What Are You Doing for Others?

Life's most persistent and urgent question is, "What are you doing for others?"

 -- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

We all have a duty to do good.

-- Pope Francis

I love these quotes, which are wonderful reminders of the importance of doing good.

I do a fair amount of volunteer work now that I am retired. The causes closest to my heart are helping to feed the hungry and being a voice for wolves. I volunteer once a week at a local food pantry, preparing and packaging food for distribution to the needy. Along with a friend I met at the pantry, I also have volunteered at one-time events at other food distribution efforts. It's a great way to socialize and have fun, while helping others at the same time. I also volunteer with a wolf rescue organization in the area, doing photography, helping with the organization's Web page and outreach events, and managing its Facebook page. Once a year I also spearhead the development of its calendar, a major fundraising effort.

I also donate money to a variety of charities. I want to see the good my donations can do, while I am still alive, rather than having the money donated after I am no longer here. Yet despite these efforts, I feel that I should be doing even more. I am blessed to have the good health, time and financial resources to help.

Lately, I have been thinking about becoming a volunteer driver in the American Cancer Society's Road to Recovery program. For many reasons, getting to and from treatment appointments is a challenge to many people. Some people don't have a car, and some are unable to drive themselves. I could help out by driving people to treatment. 

As I have become older, I have felt a stronger call to get more involved in the things that are important to me. I suppose this is a natural result of getting older -- wanting to leave a positive mark on the world, and to perhaps leave things better than they were. To be sure, there is so much more that I could be doing.

I was talking to another volunteer at the food pantry one week about the importance of keeping busy and staying involved as we get older. She will be 85 next month, and she volunteers at the pantry two mornings each week. We both agreed that volunteering is so much better than just sitting at home alone, watching television or being bored. Volunteering helps the organization for which we volunteer and the people it serves, but it also helps us. It keeps us active and involved, and it feels good to be able to help the less fortunate in some small way.

Doing for others is important for another reason -- it can help us keep our own problems and worries in perspective. Doing for others should make us realize how blessed we are, and that there are so many people in the world who have so little.

So, "what are you doing for others?"

Spring in the Desert

I love this time of year. The weather is typically warm during the day, yet cool enough to leave a window open. Nighttime temperatures are perfect for sleeping. Spring in the desert offers a few short weeks when neither the air conditioner nor the furnace is needed. Even on windy days, early morning is often calm. The dead-looking browns of the desert are brightened by newly emerging, soft green leaves on the trees. Desert plants such as cactus erupt with colorful flowers.

The sun rises early, so my dogs get restless around 5:30 a.m. I usually get up and feed them, let them outside, and then we all go back to bed. Usually they fall back asleep, while I enjoy just lying in bed, listening to the quiet, enjoying the cool of morning and just being still.

I have an absolutely fabulous mattress and very soft sheets, so my bed is a place of comfort. Sometimes in the very early morning I can hear donkeys braying just over the hill, or the howling of coyotes. Very often, I hear nothing at all -- no traffic sounds, no airplanes overhead, not even any birds. The high desert where I live has few song birds, although later in the day I will hear quail and sometimes a road runner. The quiet is wonderful. Once in a while, I will listen to a new smooth jazz radio station.

The sunrises over the Sandia Mountains can be spectacular if there are clouds nearby. The sky ranges from pink to orange to fiery red and yellow. Now that my back yard has been transformed into a xeriscaped paradise and I have washed the winter dust off my patio furniture, it is time to resume my practice of sitting outside in the early morning with a cup of hot tea as I read the morning newspaper. My dogs love the cool weather, rolling in the grass and exploring the property.

New Mexico's crisp, azure sky continues to amaze me with its brilliance. Aside from pollution from dust storms or wild fires, the air is very clean. That, combined with the altitude, makes for glorious days. The only thing I wish for to make this time of year even better is rain. We are in the third year of a terrible drought, so rain is most welcome in any amount.

Knowing that the desert heat isn't far off makes this time of year even more special, so I will savor this wonderful season as long as possible.

Hunger in America

That one in every six people in America -- the richest country on Earth -- struggles with hunger is totally unacceptable. In 2010, 17.2 million households were food insecure, the highest number ever recorded in the United States, according to the World Hunger Education Service. More than 50 MILLION Americans don't have dependable, consistent access to food due to limited financial resources, according to the non-profit organization Feeding America.

In my state of New Mexico, nearly 40,000 people seek food assistance every week. Some 381,690 people in this state struggle with hunger, according to Feeding America. The small food pantry where I volunteer provides groceries for the equivalent of 2 million meals, feeding more than 200,000 individuals, each year. The elderly and children are most at risk of going hungry due to lack of resources. One in five kids lives in a family that struggles to put food on the table. Food-insecure children are 30 percent more likely to be hospitalized and are 1.4 times as likely to repeat a grade, according to Feeding America.

Why is there no public outcry about this? Why are we so complacent about the lack of one of the essentials of life -- food --  to 50 million of our citizens? Why is this situation acceptable? Why are there no protests in the streets? Why is there no congressional investigation into the suffering of millions of our people? Why is it acceptable for our government to spend billions of dollars on aid to other countries, while our own citizens go hungry? Farmers are paid not to grow food, while people suffer from lack of nutritious food. 

People receive food through a patchwork of programs, both government-funded and private. Some school districts send home backpacks of food with needy children each Friday, so the kids will have something to eat over the weekend. Some provide free or low-cost breakfasts, in addition to lunches, during the school year. Many of those who receive food assistance are the working poor, who despite working one or more low-paying jobs, are unable to afford enough food for their families.

I volunteer in the food pantry kitchen every week for 3 hours, working with other volunteers to package food for distribution. Some weeks we sort and package eggs. At other times, we bag donated bread or tortillas, mushrooms or carrots, flour or sugar. The kitchen volunteers are all women in their middle or senior years, and the work can be hard and back-breaking. One volunteer will soon turn 85 years old! But nobody complains. We are doing our small part to help feed the hungry. And we all are passionate about ending hunger in America.

But this is a problem that cannot be solved by the small, private food pantries, or even by the large food banks, which are struggling to meet the increased demand for food as donations dwindle. This problem will be solved only when we start to really care about helping our most vulnerable citizens receive the food they need. 

I take advantage of sales at local grocery stores to buy canned vegetables and soups, or dry pasta and cereal, to donate. I know that groceries are expensive, and I know that I am blessed that I don't have to worry about feeding myself and my daughter. But just think what a difference we could make if 1 million of the people in this country of 330 million bought one extra non-perishable food item and donated it to a local food bank or pantry. That would be 1 million more cans of food!  This might not solve the problem of hunger in America, but it would surely put a dent in it.

A friend, who herself sometimes needs food assistance, recently gathered her friends and family and made 117 homemade burritos with ingredients she bought herself. They then took the burritos, along with bottles of water, and handed them out to homeless people in town. Similar grassroots efforts can be found throughout the country.

In some communities, people are encouraged to plant an extra row in their gardens and donate the food to a local food bank. In other areas, volunteers 'glean' or remove the fruit and vegetables remaining after the harvest. Wouldn't it be wonderful if more people donated the extra fruits and vegetables from their home gardens? More grocery stores and restaurants now are donating food, rather than throwing it into the trash. Every donation helps.

But we need more involvement, more donations of food and money, more on-going food drives, and more volunteers. But what we really need is greater awareness of the problem of hunger in America, more people to speak out against this failure of our society, and a greater commitment on all levels to do something about it.

When I Was a Kid

How things have changed since I was a kid growing up in the 1950s and 1960s. Although there have been many social and technological advances over the years, things weren't all bad back then. The world was seemingly a nicer, kinder, more carrying and worry-free place.

When I was a kid:

• I rode a bicycle without wearing a helmet. I never fell and broke a bone or smashed my head. (Today, I never ride without wearing a helmet.)
• I roller-skated without any protective padding. The worst thing I ever suffered was a skinned knee or elbow, and maybe damaged pride if somebody saw me fall. 
• I played outside until my mom called me to come into the house when it was getting dark. There were no fears of kids being kidnapped, or worse. 
• I went outside without a hat, long sleeves and sunscreen. 
• We didn't pay attention to what we ate, other than hoping it tasted good. 
• We didn't worry about saturated fats or carbs or calories. 
• Like us, our friends lived in two-parent families. Divorce was unheard of, or extremely rare. 
• Our mom worked at home, cooking and cleaning and taking care of the kids. She didn't get a paying job until my younger sister was in school. She was always home when we got home from school. 
• We did things as a family. We ate dinner (called supper) together every evening. We went on vacations together. We went as a family to local parks to play and picnic. 
• I ate lunch at home every day during elementary school. 
• I walked to and from school by myself or with other kids. Only when I was in middle school and high school was I driven to school (it was too far to walk). I had no expectation of having a car of my own. If I needed to go some place, I asked my mom or dad to drive me, or I borrowed the family car. 
• Our house had one bathroom (shared by five people) and one phone (black, rotary). There was no answering machine, caller I.D., or any of the other phone-related 'necessities.' 
• We went to church every Sunday, and then my mom cooked a big, home-cooked meal. 
• Kids had chores to do. Mine included housework, cooking and ironing. 
• We were not allowed to spend hours every day watching television; we were told to "go outside and play." As often as not, I occupied myself by reading, something I enjoy to this day.
• My elementary school class had a Christmas party, not a holiday party, every year. The two Jewish kids in my class did something else during party time. Both they and their parents seemingly didn't have a problem with us having a Christmas party. 
• When we played outside in hot weather, we drank water from a rubber garden hose. We all survived. 
• I ate (and still eat) cookie dough containing raw eggs. I never got sick. 
• We ate cookies and pies, bread with real butter, and lots of fried foods, and we drank Kool-Aid and soda loaded with sugar. But nobody was overweight because we played outside for hours on end. 
• Our food was natural, with no ingredients we couldn't pronounce. Food was free of artificial flavors and colors, and contained no additives or preservatives. 
• If we goofed off or did something stupid and got injured as a result, we likely got in trouble with our parents. Mom would pull out the store-brand bottle of Mercurochrome and maybe an adhesive bandage, and off we would go. Now it's a trip to the emergency room, followed by a 10-day course of $50 antibiotics. And of course, a lawyer is consulted about blaming a property owner or school for 'negligence.' 
• If we really misbehaved, we got spanked. This was not abuse, as many believe today. And all three of us kids turned out just fine. 
• We said the Pledge of Allegiance every day at school, including the words 'one nation, under God', and nobody objected. 
• I had to achieve something before I could expect to receive an award. Nobody got a trophy just for showing up, so their self-esteem wouldn't be hurt. There are winners and losers in everything, something we learned as a fact of life. 
• The thought of stealing from our friends or their parents, or anyone, never crossed our minds. 
• We treated our parents, our friends' parents and our neighbors with respect.

Life in the 1950s and 1960s wasn't perfect. But it was a lot less complicated, and people seemed a lot less stressed about life. And that sense of family, the sense of togetherness and concern for the community that was prevalent when I was a kid, now seem lacking.

Our lives also were far less regulated than they are now, and people took responsibility for their actions and decisions. We didn't look for someone else to blame. Everything now comes with three layers of protective coverings and multiple warnings about the product's potential dangers and side-effects. Do we really need to have a warning printed on a cup of coffee to advise us that the contents are hot? We have become a nanny state, where common sense and good judgment have been replaced by government watchdogs and lawsuit-happy citizens.

How did we ever survive all the dangers of those days -- riding without a bicycle helmet, eating fried food, having no one to tell us of the horrors of eating this food or that? My grandmother lived well into her 80s and succumbed to Alzheimer's. My mother died at age 80 of Alzheimer's and shingles. My father lived to be 87.

Maybe as we age we tend to look back on the days of our youth with fondness. As kids, we were oblivious to a lot of the hardships our parents faced. So I guess singer Carly Simon got it right when she sang that "These are the good old days."

Memories from a Photograph

I love the photo at the top of this post. It says so much, and it shows that a picture truly can be worth a thousand words.

I have seen this building before, but as I was driving to Durango, CO, to meet a group for a hiking trip, I knew I had to stop and take a picture. I made a U-turn as soon as I could and drove back into the parking lot.

I love the photo's simplicity -- an old truck and an old building with classic advertising on the side. But most of all, I love the memories it conjures in my mind ... memories of a time when life was simpler and moved at a slower pace ... memories of my childhood.

The truck creates images of a rural area with dusty, rutted, unpaved roads. The sign, of course, is instantly recognizable from its colors and script. Coca-Cola Classic is my absolute favorite soft drink, a guilty pleasure I enjoyed every morning for many years until my doctor told me that I need to watch my sugar intake. So now, aside from the occasional can of 'real' Coke, I limit myself to sugar-free soft drinks.

I remember summers spent at my grandparents' place in rural southern Illinois. Days were hot and humid, and we kids were on the go from the moment we awoke in the morning. There was no air-conditioning in the house, and we rarely watched television. Instead, we ran around outside, we played with our cousins who lived down the hill, we rode their horses and their homemade go-cart. We explored the woods and the pond filled with small fish and snapping turtles.

The truck reminds me of my grandfather's old 1947 Chevy. My grandmother didn't drive, so my grandfather did all the driving. In those days, there were no seat belts or air bags or other safety devices that make today's vehicles much safer. The car didn't have a radio or air conditioning, and of course it was black (the only color available at the time) and it had a manual transmission. The car also had a huge back seat, and it smelled of age and must and dust. I was saddened when, after my grandmother died and my grandfather entered a nursing home, the car was sold. And their simple, cozy old house was sold and torn down, replaced with a more modern home.

I haven't been back to that part of Illinois in many decades. Most of my relatives have either died or no longer stay in touch. I don't ride horses or go-karts any longer, my house is air-conditioned and my car has all the luxuries I want or need. But it's nice having these old memories revived by a chance encounter with an old truck and some classic advertising.

Family Resemblances

Every so often, I walk our two dogs separately, rather than at the same time as I usually do.

As I watched my 14-1/2 year old Lab/beagle, Mila, struggle along on her arthritic hips, I was struck by the similarities she and I share. She has arthritis in her spine and hips; I have arthritis in my hands and bursitis in my hips. Her coat is short, blonde and thick; my hair is short and thick, and it used to be blonde. It's now mostly gray. Mila has gorgeous golden eyes; I have always loved the fact that I have beautiful blue eyes.

Our similarities, however, go well beyond the physical. Both of us prefer solitude and quiet. Neither of us cares for a lot of physical attention. Neither of us is very playful, and both are quiet and serious. Both of us have long nails, mine by choice, hers because she hates having her nails trimmed. Both have hearing problems. I lost most of the hearing in one ear when I was 10 years old; Mila has lost most of her hearing as she got older. We both love being outdoors and exploring the world around us. Both of us are short.

Our other dog, Tia, is a golden retriever. She and my daughter are much alike. Both have long hair, although Julia's isn't as blonde as Tia's. Both are playful, sometimes goofy, and very social. They both make friends easily and love being in the thick of things. And both dog and daughter are very vocal.

I have seen pictures from dog/owner look-alike contests, and although I don't think Mila and I really look alike, it is interesting how much we have in common. I didn't adopt Mila because of her personality. Indeed, I found her in Houston, having apparently been dumped when she was pregnant. We adopted Tia because my daughter fell in love with her fun-loving personality.

It's interesting how our two dogs reflect the personalities of the people in our household. It takes all kinds and all personalities to make the world interesting. I am blessed to have a diverse and loving family with which to share my life.

Unfulfilled Dreams

I want to be a writer.

There. I have put it down in black and white. I want to be a writer. I first discovered my talent for writing in middle school, and I did a lot of writing in my careers with a large humane society and later with NASA. But there were so many limitations and restrictions on my writing that it seldom satisfied my creative side. I have had articles published in some specialty magazines and in the local newspaper while I was in grad school. And I won some writing awards from the Dog Writers' Association.

Since I retired, I have written regularly in this blog. I made a book available of my favorite blog posts, but it sold only a handful of copies. Late last year I finally finished a book about my experiences -- good and bad -- as I raised my daughter, adopted from Russia at age 11. I wrote this book at the urging of an attachment therapist, who believed that my story would be helpful and supportive to other adoptive parents. To date, it has sold only FOUR copies! It is available via the button at the upper right of this page, as well as through amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com. But promoting a self-published book is not easy, and although several people have commented that they "can't wait to read" the book, few have actually followed through and ordered a copy.

So I write for the sheer pleasure of writing. I simply love to write. I don't want a writing job with daily deadlines, and I cherish the freedom to write about whatever appeals to me. I just wish that people would actually read what I write! Getting paid for my writing isn't important. But I would like to know that people read, and maybe, if I'm lucky, find some value in, my writings.

I write about many things -- nature, volunteer work, wolves, adoption, personal growth, family and many other topics. I find inspiration for my writing from many sources -- personal experiences, newspaper ads, something I see or hear about on the news or in conversations with others.

I don't have the wit of an Erma Bombeck. I don't have the imagination of a J.K. Rowling. I simply write about what I see, experience or feel passionately about. I don't have aspirations of writing the next New York Times best seller. But I do intend to keep writing. I love writing, and I love experimenting with words until I find just the right word, or phrase or sentence, to convey my thoughts. I love reading a well-written article or book and wondering whether I could ever write as well as that author. The late Albuquerque author Tony Hillerman is a favorite author, although he wrote fiction, something for which I definitely don't have the talent.

I most likely never will be considered a writer, but rather, as someone who writes. There is a huge difference in these descriptions. People have told me for years how much they enjoy my writing. But it's no fun to write post after post with no feedback or commentary. If you enjoy reading this blog, please sign up as a follower (there is a link on the right side of the page) and invite your friends to sign up, too. If you have a comment about a particular post, please use the comment function at the bottom of each post to submit your statement or question. If you have an idea for a future post, I would love to hear about it. I see the statistics. I know that people are reading this blog, from countries around the world. But please, I need some feedback.

In any event, I will continue to write and hope that some day, I truly will be considered a writer.