Courage in Action: We Must Not Be Silent

The events of this past week do not alarm me. I am sickened by them but not fully surprised. Systemic racism is real. The image coming out of Minnesota was not one of “serve and protect.” It was one of “domination and disrespect.” An image of “superiority.”  George Floyd was suspected of “possibly passing a counterfeit twenty- dollar bill.” He was handcuffed, subdued, and unarmed. He posed no threat to the four officers present. He begged for air. He didn’t get it. 

George Floyd died. Because of a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill? No. 

George Floyd was killed because he was black.

Several years ago, a woman went shopping. She picked up a few household goods at one store, paid with a twenty and received her change. She stopped at her favorite thrift store. She enjoyed finding treasures others no longer considered useful. She appreciated the idea that at least a portion of the money she spent in that store helped people in need. She found something she liked and took it to the register. Change she received from the previous store more than covered the cost. She handed the cashier the money.

The cashier considered the ten-dollar bill in her hand and asked for her manager. The manager inspected the bill and recognized it as counterfeit. The woman, flustered and confused, told the store manager about her previous purchase and that this bill was part of the change she received there. The police were called. The woman had given all the information she could offer. 

She clearly handed the counterfeit money to the store clerk but was never considered as a felon in any way, shape, or form. That woman was my mother. She is white.

It’s called profiling. Racial profiling.

I am sickened as I watch the video of a man who cannot breathe. Another man with his knee on the victim’s neck. We should all protest such disregard for human life. And we are. All across the nation. All around the world.

I am encouraged this week by the peaceful protests by people of all colors, shapes, sizes, and ages who take their first amendment right seriously and stand together against systemic racism.

I am discouraged by trouble makers who seize the opportunity to loot and destroy. Their agenda is born of evil.

I am encouraged by the police officers, city officials, and governors who have taken a knee, humbled themselves to a call for justice, walked side by side with protestors, and listened with care and consideration to the concerns of the people in their cities and states.

I am discouraged by the inflammatory and self-serving words and actions coming from the White House.  

I am encouraged by people like Jimmy Fallon. He abandoned his regular format this week to humbly admit his own errors in judgment and to use his platform to be an agent of change. 

Profiling. We all do it in one way or another. We size people up on a regular basis. 

If my mother had been black, hers would have been a slightly different story, a bit more involved but possibly with the same outcome. However, if this had been a black man with a counterfeit ten-dollar bill at that thrift store, the story could have been entirely different. 

His name could have been George Floyd.

Baby Hogs and Graduates

Eighteen years ago, Tom and I became grandparents. It was a beautiful Sunday in May. JT was the first boy we didn’t have to graft into the family through marriage. 

Add to it, the “T” stands for Thomas and that man I married was over the moon. It was at this time we discovered Tom was a “baby hog.” He would come into a room and snatch the baby away from you in an instant. It wasn’t limited to his first grandchild, either. He was like that with each and every baby. It didn’t matter who was holding the child at the time, he would reach with every expectation he was the only one to hold the little one.

We didn’t necessarily see being a baby hog as a flaw. Tom was a good man. He worked hard, played hard, and never neglected to pray for his family. Every. Single. Member.

This May that little baby boy, that first grandson, is graduating from high school. His parents have done a fine job. He’s grown to be a good man, too.

JT went from pushing Hot Wheels along a road he created on the carpet to driving his own car.

He no longer pretends to work. He has a real job.

The technology he grew up playing with is now the launching point for his college major.

But when I see this man-child, I see a lot of his grandfather in him, too. He is sweet and loving. He’s smart and thought-filled.

And he’s a great hugger. I don’t know if I’ll be around when JT has children or grandchildren of his own, but I can see him being a “baby hog” when that happens. 

It may be something in the name. Or the heart.

So much in our world has changed in those eighteen years. Tom died five and a half years ago. We added a new little one to our family four years ago. Now we’re facing a global health crisis. Then again, all that is really important hasn’t changed a bit. Love, care, and thoughtfulness. 

But the two most powerful pieces? Our family and our faith. It’s our infrastructure. Our family and our faith is what holds us…all of us… together through tough times and supports us as we grow and move forward.  

What are you glad hasn’t changed through all of this?
What does your infrastructure look like?

Crazy, Quiet, Dragging, Fleeting, Treasured Time

Last week I offered advice to watch less television and spend more time outside. Then it rained. I mean it really rained. Buckets. Flash flooding. Puddles in the yard. I don’t even need the birdbath. The birds can find water everywhere they go. 

Still, I stand firm on the notion that the flood of mindless television to which we are exposed coupled with the buckets of frightening information poured out on us via media is worth limiting. Your weather, unlike mine, may be wonderful. Even perfect. For now. Be aware. Weather changes. 

This is why today I am sharing an indoor alternative to watching TV. I have a much larger list than what I’ll share here. I’ve been writing down all the things I would love to do “if I only had time” for years now. As a young mother, I thought of it as the incredible things I would do when I was no longer changing diapers and picking up toys. As a teacher I considered it my “summer list.” Then when my daughters grew older, I thought I would tackle the list when they left for college. 

The notebook of ideas grew thicker through the years. It morphed from a “summer list” to eventually the “retirement list.” Now it is the “isolation list.” During this pandemic there is no excuse. I have the time. It is my greatest commodity.

The very fact this period of being virtually alone will soon end lends a sense of urgency to check the boxes. 

I keep thinking I need to do these things now before I have to go back to the real world. Whatever that is…

Item 1: Family Photos

I realize I am the only person in the whole world who has boxes and tubs and envelopes with family photos stuffed inside. Still, I offer this as a much better way to spend time than watching face mask commercials. There is a mysterious element to it. Not only are there pictures of my own family with no dates written on them but I also have dozens of school pictures of children I don’t know. Not former students. These are pictures of kids belonging to friends or neighbors. They were likely tucked in Christmas cards. No names. No dates. No clue. 

I’m at the very least putting those unknowns aside and the pictures I recognize together by family member. The process is tiring and energizing at the same time. It is a job I’ve put off for many years. I can tackle it now because I am assured no one will come into my house and see the mess of photos strewn across the guest room floor.

Item 2: The Garage

The garage has become a dumping ground for every tool or odd item I find and don’t know what it is or what I might do with it. It isn’t that my garage is full of junk. I can still park my vehicles in it. It’s simply that along the walls, hanging from hooks, and stuffed on shelves you’ll find a collection of beaten and battered metal tools and a stash of building supply remnants I’ll probably never need. I also have partially used cans of paint, spray containers of who-knows-what, and an assortment of lawn food and weed killer. My garage is probably toxic. Definitely dangerous. So this area has been the target of time well spent during my isolation. A benefit of the work is a sense of accomplishment.

Item 3: That One Closet (or Cabinet or Drawer)

You know the one I mean. We all have that one area where we stuff things. The catch-all or junk drawer. I have more than one. There is the coat closet. Lots of odd gloves and hats I’ll never use along with a variety of odd jackets. Of course they are now gone. The “junk drawer” in the kitchen has been sorted and organized and cleaned twice during the pandemic. It could use another sifting through of things even as I type. I consider it a “hot spot.” I culled through my clothes closet and chest of drawers after reading Marie Kondo’s books on tidying up…though I refuse to talk to my clothes and ask them if they bring me joy.

The Rest of the List:

I’m looking at all I’ve written for this post. I seem to have spent a lot of my time cleaning. It sounds like a lot of work. I haven’t put a dent in practicing my piano or learning a new language. I still have a stack of books to read, crafts to complete, a workshop to set up, and crocheting to do. 

So Little Time. So Much I’d Love to Do. So I’ll muddle along and do what I can with the time I have. At least while it rains. Anything is better than non-stop coronavirus overload.

How are you spending your time?

Turn Off the Television

I remember my mother telling me to turn off the television and go outside for some fresh air. 

I have friends my age whose parents told them too much television would “stunt their growth.”

In the fifties, television became known as the “idiot box,” suggesting that watching television was of no educational value and would reduce one’s capacity to think.

And we only had three channels. Seriously.

Now we have more channels than I can name. We have televisions in several rooms of our homes, TV programs accessible on our computers and smart phones, and restaurants with multiple screens so we don’t miss anything. Even my camper had a big screen TV.

And we pay for it. Dearly.

It's More Fun Outside Anyway

I’m not talking about money here. Actually, I don’t have cable so whatever my antennae picks up is what I have. It’s more than I had growing up. And more than I need.

Don’t misunderstand. I watch my fair share of television. I like it. I’m not addicted to any particular program. I like a variety of shows and movies. I generally check in to learn what the weather holds. When I ride the stationary bike, I flip through channels to see what the set in my basement will pick up to keep me entertained while I exercise.

When I say we pay dearly for the excess of television, I am speaking to the way we can get “sucked in” to news and programs that highlight evil and dysfunction. 

Moreover, for me anyway, television has, of late, been about as entertaining as a root canal.

We are experiencing an overload of the “new normal.” Even the commercials are so focused on selling masks, washing our hands, and showing how you can order your food online, I find them depressing reminders there is only “new” and no “normal.”

And as if we needed something else to drive us crazy, we are entering that season of a political pandemic when the normal ugliness of an election year is heightened to grotesque. 

So what’s a girl to do? Turn off the television. 

I’m not kidding. I urge you to join me. 

·      Limit how much COVID-19 news you watch.

·      Don’t watch before bedtime.

·      When you do watch television, balance the bad with something light and fun.

·      And in keeping with my mama’s advice, swap some of your TV time for a little fresh air.

The Best Birthday Gift Ever

I recently celebrated my birthday. I didn’t exactly know what to expect. It’s a sign of the times. During this pandemic no one knows what to expect on a regular basis. I was afraid loneliness would threaten to overtake my usually positive attitude. 

Even though we live in isolation, we aren’t necessarily living alone.

Phone calls and Facebook messages dominated my morning. With a bit of prompting, my mother told me my birth story. I knew most of it, but there were a few details I don’t recall hearing before. It was a fun conversation. 

This year, one detail struck me as particularly interesting. I was born at 6:55 pm. I decided that gave me most of the day to finish out one year and move onto the next. Technically, I wouldn’t be another year older until nearly 7:00 that evening. 

It was like a gift! Not the only gift I would receive as it turned out. And not the best, by far.

My Granddaughter's Favorite Books

Around six in the evening, members of my family started arriving at my house. Everyone brought a lawn chair. Friends I know and worked with in Kosovo arrived as well. We sat outside around the area I hoped would one day be a fire pit. I have a portable one, but it was too warm and too windy to think about a fire. We talked and played games. Mostly though, we watched my 15-year-old grandson work at clearing the wooded root of honeysuckle from the area where I wanted to one day have a stone fire pit. 

Spencer was tenacious. He dug out what he could, chopped out roots with an axe, pulled, tugged, and hauled away the horrible weed. His was a gift of sacrifice. 

My Birthday Bouquet!

I had another gift of sacrifice that evening. Unable to shop for a gift, my nine-year-old granddaughter culled through her favorite books. “Has she read this one?” she’d ask her mother. “How about this one?” Ultimately, Nora chose three of her favorite books to give to me for my birthday: The Summer of the Swans, Where the Red Fern Grows, and Little House in the Big Woods. By the way, I often refer to my own house as the little house in the big woods. More about that HERE.

My friends, the Halversons, brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I received a notebook from my youngest granddaughter (most appropriate for a writer), a family picture from our Disney cruise arrived in the mail from my daughter in Wisconsin. My oldest grandson drove out of the way on his way to work to wish me a happy birthday.

The gift of sacrifice..and time

Later in the evening after I was officially a year older, my daughters, mother, and I got online and Face Time to play a game. The next day, my son-in-law and grandson showed up at my house to build an honest to goodness fire pit in the newly cleared area.

So what was my favorite and best birthday gift? It was the one everyone gave me: the gift of TIME. A moment to type a message or make a call; a few hours to pull up a chair and laugh together; time sorting through books to give me “favorites;” time to play a game in the evening; time to build a fire pit. 

One of our most precious commodities is time. And people I love gave me some of theirs. What a perfect birthday.

Surprisingly Connected

In the beginning, I was sure isolation would take its toll on my well-being. I like people. I was a bit anxious how I would connect with my friends and family, but like most people I know I am reaping unexpected benefits from having to think outside the box.

Family

During the first or second week of the shelter at home order in the state of Ohio, one of my daughters initiated a game of Farkle. We each rounded up our own dice.  (Don’t tell, but I had to rob a couple of board games to make it work.) We played, talked, and laughed via Face Time. I kept score as we played. Danielle, the middle of my three girls opted to not play, but was “present” for the fun. And, yes, it was fun. Time well spent. People living in five different houses playing together, yet it felt as if we were all in the same room. So much so that later that evening my mother started to check to make sure she locked the front door after her company left. It was that real. 

Now, since my oldest daughter found a free game spot online where we could design our own cards and games, we’ve enjoyed playing Backstreet Rummy or Baseball together. We still use our phones and Face Time to talk smack and share bits and pieces of our lives, but the connections do more than determine a winner. In fact we are all winners. We are connected. Even my granddaughter is getting in on the game of Baseball and has a running game with her great grandmother and me. Pretty cool. 

My oldest granddaughter read a chapter from the Boxcar Children to my mom every evening until they came to the end of the book. I don’t think that would have happened if it had not been for this time of isolation. My youngest granddaughter has read several picture books to me. It turns out you’re never too old to enjoy a good bedtime story.

But it is not all technology stuff. There was an Easter egg hunt in my backyard while fully acknowledging social distancing. And I’ve chatted with other family members face-to-face with our faces more than six feet apart. I dropped in on my mom one day and we enjoyed the sunshine on her deck while we visited. 

One of my grandsons in Wisconsin wrote me a letter. A real, honest-to-goodness pencil and paper letter! I’m not sure when I last received a hand written letter. It was great. So I wrote back to him.

And I generally get to see my oldest daughter once or twice a week. She has designated herself as my personal shopper. She picks up groceries for both my mother and me. I don’t know if she will ever know how much that means to us.

Of course I miss the hugs, but the intentional connections prove to be powerful reminders that we are in this together.

Neighbors

I knew when I moved into this house, it was a good neighborhood. My immediate neighbors…those closest physically to me…were warm and welcoming. Many of my neighbors work and lead busy lives. Until now. 

The weather has been ideal for walking. I’ve enjoyed getting my steps in on these bright sunny days. In doing so, I’ve met more neighbors than ever. 

There’s the sweet little family from Paris with the new baby. Their two older children wave to me, their new “ami,” when we meet on the road. They like it that I practice my French with them. And the family from Macedonia who live around the corner like to talk with me about my experiences in Kosovo.

Then there’s the family who likes to golf. We’ve had good conversations about the sport. He works for the Parks Department. Who knew? 

I’ve met people as they walk or as they are working in their yards and gardens. I’ve met them as they sit on their porch and I admire the sidewalk art displayed by their children. I’ve chatted with people I never knew before about the weather, their cute babies, their dogs and their flowers. We talk about many things. Except the pandemic. Perhaps that’s why it feels so healthy. So good.

And…I went to a “block party.” It was a "bring your own beverage, bring your own chair, and sit in your own space" affair. There I met several neighbors I did not know at all. We laughed and shared stories. We solved several major issues in the world. We had fun. 

I came home from that party and made a map of my neighborhood. Now, whenever I meet new people, I write their names on the map. It’s a rather crude, absolutely not to scale drawing. For those of you who have seen my handwriting, you’ll understand when I say I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can decode it. 

But I value the map because I value the people.

I want to remember them.

I want to stay connected.

What are you doing to stay in touch with others?

These Times: Finding that Pioneer Spirit

When this period of isolation started, I decided to sew some masks for members of my family. I pulled out my sewing machine and reacquainted myself with it. I haven’t sewn anything in a long time.

I found some remnants of cotton in my sewing bin. All of the elastic I had in my stash was too wide to fit around someone’s ear. I knew I could make it fit around the head, but threw out the idea as only a last resort. In the end, I found stretchy elastic string-type headbands. They worked great, even if some of them were pink with sparkles.

All was going well until I ran out of cotton fabric. The recommendation is for 100% pure cotton. Hmmm…. in another world….another time, I would have hopped in my car and picked some fabric up at the craft store. Ordering online would delay my sewing by days.

During the Great Depression of the 1930’s people had a similar situation. Things they needed weren’t always available when they needed them. I’ve heard my grandmother recite this poem:

Use it up, wear it out.

Make it do, or do without.

What would my grandma do now?

I went to my closet. I had a couple of shirts made of 100% cotton. I chose the one I rarely wear, cut it up and finished my project. A much better use of that shirt than merely hanging in my closet.

Not long after I finished sewing the much-needed masks, I settled into the new routine of staying home. I was determined to embrace this time of quiet creatively. I wanted to sketch and paint, but couldn’t find all of my supplies. My stash of pencils consisted of three broken ones and about a dozen short, eraser-less pencils culled from the depths of my golf bag.

I knew Tom had an electric pencil sharpener. Somewhere. I located it in a box of office supplies along with a few new, unsharpened pencils. I plugged the heavy thing in. It hummed as if it wanted to do something but wouldn’t sharpen the pencil. I checked the plastic bin for shavings, thinking perhaps it was full. Nothing. Phooey! 

I searched the box to see if perhaps there were any of the plastic sharpeners we used to send with the girls to school. Nothing.

I could have given up or maybe whittled the wood away from the lead with a knife, but by this time, I was on a mission. I studied the bulky electric sharpener, grabbed a Phillips head screwdriver from the kitchen drawer and took the thing apart. 

One of Tom’s strategies was to take things apart that weren’t working and see what was going on inside. Sometimes, when he couldn’t find anything wrong, he’d put it back together and it would work! “Must have been some dust in there or something,” he’d say. 

The air conditioner? Took it apart and put it back together. It worked for two more years before we replaced it.

The washing machine? Took it apart and put it back together. It lasted another ten years.

I looked at the insides of the pencil sharpener. I took a brush and dusted it off. I couldn’t see anything wrong, so I put the thing back together. 

It works.

What is my point in all this? We are living through a time such as we have never seen before. It may be frustrating to not have everything at our fingertips. It may be challenging to “make do,” to not be able to jump in our car and buy something new at every turn. 

During this season of our lives, we need to tap into our creative problem solving skills, try new things and fix old ones. We need to reassess what we have and how we make it work for us. We need to look in our pantry and come up with new recipes or in our closet and find new uses for old clothes. 

And we can do it. There rests in each of us a pioneer spirit. It’s the spirit that has made our nation strong.

How are you coping? What have you discovered about yourself during this pandemic? What problems have you creatively solved? 

And for a great read (both fun and informative...Rob King is a fantastic speaker and teacher) about the Spirit God offers as our helper you will be interested in this book: The Spirit Within by Rob King and Eric Ferris. I highly recommend it.

CLICK HERE for more info on the book. I know both of these authors. You will love this book!