From the Heart

Yes, They Still Throw Candy!
By Raenell Wynn Smith




Calgary Stampede, Photo from Wikipedia Commons

Just in case anyone was wondering about the "Old Settler's Rodeo", here's a highlight of the events that are still part of the celebration that took place last weekend. Lots of activities of interest throughout the town. Jim and I took our usual place on the courthouse lawn, set up our lawn chairs and waited for the parade to cross Hwy 287, stopping traffic, as the vintage cars, motorcycles, decorated bikes, business and civic organization floats, and of course the bells and whistles of the fire trucks and police leading the parade down Commerce and up Main street. The parade was one of the largest we've had over the past couple of years. As the riding clubs were finishing up the end of the parade, the King and Queen of Old Settlers, Mr. and Mrs. Parr were coming into view from the East side of the courthouse, making the parade a two street event.

The Heritage Museum hosted a display of the World Champion Tie-Down Roper, our own Stran T. Smith. Jim and I went and it was a very impressive account of his roping career thus far and his heritage in the Tell and Childress Community. Stran and his famly are an asset to Childress - not to mention he's our kinfolk.

Vendors were set up on Main Street and the area was blocked off so people could stroll around from one side of the street to the other. Local entertainment provided musical talent while you ate hamburgers, hotdogs, snow cones, ice cream and cheesecake on a stick (if you have not had this - it's a delicious treat). There were rootbeer floats and lemonade. Lots of merchandise to pique your interest from jewelry to quilts, yard art and western articles.

We even had a "High Noon Shootout". The Childress Drama Club presented the second annual shootout in front of the First Bank and Trust. Bank Robbers held hostage the banker and tried to escape with a bag of money. With the ladies screaming and pulling up their prairie dresses to run for safety, the robbers were foiled by the local Sheriff who made a stand to capture the crooks. Walking tall and proud down the street, he and his deputy came face to face with the varmints and the shootout took place. As the smoke cleared one bank robber was left in the street, shot through the heart and the other in handcuffs escorted slowly to the jail. Once again showing the town that Sheriff Pigg always gets his man, crime doesn't pay and the streets of Childress are once again safe. Saturday evening events hosted by the Childress Rodeo Association were Bar-BQ and competition rodeo with rodeo dance afterward.

Jim and I were entertained and fed well, and generally spent the Saturday visiting and experiencing "The Old Settlers Day". Well partner, guess we could be considered "Old Settlers" seeing's how we've been a part of the Childress Community for 50 years.

Oh yes, just in case you were wondering - they still throw candy and little children still hustle to fill their pockets. Thank goodness some things never change.

From my heart to yours - Raenell

Just One of Those Days

Badly Written by
Nicki Sooter Wilcoxson

Sometimes-----no matter how hard you try or how much you want to and even without warning, you find yourself without words. The words just aren't there, nothing funny or even serious flits through your mind. There are no topics or issues that you want to explore or share. Sadly, that is pretty much where I find myself these days. I have always been in awe of columnist who must produce a column of interest weekly or even daily. How do they do it?? Amazingly most of them seem to do it with what appears to be an effortless outpouring of thoughts and words that are strung together--drawing pictures of heroic actions, good deeds, political stands, critical opinions, or whatever happens to be the topic of the day or times. I suppose the incentive of writing for a job/money that depends on your work would be a powerful motivator and yet the words have to be willing to appear and be willing to be molded into something that provokes emotions, responses, or thoughtfulness in the readers.

The same can be said for a cartoonist who must tell a story that makes us laugh, delights us, or even offends us in a picture with few words. Day after day the work has to be submitted to be published. To me it isn't surprising when favorite cartoons sometimes disappear and we are left to mourn the loss of Snoopy and friends, Garfield and company, and one of my favorite families in For Better or Worse. Has the search for words and ideas failed or burned out the writers? Do they find a profound relief when they can at last lay down the pen and focus on something else?

On the other hand, I am equally fascinated by authors who year after year pen book after book that keep us salivating for the next to follow. Much of my reading is done by authors. I can't wait until they "give me" something new and I look forward to reading about the new adventures or mysteries for favorite detectives and characters. Where do the story lines originate???

I have heard that when someone experiences writer's block, it is important to just start writing until the words come. As you can tell this is what I have done today. I am not a writer or an author by any stretch of the imagination. I know the best things that I write are usually tied to a strong passion or feeling that I have for something--an issue, an opinion, an idea. I am not there right now. I am certain that this too shall pass. Life changes. Interest can be revived. (Stick your favorite cliche here.)

One thing of which I am certain, even on the days when one falls off the track, the day will come when one can get back on.

Wishing each of you a wonderful day and a week filled with favorite things and lots of meaningful words. For now I remain "wordless".

Losses ... Lives ... and Windows....

The Looking Glass
by Jennifer Johnston




The Tibetan Endless Knot, from Wikipedia Commons
Released to public domain by Rickjpelleg

Though the mountains bow to you, I shall not bow.
Though the world be a mirror at your feet, I shall not reflect you.
I shall sit alone in the night while you dance.
But when the world has marked its vengeance on your face,
Come to me ... I will make you beautiful with my eyes.

The lines of an old poem (without attribution) that I found in an old book in the old Childress High School library ... which I have remembered ever since (infernal memory again) ... come to me more and more these days as I watch loved ones struggle with health problems, as I hear word from friends of health and other problems of their own or within their own families and circles of friends, as I note news stories (way too many in one notable case) of the famous and infamous who have recently come to know (and prove) the old adages that time is fleeting ... that we do not know when our time will come ... or what will be visited upon us before that ultimate denouement....

Just this evening we learned of the death of Walter Cronkite ... one of the great, old-fashioned newsmen of our time ... he covered the Nuremberg War Crimes trials after World War II, the Vietnam War, the first steps of a man on the moon, and most memorably and indelibly to me, the events surrounding the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in November 1963. I have missed him since he retired, despite his occasional special reports and appearances ... and I so wish there were more like him. But I digress (with all due respect)....

Once we reach a certain age ... a certain awareness and maturity ... we become more and more cognizant that our steps are slowing ... that we are perhaps more susceptible to (and suffer more from) illnesses that would hardly have touched us once ... that it takes us longer to recover from such illnesses or sometimes even small exertions ... that some things we do that once nearly always brought smiles and joy now sometimes fall into the category of "wishful thinking" (and occasionally "obligation"). Worse, we begin to lose our family members and friends ... and horribly, unthinkably, sometimes our children ... to illness and accident and death.

This is unfortunately the "natural" and ordained progression of these lives we live ... all of our many and varied lives in diverse circumstances ... that we lead on this plane of existence. If we are lucky we may enjoy more happiness and less tribulation than some others ... but whether or not we are lucky, if we are wise we will also be contemplative and introspective ... seeking the knowledge and the growth and the lessons to be learned even when (sometimes mostly when) we are in pain ... when the night is darkest, and longest, full of shades and shadows, sorrow's sighs ... when the soul sometimes seems bereft of the touchstones and bedrock truths and pure, unquantifiable and unconditional love that may anchor and comfort and sustain us.



The Oureboros, symbol of eternity
Wikipedia Commons, public domain

Some people reject and refuse love ... the giving or receiving of it ... for many reasons, not the least of which is the fear that they will be hurt or disappointed ... or that they will be rejected or otherwise "lose" love if they find it. And it is good to guard a heart ... to gird the soul for the bumps and bruises and terrible losses that it will indeed suffer during a given lifetime. But if one secretes his or her heart in such an impregnable keep that it never opens to the joy of love both given and received ... then that heart becomes stunted, starving, devoured with inchoate longing ... without voice, without answer, without egress or light.

This past week or so has been filled with reports of a friend (not from Childress, lest anyone jump to conclusions) diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer, and with concerns over Yahn's health and the health and well-being of some friends, with the terrible burdens borne by another friend and their deleterious effects on physical and mental health ... and with "hitting the wall" myself for a couple of days and literally taking to my bed as much as possible for some much-needed rest and recovery.

And yet ... it has also brought good news from one of our daughters, and "not bad news" from another (which is good!), and good thoughts and good wishes and good words from other friends ... and the promise of a wonderful lunch and quality visiting time on Saturday with my dear Linda Kay and JoAnn. A mixed bag to be sure ... but on the whole, even with some of the terrible news, the good has outweighed the bad, as it should for the most part ... in part because I firmly determined many many years ago that I would live my life as one of those people who chooses ("chooses" being the operative word here) to see the glass ... the life ... as being half (or more!) full of sweet, nurturing, sometimes intoxicating, and ultimately strengthening and sustaining fine wine.

Would I rather not have to hear awful or disheartening news, or experience a sense of sick dread when someone I love is struggling, or fighting some literally life-threatening battle with demons or disease? Of course I would ... except that I must always remember that without trials ... without tribulations ... without pain and loss ... we would never know the true sweetness of life itself and the promise of glorious, fulfilling lives and love to come.

Brian K. Weiss, M.D., author of Many Lives, Many Masters and Messages from the Masters (among other books), whose ideas regarding multiple lives closely track (but not completely) my own, writes that he is frequently asked why anyone choosing the circumstances of his next life would choose to be born into the lowest caste in India, or with a terrible disease, or in less than optimum circumstances. Weiss posits that the wise soul will sooner or later make those choices because without experiencing everything, the good and the bad, the soul will not be able to grow and learn and progress as it should to reach the state where it can ultimately transcend to a higher plane ... which makes wonderful and profound sense to me.

Plato, echoing the teachings of his mentor Socrates, considered the soul to be the absolute essence of a person, an eternal occupant of our being ... and posited that as one body dies, the soul is reborn into subsequent existences. In Plato's theories, the soul consists of the logos (the mind, or reason), the thymos (emotion, and masculine in nature) and eros (the appetite or desire, which is feminine). The complete, fulfilled and balanced soul will contain all of these elements, optimally joined and melded and operating in complete harmony ... which also makes complete and profound sense to me.

The Jewish Kabbalah speaks of the soul as being composed of three elements: the living, mortal being which will die; the "middle" soul or spirit, which contains the ability to distinguish between good and evil; and the higher soul, which relates to the intellect and allows man to benefit from and enjoy the afterlife. There are many religions or schools of philosophical thought, including but not limited to Buddhism and Hinduism and certain Native American beliefs, that hold that the soul never dies, but "migrates" from one body to another while seeking its eternal home, its eternal partner, its other and complementary half.



Artist's concept of the birth of a star
NASA Image, in public domain

So ... in this filled and fraught week ... would I have traded the brief communications from one dearly loved friend, the good news from another, the felicitations from another ... would I forgo the absolute delight of seeing my dear friends on Saturday ... in exchange for the "prize" of never feeling anything deeply but sometimes painfully again? Not on your ... or my ... life! I choose to see ... and feel ... life in all its colors, its shadows, its pain, and its soul-lifting joy. I choose to live and grow and one day to move on to a world where I am meant to be ... where "what might have been" becomes living, breathing and eternal reality. Your choice is your own, but I believe ... and

... when the world has marked its vengeance on your face,
Come to me ... I will make you beautiful with my eyes.

It is said the eyes are the windows to, as well as reflections of, the soul....

)O(

Puppy Love ... Sir Luke ... and Here Comes the Bride....

The Looking Glass
by Jennifer Johnston



Qing Ming's glade in Dog World (all snapshots courtesy of Tasom Benim)

And they called it puppy love
Oh I guess they'll never know
How a young heart really feels
And why I love her so.

Singer-songwriter-actor-performer Paul Anka (Diana, Put Your Head on My Shoulder, Lonely Boy, the theme for The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson, the lyrics for Frank Sinatra's mega-hit My Way, and others) wrote those lines in 1960, according to legend as a result of his break-up with Annette Funicello of The Mickey Mouse Club and Beach Blanket fame.

When I told Nicki this past week that I would have something new to post by today, I had a couple of potential topics kicking around in my head. However, over the last few days there have been some momentous occurrences in my dear Dog World (DW), of which I've written before ... and I ran out of time to develop possibly weightier subjects ... so I am going to share with you the latest news in the continuing saga of Qing Ming, his beloved Gracie, and their DW Friends. If you are not interested in the topic, you'll just have to wait for the next post. Sorry about that.....

Before I go on with the story, I want to mention that I've included here pictures not only of Qing Ming's magical, mystical DW domain (which has changed somewhat ... the addition of gifts of a hot air balloon, a bridge, and a few other things ... since I last published it). But I'm also showing you pictures of some other DW domiciles to give an idea of the great differences which may exist from yard to glade to beach to underseascape. (Bear in mind, as I've mentioned before, that various items in the DW vignettes move, flutter, chime and "do" other things, when you see them in situ.)

As I've mentioned before, each person has the opportunity to decorate their "yard" as they see fit ... with items from the DW Store, and/or gifts given by friends ... so except for some newbies or those who abandon their virtual pet early and only have the "starter package," none of the yards is identical. One of the fun things about visiting other yards in DW is to see the wonderfully creative settings that have been fashioned for the DW denizens. And in the process of visiting, and gifting, you earn points which apply toward saving more dogs. Our DW group is coming up on having saved 400 dogs ... and that is a good thing. But I digress ... and now back to Qing Ming and Gracie and their friends....


The beachfront abode of Tasom's Robinson, Qing Ming's best friend

Qing Ming and his darlin' Gracie (the "daughter" of my friend Robin Wissinger) have been smitten almost since they first met not quite two months ago. It was indeed puppy love at first sight ... and they have been inseparable ever since! Qing Ming (bless his gallant artistic little soul) fell paw over heels, and has composed innumerable sonnets and songs to sing to Gracie while accompanying himself on his little lute (difficult for his little paws to pluck sometimes, but he is determined).

He has serenaded Gracie under her window many a night, and taken her on picnics and strolls along the stream ... always chaperoned of course by Chaya (our enchanted being in the persona of a white cat, in Qing Ming's picture) and/or by Robin's Mr. O, that wise old owl. Occasionally Pablo (our peacock, named after Picasso) goes along to observe as well. The romance progressed in puppy time, and there were slumber parties (carefully segregated as to gender and supervised of course) and 4th of July parties ... and Robin and I knew that one day an announcement would be forthcoming in good and sufficient time.

Well, as often happens in real life, good and sufficient time failed to deal with a case of raging teenage puppy hormones. Last Friday Qing Ming left our yard in his balloon without Chaya as escort, carrying his little lute, and Pablo heard him muttering something about going over to Gracie's and taking her to "watch the submarine races." (I think most of us have been there ... grin....) When Pablo relayed this news to me (he can be a bit slow because he tends to become mesmerized by raising and lowering his tail), I immediately sent Chaya in hot pursuit and contacted Robin ... but alas!!! Gracie too was missing from her yard!

We immediately put out an APB (All Points Bulletin) through the Shout Out feature of DW, asking everyone to please keep an eye out for the runaways and report their whereabouts. We received many good tips and sightings from all over the U.S. and the world (that magic balloon can really move!). Doris' Brandy said they stopped briefly in Cleveland, someone else saw them in Arizona, there were several sightings in Europe ... oh where could they be???? (Visualize anguished wringing of hands by Robin and me....)

At last a true intrepid hero, the shining knight Sir Luke Reeves in Australia and his trusty dog Mystique emerged!!! Luke immediately stripped his DW yard (which means of course he'd need to put it back together later ... what a selfless and gallant gesture!) and sent Mystique aloft in her magic flying machine, along with a phalanx of the Bluebird Patrol, to search for Gracie and Qing Ming! And lo and behold, they were soon found and Luke and Mystique forthwith returned the "kids" to their homes. (Guinevere the Druid Goddess has conferred the Order of the Triple Goddess Garter upon Sir Luke for his brave and meritorious service, and has also granted him her favor to wear upon his person at all times.)

After receiving their just chastisement for their rash act, Qing Ming and Gracie eloquently pleaded their case to their moms ... and so, after due consideration of their youth (and those raging hormones!), Robin has given Gracie's paw in marriage to her stubborn little suitor Qing Ming, and the wedding is scheduled for Saturday, July 25th, in Robin's and Gracie's yard in DW, which Robin has already prepared for the festivities, as you can see from the picture!



Gracie's yard, prepared by Robin last night for the ceremony

Qing Ming has bought his little tux (we're still trying to decide about a top hat!) and Gracie, like all brides, is frantically searching for the perfect dress for her big day!

The wedding party will include, among others, Qing Ming's best friend Robinson (whose yard is also pictured here, courtesy of his dad Tasom) as Best Pup; Doris' Brandy as Maid of Honor; Jules' (Sir Luke's other half) Zeus as groomsman; and the brave Mystique as a bridesmaid. There may be a few more additions before the actual date ... and I have it on good authority that the entertainment at the reception following the ceremony will include performances by Celine Doggone and Andrea Pupcelli (sigh!)....

Sir Luke is also hosting an engagement party for the couple in Australia on Saturday, July 18 ... with entertainment and activities to be announced (along with further wedding details) in Shout Outs and postings on DW, and updates to the blog. All of Qing Ming's and Gracie's friends ... and kind passersby ... are invited to attend.... The enchanted Chaya (who is also performing the ceremony) will magically disrupt the space/time continuum so that friends from all over the world (and different time zones!) can all attend at the same time!

Qing Ming and Gracie were visited yesterday by literally hundreds of their friends from across the globe, who left good wishes and engagement and wedding gifts, and our greenhouses and fridges literally runneth over! Our friend Bonny also threw an impromptu celebratory soiree for them, with champagne and tea for the adults and sparkling apple juice for the pups!

This whole saga played out in DW, with postings by me and Robin and Luke and so many others ... and it was such fun!!! Among the miracles of this "modern age" and its instant communications, at various times over the past couple of days I have found myself "chatting" or Inbox messaging with several people simultaneously all over the country and the world, including of course Cleveland, North Carolina, Arizona, Norway, Germany, Finland and Australia! What fun!!! (If a bit taxing to switch back and forth among personalities and different languages!)



The undersea dreamscape of Dana's Lucky, good friend of Qing Ming and Gracie

Several of us (including our own Sheila) had quite a thread going about some of the "doings" on my Profile page on FB last night, which remains "up" if anyone is interested, though I must caution that it gets a little "wiggy" at times, so the faint of heart should be warned.... (I swear I was only "drinking" the virtual drinks passed to me by my generous friends.... Cross my heart....)

And so, having now covered my obligations to the blog, I now return to FB and DW to continue the various dialogues and plans for the coming nuptials ... thinking all the while that it is probably criminal in some states (!) to have so much fun ... and have the added bonus of helping helpless, homeless dogs who don't live in pretty yards (as is Qing Ming's stated mission).

Y'all come!!! No gifts necessary.... (grin) And let's hear it for young love ... and old love ... and just pure unconditional love, in its many forms and incarnations....

)O(

You're NOT My Husband!

Written by
Nicki Sooter Wilcoxson

Recently I wrote a post for the blog discussing some of the good things about turning 50 plus. One of the good things according to the article from the AARP Magazine was that all of the embarrassing things that could happen to us have probably already happened so basically we are off the hook in that department. If only that could have been a true statement, I would feel a lot less stupid, because that just is not the case at all. Even today at MY age I have discovered that I can still do the most gol-darned things and yes, my face can still turn that bright red that signifies, “I wish I could dig a really deep hole right now and cover myself up.” Instead I have to use my prior experience and turn the tables on myself, confess my “sin” and laugh. In fact since my latest fiasco occurred, I haven’t been able to stop giggling every time I think about it. Every time I try to tell the story, Jim has to finish it for me and that makes him very happy. I feel compelled to attempt to try to “tell” my story in a post. If you don’t find it to be funny, just remember maybe you had to be there, but frankly I am glad none of you were there since I had enough witnesses—more than I would have liked.

On this particular evening, Jordie had a baseball game (no surprise there!). Jim and I were coming to the game from different directions and so he was already at the field. I knew that because when I arrived I saw his pickup. I was running late (once again, no big surprise). I had received a phone call from the Flower Mound daughter who had called to tell me that her mother-in-law was having a health issue. We talked briefly then I called her mother-in-law and we talked a while. Then I got in the car and drove to the ballpark not far from our house. The Amarillo daughter was working in the concession stand so I stopped and talked to her for a few minutes. With all of these conversions floating in my mind, I hurried up the ramp into the stands. As I glanced up, I saw Jim sitting on the end of one of the rows near the ramp and I was glad to see him so quickly so I wouldn’t have to look for him. I wanted to be sure and tell him several things before I forgot (no surprise there either!) As I rounded the corner I had already begun explaining to him why I was so late. I needed help stepping up the bleachers so I could sit down beside him. As is not unusual, I reached out and put my hand on his leg (he was wearing shorts) in order to pull myself up (okay now I am laughing). As I started to sit down, my eyes slid up and there I was eye to eye with a stranger. The first thing out of my mouth was, “You’re NOT MY HUSBAND!!!” Geez, this man is looking at me as if I had sprouted horns or something. No smile, nothing except a scowl. All the while, I am trying to say how sorry I was—you know stuttering and hoping for a quick death. At the same time, I look up a few rows in the stands and there starring and laughing at me was Jim,my real husband, and all of the other baseball dads. I thought I would die. Suddenly I remembered that my hand was STILL on the stranger’s leg and I thought I was not going to be able to remove it. I was paralyzed!! Finally with as much dignity as I could muster, I took my hand off the man’s leg and said, “Um, we’ll have to discuss this later!” Yikes. Then I sat down by Jim, all the while wanting to laugh hysterically and put on my cloak of invisibility. I did maintain my decorum and move on to watching the game. Still never a smile or any sign of forgiveness from the old codger in the stands. Obviously he never realized how lucky he was!! He still scowls every time, I see him at a game. Maybe he believes I was trying to molest him!

The next hard part was trying to explain to Jim why I had mistaken this much older, not nearly as cute, nice, or funny man for my husband. Well, he did have on shorts, a golf shirt, and a golf hat, and gray hair and all I saw was the back of him before I actually tried to sit by him and before I looked at his face. Naturally, the other baseball dads thought that part was hilarious. Jim and I—not so much.

Well, there are days and then there are other days. You can be sure that I am much more cautious about talking to “strangers.”

I hope you all have laughter filled days with a little less embarrassment!

The 4th of July ... Holidays ... and Gratitude....

The Looking Glass
by Jennifer Johnston



Animated fireworks by Sistromc
Released to public domain through Wikipedia Commons

In the File It Under Strange Department (a rather large and eclectic full-service department at my house): This morning I was running errands and beginning to ponder the blog post I would write to commemorate the 4th of July this year. Last year I wrote the Summer Magic post on the Reflections blog ... one of my favorite posts, and if you haven't read it, I hope you'll go to Reflections and find it in the Index under that short title ... and that you enjoy reading it. But I digress....

Anyhoo ... for some unknown reason (possibly my further derangement by the recently HOT HOT HOT temperatures here), as I was contemplating, these lines from a well-loved song started running through my mind: "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose...." Whoa! Wrong holiday!!! Wishful thinking??? Sheesh! As I parked at a little Arts District boutique, I exited the car shaking my head at the idea of The Christmas Song in July. I hurried through the suffocating heat toward the air conditioned store, opened the door, rushed in and saw ... a fully decorated Christmas tree with brightly wrapped presents sitting underneath it.... Dead stop ... goggle ... major time/space continuum disconnect.... Yikes!!!

Regaining my mental equilibrium, or as much mental equilibrium as I am generally able to muster, I became aware of a huge stand-up sign beside the tree, proclaiming a "Christmas in July" sale. Okay ... nice idea, lovely bargains.... And truth be told, as I wrote in a paper for Darryl Morris' class back in 1961, there is no real reason (except that the early Christian fathers were trying to compete with the Roman Saturnalia celebrations) why Christmas can't be celebrated in July ... or in the Spring, when many scholars believe Jesus of Nazareth was actually born.

And then I began thinking of the holidays, special days, that we celebrate here in these (sometimes) United States, and the fact that most of them could easily be celebrated at other times of the year, other seasons, rather than on the days designated. Thanksgiving could certainly fall on any given day of any given month. I sometimes think we would all do well to silently celebrate Thanksgiving in our hearts every day in acknowledgment of the many blessings we receive, although its late Fall setting certainly lends itself to the theme of the end of harvest, and the thought that if the harvest has been bountiful, we will be well-provisioned for the onset of winter. The same for Labor Day, or Memorial Day, or Veterans Day ... despite the significance of the dates originally chosen, their observance could occur at any time.

Celebrating New Year's Eve/Day on December 31/January 1 is a result of following the Gregorian (rather than the Julian or Lunar) Calendar. The Jewish New Year of Rosh Hashanah occurs on the first day of Tishrei, the seventh month of the Hebrew Calendar (falling in September or October, depending); in Islam the Muharram celebration migrates to different days in different years. Nepalese Hindus begin their New Year, Nava Varsha, in the third week of March, while Hindus in southern India celebrate their New Year, Ugadi, in late March or early April. The eve of the Balinese New Year, Nyepi, falls on the night of the new moon, whenever that occurs in March or April. Nyepi is a day for silence and reflection, but there are rituals in the days following, including asking forgiveness from family and friends, and Bhuta Yajna, when representations of demonic or dark spirits (ogoh-ogoh) are burned to symbolically vanquish them. Many Asian and other countries also use a Lunar Calendar to determine dates for the exotic and noisy Chinese New Year, Tet and other celebrations occurring on diverse dates during mid-to late Winter. But again I digress ... although at least for me, a fun digression....



Ogoh-ogoh, paraded on Bhuta Yajna in Ubud, Bali (7 March 2008)
Photo by Jack Merridew, released to public domain through Wikipedia Commons

But the 4th of July is the 4th of July ... despite many of its festivities actually being held on a day more convenient to a weekend. Still, it is the date that gives the holiday its name, and marks the significance of that specific date in the history of our country. For of course it was on the 4th of July that our Declaration of Independence from England was adopted by our Founding Fathers, generally learned men, but a disparate group as far as their own religious or philosophical beliefs; some but not all were Christian, some like Thomas Jefferson (who supported strict separation of church and state, despite the efforts of some to dispute that notion) considered themselves secular humanists (a much maligned group over the past few decades), and some were atheists ... a fact not particularly embraced by a certain segment of our population in recent years, but a fact nonetheless.

What united the Founding Fathers as a group was not so much a uniform belief in an omnipotent and all-powerful Creator-God, but their rock-solid determination to chart a new life, a new course, to establish a sanctuary and a model of freedom and equality in the erstwhile British Colonies ... as well as a dedication to the principle that in truth, all men are created equal ... even though it took many more years to abolish slavery in this country, and for women and people of color and the poor and the otherwise "different" to achieve rights taken for granted by white, upper-class, landed male gentry. It has been a great struggle over the centuries since July 4, 1776 to adhere to the vision (if not the immediate practice) of the Founders ... but I believe with all my heart that most Americans (of whatever religion, philosophy, creed, color, gender or sexual orientation) are good people of good will and good intentions.

As I mark the 4th of July each year, I cannot help but reflect on the wars which have been waged as this nation was born, as it and we have continued on the journey to realize its ideals ... and of course my thoughts include all those who have fought, and especially those who paid the ultimate price in service of their country. Back in the 1960s and until mid-1975, when we were young, we were enmeshed in an undeclared war in Southeast Asia. Some Americans supported that war wholeheartedly, and have never changed their minds or questioned whether we should have been there. Some of our fellow citizens opposed that war, either from the git-go, or coming to their opposition shortly thereafter. Some of us initially and for several years supported the war, but grew disillusioned when the war dragged on, seemingly to no good purpose and with no end in sight, and with American casualties mounting to dreadful levels. Even now, decades later, there is much ambivalence ... and many prickly opinions ... about the current conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, which are colored by Vietnam.

Still, I believe that most Americans support our servicemen and -women ... that the majority have always supported these mostly brave and selfless men and women ... despite stories of some truly egregious incidents which occurred involving servicemen returning from Vietnam which have been inflated and exaggerated by some for political reasons. The incidents of name-calling and spitting on homecoming soldiers were absolutely appalling ... but they were not the norm, and only a small number of ugly people did such things. Still, it was also truly appalling that so many Vietnam Veterans came home to silence and indifference. And yet, I believe we also learned something from the hurtful apathy and cold distance of those days ... and I do not know of many now who don't express support for our troops, even if they disagree with the war in Iraq, or with war in general.

We all owe an ultimately irredeemable debt to our troops ... to those who fought in our original War of Independence, and in successive wars, giving the best and sometimes literally the most they were able to give. And so it is that many of my thoughts on Independence Day will be dedicated to those who have served and who continue to serve.

In the 1960s, one of the songs that most affected me, that made me cry and makes me cry when I hear it to this day, was Peter, Paul and Mary's The Cruel War, a melody from the Civil War period with lyrics written/adapted by Peter Yarrow and Noel "Paul" Stookey. It wasn't one of their songs that topped the charts, but it affected me profoundly with its plaintive melody and poignant lyrics, then and now. It is on my iPod, my iPhone and my self-burned CDs, and I hear it frequently.



"Home is where you dig it," sign over the fighting bunker of PFC Edward, PFC Falls
and PFC Morgan, 1st Battalion, 7th Regiment, Operation Worth, Vietnam 1968
Department of Defense, Photo in Public Domain

The cruel war is raging, Johnny has to fight.
I want to be with him from morning 'til night.
I want to be with him, it grieves my heart so,
Won't you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

Tomorrow is Sunday, Monday is the day
That your Captain will call you and you must obey.
Your Captain will call you, it grieves my heart so,
Wont you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

I'll tie back my hair, men's clothing I'll put on,
I'll pass as your comrade as we march along.
I'll pass as your comrade, no one will ever know,
Won't you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, I fear you are unkind.
I love you far better than all of mankind.
I love you far better than words can e'er express,
Won't you let me go with you?
Yes, my love, yes....

All wars, even "good" wars like our War for Independence (though I am sure the British would have disputed its "goodness") and the Allied fight against the Axis powers in World War II, are cruel ... it is their intrinsic nature. Invariably they are predicated by a clash of ideologies and beliefs and agendas and sometimes the greed of the combatant parties. The losers will as a rule suffer most cruelly, but the suffering will be shared on all sides. General Douglas MacArthur (1880-1964), whose Farewell Address at West Point is one of the most moving things I've ever read, posited that soldiers hate war the most because they must bear the brunt of its horrors. And I believe that is true.

But while we remember and honor our soldiers, living and dead and grievously wounded in body and mind, let us also think compassionately of those who wait and hope for them ... whose hearts catch in their throats at every report of casualties ... who wonder if they will ever see their spouses or lovers again ... who wonder each time they part or speak if it will be the last time (as indeed it may be for all of us who live) ... who yearn as the soldiers do for a return to love, and home, and happiness and peace ... until the Captain (and duty) calls again, and they must obey....

Let's think of them all especially on the 4th (indeed every day) and send our heartfelt gratitude aloft on the air as the starbursts of fireworks emphatically punctuate our thoughts of "Thank you" ... "well done" ... and "safe journey"....

)O(