8
Wednesday, January 31, 2018 The Nugget Newspaper, Sisters, Oregon
Of a certain
AGE
Sue Stafford
Columnist
Home is best
There’s nothing like a
week away from home, espe-
cially in a large metropolitan
area, to hone my apprecia-
tion for our little corner of
the world.
I used to love the adven-
ture and novelty of travel —
seeing new places and meet-
ing new people. I fear I am
becoming an old curmud-
geon where travel is con-
cerned. Gone are the days of
running down the jetway at
the last minute and knocking
on the closed aircraft door to
gain late entry to my flight.
Lines and more lines
have become the norm, even
more so on no-frills airlines
like Southwest. Removing
shoes, belts, electronic
devices of any description,
liquids, jackets, and any
other X-ray-offending article
certainly takes the fun out of
“taking off.”
On my latest trip, with
the current flu epidemic,
I wished I could hold my
breath while captive in the
closed crowded confines
of the plane, breathing the
recirculating air of cough-
ing passengers, and trying to
touch just as few surfaces as
possible.
Once on the ground in
Southern California there
were six days of the urban
onslaught of stalled traffic,
and sensory-assaulting noise
of airplanes, sirens, train
whistles, throngs of people,
and traffic.
It was wonderful to spend
the time with my cousin
who is two years my senior.
As young girls, we shared a
great deal of time together
when I spent many nights
at her house and we roamed
the empty acres around then-
rural Hillsboro on horseback.
She lives in relative quiet
in Canyon Country, north-
east of the L.A. bedlam, but
civilization is encroaching
on their once-rural lifestyle.
I soaked up all the “cul-
ture” I could, appreciating
the exquisite architecture and
mind-blowing engineering
employed to construct the
Walt Disney Music Center in
downtown L.A. The evening
of chamber music there was
exquisite. The drive home…
not so much.
The guided tour of the
Catholic cathedral of Our
Lady of the Angels, also
in downtown L.A., was a
journey through amazing
engineering feats, Catholic
dogma, California and
church history, and over-the-
top donations of millions of
dollars to construct a build-
ing. I found myself contem-
plating how many ordinary
people could have benefit-
ted from those dollars being
spent on human services,
education, and housing.
One evening was spent
viewing a private screening
of the movie “Get Out,” one
of the nominees for a num-
ber of awards in this year’s
Hollywood self-congratula-
tory season. The home was
10,000 square feet with an
indoor pool that resembled a
natural pond with rocks and
live plants in a huge glass
enclosure, a guest apartment
attached.
The house’s interior
would put Architectural
Digest to shame. The home
theater where we viewed
the film had eight very large
overstuffed leather reclining
seats, each with its own bev-
erage holder and large con-
tainer of chocolate-covered
almonds. Our hostess also
provided individual bowls of
fresh popcorn. She is a mem-
ber of the Screen Actor’s
Guild, who receives all the
nominated films every year
to view in order to vote for
the awards. She shares them
with friends. By the time
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we returned to my cousin’s
homey 40-year old rambler, I
was numb from the excesses.
The delineation of the
haves and have-nots in
Southern California is blin-
dingly apparent. The home-
less, who will never be able
to afford the escalating rents
and home prices, live right
along the freeway, on dirt
banks behind the cyclone
fences that separate them
from the traffic. Debris from
deserted encampments litters
the freeways and surrounds.
For many, home is a
rental unit in a shoddily
constructed multi-family
multi-story complex next to
the freeway. There is neither
grass nor play equipment
for children to play on and
everyone’s blinds are drawn
shut all the time. I suppose
that makes sense when the
view through the smoggy air
is the adjacent freeway, the
parking lot, or the neighbor’s
bedroom window.
At the other end of the
spectrum are the gated
estates with immaculately
manicured yards, swimming
pools, multiple-car garages
housing expensive luxury
vehicles, and enormous man-
sions tended by servants.
I certainly missed the
smiling faces and friendly
greetings that are part of
everyday living here in
Sisters. The clear dark
skies full of twinkling stars
greeted me upon my return
home. The hush across the
high desert, allowing me
to hear the wind, the creek,
and the howl of the coy-
otes, was a welcome relief
from the urban cacophony
that assaulted me during my
visit.
I feel sad when I
acknowledge there are mil-
lions of people, especially
children, who may never
experience the beauty of
the morning alpenglow on a
snow-covered mountain or
the gentle gaze of a curious
doe walking her fawn along
the creek.
My heart breaks for the
myriad ways humans have
despoiled Mother Nature.
We do not own the earth. We
are meant to be good stew-
ards of her bounty, not con-
querors. Have we crossed
into the land of no return in
our plundering?
I may not live to see the
answer to that question. All I
can do is honor what we still
have here in Sisters. I can
work to protect our natural
surroundings as well as the
quality of life enjoyed by
most of us. For those who
are struggling, I can offer
my hand and my heart. And I
can greet each day and each
person with a smile, a hello,
and my good intentions and
actions.
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