CATS! A Visit to the Dunn County Humane Society

 

We try to take some supplies over to the shelter at least once a year. These are some of the beautiful cats we met today when we stopped in with a bag of dog food and a new blanket for the shelter. I wish we could have taken them all home. They were really fun to visit with. I am hoping that by sharing these pictures, maybe someone I know will adopt one.

 

The website has more information and more pictures. They appear to be running a special if you get in there before the end of December. http://www.dunncountyhumanesociety.org/

 

Darby Tillis

In 2008, I met Darby Tillis. I saw him on the side of the road. He was a complete stranger. The summer heat was intense. He was wearing all black. He had a velvet fez on his head. Sweat was pouring down the side of his face. I saw the large gold cross that he was wearing on a large chain on his chest and felt compelled to offer him a ride to wherever he was going. At first, he declined. I drove around the block and felt relieved that whatever called me to offer a stranger a ride while my children slept in car seats in the back of the car might be satisfied with the thought that I tried. However, the nagging pull at my heart to ask again could not be ignored. I drove back and asked him again. I said, "I think this is a God thing."

So Darby agreed. He needed a ride to the South Side of Chicago. I drove him.

Some important things to realize when I tell you this: I get lost easily. I don't like to take long drives. I am not familiar with the South Side. I went anyway. I wasn't afraid.

Darby seemed very nervous. He told me later that he was concerned that maybe somebody was trying to mess with him. He thought it was pretty strange for a white lady to insist on giving him a ride in her car to wherever he needed to go. He thought maybe it was a set up.

I asked him about himself and he told me that he was scheduled to do a public speaking engagement and if I hadn't stopped--he was going to have to miss the event because the bus didn't arrive on time. We drove through downtown and I pointed to a building where my husband used to work in an office with another lawyer. He asked me, "Does he know Fat Freddie?" I said, "Yes, that's his mentor." He shook his head and laughed. He pointed and said, "I used to live there. Do you know that building?" I said, "No." He told me that's where they keep prisoners that my husband and Fred Cohn would visit and work to represent. He told me he was on death row for 17 years. I felt my palms get very cold and damp. I tried to stay cool. I just said, "I would like to know more about that."

He told me that many years before DNA evidence, he was targeted as a possible suspect in a murder-robbery case. He said that he did not do the actual crime, but he may have been headed toward that kind of a life. He was an angry young man. He asked me, "Do you know what it is like to have real anger in your heart?" I said that I believed I did. My mother and her boyfriend who was also a Catholic priest used, lied to and manipulated me a lot when I was growing up in ways that really hurt me and required a lot of therapy to overcome. He said, "Well, maybe God had a plan for us today. Maybe this was no accidental meeting. Maybe it was divine intervention." I know a lot of people find that kind of talk off-putting--but I don't. I thought he was on to something. Not on something.

The rest of his story was about the Innocence Project. If you are pro-life from conception to the grave--that's important. He was prepared to die for a crime he didn't commit. God took his anger and turned it into compassion for others. He spent his time in prayer and in the study of the Bible. Guards and other inmates saw a change in him. The students at Northwestern University and lawyers sympathetic to the stories of death row inmates who claimed innocence found evidence that cleared Darby of all ties to the case that put him in jail. This work led to Darby's exoneration.

Darby helped my life by sharing his story with me that day and praying with me as we drove in the car--asking for God's healing of my anger over things I didn't deserve, can't change and don't understand. I knew God heard our prayers. I felt a lot of the burden lift. More importantly, I knew a larger work was underway. I knew that God had a purpose in mind for Charlie (my husband) in working with Darby.

Later, he and my husband met and worked together to help a few people that Darby knew who needed legal advice and who were innocent receive good legal counsel. I happened to drive past Darby another time when he was changing the tire on a vehicle on the side of the road. I offered help but he had it covered.

I only met Darby Tillis a few times after that because we moved away the next year. I am glad he let me take him to his speaking engagement and look forward to meeting him again in heaven when my time comes.

Success is counted sweetest (112) by Emily Dickinson : The Poetry Foundation

Success is counted sweetest (112) by Emily Dickinson : The Poetry Foundation



Poem for today.

Mary, Undoer of Knots

Sassoferrato's, The Virgin In Prayer with her cloak painted in ultramarine.

A few months ago, I went to a parish meeting about prayer and was given a little card with a painting of Mary on one side and a Prayer to Our Lady Undoer of Knots on the other. The painting that was on the prayer card is not the same as the one I found online. Both are beautiful. I have prayed the prayer a few times and found it very helpful. For many years, I didn't want to think of Mary so much because I had a fear that placing too much emphasis on her in my thoughts was like making an idol of her. I suppose the same could be said of any person you have met or not met. For those who appreciate the kind of prayer that follows, I am providing the prayer in full as it was given to me:

Virgin Mary, Mother of Fair Love, Mother who never abandons a child in need, Mother whose hands never cease to work for Her children because they are moved by the Divine Love and Infinite Mercy that exists in Your heart, turn your compassionate eyes toward me and see the snarl of knots that exist in my life. You know just how much despair and pain they cause me. You know how paralyzed I am by them.

Mary, Mother to whom has given the charge of undoing the knots in the life of Your children, I place the ribbon of my life into Your hands.

No one, not even the Evil One himself can take it away from Your merciful hands.

In Your hands, no knot can remain undone. Powerful Mother, by your grace and intercession with Your Son Jesus, my savior, receive today this "knot" (specify it if possible...).

I beg You to undo it now and forever for the glory of God. You are my hope.

You are the sole consolation that God gives me, {and at this point I always interject that well, the Bible says Jesus gave us the Holy Spirit as a consolation--not a small one, either}, You are a fortress for my weakness, the healing of my miseries and my deliverance from all that keeps me from Christ.

Hear my plea.

Keep me, guide me and protect me. You are my only safe refuge. {Well, you know...and also Jesus, of course.}

Our Lady Undoer of Knots, pray for me! Amen.

stuff white girls say

This picture is from a Corretta Scott King Award winning book. I think it is called, "Ellington was not a street." I have to go back to the website to double check.

Made me think of my little 7 year old who went to science camp last week in Minnesota. She came running to the car to greet me after the first day and said, "I made new friends. Three brown skins and some white ones." Ever since she was a baby, she has preferred brown skinned dolls and when she learned to talk she would ask, "When do I get to wear the brown skin?" That didn't stop me from feeling the immediate urge to say, "Shh!" so that nobody would hear her.

It wasn't meant in any offensive way. My 9 year old used to name other children by the color of shirt they were wearing when she was a highly verbal toddler. "Pink is goin a find the potty. Red is on the slide, Mommy. That red kid, he goin a go to the swings now. Now I can go on the slide. Watch, Mommy."

Not sure that has anything to do with anything--but I thought it was something. Where we live now, there are not many variations of skin or even hair or eye color in the classroom or on the playground. Most people are blonde and fair skinned. For my daughter, meeting people who didn't look the same was interesting and noteworthy. It was the first thing she wanted to tell me about when she ran to the car.

I was stuck without much to say about why I told her to, "Shh!" except that we just don't talk about people's skin. Kind of sad--because she wanted to say how beautiful it was to her.

Love and Mercy and Laundry

Some days the biggest act of mercy I am required to provide to anyone is when I don't say anything about how my husband tries to help me with the laundry by leaving it half dry in a basket unfolded without remembering that (if left that way) the clothes will wrinkle and need to be washed again to straighten out. I'm pretty sure that I am extremely fortunate in that my life provides me with many more reasons to see where I am loved than where I need to show mercy toward the people I share day to day interactions with--and I am deeply grateful for that. I know I am loved. I know I am blessed.

I am grateful that after a storm there is the smell of rain. Rainbows appear before the puddles dry up. It has been a long time since my life felt like one long rainstorm. Last week, when I went in to St. Paul, MN and attended mass at the cathedral, I felt the love and mercy of God pouring down on me through the light flooding through the windows in the dome above as I walked up for communion. It was a strange feeling, because I spent the whole summer avoiding God and not going to mass. I wrote a blog post about how much I was hurt by my mom and a priest and sent it out for anyone to see. {Whether or not this makes me a bad person--I felt like one because it is so deeply ingrained in me that love covers up wrong doing and doesn't expose it. I know I have to fight that--but it takes some brass ones to point your finger at the church or a priest with a rebuke. Even now. Even after so much has been revealed.} When I went back to mass, I didn't feel like I had earned God's attention. I thought I would just slip through the crowd unnoticed like a middle child. Didn't happen. He greeted me like a prodigal.

The next day, my husband and I went to mass in Chippewa Falls at Notre Dame Parish where Monsignor Pierce held mass and said a homily about being open to when you are called to do things you don't feel you have to do or want to do--as perhaps Jesus did when he was asked by the Canaanite woman repeatedly to show mercy to her and hear her request for him to heal her daughter.

{Depiction of a Canaanite woman that once was part of a piece of furniture. Found at the Oriental Museum at the University of Chicago.}

Mons. Pierce spoke about the woman who wouldn't let Jesus alone until he heard her requests. I have felt for years like that person. Like, "Hey, I might be a dog in this scenario--but even the dogs get the crumbs that fall from the table. Please listen, Lord." I feel like Jesus heard me. Something lifted.

This makes me want to show more mercy when I am called to show mercy. I have been shown heaping amounts of mercy. I didn't cause the harm that I describe in earlier blog posts, but in repeating the stories there have been times (despite my good intentions--which are to get to a greater place of understanding and to stop feeling inappropriate shame about things I didn't choose) when I have allowed my pain to create pain in others. In my younger years, I felt entitled to act out in ways I look back on with shame. I don't want that.

The crossroads of mercy and justice and love seem like very dangerous intersections to me. I have been marching on the justice road for a long time. My upper body strength really developed from holding up so many protest signs over the years. My legs are thin from walking far. My feet hurt from traveling.

I'm ready for change. At the same time, I feel like making the turn toward love or mercy is frightening. It is going to require faith. When I think of the story of the prodigal child in the bible, I think of myself (I think of pride in the negative sense.) I have thought of myself as the one who didn't go off with all of the love and support and material possessions given to me and become an drug addict who steals from his family or lies and hits people and then acts like nothing happened. I wasn't the one who decided to manipulate others and use them selfishly for my own advancement as a way of life. I feel proud and a little vain because I had the courage to speak about what seemed unjust. Sure, I may have been set up as the fall guy to take the consequences of being the person who did that...but I had the courage no one else did. I wasn't completely unaware of the cost. I don't often identify with the sibling who demanded (and received) money to go and travel the world only to find himself hungry and envious of pigs but certain that he would be received by his parent with love and forgiveness nonetheless. I don't see myself as the parent who loves the child and wants to receive the child despite what has happened--what has been lost and what has been taken for granted. I kind of resented hearing that story growing up. It made me feel nauseated. I was never considered, "The good kid" in my family. {So that's not how I identified with the older sibling.} I identified with the older child's desire to see things be fair and to be appreciated. So who am I if not that person?

And in thinking through that and taking it to prayer in mass, I received a little nudge in response. I don't know why I didn't hear this news from God many years ago. Maybe I wasn't ready. Maybe I needed to keep holding up my protest signs a little longer. Maybe I'll never be ready to let those go...but I will keep trying and I know that he will keep giving me the courage to do that if I let him.

The message I received was that our families don't always give us what we want or need. God, in his mercy fills in those gaps. He gives us a new identity. I felt that when I was in mass last week on Friday and Saturday (bonus points for me for going twice in one week, right?)...that this was the message God wanted me to carry away and not just keep selfishly but to share with those who need it when I am called to show mercy myself.

For the first time ever, I even considered that I might be wrong in one way about the priest I have long believed to be so harmful to my family. I was exposed to some pretty unusual wickedness. That's certain. Still, he may not have been as strong or as powerful as I believed. I have to believe God is bigger and his love is stronger than the pain I experienced or I won't recover. I have to want to be healed so much that I trust God will take care of the injustice for me. That's not the kind of thing you can tell another person without creating resentment. It has to be something the person realizes God is trying to tell them. I feel like God was trying to tell me that.

I am not writing this blog to further expose or whine about all of the ways that I have been harmed or wronged in life. I am writing to find what God meant for me to learn through the experiences I have lived. That's what I believe he did for me in a quiet way. I'm not sure how I will be asked to show mercy, but I know that refusing will be more difficult after last week.

St. Bernard is quoted as saying, "The prophet does not exempt himself from the general wretchedness, lest he be left out of the mercy too."

I have tried this many times in my life--to leave the past behind. It's like I throw the laundry in and the detergent and take it to the dryer when it is time but forget to fold it and put it away before the wrinkles set in so deeply that I have to rewash. It isn't a one time effort. I have to stay focused on this and not let my attention wander. Maybe somebody I know has been praying for me--because I'm catching on. I'm grateful.

Scrabble

Growing up, Scrabble was a family favorite in my home. I learned a lot from my older siblings and other people who would play Scrabble with me. I remember a few games vividly. I remember learning things about people, like who was willing to cheat and who would never and how much I wanted to understand why.

So in the last few days, my oldest has become really hooked on Scrabble. We have been playing together over and over again. I can do laundry and put away dishes and cook between turns. We can laugh and be silly and try to use words in a sentence to figure out if they are real words. She is nine. She's a great little player. Better than a lot of people who played with me just because I asked when they didn't really didn't care to play.

I won't name names, but there are a few kinds of players who come to mind.

--The 'I won't bend any rules and we have to play with an official dictionary' player. (That's usually me, but I don't play that way with my daughter.)
--The 'I'll teach you some tricks I learned along the way,' player. (That's how I play with my daughter and it is humbling when she wants to play that way back to me...I have to let her help me. Not easy at first, but she is really good.)
--The 'I'm not someone you should turn your back on because I'm probably going to steal letters from the bag or hide them under my leg and slip them in to the bag later or onto the board when you are not looking,' types. (You don't know who they are until you play--but once you know who they are be wary of them in all avenues of life.)
--The 'I'm just passing time and don't believe this game is so hard but holy, crap, now I hate you for making me play this game that makes me feel stupid' players. (Again, hard to know who will be this player in advance, but once you know...do not go there with that person a second time. You will lose that friend.)
--The 'I'm going to wipe you off the floor when I am done with you' player. (Well, they are out there. I don't meet them too often, but they are out there and they aren't very nice people. I would just let them win and let them gloat and move on. That's me.)
--My favorite are the ones who can be described as, 'I am pretty sure we are an even match and I think this is going to be fun' players. I hope that's the kind of player I am raising in my daughter. So far, so good.

If I don't post again soon, it is probably because I am playing more Scrabble.

Nancy Lee DeMoss' current series on Joshua--thumbs up!

Our local Christian radio station has been broadcasting Nancy Lee De Moss' work on the book of Joshua (find at this link: https://www.reviveourhearts.com/ ). I used to listen to her when I lived in Chicago. I have been tuning in again recently.

This am, the message was titled, "Don't Fight the Battle Alone". Made me stop and think of how I have been keeping away from church because I am just so sick of all of the ways that people can be inauthentic in church. The radio program really addressed a lot of the roots of some of these behaviors. Trouble is that the people who need to hear or grow from lessons like this one rarely pay attention to exhortations like this--even when they are framed in the most positive and cheerful and loving ways.

Listening to church on the radio is probably not the best way to serve God--but I am grateful that there is this option. Just a little ironic--I love the radio program that exhorts the listener to not fight the battle alone--but I'm not in any way convinced that I myself need to go back to church where it feels like all of the great teaching you hear when you sit in the pews or in other churches--the plush stadium seats--rarely lines up with what you see in practice.

Over the weekend, I went to the Creighton University retreat center in Griswold, Iowa (near the Nebraska border). My husband was welcomed in to a community of Ignatian Associates. He has been in faith formation for two years in preparation for this past weekend. It was a lovely weekend. I was able to walk in nature where I saw a red-headed woodpecker. I saw fireflies at night with my kids--which was exciting to me because the firefly season is so short and ours was already over back home. Everything about the teaching and the masses really ministered to me. I enjoyed the conversations with people a lot and more than that--I saw how much my husband loved being part of a group that values him and wants to stand by him. We enjoyed s'mores and a bonfire and saw the kids making new friends with other kids whose parents have like minded values.

Since telling my husband when we were dating that I wouldn't marry a non-Christian because we would be unequally yoked and that would cause the marriage to fail...a message he responded to with the sentiment that, "That has to be the worst break up line ever. You're using GOD as a reason to break up with me? That has got to be the lowest thing a person can say." (A conversation that makes us laugh now.) I have seen my husband not only embrace his faith but also give of himself completely over and over again to people in churches. I have seen him devote time and energy that nobody said he has to devote. I have seen him go far beyond what the average person gives to his spiritual 'family'. I have also seen him get used, scoffed at, mocked and disrespected by people of faith and by people who think he is wasting his time because they do not believe in God and never saw him as a guy who would, either.

I have felt that I did him a disservice in asking him to consider seeking faith. I have asked him to stop giving to people who don't appreciate him. This past Spring, we learned that his dad has terminal cancer. My husband went to a priest who has worked closely with my husband on many projects and who knew what my husband put in to the community. The priest said, "I don't expect my parish to be there for bad news like that when it comes in--that's when I go to family and friends." He appeared to be saying, "Look, Charlie--this is a relationship where you give and that's it. You will have to find another place to have more equal or reciprocating relationships." Meanwhile, the pastor and friends from our church in Chicago reached out to Charlie with genuine concern and offers of prayer. They hadn't been in contact with Charlie for years--but the bond was the same as if we never left Chicago. Fortunately, Charlie does have a lot of family and friends who did make that time more bearable for him. They are the ones he is traveling on this journey with now.

The IA's do not appear to be unable to connect to people in the way that the people we were in a parish with for the past few years appear to be toward us. Charlie has found his place where people work to form intentional community. His faith is growing. He has grown tremendously over the past two years. It is ironic that when my faith is nearly out--my husband's is often a full blazing fire. I can't get through valleys like this one without him. At this point, I am spent when it comes to spiritual community. I'm really hoping God will help reignite the fire. I know you can't fight the battle alone. I am sad to send Charlie out without me at his side. I'm just empty. This frightens me because it sounds a lot like being, "unequally yoked".

Link to John O'Keefe documentary on the Congo

https://search.yahoo.com/search;_ylt=A0LEV0_9aOFTdDMALaVXNyoA;_ylc=X1MDMjc2NjY3OQRfcgMyBGJjawM4ZmVrazg1OXNscDBvJTI2YiUzRDQlMjZkJTNEYTdVWDJxbHBZRUp3T3NSZ1IuTnBrcTcxbnJKazNMWWM4VnBkOEEtLSUyNnMlM0RrOSUyNmklM0QyNjBINXZicHBYeGZkR1FQdFpregRmcgN5ZnAtdC0zMTYEZ3ByaWQDcjNhUXJBMEZUeDIxVVdBdW12UjJ2QQRtdGVzdGlkA1NXSU0lM0RTTUU1ODkEbl9yc2x0AzEwBG5fc3VnZwM0BG9yaWdpbgNzZWFyY2gueWFob28uY29tBHBvcwMwBHBxc3RyAwRwcXN0cmwDBHFzdHJsAzIyBHF1ZXJ5A2pvaG4gbydrZWVmZSB2aW1lby5jb20EdF9zdG1wAzE0MDcyODQ4MTI4NTAEdnRlc3RpZANTTUU1ODk-?gprid=r3aQrA0FTx21UWAumvR2vA&pvid=08W9ZDk4LjGHupRBU8rkGAMGNjYuMVPhaP3_2fuI&p=john+o%27keefe+vimeo.com&fr2=sb-top&fr=yfp-t-316

Unfortunately, I have not yet figured out how to copy a link in a less clunky way than this...but I wanted to share this link. I got to see it over the weekend. It is a film made by John O'Keefe at Creighton University. The subject of his film is his recent trip to the Congo where he documented the desperate need that people have who live there for clean water, medical care and food. War and extreme poverty have swept through and wiped out millions of people there in recent years.
Corporations that make parts for our cell phones negotiate with the corrupt government and take from the land while not returning anything to the people. I don't think anyone could watch this and not be moved by the subject matter. Still, it seems that the world has little awareness of its inability to see the suffering there.

a growing movement and a great idea from npr

http://www.npr.org/2014/07/27/335290086/a-growing-movement-to-spread-faith-love-and-clean-laundry?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20140727

Wonder if this idea would work well in Menomonie. Great idea. Click the link to find out more about npr's reporting on how some people are helping those who are in need to gain more access to clean laundry.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Heard myself saying to myself, "Wow, you know, seeing a friend's child very sick and hooked up to tubes made me excessively worried about my own child who also had a virus and who has been dangerously ill in the past." Even in my train of thought I have begun to sound more and more like a Northwest Wisconsiner and less like a Chicagoan, but we're keeping to one train of thought and so I'll go back to the idea of how other people's experiences can trigger post-traumatic stress responses from me when it concerns the health of my children.

I recalled memories of when my baby was born, when some of the people around me behaved strangely. I wanted to look at those memories so that I might have compassion for myself. If those people (whom I have forgiven and did not quarrel with then except to ask them to have more compassion) showed disturbing responses to my child's situation, maybe it was within the realm of normal to be upset and to want to hold my own children closer as a result of seeing another child in distress. I should be clear, when I saw the other person's child suffering--I felt a clenching tightness in my chest and had trouble catching my breathe. I felt tears well up and roll down my face. Seeing the distant friend's child in the hospital with monitors made me imagine both of their fears and remember all of mine at once.

When my daughter was born, other pregnant mothers who were happy to be close for many months as our bellies grew at the same time suddenly behaved as if they were afraid to look at my child. One person didn't want to have to hold her when I asked because my baby seemed too frightening. It wasn't just the normal, "Oh, babies are so fragile. I wouldn't want to drop her." It was more like, "I can't hold that thing. Get it away from me. Now." People were afraid of how tiny she was (born at a hefty 8 pounds, 13 ounces and 21 inches long, but half her size after a few months of surgeries and sepsis and the feeding issues that accompany congenital heart disease in infancy). People were wary of her feeding tube and of the tape on her face. It was awkward when people saw the tape that the physical therapist put on her back to keep her posture strong as she grew. They thought the scars were a lot to take in and to see. I didn't feel any of that was scary at all, but that was the only way that I had ever known her at that point. She came in to the world needing emergency care. She was and always has been beautiful to me. She really is just beautiful. What I think that they were experiencing when they saw us was fear. I think that they were afraid because we all assumed all of us would have healthy babies. We all lived pretty boring and healthy lives. There was not a hint that any one of us would have a baby with a heart condition. If it could happen to me--it might happen to them.

Another friend (back then) became convinced that her child had a major life threatening disease and was often at the hospital on the same days that I was at the hospital. She had her child tested for cystic fibrosis and was in the same hospital but didn't stop in to greet me or my child on the day we were finally (after months) able to bring my baby home. She told me with some hesitation about this later as if I would judge her or make fun of her but I didn't. I got it. I didn't need any help in understanding. There was no CF, but there were things to worry about and I understood why my friend was concerned. At every milestone for the few years we kept in touch after this, that friend seemed to down play what made me very giddy. If I was over the moon about my 9 month old taking a few drops of fluid from a bottle and not needing to be fed by NG tube, I would say so. She would say, "You should give the baby to me. There is no baby on Earth who is able to resist feeding when I hold them." Over and over again, I gave permission to people like this to tell me about all that they imagined they knew when they didn't know. I didn't get angry with them.

So I am trying to give myself the same leeway in this area now because just a few days ago, when I saw another friend's daughter in a photograph (her daughter is about the same age as mine) hooked up to oxygen and in the hospital and being given fluids--while at the same time I heard my daughter reacting in her own way (not a normal kid's way) to having a virus--my mind went right to the worst. In my defense--one of my daughter's lungs is partially damaged and will not recover. She does fine with one and a half lungs. Still, her colds and viruses can be harder for her to recover from. Normally, I remember that she gets sick fast and that it often looks worse than it is and I don't panic. This time, I thought that the heart troubles were back. I thought I was hearing the other shoe drop. Then I got pretty down on myself for having any feelings at all about anything. I have this standard in my head that I am supposed to live up to that is completely unreasonable. I tell myself to stay vigilant against reactions of all kinds so that when or if any real heart problem arises--I will not fail to act immediately and without error. You know, because that is a normal thing to expect of yourself if you're trying to run yourself into the ground as fast as you can.

Something about seeing that particular picture at the same time that I began to notice my own child getting sick triggered something in me that I don't normally experience. I called the nurse line and gave all of the pertinent health history and she referred me to the emergency room. The emergency room referred me to one of its doctors. He did an EKG and said he thought it was an unusual looking reading, but not for someone who manages the interventions that she manages. He placed a call with the cardiologist to be sure and then we went home. Everything was back to normal again. Except that I am trying to stop feeling silly for letting my fear take over like I did--which is why I wrote this out. It has been very helpful for me to hear from other parents who have also experienced times when the fear got to them, too.

1/22/2015 I considered renaming this post something like, "Fear and Loathing in Disneyland" and to make it all about recent vaccine issues. I'm not going to do that. I do fear the consequences of large groups of people choosing not to get vaccines. I loathe the idea of innocent people getting sick when due to other peoples' incomprehensible refusal to believe in science. I'm not in Disneyland, though. I will just sit this one out as much as I am able.

Save the Bats Challenge

A couple of years ago, we put up a bat house in our back yard. It has made this summer a lot less problematic because we don't have as many mosquitos. I was listening to the Larry Meiller show today on my local NPR station. A caller suggested that people challenge neighbors and friends to put up bat houses to save the declining population. White Nose Syndrome is killing off great numbers of bats. So I thought I would go ahead and put up a link or two to that. Hope you will take my word if you don't already have a bat house that they do not land on your head when they fly around at night but they do provide a welcomed relief from mosquitos. It's funny, before I moved to Wisconsin--I thought bats were gross and deer were adorable. Now, I am less fond of deer because they eat all of my favorite things in the garden and leave behind a lot of ticks-- but I love bats. I might be assimilating a little bit. Not completely. I remain a Chicago Bears fan and I would never cheer for the Packers.

Bat Conservation International 'Kids Cave'
http://batcon.org/index.php/all-about-bats/kidz-cave.html

Batcon.org is a good place for all information related to bats that people have been increasingly showing concern about and for people who want to save them.

Larry Meiller Show--you can listen to podcasts of earlier programs and I am guessing that in a couple of days the program I am listening to right now will be available through this link as well.
http://www.wpr.org/programs/larry-meiller-show

Summer Reading 2014

I sometimes find the "mean" critical voice in my head to be funny. I engage it just enough to tell it that it is not the boss of me. It is telling me that nobody cares what I read or what I have enjoyed reading and to keep all of this to myself. Only crazy people need to go around talking about what they are thinking. I don't mean an audible voice that is some sort of hallucination--but rather that inner critic whose bitchy self likes to be heard. So, I'm going to reject that voice and just write out what I have been reading. Call me reckless. I will refer to professionally written, good sources for reviews of these books for people who want more while I add a little bit of my own opinion. Here goes.

Uhm, also...my memory of how to edit things well or to write them out in APA style has been mostly lost. I make spelling mistakes and don't realize I am making them. I'm sorry. That's probably not fun to experience as a reader. Just very eager to share what I have been reading and hope others have similar interests. I am writing as a mom who reads much more than I am writing as anyone who considers herself an expert of anything. I am writing as I manage my home and try to focus most of my attention on parenting and the needs of my family. I wish I could do better. Just writing to keep my mind occupied and because I would love to know more people who like to read books like these:

1. Jumpha Lahiri's, "The Lowland" Wow. I don't think I ever loved a book so much. Great reviews on the book can be found all over the internet. www.nytimes.com/.../books/jhumpa-lahiris...the-lowland.html Her other works are all amazing, but this one stands out even more. Maybe one of the best books I have ever read. I didn't want to finish it, but I read it in two days. It made me look around at the landscape (real and inner) of my life with more attention and greater appreciation.

2. "The Autobiography of Red" by Anne Carson. The book cover and a line from the book appeared in my facebook homepage feed. I liked the cover art. I liked the sentence under the art. As an epigraph to the introduction, Carson quotes Gertrude Stein: "I like the feeling of words doing as they want to do and as they have to do". Anne Carson teaches ancient Greek. I loved Greek mythology in school. I figured it would be a good read. Bought it for the Kindle. It was poetic (written in verse), strange and lovely. www.npr.org/2013/03/12/173612336/...in-anne-carsons-red-doc A very interesting review is also found here: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/17/magazine/the-inscrutable-brilliance-of-anne-carson.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

3. My next favorite summer read of this summer has been a bedtime book for reading to the kids. My daughters are tweens or almost tweens at 7 and 9. (I think 7 is too young to be considered that...but what the 9 year old is enjoying happens to be the same in my family as what the 7 year old does, too.) http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/book/what-do-about-alice#cart/cleanup. "What to do about Alice?" by Barbara Kerley has been a longtime favorite. It has been even more loved this summer because we recently went to South Dakota and saw the monument with Roosevelt's face. As we learn new things about historical figures and places in the American landscape that are of note--the books we have been reading with ties to historical figures take on a new layer of meaning and are even more beloved. My kids love that Alice wanted to eat up the world. They love that she never wanted anyone to think of her in a "poor thing" kind of way because her legs required braces as she grew or because her mother died before she could know her. They love that she made her dad give her piggy back rides and that he equated managing her with a task as difficult as running the country.

4.  Here is a big jump in topic from the others. Malachi Martin's, "Hostage to the Devil". I like stories like Todd Burpo's "Heaven is for Real" and so my husband suggested that I take on this remedy to such fancies. Finding a good review of this one is not easy. Martin writes from a very conservative Catholic position. He gives five lengthy and winding accounts of demonic possession and of the personal background of five Catholic priests who performed exorcisms in each case and of the actual exorcisms in each case. The thing to remember and to glean from these stories (in my opinion) is that they are stories of people whose sins and conditions of possession were redeemed. I think when I look at the stories that way, they lose all gruesome and haunting qualities. We are all sinners. I had lots of notes in the book, but amusingly, my husband took the book away from me so that I would move on to another one.

5. "A Prayer Journal", by Flanner O'Connor. I found this in a local bookstore. I was very excited to see the actual handwriting of the author. The book also provides a typed transcription of the journal. I love her work. I knew I would love her journal. One segment that I appreciated and shared with my husband was when she writes, "Proust was right when he said that only a love which does not satisfy can continue. Two people can remain 'in love' -- a phrase made practically useless by stinking romanticism--only if their common desire for each other unites in a greater desire for God--i.e. they do not become satisfied but more desirous of the supernatural love in union with God." This is a book I have been reading a little bit of at different intervals. A page here. A page there. Probably, (in my mind) the way that she wrote it out for herself. Each time I come to it--it brings me inspiration. http://www.americamagazine.org/prayer-journal-flannery-o%E2%80%99connor

6. I have read this one to a point and put it down and tried to finish it several times. I finished a few more pages this summer. "Lincoln's Melancholy" by Joshua Wolf Shenk. I have to take this one in a little at a time. I love the man I have created in my head from reading history and historical fiction. Sometimes, the thought of the pain he suffered causes me to experience pain and to wonder how the people of his time endured. http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2005/10/lincolns-great-depression/304247/ I love this idea about the topic from page 133, "But looking on the dark side, in some scenarios, is valuable. In the midst of a disaster, the man who loudly proclaims the coming trouble will surely be more valuable than the optimist who sits dreamily admiring the daisies."

7. A very kind friend just gave me a copy of the book by James Martin called, "Jesus, A Pilgrimage". I was at a party and she was given the book as a gift. People asked her if she already had it and she said, "yes" and that it is a great read. We talked about the book a little while and she gave it to me. I will have to think of a way to thank her for that because I felt like I didn't deserve her gift--but she was pretty excited to pass the book along. I was given a copy of his book, "Jesuit Guide" a few years ago. I loved it at the time. I made all kinds of notes and tucked in references to other books and without marking up the copy of the book given to me on loan from our priest, I gave it back to him with all kinds of thoughts the book inspired in me.

Over time, however I lost a little of my love for Martin and the zeal I have for his writing has waned because I followed him on facebook and saw how he loves certain people like the bishop who covered up scandal in Milwaukee and hid enormous amounts of money that was to go to victims of sexual abuse. I asked him on facebook (because he will reply to anyone who posts) some questions about that. He does not go as far as the Pope has gone to assert how wrong these bishops have been over the years. I have begun to read the "Jesus" book, but on page 20, as he describes being on an airplane full of families and wanting to be away from them--I pulled away a little in my mind. I put the book down and can't really explain why I can't make myself return yet. It has only been a couple of days. Maybe I'll return.

8. "Good dog. Stay." by Anna Quindlen. Who doesn't love Anna Quindlen? I was able to read this in an afternoon at the pool. I sat on the edge of the pool and showed the beautiful pictures of the dogs to my kids as I read it (when they turned their attention to me). The book is delightful. Reading it is like spending time with a good and trusted friend who is witty and kind . abcnews.go.com/GMA/Books/Story?id=3882921&page=1

Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading this. I'll keep working on my APA style, spelling and other quirks.

Time and Patience

"The strongest of all warriors are these two—time and patience."
-- Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

Neither Safe, Nor Politic, But Popular and Right

Cowardice asks the question: is it safe? Expediency asks the question: is it politic? Vanity asks the question: is it popular? But conscience asks the question: is it right? And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular – but one must take it simply because it is right. – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

So far, our still new-ish Pope seems to be popular and righteous. Just when I was sure that there was nothing good left to hope for in Catholicism--along comes a Pope to admire. Go figure.

Menomonie disc golf courses gaining more recognition : Dunn County News

Menomonie disc golf courses gaining more recognition : Dunn County News

Not a game I learned to play growing up--but thanks to the school district's summer program, my daughter is learning and loves to play.

Are You Estranged From Someone in Your Family?

Are You Estranged From Someone in Your Family?

I was at the salon the other day getting one of maybe less than 10 pedicures I have ever had in my life. It was kind of a big deal for me just to be there.

The person painting my toenails asked me, "Are you close with your Mom or your mother in law?" I held my breath. It felt like I might cry. I told her the truth. I love them both. I don't know why it is so difficult for me with either of those relationships. I am not alone in having difficulty relating to either person, but that doesn't seem to help. Poor woman. She was probably looking for a simple, "Yes" or "No" response. She probably only expected to hear, "Yes, I am. They are wonderful."

I have no idea what the conversation would have been like if I had said that. I wish I did know. I don't wish it enough to pretend. I think I tried that when I was younger. It made the people around me wonder if I was not connected to reality. Whenever I tried to pull off saying, "Yes, we are so close..." there seemed to always be a natural consequence of circumstances proving me wrong. I don't know if God or the Universe didn't like to see me lie or if it was a God's protective method of snapping my hand away from something that would hurt more than honesty.

Maybe, instead I could just say, "We do our best to be close." I don't think that's a lie.

Not quite a rant, per se

I have made a promise to myself not to let myself be so unfiltered or negative because I don't want people to make people feel bad. So I will do my best not to do anything like that. I don't want to be that way. I wish there were better dining options where I live. In order to suggest what could be better--I feel like you have to explain what isn't great.

When I go to restaurants in my current hometown, there is a sort of lack of something that I can't ignore. I'm not a foodie. I'm not a restaurant snob. I just like good food. I like to be able to go out to eat with my husband on a date night and enjoy food that was prepared in a way that is unexpected, healthy and more than I could pull off on my own at home.

This past week, a couple my husband and I know from our old neighborhood in Chicago passed through our small town in WI. We went to a specialty, local restaurant. It seems like promoting a restaurant that is local makes sense when you want to see the local economy thrive. It's a little thing each person in town can do to make a big difference. So we went to this local place. Not a truck stop. Not a dive. The prices for each entrée range upward from about $10, which is a little more than Applebee's asks. I figure that for that--there might be a decent chance that the service will be good and food pretty good, too.

We walked in and were seated and left to wait for about 30 minutes. My friend asked a young man if our table was in his section. The young man said, "No". A little while later, he came back and said, "Oh, you were my table," and took our orders. Things went down from there. Long waits. Plates served hotter than you can touch them because they were sitting under lights for so long they nearly turned red. The top of the food was crisped from the lights. We got ignored by the wait staff for almost the rest of the meal. Then, just before bringing over the check, he came to the table and asked us if we had just been to church. Odd and inappropriate--but we made a fair amount of uncomfortable small talk with him and let him get on with his work. My daughter ordered a dessert to go. She ate it at home and it gave her an upset stomach within ten minutes because it was so over the top sugary. I felt bummed out. I want to feel like I spent my money well. I didn't.

Last year, our friend's sister and her family stopped through town on the way to the Twin Cities. We took them to a place by the river. She asked the waiter at the restaurant we took her to if they served real chicken wings or if the wings were processed. The waiter assured her that no, the wings on the menu did look like wings and they were not pre-made, processed wings. When the wings were brought out--they looked like frozen Tyson boneless wings. They didn't look like wings. They looked like chunks of breaded chicken meat that was fried. I was pretty embarrassed for my town. My friend did not enjoy them and I could not blame her. I felt bad for the waiter because there seemed to be a lack of understanding about what a real chicken wing looks like before it is processed. It wasn't a lie. I think the person just didn't know.

Last night, my husband and I got a babysitter and went out for dinner. Again, local. We went to one of the places in town that people rave about and seem to consistently love. The waiter told us that the drink special was ginger beer plus some spirit to make it a specialty cocktail. I asked if I could order just the ginger beer. He asked his boss and came back with an apology. The ginger beer was only for customers who were drinking the alcoholic beverage and not for those who do not want the added alcohol. Ridiculous, in my opinion--but I shrugged it off.

We ordered an appetizer that we have ordered before and that we enjoy. Often, when friends ask us to eat at this restaurant--we simply order this appetizer and skip the meals. The waiter brought it out and it was about half as much as they normally bring. This was our date night and we were still hungry--so I ordered a meal that people have told me is consistently good. It was about $20 for a plate of vermicelli, a tiny amount of thinly sliced and shredded Canadian bacon, bread crumbs, butter, maybe a dash of cheese and a fried egg on top. I tried not to overthink the thing--but I know that the restaurant was making a profit on that and I was disappointed with the lack of flavor.

My husband ordered a non-alcoholic beer and the waiter took it away half full and went all the way to the back and then came back to our table and said, "Oh, wow--sorry. I didn't see that you were not done with this," and plunked down the half full bottle that he said he couldn't pour into a glass because they were out of frosted glasses. In a normal situation (to my thinking) he might have brought out a new one, maybe? He could have offered an unfrosted glass. I have been a waitress. I feel like it has ruined me as a customer in a restaurant. We wanted to order dessert--but the desserts were all gone. We arrived at 6pm for dinner--so I don't know how that happened--but it was a bummer. It was like they weren't expecting customers last night.

A local person we know came over to our table, greeted us and told my husband while we were dining that she loves what he writes on fb and turned her back to me while she talked to him exclusively. She said she doesn't post or use fb or click 'like'--but wanted to tell him in person. (When we got home, we saw that she posted twice about being at the restaurant while in the restaurant--which made me laugh.) It was uncomfortable for me. She has been to our home and we have spent time together but I'm not a local celebrity like my husband appears to be to some. He is attorney. I stay at home and take care of the kids. That sometimes makes other women in town either align with you if they also stay home--or act like you don't exist if they have careers. I can't say what made her act that way--maybe it wasn't about me at all--but it was awkward. The time I ran in to her before that was at a grocery store and I chirped out a "hello" and was greeted with a "half of a hi" according to my daughters. They said it was what people do when they don't like you. I knew that already. Just felt bad that my daughters had to see that.

Then our neighbors saw us and chatted us up about funny things and we laughed so much it helped me get over all of that. I am glad I know people who are from here and people who are not from here and who don't need to make me earn a full, "Hello" from them. I give my full "Hellos" out pretty freely regardless. I can't help it if others don't.

So here is what I wish my town had--a nice, clean well-lit place. Charge me $35 if you are serving expertly cooked lamb chops or something. Don't be ridiculous about your prices for a meal that requires little skill and almost nothing in ingredients. Don't offer a drink as your special and refuse to make a non-alcoholic version. I would love a place to eat a good meal for a reasonable price or even a high price if it makes sense. Put some thought in to the décor. Don't just hang as many paintings and pictures as you can find in a thrift store. More does not always mean better. Make the atmosphere comfortable. Think about what music you play and how people will feel when they are listening to "Never Going to Give You Up" by Rick Astley or Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" as they are eating your food. Will it remind them of sitting at the doctor's office or of being in an elevator? I don't want to sit on seats that wobble or hurt and be charged $100. I also don't want to sink into a booth with broken springs in the cushions. I'd rather go to Applebee's or Denny's or Perkin's. The food won't be special, but I will know what I am getting in to when I go and I won't feel like I'm getting ripped off.

I want the local economy to grow. I am all about supporting local business. I just feel lousy when local business doesn't try very hard and expects me to pay for more than they are giving. They act like they don't have to try hard because they have just enough of the local population to count on whether they do or they don't.

There are a lot of places in town that do seem to care about how they treat customers and what kind of business they run. I wish that there were more places like the Golden Leaf. Locally owned, nice place to be and not a rip off. It's well managed and the quality is consistent. I wish they served dinner. On a holiday morning, I had already cooked the evening meal and prepared everything but the breakfast and so in a rush, I drove through the Golden Leaf drive through and ordered a dozen Golden Muffins for my family and our overnight guests. They sold them to me and then the next time I went through, the owner said she wasn't pleased with the quality of that batch and insisted that I take another. I thought they were fine--but she didn't. She has won my loyalty forever.

The others? Meh. They don't need me. They don't need to seek my half hearted approval of the food or the dining experience they provide. They have all the customers they need. I can drive in to Eau Claire or St. Paul when I really want good food for dinner.

Interactive bird song poster: Minnesota DNR

Interactive bird song poster: Minnesota DNR



So completely cool.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

Many years ago, I used to like to listen to music that I never listen to now. One of the bands that I used to like but stopped listening to was Nirvana. After seeing the performances on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this year, I remembered everything I loved about them.

As I was driving in my minivan down the road today, the sun was out and it was reflecting off of the lake and the birds were singing and the song, "Smells like teen spirit" kicked in and I started bobbing my head up and down like it was many years ago. Many years. Many.

My (almost) tween girls protested. They hated the song. I tried to get them to laugh with, "C'mon...'a mosquito'...that's funny, right?" but nothing would do until I turned off that so-called music. It made one of them cry. It hurt their ears.

I guess Kurt Cobain can rest in peace knowing that he has not become mainstream. His work has not lost its edge and it still makes young girls cry. Not like Barry Manilow made the young girls cry. In a way that is all his own.

In the summer, the song sings itself--especially in Wisconsin.

Farmer's Market

Proud Mom moment.

Took the kids with me to get a haircut today. One of them asked if she could have her long hair cut short. I said that sometimes people donate the hair that gets cut so that people who have cancer or other illnesses get to have wigs made from that hair. She wanted to be part of that. So we made an appointment for the haircut for her later this week. Then my other daughter wanted to do the same. Feeling good.

My kids have 10 inches each to pony up. If you have 12--you can donate to Locks of Love. Pantene will take 8 or more inches.

http://www.pantene.com/en-US/PanteneBeautifulLengths/Pages/default.aspx

New Beginning

New blog.

I did a blog before and it wasn't long before I decided to take it down. I wrote about moving from a city to a small town. I wrote about all the things I missed and all the things I didn't like in the new town and some things that I did. I wrote a lot about things that maybe weren't very nice to share with a general audience. Family, friends, trauma, congenital heart disease, vaccines, transitions, mental health, how bad most pizza tasted to me in my small town, parenting young children, Christianity, books, movies, gardening and for the most part--things like puppies and unicorns. My writing style could have been described as a completely unfiltered diary entry without any editing. I didn't call people names or try to be provocative, but I didn't pull back when other people would have thought that maybe it was too much. I got too personal. I revealed too much. I regret having caused people to feel embarrassed or even angry. I hurt myself, too. I bored a lot of other people--which is also unpleasant.

Writing has always been my favorite thing to do next to reading. I may not be the next Eudora Welty, Jumpha Lahiri or Hemingway. I'm more like a middle aged, odd-ball cousin from the less talented gene pool that people with that sort of genius sprang from. My insights are often muddled. My thoughts quickly turn into tangents. My grammar, spelling and punctuation are not ready for publication. I am not sitting here typing because I think that I have a gift that must be shared. I think I have a compulsion that can't be stopped. Once in a while, I have an idea and I share it and people laugh or they think it is clever. I feel a connection to others that I'm able to make through writing. That spark feels very good. I want to enjoy the release of that again. I recognize that I have to be more careful with what I write than I was before--but I can't continue to not write.  

It has been a few years since I wrote a blog entry that made some scientific points about vaccines but digressed toward a personal attack. I didn't name the person--but she felt that everyone in town read it and that everyone knew I was making fun of her. I didn't act with care for her at all. Some of my other posts were too revealing about past injuries and personal information that didn't need to go so far.

So where am I now? I have had my heart broken by things I wrote myself. I know what it feels like to have someone come to my door and cry and tell me in anger that what I wrote hurt her deeply. I will not forget how much that hurt me, how we both cried or how long it took me to stop looking at myself like I wasn't the person I wanted to be anymore. Doesn't matter if I still believe I was right in my thoughts. I was wrong in my delivery of the thoughts. It's true that I was provoked many times before I took out my words and used them as weapons--but that doesn't make what I did 'right'. It means now what it meant then--that I was frightened, angry, hurt, sleep deprived and lacking in direction and self-control. I won't do that again. I'm too old for that now.

I have learned some lessons. I want to try again. If you are reading this--I am really grateful. I don't know exactly where I am going with this--but I know I don't want to end up in the same place I did before. That's a little bit of direction. There is something in me that needs to get out and I don't know what it is or why it needs to come out. I will not let myself go the way that I did before--but I need to get whatever it is out. I trust that it is good. Otherwise, I would keep it to myself.

So meet the new blog. Not the same as the old blog. You won't be fooled again.