Shiela Branson

Saturday, September 3, 2011

The River Beach

Do you ever go to the beach? We don't live near an ocean, being almost dead center in the North American Continent, but there are rivers in the vicinity.

Our beach isn't very big, but we like it. It's free, for one thing. Then there's the convenience of being able to sit and read on ground that's soft compared to the concrete that surrounds the swimming pools.

The water lures the kids and they bring me collections of pebbles, fallen feathers, and tiny snail shells.

I don't know. There's just something about it that clears my mind and lets me relax. The children love it. The company's good, fun, and easy-going.

For a long time I never even thought about going to the beach; once I did, we were hooked. Now we wait for the weather to get warm enough. It doesn't have to be warm enough to swim, just warm enough to be outside without parkas and mukluks. Basically that means as soon as the ice is off.

If you haven't been to the beach lately you maybe ought to try it. When the sun glitters off the ripples and a little breeze comes out of nowhere; when the children find beauty and joy in a simple pebble; life kind of stops and records the joy for future reference.

You never know when you're going to need a moment of joy; it's good to know those moments are right there in the library of my mind, easy to get to when I need them.

Unique Appeal of Small Town USA

There's something about small town life that's got a unique appeal.

People can be nosy and seriously get on my one remaining nerve, but it's a price I willingly pay for the benefits of living where I do.

When my car quits, getting a ride home is no problem. Friends and relatives seem to be constantly coming to collect me from here and there. They might give me a bad time about it, but they show up.

I have a tendency to forget the strangest things.

When the tags and registration for my little old car came, I put the envelope into the glove compartment and forgot all about it until our esteemed local policeman noticed.

He called to verify that they had indeed been sent because I didn't want to search for something that wasn't there. He didn't want me getting picked up someplace out of town where I might get a ticket for having tags that expired three months before.

When he told me to check my car for it, I found the envelope right where I had put it.

While I signed the registration card, he put the tags on for me.

It's stuff like this that makes me glad I live where I do. The whole county pitches in, watching out for me.

Montana Drive

Have you ever driven eastern Montana highways?

Last summer I took my little old beater for a drive and ended up in Montana. Call it the scenic route.

Actually it is very beautiful around there. Unfortunately I didn't have a bloody clue where I was except I knew I was in Montana and wanted to go to Wyoming. Being an intelligent person with a reasonable grasp of geography, I decided south was the direction for me.

I stopped in a town, bought a map, saw a road labeled highway heading south, and took off.

As I was going up a hill one of my back tires blew. Yee-ha.

I like Montana, really I do.

I flagged down someone to help me change the tire and went back to the town, limping along the side of the road because the spare was a different size from the rest of the tires.

I got the name of the guy who could sell me tires and called him at home, catching him just as he was going out the door to go fishing. He was great about the interruption and sold me two tires, put them on and everything.

Back on the highway heading south, I found out it was an unpaved highway. I was having fun dodging potholes, waiting for sheep to cross the road, and scoping out the scenery. It truly is outstanding. You just have to look at it in between watching for animals and holes.

Something whapped the outside of my car, startling me. More whaps came, and I was seeing things flying through the air hitting my car. One caught on a windshield wiper and I realized I was in a grasshopper storm. I kept going, hoping it was a local phenomenon. It was.

After about thirty miles without seeing a sign, I was wondering if I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, although I was still going in a relatively straight line south and there hadn't been any turns to take.

Finally I saw a little sigh that reassured me. According to the sign, civilization was only forty miles ahead. I felt much better and started singing out loud.

Sure enough, about forty miles later, after I'd bottomed out in an unavoidable hole in the highway and bent my front license plate around the bumper, I saw a bar. I stopped to pick dead grasshoppers out of my grill and almost went into the bar, but continued on my way to Wyoming which wasn't that far away by then.

Even with the tire blowing, the grasshoppers, and the hole in the road it was a great time. I had fun.

And you know what? I do like Montana. Montana has good people who are kind to me. And good scenery. What's not to like about that?

I even thought about moving there. Briefly.

Salamanders

Last spring there was a salamander in my basement.

I'm not normally a squeamish type person. Cleaning fish and gutting game don't bother me. changing diapers is no big deal after four kids and lots of babysitting. I don't mind getting muddy in my flowerbeds, and I actually sort of like getting all greasy and grimy when I play mechanic. Spiders and bugs are just spiders and bugs. Snakes are snakes and we get along just fine as long as they don't try to bite me.

I don't know what it is about salamanders. Frogs are okay. Turtles are nice. Well, not the snapping turtles that chomp the fish we leave tethered to the dock, but in general. But salamanders I have a problem with.

Anyway, last spring I went down into my basement in all innocence and almost stepped smack onto this salamander. I don't scream about things as a general rule, either. I'm not one to faint at the sight of blood, or vomit just because someone else does. But I admit I did let out a smallish squawk about that salamander.

Salamanders don't bite. I don't think they even have teeth. I don't know what they eat, but it surely can't be people. They also don't jump on you or chase you or anything else scary.

I called my friend to come get the salamander out of my basement. He told me to pour salt on it and it would die. Well that's fine, but to do that I'd have to get closer to it than I wanted to. Besides, I didn't want to kill it; I just wanted it out of my basement.

All things considered, I figured there wasn't anything I really needed to go down there for anyway. I stayed upstairs. Jim said that salamanders couldn't climb stairs, but if it came up from the basement he'd come and get it. Gee thanks. I kept the basement door closed just in case.

I don't know if it's still down there; I haven't checked. Jim's wrong more often than he's right, but he knows his salamanders. This one hasn't climbed the stairs yet. As far as I know.

Paying Homage to Some Special Friends

I've had some good friends in my day. Through it all they're there - good times, bad times, laughter and tears. You know the litany so I'll spare you the maudlin stuff for now. Having friends is a joy.

Today I want to pay homage to some pretty special friends.

They aren't the ones I call when I'm excited, or sad for that matter. They aren't the ones who call me up to chat about the triumphs and challenges of life.

These friends know more about challenges and triumphs than most of us ever will.

Sometimes when I'm getting the feeling that a project I've set for myself to do is beyond my abilities, and when I'm feeling as though it might not be worth the effort in the end, I find myself smiling at my own doubts, my own reluctance to push my envelope just that little bit more it will take to achieve what I set out to do.

See, there's something about having these friends - they're kind of contagious in their can-do, will-do way of living their lives, and the good humor, generosity, and kindness with which they do it.

In the face of extreme odds, how many of us would have the courage to not only keep putting forth our best efforts, not matter what, but go about it with a smile that touches everyone around them?

It's a gift, grace in the face of adversity.

Me, a relatively simple project can make me scowl (and maybe cuss) and even want to put it off to another day, or abandon it altogether. For the good of project-completion I often bless these friends of mine for the gift they share and teach so willingly.

While they may not be immediately at my side, they are always near my spirit; and even if I don't hear their words in my ears their unfailing message comes through my heart loud and clear.

"Try," they tell me. "Keep on trying; give it your best shot, no matter what!"

The warmth of their smiles, the unabashed delight in their eyes, the joy of being able to spend time with some of the most incredible people in the world - it's all a gift.

I have been given a rare opportunity to learn about courage, tenacity, loyalty, and generously-shared good humor from those who are best able to teach it.

They live it every day.

If more of us had their gumption the world would be immeasurably enriched!

These friends of mine, they never give up.

They never stop trying.

I don't know that I would be able to do what they do, not even for a short time - and they've been struggling for all of their lives to become the best they can be.

It's humbling to know them, to watch them day by day.

I'll never measure up; all I can do is try to Catch Up!

Their disabilities can mean that every step taken requires more effort on their part than it takes me to make twenty or more long strides, yet more often than not I find myself looking at these friends and realizing that they are far ahead of most of the rest of us in terms of persistently reaching out, stretching toward achievements, and pushing their own envelopes just that little bit more every day.

To say these friends of mine have my deepest admiration and respect doesn't come close to how I feel about them.

They tutor me, encourage me, challenge me, inspire me to not only become better than I am but to TRY, like them, to become the best me that I can be.

Disabled?

Maybe.

But not, I think, where it really counts.

Many of 'us' are more disabled than these our dear friends whom we too often minimize.

Which is the more disabled: the one who tries or the one who can't be bothered?

Which is the more disabled: the one who encourages others or the one who thwarts someone's dreams?

Which is the more disabled: the one who gives it their best shot or the one who settles for 'good enough'?

Which is the more disabled: the one who marvels at the beauty of the world or the one who can't even see it?

Ah, my friends, why do we not follow your lead and absorb your gumption?

It would do us all a world of good.

It's proud I am to have had the privilege of getting to know you.

When I'm dithering about whether or not I'll be able to do something, when I wonder if it's even worth trying, when the opposition is strong, when doubt and fear kick in, when something seems beyond my reach - it is to you I turn; it is your example that shows me the value of courage, tenacity, hope, and humor.

It is from you, my dear friends, that the example comes, and the wisdom.

'All you can do is the best you can do, right? Just TRY! And try again, and again, and again. You don't have to be the best of everyone; you just have to be the best you. How are you gonna feel if you don't even try?'

So ... what am I going to do?

Sit tight and be marginally okay with the way things are right now, or get off my backside and TRY?

Hmmm ... I reckon maybe I'll give it my best shot.

I was about to say: it's the least I can do to honor these friends of mine.

But you know what?

I don't want to do the least I can do.

These guys have never once in their lives done the least they can do. Every day of their lives they're doing the most they can do.

That's the example I want to follow, as best I can.

It's time to push my envelope.

Snow Angels Among Us

Reported in Wells County, ND, United States in January 2011

Reports have been made that there have been a number of indications that there are indeed ‘angels among us’.

Individuals in several Wells County towns are reporting that sidewalks and driveways have been mysteriously cleared after snowfalls. The phenomenon seems to be fairly widespread in the area and puzzled residents are very grateful but don’t know whom to thank.

Because of the range of the activities, no doubt a number of angels are at work. Nobody seems to know for sure exactly when, or sometimes even how, they do it.

One middle-aged woman, who doesn’t want to be named, says, “I got all bundled up and was dreading the job. It’s not so easy for me to shovel as it used to be.” She smiles as she adds, “It was already done. I was so relieved I almost cried. I don’t know who did it, but I hope whoever it was realizes how much I appreciate it.”

Our North Dakota winters are a challenge for people, especially the ones who are getting older and aren’t as able to tackle outside chores as deftly as they once were. When a snowstorm hits, many times it’s difficult or even impossible for them to negotiate the drifts that show up across their sidewalks and driveways.

In some homes there are vulnerable older people who may suddenly need medical attention. Keeping their doors accessible in case of emergency is important to them. If an ambulance is called, having a clear path could save minutes – and those minutes could make all the difference.

“Thank God for my snow angel,” says a Fessenden woman, who wants to thank her angel. “He’s been a blessing to a lot of us along this street.” Her angel is someone she knows but she’s keeping his name to herself.

Sometimes a snow angel may become known to those he/she blesses; sometimes the mystery remains.

Says another lady, “I’d like to thank the people who are doing this. Part of me would like to catch them in the act, but at the same time it’s kind of nice to not know for sure. Then I can suspect everyone. I find myself looking at people in a whole new way, wondering if this one or that one is my angel. It’s a fun kind of mystery.”

Because of the anonymity of most of the snow angels, and because it seems many of them prefer to remain mysterious beings, the recipients can’t thank them in person.

No snow angels were available for comment.