Sumacs, Seed Husks and Shutter Bugs

Yesterday, on a whim, I drove to a local natural wonder, the Little River Canyon, and penned a couple of sympathy notes to Valda's son and sister.

Three and a half hours of watching the world through a windscreen.

Me, a Sunday afternoon driver, a tourist with little to do but eat a light lunch of peanut butter, wasabi peas and Girl Scout cookies, and scrawl on paper.

A line of storms drove me into the car and along the rim of the canyon, holding an umbrella to shoot snapshots from official overlooks.

I saw a town called Section and a section called Dogtown.

A mother and her daughter stood near Little River Falls and set up a tripod for that perfect still shot.  They probably froze people swimming/bathing near the falls.

A couple with bikes and kayaks on their SUV might have gotten a good photograph before the rain fell.

A Sunday afternoon drive and I found myself alone in the car on nearly deserted roads, listening to bluegrass and wondering about closed factory buildings and empty businesses.  I felt like I was living in a bluegrass or country song.

I met a couple of summer park guides, both college students (one getting her degree in history), who couldn't identify a sumac but could tell me details about the park, if I wanted to know.

Observing life choices of our species.

Later, a young person seemed curious about the DVDs I bought at a Movie Gallery store going out of business, including, "Paris, je t'aime" and "Paths of Glory."  Jessica and Austin saw me through the checkout process at Publix.

This is the last week of my staycation/holiday.  I have to finish documenting the electronic goods damaged by the lightning strike and sort out the problem with the house electrical circuit.  Otherwise, besides making sure the cats have fresh food and water, my time is my own.

Perhaps more visits to nature parks.  Maybe the library and museums.  I have never visited the Alabama Constitution Village.

The world is full of woes, including mass starvation and major industrial accidents like oil spills and chemical plant explosions.

When I was young, I volunteered to help others.  Now, with worndown cartilage, extra body weight and unused muscles, I am not as physically useful as I once was in providing grunt work - that, of course, is an excuse, not a viable reason, for ignoring my other abilities to help those in need.

I have a limited capacity/desire to nurture and care for others.  I'm not the touchy-feely type (ironically, I type this as one of the cats demands some loving facerub/armholding attention, which I return the best I can while typing), so I admit that I'm not one who adopts lost animals or takes on gargantuan tasks to save lost causes.

Thus, I try to avoid the "do what I say, not what I do," hypocritical-seeming admonishment/advice for you to go out and give your time/money to make our world a better, safer, more loving place to live.

Instead, I demonstrate my earnest desire to improve living conditions by spending my money and time at local establishments, from the corner pub to nature parks.

Hopefully, my time and effort spent in those places will free up time and money for those who have the natural nurturing nature to help others with chronic and/or emergency needs.

I am one person.  I know my limits and when it's best to stay in or go out of my comfort zone.

One limit which stares me in the face is that writing here will not stop world hunger or prevent wars.  The best I can hope, the goal which drives much of my writing, makes me put our technological advances to use and ensure that all seven billion of us are connected in one way or another so we can be aware of each other's living conditions.

Equalisation of information access has its limits, too, I know.  I am not an economic socialist who expects that we must share our wealth equally, but if we understand how people build their wealth, we can empower others to do the same.  There will always be competitive advantages and barriers to entry for certain income and market opportunities due to information access and resource availability.

Happiness is relative.  My happiness is not your happiness.  The expectations I hold in my thoughts, through both formal education and informal learning, are my own but I share many of them with you.  However much we share or don't share, I equate happiness with wealth.

I do not own mansions or a fleet of private jets.  Together with you, I own public parks, wildlife areas, museums and libraries that I can, with a tank of fuel in the car, visit freely (or with a low fee).

The simple definition of wealth and happiness for me.  I do not ask for much else.