Build

Rather than resolutions, for several years I participated in the movement that espoused choosing a single word to encapsulate my goals for the coming year.  It has been a while since I have mustered that kind of focus, but this is a year when I feel the need to hone in on what matters to me intently.

Reading Michelle Obama's Becoming this morning, I was struck by a passage she wrote about observing her husband early in their relationship.  He was working with a group of church women in Chicago urging them to band together in their efforts to make positive change.

He was there to convince them that our stories connected us to one another, and through those connections it was possible to harness discontent and convert it to something useful.  Even they, he said--a tiny group inside a small church, in what felt like a forgoteten neighborhood-- could build real political power.

In these words, I found my word.  Build.

The past few years in America and too many other places have been about tearing down.  Tearing down the norms of society and government. Tearing down the illusions of tolerance I thought existed in our country.  Tearing down civil discourse. Tearing down alliances.  Tearing down neighbors and people who don't look, live, or pray just as we do.  An influx of violence and addiction devastatingly tear at the fabric of family.  As a society we lack the patience to fix things and rely too consistently on wiping away altogether what is only in need of repair.

It occurs to me my life is about building.  My professional work is about restoration of lives.  My personal hobbies are about restoration of architecture, community, and beauty.  I long to see things, people made whole.  My motivation is to repair, restore, to build.

This year I resolve to build: my faith, relationships, healthy habits, community, and yes, political power.

The Rich Tapestry

We all should know that diversity makes for a rich tapestry, and we must understand that all the threads of the tapestry are equal in value no matter what their color.  --Maya Angelou

A new mural covers the wall of a building across the street from the National Park's Brown v Topeka Board of Education site.  We were given the opportunity to help underwrite the mural project and to paint on it some as well.  The day we painted was memorable for me.  As I worked, my family painted alongside me on the right, and some of my students painted with me on the left.  I have worked with many students through my years in the Topeka Public Schools.  We chose TPS for our own kids' education.  USD 501 does not have a perfect history, but it does have the distinction of being the place where America attempted to right a wrong for a little girl named Linda Brown and all other children who would follow.  Children deserve safe, welcoming, and adequately funded schools in which to learn.  It is a priveledge to do my part to help see they get that in Topeka.

Ten Things of Thankful

A Supreme Court ruling  that stuck down Separate but Equal

The opportunity to work along with others--some I know and love, some who simply share the understanding of the importance of the Brown v Board decision

A tapestry of colors 

My family.  My students.

Beautiful weather that lures you outside

Cooperation that leads to a finished project

Plants

Love and support from the people in my life

Stories--whether the lifestory of a person I know, a book that captures my imagination, family tales that I have heard a million times.  Stories give life meaning.

Summer's End

Only one more day.  I am due back on duty at school on August 1st.  I am not ready.  I have not stopped moving all summer long, working my way through my to-do list.  I ended the school year really wiped out.  I was certain I was more drained than I normally feel in May and I looked forward to the respite the summer would provide.  Now that my summer break has dwindled down to a matter of hours, I am not sure how well I refilled my reservoir.  Ready or not, I am heading back.  

In reality I know it is true that as each summer draws to a close I feel the same sense of disbelief.  The break always goes too quickly having been filled with far too many commitments to be truly refreshing.  This time of year always brings with it a degree of letting go--a skill I am not particularly good at.  

Below is a wistful look at summer's end a few years back...

The calendar may not reflect it, but summer is nearly gone. I consciously will the pace to slow, wanting to hang on to each passing day.

When summer ends my girls will go.  One to Tennessee; one to Texas. Both too far.

I love when we are all home.  We work all day and play in the night.  We are up too late and the morning arrives too early.  And so it goes.  But summer will end and my girls must go.  Their life awaits.

My tempo will be disrupted. I'll be off balance.  I will wander through their rooms, summer's sudden end making my footing uncertain. My world will move in slow motion.

I wouldn't have it any other way. The girls will be discovering their worlds and discovering who they are within those worlds.  They'll have much to tell. Messages will fly in two different directions and back again from each. Rapid-fire reports of challenges faced and victories won.

In time my footing will become more certain.  My days will fill again.  A busy patter of activity will make the days fly by.

I'll wake one day to wonder where the school year has gone.  Summer will be coming and my girls will be on their way home once more.

July 29, 2011

The Gate

Too many people spend their energy building walls.  So much effort is put into separating “us” from “them”.  Race, lifestyle, religion, politics…each a brick piled one on the other until the wall finally keeps us apart, isolating us from the richness we could experience, robbing us of a deeper understanding of life.  I am bone-tired of so many walls;  oh, for the gift of a gate.

Although these words could have been penned today,  I actually wrote down these thoughts in 2015.

Currently

Discouraged by the events of the past couple weeks, I looked over some pieces I have written over time hoping to discover hope.  This piece written at this time of year five years ago reminds me that we have been through hard times before. The issues remain frighteningly constant.  We have known discouragement, and we have prevailed.  

Currently, the world is just a little mixed up.

Currently…

…I am saddened by the loss of civility in our culture.  The crass and vulgar language that is considered appropriate in public spaces makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  The aggressive and disrespectful way people treat each other wears on me.

…I am furious that the interest rates on student loans are doubling, and that those we elected to represent us are doing nothing to stop it.

…I am worried that the wealthiest and most powerful are using their influence in a way that will insure there won’t be a middle class in America for my grandchildren.

…I am heartened by the young people I know personally who have strength, character and  humor despite the culture we have handed them.

…I am awed by every day heroes who reflect the very best in us as they selflessly rush in to eradicate danger.

…I am surrounded by miracles- Grown children who grasp the importance of family; plants that doggedly grow and bloom , sharing beauty regardless of the care I offer; babies on the way, new lives filled with potential.

…I am trying to leave the world a little better than I found it through love and compassion.

…I am comforted by the knowledge that I am not alone.

The world is a mess, that is true.  Still, it has been a mess before.  Time and time again we have seen that human beings hold within us the power to improve the world.  It will take effort and require a tireless insistence on our best.  We must not pander to our most base instincts.  We were not intended to be just another beast in the animal kingdom.  We are intended to rise above.

Currently, I believe in the promise we hold within us to heal.

Road Trips

1990- 2010 was the Era of Epic Road Trips for our family. We made multiple runs to the East coast from our Kansas home.  We thought nothing of buzzing up to Door County, Wisconsin with semi-frequency.  We loaded up our own wagon and traveled to every location where Pa Ingalls had settled the Little House gang.  From the Grand Canyon to the Statue of Liberty we saw the USA, and we did it while preserving quite a bit of the domestic tranquility.

We were blessed with three easy going kids which made the traveling feasible, but we also had a secret weapon…the little girl in this photo, Daughter #2 age five.  By this point she could out-pack me for the journey.  Those indoor/outdoor sunglasses are a tip-off that this young lady was ready for anything.  Wherever we traveled, she brought along a backpack filled with the most obscure items which we inevitably found ourselves needing.  Tape, chigger bite cream, a flashlight, a permanent marker, a bungee cord, all manner of safety items could be found in that red calico bag.  But she wasn’t merely practical, she also packed creature comforts.  Snacks, drinks, lotion, chap stick, stuffed animals, fuzzy socks, and most likely that set of Uno cards amusing her in the photo, all were things she could be counted on toting along as well.

The mere mention of an item one of us might find handy sent her riffling through her back pack.  Nine times out of ten she could lay her hands on the very item we were wishing for.  She wouldn’t say a word, but simply grin and hand it over.

She and I  make fewer epic road trips now that shuttling her back and forth between home and college not to mention our summer vacations have ended.  The last road trip we made was Kansas to North Carolina where she settled into her adult life.  Even on that trip she still thought of things we needed that I had forgotten, and still pulled them out of her bag with that same sly grin.  She is still a world class traveling companion.  In fact, the only that has really changed is her taste in sunglasses.

Mama Kat:Road Trip

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Sweet Corn

The father-in-law of one of the secretaries at my school has farmed his whole life.  Though he reached the age when many people retire years ago, there are parts of farming that he can’t let go.  Every year he grows sweet corn on a scale that must be considered more crop than garden.  Everyone at our school benefits from his efforts.

I decided to preserve the corn I received after finding food.com’s instructions for freezing fresh corn.  Step 1:Shucking the Corn is the kind of chore that can be done while your mind is  a million miles away.  My mind was on the back porch on a hot summer day in the early 1970s.  Sitting on the concrete stoop I happily worked through a stack of corn that someone had given to our family helping to stretch the food budget required to fill the bottomless bellies of so many growing children.

Corn on the cob was one of the best things about summer in my mind.  I could make a meal of buttery, sweet corn.  I loved pretending with my brothers that our corn eating was like fingers flying across the keys of a typewriter reaching the end of the page with a ding and returning to the other side for yet another line.

I took pride in my ability to remove more of the corn silks than my older brothers could.  No one would get a silk caught like floss in their teeth as long as I was performing quality control.  I often reworked ears of corn my brothers had deemed ready for the pot of boiling water shaking my head at their feeble attempts.

Step 2:  Cook the ears in boiling, salted water for four minutes.  The steam rising above my huge soup pot as I drop in each ear causes my glasses to fog over.  I think of my mother in her hot kitchen.  Our house was cooled–on those summers that it was cooled at all–by a single window air unit positioned in the living room at the farthest point from the kitchen possible.  Standing near the steaming pot in my own comfortable kitchen I suddenly remember that there was at some point during my childhood a unit in the window by the kitchen pantry.  I don’t recall it ever being there, but a memory of my dad removing it floats through my brain.  I am peeking at him from inside as he works outside the window.  Normally, he would grin at me but in this memory he is discouraged.  Why had I never made the connection between this memory and the many memories of my mother’s flushed face as she stood working at the hot stove?

Step 3:  Lay the ears on a clean dishtowel to drain and cool.
Step 4: Once cooled to the touch, stick the end of an ear into the opening of the center tube of an angel food or bundt cake pan.  Using a paring knife cut the kernels from the cob letting them fall into the cake pan.  Going through the motions I can’t help but notice how much my hands have come to resemble my mother’s. Her hands are the things I remember most vividly about her perhaps because they were always moving, always delving into some project that would directly benefit me.

Step 5: Melt butter (1/3 cup was perfect for a dozen ears) , drizzle over the corn and toss.  Place corn in an airtight container and freeze.

I tasted the corn before slipping it into my freezer and smiled at the same buttery goodness I remember from my childhood.  I started this project with the idea I was preserving corn, but came to understand I was really preserving memories.  Memories of childhood summers with simple pleasures in a family who surrounded me in love.

TToT: Throwback to Summers Past

…back in Kansas,  there is much to be thankful for.

Little kids and their great sense of style.  How can you go wrong with a red glitter visor and patriotic tutu skirt?  Not to mention the confidence to wear it in public!

Rain that brings the temperature out of the “hazardous” range and offers a life saving drink to the outdoor plants.

Watermelon.  Cold, juicy watermelon.

Summer binge reading.  

An example of graciousness: Sunday at church an elderly gentleman mistook a decorative gem stone for a mint, placing it in his mouth and causing concern among the crowd.  I attempted to get him to spit it out for fear he would choke, but only succeeded in confusing and embarrassing him.  Soon after, a lady sitting near us reached for her purse.   Pulling out a tissue she lightly folded it into a square, leaned over to him and said, “When you are finished with what you have in your mouth go ahead and slip it into the tissue.”  Genius, unadulterated genius.  He swished the hard stone around his mouth a couple more times before discretely depositing it into the tissue.  Not only did she stave off a choking disaster, she allowed him to retain his dignity.  Her gracious act was a thing of beauty.

Sun tea by the gallon.  Cold and crisp.

Mammographic proof of healthy breasts.  And 364 days of smoosh-free existence.  I am never quite ready for my close-up.

Watching my friend at her father’s funeral this week, I was reminded of my mom’s funeral a few years ago.  My kids surrounded me with both physical and emotional support.  It is one of my earliest memories of them all three as adults, roles reversed with them caring for me.  The pride and affection of the memory is still as strong as it was in the moment; I am tremendously grateful for these three people who make life pretty much as good as it gets.

~~~~~~~~

The entry above was written several summers ago.  I happened across it today as I was deleting some old files from my computer, and it was a timely reminder of how much of what is really good in life remains the same from year to year.  As another week comes to an end I remain thankful for all that gives refreshment, for the love of family, the company of friends,  the innocence of childhood, the written word, and fathers.  This week I am especially thankful that I never had to face the possibility of someone beyond my control separating me from my children; and though it has been far too long in coming I am grateful that faith leaders are raising their voices to say that our government doing this to families is morally and spiritually wrong.

Ten Things of Thankful

Central Market

We went to a wedding in Golden, Co last month giving us the perfect excuse to spend a few days exploring the Denver area.  By the time we arrived the first night we were hungry for dinner.  All of the restaurants we called were busy and had wait lists of an hour or more.  Road-weary we were hoping for something quicker, but didn't want fast food.  Searching for alternatives, we stumbled onto Denver Central Market.

The place reminded us of markets our children shopped in during their study abroad experiences in Europe.  Vendors hawk their products from individual booths set up inside one large commercial building.  Fishmongers, bakers, butchers, and cheese sellers stand side by side.  Strolling through the market you are able to pick up everything you need for a simple, delicious meal.  

Distractions like candy and magazine racks tempting you at check-out are completely absent.  The items are all fresh and labeled simply.  Excessive packaging and multiple brands competing for your attention are not issues.

Each vendor offers only the category of products which they know best.  Their expertise ensures quality merchandise and solid advice as to how best serve it.

There is a life lesson in this style of market.  None of us can be everything to everyone, and that is OK.  It is much better to know who you are and to concentrate on being the very best of whoever, whatever that is.  In that you will find real success.

I don't wish to be everything to everyone, but I would like to be something to someone.  

                                                                        Javan

Spring Bouquet

I recently drove halfway across the country from Kansas to North Carolina.  I had looked forward to the drive anticipating budding trees, green fields, and wild flowers.  I was surprised to find that spring was not springing anywhere along my route.  Maybe my return trip will be more colorful.  Meanwhile, I have to be content with these photos of flowers from a springtime past.

Garden flowers circa Spring 2013

 I cut a fist full of flowers in the garden the other day, picking ones I liked without a thought about what might go well together.

One by one I dropped each stem into a glass of water surprised how well they harmonized, each color complimenting the next. None of them competed, drowning out the others in a bid for attention.  Instead, the presence of one made the next all the more beautiful.

There is a lot we could learn in the garden.

Surprise, because there was no Spring yet.

River Town Residences

Hermann, MO

 I love the feel of an old river town where the houses seem all brick with
 white porches. Get close to the Mississippi or further East and those humble houses tend to sit shoulder to shoulder lining the street all in a row.  I love a town where not only the mansions are adorned and gilded, but the tiniest of homes is dressed to the nines in gingerbread and stained glass.  I love a town where beauty is not reserved for a lucky few, but within the grasp of us all. 

The Old Emerson Fan

This ancient Emerson Electric fan was old as dirt when my husband and I bought it for ten dollars at an auction in 1985 the first summer we were married.  He thought he could rewire it and get it working again; I thought it was cute.  When we got it home, we were both surprised to discover that it ran like a top as soon as we plugged it in, and it cooled a room better than the brand new fan we had purchased just days before.  That new fan didn’t survive to make the move to our current home, but the little Emerson still gets used every day in the summer.  It’s a perfect reminder that we don’t actually need fancy or excess in our lives.  Reliability, simplicity, contentment—of these things I am a big fan.

Scenes From a Tractor Graveyard

Georgetown, TX