Wandering and Wondering

“Regrets, I’ve had a few / But then again, too few to mention” is an iconic lyric from Frank Sinatra’s signature song “My Way” (1969). Living a full life, accepting mistakes, and taking responsibility for choices are my goals for today. Wishes, thoughts, and prayers, however, are no good without action toward those goals.

I hope I am not close to death, but I recognize I am slowing down. I am running out of time to do some things that I once inspired to do such as run the Boston Marathon or climb more 14teeners in Colorado. Although I regret not having specific experiences in my life, in another way I am blessed and  hope there is still time to act on other goals.

I recently heard about a book by Bronnie Ware, The Top Five Regrets of the Dying. The list includes: (1) “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me”; (2) “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard”; (3) “I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings”; (4) “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends”; and (5) “I wish that I had let myself be happier.”

Rather than regrets, I have been thinking about what I can do now. A colleague reminded me that it is easy to wish these things when close to death, but harder to act upon them when alive. The good news is that there is still time to turn wishes into actions. I do not want to become overloaded with distractions that thwart these actions. The questions that are important for me to address relate to “how does” statements (e.g., “How does one have the courage to live a life true to oneself?” “How does one develop the courage to express their feelings?”)

I am thinking about how to let people know how I feel such as how much I like what they do or what they stand for, or how grateful I am that they are in my life. I want to regularly remember to be in contact with my family as well as friends who have been inspirational in my life. I am focusing on mindfulness and staying in the moment so I can feel happiness and joy when it comes to me. These actions are how I want to live now so I have fewer regrets and focus on actions rather than wishes at this time in my life.

Over 76 years ago, my great grandma Drexler sent a “Welcome for the New Baby” card to my parents. She included this original poem:

To Mother and Dad,

I am glad Karla Ann has come with you to dwell.

She may be like Mother or like Father, time will tell.

I am really thrilled because she is a little lass,

From what I expect she will have some class.

Six great grandchildren I claim as mine.

I suppose there will be more in no time.

To even the number to more boys there should be,

I am trusting you and Jim to that you will see.

Then toward your service you would have a good start,

You would really and truly be doing your part.

If you divide them even you would be discreet,

For your family would be complete.

                                                     Grandma Drexler

                                                   

I enjoyed this poem that my sister found among the memorabilia that my mother kept over the years. It struck me as enlightening given the times and the message.

My father returned from WW II, married my mom, and began farming in 1946. I came two years later. On an Iowa farm, having boys was necessary to help with the farming. I do not think my parents were disappointed with having a girl, but it meant, as my great grandma suggested, a boy should be coming along soon.

The suggestion did not work for my parents as they raised three girls and no boys. As the oldest, I became my father’s helper. I was delighted with that role. I fed the livestock and learned to drive a tractor when I was six years old. Household activities like cooking and sewing did not interest me much even though I learned those things along with farming chores. I was a “tomboy” and loved having that opportunity growing up. I was more like my dad than my mom. Today I pride myself in this farm girl identity.

Boys were desired for practical purposes, but I felt implicitly that parents preferred boys and privileged them over girls. I suspect that this influenced my feminist views and career academic research that examined gender differences and equity issues. I make no apologies for my personal beliefs and professional efforts, so this poem helped me better understand the roots of my upbringing.

I hope the message to girl babies today contrasted to the suggestion over three quarters of a century ago is that females are welcomed and have the same opportunities available that baby boys have for the future. Although I respect the sentiments of my great grandmother, I am glad that the world continues to evolve.

Given the choice of anyone, with whom (living or deceased) would you like to have dinner? I have reflected on this question with hypothetical responses. Being shy, it is hard to think about carrying on a meaningful dinner conversation with someone whom I admire. On the other hand, my choices reflect aspects of my personality.

I think of three people readily that would be my choice. My mom is my first choice. I have had dinner with her many times, but I would love to have one more time. I think about the discussions I had with my parents around the kitchen table in the last several decades. I remember fondly the two Christmas eves that mom and I (just the two of us) shared at a restaurant after going to church. I value those memories and would love to have one more opportunity.

Since the upcoming 7^th anniversary of my mother’s passing in a few weeks, I have reflected on what I knew and did not know about her life, especially her last years. I know about her, but I am not so sure I know how she felt about aging and her declining health. I would like to be able to talk about these attitudes and feelings, but now I can only speculate.

The second person that I immediately think about is Jane Addams. Although I am not an historian, I have dabbled in writing about her and her influence on my chosen profession in recreation. She was one of the most famous people in the United States at the beginning of the 20^th century. As the founder of Chicago’s Hull House, she aimed to improve the lives of immigrants in the city as well as throughout the country. Jane Addams was an outspoken pacifist and was strongly associated with the peace movement. I would love to have a conversation to discuss her ideas.

Although I would be tongue tied, I would like to have dinner with a current figure, Rachel Maddow. She is a prominent American television host, political commentator, and author. I admire her intellect and straightforward commentaries. I know something about her life but would love to be in her presence and hear her speak about her career and her challenges as well as future aspirations. I know it would be an intellectual and straightforward discussion.

These dining partners reflect my values and aspirations. It is fun to think about possibilities, but more important is to enjoy the current dinner opportunities I have in my life that are not hypothetical.

The TV program, Seinfeld, was famously dubbed “a show about nothing.” I sometimes feel that these blogs are about nothing. I write about things that are interesting to me, but I recognize that some people could view the musing as about nothing. Writing about nothing, however, does not mean it is not important. It could suggest that there is no plot, no agenda, no argument—just attention placed on an “ordinary” life in hopes that it may be interesting.

I enjoy the process of writing. My daily journalling is private only for me. On the other hand, I have delighted for decades in sharing my thoughts with others and hoping they will have meaning from time to time. I hope my journal articles from my past as well as my current creative writing have redeeming values depending on the reader’s perspective.

As I look back on the almost six years and 250+ blogs I have written, I see my ideas as fitting into four not mutually exclusive “nothing” categories: triviality that matters, wandering travels, wondering mind, and daily routines.

I enjoy writing about trivial observations that matter to me. For example, I wrote about coffee cups that were important to me. Another entry was about why pie has been significant in my life. Nothing happens, but something is observed.

My writing about nothing reflects wandering purposely for travel in the world as well as to natural environments close to home. I love to write about nature and what I observe related to animals as well as their anthropomorphic views of the world. I enjoy thinking about how to advocate for animals as well as noting their habits.

Since I titled this blog, wanderingwonderingwithkarla.net, I like to write about questions that I have about the world in which I live. Entries about the families we create as well as reflections on notions of resonance offer no resolution. They reflect no moral or lesson but an acknowledgement of the existence of a myriad of ideas in my world.

My writing about nothing also relates to routines in my life that reveal my personality. I enjoy thinking about my volunteering as well as the role that daily walking plays in my life.

I have stayed away from writing about politics in these blogs even though I am tempted. Many people can state political analyses better than me, and I also know that my readers profess a spectrum of opinions. So, I prefer to focus on nothing.

I hope my writing feels quieting, observant, sometimes funny, sometimes serious, and/or sometimes challenging. I will continue to write regularly not necessarily about events but from my consciousness, which is everything for me.

When I was a child, I decided that if I did something good, I should get paid for it. My parents did not believe in paying us for expected work. Our duties were assumed. We got a weekly allowance for doing our chores. When I questioned what my pay would be for something I thought was extra, my mom remarked, “You’ll get your reward in heaven.”

As a first grader, I did not feel that waiting to go to heaven was what I needed. Over the years, however, I have learned that doing good things without recognition or reward is what it means to be a compassionate human being.

I continue to wonder, nevertheless, about what it might mean to get to heaven. What is heaven, anyway? Experiencing heaven on earth is important. On the other hand, I also contemplate what the afterlife might hold.

I want to believe there is a heaven. I fantasize that the animals I have loved will be waiting at the rainbow bridge for us to go together. I look forward to the possibility of reuniting again with loved ones. I recognize that heaven is perceived in similar but diverse ways depending on one’s spiritual and religious convictions. Heaven can range from eternal paradise with God to liberation from the cycle of rebirth. Paths vary to get there, but most have in common faith, good deeds, spiritual realization, or fulfilling divine commands.

Growing up in the Christian tradition, I came to understood that heaven in the hereafter was only possible by faith in Jesus Christ with kind deeds reflecting that faith. Heaven is a celestial paradise with eternal life in God’s presence. Despite what my mom suggested, being a good person would not have been enough without that faith. In addition, I cannot understand how anyone can say they are a Christian and then be cruel to other human beings.

Concepts of heaven differ for Jewish people but most focus on the world to come in the spiritual sense of shared traditions. Followers of Islam see heaven as a peaceful garden with divine pleasures for those who submit to Allah by balancing faith and charitable deeds.

Hinduism focuses on the liberation from earthy bonds such as the cycle of birth, death, rebirth. Heaven and hell are temporary states based on karma (actions) within this cycle, not eternal destinations. Buddhists focus on achieving Nirvana, the cessation of suffering and desire. Some modern traditions suggest the afterlife is what one makes it, or that salvation isn’t about sin but personal growth.

Heaven is all those ideas with the emphasis on loving our neighbors and expressing that love through good works. I strive to get my rewards while on earth, and then heaven will be a bonus.

Huge pyrocumulus (fire) clouds were building in the west. Our backpacking group had been separated. We had no communication with each other or the outside world since we were in the middle of the Bob Marshall Wilderness in Montana.

Three days before, six friends started our annual backpacking trip. Spending time in that Montana area was a dream of my friend, Dan, who had fond memories of hiking decades ago with his family. Another friend, Leo, brought two pack horses so we did not have to carry all our gear in our backpacks. The route was planned without thinking about getting current information about trail conditions in this Forest Service area.

Unfortunately, trails were not in good condition. The second day we encountered down trees that made horse travel prohibitive. Plan B was to split up (never a good idea!) with Leo taking the horses on a different trail than planned. We agreed to meet a day later at a determined place on the map. We hikers, however, found walking to be a challenge due to downed trees and overgrown trails. We didn’t get to the designated rendezvous area and were unable to meet Leo the next day as planned.

By noon the third day, the billowing fire clouds were obvious. We had no idea where Leo was. We could smell the smoke faintly, but the fire was some distance away. We settled down for the night. The next morning a ranger on horseback told us we had to evacuate immediately. He assured us that we would not have problems making the 12-mile hike back to our cars and the horse trailer, if we left straightaway.

The trail parking lot was to be used as a staging site for the firefighters. We had our car keys but realized at the trailhead that we could not find the keys for the truck and horse trailer.

Augusta, MT was the closest town an hour’s drive away. It was flooded with wildland fire fighters gathering to prepare for their onslaught on the fire. The one hotel in town was closed. The local park where we wanted to camp was reserved for firefighters.

We explained at the Forest Service office in Augusta that we had no idea where our friend was and that we needed to get the trailer out. Fortunately, a backcountry ranger had radioed to say he had encountered a man with three horses and advised him to head to an exit in the far north part of the wilderness area. With phone service, we learned from Leo’s brother where the spare truck key was hidden in a secret place in the trailer. We convinced the county sherif to escort Dan back to get the truck and trailer.

He returned at 11 pm. We had been hanging out at a local bar/restaurant/pizza place-the only one in town. We had no idea where to spend the night. Hearing our situation, the young woman who was working and in the process of purchasing the bar offered to let us park our cars and sleep in the driveway where she lived in her double wide trailer. When Deb and I got there, she insisted that the two of us sleep in her spare room. She handed us towels and asserted we would be refreshed after a shower. We did not want to impose but welcomed her generosity after a long frightening day and evening.

The next morning, the young woman left early to cook for the firefighters. We stopped by to thank her again, but a line of firefighters was outside the restaurant door waiting to get fed. We waved goodbye and left to take the 3-hour drive to meet Leo.

I think often about his young woman’s example of humankind(ness).  I appreciate the compassion expressed to me and my friends by this stranger during one chaotic misadventure in Montana. I hope that her life has been blessed. I will not forget the humanity she showed to us.

Mom and I have almost made it through January, and I have taken control of the laptop for a few minutes. Nevertheless, to paraphrase Garrison Keillor, “… it’s been a quiet month in Estes Park, Colorado, my chosen home, out there in the mountains.”

Mom tries to be upbeat. I know, however, that the current world situation including the not so quiet month in Minnesota, as well as the short cold days of January, are something that she would like to put behind her. Me? I wish the sun shown on my sleeping place a little earlier in the morning. Nevertheless, napping is napping regardless of sunshine or not.

Mom says that even though it is cold and windy outside, we must be grateful to live in a cozy house. Despite the windy conditions, she goes out to walk or hike every day. As the saying goes, there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. My fur is my blessing, and I avoid the outdoors.

According to what I learned on AI, January was named for the Roman god Janus, protector of gates and doorways. Janus is depicted with two faces, one looking into the past, the other into the future. January symbolizes the spirit of new beginnings and fresh starts, but I don’t see myself starting anything new. Mom didn’t set any intentions for the year, but I know she wants to stay healthy.

I heard on the radio that this January is the driest on record in Colorado. It is frightening because we need moisture to have adequate water in the summer as well as to cut down on wildfire danger. I don’t ever want to evacuate again like we did in 2020. I can tell mom is concerned.

I understand that people often want to “hibernate” in January. I get it. Mom, however, is not into hibernation. She stays busy and finds solace in her volunteer work at the park. She tries to be positive about the park she calls her “happy place,” but funding cuts and new mandates frustrate her. I sense her mixed emotions after spending time volunteering.

Mom misses Mog every day. I miss her too, but I now take her place on the office chair for napping and share the middle of the bed with mom at night. Mog relegated me to the bottom of the bed when she was alive. I know I am not the same as Mog by her side, but I try to be a good boy and let her know how much I love her.

We’re making it through January. Mom and I are blessed.

On New Year’s Day a woman was killed by a mountain lion on a trail less than 10 miles away from where I live. It was tragic, and so unfortunate that it happened. It was the first human killed by a mountain lion in Colorado in 25 years. Wildlife officials tracked and killed two juvenile lions in the area who were suspected of being the killers. One of the animals had human DNA on his paws so clearly was involved in the incident.

I understand why the lion perpetrators of the attack needed to be euthanized, but the incident saddened me. Rehabilitating bears that break into homes, wolves that kill domestic livestock, and mountain lions that attack people is difficult. Nevertheless, I am reminded of the poem by Kelli O. Kersell:

Who will speak for the animals,

For those who have no choice?

Who will keep them safe from harm,

Who will be their voice?

I live in a place that is abundant with wildlife. I revel each day in seeing the animals. Clearly where I live, as Jane Goodall suggested, “We’re not… separate from the animal kingdom. We’re part of it.” Goodall spent most of her career showing how similar humans and non-humans are. Animals deserve compassion, just like us. I think most people where I live are compassionate about animals, but we also must be responsible in living with these creatures.

My colleagues in natural resource management have written about the urban wildlife interface. As we destroy more open areas once populated with wildlife, these animals have adapted to a world where living with humans is inevitable. Dan Flores researched coyotes for decades and maintains that, for example, probably 5000 live in Chicago and are helping to keep down the populations of geese and deer. Unfortunately, they may also prey on cats and dogs. The interface is complicated. Nevertheless, human compassion should be extended to animals as well as humans.

The mountain lions who killed a woman two weeks ago cannot be ignored. Humans are not normal prey. Regardless of the wild animal, humans must be respectful. Animals need their spaces. Acknowleging that animals are part of nature is essential and people are responsible for preventing wildlife-human conflicts.

I will continue to spend time in the wilderness by myself and with others. I will do what I can to minimize the danger to myself and the animals. I will try to avoid conflicts and take action to be a voice for them.

I do not want to sound like one of those old people who talk about the good old days. Until recently I did not feel the past was better than today. I marvel at the transformations that have occurred in my lifetime. I am in awe of what has emerged in the past 75 years.

I am particularly aware of the changes in technology. My childhood had three channels on a black and white TV with rabbit ears. It went off the air every night with the playing of the national anthem. In high school I was excited to have a little transistor radio that I listened to at night with favorite songs that only aired from time to time. I took a typing class in high school in preparation for college and remember us students begging to take turns using the only electric typewriter that we had.

Technology that really changed my life was the invention of email and the world wide web. I recall reading Future Shock in the mid-70’s and fantasizing about the possibilities someday or having information instantaneously available at one’s fingertips rather than having to consult an encyclopedia or get help from a librarian. Who would have believed that we would be carrying unlimited information in our pockets every day.

I have also witnessed the revolutions in healthcare over the years. In 1950, the average life expectancy was 46 years; in 2023 it is 73 years. I have benefited from vaccines that have become available to save lives. I remember especially the joy that my mom expressed when polio vaccine became available when I was in grade school.

The political environment has greatly interested me. Seeing TV clips of the civil rights movement were perplexing to me as a child who was growing up in an exclusively white community. I recall the concerns of nuclear war related to aspects such as the Cuban missile crisis. My parents built a “fall-out” shelter in our basement just in case nuclear war happened. Little did I know how futile that shelter activity was.

The Vietnam War was central to my high school and college years. As time went on, I became jaded by the ability of any war to solve problems. I continue to seek understanding of how diplomacy is better than war. Until the past year, I believed that I grew up and lived in an international order that sought peace, stability, and growth.

I could go on with my perspectives on other major changes. I will, however, leave it here as I contemplate what may happen in 2026 that will significantly impact my life and the lives of people I love as well as those individuals I do not know.

I love my family of origin. My biological family shaped my core values and beliefs. I miss my parents and strive to maintain connections with my sisters. I am grateful, however, for the families of choice that have emerged over the years. These networks of friends and colleagues offer comfort and rituals that nurture me. My family of origin (FOO) provided foundational lessons. My families of choice (FOC) are intentional and offer meaningful connections.

I value what I learned from my FOO. They nurtured me with love, boundaries, communication skills, and influence about how the world works. My upbringing was not perfect. At times I did not believe my family understood me. On the other hand, I am grateful for what I learned about frugality, generosity, kindness, and reverence for the natural world.

Today I call several groups my FOC. These families do not supplant the FOO that provided love and safety in both my child and adulthood. These families, however, supplement my world and enable me to continue to grow as my FOO became less central to my life.

My FOCs are active through our commitments to one another. For example, I have a special family that started during my graduate school days. These people provided the essential sustenance I needed to complete my academic work and then maintain productivity and networking throughout my academic career. These friends and mentors, although some have passed away, continue to nourish my wellbeing.

A group of women came into my life when I lived in Madison, Wisconsin over 45 years ago. We have continued to get together in small and large groups over the years. They are the family that I can re-connect with in a matter of minutes upon reuniting. They have been steadfast during times of joy and sadness.

I am part of a FOC in Estes Park who are steadfast in my everyday life. They are also an anchor in celebrating holidays. I know that I can count of them for anything that I need. I hope they feel the same about me. They have enabled me to define family in my own terms.

I have been fortunate to have FOCs come in and out of my life over the years. I cannot imagine what life would be like without the foundational family I was born into as well as the created compassionate families that I have chosen, and that have chosen me.