Author: KARLA_HENDERSON

The definition of a social drinker is one who regularly drinks alcohol in various social settings but does not allow the drinking to disrupt personal life or create mental, emotional, or physical problems. As a social drinker, I look forward to occasions as an opportunity to share a drink with others.  After a long day, I look forward to having a glass of wine by myself with cheese and crackers. I only have one drink a day.

Nevertheless, I am observing Dry January. After six years, abstention in January gets easier as I explore and negotiate my relationship with alcohol.

I did sometimes abuse alcohol in my young adult life, although I have not been so predisposed the past 20 years. I know academically about alcoholism and have great admiration for recovering alcoholics whom I know. My first Dry January was a struggle as I reconsidered what it meant to be a social drinker.

According to the CDC, heavy drinking is consuming eight drinks or more a week for women. Recent studies have found no evidence that light drinking might keep people healthy. In fact, more than five drinks a week on average can take years off a person’s life.

I, therefore, approach Dry January with both trepidation and excitement. For individuals who drink alcohol within the recommended limits, no observable benefits may be evident. However, I am gaining insights about my relationship to alcohol:

1. Social drinking opportunities are about being social rather than drinking. As an introvert, alcohol can make me more talkative. I am nurturing those social skills without having to drink first.
2. I do enjoy a quiet drink alone from time to time. I have discovered, however, that relaxing can be done with a non-alcoholic drink and the experience is about quietly sitting down and not about the drink.
3. Not drinking does not seem to help me sleep better or feel better during Dry January. I have, however, noticed that I am more energetic during the evenings.
4. I save a bit of money by not purchasing alcohol for a month. I also seem to lose a pound or two by not imbibing those additional calories.
5. I ask myself, “Will having a drink now enhance this moment, or dull it?” Sometimes it will enhance, and sometimes it won’t. This question has become important for me to ask as I contemplate life after Dry January.

I am indebted to 4-H as a youth organization that deeply influenced my life. I do not think 4-H is better than any other national or local organization, but it was central to my formative years.

Youth organizations were not abundant in my rural community. I wanted to join Campfire, but mom said I would have to wait until I was old enough to be in 4-H. I had no choice.

In the 1950’s, I had to be a member of a girls 4-H club before I could show livestock and join the boys’ 4-H club. I wanted to raise sheep, do gardening, and not learn to cook, sew, or do home furnishings. In retrospect, however, I am glad I learned those homemaking skills as I enjoyed them far more than I thought I would—and they have come in handy!

I was an overachiever in 4-H as has been my life tendency. I earned blue ribbons at the fair and acquired leadership skills. 4-H was a place where I could “learn by doing” (the 4-H slogan) and get rewarded for my efforts. I was proud to be elected president of the Linn County 4-H Council my senior year of high school.

My parents were supportive and willing to schlep me to all kinds of meetings. Both were leaders of the local clubs and volunteered hundreds of hours to make 4-H successful in my county. My first 4-H leader, Winnie Henderson (a distant relative) inspired me early to set goals and strive to “make the best better” as has been the motto of 4-H since 1927. 

My dream job was as a 4-H professional when I served in Tama County (Iowa) for five years after I graduated from college. My life was changed forever by spending six months on a 4-H international exchange program to Turkey in my young adulthood. I intended to continue in 4-H youth development employment after graduate school, but chose other opportunities in higher education. Nevertheless, I will always be indebted to 4-H and the development that it provided to make my best self better.

I love trails. I enjoy walking/hiking on them. Reading about people’s adventures on well-known trails (e.g., Pacific Crest Trail) is irresistible. I revel in talking about the 300+ miles of trails in Rocky Mountain National Park.

A trail is defined as a marked or established path or route. They are found most often in a forest or mountainous region but can include any type of terrain for walking, hiking, snowshoeing, biking, x-country skiing, or even for watercraft use.

I appreciate that trails have a beginning and an end. I find comfort in knowing that someone else has done the trail before. The names of local, state, national, or internationally known trails have meaning, and people often share similar experiences on trails.

I have been fortunate with the means and ability to walk some of the famous trails in the world. I have done more than half of the gorgeous John Muir Trail in the Sierras. I have backpacked a portion of the Inca Trail to Machu Pichu. I was challenged in taking the heavily used path from Katmandu to Everest Base Camp. I have enjoyed parts of the Camino de Santiago as well as the Tour de Mont Blanc. I walked the 102-mile Cotswold Way in England in 2022.

I have hiked most of the trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. People sometimes ask me what my favorite trail is.  I enjoy some trails more than others, but my stock response is “the one I’m on that day.” I am happy to describe trails and to remind folks that we allow U-turns on trails if conditions are not what was expected. The same trail can be vastly different in the summer and the winter.

Although I love trails, I am not interested in long trails that require thru-hiking and days of commitment. Some people enjoy going “off trail” frequently. They have better navigational skills than I do and are more adventurous. Going off trail requires that minimum impact techniques are followed. I prefer staying on the beaten path, although it is nice to get away from crowds from time to time. 

North Carolina has designated 2023 as the year of the trail. The website states: “In North Carolina, there is a trail for each of us. An open invitation for bikers, hikers, paddlers, and riders. For amblers, explorers, and commuters. These paths are a place of refuge and recreation, connecting us to the very essence of this state.”

I hope every year is “the year of the trail.” So many trails to experience. I hope that all of us can enjoy short, long, ordinary, hilly, flat, historic, remote, challenging, or whatever opportunities are accessible for years to come. Happy trails to you.

What does one do with 36 beer glasses/mugs? Have a big party? Then what? I have spent the past weeks de-cluttering my house. I have more work to do as I make decisions about how to lighten my house’s load.

I like to think of myself as a minimalist. This moderate approach aims to live intentionally with only the things I really need—items that support my purpose. I want to remove the distraction of excess possessions so I can focus on what matters most. Do beer glasses support my purpose?

Organizing and de-cluttering my house is a first world problem. Unlike some people, I have the choice to possess or eliminate what I have. Walking into my home, you would assume that I am tidy. Most everything is in its place. However, the dark secret is that behind those closed drawers and closets is anything but organization, and until recently, not a reflection of only what is necessary.

I would much rather be active than keeping my house clean and organized. Hiking and volunteering always take precedence. After living in this new space for over nine years, I am compelled to open those spaces where I have stuffed stuff and re-evaluate what should be taking up space in my house.

I am getting myself organized so I know where I have put “things” that I might need someday. I discovered that I had four temperature thermometers in my bathroom drawers. I guess it has been easier to buy a new one than look for one amidst the clutter. Now I know where all four are!

What to do with the hundreds of books I have is a challenge. I dispersed textbooks when I retired—students LOVE to get free books. I still have scores of reference books. The library’s secondhand bookstore has been the recipient of popular literature as well as dozens of travel-related topics. I hope someone will enjoy those books. But what to do with books by authors who feel like old friends—bell hooks, Mae Sarton, Mary Oliver, and other lesser-known writers?

My efforts are forcing me to look deeper at my values and passions. Living a good life is not found in accumulating things. I cannot purchase happiness, although I would argue that good books can bring me joy as can warm Gore-Tex mittens. But how many books or mittens do I need?

I don’t require more things. I seek to value relationships, experiences, and taking care of my soul. Cleaning, de-cluttering, and focusing on minimalism reminds me to acknowledge the essentials and be grateful. I am keeping only beer glasses that are special, and not far more than I need!

Happy New Year! Celebrating the new year is a means for looking back and looking ahead. I gave up making new year’s resolutions years ago, but an appealing idea is Celebrating the Old Year and acknowledging small moments I remember (and in some cases wrote about) in 2022.

The new year offers ways to improve myself and support the communities I care about. It also creates opportunities for reflection on things that made me smile:

• Seeing my kitties’ quiver butts of excitement when they are about to be fed
• Listening to the calls of cow elk to their babies, and vice versa
• Noting the first pink light from sunlight on the Continental Divide
• Discovering mountain lion tracks along a trail
• Bubbles rising in ice on an alpine lake
• Sensing the wiggly bottoms of happy dogs
• Clouds that look like an image of something
• Warm creamy hot chocolate
• The first sip of coffee in the morning
• Coming upon a tiny snowperson on a trail in the park
• My kitties nudging my hand to tell me it is time to get out of bed (and feed them!)
• A snowshoe hare peaking out from his hiding place in the trees
• The stealth sound of goose wings as they fly overhead
• Putting on festive socks each Monday to celebrate “Sock Monday” at the park
• Getting an unexpected call/email/text from someone from my past just to say hello
• Birds delighting on the fresh seeds at the birdfeeder
• Remembering the fun and funny aspects of people who began their unearthly journeys this year
• Hearing a song associated with warm memories from a time long passed
• Wailing on a trumpet fanfare in band
• Anticipating the first sight of the full moon rising
• Stopping and staring at a beautiful landscape
• The seriousness and pride of a child getting sworn in as a Junior Ranger
• And much more…

December 21, the Winter Solstice, is a monumental date for me each year. The Winter Solstice is the day with the shortest period of daylight and longest night of the year. The sun is at its lowest daily maximum elevation in the sky. At noon in sunshine on December 21, I cast a long shadow and appear to be taller than any other time of the year. I revere the date because everything is “UP” (except my height!) from there.

I prefer light over darkness, as do most people. I like the yin-yang of light and darkness. I convince myself that darkness helps me appreciate the light. Light fills the dark spaces. I do, however, sometimes feel the “winter blues” related to limited sunlight.

I know people who have Seasonal Affective Disorder, a clinical diagnosis that makes this time of darkness quite difficult. They may require phototherapy, counseling, and/or medication to get through this period. I try to ward off down feelings by staying busy and looking for signs of light as the days get longer. Because Colorado has so many days of sunshine (300 days a year), I can get outdoors most days and get my dose of Vitamin D. In addition, one additional minute of light each day buoys me.

Cultures and religions highlight the importance of putting light into our lives. For example, Chanukah’ (12/18-12/26) is the Festival of Lights because the central symbol of the festival is the menorah, the seven-branched candelabrum. Christians celebrate Jesus as the divine light coming into the world on Christmas eve. Iran has the Yalda festival that marks the day that Mithra, an angel of light, was born. China’s Dongzhi festival emphasizes when winter’s darkness begins to give way to light. Scandinavians celebrate Yule, or Ule, a multi-day feast when people celebrate the return of the sun god.

I decorate my house each year with red Christmas lights around the mantel. After I take them down in early January, I replace them with blue lights that I illuminate every night until the Spring Equinox. Our town puts up Christmas lights before Thanksgiving and keeps them up into mid-February. Although it is artificial light, it brightens my world until the longer days return.

I enjoy winter. I like winter activities. I don’t mind the cold. An advantage of the long nights is that I always see the sunrise this time of the year. Nevertheless, I celebrate the promise of more light each day when the Winter Solstice passes.

Energy is needed for holiday gatherings. I particularly think about my mother and her obligatory vigor over the years to ensure that our family was comfortable and happy on Christmas Day. She supplied physical and undervalued invisible emotional labor to keep us contented and cheerful.

Emotional labor is a term coined by sociologist Arlie Hochschild. She proposed that emotional management requires the consumption of human energy. It can occur in the workplace and/or at home. A compelling leisure research analysis by Leslie Bella, The Christmas Imperative, described how little fun holidays were for some women because of the amount of labor they not only put into preparations for family gatherings but also the momentum expended to make sure that everyone was compatible and had an enjoyable time with limited awkward moments. Holiday rituals are significant, and mothers are usually responsible for them.

I am grateful for everything that my mother did. I don’t think I realized how important it was until later in her life. Although I returned to Iowa for most holidays and was there Christmas eve day and Christmas morning to be her sous chef, I didn’t have the emotional investment she had.

Having tasty food was important to mom and she tended to vary the menu. An important prerequisite was the dinner table. Regardless of how many people were invited, she insisted on everyone sitting around the big table, or the kids’ table nearby. The red tablecloth provided a stunning backdrop for the plain white China and Crystal glassware. Festive Christmas cloth napkins added flare. Every year she made new placards so there would be no questions about where to sit when it was time to offer Christmas blessings and begin the feast. During the meal, she guided the conversations as she assured that everyone got plenty to eat.

Mom loved her role, but eventually it was not only the physical busyness but also the emotional stress that resulted in her giving the Christmas tableware to my sister so she could continue the family traditions. My sister was not invested in the details, and the actual Christmas dinner was never the same when we gathered. I miss my mom’s Christmas celebrations.

I wish I could tell my mom again, as well as my grandmothers and aunts, how much we appreciated the efforts, physical and emotional, into making Christmas dinner and all our holiday gatherings a lifelong happy memory.

Ah, the sights, sounds, and smells of a fire crackling in a fireplace. I miss that romanticism and at the same time, recognize that for many people the functionality is more important than the aesthetics.  

I grew up in a farmhouse that used a wood stove for heating the downstairs of the drafty old house. As a kid I didn’t realize how much effort it took to maintain that wood stove. As I got older, I often had the responsibility of assuring plenty of wood in the bin on the porch so that dad could get it started every morning before the family stirred.

My mom was not thrilled about that stove with all the work and cleaning it took. She couldn’t wait to remodel the kitchen and get rid of the wood stove. However, within a couple years she realized the ambience (and economy) of the heat source and a newer version that was far less intrusive was installed.

Until I moved to Colorado, I lived in houses that had wood burning fireplaces. I didn’t use them as a heat source, but they added greatly to the coziness of my home. During those years I learned the art of “scrounging for wood.” Keeping alert for anyone who had wood to give away became an occupation. With the help of friends, I was able to saw, split and haul wood to prepare for the winter fires. If all else failed, I could buy split wood but that was not nearly as gratifying as scavenging.

In my Colorado townhome, I flip a switch to start a gas-burning fireplace. It is easy and tidy, but not nearly as much fun. Fortunately, I have friends who have real fireplaces and I seek opportunities to help them find wood and get it ready for the winter so I can enjoy it when I visit.

Scrounging for wood does not appear on any list of leisure activities but I relish the task. An older woman in Estes Park relies on a wood stove to compensate for the costs of her furnace system. I am part of a community that supplies wood. I continue to experience the unusual thrill of cutting, splitting, and stacking wood for someone besides myself who appreciates scrounging on many levels.

When I think of philanthropy, I think of people who give huge sums of money such as Andrew Carnegie or Bill and Melinda Gates. I never thought of myself as a philanthropist in its broadest sense until recently.

Although the definition of philanthropy generally connotes monetary donations, it encompasses much more. Philanthropy is the desire to promote the welfare of others through gifts or acts. Martin Luther King, Jr admonished, “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?'”

I grew up in a culture of philanthropy relative to good acts, although those words were never used as I recall. Small communities often have this ethic of care. Some people may not have a lot of money to donate, but most people donate their time. Time is money.

Volunteering, whether it is formally in a designated position or helping a neighbor next door, is a foundation of successful communities. Donations for direct services or to support staff who facilitate opportunities for giving is the basis of many nonprofit organizations.

In early November, sans the pandemic year, the Estes Park Nonprofit Resource Center (EPNRC) sets aside a day to honor philanthropy in our community. The EPNRC provides tools that support, connect, and inspire community nonprofits to create a “Culture of Philanthropy” in the Estes Valley.

The quixotic concern of people is either the lack of time or lack of money to enjoy aspects of life. I am privileged in my retirement to have both enough time and money. Therefore, I can volunteer my time for opportunities I support that influence the welfare of others including people and animals. In addition, I can allot moderate amounts of money to causes that are important. I am not a philanthropist at the level of multi-millionaires but as a citizen I am privileged to share with others.

My philanthropic priorities extend year around as a volunteer and as a donor. The end of the year, however, is a prime time for financial giving. Giving Tuesday is a national promotion to remind people about charitable giving as is Colorado Gives Day next week. My contributions of time and money, along with that of many other folks, indicates the greater intrinsic rewards of doing for others.

If Halloween is my least favorite holiday, Thanksgiving is my favorite. As the years go by, Thanksgiving becomes more important. I believe that giving thanks is an ongoing daily practice, and I also like the idea of pausing one special day and remembering the abundance I have.

I wasn’t so enamored with Thanksgiving growing up because no gifts or candy was associated even though it was a two-day holiday from school. I love to eat so all the food was fun. My mom’s orange-cranberry sauce was a special treat on that day. Otherwise, it was not that exciting.

Unlike other holidays, I had few rituals associated with my family and Thanksgiving. Since I have not lived in Iowa since early adulthood, going “home” for Thanksgiving was not something I did when Christmas took priority for travel. Most Thanksgivings have been with my chosen families (Friendsgiving) rather than my family of origin.

I am thankful for all the “families” I have. My most memorable Thanksgiving was in 2020 when my Estes Park friends designed a way to enjoy tasty food and fellowship without sitting inside in an environment that might spread COVID. We all brought a contribution to the meal, stayed outside to socialize and give thanks, and then each household took platefuls of food home for small gatherings.

That Covid-era Thanksgiving two years ago reminded me of Oprah Winfrey’s statement: “Be thankful for what you have; you’ll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don’t have, you will never, ever have enough.”

Thanksgiving Day in the US is surrounded by myths and different perceptions. For example, since 1970 Native Americans have gathered at noon in Plymouth, Massachusetts to commemorate a National Day of Mourning on the Thanksgiving holiday. The day of remembrance and spiritual connection is also a protest of the racism and oppression that Native Americans experienced after that first Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving celebration does not have the same meaning for everyone.

In addition on Thanksgiving Day, I will feel sadness as I remember friends who were alive last November but will leave empty seats at their families’ meals this year. Gratitude, however, involves a conscious choice made even during sorrow.

I look forward to Thanksgiving Day and to all the emotions it generates. I am grateful to write this blog. I am grateful for you, my readers, who follow me regularly and/or just occasionally. Happy Thanksgiving!