New Year's Confusion

January 1st, 2011 by Shelley Widhalm

I love getting a new daily planner every January with clean, unmarked pages. I put in my friendsí and familyís birthdays and check what day mine falls on. Until the 1st, I get impatient with my previous yearís marked-up planner wanting my new blank slate.

But this blank slate does not work so well with how I handle New Yearís resolutions.

Every year, I want to lose 10 pounds and exercise more. I plan to start jogging, to eat less and to eat healthier. But I quit my resolution sometime in January, figuring Iíll start in the summer, when the days are longer and seem to create more time for exercise with hot days to curb appetite.

What has happened with my repeat resolution is that Iím actually starting to take it seriously, turning it into more of a goal. Slowly, and I mean very slowly, I have tapered off my consumption of sweets, added in more healthy foods, including an apple or fruit for a snack, and stopped eating at the just-before-feeling-full point.

I guess what has happened to me is Iíve had a New Decade resolution for the 2000s.

Now itís 2011 and another decade, but I canít figure out my resolution for this year or the next 10. I certainly have goals, like publishing one of my novels, going to church every single Sunday, reading the Bible from cover to cover and painting enough paintings for an art show.

But I donít know what kind of resolution to have that would work for 2011, changing my behavior in the span of 12 months. Should I lose 10 pounds on top of the five I have lost? Should I run a mile a day? Should I do volunteer work, something I keep meaning to do?

I guess, though itís Jan. 1, Iíll have to keep thinking on that ñ so much for starting off the year with a bang.

Yes, I do not have a New Yearís resolution except to figure out one to have by the end of the month. All I can say is better late than never.

Holiday Feasts

December 22nd, 2010 by Cindy Strandvold

Confession time. Last month I missed my turn on the blog. I was supposed to post the Monday before Thanksgiving, but I guess I was having a little too much fun with my son being home from college to remember things like blogs.

Youíd have thought Flash could have stepped in and helped me out, but heís still off in a snit somewhere because Iím writing about a boy named Zach instead of him right now.

Anyway, I was not baking pies and basting turkeys. I was packing my long underwear, hiking boots and polypropylene socks; preparing to drive eight hours to Moab, Utah. For four or five days every year we celebrate Thanksgiving by hiking in Arches National Park and the surrounding area.

We climb to the top of slickrock buttes that look impossible to scale, wade through freezing water in slot canyons, and argue over which wash will take us where we want to go. We stay in dumpy motels and eat our Thanksgiving dinner at Dennyís.

Thatís because we donít need a traditional Thanksgiving feast to make our holiday complete. We feast on togetherness, Godís amazing creation, and adventure. Many people think weíre a little crazy, but we wouldnít trade our annual Moab trips for all the turkey and dressing in the world.

Now itís the Monday before Christmas and Iím packing again. The last two years we left for a vacation on Christmas Day and skipped Christmas dinner, too. This year is a little more traditional. Weíre going to spend three days with extended family. I think weíre eating ham.

A Christmas Experience

December 20th, 2010 by Helen Colella

*Last night I attended a Winter Solstice Celebration. It was a delightful gathering. We dined, wined and shared a warmth and willingness to embrace the moment and the meaning of light in our lives. †I left with an awareness of camaraderie and a peaceful heart.

*This morning I awoke to a sorrowful email from a friend. He wrote:

Lighting the tree? Christmastide?

Not for me.

Long gone, the brother. So weepy, the friends.

*My heart was saddened by his heartfelt outpouring. Even though Iím aware of the negative aspects this time of year possesses for many people, I was shocked and surprised to hear my friendís disclosure. I never knew. Of course I sent an email in response. I wrote:

The light of the season is within heart.

Thatís what people see, hear and feel from you.

The tree of life blossoms.

Dry your tears, friend.

Your light shines!

Blessings and Merry Christmas.

*Yes this is the season of joy, giving, love and peace and I do appreciate its being and itís true meaning. And in the words of† Tiny Tim Cratchit from Dickens Christmas Carol, ìGOD BLESS US, EVERY ONE!î

Cancer Free: A Miracle

December 3rd, 2010 by Phyllis Kennemer

Claudia is cancer free! When the doctor talked to the family after the surgery, he told us that he was pretty sure all of the cancer was contained in the ovaries he removed, but he took numerous biopsies to have checked to be sure. He actually took a total of 18 biopsies. The results came back today. Not only were these all negative ñ the mass that was removed was also negative. It was a rare type of tumor which had grown to a size larger than a grapefruit and had exhibited some characteristics similar to those of cancer. But the results are complete. No cancer. No chemo.

I also think personally that we have just seen the effects of the power of prayer. We donít know how many people offered up prayers, but a teacher at the school where Claudia had been secretary for the past ten years or so told Denae that 20 school staff members managed to find coverage for their classes and duties and gathered to pray together at 2:00 on Tuesday ñ the time the surgery was scheduled to begin.

Claudia was having a difficult recovery the past couple of days ñ possibly because of the threat of chemo hanging over her. When the doctor told her the results, she got out of bed and went home. ìI donít have cancer. I donít need to be in hospital.î She did have surgery and a large incision, so she will need rest and recovery, but the news obviously gave her strength.

Thanks to all of you for your prayers and your concern.

Christmas Should Be Christmas

December 1st, 2010 by Shelley Widhalm

My mom and I were in the mall the other day, running a couple of errands. She commented on the bag I had placed on the table filled with my three small purchases from a major retailer.

She didnít like the color. It was bright green with the companyís logo and white snowflakes and three little houses with evergreens next to them.

It should be red or a dark green, my mom said.

ìWeíve whitewashed Christmas,î my mom said.

Nobody can say, ìMerry Christmasî anymore. It has to be happy holidays.

So what happened? Are we so politically correct and all inclusive that we exclude those who believe that Christmas should remain Christmas. Itís a day on the calendar, inked in as Christmas Day. It carries religious meaning. It also has been commercialized into a gift-buying, spend-lots-of-money holiday.

A few years ago, my hometown decided to discontinue putting up colored Christmas lights in favor of white or blue holiday lights. I lived out of state then, but my mother said a controversy arose over those of another religion feeling excluded by the choice of color. The group claimed the colored lights signified a Christian holiday.

If you take away someone elseís rights, it slippery slopes into a loss of other rights. I wonder when I wonít be able to fly the red, white and blue when itís the colors of my nation, but not of all nations.

It makes me sad ñ no matter what my religion is ñ to not be able to yell Merry Christmas out my window. I love red and green. Bright green is okay, but itís a color for springtime. Itís not a natural color you see during the winter when the trees are barren and the days shorten.

Itís Christmas Day that adds excitement to the otherwise dull month of December.

If You Have No Proof, Then Let It Be True

November 26th, 2010 by Fay Ulanoff

Talking to a child is a curious thing

You look into their eyes and there is a trust and a faith that is unspoken

When you speak of Santa Claus their eyes light up

The tooth fairy is brought to mind because of a boy with a space in his mouth where a tooth had lived for the last eight years,

†You ponder

There is hope and awe for any future riches that will come to them by simply wrapping up their white treasure in tissue and placing it beneath their pillow

Then, the next morning it turns into solid cash

When a child tells me that his mother is the tooth fairy I have to question it

Because the tooth fairy exists for anyone who still believes in her

But when a child insists that his mother is the tooth fairy, because she says so

†I tell them, how, when I little, a long time ago, I wrapped up my own tooth, in a couple of toilet paper sheets. Then I stuffed it beneath my pillow until the next morning when it changed into a dime

It was magic

After saying that I could see a smile and a bit of doubt coupled with hope, pop into his eyes

Since this small vulnerable child, has no proof and if they have never caught anyone exchanging their tooth for money, then why not let it be true

Cancer Catches Us Unaware

November 24th, 2010 by Phyllis Kennemer

Iím looking out my windows at the gorgeous orange hues reflecting off the mountains as the sun rises and another day dawns. My scattered thoughts come together into one huge unanswerable question. ìHow can this be?î The title of a YA book I read years ago keeps appearing in my mind. Life. Is. Not. Fair.

My sister-in-law, Claudia, Dennisís wife, has been diagnosed with Stage III Ovarian Cancer. She is undergoing biopsy surgery now ñ as I am writing this. The ìgood newsî will be if the cancer is contained in the ovaries and can be surgically removed. This would, of course, be followed with months of chemo and radiation. The ìbad newsî would be that it is Stage IV meaning it has spread to vital organs inside her body. In that case, there would be no surgery and they would try to keep her comfortable and out of pain for the next couple of months.

Claudia recently celebrated her 55th birthday and retired after serving over twenty years as a middle school librarian in Jefferson County School District. She has been looking forward to a much deserved rest ñ but in the meantime, she has continued to care for her mother who has had breast cancer for more than ten years. Claudia has been there for several bouts of chemo and radiation with Alice who is now in hospice care in her own home. Claudia and Dennis and Denae are the primary care providers.

Why are memories rushing in? The most significant is my trip to Disney World with Claudia and Erica to visit Denae who was working there as a ìcast memberî. Claudia is an organizer. She arranged for our hotel rooms, our meals, our entertainment. I just went along and enjoyed. I did introduce the girls to valet parking when we went out to high tea, however.

Several years ago Linda and I traveled to Durango for Ericaís graduation from massage therapy school. Once again, Claudia had taken care of all the arrangements for our stay and the celebration.

There are many other memories ñ meeting Claudia at the Thompson Valley High School field to watch her son Jonathan in band competitions, stories told with Claudiaís dry sense of humor, family get togethers Ö.

Please join me in prayers for this family ñ Claudia, Dennis, Denae, Erica, and Jonathan.

Eyes Wide Shut

November 10th, 2010 by Helen Colella

When my husbandís health problems escalated to where he needed intensive medical care, a friend suggested he contact the Veteransí Administration.

ìAs a U. S. Navy Vet,î he said, ìyou should be eligible for health related benefits.î

Eddie inquired, and indeed discovered that because of his military experience he qualified for a basically cost free health program. One that provided an array of medical services, which, because of his personal needs, turned out to be extensive.

On several occasions, Eddie had to undergo high tech diagnostic testing and treatment that led to specialized medications to operations. He also needed follow-up well-care visits and numerous, lengthy hospital stays. Along with these services he encountered countless skilled and compassionate doctors, nurses, specialists and a highly trained general staffóevery one unique and unforgettable.

In addition, he made and cultivated friendships with other servicemen with their own physical difficulties, some of which seemed far worse then his; at least to me.

During the first few visits to the V.A. Hospital, I must admit to being overwhelmed, embarrassed and frightened at the sights I encountered. It was here, my eyes were opened and I became exposed to the effects of war on both men and women of all ages in a way I had never could have anticipated or imagined.

Now I thought I was as patriotic as the next person was. Didnít I sing the patriotic songs and praise the vets for their efforts? Didnít I send donations to the appropriate organizations and attend local parades to honor our soldiers? Didnít I hang my flag out to acknowledge them on Veterans Day and Memorial Day and wear handmade trinkets to show my support?

Yet nothing prepared me for the experience of being in the company of so many who had gone through so much.

I felt humbled by my lack of real world knowledge and the obvious ignorance I held about the veteranís who served our country. I questioned what those of us, and I believe that statistic is high, are not truly aware of what they experience for our benefit.

History ìteachesî us about cause, effect and outcome of war. Television and specialized websites show us the weaponry, destruction, and fatal statistics. News media personalities and politicians analyze the pros and cons of war.

Yet what we donít see, hear or learn much about is the human experience of those who actually do the fighting, how soldiers are affected, how the aftermath changes their lives.

Old-timers from World War ll and Korea, my contemporaries from Vietnam and the youngsters from the Gulf War at the Denver, CO and Cheyenne, WY V.A. Hospitals opened my eyes to a different world; one I never realized existed is such a significant abundance.

The dramatic impact of wheel chair bound vets; single-limb and multiple-limb amputees and long-term bedridden patients whose ailments are not obvious struck an unsuspecting emotional response. I never knewÖ

And those who lost lifeís luster and wander in search of themselves their dreams and the life they once knew, jolted my sense of appreciation for life. I never really knewÖ

Most of these Vets were not ranked as heroes. They were instead regarded as victims of a tragedy during war maneuvers.

Becoming part of this world showed me exactly how little I actually knew of the consequences of war and the sacrifices others gave and suffered for a freedom I took for granted. Itís then I realized how much I didnít understand the far-reaching effects on, not only them, but upon their families and friends. Itís then I realized that despite how their ailments came about, they were, indeed, all heroes who served our country because they believed their efforts would impact the worldÖmake it better place in which we could all live.

I'm thankful for my husbandís care, having my eyes opened, being filled with a profound gratitude for every vetís service to our country. I also have a deeper respect and sense of the meaning of veteran, patriotism, freedom and making the world a better place in which to liveÖone day, one action, one person at a time.

Great Migrations

November 6th, 2010 by Cheryl Courtney

Check this out! Whenever I think I can't get through hard times, or things don't make sense around me, I remember these amazing animals. And they do these incredible journeys, full of drama and purpose,† every day of every year. Life does makes sense -- at some cosmic level, there is amazing purpose and design and always, incredible adventures.

It is all right here for us to remember and believe.

Tune in Sunday night, but you can check out the preview here.

A "Moving" Experience

October 31st, 2010 by Shelley Widhalm

Two weeks ago, I moved out of my mother and brotherís house, where Iíve been renting a room the past two years, to an apartment in a small city to the south. I havenít been blogging lately, because the only thing on my mind is unpacking. I canít seem to function if my life is in boxes.

I approached unpacking like a system, this after moving a dozen times since college. I unpacked each room first and as I did so, planned ahead where I would put categories of items. To describe this process would be too much of a how-to article and make me sound a bit nerdy. I donít want anyone to know the truth about how I like everything to be in its place.

Thatís why these two weeks, Iíve been late, saying the wrong words and stopping mid-sentence and wondering, ìWhat am I thinking about?î

Then there was the whole sentimental part of unpacking. I found items I forgot I had, as well as items that brought up memories. I did a little dance when I found this journal I thought I had lost during my last move. I paused over my photo albums, flipping through periods of my life, hastily to get on to more unpacking.

And then I got mad. The glass inserts for my coffee and end tables were totally shattered. The moving company I hired for my cross-country move two years ago was lousy, to say the least. I had most of my stuff in storage and have just discovered many problems with the movers I hired. They scratched several pieces of furniture, stained my white couch, cut my ottoman and smashed down boxes, but luckily the things inside were unharmed.

My emotional landscape from the move went from elation ñ I am living in a vaulted ceiling, many-windowed, all-new apartment with a view of downtown ñ to reminiscing to anger, but as my mother said, this, too, shall pass.