A Bit of a Tussle

It was supposed to be a quiet Saturday evening, no special plans, just time to relax.  Earlier in the week, I had started feeling signs of a quarrelsome kidney stone.  Although uncomfortable, I figured I could weather it out and it would pop out without much fanfare as the others have done, save one.  On Saturday evening, however, the little thing decided to make itself known.  Gone were the quarrels.  Now, it was an argument that quickly turned into a heated scuffle.  The hours ticked by and the thing kept throwing fits until it must have passed, for things quieted down just about as quickly as they had started.  I somehow had thought I could soldier through it, breathing deeply and continuing to write at my laptop.  I soon realized that the stone wanted my full attention and that trying to breathe deeply, write seriously or even read casually were not to be.  Strangely, I found solace looking out the bedroom window at the pink-cast sky and falling snow.  The rosy glow of the sky made me feel peaceful, even when in pain.  I was rather limp the next day, but that turned out to be a blessing, too.  I've been pushing myself quite a bit lately, trying to work on three writing projects at once after working a demanding, full-time job.  That Sunday, my pajamas were my day's attire and my pillow never looked so good.  A bit of a tussle turned out to be quite alright (though, hopefully, not one to be repeated!).

Going Green

Green is one of my favorite colors.  I love all of the subtle shades of green as the trees, shrubs and flowers show signs of new spring life. I strive to live green by reducing, reusing and recycling. But, I draw the line when people's faces start turning green on our living room television. What started as a fluke has now become a more frequent occurrence where everything turns a strange, sickly shade of green. I'm struggling to part with the set, however.  I wish there were ways to repair, rather than simply recycle and buy new.  But, the set is probably about 20 years old and has served its years well, both for Mom (who first owned the TV) and us. The green scene doesn't last long, so Larry and I decided to let it go a while longer until it truly interferes with our viewing pleasure.  Then, it'll be time to join the rest of humanity and own a flat-screen television.  I believe the time is coming soon.

Ethical Dilemma

Larry and I attended a lecture about frac sand mining that was sponsored last week by the Baraboo Range Preservation Association.  The speaker, UW-Baraboo/Sauk County philosophy professor Dale Murray, explained the ethical dilemma around the controversial and growing practice of mining for silica that is used in the hydraulic fracturing "fracking" process in order to tap into natural gas reserves.  Wisconsin is one of the Midwestern states that have the ideal type of sand for the job.  The dilemma arises when you pit those who are trying to protect the environment and its fragile inhabitants, such as the Karner Blue Butterly, against those who sell the rights to silica mining on their land for economic reasons and those who benefit from the mining jobs.  The mining sites are growing in such numbers that they are closely encroaching on Sauk County and the Baraboo Hills, thus a topic of keen interest to the Baraboo Range Preservation Association and its members. When confronted with weighty issues, such as frac sand mining, it is sometimes difficult to look at them from all of the many perspectives.  Professor Murray did an excellent job of weighing the consequences of both sides and leaving the audience with much to think about.  I personally tend to lean toward the side that wishes to protect the Baraboo Hills and the diverse species that call the Hills home.  Then again, Professor Murray made a compelling case for the opposing viewpoint. So many issues in our world are not easy to solve. I believe that if one seeks a balanced approach, works diligently to keep communication lines open and makes every effort to find common ground, the world will be a better place and the weight of heavy issues may be lightened, if but a little.  

Being Disagreeable

I've noticed more and more what poor manners people display on television.  Their raised voices and harsh words are steadily becoming the norm.  I wonder what the effect will be on our culture.  When people disagree, both on the screen and in person, there is an increasing tendency for them to raise their voices, as if upping the volume will ensure that others know that their opinions are right.  If we keep yelling at and over each other, what will the end result be, other than impaired hearing?  Disagreeing with each other shouldn't have to be a disagreeable experience.  Offering a contrasting viewpoint should be treated as a respectful experience that contributes to a broader perspective and an enhanced dialogue. I learn so much more when I listen carefully to another person's perspective without interrupting, without judging and, most certainly, without raising my voice.  What would happen if we all spoke softly and listened respectfully?  It might not make for entertaining television, but it would certainly make for a better world.

Viper Hunt

I stare into the black and white photo and see the face of a 27-year-old man who has seen things he never expected or wanted.  He was a medic during WWII.  He saw some of the worst of the battles in Europe. He was my dad.  A good family friend and his nonagenarian mother have been looking through old photo albums.  Recently, they spotted a picture that my father had sent to their husband/dad in 1945.  In the photo, Dad is shown squatting in tall grasses, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped casually.  His face is thin and tan, his brow furrowed, his eyes focused, his hair thick and perfectly groomed.  He appears to be dressed casually, but he might have been wearing his U.S. Army fatigues. On the front of the photo, Dad had written "'Chuck' Naidl - 7/10/45 Germany."   On the back, he wrote "10 July 45, Bad Sooden-Allendorf, Germany (viper hunt!). With regards to "Pete" from Chuck."  Underneath his signature was the cartoon rattlesnake that Dad often drew under his name when he sent letters to me. My father had a lifelong fascination with reptiles that caused him to study them in earnest and to spend his career lecturing about their virtues to students of all ages in school lyceum programs across the United States. Although the atrocities of war must have affected him deeply, Dad found a way to feed his passions by going on a "viper hunt" in war-torn Germany.  What a gift it was to receive this surprise photo and to be able to look deeply into the face of the young man who would some decade later become my dad and who would share the good news about reptiles for the rest of his life.

Delight

One evening last week, I was at church surveying the stained glass windows when my tour took me to a conference room on the second floor.  The room was named after a woman who gave much energy, guidance and leadership to our church, Evelyn Pfaff.  A photo of Evelyn is displayed in the room, along with her full name.  Although I had seen it posted there many times before, I was struck this time by the fact that Evelyn's middle name was Delight.  Just reading it made me smile.  What a wonderful gift to bestow a child than to give her the middle name of Delight.  There may be reasons unknown to me as to why she received her middle name, but in my viewpoint, it would be nice if every child could have such a middle name and be treated as if he or she is one.  Although I have not had the opportunity to be a mother or grandmother, I do have opportunities to interact with the children and youth from our church.  Each one is filled with the exuberance for today and the hope for tomorrow.  They bring joy and good energy to our congregation, reminding us of what is important in life. May we see those children -- and all children -- for what they are, a delight. 

The Story Inside Me

Our pastor quoted Maya Angelou in one of her recent sermons:  "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."  One could interpret these sage words in a variety of ways, but I heard them in the literal sense.  Last month, I took the plunge and submitted the initial entry to a memoir contest sponsored by AARP, Huffington Post and Simon & Schuster.  The deadline for the contest is today. After considerable urging by others to tell my untold story of everything from growing up with reptiles to my serpentine journey from illness to illness, I did just that. My story's on paper. The competition for this contest will be fierce and I have no expectations of my story reaching finalist status, but the action of putting the initial, 5,000-word entry of my personal story out there for the world to read propelled me to continue writing.  For the past several weekends, I have been adding to my story.  The work isn't done yet, but I'm making progress.  Should my book reach finalist status, I would need to have an additional 15,000 to 45,000 words written by the middle of June anyway.  So, we'll see what comes of it. For now, I have the satisfaction of knowing that the story inside me is no longer untold.