Author Archives: Kami

Sudden or Slow?

Posted on June 17, 2013 by Kami

“Don’t you think it’s much harder to have someone die suddenly than to have them die slowly?”

Multiple myeloma (1) MG stain

Multiple myeloma. Don’t let the pretty color fool you, this is wicked stuff.

A room full of ten women recently heard that question. The one asking is dying slowly. It’s a process that’s being going on for the past four and half years. The one she was asking lost her husband unexpectedly to death six months ago. Neither of these women qualify as old, not by any stretch of the imagination. They are young and at the peak of life’s gifts and joys and grinds.

What a stunning question to ask someone straight out when they’ve suffered such a horrendous loss.

It caught my breath. But they’ve both earned the right at such honesty about  a difficult subject.

But there’s no topic off-limits in that group. Not anymore. Ten years ago, maybe. Now. No.

A short list of some the other losses for that group of friends:

  • Two have cared for a dying or dementia ridden parent who then died.
  • A mother died from cancer.
  • A mother died after a long, long life.
  • A best friend dying suddenly in an accident.
  • A husband suffered a massive coronary, lived, but has lost earning capacity, mental acuity and vitality.
  • A sister with brain cancer.
  • Parents died at the hands of a drunk driver when she was eleven.

The Answer to that question is…

The conclusion was that sudden death was harder to deal with. No warning. No chances to say goodbye, to say last important words.

Although, the slow dying thing isn’t exactly fun for anyone involved either.

My friends talked about extra weeks purchased at the cost of hail-Mary chemo treatments. Talk of hospice and bereavement counseling also bantered about the room.

Honestly, I felt myself trying to physically create an emotional wall in that room. I kept turning my head away from this wrenching discussion, visualizing a barrier, willing my hearing to deafen instantly. Even now, writing about it, I’m leaning away from that side of the room, trying to create distance from such personal stabs of knife twisting pain.

I can’t, I won’t, I don’t want to deal with it.

There’s no escaping though.

We’re all dying slowly.

But that’s not the point is it?

The point is living in the meantime.

Velcade Chemo treatment: Cycle 2, Week 2

Velcade Chemo treatment (Photo credit: tyfn)

That isn’t always easy. Filled to the brim with mean poisons, your body overrun with side-effects, doped up on painkillers to survive the treatment that’s supposed to buy you more time, how do you make use of such poor quality time? How do you smile when the pain is excruciating? How does someone do anything useful, check any tiny thing off their bucket list, interact with their loved ones in a meaningful way under such circumstances? Cancer and its treatment is a personal tornado that rips lives to shreds.

Or maybe your challenges are slightly less complicated than that. Maybe you have chronic pain or a life altering illness. Perhaps you’re unemployed. Maybe you’re always worried about finances. Perhaps you work in a horrid place. Maybe your spouse makes life unbearable. Your parent might need additional care. Your child could have learning difficulties. Your car is unreliable. Loneliness haunts you. Your past feels inescapable.

Or maybe, if you’re lucky, it’s just garden-variety stuff. Busy schedules, sore muscles, what to fix for dinner for the zillionth time, a curfew-breaking teen, piles of bills needing attention, the mountain of laundry requiring scaling, a leaking roof, a tooth ache, weeds.

Living in the moment while living in the reality we find ourselves in. Not always easy. Rarely easy, actually.

Have we created a now that includes eternity or is now all there is? What’s your perspective? Immediate, long-term, short-term? Or maybe with blinders on? That’s a tempting option, but not a great one. How do you get through? What’s your coping strategy?

Death is coming for us all, eventually. Sooner or later. That’s the only way out.

What are we doing in the meantime?

Categories: Death, Mental Health, Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ice Ice Baby

Posted on June 14, 2013 by Kami

Celebrating a friend’s birthday a couple of weeks ago she mentioned that she preferred a certain location for getting her fountain drinks, “because they have cubed ice.”

One of the women in our group who only heard the periphery of that discussion replied, “they have cute guys?”

“Yeah,” says my friend, assuming she’d been heard correctly. “That keeps things cold longer.”

“How do cute guys keep things cold?” the out of hearing range friend replied.

“Cute guys? What the heck are you talking about? I said CUBED ICE!!”

“Phew! I’m glad that’s what you meant. You’re a married woman, you shouldn’t be checking out cute guys! Everyone laughed. “I like Sonic Ice,” the woman with questionable hearing added as an afterthought.

And so began a discussion about the best kind of ice, which is not a rare thing in these parts, any time of the year.

English: Ice cubes

Obsess about your ice much? Arizonans surely make a hobby of it. I suppose anyone would who endures endless hundred-plus days and nights. Driving down the road with the windows down because the air conditioner has thrown up the white flag again makes ice a thing to be fantasized about to excess.

Crushed, cubed, full cubed, half cubed, round, tube, air blown, pearl, fluffy, clear, half-moon, flat, flavored, flake, Sonic, Hawaiian and shaved. One of the latest I heard of? Ice shots, a piece of ice in exactly the same shape and size as a shot glass. Drinkable, disposable, cheaper than glass. What a concept. Not sure it’ll fly here in the desert.

A key criteria for MSH in picking out a home to live is whether or not the refrigerator has an automatic ice maker. Seriously, I know! This is a man who wants some water with his ice. No sappy blue plastic ice trays for him. No aggravation from someone leaving two ice cubes in the tray and not refilling them. If you think water takes forever to boil when it’s being watched, you should try waiting for ice to freeze.

Ice cubes in a tray

Ice is important in these here parts of the southwest deserts. Don’t be disrespecting someone’s ice of choice. You’d better be ready to defend your snide remarks or your backside if you do fall into such a miscalculation.

Different ice serves different purposes. Do you want the drink to stay cold a long time without watering things down? Larger cubes are your answer. Or do you prefer to get through the drink so you can crunch your ice? Pearl or tubes might be your ice of choice in that case. Maybe you simply want the stuff in the ice chest to make it to the picnic and back without become so much flotsam in a sloshing square pail of lukewarm salmonella. Better go with a block for that one.

Is there a difference between a snow cone and a shaved ice besides the shape of the container it’s in? Apparently, Yes! Made by crushing ice, a snow cone tends to let the flavors filter through to the bottom of the cup or cone very quickly.  Shaved ice scraped from a block of ice provides a softer surface for the flavors to adhere to. Add some cream on top of either and you’ve got gourmet flavor.

Personally, I find tube ice an entertainment as well as a cooling luxury. Have you ever tried to keep a tube-shaped piece of ice tube-shaped as it melts? Not an easy feat. Getting it to slip on to your tongue like a little ice sleeve is an odd sensation.

English: Coca-Cola in a glass with ice Deutsch...

I couldn’t tell you where to buy that kind of ice around here though. I should work on that. Right after I figure out how to time my driving between stop lights so I can keep a nice hot breeze blowing through the car instead of having to stop at each one and cook while waiting.

When I do get stuck at a stoplight, windows down, diesel wafting through the interior, heat from the pavement creating mirages of sweating glasses of diet cherry cokes, I tend to imagine myself sitting in one of those ice castles you see in the winter time in some exotic location like Siberia. Ah, that’s the life. Forget drinks on ice. Put me on ice! Temporarily, anyway.

Categories: Food, Humor, phoenix | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My Big Yellow Songbook

Posted on June 13, 2013 by Kami

One particular music book held a special place on the piano as I was growing up.

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I called it MY big yellow songbook. Of course, I had to share, but it felt like mine.

I loved that book.

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Mom would play the tunes on the piano while I sang along as best I could. I couldn’t pick a favorite song because each spoke to a different part of who I was or who I planned on becoming.

There were songs about visiting Grandpa’s farm, riding in an airplane, roller-skating, puppies and fluffy bunnies. These were wholesome lesson-filled songs about manners, songs of the seasons and of holidays, of family, extended family, nature, songs about things that young children love to see and do.

The train song got the most play time because we’d sing it on the way to either Grandparent’s homes when we saw a train, which seemed fairly frequent.

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Making the songs even more entertaining were accompanying illustrations of brightly colored cherub faced children with shiny cheeks. A little girl rocks her dolly, children dressed for Halloween, a grandmother with her granddaughter on her lap reading a book, two kids on a pony racing a train, a giraffe and an elephant at the zoo.

My siblings and I loved that book to shreds. We colored in it, wrote in it, traced over the notes, wrote our names. The cover came loose, pages became ragged and worn, torn, and slowly went missing.

If there was anything left of that beloved music book by time Mom and Dad’s house fire took its toll, there was nothing after that. The piano was a loss, as was all of Mom’s music books and half the house.

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Sixteen years ago a 50th Anniversary Collector’s Edition of “My Picture Book of Songs” came out and I got my hands on one. I felt I’d found buried treasure, won the lottery and hit the jackpot (sorry for the clichés) all at once. I gently turned the pages and felt a rush of nostalgia as my childhood swooped into the room and caught me up in a whirlwind of memory and delight.

Oh my!!

I had sung those songs as best as I could remember to my own children as they were growing up. With the new edition I could share the pictures with them, too. I could also share the songs I had forgotten.

I’m sure that Alene Dalton, the illustrator; Myriel Ashton, who wrote the music; and Erla Young, the lyric writer had no idea the impact their book had on so many children and families. “My Picture Book of Songs” was originally written as preschool book for children and their teachers during World War II. MA Donohue published it in 1947.

Now, 66 years later, their book is part of my two-year-old granddaughter’s life. She adores the “choo choo” song among many others. Her eyes sparkle with joy as we look at the pages and share a sweet melody, a moment of timelessness.

Likewise, my own eyes sparkle, but mine are filled with tears and laughter and wonder.

Categories: Books, Music | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

The Hills Are Alive

Posted on June 11, 2013 by Kami

It’s Gratituesday! I’m thankful for sweet surprises out in the natural world this past week.

Two mornings in a row I encountered an elk herd grazing near my campsite. Majestic, serene, bigger than life, these animals seem unruffled by humans and all their noise. They tolerate our presence. They look on in what I imagine is amusement at all our accoutrements and fluff and necessary survival gear. Meanwhile they wander the forest finding what they need, surrounded by family.

The Douglas Squirrel (Tamiasciurus douglasii) ...

Myriad numbers of squirrels crossed my path. Big fat ones, the size of cats! I’m afraid they might be getting too many munchies from the human side of the food chain, i.e., green apple flavored hard candy, (lick, lick, lick, lick, lick…) tootsie rolls, “cheese” covered corn chips, hot dogs, marshmallows, chocolate, taffy. Can you just picture their little food storage dens loaded with acorns, random candy and assorted junk food? They probably get through the winter on their body fat alone. Cute little critters though. I credit them with keeping the forest clean, the little foragers seem to love it all.

I also witnessed a variety of lizards, large and small, striped and plain, tailed and tail-less.

Butterflies visited a damp spot nearby every morning. I’m not talking your average run-of-the-mill monarch, although they are stunning. No, there were nickel-sized periwinkle blue fluttering songlets, yes, songlets. Their wings beat in a rhythm I couldn’t match and they flitted about like notes on a page, tones on a scale. Breathtaking. And the yellow butterflies were flower-petaled in their grace and color, elegant fliers with direction and purpose and no hurry to them at all. One morning a wasp or hornet of a variety I’d never seen before stopped by the butterfly watering spot. The stinger on that yellow and black sleek body was three inches long or more. Maybe it wasn’t a stinger, maybe it was a feeler, an antennae. I didn’t stick around to find out. Looked fierce enough to give it a wide path.

Pointleaf Manzanita blooming in the Mazatzal W...

Did I mention the wildflowers? I need to learn their names. A snapdragon-like cluster of three-foot stems with pale blue curling petals lined our hiking path several times. And always there were ground-hugging miniature purple throw rugs of flowers. Bright yellow mini-daisies jumped out in surprising places. Even the Manzanita trees had blossoms on them, highlighting the deep brownish red of their bark. Fresh needles, soft to the touch and new-green, tipped the branches of every pine tree. There’s no air-freshener in the world that matches that scent!

Luckily nature didn’t provide too many snakes, bugs, spiders or stinging or poisonous plants. I got lucky that way. Sure there were a couple of blisters, a cold night or two, some scorching days, but all the beauties that nature provides makes time out in the mountains a cornucopia of things to be thankful for.

If it’s been a while since you’ve experienced the joys of the mountains, maybe you can enjoy Julie Andrews singing about that particular joy. If you listen closely at the beginning you can hear birds in the background. Nice touch.

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Nature, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Tuning the Cat

Posted on June 5, 2013 by Kami

“If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a non-working cat.

—   Douglas Adams

English: This feral cat is about to drink wate...

Have I mentioned that my dad is a cat tuner? Yes, you read that correctly, a cat tuner. No it’s not a Boston-accent kind of fish.

The best I can do is illustrate how he goes about tuning a cat.

My youngest brother had a cat named Car Keys.  Now Car Keys would be lounging about, sleeping, minding his own business in some quiet corner. Dad would slink up beside Car Keys and in one swift movement stamp his foot, clap his hands and let out an ear-piercing whistle. That poor kitty would leap about three feet into the air, let out a yowl and take off running out of dead sleep.

“That is how you tune a cat,” my dad would say, laughing.

He was simply honing the cat’s natural instincts.

Another time Dad might pick up Car Keys and snuggle him, pet that sweet spot behind the ears, love on that cat as if it were the best friend he ever had. Car Keys would get all comfortable and feel loved and cared for.  At about that point Dad would gently toss the cat on to the roof.

You know if he could speak that cat would be saying, “*$($%*@(??*!!!!” Which is simply cat language for “what the heck?”

If I were that cat I’d leap down on Dad’s head and claw his ears apart. But no, Car Keys would slink about the roof looking for an easy way down.  That cat liked to hang out on the roof after a while. I think it figured out Dad couldn’t sneak up on him very easily up there.

Having been the instrument of many of dad’s tunings, Car Keys didn’t, surprisingly, run away when he was around. That cat would still rub up against Dad’s leg, meow at him with affection and interest, and generally treat Dad like a regular person. Maybe it was Car Key’s way of proving to Dad that he wasn’t going to be manipulated, changed, or tuned.

I think Dad ’s also keeping himself sharp and tuned, like a young kid. That’s how he stays young, by being mischievous. That twinkle in his eye comes from seeing the world through a humorous lens.  I think his mind is always thinking, “What can I do to liven things up, stir the pot, or kick things up a notch?”

Another brother’s cat lives with Mom and Dad nowadays. It seems to tolerate Dad’s tuning and teasing. It still snuggles up to him, doesn’t scratch him, and brings him dead critters it caught in the field as gifts of love.

If people were more like cats, or least like the cats my Dad has tuned, life would be a heck of a lot calmer and there’d be less contention.  It’s as if those cats get my Dad. They understand he’s not mean. He’s just being silly and having fun. The cat mentality is so chill and relaxed, so forgiving and easygoing that none of Dad’s antics can keep it ruffled for long. People need to chill out, learn to laugh, relax, forgive, move on.

Come to think of it, Dad used to tune us kids. We’d be riding in the front seat of the truck or car, with him at the wheel, watching the scenery blowing past, relaxed and  feeling good. There wasn’t much conversation usually. Next thing you know Dad would let out a whoop or an ear-piercing whistle and grab that tickle spot on just above your knee caps on the outside edged. We’d yelp and leap about four feet, which is tough to do in a vehicle with a low roof.

He’d chuckle and, once our heart rate slowed down a bit. Oh, we’d be in tune, but wary.

Never could return the favor.

Dang it.

Categories: Family, Humor, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Michael Row the Boat Ashore to Where Your Ears Hang Low

Posted on June 4, 2013 by Kami

It’s Gratituesday! Campfire songs fill my head this time of year. I grew up in the era just before “Kumbaya” hit the sarcasm wave. I’m certain I never knew what it meant, but it sounded nice with a fire glowing on everyone’s faces and a few people throwing in harmony. Same with the “Michael Row the Boat” song.

 

Campfire

Campfire (Photo credit: JelleS)

 

When I was half-pint, then there was this young woman and her dog that wandered into campsite. We were there with a bunch of other families, so we were a pretty rowdy and varied group. This lady managed to make a pretty big impression on every one of our from what I could tell. Maybe it was her story, but I think it was her music.

 

Hiking and hitchhiking across the country, with her guitar strapped to her back, she’d join whatever group looked interesting and offered hospitality and a meal. She played sang a lyrical song and her dog looked properly mournful, then she played and sang some upbeat stuff and her dog’s ear perked up. I decided that very night I was going to hitchhike across the country with my dog and guitar and bring joy and music to people’s lives. Fortunately for my mother’s sanity I lost that dream somewhere along the road.

 

But the singing outdoors around a campfire, that never left me. It’s firmly wedged into a permanent spot next to my heart.

 

My cousins sing this really hilarious version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” I haven’t mastered this one yet. Gotta work on it at this year’s reunion.

 

A bunch of years ago I learned a camping song about “MILK!” of all things. Fell in love all over again with the singing thing. During part of the chorus you do some cow milking action while you sing, “Moo, moo, moo, moo.” It’s really fun, funny. Cute. Really, it is. Sorry, I guess you have to be there.

 

English: Campfire at fire ring, Canoe Island

 

That’s the thing. It doesn’t work unless you are there. Glow of the fire, smoke following beauty, a stick stirring the coals, marshmallows browning, a couple of good jokes, maybe even a scary story or two. Then the singing. Ah yes. Life is good then.

 

Campfire’s happen less and less often. Not for lack of camping, well, maybe, MSH would say we don’t camp often enough. Ninety percent of the time high fire danger restricts the building of campfires. Singing is less likely to happen without that glow to ward off critters and mosquitoes and, of course, to set the mood for a great tune or two.

 

The memories are almost enough though. There’s surely a bunch of ’em.

 

So what’s your favorite campfire song?

 

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Music, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Proof That Humans Can Work Magic

Posted on June 3, 2013 by Kami

I used to try to wiggle my nose to make something magical happen. I couldn’t wiggle my nose, so naturally, no magic. Then I tried holding my arms folded in front of me and blinking my eyes to make magic. Didn’t have much luck with that one either.

Magic words like “Alakazam!” and “Open Sesame!” and “Bibbity Bobbity Boo” didn’t have any effect, much to my chagrin.

I resorted to mind control. Thinking until it hurt my brain, I’d try to move a spoon, or make the salt shaker float. I’d stare at a pitcher of water and will it with my eyes to pour. No luck.

No magic.

Nada.

Then I discovered books.

“A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called “leaves”) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time ― proof that humans can work magic.”

– Carl Sagan

January 10, 2013 - Antique Books

(Photo credit: eric.langhorst)

Carl Sagan always intrigued me with his “billions and billions” talk. And now I find, with this quote that he was magical too, talking to me across time, from his past to my present. Letting me know that I, too, am a magician after all.

After discovering books I decided I could make that kind of magic if I practiced enough.

So now, I write. That’s my magic.

It might not always be magical, but it’s working right now.

Categories: Books, Communication | Tags: , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

A Bit of Compensation

Posted on May 31, 2013 by Kami

The heat is on.

Tomorrow is June. We’re set here in Phoenix to bust past the triple digits after a month of nineties that merely flirted with the hundreds. We were spoiled by that. But that little dalliance of sweet summertime romance is over. Reality is about to set in. Unrelenting, pounding, incessant, oppressive desert heat is about to clamp its fiery grip around our throats and lives.

Sounds melodramatic? Overdone? Silly? I invite you to visit for a week or two. Drive around with the AC in the car not working. Attempt a brisk morning walk with the sun peaking over the horizon, grill a few burgers in the blaze of the sunset, sweat a bit at midnight.

Oh, I know it’s not like Iraq, where my brother worked on an army base in an undisclosed location and the average daytime temperature was 124. No, it’s not that bad. But it’s not all that good either.

I wonder often why someone would settle in the desert. Of course there’s evidence all over the place in the desert southwest of native Americans settlements, canals, living spaces, communities, long before Columbus hit the coast of North America. When they had a choice of the entire landscape why here? Flat, hot, arid. I suppose it’s tough to have your enemy sneak up on you when there’s nothing but flat for a hundred miles in every direction.

I often wonder what we’re doing here. So does MSH.

Money brought us here. Family and friends keep us here.

But that’s not where I was going with this.

I meant to talk about my sunflowers.

Yes.

Sunflowers.

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Look at these babies! The cinderblock wall they’re planted next to is six feet tall. And they’ve rocketed into giant growing fortresses of greenery. The stems are bigger around than my hand can reach! They’re more like trees than flowers.

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And these! Happy yellow faces of bright sunshine on a stalk, all lined up and waving at me every time I glance out the back window.

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It’s like sunshine, compacted into a flower. Instead of the burning, gaseous orb of hydrogen and helium, with its eye-squinting, brow beating heat and light, it’s condensed itself into these massive, delicate, powerful bursts of golden petals.

An ironic gift, held out to somehow compensate for the meanness of the hundred plus temperatures and earth parching relentlessness of the next four months.

I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever relief and wonder I can get when it’s this hot.

It’s like being on the receiving end of a repeating phone message to a busy office where instead of music you hear, “Please enjoy the flowers while you wait.”

Fine.

I will.

Categories: Gardening, Nature, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Focusing on the Z in the Equation

Posted on May 30, 2013 by Kami

Some people think I am one of those quiet people.

You know the ones I’m talking about? The kind of people who rarely speak up, who mutter incomprehensibly under their breath and who, when they do talk, barely squeak out a whisper. If anyone notices the quiet person has attempted to speak they can’t hear what’s being said.

“Huh?” serves as the most frequent response a quiet person hears from any and everyone.

Contrast that with the loud people. People who can’t seem to stop talking. Ever. People who feign shock and surprise if told there are other people in the room who have opinions, thoughts, voices. People who find silences, even the briefest of silence required by the intake of a breath between sentences, uncomfortable and unnerving.

Loud people take up all the space in a room, they absorb all the oxygen and leave no room or air for anyone else, quiet or medium people to say anything at all.

I’ll tell you something. The loud people get heard the most, but the quiet ones have most of the real answers.

Deutsch: 100 Jahre Relativität - Atome - Quant...

Do quiet people end up with their photos on stamps more often than loud people do? (Photo credit © Fred Stein)

The trick is getting the words out of the quiet ones.

You can’t just say, “Hey (insert quiet person’s name here) what do YOU think?”  That won’t work. Nope. Quiet people need, crave, desire, must have a clear and open runway, a wide berth big enough to land a 747 coming in with a tail wind and ice on the tarmac. Quiet people don’t want  interruptions mid sentence. They figure if what they have to say has value, (and it does, believe me,) then patience and attention dang well better be duly paid for the entire span of the answer.

None of this is conscious of course. Observant by nature, quiet people spend their time taking in details, mulling over ideas, seeing the irony, debating the pros and cons and generally becoming wise. That, or they’re slowly drilling a deep mine shaft of too much introspection and self-analysis. But not usually.

Quiet people tend to be deep in a good way, most of the time. Depth of character, depth of knowledge, depth of humor and wit.

Get a quiet person in the right frame of mind, in a small group of listeners and you’ll have a rollicking good time and learn a ton of stuff doing so.

A quiet person will always think they’ve taken up too much time and disclosed way to much personal information. Over-sharing. Yes. That word. They worry about over-sharing, in short they avoid TMI and WTMI (Too Much Information and WAY To Much Information.) Loud people excel at WTMI.

Quiet people do want their voices heard and understood.. One on one is best, but rare. A small group might get a quiet person to peek out from under their force field of silence and observation to actually launch a sentence or two, maybe even let loose a full paragraph. Depends on the group and their willingness to listen.

Don’t confuse a quiet person with a shy person. That’s a common mistake. Shyness slinks about in the shadows and makes every effort to keep a distance, avoids social situations. A quiet person still dives into the center of things, just not verbally.

Albert Einstein, a quiet person, thoughtful and brilliant, said the following:

“If A is a success in life, then A equals x plus y plus z. Work is x; y is play; and z is keeping your mouth shut.”

For the mathematically  inclined that looks like this:

A= x + y + z

A= success; x=work; y=play; z = keeping your mouth shut

Einstein

Einstein (Photo credit: • Happy Batatinha •)

Einstein knew a thing or two about quiet people versus loud people. Loud ones don’t have time to think up things as brilliant as the theory of relativity . They’re too busy thinking up their next three sentences. Quiet ones will give you the world changing theories, the life altering insights, the unforgettable perspectives.

If you’re one of those quiet people, I’d encourage you to speak up a bit more. Maybe you need to write in a journal, practice spilling your thoughts onto a page. There’s a bunch of loud people out there who could benefit from what you’ve thought and observed. There’s a bunch of not so loud people who need your perspective and wit.

Be a little crazy. Get loud. Don’t mumble. Get your lungs behind those words and let them be heard.

You’ll be glad you did.

Categories: People, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Answering the Call of the Wild As Best I Can

Posted on May 29, 2013 by Kami

Nature calls. No, not the way you’re thinking.

Let me rephrase.

I’ve heard the call of the great outdoors, the mountains, ponderosa pines and dirt trails for a couple of months now. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out among the wild things.

I’m anticipating some nature time here soon. Just thinking about it relaxes the muscles in my back and brings a smile to my face. Ahhhh….

English: Young female cones on Ponderosa Pine ...

Did you know the bark on a Ponderosa pine tree has a vanilla scent to it? You have to get up close and personal to really pick it up, but it’s there. And the needles and pine pitch? Mmmmmm, there’s a smell to enliven the soul and rejuvenate the senses.

Getting away from the light pollution of the city, up into the mountains, allows a view of the night sky that’s always there, but not always visible. A spectacle of magic and mystery, uncountable stars emblazon the night sky like so many scattered gems on a black velvet cloth. That alone gives pause for some seriously deep contemplation and introspection.

Hiking slows the pace of the world down to manageable proportions. There’s time for savoring details like a scattering of quarter-inch flowers, or the sound of a small stream making its way downhill, or the varieties of green.

Birds accompany every activity up there, especially morning goings on. Mornings and birds are inseparable and a perfect combination, like hot chocolate and whipped cream. Every pip, cheep, chitter, whistle, peep, and song adds to the delights of the day.

Cooler air. Ah, yes. Getting off the desert floor up into higher country provides a welcome and much-needed respite from the flirting with 100’s temps we’ve had here. Just the mere sound of wind making its way through the pine boughs brings relief. When the actual breeze brushes past carrying snatches of songs from all the trees I feel renewed, baptised and reborn.

I think I sound lovestruck. Infatuated. Irrational.

Probably true.

Toronto racoon at night. Toronto, Canada is no...

The reality is:

  • I don’t sleep well while camping. I’m jittery and nervous of the great outdoor’s night noises.
  • At the first hint of daylight I’m outta the tent and building a huge fire and heating a pot of water.
  • Some of the other campers will be noisy, annoying, silly and clueless.
  • There’s probably some fire restrictions if not an outright ban.
  • Mosquitos and I don’t get along well and will be battling it out every evening.
  • After a few days of bliss I’ll be happy to return to the valley of heat, dust, flush toilets and long hot showers, pillows, beds and internet connections.
  • I’ll wax nostalgic about the mountains and nature until the next time I get to escape.

English: Old growth Ponderosa pines in Lost Fo...

The other reality is:

  • I’ll love it while I’m there, itchy bites, dirty hair, sleepless nights and all.
  • The hills are alive with the sound of music and bugs and crazed campers and beauty.
  • There’s no separating the good from the bad.

So while I’m packing up the flashlight, camp chair, bug repellant and sleeping bag, I’ll also bring along a pen and notebook, a camera, my hiking boots and my decent attitude.

I’ll leave my iPod and earbuds at home though. I don’t want to miss nature’s playlist.

Categories: Nature, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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