Peace, Be Still

Now that President Bush has planted the flag of liberty in the Middle East, I’m wondering if I should take down the last of my Christmas decorations. We did remove the red, white, and blue lights from our porch in early January. Gondola Santa returned to the basement shortly thereafter. But what about that ceramic dove hanging on the front door below a word that gets its best press at Christmastime? I mean “peace.” Should “peace” go back into its box for yet another year?

Whenever I drive to Abingdon on I-81, I pause to look at our sign near Exit 19: “Peace, Be Still.” It’s a profound sign that works its message year-round. How many of us drive past that icon and pause to reflect or pray or find a quiet moment within the pace (or peace) of the car as it travels down the road (or, dare I say, life’s highway)? It’s nice to see this reminder outdoors, not just in a church. Perhaps we need more of these signs planted, like the flag of liberty, up and down highways between communities like ours and our nation’s capitol.

Shortly after he was inaugurated for his second term in office, President Bush asked for billions of dollars to extend the war effort, or whatever you want to call it, in Iraq and Afghanistan—leading the expenditures there to go even higher than what seems astronomical. As soon as I read that in the news, I thought of an old poster a teacher I know hangs in his office: “What if the schools got all the money they needed and the military had to have a bake sale to build a bomb?” I thought of the troops in Iraq risking their lives, or giving them.

I’m not naïve. I know that money is fungible. Who’s to say that if we spent less money on military matters, we’d shift things around so all my favorite causes were addressed? Perhaps I would still have to worry about resources and health care for the elderly, educational opportunities across our nation, and assaults on the environment here and abroad. Perhaps the extra windfall would be sent into outer space. Perhaps soldiers in the Middle East would still have to write home to ask for better food to eat, insect spray, and chapstick.

When will our troops come home? Even with Iraq completing the election, an election that cost much more in human life than in dollars or goodwill, I’m not sure Congress will push President Bush to set a deadline for the withdrawal of our overdrawn troops. Secretary of State Rice says troops will stay until Iraq can take care of its own security. Having grown up alongside the conflict in Vietnam, I know not to hold my breath. When war begins to feel like peace, and peacekeeping feels war-like, I wish every day could be as hopeful as Christmas.

As the men and women serving in the Middle East do get to come home to their families, there will be others ready to replace them. Enrollment in many high school ROTC programs has increased. The No Child Left Behind Act grants military recruiters access to personal contact information. College costs are escalating, and military recruitment packages are enticing to young people with aspirations. As one young woman in Boston reported to The Enterprise, a Boston paper, last week, “I decided it was better for me to fight for my country than not do anything.” Peace, be still. I wish, within our own land of liberty, she felt she had more than two choices.

Felicia Mitchell. First published in Washington County News (Abingdon, VA), 2 February 2005, p. A4. WCN is a publication of Media General Operations. Copyright 2005.

A Winter's Tale

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was dark. It would soon be stormy. Winter was definitely visiting these hills. And where was I? I was on a winding road in my car, returning from yoga practice, when I perceived an almost imperceptible movement out of the corner of my left eye.

Let me pause in my tale. Being human, I have the ability to embroider on the truth. While it sounds good to say that it was almost stormy, I added that detail for effect. Truth be told, it was a calm night, cold but clear. It would soon be stormy, though not that night, not for several days. In other words, I am setting you up, dear reader, to feel sympathy.

Lo and behold, it was a kitten, a tiny kitten on the edge of the road. What could I do? I pulled the car over just in time to avoid annoying two trucks behind me with an abrupt stop. Braking and turning on my emergency blinkers, I got out of the car and moved to the kitten. It came to me, and it brought another. What can I say? I took both of these kittens into my arms, and they drove home in my lap.

Another thing about being human is that I can tell a story. I can feel the need to share my story. Let me add, as if I need to, that the kittens were homeless. They were small, each little more than a pound. They were sick, too, their eyes red and pus filled. One of them sounded as if it had consumption. I thought of all the cats abandoned to the fate of winter. Not enough end up in shelter or homes. Some die on their own on the side of the road or from disease. Would the cat with the cough, by now named Charles, have to die?

Charles and Ray-Ray arrived at my house, as yet unnamed, to find a host of friendly human and animal faces. They drank a bowl of goat milk, moved into a shoebox, and learned to eat food and climb stairs. They also acquired names, began playing on the wood by the woodstove, and emitted two distinctive personalities as they enjoyed the warmth of a cozy house in the midst of winter—especially when the storm did come.

One thing about cats is that I don’t understand their language entirely. I’m not sure that if I did these two would be interested in telling me the story of how they came to be on the side of a country road in the midst of winter. All that is in the past. What counts for them is the present as they weave themselves into the fabric of the life of an ordinary human family with a soft spot for homeless animals. Even so, I have to wonder how these kittens came so close to perishing. Being human, I’m afraid I know.

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals knows winter is rough on creatures. It gives us all kinds of advice for all seasons. You’d think we could comply, given our sophisticated human brains. You’d think we’d know better than to let animals breed indiscriminately. You’d think we wouldn’t abandon animals we can’t take care of.

However they ended up as lost and and lonely hitchhikers, our two new kittens are no longer cold. Charles and Ray-Ray will take their medicine, get their shots, and spend the rest of their lives acting like cats. Their story will have a happy ending.

Felicia Mitchell. First published in Washington County News (Abingdon, VA), 26 January 2005, p. A4. WCN is a publication of Media General Operations. Copyright 2005.