September 2016 – Page 2 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

Kit Cat

Published on September 23, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

kitcatclock-black-white-bg It was an ordinary night when I walked into my kitchen to find a most disturbing scene. There strewn on the floor were eyeballs, a little black tail, and the broken body of my Kit Cat clock. My little treasure had somehow fallen from its place on the wall. I was so upset that I called for my husband to clean up the debris that lay from one end of the room to another. It was apparent from the number of pieces that my beloved little clock was forever gone. Even though the time piece was only an object made of plastic and a few carefully placed wires I was filled with great sadness.

To be honest I truly understand that there are far graver events unfolding in the world than the destruction of a silly little clock. I see the images of suffering, war and injustice on a daily basis and it most definitely bothers me. I know of family members and friends who are enduring frightening and painful illnesses or even the tragedy of loss of a loved one. A battered clock is hardly in the same league as these very real kinds of problems but that clock represented far more to me than might at first glance be evident.

Around the time that I was four or five years old my father went to Rochester, New York on a business trip. It was a rather lengthy affair and I recall feeling a bit lost without his presence around our home. My mom seemed distracted and lonely while he was gone. Somehow our lives were off kilter without him. Then as suddenly as he had left he reappeared bringing sunshine back to our days, along with a few gifts that he had carefully chosen for us. Among them was a delightful clock that made us laugh. It was one of the original Kit Cat clocks, a humorous black cat with a grin as impish as the one that my daddy so often wore.

My father proudly mounted the smiling creature on the kitchen wall where it kept up with the time and smiled at us with those great big cat eyes scanning one side of the room and then the other. A long black tail swung in unison with the tempo of the tick tock of time, telling us that life was going to continue merrily on now that our dad was back home. It was the perfect gift from our perfect dad and I so loved that cat who was as unique and funny as my father.

Our Kit Cat clock traveled with us wherever we moved. It was part of our family. It went all the way to California and back with us and maintained its vigil on the wall through births and illnesses and seasons. It was ticking away on the morning that I learned of my father’s death. It reminded me so of him that I found comfort in watching it continue with its duties even as I wondered why the whole world didn’t stop to share the pain that I was feeling.

The clock soldiered on with us and as I grew I found it to be less and less enchanting until the time came when I hardly noticed it anymore. At some point it must have finally quit operating properly because it disappeared from the wall. I never thought to ask my mother what had happened to the clock. It was just a silly old thing that could never have lasted forever. Besides, I would always have the memory of my dad grinning like a Cheshire cat as he so proudly presented his find to our family so many long years before. That was really all that I would ever need.

Just as we always do I went on with living, rarely thinking of the clock until one day I walked into a store and there on the wall was a display of Kit Cat clocks being as silly as ever. I think that my husband was a bit mystified at the sheer pleasure that I derived from seeing those happy little timekeepers. When I told him the story of the clock that had once lived in the memories of my childhood he listened with his usual respect for my quirks. Somehow he managed to realize that the clock had been a link to my father in a time when I most needed to remember how much delight my daddy had always brought to our family.

When Christmas came later that year I excitedly opened my gifts to find among them a brand new Kit Cat clock to hang on my wall. I was overjoyed and touched that my sensitive spouse had understood the significance that the little cat held for me. We began a new tradition with our clock that extended through the marriages of my daughters, the births of my grandchildren, and the years of change and growth in our family.

The clock kept perfect time but over the years the eyes and tail only moved sporadically, sometimes standing still for months and other times suddenly swinging back and forth as steadily as a pendulum. It still brought me the kind of joy that I had felt as a child. When I looked at that grinning little face I thought of how lucky I have been to be loved by a father that I hardly had time to know and a husband who has been at my side for over four decades. The clock was part of my history, a treasure that meant more to me than I might ever explain. When I saw it shattered into pieces the other night I felt a genuine sense of devastation. It was as though a part of me had suddenly been destroyed. I had to call my husband to dispose of the debris because I was unable to face that grisly task.

If I have learned anything in my life it’s that distressing things happen and we somehow find ways to carry on with our journeys. After briefly grieving that my clock was gone I came to my senses and logged in to Amazon where I found a replacement to order. My new Kit Cat clock will arrive sometime next week to bring a new generation of joy and laughter into our lives. It will watch over our celebrations and comfort us in times of sorrow. It will stand as a sentinel and a reminder that sometimes all we have to do is smile and be a little silly to get from one moment to the next.

Happy Fall, Ya’ll

Published on September 22, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

first-day-of-autumn-weather-for-all-love-season-3 There is a chill inside my home this morning. The air is filled with the aroma of pumpkins and spices. Colors of red, orange, yellow and gold catch my eye wherever I look. It is the first day of autumn, my favorite time of year. But wait! The high today will be ninety two degrees here in Houston. The brisk temperature that I feel has been artificially produced by my trusty air conditioner. The lovely autumnal smell is only the product of a Yankee candle. I see fall colors thanks to the collection of artificial items that I place around my home at this time each season. Were it not for Hobby Lobby and Michael’s fall in Houston would look exactly the same as the middle of July. I have to conjure a great deal of imagination to realize that a change of seasons is actually taking place.

I just returned from a week long stay in the mountains near Rocky Mountain National Park. There I enjoyed the true splendor of autumn produced by Mother Nature at her finest. The landscape was awash with spectacular colors that seemed almost to have been painted on the leaves that fluttered enticingly in the wind. I wore my sweaters during the day and snuggled under a warm blanket at night, all without the aid of mechanical devices designed to keep my environment comfortable. The clean smell of pine overwhelmed my olfactory senses. The world around me seemed to be balanced and as perfect as it ought to be. The cycle of seasons was operating so perfectly that even the animals understood what time of year we were entering. It felt so right.

I love the fall but have had to manufacture it of late because I live in the south near the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. There are actually people who begin a yearly pilgrimage to my part of the country at about this time. They are fleeing the coming ravages of winter which will most surely visit their northern homes. They live like snowbirds who seek warmer climes in which to survive the harshness of the coming days. I see their trailers in the RV parks and their foreign license plates from places like Minnesota, Nebraska and Michigan. They flee from the very weather that I have never really seen and would so love to experience.

Each year as my fall birthday approaches in the middle of November I am just as likely to be wearing shorts and flip flops as one of my sweaters that never wears out. I only replace my winter gear when it becomes hopelessly out of style. I rarely use it enough to tarnish its sheen of newness. Unless I travel to one of the colder places it often seems like overkill to even take my coats from the closet where I store them all year long.

There used to be a sliver of fall and winter here in Houston. When I was a child I recall enjoying seventy degree days in October and as November rolled around we always lit the pilot light on our heater because we were bound to have some cold nights. I suggest that all climate change deniers spend some time where I live to realize that it appears to get warmer and warmer every single year, a fact that worries me intensely. Even my rabidly conservative but science-oriented brother admits that we are indeed experiencing a worldwide warming trend that is having a dramatic effect on our very existence. We humans are changing the rhythm and flow of nature and ultimately the results will be devastating if we don’t agree to take measures to slow the tide of a warming atmosphere that is artificially creating a climate that brings us more and more severe weather patterns and natural disasters. The data doesn’t lie no matter how much we humans choose to ignore the facts.

I just drove through the heart of what had been the dustbowl during the Great Depression of the twentieth century. The drought that overtook parts of Colorado, Oklahoma and Texas would certainly have caused many problems for the farmers who lived there but the situation became even more dire than it needed to be because they had interrupted nature. The people had plowed over the native grasses designed to anchor the soil to the earth. Without those simple little plants the winds carried the dirt high into the sky like great filthy clouds. There were continual storms of dust rather than rain that often made it impossible to see or even to breathe. The desperate people lost their incomes, their lands and sometimes even their lives. It was only when proper planting methods were eventually introduced that the area began to slowly come back to life. Sadly the ravages of that era are still apparent in some small towns where buildings on main streets are empty and populations continue to decline.

There are scientists among us who have studied such things. They understand the soil, the insects, the plants, and the weather. They are able to explain the symbiotic nature of our world. It is time that we listened to their warnings or the day may come when we humans no longer have the ability to create the comforts that we seek. We may simply have to endure the assaults from nature that will most surely come if we choose to ignore the warning signs that are all around us.

I love the natural flow of the life cycle. I enjoy being as one with the earth, a visitor no more important to the way of things than the tiniest bug. I don’t want my footprint to disturb the earth but I instinctively know that it does. I want to do my tiny little part to make my presence a bit less destructive. I suppose that if each of us were to begin just one form of conservation on a daily basis our collective efforts would begin to make a small dent in the problems that are making our earth sick. Instead of ridiculously asserting that climate change is a myth our politicians need to join together in crafting a global plan that will be as painless as possible to people everywhere. We must use our natural human abilities to find acceptable and forward thinking answers without destroying livelihoods. We have done it before and I have little doubt that we might do it again.

So on this first morning of autumn I intend to enjoy my favorite time of year with a bit of gardening if I can manage to endure the heat. At my age there is always an uncertainty that I will see another September 22 so I have to seize the day with all of the gusto that I am able to muster. With all of those fall wreaths showing up on the doors of my neighbor’s homes pumpkin cheesecake can’t be far behind and what is better than that? Happy Fall to those of us north of the equator and Happy Spring to everyone below. The world is still a wonderful place. Let’s keep it that way.

An Awakening

Published on September 21, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

deadbigfootwoundedknee The ultimate beauty of being retired is that life is no longer ruled by a calendar. Week days are generally no different than weekends. Responsibilities are minor. It is acceptable to run away on a whim. Thus it was on that summer day as we left Drake, Colorado intending to return home. Having no pressing obligations, at the junction that would have led us south we instead chose to head north in search of Mount Rushmore, a national treasure that we had never before seen. It was only three hundred miles out of our way, a mere five hour journey.

We drove quickly across the northern planes and into the wide open spaces of South Dakota. Our plan was to visit the monument in the afternoon, catch the nighttime presentation there, sleep in a local hotel and then make the return trip home. Of course as is often the case our best laid plans indeed went awry. A sudden storm brought a driving rain, hail, and threats of tornadoes, dashing our hopes of a quick side trip. Instead we decided to spend two nights and another day in the area, learning about a part of our country that we had never before explored.

The imprint of the native Americans who once roamed freely across the land is everywhere in South Dakota. It takes little imagination to visualize the great Sioux tribes following the buffalo and taming the wild expanses in the ways of their ancestors. The geography seems ill suited for modernity. It is wild and unpredictable, best left to those who understand its whimsy. It is also strangely beautiful and even spiritual. With the very small footprint that I left I at times felt like a trespasser. It somehow didn’t seem right to be gawking at the places that were once ruled by great chiefs like Sitting Bull.

We visited a refuge for the animals that had been the mainstay of life for the people who lived in South Dakota long before settlers came in search of new homes. We enjoyed viewing the Sitting Bull monument that is still a work in progress. Our time at Mount Rushmore was more breathtaking than I had imagined. Still something about our presence seemed wrong and I understood my nagging feelings when we drove through the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation and found ourselves at the site of Wounded Knee.

Following the American Civil War there was a great push to move the nation ever westward. Our military became engaged in what would eventually become known as the Indian Wars. Soldiers were sent to outposts far from Washington D.C. to insure that the ever growing numbers of citizens and immigrants moving west would be protected from tribes of native peoples who became increasingly concerned about the encroachment on land that had once been theirs to roam freely. The influx of people and the tragic encounters led to horrific misunderstandings and battles, particularly in places like South Dakota.

After the Battle of Little Big Horn efforts were made to broker peace with the native people. They were promised a huge reservation in South Dakota in exchange for acceptance of certain conditions. Many of the leaders were weary of the fighting and agreed to the terms but Sitting Bull refused to abide and instead moved further north with his people. Sadly when gold was discovered in the Black Hills the American government reneged on the contract, drastically reducing the available land for the tribes.

After a difficult winter in which his people suffered the ravages of hunger and disease Sitting Bull was forced to return to the land that had been his home and submit to the terms of the Americans. He was informed that he must accept a Biblical name, learn English, wear westernized clothing and farm the land on which he lived. The agents and teachers who worked in the area sincerely believed that it was only in assimilating to modern ways that the native Americans would ultimately be successful in transitioning to a new kind of life. It was a demeaning defeat for a once great warrior.

There was great tension in the area as Congress attempted to strike a final deal with the members of the tribes. They offered each man one hundred sixty acres of land and a paltry sum of money for the area around the Black Hills that had been so egregiously taken away. Sitting Bull wisely noted that as families grew the amount of land would not be enough to sustain life and refused to sign the agreement.

In the meantime a shaman had a vision that the Sioux tribes would rise to power once again. He told the people that if they performed the ghost dance in their traditional regalia their ancestors would make them immune to the bullets of the white men. Feeling desperate and with nothing to lose they began the rituals which frightened and angered one of the Indian agents who called for military reinforcements in the region. When the same man decided to arrest Sitting Bull for inciting insurrection one of the great tragedies of our nation ensued.

The inexperienced and frightened soldiers tasked with procuring Sitting Bull shot and killed the great chief and members of his families. When word spread many of the already angry members of the tribe rebelled and the troops reacted with heavy fire. Even women and children fleeing from the melee were mowed down as they attempted to escape by crossing the Wounded Knee River. The encounter marked the end of the Indian Wars and served as a black stain on American history as both sides argued as to whether it had been a battle or a massacre. Much later the United States Supreme Court would rule that the entire affair was one of the most horrific examples of greed and outright theft in the history of our nation.

I was stunned when I saw the simple painted wooden sign marking the site of Wounded Knee. Somehow I had thought that it would have had a beautiful monument designating the site of such an important moment of history. Perhaps the lack of pretense in marking this place was intentional because it struck me far more deeply in its humble reality. The land was as wild as it had been over a hundred years ago. It was rocky and dry, hardly the kind of place amenable to growing enough crops to keep a family alive. It exuded a poverty of spirit. I understood as I looked at that bleak area just how our government had murdered a whole way of life.

I was overwhelmed with sadness and a sense of guilt after visiting Wounded Knee in the Pine Ridge Reservation. The area was dotted with alcohol and drug rehabilitation centers. The signs of poverty were unmistakable. I wondered at what our ancestors had done.

We stopped for gasoline before beginning our journey back home. I stood in line to purchase a few snacks for the road. The mostly native American people who surrounded me were affable but there seemed to be so many who were not working on a day when they should have had jobs. They wore defeated expressions as they languished at tables attempting to fill the hours. I wanted to announce my apologies but knew that I would seem crazy in doing so. I simply paid for my wares and drove away forever touched by the knowledge of the unfairness with which their ancestors had been treated. I left a piece of my own heart at Wounded Knee.

The Rock

Published on September 20, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

10245585_10203403388626110_6869636648318012857_n I met a boy over forty years ago at my cousin’s birthday party. He fascinated me from the moment that he entered the celebration stylishly late. He might have walked straight off of a cover of GQ magazine with his cutting edge fashion sense but it was his confidence that caught my eye. He had only recently returned from attending Loyola University in New Orleans and he bore the international bohemian flair of the residents of that city. He was indeed quite different from the other attendees at the celebration and I was as drawn to him as a moth to a light, making a fool of myself as usual with far too much nervous idle chatter.

When he called me a week later and suggested that he’d like to take me to a movie I was dumbfounded. Somehow he seemed far too sophisticated to want to spend time with a bumpkin like me but he was quite sure of himself so I didn’t question his motives. Instead I decided to go along for the ride as long as it lasted.

He arrived at my house looking once again as though he had been hanging with the in crowd of high society, casually wearing a pair of madras slacks that had been tailored to fit him perfectly along with carefully polished brown penny loafers bearing no sign of the white socks that most of my male friends usually wore. A perfectly starched blue shirt topped off with a navy blue blazer completed his look making him appear to be the most handsome person I had ever known. I felt a bit overwhelmed and underdressed as I answered the door in my off the sale rack outfit from Penny’s. Somehow we didn’t seem to go together but I would soon enough learn that my first impression was so totally wrong.

We began a conversation on the way to the movie that would continue through the decades. We found that we shared so much in common that our interests overtook our social and economic differences. Superficialities mattered little as we talked as though we had been the best of friends for all of our lives. Ours was an exciting and easy flow of communication in which we were able to fill in the blanks for one another and anticipate what the next topic might be. I felt as though I had finally met my very best friend and I had only known him a few hours.

After that we became inseparable, spending as much time together as two college students might spare and still take care of business. Somehow I knew that I had truly met my soulmate even though I was incredibly young and naive. I was still quite shy with the world but never with him. I had grown up in an isolated neighborhood with a huge safety net just waiting to catch me if I fell. He had witnessed the vices of the Crescent City and his stories of his time there fascinated me but I was even more enthralled with his intellect. He possessed an uncanny ability to recall the smallest of details from the things that he had read. He was almost encyclopedic in his knowledge of history.

Ours was a whirlwind courtship played out against a backdrop of war and political intrigue. By the time that he proposed that we marry the easygoing world that had defined our childhood was forever gone. It had been replaced with dramatic cultural shifts that set fire to much of what we had once known. Some of those changes were far overdue while others only served to awaken our cynicism and sense of urgency. We felt as though we needed to hurry if we were to grab a slice of happiness in a world that had seemingly gone mad. We dove into a life together with full force and never once looked back with regret. It became a magnificent journey filled with all of the elements of a saga. Along the way we encountered the totality of the human experience and somehow managed to keep our heads above water no matter how crazy things became, always continuing our conversation and finding fun in even the simplest adventures.

Nowadays that boy is a man with thinning white hair. He long ago eschewed the call of fashion in favor of more practical and less expensive clothing. He is after all a husband, father and grandfather concerned with the well being of an ever expanding brood. He has little time or concern for outward appearances. He has become a practical man whose very existence is governed by a desire to keep his family safe and happy. He requires little more to feel content than to know that everyone is okay.

He is enjoying his retirement after years of hard work dedicated to making me and our two girls as comfortable as possible. He is still a romantic who looks at me with a special twinkle in his eyes. He is all in all a very good man whose entire focus has always been on our crazy extended family. He has spoiled me and our daughters not in a materialistic way but with unconditional love that has made us confident and strong.

Today is that man’s birthday, the final year in his sixth decade of life. He just celebrated with a trip to his favorite part of the world, the Rocky Mountains. He spent time with me and friends doing the things that he most loves. I still see that young lion that I met so many years ago whenever he smiles at me. He is a beautiful man that I was fortunate enough to encounter. He has changed my life in ways that I never thought possible and I am all the better because of his influence. I should be giving him a gift on his special day but somehow it always feels as though I am the eternal recipient of his favors and his love. He is the rock upon which all of us who know him depend.

Happy Birthday, Mike. I can only hope that there will be many, many more.

Almost Heaven

Published on September 19, 2016September 19, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

autumn evening above Bear Lake

Nobody can say for certain what heaven is like or even if it exists in a physical sense. It is highly possible that it is just an eternal feeling of peace in which a soul happily resides. I’ve heard a number of different theories but my favorite is that each of us gets to create the imagery for heaven that makes us the happiest. If that happens to be so then I can’t think of any locale where I would rather spend forever than the area around Rocky Mountain National Park.

I return to that enchanted place again and again and never seem to grow weary of seeing the magnificent peaks, the rivers and lakes, or the variety of animals. Every drive along Trail Ridge Road is different from the last. Depending on the weather and the time of day or year the view changes. A ray of sunshine here and a shadow there create new colors and draw my eye to never before noticed characteristics. The beauty is so breathtaking that the human mind is only able to take in so much in a single moment. I would not mind at all having the opportunity to explore even the tiniest nooks and crannies for all time.

There is something quite spiritual about that part of the world. Each time that I visit I am renewed. My soul is filled with contentment and a newfound certainty that God is ever present in our world if only we look for Him in the wondrous gifts that He has created. The people that I encounter there are mostly smiling and happy as though all of their cares and woes have been lifted from their minds. Like me they are enchanted by the abundance and rare beauty of nature. Life is taken down to its bare minimum. There is no need for fancy clothes, expensive cars or the latest hairstyle. Mostly everyone meanders along the paths with little thought of pretense. It is a freeing experience to be where judgements are suspended and everyone is simply partaking of wondrous simplicity.

Somehow the animals seem to rule Rocky Mountain National Park rather than the humans. We only observe and enjoy. It’s a good feeling to be laid back and unconcerned with trying to bend the world to our wills. Somehow it seems right to only be in the moment in a way that is far more difficult in the cities and towns that require our constant attention to things that in the end matter very little. I love to sit quietly and listen to the wind and feel its caress on my face. I enjoy watching a flock of hummingbirds buzzing joyfully over my head. The haunting sound of the elk is as lovely as a symphony.

Of course I don’t actually have to go to heaven to immerse myself in Rocky Mountain National Park. It is already there for all of us to enjoy thanks to the forward thinking of men like John Muir and Theodore Roosevelt who so loved the natural world that they thought it wise to set aside swaths of it so that future generations might one day realize what our country was like before we planted our footprint so indelibly on what had once been wild and free.

So many of the forests are now gone, cut down to make way for ever more people. I can recall vast tracts of natural sanctuaries even in cities like Houston in a time before there had been millions of residents vying for a plot of land. Over the decades we have chopped and burned and evicted the creatures who once roamed right in our own backyards. We have dumped our refuse in the waters often without regard. We put toxins into the air never thinking about what their longterm effect might be. Slowly but surely we are changing our earth. It is good that there are still places where our imprint is not quite as noticeable as it might otherwise be.

I so love the mountains. I suspect that if my earthly responsibilities had not demanded my presence in another place I might have chosen to live there. As it is I have only been able to visit now and again. I often wonder if bringing all of my baggage there would have ultimately polluted the purity of the feelings that I have when I am only a visitor. Maybe it is indeed best that I am limited in the time that I might spend in the area that brings me such a sense of joy. Perhaps if I were always there, concerned more with making it from day to day, I would be blinded by worries and lose my ability to see the spectacular.

I’m feeling a sense of profound contentment right now that will no doubt sustain me during those times when life becomes overwhelming. I have just spent a week reveling in the place that I love best. I am returning to reality and all of the ups and downs that each of us experience. I know that the mountains will wait for my return. They have never failed me. Even here in this always imperfect world they are almost heaven and I have experienced their wondrously healing power again and again. Perhaps one day if my life has been judged to be worthy I will know that joy for all time.