Visual Learners, Raise Your Hands, Ep14

Episode 14 Celebrating AZ

As Julie searches for an elusive view of Walnut Canyon outside Flagstaff she contemplates Hope; then Lisa introduces a monument on the Arizona Capitol Mall that almost didn’t happen.

Mug: Arizona State Capitol Museum

From “Chief Yellowhorse Lives On"

by Lisa Schnebly Heidinger

“Just inside the tent are machine guns.  Randall pointed out the M-60 with its bristling loops of ammunition.  “That’s what I used to hump through the jungle.”

       “What does it weigh?”

       He considered.

       “Depends on how long you humped it.”

       Mostly, Randall’s recovered from the red talons of memory that used to score his sleep, but from the chemicals that caused the rashes, aches and burning still take their toll.

In their solidarity, some hold themselves apart from civilians.  “We are not like you,” their silence says. “We are not fortunate sons.  You can’t understand that.  You didn’t used to try, and we won’t help you now.”

       No one can make it better by holding hands and singing “Kum Ba Yah.”  Or say, “I know how you feel,” to these men, and be right.  Only “never again” about turning our backs on troops who went to serve.

      We can thank those veterans we meet. We can toast their courage with Irish Mist. We can pray that those who haven’t sought the rough healing presence of fellow veterans like those at Nam Jam will, at some point. Because you could tell by some of the granite expressions on the faces around the tent that the rage and confusion and grief of war don’t necessarily fade with time. War is like Randall’s M-60. It gets heavier the longer you carry it.

Copyright Arizona Highways 2003, now Lisa Schnebly Heidinger 

Hope Today

by Julie Morrison

(as prompted by Update on Mary, by Mary Szibist)

Hope thinks more people might recognize her if they weren’t so busy looking for their wishes to come true.

Hope doesn’t need to go to the gym: she finds making space for unknown possibility in people’s lives provides plenty of resistance training.

Hope wonders if she should change her style – if, instead of subtle, she should go for something caped, some bright comic identity – though Hope has never been one much interested in charades.

When people say “Hope” they speak as though it’s an energetic verb like “command,” even though most resent commands, learning pretty quickly not to use them unless they want to annoy their friends.

Hope worries that she wouldn’t know what to do with a command even if she were given one. She’s never given or taken one in her life.

Hope doesn’t need to eat, but fills up on daydreams anyway. They’re good to chew on.

Hope has too many names she won’t answer to: expectations, wants, goals, desires—people want her to use them, but Hope doesn’t think they’re her at all.

It’s not uncommon to find Hope with others, then wonder why she never visits you. Hope gets this a lot, but trusts that you’ll soon tumble to the fact that you never invited her.

Once invited in, Hope may be hard to live with: she never really leaves.

Hope likes the solemn titles of “Last” and “Only” even if they aren’t true. They’re like wearing a brocade suit from the once-upon-a-times, and everyone likes to dress up.

Hope believes she has done, and will continue to do, remarkable work, even if it looks like just getting people through the day.

Some days Hope covets Fear’s job: stopping people is much easier than starting them.

Hope is a co-worker—not sibling—of Faith’s, though she gets the resemblance. Hope describes Faith’s work as gatekeeper, and her own as recruiting.

Hope doesn’t officially deputize, but happily partners with self-selected agents.

When people announce, “Look, there’s Hope,” she knows they mean it as good news, or encouragement, but it sounds to her like observing “there’s air.”

Some afternoons, Hope pretends that sunbeams are commendations, wide, warm and inclusive.

On those afternoons she could be stained glass, floating beauty to the world around her for free. 

Hope likes the antics of light—if she had time, she would play ‘rainbows’ with other winged creatures —especially dragonflies.

The rules are simple, and anyone can play:  

catch the brightest light there is,

then scatter it widely,

putting everything else behind you.

Copyright Julie Morrison 2025, All rights reserved