Who would you pick to share a beer?

10-20-2022

          Before I get myself in trouble, it could be a beer, a cup of tea, a glass of wine or a diet coke. Now that that’s out of the way, who would you pick to spend an hour or a day with? Living or dead, who would excite, scare, intimidate, or thrill you to meet? What questions would you ask them?

          I’m going to give my partial list and reasons. Who would you choose, and why? I’d very much enjoy reading your answers.

Since I write, I’m going to start with authors.

First choice–John Steinbeck. He knew people; he knew common experiences and he could and did write of the pain, joy, and struggle of the lives we all live. My question “How did you write so honestly, so vividly?” The Grapes of Wrath and The Long Valley.

Second choice – Cormac McCarthy–A curmudgeon I suspect, who doesn’t suffer fools, but still I’d try. “How does one learn to write with such brutality and with such beauty?” The Road and All the Pretty Horses.

Third choice–Mary Oliver–“Your poetry was so accessible, even a dolt like me can understand and feel it.” I bet she would have just smiled. Dog Songs and A Thousand Mornings.

Honorable mentions: Billy Collins, Alice Munro, John O’Donohue, and Barbara Kingsolver.

Notable Others

First choice – The 14th. Dalai Lama. I saw him in Minneapolis and could feel his compassion when he walked into the huge auditorium. My question – “How have you forgiven and feel such compassion for those who stole your country?”       

Second Choice–Abraham Lincoln.–“Help me understand how you became you. Who you were, and what you did, defies understanding.”

Third choice–Bobby Kennedy–Simply because I admired him then, and I admire him now.

Notable Others–Robin Williams, John Prine, Mother Teresa, and my grandmother, Annie Close.

Musicians (because music has been such a part of my life)

First choice–John Prine (again) I just want to tell him I miss his music and his illegal smile.

Second choice–Jim Croce, Jimmy Buffett, and Marvin Gaye, over a beer. So many questions, serious answers, and laughs.

Third choice–Elvis, hell, he was Elvis, reason enough.

So who would you meet, know, talk with, and share a beer or cup of tea with? There are wonderful people out there, some we wish we could know, others we will know only by their writing, their music, or the events they helped shape. It’s up to us to open ourselves to every opportunity that presents itself, and that means knowing others. There are fascinating and funny people in this world. Go meet them.

Go well, David

Writing Friends are the Best Friends

10-6-2022

          I’m going to start by saying a fundamental truth: family and friends are at the top of the list for what’s most important in life. That said, today I’m going to write about friends.

          I’ve been blessed with many friends. Some have fit into the category of “doing things with” friends. I’ve had tennis friends, music friends, military friends, work friends and now I’m connected to a group who are writing friends. We share the common interest of writing, but as friends, this group shines even brighter as supporting friends. We support each other. We cheer for each other. We help each other. Our bond is the challenge of putting words to paper and attempting to make those words meaningful. This daunting and sometimes lonely task is made easier with the help of mutual and unconditional respect. There is a bonus given with this particular group, they are all kind and good people.

          When a writing task is difficult, we lend a kind but firm hand to assist in a critique. When a book or story is published, we celebrate and cheer on that success. On a practical note, we write reviews for each other. HINT! That was a not-so-subtle nudge to say if you like an author’s work, let the world know about it by leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads. That effort takes little time and means the world to an author.

          There have been a few occasions when I have witnessed a writer exhibit jealousy or at least envy with the success of another writer. It appears they feel as if they express support for the successes of another, it somehow reduces the possibly of their own success. NEWS FLASH! It doesn’t work that way. There is not a predetermined and finite quantity of available success. It is akin to love. I truly believe the more you give, the more you receive. Do the best work you can. Go the extra mile. Believe in yourself and in others. Then trust who or whatever you believe in that the universe will take care of the rest.

          My friends have turned out some very well-written and enjoyable work. My apologies up front to those I fail to mention, in no way is the omission intentional. Here is a partial list of some of the titles produced by some of my friends. Deb–Out of the Crayon Box, Wes–Hectic Treks, Karen–Moon of Many Names, Monique–Into Crosswinds,

Rosemary–Death, Diamonds, and Deception, Carol–A Cold War Teacher’s Tale, Charlie–Edge Pieces, Hugh–Lighthouse Mystery, Paula–Roadrunner Tales, Helmut–Nobody’s Coming, Jerry–Anasazi Parting Gift, Marianne–Trying to Grow Up in L A, Bob–Crash! Boom! Bang! Mary Ann-Never to Love, and Yoli-Coping with Cats.

          If you wish to know how to find any of these books, drop me a line at kramer1234@comcast.net and I’ll be happy to provide that information to you.

I have a note on the wall above my computer where I write. It says this –

Read without limits -Write with honesty- Live without regrets

I leave you with one last shameless plug. My new book Cardboard Heroes: Stories of Struggle, Hope and Redemption has been published and is available as a paperback and e-book at Amazon Books. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGMHGQ8C  I’m proud of the work and I hope you will consider reading it.

Also, please consider the books I mentioned above.

Go Well. David.

Effort and Reward

9-13-2022

The mortal asked the gods, “What shall I do?”

They answered–“Strive for what you can.”

“That is not enough.” The man responded.

“Then strive for what you can’t,” Came the reply.

I sat in a meeting with my writing friends, and one of the members began talking about predictions (perhaps they were dreams) for her yet unfinished book. Later, in talking with another writer, I mentioned what she had said and expressed my thoughts that her expectations were lofty and likely to never happen. He listened patiently and told me–“Well, it’s certainly not going to happen if she doesn’t try.” He was right.

Later, I thought about that conversation. I also thought about the plaque that is on the wall where professional tennis players enter Louis Armstrong Stadium to play matches at the U S Open. The plaque says, Pressure is a Privilege” The connection of recent conversations and that plaque started me thinking.

It feels to me that we live in an age of increasing mediocrity. A place where just good enough reigns and getting by is becoming the norm. And I think what life would be without dreams, hopes, and persistence?

Who would be in the NBA if no one dared dreamed of making that happen? Would we have landed on the moon and returned, or found a vaccine for polio if we’d listened to the Nay Sayers proclaiming it can’t be done?

Now, in this stage of life, I spend a lot of time and energy writing, and many of my friends are also writers. We each have different reasons why we put pen to paper. Some are with dreams of the next bestseller, and all that goes with that accomplishment. Others long to write just one magical sentence. No reason is right, and no reason is wrong as long as it is the honest why that we do it.

I can only speak for myself, but I am keenly aware of the difference I feel when I have put my heart and soul into doing something and when I have simply gone through the motions and said, that’s good enough. Life is too short to drink weak coffee, and it’s too short to not give it our best shot.

I’ll repeat the line from the Mary Oliver poem, The Summer Day

                         Tell me, what is it you plan to do

                     with your one wild and precious life?

We may all have regrets at the end of our lives, but I hope that we can all say it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Go well, my friends, and may your books be best sellers, your basketball shot win the NBA finals, and may you embrace pressure as a privilege.

Some last thoughts.

John Steinbeck was told by a professor that he would be an author when “When pigs flew.” And so he had this printed on every book he wrote – ad astra per alas porci. “To the stars on the wings of a pig.”

“My grandmother told me a long time ago, ‘I don’t care if you’re sweeping a porch for a living,’ she said, ‘You need to do your best.’ So I’ve lived by that every single day

                                                                                                    Tori Bowie

“One finds limits by pushing them.”

                                          Herbert Simon

Joy Found In Music

8-24-2022

My first memory of music was when I was eight years old. My dad was stationed in Wiesbaden, Germany, and my uncle was on a smaller army post nearby. We would visit, and my older cousins would play The Coasters, Bill Haley, and Little Richard. Keith and Sharon were Cool, and I wanted to be too. Later, I’d visit another cousin, and we’d listen in the middle of the night to KOMA as The Four Seasons sang Sherry. It hooked me then and still am today.

On a recent morning walk, I considered the impact music has had on my life and all the wonderful performers I’ve seen in concerts or festivals. Each brings back many memories.

The performers and bands I’ve seen and heard, and what is connected to each performance.

The Dick Clark Caravan of StarsDel Shannon, The Zombies, Paul Revere & the Raiders, and The Shirelles. Amarillo, Texas (I was 15 and hitchhiked from Dumas, TX., to see the show.)

The Beach BoysAmarillo Texas (Perfect bubble-gum music to make you feel cool.)

Johnny Burnette Dumas, Texas (You’re Sixteen and it was a year before he drowned.)

The Crickets Borger, Texas (Buddy Holly was already dead)

Jimmy Gilmore & The Fireballs Dumas, Texas (Sugar Shack)

The Astronauts Amarillo, Texas (Baja is still one of the greatest surfing instrumentals ever)

Les Brown and His Band of Renown Camp Eagle, Vietnam (Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah didn’t seem to us grunts the cool new song Brown thought it was.)

John Denver West Texas State University (I know it’s not cool to say, but I did like him.)

Ike and Tina Turner WTSU (Before Ike became a villain.)

Olivia Newton John WTSU (RIP)

Delbert McClinton Soap Creek Saloon, Austin, Texas (Ken and I watched a couple climb in the back of a pickup and get it on.)

Neil Diamond San Antonio, Texas (I know, another I’m not supposed to like)

Moody Blues San Antonio, Texas (brought back a few nights sitting in Happy Valley in Vietnam) (I didn’t inhale)

Stevie Ray Vaughan San Antonio, Texas (My boyhood band mate, Tommy Shannon, made it big playing bass for Stevie Ray.)

Jimmy Buffett San Antonio, Tx.(The audience showered the stage with joints.)

Dire Straits San Antonio, Texas (Mark Knopfler one of the three best rock guitarists, who are the other two?)

Jackson Browne San Antonio, Texas (1st. concert with my youngest son)

Melissa Etheridge Salt Lake City, Utah (Concert with my oldest son, and about 6000 lesbians – they were using both men’s and lady’s restrooms, we politely waited our turn)

Natalie Merchant Boise, Idaho (I had such a crush on her.)

The Eagles Boise, Idaho (The Hell Freezes Over tour. What could be a better name than that?

John Fogerty St. Paul, MN. (He was Creedence Clearwater Revival, the other players were unnecessary.)

Johnny Lang St. Paul (That kid can play a guitar.)

.38 Special St. Paul, MN. (Hold on Loosely – iconic of the country rock sound)

Matchbox Twenty Rochester, MN. (Listen to Rob Thomas sing Fire on the Mountain, a great tune.)

Bare Naked Ladies St. Paul (Maybe the best Canadian band ever)

BoDeans St. Paul (Everyone knew and sang the words to every song.)   

Eric Clapton Minneapolis, MN. (What can be said except the old line about him Clapton is God.)

Robert Cray Minneapolis, MN. (He’s still a Hot Smoking Gun.)

Charlie Musselwhite Minneapolis, MN. (What a blues harp player. Old School)

Walter Trout Minneapolis, MN. (Walter plays blues like there will be no tomorrow.)

Big Brother & the Holding Company Tree Frog Music Festival Faribault, MN. (Janis was long dead by then.)

Hubert Sumlin Minneapolis, MN. (Howlin’ Wolf’s guitar slinger. He was near 80, had lost a lung and played like he was a king.)

Los Lobos Tucson, Az. Tucson Blues Festival (They didn’t play One Time One Night, pissed me off)

K T. Tunstall Hotel Congress, Tucson. (She played with the best female drummer I’ve ever heard, and Suzanne and I were the two oldest people at the show.

A lifetime of music has brought joy to my life and to my soul. I’ve also been lucky in that I’ve played music since I was fifteen. Our first band was named The Avengers. We were later more cool and became EKOS in Dumas, Texas. Later with The Eddie Haskell Band in Twin Falls, ID., then 2nd. Exit in Northfield MN., then Linden Station in St. Paul. I’ve met, played with, and been friends with great music people throughout my life. There are few joys as ubiquitous as music.

Songs are the memories we hum and sing. What songs take you back to a time that was, or never was?

“When I die, they’ll say he couldn’t play shit, but he sure made it sound good.”

                                                                                            Hound Dog Taylor

“Rock n Roll might not solve all your problems, but it does let you dance all over them.”

                                                                                    Pete Townshend

“I been in the blues all my life. I’m still delivering cause I got a long memory.”

                                                                                  Muddy Waters

What is Contentment?

8-10-2022

In a recent discussion with a friend, I was attempting to articulate that I believe what we say brings us contentment, joy, or satisfaction in life, is often not what we spend our energy, time, and money to get. An example–If I say my family and friends are what is most important in my life, and yet I only spend one or two percent of my time engaged with them, then maybe my statement about their importance is not completely accurate. Before anyone gets up in arms and says, “but my life is busy, or I have to make money, work, pay bills, etc., I understand life can be busy, and we all have actual obligations to attend to. I do not disagree that life is hectic at times, but I would also add that there are times that are not hectic, that we have the leisure to decide what we can and what we want to do.

I am not judging or suggesting what anyone should do. My point is that each individual might consider what in life is most important to them, what makes life worthwhile and significant to them, and when they know what that is, then pursue it with passion and determination.

In the wonderful Mary Oliver poem The Summer Day, she ends the poem with these words–Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Stop for a moment and attempt to answer Mary’s question. Do you have an answer? Are you living the life that your answer is? If you don’t know the answer, is that OK with you? If you know the answer, and you’re not heeding it, what do you need to change in your life?

Many of us live lives of if only. If only I had a million dollars, I’d relax and take it easy. If only my husband, or my wife didn’t have so much for me to do, I’d have time to write–play golf–volunteer. If only I had that new Corvette, I’d be happy. If only – if only.

I think Mary Oliver was right. We have only one wild and precious life to live, and what we do with it helps determine our satisfaction and contentment with life. There is nothing wrong with having nice stuff but thinking it will make you content or fulfilled is a losing game. There is always more to buy. The old bumper sticker that said He who dies with the most toys, wins, was satire, not wise council.

I’m reading a good book by Christina Feldman–The Buddhist Path to Simplicity. There is a great buzz about minimalism these days. If we just have less stuff, life will be more simple, and easier. Feldman contends our having fewer possessions can make life less cluttered, but it is not quite that easy to live a more simple life. She writes that maintaining a simple and therefore a more full or fulfilling life is more about what is in our heads and less about what’s in our overstuffed closets. Contentment with enough is far different and much easier to maintain than always seeking more things and worrying about losing what we have. Letting go of attachments is a key idea of Buddhism.

So to my initial point, do you know what brings contentment, meaning, satisfaction, and genuine joy to your life, and how much of your energy, time and money resources are going to that end? What do you need to do in order to make yours A LIFE WELL LIVED?

Two quotes on contentment.

Many people lose the small joys in the hope for the big happiness.”

                                                                               Pearl S. Buck

“I have learned that to be with those I like is enough.”

                                                              Walt Whitman

I was 16 and sitting behind that used Ludwig gold-sparkle drum kit and playing music with my best friends was PURE CONTENTMENT!

comment from yesterday’s post

8-7-22

My friend and fellow writer Rosemary, responded this way to yesterday’s posting. “Perhaps that’s the challenge – to figure out how you want to live and then make the right choices. But suppose you work very hard at it and then discover that you didn’t want to live that life after all. So much wasted time! Try again?”

A thoughtful comment. What do you think?

Lives Well Lived

8-6-2022

I woke up this morning realizing (not for the first time) that I’m not as young as I was forty years ago. I know, pretty astonishing insight on my part. With that new revelation, I decided the focus of this blog is going to change. For those of you who might have read my previous postings, you may be scratching your head and saying you weren’t aware that it ever had a focus. Fair enough, I say. I have now played around with some possible names to better reflect my thoughts. Here are a few of the considerations–A Gathering of GeezersThe Retired Village People (still humming YMCA) –The Old and the BreathlessDepending on DependsThe Bald and the Beautiful. Since I couldn’t decide, I went with something less condescending and more of what I really want to write about–Lives Well Lived.

When I was working at a job, I’d often say I take my work seriously, but not myself. In practice, that was mostly true. Now that my work is deciding what to have for breakfast, being hopeful that I can write a clever story, or going for a desert hike, hoping to see a coyote and not a rattlesnake. The central idea is I have more time now to think, and also more time to choose what I will spend my time doing. I also consider the reality that there is far more life behind me than there is in front of me. That is not a morbid thought, but it is reality. So the central point becomes, what do I do with the rest of my life? What will make it the most pleasant, fulfilling, meaningful, vital, helpful, and peaceful? That last word strikes me as the most important one. For many years, peace is what I have sought.

The Mary Oliver poem When Death Comes ends with, “I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

And a poem by Christopher Logue called Come To The Edge

Come to the edge.

We might fall.

Come to the edge.

It’s too high!

COME TO THE EDGE!

And they came,

And he pushed,

And they flew.

So here we are, moving closer to the next adventure. But if you’re like me, you are not quite ready to end this adventure we’re in now. And so this is what I want to explore, what I want to write about. I want to let people think, laugh, consider, and most of all, encourage us to choose to live the life we want right now. When that last day comes, I want to say, and I want you to say, ‘I lived life well.’

For whatever time we have remaining, let’s not just visit this world. Let’s live as we want to live.

Go well, David

Questions and Answers

5-24-2022

“If I haven’t made you smile, or cry, or think, or laugh, then I haven’t done my job as a write.”

This is the note I have pinned to my wall just above my computer where I write. I see it each time I open my laptop and fire it up. I put it there to remind me of what I believe my job as a writer to be. I still believe it’s true, but like holding three nines, in a hand of poker, often a good bet, but sometimes you lose even if you have a decent hand of cards. The point I’m attempting to make is to not only to figure out what I want as a writer but also what I enjoy as a writer. And what am I willing to bet on to achieve my writing goals, and what hand do I throw away and say the odds are too great?

“What is your goal?” is a question I’ve asked many people who are or who want to be a writer. It is also a question I’ve asked myself many times. It’s probably not a fair question to ask of some people. Many folks have not asked it of themselves, and those who have may be too embarrassed to reveal what their secret goal may be. I’ve yet to hear anyone say without jest, I want to write a best seller, make a zillion dollars, be famous and hobnob with Kim Kardashian. And yet, deep inside, every writer has secretly coveted at least part of that dream. I’d take any part of it except maybe the last two words.

I wrote a friend of mine a note asking how she came to develop and understand her personal brand as a writer. I wanted to know because she seems to have found a level of comfort and success in hers. She gave me a well thought out response that was honest and made perfect sense. Secretly, maybe I wanted to be given a sure-fire cookbook recipe that would tell me I need a teaspoon of this, a pinch of that, and add a half cup of something else, and out would come a perfectly baked brand to be savored. What she said and asked was (paraphrased) “What am I passionate about? What has already been successful? Or maybe I could look at something completely new.

This note followed a discussion with another writing friend. A question was asked another way – “Who do you write for?” And also something to the effect of, “What do you take as validation of your efforts, and who gives you that validation?” That’s a tricky one for sure. From one side of our mouth comes, “I want honest feedback, especially if it’s negative. It will make me a better writer” and from the other side, “I judge my work, and that’s what matters most.” BS! We all want the approval of others. We want to be told we are worthy of our efforts. But that comes only after being honest with ourselves. We know when we’ve skated through something, showed up, but not put in the training miles. We also know when we have given our best effort, and as imperfect as it might be, it is still the best we could do. Oddly enough, most of the time, that’s enough. As I once read, and now believe, the goal of writing is not perfection, its progress.

So I circle back to where I started. What do I hope to accomplish as a writer? I want to evoke some honest emotion from a reader. I don’t write mysteries, cozy or not so cozy. I don’t write about studly men with six-pack abs and women with flowing blond hair. I don’t know how to create a space alien that takes over this planet, and my humor is not that of David Sedaris. The closest I’ve come to understanding what I write about is the Human Condition. Obscure as that sounds, to me it means to understand and put onto paper stories that help us share and accept this thing called life. A wise colleague of mine who had been an aeronautical engineer and then earned his Ph D in clinical psychology, once said something like this to me–“Anyone can build an airplane, it’s much harder to understand the human brain.” Although I might not wish to fly on any airplane I designed, I agree that the mind, the heart, the soul of a human is much more fascinating than most of everything else in this life.

So I think I will keep writing about our species, wonderful and flawed as we are. I may not make Oprah’s list, I may never have to worry that my book royalties will put me in a higher tax bracket, or meet Kim Kardashian, but I have wise, kind, and talented writing friends, I have a framed $10.00 royalty check I never cashed for a published short story, and what the hell would Kim and I talk about, anyway?

I’ve added a new sign to my wall. “Read without limits – Write with honesty – Live without regrets.”

I came upon this quote and somehow it seems to fit just as well with writing as it does with music.

“If you hit a wrong note, it’s the next note you play that determines if it’s good or bad.”                                                                                    Miles Davis

Go well. David

A Near Perfect Day

03-14-2022

I’m generally early for events and meetings, and yesterday was no exception. I was scheduled to take part in a book signing and selling event at the Tucson Festival of Books at 12:15. I arrived at 8:30 in the morning. From the beginning, I knew it was going to be a good day. And it was near perfect.

Before 9:30 I’d met Maya and Klepto. Maya, a beautiful Golden Retriever who was soft as a new cashmere sweater and sweeter than cotton candy. Her owner, a young man, was obviously in love with her. Klepto owned an older guy who told me she inherited her name because she had stolen his heart eight years ago and had never given it back. I was wearing this funky and playful shirt I’d bought at Goodwill and had at least five people during the day comment on how much they liked it. You have to know, a man as old as me rarely gets compliments about his clothing.

I spent the next two hours wandering around the festival. It is the 3rd. largest book fair in the USA. It is an amazing sight to see and such fun to just do nothing but a lot of looking and watching. Authors dressed like Wyatt Earp, beautiful college coeds, purple-haired grandmothers, and dogs, dogs, dogs. Oh yeah, lots and lots of books, and good food.

At noon, I set up my spot, filled with anticipation of the hordes of people who would be eager to buy my books. It was a perfect location, in the hot Tucson sun, and next to another writing friend. The hordes of people turned out to be a slow trickle, but what fun they were! Two of my dearest friends showed up. We chatted like magpies and gave each other hugs. OK, so I didn’t give Brad a hug, but we gave each other a good amount of ribbing.

I met some wonderful people. Some browsing, just enjoying the day. Old folks, younger folks and even a few kids. My friend Wes had advised that I “engage” the visitors. And he was right. I need to point out a significant difference between Wes and myself. Think of a Titan intercontinental missile and that’s Wes, whereas I’m more of a bottle rocket. He could talk to a rock and get it to talk back to him. But I engaged as instructed. I spoke with writers my age, readers of all ages, an author with the greatest tattoo I’d seen in a long while, two college students who want to write and both smarter than I’ll ever dream of being, and a fifteen-year-old girl whose mother bought both of my books and seemed a perfect role model for a would-be writer.

The best moment occurred only after I had returned home. It started as I was packing up everything to leave the festival. A man came up to me, looked at my books and said he wanted to buy both. He also handed me a children’s book – Squim and the Magical Sunflower Seed. It looked well made with nice illustrations and had been written by his brother.. I thanked him for it, and asked no questions, thinking I’d give it to my neighbor’s young kids. When I got home, I looked through it and noticed the line from the author Aaron Patrick Archer. This is what he wrote – “The unique life lesson I learned growing my own garden, one that I hope to pass along through the adventure in this book, is YOU GET BACK WHAT YOU PUT IN.” Very nice words, then I looked at the last page and read what his brother had written about his Aaron. He told how his brother “Archie” had planned to scatter sunflower seeds along the median of roads and interstate highways in order to grow sunflowers for people passing by to enjoy. Then he went to visit his mother in Indiana to help her revitalize the old farmhouse where his mother lived. As harvest was approaching, Archie was diagnosed with cancer and died two years later in 2019. He was 44. The book and the meeting with his brother took on a new and beautiful meaning for me.

Later, I sat in my living room, petting my little dog, Denni. The afternoon ended just as it had started, with a sweet dog. It was a great day. I even sold some books. But what really made it great was meeting people, seeing dear friends, talking about books, and writing, and finding out again about the beauty of family and love.

Go well, David

The Desert is Holy

01-13-2022

          Across the street from where I live, lies a tract of desert land. I don’t know the acreage, but it is large enough to walk for forty-five minutes without walking the same ground. Over the years I have watched hawks and Turkey Vultures circle over it. I have heard the songs of the mourning dove, the tic-tic-tic of cactus wrens, and the sharp tweet of the Phainopepla. On rare occasion, I’ve caught a quick glance of a lone coyote making his way through the brush.

          Two weeks ago man moved into that area. They brought with them machinery well suited for destroying the desert. Within a few days, crude roads had been bull-dozed and open bare areas the size of football fields were haphazardly laid out across the area. Seventy-year-old barrel cacti, Palo Verde trees, prickly-pear and cholla cacti were reduced to piles of discarded rubble. The beautiful saguaro cacti were spared, I suspect, only because it is illegal to destroy them and because they have a dollar value to be gained from selling them.

          Soon that section of the Sonoran Desert will become another row of tract houses and a large car wash. One more area of nature, one more home for local flora and fauna is lost for the financial benefit of man.

          This morning I walked past the new construction site and down the road a mile to the Maeveen Behan Desert Sanctuary. Over the past 8 years, I have walked the trails of this preserve over one hundred times. It is a wonderland of Arizona nature. I have seen coyotes, javelina, desert tortoise, jack rabbits, hawks, vultures, road runners, rattlesnakes, and countless lizards on my hikes. Springtime brings the landscape awash in wildflowers.

          This morning had a different feeling about it. There was a coolness in the air, with wispy clouds letting the bright January sun warm the earth, and with only the occasional sounds of the local birds. What I realized was a subtle difference that comes over me when I am in the desert. My heartbeat slows, my mind, which normally chatters like a tree filled with monkeys, begins to empty of its worries and clutter, and begins to fill with calm and joy. At some point on my walk, I knew I am at my best when I am there. Monkey brain chatter becomes thoughtful musings about writing, beauty, and happiness.

          As I walked, I again noticed the golden dry grass (or perhaps it is weeds) eight or nine inches tall, swirling as a carpet. A resting spot for the creatures that live there. The early morning cast shadows across my body, and I looked thirty feet tall. A vulture flew high, using thermals to glide as a graceful dancer above the desert floor. Once again, I felt gratitude for being allowed to share this beautiful spot.

          Recently, another joy came into my life. I started reading The Book of Hope by Jane Goodall and Douglas Abrams. I came across the book after watching a short documentary about Goodall. The book has proven to be a much-needed bright spot in my life. I confess to often falling victim to the seemingly endless cycle of news about what is wrong with us as a species. It seems we are daily bombarded with reports of what we are doing to destroy each other and the planet on which we live. This book, with a subtitle of A Survival Guide for Trying Times, is just that. Jane Goodall has spent the majority of her 86 years advocating, teaching, and studying nature and our place as a species within that sphere. She is a realist in the truest sense, but she also lives a life of hope and optimism. She believes to this day that mankind can change and that we can save this planet. To be sure, she does not say we will do this, but she says we can do it. This little book is filled with that hope and optimism.

          Goodall talks about the power of nature to maintain. She tells the story of how two five-hundred-year-old camphor trees survived the atomic blast that leveled Nagasaki, Japan. Only the lower half of their trunks remained and most of the branches were torn off. Not a single leaf remained. Now the trunk of one tree, filled with cracks and fissures, thrives, and is considered sacred and a holy monument to peace and survival. Prayers are written in kanji characters on parchment and hung from the branches for those who died.

          I said to Suzanne the other day, if I could meet and talk with any person on this planet, it would be Jane Goodall. She was a beautiful young lady when in her 20s, now at nearly 90, she may be even more lovely. There is an unmistakable wisdom and contentment in her eyes. I freely admit I envy in that serenity.

I remember hearing the following quote while watching the raptors flying at the Arizona Sonoran Desert Museum. The quote is from Baba Dioum a Senegalese forestry engineer.

“In the end, we will conserve only what we love; we will love only what we understand, and we will understand only what we are taught.”

In my universe, I could hear nothing more accurate. Give yourself a gift, go outside, be quiet and let the beauty draw you in.

Go well, David

Plowed Over
Harvested Saguaros
Jane Goodall’s Book