GOOD MORNING - SURVIVORS

Saturday, May 21, 2011. The World Ended.
Sunday morning. I survived and, apparently, you are a survivor, too!

Are you surprised to be here? I'm not. I live a simple life, one day at a time. Although I do wake up every morning surprised and pleased to be alive. Some days I am excited about all I get to do before the day ends. Some days I am content with very small accomplishments.

All this 'End of the World' foolishness has made me wonder why some old geezer from California thinks he can stir together science, religion and numbers (a theory that comes right out of the Middle Ages) and deduce a formula (as I read somewhere) of atonement x completeness x heaven, square = Judgement Day or Rapture or Finis. What kind of thrill did the old guy get from peddling fear? Was he looking for fifteen minutes of fame? He performed the same stunt in 1997 - with the same result.

Why were so many people caught in this web of fear? Had we forgotten, already, the disastrous results to individuals paying homage to Harold Camping's predecessors? Marshall Applewhite and 39 cult members, as a result of some science, religion, evolution formula, suicided in order to reach an alien aircraft they came to believe was following the Comet Hale-Bopp on March 25-26, 1997. William Miller's 1840 prediction the earth would be engulfed in fire on March 21, 1843 created unwarranted fear in large populations of people. David Karesh and Jim Jones created fear then provided isolated communities to 'protect' the men, women and children residing and imprisoned in them; resulting in death to all.

I have no issue with science, religion, numbers or history. Each element, to some degree, has enhanced my health, happiness and peace of mind. I am, however, inclined to doubt and question most ideas presented as 'fact' without adequate validation. As my Dad would say, "Just because it is written doesn't make it so." I like proof and a track record before I invest - being safe rather than sorry.

Although I may grumble about circumstances or health, it is often fear-based. I do appreciate that I am alive today and agree with John Garfield, the American actor who said, "I have had many troubles in my life, but the worst of them never came."

Perhaps this doomsday prediction has a positive side. We are reminded: A new beginning can begin at any time, so, why not replace unnecessary fear by adding laughter, appreciation, faith, awareness and gratitude to our life. Why not enjoy each day to its fullest.

If you survived May 21, 2011, what are you going to do with the rest of your life? I'd like to know....

SHALL WE DANCE

Do you get up and dance whenever the music invites you. Try it - Just for the fun of it. No need to be Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers; pretend. Swing and sway to a dreamy old song or Jitterbug to 'Tuxedo Junction.' Sweep about the room to a waltz - like the closing dance of 'Beauty and the Beast.' It feels great - and - studies have shown that dancing can be good for you physically, mentally and spiritually.

First, it seems we have better blood flow through our body and brain if we get up and move. A treadmill can do the job but moving to a bit of Salsa on the porch deck can, so I have read, influence brainwaves with more positive thoughts and energy. I can use a bit of that. So, just keep the music playing....it can cheer you up and keep you physically healthy, too.

Second, because my radio station plays all kinds of music throughout the day, I find myself keeping the beat as I vacuum or iron or brush the cat. While writing, I use music to think up and smooth out stories to tell them in a positive or interesting way. For serious stuff I listen to Mozart; for articles, letters and Blogs, I am inclined to listen to Kenny G, Celine Dion or popular classics. If the music has a beat - it is danceable! When my story is in trouble, I get up and dance around the office. Like magic, problem solved.

I am known to get a bit flamboyant moving in time to 'Whipped Cream' or 'Yellow Bird' especially when I'm home alone. I rumba, jitterbug and waltz around the house. I surprised (perhaps stunned is a better description) the heat-pump installer guy who walked in on my dancing one day. He jumped back from the doorway and hid. I kept right on dancing. I'm sure he thought I was a crazy woman having a fit. It was funny. Seriously, I have heard dancing, with a partner or without, is good exercise for a person's heart, muscles and thinking, so I'm going to keep on dancing as often as I can.

Being able to move to music on stage, on a dance floor or in the kitchen lowers cholesterol and blood sugar levels. (I read that in an AARP magazine so it must be true.) Dancing can build immunity and stave off dementia. Since both of those unseen problems are unwanted, a dancer can feel s/he is doing the responsible thing for maintaining mental health.

We, you and I, can start a chain reaction by encouraging others, of all ages, to dance and be healthy. We will be contributing to a longer life as well as the physical, mental and spiritual welfare for our fellow man and woman. Just think of it, if we get everyone up and dancing, we (I) won't feel so foolish dancing alone..... If you need more encouragement, just Google 'Dance for Health' or http://www.aarp.org/danceforhealth.

So, my friends, turn up the music and dance, Dance, DANCE whenever the mood takes you. Which songs get you up and moving? What do you think of dancing your way to health? Tell me ... I'd like to know...

A CHEROKEE CHIEF

I lost a friend this week. While he wasn't a close friend, as a confidant or spouse might be, he was my dear friend. He was someone I could count on for home repair advice or an extra pair of hands - or to arrive armed with a garden hoe and pistol when I found a seven-foot snake sun-bathing on my front porch (which actually happened!).

~For many years my husband and our friend worked together to maintain the community water system. He drove a Jeep at that time, with the words Cherokee Chief emblazoned on the side (because it was the style of the vehicle). So, when I'd see it coming down our road, I'd call out to my husband, "The Cherokee Chief is here." I knew he had served in the Air Force during Korea and Vietnam - and that he had been a Vietnam POW. Occasionally he and his wife spoke of places they had lived in the world, but never of his military experience - at least, not when I was present.

~One day my husband told me I might be hurting our friend's feelings by shouting out, "Here comes the Cherokee Chief" because he was quiet and reserved about being Indian. Well, I had no idea he was Indian and I certainly wouldn't say or do anything to hurt this nice man's feelings, so I apologized. With a restrained little grin, he said he didn't mind at all because he was part Cherokee. He said his grandmother, a full-blooded Cherokee, had survived the Trail of Tears in which so many of her family and tribe had died. I said I wanted to hear more about her.

~Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed to talk more often about his heritage with friends and neighbors although we never did have that nice chat about his grandmother as he had promised. In time, one of our neighbors regularly referred to him as 'the Indian' while another called him "Chief Running Water" because of his involvement with the town's water system. He seemed to enjoy both titles.

~Then one day, his Cherokee Chief vehicle being long gone, he drove up in a new truck. As we stood and talked, I noticed a sticker in the window, "Member of the Cherokee Nation.' "Yep," he said, "my son thought it was time I had a talk with those folks."

My friend was proud to be a member of the Cherokee Nation. I am proud he was my friend. I will miss my Cherokee Chief.

HOLDING HANDS WITH CHRISTY

What a relief it is to see the sun shining this morning after a week of Weather Bureau warnings, downpouring rain, the road between my house and the highway flooded and closed, and tornado warnings that made me take cover more than once. Let me tell you about a tornado in my closet....
~Now I don't remember which evening it was when the Weather Bureau set off alarms on every media. Tornado sightings with touch-downs were heading right for my house! I think it was the fourth time in a week that I had prepared to dive into the hall closet.
~I closed off all the windows with curtains or blinds, closed all the doors, turned off all the lights and removed the vacuum cleaners from the closet before I checked my emergency equipment: battery and windup flashlights, radio, water, inhaler, purse with cash, credit cards, keys and cell phone. Don't forget shoes (I always forget shoes).
~The warnings were coming faster, closer, louder and more urgent - when the phone rang. It was Christy. I told her what was happening and she offered to get off the phone if I would feel safer closed in the closet, but I said I would rather she kept talking - and so she did. I have no idea what she was telling me; something funny, something serious, something interesting...who knows... I don't remember.
~What I do know is that the tornado split in two, part going to the north of my house, part to the south. We got wind and hail and rain. I also got Christy, holding my hand, so to speak, through the storm - and gratitude when the All-Clear sounded!
~I hope the sun is shining at your house! And that you have a comforting hand to hold during a storm.

I MET A WWII HERO THIS WEEK

Actually, I met the same hero twice in one week! Let me explain:

~ I was raised during the WWII era. My brothers served as civilians and in the military. My family enjoys hearing their stories and stories of people who also served - although they are often reluctant to tell them.

~ One major factor in encouraging our veterans to tell their lifetime experiences must be credited to Tom Brokaw who wrote The Greatest Generation (1998). Other encouragements, however belated, were the establishment of the WWII Memorial in Washington DC and the D-Day Memorial in Bedford, Virginia. Each week, The Baxter Bulletin, my Arkansas newspaper, publishes a feature article telling the experiences of a local resident and WWII veteran.

On Monday, April 18, 2011, Bill Cantwell was the featured WWII veteran who served in Germany. He was at the Battle of the Bulge, was captured and was a prisoner of war. I was especially interested in his story because one of my brothers also served at the Battle of the Bulge - with a different, nontheless dramatic experience.... Cantwell, as his story is told, got separated from his unit and was captured and held as POW for approximately six months before the war in Europe came to its close. He related his military experiences without drama or fanfare - typical of most veterans' stories I have read.

~ On Wednesday, April 20th, I was invited to lunch at Pebble Creek Country Club where I chatted with people to my left and to my right, finally discovering I had been chatting with Bill Cantwell, the very same WWII veteran whose story I had read in the Monday edition of the Baxter Bulletin. I was surprised and honored to meet this endearing elderly gentleman and gentle hero.

~ Certainly I am a fan of The Greatest Generation becuase my family, my brothers in particular, were and are important members of that elite group-that generation that grew up in the United States during the Great Depression then served during World War II before returning home to build America into a superpower. Yes, they did. And most, as citizens or veterans, rarely mention their war experiences. Their stories are long overdue!

~If you are a member of the Greatest Generation and experienced the Great Depression, whether serving as civilian or in the military, what is your story? I want to know....

THE YEAR OF THE CICADA

Here they come again - those big, noisy bugs that infiltrate the Ozarks and overwhelm our senses. Their last visit was in 1998 when they invaded Missouri and Arkansas by the millions - and they will return this year, according to the University of Missouri. ~ Be on the lookout for cicada nymphs. Most are golden brown with six prominent legs, gossamer gold wings and big red eyes. Early arrivals have been spotted. On April 13th Magicacada.com on Facebook announced, "It's On. The first brood XIX Magicada cicada sightings." ~ Cicadas do not bite or sting in the true sense. They are just a nuisance with a mere six to eight weeks to perform difficult tasks to perpetuate their species. It's not all "live, laugh and love" for this insect. While the male cicadas sing and females lay eggs, they can cause damage to trees: oak, hickory, dogwood, apple, peach, elm, walnut and sycamore - but not conifer. Their task fulfilled, both the male and female expire while the eggs hatch and resulting nymphs fall to the ground where they will burrow deep to the roots of the trees - there to stay for 13 years. ~ Once cicadas emerge from their underground home, they climb their host tree and shed their exoskeleton. Renewed and refreshed, they live 'free' for a few weeks. Males begin singing almost immediately. Their song is a mating call - loud and incessant. As the heat of day rises, so does the volume of their song. Females like the singing enough to join the males, however briefly, and begin laying rows upon rows of tiny eggs before their love affair comes to its tragic end. ~ In Greek myth, Tithonus turns into a cicada after being granted immortality by Zeus. In Japan, the song of the cicada is used in film and television to represent summer, to carry connotations of re-birth and reincarnation, and the cicada is frequently the subject of haiku. In China the phrase 'to shed off the golden cicada skin' is the poetic name for the tactic of deception to escape danger. In Mexico the mariachi song "The Cicada" romanticizes the insect as a creature that sings until it dies. ~ At least some cultures have found a bright and positive side to these noisy intruders. Perhaps we Ozark-Americans can tolerate the cicada's pitiful plight for a few weeks knowing we won't see or hear them again for thirteen years. Or, we could start a new fashion trend of wearing ear-muffs during cicada season. Art crafters and culinary artists may want to add their creative expertise. Let me know how you plan to welcome the cicada this year....

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

My four older brothers and one younger sister could readily recall childhood events as full-color motion picture shows. My own recollections are more like Brownie box camera snapshots - with some extensive blank spaces of time between them. Consequently, I thought my brothers were making up whoppers of stories or, at least, exaggerating as siblings often do.

~ In my adult years, long forgotten snapshot memories do occasionally surface, rather like an image coming into view as it developed in the darkroom. It would simply appear before me and shout "Surprise!"

~ One surprise recollection was related to my second or, probably, third birthday. On that day my Aunt Emma came to visit. I did not like her. She was big and fat and loud and bossy. She seemed to think she was more important than anyone else. She was so awful she made my mother cry! I figured out her meanness at an early age and stayed as far away from her as I could.

~ On this particular day, however, I was plunked into the high chair that usually stood in a corner of our dining room. Perhaps Aunt Emma needed my chair since all the family was gathered at the big round table as we did every evening for dinner. With everyone else seated, my mother would carry in hot dishes of food to serve her large brood, but on this day Mother carried in a huge, empty glass bowl which she set on the high chair tray in front of me. Aunt Emma, with great ceremony, began to open white paper bakery bags and slowly pour beautiful cookies into the empty glass bowl. She must have repeated the process with three or four bags until the bowl was filled to the top with cookies - my most favorite things in the world.

~ I was surely surprised and overwhelmed. I have always loved cookies - especially those big buttery ones that come from a really good bakery. Who could ask for a better birthday gift?

~ That cookie birthday is the only time I remember Aunt Emma involved in anything that brought pleasure to someone else. It was important to my mother that I always treat her with respect (and I did). Even remembering this birthday, however, I never did like Aunt Emma.

~ The simple joy of this childhood memory is a single snapshot of a frail, little girl, her arms wrapped around a giant glass bowl filled with cookies. It was Paradise - and I'm not exaggerating.

~ April 9, 2011. I won the EMERY AWARD for my story "Childhood Memories." Each month, members of TwinLakesWriters are invited to write a brief piece on an assigned topic which they then read for attendees who vote for their favorite presentation. The winning author is presented with the Emery Award - a hand-made wooden box containing a Red Canoe. I liken it to the Stanley Cup for hockey in that it travels with the winner until the next playoff. In this TwinLakesWriters organization, the Red Canoe floats on, each month, to the next writer and winner of the Emery Award. ~ Also see: http://thatchermagazine.blogspot.com/ & http://www.twinlakeswriters.org/Nancy Nancy yTe ~