Category Archives: Emotional Health

Discovering a mica mine

Adobe Abode

When I first moved to my little adobe abode on the fringes of town, I gave my cousin directions as to how to get here for lunch. Trouble was, I couldn’t remember if the left turn was at D or D 1/2 Road. I had confidence in my cousin’s ability to find me from my description because she grew up locally. Turns out it didn’t really matter because the road sign was missing.  After one false turn, she arrived in my driveway, apologizing for a few minutes of tardiness. “Why didn’t you just say you were up the road to the Mica Mine?” she asked.

“Mica Mine?” I questioned blankly.

For reasons that are not a part of this story, every level of my social life; home, school, and work; from junior high through young adulthood was cloistered and stunted. Not so my cousin’s.  She had boyfriends, school leadership roles, summer jobs and an effervescent and indomitable spirit.

My goal for 2012 is to live as though I have only been given one year-to seize the day, so to speak.  Part of that means redeeming things that were lost or missed in childhood and the intervening years.

I pricked up my ears when a co-worker arrived at the office the other day, saying she had taken an early morning walk at the Mica Mine.

Miniature balanced rock

“What makes it so special?”  I asked.

“It’s just beautiful,” was her reply.

At the next opportunity, I decided to explore.  In so doing, I discovered a place that I should have been familiar with in my youth, but somehow missed; a place so beautiful it belongs on my local bucket list, but I was ignorant. Right there, less than 10 miles up the road from my house, was a mini red

Greenery and flowers

rock canyon complete with trickling stream, amazing rock formations, wild-flowers and glittering rocks.

Was it worth driving and spending a morning to hike?  Take a look at the pictures and then tell me what you think.

Stream exists only after rain

There is even a mini window or arch
A sparkling path
and a quarry

 

rock formation

To be a parent

You’ve seen the social media posts urging you to repost or share if your daughter is your best friend; your son is someone you respect and admire; you are a mother and you think about your children 24 X 7 whether you are with them or not.

It is a well known fact that parents make sacrifices for their children. Mothers would starve and give their last bit of food to feed their hungry child.  Parents work two jobs to provide for their children, spend sleepless nights nursing them through illness. A mother or father may take a second mortgage or scale down domestic arrangements to put a child through college.

But there are other sacrifices beyond the material.

How about the father who learned to dance so he could dance at his daughter’s wedding – even though he is ensconced in a denomination that does not dance?

Or; the father who gave his daughter in marriage for the second time – even though he does not believe in divorce and remarriage and still cannot fathom what went wrong the first time.

Consider the mother who, filling the shoes of deceased father, walks hand in hand with her daughter down the garden path and gives her in marriage to – another woman.

Love, pure parental love.  Unwavering.  Unflinching. Happy are the families who can say, “I do not understand or agree with your lifestyle, but I love you, oh how I love you, anyway.” Is that not the love of God the father toward all his sons and daughters?

Are there limits to your parent love?

Yes, I have the most wonderful, talented, wise kids in the world!

Thoughts on over-responsibility

There is such a thing as over-responsibility.  I am notoriously over-responsible and it has cost me every relationship I ever lost. It comes as a result of over-compensating for those who are irresponsible, who alter our lives for the worse, or wreck our lives and theirs by being irresponsible.  Sure, when I took up the slack, it made the other person obviously, glaringly in the wrong for being irresponsible; but it left me alone, bereft of my relationships and love, looking righteous and self-righteous; and responsible. Oh, so commendably responsible! Is that what life is all about?

First of all, let me say that over-responsibility is not something you pick up casually by walking into a bar-or even walking into someplace you are supposed to be.  Over-responsibility is a genetic trait and it is also behaviorally conditioned. Not only do I have a genetic predisposition for over responsibility, the people who gave me the genes also polished the grain with legalism and endless praiseworthy expectations.  While I was never good enough, I also knew I was better than everyone else. The only course of action was to keep moving ever forward toward perfection. Just as you can never love too much, you can never be too responsible.

It happens inevitably when I work for others.  There comes a time I find myself saying, “Ooops, pardon me for becoming so invested in your vision that I felt a sense of ownership and began to implement my own great ideas and methods.” I tend to forget that while people recruit you to further their dreams and goals,they also hire you to do it their way, not to edit or improve on their vision.

My counselor once said I needed to forget about being right.  “Quit concentrating on doing the right thing and being right, and do what you want and need.”  That seems so counterintuitive; so irresponsible, so decadent, so selfish. So selfish to do what the God of the universe has called you to do; to quit sacrificing yourself to make up the deficiencies in the responsibilities of others?  Wait a minute. Making up the deficiencies in the responsibilities of others; is that self-sacrifice or meddling and controlling?

Over responsibility keeps me from asking for help. It looks, it appears, so selfish to be irresponsible to the mores of society; to let anyone else shoulder part of my load, to ask for help in something so ridiculous when I can just do the work myself and muscle through. I know the rules; you make your bed, you lie in it. After all, I got myself into this mess, I am responsible for getting myself out. Besides, “if you want something done right, you need to do it yourself.”

I used to cite my greatest strength as, “getting other people where they need to go and having a knack for figuring out just where it is.” Not so anymore. The characters I write in my novels resemble me. I write what I know.  Happily, re-reading and editing a manuscript is often a timely reminder and has the same effect as reading a self-help book.

How about you?  Are you overly responsible?

Off the beaten path

A few days ago, I chose to walk a local private trail counterclockwise and in doing so, spied a little used foot path that branched off toward the east, but obviously connected with the well worn and maintained bicycle trail a few acres over. I meandered through a couple of dry creeks and around huge fallen boulders and abruptly found myself making an ascent. It was a narrow foot path with not much margin for error or balance.  To my right, a sheer drop off of 15 or 20 feet to the gully; on my left an acute and slippery slope to where the arroyo once again appeared. I realized I must be walking up an arch, a natural bridge over the wash, but the bridge was made of bentonite and random sized rocks. For one heart-stopping moment, I realized I could, in a matter of seconds, meet my doom; either by a fall and injury in an unfrequented area, or in a pile of rubble as the clay gave way.  It never occurred to me to turn around (I might have lost my balance) and soon I was on the other side, marveling at the whimsy of erosion. This clay arch, where doubtless a roiling flash flood tumbled during a downpour three days ago,  is only 100 yards or so downstream from where the much travelled bike path crosses the dry creek bed.  In the opposite direction, thirty yards up this same gulch is the territory of a collared lizard who brightened my day with his breathtaking brilliance a few months ago.Who would have thought?

Life is like that. You can be in a familiar place, only a few hundred paces from where you caught a glimpse of success and suddenly find yourself precariously perched on a bridge made of clay.

When I stepped off the beaten path, I could see the juncture with a familiar and well-traveled bike trail in the distance
As I rounded the boulder near the center of this picture, I found myself abruptly on a clay bridge
This sheer dirt wall fell away on my right, while steep slippery slope was on my left. I was on a narrow ridge.
I realized I was on a clay and loose rock arch
A gulch where waters of flash flood had roiled a few days before
Looking down (dry) stream from where the gulch crosses the bike trail
Looking upstream
…where I spotted my first collared lizard in the spring

It’s not that getting off the beaten path is wrong.  I highly recommend it.  But, it can be pleasantly surprising or even momentarily terrifying.

 

 

 

 

Happiness and Choice

“Are you happy, Mom?” asked my grown son.  He is the husband of one and father of four.  Sometimes he has to look out for me because I am the wife of no one, though I have been twice married and am the mother of three.

Am I happy?  What kind of question is that? Joy pretty much escapes me when temperatures rise above 80 degrees.  This year in the high desert, we experienced a scorching spring and summer. Through the first week of July there was no rain. Where I now live, there is no cooling beach to walk along. To beat the energy sapping heat for a spiritually refreshing walk requires rising before the sun, so I am grumpy.

Walks are still inspiring before 7:00 A.M.

Grumpy because I love the sunshine, but can’t take the heat.  Grumpy because I have to amend my schedule to walk alongside Nature.  Am I unhappy with Nature?  I love Nature! Often, out walking in Nature is where I feel most loved in return. Frequently, that is where the Creator speaks to me.  So in the heat, is the voice of God silenced?

“Are you happy, Mom?” Happiness is largely a product of choice. Is he asking me if I feel I have made the right choices in life? Or is he nudging me, reminding me to choose to be happy?

A collection of recent thoughts

June, 2010 in Utah

Sometimes, even daydreams get too heavy to carry and we must put them back in the hands of a higher power and take a walk unencumbered. July 6, 2012

I am pretty independent and don’t need to be rescued very often, so I only need a knight in shining armor once in awhile–I guess that’s what grown sons are for. Thanks, Kev  (July 2, 2012)

I experience the joy of true spiritual health when I unswervingly follow the desire that the God of the universe has placed in my heart; not when I am pulled back and forth between this opinion and that, this person’s manipulation, or that person’s idea of what I should be or ought to do. When will I ever learn? July 1, 2012

Dead Lizards on the trail

From time to time while out walking, I come upon dead lizards on the trail and I wonder, “What went wrong?”  How did it happen, on the vast expanse of trails, that these relatively tiny reptiles were in the wrong place at the wrong time?

How did it happen that this relatively tiny reptile was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

These desert canyons and rocks are the natural habitat for Collared lizards, Whiptails, and at least seven other varieties. I hear dozens of them scurrying from the trail and back into hiding or onto a  safe rock each time I hike. Given that a lizard can run up to 15 miles per hour and a bicyclist on this challenging terrain will not likely approach that speed, it seems odd when the two collide.

Male Collared lizard in my front yard, April 30, 2012
Whiptail May 17, 2012

Oh sure, it is life in the fast lane a mile away on the pavement, where bicyclists speed upwards of 35 miles per hour, jackrabbits and cottontails meet their doom when the rubber meets the road on 1/2 ton vehicles; and danger of mashup lurks for the similarly sized deer, elk, cyclist and desert bighorn. Somehow it just seems a bit melancholy to find the lizards on the everyday, ordinary trails of life.  Not in the fast lane.  Not basking in the sun. Not even slain at their post guarding their territory.  Dead at the crossroads, a casualty of mutual happening by. Somehow, I identify with that.

Lizard going about its business, camouflaged and sunning on a rock May 22, 2012

As I approach my birthday

Cherry Odelberg

A couple of days ago during a spontaneous dinner conversation about familial love and responsibility, my seven year old grandson reassured his parents not to worry, “Grandma Cherry will take care of you when you get old.”  I am Grandma Cherry.  I am glad he feels I am up to the task. His comment also gives insight into my personality strengths and weaknesses and how I am viewed by others. Seeking clarity, I asked him, “What age is a person when they are old?”  “Oh,” pondered he, “about 90.”

“In that case,”  I said, “I will be about 117 when your daddy gets old (in actual fact, I will be 109). Do you think I will be able to take care of him?”

In a few more days, I will turn – – another year older.  I have grandchildren ages 2,4,7 and 9.  I have grown children ages 21, 23, and 29 for the ninth time.  I chase my grandchildren, pick them up, swing the younger ones into the air and walk four miles every day I get the chance. I color my hair with my DIL and jam with my rock band offspring whenever I am welcome – but, I am no spring chicken. So last night it came as a mild surprise once again when the same grandson said, “Grandma Cherry,” you’re not old.

“Why do you think I am not old?”  I asked.  “Because you don’t have wrinkles,” he replied.  This, in the face of the fact that he is often fascinated by my moles and age spots.

Grandchildren with Grandma Cherry. Photo credit, Kevin Decker 2011

Like a true baby-boomer, I don’t always act my age, nor do I want to grow old.  There are still things to do, people to see, places to go. I long to travel, but travel costs money.  To earn money requires time; time that would otherwise be used on those same people to see and places to go. In addition to writing online, I make my daily bread at the delightful task of teaching piano lessons to six students and tutoring three others.  Recently, I added a seasonal job at our local Colorado National Monument – a huge tourist attraction.

While congratulating me on such a inspiring job, my good friend asked, “Aren’t there other National Parks you could visit and support yourself at the same time by working there?”

Yes.  What a great idea.  There are 397 National Parks.  If I chose the best in each of the 50 states and worked a different one each summer season – – I don’t have that many summers left.  Even with my youthfulness, I am getting old.  I have a birthday next week.

Regarding a rock and a hard place and blooming where you are planted

I once bought a bag of wildflower seed from the garden department of a big box store. Taking them home to my mountain cabin, I paused to read the directions while ripping open the bag:  Prepare seeds by soaking overnight.  Prepare soil by loosening with a rake.  Make a small trench about 1/4 inch deep.  Distribute seeds evenly the length of the trench.  Gently press down soil over the seeds.

You’re kidding me, right?  These are wildflower seeds. That is an acre of land.

Pinyon pine growing out of the rock, February 2012

I have always been a little suspicious of theories that say you absolutely cannot move on to the next level until you have fulfilled all the criteria of the place you find yourself. Take Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, for example.  I have observed that some people get stuck in one level, they say things like, “I can’t possibly move forward  until all my needs are met.”  Yet, there have been leaders and achievers throughout history who, finding themselves deprived of some basic needs were still able to move forward and succeed. I admit, water and air are non negotiable, but there seems to have been some flexibility concerning the need for food, sleep, and security. These were savvy souls who knew, not just how to bloom where they were planted, but how to thrive no matter the circumstances.

Once again, I find myself between a rock and a hard place.  Moving forward is required.  Yet, the expectation of fulfillment of my needs must be pared down.  Earlier this year, before the advance of spring, as I went out walking to contemplate my options, I came upon  a wonderful visual affirmation. It struck me so forcefully that I went back home for my camera and made an extra trip just to snap the picture. Sure this is a native desert tree-a pinyon pine.  But please notice, it is growing out of a rock!  There was little to no soil in which to sprout in the first place and rainwater is very infrequent. Yet, the seed took root and continues to thrive.

Cherry Odelberg enjoying an inspirational walk

I have some questions about how I got here in the first place.  I don’t know how I have survived this long on increasingly less.  Money and love and security may be in short supply, but, hey, there is plenty of sunshine.  I intend to thrive between the rock and the hard place. Not being a pinyon pine, I might even bloom where I am planted.

Change happens on the trails of life

What a shock when a familiar path is obliterated; when you arrive at a well known trailhead and someone has covered the tracks – intentionally.  Covered the tracks so well with brush strewn here, rocks stacked there, water thrown like rain on loose soil, that you do not recognize the landmarks for the hike you took less than a week ago.

Consider that this is a well trod route, the walk you have taken at least once a week for several months.  Further, it is the most direct walking route to something you prize.  It is the cutoff to where your family lives.  In a pinch, you could walk the way in the moonlight, so well do you know it.

Now, everything has changed. It’s not that you didn’t know change was coming. Your curiosity and adventurous spirit led you to explore bits and pieces of the new trail as you saw the preliminary flags.  You walked the line, never sure you were really entitled to be there, always looking over your shoulder for some angry landowner that had staked claim. But those first indicators were months ago.  The flags went away. Besides, you were never able to see the way clear to where the new trail and the old were to intersect; how to get from here to there.

Not so today.  Today you were jolted from reverie by the realization that you were walking on newly blazed trail. So mind jarring was the realization as you plodded in the freshly disturbed soil, you retraced your steps just to see where you left the old familiar path.  It was hard to find.  That was when you accepted that you were meant to walk the new path.  The old way had been intentionally covered over; covered over by someone in charge.  You were not to go the old way any longer.

It’s time now, to take a little different path to your family, perhaps even to your destiny.