Bitter-Sweet Memories

2011 will soon be history. The ending of the old year is a time for looking back, while the new year is an opportunity for determining fresh beginnings. Hope, followed by action, can make for change.

During the week before the new year celebration, a great time for taking a memory tour,  I have been cleaning up holiday debris, reading the yearly seasonal letters, and looking through some photos that we had sent to a friend about ten years ago. He mailed them back to us because we lost ours during the Alabaugh Fire. They are happy reminders of our life "off of the grid" on our land along Cascade Road. Most of them are of our llamas and the construction of our fire-resistant house. One of the pictures shows our beautiful copper-colored metal shingles on our unfinished house. On the back of the photo Bob had written:

The Roof

2000 sq. ft.
3000 + shingles
12,000 nails
16 ridge caps
1 month
0 falls.

Reading that photo was a startling reminder of the amount of work, time and money that my husband had carefully and lovingly put into the completion or our unique home that was planned to see us through our retirement years. Photos have a way of  blending sweetness and sadness together, seeping into my heart. The shock of losing what has required so much effort can cause a lasting scar. It may heal slowly with time, but reminders have a way of sneaking losses back to the forefront for a while.

My thoughts were of those with PTSD. We usually think of our veterans who struggle with it, sometimes for a lifetime, but any who suffer a trauma, for whatever reason, can grapple with that pain. At times it can be constant and searing. My sorrows over past losses have usually been brief. At times I have sought help to work through what has vanished from my life. I try not to let myself wallow in my misery for any length of time. Losses will always be a part of my existence, probably more so the longer I live. I turn my focus on the many positives I have now;  my husband, family, friends, home, nature, music, writing, causes, and the wonders the new year of 2012 will bring to our world.

Perusing the past may bring warm feelings, but when the negative outweighs the positive, I change my thoughts to the present, with all my blessings, and now and then, I dwell on my hopes for the future.

The Battle is On!

Today is the biggest holiday of the year in this part of our peaceful Black Hills. We in Hot Springs and the neighboring areas are not in a peaceful mood. We are arming ourselves for battle against "the powers that be" in Washington. The representatives from the US Department of Veteran Affairs came here in the middle of December to put forth their plan to close our Veteran's Hospital from a thriving, much sought after health care facility serving our veterans from the World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf Wars, Bosnia, Iraq and Afghanistan, to a small clinic with 55 employees.

Our VA is known throughout the United States as having the best domiciliary treating veterans with PTSD and chemical issues. It is in a bucolic setting, best meeting the needs of our stressed-out veterans who risked their lives for our freedoms, were trained during their undeveloped years to be on guard at all times, and to kill and defend. During the remaining years back home they deserve all of the special care that we can provide to help them to adjust to peacetime lives, even if it takes their lifetime to achieve that goal. Perhaps with extended treatment as needed for each veteran, fewer of them will lose their families, homes, jobs, and even their lives.

In the summer of 2007 the residents of Hot Springs and Fall River County came together to help the victims of the Alabaugh Fire. They collected clothes, food, money, household furnishings and handmade quilts, lovingly donated by the local women.

The people came through in 2007, and they are rallying once again in the winter of 2011 to save the VA that is the main employer in this community, and to help the veterans who want this VA to remain here and do not wish to receive treatment in the regular hospitals. The vets do not want to be a number in the waiting room. They want, and rightly deserve, the loving, family like service that our veteran's home provides. Not only has the hospital given this help over the years, but our town of Hot Springs welcomes and accepts the veterans. Hot Springs is a veteran's town.

The acting director of the VA Black Hills Health Care System said that we had until the end of February to come up with a counter proposal against their closure plans. We had a meeting on December 21. It was snowy and the roads were icy, but the people came. There was standing room only in the American Legion hall filled with business leaders, city council members, county commissioners, the mayor, members of the faith community, local politicians, ranchers, VA employees, retirees and many veterans proudly wearing hats, vests and jackets displaying their service identity.

Speeches were made, committees were formed and citizens signed up, banding together as a team to fight this closure. Passions and enthusiasm were high. Everyone in that crowded room realized that this is a family deal, veterans and members of this community and the surrounding area, united in a common fight. It is ours to lose or win. I am betting on us winning. There is too much to lose.

I hope that you, my readers, will continue to follow our battle, and if you can support us in any way, please let me know. Letters of support to Washington would be much appreciated, as well as suggestions for our committees. If we lose this fight, more veteran's hospitals and services could follow. What a sad legacy to leave our next generation.

Oh, by the way, have a Merry Christmas, and as you sit down to your holiday meal, surrounded by family or friends, remember to thank a veteran.

Contact regarding this issue: goulet@goldenwest.net

For more details go to the Rapid City Journal for December 18 and December 19 or the Hot Springs Star, December 20.

Winter Solstice

It is that time of year once again when the length of darkness lingers longer than the hours of daylight. It seems as if I wake up, draw the curtains to welcome the sunlight, and in a blink, I am drawing them closed again to shut out the night. For many, this is the season of depression. Sunlight has a way of soothing our spirits, renewing our energy and easing our load for the day. Longer hours of darkness affect many with heavy moods and gloomy outlooks on life. Literature has shown this has long been part of the human psyche. For years humankind has fought against winter melancholy by lighting the earlier arrival of night with candles and artificial lights on trees, houses, wreaths, windows, yards and churches.

As I close our drapes each night, I pause to look out at the neighbor's houses, decked out in holiday sparkle. We have a wreath on our front porch to add a bit of cheer to our house. I am thankful that I do not get the winter blahs that affect so many. As I close out the night, with each drape that I draw, I slide into a snuggly feeling, surrounded by darkness outside, with the warmth of the fireplace in our living room, beautiful music, a purring cat on my lap, a good book or an entertaining television show. There may be a chill in the outside air, but in our home I feel cozy, serene and fully aware that tonight is the longest of the year. Tomorrow begins the lengthening of the days.

A Seasonal Reminder

The cat was snuggled in a ball on my lap, the fireplace was spreading its warmth and light in the living room as darkness was beginning to close in on the early afternoon, grey and lightly snow filled. Bob was in the other room talking on the phone. The doorbell rang, startling the cat.

"Answer the door, Bob. I have a cat on my lap." That is an unwritten rule in our house. Whoever has the cat has the privilege of staying comfortably in place.

Bob hung up the phone and went to the door. In a few minutes I heard children's voices, excited, happy. The cat fled for safety under the bed.

"Mary, come and see this."

At the front door were seven children, pre-school age, all looking up at us, smiling, eyes shining, waiting for the adult to start them in singing season greetings. As they sang, heartily and joyously, my eyes filled with tears. They were so eager, and filled with simple pleasure. It was cold and wet. They didn't seem to notice anything but the music and us, looking down at their faces glowing with delight.

Many in the neighborhood were not yet home, or were gone for the holidays. I was delighted that we were home to accept their gift of music. But most of all they shared their gift of the love of the present moment. Nothing else mattered to them at that instant but the music, so carefully rehearsed at the neighborhood day care down the block. That reminder of the preciousness of "now" was the most unique offering they brought to our front door this afternoon of December 21, 2011.

Not a Cane!

Thirty some years ago I had a fall that damaged my tail bone. Ever since then I have occasional problems with pain in my back, sometimes running down my leg. I managed the discomfort through natural means, including chiropractic, herbs, homeopathy, etc. Recently, on our trip to Eastern Europe, I added a case of bursitis to the mix and now walk with difficulty, especially climbing stairs.

During our trip last October my husband mentioned that I should probably use a cane. Many of our fellow passengers used one and managed better than I. My response to Bob was, "Canes are for old people."

Reflecting on my reaction I realize that I do respond to some aging issues in the same manner. "Those old coots shouldn't be driving. They don't look left or right and never signal a turn."

"Hey", I said to no one in particular the other day, "I am one of those old coots." I suppose when one has eighty peeking around her corner, she is considered an elder person.

Inside, I imagine all of us in the older generation still feel young. We have acquired aches and pains from years of living, falling, working, walking and straining our bodies, but deep inside, where we are who we have always been, we are still ageless, learning, teaching, growing.

My husband presented me with an early Christmas present the other day. It was two canes specially designed for snow, ice and regular conditions. I had a brief relapse into, "Hey, canes are for the elderly!" Then I said my thanks to my thoughtful partner. I know they will be useful, and after all of my years of using and abusing my body, I am starting to accept the fact that time has taken its toll, and I am, for now, most grateful that I am still sharing, adapting, composing, developing, and, hopefully, contributing to society in my own way.

A Time for Unity

Conflicts are always with us. In this small community of Hot Springs we have had our share. There are always two sides to issues, such as do we support a new library or reclaim the old Carnegie library, do we build a new jail, a new hospital, etc., etc.? Every community has their issues, disagreements, and, eventually one of the sides prevails, often leaving bitter feelings with the group that lost. Out town is a smaller reflection of what is going on nation wide and world wide.

Sometimes it takes a large outside menace that could potentially destroy our lovely area in this peaceful corner of the Black Hills to bring us all together. Presently out town is united on the issue of the federal government's plans to close our very special VA, once ranked the highest in the country. They have been in the process of closures for about 15 years. The veterans are upset because they do not want to travel another 60 miles to a facility that is in a stressful environment, and will not be as welcoming to those who look for a family like atmosphere to aid in their healing. I wrote about this on a previous blog. It is our very survival in this area, in which many veterans have chosen to live so that they could take advantage of the healing benefits of the beautiful surroundings, as well as the highly skilled specialists in the VA on the hill.

On Monday night the U.S Department of Veterans Affairs presented their proposal in Hot Springs to a packed auditorium and an angry crowd of citizens. They want to cut back our VA to a clinic staffed with about 55 people. Presently we have almost 400 employees that live in the area, send their children to our schools and are involved in every way in making this a vibrant place in which to live. The veterans who have chosen to live here, have given all for this country, are now being ignored in their appeal to save our VA as a hospital, treatment center for veterans with PTSD and chemical issues, nursing home and impatient units, operating rooms and urgent care facilities.

We have been known as a Veteran's Town. We have the South Dakota retirement home located here and have always welcomed the retirees, patients, and other veterans who have chosen Hot Springs as their home. We residents, veterans or not, are their family. We are not a big majority voting bloc in this small rural area of the southern Black Hills, but we are passionate about our cause, and often small groups can garner support from other groups and, eventually, the powers that be. As one of our Vietnam veterans who is leading the cause to save our hospital boomed out at the Black Hills Health Care officials during the Monday night meeting, "You have torn down and systematically destroyed this facility. You have lied to us when you said, 'nothing is planned for Hot Springs.' You were hired to serve veterans, and what you have done is destroy this facility! But let me tell you, WE WILL STOP WHAT YOU ARE TRYING TO DO".

United with our veterans as a group of citizens, business leaders, faith communities, chamber of commerce, and school districts, we may be able to halt further damage from the gigantic reach of the powers far away in Washington.

Santa and his Elves

It's that time of year when Bob and I don our elf hats and join Santa in distributing Christmas gifts to the members of the Black Hills Special Services Cooperative. Each Christmas a generous donor purchases two gifts for each of  the persons with a disability who are receiving training and education from the Cooperative.  No one will be left gift less during this holiday known for giving. The donor began purchasing gifts when she learned from a staff member that some of the people had no family members to bring them gifts for Christmas. Bob and I became involved in helping with shopping and delivering of the gifts, carefully chosen to match requests and needs.

This year was a beautiful, sunny day. Bob delivered the boxes to the American Legion hall where the employees had decorated for the occasion and were setting up the tables for the food feast. Santa and the guests began arriving. Some were family members joining their children for the celebration.

Joe American Horse began the festivities with blessings and a prayer. He thanked everyone for their  part in the occasion, and Special Services for taking care of his foster child's needs. After the meal Santa handed out the gifts to an appreciative group. As I wandered around, looking at the gifts they had received, some said, "How did Santa know this is just what I wanted?"

Each year as we join in with this remarkable group of teachers, aides and pupils for the giving time, I am reminded of how giving gives more to the giver than the receiver, and that's what this holiday is all about.

To My Readers

When a person has a blog, they can look at the statistics and see how many followers they have, including the ones who have not signed up as a follower. Every so often I check that page and am encouraged by the number of viewers of my blog. Although the numbers fluctuate, the greatest readers are from the United States and, surprisingly, Russia. I am also happy to note my follower from Romania. I think it must be from my friend I made on the plane from Amsterdam to Bucharest. I did try to email him but it wouldn't go through for some reason.

I have heard from friends by email and phone that they have not been able to put in comments. A friend who has managed to write comments told me how she did it. She went to the blog and wrote in the  "comments" space. After she wrote a comment she saw 5 items. She clicked on "anonymous", then she posted the comment, then followed to write the symbol displayed.

Our Back Yard Militia

Back in my college days I had a Latin professor who left me with one thought that I remember to this day. "Remember, in medio. Strive for the middle. Avoid extremes. If you can't find the middle, look for an alternative." These words have merit, but what about the extremists who found no other way than through revolution? Our American Revolution is one example. Does one group of radicals emerge in opposition to the extremists who are in power? Perhaps it is through the clash of the extremes that we find a middle ground.

During my years of working, following politics, and life in general, especially during times of upheaval, I hear his words, "in medio". I spent many years in education and lived through education swings, one of which was the "no phonics theory" versus "all phonics". Children differ in how they learn, and many of the wiser educators quietly continued to use both ends of the spectrum in educating their students, reaching more of them by choosing to teach according to each child's needs, rather than the "latest trend".

Of course, our political system swings back and forth from one extreme to another, it seems even more so today than ever. We cheer for "our side", black or white, and badmouth the "other side" as completely out of touch with truth, reality, the best way, or the only solution to what ails us.

What would our world be like if everyone took time for reflection, debating, compromising, searching for alternatives, and truly trying to understand what may be best for all involved? History has recorded attempts at compromise that have failed. When the Hitlers and other fanatics rise to power, they do not allow compromise. Their way is the only way, no matter how many suffer or die. Not all leaders are as wise as Solomon. He knew how to solve a debate.  Unfortunately, all of the problems in life are not that easily solvable, or perhaps, too many leaders today are lacking the wisdom of Solomon during these times of increasing complex issues.

It has been refreshing to listen to some of the Occupy Wall Street protesters. They have found themselves in agreement with many from all parties, ages and economic groups. They agree that reform in the banking, mortgage and wall street industries are needed. Even some in the top 1%  agree with the tax issue. It is a welcome change to see many citizens trying to reach some level of accord, especially when politicians have become increasingly acrimonious and beholden to the major corporations rather than their constituents.

On the other hand we hear from many frightened individuals. They are terrified of this latest movement. Change brings fear to many. We find comfort in what we know. Just look at those in abusive relationships who move from one abuser to another who respond to their comfort level, ugly as it might be. Change is difficult for all of us. We prefer our rut to the unknown. David Kelley, a writer for television and movies, who brought us "Picket Fences", and more recently, "Harry's Law", has a keen ability to bring both sides of an issue into our living room for us to ponder and, perhaps, cause us to move a bit in our understanding and awareness of those with an opposing viewpoint to ours.

Fearing change, we often find solace in the company of others who have our viewpoint. It is lonely out there in a disruptive climate of discontent. A recent example is occurring right here in our county. A group of individuals are trying to begin a militia made up of ex military and law enforcement who will help defend our county against economic or political upheaval on a national level that could, in someway, harm us here in this peaceful corner of South Dakota. They want to protect our cattle and fuels from these potentially dangerous protesters. I kid you not! If you want to check it out, go to our local paper, the Hot Springs Star, for November 22, 2011. The article it titled, "Commission permits citizens group to proceed."

Extremes can be disquieting. Fear, belief in our way or the highway, an unwillingness to listen to another viewpoint, ignorance and prejudice have always been with us. Change has never been easy and never will, but there are always the few who climb out of their comfort zone to make change happen in reaction to oppression. Hopefully their change will make life better for us all.

Wall Street Protesters on Main Street

When you live in a small community such as Hot Springs, many medical and commercial needs are met in the larger city of Rapid City, sixty some miles north of us. Last Saturday I had a book signing, along with several other local authors, at Prairie Edge, a store featuring Native American art, music and literature. During our time in the store a small group of "Wall Street" protesters were on the corner in front of the store. They interacted with us and were very pleasant, mostly older, and, as one of the signs proclaimed, "take baths and hold jobs".

It has been interesting to see how the press focuses on the few unemployed and rowdy types in the gatherings around the country. Each and every one of this enthusiastic group in Rapid City represented the majority of Americans. They are employed, paying taxes, involved in the community and their families, and, with no exception, are citizens who are fed up with politics as usual, politicians from both parties, greed, corruption, non tax paying wealthy corporations, unpunished banks and mortgage company executives who don't seem to give a damn for the majority of the average and poor in this country. They are concerned over the direction we are heading as a country, with the unemployed and homeless increasing by the day.

As I chatted with some of them I thought back to the Vietnam and Civil Rights protests of the sixties. Those protesters were mostly younger, many in college and a bit more disruptive than today's protesters. They had reasons for their discontent, and by their civil disobedience, affected the path of this nation. For the most part it has been mainly the younger generation who have impacted society in this manner. Today, at least in Rapid City, they are an older generation, from all walks of life, dissatisfied with the status quo in our leadership, hoping for a better tomorrow for all Americans, no matter what their political affiliation.

Change can come from the bottom up, from strength in numbers, a common purpose, determination, and hope for a better future for our young, our old and everyone in between. Time will tell what this movement will bring.

Memorable Gifts

December is a special month for children. It is a time for secrets, wishing, and anxiously waiting for the holiday celebrated with lights, so appropriate during the darkest time of the year. For many parents, however, December is a time of stress with so much on the calendar, but as adults we can still get caught up in the spirit of giving, enjoy the excitement of the children and remember the wonderment we felt as a child. Most of the magic for me during my childhood was in the waiting and imagining and hoping for what was to be revealed on the day of days.

My two brothers, sister and myself grew up during the depression, but somehow my parents managed to make the celebration wondrous and eagerly awaited. Church services always came first, with the caroling and that yearly visit to the life size nativity set arrayed impressively in the corner next to the altar. I loved to stand in front of it, impressed with the story told by the silent figures of Joseph, Mary, the baby, the shepherds, the animals, and later, the three Kings who appeared mysteriously in the crèche after Christmas.

I remember the perfect Christmas tree and the aroma of the homemade foods filling the house in preparation for those meals reserved for the holidays. I can still see my mother placing the glass of milk and dish of cookies on a plate for Santa. Years later when we no longer believed in the folk lore, we asked our father, "Who ate the Christmas cookies?" He replied with a booming voice, "Well, who do you suppose? It was this Santa (pointing to himself) who always brought you Christmas."

My parents never charged a thing and always paid cash for all they purchased. Looking back, I realize that they must have deprived themselves to bring us one day of the year that was filled with wonder and many more days of anticipation during December. Soon after Thanksgiving I would wait for the mail, spending hours looking through those wonderful catalogs from Sears and "Monkey Wards". I would page through, dreaming and hoping. Now and then I would leave a hint with a turned down corner page of the catalog. In those days we never dared to ask for anything, but I do recall one year when my mother actually asked me what I wanted. The depression was winding down, my father was back to work, and times weren't so grim.  I told her I only wanted books. My wish was granted and I received a tall stack of books under the tree. My mother knew her authors. That stack was filled with the classics I still remember... by authors such as Louisa May Alcott, Rudyard Kipling and Jack London. Those books were read and re-read during the vacation and long after. I never said the words "I'm bored" to my parents.

There were two other Christmas days that will always be etched in my memory. One was when I was three. It was in the height of the depression. As the four of us came down the staircase, (we had to wait until our father had stoked the furnace, warmed up the house and yelled up the stairs "Merry Christmas!"), we peeked around the corner and saw the tree that had been decorated by our parents the night before, and underneath its sweet smelling beauty were bicycles for my brothers, skates for my sister and a tricycle for me. There was such joy in the four of us who barely knew there was a depression. Three feet of snow covered the ground and it was bitterly cold that Christmas morning in northern Minnesota, but my brothers rode those bikes around the block on the plowed street. They could hardly wait for the first thaw that spring. My brother recalls that it was the best Christmas we ever had. It must have made an impression since I still have a photo in my mind of that magical moment when we first saw the gifts under the tree.

The other Christmas that is still vivid to me is the one when I was eleven. It was during World War II. My two brothers had left for the service and my sister for the Cadet nursing program with the military. It was Christmas Eve and I had been moping around the house all day. Christmas would not be Christmas without my siblings joining in the excitement. I went to bed early, feeling poorly and sorry for myself. My parents said that I could open one gift on Christmas Eve. I came downstairs while my father disappeared outside for a few minutes. He returned carrying a huge cardboard box with a large bow on top. I peeked into the box and saw a pair of dark eyes looking up at me. I reached down to pick up a bundle of wiggling fur, whining and licking my face. It was the most beautiful German Shepherd mix puppy I had ever seen then, or since. For that one memorable Christmas Eve I was allowed to keep the puppy in my bedroom while I slept fitfully, but happily, with a flu bug inside of me and that very special present next to my bed.

It seems that today many children have a surplus of gifts, quickly getting bored with everything and whining for their un-met expectations. I feel sorry for those children who receive everything they desire at all times and have little to anticipate. Dreaming is exchanged for possession. My brothers received their bikes when they were eleven and twelve and my sister her skates when she was nine. We learned during our formative years that we would not get everything we wanted, whenever we wanted. Toys and fun gifts were a once a year occasion. We learned the art of waiting, not instant gratification. We always received thoughtful gifts at Christmas, had a fragrant, fresh tree, and, of course, that festive meal. The holiday was special and we felt special, but we also did not get so many gifts that they would lie around unappreciated. Each and every present was enjoyed and used for many months. We knew that was all there was until the next December.

Those were truly the greatest gifts that our parents could have given to us. We learned to wait, wonder and hope. I wonder if I ever let them know that while they were still with us?

Thank you, big brother, Roy, for tweaking details about our childhood.

Losing Parts

When I was young I always thought of myself as living long and healthy. I lived that life style - no smoking, the right foods, minimal drinking, social interactions, exercise, etc. Somewhere in the back of my mind I believed that I would return to the earth someday as a total entity who had always been "me". Perhaps my body could be donated to science, or my organs for transplants.

Suddenly, in my seventies, I began to lose parts. I remember when I lost my appendix I thought, "Oh, my body is no longer complete. How strange". Then, a year later I said bye-bye to my gall bladder. "It is odd but two parts are missing from me. Now, who is 'me'?  I know inside my head I am still the 'me' that I have been acquainted with for the past seventy some years."

A few years passed and I rarely, if ever, thought of those two missing parts. Life was full of living. I had writing to do, presentations to present, llamas to train, a husband to enjoy, friends to visit, family to appreciate, and then, one night in July of 2007, a fire to escape and a life to reclaim.

After the fire, life returned slowly to "normal" with things to do. Then, very abruptly in May of 2011, the doctors discovered, (how should I say that dreaded C word?),  but yes, it was cancer! A few weeks later I was taking my shower before I left for the hospital for surgery. I looked down at my left breast and said, "Goodbye, breast. I am going to miss you. I guess we have had a good run." A few days after that surgery the surgeon came in with the "good news/bad news bit"; left breast fine, cancer found in the right breast; so another surgery, and then home to my patient husband who tended to all of my needs.

I did have to return to the hospital a month later to have an infection taken care of with yet another surgery. All in all, I was wiped out. When my daughter had called to say she was coming to take care of me while I was in the hospital the first time, I tried to talk her out of it. After all, I had two other body parts removed and did very well, thank you. But this time was different, and my daughter knew it would be, and was there for me through the two entire surgery ordeal.

Recovery has been slower than I thought it would be, and my patience has been stretched at times, but things are getting better, slowly and surely. I am learning to pace myself, or my body complains, sometimes quite strongly. And here I am, six months later, with four of my parts missing from this body. So, who am I without some parts? I feel inside as I always have - the me, with my hopes, fears, worries and cares. I had considered reconstruction when I thought I was going to lose one side. I didn't care to be lopsided. But, with both sides gone the decision was simple. I can stay flat. I did get fitted for prosthesis to make myself feel better when I thought I needed to look more like the old me. But, little by little, I faced the world as the latest me - flat. It is simpler, easier and quicker to get ready for the day, including water aerobics. Once in a while I put on the falsies for special occasions, but most of the time I am flat, and proud, and me.

We Still Give Thanks

How could we give thanks this year? The town has problems, the state is struggling, the country is in a real mess, and most of the world is on the edge. The news is filled with negative after negative stories and images. We are inundated with economic, social, political and environmental concerns. How can we possibly be grateful with all of the homelessness, illness, conflicts, political rancor, disintegration of our cherished values, and other numerous problems in our world of today?

It is a puzzlement to me. The older I get, the less I seem to know. Caution, rather than certainty of my youth is more common to me. Black and white was certainly an easier way to view life. It was comfortable. The grey in life is not an easy companion. Any yet, it is only in the grey that I have learned to listen, wait, and be more open to other points of view.

The holidays are a time for friends to get together, share stories, worries, laughter and delicious food. These "time out" days are needed to help us get through the tougher ones trying to sort out truths and choices. Connecting with family, even at long distance, is another healer. A phone call on Thanksgiving was a reminder that I feel so much better when I recall positive thoughts. A relative called from the Cities to wish us a happy holiday. We talked about many things, and then he shared his concern that so many people today are using the system to cheat their way through life. He protested that he has always done the right thing, not sneaked around, and yet he is hurting by not being able to have all the things he wants in life. Yet he has married well, supports a family he is proud of, works overtime whenever possible, takes pride in his work, and feels no guilt about his life style. He has all his needs met, but not all of his wants.

His phone call jogged me from negative thinking and quickly built a bridge to thoughts of gratitude for myself, as well as for my nephew. He and his wife may not be able to take that wonderful cruise, or buy everything they want, but I have met many people who travel, buy everything they desire and they still complain, think only of themselves, and seem unhappy most of the time. When push comes to shove, they have nothing to dream about and seem to be missing the real things to be grateful for....others to care for, love and being loved in return.

Thank you, Tom. We love your calls and visits. And thanks to all of you who read my blog. I cherish your emails and calls. You open my world.

Last One Standing

We had our first snow and bitter cold of the season. It was the end of the third week of November and I didn't cover our lovely pink spreading petunia plant that had blossomed for seven months in a large, wooden barrel on our back deck. I planted two plants in that barrel last May. One lasted a couple of months and faded away, leaving room in the container for the petunia to live up to its name and spread, and spread some more, covering the soil with its bright green leaves and bountiful blossoms. It brought a touch of pleasure each time I walked by and saw more buds and blooms.

When the weather began to cool down in October, with a few frosty evenings, the plant continued to survive, and thrive,  growing tiny new buds as if it saw no end to the season. I marveled at its stamina. Our bees paid visits to it long after every other flower in our garden had turned to seed. Around the beginning of November I began to cover the barrel in the evenings which were promising to be below freezing.

On the night of our first snow I regretfully stopped spreading the newspaper cover over the sturdy plants. In the morning I peeked under the blanket of snow. The leaves were still green, a few hardy flowers were still standing and the smaller blossoms had turned downward, at long last beginning their journey back into the earth.

When I came into the house I noticed that our Christmas cactus was blossoming, or, as my husband said, our Thanksgiving cactus was in bloom. I whispered thank you to the spreading petunia plant for bringing color into my life for many months, while welcoming the rich rose color of our indoor plant hanging in the window against the backdrop of the glaring white snow.

A Conversation with the Mother of a Firefighter

"Tell me," said the grieving mother, "Do you still smell the smoke?"

"Not any more", I answered her, "but I did for a year or so."

This conversation occured a few months after the wildfire of 2011 that burned not far from our town of Hot Springs. Our community was still smarting from memories of the Alabaugh Fire of 7-7-7, when three young Hot Spring's men, all best friends, who worked for South Dakota Wildland Suppression, were notified of a wildfire in the area where they were patrolling. They answered the call and arrived to find an Edgemont Volunteer fire truck at the scene. Another fire truck from the Forest Service arrived later. The fire was located in a valley with one narrow dirt road as access. A spot fire erupted and the three young men volunteered to go in and put it out. Not long after they entered the valley the wind came up suddenly and they were surrounded by flames. Their truck got stuck and then died. Their "May-day" calls went unanswered.

A call finally came through from a Forest Service firefighter that there was a narrow window of opportunity for escape, and they should run NOW!  The mother of the youngest of the three firefighters told me that her son, with no hesitation, somehow managed to run through the wall of flames and escape with only a burned hand, to have his "second chance" in life. How many men, barely out of boyhood, go through such a traumatic life and death experience? Her son turned in his gear and said he will never fight fire again. His best friend died in the inferno and the other one was severely burned. How was it that he came through this incident almost unscathed, only to face the gut wrenching guilt, sorrow and bewilderment that may haunt him for a lifetime? Or, in time, hopefully, it may help him develop into a man of greater compassion, with an awareness of the brevity of life, appreciation for that life and the lives of those around him.

His father was one of the volunteer firefighters who rescued my husband and me from the out-of-control Alabaugh Fire. His life has always been one of dedication to others as told in his chapter of "Cascade of Flames", titled, "Reluctant Heroes." His son, however, looked on firefighting as a summer job between his semesters at college. That summer job turned out to be a life changing event for him and, even though he turned in his gear, that incident of the summer of 2011 will surely make its mark on his maturity and perhaps influence what he does with the rest of his life.

His mother, who told me the story, is still feeling grief and sorrow over her son's friend. Her fear, which was so overwhelming on the long drive to the hospital the day of the fire, turned into relief when she saw that her son was alive with no permanent physical scars. She went to work at the VA the day after the fire. Some were surprised that she did, but others understood. After work she went to her church down the street from work. She sat in the empty chapel and sobbed and sobbed. Her tears were mixed with gratitude, sorrow, anger and confusion. She finds comfort in her faith, and some relief in retelling the story. She wonders how many times she will need to tell the story to feel better. I suggested that she keeps talking about it as long as she feels the need. I know for me that my tears and talking helped me through my trials in life, including our losses in the Alabaugh Fire. Even though there may be scars, healing does happen, as I said before, in its own time.

The father is a great support to his son. He has spent many years as a volunteer firefighter and first responder, dealing with accidents, fire, injury and death. His experiences, understanding and compassion are there, to encompass and comfort his son as he works through his shock.

The son told his mother that he still smells the smoke and she wonders, as a mother would, how long it will last. The son told his mother that he feels that God has given him a second chance in life. The mother knows first hand, with a wrenching jolt after this trauma, that they all have another chance. What a remarkable gift!

A Day for Reflecting

It's hard to believe, but our extraordinary daughter is celebrating another birthday, the one that begins winding down her years in her thirties. It seems like only yesterday we were observing her tenth year of life and her first one with us in the United States.  What a long distance this women has journeyed! At ten she spoke no English, had just arrived to a new family, a strange culture, a new way of life. During the years since then she finished her schooling, paying for it through her years serving her country. In a short time she rose swiftly to the rank of sergeant, completed her undergraduate degree while in the service, and used her GI bill to fund her graduate work after she left the military. She found a satisfying job that she loves, married a caring and open-minded fellow sergeant, bringing into our lives the son we never had, and, in time, two beautiful and gifted grandchildren who keep us young and curious.

Birthdays are a marker to remind us of the swiftness of time, and days to pause and reflect on the direction of our life. They are also a time to look back with gratitude at all the wonders that have surrounded the past years. They are a time for thanksgiving, rejoicing, reflecting and promising, but not a time for regrets. Life is too short. We all have regrets, failures and broken promises in our past. That is what makes us human, and perhaps more understanding of others. Also, hopefully, those same failures can be turned into new directions and time spent more richly, simply and in the present moment.

So happy birthday, daughter. You are a joy! Thank you for being you and including your husband and children in our family. Each birthday is a gift to us.

Motel 6 to the Rescue

On a previous blog last September I wrote about losing our health club, Evans Plunge, for the six months of winter. I complained about losing the healing waters, the steam room, sauna and hot tubs, and also the loss of a gathering place for social connections. I was especially concerned for those of us with physical problems whose only safe workout is in the water.

Members, though understanding the reasons for the closure, were upset at the absence of the benefits especially needed during the winter months. They are planning a meeting about the situation. Hopefully they will come to some resolution about this issue.

Meanwhile, upon hearing the news, our water aerobics instructors searched for another venue for our classes. Motel 6 responded, graciously opening their cozy pool, while raising the temperature for our two classes and furnishing us with a dressing room. For a minimal fee the pool is open to anyone. So during the next six months we have the advantages of the water for exercise plus the added bonus of the social interactions which, as our instructor reminds us, is as important for our health as the workout.

In our small community word travels fast. Deprived of one venue, two exercise classes and a local motel found a solution. Indeed, we could have sulked all winter, but a window was opened when one door closed. The winter no longer looks so long or cold.

We are Number One!

We all feel better when now and then we achieve something, when we come out first. This goes for the athlete, the artist, the parent, the CEO of a corporation, the elected official, the hair stylist, the carpenter, the pastor, the teacher, the rancher, the quilter, the bridge player, etc., etc. The list includes anyone from the leader of a country to the gardener next door striving for the best rose. It can also include a community or a group working for the betterment of that community.

Last week our little town of Hot Springs was told it was first. It is the only small town in the Black Hills that is recycling. Not only is it recycling, but, in the few years since a couple of local enthusiasts began the "Keep Hot Springs Beautiful" program, it has achieved a high mark in its efforts to have citizen participation. Our locals must separate their recyclables, then drive to a central place at our local Pamida store to dump their bags. They do not have the convenience as some of our neighbors, like those in Minneapolis, who are furnished with different containers for storing the items and have them picked up on delivery day.

This recycling program continues and grows because of a small group of dedicated individuals from this community who sponsor programs throughout the year, such as rummage sales, in order to keep the program running. It also includes the many citizens of Hot Springs who participate in the program.

We have been a community struggling with our issues such as the VA downsizing and the Evan's Plunge mineral waters health club closing for the winter, but we can say proudly to one another and to the rest of the world, that we are now number one in the Black Hills in recycling and that is an undertaking that will affect our environment and future generations for years to come.

Final Reflections: We Are More Alike

Seven countries in one shot is a lot to take in. As I wrote in a previous blog, I have information overload, but details of all of these countries are readily available to anyone on the internet. I would like to write a couple of personal observations from my brief encounter with these new democracies of Eastern Europe.

In every country we visited there are scars left from many oppressors, but there are also signs of rebirth and hope for a better future. Many Eastern Europeans feel overwhelmed by the weight of new freedoms, mixed reactions to the European Union, and frustrations with their newly elected leaders, who may  differ from the old dictators, but remain ever constant in their juggling  for power, control and money. Over there, as here, people worry about corruption, minority inclusion, the economy, mortgage bankers, crooked politicians, the cost of living and unemployment. They want a better life for their children, pride in their heritage and hope for their future. It is a swiftly changing world, at times moving too fast for some of the older generation and, at times, too slowly for the impatient young.

We may be from different cultures but I felt more similarities than differences with people in these fledgling democracies in our hopes, fears and ambitions. One Romanian said to me "You will never really understand us. You have always lived in a democracy." He may be right, but I really believe that our commonness as human beings will, in the end, be our saving grace.

What a Difference the Sun Makes

We woke to a grey sky. It has always been a challenge for me to get our of bed on sunless days. Bob turned on the fire in our living room and I turned on some music, the first warming the house and the second warming my mood. The teakettle begins to whistle, the cat begs for breakfast and the world turns right side up again.

Later in the morning the sun sneaks out, just in time for our old cat to warm himself in the window on our front porch. In the afternoon he follows the sun into my office, curls up on a chair, and snoozes away the remaining moments of sunshine. The sun cheers me up as I sit at the computer. My world feels different...safer somehow, with the sun flickering across the floor. It may have been a difficult beginning to this day, but I know that sooner or later the soft rays of the sun will return to enrich the hours of my life. Perhaps it will not be today, but maybe tomorrow, or the day after, but it won't abandon me for long, returning once again to renew my spirit.

Who Will Save Our VA?

Our small community of Hot Springs is hurting. We have been blessed with beautiful surroundings, mild weather, historical sandstone buildings, warm mineral waters and a mammoth discovery site. The glue that has held everything together for many years has been our picturesque, historical VA standing imposingly on the hill overlooking the city. This hospital has served veterans faithfully for the past 104 years. Because of its good reputation, veterans have come here from many states, especially the neighboring ones of Nebraska, Wyoming and Colorado. They have chosen to come to this facility because the care has been consistently personal and of the highest quality. The hospital has served their physical needs, while the Domiciliary has offered mental health services for veterans suffering from substance abuse and post traumatic stress from the World Wars, Korea, the Gulf War, Viet Nam and up to the present conflicts in the mid-east.

We had a public meeting the other evening sponsored by the veterans of this area. Three  representatives from our elected officials in Washington were there. Veterans spoke up about their concern that there has been a steady decline in services. During the past 10 years they have moved some services away from Hot Springs and there are rumors that the Administration of the VA intends to reduce the hospital and Domiciliary to an outpatient clinic. The VA will not talk to the veterans and community about changes they have made or proposals to close the Dom, surgery and impatient services.

Veterans are upset. They don't want to drive the extra distance to Rapid City for the proposed new Dom. There is $34 million of federal dollars earmarked to build this new building in Rapid while we have a wonderful existing facility here in a quiet community where veterans can work and walk safely and peacefully. There is not the high stress of a large city to upset the balance they are trying to achieve through the alcohol/post traumatic treatments they receive in this facility.

Adding to the pain of the veterans is the concern of the local business owners. The VA has been the largest employer in this town. They employ kitchen help, maintenance, fire, police, as well as nurses, doctors, social workers and office staff. The VA downsizing over the past 10 years has had considerable effect on the economy of Hot Springs. Businesses have closed, real estate has slowed and veteran retirees who moved here in the past are thinking twice about relocating here if there is no hospital to meet their needs. The beauty of the area was one factor in many veterans retiring here, but the clincher was having easy access to an extraordinary hospital and treatment center.

Many in this community have been in denial about losing our VA. After all, we are known as the "Veteran's Town". We have the State Veterans Home for retired South Dakota veterans situated across town from the VA. How can we lose this treasured service for the men and women who have defended our country, and, in many cases, have given up their physical or mental health in the process? As one gentleman said at the public meeting, "My son has had three tours in Iraq. Each time he comes home he is more different." I would like to see the Administration of the VA answer to this father, hurting for a son who may never be the same, and who will not be able to receive help in his home town.

Senator Johnson, Senator Thune and Congresswoman Noem, where are you?

Ah, November

What could be more typical than our first day of November? The last day of October was sunny and balmy. Today we woke to grey skies, and walked out the door to chilling cold and light rain, soon changing  to snow. How could the weather know that the calendar had flipped over to November?
But here it is, ready or not, winter is on its way.

Yesterday our bees were buzzing around the jar of sugar water that Bob supplied to them each day in October while the weather was still mild but the flowers had faded. It is an extra supplement to help them survive the winter. Hopefully they will have made sufficient honey to feed their queen and themselves during the cold, flowerless months ahead. The workers exiled the drones last month. They had passed their usefulness to the colony and only the bees who produced food and heat to sustain the entire colony through the winter would remain to keep the queen alive and nourish themselves so as to be able to begin the cycle anew next spring.

What a marvel are these little creatures! They supply the pollen needed for 60% of our food supply. And, to the consternation of many, they are disappearing from our earth. Their loss could be more serious to our survival than the problems we are facing with oil and other natural resources.

Every time I see the bees working themselves to death (literally) I sigh, "Thank you, little bees, for all of your hard work to help create the produce that will keep us surviving long after your three weeks of life are finished."

So November is upon us. The flowers are gone to seed and the bees have secluded themselves in their hive. I will miss them....their buzzing and flying from their home to distant flowers, returning with pollen and nectar, to be relieved of both by the hive workers and instantly flying off once again to gather the nectar, spreading the pollen from flower to flower, and by their flights, keeping all of us alive.

Serbia and Croatia Observations

Serbia and Croatia are linked for me because both of them were part of Yugoslavia under Tito. It seemed to me as if all of the countries that were included in one country under Tito fared somewhat better under his "benevolent dictatorship" than the countries directly under Stalin. Many locals look fondly on the years under Tito's dictatorship. My memory of Tito differed quite a bit from the information I received while visiting the countries of the former Yugoslavia.

When we visited the town of Vukovar in Croatia we saw first hand the devastation that occurred twenty years ago during a four year war between Serbia and Croatia. It took 200 million dollars to clean up the land mines and some still remain in fields marked as such. Ninety percent of the town was destroyed during the conflict, with many buildings still in need of repair. We looked down into one bombed out building and two cats peered up at us from among the ruins. They seemed to be well fed, perhaps from the mice, or maybe the townspeople helped out. (I noticed in Romania that many people would share food with the roaming dogs. Sometimes a whole neighborhood would adopt a dog as an outside pet.) The war between Serbia and Croatia moved into Bosnia in 1994 and memories surfaced for me about the ethnic cleansing that was second only to the Holocaust in World War11. In 1995 President Clinton forced the Serbs and the Croats to leave Bosnia and make peace.

Peace appears to be on the surface. Reconstruction is going on, malls and supermarkets are replacing the obsolete factories, Mc Donald's has emerged in many cities, and everyone seems to want to move on. On the other hand, what bothered me was that in Vokovar, at least, Serbs and Croats no longer intermarry, the schools remain separate for the two groups, as well as the coffee shops. Healing does take its own time. Hopefully the Serbs, Croats and Muslims,  will, in time, achieve that illusive gift of  forgiveness.

Jiggety Jig, Jiggety Jog

Yes, home again, most likely for a long while. I had a warm hello from friends and family in the Twin Cities and said a fond farewell with promises to return for a longer span the next time. Since Minnesota was my home for the first sixty-five years of my life, it will always tweak strong tugs on my heart.

My presentation of life off and on the grid, including many a hello and a goodbye, was enthusiastically received by the large group of women at the Minneapolis AAUW (American Association of University Women). What fun to have such an eager and appreciative audience! It was an added bonus to have members from the audience stand up during the Q and A addition to remind me of memories I had lost in the mist of too many years.

My extraordinary husband did all of the driving, both ways, and patiently helped me with the book handling and other details. He did become distracted by many familiar faces so I was most grateful to have Jan, our hostess and friend from many years back, take care of the nitty gritty of signing and selling books while I was  greeting and meeting interested readers.

Now that we are safely home at our latest home of fourteen years, I hope to settle into life as usual, catch up with all of the catching up that awaits travelers when they return, and face the long winter ahead with the secure, cozy feelings that crept into my being from briefly touching on family and friends who all hold a special place in my heart.

On the Road Again

Our time back home in the beautiful Black Hills was all too brief. We barely unpacked from our three weeks in Europe, but we have a presentation to make to the AAUW in Minneapolis so we hit the road once again. Bob and I will discuss our life off of the grid, complete with pictures of our endeavor, and I will reflect on my life of hello and goodbyes which continue to shape who I am.

The Twin Cities was my home for over 40 years. I wrote a chapter about my years living there in my book, "A (not so) Simple Life." It was where I worked, played, raised a family, enjoyed the many theaters, varied restaurants, parks and numerous events. There are friends and relatives to visit and places to see, depending on the amount of time we have. I said a fond farewell in 1998, and renewed contacts only a few times since settling in the Hills. I am cautious about the ten hour drive, however, as my back is still out of sorts from our travels overseas. I only had a few days to cold pack it, visit the chiropractor, and work on some stretches to strengthen the aching muscles.

So we are off again, but this time to familiar places and people, which over time, will have all changed, for better or worse, but in my memory will always remain, as in a favorite book from my childhood, special, warm and comfortable.

At a Loss

How can I blog about this recent travel experience when I only tiptoed into other countries, other cultures, for a few days? My husband and I traveled on a river boat on the lower Danube River from Romania on the Black Sea, through Bulgaria, Serbia, Croatia, Hungary, Slovakia and Austria.

For the most part we were in the capitals, the largest cities in each country. We had wonderful, informed local tour guides who filled us with their history, past and present. These are my overall impressions, for what they are worth. What all of these countries in Eastern Europe had in common were centuries of wars, domination and oppression, beginning with the Romans and Turks to the more modern times under Hitler and Communism.

The scars of Communism are still visible in Romania and Bulgaria. There are hundreds of vacant factory buildings dotting the land, abandoned when the Soviets left after four decades. Stray dogs are everywhere, even in Bucharest, many of them discarded when the citizens were forced off of their land and homes and herded into tiny, sterile apartments in the city, a calculated way for their foreign leaders to keep a close watch on their helpless, uprooted victims. Today there are signs of hope and renewal. I saw numerous, beautiful parks in all of the cities, tended by what I was told were many volunteers. There are men and women vigorously cleaning and sweeping the streets, perhaps one way to sweep away the painful memories of years of oppression. Historic building are being restored, at times by hand, one brick at a time. There is little sign of modern equipment on the farms. The farmers are using horse and wagon, pitching the crops by hand. There is a brain drain in some of these countries. Because the unemployment rate is high the educated young men and women are seeking jobs elsewhere. Many of the them seem eager to return to their homeland one day, hopeful that their struggling democracies will improve in time and offer them opportunities for a good life under a freely elected government.

Driving through Bulgaria I could see litter everywhere in the countryside. Our guide told us that after the Communists left their country, many thought that one sign of freedom was to throw stuff anywhere and suffer no consequences. In most of these countries they are struggling with the idea of freedom, many torn between the "security" under the communist rule and the struggle and conflict that comes with democracy. Freedom comes at a price that some of the older generation are unwilling or unable to accept after a lifetime of having someone dictate their job and their life. Whenever I think of Bulgaria, I will think of their roses. They are the biggest producers of roses. From roses come their lotions and perfumes. Rose oil is one of their major exports. It takes 3000 kilos of red petals to make on liter of rose oil and 5000 kilos of white roses. Bulgaria is the "Country of Roses".

I thought I was at a loss for words about my travels, (not good for a blog person), but I realize that I was feeling overwhelmed by information overload and I needed some time and freedom from jet lag to process  my thoughts and feelings.  I have a bit more to say about my visits to the other countries along the Danube. The rest can wait for another day.

A Great Silence

"It is so quiet", I said to my husband, when I ventured out to our back yard on Saturday. We arrived home just before midnight on Friday. For two days I struggled with jet lag, wandering aimlessly from an unpacked suitcase to unread mail to a congested e-mail, briefly unpacking a few items, sorting some of the mail, and  deleting many unnecessary e-mails. In between these frustrating tasks I went back to our comfortable water bed, trying to sleep away jet lag, a nagging back ache and an equally annoying cold that I added to my baggage from my last day in Vienna.

We left South Dakota during the balmy days of September. The migrating birds were clustering at the feeders and bird bath, the bees were busy at the last of our summer blooms, neighbors were gossiping over the back yards, and the diminishing tourists were still browsing the streets and enjoying our restaurants, Mammoth Site, river walk and the healing waters of our Plunge.

Saturday I went into our back yard to replenish the bird feeders, strangely quiet. All of our sunflowers had turned to seed and only a few flowers were bravely blossoming after one early frost. The bees were quiet in their hive, some emerging in the late morning when the sun shone and warmed up their home. The neighborhood was quiet, the streets mostly deserted, and the voices of children were oddly absent. On Sunday morning we walked to a local restaurant and it, too, was largely empty. We saw two tourists at one table, several lone retired type men and one other couple.

When I complained about the silence my husband reminded me that we had left a group of 170 people, bustling cities and capitals and international airports. We had been gone from our small community for almost three weeks. longer than we had ever traveled on previous vacations. Perhaps it is the striking contrast to our whirling travels plus the sudden change from leaving in September to returning in the middle of October that has me repeating,, "It is so quiet!"

"We're Off to See the Wizard"

Our last vacation was almost 15 years ago. Since we moved to the Black Hills from the Twin Cities we have been occupied with building a house off the grid, losing that house and readjusting to life back on the grid. I have been writing and researching for my books and giving presentations about living off the grid, creating fire-wise homes in the urban interface, and healing and hope after loss. During all of this time we put off doing something just for the two of us to help renew body and spirit.

Some medical issues the past two years helped jolt us into planning a trip strictly for fun and relaxation. I said to my husband,  "We only have a few good years left to see the world, broaden our perspective and touch lightly on other cultures. Sometimes I feel as if I have increasing tunnel vision and I need a bit of Dorothy's Oz."

So we are off for parts of Europe we have never seen. I hope to be able to blog a few times a week from there. If not, you will hear from me when we come back with stories of our adventures. We leave our home in the hands of a capable house/cat sitter, and our garden and bees to a friend steeped in the ways of the land. And, when we return, I know, as always, I will sigh, "There is no place like home!"

Losing Healing Waters

The news came with a thud. The Evan's Plunge is closing for six months! I was stunned, to say the least. I love the natural mineral waters of our health club. Whenever I swim or attend water aerobics I feel renewed and ready to face the day. We have a long winter ahead and the core of my exercises are those healing waters, the steam room and sauna. We have a peaceful river walk that runs through the heart of town, but it can't compare to the large pool constantly refilled with warm spring waters during the raw, icy days of winter. It was especially important to me this year in helping me recover from surgeries.

What about the other members of the Plunge who faithfully work out in the pool, and who cannot do any other exercise because of their physical ailments? They must be more troubled than I am. Hopefully they have a more positive outlook than I have at this time.

There is also the social aspect of regular attendance. Many issues of the day, large and small, are hashed over in the coziness of the hot tub or sauna. Those interactions may be as important as the restorative physical benefits.

I think about the larger issues of this world to help me put this in perspective. The economy is struggling, unemployment is high world wide and our poor little community has been hit hard.  It is not economically feasable to keep places open when attendance is low. Some of our businesses have closed permanently. It is sad to see so many "for sale" signs in this beautiful town filled with historic sandstone buildings. And now we will have more unemployed people for the next six months.

"People are starving", my mother used to say to me when I was feeling sorry for myself as a child. I know, I know. I knew it then and I know it now, but for this moment I am rolling around in my misery. I think I will watch the news or visit a nursing home to help me put this grievance in its proper place, but for now I am thinking, "It is going to be a long, cold winter."

Wildfire Revisited

It is fire season once again in the Southern Black Hills. In 2007 we had major fires all over the Hills, the largest disaster being the Alabaugh Fire of 7-7-7. The stories of many firefighters and landowners were recorded for history in "Cascade of Flames", researched and written by this author.

Last month we experienced another tragedy in our small community. During a wildfire in the county five  young firefighters were suddenly surrounded by flames. One received severe burns, several escaped through 100 foot flames with lesser injuries and one firefighter from Hot Springs, who worked for the State of South Dakota, was killed in the flames.

Memories lingered from the out-of-control inferno of four years ago. For some of us it was as if a recently healed injury was re-opened, with memories of smoke, flames and fear seeping into places we thought had healed. In an earlier blog I wrote that it takes three years to heal, and, for the most part, that was true for me. But what I realized abruptly during this episode was that memories can remain forever, less painful, to be sure, but re-emerging for a brief time as a reminder that we may all share, in one way or another, in the sorrow of others.

September Song

September is my favorite month. The days are cooling down, the nights are crisp, the garden is rich with tomatoes, lettuce and squash of every variety. The migrating birds are stopping with greater frequency at the bird bath and feeders to pack up for their flights southward. Many of the flowers are gone for this season but our double wave spreading petunia has certainly lived up to its name and completely filled the large wooden container on our deck.

Flitting in and out of my enjoyment of this season is a tinge of sadness, knowing that this time is short, the days are getting shorter and soon the longer and colder nights will be with us. I always loved the "September Song". It is still one of my favorites even though it, too, laments the shortness of this time of year and the days of our life. Yet, like the song, I want to be more fully aware that what really matters "as the days dwindle down to a precious few..." is to enjoy this day to the fullest and relish "these few precious days I'll spend with you. These precious days I'll spend with you."

It Is Never the Same

September 11, 2001.  None of us who were around will forget it. "They" say that our country changed and it will never be the same. "They" are correct. We who were here before that day are very aware of the changes. The media brings that fact to our attention at every turn.

As I was reading and listening to this week's media I thought, "It has always been so."  Since the time of our early ancestors there have been changes; some subtle and some dramatic:  fire, animal domestication, agriculture, trade, the industrial revolution, the American Revolution, the Arab Spring, wars, and numerous inventions such as the wheel,  printing press,  automobile, radio, television, computers, cell phones, and on and on. Natural disasters and mass migrations have certainly brought striking modifications to the world as it was known before those events.

Change can be for the better and it can also cause pain. It is difficult for me  to adapt to most changes. I resist the internet world and instant communication and the loss of a quieter life....unhooked, uncharged, unconnected. Yet I use the latest gadgets when necessary and they can make my life easier and bring me more information about the world around me. I find that I do not digest it all, however. At times I have information overload and it passes over, soon forgotten or muddled in my head. The books I read in the quiet of the night do stay with me, in some cases for my whole life. The moments I spend with myself, my thoughts, and nature bring me a calm that soon shatters if I become too involved in the world of distractions.

My husband and I manage to resist some change. We are back on the grid for now but we have limited television, no cell phone, no call waiting. I find that I can lose focus so quickly when inundated with the noise of the world. We make choices every day, for better or worse, and my hope is that I may keep from either extreme of too much connectedness or too little, whatever that might mean.

Another Farewell

Last night we buried our sweet black and white tuxedo cat. Bob dug a hole in our flower bed, covered it with catnip, laid her inside and covered her with black dirt and flower bulbs that come up every Spring.  Her body was still warm even though it was about three hours since the vet had put her down.

I had spent a sleepless night before that stressful drive, crying in the dark living room, lit only by the television that I vainly attempted to use as a distraction and sleeping aid. I cried yesterday on the way to the vet and while waiting there, holding the frightened ball of fur in my arms. The veterinarian was sympathetic. She handed me Kleenex while I told her how we had rescued our cat from a shelter eight years before where she had been living in a cage for six months, waiting for someone to adopt her. I told the vet how we had given her a good home, spoiled her, as we do with all of our pets. Now it was time, and the best for her, to put her down.

On the drive back home I told my husband that maybe I should not get anymore pets. Letting go was so difficult. I was glad that we still had our sixteen year old cat. He has kidney failure and I had thought he would be the first to go. He is still frisky, with a great appetite. I wonder if he will miss his buddy? Both cats had come through the fire with us, and all of changes that followed. I wonder how much loss he will feel?

Tonight, another sleepless one, I thought about the many pets I had over the years. Most of them were abandoned and needing a permanent home. Each time I had to part with them it brought pain. They really can become an important part of a family. Why, I thought, didn't it become easier each time to say goodbye?

It seems that this time I shed more tears for a small, gentle black and white cat than any before her. Perhaps it is because I am in a vulnerable state now after a difficult summer with health issues. Or maybe it is because each time I say another goodbye It brings back memories of the most difficult goodbyes... a mother, a sister, a father, and, earlier this year, a brother.

It Takes Three Years

Many people told us after the fire that it would take a year to fully recover emotionally from such a disaster.

These are the things that I noticed. It took about six months until both of us could read again. We had no TV but we spent our evenings watching movies. I have never seen so many movies before or after the fire as I did during that time span. In January after the fire I began to read the newspapers and some articles in magazines. It was then that I continued my interviews for "Cascade of Flames" and began to write again. After that I know that the healing continued because my nightmares lessened and my thoughts were less focused on smoke and fire.

The year passed and we were busy moving on with our lives. The next revelation came to me three years after the fire. I began to take a greater interest in travel, and the world outside, and resumed conducting my presentations. My husband, Bob, began once again (on a much smaller scale) to renew his interest in two of his former hobbies. He purchased a motorcycle (used and in need of his mechanical expertise) and he began to collect black powder guns. Healing does take its own time.

Life Off the Grid for Bob and Me

After living on the grid in Minnesota for 65 years, we said goodbye to all electric appliances, Minnesota,  friends and relatives and said hello to life off of the grid in South Dakota. My husband, Bob Lee, prefers to leave a "small footprint" and chose a few small solar panels to collect the sun's energy and large southern exposure windows for passive energy. Because he chose the simple, inexpensive way of life, we rid ourselves of electric appliances and opted for propane and wood for heat and refrigeration. Our only "utility" was our telephone. Later Bob added wind power to supplement our needs during lengthy, sunless days in the winter. That gave us sufficient power to watch a movie on occasion and for me to use a computer for my writing.

We collected rain water off of our roof which ran from the gutters into our 1000 gallon cistern. Bob purified the water with an ultraviolet light and also a filter. During seven years of drought we never ran out of water for cooking, washing and drinking for us, our two cats or our seven llamas.

One of the most difficult things for both of us after the fire was living back on the grid with electricity, water, sewer and garbage utilities to pay each month. Bob grumbles each time he writes those checks. We do recycle and compost in town but it is necessary to pay the total bill to the city. We experience an easier life in town with more conveniences but we often long for the simpler life we said goodbye to on July of 2007.

For more information on our life off of the grid, see the chapter "Sun Power" in A (not so) Simple Life: Our Return to Rustic Roots or "Surrounded by Flames: Our Story" in Cascade of Flames.

Hello, New World of Blog

This is my first time in this world of blogging and as my title says, I will be blogging about my lifetime filled with goodbyes and hello's. I have said goodbye to my home town, but hello to a professional life in the Twin Cities. I have said goodbye to old friends and hello to new ones. I have said final goodbyes to my parents, a sister and recently a brother. How can I find a hello to a new family?

I said goodbye to one career and hello to another, goodbye to one marriage and hello to a far better one. In 1998, I said goodbye to a lifetime in Minnesota and hello to life off the grid in the Black Hills of South Dakota. My husband, a volunteer firefighter, built our house to be fire resistant, made of rock, cement siding and metal roofing. In 2007 we said goodbye to that wonderful home, and to the book I had been working on, in the out-of-control wildfire of 7-7-7. But then I said hello to a more unusual book, "Cascade of Flames". Check it out at Amazon or Outskirtspress.

I know my life will always be filled with goodbyes. It is only when I say hello to something new that I can move on with a life that may have losses, but always, always, in every way, I want to find a way to say hello again.

- Mary Ellen Goulet

About Mary Goulet

Mary spent her formative years in the north woods near the Canadian border in north eastern Minnesota. Those years had a deep impact on her and connect strongly to her retirement years living in the Black Hills of south western South Dakota.

She spent the first half of her professional life as an elementary school teacher in the Twin Cities area, and after receiving her Masters degree she worked as a school counselor and also conducted seminars, ran small groups and did some private practice work.

Mary retired to the Black Hills of South Dakota in 1998 to live off the grid with her husband, Robert Lee.

Presently she is a writer and is active in community and environmental causes. She does some editing and has published three books. Her first one, A (not so) Simple Life: Our Return to Rustic Roots contains reflections about her life off the grid together with memoirs of growing up in the north woods of Minnesota. Her writings, contemplating the many changes during her lifetime, also strongly mirror the similarities to her past experiences of her developmental years in rural America.

Cascade of Flames emerged after a wildfire on 7-7-7 burned the book she was working on and she decided to interview some firefighters and evacuees of that wildfire that destroyed 30 homes, including the author's fire resistant home. This fire raged out of control in the urban interface south of Hot Springs, SD, burning two firefighters and killing one homeowner. Any reader who has experienced any type of trauma in his/her lifetime will respond to the similar emotions of these individuals who fought or fled this inferno which changed their lives forever.

Reveille in Hot Springs: The Battle to Save our VA, her third book is a series of interviews of veterans from all conflicts from WWII through the present who use the VA in Hot Springs, SD and want it to remain in the peaceful, rural setting that is most conducive to the treatment of veterans suffering from PTSD and other emotional issues. The stories of these veterans are powerful and, at times, heart wrenching. They make the case for retaining this very special VA. It is the very least our government can do for these men and women who once served their country and now feel that this government is ignoring their needs.