Where Dawn's Early Light Illuminated a Nation

Copyright © 2017

by Ralph F. Couey

The morning rain had given way to a light mist and a warm, palpable humidity, an unfamiliar sensation after bone-dry Colorado.  Leaving the glass and steel towers of downtown Baltimore behind, we carefully drove between two brick pillars that separated the rough industrial infrastructure of the port from the red brick and deep green grass of the grounds of Fort McHenry.  

The War of 1812 is probably, along with Korea, the least known and understood of America's historical conflicts.  The seeds of war were sown at first in the Chesapeake-Leopard Affair.  On June 22, 1807, the British warship HMS Leopard encountered and hailed the American frigate USS Chesapeake in the waters off Norfolk, Virginia.  A British officer boarded and presented Captain James Barron with a warrant for British deserters.  Captain Barron refused the warrant and sent the officer back to the Leopard.  The situation quickly escalated when Leopard opened fire on the Chesapeake. The American ship had just put to sea prepared for a long voyage and her decks were cluttered with freight, and her guns unloaded.  In response to the barrage, Chesapeake managed only one return shot.  With his ship damaged and dead and wounded among his crew, Captain Barron struck his colors and surrendered.  The British removed four crewmen from the Chesapeake, one of whom was eventually hanged.  Captain Barron, upon his return to port, was court-martialed.  

The news was received in America with indignation and fury.  The systematic impressment of American merchant sailors, many in US territorial waters by the British added fuel to the growing fire.  Also, the British were materially supporting the effort of a coalition of Native American tribes to control what was then called  the Northwest Territories (modern-day Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin and part of Minnesota), which resulted in numerous clashes along the disputed border.  Adding to all this was the persistent clamor among American politicians for annexation of British Canada and Spanish Florida.  While this was all a big deal in the U.S., Britain was largely unaware of the deteriorating situation in her former colonies, being neck-deep in yet another continental war with France.  So it was with a great deal of surprise when on June 18, 1812, President James Madison asked congress for a declaration of war.

Where I Want to Live

Copyright © 2017

by Ralph F. Couey

I want to live in a place where people wake up with the promise that as long as they draw breath, they can make a difference, if not in the whole world, at least their corner of it.

I want to live in a place where friending someone is done over a back fence or a cup of coffee, and not over an artificial electronic network.

I want to live in a place where a conversation consists of more than 140 characters.

I want to live in a place where a smartphone or tablet is a tool, not a way of life.

I want to live in a place where the television is reserved for those times when the weather is too inclement to go visit the neighbors.

I want to live in a place where people watch out for each other, rather than investigate each other.

I want to live in a place where people know their neighborhood, and their neighbors, better than the back of their hand.

I want to live in a place where government knows that the people are their bosses -- not the other way around.

I want to live in a place where people know, and kids learn that the decision to solve one's own problems is the hallmark of being an adult.

I want to live in a place where people know that the most common source of one's difficulties is not government or society, but that familiar face in the mirror.

I want to live in a place where people realize that no matter how fervent their views, there exists the possibility that they may be wrong.

I want to live in a place where debate is a respectful, meaningful process and not a weapon of war.

I want to live in a place where people are kind to each other, for no other reason than "just because."

I want to live in a place where differing opinions don't automatically mean we should hate each other.

I want to live in a place where people are grateful for what they have, not envious of what they lack.

I want to live in a place where people can sing the national anthem loudly and proudly without one shred of self-consciousness or judgement.

I want to live in a place where people prove their discipleship, not by words, but by their everyday actions.  Especially when they think no one's looking.

I want to live in a place where people recognize that a diverse community is a human community.

I want to live in a place where wealth is an opportunity to give back, and poverty is not an invitation to give up.

I want to live in a place where people know that politicians and pundits, if not held accountable for the truth by their own followers, will lie with ease and without conscience.

I want to live in a place where people do the hard, time-consuming job of research to form their own opinions, rather than mindlessly parrot the statements of their leaders.

I want to live in a place where people respect each other's journey, and don't judge the destination.

I know in my heart that somewhere, such a place exists.

Which is why I wait with great anticipation for interstellar travel.

Another Birthday...

Yeah, I feel like this sometimes...

Copyright © 2017

by Ralph F. Couey

A few days from today, the anniversary date of my arrival in this world will arrive.  This has always provoked a time of deep thought about where I am, where I've been, and most importantly, where I'm going.  I think that's a common thing among adults, especially as those years begin to pile up.  

I've discovered that there are three phases of attitude towards birthdays:

(1) Celebration

(2) Denial

(3) Acceptance

These phases are tied to whatever age we find ourselves.  The Celebration phase is strictly for the young.  At that point, we are happy that for at least one day, it's all about us.  We get gifts, a sugary treat (or several), and a measure of indulgence from others.  We get excited and happy, and it's usually a day to be remembered, at least until the next one rolls around.

I see this phase lasting up until about the early 30's.  By then, we begin to notice the subtle signs of age creeping up.  A slight loss of energy.  Maybe we don't have the stamina we used to have.  Getting out of bed in the mornings becomes a bit more of a chore.  And where we used to burn the midnight oil with relative impunity, now it's much harder to stay up late, and especially wake up the next morning.  It's no coincidence that this is when most of us are neck deep in raising children and pursuing our careers.  As a result, we have very little time that really belongs to us alone.  Also, we begin to sense the passage of time.  We can see the years behind us, and are beginning to realize that the years yet to come will not be the carefree devil-may-care ones that we might have wanted them to be.

This is when the Denial phase begins to ooze into our thinking.  We know that we are getting older, and we don't want to get older.  As we move into our 40's this becomes especially acute.  We begin to review our life, and seeing only missed opportunities, or chances that we didn't take that we should have.  Our conversations with ourselves more and more start with the words "If only..."  Into our mid and late 40's is when our little birds begin to flee the nest, and we discover that the thing which consumed almost every minute of 20 or 25 years of life is suddenly gone.  Those times of fun and chaos are gone, and we are left with a silent, empty house, and a phone that now never rings often enough.  If we have done our jobs as parents, then we have bequeathed to the world fully-formed adults, capable of standing on their own two feet, and making their own way through life without subsidy from us or the government.  But in that success we also mourn the idea that suddenly we aren't needed anymore.

The Search for "Home"

Oakwood Homes, Inc.

Copyright © 2017

by Ralph F. Couey

One of the major steps in a relocation is finding a place to live.  Our situation is more than a little fluid, since I'm retired and Cheryl is a Travel Nurse, working a series of 13-week contracts in a variety of locations.  

Part of the adventure of being a Travel Nurse, or Traveller, is the excitement of going to a completely different place for each new assignment.  Since we haven't really decided where to live yet, that's an important opportunity. Visiting someplace for a few days doesn't really provide the best perspective. Living there for a period of time, however, gives you a chance to "try it on for size."  You not only see the front parlor of the community, but also the dirty basement, allowing you to make an informed decision.

For us, the list of possibilities is long and varied, driven by factors such as economics, proximity to grandkids, and available activities.  Included on our roster are places like Las Vegas, Denver or Colorado Springs, Kansas City, Amarillo or Lubbock, Seattle, Honolulu, Phoenix, and Provo, Utah.  Yes, their all decidedly on the western side of the country. We had our fill of the east after 12 years of high costs and ridiculous traffic and now yearn for more agreeable surroundings.  Each place on the list has its own set of charms and flaws, and some are more affordable than others.  But the most important factor is that indescribable and unquantifiable sense of "home."

Home is not so much a place as a feeling.  It embodies all the positives of safety, privacy, comfort, and sense of ownership (even a rental).  And family.  For so many, "home" is a place of memories.

I've lived in a lot of places, but there have only been one or two that met that nebulous definition.  On the road for so much of my life, when people ask me where home is, I simply reply, "Wherever the motorcycle's parked."

In the four months that we've been in Colorado, it has begun to grow on us.  The hardest part was acclimating to the altitude after living at sea level.  When we first got here, going up a flight of stairs was exhausting.  Now, we're finding it much easier to get around without wheezing and whoofing.  Lately, we've begun to explore the possibility of settling here.  The drawback, something that lies at the very heart of our considerations, is cost.  Denver and its surrounding areas have been defined as a "hot market" for real estate.  That's never good news for buyers.  The houses are uniformly expensive and selling rapidly, even though hundreds more are being built every month.  And prices continue to rise.  In January, we looked at a particular new home, but couldn't pull the trigger.  Last week, we discovered that same home had increased some $40,000 in price since then.

Altitude and Attitude

Aurora Reservoir Trail, Arapahoe County, Colorado

Copyright © 2017

by Ralph F. Couey

It's been about four months since we quit Northern Virginia for Colorado, embarking on the latest chapter of our life.  The first month here was rough for me.  I was trying to get used to the idea that I had no job to go to while mourning the end of my career.  I finally decided that I could no longer sit around feeling sorry for myself and turning my back firmly on the past, began to look resolutely towards the future.

There were a few things that I embraced towards that change in perspective.  One was my grandchildren.  They are fascinating little people, and a joy to be around.  Having pulled myself out of my funk, I really began to enjoy being with them.  Another thing was the completion of my first novel, Tales of Barely, Missouri, (available on Amazon Kindle for $2.99).  This was, as I noted in my last post, a real turning point for me.  I had proven to myself that there was something I could accomplish outside of my former life.  The early reviews are very good, and I hope that those who decide to spend the money find as much enjoyment reading the book as I had in the writing thereof.

The third thing was a continuation of the activity I had been doing back east, walking and hiking.  

Here in suburban Denver, every community it seems has a plethora of trails for walking/running/biking, most multiple miles in length. Some, like the Smoky Hill and the Piney Creek harken back to the time when this area was all open prairie, and those trails were the immigrant highways by which thousands traveled westward.  My only beef was the term "trails," which as an experienced hiker I took to mean dirt paths.  Alas, practicality has prevailed and these "trails" are actually concrete sidewalks. For dirt trails, one has to go westward into the foothills of the Rockies.

One of the things I learned very quickly was the significant difference in the oxygen content of the atmosphere here in the Mile High City versus the coastal Appalachians of Virginia.  There, I hiked roughly 200 miles of the Appalachian Trail through Virginia.  The highest ridge I had to climb topped out at about 3,500 feet.  Just walking on a sidewalk along Colfax Avenue here in Denver puts you about 2,000 feet higher up.