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.