Wandering and Wondering

I still have things to accomplish in my last quarter of life (that’s assuming I live to 100). Yet, I am reminded in recent weeks that I do not want to live my life in continual urgency. I have noticed the way one of my friends seems to be in a constant state of urgency. I do not desire this approach to life.

I am slowing down (trot verses gallop as I recently wrote in this blog) and resisting the pressure to constantly rush, achieve, or react. I want to remain present and trust that everything does not need to happen right away. Oh, yes, there are things that need to be done with some immediacy like feeding Gitch when I am away from home all day. Even then, I want to find peace in the process.

I have known for some time that as much as I enjoy writing, I could never be a journalist with last-minute deadlines. I use due dates as suggestions. One of my best friends as an undergraduate, always completed assignments only at the last minute. She justified that something could happen to her before the deadline and she would have wasted all that time if she worked ahead of time. Not me. I always wanted to have a day or two to spare so I did not have last minute pressure.

Life without a sense of urgency looks more intentional, present, and peaceful. I still have goals and responsibilities, but don’t feel like everything must happen immediately. I like to have time to make decisions carefully without pressure. I like the idea of a natural pace, although I am not always sure what that means. More than ever before in my life, I enjoy resting. A power nap in the afternoon, which is refreshing, does not mean I am lazy.

As I write, however, I also recognize that urgency cannot be ignored when thinking about the injustices occurring in the world.  Issues such as climate change and AI cannot be ignored. Although I may be able to control the sense of urgency in my life, I am also conflicted by the need to “do something” as soon as possible. A quandary, indeed.

I wish I had the energy to do more, but I don’t. Therefore, I want to be aware of issues and try to settle back at the same time. I am striving to live with purpose and not pressure, and to balance what that means.

“If she can do it, you can do it.” That was the statement I heard from a young woman talking to her 7-year-old son as they trudged up the Alpine Ridge Trail, also known as Huffer’s Hill, at Rocky Mountain National Park.

During my “rove” break when volunteering at the Alpine Visitor Center, I always make the 1/3-mile trek up this popular stone step trail. Wildflowers are marked along the way and the views at 12,005 feet looking down on the Alpine Visitor Center are worth the walk.

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the comment by this parent, but I suspect my white hair carried a certain connotation that I was not likely to make it. It reminded me of another encounter I had had over 30 years ago during a 15k road race.

It was a typical hot and humid summer Sunday in Greensboro, North Carolina. I had been racing regularly for years, and this event was a new one for me. I felt good and was running my consistent 8–9-minute miles.

A young woman came up behind me and started to pass on one of the hills. She nodded at me and then said, “I hope I can run as good as you when I get to your age.” What does one say to that? I nodded back and said, “Thanks, I hope you can too.  Have a good race.”

These two incidents remind me of how lucky I have been to be able to do what I can do. Although I have felt less confident in my abilities in the past three years, I am grateful for all the miles and hikes that I have had over the years. It also reminds me not to make assumptions about what age means.

I applaud Dale Sanders, known by his trail name “Grey Beard,” who is the 91-year-old Navy veteran who just became the oldest person in history to complete a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. I am not going to undertake such a feat, but I admire the people I have heard about through social media as well as the oldest adults in my community who keep on trekking.

I hope my efforts as well as those all around me continue to inspire little boys as well as young women to keep up their physical efforts. I also continually remind myself that “I can do it!”

My mortality seems like something closer to me these days as more people I know have passed into their next great adventure. A Facebook post just came through about another death in my high school graduating class—almost 30% gone now.

I marvel at how the years flew by and enabled me to reach this vulnerable, and hopefully venerable, age. I am not obsessed with what the future might hold, but I am thinking about getting my affairs in order so that my demise is easier for others to handle.

I am thinking about where my physical body will rest when my soul passes. I want to be cremated, and the ashes settled in locations that are most meaningful to me. My parents are an example with their desire to have a granite marker in the cemetery near their home. They also wanted part of their co-mingled ashes scattered over the family farm. I have been thinking about special sites in my life.

I would like a small headstone near my parents with some ashes buried there. I lived in Coggon, Iowa for the formative years of my life. I recognize more acutely each day how profound my parents were in shaping the values that I hold dear. A statement on that headstone in addition to my name and birth/death dates might be, “She loved the cornfields and the Ponderosa Pines.”

My Iowa roots are attached strongly to the influence on my life of the youth organization 4-H. I had long wanted some ashes spread at the 4-H Camping Center, which unfortunately no longer exists. I am still considering how I might honor that Midwestern past along with what I learned about raising sheep and being a somewhat competent homemaker.

The pines epitomize the most important “place” for me in the Rocky Mountains and specifically Rocky Mountain National Park. I speak with people frequently about securing permits to scatter ashes in the park. I recognize how meaningful this landscape is to thousands of individuals who have visited and inhabited this area for years.

Scattering my ashes in the park means choosing a specific place. Special to me is Twin Sisters Mountain. It was the first mountain I hiked in the park over a half century ago. In the ensuing years, I have relished that hike dozens of times. The views from the top are to the continental divide and Longs Peak in the west and the front range and plains to the east. This vista represents my love for open spaces that includes mountains as well as prairies.

I hope that I have friends or family members willing and able to make the hike to the top of Twin Sisters. If not, I would be happy to have the ashes scattered at Sheep Lakes where I have mixed my love for mountain landscapes with sheep of all kinds including the domestic ones I raised in 4-H as well as the Bighorns.

I enjoy my musings about where I will rest in peace. In the meantime, I appreciate these special spaces while I am still alive.

Experts have written volumes about retirement. Some of the advice relates to what to do in pre-retirement. Other recommendations concern adjusting to retirement and living with new opportunities as well as losses.

I read a recent article that described three stages of retirement that I personally interpreted as “getting down, slowing down, and winding down.” The more I thought about it, the more it seemed those phases could be metaphoric for galloping, trotting, and walking. Regardless of the label, I believe I am at the beginning of the second stage of slowing down, or trotting.

I retired from higher education at the traditional age of 65. I felt professionally I was still near the top of my game. However, I also knew that I had been studying leisure all my life and while I still had the energy, I wanted to experience it. I enjoyed the 27 years I lived in North Carolina, but John Muir had been speaking in my head for years: “The mountains are calling and I must go.” I was privileged to retire for a relatively minimalist lifestyle in the mountains.

The past 12 years have been filled with activity—getting down (galloping) with volunteering, hiking, and travelling. I have kept busy as has been my approach to life since I was a kid. I am beginning to feel, however, that slowing down has appeal by design as well as circumstances.

I do not have as much energy as I had in the past. Having a day with little planned is a luxury that I have not often allowed myself.  I am also feeling the aches and pains in joints and muscles more than in the past. I know that “motion is the best lotion” and I will continue to be active, but at a slower pace.

This change to a new mindset about my life is challenging. By slowing a bit, however, I hope to head off the last phase of decline for many more years.

I can reflect now on my mother, particularly, as she lived through these stages. I am a lot like her and hope that I have the same dignity as she did, especially when declining health resulted in her life being far more sedentary than she wanted. Change is not easy. I recognize its inevitability. Understanding change and facing reality does not mean I give up. Nevertheless, I am striving to be more patient with myself as I trot through life.

The sky was a bluebird color contrasted with the patchwork green/brown tundra. It was Monday morning during my bi-weekly volunteer shift as a Tundra Guardian. The tundra is the “land above the trees” that occupies over 1/3 of Rocky Mountain National Park. It is always beautiful but with sunshine, a light wind, and colorful flowers, it was especially lovely.

My tundra partner and I parked the car in the lot and strolled toward the 11,716-foot Forest Canyon Overlook where we often spent time chatting with visitors. Many days we saw marmots and pika on the rocks surrounding the designated overlook area. On this early July day, wildflowers were abundant including Old Man Mountain, Avens, and Sky Pilot, to mention only a few. The slight breeze was welcome as we made our way along the paved asphalt path to the end of the short trail.

When we pulled into the lot, I noticed a solo middle-aged woman getting out of a green Subaru with a Colorado license plate. I nodded to her as she stepped spritely ahead of us on the path.

We usually stand in the observation area and chat with visitors, point out any animals or flowers we see, and offer to take photos if desired. I said to the woman I had earlier acknowledged in the parking lot, “It’s an amazing day, isn’t it?” She smiled.

I chatted with several folks and then noticed that same woman holding back, apparently wanting to ask a question of us as many folks did. She walked up to me and said, “Yes, it is truly an amazing day. Let me tell you why. Six weeks ago, I was in the hospital with pneumonia and sepsis. I asked my doctor if I was going to be able to do my annual trip to Rocky Mountain National Park. He told me maybe, but only if my blood oxygen level was high enough. Today it was 92 and here I am at this elevation in this beautiful park. It is truly an amazing day.”

My eyes lit up and I was delighted to hear her story. I said “Wow, that’s great” as she turned and walked away.

I was humbled that she had shared her story with me. I looked around at the dozen other visitors at the overlook. Everyone has a story and I wish I knew more of them. Some narratives may be routine while others are profound. An amazing day includes many stories.  

We are over halfway through 2026. Mid-year, just as much as the new year, seems like an appropriate time for me to take stock of how life is going. I believe in self-help. I am, therefore, always thinking about how I can be a better person and enjoy life more. I gave up on new year’s resolutions years ago, but I do think about intentions I might reinforce when a new year (or half year) presents itself.

My life is unfolding quickly. Some people my age have not lived as long as me. I am grateful for my seven decades and, at the same time, recognize that my time on earth may be limited. I try not to pass judgment on my life, and yet, I like to pause to think about what I might re-set as I prepare for the days ahead.

I have been thinking about ways to move psychologically toward or away from experiences to cultivate well-being and protect my mental health. First, I want to move toward staying focused on the present. It is easy to ruminate on past mistakes or catastrophize the future.

Second, I want to focus on what matters most to me such as kindness and personal growth. My daily actions should support those principles. I also want to move toward authentic relationships by sharing myself honestly and actively listening to others.

In the philosophy of yin/yang, moving toward also suggests moving away. I work on moving away from thinking that I must be perfect with everything that I undertake. Sometimes, “good enough” is good enough.

I intend to move away from toxic people who do not allow for positive opportunities in life. Life could always be better. The people who believe they are doing all they can to make their lives good are the ones I want to interact with. I do not want toxic attitudes to sway me. Most of my associations are with positive people, and I want that to continue.

 In summary, as I move into the last half of 2026, I am working on remaining psychologically present and fully conscious of my here-and-now experiences. I plan to have positive interactions with people with whom I may have only casual experience as well as folks that I want to maintain long-term friendships with. I find it useful to remind myself of these moving toward and away intentions year around.  

I love animal butts. Please don’t think I am odd since I like all the body parts, but butts make me smile.  I hate to see those butts moving away from me, and yet I find them most amusing.

Although usually fleeting, my favorite butt to see is the swishy tail of a marmot sashaying across rocks, meadows and the tundra. Their most common butt behavior is flipping, flagging, and wagging their tails. Territorial adult males display this behavior to patrol boundaries and assert dominance. During aggressive interactions, a marmot may arch and raise its tail stiffly to appear larger and more threatening. My favorite action is their swirling tails when they are running quickly. They use their bushy tails in an erratic circular or figure-eight pattern to maintain balance.

Another rearend type that frequently makes me laugh out loud are duck and goose butts as they dip into water to eat aquatic plants (e.g., pondweed, algae, and roots) and aquatic invertebrates such as insects, snails, small fish, and crustaceans. Sometimes when I walk around Lake Estes, I see numerous ducks submerged with only their butt feathers showing.

The rear ends of bighorn sheep look like long john bottoms. I don’t see those sheep often, but when I do, their rears are noticeably distinctive. The most definitive feature of the sheep is their horns. Males (rams) have curled horns, while females (ewes) have much smaller slightly curved spike-like horns. Nevertheless, regardless of the sex they have light bottoms that extend all the way down to their knees.

Bighorn Ewes and Lambs

Elk also have a much lighter bottom compared to the rest of their bodies. An elk’s backside is characterized by a light-colored patch (buff, cream, or stark white in color) known as a rump patch. The visible rear rump patch on these animals is so iconic that “Wapiti,” the Native American name for elk, translates to “white butt.” This butt beacon helps members follow each other through brush or low light,

My kitty, Gitch, thinks he has an adorable rear end and frequently lifts his tail as I run my fingers down his back and along his gray tail. Cats use their tails to signal their emotions. For example, a low, quick flick or slow swish may indicate that Gitch is irritated, and I need to stop touching him. A rapid side-to-side swish or a “bum wiggle” may mean he is playful. A tail held high in the air with a quivering tip shows excitement. Gitch demonstrates this behavior often when he greets me or before mealtime.

As you can see, butts intrigue and amuse me.

This coming week marks the 6^th anniversary of scattering my parents’ co-mingled ashes over the Iowa farm where they had lived for 50 years. Seeing the ashes flutter across the corn rows carried by a warm west wind was one of the most precious memories of my life. It reminded me of life on the farm particularly in the summer and the secure world that my parents created for me and my sisters.

I thought that town kids had a better life than me when I was growing up. They didn’t have daily farm chores and were near other kids for opportunities to play. In retrospect, however, I am glad that I grew up on a farm in a rural community. I am particularly reminded of summer evenings when my parents could relax from their usual 15 hour days.

Summer nights were special when neighbors and/or relatives were (usually spontaneously) invited over for dessert and fellowship. For example, my mom made the best apple pie I have ever tasted. I think her secret was the tangy green apples that grew on our big tree in the yard. Plenty of sugar and cinnamon (not other spices) along with a lard-based crust, made those pies delicious. I can make a pretty good apple pie but not as good as mom’s.

Sometimes we had homemade ice cream with the pie or sometimes we just had it by itself. Part of the ritual of eating the ice cream was making it. The cream and sugar had to be slowly churned to incorporate air ensuring that the final product was smooth, light, and creamy. My dad supervised and made sure it was done right!

Watermelon season was a special time in the late summer that also offered an opportunity to get together on summer evenings. It usually included a fun watermelon spitting contest. My uncle always won the contest, and I never figured out his technique for spitting the farthest. Mom reminded us kids, “Don’t eat too much watermelon or you will have to pee all night long.” We didn’t pay much attention to her warnings.

Summer evenings also meant fireflies, or lightning bugs as we called them. We anticipated seeing the first one of the evening, and then the game was to try to catch as many as possible and put them in the bell jars where they could create a lantern. Unfortunately, by the next morning, they were usually dead. Today fewer fireflies exist and maybe my generation of kids just collected too many.

I remember fondly those summer nights and the love that my parents showed to family and neighbors all times of the year. As a kid, living was easy.

One area of my identity that I embody frequently but do not talk about much is being a musician. I use that description carefully as I consider myself very much an amateur. Nevertheless, I love making music, and I get to do that year around as a member of the Estes Park Village Band.

I have been an active musician for over three decades while living in North Carolina and now Estes Park. I have been a member of several community bands.

 A community band is an instrumental ensemble that usually includes woodwinds, brass, and percussion. The members are local volunteers. These groups provide an accessible, low-pressure environment for musicians of all ages and skill levels to rehearse, perform, and connect with one another.

Our Village Band includes teenagers to retirees. Some individuals have been professional musicians, composers, and teachers. Others, like me, played growing up and then came back to music making in mid-adulthood. For over 30 years, I have enjoyed the camaraderie of other band members who love music.

Our “season” in Estes Park is primarily the spring into summer, although we always do a Christmas concert. We rehearse once a week and perform several times a year. We perform mostly “crowd pleasers” such as marches, Broadway medleys, and light arrangements although we also tackle more challenging modern concert band music. We perform outdoors in the summer and at the local high school auditorium in the winter and spring. Our concerts are free with an invitation to donate if desired.

I play a cornet. It is like a trumpet but has a mellower sound. In 4^th grade when we started taking band lessons, I did not choose the cornet. There was one in my family that had belonged to my uncle David who passed away in a tractor accident. I inherited his cornet. If I could have chosen, I am not sure what would have been my first choice. I did play the French horn in high school as well and always loved it. However, upon my return to music-making, I knew I was not talented enough to make a musical contribution on a French horn. I enjoy playing trumpet parts.

Music evokes emotions in me. I recall some of the marches that I remember playing in high school. I have bittersweet memories when we play Christmas music that I know my mom loved. Tunes from classic Broadway musicals are always fun. I enjoy playing modern compositions too, as I am making new memories for myself.

The community band is both a social and artistic outlet. I am not a great musician and have no desire to be much better than someone who plays easy 2^nd or 3^rd parts, but I enjoy the opportunities.  I am proud to contribute to the cultural arts of our little town.

My feelings are mixed about the celebration of 250 years of being the United States of American. I will be glad when July 5 comes. Fortunately, this year also marks the 150-year birthday of my newly adopted state, Colorado, and I am proud to be a resident of the Centennial State.

I recognize the privilege I have as a US Citizen. I believe in the Constitution and the preamble statement: “We the People of the United States…do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” To defend our Constitution, I believe we must protect the rights of everyone. I do not think we are doing a respectable job at this 250-year mark. I am deeply troubled.

I believe in the central tenets of our democratic republic. I love my country but am embarrassed by my federal government. I am chagrined by the cruel policies and disregard for the integrity of the law that today undermines progress made in the past 250 years.

I am a patriot in that I appreciate what my country has historically stood for and against. Loving my country, however, does not mean that I do not see the faults and mistakes made during these 250 years. We can always do better and that sentiment has made us great for the past two and a half centuries.

In 1976, looked forward to the celebration of the country’s bicentennial. That time was also politically contentious, but optimism prevailed in the idea that the coming years would be better. I had returned from living in Turkiye on an exchange program the year before. Living in a developing country where the residents saw the US as a beacon of hope humbled me. I recognized what a privilege I had as an American. Upon my return, and to this day, The Star-Spangled Banner always brings tears to my eyes. I cannot support, however, the malice and absurdity of our current national government.

I am an unabashed defender of kindness, learning, decency, science, diversity, justice, social solidarity, and empathy. I believe as Barak Obama noted recently, “It is our greatest inheritance, the story of America at its best, because it reflects a basic faith in the decency of our fellow citizens and the possibility that despite all of our differences, we can see each other and understand one another and make common cause together.”

I cannot let this 250-year celebration come without noting my hope as well as my concern for the rhetoric and actions of the government. I celebrate what has guided our country in the past and the hope for a much better future.

I will celebrate our nation’s founding despite my concerns. I will play the patriotic songs with passion at our 4th of July band concert Saturday night. I will recommit to how important the November midterms will be. I will not let the current predicament spoil the holiday and will continue to believe in the basic principles of civility and humanity that provide the foundation for our country.