It's a vast world...

After the last post about Studs Terkel and Ernie Pyle, I was compelled to read some of Ernie's 1930's travel dispatches yesterday (Ernie's America: The Best of Ernie Pyle's 1930's Travel Dispatches, edited by David Nichols, Random House, 1989).

In September of 1937 he found himself in the Aleutians, specifically on St. Lawrence Island in the Bering Sea. He was invited into one of only two Siberian-type houses left, that inhabited by an old Eskimo, made of walrus hide. The only light came from a flame on a seal-oil stove.

"...We just sat and said nothing for quite a while, but there was a friendliness, and a feeling of welcome, in the room. And I thought to myself: How far this is from my world, which I always thought was the whole world. How strange, my sitting here at midnight, in the dimness, within these walrus walls. It is a vast world, and I don't understand it.

"...And I thought: If we could all come and sit in each other's houses for a minute, maybe it would be better. No, I don't know what it's all about. But the old man smiles, and welcomes me---and he doesn't even know my name, but he smiles, the brown old man who has lived out his days and is soon to die in this little world of his, here in the faraway Bering Sea."

Although I've never been so faraway as the Bering Sea, I have felt that "vastness" when I find myself at a connecting point with people of varied cultures and backgrounds. In the midst of that encounter it strikes me that these very different lives have converged for this moment and we share in the rich commonness of our humanity. In the home of a Hungarian seamstress. An African-American church service. A homeless shelter. Or in conversation with an Israeli merchant at the West Side Market.

It reminds me of the story my brother Bob told me about some New York City paramedics who went to Pakistan to help with the relief from a massive earthquake. One medic said an Pakistani came up to him and held up both of his hands to him and gestured in attempt to communicate "Look, we both have two hands, two arms..." ...an unspeakable, wordless moment when the common bond of humanity crossed light years of disparity.

"It is a vast world and I don't understand it."

Two great journalists

Today is Studs Terkel's birthday, and he's still living at 96. He is best known for collecting oral histories and publishing them in books, such as "The Good War": An Oral History of World War II. He said his wife insisted that he put the words 'good war' in quotations because no war is good. He also had a long-running radio program on which he interviewed a variety of people.

I made a mental note to look up a book of his I thought I had on my shelf. But I was mistaken as the book I had pictured in my mind was by Ernie Pyle, also a journalist, who also covered World War II but from the front lines. Before the war, Ernie traveled across the country (during the 30's) collecting stories of ordinary Americans and having them published in a nationally syndicated newspaper column. Ernie died in combat in 1945.

You might wonder how I knew about Studs' birthday. I'm not usually much into trivia but I'm really enjoying the daily dose I'm getting via The Writer's Almanac, an e-newsletter that comes with a 5 minute audio clip in which the highlights of the day are read by one of the greatest story-tellers around, Garrison Keillor. There's something about hearing him tell it, versus reading it myself that makes it particularly enjoyable.

You can subscribe to Writer's Almanac here: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ Who knows, you might learn something valuable. For example it was May 12 in 1804 that Lewis and Clark set out from St. Louis on their expedition to the Pacific Ocean. May 12 was also Katharine Hepburn's birthday (1907) and May 14th was the 60th anniversary of the proclamation of the state of Israel. As Studs would say, "... knowing our past more is what we need..."

Good medicine

I didn't sleep good last night so I was feeling tired and kinda grumpy this morning but the conversation we had over lunch flipped the switch on that.

I think it started with the bemoaning of the current state of television and that launched a reminiscing of our favorite television shows from decades past. The four of us at the table were close enough in age to remember most of the same shows.

When I was growing up we weren't ones to sit in front of the tube dopey-eyed for hours on end but there were some favorites. It seems like there were two or three good ones on Thursday nights when Mom was out for her bowling night. She'd generally fix a yummy meatloaf with baked potatoes then we'd settle in for the night. "My Three Sons" was one of them, but what were the others? I can still hear the theme song to that show and see the opening graphics in my mind's eye. Bonanza was on Sunday nights and who could forget that theme song!

I recalled how Dad got a kick out Sanford and Son (which I mistakenly called Samson and son and we all got a chuckle out of that). We searched our memory banks for the trivia... "What was the girl's name on that show... you know, the one with the curly hair and..." and on it went.

M.A.S.H. came up in the conversation and one person admitted still watching re-runs. I recall that the last show came on when I was in graduate school and a bunch of us got together for a "final MASH episode" party, and one of the guys present figured out what it was that caused Hawk-eye's temporary memory loss before any of the rest of us and he blurted it out... Remember what it was?

Then there's the western genre--like Gunsmoke and The Lone Ranger, but I'm going to save those reflections for another post.

I recalled how Mom wouldn't let us watch the Three Stooges when we were younger because it was too violent. And remember how the Star Spangled Banner would play at midnight and then a test pattern would appear on the screen for the rest of the night? Seems like there was a family joke about how if you dozed off during the last show, the playing of the Star Spangled Banner would jolt you awake and you could jump up, salute the flag and go to bed.

Well, the day's about over and I'm still feeling the results of last night's restless sleep, but I've had several good laughs today, one of the best forms of medicine around. All that comedy dispelled the grumpiness, got the endorphins flowing and sustained me through those late afternoon hours. I expect a sound sleep tonight....

A cheerful heart is good medicine..." Proverbs 17: 22 NLT

Shoes and other ephemera: at tribute to my Mom

Ephemera… fragments from life, tucked away in drawers and boxes. Book reports, ticket stubs, school play programs, grade cards, newspaper clippings, baby shoes…

I can’t look at these shoes without thinking about all that they represent… the days and weeks and months I was learning to crawl and walk and explore my world. And for nearly all of that time my mother was close by, spurring me on, keeping me safe.

There’s the Alice and Jerry pre-primer workbook, a place for little hands to learn how to print letters, a place where my mind awoke to the wonder of reading. The summer reading certificates… how much I enjoyed the reading programs at the library, with each book completed I added another sticker to my certificate.

Then there’s the certificate for a perfect score for all of my 6th grade spelling words. We practiced every Thursday night for the Friday test. The yellow and white striped draw-string apron (one of my first 4-H projects) and the many other sewing projects…. Mom was there helping me pick out the fabric and thread the needle. In my collection I find a blue ribbon for a 4-H project displayed at the county fair, but I’m not sure what it was for.

There’s the Girl Scout sash, filled with badges, each one representing projects and assignments completed. The clarinet sheet music, representing hours of squeaky practice starting in sixth grade, and the annual spring concert in a stuffy gymnasium.

I still use the sewing machine I received at the age of 16. Unlike most of my other ephemera, it still serves a practical purpose but holds plenty of memories. The same holds true for my Betty Crocker cook book.

Then there’s a sizable collection of family photos (most taken by Dad) each with its own story… riding my tricycle, playing in the sand box, cooling off in the wading pool, opening Christmas presents, graduating from kindergarten….

Each of theses "fragments" of my life reflects the qualities of mothering that my Mom exhibited…her nurturing, protection, provision, instruction, correction and most of all her presence.

One of my Dad’s favorite sayings is "Mothers make a difference."

This is only a token of my deep gratitude. Thank you, Mom. I love you.

Making faces

I add one more blog posting for today as I think these photos won't need much explanation. This photo of my brother Dan displays his ornery streak.

A couple decades later the following scenario played out with Dan and his two boys. I saw Craig holding his ears and I encouraged them to replicate the "hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil" monkeys. As you can see it took a little coaching but we got it.

It must be a guy thing

Even growing up with two brothers I never became a tomboy. I never fared too well in the family wrestling matches. I just was never much of a fighter. I think the wrestling started with a race to the couch after Sunday dinner. One of our earlier couches sustained a broken back leg and had to be propped up with blocks. Eventually after things settled down and Dad would stretch out on the couch, sometimes I would get to crawl in the "back seat" behind him. It felt so snug and secure in there!

The family wrestling tradition was passed on to my brothers' boys as is so evident in these photos. What amazes me is it always looks like they're having a blast. Whenever the 3 nephews got together it wouldn't be long before they would become a tangle of arms and legs. I'm not sure what to expect the next time they're together. The youngest is now in graduate school for civil engineering.

No matter what the outcome it never seems like anyone came away with hard feelings. Here we see cousins Nate and Craig sharing the couch space to intermittently snooze and watch football on TV.

The Boys

Introducing my two brothers, Bob (the elder) and Dan. I was the middle child, a girl between two boys. I've never thought much about whatever significance there might be to the birth order. At some point the boys got their own room and I got mine. To this day my parents still refer to their room as "the boys' room."

My brothers learned all about repairing and constructing things and they both are still very adept in this respect. I acquired a great number of domestic skills which have continued to serve me well. I sometimes helped my brothers with their neighborhood lawn mowing jobs but I'm not much into loud machinery and power tools.

While I’m sure we had the usual scraps that siblings have, they must have not been too serious as I don’t remember any of them. What I do recall is how my mother handled one particular situation. She had Bob and I washing a window, me on one side, Bob on the other. It wasn’t long before we were making faces at each other and giggling.

One of the greatest achievements anyone could ever attain is in successfully raising children. They both, along with their wives, my sisters-in-law, did a fine job is in this regard. You will hear more about my three nephews and niece as I have claimed bragging rights, perhaps because I’ve taken so many photos of them.