Prisoner of Hopes

Prisoner of Hopes

  • Scottsbluff: A Lesson in Life: Travel Goals

    I love national parks!  I feel almost giddy each time I get to cross a new park boundary.  I have a passport book that I stamp each time we go to a new visitor center. The green ranger suits and the round hats are a familiar and comforting presence.  I know that I am getting ready to either learn something I didn’t know before or to see some incredible sites.

    Today was no different. We watched the short video on the bluff and the thousands of people who crossed through on the way to California, Oregon, and Utah.  Then we walked the trail.  We felt the wagon ruts.  Sure, the” lookout for rattlesnakes” signs took a little more of my focus than I would have liked, but after awhile my hyper alert state of being faded to a more appropriate, “scan the trail ahead and move on”, routine.

    The rising bluffs were fascinating and awe inspiring.  After a mile hike and lots of photos, we drove to the summit, passing through three tunnels along the way.   At the top, two additional hikes took us to the four corners of the bluff.  Majestic vistas in every direction.  Peacefulness in a hectic and strange world.  A little further on, someone had left a water bottle on the scenic overlook wall.  Apparently they hadn’t heard “Pack out what you pack in”, so I packed it out for them.  A few paces more and we ran into a few other retired couples who wanted to talk about how they afford retirement. Since I come to the parks to escape the craziness of life not to be sucked into tedious conversations, we politely said our goodbyes and walked on.

    The rest of the day passed in a blur.  We had a picnic at a small zoo. Peacocks and children were everywhere, screaming for attention. The animals were all taking a nap and the temperature was rising, so we decided to visit the local pool.  Feeling like a 6th grader, I suited up and put on my waterproof armband.  I grabbed an inner tube and hit the lazy river.  It would have been lazy, except there were three different water features that dropped really cold water on my head.  The sun disappeared and the wind kicked up.  Suddenly, not feeling so lazy we raced to the pool to immerse ourselves in the slightly less cold water.  At least the deeper water shielded us from the ever increasing wind.

    We left at the mandatory clear the pool break. I had forgotten about those breaks since I hadn’t experienced one since junior high. It was too cold to stand on the side of the pool during the wait to get back in, so we dressed and looked for adventure elsewhere. After a quick visit to an overpriced antique store and a visit back to RV to regroup, we headed to town to see a bluegrass band.  The band turned out to be two guys with guitars in a park.  Their sound system left a little to be desired, but they were decent musicians. So we ended our day in the park, amidst a bicycle convention, listening to two guys with no shoes play their guitars.

    Life is much like this day.  You start out with excitement, mingled with caution and uncertainty.  You are inspired only to be confronted with the mundane and thoughtless actions of others. So, you get another great idea and set off to try the new thing which is largely great and a little underwhelming all at the same time.  So you try the next new adventure only to have cold water thrown in your face, but you find a way to make the best of it until you can no longer endure the cold water, then you move on and find things you love. They turn out to be too expensive so you rest and end up  enjoying the silly and the simple things with the one you love  while singing and sitting in  a “Shady Grove”.

    Shady Grove, my little love,
    Shady grove I say.
    Shady Grove, my little love,
    I’m a-bound to go away.
    ……………………..
    I wish I had a glass of wine
    And bread and meat for two;
    I’d set it all on a golden plate
    And give it all to you.

  • Stress Test: Travel Goals

    Prisoner of hope makes a great slogan, however, some days remind me that hope is something you must commit to, you must chain yourself to.  Today was one of those days. We broke camp the night before since they were calling for rain.  But when I woke up there was no rain.  So I started a fire and made my coffee.  Happiness.  Because we did the hard work the night before, pulling out only required unplugging the electric and hitching up the truck.  Easy start…except the electric plug would not come out of the recepticle.  My husband tried and tried. I tried. He tried again, but it was stuck.  He worked to get it loose, but getting it loose also loosened the prongs.  If you are an RV owner, at this point you realize that this means that we potentially have no power for lights, water pump, air conditioning, refrigeration, etc.  This could be serious as we are driving West and the forecast is 100 degrees.

    We drove to the local RV shop in full problem solving mode.  We met the nicest couple who ran the shop.  They were more than willing to help, except they didn’t have the part.  The owner called three other shops along our route.  They all had parts, but they were unwilling to install. Answers ranged from, “yeah, I have it but can’t work you in” to “I could get it done in a few weeks”. I could feel the stress bubbling up.  A repair man with no part, a part with no repair.  How far will we need to drive to get a part and then return to the only helpful human who would install it?  Why does a person with a part refuse to do a 10 minute repair?  How can keep my cool and choose to be hopeful that this will all work out? Am I capable of watching an online video and rewiring my electrical?

    After checking a number of local hardware and retail stores, I re-called the one other rv sales offices as a last option before a long drive to get a part.  I got a girl on the phone who said,  “ our parts guy is out today..so I don’t know if we have what you need or not.  Sorry…..but…….. you can come look if you want.”  So we did! We found our own part and drove back to the only helpful human of the day.

    As he was working, he told my husband that his two repair technicians were out sick and that he had several repairs for the day.  Yet, he took the time to help us.  Unscheduled.  And his charge was $36.00.  I hope he knows how grateful I am.  I hope he knows that I prayed over him. A blessing…a reminder to help when you can.

    And so we were back on the road, albeit three hours later than intended.  A few planned stops were scrapped, but we still made it to Scouts Ranch to see the home of the legendary Buffalo Bill.  And then we trekked on toward Scottsbluff.  About Ogallala, I remembered that in the stress of the electrical issue, I forgot to flip the bypass switch when we hooked up the car.  This cuts of the battery to the truck when it is being towed to ensure that the battery is not drained.  At this point, we had been on the road for about four hours.  The knot in my stomach returned.  We had electric to the RV and potentially a dead truck. 

    We decided to find a gas station to pull into as we needed gas and we needed to activate the battery bypass.  Except the RV was too big for the station.  We kept going, but the road became more remote.  I could feel the pull of worry…What if we can’t find gas? ….What if the truck doesn’t start?…..What if the electrical repair on the rv didn’t actually work?…..   And then,  I had to make a choice…. To turn off the voices in my head and just trust that it would all work out.

    We found a gas station, the truck started, the electric worked.  Joy!  The RV park we arrived at was tiny and in disrepair.  The view out our door was of an abandoned swimming pool with broken concrete and half full of debris and weeds.  It smelled of sewer.  Despair.   The owner explained that they had made expensive repairs on the electrical boxes and were filling in the pool when a storm took the roof off of the building.  Funds had to be diverted to cover the expenses.  Hope differed.  Obstacles to be overcome.

    After the long day, we decided we needed to treat ourselves to dinner out. Craft pizzas in a quirky and fun establishment.  We settle in and enjoy.  Because sitting out at the camper was not appealing, we took a walk and chanced upon a concert in the park.  The lawn chairs were still in the truck!  So classic rock with 1,000 strangers seemed like a great way to end the day.  Feeling silly, I yelled “Freebird” after every song.  It seemed like something that should happen. I have never been to a classic rock session without someone yelling freebird. After the day we had, I decided it should be me.

    The lead singer announced that the next song would be the last.  I felt a little sad until…four notes lingered in the air and then a tune formed. Dah, Duh-duh, dah… Free bird, they actually played Freebird!  We danced and laughed, and ended our stressful day free as a bird.

    Things just couldn’t be the same
    ‘Cause I’m as free as a bird now
    And this bird you cannot change
    Oh, oh, oh, oh
    And the bird you cannot change
    And this bird, you cannot change

    ,

  • Echoes

    Central Nebraska.  Corn and tractors.  Tractors and corn.  At Homestead National Park, hopefulness and despair were on full display.  The settlers who came by the thousands to homestead persisted out of stubborn hope for a better life.  They came with almost nothing and built a life out of hostile soil.  Cutting sod for houses.  Using plows pulled by their children to plant crops that would struggle to grow.  Hope writ large.  The promise of land ownership and freedom. The real possibility of failure and heartache.

    At the same time settlers were arriving with unbridled hope, the dozens of Indian tribes were feeling acute despair.  Treaties were broken.  Strangers told them they could no longer access land they had lived on forever.  Children were removed from their homes and “re-cultured”.  A way of life, wiped from the earth. There is sadness in the land.  I can feel it where my feet touch the tall grass prairie.  I hear it in the song of the wild turkey.

    Progress.  That is what they called the dozens of railyards and cattle yards that dot the prairie.  Never mind that they are noisy and smelly.  The Lincoln highway, the first motor way to cross the country, brought a new era of pioneers west.  In their touring cars, travelers headed for adventure.  The RV is grateful that it is now a paved highway instead of the dirt track of yesterday.  Progress.

    I stand at the intersection of past and present.  Hope for a new life and despair at the loss of a people.  I stand and know that I am both old and new.  My ancestors came from England and Ireland in hope of a better life.  They dug in the dirt and the mines and clawed their way forward to own land of their own and make sure that their children could have an education.  My life is something they could only dream of.  And yet, I also come from the people abandoned. Like a mist on a cold morning or a whisper in the wind, my Cherokee heritage makes itself known only occasionally.  The stirring of my soul in the forest, the oneness with the earth that can’t be severed. Lost, but oddly remembered.

    And so, I drive through miles of corn fields with tractors and irrigation systems in my fancy RV.  I watch the sky and the river, where the hawks soar and call to me.  I am a stranger here.  I am at home.

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  • Moments to Savor: Travel Goals

    Unexpected pleasures.  Little joys.  Small moments in time.  This is what a day consists of… if you are paying attention. 

    I wander around the campsite and pick up sticks.  This is a necessary scavenger hunt to start the fire that will yield me coffee.  Carefully, placed sticks and some dryer lint start the morning fire.  The crackling of the first few twigs has a promise of its own.  It always brings a feeling of satisfaction and anticipation.  Slowly, I feed the fires larger sticks until it is ready for a log.  Campfire coffee is a ritual.   Some time ago, I rescued an old five tier lunch pail from an antique  store.  It is my campfire companion.  Each layer holds a treasure trove of tools.  Matches, dryer lint, firestarter bricks, fatwood….   Each fire is unique and I am prepared.  A fire and a bubbling coffee pot…small victory.  The first taste of coffee brewed over the fire…heaven.

    Biscuits and Bacon. Can there be anything more wonderful?  Homemade jam running down my fingers.  Buttery goodness and crispy delight.  Linger.  Savor the morning …..and when the time is right we grab the bicycles for a mid-morning trek up the hike/bike trail to Kearney.  Unexpected pleasure comes from sighting a bunny in the grass.  A fawn wanders onto the trail unconcerned.  Wild turkeys call from the tree line.  A skunk, thankfully smelled but never seen.  I imagine the sandhill cranes, now on their northern migration, wading in the cool waters of the Platte.  Five miles of peace.

    By afternoon, the work of tourism must begin.  Fort Kearney is in ruins, but we walk the grounds to get a sense of army life.  The Great Archway over I-80 has an interactive museum that begs to be conquered. A quick stop to use a gift card brings elation.  New tools for my fire kit!  A cooking rack for the fire!  A tool to push the burning logs!  It is Christmas in June… small pleasures.

    A simple meal. Grilled pork chops, watermelon, salad.  Happiness.  Summer on a plate. I could sit here and be quite content, but one more surprise awaits.  A chance walk through the park, revealed a community gathering.  $5 to see an outdoor musical.  A small price to pay for smiles and toe tapping.  The night air is cool.  The snow cone in my hand is cooler still.  My love by my side and music in the heart. Unexpected pleasures…little joys….small moments in time.

    ,

  • ON THE ROAD AGAIN

    It’s the journey that counts.

    And so, we set out on our journey.  Part celebration of the end of a long career and part hopeful new beginnings.  Retirement…end or beginning?  I choose to dwell on the beginnings.  All the packing and the planning ends the moment the journey begins.  RV in motion. Truck in tow.  We take to the backroads, the little highways that pass farms and small town houses.

    Somewhere along the way we get gas, we rest, we eat.  We enjoy the day.  Until……..the doldrums set in.  The houses begin to look the same.  Each field blends into the next.  Six hours in and we just want to be there. Where ever there is.  Thirty minutes from the first campsite.  I take the wheel with a sense of happiness.  We are almost there!

    But then, a road closure.  A stop light in the middle of nowhere.  The road to the bridge we must take is down to one lane.  And so we wait.  Seven minutes can seem like an eternity.  Are any cars coming toward us?  I can’t see any. And so, the stop light meant to protect us becomes my enemy.  I beg the light to change.  I feel myself get annoyed.  I wonder what would happen if I just went through the light anyway.  And we sit for what feels like forever… until finally I see a cloud of dust and large vehicles come streaming down the one lane road.  Finally, I understand that the red light has done its job.  It has kept me from rushing headlong into danger.  It turns green and I am thankful and move on.

    The road is narrow for a large RV towing a truck, but we make our way.  Over the river and into Nebraska.  The GPS entices us to try a dubious road in the back country, but we persevere on the well worn highway.  11 miles to go and we land behind a hay wagon.  So slow! I so want to be out of the car.  The GPS again entices with a road.  Turn onto county road or go an additional four minutes to look for a larger road? The county road looks ok.  You can go 50 MPH.  How bad can it be?  Four minutes faster!

    The first half mile looked good,  then the pavement disappeared.  Nine miles of dirt roads.  Tractor ruts.  Dust.  I feel myself beyond irritated.  How could the GPS take us here?  Who uses these roads?  Why did I let the promise of four minutes faster lure me into this never ending, bumpy madness?  Never again, I vow.  I will navigate better.  I will have more patience. I will make sure my journey is on a better path.

    Finally, we are there!  Happiness, joyfulness….wait are those rocks on the hood of my truck?  Under an inch of fine dust, the RV and truck seem tired.  We pull up to the gate, only to find no one is there to help us check in.  Do it yourself is the order of the day in 2022 America.  But we are pioneers of our new life….intrepid travelers….and so we do help ourselves. 

    We settle into a secluded, wooded spot.  The birds are singing.  As fireflies dance and spotted fawns wonder the fields, I slow cook steak and fried potatoes over the campfire.  I have learned something today about taking shortcuts.  I have decided to take the longer path this evening and enjoy every minute….and every mouthful.

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  • The journey begins…again

    “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”

    Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

    — Oscar Wilde.

    Today I start a new beginning, at 56. For the last 32 years I have been an educator and before that I was a student. Perhaps this explains why I am full of questions. Intellectually, I want to know. I find beauty in human diversity. I see possibility in divergence. In today’s world, it can be tough to be open and even tougher to be an optimist. Society seemingly demands you to pick a side, accept simplistic solutions, and never venture far from the common view. For those of us who resist false dichotomies and seek new ideas to push our limited boundaries, this territorial approach to life in the United State unnerving at best. So I humbly offer this blog. Perhaps no one will read it, I can’t really imagine that my voice can add to the ever increasing clanging that is social media…..and yet…… I want my voice to be heard. I want to reaffirm that there are individuals still committed to reason …still committed to simply finding joy in the human experience.

    I am that individual. I know that I must chose hope each day as an active endeavor. Each day, I have to reaffirm my identity and chose my priorities. I am a woman, a mother, a wife. I am a scholar, a christian, a citizen. I am a traveler who delights in seeing the world and interacting with its wonderful people. I am a wanderer adrift in this age of anxiety……not quite belonging to any tribe……but always a prisoner of hope.

  • Introduction to Prisoner of Hope

    Why write a blog?

    Today I retired from education, but in my head and I am still a wide eyed little girl wanting to make a difference in the world. I still have a voice and want to continue to contribute to the betterment of society.

    What is a prisoner of hope?

    This post is derived from a quote in the book of Job. It reads something like this…”return to your fortress, oh prisoner of hope.” Faith was Job’s fortress as it is mine. Faith in God and goodness and love.

    How does the idea of hope translate into anything anyone would want to read?

    Perhaps no one will want to read it. However it is designed as an outlet to bring hope, to highlight joy, to celebrate our humanity, to discuss issues that connect us.

    • Some posts may be silly
    • Some posts may be serious
    • Some posts may be pensive
    • All posts will be hopeful

    Who is your audience?

    I am just going to write…without worry….without pretense. Perhaps I will have no audience.

    You can join me as a fellow prisoner of hope or you can react in whatever way you choose. Freedom of choice is a hallmark of democracy. Free will is a gift of God. I hope that you choose to reason, and converse, and to foster hope.

    #hopeblog, #life, #Grownupgoals, #dialogueisforgrownups,