Too much rain

 

By Mary Reiman

The force of water. It could be the title of a book. This summer it is the story of Northwest Iowa. Beginning the weekend of June 22nd.

When asked where I’m from in Iowa, I usually say Okoboji because most people know where it is. Many have been there for summer camps or family vacations. They often remember their favorite band playing at the Roof Garden (there was a dance there every Tuesday night in the summer), the roller coaster (one might use the word rickety to describe it...but that didn’t stop us from riding it), saltwater taffy or a nutty bar at Arnolds Park.  

My summer job was cleaning cottages, so I did not necessarily love the vacationers. They were messy, leaving lots of sand and trash everywhere when they headed home. 

I do remember the people. Lots of people. Traffic backed up trying to get through Arnolds Park. And boats. Boats backed up waiting to go under the bridge between East and West Lake Okoboji. 

Fast forward to July 17, 2024. In all the years I passed the lake on Highway 71, I never remember a time (especially in July) when no boats were in the water. Not one.

Last week, our family from California, Florida, Minnesota, and Nebraska came together at Okoboji. 5 miles from the farm where I grew up. Now we were the vacationers. We spent a day at the amusement park, watching the kids ride the roller coaster (it’s been rebuilt and was a favorite ride for much of the group), the scrambler (that’s way too much spinning for me), and the ferris wheel (great views of the lake from high above the water).

Our family time together was not impacted by the recent flooding, other than the bridge out on the road I usually traveled to get there. However, it was an eerie feeling, seeing the aftermath of the rains which impacted the economy of the area: the lake activities (less summer crowds than usual), the crops (those ponds in the fields were not supposed to be there covering the corn and beans) and most significantly, the city of Spencer.

Okoboji. It’s a lake. There’s water. But never this much water, and it’s almost a month after the rain came. It was the topic of conversation in every store. Less vacationers = less shoppers. No lines to get a snack. Boats sitting in the fields near the lake, instead of in the lake. The docks still underwater. The boat lifts still partially submerged.  

This picture is from Terrace Park, near the Boys Town’s Camp Okoboji. Since the docks came apart and some trees/branches washed into the lake, there was much debris being cleared before being safe for the summer boat traffic to return.

Meanwhile, Spencer, Iowa, population 11,400, is 14 miles south of Okoboji. It is where we went to buy clothes, shoes, school supplies when I was growing up. The weekend of June 22nd it also rained...and rained...and rained in Spencer. Water stretching out far beyond the banks of the Little Sioux River  which runs through town. 

The people in Spencer are hard-working Iowa families. Now picking up the pieces. I would guess some are still in shock. I am, just looking at the photos. The destruction of homes and businesses, the livelihood of so many in the community who had seen rain before, seen the river has overflowed its banks in years past, but nothing like this. Nothing of this magnitude.

As important as the boats and the lake are to the economy of the Okoboji area, it is nothing compared to the impact of this rain in Spencer. 1000 homes were completely destroyed and approximately 2,500 were damaged. Replacing, repairing, perhaps relocating. Where would you begin?

It seems that every day we see the force of nature causing chaos throughout the country. The impact on the life of a community. People persevering with grit and determination. I know that is happening in Spencer. 

I am also well aware we need water for many reasons. It is a precious commodity in this country and around the world. But in 2024, on a June weekend in Northwest Iowa, there was too much rain. 

A few additional photos for those of you who have visited the Iowa Great Lakes Region:

June 22nd, Casey's, Spencer:

Clearing out homes damaged in Spencer:

June 22, 2024 Arnold Park main street (near the Nutty Bar Stand):

July 19, 2024 Arnolds Park main street that many of us recognize:

July 19, 2024 Boat lifts on Lake Okoboji...without boats:

July 19, 2024 The end of the day:

Thank you, Mr. President

 by Marilyn Moore

Dear Mr. President,

I had planned to write this letter in four years, as you were finishing your second term as President of the United States.  Such is not to be, as you’ve announced your decision today to stand down from your candidacy for re-election and to devote full time and energy to the presidency.  That decision makes me sad.  I’m angry that you had to make it.  There’s nothing fair about it.  But you have, as you always have, weighed the complex factors of this decision in this time and in this place, and made the decision that in your judgment best serves our country.  That’s what leadership looks like, and our country is fortunate to see it and experience it and live it with you.

Thank you, not for standing down, but for standing up.  You have stood up for, spoken for, advocated for, and kept at the forefront of your thinking those persons who have been pushed to the margins by the powerful voices and policies of the past – women, members of the LGBTQ+ community, persons of color, miners and autoworkers and members of unions, service members and veterans, children who are hungry and homeless, the poor.  

Thank you for standing up for rights for women, especially reproductive health rights, and for voting rights.  Both are under attack at this time; your support has been relentless.  It matters.

Thank you for leading this nation through the Covid 19 pandemic, with regard for the science that led to the development of vaccine and with regard for public health workers and health care providers who provided care every single day.  Thank you for negotiating with all the parties that were a part of the supply chain issues – it’s lovely to not find the empty shelves in grocery stores that we confronted in 2021 when you took office.  Thank you for your support of public schools, their teachers and principals, who kept schools running and found new ways to keep students learning, during a pandemic. 

Thank you for your principled stand on supporting Ukraine when it was, and still is, attacked by Russia.  Thank you for rallying the NATO nations to join in that stance, and for restoring the United States to a position of leadership among the nations of the world, especially among the nations that are democracies.  Thank you for trying to find a way to balance the right of Israel to defend itself with the very real humanitarian needs of the Palestinians, especially those living in Gaza who are suffering from deprivation of food, water, and medical care. Diplomacy is not easy; you have not given up.  In these two hot spots of the world today, and in others as well, your deep knowledge and understanding of foreign relations comes to the fore.

Thank you for surrounding yourself with a Cabinet and a team of advisors who are smart, diverse, committed to the Constitution, and effective.  You have led them well, you have listened to them, and policies have emerged that serve the public well.

Thank you for nominating Ketanji Brown Jackson to the US Supreme Court, and for nominating hundreds of other persons to serve as judges on federal courts throughout the country.  Your nominees include women and people of color to a degree not seen before; thank you for taking steps toward a judiciary that looks like the citizenry.  

Thank you for respecting science, the science that led to the development of the Covid-19 vaccine and the science that says we must take action to halt climate change.  Thank you for respecting the natural world in which we live, for setting aside lands as protected areas to assure there will always be places in nature accessible to all US residents.

Thank you for your leadership in the passage of major legislative bills that make lives better for ordinary Americans, funds that rebuild and restore bridges and highways, systems that result in vital supplies, like computer chips, being made in the US, child tax credits and free lunches for school kids (these need to be extended, by the way, and I’m sure you’re working on it, though a Republican House makes it challenging; for a party that claims to be pro-life and pro-family, they are remarkably unwilling to adopt federal legislation that would actually help families), a few more procedures in place to try to keep guns out of the hands of those who are most dangerous, and caps on insulin.

Thank you for your compassion for those who suffer, for filling the role of Comforter in Chief with such genuine dignity.  You have called parents of children who have been killed in school shootings, you have called spouses of service members killed while serving their country.  You have visited cities and villages that have been ravaged by natural disasters and manmade accidents, assuring by your presence that those affected are not forgotten by their national government. 

Thank you for your grace and strength and courage in the past four weeks, when for some reason the national media decided to focus on your raspy voice instead of the thirty-some lies told by your opponent in the debate.  During that time, you have also met with heads of state, you have convened the NATO nations, you have answered endless questions from the press, including a lengthy late-night press conference; in other words, you have gone about the business of being the President of United States, a job that, as your Secretary or Transportation says, you know how to do, and you do it well. 

Thank you for selecting Kamala Harris as your running mate four years ago, and for supporting her today as our next president.  She is whip-smart, she is wise, she opens the door of what is possible by her very presence.  Excellent choice, Mr. President.

Thank you for letting us see the person you are – a person who loves his family, a person of faith, a person who sees the value and dignity of all God's children, a person who loves his country more than himself.  And thank you for reminding us often, as you did in your letter today, that there is nothing that the American people cannot accomplish, when we all work together.  Words of wisdom for all of us….

Thank you, Mr. President, and may God bless you and yours,

Marilyn Moore

A gloriously imperfect road trip across time

By Mary Kay Roth

I imagined an idyllic road trip with my two grown kids, Josh and Anna.  After all, the three of us hadn’t traveled together in decades – at least not without grandchildren or significant others.

This would be special. For my 70th birthday present, Josh was taking Anna and me to my dream destination: the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado.

I even imagined the blog I would write, waxing poetic, an enchanted time of reconnecting, our arms wrapped around one another singing kum ba yah.  And they lived happily ever after.

Of course, by now I should know better.  Life never goes as planned.

The truth is we drove each other crazy. 

Apparently on long car trips Anna not only tailgates, she also tends to drive 95 mph (and faster).  Josh checks our ETA incessantly – I swear every 5 to 10 minutes – and if we’re running “behind plan” and I want to stop for a rest break, both my kids extol the benefits of driving straight through. 

Umm, no. I need to stop. NOW.

Indeed, on the road, we talked about past vacations and roared with laughter.  We shared the driving, shared our dream bucket lists. And we sang our favorite songs.  But for some inexplicable reason my kids were irritated by my tendency to blurt out lyrics when I didn’t really know the words. 

And, admittedly, I completely freaked out when Josh was navigating through a hailstorm while playing Rage Against the Machine, as I felt obligated to remind him of each and every potential danger lurking on the highway. In turn, he reminded me he had been driving for 25 years.

Hey, buster, who do you think taught you to drive?

Yep, pretty much annoyed the heck out of one another.

The relationship with adult children is a curious thing. I want to call it fragile, but that’s not quite true. Perhaps the word “complicated” is more accurate, those convoluted, knotty bonds of family.  

I mean, I have accumulated such incredible wisdom over the years, yet my children don’t want to hear any of my astute insights.

These are the children I gave birth to – nurtured – adored – raised.  We took car trips across the country playing I Spy, collecting lists of state license plates, drawing imaginary lines that divided them in the backseat.

Like it or not, we are tethered, woven together in the tapestry of our family’s collective memory. My love for them runs deep into the marrow of my bones. We all three share the same sense of humor – the same political bent – the same love of books, music, travel.  We are each filled with equal measures of passion and sarcasm.  

Yet suddenly these “children” of mine are fully grown humans dancing with the ups and downs of life in their own unique ways – intent on fiercely demonstrating they are independent and capable adults.

I feel like I launched them with grace. I’m having a little trouble letting go with grace. 

Exasperations aside, eventually we arrived at a wonderfully funky Airbnb in Colorado, dined on grocery store deli food and watched a marathon of Mission Impossible movies well into the night.

Next morning, we counted down to the evening concert as we counted down aggravations. Josh led us down the wrong turn on a grand mountain hike and we almost fell off a cliff. Anna decided to pretty much isolate, buried in a book, asking for a few moments of calm in her life. 

Ultimately, I was likely the greatest perpetrator of exasperation: “Do we know which Red Rocks entrance to take?  How do we know that’s the right entrance?  Are we leaving early enough?  What if they run out of parking spaces?  Do we need to plan where we’re going to sit?  And, omg, what if it rains?”

When they thought I wasn’t looking, Anna and Josh rolled their eyes, much like they did as teenagers.  “Mom, maybe you need to chant or something.  Maybe you need a drink.”

We did indeed stand under a slight drizzle while waiting in line for admittance into Red Rocks. But clouds lifted as dusk settled over that sacred space, and we danced away the night as the place came alive with music.

Every so often, I sat back to inhale the precious evening – and to gaze upon my kids. 

They are pretty fine humans. Josh is a high school principal.  Anna is a nurse practitioner. They both have better boundaries than I do. They apologize more easily. I’m astonished I brought such cool people into the world – proud of how they overflow with both integrity and laughter. 

The morning after the concert we hit the road for home. I asked to stop for coffee and Anna whispered to Josh that stopping for coffee – meant mom would inevitably have to stop again for restrooms.

“Well duh,” I whispered right back. 

Then, pedal to the medal, Josh and Anna sat in the front seat and chatted – I sat in back, quietly bathed in sweet reverie, remembering the many past trips we’d taken together. Walking the Narrows in Zion National Park.  Looking down over Paris on a rainy night at the Eiffel Tower. Surviving a crammed laundromat on a wet camping trip to Yellowstone. Getting stranded on an island in Michigan.  Walking mountain trails. Canoeing the Niobrara.  

These days Josh and Anna are very busy critters with families of their own.  The day after we return home from this trip, Josh will hop a train to see a baseball game. Two days after, Anna will take her daughters on vacation to California.

And I’m hit hard with the surreal reality that my children have so many more journeys ahead … so many places to go without me … so many destinations they will see – that I will not.

So, perhaps the real wonder of this road trip is that two adult kids have carved out time in busy calendars for this moment with their mom – the fact that we’re returning home, still speaking to one another – the miracle that we pretty much like each other, despite our quirks.

Sometime in our last few hours on the road, suddenly and spontaneously, Josh and Anna started talking about the 2025 schedule for Red Rocks. What bands would be playing?  What days? 

“Maybe again next year,” they said. 

Maybe.

And that, my friends, is a true happy ending.  

Reflections on Milestones Reached

Since we began 5 Women Mayhem in February 2020, some of us have now written 50 blogs.  Some of us have written less, some more.  But we thought this summer was a perfect time to pause and reflect on the curiosity and mayhem of writing our blog.

By Mary Kay Roth

It all started with my dad’s old gray t-shirt. That’s the very first blog we posted for 5 Women Mayhem more than four years ago. It was about how I had stashed one of my dad’s old shirts, way back in a dresser drawer. And I can still remember how the process of writing that blog actually quieted the grief of losing him.

Since then, I’ve written about planting pansies and enduring pandemics. Surviving 50-year high school reunions and surviving cancer. Losing beloved dogs and finding my parents’ lost love letters. 

Surprises have happened along the way.

Perhaps best of all, our five bloggers have become a close family, supporting one another through blogs that made us cry – blogs that didn’t quite work (oops) – blogs that felt a little too dangerous to post (and we did anyway). 

Perhaps, just as surprising, our readers have joined the mayhem, gathering around us in a way that continues to flabbergast me every single week.

Now, whenever I’m introduced to someone new, they’re very likely to say something like, “Hey, you’re one of those Women of Mayhem.”

I can’t think of anything I’d rather be.  

(And, by the way, my dad’s t-shirt is still in the back of my drawer. And the smell of it still makes me cry.)

 ***

Why I Write 

By Mary Reiman

When I realized this month was my 50th post for 5 Women Mayhem, it gave me pause. I’ve always been well aware of why I read. I have never considered myself a writer, so had not thought about why I write. Not until this group was formed.

What have I experienced since saying yes when invited to the Mayhem? The gamut of emotions:

•       Honored to have been invited to be part of the Mayhem.
•       Amazed by the power of the written word.
•       Surprised how quickly 5 weeks fly by.
•       Anxious when nothing bubbles up as a possible topic.
•       Continually learning how to frame and focus a story. 
•       Fear the blog won’t come together coherently.
•       Relief when posted.
•       Joy when readers comment with their own reflections and connections.
•       Grateful when someone finds it worthy of sharing.
•       Finding my voice = finding myself.
•       Forever thankful for the friendships created and enhanced from this endeavor.
•       And most importantly, great appreciation to you, our readers.

 ***

On Being a Blogger

By Marilyn Moore 

It’s happened several times….I meet someone, and they say something like, “Oh, I know you.  You’re one of those mayhem writers.  I read your blogs all the time.”  And I’m stunned.  How did they find us?  Why do they read us?  A friend’s mom, visiting Lincoln from Scottsbluff, tells me she reads us every week, and her friends do, too, and they’ll be really interested to know if what I’m like in person is what I’m like on paper.  (I’m interested in that, too….) Another friend has a friend in Indiana who can’t wait to hear what I have to say about the latest political outrage (and I can’t wait to write about it.)

For most of my professional career, I wrote a message to my colleagues every Monday morning, naming it “Musings” in my LPS position and “Connections” while I was at Bryan College of Health Sciences.  I tried to share relevant information, encourage and inspire and focus on mission, occasionally entertain with amusing observations of life in a classroom, comfort and console in the hardest of times, and once in a while, when I just couldn’t help it, comment on the political happenings of the day.  I thought writing the blog would be similar, except only every five weeks, instead of weekly.

But it’s not the same.  We can, and do, write on anything…if there’s an off-limits topic, I haven’t found it, yet.  It has been wondrously freeing knowing that my writing represents only myself, not an institution, and I can opine on topics and issues and political officeholders without fear of harming either the school district or the college.  I can write of matters spiritual, patriotic, academic, and personal…and I learn something about myself every single time I write.  While at LPS and Bryan College, I was writing to a specific audience, my colleagues, the audience of 5 Women Mayhem is unknown.  It always feels a bit like stepping into an unknown space when I press “publish,” not knowing who in the great world wide web will chance upon these words and read them.

I have often said that I write to figure out what I think, and this blog, in this time of mayhem, has sharpened my thinking, broadened my reading, enhanced my vocabulary, and connected me in ways I don’t yet know to people I have not yet met.  I’m grateful to my fellow bloggers in mayhem for the journey we share, and I’m most thankful to our readers who make us a part of their online lives.

***

Seeking Flow and Mastery Amidst the Mayhem

By Penny Costello

I can’t say I consider myself a blogger. I’m more of a sporadic contributor to this blog. Sometimes I feel like I am the Mayhem in 5 Women Mayhem. I was thrilled and honored to be invited to participate in this group of esteemed journalists, educators, and communicators when we embarked upon this journey four years ago. It’s a true pleasure to be able to read their posts, share in their process, and be nourished by the heart, humor, knowledge, perspective, and passion that my Sister Mavens of Mayhem, as I like to call them, each bring to the table and the screen.

For me, this process continues to be a sometimes-arduous exercise in finding the flow from my brain, through my hands, and onto the keyboard. I can carry an idea around in my head for months, and when I eventually accomplish turning that idea into a written piece, I’m generally pleased with the result. I tend to gravitate toward stories about nature, personal reflections, or stories about my dogs and grandkids. And having had this opportunity to reflect and share about my journey of recovery from traumatic brain injury and its impact on my life, my career, and content creation process has been a very important part of my healing path. So, Dear Readers, thank you for going on that journey with me, and for your kind responses and comments.

The healing journey continues. And while I get frustrated when I hit that impasse point between my brain and my hands, I need to be as supportive and accepting of myself as my Sister Mavens are. I am determined to better understand and redefine that creative process. I’m inviting myself to continue to forge a new pathway, to access that flow and the joy that comes with being in it, and to strive for mastery and consistency in my writing endeavors.

It's all about connection, isn’t it? Connection brings a sense of shared experience, synchronicity, and belonging. That’s the spice of life, as far as I’m concerned. And I’m grateful every day for this group of amazing women with whom I have the pleasure of navigating through the mayhem, and for you, Dear Readers, for your interest, support, and feedback. Thank you!

***

Seeking Balance, Wending Through Life Together

By JoAnne Young 

We started this blog about the same time as Covid began to flash around the world. Major mayhem. Since then, the five of us have connected with you all more than 200 times. One of the greatest benefits is that many of you have connected back with us, nearly 1,100 times with comments, showing us that you, too, have known love and loss and secrets of the heart. You, too, are seeking balance in a world that wants to pull us too far this way or that way and knock us off our feet.  

You’ve had the same frustrations we’ve had with our public servants, who don’t seem to remember they are in office to serve the best interests of all of us. We know that some of you have shared your own thoughts with our elected officials. Thank you. 

I read over some of my 50 or so blogs this week and remembered how therapeutic it was to write them. Each one of them provided counsel to me as I wrote them, and again as I reread them. 

One of those, “Words to the Wise Women,” written in April, included advice from journalist and author Ben Montgomery on cloistering. I think of it often. 

Find a sect, a fortress, a coven of those who are like-minded with whom to dwell in the dark times, he said. “Find your people and take care of them. Stick with them. Genuinely love them. Learn from them. Write them letters. Swap stories on barstools. ... Nurture and sharpen one another. Do not be exclusive. Others will come in search of what you have found. Invite them in. Cheer them on.”  

Thank you for cloistering with us. We feel you. You are our community in this mayhem and we need each other. 

***

Like and follow us on Facebook @5WomenMayhem