guess. I've been caught before, and after a fleeting moment of embarrassment, my life does go on.

I remember when my son and daughter were little. Almost since they could walk and talk, they loved music. It was a big part of their play. I think back fondly on their breakfast ritual before school – they sat at the table, humming merrily along between swallows of milk and cereal.

The part that made me smile – big – as I futzed around in the kitchen, was that they were both humming different songs, and totally oblivious to the other. It was cute, and it made me happy to hear them sound happy.

Now my kids are young adults, and last year they informed me that I used to hum all the time. They thought it quite the fun game to start humming some tune I would know, and... wait for it... I would start humming along. Then they would laugh silently at me. I'm sure because it was cute, right?

What is wrong with humming? It's happy, downright joyous! So I would say – there is nothing wrong with humming, or whistling, or singing. But if you are caught unexpectedly in the middle of a tune – is that embarrassing? Tune in tomorrow...

Family

Tomorrow my brother Marty travels back to Coeur d'Alene, after spending the entire weekend with me. It was so much fun, and we were busy from the time we both eventually rolled out of our beds to the time we said goodnight. Today I thought about opting out of a few invites so I could get other things done but at the last minute thought – hey why not?

This particular invitation was to lunch with my brother's son's girlfriend's parents. Got that? 

See, Marty came to Boise so he could visit me and our other brother, then drive his son (my nephew, Jake) back home to get ready to go back to the university. I met Jake's girlfriend Taylor on Sunday, and today Jake wanted to introduce my brother to Taylor's parents.

I told Marty it sounded serious, and he just laughed, a bit nervously. After all, both kids are not quite twenty years old, but seem quite smitten with each other. Anyway, the six of us had a wonderful time getting to know each other.

We then spent the afternoon with my older brother and his wife. He's had some very serious illnesses the past several weeks, spending almost two weeks during two visits to the hospital just before Christmas and just before New Year's Day. He's recovering well now, which is great. We went to see some property they own that they hope to build on in the near future. You could hear the excitement in his voice as he talked about those plans.

Then Marty bought me dinner at a favorite Mexican restaurant, and we topped the evening off by visiting my niece and her family at their new-to-them house. After a fun time talking to them and seeing almost every toy and costume their kids had (they are so cute!) we headed back to my house.

Marty leaves tomorrow. It's been a great visit – he's an awesome guest. And I will miss him.

So today, all the plans I had for organizing, cleaning, writing, editing... they all went out the door. Instead I spent time with family and friends, and the entire day passed so quickly. Life is too short. More specifically our lives are too short. We need to be with the ones we love while we can, and support the dreams of our friends and families. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, but today is already here and waiting.

I can edit tomorrow. I can write tomorrow. Today was for family and for memories.

Goals, Goals, Goals...

Ha, well this goal of writing a blog post every day didn't last very long. It sounded good on the first of January! Perhaps I should revise it – to every other day.

It's a good lesson though. And I love those things I can learn and grow from.

• If I'm going to set a goal, and make it public, I have to follow through successfully. Or else get called out on it. And I do not want that to happen again. 
• It does make me accountable – either to do what I set out to do (write a blog each day) or to make more realistic goals. 
• On only day three, I have already fallen short of my goal. However, the good thing is, I am writing something. It might only be a little explanation for my tardiness, but it's something. 
• When I want to write, I must make it a priority. I can't waste time checking my social media for way too long, or doing anything else that isn't productive in some way. Reading is productive. Thinking is productive. Taking the dogs for a walk is productive. And writing is productive. But going through each and every one of my friends' posts to see what I might be missing – well, that is not the best use of my time.

The good thing is, I now have two blog posts in three days. If I keep this up, I might end up more prolific than I have been in the past. I miss blogging, not so much for the writing part, or the sharing part (which can be a little scary and/or uncomfortable for me) but because when I blog I also check out the blogs of my friends, and I miss doing that.

Let's see where this takes me. 

Happy New Year!

I took on a once-a-day blog challenge for the month of January. It can't be that hard, right? I can certainly think of topics to blog about. Such as the New Year.

As a matter of fact, I like this idea. A new year. A challenge.

Last year seemed to be a time of building for me. Relationships, writing, and new beginnings. Sort of laying the foundation for things to come.

I realize that change can happen at any time. We certainly don't need a new year to change our less-than-good habits, lose weight, write the great American novel, or do anything else in our lives we've been putting off. But there is something about having a specific date that appeals to people.

I made a goal for myself. I wanted to get healthy, and strong, and finish the challenges that were before me. I didn't start today. I started four days ago, and so far, so good.

As far as any new resolutions for 2014? I suppose it's exactly the same as my current life goals: I want to have a healthy body and sharp mind. I will finish and publish my first novel. I will continue to make a living writing for other people. And I will never take any part of my life for granted. It's too precious, and too short.

The Good Mommy

My children are adults now. Cera, my youngest, my baby, is twenty-five years old. How did that happen so quickly? Sometimes I look back and wonder if I was a good mother, if I could have or should have done things differently. I'm sure that crosses the minds of mothers all over the world. I do believe I did the best I could at the time, and I take comfort that above all, I loved—and still love—my children unconditionally, with all my heart.

They taught me so much about life, and what is really important, and sometimes I remember these lessons when I look over old photos or videos of them when they were young. Recently I ran across a picture of my daughter when she was ten years old. Her Girl Scout troop had a picnic in the park, an informal party to celebrate their past year accomplishments.

On the other side of the park were snakes. Big snakes like pythons and boa constrictors. All were non-venomous (or so we were told) and accompanied by their handlers. It wasn't long before the Girl Scout party invaded the snake party, and it was an amazing sight.

These preteen girls were petting the reptiles, making tunnels with their bodies while the snakes wriggled underneath them, sitting and letting them slither up and around their arms and legs. Moms and Dads were watching carefully, more than a bit nervous, and as I recall, the snake handlers were amused by the whole situation as they talked about their unusual pets. This was definitely a teachable moment.

Most of these reptiles were really long, twelve to twenty feet perhaps, if I recall correctly. I watched my daughter delight in stroking their smooth scales (skin?) and attempt to lure snakes over to her just to watch them slide in and around her.

Cera was sitting cross-legged, when one of these snakes slithered under her knee and raised its head up to look at her. My first reaction was a bit of panic, then I composed myself and told her – "Don't move. I'll be right back."

As a good mother, you know what I did next, right? Of course, I ran to my car and grabbed my camera! And snapped this picture. And I'm so glad I did, since both Cera and her new snake friend only had patience to pose for a few moments. Then the snake slowly lowered itself to the ground and glided away.

Lessons learned:

•          Snakes are really pretty cool, unless they are rattlesnakes sitting in the middle of a trail I'm running on.
•          My daughter was entranced by this encounter, and it helped reinforce her love and appreciation for all of God's creatures.
•          When you put Girl Scouts in the same park as big long harmless snakes, give up on any of your pre-planned activities – they will hang with the reptiles instead.
•          The real snake charmers were the real snakes charming the girls.

And the number one lesson I learned? When you're with your kids, always carry a camera.

"I Don't Believe in Bears, So..."

A few years ago I joined a backpacking trip through the Emigrant Wilderness in California. This was a four day trek covering 40 miles of amazing scenery. Our group consisted of sixteen adventurers, one guide, and a bevy of pack horses. Oh, and a yellow lab who belonged to a cook at the resort. This dog loved to join any hiking group going somewhere exciting, and he stuck with us the entire time, begging dinner and a warm place to sleep each night.

Our guide, Colin, was young, only twenty-two years old, yet he was an experienced guide and wrangler. His team of pack horses hauled our tents, sleeping bags, and various comforts from civilization, and we carried day packs with water, food for lunches, cameras, and various other essentials we couldn't do without during daylight hours.

It was an amazing journey. We merely had to follow the trail, and stop when we saw Colin and our packs. He made camp by water sources, so we could filter clean mountain water to drink. Every night we made a campfire, and sat around telling tales, getting to know one another, and sharing spiked cocoa and wine.

The first night, however, several of us had a few questions for Colin. In preparation for this trip, we were dutifully warned that we were hiking in bear country. And these bears weren't like Yogi Bear and Boo Boo. They would eat our food, and possibly us, if we happened to be in the same proximity. One of the conditions of joining this trek was to use a bear-proof canister to store anything that had an odor.

I took this seriously. Weeks prior to the hike, I studied the warnings, and watched the videos of bears attempting to open various canisters. I bought one that was highly recommended. It was so bear-proof that I myself had trouble opening it. Perfect! I put my freeze dried meals inside, my snacks, my coffee for the morning, a few candy bars... I was prepared.

Yet, the first night, when I heard someone ask what I dared not – "what about bears?" – I listened intently, feeling my heart race. What if the bear couldn't get in the canister, and decided the human flesh cowering inside the tent would be much easier to access, and almost as tasty as the granola bars?

It was then, when Colin spoke, that I was completely reassured. For this young man who was in charge of our safety and well-being, simply replied, "I don't believe in bears. So they never bother me."

Really? It was that simple? And he backed it up by adding that he actually slept with his food under his bedroll. He didn't even use a tent.

Actually, that was reassuring. I guess because his total belief in his own beliefs helped me feel secure. And perhaps the thought that the bear would go after the easiest food source – you know, the one that wasn't cowering in a tent. Yes, that helped. And I must admit, I was reassured that we had a dog along who would surely let us know if a four-legged, smelly, dangerous intruder entered our camp.

Each night, what did I hear? I heard my camp mates settling down. I heard the dog sniff around until someone opened the tent flap to let him in. I heard the light jingle of bells on the pack horses as they grazed. I heard the sweet rustle of a breeze as it meandered through the trees and bushes. And then, I heard silence. Sweet silence. You really can hear nothing. You just have to listen.

And no bears. Perhaps they found us annoying and chose to stay away. Perhaps they were never close to begin with. Or perhaps, possibly, because one of us truly didn't believe in them, they had no choice but to leave us in peace.

This was an interesting thought. If I believe in something, does that give it life? And conversely, do I have the power to negate something in my life simply by not affirming it? The mind is powerful. And the older I get, the more I believe in my own power. Think good thoughts, good things could happen. Believe the worst, and we better watch out.

Perhaps that's a bit simplistic, but still... I do think I control what is happening in my own life. Even when I don't realize how powerful I am. So now, I choose to not believe in bears...

I'm Melting!

Record temperatures all week, here in the southern part of Idaho where I live. Yesterday it hit 110 degrees. That's hot. Right now, at 7:00pm, it's 104. That's also hot.

I spent time outside, weeding the flowerbeds. Why I couldn't wait for double digit temperatures is beyond me. That weather brings out happy birds chirping. It was so blooming hot that even the hornets gave up and crawled back wherever they came from. 

The only sound that broke the silence was the laughs of delight from the children next door.

They were bouncing on their trampoline, tossing a beach ball back and forth. To add excitement, they also had a sprinkler running over the entire trampoline. In the midst of yanking one weed after another, in 104 degree temperatures, I had to stop and smile at the shrieking and giggles from over the fence.

When the ball somehow made it into my yard, they cried out for me to throw it back. It was then that for just a brief moment, I wished I was a kid again. I would have hand delivered that ball, and joined them on the soaking wet trampoline.

But I was just a sweaty, grubby, middle-aged woman pulling on weeds. Remembering my childhood. Remembering the time when my own children were that age, and how they delighted in the simplest of entertainment, some of it actually safe...

I had one of those lightbulb moments. Aha!

I can't go back in time. But I can appreciate each moment on this wondrous planet. Today is going to be a memory for tomorrow. What kind of memory will it be?

I think it should be a "clean off the sweat and grime and go out for an ice cream cone" memory.

Perfect.

Stay cool, my friends.

Heroes in the Flames

Such sadness. Yesterday I learned that nineteen wildland firefighters were killed in Arizona trying to fight a forest fire threatening homes and citizens in Arizona. These young men were truly heroes.

This group of nineteen young men – in their twenties and early thirties – faced a large, out of control fire coming directly toward them. Official reports are yet to surface, but what I read is that they were following protocol, attempting to slow or stop the flames with a firebreak, when the flames were still small. Then the erratic wind picked up, causing the fire to grow and move toward them. 

With no way to escape, the crew deployed their fire shelters – basically tents designed to provide air and protect the occupant from fire.

But the sudden shift of the flames and the severity of the fire proved too much for the shelters the men deployed. Nineteen souls were lost, in a flash. Nineteen loved ones perished, leaving their families, friends, and fellow firefighters to mourn.

This hit especially hard for me. There is a firefighter that I know – a Hotshot – who is, as I type this, currently on duty at that very same fire. He is my daughter's boyfriend of many years. This brings the tragedy home to me, in a very real way. I love him, as a son. As my daughter's love of her life. As a young man with a great sense of humor, one who is kind and caring, and who has an amazing future ahead of him. He chooses to live a life of hard work and real danger, to save lives and homes. I worry about him. I worry for my daughter who is frightened and on edge right now. And I am so very proud of him. 

I've followed this story in bits and pieces. I've seen the photos of family members and friends mourning their lost loved ones. I've heard interviews from people whose homes were destroyed but "at least my wife and dog were saved" and I wonder.

I wonder – do they realize the sacrifice made by nineteen very brave young souls on their behalf? And by the hundreds of others still fighting to control this unforgiving force of nature? I am sure they do.

How can they not?

Rest in Peace – brave young souls. You are loved. You are missed. Your lives made a real difference. 

Rest in Peace.

Heroes and Courage

When I set out to write this blog, I quickly realized that in order to cover everything I could about heroes, it would take more writing than this simple post could contain.

First of all, I wish hero wasn't a gender-specific term, but since it is for most uses, I want to include female heroes as well. Yes, yes, I know they are referred to as heroines. But truly, what is the first thing that pops into your head when you hear heroine? For me, it's the female lead in a story. Yes, usually they are strong and brave, but do they really have that "save the world" persona that is often attributed to a hero in a story?

But I digress.

To me, a hero is anyone who, in the face of danger, shows tremendous courage. Heroes are willing to sacrifice their own time, comfort, health, safety, and sometimes even their lives for those who are in a position of needing help to survive and/or thrive.

I think of heroes as men and women risking their lives in the military, serving us, fighting a war far from home to help protect people like me. Or firefighters and police officers, and search and rescue teams, often putting themselves in extreme danger to keep us safe.

And what about people who might not risk their lives, but still save ours, sometimes in a manner of speaking and sometimes quite literally? Doctors and nurses, for instance. And I can't forget teachers and life mentors, those who put in long hours and lots of work in the hopes that the individuals in their care will have successful and bright futures?

Let's not forget those who may not be working in particularly heroic professions, but when coming across life-threatening situations will jump into a raging river to save a stranger, perform CPR to try to get someone's heart beating again, drag accident victims out of a burning vehicle when they are the first on the scene?

These are heroes.

I would like to add, that my idea of a hero extends beyond the obvious. Which doesn't diminish the importance of the heroes I mentioned above. They are different kinds of heroes.

The person who sees, really sees, suffering and sadness in a fellow human being, and offers a kind word, a warm coat, a few dollars, or even a simple smile.

Caregivers to the sick and dying, putting their own comfort aside to give peace to those who suffer.

A neighbor who doesn't ignore the neglected or abused child next door, but takes action to save that child. Or who sees mistreatment of defenseless animals, and tries to do something about it.

The person who does something to help another living creature on this planet that we all share, even if it seems like such a small, inconsequential act. I'm reminded of this little quote: 

You may be one person to the world, but you may be the world to one person.

I think that for most of us, we should just strike may be, and replace it with are. Because every one of us has some type of influence on each person we meet, whether it's profound or seemingly inconsequential. Whether it's fleeting or lasts for eternity. Our thoughts and actions matter.

I really love the Starfish Story, adapted from "The Star Thrower" by Loren Eiseley.

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

Just because you can't change the world doesn't mean you can't change a part of the world.

One of my heroes is a very dear friend of mine – Eric Hansen. He is a musician who shares his gifts of love and hope to the world through his music. Although his life hasn't always been easy, he is a testament to strength, perseverance, a positive attitude, and love for his fellow human beings. 

Eric wrote and recorded a song called "Hero in the Dark", from the album of the same name, which I would like to share with you. It is a beautiful way to illustrate what I want to say in this post. I do hope you take a few minutes to listen to it.

Thanks to all the heroes in my life, and especially my unknown - and unsung - heroes.

Real Torture

What is torture? Sometimes we as humans toss that word around so casually it loses its impact.

"It's torture sitting through another one of these long, boring presentations."

"Don't torture me with that delicious smell of cinnamon rolls while I'm on a diet."

Those instances might not be pleasant, but they come nowhere near the torture that some human beings can inflict on other living creatures.

The definition I'm using for today's post, according to http://www.merriam-webster.com, is "the infliction of intense pain (as from burning, crushing, or wounding) to punish, coerce, or afford sadistic pleasure."

Photo from Idaho Humane Society website

This is the aftermath of torture. This dog, a small pit bull bred especially for fighting, is one of 64 dogs rescued earlier this spring from a dog fighting operation in a rural area of Idaho. They were only discovered after a person, or persons, killed a 61-year-old man, his 32-year-old son, and the son's 27-year-old wife, all who resided at the property. The young couple's infant and toddler were both found alive and unharmed.

The people who were killed were in the business of growing and selling marijuana, and also raising and fighting small pit bull dogs. Law enforcement stated that this was not a random act, and it was also not a robbery. They found $95,000 in marijuana plants and cash in the house. Whoever killed these three people had another motive.

Credit KPVI

The dogs lived in horrible conditions, freezing in winter, baking in summer. It was thought that while some were fighting dogs, others with sweet temperaments were used as bait dogs, attacked and killed to keep the attacking dogs mean and blood-hungry.

The Idaho Humane Society (IHS) took on the responsibility of assessing and caring for these dogs. One had to be put down immediately due to severe injuries and nonstop seizures. Bad Rap, the organization that rehabilitated Michael Vick's fighting pit bulls, came out to help with the dogs. Other regional animal shelters offered to take dogs at the IHS to make room for the pit bulls.

When all was said and done, eleven dogs had to be put down because they could not be rehabilitated. Another dozen were soon put up for adoption with carefully screened families. Some were sent to outside dog rehabilitation facilities. And the rest remain at IHS, still being cared for and evaluated in the hopes that they will also find loving new homes.

My daughter works at IHS, and here are a few pictures of her with some of the pitties. As you can see, they are soaking in the love and affection from staff and volunteers.

These pit bulls were bred to be small, as many fighting dogs are. Here is one little girl who is basking in an embrace. 

This picture is so sweet, but sad at the same time. This little dog looks scared, but is simply trusting that she won't be hurt anymore.  (Idaho Humane Society website)

And my daughter getting some love from another of these "fighters". She fell in love many times over...

And I love this video from IHS – this is the first peanut butter (and Kong toy) that this dog has ever had. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wssr12V6J-8&sns=fb

So this is a happy ending for many of these dogs. But it came at a price, and adjusting to a life with a soft place to sleep, plenty of water and food, and love instead of pain, will take time.

For those of you who think pit bull dogs (which are actually several different breeds of dogs) are inherently more dangerous than any other breed, I urge you to do your own research. And realize that many dogs seem to look like pit bulls, but actually are other breeds altogether, and are often mistaken in news reports.
http://www.understand-a-bull.com/Findthebull/findpitbull_v3.html

For those of you who think mistreating animals is a trivial act – that a slap on the wrist will do just fine – again, I urge you to do some research. Many evil people in our society had a history of animal torture when they were younger. If someone is able to tear the wing off a bird, starve and beat a dog, mutilate a cat, or otherwise torture and kill any one of God's creatures, will they have any regard for human life and well-being? 

Please, be kind to one another. Not just to other people, but to all living creatures. How we treat the least among us is a reflection of who we are in the very depths of our souls.