A Beautiful Puzzle

What do you do with a view like this when, 50 miles away, someone is standing in his living room, knee deep in mud?  This is the question that has haunted so many Lincolnites of late.

We who were asked to take fewer showers bit our tongues last weekend as sun and warmth pulled us all outside.  And we jammed our relief--a kind of dark, distasteful secret--deep into our pockets, determined not to show it.

As I write this, a handful of vultures buzz my neighbor's treetops and a dozen robins bend earthward, listening for worms.  This morning's view, against a lake no longer thick with ice, was yet another sign that spring may very well be here.

Was my hour at the lake a lavish waste, given the suffering of Nebraskans to the north and west of me?  Depends who you ask, I suppose.  And, while a part of me was tempted to feel guilty, I was grateful for that hour, for the way that it renewed and refilled me.

It has been a very long winter and a lot of folks are suffering right now.  All the more reason to seek out the things that make us more grateful--a beautiful sky, a semi trailer filled with supplies, a stranger's hand reaching out to lift us up.

Take the sunrise when you can.  Then put that light to work. 

Having a Heart to Heart

To the casual observer, it must look like I've got it out for my heart.  In addition to asking it to beat 30 million times a year, I've all but guaranteed that it'll be decimated, come May 24.

That's the risk you take when you love something.  Or, in this instance, two somethings (a job and a place) and all the someones therein.

In this photo, I'm with my pal, Jeffrey, who has been a part of my shenanigans for nearly 30 years.  If it looks like I'm in love, well, I suppose I am.  Lunch with Jeff and the gang is not for the faint of heart.  But, my God, do we laugh!   And, boy oh boy, am I excited about our April Fools Day plans . . . .

Jeff is but one of the people who fill my days with love and contentment.  For me, East High is a repository of quality folks and it's tempting to want to just plop down and refuse to go.

It was my idea to leave my job while I'm loving it, and I still stand by that decision, even though it is such a comfortable place for me to be.

Check that.

Maybe because it's such a comfortable place to be.

I'm 57.  Hardly old by today's first-world white-person standards.  But my oldest brother died at 46.  My dad was gone at 67.  And I've had a go with cancer, to boot.

For all these reasons, then--from love to lifelines--I'm choosing to leave my comfort behind me and walk into the mystery a bit. And, while I'm not a big mystery reader, I do get jazzed by an intriguing bend in the road.  So I figure I ought to bend while I can.  God knows it'll be difficult one day.

The weekend before school started this year, I was in the Sandhills, alongside the Niobrara.  There, I found peace and mystery, and I shared it with a handful of folks who loved the outdoors as much as I do.  It was the perfect place for me to be, before heading into my final school year.

I get the feeling that I'll be back there, maybe sooner than I'd imagined.  It would be a fine place to spend a little time while my heart heals from all that love and lacking.