Upon Settling The Soul
On a recent Sunday, I believed watching the NCAA Women’s National Championship Game, Iowa v. South Carolina would be the most memorable television of my weekend. I was making a few mental notes about the differences in the team with the greatest player and the greatest team. It is the kind of topic most of us old coaches enjoy wallowing in.
Then, 60 Minutes did a segment on mines in Ukraine. How could I have allowed the War in Ukraine to have faded from the forefront of my mind? A war where one nation literally invaded their peaceful neighbor. I should be outraged. Right?
They were not talking about the kind of mines you extract coal or other minerals from. 60 Minutes was talking about the kind that kills and maims men, women and children. The kind that a retreating Russian Army liberally spread as they withdrew. Mines, indiscriminate killers and mutilators, murderous weapons that disfigure mind, body and soul.
They spoke of a mother who, in an effort to feed her children, was harvesting a touch of grain from feral field. In an instant she was blown up and her children found themselves orphans in a land decimated by war. In a land already full of orphans and where an orphan war is being waged.
How are we not outraged? Has the killing become so depersonalized and the Ukrainians become so dehumanized that we feel nothing? It seems our most basic humanity demands a reaction. Yet, we allow those who represent us to do nothing. Somehow tying a tyrant’s war to our immigration difficulties.
How can we possibly rationalize this? If they act in our name, are they not us?
About this time, I knew I was going to find little but frustration at my keyboard. The weather had become cooperatively warm, so I gathered a Coke, a red solo cup of ice (Thank you Toby) and peanuts. I retreated to our back porch and my Adirondack chair.
I settled in. I like our backyard. Billie has a knack for planting the right thing in the right place. What she has created is most pleasing. On this day, our yard breathes the renewal that springtime always promises.
It is simple. It is direct. It settles the soul.
The rabbits and the squirrels are frolicking. Well, the rabbits are dashing about appearing to be rehearsing new skills to avoid and frustrate Jackson, John McKenzie’s bird dog. Tis’ a dangerous game they play.
Three squirrels seem to be having a disagreement of sorts. I watch. It seems I recently read that no kingdom is large enough for two queens. I believe the squirrels are acting out that Shakespearean truth.
An older couple, not older than me you understand, just older, walks by. I recall hearing, “When do old men lose their butts and find their bellies?”
I don’t know.
