Wandering and Wondering

This morning my Fitbit sleep app registered a score of 81, which is considered “good.” I use Fitbit to keep track of steps each day. Having the sleep information is bonus (maybe). I am not sure how much I trust it, but I look at the scores frequently and have learned about sleep patterns.

Most of my life I have been a good sleeper. I fall asleep easily and only occasionally, when something is giving me stress, do I wake for longer than for a bathroom break. I suspect that decades of regular exercise are helpful. I also lessen my caffeine intake later in the day, although coffee used to never bother my ability to nap or sleep.

According to the app, I am consistent in having 90-minute sleep cycles. Two sleep cycles exist. One cycle refers to light and deep sleep indicating less brain activity. Deep sleep commonly occurs longer early in the night, and my profile suggests that case for me. A second cycle, Rapid Eye Movement (REM) is associated with vivid dreams and becomes longer as the night goes on.

I am one of those people who can never remember my dreams. Sometimes I wake up after a dream and think to myself that I will remember it. By morning, the thoughts are gone. Once in awhile I have nightmares that relate to trying to get somewhere and being horribly late.

I often wake up feeling groggy but quickly recover. I understand that waking up feeling refreshed in the morning is a sign of solid periods of deep sleep. Deep sleep is associated with promoting physical recovery as well as a healthy immune system. My deep sleep varies in length, so I am doing OK.

I do not enjoy sleeping and would be happy never to have to sleep again. When I was a child, my parents had to force me to go to bed unless I was totally exhausted from a long day of play. My dad told me I would be a better basketball player if I got enough sleep. That advice motivated me to go to bed if I could sleep with my basketball.

I aim for eight hours of sleep a night. Given that I am frequently awake on and off for 20-45 minutes each night (according to my Fitbit), I rarely get 8 hours. I have learned from my kitties over the years that a short cat nap in the afternoon helps refresh me for the rest of the day. Therefore, overall sleep totals 8 hours a day. I am grateful for the goodness of sleep.

“Summertime” is an aria of the 1935 opera “Porgy and Bess.” The lyrics jump to my mind from time to time as I reflect on the summer months of my youth.

I couldn’t wait for school to be out and summer to come while growing up. I liked school and also loved the freedom of summer–running barefooted everywhere, helping my dad bale hay, working on 4-H projects, and eating summer foods like corn on the cob and homemade ice cream. Although I didn’t give it thought back then, growing up on a farm was a time of demanding work as well as special festivities.

4-H activities were paramount in my life from the time I was 10 years old until I graduated from high school. Having a vegetable garden was a labor I loved. I couldn’t wait every morning to get to the garden and see what had popped up overnight. In addition to the garden, I also prepared and practiced into mid-July for our local 4-H achievement where my sewing, refinished furniture, or baked goodies were judged to be qualifiers for the County Fair.

The County Fair was a week of 4-H activities where I demonstrated my homemaking and gardening skills as well as showed my sheep. I worked for weeks quieting the sheep enough so I could show them off best. My goal was to get blue ribbons for all the judging events I was in. I was never good enough to go to the State Fair, but just being with friends and family for that Fair week was fun. After the Fair, it felt the dreaded countdown to when school would start again in late August.

Summer in Iowa was hot and humid. Thunderstorms were common as we prayed for rain for the crops but feared the possibility of severe weather with wind and hail. I have always loved following the weather and summer offered cloud formations and weather variety more than other times of the year.

Despite the work on the farm, I remember summer as a time for short respites. We often had family reunions that involved swimming. My family had a tradition of several times a summer going to Pinicon Ridge County Park on Sunday evenings (after needed farm work was done) for a cookout—hamburgers, potato salad, chips, and watermelon was my favorite menu. We sometimes had watermelon spitting contests (back in the day when watermelons had seeds!)

I also remember cool summer nights when neighbors came to have homemade ice cream and my mom’s famous green apple pie. We couldn’t wait until the apples on our trees were sweet enough to make pie and applesauce. We played games outside like Hide n Seek and The Ghost Is Out.

I was delighted in those days of my childhood. I suspect that I have idealized them more than they really were, but I like thinking about how easy living seemed to be back then.

My late sister, Mog, took over Karla’s blog from time to time to offer her views of the world. She was the literary genius of our family, so I never bothered to get online. Now that Mog is no longer with us, someone needs to make observations about our household.

I miss my sister even though we had our frequent sibling spats. We had been together since birth (see photo of us at 8 weeks). She was the calm, demure gal who loved to be cuddled. I was her independent contrast. I am prone to zooming outbursts and following the purrs in my head. Things are different now that she is gone. Mom needs calming forces in our home.

Mom pays a lot of attention to me. I wish she knew what I was thinking. I can tell by looking into her eyes that she adores me. I also see the sadness of missing her soul cat. My relationship is different than the one she had with Mog. I am good with that and just don’t want her to be sad.

I don’t think mom was always a cat person, but our 15 years convinced her that being a crazy liberal cat lady is OK. She asked me if we should get another cat. I have mixed feelings about that. It would be nice to have a companion, but you just never know what you are going to get. Mom said that she would like to adopt an older cat that needed a forever home in its elderly days. That might work for us. We will wait and see if such a cat comes to us. If it does, I will try to be nice. I am secure in mom’s love, and I hope I am “cat-enough” to share her affection when the time is right.

I have had some health issues. All seems to be fine now. We are both dealing with the recognition of aging. My naps are longer these days and physical activity less intense, just like mom.

Mom and I are both seeking to make sense of our world. Neither of us knows what the future holds, but we will be in it together. We are hopeful “to live happily ever after.” I am one lucky cat.

I am no longer a highly competitive person. In recent years, my attitude has shifted related to games of all types. I only compete in limited ways as I play sports and other games. I carefully choose the games I play which may or may not be competitive in nature with outcomes determined by skill, strength, or luck.

I enjoyed competition throughout my life. As I get older, however, I find less need to compete against others. I played pickleball for the first two years I lived in Estes Park. It was a wonderful way to meet people. Over time, however, the players became far more competitive than I liked so I stopped playing.

Some people have family traditions associated with game playing. Games were not a tradition in my family of origin, much to my mother’s consternation. We always got a family game from Santa. We often played it on Christmas night, but it was not usually popular beyond that evening. I have few fond memories of those family game nights other than my mother thought that a better name for Scrabble was Squabble. I have friends who enjoy playing card games when we get together. I play because it is a social thing, but it is not something I actively seek. I especially enjoy playing Farkle, however, if I am backpacking and a rock is the playing board!

Having said all that, however, I play computer games as a form of diversion in the evening. I am not a “gamer,” but I have played Free Cell for years and consider myself good at it. The competition is with me, so the outcome doesn’t matter that much. I play Sudoku occasionally and have played Wordle every day for the past three years. I don’t take any of those games too seriously although I once had a 107-game streak going with Wordle. I don’t have the patience so I doubt I will ever get that run again. It is fun but just not important to me. I know people who have much longer winning streaks than me and that is more than fine.

Playing games should be fun and I do enjoy the efforts from time to time. At this stage in my life, however, I choose what is fun and no longer care about competition and winning.

The current world situation depresses me as I absorb the news. I am appalled by the lack of attention paid to the natural environment as well as the cruelty that exists in this country and throughout the world. In my inadequacy to change the trajectory, I seek ways to feel better about the present and the future.

One way that has helped me is to recognize the beauty that is around me. I love this time of the year with the abundant wildflowers in the meadows and woodland areas. As I frequently note, baby animals make me smile. I am mindful of other forms of beauty in the commitment of people to find meaning in their work and relationships. I appreciate the splendor of written words as well as music.

I cannot live in an “either/or” world so I seek wisdom to balance both views. Focusing on goodness does not make me oblivious to the tyranny of the moment. I was reminded recently by a colleague, John de Graff, of the complexity of the world in which we live. de Graff produced a documentary about Katharine Lee Bates’ writing of the poem that was set to music, America the Beautiful. She acknowledged the coexistence of beauty and strife in her words, even though most of us do not get beyond the first verse of praise for America.

Bates drafted the poem while visiting Colorado’s Pike’s Peak in 1893. She was inspired by the “purple mountain majesties” to the west and the “amber waves of grain” on the eastern plains. She wanted to celebrate the nation’s natural beauty. She also recognized the values of the US that she hoped would prevail. Verse two includes, “God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law!” Verse three notes, “O beautiful for heroes proved. In liberating strife, who more than self their country loved, And mercy more than life!” These verses illustrate to me the desire for a better world.

I celebrate the beauty around me and the principles upon which our country was founded. As is true of countries as well as individuals, however, we can do better. I dislike the political paralysis I feel. At the same time, I desire to thrive in a “both/and” world that acknowledges good and strives to address evil. I need grace. I seek the transcendence Katherine Lee Bates intended in her poem.

My parents graduated from the same high school two years apart. For years I heard them talk about their class reunions. The number of classmates, however, became fewer over time and eventually the formal reunions ended. My parents were among the last to pass of their peers. I did not give much thought to that reality for them until recently.

A friend from my Class of ’67 died a few weeks ago. As I grieved her passing, I realized that she was one of twelve classmates no longer with us. For a class of 48 (the largest ever to graduate from my high school, which was the same one my parents attended), one fourth were now gone. We still have plenty of folks to host a class reunion, but our numbers are sadly dwindling.

This truth for me is mind boggling. Where did the time go? My high school prom seems like yesterday. I mourn for those mates that passed too soon and recognize how fortunate I am to continue to be among the living. Based on the longevity of my parents, I hope I still have a few years to go but no one ever knows. I do not want to be overemotional, but I have been thinking about death more often in the past few weeks.

I recognize that death is inevitable. Senator Joni Ernst noted that “We are all going to die.” I prefer, however, what Haruki Murakami noted, “Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.” Most of us, nevertheless, would prefer to die later rather than sooner. Facing others’ deaths such as my classmates is more difficult that facing my own. In the time I have left, I want to live meaningfully. How can I live my life with gratitude and compassion?

Death is an unknown. The idea of heaven or reincarnation gives some peace. Regardless, the known is the hope that the impact of any person’s life can live on. As I think about my departed classmates, I recall them with warm memories. To know that their families and friends cherish their lives gives me comfort.

The reminder of death also brings me more fully into the present moment as I appreciate the time I have on this earth. I think about how blessed I have been in my own life as well as in knowing those people who have gone before me. My favorite book, Markings, by Dag Hammarskjöld has a quote that sums up my feelings at the moment, “Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment.”

In the movie “UP,” one of my favorite recurring scenes is when someone shouts “squirrels!” and all the dogs go crazy moving in every direction hoping a squirrel is nearby. Most dogs who like squirrels would not be disappointed if they visited Rocky Mountain National Park. If I do not see any animals on my forays into the park, I always see at least one squirrel. Even in the quiet of winter, I can count on seeing squirrels in the park.

In the summer, four types of squirrels thrive: pine squirrels, Wyoming ground squirrels, golden mantle ground squirrels, and Abert’s squirrels.

Pine squirrels are common. These small rodents live in coniferous forests with pine, fir, and spruce trees. I often hear their chatter if I unknowingly get too close to their storehouses. Their tail helps them balance and provides warmth when they wrap it around their bodies in chilly weather. 

Wyoming ground squirrels exist at the low altitudes of the park. Most Estes Park residents do NOT like them and wish they would just stay in the park. They burrow into the ground and look like prairie dogs except that they hibernate underground in the winter.

Golden mantel squirrels often are mistaken for chipmunks although they are larger and do not have stripes on their faces. They live primarily in rocky places in mid-elevations of the park. They also spend most of the winter in hibernation.

Abert’s squirrels are the most beautiful. They are black with tufted ears. They inhabit ponderosa pines in the montane areas. I see them least often among these squirrels and delight most in their unique black appearance, especially if contrasted against winter snow.

Squirrels eat seeds, nuts, and cones. They can also eat fungi, berries, and sometimes insects. One reason I see them so often in the park is that the Pine and Abert squirrels are active year around both during the daytime and at dawn and dusk.

Everywhere I have lived has had squirrels of varying species. I thought they were all brown like in Iowa until I saw the gray ones in North Carolina. Squirrels are not one of those animals that excite people when they are seen. The sightings of Bullwinkle the Moose get more attention than Rocky the Squirrel. Nevertheless, these small mammals are a part of this diverse ecosystem, and I can count on seeing them on every hike. Their contributions are underrated in this vibrant landscape.

“…and she’ll have fun, fun, fun till daddy takes the t-bird away.” That song has been running through my head ever since the recent death of Beach Boys founder, Brian Wilson. The Beach Boys certainly remind me of life in the 1960’s when I was in high school and cars were a big deal in my rural community.

Getting my driver’s license was the most important rite of passage in my life (closely rivaled by getting my National Park Lifetime Pass!) I was one of the youngest kids in my class so most had their licenses before me. I learned how to drive years before and often drove my dad’s pick-up truck when we were doing work on the farm. Having that license and my parents buying a second car for me to use to go to basketball practice and other school events was monumental for me as a 16-year-old. I loved that 1960 2-door International Scout that I used. Limits were placed on where I could drive and I had to cart my sisters around from time to time, but having the license and a car had made for a massive world of freedom.

Most young people remember their first car(s). In my second year in college, my folks purchased a used car for me to drive back and forth from Iowa State. When I graduated, they sold me that 1966 blue 4-door Nash Rambler and it was mine. Once I got my first job and saved money, I bought my first real car—a sporty bright red Dodge Challenger that cost $2000. My parents always bought used cars, so I thought I was cool having a fancy NEW car.

I planned to buy a new car every two years since I thought that was the sign of status. My values changed, however, after spending 6 months in a developing country, Türkiye in 1974. I altered my priorities as I recognized that new cars were not the most important thing in the world. Being joyful with what one needs is more important than fulfilling “wants.” Since 1976, I have owned only five new cars. Buying one every 12-15 years is enough for me.

I love my 2012 Subaru Impreza Sport but was thinking about a new car this year. Having bells and whistles (i.e., safety features) of back-up cameras, lane centering, and pre-collision braking would make me a better driver. Although I get decent gas mileage with my Subi, a hybrid would be a conscious environmental investment. However, a new car is not appealing now. I’ll continue to have “fun, fun, fun” with the car that I need, and hope that I am a safer driver than 60 years ago.

In Africa, tourists yearn to see the Big 5: African Elephants, Cape Buffalos, Leopards, Lions, and Rhinoceros. I was lucky enough to see them on a wildlife tour in Krueger National Park several years ago. People coming to Rocky Mountain National Park are often most interested in the big animals including Bighorn Sheep, Moose, and Elk. I love seeing them too.

Sometimes it feels like folks are checking these big ones “off their list.” In my travels as well as in Rocky, I have also become excited about other animals including dozens of birds as well as the flora that covers the landscape. Seeing big game is fun, but ecologically the little critters and the small plants enable those big mammals to exist.

Small is beautiful. Spring is the time of babies. Goslings follow their vigilant parents around at Sheep Lakes. Marmot adolescents make their appearances in rocky spaces along Trail Ridge Road. Female elk are forming nurseries to protect their young ones. All sizes of ground squirrels scurry everywhere. I never get tired of seeing babies as I say a silent prayer for their good long lives.

Spring is also the time of tiny wildflowers. As the days lengthen, larger flowers emerge easier to see and add to the diversity of the land.

One of my hiking friends, Susan, has helped me to see the uncelebrated smaller aspects of the natural world—butterflies, bees, mosses, slime molds, and birds. I do not know the names but am recognizing their importance in creating a kind landscape.

I just finished reading an interesting book, Raising Hare, which was recommended to me by another Susan that I know. This memoir is about a young British woman who co-exists with a rabbit in her home during the pandemic. She does not give the hare a name and lets it roam free in and out of her house. Over time, the rabbit teaches her to slow down and observe nature all around her. The book is a plea for people to be gentler with all creatures by granting them room to live. The author, Chole Dalton, emphasizes that “Coexistence gives our own existence greater poignancy, and perhaps even grandeur.”

I value fauna and flora in my life. I am blessed to co-exist with the big things as well as the small.

“Do dogs go to heaven?” I remember asking my mom when I was about six years old and the first dog I ever knew, Tippy, was run over by a car. Tippy was a German Shepard/Collie mix with a white tip on his tail. I didn’t understand death but knew he was no longer around. I don’t remember my mom’s response, but it made me think that our dog was in a happy place.

I am now grieving from the unexpected passing of my dear brown tabby soul cat, Mog. The story of a Rainbow Bridge eases some anguish. This metaphor gives me, as well as others, a form of heaven and comfort for pets who have left this physical world.

The notion describes a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth– the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. On the earth side of the bridge is a land of meadows, hills, and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet such as Tippy or Mog dies, the pet goes to this place. There is abundant food and treats. Frail animals become young again. The animals play all day together.

Something is missing, however, at the Rainbow Bridge. They do not have the special people who loved them on earth. They run and play until one suddenly stops and looks up. This pet runs from the group and sees his/her special friend and they meet again. They cuddle and kiss again and again. Together the person and the pet cross the Rainbow Bridge together to heaven, never again separated.

The idea of the Rainbow Bridge makes me smile as I think about Mog being happy and patiently waiting for me as she had done every day in our home for the past 15 years. I don’t think the idea of the Rainbow Bridge existed 70 years ago, but it now represents heaven to me.

I know Mog is waiting for me as are the other animals I have loved over the years. My dad passed 11 years ago this summer, and I am confident that Tippy is now with him and they crossed over that Rainbow Bridge together. Someday I will be reunited with my dear friend Mog.