April Rain

All night it came down - that wonderful, wonderful rain! Our winter lacked moisture and, up until now, our Spring was taking us down the path of drought. My thoughts immediately go to the lack of hay for our ranchers, and, especially, to the potential for those dreaded wildfires.

It has been five years since our fire of 7-7-7 that I wrote about in "Cascade of Flames". The past four months I have been writing about the PTSD suffered by many of our veterans. From WWII up to the recent wars, our young men and women return to civilian life with varying degrees of scars they procured during their time of service. I believe that some of the fears they faced will never be totally erased. The WWII veterans, after all of these years, hate to be reminded of "bad memories". Their faces grew dark when recounting some of their experiences. It seems to me that traces of PTSD will remain forever within the recesses of any who have experienced death, killing or destruction in any form. That is one reason why the VA must keep the rural VA hospitals open to assist all veterans from all wars for as long as they need that help.

My experiences in that horrific fire remain with me after five years. I guess that is a form of PTSD. The alarm that automatically emerges from within when I smell smoke, hear the fire alarms, notice the dried grass on our land, or experience the occasional smoke-filled nightmares, may not be as painful as what our veterans have experienced, but at those times of sudden panic and "bad memories", I believe that I have an inkling of what they go through with reminders of their "first kill", the death of a comrade, the tension of constant alert, and the uncertainty and unknown about when, where, or if, they will be deployed.

The death of those close to me will always carry some pain. Through those experiences and other jolts that have occurred in my life, I am grateful for the connection that flows from deep inside to any who weep over their past; the past which may never be completely erased. I am grateful for the rain and for those connections that link us one to the other.

Back to Work

Our first morning after our return from our short vacation the phone rang...too early for us weary travelers. Bob leapt out of bed with "Welcome back"!

I am back to my interviews and writing. I can't believe how much I learn from each of the veterans who share a part of their life with me. I am a stranger to them, and not a veteran, but they offer a story of their work, struggles and hopes for the VA. Some of them have a difficult time sharing stories that they have not shared with anyone else, except, perhaps with the counseling program at the VA. I am humbled by their willingness to try to save our hospital in Hot Springs.

I know one thing for sure...no matter how all of this turns out, my life has been enriched by spending time with our veterans. Their accounts touch me deeply and I know that I will, and am, viewing many things in life with a greater understanding and empathy.

I am grateful to be a part of the campaign to save and grow our VA in Hot Springs. I am grateful to become a small part of the lives of the men and women who have served our country. I am grateful to live in this country, with all of its flaws. I am grateful to be at home again.

Goodbye to Granada

There are those periods during a person's lifetime when he/she needs time out from everything....cell phones, radio, TV, computer and the daily routine. I reached that point a couple of weeks ago. My life was consumed by my work of interviewing and recording the stories of our veterans. When it began to affect my physical health, I finally admitted it was time to retreat. So, my husband and I retreated to what I thought were the jungles of Nicaragua. Well, we did see the jungle and volcanos, but our cozy B&B was located in the heart of the quaint, third world city of Granada. We did take a few tours, but my goal was to back off from the noise of the politicians, the doom predictors, the problems of our society and take in the problems of a people struggling to acquire the basics of life, let alone some of the luxuries that we have come to take for granted in our materialistic culture.

It was a curious blend of the old and the new. The horses were faithfully pulling the wagons through out the town, loaded down with wood, sand, trash, etc. Horses and carriages, decked out with ribbons and bows, transported tourists seeking some romance. The taxis were whizzing in and out of the narrow streets, dodging the horses, carriages, pedestrians, and bikers who often carried a child or two, or maybe the grandma of the family sitting adroitly on the front of the bike.

Peddlers roamed the streets, calling out, carrying cheese, fruit, nuts...some balancing large baskets on top of their heads. Artisans were hawking beautiful local pottery of all shapes and designs. We strolled through the markets, avoiding the peddlers pushing their carts of produce through the narrow, crowded cobblestone streets.

We enjoyed the local city transportation of a carriage pulled by two high trotting horses.  One evening we saw a beautiful bride, dressed in traditional white, sitting in a white carriage pulled by two white horses, I suppose on her way to her wedding. We had to squeeze against the wall to avoid being brushed by this taxi that was hugging our side of the street in order to pass the motorized taxi coming down the opposite side of the street.

The people of Nicaragua are very friendly, quick to smile and respond to questions. The teen-agers are as most teens everywhere. They are self conscious, self centered and, for the most part, ignored us adults. We saw them everywhere, dressed in uniforms of white and blue, lugging backpacks, walking in twos or threes. They laugh easily. I wonder how aware they are of the changes flooding into their country. They now live with the old, but the new is steadily arriving. Tourists were glued to their I Pads or cell phones, comfortably connected to what is familiar to them. I saw no Nicaragua teens  texting or tweeting or shutting out the sounds of the streets by I Pods. They were talking to each other, side by side, walking into a world that will be forever changed by the time they struggle to find a job in a country beginning to fill with computers, cell phones and a less leisurely pace.

It was refreshing to turn back the clock for a time, without our computer or phone, and soak in the warmth of a people who enjoy their families, one another, and, on occasion, the strange wanderers from another land who touch their lives for a brief moment.

We said hello to Granada for too brief a time, but that time had a healing effect on two stressed-out Americans from the "unheard of" state of South Dakota. Olla and adios to all we met. Thank you for the few days we shared with you.