A First Lady

Birdie.

Ladybird Johnson was a reluctant and unexpected first lady.  She was unsure of her abilities as a public speaker, and aware of her place well within the shadow of Jacqueline Kennedy.  She had an unpopular husband known best for ushering us into the Vietnam era and she stepped into her role as first lady under a cloud of public grief that would mark the beginning of decades of disillusionment and social change.  She was commonly referred to as  "wife in capital letters".  She wore a lot of yellow.

But. She also played an important role in the formation and implementation of the Headstart program, which today services more than 22 million children nationwide and was essential to the formation of the Redwoods National Park.   

We assume we know people, what they stand for, what they do, and what's important to them.  That Ladybird Johnson was one of the nation's early environmentalists may surprise us speaks to our tendency to pigeonhole people, and judge them based on their most public selves.  That she so quietly accomplished so much speaks to her ability to remain true to herself, regardless of her public obligations and personal challenges.

Do what you love.  Do what's important. You never know what you might accomplish.

References/Links:

To visit the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center Website:

 http://www.wildflower.org/ladybird/

Image:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Bird_Johnson

The PBS Biography of Ladybird:

http://www.pbs.org/ladybird/

Head Start:

http://www.nhsa.org/

For the Birds

Storm Home

This year the early snows and freezing frost have draped the Douglas Firs outside our house in white.  The fog has not lifted for a week.  With it has come an eerie and lonely kind of silence, like the whole world is waiting, suspended, for the light and warmth to return.  I feel this way myself; encased and cold.  I am in transition, pushing forward into something that I cannot quite define the edges of.  With my cup of coffee I watch the trees, stoic and waiting.  I wonder if the thaw will ever come.  

And then the sun breaks. A flock of bright yellow birds descends, announcing their arrival in a great cacophony of song and color.  I have not seen these birds before, and it seems impossible that they are here now, covering the branches closest to the window where I sit.  They disappear before I have a chance to document them with a picture, and just as quickly the fog wraps itself back around the house.  They do this for four straight days.  And when the fog lifts, they disappear, moving on to their intended destination, the grove outside our house having simply been a refuge, a layover until the wind shifted, and they could again find their path.

I take comfort in this and imagine myself perched, waiting for the fog to lift.