Category Archives: Health and Long Life

The bunny at my house lives free and uncaged

Cottontail on Monument Trail, September 2012
Cottontail on Monument Trail, September 2012

The bunny at my house lives free and uncaged, hippity hopping at will over an acre or more of desert terrain.  He is a common cottontail – born in the wild in one of the warrens underneath the juniper cedars in my front yard. I see him every morning in the half-light before dawn and every evening at dusk as he scavenges in the flat sandy areas of my small adobe house front, or sniffing his way around the carried stones of the meditation maze in back. He nibbles with delight at the occasional tossed apple core, yet never turns up his nose at the winter starved rabbit brush, scanty saltbrush, or shadscale.

Today, in the fresh scouring of snow, he ventured completely up on the flagstone porch, whiffling in the cold powder.  What did he find there? Some unknown nutrient blown in with the snow?

Some evenings, the bunny arrives while I am playing the piano and he pauses, twitches his ears and looks straight at me through the window glass.  I fancy he likes the vibrations stroking his ears. Frequently, the rabbit is a complete distraction to students sitting at my dining room table for tutoring. While a rabbit might lend to research and discussion of mammals, rodents, or the differences between cottontails and jackrabbits; one rabbit does not facilitate a math lesson for nine-year-olds.

There are actually three that I know of. Occasionally, I see two of them sparring over food or territory in the small clearing. One time a third, and smaller, bunny huddled demurely in a clump of ricegrass, intently observing the contenders.

As dusk fell last week, a nine-year-old piano student looked up sharply from the keyboard, “There’s a rabbit!” she exclaimed.

I ponder relationships
I ponder relationships

“Yes, that’s my bunny.”

“Can you hold him and pet him?”

“No but I see him every morning and night and sometimes he stops to listen to me play the piano.”

“Can you put him in a cage and bring him inside?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“To keep him warm.  It is cold out there.”

“He has a fur coat and long underground tunnels were he keeps warm.  He wants to be out right now.”

When I ponder the bunny in my front yard, some questions cross my mind:

Why would I want to take natural responsibility from the rabbit and smother it with artificial care and provision?

Why do I feel like something or someone belongs to me only if I can control them?

When I cannot control significant people, why do I feel they are no longer mine?

Why is it we want to catch and tame?

Can we not all live free and independent?

In truth, I see this bunny more often than I ever saw bunnies kept in a hutch.  This bunny chooses to hop into my field of vision, forage on my doorstep.  Bunnies in a cage are often forgotten but for chore time.

Dreams of a white Christmas do come true

Merry Christmas!  Here in the high desert of Colorado – and in many other parts of Colorado – we are enjoying a white Christmas.

These boots were made for hiking; and that's just what they'll do
These boots were made for hiking; and that’s just what they’ll do
A very Merry Christmas from my house to yours
A very Merry Christmas from my house to yours
Look to the left; Mount Garfield
Look to the left; Mount Garfield
Look to the right; Grand Mesa
Look to the right; Grand Mesa

DSCN4579garfieldmesaDSCN4577trailHaving a new pair of hiking boots gives freedom and scope for the imagination about as well as would a new set of tires (I have one out of four); but, my boots can take me places the Subaru can’t go.  Maybe these boots will start walking and walk all over the world.

 

 

 

Would you like your closure before or after death?

ProbingI have heard psychologists recommend it as important to get closure before the death of  a significant other; to confront the father who abandoned, the mother who neglected or the parent who exacted too violent a punishment, however just. I know healthy adults who had these conversations with aging parents with happy result. Sin was acknowledged, forgiveness was offered and accepted – sometimes even begged.

When death comes unexpectedly soon and we are left with question after question and no closure; what then?

Many years ago, when I was a fresh divorcée; raw from every attempt to keep a husband who wanted freedom, I heard a panel of young widows on Focus on the Family. They were discussing with Dr. Dobson the pain of their loss.  One said the most painful time was when she saw a man checking out at the store.  From behind, he looked like her husband.  She resisted the urge to run throw her arms about him and was devastated when he turned and the illusion was broken.

I knew something of that experience, and longed to give my response. Though the finality of divorce is a bit stickier than the finality of death; in a small town, the chances of actually meeting my estranged husband at the store were real. So too, the possibility of seeing him with another woman. Restraint was essential, denial useless.

Over time, I came to see that denial might have been faced with healthy result much earlier in the relationship. I endeavored to write a novel about it-to help others with my experience. That book and two others remain works in progress.

TTTD Ebook promoEnter psychologist turned author Bonnie Grove whose book “Talking to the Dead,” deals with similar issues of love and loss, appeasement and denial – and closure.  Only this is closure with the already dead.

What do you think?  What would you want? Is it better to unmask denial or betrayal and find closure with the living; or to discover, after death, those things you never wanted to know?

 

Happy Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving with Andrea and Philip, by Andrea 2012

Thanksgiving.  It’s hard holiday to beat for generosity and the mix of food, family, and fellowship.

There are some wise folks who choose Thanksgiving as their favorite holiday; and why not? An attitude of gratitude boosts everything about life to a higher level, positive and productive.

Oh, I know; particularly if you are a woman, you have spent the last week baking, planning, running to the grocery store – but, isn’t it wonderful to feel the wind in your face, to rise to the occasion – even to be thankful that you do not have to cook like this every day of the year?

As a child, I stood by and tried to help with the Thanksgiving Eve grinding of cranberries and stuffing of the turkey as promising aromas filled the kitchen. I learned how it must be done, by watching.  As a too young bride exiled to Germany, I was determined to keep up the tradition, though I bloodied my knuckled trying to grind cranberries on a cheese grater and had to remove all the racks in the apartment size oven just to roast a pint sized turkey in a two quart lasagna dish.

Later, I stood at a kitchen sink in Texas, flanked by my two younger children as we gathered and mixed all the necessary side dishes for meals shared with friends.  I not only enjoyed those years, I lived to write about them.

Over the years, we have feasted on small turkeys, large turkeys, smoked turkeys, bonus turkeys, food basket turkeys; turkeys roasted in a conventional oven, wood stove oven, motel oven, and even in a cast iron dutch oven over a campfire.

Last year Andrea was with me for Thanksgiving break.  Together we knocked out the pumpkin pies and then toted them to Grandma’s house and Kevin’s house for the feast.

For the past few years, I have been the spare tire, the single who brings a side-dish and  is welcome at the table anyway. My house is small and my work schedule changeable, so I greatly appreciate the hospitality. I will never forget the Thanksgiving in 2010 when I worked the register at Safeway until late afternoon. Throwing on my coat and rushing out the door to catch the bus, I was hailed in the parking lot by my cousin who tucked me into the jeep with his mother and took me home for a feast.

This year, the Thanksgiving spirit has been pervasive.  Facebook is littered daily with the confetti of thankfulness. Shoppers and store clerks alike seem to have entered into the spirit of the season.  Yesterday the bank teller transacted my deposit with a look of happy anticipation, “Are you cooking?”  she asked.  “Not this year.  Going home to Mama’s, “  I replied.  “And you?” “Yes, for twelve people,” she confided with delight. “I’ve got it all planned.  Happy Thanksgiving!”

Blessings on your day.  I’ve gotta run. I am expected across town with my sweet potato casserole.

Foul Weather Friends

Cherry Odelberg, photo credit, Kevin Decker 2010

Today I am contemplating foul weather friends. As might be assumed, foul weather friends are the opposite of fair weather friends.  Fair weather friends are those who love to be around you when all is going well, when everything is fun and good times.  Fair weather friends slink away, run away or hide when life hands you things difficult to bear.

Foul weather friends are the ones who are there for you when things go wrong; relationships sour; the refrigerator is empty. But, are the foul weather friends here for me in the good times?  Do they know how to enjoy life with me, or only how to help?  Do I know how to accept their friendship in good times  or only how to use my need as a magnet for their attention?

I have a few of these foul weather friends.  I know I can go to them when I am desperate and they will shelter me with a shoulder to cry on, they will offer lunch, a listening ear or even a room until I get back on my feet emotionally or financially. They seem to have it all together and they never seem to need me to reciprocate.

But I treat them the same way I treat God. I can’t thank them enough. In fact, it is a little embarrassing how much they have helped me over the years.  I am ashamed I had to ask for help. I don’t want to be a bother, so I try and give them a reprieve from my presence when times are good.  I try to stand on my own two feet until I slip up or something goes wrong again.

What I really want are all-weather friends with a life-time warranty. Is there such a thing?Do I have the resources to afford them?  Am I balanced enough to both give and receive? Do I even know how to be free of every feeling of obligation and debt except the debt of love?

Survive or Thrive? Putting my house in order

Cherry Odelberg, November 2011

The fall weather is beautiful.  It makes me want to set my house in order, get rid of the chaff of a lifetime, prepare for a cozy and uncluttered winter. At the approach of 2012, I made it my goal to live the year as though it was all I had been given, a gift of 365 days to thrive or survive.  I have survived, stabilized, reached a rhythm of contentment where I love my life and am mostly free of worry.  Yet, in the remaining two months, I want to thrive.  There are still things to do, places to go, people to see; even as I tuck everything in for the winter. I want to finish strong. Though it is not baseball season, I would love to knock one out of the park before the year’s end. A home run, a victorious finish, that’s what I want. How about you?  Are you exhausted by the time of year or exhilarated by the time of year? I want to align with Caleb:

Mt Garfield from Holy Cross

Give me this mountain!

‘Tho my sight is gone my vision has not dimmed.

Morrow Lake Trail

Give me this mountain,

And renew my strength to mount on eagles wings.

For I have seen you miracles and I believe your promises,

I have run the race, and in your name I now obtain the prize!

Give me this mountain,

One more thing before I die,

Hermits Rest, Morrow Lake

One more chance to prove your promises,

One more war to wage for right,

One more race to run with you right there by my side.

There’s been fire by night and clouds by day,

Manna eaten along the way,

Dry land where the sea had been,

And water from a rock to meet my need.

Morrow Dam Lake

Give me this mountain!

Tho a valley lies beside it,

And Jordan River bound s the other side.

Give me this mountain!

Let me conquer while the young men stand in awe.

I have lived to see this moment and from the highest peak I’ll cry,

Independence Monument, late summer inversion, 2012

“Give me this mountain!

And in peace;

Let me die!”

Cherry Odelberg 1995  (the irony of this date is not lost on me, I was 40 years old when I wrote these lyrics and first recorded the accompaniment)

Discovering a mica mine

Adobe Abode

When I first moved to my little adobe abode on the fringes of town, I gave my cousin directions as to how to get here for lunch. Trouble was, I couldn’t remember if the left turn was at D or D 1/2 Road. I had confidence in my cousin’s ability to find me from my description because she grew up locally. Turns out it didn’t really matter because the road sign was missing.  After one false turn, she arrived in my driveway, apologizing for a few minutes of tardiness. “Why didn’t you just say you were up the road to the Mica Mine?” she asked.

“Mica Mine?” I questioned blankly.

For reasons that are not a part of this story, every level of my social life; home, school, and work; from junior high through young adulthood was cloistered and stunted. Not so my cousin’s.  She had boyfriends, school leadership roles, summer jobs and an effervescent and indomitable spirit.

My goal for 2012 is to live as though I have only been given one year-to seize the day, so to speak.  Part of that means redeeming things that were lost or missed in childhood and the intervening years.

I pricked up my ears when a co-worker arrived at the office the other day, saying she had taken an early morning walk at the Mica Mine.

Miniature balanced rock

“What makes it so special?”  I asked.

“It’s just beautiful,” was her reply.

At the next opportunity, I decided to explore.  In so doing, I discovered a place that I should have been familiar with in my youth, but somehow missed; a place so beautiful it belongs on my local bucket list, but I was ignorant. Right there, less than 10 miles up the road from my house, was a mini red

Greenery and flowers

rock canyon complete with trickling stream, amazing rock formations, wild-flowers and glittering rocks.

Was it worth driving and spending a morning to hike?  Take a look at the pictures and then tell me what you think.

Stream exists only after rain

There is even a mini window or arch
A sparkling path
and a quarry

 

rock formation

Thoughts on over-responsibility

There is such a thing as over-responsibility.  I am notoriously over-responsible and it has cost me every relationship I ever lost. It comes as a result of over-compensating for those who are irresponsible, who alter our lives for the worse, or wreck our lives and theirs by being irresponsible.  Sure, when I took up the slack, it made the other person obviously, glaringly in the wrong for being irresponsible; but it left me alone, bereft of my relationships and love, looking righteous and self-righteous; and responsible. Oh, so commendably responsible! Is that what life is all about?

First of all, let me say that over-responsibility is not something you pick up casually by walking into a bar-or even walking into someplace you are supposed to be.  Over-responsibility is a genetic trait and it is also behaviorally conditioned. Not only do I have a genetic predisposition for over responsibility, the people who gave me the genes also polished the grain with legalism and endless praiseworthy expectations.  While I was never good enough, I also knew I was better than everyone else. The only course of action was to keep moving ever forward toward perfection. Just as you can never love too much, you can never be too responsible.

It happens inevitably when I work for others.  There comes a time I find myself saying, “Ooops, pardon me for becoming so invested in your vision that I felt a sense of ownership and began to implement my own great ideas and methods.” I tend to forget that while people recruit you to further their dreams and goals,they also hire you to do it their way, not to edit or improve on their vision.

My counselor once said I needed to forget about being right.  “Quit concentrating on doing the right thing and being right, and do what you want and need.”  That seems so counterintuitive; so irresponsible, so decadent, so selfish. So selfish to do what the God of the universe has called you to do; to quit sacrificing yourself to make up the deficiencies in the responsibilities of others?  Wait a minute. Making up the deficiencies in the responsibilities of others; is that self-sacrifice or meddling and controlling?

Over responsibility keeps me from asking for help. It looks, it appears, so selfish to be irresponsible to the mores of society; to let anyone else shoulder part of my load, to ask for help in something so ridiculous when I can just do the work myself and muscle through. I know the rules; you make your bed, you lie in it. After all, I got myself into this mess, I am responsible for getting myself out. Besides, “if you want something done right, you need to do it yourself.”

I used to cite my greatest strength as, “getting other people where they need to go and having a knack for figuring out just where it is.” Not so anymore. The characters I write in my novels resemble me. I write what I know.  Happily, re-reading and editing a manuscript is often a timely reminder and has the same effect as reading a self-help book.

How about you?  Are you overly responsible?

Off the beaten path

A few days ago, I chose to walk a local private trail counterclockwise and in doing so, spied a little used foot path that branched off toward the east, but obviously connected with the well worn and maintained bicycle trail a few acres over. I meandered through a couple of dry creeks and around huge fallen boulders and abruptly found myself making an ascent. It was a narrow foot path with not much margin for error or balance.  To my right, a sheer drop off of 15 or 20 feet to the gully; on my left an acute and slippery slope to where the arroyo once again appeared. I realized I must be walking up an arch, a natural bridge over the wash, but the bridge was made of bentonite and random sized rocks. For one heart-stopping moment, I realized I could, in a matter of seconds, meet my doom; either by a fall and injury in an unfrequented area, or in a pile of rubble as the clay gave way.  It never occurred to me to turn around (I might have lost my balance) and soon I was on the other side, marveling at the whimsy of erosion. This clay arch, where doubtless a roiling flash flood tumbled during a downpour three days ago,  is only 100 yards or so downstream from where the much travelled bike path crosses the dry creek bed.  In the opposite direction, thirty yards up this same gulch is the territory of a collared lizard who brightened my day with his breathtaking brilliance a few months ago.Who would have thought?

Life is like that. You can be in a familiar place, only a few hundred paces from where you caught a glimpse of success and suddenly find yourself precariously perched on a bridge made of clay.

When I stepped off the beaten path, I could see the juncture with a familiar and well-traveled bike trail in the distance
As I rounded the boulder near the center of this picture, I found myself abruptly on a clay bridge
This sheer dirt wall fell away on my right, while steep slippery slope was on my left. I was on a narrow ridge.
I realized I was on a clay and loose rock arch
A gulch where waters of flash flood had roiled a few days before
Looking down (dry) stream from where the gulch crosses the bike trail
Looking upstream
…where I spotted my first collared lizard in the spring

It’s not that getting off the beaten path is wrong.  I highly recommend it.  But, it can be pleasantly surprising or even momentarily terrifying.

 

 

 

 

Happiness and Choice

“Are you happy, Mom?” asked my grown son.  He is the husband of one and father of four.  Sometimes he has to look out for me because I am the wife of no one, though I have been twice married and am the mother of three.

Am I happy?  What kind of question is that? Joy pretty much escapes me when temperatures rise above 80 degrees.  This year in the high desert, we experienced a scorching spring and summer. Through the first week of July there was no rain. Where I now live, there is no cooling beach to walk along. To beat the energy sapping heat for a spiritually refreshing walk requires rising before the sun, so I am grumpy.

Walks are still inspiring before 7:00 A.M.

Grumpy because I love the sunshine, but can’t take the heat.  Grumpy because I have to amend my schedule to walk alongside Nature.  Am I unhappy with Nature?  I love Nature! Often, out walking in Nature is where I feel most loved in return. Frequently, that is where the Creator speaks to me.  So in the heat, is the voice of God silenced?

“Are you happy, Mom?” Happiness is largely a product of choice. Is he asking me if I feel I have made the right choices in life? Or is he nudging me, reminding me to choose to be happy?