My parents have had their share of somber news this week. Earlier in the week, when I had just retreated to our home, I was greeted with a sadness which enveloped Mom. Her eyes had a look that conveyed pure exhaustion and grief. Her shoulders sagged a bit under the weight of all she had heard that day. “I have some news” she whispered “when you have unloaded your things and are ready, come back up and I will fill you in”. She walks back into the kitchen where she is preparing dinner. I follow her. “No, tell me now, Mom… what’s happened?” I come to her side. She looks down and shakes her head. “It’s Tom, he died this morning, in his sleep”. Her eyes move up to meet mine “just like that, he just died. He has been ill for so long… Marge called, she let us know that we would have news later in the week on arrangements”. Marge was Mom’s matron of honor all those years back, in the early 60s. Mom had worn Marge’s wedding dress because she didn’t have any money of her own for thewedding , having just come from Norway and on a meager income. Marge and Tom were dear friends from the early days of young adulthood; now- Tom was gone. “And in the same day, I learned that Aase is riddled with cancer, she’s in hospice care. Tove called to tell me. Aase has been sick too but it’s bad”. She falls into silence as she moves her wooden spoon around the pan to brown the butter and onions. I reach for her and place my arm around her shoulders and neck “I am so sorry Mom, that’s awful news, so hard.” We stand like that for a moment. I recall so many summers spent at Marge & Tom’s home on Bald Eagle Lake. The weeks and weeks of memories created over the years. The fun jumping off his dock and swimming to the float. His kids with whom I have not remained connected, we all going off in our own directions in adulthood. An era is fading. A time of family memory and reminiscence of softer times.
The very next day, Aase passed. There have been so many funerals these past two years. Many friends that didn’t make it to the next year. My parents are at an age when friends move on from this life. It’s strange to me because, like them, I see the youthfulness of each soul. Their true self – not their shell. I see it in myself now too- that even as I approach 50, I feel more like maybe.. 35. Time rushes on.
I recall comments from my parents when I was earlier, that they felt so much younger than their years, and this is a good thing. Not something everyone experiences. Some do feel their age, they have pain or they have burdens that weigh them down until they feel suppressed and compressed and this lends itself to feeling – old. I feel old sometimes. But most of the time, I feel young. And, I think about my parents as they have made it to the late 70s and mid 80s. They cherish each day with each other and in the world. And I cherish being with them. I moved in with them about five years ago to help Mom mostly in her emotional and physical experiences with Dad. Dad has had his share of medical reminders of the fragility of life. So, I am there to be a moral support, an emotional support and lately- a much more physical support. At times, it has felt that I placed my life on hold and one doesn’t know how long that will play out. There have been frustrations in my feeling of humiliation with others in this world who don’t understand. Hearing late night comedians on TV poke jabs at the “daughter living in the basement syndrome” or sharing with new acquaintances that I live in the lower level- feels embarrassing only for a moment as I attempt to explain my current circumstances. And, then I snap out of it. And I realize and acknowledge that in many ways, these are the best years of my life. I get to see them every day. I get to cook with Mom. I get to watch the news with them both and we enjoy Downtown Abbey together on Sundays, and seasonally Mom and I take in Dancing with the Stars. We spend time on a Sunday afternoon at a local Barnes and Noble sipping coffee and reading magazines.. a regular treat. And, I get to just focus on the memories I am making with these precious souls. And for them, they look forward to fun moments, creative outlets, connections with friends, moments of glory as they experience an amazing quartet in church or a hymn that fills them with peace. Beautiful meals to honor birthdays; two celebrations they have attended just in the past seven days.
Births are honored, deaths are acknowledged. Life cycle. We all die someday. It’s the reminders of our mortality that put a jolt in us from time to time. That constant knock on the door that says: “Hey, there is a time limit on your life, you have an expiration date, what are you going to do about it?” My answer for me: spend it with my parents, make memories, be creative, embolden others, support and encourage others, put my all in all that I do. Be more patient. Be more gentle. Live well. Yes. That’s it. Each day- try to live it well. Be mindful of living well.
Why Should I Care?
On my commute into work today, leaving early enough to enjoy my coffee & breakfast & writing stop at a local coffee house near the office, I listen to Episode 5 of Serial. I have been waiting for two weeks to hear the next installment on the case of Bowe Bergdahl. Last week, I tuned into the newly downloaded Episode 4 only to learn that due to the massive volume of information currently flowing, ebbing and changing, the staff of The Serial decided to start doing these episodes bi-weekly. So Episode 4 was a short announcement to stay tuned until next week, January 21- for that next installment. When I had pulled out of my garage earlier, and got my self in order while idling in the driveway, I pulled the iPhone out to access the podcast and found that I had a 53 minute episode to listen to; fabulous, enough content for a roundtrip commute. The episode this time has various guests that are participating interview style. Two of them work in an office that handles P.R. (Person Recovery). Another one is a personal friend of Bowe Bergdahl who is listed on Bowe’s personnel file as a contact should anything go wrong with Bowe. During these interviews, many details are offered up on each person’s efforts in Bowe’s recovery. The women in the government office share one of the frustrations is the sheer lack of awareness on the part of many of these people who have gone missing. In one instance, these two women went to the effort of creating T-Shirts to draw awareness of Bowe Bergdahl’s status as missing, it was for a specific event for the community about Bowe and other hostages or missing in areas of combat or simply in countries that are experiencing conflict. On their way back from the event, as they approached the entrance to their own work building, they were met by one higher ranking Department of Defense individual that stopped them and asked: “who is that on your t-shirt?”. Really? They thought. It’s insane. But it’s common. There is this one couple that was captured in 2012, a husband and wife who were hiking in Afghanistan. The wife was pregnant at the time. And in that instance, the wife ended up giving birth in captivity. And few people could name her. Very few people have any idea that happened. It’s barely covered in the news. Her name is Caitlin Coleman, she was 28 years old when captured; her husband is Joshua Boyle. And they are still held hostage by the Taliban in Afghanistan; all efforts by US Government for their release have failed.
One of the things mentioned in The Serial by host Sara Koenig is the question of: Why Should I Care? She shares that a common sentiment among people listening to stories of capture, or reading these headlines, blame the victim. They were captured because basically they were asking for it. After all, who travels to Afghanistan? Who hikes trails in Afghanistan? Are they idiots? Duh. And so, these people made their own bed. They were stupid. The thing is is that in almost every single hostage case, there is a level of human error that has occurred in leading to their capture. Something they did without thinking it through. So should government or people in authority or leaders in roles that are meant to work on the release of these captors, should they just throw their arms up in the air and say: “whatever, they did this to themselves?”.
When I bring up Bowe and that I am listening to this interesting podcast that delves into his experiences and digs into his story, with some people – I can barely mention Bowe’s name without someone saying to me: he is a traitor, he walked off his post, he should be court marshaled. And in those instance, rarely do I see even one glimmer of compassion. It thoroughly smashes me down. I mean, the harshness of judgment on the parts of people who barely know the story except for the sound bite headlines, have cast their vote as if sitting in a jury seat and having only been read the line about why the defendant is on trial. No evidence has yet been rendered, no details of any significance. And for me, this reception of emotion from these individuals, I am on the receiving end having listened now to about 4 hours of data surrounding the when, how, what and in a way, why. I have a glimpse into the circumstances beyond the headlines. And, my heart breaks. I am not saying Bowe does not hold some guilt for having done a stupid thing. That he did not cause others harm and discomfort and for that, I recognize the dire circumstances and his, again, guilt. But I think about other victims of circumstance; the hikers up on a mountain that went up anyway even though the weather indicated caution. The woman who married the abusing boyfriend who is now held hostage in her own home for fear of retribution if she leaves him; or harm to others if she leaves him. Do we just ignore those who need help because they did it to themselves. So much more to say and think about on this topic. I want to care, I want to know, I want to understand. I want to not judge.
State of the Union
Last night I listened to the State of the Union speech while working the CNN poll from my iPad (a first for me) and I only participated because the ticker line at the bottom of the TV screen tempted me to do so and I thought at the moment: why not? I realized throughout his speech that in the pollster’s effort to get me to select whether I agree with the President’s at the moment or not – on any given point, that my finger was pressing the agree button far more than the disagree button. If there is one thing that stands out with President Obama is that his speeches are usually quite appealing to the general population. He makes these statements of fairness, and justice, and safety and promise. Who wouldn’t agree? And as I listened, I watched the new Speaker of the House: Paul Ryan, as his face had this quizzical if not amused expression throughout the speech. While many are applauding, he sat there looking at the back of President Obama’s head as if what he was saying was sheer nonsense. Of course that is my interpretation of a valiant effort on the Speaker’s part to hide his thoughts. But the fact is that Obama didn’t specify many details on how he would accomplish whatever it was he was mentioning in any given moment, just that it was a “good idea” to tackle whatever issue it was he was addressing at that moment. To get along. To think of the future. Sure. It’s a good idea- but how, and have you attempted in these efforts in the past, Mr. President? And from what I understand, throughout your entire presidency, you have avoided many one on one sessions with congressmen and women.
Why is the congress always so deadlocked? Could it be that the devil is in the details? My father’s position is that on a regular basis, the democrats bulk up on nonsense in the bills and legistlation process, filtering in plans that would hurt the country especially in the economics arena. So while the crux of the bill might have passed, it’s the tendrils surrounding the crux that cause the disagreement. This is still so general for me and evasive. So I dial down – and I commit to dig in to web sites that might give me what I need to better understand; I , an average American that focuses more on my personal and work life than the political climate at hand. What does all of this mean, and where do I stand? Elections are less than a year away, and this time around, I want my vote not only to count but I want it to mean something more deeply in our free process of electing leaders and moving our country forward.
Where he lost me in a certain layer of cynicism was his comments on war and cancer. “When you come after us, we’ll come after you- it may take time.” Our military is working hard, no doubt. But in so many instances, it ha felt that the acts of terror against innocent civilians has not born out much retribution. It’s leadership and direction and guidance that I am concerned about. As a citizen, I have to trust that many terrorist efforts against our nation have been thwarted, intelligence is doing its thing and we are protected. I can’ help but wonder if our government and military are truly doing everything possible- as cells of violence grow. A cancer all its own and in many people’s view, untreatable. And then there is his declaration of America curing cancer. The fact that in this last year of office, the US will cure cancer with VP Biden’s help conjures up in me a vision that what is really going on here is that he wanted his last speech to knock us off our feet in optimism. Of course, he means our initiatives and our work will lead to a cancer cure eventually, but his statements are so full of air. Really? He wants to leave office on a high note, expressing to the nation what he wants to accomplish – not necessarily what he can accomplish. It sounds much like a political candidate’s promises during an election year that in the end, amount to not much of anything. Bah- who am I to say all of this? I wonder what most citizens came away with after last night’s speech. Hope? Confusion? Renewed fear? In my circle, I don’t know that many that even listen to the political climate, presidential speeches and election banter. I know several who claim that they just don’t have time to listen to any of it. Too busy. Bury the head in the sand and continue to “do life”. Does it matter? Does an individual’s opinion and vote matter? I want to believe that it does, and if this is the case, an informed vote is essential. Not just voting party line – but voting one’s conscience. So, I look to my own duty and commit to seeking out answers, reading everything I can get my hands on that addresses both sides of the aisle. This will be a different election year for this voter.
For The Love of St. Paul
Renewed impressions of St. Paul, MN flooded me on an day in early October 1991 as I enterred the Twin Cities on Highway 35 northbound coming from California via Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Missouri and Iowa. It was a job offer at Northwest Airlines that had me driving a couple of thousand miles of highway alone and spending two overnights at roadside motels. The first glimpse of brilliant blood orange, yellow ochre and moss greens offer a full spectrum fall palette which appeared right around Albert Lea. I continue my journey north to the exit I am meant to take: 7th Street. Once there, I travel east towards the capital city, my goal was to just take in some initials views.
The last time I had been in St. Paul was about twelve years prior. Back then, I had been a child traveling by station wagon with my parents from our home in a Chicago suburb for summer visits to good friends on Bald Eagle Lake in White Bear. This time, driving down 7th St for the first time since reaching adulthood, I consider this place now as my first official home out of college. Most “kids” my age find jobs in their own towns, closer to parents and do not launch themselves half way across the country from a sunny climate to what could be a frigid winter existence. For me, it was about claiming my own destiny and future. And the truth is, I didn’t seek out St. Paul. It found me. In a myriad of interviews in California post-college, there were very few jobs to be found in the early 90s. The one job offer that came my way asked me: would you mind relocating to Minnesota? I didn’t hesitate for one second. Absolutely. Minnesota. Home of some of my best childhood memories. I recall that on those summer vacations, I enjoyed the occasional quick visit to downtown from White Bear to enjoy museums or an elegant lunch for the girls with their mothers at Dayton’s River Room. Everything about St. Paul helped me to reconnect with those places in childhood that I loved the most. Having lived in a suburb just outside Paris from age five to ten, I breathed in all the charm of St. Paul with its lamps that evoked an era of gas lamps, its bridges, all the historic architecture, it’s compactness, cobblestones and spires, parks and river. It was a glorious assault on my sense of place. This is where I must live.
When I finish my drive about through the city and feel properly convinced of my future new home, I continue north to White Bear for my initial overnights with family friends. My first few days in my new job, I live with this family with whom I had spent many summers until I connect with the relocation services to which I was referred by my company. I make it clear to my agent that I want an apartment life in the center of St. Paul somewhere. One of the apartments on her list is Park Side Apartments on the corner of Wall and 5th. And it’s perfect. The entry offers a domed entry with a set of five steps that rise from the sidewalk into the Art Deco styled lobby reminiscent of the 1920s with soft mauve walls and pale blue furnishings and a maple desk with two side tables that book end the sofa. There is an exotic silk floral on the hallway table. At the time, I am completely delighted. The building is primarily studio apartments, and the elevator takes me to the top floor where the currently vacant unit awaits my inspection. I enter the unit finding a corner studio apartment with vaulted ceilings and beams, open space and tall windows with enough ledge that I can sit and overlook the streets below and glimpse Mears Park under construction. During this period, the park was in progress, so there was little beauty just yet, but it would come. The studios were set up so that the initial entry offered an immediate right turn down a short hidden hallway that lead to the walk in closet and bathroom, tucked behind the open kitchen for better privacy. The kitchen had a counter that opened to the living room and the living room was big enough for a kitchen table set up on one side and my futon on the other, with coffee table and dresser in the corner. This was exciting; the idea that I could live in the very midst of this quaint historic city.
Returning to St. Paul as a resident after all these years was such a rush. I had never lived in St. Paul, but had visited many times during my childhood. My parents met in St. Paul in the early 1960s; they got engaged at The Lex on Grand Avenue. Mother is from Norway and she met my father on one of his many business trips into the Twin Cities from Michigan. He had friends here from his bachelor days that belonged to the Uler Ski Club, and Mother also attended events through this club with her fellow Norwegian friends. Landing in St. Paul as my first official adulthood foray into responsibility and life path was satisfying and a comfort. I have a piece of my parents with me each day as I imagine their lives intersecting all those years ago. And, I accept that I came home to where it all began.
Visionary Creative
What a rush. This feeling that swept through me last night as I retreated from the library’s meeting room and headed for my car. It felt as if I had been infused with the best kind of oxygen on the planet. I was floating.
There have been meet-ups in the past, but none that compared to this simple evening of conversation centered around creativity. It was a short meeting; well, short in the sense that we only had an hour and a half. We were a mix of fourteen souls sitting around a large square table introducing themselves with the goal of sharing their creative outlet and identifying one of the dozen or more paintings on two walls that framed us into the corner of the library. Identifying one painting among these which drew us in or spoke to us and why, was our wrap up share moment for each one of us, a way to pass the baton to the person to our right. Some folks shared longer than others, and that was fine. I sensed no impatience. Each person was able to express where they were at creatively; whether painting, drawing, learning a musical instrument, singing, music therapy for others, writing, or even something as simple as lettering. All of these forms of creative outlet were honored. And it truly felt like all souls were focused and attentive to each person’s share. And learning. At the end of the introductions which took up more than half our time, we focused on the topic of Creative Rededication. How and in what ways could we creatively rededicate ourselves, and did members of the group find themselves annually or regularly rededicating themselves. The dialogue began and people shared moments of discovery and offered ideas on how to begin the process of regularly rededicating to a form of creativity.
This meet-up follows a book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron; a book that helps creative people focus on tapping their creative self. It’s meant to be a twelve week journey. This meet up is a simplification, offering a once a month check-in and using the book as a launch for good discussions. A source of fuel for moving into a place of creativity. And, I just loved it. After this first session, I dedicate myself to being a part of this group which has been meeting for five years now; led by two women who are coaches for creative expression and healing.
The group met my needs last night because the souls gathered, each one, resonated with my own inner longings for honoring my creative side in both fiber and in written word. My desire to make that part of my life more dominant and for reaching a place where my life can honor this need. Now, I dip into the creative before work and after work. I need to find ways to layer my creative self into my work life more- allowing that part of my life to be more satisfying as well.
One of the discussion threads last night was about having a word for the year. I had never come across this concept before, but many voices sprung up in the discussion vocalizing their chosen words for past years. Trust. Joy. Open. A word chosen as a focus for the year, a meditation in a way, a direction and a permission to learn and grow from that one word. Evidently there are workshops on this topic, websites and coaches that can help people find their word. One only needs to browse the web with the search: Word 2016 – and one can find many results on how to approach “The Word”. Sounded intriguing and I will be exploring that idea as well. One person in the group shared that she had found her word for the year: me. For her circle of friends and family, they would know that this word was important because her modus operandi is generally focused on everything for other. So this year, she needs to listen to what she needs. She wants to try to prioritize her desires and goals and allow herself permission to focus on her self, in all its layers.
What is my word this year? The answer to that question is a project in the coming days.
I signed up for a workshop this weekend: Vision Mapping. Taught by one of the leaders in the meet-up last night. A way to shape my year into what my deeper self needs me to learn, do and grow. Should be fun and informative.
2016: A Year to Tap The Creative in Me. Honoring my deepest self so that I can better in and for the world.
A Company Exodus
Last night was an emotional evening with friends. Many expressed their feelings openly. It was a time to share experiences and individual truths relating to the exodus. And, there were a few people there last night which continue to work for Company XYZ, and are listening and witnessing the deep emotional scars of those that left. And, sharing the continued underlying problems of Company XYZ. I feel for them as they seek to continue to work there with dignity in their hard work and hope for their own futures. I think about all that went wrong and continues to go wrong with that place. And the saddest part is that everyone (for the most part) that left, had a strong connection with the place, in many cases because of the vision of the work. In our business, when you find a niche or market that fuels you with passion and purpose, it’s an amazing thing. I had that with Company XYZ. When I entered their doors as a new employee, I rejoiced at my good fortune. This was going to be it. I was surrounded by fellow lovers of a specific geographic location that warmed my heart, I would be helping create dreams of custom itineraries for the independent traveler throughout the countries of this glorious region. Finally, instead of being a travel agent that could offer the entire globe, I was now dialing down to a specific place on the planet which had my heart singing. And, I would be traveling to this collection of countries myself to network with our ground handlers, guides, business partners in travel to develop our products of hotels, sightseeing, transportation and more. I thought I had landed my dream job. I could use my language skills for specific countries relating to my mother’s homeland. And, for the first few years I felt I had made the right decision. The perfect decision.
However, underneath the joy there was also doubt as I watched strong personalities bump heads and saw decisions made that in my view negatively impacted the company; but then, what did I know, I was merely a worker bee. They must know what they are doing, right? I glanced occasionally at my paltry bank account balance and justified my poor financial status in life to the fact that – after all, I work in travel. Everyone in the industry knows that travel doesn’t pay. If I had wanted money, I should have chosen another field; like law, or medicine. I chose travel because, honestly, I love languages and exploring the globe. In this field, my bank account has been pathetic for most of my career, particularly someone in my age bracket. The truth is it’s an accepted standard in the industry which makes living single almost impossible without some creativity in sourcing options. What I didn’t know at the time was that this didn’t have to be the case. During those years of meager income, I benefited from staying in the most luxurious places in the world and continue to enjoy the most high level services just about everywhere I go. All on someone else’s dime. So, to properly evaluate my income, I need to remember to add what those items would cost to my annual figures. One year, a ten night trip through Norway staying mostly at historic deluxe inns owned by families that have been running the place for generations; sitting on my balcony with the fjord view. Of course, I would never have the money to personally pay for those ultra luxurious trips while working in this business, but the more that I sell certain things, the better chance at a familiarization excursion to test those services out myself; whether paid by my company or paid by the supplier itself. If paid by the company, the trips cost minimally as the suppliers organize these trips to showcase their offerings for our clients. It’s a perk, for sure. I don’t have to save up for a trip, I just wait for the glorious announcements of which suppliers are sponsoring the upcoming FAMS, and then learn who in the office gets which cherry assignment. Usually, these occur once or twice a year and in the fall season, when things slow down a bit for the average agency and certain destinations.
So what happened at Company XYZ?
So many abuses of power and many moments of poor leadership in general. When almost half the staff exits in one year, the management must look at their practices and consider what they may have done to contribute to the discontent. Was it wages? Poor direction? Financial struggles? Overall disrespect and disregard for the work produced by its workers? Common blatant overuse of criticism and infrequent praise. In Company XYZ’s case, all of that and so much more. Management’s recurring poor decisions in every aspect of running the business left the workers feeling devalued and irrelevant. At the end of my tenure there, I recall sitting at my desk wearing fingerless gloves and a billowing scarf around my neck to take the chill off my body as I tried to type on my computer; the recent move the summer before had been into an old building in a tiny strip mall that backed up against a motel known for being both a whore house and a narcotics headquarters for the local druggies. But our general manager moved us to this location because, I am sure, it was cheaper than the alternatives. So there we were freezing because of poor insulation and not permitted to use too many space heaters at once because it would overload the circuit breaker. Hun? This is where you work?
That summer move was a nightmare as they smooshed 10 of the staff in one department into a small walk in closet like space with industrial folding tables and folding chairs, wires coming out of the ceiling and landing behind our computers so that we could plug in. No filtered water, just the bathroom sink so we filtered our water by hand for coffee using one of those tiny pods. This placed into question for me each day, how sanitary is this? The thought going through my head was, maybe I am making too much of this. The management tried to encourage by suggesting how great the space would be once finished next door. The construction project took several months. While we attempted to discourage in person client visits, and suggested we were not available for walk in services, some clients would pop in anyway to drop of payments for their trips or to talk to our consultants. Seeing them standing in the doorway of our closet made me wonder, how can they have confidence when they see how our working conditions look? And even if the new space was meant to be great- how could they not see the questionable locale? It was embarrassing. But we were cheerful, we’re moving- pardon our mess. When the move was completed, we had another surprise from management- all those heavy filing cabinets in the back storage of the temporary space- yea, those; they shall be moved by staff. No moving company. There I was with two damaged arms from previous injuries, being asked to buck up and move heavy furnishings from one space to another, while upper management GM is in Belgium sipping a brew with her hubby. Yes- she opted to take a vacation during the worst part of the move. And while it might be true that her trip had been scheduled earlier in the year, prior to the anticipated move- how ultra convenient for her that her trip fell in the busiest season of our business and during the worst part of the move. Management was missing from that move and after several hours of heavy labor, I sat in a chair talking to myself in my head- this is the ultimate in horrible management. No regard whatsoever. Complete and utter nonsense and so unprofessional. Workman’s comp anyone? This is not acceptable. And, they are clueless on how to handle staff.
After the move, it was the financial strains that sealed my decision later in the year. Supplier bills were not being paid and it was making it highly uncomfortable to reach out to these same suppliers now to request future bookings for our clients; whether hotels, guides, luggage services or transport. How can I ask a supplier to confirm a booking for me when we had not paid them for bookings from five months ago? And our fears and concerns are batted away and a legitimizing comment is made with venom if we questioned it.
So I was the first in the domino effect. When my opportunity came with a strong agency, financially at the top of their game, with solid opportunities for growth and an increase in pay my first year that would be infuse hope that the poverty standards of a travel agent did not have to be my own reality. This new company was suggesting incentives and pay opportunities that would reward my efforts. I would have been an idiot to say no. So, I said yes. And, I left. And then, within a year- 9 are gone from Company XYZ; and they blame us. They hate us. They unfriendly us on FB. They speak perhaps poorly of us and our betrayal. To me, the betrayal was theirs. They either didn’t care, or if they cared- they were too proud to do anything positive to change the current mess. And, the place continues to struggle. And, my heart goes out to it, because deep down, I loved Company XYZ, and wanted it to be my final stop on the career track.
Now, a year later, I am thriving. My productivity at new Company ABC is right on track. And, it feel good. It feels good mostly to be acknowledged as being a positive contributor, of receiving praise for efforts well done. For being paid fairly. And, for knowing that my future has hope and promise.
Dear Uncle
Dear Uncle Kjell,
I must preface this letter with an important request: please do not share this letter with anyone other than Tante Siri. I respect that in a marital partnership, secrets are devastating so I do not wish for you to have to carry a burden of secrecy between yourself and your wife. However, I do hope you can keep this letter confidential otherwise. My mother knows I am writing a letter, but she does not know the contents of this letter. She only knows that I am writing to you to urge you to reach out to your brother in love. The rest of this letter is private, with details I have kept hidden for decades. Thank you, Uncle.
I have been struggling with the idea of this letter ever since I heard the news that you and Per are no longer talking. My struggle comes from a conflict between minding my own business (after all what do I know about it all- probably very little … if nothing), and the pull inside my soul that urges me to speak up (I believe this is the spirit of God urging me to say something to you to help you). Saying nothing to you would mean keeping things safe. Saying nothing carries little risk for me. Saying nothing carries a tremendous burden, because saying nothing is the coward’s way out. Saying nothing results in my ability to carry on as if nothing is happening. I have lived with the burden of saying nothing about certain things that happened in my own life, surrounding my brother, for about 37 years. Saying nothing got him killed. And now, all these years later, I have no brother alive; I am an only child living out my days supporting my parents (and they support me). But I have lived with regret most of my life.
Speaking up, voicing concern, vocalizing the perspective that lies within- that is scary. My mind reels as I consider all of the possible reactions and the fallout from this letter. Some possibilities include: your anger, your disdain for my meddling, and your wrath on my mother (this the worst of all fears). I have witnessed parts of your harbored anger or resentment towards people in your life (recalling various conversations over the years). I recall your disdain for my father at your perception that he, in his old age, was careless of others (the ice cream incident in your village), and it is a bit scary to me. My Dad has really had no money of his own for many years (Mom manages everything). With his illnesses and vulnerabilities, Mom gives him a small allowance, that’s it. So he has become used to not having money in his pockets- so his ice cream purchase that day which was just for him- was likely because he only had money to cover his own ice cream. While their stay with you should have resulted in him “springing” for everyone’s ice cream, to harbor ill will towards him and label him stingy for this action, is misguided. You wouldn’t have known that, but your judgment of him which you voiced to me- haunts me to this day. In his old age, certain behaviors have changed- they are more childlike; something I have become accustomed to witnessing and also accustomed to overlooking. For some years now, he has changed- and in some ways, I see a regression. And, it’s not something I disrespect but rather, something that I have compassion for- it shifts something in me to see him in this way, so different from the strong and marvelous personality of his youth. I don’t want you to be mad at me for mentioning these things, I only bring them up to tell you that over the years, your words have hurt others. Your insensitivity has hurt others. You have a strong generous side, and you also have a strong opinion and judgment side. We all want to be loved, accepted, encouraged, cared for and we certainly don’t want to be discarded.
Over the years, I have found that people have a tendency to judge others. I am not immune, I do not suggest that I am free of this tendency. In fact, because of my own judgments, I recognize when folks around me exact judgment on others. And, this judgment can result in a strict penalty for behavior unbecoming. We are not generally a merciful society. We do not love one another. We look out only for our own interests. This is the godless society, the one that has not a care for the other soul but more interest in self-preservation. What’s in it for me?
My heart broke when I heard about your reaction to your brother’s behavior. I am not certain of the details of the incident, and I know that likely, this one incident was not the only sin he may have committed in your world. I do know that you are a very wealthy man now. That money is king in your life. And, that something occurred which was based in a money transaction. And this transaction has led you to mistrust him and feel betrayed by him. This decision you have made to eliminate him from your life is a decision likely made because of buildup. Perceptions and irritations over the years have indicated to you that his behavior and perhaps personality is in conflict with yours. Being around him is unpleasant. It brings you stress and strain. It is uncomfortable.
I know a little bit about this discomfort. I have had to forgive myself and my brother for several years of discomfort that I experienced with him which I held secret until one day, I cursed him, I told him to bugger off and leave me alone. And he did just that. He took my mother’s car keys and with his cousin, they headed out for a joy ride. And, Joseph died. What was so bothersome about his behavior that led me to scream such obscenities at him? What could have possibly been so horrible that I used such strong language to tell him to go? For a couple of years, there was sexual abuse going on. It started innocently enough as one of those games certain children play which Joseph started: you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. This was generally done with cousins around so it was a group thing. Later, Joseph threatened – show me yours because now you are a whore. You have to show me yours. He had paid me a dollar, so he said that now… I was a prostitute. I had taken money for sex. I was 11 years old. Literally, this went on for about two years. In my room, in the car (parents in front seat) he would taunt me. Open his fly and look at me. He would come in to my room at night, sometimes drunk and want to explore. He was always getting into trouble, I was the good girl. So I let him. And I hated him. And I hated me. On May 13, 1979, we had family over at our house for Mother’s Day weekend, and once again, Joseph started the game in the basement with the cousins. He was trying to get me paired up with my cousin Calvin. He laughed that he was my pimp. He mocked me. And, I had enough. My biggest mistake was that I had never told my parents. And, I screamed at him. And I cried. And he left. And, he died.
I have forgiven Joseph long ago- he was only a child himself. I have forgiven me- I was only a child. It took me a long time to get to a place of forgiveness. When I was 16, I tried to kill myself with pills because I couldn’t handle that I turned 16 and Joseph didn’t. I was rushed to the hospital, I went to counseling for a while, and they never heard my story, because I wouldn’t tell it to the counselor. I was too ashamed of what had happened. I felt I had killed my brother because I had kept silent. Then, since counseling was not really working, and it was expensive, my parents asked me: are you getting anything out of this? I said no. So, it was back to normal life – as normal as it could be. And, my life since then has been deeply affected by this tragedy. I have not had a normal life in the sense that 1978-1979 has affected my perspective on intimacy and on trust. And, now perhaps I have shared too much, and even more important, this letter is not about me. I bring it up only because it is about siblings. It is about forgiveness and bearing with the sins of our blood relatives. It’s about providing grace and mercy and not shutting each other out.
What sin has Per done that is so grave that you can’t reach out to your own brother and forgive him? What has he done that is so horrible, that you can’t hold out an olive branch and say to him: “it’s ok, let’s reconnect?” – that you can’t wrap your arms around him and say, “never mind- let’s get passed this?” Can you not live with the idea that: while you don’t maybe like him very much, you must love him? You have a brother. He is a man who is flawed (as are we all). You are flawed. He is flawed. I am flawed. We all need forgiveness, we all need love and we need each other. We need forgiveness and mercy – not isolation.
Imagine if on this planet, people would forgive each other. That they would reach out in love and mercy to one another and live peacefully together. No war. No murder. No hell on earth.
I think about God in all of this. I know that you don’t necessarily believe in Jesus and God literally. Nor that you might speak with him regularly in prayer (how odd would that be? To actually talk to a God that is not physically present?). But I do think about God. Because he provided these amazing stories in his book- the bible. Stories of deception and reconciliation. Stories of hate and love. Stories of loss and gain. Examples on how we are to live our lives if we are to live them victoriously and pleasing in His eyes. I think of the story of Joseph and his brothers. How they sold him into slavery and abandoned him. How in his slavery and in the many struggles, he maintained his love for his brothers even though they had betrayed him. And, how he showed that love to them later in mercy … when he became a powerful man – he forgave them, and he loved them. This story is found in Genesis 37.
God gave his son Jesus – who suffered and died on the cross, so that all sinners (me and everyone in this world) could be saved. His death on the cross saves me because it prevents me from being separated from God for all eternity. His love for me in sending his only son is so merciful and his forgiveness so undeserved by me, but he did this for all humanity. If God can forgive me in this way, through the suffering and sacrifice of his son for me, and Jesus- suffering as he did (God incarnate) … how then can I not forgive others for their minor sins against me? I must show mercy, I must give my love freely to others. I am obligated to show grace (grace = undeserved favor).
I hope you receive this letter well. That you are not angry with me. That you can see that I am concerned about you and Per out of a deep love. I hope you can find a way to restore your connection with Per. You don’t have to be best friends. It shouldn’t be fake. But that you can love him as your brother. To honor him as your parents would want you to honor him. To take care for him even when it seems he is unworthy of that care. To put aside your own needs in favor of him. He lost his daughter recently- she rejected him. Now he loses his brother. His sister is in America. It’s tragic. It is not right. And, it’s not too late to right this wrong.
With love and care for you and our family.
Your niece,
Solveig
Sugar is my enemy
Today is the first day of my new program. Yes, you heard it. Another program! While I had been attempting to resist the New Year’s Resolution Promises this year, the truth is that the bothersome symptoms of the past few years and the ever present list of groans I render on many journal pages suggests that absolutely- something must change. Recently, on a Facebook newsfeed scroll when I was attempting to catch up on all those vitally important posts I had missed, I came across this advert for a solution to the fatigue, aches and pains, congestion and weight gain dilemma. They are rampant on Facebook, these ads that lure you to click as they hope that you will succumb to buying their prescribed methods of health salvation. This time, I did click. There was something about this particular ad that had me interested. In hindsight, I am not sure exactly what that point of draw was, but nevertheless, there I was watching the video. After about twenty seconds, I was waiting to receive that sudden stop in the feed of information which sometimes occurs, you know, the time that they stop the production to let you know that for only $29.99 you too can get this information in the form of a book, or subscription or some other formulaic fashion. But this time, that did not happen. The doctor providing the information kept on presenting his news and he was doing this with this artist’s hand, a sharpie and a blank page which he kept filling with cartoon renderings of the sum situation most face with their bodies these days, overweight, overtired, overwhelmed and guilt ridden. This doctor was suggesting it was not my fault, and that there were four things I should avoid and only one thing I should do to regain my gut health. I was intrigued. And, I kept watching and listening to his presentation. The long and short of it is that I need to avoid sugar in all its forms, white flour (it turns into sugar), alcohol (it turns into sugar), and coffee (only because of the sugar most add); and then, I must add a good probiotic. This has to do with good bacteria and bad bacteria in my gut. Bad bacteria multiply exponentially when exposed to sugar. My gut health needs to be 80% Good Bacteria and only 20% Bad Bacteria. Generally speaking, people with illnesses related to the gut have that percentage flipped upside down.
For the probiotic, it cannot be just any probiotic, the doc suggests I buy their probiotic. Fortunately, the doc shared a couple of important criteria on the probiotics that work vs. the ones that do little good. First, my probiotic must have at least 15 billion CFU (colony forming unit) and that also has a minimum of 5-7 strains of good bacteria. It has to do with restoring gut health. This information is well received; I had purchased a great probiotic about a month ago, still in the refrigerator because it is a RAW probiotic from the health food store and it contains 85 billion CFU and 39 strains. At the conclusion of the video, the doctor suggests that he and a partner have created the best probiotic on the market and for a low introductory offer, purchase within 24 hours, click here and you can have this amazing probiotic for only $39.99 – normally it costs $69.99 for a one month supply. Yea, no. Not for me, I have my probiotic and I am just fine with it, and it costs $36.99 a month and that is about the topper of my budget on probiotics. Having spent thousands of dollars on weight loss and health over the years, I am weary of anyone suggesting they want my money so that I can be thin and healthy. I am grateful he gave me the information without charging me for it and surmise that enough people will click and buy. So, I sign off.
And, I begin my planning. No white flour. Only 100% whole grains. 100% free of white flour. Time to do some google searching, and I find a plethora of sites that address the white flour elimination strategy, and how to replace with a diet that consists of 100% whole grains. I need a better idea of what that means, what exactly is a whole grain? I know that white flour is wheat that has not been stripped of its nutrition. A few sites point me in new directions. Ezekiel products are good. I can enjoy the Wasa Crispbreads that I normally enjoy except make sure they are sourdough rye versions. Bring whole grains into my life- in the form of whole wheat (make sure it is 100% whole wheat), brown rice, barley, amaranth, buckwheat, rye, quinoa, oats, wild rice, teff and millet. Ok. That sounds easy enough. It’s not like they are not giving me some choices. And, while the white flour is more delicious to my tongue these days, perhaps my taste buds will in time rejoice at a spoonful of buckwheat. These days, there are tons of resources and on-line recipes to get me started. The part of me that is very serious about this is the part of me that has been suffering for years with sinus infections, yeast infections, fatigue and weight gain. And, not just the weight gain but a body that feels bloated and cramping and uncomfortable most days. So, this is not just about working towards being a bikini babe, which by the way is not my goal. But, working towards a life of health and energy that will take me through the next fifty years in a more vibrant and vital way. I want to feel good. Bottom line. And, I want to understand why I have been uncomfortable and dissatisfied with life. So, here I go.
This morning, I prepared some foods for work- celery, apple, Greek Yogurt; for lunch, I pack some Ham and Muenster Cheese. To this, I decide that I will stop at the co-op near my workplace to pick up some items – just a few to get me started. I take my probiotic before I head out the door. At Lakewinds, I find and purchase a box of Ezekiel 4:9 Almond Sprouted Grain Crunchy Cereal to sprinkle over my Greek yogurt for breakfast. I also pick up a loaf of Dave’s Killer Bread which is organic and contains 21 Who Grains and Seeds- yum? Not sure yet, but willing to try it. And, I also buy one box (or perhaps best described as a sleeve) of Wasa Sourdough Rye Crispbread. This will go nice with my ham and cheese. I will bring these home tonight to have on hand. I will be packing lunches this week. I am committed to packing my lunch each day – this will help me control my ingredients and help my wallet. Bonus.
So, it’s not New Year’s yet- so this feels good, it’s not a decision I am making just to have something to declare at midnight at the end of this year. Instead, I look forward to my Constant Comment spice tea later on- avoid the coffee because I know the doc was right, I am not a black coffee drinker, mine generally must have the cream and the sugar. So, avoiding things that trigger a need for supplemental sweet, is best. I will take this new health plan one step at a time and hope that by my 50th birthday in April, I will be on a track towards health. No huge goals set for now. I am not dangling a number that I must lose on the scale. My goal is health, energy and avoiding those bothersome infections. Wish me luck!
Podcasts – voices and stories
For a few years now, I have subscribed to various podcasts. It’s interesting to me how few people in my daily life understand what I am referring to when I share with them that I listen to podcasts. For me, it’s a regular part of most days, particularly a regular feature of my daily commute. My current list of podcasts is about a half a dozen long and includes spiritual matters with Pray As You Go (a Jesuit daily prayer exercise that I find soothing, thoughtful and helps me enter the day with a renewed gratitude and peace). There are three podcasts that are all about knitting, in various forms. The first two are more traditional in that they feature knitting tips, what’s on the podcasters needles, a fiber artist guest speaker and in one case, there can be some added Piper highlights as the podcaster is a bagpiper: Knitting Pipeline. I really enjoy this one- her cast of characters tends to be the same so one gets to know her regular co-podcaster voices. Then there is Curious Handmades, an Australian gal shares her knitting universe with the rest of us and again features special projects she is working on and key guests from the knitting community. These two are likely a big puzzle for non-knitters, after all how can it be interesting to listen to someone talk about knitting. If you are at least more than an ultra beginner, the sessions offer insights into knitting challenges, provides inspiration with new projects and can also offer tips on which yarns (wool, alpaca, cashmere or should I use silk?) are best for certain projects. Another knitting podcast I enjoy is called Teaching Your Brain To Knit; this one is focused on the mental aspects and benefits of knitting. This could be meditation, memory, well being and more. This last podcast is hosted by two gals in the Northwest- they also talk about their geographic location and highlight their own projects as well. So one gets to know these personalities and at times, instead of local radio, I reach for the podcast to accompany me on my drives between home and work.
Depending on the season, that ride can take anywhere from a half hour to an hour an a half! In the last six months, I have added two podcasts that have been a great balance to the knitting and spiritual. These are basically radio journalism. Stories- true stories. The first one is called The Lapse, and the host offers these 20-30 minute episodes that are stories brought from real lives. He invites people to write in about their stories and then he creates the broadcast with their voices, throws in sound effects and brings interesting perspectives about the human condition to the air waves. These have been thought provoking as well as humorous in some cases; definitely mind opening.
I leave the best for last. A new discovery called Serial. This podcast is a weekly series delving into one important story. They are only on their second story- which drills down into the facts and situations surrounding Bowe Bergdahl. This is their second “season” or perhaps best called “series” . The producers of the show have uploaded two episodes so far covering Bowe Bergdahl and the story; they are featured weekly on Fridays. The episodes go into depth as the host Sarah Koenig, from NPR’s This American Life, explores questions of: what happened, how, why… how did it affect his fellow platoon mates, his family and the controversy it drew with his release and swap for the 5 Taliban detainees. Before the Bowe story, I listened to 12 episodes of the story behind Adnan Syed, a seventeen year old Baltimore high school student who has served 15 years so far of his sentence for being convicted of murdering an ex-girlfriend. Those episodes went through a process of interviewing a large volume of people surrounding the case, his sister who believe in his complete innocence, class mates, teachers, expert law sources and Adnan himself. Sarah Koenig, the host of the show, has this soothing intellectual voice, as one might hear in France “Sympatique”; meaning, she sounds like a friend – a smart friend, that is helping to open up the conversation again about this young man behind bars, is he guilty? Was it Muslim racial profiling? Does he have it him? Is he a pathological person? Is he too kind and too good to have done anything so heinous? The podcast, literally, casts new light on the situation and Adnan is up for a retrial in February 2016.
Podcasts, an extension of talk radio with the benefit of it being on demand, allowing one to connect with stories and voices. Opening a window for thought provoking analysis. Or, focus on a simple prayer for the day, a meditation with the odd cast on and knit two together, a yarn over discussion. It’s a whole different world.
Another debate… any closer?
Politically correct? Political differences of opinion? Ignorance is bliss?
Saying much about nothing. That’s the reaction I have when I hear the sound bites that came out of the Republican Debate last night. Mostly, listening to a CNN news reporter trying to capture the essence of how Trump feels things went, one hears things like: “it was an elegant debate, the other candidates were elegant, I had a fun time.” No real substance take away there. Ok, I am glad he had fun? I must read the transcript of the debate before I can truly weigh in on this event. One thing I come away with is both sides of the aisle are not quite sure what to make of Trump. And, in my circle of friends, I have those that say they will move to another country if he’s elected, while the other says she’s voting for him. Both women offer opinions I value and indeed, cherish.
What strikes me is that what we’re talking about here and considering here is the future president of the United States of America. Did you hear that? The leader of the United States of America. We’re considering who will be standing there in charge if and when we have a next 9/11. The pundits and the round tables don’t offer much more insight for me. On the left side, we have the continual repeat dialogue that Republicans are fear mongering. Really? The Republicans are fear mongering? Have the Democrats not been paing attention to the plethora of violent acts in the name of Islam for which I must insert are coming from those bad guy Muslims… not the good guy Muslims? Do they have such a dim view of facts that they don’t get that ISIS has been recruiting in an intelligent way – attracting disenchanted and disenfranchised Muslim youths to battle and die on their behalf and that these recruits are coming from our own back yards? What would it take for their heads to come out of the sand? Perhaps they don’t have a recollection of how things were back during the first two World Wars because they have decided to sweep those events under the carpet; screw learning from history. Who needs that crap. It’s old news. Let’s just talk smart until it goes away.
Nevertheless, I see a story that unfolded in the late 1930s that screams: open your eyes, do something now or you’ll regret an invasion that will last for years and cost the lives of millions. In that instance, there was a specific enemy that was geographically identifiable. Now, the enemy is scattered across the globe, found on most continents and is growing exponentially.
That same story includes people that I hold dear mostly on the side of being victim to Hitler’s horror; but I also know other victims, those that had family members conscripted into the Nazi army- young men who didn’t have a choice. I think of my own brother at the age of 16- what would he have done at that young age if he was forced to fight for Hitler? Would he have been able to stand up and say no – and face death for speaking out?
In these present times, we need to have a leader who knows how to talk nice. We need a leader who can make people feel warm and fuzzy. We need a leader who makes other countries like us better. We need a leader that will make us diplomatically viable. Oh, wait, we had one of those for two terms… look where it got us! Yay, we are popular (but are we?). Yay, we have a leader who has the speech prowess of one of the best. We can all smile at each other after one of his speeches and hug ourselves because, wow that was comforting, he is so good.
Is that what we need? Or do we need someone who can kick some royal “a double snakes”?
I am looking for a leader that will make me feel safe, or at least safer. Someone skilled in this department- not just a talker. I don’t need lies on what you are going to do only to figure out once in office you don’t have the power to act. Someone unafraid of being unpopular but determined to be effective. I wonder who that will be? Jury is still out.
A Lullaby For Sofie 