Defensive Driving

Posted on June 16, 2017 by Doc Arnett

It seems like each year I have to add another item or two to the “I’m not quite sure when” list. Apparently, the decade of “defensive driving” is a current candidate. I believe it was the Seventies and if I wasn’t so cotton-picking lazy, I could probably look it up on the internet. Or I could use the Seventies’ version of the internet and ask a few other people. Since that particular nugget of knowledge is not really indispensable to my purposes at the moment, I’ll just convince myself it was the Seventies and proceed onward until some alternate truth persuades me otherwise.

The concept of defensive driving was to be always alert to the fact that some other driver on the road could at any moment do something totally stupid, unexpected and decidedly inconvenient if not outright homicidal. Being watchful for an oncoming vehicle to suddenly make a left turn right in front of you, you would already have your foot poised above the brake pedal and could slam on the brakes quickly enough to keep you from T-boning said vehicle.

Hopefully, the drivers behind you were equally alert and driving defensively and would thereby avoid you triggering a chain reaction pileup. Instead there would merely be a whole line of drivers suddenly muttering vague obscenities and wondering what fool had started this particular escapade.

I’m not sure what the summary judgment was as to the large scale effectiveness of the defensive driving campaign. I do know that to this day I am usually watchful and occasionally prepared for the unexpected shenanigans of some other humanoid sharing the motorways. And would have to admit that sometimes I’m the one triggering vague obscenities.

I suppose at some level of the defensive driving concept there is an awareness that we are all flawed, all subject to occasional lapses in judgment, all capable of making mistakes that sometimes carry critical consequences. I find it therefore necessary that I must also help guard myself and my fellow sojourners from my own manifestations of human frailty and occasional outright idiocy. If I can defend the world against my own bad choices by making good ones instead, then I will have contributed to the welfare of others.

It seems that walking in love, grace and wisdom might be a mighty fine start.

H. Arnett
6/16/17

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Light Showers in the Area

Posted on June 15, 2017 by Doc Arnett

I arrived at the parking lot in plenty of time for the morning meetings in Topeka. If I’d had a big umbrella, I’d have probably made it to the first meeting in time.

I didn’t have a big umbrella but I did have a suit cover, a nice black one from a men’s clothing store in Wichita. It wasn’t raining all that hard and I figured the suit bag would probably work quite well. I knew it wasn’t going to be all that dignified but I expected most onlookers would be total strangers who weren’t planning to vote for me anyway. Particularly since I wasn’t running for any particular office.

So I opened up the bag, pulled it up over my head and stretched it out to form a canopy over me. Unduly optimistic, I started on my two block journey to the office building. I’m not sure whether I looked like a strange parody of the Grim Reaper or a really dark version of “The Flying Nun.”

Regardless of how the black suit bag made me look, it seemed to work pretty well in the light rain. About halfway through my first block, it started raining harder. There were some particularly heavy drops that hit against my makeshift portable shelter with greater impact than expected. Some of them also bounced rather oddly on the sidewalk. Being the surprisingly bright lad that I am, I soon realized that those drops were actually small hailstones.

I also soon realized that my suit bag was not waterproof. Nor water resistant. Apparently, my deluxe black Johnstone’s suit bag was made of special permeable material that allowed the garment to “breathe.” It certainly allowed the rain storm to breathe right down the back of my neck and on the top of my head. By the time I got to the building, my hair was a plastered mess, my glasses were covered with rain drops and my shoes and lower pants legs were soaked.

Fifteen minutes and thirty paper towels later, I headed upstairs to the first meeting. Since all the chairs were filled, I got one from the hall and slid it into an empty spot at the end of the table area. Two minutes later there was a motion to adjourn.

The lady sitting to my left looked over and dryly commented, “So, it was raining when you got here?” Sometimes it seems like a sense of humor is pretty critical to helping us all get through a day. Even when we find a bit of humiliation along the way…

H. Arnett
6/15/17

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Dark Dawn

Posted on June 14, 2017 by Doc Arnett

A slow rumbling roll of thunder roused me from my slumber this morning. As I look out the floor-to-ceiling window of my fourth floor hotel room I can see standing streams and pools on the asphalt. Toward the south a low edge of clouds sits above the city. Wisps and streaks beneath them indicate that it is raining a mile or two away. Much closer, heavy-bellied clouds dip and swirl while lighter curls stark their white against a bruising sky.
 
It does not suggest the dawning of a beautiful day but I like the stillness and the way everything seems a bit softer. The dark leaves of callus lilies rise up in front of the grey stone wall that curves the outer edge of the hotel drive. Just beyond them a planting of small trees spreads lime green leaves above the band of beige and copper of mulched river stones. A bit closer, the muted pinks and reds of roses form clumps and clusters of pastel colors.
 
Even while mindful of the threat of storm as darker clouds form above us, we may choose to see that there is yet beauty in this world. And He who has made both rose and thorn has offered us peace, even in the midst of aggravation and affliction.
 
 
H. Arnett
6/14/17

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To Speak Among the Shadows

Posted on June 13, 2017 by Doc Arnett

On the last night Sam will spend in Kansas,
we sit in the shadows of a massive maple
beneath the only full moon of June.

We speak of raising children
and how important it is
to not miss too much of their growing up
and how the choice of careers
affects everything we touch.

He is in the middle of making his in the military
and I am still making mine in education
though the tapering half
has been more administration than teaching.

Tomorrow he will head to West Kentucky
to be back with Sara Jane and the boys
and after their trip to Jamaica
they will all make their way
up to Michigan and the next page.

Our conversation reaches back
through his childhood and mine
and we find traces of both
still run strong
in who we are
and what mistakes we hope we never make.

He asks a question I answered
over twenty years ago
and I can barely believe
he doesn’t even remember
the asking or the answer.

I stare into the glowing embers
of the burning brush pile
and think of how a chunk of wood
smothered by ashes
can smolder for days
until some fresh stirring
and the breath of air
brings it blazing.

H. Arnett
6/13/17

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Of Grain and Growing

Posted on June 12, 2017 by Doc Arnett

The season of harvest
is full upon us now
in south central Kansas.

Fields of wheat
growing west of the Flint Hills
have turned pure golden
with subtle hints of brown.

Acres of stubble testify
to the work of crews and families
and long hours spent with combines and collectors
and tractor trailer rigs parked parallel to the rows.

Meals are eaten in the fields
and sleep sometimes taken in shifts
when there is enough wind
to keep the night from sending its dew.

All else but what is sacred
—and perhaps some of that as well—
seems to give way
to the needs of seed
held high on slender stalks
that could be crushed to the ground,
matted to the earth by a burst of wind and rain,
never to rise again.

it is hard to keep what is needed
to endure the storm
when we have given up
or believe ourselves too old
for what is green and growing.

Even in these latter years,
it is good to keep sowing
and though others may gather
what we have planted,
those we love will be blessed
and the One who sends sun and rain
will still be honored by the Harvest.

H. Arnett
6/12/17

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A Better Reflection

Posted on May 24, 2017 by Doc Arnett

A few miles from our house is an outdoor recreation center called “Camp Horizon.” It is owned and operated by the United Methodist Church. Among the various opportunities afforded there is outdoor hiking in a setting quite unlike what most visitors would expect in south central Kansas. My dear friends Mark and Dianne Flickinger live near there. Saturday evening seemed like the perfect time to take Mark up on a standing invitation (pun intended) to hike with him.

After a few minutes of hiking the gravel road over to the camp headquarter, we took the short walk out along the knife ridge that terminates a few hundred feet past the last building of the center. As we stood on “Inspiration Point” I could not help thinking once more about how ill-informed is the stereotype of “flat Kansas.”

Mark and I stood on one of the small boulders at the southern end of the narrow ridge, looking out over the Arkansas River. High and muddy from recent rains along its basin, the river disappeared behind a thick lining of cottonwood and oak and other hardwood trees. To our west and slightly north, the plains stretched out in a low ripple. To our east, the rolling, rugged terrain of the Flint Hills transitioned from timber to prairie. South of the river, the lush greens of an Oklahoma spring layered the land. Fifteen miles away, a thin trail of smoke drifted up from the ridge, maybe from someone’s burning a brush pile.

Mark pointed out a few landmarks and we guessed distances. (It’s something men do…) “Where we are right here is actually the eastern edge of the Flint Hills,” he commented. “They call them ‘Osage Hills’ in Oklahoma but it’s the same chain.”

As we stood for a while longer, I looked back to the northwest, toward Ark City. A few miles away, at just the right angle for the evening sun, a river bend glimmered its platinum reflection, so brightly it hurt to look at it. It still amazes me—even after all these years—how the dark and troubled nature of a flooded river disappears in its reflection of the sun.

I’m hoping that someday I will lose enough of my own darkness that others will only see the image I am trying to reflect.

H. Arnett
5/24/17

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There’s Beauty in Them Thare Hills

Posted on May 23, 2017 by Doc Arnett

After the adult education graduation ceremony ended Saturday morning a bit after eleven o’clock, I headed out to Wheat State Winery. Not for the purpose of libation seeing it was not yet the sixth hour of the day. It was instead for the fifth annual fund-raising cross country run to benefit William Newton Hospital which is located in Winfield. That is the hospital at which Dr. Jeryl Fullen successfully repaired my left knee after I’d torn the meniscus back in September of 2015.

I thought the 5K run would be a chance to have a bit of fun and help out in a worthy effort. I knew I was going to be at least an hour-and-a-half late but was hoping they’d let me run anyway.

They did. Even though they’d already taken down the route signs and pulled all the staff off the course. After crossing the creek, I headed left as directed and up the hill. Before I got to the top of the ridge, I could see miles of pasture and hills, cropland and woodland. At the top, I could also see fields of winter wheat just starting to shift from green to gold and the curving lines of trees along the Walnut River bottoms.

I would have liked to taken in some longer looks but I didn’t want to tarry in any one spot and I’ve learned it’s best to keep a watchful eye on the trail when you’re running in a place like the Flint Hills.

Tripping over some stray stone in the path can bring a right unpleasant disruption to one’s gandering or gawking about. Although truth and beauty often cohabit together in rather pleasing ways, some days it seems best to choose one or the other. And when the path before you is neither level nor straight, as is often the case in this world, I recommend going with truth.

H. Arnett
5/23/17

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A Good Leading

Posted on May 22, 2017 by Doc Arnett

My Saturday started off with the privilege of delivering the commencement speech for our Adult Education grads. These are the folks who earn their high school diploma by studying well enough and hard enough to pass a test that forty percent of high school graduates can’t pass. Certainly not the “easy way out” some folks seem to think it is. I used a Guy Clark song, “The Cape,” for my platform and that seemed to go over right well, which was quite a relief since I’d never tried that before.

During my speech but without any prior intention, I shared a story about a time when I’d contemplated suicide. It actually fit right in with what I was saying but I found myself surprised by the sharing.

After the ceremony was over, a few folks came over and expressed their appreciation for my talk. One woman took my hand, looked me in the eye and said, “I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear what you had to say today. My son attempted suicide and sometimes I just don’t know if there’s any hope for him.” I could see the mist in her eyes welling up in the corners of her eyelids. She blinked a couple of times and continued, “But when I heard you talk about your own struggle and I see you like this today, I know that there is hope for him! Thank you.”

I thanked her and could feel my own eyes hazing up a bit. I patted her shoulder and told her, “I think I have to give the Spirit credit for this one. I hadn’t planned at all to use that story but I am so glad that you let me know it was something you needed to hear.”

Whether as public speaker or private listener, I am continually amazed at the way God can move in us to help others. As long as we are willing.

H. Arnett
5/22/17

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Flint Hill Flowers

Posted on May 19, 2017 by Doc Arnett

Making my way back from Topeka
at the fading end of a long day
in the middle of the week,
I kept catching passing peeks
of brilliant yellow blooms
as I moved along I-35
through the Flint Hills
at seventy-five.

Knowing I was still
two hours away from home,
I was reluctant to pull over
but then remembered
there was no one there waiting on me
and if I wanted to see something
closer than I’d seen before
it was going to take a bit more
than a passing wish.

I pulled off onto the shoulder
and crossed over toward
the rocky slope of a small bluff
that was just high enough
to catch the slanting sun.
Soft leather loafers
weren’t meant for crossing a wet slough
but I knew that finding truth and beauty
is worth a pair of muddy shoes,
especially if you can pick your way through
the highest parts of a low run.

I found small mounds
of brilliant yellow blooms,
half the size of a man’s hand
lifted on short stems
above a base of green leaves
rooted into the thin rocky dirt
that skirts the cuts made
to bring the road through
a place of long rolling hills
in the vast grazing of native grasses
worth more than a glance in passing through
the view of evening sun
now settling down behind a distant ridge.

In the closing light of coming night,
when miles of green
fade from brighter sheen
to softer tones of more gentle sight,
I walked about a bit just beyond
the woven-wire fence staked to steel posts
and noticed several more types
of bloom and stem;
some bright and blue,
some white and yellow
and one type of white bell-shaped clusters
with fine lines of darker color
mustering into the center
in a way that reminded me of catalpa blooms.

I had stopped for a single flower
looked around and found at least a dozen more
in less than half an hour.
There’s no telling how much truth and beauty
we might find right around us,
were those the things we looked for
more than the other.

H. Arnett
5/19/17

(I invite you to see several pictures of Flint Hill Flowers on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/DocArnett )

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A Short Walk in a Garden of Hearts

Posted on May 18, 2017 by Doc Arnett

I met Tristan in 2004 when I helped begin a study program at Highland Community College in northeastern Kansas. He, Shayne and Dione were my first study group leaders there and all three were cut from similar cloth. In addition to being football players, they were young men of exceptional character and intelligence, ideal candidates to lead the study sessions for our special summer program that consisted almost entirely of freshmen football players. And darn good looking, too.

I’ve maintained some level of contact with all three—and a few other younger friends from those days. Last evening, I carved out an opportunity to visit with Tristan, his lovely wife Katie and their toddler Ty. While his parents and I visited on the deck on a lovely evening, Ty occupied himself with a variety of activities, some of which required greater parental alertness than others.

The little fellow is full blond, full of energy and fully as cute as you’d expect Tristan and Katie’s kid to be. By a crafty series of little silly things, including peek-a-boo at the base of a maple tree, I eventually enticed Ty to come to me. I started out with some little “airplane” whirls about the deck and then in the yard. By the time the grilled meatloaf was done, we’d taken the long tour around the yard, collecting flowers for Katie.

Ty is a bit short yet on conversational skills but not entirely deficit in the manner of communication. I walked along the tree break while he sat on my shoulders with his little legs wrapped around my neck. Each time he’d see a bloom of some kind, he’d point and say emphatically, “Mah’muh.” By the time we made our way around the perimeter of trees and bushes, he had a daisy, a slightly wilted iris, a couple of wildflowers and a few honeysuckle blooms. He seemed nearly as proud of his offerings as was his mother. “You found an iris!” Katie exclaimed, and added the new blooms to the collection sitting in a small jar by the kitchen window.

Our timing worked out well as Tristan finished up at the grill and Katie filled our plates for the patio table. We ate and visited, sitting outside on a beautiful spring evening in central Kansas. I tried to remember why it had taken me over a year to get back to visiting with them. I knew the excuses but I was having trouble with the reasons. Whatever it was, I resolved to quit cheating myself so much.

Time spent with those we love is time well spent. There is comfort and healing, balm and blessing in sharing such affection. Bonds are built that endure the separations of our busy-ness. Whatever else it is that fills our lives, there is little else so enriching and so rewarding as the indulgences of family and friendship, joy and love.

Whether with those whose parents I’ve “adopted” over the years or with my own children and grandchildren, I have spent too little time with small hands clutching at my hair and feeling the liberating weight of tiny feet draped so closely to my heart.

H. Arnett
5/18/17

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