Taking a Pause....Seeking a Presence

By Marilyn Moore

This is not the blog I intended to write.  I was going to write about Lucky, the book from which Sen. Halloran quoted on the floor of the legislature, the tirade that put Nebraska in the national news in the most unflattering of ways.  That was the blog I was going to write…and I will.  Soon.  Just not today.

These days, marked by the life force of spring, with trees and grass and daffodils coming alive again, buffeted as they are by March wind and cold and snow, these days, the time of celebration of Holy Week by Christians, Passover by Jews, and Ramadan by Muslims, these days that are sacred, and reflective, and hopeful, are days that I simply cannot cast into the collective air that we breathe the anger and despair and frustration of the blog I was going to write.  

This day….I’m taking a pause, sensing a presence…that will soothe and smooth rough edges of my heart, mind, and soul…

In the quiet curve of evening, in the singing of the days,

In the silky void of darkness, you are there.

In the lapses of the my breathing, in the space between my ways,

In the crater carved by sadness, you are there.

You are there, you are there.

                                                   

In the rests between the phrases, in the cracks between the stars,

In the gaps between the meaning, you are there.

 In the melting down of endings, in the cooling of the sun,

 In the solstice of the winter, you are there.

 You are there, you are there.

In the mystery of the hungers, in the silence of my rooms, 

In the cloud of my unknowing, you are there.

In the empty cave of grieving, in the desert of my dreams, 

In the tunnel of my sorrow, you are there.

You are there, you are there.

The lines above are by the author Julie Howard.  They are not the “sunshine and roses” pause; they acknowledge the spaces and moments in our lives, and the emptiness and loss that’s there, too.  She seeks assurance, as do I, as do all who are lonely, or grieving, or uncertain, or just overwhelmed by all of life right now.  A pause, seeking a presence.

Many names can be given to that presence.  It may be the name that is used by people of faith, the name Yahweh, or God, or Allah.  It may be Creator, or Holy One, or Mystery of Mysteries.  It may be the name of someone much loved, or the memory of that someone.  It may be the wind, or the sun, or the stars.  It may be no name…a presence that is sought, sensed, felt, by which we are comforted, held, assured.  

For this day, a pause.  The blog I intended to write will hold for another day (not long, watch for it in a few days).  And I will nestle into the embrace and wise spirit of the presence.  

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A sexual assault on every woman in Nebraska ...This is personal

 

By Mary Kay Roth

This week a Nebraska state senator most certainly sexualized – and, in some sense, sexually assaulted – every woman in Nebraska.

During debate on the floor of the Nebraska Legislature – concerning a ludicrous proposal to criminalize librarians – State Sen. Steve Halloran read aloud a graphic rape scene excerpted from the courageous memoir, “Lucky,” while several times inserting the name “Sen. Cavanaugh” into his reading. 

Selectively choosing the most salacious sections, Halloran was clearly referring to State Sen. Machaela Cavanaugh in repeatedly injecting her name – including a passage that made it appear Halloran was directing Cavanaugh to perform oral sex on him.

Several days later, I determined to force myself to watch the vicious video of this despicable, abusive performance.  And as I listened, I could actually hear my own name inserted, my daughter’s name, the names of my friends.

When Halloran addresses the Nebraska Unicameral, he is addressing everyone in our state.  He is addressing every woman in our state.  And he abused and assaulted every one of us. 

This was personal for me.  This was brutal. 

Here’s what one Lincoln woman – a friend of mine who hails from western Nebraska – had to say: “Sen. Halloran forced every person in that hearing room to participate in an assault on another human being. No one in that room consented to hear the content read aloud ... and hear a woman degraded, embarrassed and humiliated.” 

It appears unclear the State Legislature will have the spine to take any meaningful action, censure or dismissal against this arrogant, misogynist tyrant.  

So, in the past few days, I felt compelled to check in with women in my orbit, a broad swath of ages, ethnicities, professions.  I have chosen not to use their names in this blog, as I asked for naked truth.  

But, bless them all, they agreed to help me send a message:

Dear Sen. Cavanaugh, We don’t know you. We have only admired you from afar.  But please know you are not alone in this fight. Multitudes of women stand with you. This behavior can no longer be given a pass. It must end. Now.

A woman who worked in the local school system sent me this message: “Clearly, he thoroughly enjoyed reading this passage, totally out of context, out loud, and inserting Cavanaugh’s name. As far as I’m concerned this was a shameful act of sexual aggression on his part.  His disgusting behavior is traumatizing to anyone who has been a victim of sexual assault.” 

And here's what I heard from someone with a long-term career in Nebraska state government: “It's another example of privileged white men/policy makers speaking and acting without suffering any consequences from their peers. As elected officials they should be held to a higher standard of respectful behavior and speech.”

When Cavanaugh finally had a chance to respond to Halloran, she spoke through tears, saying his words were among the cruelest she has experienced during her time as a state senator – words particularly damaging to anyone with experiences of sexual violence.  

Since that evening, Halloran has issued a half-hearted, pathetic and worthless apology, refusing to resign and listing a number of lame excuses.

Here's the response from a Lincoln woman who often serves as a citizen advocate: “I am appalled, sickened, disheartened, nauseated. And his weak attempt to explain it away only increased my fury … A person of any good moral character would certainly demonstrate an ability to self-reflect and learn and admit their deplorable action.”

Instead, Halloran made the bizarre claim that the book he was quoting from is a how-to rape manual – as opposed to the truly brave 1999 memoir of Alice Sebold, a woman who agonizingly describes her experience of being brutally raped and beaten when she was an 18-year-old student at Syracuse University in New York.

A Lincoln teacher had this to say: “This is a MEMOIR, not a piece of fiction.  This is Alice Sebold's LIFE.  How dare this man use this memoir in such a grotesque manner. His reading of the memoir was poor and unfeeling, making the rape scene crude instead of the violent attack that it was.  Halloran was attacking not just Sen. Cavanaugh but every female member of the Unicameral and every woman of Nebraska.”

And this came to me from a Nebraska college student: “I’m sure this guy hasn’t even read the book.  The whole point is visualizing the horror and trauma of rape, particularly so other rape survivors can understand their feelings are valid. Rape is about violence, not sex.  Halloran just made it about sex … creating a possible trigger for anyone who has experienced rape. This was vile.”

In the past week's rocky aftermath, senators from across party lines have criticized Halloran – a few called for his resignation. State Sen. Ray Aguilar, who chairs the Legislature’s Executive Board, launched an investigation under the Legislature’s workforce harassment policy – that could take up to 45 days to complete.

One wonders exactly what they need to investigate. The entire state watched Halloran not only disgustedly demean a colleague but traumatize every sexual abuse victim in Nebraska. And since he will be term-limited this year, any delayed slap on the wrist is meaningless.  

A resolution was also filed this past week stating that Halloran “should be censured and condemned for conduct that rises to the level of harassment and hostility to fellow members of the Legislature.”  Such a censure resolution would involve a public hearing and, if advanced, require a vote by the entire Legislature. 

A Lincoln woman in her 30’s who works for the University of Nebraska said she was confused: “I don’t get it.  How does this guy still have a job? I’ve worked in many places, and there’s no way someone could make such a flagrant, unashamed, sexist statement, and not get fired.”  

State Sen. Julie Slama – a Republican senator who has experienced sexual violence — said the Legislature’s workforce harassment policies are “completely inadequate” and regularly make the Unicameral “a national joke.”

Pushing for the Legislature to create an effective process where allegations of sexual assault could be authentically adjudicated, she explained there are now only three actions that can be taken against such a senator, including a formal letter, a censure vote and a formal expulsion from the body. 

As reported in the Lincoln Journal Star, Slama asked:  “If you were at any other job in the world and you got up and told your coworker in front of the rest of the workplace ‘give me a blowjob’ and then you interjected their name into a graphic description of a rape, what do you think your company would do to you?” 

She and Cavanaugh believe a legislative investigation is inadequate and support the censure resolution: “We don’t need an investigation,” Slama stressed. “It only serves to slow walk this and sweep it under the rug.”

One of my friends whose career was with a national business headquartered in Nebraska, noted: “I work with people across the country and Canada, and I tell them Omaha and Lincoln are really nice places with good people. But I find our Legislature embarrassing, continually subjecting people – often people who are not straight, white, rich, Republican, male – to the most abject, cruel degradation and disregard.”

I love my home state, a place of beautiful prairies and many honest, decent people. But if we don’t call out the ugliness in Nebraska – particularly in our own Unicameral – we will never stop such victimization.

Good grief, enough is enough. Censure this guy. Create a better system for investigating sexual violence in the Nebraska Legislature. Stand up for decency.  And please let Cavanaugh know she is not facing this fight alone.

A few final words from women of Nebraska: “The climate we establish must communicate clearly that this type of conduct is not tolerated. Ever.”

“We cannot allow this to stand. We cannot do nothing anymore or we are no better than those who force themselves on others to make them feel powerless, take away their voice. We must do better.  Be better. We must.” 

** Write your state senators. Now. 

https://nebraskalegislature.gov/senators/senator_list.php

Artificial Intelligence

by Mary Reiman

There’s a news report almost every day about AI. Artificial Intelligence. After viewing Matthew McConaughey’s Gold Rush commercial for Salesforce during an NFL game, I began to pay more attention. Several days later I started documenting the headlines in the Lincoln Journal Star (LJS). 

"Chatty AI helping lonely seniors." (LJS, 12-30-2023) ElliQ, the device which looks like a small lamp, with a top that lights up and swivels. It talks, tells jokes, plays music and remembers each user’s interests and their conversations. Is it described as "the only device using artificial intelligence specifically designed to alleviate the loneliness and isolation experienced by many older Americans." For many senior citizens, especially those living alone, ElliQ may fill that gap.

The following day, ‘A Tsunami of Misinformation’ (LJS, 12-31-2023) reports “...fabricated images, videos and audio clips known as deepfakes have started making their way into experimental presidential campaign ads.” Ah...here it comes. Another election year. What to believe? Who to believe?

And then, “Microsoft adding AI button to keyboards” (LJS, 1-7-2024). Hmm...so now I know my laptop will soon be outdated because it doesn’t have that new feature that I’m sure will be needed for my future endeavors.

Yes, AI technology has been with us for some time. Is it possible that Siri and Alexa have been with us since 2011? How did we get through our days without them?

Remember the Jetsons? George Jetson often complained of his hard work pushing buttons for an hour a day, two days a week at Spacely Space Sprockets. And they had Rosie, the robot maid. Now 'CES unveils AI tools and robots that cook.' (LJS, 1-17-2024) “Chef-life robots, AI-powered appliances and other high-tech kitchen gadgets are holding out the promise that humans don’t need to cook...for themselves anymore." I look forward to the day when the robot knows what I am hungry for and automatically prepares that meal!

Be assured I could not give a workshop on AI or deepfakes. I know just enough to hopefully make sure I never get scammed. But it seems that simply by turning on our devices, that risk is greater every day. 

How much artificial intelligence do we really need? Looking up the definition of IA gives us a glimpse. "Here are some thing that AI can do that humans can't...AI systems excel at processing vast amounts of data rapidly, identifying patterns, and extracting insights that might be challenging or impossible for humans to discern manually."  OK...it's hard to argue with that. Processing vast amounts of data? Of course I cannot compete with that, especially if anyone would expect me to do that rapidly! 

It’s important to think about how AI may be helpful to us. From 'Appy Place: Can artificial intelligence help guide well-being?' (LJS, 1-28-2024) One free, online site is FuturSelf (https://futurself.ai). Answer a few questions and the AI program “...assesses areas where you need help. Maybe you’re depressed, not exercising, not socializing or not going to the doctor enough. You can see what’s bothering you and decide if you want to make tweaks in your life.” I did not take the survey, but if it can figure me out...more power to it!

By February the news reports began to focus on the elections:

“Big Tech companies sign pact on AI content: Largely symbolic deal targets deepfakes that seek to mislead voters” (LJS, 2-17-2024)

“Bill would alert voters about AI campaign ads” (LJS, 2-29-2024)

“Elon Musk sues OpenAI and its CEO” (LJS, 3-3-2024)

 Permission was received from the Caltech Science Exchange to use the image at the beginning of this blog. It is from their publication,  Can We Trust Artificial Intelligence?   

I highly recommend we all look at the News Literacy Project , a nonpartisan site with links to many resources about News Literacy in the Age of AI. Scroll down to the infographic on misinformation.  Also, watch the video explaining Reverse Image Search in the section: Develop skills to identify fabricated content. It explains the digital verification tool used to determine the origin of an image. I know...hard to believe anyone would post an image incorrectly just to deceive us. 

Most importantly, do I really want a digital twin? 'AI twinsies.' (LJS, 1-17-2024) New technology (Hollo AI) is available that will allow me to upload a selfie and voice memos into my phone. Then my twin can interact with my fans on social media platforms. According to the site, “Hollo leads the way in personalized AI interactions, connecting creators and celebrities with their fans ethically and authentically.” Well it’s being created for celebrities at this point, but how do they know I’m not a celebrity?

I think I need a digital twin...and she will write my next blog.  Or maybe I have already signed up and my twin wrote this one... 

Resources:

Can We Trust Artificial Intelligence (https://scienceexchange.caltech.edu/topics/artificial-intelligence-research/trustworthy-ai)

News Literacy Project (https://newslit.org/ai/?gad_source=1)

Reverse Image Search

(https://checkology.org/demo/lesson/7dfd7cb251430f1c28f84051056b4aff8e65ad75?utm_source=ai&utm_medium=click&utm_campaign=ai_landing&_gl=1*1n9niv0*_ga*MTY2OTQxMTczNS4xNzA5NjY4NzQx*_ga_TCGD1R62ZJ*MTcxMDAwOTEyMC4zLjEuMTcxMDAwOTIxMS42MC4wLjA) 

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A time to commit

By JoAnne Young

This week I listened to a father tell a story about his own listening to Debussy’s Claire de Lune while mourning the loss of a baby. I could hear that haunting piano along with him as he read out loud the essay he had written about the empty space the baby left in his and his wife’s house and life. 

 

“I don’t just play it to remind myself,” he wrote. “I play it to live in the fade of each note and dance with your spirit. It is the closest that I will ever come to holding your hand.” 

 

Hearing, one of our five big senses, is a great human gift. There are other beings who have better hearing than we do, using it mostly for survival. Ours helps us to survive, too, but also in large part to connect and to find pleasure, even delight, when we go a step further and really listen. 

 

In recent years, I have come up with a word each January that will guide me through the new year. Last year it was “connection.” For 2024, I had decided to continue with the word connection because it had served me well. But as I took a cold walk around Holmes Lake one morning and listened to winter becoming spring in the drumming of woodpeckers, the lapping of water that had lost its last skim of ice, the scampering of a squirrel up the bark of a tree with leaves for her nest, I decided to add listening to my 2024 intentions. 

 

There is so much to listening, not the least of which is listening to people, our families, our friends, our politicians (just enough to know what they’re up to), and those who can guide us, teach us or just make us laugh. One of my vows on that cold morning walk was to listen this year for understanding, without judgment, agenda or distraction. 

 

I will make one exception. Politicians.

 

I had an opportunity recently to inquire with the Nebraska Attorney General’s office about interviewing and writing a profile on a woman – Grace Johnson, an Oglala Sioux Tribe member – who had been hired last fall as the liaison for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Persons in Nebraska, a long ignored, troubling issue that is finally getting attention. 

 

The office said no, I could not talk to her, even though the Nebraska Legislature funded the position to improve these needed investigations and disclosures. 

I appealed to Attorney General Mike Hilgers, himself, reminding him about the national media’s high profile interest in this, on television series and movies, that Nebraskans should know something about the woman who taxpayers are funding, what motivates her and what she specifically is doing. Nebraskans should be able to listen to her directly. 

 

He said they “had challenges with that,” even though “Grace is a wonderful person. She’s doing amazing work.” Maybe, he said, there’s a way to meet in the middle. But there was, honestly, no middle. A disservice, when listening is blocked, to her, the Legislature, the Native population and its missing people, and the rest of us. 

 

I tried. Didn’t succeed. So onward with my year of listening through conversations, music, reading, the sounds of nature, TV, movies, plays, podcasts, body language and the soulful eyes of our pets.

 

I’ll devote much of my listening to others through conversation. 

 

We listen, on average, to about 20,000 or more words each day. On some days, much more than that. Women speak an average of 16,215 words a day. Men rack up about 15,669, according to a University of Arizona study. That’s an average of 950 words in an hour, give or take. 

 

Part of my commitment to listening this year will be to listen for understanding, to pay attention, to learn, rather than thinking about what to say next. And at the end of each day, I will take note of the best thing I heard that day. 

 

Today, it was once again on a walk at the lake: a herd of young people running up behind me on the path, the staccato sound of each shoe hitting the gravel in soft rhythm. I can’t rightfully describe the joy that brought. 

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The Secret Bookshelf

 

By Marilyn Moore

A story on NPR this morning (February 21, 2024) about a secret bookshelf in a teacher’s classroom in Houston causes me to think, again, about why books are important and why they are banned.  A very brave high school teacher has created a collection in her classroom of more than 600 books on the list that have been banned in Texas, banned because one (that’s right, one) state legislator sent out a list of 800+ books and said they should be removed from classrooms and libraries.  What power, what arrogance, and what a travesty.  

Many of the books are stories of characters who are diverse, especially those who are persons of color and those who are LGBTQ.  No surprise here, those populations are frequently the target of book banners across the country.  Which of course leaves students who are of color and/or who are gay or lesbian or trans with absolutely no way to see themselves in the books in their classroom or library.  Except in this classroom, where the teacher took the list, enlisted help from friends and students, and acquired the books.  

The students who were interviewed described the books as overflowing the bookshelf, spilling into plastic totes (kind of like the bookshelf in my study, except the books aren’t secret).  They talked about the importance of seeing themselves in print; one said that such books gave her hope.  Teenagers need hope; we all need hope.  And seeing how others who are like us have survived, prevailed, and emerged strong is a source of hope.  

It is astonishing and discouraging to me that this is still an issue; we’ve dealt with book bans throughout the world’s history, and as the popular Facebook meme says, “book banners have never been the good guys in history.”   But they’re still at it.  

Among the books that have been banned the most are classics.  To Kill a Mockingbird.  Catcher in the Rye.  The Diary of Anne Frank.  Is there a reader anywhere who hasn’t paused to think about justice after reading To Kill a Mockingbird?  Or a teenage boy anywhere who hasn’t found himself somewhere in the pages of Catcher in the Rye?  Or a student learning about WWII who hasn’t felt it all up close and personal after reading the story of Anne Frank?  Or who hasn’t pondered the future of the world after reading 1984 or Brave New World?  I get it, to some readers these books may have been dull, or uninteresting.  But is that a reason to ban them?

No, these books aren’t banned because they’re dull or uninteresting.  They’ve banned because they made somebody uncomfortable, or they caused someone to think they would make a student uncomfortable.  They make me uncomfortable, too.  Shouldn’t a miscarriage of justice make us uncomfortable?  Shouldn’t we vow “Never again,” when we read Anne Frank’s story?  Shouldn’t we be nervous about how easily truth can become lies and lies can become truth?  Of course we should, that’s what education is…to confront knowledge we didn’t know, and expand our understanding of the world in the process.

I’ve been thinking about what books would be on my secret bookcase…books that have contributed to my understanding of who I am and how I fit, or don’t, in this world.  As a white cisgendered female I’ve not had to look as hard for characters that look like me as the students in the Houston classroom, especially the Black lesbian girls.  I do remember realizing as a new teacher that there were few stories that celebrated girls for their courage.  I cheered when I found Thunder Cake by Patricia Polacco, a story about a little girl who is very afraid, and is shown by her grandmother how to be brave.   And Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, whose main character is Meg, age 12, gawky and awkward and not fitting in, summoning up the courage to find her father in a place that is literally worlds away.  

A Wrinkle in Time introduced me to Madeleine L’Engle, who has touched the part of my soul and my world where space and time and music and connections and possibilities all come together, with the most glorious of metaphors and the most real of human beings and their lives.  I suspect this Newberry Award winner has been challenged someplace, most likely because the spirituality that pervades it does not match easily with any traditional understanding.  I will always remember the student in my classroom, a sixth grader, who said with a sigh and a look of wonder when we read the last paragraph, “That is such a good story.”  And it is.  And when I visited The Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York, where she was resident writer for years, I sensed all over again those themes of joy and music and wonder and awe.

Other books that would be on my secret bookshelf, except I don’t have to keep them secret.  One is Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, who brings to the pages the insights of an indigenous woman, a botanist, a climate activist, a teacher, a writer with a profound insight into the sacred worth of creation.  It reminded me of Keith County Journal by John Janovy, Jr., where I met the king snail, stagnicola elodes, who taught me to ask the question, "What am I willing to gamble to find my place, and my time?"

The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot by Marianne Cronin, painting pictures in the art therapy room in the hospital in Glasgow where both are patients, illustrating their combined ages, one painting for each of Lenni’s seventeen years and Margot’s 83 years.  What would I paint that would remind me of when I was four, or fourteen, or sixty-four?  And Dakota, by Kathleen Norris, who writes about the impact of the wide-open plains on the growth of her own spirituality.  Anything by Maya Angelou, especially her poetry.  And Anne Lamott, who shines the bright light of humor, brutal honesty, and profound insight on every stage of life.

I could identify many more, and I suspect you are thinking of the books you would name that have affected your life.  Books that we didn’t have to read in secret, books that we found in some way, books that made us uncomfortable, or hopeful, or joyous, or sad…books that open doors to worlds we don’t know, and books that shed light on the life we do know.  That’s what the teacher in Houston is providing for her students…and it shouldn’t have to be in secret.  

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A prairie prayer

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Tallgrasses shimmer and shiver on this crisp-clear February afternoon, only a tickle of a breeze whispering and rustling over the land.  An absolutely perfect, sky-blue sky hovers above. And I breathe in one of the most serene sanctuaries I know, Spring Creek Prairie, a tallgrass prairie preserve found only 20 miles southwest of town.

There is simply something mystical about a prairie. 

The land here holds me close.  Embraces, cradles me in its arms. Keeps me safe and steady.

I’ve always said the outdoors is where I find my spirituality. The prairie is one beloved church where I pray.

Looking back, one of the best things I believe I did for my children was to immerse them in the great outdoors.  However, I may have failed in my mission to honor their own native horizons. 

Josh prefers the majesty and wonder of the mountains.  Anna would choose the hypnotic, turquoise waves of an ocean.

I will always be a prairie girl.

Glowing ever so quietly with nuanced beauty, the prairie offers a solid certainty that life is large and wide and somehow everything will be ok.  A prairie reaches deep into my soul and smooths out my crazy. 

And it seems almost everyone has their share of crazy these days.  I’ve had my own.  

Someone rear-ended and totaled my beloved car. Verizon folks are puzzled why my data refuses to transfer onto a new phone and Saturday’s Wordle took me six guesses. This week one of the fiercest, most fearless activists died in a Russian prison and a shooting in Kansas City came far too close to some of the dearest people in my life.  Meantime, the dog trainer says my puppy barks at people because she’s afraid of the world.  

At this point in life, many might turn to counselors. Medication. Meditation.  Chanting.

I go to the prairie.  

Strangely it doesn’t really solve my problems, it simply reminds me there is something bigger – greater.  No matter what happens in life, the raw and uncluttered beauty of a prairie vista will go on and on, as far as the eye can see. And the tallgrasses will continue rustling in the wind.

Other folks have said it better.

• Willa Cather: “As I looked about me, I felt that the grass was the country, as the water is the sea. The red of the grass made all the great prairie the colour of winestains, or of certain seaweeds when they are first washed up. And there was so much motion in it; the whole country seemed, somehow, to be running.”  
• Walt Whitman: “While I know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara Falls, the Upper Yellowstone and the like afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so sure but the prairies and plains, while less stunning at first sight, last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and make North America’s characteristic landscape.”

Yet we must tread cautiously on this precious ground.  Once upon a time, tallgrass prairie covered 142 million acres. Today about one percent of North American prairies still exist, only 30 million acres, making prairies one of the rarest, most endangered ecosystems in the world. 

Yet if you live in Lincoln, prairies linger close.  

A wonderful patch of prairie grows on the far side of Pioneers Park.  Nine-Mile Prairie perches on the northwest edge of Lincoln.

And Spring Creek Prairie Audubon Center is an easy drive away. Now at 1,160 acres – they added 310 more acres in a recent purchase – I can wander three miles of walking trails here, through native grasslands, wetlands and ponds.

Scientists tell us prairies require little maintenance – no need for fertilizers or pesticides – build soil, capture carbon, trap sediment, provide rare native habitat for birds, butterflies, insects, reptiles and many small critters. 

But to be completely honest, I love prairies for more than their ecology.

I love them for their powerful connection to something more. I love them for their gentle heart.  For their restrained announcement of spring in subtle shades of emerald and olive green – for their summery tallgrasses reaching high, sunflowers towering above and birds practically screaming with joy – for their autumn landscape of burnished russet, ruby red and deep shadow.  

Even on this wintry afternoon, with acres and acres of brittle browns and austere grays, there’s something cozy and comforting at Spring Creek.

So, this afternoon I take time to lie down and disappear into the grasses, looking up into an endless sky, the silence around me, almost unbelievable.

I can hear my own heartbeat, feel the pulse of the land, practically feel the earth turning, as I nestle down and burrow even deeper into the prairie, lingering here for just a little while longer.     

*Spring Creek Prairie: https://springcreek.audubon.org/

These Are A Few of Our Favorite Things

For Valentine’s week, we thought it would be fun to reflect upon a few of our favorite things. We hope you enjoy this week’s Meeting of the Mayhem Minds, and that you can celebrate Valentine’s Day immersed in and enjoying a few of your favorite things. Thank you for reading, sharing and commenting. We love hearing from you.

Places for the Heart
By JoAnne Young

Years ago, my husband gave me a lighted paper heart, framed in three dimensions and decorated with
white splatters and smiling suns, bought at a long-gone head shop in downtown Lincoln. It’s been a prominent fixture in our living room for decades, kindling my love of anything heart shaped.

 I see no fewer than nine hearts today in this room – a copper heart ornament, a metal wind-blown heart enhanced with a crescent moon, a small heart-shaped wooden box with a tiny silver heart inside. I love them all, but the heart light is my favorite.

 My love of hearts carries over from art and décor to nature. The ultimate natural heart is our own, the original shape of love and utility that sustains us. I was privileged in 1988 to watch a team of surgeons and nurses at Bryan Memorial Hospital transplant a heart into a Nebraska man and then bring his story to Lincoln Star readers. I won’t forget peering into his chest after doctors had removed a more imperfect heart, before slipping in a stronger, healthier one. That place in our chests is a most beautiful fist-sized container of shiny white and red tissue, a jewel box for our heart.

 On a walk on a favorite Florida beach in December, I came across a red heart shape buried partially in the sand. I dug it out and learned it was a sea heart, a seed pod from a liana vine that grows in Central America and Caribbean islands. They can travel long distances, bobbing on the ocean surface. A true gift that endured who knows what mayhem to end up in the hands of a truly grateful heart lover.

***

Roundabouts
by Marilyn Moore

Roundabouts….I love them.  I’ll go out of my way to drive a street with a roundabout.  Not everyone agrees with me.  My friend Barbara Jo will go out of her way to avoid a street with a roundabout.  That’s okay…each to her own.  But I love them.

Lincoln’s first roundabout, built more than 20 years ago, is at 33^rd and Sheridan.  Just like the city traffic engineers predicted, the number of accidents decreased, and the dollar value of damage when an accident did occur decreased, also.  That’s because people have to drive more slowly, and since there’s no yellow light changing to red, there’s no incentive to speed up to beat the light.  So, they work. That’s a reason to like them.  And yes, I like the natural landscaping and works of art in the center of many of them…and I know there are those who don’t.  Each to her own….

Now there are dozens in the city, from big ones (think 14^th and Superior) to little ones, like those in neighborhoods such as at the intersection of 11^th and D.  Our roundabouts don’t hold a candle to the really big ones, like those in London, where six (!) lanes of traffic maneuver a roundabout.  We’re good here managing two lanes.

Fewer traffic lights, fewer stop signs, and safer intersections….I just like them.  It seems to me that drivers are more careful, they watch out for other drivers, there’s collaboration and just a moment of community as we yield to one another.  A good metaphor for how we might live with one another in ways other than behind the wheel. 

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Zen and a Paper Mate Flair …
by Mary Kay Roth

I love lists.  Lists of groceries, errands, good books, potential gifts, dream destinations.

But perhaps the true secret weapon for writing a perfect list … one of my very favorite things … is the perfect blend of paper and pen.

For me, that’s a Docket Gold legal pad and a Paper Mate Flair Felt Tip Pen (medium point, never thin tip – and, god forbid, never scented).

I’m crazy weird about this combo.

Admittedly these days I use my laptop for most of my major writing projects.  But when it comes to doodling, scribbling random notes, personal writing and, yes, making lists, I want the real deal. 

I want paper and pen. 

And I’m downright obsessive about the right ones. I want a pen that feels just right in my hand. I want smear-resistant ink that won’t bleed through the page. I want paper that absorbs the ink, effortlessly.

I’ve tested out countless legal pads in my life.  For some mysterious reason I landed on a Docket Gold. 

But I didn’t need to test out pens, because I loved the Paper Mate Flair the very first moment I held it.  With a classic 60’s vibe, this writing instrument is a thing of beauty – meditative – serene – zen-like.

When I buy yet another box of them, my kids shake their heads wondering why I need more – as there are piles of Flair pens scattered around my house.  But come on, you never know when they will discontinue your favorite color.

Because, yep, I’m just as quirky about the hue.  Black and red are forbidden, they are boring. Lime greens and neons are hard to read.  But when I pick up a mocha, scuba-blue, cranberry, magenta – be still my beating heart.

So, if you want to make me happy, if you want to be my Valentine, forget raindrops on roses. Just give me a Flair pen.

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Making Rolls
By Mary Reiman

I love making rolls. I love the process as much as the product. Maybe more. 

The recipe was given to me long ago, in my first year of teaching. It was a perfect Saturday activity because it includes a beginning and an end, with a final product. In teaching, we finish a semester, or a year, and send students on their way, often wondering how they are doing, or where they have landed in life. In baking, I see the result of my work. 

There is no mixer or bread machine involved in this recipe. I use my hands to get the right consistency before punching the dough (OK...maybe there’s a bit of aggression alleviated at that point). The stickier the dough, the better. Watching it rise, getting out the rolling pin, cutting and shaping, and then brushing with butter (because everything really is better with butter). There’s nothing quite like the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting through the house. 

As important as the baking, is sharing with others. Packaging them and rushing off to deliver while they are still warm. It’s my way of letting friends know they are important to me. 

Sharing the love and joy of something made by the hand, and from the heart.

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Riding in Cars with Dogs
by Penny Costello

Boone

I am blessed to live with two sweet, silly, and scrappy dogs named Boone and Idgy. When we go for rides in the car, Idgy likes to stand with her hind legs in my lap as I’m driving and hang her head and front legs out the window, looking down the street, ears flapping in the wind. She also really loves to roll the windows down. Boone likes to sit in the back seat on the driver’s side, and he appreciates it when Idgy opens his window so he can hang his head out, too.

My favorite thing about car rides with my dogs is seeing other drivers’ reactions when we pull up beside them at stop lights. Invariably they smile at the dogs, and conversations ensue.

Idgy

Often I hear “Oh, your dog is so cute!” when they see Idgy hanging out, smiling at them. I respond with a smile, “She knows.”

She has this way of looking at these folks with what looks to me like anticipation, as if she’d like to say, “How cute do YOU think I am?” When the light turns green after those encounters, as we continue down the street, I praise her and tell her she’s doing a public service putting smiles on peoples’ faces and making their day a little brighter. And it makes my day brighter when I have those sweet exchanges with complete strangers at traffic lights.

The same thing happens when we go to restaurants for curbside pick-ups. They brighten the days of wait staff who come to the car with our food, as well as drive-through bank tellers, pharmacists, and baristas at coffee shops. Boone and Idgy LOVE drive-throughs, because they very often score a dog treat of some kind. And it does my heart so much good to see peoples’ faces light up and know we provided a moment of brightness in the midst of their daily routine.

Boone and Idgy are not certified service animals, but in their own wonderful ways, they’re providing a service just the same. And I’m blessed to be their delivery driver.

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