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38 FOUR SEASONS BREEZE | MAY 2019 Writers' Club OUR TRAILS For the last three years I have enjoyed walking the trails of our community using the excuse that it is good exercise for my chronic back pain. Although that rationale is partially true, it is also incomplete. The enjoyment of the walking trails is more than restorative and healing for my back pain. The dirt trails that twist through the planted tree groves and border our brush-choked creek bed provide a calming therapy and much needed solitude. At the beginning of my walk, I am often stiff for no particular reason beyond that of age and the physical demands of my former career. I look forward to possible chance encounters with a stray coyote prowling the brush for an easy meal or witness the hurried rush of a covey of quail crossing the trail ahead. It is a blessing that we live so close to the undeveloped lands to our south as a host of wild animals routinely visit Four Seasons. On those rare mornings after a rain, the softened earth captures the impressions of both domestic and woodland creatures that have prowled along the trails. The creatures have left a special treat: their tracks. In spite of my father's best efforts, I have limited knowledge of animal tracks. Still, I delight in identifying (or misidentifying) a set of fresh tracks. Whether a hunter, wilderness hiker, or wildlife enthusiast, finding animal tracks stimulates the imagination and sharpens your vision as you peer through the underbrush for a glimpse of the track's owner. As my legs warm up with the mild walking grades, my thoughts often return to the trails I walked years before. Perhaps it is the quietness of the woodland, smell of earth, or simply the feel of wind which conspires with the rhythm of my pace to call forth some lost memory. For just a moment I am back on patrol leading my Infantrymen as we work our way to some forgotten objective. Then, as I turn a corner, I return to the current moment by the friendly smile of a fellow resident walking her dog. The memory of the serenity of the trails often lingers well after my walk, as I ponder the names and faces of those I had led and trained years ago. I hope those soldiers now peacefully wander quiet trials of their own. As I leave the earthen trails for the sidewalk heading home, I am inspired by my memories and refreshed by nature. For a while, I am also free of that old nagging back pain. I highly recommend a walk on our shaded trails for all Four Seasons residents where inspiration, friendly smiles, healing and perhaps a few memories await. ~ Lawrence Moreland Bereavement Group A little boy stands, sobbing broken-heartedly, because he can't find his mama. "It's ok," we reassure him. As he continues to wail, we wrap our arms around him and hold him close. "Shhh, shhhh," we say again. "She can't be far away. She won't leave you. You don't have to be scared." We reach into a pocket for a tissue and have him blow his nose, all the while smoothing his hair and crooning soothing sounds into his ear. Fast forward 50 years. A man is standing nearby. He's a friend, someone you know. "I'm so sorry about your mother," you say awkwardly. He nods. Silence ensues. He purses his lips, shifting from foot to foot. "Well, I'd better be on my way. I have things to do," you both say, almost simultaneously. And you depart, wishing you could have said more, but grateful that you dodged a bullet: at least he didn't start crying. So what happened? What took place in the intervening years between the empathy shown the little boy, and the rigid lack of feeling exhibited to the grown man? Acculturation and lack of practice. Americans have always prided themselves on being stalwart. That's why John Wayne was such a hero to many of us for so long. And the British "stiff upper lip" was something we aimed for, too. Our parents taught us what they knew. When I was growing up, every time I'd cry over the death of a pet or a loved one, my mother would say, rather frantically, "Think of the good times. Think of the good times." Now I know that what she meant was, "Don't cry. It scares me to see you sad and I don't know how to make it better." But what she didn't know was that she didn't have to make it better. She just needed to let me be sad, to talk about my feelings and the deceased, and to share our sadness together. We have been taught so many things about death and loss, and many of them don't serve us very well. Next month we'll explore more about our culture's ways of dealing with grief. In the meantime, if you are struggling with sadness and want to learn to talk about it in a warm and safe environment, please join us in the Bereavement Group. We meet in the Conference Room of the RCN on Mondays, from 1 to 3 pm. You can just show up, or you can get in touch with me first at (951) 922-0934 or lauriemlarson425@ gmail.com. All contact is confidential. ~ Laurie Larson One of the club's newest members, Lawrence Moreland, has submitted the following reflection about the Four Seasons' walking trails. The club encourages anyone who self-identifies as a writer to join us on the second Tuesday of every month at 1:30 pm at The Lodge. The club's vision and mission statements are "inspiring one writer at a time." Come to the meeting and be inspired! ~ Karla Noonan, knoonan1973@gmail.com

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