ZIONS NATIONAL PARK; Sept. 19, 1961: 

Flash Flood Takes 3 Lives

ZIONS NATIONAL PARK; Sept. 17, 2015:

Flash Flood Takes 12 Lives

But life never halts, and cruel as it seems, goes relentlessly on . . .

Fifty-four years ago, and almost to the very day, a flood swept Zion Narrows, and I remember for my sister Fern’s husband, Walter J. Scott, was Leader of the 22 people who formed that 1961 group, which also included their daughter, Adene.

They didn’t hike all in one bunch, but groups of them were scattered along the pathway by that narrow canyon stream, and were ‘held together’ by Walt, who hiked back and forth among them.   It was great.

But Life often has its own plans and they were never again to meet as a full group, because before too long, the stream water had risen to cover their path, their shoe tops, and then, before they could even try to adjust to wet feet, a cascading wall of water came upon them, bringing tons of pine needles, and just as swiftly, came tree limbs, rocks, and debris of all sorts.

Wet feet were soon unimportant, for by then they were struggling for their lives, and they knew it. As the water relentlessly kept rising , they were forced up slopes and over or around rocks they  would never before even  considered tackling, but there was no choice, for they were facing dangers they had never dreamed or planned.

Their lives were on the line and so they did what normally would have been impossible. Flood refugees can’t be choosers and that is why they spent the rest of that day and that night on a hillside, safe, but yet, oh, how close to danger. It had not been part of that day’s plan.

And, with no instant communication, it was not until the next day that they began to hear what had happened to others on their hike. And families in their homes, knew that a flash flood had hit the canyon where their sons and daughters were, but there was no way of knowing if the hikers were safe, or had been taken along with the flood.

Yes, the world immediately knew of a deadly flood in Utah’s beautiful, but oh, so narrow canyon where, in such a flood, their only safety was getting to higher ground.  Such a problem, for a part of the lure of that hike is of its dangerous beauty. The flood sent no warning, and getting away from that raging water, was their only chance of survival..

It was like demons had planned the event, for all that day, that night, and into the next day, was pure hell for the hikers, as well as those who waited in homes, as my sister Fern did in her Murray home.  She, along with other families of those hikers did not know if their loved ones lived or had died.  My sister could have lost her husband and daughter, or one of them, or if both had survived. It was a bad time, back in 1961 for hikers or families.

Every hiker saw a story unfold, and from their higher position could at times catch glimpses of the stream, and a few of them saw Walt, Leader of the entire group, fighting to help two young men to safety.   With his strength, he might have been able to save himself but those young  hikers were in his keeping.  His struggles. however,  proved to be useless and all three of them became victims of the water’s fury.

I was a writer for the Murray Eagle/Green Sheet newspapers and was trying to write my column, “Out My Window” and it was a dark ‘window’ that day. for one part of me tried to be an ‘observer’ and write the facts, while, another part of me was a participant. along with family members for I knew Walt and Adene were in a life or death situation.

There was nothing anyone could to do but wait and pray, and it was long hours before Fern knew that Walt her husband had died, but Adene her daughter, survived.

As survivors of such horrors have ever found, Fern also learned that life never halts, and cruel as it seems, goes relentlessly on. It’s a difficult, but a well trodden pathway. and as the families of those 54 years ago learned, the families of those today will also sorrowfully learn.

People who died that day 54 years ago were Walter J. Scott, Leader, Steven Gene Florence, and Paul Ray Nicholson. Survivors from this area, were John Bangerter, Bonnie Darger, Lila Fielden, Katheryn Grim, Margaret McIntyre, Lynda McIntyre, and Adene Scott, daughter of rhe Leader. Among other survivors were hikers  from Park City and out of State.

We Can have it both ways . . .

There are two sides to most problems, and there certainly are to the debate over Fireplaces versus Clean Air. Both views are legitimate, but sometimes TV, radio and newspapers seem to act as though there is only one side.  And inasmuch as I have a fireplace and also love to breathe, I searched for help and began with calling the Police. And why not? They’re the very ones someone would call if they thought I was breaking a law.

The Police told me that the use of fireplaces is legal, but in order to protect the air and keep it clean, an effort  has been made to create Rules, and if people (and that means me, and that means you) will observe those Rules, the Police will never be needed.

The Yes or No for fireplace usage will be announced each day on Radio  and TV newscasts, but if missed, simply call 801-536-4000 to find out the “Yes or No” for the day. 

That number is for The Dept. of Environmental Quality, Division of Air Quality Control, and it is part of their ‘job’ to give us the info we need. They, same as a lot of us, like Clean Air, as well as  fireplaces, so keep their number on your mantel for quick use, and don’t hesitate, because that’s exactly what that number is for.

Yes, there are two sides to the problem  but the Rules are fair and square, and so, when you want a fire, first make that call, and then go ahead with what they tell you. But that Heart of the Home, a fireplace, is legal, and the Rules are for everyone’s well being. We all want Clean Air.

I had no fireplace when we built here in Murray. My husband had grown up with the chore of keeping the fireplace ashes cared for, and didn’t want those chores repeated for the rest of his life. But within a few years following his early death, I had men knocking out a huge hole in the east side of my living room wall, and within another week or two, I had a Fireplace. All mine. To not only enjoy, but to take care of the ashes as well and  I’ve never regretted my choice..

It hadn’t been a wonderful couple of weeks, however, because as soon as there was a big hole in my wall, there were  three (four, five, SIX!!!!) homeless cats that tride to make my home theirs, and though I could keep them out during the day, I had to sleep, and for almost two weeks those dang cats  spent their nights in my house. But even that finally ended, and soon I, and guests were eating an evening meal before my fire, and loving it. It truly did become the heart of my home.

Yes, in almost all art work of family and home, there is a fireplace. and I love the old war song, that Mama used to sing, with words of,  “Keep the home fires burning, While our hearts are yearning, and though our boys are far away, they dream of home.”

And I’ll ne’er forget one nippy evening when a man, taking his daily walk,  came to my door and thanked me for perfuming the air. He said, “One deep breath and I was a child again. The air smells like home, and I had to say ,  Thank You.”

That’s the power of a fireplace, changing a grown man into a child, and bringing that man/child to a stranger’s door, and I don’t forget.

And now, while there are no suggestions about the use of stoves, with no guilt,  using your fireplace is legal, and, by following the Rules, they are  no threat to our Clean Air. Those on both sides of the question are happy, so keep the number nearby, and again, it’s 801-536-4000. That way we’ll be keeping The Rules, enjoying our fire,  and also able to  breathe  clean air.

Use it or lose it . . .

I’m no shining example but I’ve tried to exercise, to eat right and I get along fairly well. And it all began with Miss Gorlinski, gym teacher at Granite High.

Her first words that stayed with me were, “Don’t choose your food just because it tastes good; but choose food that is going to be good for your body.” Yes, Miss Gorlinski, I remember.

She told us to notice how our mothers gave our newborn siblings only what was needed for their bodies, and nothing just because it tasted good.

Yeah, but she also told that before those babies were a year old, we would be giving them a taste of some dessert. Bit of ice cream, or candy. Yeah, shame, shame, shame, before they were a year old, they knew the difference and were hooked for the rest of their lives. Sugar is addictive.

Miss Gorlinski taught us to use our bodies, and reminded us of how the babies exercise because there on their backs, they twist and use every muscle in the body, flinging arms and legs every which way, and those same kids, keep doing the same as 8 or 9 years olds. Climbing trees, racing each other, wrestling, bicycling, yeah, and at school recess we were  using all our muscles again.

Everyone  should have a Miss Gorlinski in their early lives.

Today we’re told over and over How to be Healthy, and a big one is to not eat anything White and that’s OK, but that puts a ban on cauliflower, milk, cottage cheese, yogurt, Tofu, all marvels of food, so don’t put them in the same boat as white sugar, and the thousands of foods from white flour.

We’ve got eyes. And common sense tells us to use the brown stuff. Brown bread, brown rice, brown pastas, and we should use those eyes, and look at the list of Ingredients on every package or box of food we buy.

Dry Breakfast Cereal has become a big lie. They have pictures of good grains on the box, but put on your glasses and look at the ingredient list. And, I betcha that in three fourths of those cereals, is sugar, sugar, sugar  And, if sugar is one of the first three (4) ingredients, it’s a dessert no matter what the label says.

Miss Gorlinski was a gym teacher, and reminded us that we don’t get down on the floor and swing away. No we don’t get on a bike and race up and down the sidewalk.  No, we don’t bend and roll  as children, but she asked: Why Not????  She told us, that while standing at the sink or table doing some chore,. bend the knees and shift your weight back and forth from leg and foot to the other leg and foot. Just as you did as a kid. Do it again.

Orange juice is full of vitamin C but, a Continental Breakfast of O.J., do-nut, and coffee, while a standard breakfast for many, will make us feel zippy for a half an hour, but after that???? We feel sick and mentally dull.

So we go on to carbs, the brown, not white ones, and their impact is slower to take hold, but once they get in gear, their impact lasts 4 or so long hours. And then we get to protein, and a serving must be more than a slice of bacon. It is slower  to kick-in, but once it does its wonderful power remains with you for 7- 8 hours.

And then, all day long, every 2 or 3 hours, we’re told to give our body a jump-start, and it’s easy. Not a meal, but a tsp. not a Tbsp, of peanut butter is immense; A tbsp or so of beans does the same. A good carb, a protein and a fruit and you’re good for another hour or two. Think small for these tidbits.

And we’re told that we can’t be babies again, but we can exaggerate every move during our day.  When we make our bed, stand in the middle on one side, and without moving our feet, stretch to the left, the right and far forward across the bed. Ho, ho ho, stretch your body, and if the muscles rebel???? Well, they’re telling us that we’ve been ignoring them. So, nod and stretch again. .   Use it or you’ll lose it.

Where oh where are the Miss Gorlinskis to tell today’s pre-teens that we have just one body, there are no returns, but there is maintenance. Good ole maintenance. For today and on and on and on right into our senior years. Why Not???

Pearls of Wisdom

This is You. This is me.
We are always
exactly at a point between the Past,
which is as dark, or light, as we have made it,
Drop the Past
and the Future
will be as light, or dark, as we will make it.
Ethel Bradford

Courage doesn’t always roar.

Sometimes it’s the quiet voice

At the end of the day, saying

“I will try again tomorrow”.

                               Anonymous 

I can’t do it alone God, bur with you I can do anything. 

          Milton, in 1666, said:

“Our Mind can make a

Heaven while in Hell,

Or a Hell while in Heaven.”

There are no Baby Spirits
But there are Spirits in Baby Bodies.
There are no old worn out spirits
But there are Spirits in old worn out bodies.

                                       Ethel Bradford 

                                                                               Have I done any good in the world today?

Have I helped anyone in need?

Have I cheered up the sad?

Made someone feel glad?

If not, I have failed indeed.

           Old Mormon Hymn

What Thou Art, I Am and

What I Am, Thou Art.

We never know How Strong We Are, until

How Strong We Are is all we have.

The Light of God surrounds me

The Love of God enfolds me,

The Power of God protects me,

The Presence of God watches over me,

The Mind of God guides me,

The Life of God flows through me,

The Laws of God direct me,

The Strength of God renews me,

The Beauty of God inspires me,

Wherever I Am, God Is.

         Charles Fillmore, co-founder of Unity

Life is not to be spent waiting for the storms to pass

But learning how to dance in the rain.

                 Life is one long unbroken sentence, with never a Period.  Our physical birth was when we left one of God’s Preparation Rooms and stepped into His Human Room, and when we ‘die’? Nothing will ‘die’, but only a step into whichever of His Rooms we were ready for.

                  We know not what Rooms we have lived in, but, there will come A Day, when we will know that every room has been  in God’s Many-roomed Home. and that we have never been, and never will be apart from that Home. Only different Rooms for different Learning.

               And we’ll one day find a glorious Room and know our long, journey of seeking and separation is over. We are Home, have always been, but failed to know that ALL Life has been and still is, God’s Home. Right Here, wherever we are. Home. God’s Home.

—-

There is a Destiny that makes us brothers.

None goes his way alone, and

All that we send into the lives of others

Comes back into our own.

Edward Markham

We need to remember to be in the  

Present. That is an ironic

expression, because if we are

remembering, we are not in the

Present, but usually we get caught

up in thoughts and forget to

experience the Now. A bit of a Zen

Koan, ‘remembering not to remember’.

Bill Bradford

A not so quiet day at the store . . .

I was in one of those stores where aisles, going both ways, run deep into the other end of the block and you don’t   know where you are or can’t know what’s going on just an aisle or two away.

But as I poked along, I heard some one cry out, and followed by noises as if someone had fallen and was calling for help. So, what would you do? Yeah, me too, so I hurried toward the noise, and then, yeah, there was someone on the floor, but not what I had expected. . .

Instead, there were three people on the floor. All men, and two of them were Cops and the third one, was still yelling, but with the Cops trying to pin him down, and at the same time telling him to Shut up and quit yelling.

Well, one of the cops gave me a ‘get away’ glance that told me I was not wanted there, and also that there was nothing I could do, and I got away as fast as I had hurried there.

Then I remembered that when I had entered the store, there had been a Cop, in uniform, also going through the doors. Now, we all see Firemen in the Grocery stores shopping for their coming meals, but it was the first time I’d ever seen Cops doing so, and I wondered what was so urgently needed  that he was shopping in uniform.

But, as I hurried away from the scene, I knew he had been called there, and wondered what the man was doing to cause the Management to call the Police to not only come, but cause them to tackle him. And I also wondered why, if they needed Police, why didn’t they tell customers also??? There were no shots fired, Thank Heavens, but if they needed Cops, how were they to know there’d not be shots???   But just the same no help was needed from me and I left the store in a hurry,

As I moved an aisle or two from the scene, the sounds of the scuffle were soon buried in music and people talking, quite unaware of what was going on.  But it was none of my business and I got out of there fast. Yelling, scuffling and calling out was all that had happened, and I wasn’t going to hang around to find out what had caused it, either.

If it amounted to anything big,  it’d be on the news or in the paper, and there have been no reports, and so I suppose it amounted to nothing but shoplifting.  But I can’t help but wonder, why two Cops? How did the store know they even needed Cops? There had been no cautionary words given to customers as they entered the store, Odd, whatever it was, I suppose it had been handled well, for there had been no confusion in the store except if one had been as near to it all, as I had been.

And I just blundered upon it, thinking someone needed help, but never again.

Like you, I’ve seen enough headlines and heard about too many guns being fired in such seemingly innocent times, that I was glad just to get away from it all, and if I ever again hear someone yelling and with scuffling, I’m going to know it has nothing to do with me, and will hurry to go ‘the other way’. as fast as I’d hurried toward it the other day.

And all this went on right here in the peaceful environs of Murray. Yes, and it remained calm too, except for the poor cuss who had been tackled to the floor, sat upon, and told to shut up as well.   Yeah, right here in our peaceful City of Murray.

Clark Gable ?   Why Not ?

I’m very content with my ordinary life, with family, house, neighborhood, and wouldn’t have it otherwise. But sometimes after hearing the most un-ordinary news and seeing the wild (to me) headlines of gossip magazines, I wonder if I’m stupid to be happy with my ordinary life.

And so, Ethel being Ethel, I went to the dictionary and it told me that ordinary means anything so ‘everyday’, so basic, that we take it for granted, and give it no attention.

I grinned then, as I realized each of our days, begins with one ordinary event that would literally bring an end to the world if it didn’t happen. Yeah, the sun rises and it is light, and we don’t worry about it going down either. So ordinary no one even gives it a thought, but without it???  Well, for a starter, all life would soon cease to be. But oh so ordinary.

Going farther, (Well, why not?) every second, people are conceived, born, live and die. How ordinary, and yet if death didn’t come, we’d have so many people we’d be fighting for food, space, and air. Or, if conception stopped, (ho, ho, ho,) within fifty or so years, the world would be shutting down, for there’d be no one to keep it going. Or even use it.

The more I searched, the more I found that it’s the ordinary, the taken-for-granted events, that makes my world (and yours) even possible.  Water, light switches, plumbing, heating or cooling, friends, food at the stores, cars, streets, and on and on.

So ordinary, but so good, that I shall go back to what started me off on all this subject. See, I was watching TV when a retired Journalist,  who had talked with the ‘high and mighty’ of the world, was being interviewed, and was asked if there was one person that stood out above all others.

I expected him to tell of some President, teacher, inventor or such, but after a pause and with an odd smile, the Journalist shifted his body, cocked his head, nodded, and said, “Yes, I do, and it was Clark Gable, the Movie Star”. The Journalist went on, saying, ‘I had just asked Gable pretty much the same question you asked me. Of course, I knew that wherever Gable went, everyone, from Presidents on down, fawned over him, and so his answer surprised me for he answered, Yes, and  it’s my wife. ‘

I thought he might have misunderstood my question, but no, he hadn’t and went on to explain. “When I finish my day’s work, which is a great one, but when I get in my car to drive home, a Special Peace comes to me. for I know that on the other side of my own Front Door, there’s someone waiting for the sound of my key in our door, and that I complete her day, as she completes mine.”

Gable almost apologized, saying, “I’m sure that’s not the answer you expected, but, you see, I’m a very ordinary man. and knowing she is there, waiting for me, puts all else in its place.  Needed and wonderful, but none of it would be that good if it weren’t for her..”

The Journalist continued, “I’ve listened to many powerful and sincere people telling what should/shouldn’t be done to bring Peace, but Gable’s very ordinary words, of that Special Peace, possible for every one of us, stays with me, and I’ve come to see that he had matured from a man who ‘made his living as a Movie Star, and knew it was a great job’, but that ‘on the other side of his own front door,’ was one who waited for him and gave meaning to all the rest. In other words, Love.”

And so Ethel, sat back, smiled over her own ‘ordinary life’ and thought of how our Great Teacher, who never heard of a Movie Star, had also spoken of Love and Peace together. And then I actually grinned at the paradox of putting the words of Jesus and Clark Gable together, but knew they fit perfectly.

So ordinary, but the two, Love and Peace can and do make all of our lives joyous. And two experts in their own fields, agreed.   Clark and Jesus.

We call them Letters now . . .

The fact that I wrote these words and you read them, can be traced back 3,000 years to the Phoenicians who traveled the world’s oceans as merchants selling their wares and needed some method of written communication better than Hieroglyphics.

We know the Who and When, but there is no way of knowing the How of it all, but history does let us know that it was those ancient people who gave us an Alphabet. I can’t imagine not having the use of those 26 letters, but until then all records had to be made in cumbersome Hieroglyphics and each country did it differently.

There had never been an alphabet, but some smart people figured out a method where a certain Sound we make when speaking, would be represented by a certain shaped squiggle made in the sand, on papyrus, or carved in rock, (no paper then).  And that no matter how, when or where that certain squiggle appeared, it meant that same Sound. and in just about any language, too.

Any school child as they ‘sound’ out words, uses those squibbles, that we now call Letters, and the sounds they represent do not change, no matter in what language they are used. I can’t imagine how they did it, or how long it took them to find and separate all those sounds, but Phoenicians  did it, and in time, people finally settled on only 26, but those 26 Letters (squibbles) changed the world.

It has been claimed that the Printing Press changed the world and that is true, but we must not forget that first of all, there had to be something to print, and that’s where the Alphabet did its job.

So utterly dependable, and yet so adaptable that Shakespeare wrote his works, the Bible became everyone’s book, the boring records of some business meeting, your grocery list, foul, X-rated books, a lover’s note, child’s fairy tale, and not a one needing more than those same 26 letters.

I’m sure it was not a quickly found set of sounds to begin with, but once on the path, it grew, became more and more perfected, and it was so good, and needed, that as the alphabet traveled the world others began using it. Like seeds sown on fertile soil, the use of those Letters grew until now, most of the world’s written words use the squibbles that those old explorers of the ancient world put together.

The Phoenicians, as merchants, traveled and needed a method of keeping records of Order Forms, Orders delivered, Payments made, and also in an understandable way. The alphabet soon was adopted by people no matter where they lived or what language they spoke.

It couldn’t have been an over night ‘fix’, and the different squiggles must have been changed, and refined, until, today,only one of the originals, the B remains, but just the same, those people freed the world from Hieroglyphics.

And as they traveled, ‘mail’ began to go back and forth on those ships, across the oceans, taking orders for merchandise, sending those orders to factories on the other side of the world, as well as letters to families. No, it wasn’t like our mail, much less email, but everything has its beginning and world communication began with those Phoenicians.

Then, wonder of wonders, at the same time, songs and poetry, that had been enjoyed only orally and locally, reached out to others. the Bible soon could be read in homes and churches. poetry, songs, dramas, doctors instructions, teachers, all found the method worked and they used it.

The Phoenicians and their alphabet, opened our world and our minds to other worlds and other minds. Used by the most powerful people in the world, or a child in kindergarten. Those odd squibbles (we call them letters) work for all.

The ideas for today’s blog come from E.H. Gombrich’s book   “A Little History Of The World” and it’s so good I can’t help but desire to share it with you. Find it on Amazon and for a few dollars, the book will be yours. It’s filled with short chapters of people, oddities, ideas, facts and soon, you too will be telling others about it.

Bill Bradford, my son and who is the brains behind this Internet Blog of mine, is the one who brought me his well read copy and I thank him.  No chapter’s longer than two or three pages but oh, it’s filled with such a the wealth of unusual knowledge, and in such interesting ways, that you too, will love Gombrich’s style and, I swear, he, too, used only 26 letters.

Institutionalized . . .

As a new prison site is being chosn, we constantly hear about prisons. I have written about them before and no doubt will again, but for today, here I go. I spent 5-6 years going to the prison as a volunteer teacher in Medium Security, was an official witness at the Bishop execution, and so learned a bit more about prisoners than before I stepped inside those walls.

I was startled to find that all prisoners do not hate ‘that place’ and often heard the comment that they’d never had it so good, what with three meals, showers, clean clothes, recreational facilities, Heat and Cool Air as needed, and always a place to sleep.

It was a common phrase from the men, that if they were ever ‘freed’, the first thing they’d do would be to commit a crime so they would be sent back. And the nodding heads around the room made me know that it wasn’t a one-man attitude.

And I found that while we think of prison as punishment, most of those 45 or more years old, think otherwise.

To my shock, I found they had their plans for Retirement, just as people ‘on the outside’ do. But with a difference. The older (see above) planned on staying right where they were. Planned Retirement was a real thing to them, and Ethel was slowly getting an insight into Prison life that the average person could not get. And was appalled for they, if ever freed, even knew which crimes to commit to get back in, based on how long the sentences would be. They know all about that stuff and aren’t aiming for either Minimum or Maximum Security, just nice comfortable Medium.

My thinking began changing. They are required to do nothing except obey prison rules, and, while I’m sure my words will not fit the younger, short term prisoners, but almost all of the older group, are  by and large, contented to be right where they are.

Yes, there are some who came from affluent homes, but a goodly part of the prison population did not, and for the first time in their lives, they have a security they’d never dreamed of having.  With not one cent of expense to them.

But even those who came from homes with the basics given, wish to remain where they are. They know that with time, all families change, and after long years of imprisonment, are quite aware that the family they left,  is no longer in existence. 

My thinking continued to change. Everything is free, and for the first time in their lives their every need is given to them, and I realized that we have made prisons into very comfortable ‘homes’ for those there in Medium Security, where the sentences are longer, the men older.

The old stereotype of the Chain Gangs in our Southern States was appalling to us.  Those men were forced to work and in some way, pay for their keep but I’d also wager that not a single one of those prisoners was planning on how to remain in prison for a long time, much less for retirement.

I don’t know how it could work, but I came to think that prisoners should be forced to work. And there would be great uproar from people who would say, they are taking jobs from people outside who need the work. Yes, in some ways that’s legitimate, but there must be some answer, for to tell the truth, we have made prison life too comfortable for  the large number of  mature prisoners. Believe it or not, they do not want OUT.

Farms, laundry, cleaning, yard work, painting, upkeep of any kind could be done by the prisoners and while security would be needed, the prisoners should be forced to work. Instead, they get movies, winter and summer recreational equipment. And no-cost classes by volunteers such as I was.

Recently, there have been several Federal Prisons built for older prisoners, who, like people outside, have developed Alzheimer’s and other old age maladies that require the care given on the ‘outside’ at Care Centers. Prisoners from all States, are now sent to Federal Care Centers, where specially trained doctors and nurses are employed.

And who pays for it all? Foolish to ask, for you know it is your tax dollars that  make it possible. The people on the ‘outside’, often even victims of those prisoners, must pay for not only their own care, but to also pay for those huge Care Centers being built, plus  the upkeep and staff..

I don’t know the answer, but it must be there. When prisoners are actually planning prison to be their Retirement Home, we are helping them along, with these special prisons, built to cater to the prisoner’s needs. Not ours.

To so many prisoners, ‘that place’ is the best thing that ever happened to them;   It is not a punishment, but rather, their old age Insurance Policy. I struggled to NOT accept such an attitude, but the facts are there, and deeply imbedded, as well.

So, will the new prison we are soon to build, also turn into a Retirement Home? Worth thinking about, because, I assure you,  the prisoners are.

Ethel is ‘on assignment’ working at another project and won’t be posting a new blog this week.  So in order to hold up our end of the internet, the management and staff here at From Out My Window have decided to make an alternative posting;  we will look back and see what Ethel was writing three years ago this week, and publish it again.  It made for some wonderful teary eyes around here.

Oh, yes, yes, How much I did understand

I recently turned a hallway corner and startled a young couple holding each other closely, sharing a moment of love and tenderness.

As soon as they saw me, they hurriedly stepped apart, blushing, embarrassed, and their reaction was obvious, that I, of another generation, could not in any way, understand their actions or what they were feeling.

I was momentarily tempted to pause and tell them that indeed I did understand.  That I was intensely aware of their happiness, and  could feel the emotion that passed between them, because, as the old song says, ”I had a love of my own, you see, I had a love of my own.”

We live in a world that seems programmed to think that love, and all its glory that ‘makes life worth living’, is meant only for the young.  And that if you are 50, or anywhere beyond, that love is foolish and out of the question.  That any  marriage, at those ages, must be nothing but empty, hollow arrangements and could never have the least thing to do with that most ‘tender emotion.’

How wrong they are.  Oh, heavens, how wrong they are and how much they have to learn as they are taking their first startled steps into the world that is at the heart, and the reason for every birth, book, opera, song, poem, sculpture or work of art.

They were so young, so starry eyed and they think the joys and love they are experiencing can, in no way, be understood by people their parent’s age.  But they must be excused, because every generation thinks the wonders and joys of love and sex are unique to them.

It is the wise (blessed? lucky?) ones who go through the young infatuations, and though moved, recognize them for what they are. To enjoy, learn, but carefully, oh most carefully avoid any acts or commitments that could entail a child, marriage, and so often a divorce.

I read, and still like to refer to Margaret Mead’s book, the world-wide classic, Coming of Age In Samoa written in 1925, after she lived there as an Anthropologist.  Among other aspects of their life, Mead wrote of Coming of Age, or as we say, the Teen years. In Samoa at that time, love and sex were routinely expected, accepted, and tolerated with no criticism. She compared sex as arriving to those of those early years, like  flash fires, bolts of lightning and over just as quickly.

However, if a Samoan pair conceived a child, (and here their rules were adamant and frighteningly strict), and with no censorship, they were automatically considered ‘married’ and would continue that responsibility until the child (children) reached adulthood.  And horribly harsh punishments followed if those rules were ignored.

But then, when those ‘family’ years were completed, they had done their duty to the next generation and were free to do as they pleased, and again with no criticism.  What did it matter, they said. It is the children who are important and must be nurtured.

But back from Samoa to my encounter in that hallway.  Teen-age love comes, and goes, and that young pair I interrupted  has so much to learn.  How swiftly that first wild love can fling them into a marriage they’re not ready for.  A child?  A divorce?  And leaving both disillusioned, bitter and knowing that the rest of their lives have been irrevocably changed.

But life does not stand still. We get older, hopefully wiser and no matter how badly burned or blessed with that first Bolt of Lightning, time passes, life heals, and then another love enters people’s lives.  Not the same as the first,  not taking the place of any cherished memories, and not to be criticized or explained, but entirely different. And welcome.

Yes, I passed the young couple I had surprised without seemingly giving them more than a passing glance, but they could not and can not know what thoughts and  memories they stirred, and at the same time, what hopes and fears of where their  lives, almost out of their control, would now go.

I knew they thought I would/could not understand them, but I understood so well that a smile touched my lips as I recalled  another song that tells us  “Love is wonderful, the second time around.”  And whoever penned those words knew exactly what they were talking about.

And while we’re on the subject, and not in Samoa or even in that hallway, and as if you don’t already know, I’ll tell you a secret.   If you’re lucky, the third time is nothing  to be  underestimated either.  And a fourth time?  You’re asking the wrong person, but each one, in its own way, is distinct, different, wonderful.

Oh me, and all this from a moment’s encounter in a out-of-the-way hallway.

The Doldrums of Summer remain, and claiming another week of vacation, I choose to use a Blog of a few year’s back which (Thank you, thank you) garnered, much approval with good words sent to me. Hope you readers of years ago, as well as the new ones, will also like it. I still do.

It’s a poem written by some Wise American Indian Man or Woman and the words impressed me so much that I saved them, and as I pore over them again, I still shiver over the meaning and wish their Montana Paper were still being published. It was good.

THE TWELFTH HOUR

For long centuries the world’s been told
“This is the Eleventh Hour.”
And we felt it to be true.

But quietly, almost secretly, the 11th Hour passed
And now, the hoped for, but also feared,
Twelfth Hour is Here. No longer for some vague to-morrow,
BUT RIGHT NOW, THIS IS THE TWELFTH HOUR.

It is the time to know your own Truth,
And cease looking outward for another
To tell us what to think and do.

It can be a glorious time. for
The River is flowing fast.
So rapidly that many are afraid
And cling to the shore
Crying out that they are being torn to pieces.

But The River knows The Destination.
Let go of the shore and,
Dive joyously into the midst of the stream.

See who is with you and rejoice!
Look fearlessly at your fears
And never once reach back to the shore.
For whenever we stop to ask questions
Our Spiritual Journey also stops.

The River knows the Way and
Will carry us with it!
Look to no other for counsel
For the time of asking others is long past.
Be Still and allow yourself
To Know, and then to act in a sacred manner.

That Wondrous Hour
Is no longer anticipated
But is Here. Now. Today.

In deep humility know that
You chose to be part of the Change. And
You are one of those the world has long awaited.

Yes, we shiver, for we know the 11th Hour is past history. That cusp has been passed, and that it is now the 12th Hour. Long, long ago, in One of God’s Preparation Rooms, you and I held up our hands  and volunteered to be here, at this crucial, blessed time, and to do our part.

Read again the last line of that Wise Native American Poem. It says that You and I are part of Those Brave Long Awaited Ones. The ones the world has waited to welcome, and  now, we are here, and who can know, but perhaps we’ll be blessed to someday meet at The River’s Destination.  Why should it not be so? ??