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.