Wandering and Wondering

Among my obsessions, I think about the notion of time frequently. I write about it from time to time (no pun intended). Right now, I am thinking about how quickly summer flashes by. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday….

In the Chicago music tune, the question was raised: “Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care?” I remember having a conversation with a friend one day in her college dorm room back in 1970. I am sure it was a deep philosophical discussion. A year later, she died of breast cancer. Neither of us had any idea about time– one more year for her and 55 more years for me.

Psychologists have written about why time goes more quickly when we get older. Children have new experiences and process massive amounts of information that require time. As we get older, we have progressively fewer new experiences. Equally importantly, our perception of the world often becomes more automatic. We absorb less information that takes less time. I understand that notion.

We cannot stop time. Nevertheless, I want everything to slow down. I want to resist the process of speeding up. The most obvious is to keep introducing newness into my life such as traveling, meeting new people, and especially for me, thinking about ideas that I want to apply to my own self help, and write about.

Another idea that is hard for me related to time is to simply slow down by living mindfully. Because I like having many activities going on in my life, I remind myself to recognize day-to-day experiences such as seeing, hearing, and feeling the world around me. Observing animals is one thing that I do that provides mindfulness.

On a more long-term basis, I am trying to cultivate conscious awareness through meditative practices (including meditation walks) that quiet the chatter in my mind. Further, I continue to focus on gratitude in daily living.

Part of me longs for more time to do more with my life. On the other hand, I am grateful for the opportunities and relationships that have sustained me for decades. Jim Croce wrote about “time in a bottle.”  I value the idea of a world where precious moments are saved in a bottle and revisited at any time, simply by pulling a cork. Remembering the moments does not make time slow down, but it gives me a perspective on the time I have had on this earth.

The bull elk lumbered slowly across the road in front of us as I engaged the brakes. His head slumped down as he looked our way with watery brown eyes. He looked disinterested as if he were saying, “Run over me. I don’t care.”

I feel sorry for the bull elk this time of the year. Their hormones push them to focus single-mindedly on attracting female elk for procreation. They do everything they can to appeal to potential mates-rolling in urine and mud to make themselves look bigger and more attractive along with their intermittent screaming bugles. The cows, however, have the last word in the mating plans. Many males get disappointed. They must confront rejection.

I read a daily blog about writing. These motivational pieces describe the tips and tricks for getting published with undertones related to dealing with rejection. I relate to that reality.

I had a successful career as an academic. I was a good (although not great) teacher and I hope, a supportive colleague. I was successful in writing hundreds of published academic manuscripts. However, I was not successful at publication in my early career. I had those sad eyes of a bull elk.

When I received a negative review on a paper I submiited, my initial reaction often was to mumble cuss words about how reviewers did not know what they were doing and then stash the paper and the comments out of sight in a drawer (back then these were paper reviews).

Rejection was painful and it resulted in sadness, anger, loneliness, and self-doubt. I often felt worthless and doubted that I really belonged in the academic world. It was frustrating, but I was a fighter and a survivor. I resolved not to let rejection define my academic life.

After a couple of days, I made myself open the drawer where the assessment of my writing temporarily lived. I got the courage to carefully examine the comments. I learned that even if I did not agree with an observation, it was important to think about why reviewers misunderstood my writing. I was not communicating as clearly as I thought. In other cases, it was obvious that my ideas needed deeper insight. If a manuscript was worth additional effort, I could improve it vastly. I learned to revise and rewrite with the comments in mind. I learned to do a better job in future writing when I paid attention to the reviewers’ comments. I became successful.

I wonder if the bull elk will learn from his sad moments just as I did. Rejection is not easy but there is always another year and another opportunity. Now I just need to apply this optimism to other issues regarding my fear of personal rejection.

Animals make me smile when I do not have much to smile about. I reflect on their mannerisms and wish that I could adopt some of those characteristics.

People have written about what they learn from their cats and dogs. I love the ideas expressed about cats such as how they keep fastidious grooming habits, eat healthy fish diets, get plenty of rest, express their individuality, and embrace curiosity as long as it isn’t too scary. People have written about what we can learn from other animals. I have my own set of observations that make me envious of distinct animal characteristics.

• I would like to have the agility of the deer as they bound stiff legged across green meadows.
• I long for the innocence of elk babies as they look to their moms for clues to behavior. I enjoy the unique communication between moms and their offspring. I wish my mom were still here to guide me when needed.
• I envy the swishing tails of the marmots as they sachet across the tundra in search of tasty tidbits so they can get as fat as possible before they hibernate for the winter.
• I admire the energy and tenacity of the pikas as they gather their food caches to hide under the rocks for their long wintertime. They never stop scurrying about as they labor to harvest for their stockpiles. I worry about the impact climate change might have on their habits in the future.
• The intense eyes of the coyotes are staring into my soul as I observe them.
• I am enthralled by the boldness of the dusky grouse when they think a mate may be nearby.
• If I had a tail like a beaver I could smack it in the water whenever I wanted to give warning of something not right in my world. That act would scare the begeebers of those annoying me.
• I marvel at the feet of a snowshoe hare when it strides across the top of thick snow in the woods.
• Swimming would be more enjoyable if I had the buoyancy of the ducks in the water.
• I swoon at the thought of being a snake that can absorb the warmth of the sun.
• A beak like that of a hummingbird would allow me to taste sweet nectar while staying in motion.
• I sometimes yearn to be a turtle who could crawl inside my shell when the outside world overwhelms me.

Alas, I am only human and can only try to emulate from time to time the behaviors I admire in animals. Bless the beasts who give me these inspirations.

I wrote almost two dozen textbooks during my academic career. One of the final joys of doing this work is including what is commonly known as a dedication to someone(s). I was reminded of that privilege recently when I was perusing one of my books to review an idea that I presented earlier.

Looking back over the past 40 years of thoughtful dedication acknowledgements provides a reflection about what was important in my life. My first collaborated book on women and leisure was dedicated to “our mothers, sisters, and children.” Our second revision was resolute “to all who seek the empowerment of girls and women in and through leisure.”

The first book I wrote as a solo author was about research methods and qualitative data. I was excited to dedicate it to three special academic mentors. Darlene Conover was a faculty member at Iowa State University who always encouraged me to be a “sky walker.”  Caroline Weiss was a professor at the University of Minnesota who acknowledged that I was a good writer and nurtured that creativity. Jerry Apps was my Department Chair at the University of Wisconsin who stood beside me during a challenging fork in my early academic career.

My co-authored text on evaluation methods was dedicated to my first cat, DJ–“she knew how to evaluate intuitively!” The second edition of that book was a professional focus on two colleagues who had supported and inspired evaluation efforts, Doug Sessoms and Betty Van der Smissen. The third edition spotlighted Marge Scanlin as an American Camp Association staff member who brought the value of research to the organization. We also dedicated the book to Jane H. Adams, a friend and formerly the consummate Executive Director of the California Park and Recreation Society.

My colleagues and I dedicated our co-authored book on Service Living to the four people we profiled in the book who inspired us “to live a life of service”: Frederick Law Olmstead, Jane Addams, Benton MacKaye, and Marjorie Stoneman Douglas.

My most recent introductory text was dedicated to my mom and dad. I indicated that they had “taught me about hard work so I could study and enjoy leisure.”

Other books I authored, co-authored, or co-edited also had dedications but these examples are my favorites and show to the world my thoughts and gratitude as I labored to share my ideas in these texts.

I met the founder of Rocky Mountain National Park’s Weed Warrior volunteer group 8 years ago. To be honest, I thought she was a little goofy–she was obsessed with weeds! (Not WEED, but weeds)!  The first time I interacted with her socially, she noticed weeds everywhere we went. I did not understand the compulsion.

Fast forward to today and I have become addicted to weed eradication. I am not passing a judgment on myself but making an observation. I am fixated on weeds. I see them everywhere. The good news is that I have committed to doing something about them.

I enjoy being a part of the RMNP Weed Warriors. The work is hard as we manually rid the park of weeds such as musk thistle, mullein, hounds tongue, and Russian thistle. At the same time, the opportunity has social overtones as we chat and work together. We always have a “treat” break in the mornings and we have a resident baker, Judy, who provides tasty baked goods.

I also have become a resident weed expert at my HOA. Every 2-3 weeks I patrol our grounds to remove invasives I see. As current research shows, native plans enhance fire mitigation by naturally creating defensible space through deep roots, high moisture content, and slower ignition. They also provide ecological benefits like soil stabilization and supporting local wildlife. To nurture those natives requires eradicating the invasive non-native species.

For three years I been monitoring adjacent public areas including the public space east of our condos as well as the Knoll-Willows Open Space that I can see from my upstairs windows. Since I walk by these areas every day, I do not want to dampen my enjoyment by obsessing about weeds.

I have learned things about being a weed nerd both in the park and in my neighborhood. First, it is possible to make a difference by removing the weeds. The change is limited for a year or two or three, but it will happen. Patience is a virtue.

Second, the feeling is satisfying when I turn around and see what we have accomplished with the slain weeds. Many things I do in my life do not have that immediate gratification.

Third, virtuous deeds done do not have to be overtly visible or acknowledged. Few people coming into the park recognize the efforts undertaken by the weed warriors. Yet, we can see the difference and can revel in the native grasses and wildflowers that now anchor the landscape.

Finally, slaying weeds is a marathon and not a sprint. We get rid of one patch at a time. I have a dream that someday all invasive plants will desist if we persevere. In the meantime, I cherish the opportunity to be outdoors, to work collegially, to take minute vacations to enjoy the beauty of the outdoors, and to contribute to a worthwhile endeavor.

I am a neat person. I do not mean “cool,” I mean tidy. I do not like to have things out of place in my home. I keep things visually orderly. On the other hand, I sometimes shove stuff in drawers and closets so I don’t have to look at them. “Out of sight, out of mind,” however, only has band aid effects for a desired minimalist existence.

When I moved to Colorado 11 years ago, I downsized my possessions as I thought I would move to a smaller space. As happened, I bought a condo with 50% more square footage than my home in North Caroliina. I had many closets for storage. I am not much of a shopper but over time, I have accumulated “stuff.” I want to get rid of belongings that I no longer use, or that will mean nothing to anyone coming after me.

I am thinking about what becomes of my things once my physical body transforms from this earth. I want to begin planning for that eventuality sooner rather than later. Therefore, I have been reading about de-cluttering. It is one thing to read about it and another to institute a plan.

The first step is to convince myself that I need to de-clutter sooner rather than later and then have a plan. I am gathering tips that will motivate me. Perhaps this is the year that implementation will begin.

Decluttering is a physical task focused on organizing and tidying up spaces. The literature suggests decluttering can have profound psychological and lifestyle impact that will contribute to overall well-being. I am always in search of additional well-being.

Clutter is a source of stress and anxiety and that is why I choose to “hide” the clutter in drawers and closets. Disorganized space is not relaxing to me. These days I cannot forget about the clutter that lies behind those doors and drawers.

A big challenge in de-cluttering is letting go of the past. I have scrapbooks from high school that I have not looked at for decades. Will I ever? Certainly, no one else I know cares. Letting go will require making choices confidently and quickly. I suspect that letting go of some of my past will free me to appreciate my present.

I used to tell my students that poor writing indicated poor thinking. Similarly, for me anyway, unorganized spaces lead me to an unorganized life. With less clutter, I might be less distracted and will concentrate better especially when working on these blogs.

Now I just need to quit writing about it and get started!

Rocky Mountain National Park was once home to wolves, grizzly bears, wolverines, and lynx. With the re-introduction of wolves in Colorado in 2023, a wolf or two has roamed, but not yet stayed, in the west side of the park.

The possibility of wolves in the park is an example of how wilding or rewilding might occur. Wilding is defined as a form of ecological restoration aimed at increasing biodiversity and restoring natural processes. The idea of rewilding aims to reduce human influence on ecosystems.

Although 95% of the park is considered wilderness area, we are more like an urban park since we are so close to major population areas to the East of us (i.e., Denver, Boulder, Fort Collins). Rewilding Rocky Mountain National Park is an aspirational idea. The possibility of wilding requires numerous considerations.

Bringing back keystone species (like wolves or beavers) can play a critical role in ecosystem health. A cool concept of rewilding is the possibility of allowing nature to manage itself without human intervention. Unfortunately, that approach is almost impossible given the way that people (and their relationship to wildlife) need to be educated within the park. Wildlife do not see human-imposed geographic boundaries. Rewilding, nevertheless, would enable the creation of wildlife corridors to link fragmented habitats, allowing animals to migrate and adapt.

I have appreciated coming to understand why rewilding is important. A wide variety of plant and animal life is essential for helping ecosystems flourish. Having keystone species like wolves help regulate the food web (e.g., wolves can be the managers of deer and elk populations). Unfortunately, the wolves introduced to Colorado should be the predators of wild animals and not the domestic ones.

I applaud the philosophy of (re)wilding even though it has many challenges. It invites a shift in perspective from controlling nature to partnering with it. It promotes the possibility of healing the natural world and people’s connection to it. It is a big idea worth considering.

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.