Month: October 2021

It is my birthday season. Birthdays are ubiquitous. We all have them—many if we are fortunate to live long enough. William Barclay noted, “There are two great days in a person’s life–the day we are born and the day we discover why.” I am grateful for each birthday. Each one leads me to a better understanding of why I was born.

When I was a child, birthdays were celebrated in my family by mom cooking a special meal with whatever the birthday kid wanted. A special cake was a treat on our birthdays. One sister always wanted red velvet cake. My favorite was carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. I chose grilled lamb chops for my meal, which wasn’t difficult since I grew up on a sheep farm. When we got older, we picked a local restaurant for birthdays. I always ordered shrimp as a birthday treat.

I have had a couple monumental birthdays. My first epic birthday was when I turned 16—eligible to drive a car. In rural Iowa I relished new freedom. My mother helped my friends throw a party for me on my 16^th. It was supposed to be a surprise, but one of my girlfriends nonchalantly said the day before, “I don’t know what I am going to wear to your party” and then gasped. I told her not to worry. I would act surprised.

People usually find the celebration of the “front number change” to be a special highlight. I have always thought that celebrating the “5” of a birthday was more historical. When a person turns 35, she is closer to 40 than 30, which I found sobering.

Birthdays overall had never been especially important to me largely because I didn’t enjoy being the center of attention. That attitude changed when I met someone who was battling breast cancer. Her prognosis was not good. She loved birthdays because she celebrated each like it might be her last. I was at her last party. Since then, I celebrate birthdays with unabashed gratitude.

As a recreational road runner for over four decades, birthdays were pragmatic as I moved into a new age category. For example, as a 45-year-old in the female 45-49 age range, I usually placed first, second, or third until the younger runners moved into the bracket. I looked forward to changing that bracket again in future years.

My most recent epic birthday was when I turned 62. I became eligible for a lifetime pass to federal recreation areas and especially National Parks—a great acknowledgement of getting older. I am about to add a decade to that coveted park pass.

With this birthday season, I aspire to be like Rachel Maddow who recognized that “life is better for each year of living it.” Each birth day celebration season is a recognition of discovering why I am alive. I am grateful.

I cannot imagine a life without reading. I appreciate the teachers who encouraged me to read and ways that reading enriches my life. I also subscribe to the wise words of Dr. Seuss: “The more you read the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”

I am somewhat of an eclectic reader although I do gravitate toward historical fiction, adventure stories, biographies and memoirs, and nature chronicles. I have never been a science fiction or mystery reader but from time to time I appreciate those reads. I also enjoy a no-mind romantic beach novel once in a while. Although I do like the feel of a book in my hands, I have used a Kindle for 15 years. It is convenient especially when I travel. The lighting means I can read anywhere. Words well crafted can exist in any form.

I experienced immense joy when I learned to read. The summer after second grade I drove my mother crazy because I wanted to go to our school library every other day to get more books to devour. I recall the excitement each fall with the book sale at school. My sisters and I got to pick out one book we wanted, and mom and dad wrapped it up as one of our Christmas presents. I loved owning books and building a personal library.

I also recollect the delight I saw in my mother as a reader. She finished her undergraduate degree in English while I was in high school. I envied her homework because she read classics that I hoped to read one day. I felt heart break for her when her eyes started failing a couple of years before she passed, and she couldn’t read like she had done all her life.

I enjoy reading the stories about other people’s lives and how they negotiate problems. Reading puts words on my feelings. As William Nicholson noted, “We read to know we’re not alone.” In addition, reading enables me to travel to places in the world without leaving home.

Reading has facilitated becoming a writer. Although I read quickly, I also savor slow reading and seeing how others put words together to enable mental pictures of their worlds. I appreciate how other writers construct and organize their works to keep me interested. I believe, as I have often told my students, being an observant reader instructs better ways to write.

Sometimes I can’t wait to turn the next page (or make the next click on the Kindle) when I’m reading a compelling book. When I near the end, however, I often don’t want the story to end. Reading the last page of a book sometimes feels like a forever farewell to people and things I came to love. Nevertheless, additional friends exist in books, and I look forward to meeting them in my next reads.

The fall equinox came a few weeks ago. It is officially autumn by the calendar as well as in the air. I think about changing seasons these days since I live again in an ecosystem that has such marked variations. Fall begins in early September in the mountains, October in the Midwest, and November in North Carolina.

Fall follows a progression. Signs of fall are understated at first. No changing leaves or evident sky changes, but the subtleties of all senses become magnified over time. The emotions I feel are often a combination of loss and gratitude as intimations of autumn turn into the beginning of winter.

Leaves are one the first signs of fall for me. As I walk on the trails, I hear the change in the sounds of the aspen leaves still on the trees. The summer’s clear wind driven soothing, rubbing sounds starts to become a dry rustling chatter even though the leaves have not changed color. They eventually begin to change color. The brilliant golds, oranges, and sometimes reds of the aspens that dot the hillsides in the park are breath-taking. Walking in a small grove of aspen trees is like walking in “yellow” until leaves let go to dance toward the waiting earth.

Sometimes early in the fall, I hear the faint sound of a young bull elk whose aspirational bugling is good practice but offers few opportunities. That cacophony of bugles reaches an apex in late September and dwindles into October as the rut concludes and elk resume their “normal” behavior.

Most notable as a sign of fall is the change in lighting. Days become shorter as the sun rises later in the morning and sinks below the purple mountains earlier in the evening.

Fall brings the end of most flowers. However, Albert Camus noted, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” Leaves are the fall flowers. This season also offers edible opportunities such as raspberries and choke cherries. I sample some of them but leave them mostly for the bears who have something tasty besides the grass and insects they feasted on during the summer. They are in hyperphagia—frenzy eating as much as possible to prepare for winter’s hibernation.

I welcome the fall and all its stages. In the mountains autumn is winding down as winter weather becomes more common. It brings me feelings of loss and gratitude. The letting go of summer is sometimes hard as we put the vegetable gardens to bed and note the coming of muted black and white landscapes.  I cannot help but feel a loss as plants and animals go into various levels of hibernation.

Yet, I am grateful for everything the land has provided over the summer. I am grateful for the new anticipations fall brings– my birthday, fresh snow, the coming holidays. I balance the feelings of loss with gratitude and look forward to the transition to dimensions of winter.

I posted over 50 blogs in the past year under wanderingwonderingwithkarla.net. It is hard to believe that I reached this milestone given my trepidation about this project. I wondered: Would I have anything interesting to say? Would I have the motivation to write each week? Would I be willing to take compliments with potential criticism? One week at a time added up.

Writing to share beyond the academic writing I did during my career was a major retirement goal. Without the expectations of teaching, research, and being a good colleague, I hoped to have time to savor the writing experience. It took six years to muster the courage to post the first blog. The support of friends made it possible.

I like the blogs I wrote. They are about me and my experiences and reflections. I own them. Writing about oneself, however, has pros and cons. I know more about myself, obviously, than anyone else. On the other hand, I am a private person and am exposing myself to the world.

I thought about the possibilities of a blog for years and did frequent reflections that remained as ideas in my journal and/or in draft form on my computer. I felt confident in my writing skills in publishing textbooks and professional articles but writing about my personal wandering and wondering was a different genre.

I am grateful to close friends and my Estes Park writing group for encouraging me. They listened to my rough sketches and gently asked from time to time, “Have you published your blog yet?”

Writing thoughts and ideas is invigorating. The technical aspect of getting the blog online is the hard part. I could do more with graphics, pictures, and layout but that interests me little compared to sharing my points of view.

My goal was to post once a week and that worked. I usually have 2-3 blogs in draft form going that I work on each day. I do not know how much longer I will continue. For now, I have ideas and dozens of beginning notes with whims that may or may not develop into something interesting.

I will persist as long as I am having fun. If it becomes onerous, I will stop. If I run out of ideas, I will discontinue the writing. Although I say to myself that it does not matter if anyone reads my blog, I am grateful for those of you who follow my entries or read the posts occasionally. I hope that some bring a brief smile and/or provide a prompt for reflecting on subjective experiences that might be similar to mine.

Even if I do not have readers, I have found this writing enables me to reflect on my life and feelings that are significant. My values are evident in what I choose to write as I have the privilege of wandering and wondering.