Author: KARLA_HENDERSON

Mondays are Sock Days at Rocky Mountain National Park! The idea has not gained much traction beyond the Information and Superintendent’s Office, but we are working to transform this government agency.

I didn’t think much about socks until my co-workers promoted this idea over a year ago. Wearing the standard brown socks as part of the official National Park Service uniform was boring. From their importance as utilitarian garments to becoming a means for personal expression, socks are evolving at Rocky Mountain National Park, albeit slowly. The choice of socks reflects not only practical considerations but also an opportunity to highlight individuality and creativity.

Socks are unassuming foot coverings that are often unnoticed. They have a long history. Beyond their practical purpose of keeping feet warm and protected, socks can be a fashion statement.

Socks have evolved since ancient times. The earliest evidence of sock-like garments dates to the 8th century BC with the discovery of knitted socks in Egypt. These early versions were designed to provide warmth and protection for feet in harsh climates. As time progressed, different cultures contributed to the evolution of socks with the Romans and Greeks adopting them for athletic purposes.

The Middle Ages marked a significant turning point for socks as they transitioned from simple, utilitarian garments to symbols of wealth and status. Nobility adorned themselves with luxurious, intricately designed stockings that displayed their affluence. By the 16th century, knitting machines made socks more accessible to everyone.

For me and my colleagues, socks have become a subtle form of self-expression. They offer practical aspects of comfort and functionality as well as aesthetic appeal that complements one’s personal style. The choice of socks can convey professionalism in formal settings, showcase creativity in casual environments, or even reflect one’s mood and personality. Fun socks serve as a means of self-expression that allow us to put personality into our everyday style.

(In the spirit of full disclosure, I was playing with generative AI (artificial intelligence) to get ideas about socks. I found that ChatGPT gave me great ideas for what I wanted to say and I have personalized these thoughts above).

I am a list maker and record keeper. I am not totally obsessive about it, but at times keeping a record going or not breaking a streak (e.g., running at least 25 miles a week) has become extremely important. As with other aspects of my life, I try to develop moderation.

Based on the records of 45 years as a runner I know that I circumnavigated the world almost two times (50,000 miles). Even as I have become a walker/hiker instead of a runner, I estimate that I walked this past year the distance (1500 miles) to and from Estes Park to Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

I got a Fitbit almost 10 years ago and this tech piece is both a bane and a boom to my life. Becoming a slave to it is easy with constant checking to see where I am with “steps for the day.” I confront the weekly summary with both anticipation and dread depending on how I have evaluated the previous week’s activity level.

Nevertheless, I love the opportunity to record opportunities for movement. I seldom sit still for periods of time unless engrossed in writing. My cats can attest that a lap sit is nice, but they never know how long it will last before I bounce up, or more likely these days, groan and slowly rise.

When the pandemic began, I had no place to go. I walked. I set my Fitbit goal at 20,000 steps a day and was successful most days. After life began in postdemic, I dropped that goal to 18,000 steps a day and matched it most days. Recently I was ill with the flu and then a respiratory infection and had to curtail my usual walking. I averaged only 8500 steps a day during my lowest week. I contrast that to our hiking trip in May to the Dingle Peninsula in Ireland where I averaged 33,500 steps a day for a week.

I maintain the goal of 15,000 (average) a day and hope that no matter what, I get at least 10,000 steps. I try to walk/hike every day and I feel relief in not pushing for a hard goal. I remind myself to focus on taking the steps and not obsessing about the number. I continue to wonder as I wander.

I was at a reunion with a group of dear friends several weeks ago when our dinner conversation turned to our hopes and fears about the future. We were mostly beyond Medicare age and had known one another for over 40 years. One person indicated that she hoped that her life had made a difference. She was challenged by another friend by asking just what she meant by making a difference. I began to think further about this question.

Last year when I wrote about the new year, I talked about not necessarily having a Happy New Year but a Hopeful New Year. I still like that idea and am thinking about the subtleties of hoping to make positive differences in the coming year.

I have concluded that setting out to make a difference is not a realistic goal as a resolution. I am not advocating that people abdicate New Years Resolutions, but I recognize that making a difference, just like being happy, is a process and not a product.

Differences relate to big and little things. It assumes making life better for people and animals in some way. Most of us will not make a big transformation in the world. Numerous little things, however, such as acts of kindness and caring can make a constructive difference in someone’s life even if for a few minutes. Those actions ought to be implicit in our lives. My resolve starting today is to be kind and have faith that this behavior will make an affirmative difference.

I recently read a eulogy about a woman who had changed the lives of homeless people in her community. She had goals in mind for what needed to happen. She quietly set out to help the individuals she met. People remembering her acknowledged that she had made a huge difference through her numerous small acts of caring and kindness.

Mahatma Gandhi summed up my thinking for what guides me into 2024: “It’s the action, not the fruit of the action, that’s important. You have to do the right thing. It may not be in your power, may not be in your time, that there’ll be any fruit. But that doesn’t mean you stop doing the right thing. You may never know what results come from your action. But if you do nothing, there will be no result.”

Have a happy, hopeful, and caring new year!

Gift-giving is not reserved for only one time of the year, even though gift giving is seriously on people’s minds this time of the year. Although I like to give gifts that others will appreciate, I am aware more than ever that the best gifts are not necessarily those that result in “stuff.”

In all transparency I admit that I do not enjoy shopping. I do like to give gifts if I have good ideas that are easy to access. I cherish many gifts that people have given me over the years. I know the thought and effort went into getting me just the right gift. For example, I have a beautiful framed photographic print of Ansel Adam’s, “The Tetons and the Snake River.” My good friend who passed away two years ago gave it to me because I often talked about the beauty of that area. I received a coffee cup from a longtime friend after we climbed Mt. Whitney. I use it every week and think about that mountain and him.

Nevertheless, the best gifts that I can give as well as receive these days are not necessarily things. They are memories.

I like to give gifts of experiences. These gifts are not altruistic as I get to participate as well. Over the years I have enjoyed giving live theater tickets or opportunities to go to a special holiday presentation of something. For example, last year I took three special friends to see Mannheim Steamroller at the Denver Performing Arts Center. Seeing that group has been on my bucket list for years. Taking others who enjoyed it as much as me was a special gift for all of us.

Years ago, my parents, sisters, and I decided that we were not going to give each other gifts unless it was something special and/or homemade. We all had everything that we needed, or could purchase what was important. We gave donations to organizations on behalf of one another to honor the season. I continue to make these donations and love to be able to offer a financial gift “in honor of (someone).”

Most family members and friends have all that they need. I focus on giving anonymous gifts that benefit important causes or go to people who need necessities far more than me.

I was volunteering at Bear Lake one Saturday this summer. An older seasonal ranger was convivial with the visitors as I worked alongside him. A young woman walked up holding a 10-month-old baby boy. She started to ask the ranger a question. Before she could speak, he spoke to the baby, “Hey buddy. Are you living your best life right now? Well, it hasn’t been a long life, but it looks like it is the best!”

I thought what a sweet comment and began to think about how one answered the question about living one’s “best life.” I have never had children, but I would wish that every kid was able to live their best life as they grow up. In a world full of conflict and natural disasters, my heart breaks for those children that will struggle to find their best life. Being a baby at Rocky Mountain National Park seems to be a fairly good deal.

I don’t want a discussion of living your best life to sound like a poster that might hang in a dentist office, but the idea is worth contemplating. I am living my best life today. What could be better than living in a beautiful place, having caring friends, being in good health (most of the time), and seeking to embody service living.

I have experienced some (perceived) failure in my quest for my best life but dwelling on my inadequacies does not change anything. What I have is good. I know, however, that I cannot be complacent as life can change quickly. For example, recently I had the flu. I felt miserable. I was living anything close to my best life during those few days. My recovery was slow and I had time to think about how fortunate I am. I felt sorry for myself when I was sick, and yet recognized that I was lucky to have medicine and healthy food, even though I didn’t feel like eating. I wasn’t at my best, but I was still living a good life.

Now that I am over the illness, I appreciate my life more than before. I wish for that young Bear Lake visitor to live his best life so that in the end it is a “life well lived.” I hope he grows up to love public lands and enjoys them for years to come.

Dear Mom,

A day never goes by that I don’t think about you and dad. During this Christmas time, however, I am poignantly aware of how much I miss you, mom, as I remember Christmases past and the things that you loved about Christmas.

You instilled in me a fondness for Christmas music and yearly traditions. In your passing I have come to appreciate Christmas more than I did when you were living. My memories of you at Christmas are gentle in my heart. I recall Christmas with you when you and dad still lived on the farm, years on the acreage near Cedar Rapids after you retired, and your final years after dad passed.

Regardless of the time, I cherish the delight you experienced in giving to others during the season and especially your love of Christmas music performed by choirs and choruses. One of the Christmas eve traditions both on the farm and after you moved was to go to church, drive around looking for Christmas lights, and then go home for Christmas eve snacks and listening to the public television presentations of Iowa college choirs such as at Wartburg and Luther. Dad would snooze as we enjoyed those youthful holiday choruses on TV.

Certain tunes I hear remind me of you and I smile: Do you Hear what I Hear? O Holy Night, O Come O Come Emmanuel, Ding, Dong Merrily on High, and your favorite, All is Well with my Soul.

After Dad died, it was just you and me on Christmas eve since my sisters had their own family traditions with our whole family gathering reserved for Christmas Day. In those five years without Dad, I took you to the late afternoon Christmas service, we drove around looking for lights, ate dinner and had a glass of wine at a nice Italian restaurant, and watched the public television performances in the evening. I will never forget the last Christmas eve we spent together at St Mark’s candlelight service. As I helped you stand and waited for the benediction, I looked over at you smiling as the light reflected on your face by your candle. I will always hold that image in my heart.

With you no longer on this earth, I will go to a Christmas eve service this year to honor your love of that event. I will make myself a Christmas eve snack and listen to religious Christmas music that never grows tiring. I will remember you, mom, and know that “all is well with your soul” and you are now singing Christmas tunes with the angels.

Love, Karla

I am proud to say that I am a scientist. I was, and still am, a social scientist. Although different from being in biological or natural sciences, understanding human behavior is essential. I believe in science and how it can lead to better living.

I have always had a curiosity about why things are the way they are. I enjoy learning and exploring questions. As a young person, I loved doing “research” in the school library and remember how excited I was when I could go to the Cedar Rapids Public Library to collect in-depth information for a report. Although I got extra credit for participating in experiments when I took psychology classes in college, I found the topics exciting and wanted to know more about the outcomes.

I went to graduate school thinking that I would have a future in youth development education. During those years I discovered how interesting it was to conduct original research and to apply scientific methods. My dissertation on the motivations of volunteers provided a theoretical foundation for understanding the work I had been doing for years with volunteers. From that opportunity, I got to explore other issues related to the motivations and constraints for activities such as within women’s leisure.

I am frustrated with people who are not willing to believe the science generated every day. I recognize that research is not useful if it is not rigorously conducted. I am also aware that statistics can lie. On the other hand, science provides information that should be digested, critiqued, and revised. The value of science lies in the ongoing questions that it raises. I have never conducted a research project that did not result in dozens of new questions.

What I like about science is how it expands on previous science. Science is about building a body of knowledge (the BOK as my students liked to call it!) Science is never complete. The evolution of research on any science question is key to deeper understanding. For example, some of the early research about COVID-19 was later proven wrong. Nevertheless, the first studies had to be done to lead to new questions and conclusions. Conclusions once drawn may change over time with more research.

Everything we know and do today is based on science. Science cannot be discounted, and I am glad that I can continue to contribute to its value by being a consumer of good science as it affects my daily life.

Over the past several years, I have included at least three things I am grateful for each day when I write in my morning journal. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday for many reasons. I believe, however, that thanksgiving should be my daily exercise. As I reflect on the holiday, I reread my gratitude entries over the past year. I strive to identify the BIG and recurring happenings as well as the ^small and personal observances that brighten my life. I suspect you would have more to add. Here are a few examples from my journal. I am grateful for:

• Foggy mornings
• The sound of elk bugling
• My first sip in the morning of caramel colored dark coffee
• Timed entry to Rocky Mountain National Park
• The end of Timed Entry into the park
• Vaccines that I don’t have a reaction to
• A full moon rising
• A full moon setting
• A life of the mind
• Fresh garden vegetables
• Hiking to Chasm Lake
• Sweet cinnamon rolls
• Living in a warm house
• My friend’s recovery from poor health
• Electricity
• Aspen glow on Longs Peak in the early morning
• Birthday cupcakes
• Walks with borrowed dogs
• The opportunity to make music
• Philanthropists
• Talented and committed young people
• Zoom
• The quietness of nature
• Mountain lion tracks
• Wispy clouds
• Getting a year older and wiser
• A relaxing massage
• My Iowa roots
• My cuddly cats and their health
• A good night’s sleep
• Travel to interesting places
• A quiet night at home
• Clean air and water
• Ducks and geese on Lake Estes
• Good books and libraries
• Unclogged drains
• Kind people
• Pizza and friends to share it with
• March Madness
• Embodying service living
• Park Rangers
• Hot chocolate after a volunteer day at Bear Lake
• A negative COVID test
• The quiet of early mornings
• Old friends
• A dependable car
• Women’s basketball
• Sunshine on my shoulders
• Conversations with my sisters
• Open windows at night
• A safe trip
• Gentle rain
• Lightning in the distance
• Being able to adapt to change
• The professional career I had
• Humble people
• Rhubarb pie
• Babies of all kinds
• A kitty sitting on my lap
• Unexpected gifts
• Choices in what to do with time and money
• A new roof
• Friends for celebrating Thanksgiving and thanksgiving.

I pulled onto I-380 from the Eastern Iowa Airport. A farmer was harvesting corn in a nearby field. The clouds in the sky were gray with rain in the forecast. Either riding with a family member or renting a car, I have made this highway entry dozens, if not hundreds, of times since moving from Iowa in 1976. I feel anticipation, relief, and a bit of sadness that I am “home” for a while.

I felt something different when my parents were alive than I feel today. I looked forward to being back on the farm and to conversations with them over the breakfast and dinner table—catching up on my travels as well as what family news was happening. I used to think of home as a place, but as I head to my sister’s home today, I identify with the idea of home associated with a feeling or a connection.

A I am drawn to the popular song Elvis Presley recorded “Home is where the heart is.” He contends that home is wherever he is with a special person. For me, going home to Iowa meant reconnecting with my parents. Although I enjoy my family and growing number of great nieces and nephews, I feel a hole in my home since my folks are no longer on this earth.

I lived in North Carolina for 27 years, and it never felt like “home” to me. The wide-open spaces always called to me. Although beautiful, my house in North Carolina felt enclosed by the dozens of trees. Open spaces existed when I was walking on Atlantic Ocean beaches, but I realized after time at the beach that I am a mountain person. I wished for home, as a place, to be about peaks and valleys.

I now live in the mountains and yearn for this environment to be home. I love the landscapes but am realizing home is not about a space as I once thought. I have a community, and I appreciate the friendships I have gained through volunteering, hiking, and musical performances. On the other hand, I need more time and connections before Colorado will be more than a physical place.

Perhaps if I had a special someone in Estes Park, I would feel different. Nevertheless, Iowa will always be my home of origin as I value the potential of new opportunities in Estes Park as a choice for my heart.

Mom went away for four days and forgot to unplug her computer. Here I am writing with my hunt and paw entries. I want to write about my daily life as unremarkable as it is. My sister, Mog, has no interest and snoozes in the desk chair as I compose.

Mom is usually an early riser. I like that because it means getting breakfast sooner rather than later. If she isn’t up when the radio comes on, I irritate her by shredding whatever paper is laying on the desk. When she yells “Stop It!” I know it’s time to jump down and run toward the kitchen. She will get up soon.

Mom fixes different food for me than from Mog since I had my hospital episode this past summer. I like Mog’s food better, but mom makes me wait until my sister walks away before I can clean up her leftovers.

After breakfast I begin my morning patrol of the house, all three stories. I go down to the rec room window and observe if any mice or chipmunks have scampered across the outside deck. In the winter, when the bears have gone into hibernation and the bird feeders are up, I see if any ground feeders are looking for treats that fell from the main deck feeder.

After mom looks at her email and writes in her journal, I help her with her yoga routine. I admire that she has been diligent in following a program that she says makes her feel less stiff in the morning. I remind her that I have done downward facing cat for years and it has served me well.

I hang out with mom until she leaves to go volunteer or hike or whatever she does. Mog continues to snooze. I eventually curl up on the bed and relax unless I hear something outside that distracts me.

Mom usually comes home sometime during the day. If I feel like it, I greet her. If I don’t, I just ignore her until it gets close to dinner time. In the late afternoon, I am quick to jump up the minute she moves in case she heads to the kitchen. If I don’t get my supper by 5:00 pm, I get cranky.

After I eat, I take an early evening nap. Mog, of course, immediately resumes her snoozing. I must have a nap so that I can patrol again before everyone goes to bed and make sure the house is secure for the night. Sometimes I sleep on mom’s bed and sometimes I sleep on the couch downstairs depending on my mood. I will need to get up early so I can begin to shred paper, if necessary. That’s me. An ordinary cat, an ordinary day.