Earththhh Day

     I was too tired from our Guatemala trip to blog on April 22, Earth Day, but I did ponder it. My sister has a reactionary approach, if the mislead masses are planting trees and conserving energy, she will chop down a tree and leave all the lights on.  I try for a more moderate, hopefully Biblical, approach.  I am very thankful for the Earth, it is my home planet, I would be lost without it.  However, though the Earth is full of life, it is an inanimate object, and there is no way to show gratitude to an inanimate object.  Our planet is a gift from God and, like all blessings, should be taken care of.  Our treatment of our gifts, whether it is our body, our home or another tangible object, show our attitude toward the giver.
     Christians are responsible to be good stewards of all the blessings God has given us, including the earth.  My childhood was filled with slogans like "Give a hoot, don't pollute." and "Don't be a litterbug".  That is because for some time the outdoors had been regarded as both a playground and a garbage dump.  When I was 10 my grandparents took me to Yellowstone National Park.  Back then it was perfectly okay to feed the wildlife because the animals were expected to do something cute to entertain the visitors, a type of wilderness theme park. The Earth is a blessing, but it is meant to direct us to its Creator.  The miracles Jesus performed during his earthly ministry were huge blessings to the recipients: restored or created health, eyesight, hearing, even life, but as John spells out so clearly in his gospel, the miracles were signs to point us to Christ.  The heavens and earth are signs meant to point us to the glory of God.  My BSF leader used to illustrate the secondary nature of the sign by comparing camping at the Glacier Park sign in the Kmart parking lot to camping in Glacier Park itself.  
     I had an older friend named Evelyn who would write "Thank you" under her name when she endorsed the back of checks that had been sent to her as gifts.  I tried to explain that banks no longer return the checks to the customers, they just send photostats of the front. The only person who saw her thank you note was the teller who cashed the check.  That is what I feel about Earth Day.  No matter how eloquent the words or elaborate the celebration, you are talking to the gift, not the giver.  We can recycle, plant a tree, even hug a tree anytime we choose, but the best way to show appreciation for the Earth, is to praise its Creator.

Above Guatemala

I've been above Guatemala all this time,
above its crowds, above its crime,
protected in my hotel home,
its pulse and people still unknown
because I am above it.

Through tower windows, I look down
at the cluttered contrast of a town
of passion, poverty and pride,
high rise and hovel side by side,
but I am far above it.

I hope my time has not been spent
American and arrogant
condemning, or surprised anew
that others love their country too
because they're not above it.

What-a-mala

     When I first heard that Reed might be checking out a plane in Guatemala, I recalled that in Spanish "mala" means bad; I had no idea what a "guat" was. It turns out the name is from an indigenous language and can mean either "land of the high trees" or "land of the snake eating bird".  I am more of the opinion that "mala" means bad and "guat" means crime.  I am staying within the grounds of the hotel, but Reed told me that many stores and restaurants have a security guard stationed at the door with his hand on his weapon.  Motorcyclists are required to have numbers on their helmets because some were pulling up beside people in traffic and robbing them at gunpoint.  On the shuttle ride to the hotel, I noticed razor wire on the zoo fence and Reed says businesses have hefty rebar in all the windows. Wikitravel says Guatemala has one of the highest violent crime rates in the world. But for someone with a love of travel and a little knowledge of Spanish, crime wasn't enough deterrent.
     Since our flight from Houston to Guatemala City was after dark, I can't even describe what the country is like from the air.  Our hotel is downtown, but there are, indeed, tall trees, not only palm, but pines.  There are also assorted tropical plants on the hotel grounds, especially in the solarium.  I recognize some, but have never been willing to fill up my limited brain capacity with the names of plants. We are staying in a Westin Hotel.  I am glad it is secure, but wish it wasn't so fancy.  I like to stay in "lotion grade" hotels, this one has bath gel, mouthwash, robes and a minibar. That is not bad for $120 a night, but I am surrounded by employees in black suits ready to fulfill my every wish, and what I really wish is that the black suited employees weren't hovering around.  There are three art galleries in the hotel, three restaurants, two jewelry stores, gift shops, a salon and a spa.  The only way to get to the outdoor pool is by keyed entry through the spa and fitness rooms. A key is also required to use the elevator.  Although the hotel water is safe to use as ice or brush your teeth with, drinking bottled water is recommended and, even I am not cheap enough to risk getting "la turista" over the price of bottled water.
     The Pilatus inspector from Boise is also staying at this hotel and the broker will be staying here tonight, but I am hoping after they are gone we can move to a hotel with adequate security, but fewer amenities.  The price of food, etc. isn't bad here and I know enough Spanish to order at a restaurant, but I don't know tipping etiquette, so found it easier to order room service yesterday.  Right now a dollar is worth 7.3 quetzals.  The Guatemalan government is wise enough not to just print more money to keep up with inflation.  Since most of our travel is for Reed's work, I am used to spending quite a bit of my time by myself at the hotel, I enjoy having time to read and write and think.  This time I get to think in Spanish.  Que bueno.

Family Motto

     When my children were at home, I tried to instill in them the family motto:  How can I help?  They assured me that was my personal motto, theirs was:  What's in it for me?  For many years I wondered which credo they would ultimately adopt.  If I ever say my children were no trouble to raise, you will know it is time to lock me away, I have lost touch with reality.  But now that they are grown I am gratified to see that "How can I help?" caught on after all.  My oldest and youngest have this trait in common--their bark is worse than their bite.  They may complain that someone is not worthy of help or that the project is a waste of time, but when the times comes to help, they are right there with you.  My oldest son, aptly named Will (if I had know his name would define him, I would have named him Les) is, to paraphrase Jesus, a Montanan in whom is no guile.  His bark is exactly the same as his bite.  Frankly, it is difficult to raise a child with that much integrity, a little bit of fake cooperation would have been appreciated.  Will does help people, but he chooses which people and projects he thinks are particularly worthy and picks the time he is willing to sacrifice. However, we are continually hearing from people about some wonderful thing Will did for them, so he must know a lot of worthy people.
     Neighbor helping neighbor is such a way of life here in Montana that I didn't realize it is not that way  everywhere until our son wound up with a roommate from California.  For him work is something you do while you are getting paid, your time off is for recreation only.  The idea of working for eight hours at your regular job and helping a buddy with haying for four hours after work was unthinkable to him.  He couldn't understand why Tracy didn't tell us he wasn't available when we needed his muscles, truck or mechanical expertise for some project at our house.  It's a good thing Tracy doesn't think that way because some of our projects literally could not be done without his help.  It is such a comfort to know he has our backs and will be at our side, but enough about backsides.
     Our daughter and son-in-law have remodeled two houses in their seven year marriage and, on their vacations, do the same thing at our house.  They have the tools, skills and, most of all, the ambition to accomplish in days projects we have been putting off for years. It is a mixed blessing to have them come because they are working vacations for all of us and the house is torn up.  I didn't use the good china for Christmas dinner this year as it seemed out of place against the backdrop of the ironing board and other laundry room detritus stored in our dining room.  All the parts of our house that don't look dated to the 70's are compliments of Britten and Luke.
     We are also gratified when we find out about other people our children have helped, it's just more fun when we are the beneficiaries.  It is also fun to know that my children learned something from me in spite of themselves.  The next motto I would like to see fulfilled:  "I hope someday you have children just like you."
 

Storm Watch

I could not see, on my side of town
where the snow was falling swiftly down,
that a few miles down the road I'd find
that the clouds had thinned and the sun still shined
on the northern hills.

Guess I haven't learned what I thought I had
when you look around and the storm looks bad,
keep moving on.
Beyond the clouds is a sun bathed hill
where the face of God is shining still
and there is no storm.

The Time Between

     It is April and we are in the weather limbo of a winter reluctant to leave and a glacially slow spring. I thought about writing a poem to express this, fortunately I remembered I already wrote a poem two years ago about this time--about this time. Having saved myself the drudgery of recycling my thoughts, this seems like a good time to remind myself of the unseen spring all around me.  In my mind there is a melody that goes with this but you'll have to come up with your own.

                                                             The Time Between

                                                  There is a time, a time between
                                           the winter's chill and the spring's new green.
                                          when the snow has melted and it's gone at last
                                              but the earth's too cold to revive the grass.

                                                   When the sky above on a cloudy day
                                              like the damp, dead earth is a shade of gray,
                                                 and the gray death seem a forever thing
                                                   as we wait for God to awake the spring.

                                                    Life too has seasons, dark and light
                                             when so much is wrong that we can't make right,
                                               when the days of blessing seem forever gone
                                                 and our silent struggles keep grinding on.

                                               Then we must recall, though so much seem gray
                                                      that a fresh beginning is not far away.
                                                Though we have no power to restore the spring,
                                                     God's reviving grace is an eternal thing.

                                       While we watch with longing as the gray days pass,
                                                   almost unnoticed appear blades of grass.
                                                   Just beyond our vision is a world unseen.
                                                      Live well the time, the time between.

     
                                           
                                                 

Letter from Oregon

    I wrote the following in a letter while Reed and I were on a trip to the Oregon coast four years ago:

         This is the Oregon I go to in my mind, not the roar of traffic, but the roar of the ocean, of thick, quiet trails between moss covered trees, vines and blossoms and everything green and growing and fragrant. That is the Oregon I came to for the first time, the Oregon I left home for, the place where I fell in love for the first, and last, time.