Won't You Be My Neighbor...

I haven’t written much here lately.  The old adage says, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all”, so that’s what I’ve been doing.  Saying nothing.

It’s not that I no longer have nice things to say.  I do.  I just find myself being more frustrated with my fellow homo sapiens than not these days and I choose not to give my energy to those thoughts and feelings.  I don’t like feeding the monster.  Fortunately, Good has a way of revealing itself and Humanity’s light shines through!

While sadness and anger are still going strong over one group of children (which is justified and if you don’t agree with that, shame on you), another group of children were at the center of a heroic display of courage, strength, determination, and the power of focus and prayer.  Study the faces of those 12 rescued boys, because I suspect we will see them again in acts of good in the future.

During their ordeal in underground darkness, my family was enjoying fun and sun with a group of friends at the lake.  The kids got to do things they’d never done – rock jumping, wave riding, boating, and such – while the grownups got to tell remember when stories and just relax.  It was beautiful.  Until…

During the drive home, we got a call from our neighbor, David.  He’s our friend, we asked him to get our mail and offered use of our pool, so we weren’t surprised to hear from him but we didn’t expect “There’s a problem.” and certainly didn’t expect “The house is flooded.”  He told us it began with the kitchen sink.  He turned off the water and then went to the garage – which is not a pleasant place to be – and found our shopvac, so he sucked up the standing water.

We were still about an hour away from home, so our brains kicked into overdrive, imagining the worst.  My husband has thousands of dollars worth of irreplaceable vintage amps.  We thought of my daughter’s violin, we thought of photos and books and all the things that may be low to the ground.  We assumed our brand new floors were ruined and there’d be a lot of damage.  Then, we started to process what could have possibly happened and how amazing it was that it was discovered so quickly because our neighbor said that it was not leaking the evening before when he was there.

Thankfully, when we got home we saw that the water had been fairly well contained, thanks largely to David’s efforts.  When I thanked him, he told us that he didn’t discover it.  The neighbors directly behind us saw water pouring down the back of our house!  We were obviously not home, but the man of the house remembered that our family was friends with David’s family and they alerted him to the water.  David took it from there.

We don’t know this other neighbor well.  The man speaks English, but works a lot and we don’t see the woman, who doesn’t speak English well, very often.  It’s clear we look out for one another, and we smile and wave, but that’s about it.

Their neighborly deed saved us a world of heartache, hours of hard work, and probably lots and lots of money.  How do you repay that?  By being a good neighbor in return, of course.  And a cookie cake that says “Gracias” doesn’t hurt.  When I took the giant cookie to their door, our neighbor just said “You don’t have to do that.  We’re neighbors.  That’s what neighbors do.”  I agreed with him, thanked him, and told him to shut up and take the cookie.  Because that’s also what neighbors do.  They smile at the naked toddler running past the door, they shake a hand, and say thank you for being a great neighbor.

It really is that simple, isn’t it?  Aren’t we all neighbors here on this giant ball?  Aren’t we ALL better off when we look out for one another, when we help one another, and when we offer one another kindness (and a cookie cake sometimes) instead of walls and closed doors?

Mother Teresa said it best, when she said “I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbor. Do you know your next door neighbor?” If you really want to get deep, she also said “It is impossible to love God without loving our neighbor.” That’s good advice for those who want to carry a religious flag while preaching about walls and borders.  Just sayin’.

So, with that in mind, I shake off my frustrations, go back to smiling at all who cross my path, and ask them in my best Fred Rogers voice, "Won’t you be my neighbor?”

Recall Notice...

When you come from a family as large as mine, a family of tough, stoic Germans who just keep on keeping on, and who generally stick around for a long time, it’s easy to take that strength for granted and forget that while we may be resilient, we’re still all human.

Of course, there have been challenges in our big family.  There have been accidents and illnesses and those aunts, uncles, cousins, spouses, and children just keep bouncing back.  Never an audible complaint.  Never a plea for pity.  Just “keep on truckin”, as the bumper sticker advises.  That’s what we do.

My pack of nine was only one segment of this tough and healthy brood.  As the baby of the litter, my big brothers and sisters were just always there.  There was never any doubt or question that the big dogs would ALWAYS be there to protect me, to entertain me, and to make sure I was loved.  That’s what we do.  And, of course, these big brothers and sisters went out into the world and accidents happened, injuries occurred.   They happened to the baby, too.  But we got patched up, shook off the road dust and came back to the pack - happy and healthy, once again.   Because that’s also what we do.

So we all carry on with life, doing our things, spread out across the states, happy to see each other when we can.  We’re all busy, so it’s kind of easy to forget that the pack is no longer a bunch of puppies and we’re not as spry as we used to be.  Still, when the bones creak and the joints ache, it’s easy to remember that folks in our line live to 100 and ignore the cues that something isn’t right. 

Usually, we notice the signals but we’re too busy putting out other peoples’ fires to take our own alarm bells seriously.  Thankfully, we’ve managed to surround ourselves with people who will grab us by the shoulders and tell us “Hey, idiot, your car is on fire!” until we have no choice but to stop and do something about it.  I don’t think that’s all that uncommon.  I just don’t appreciate the fact that my box of dogs always tends to experience these fires in packs.

One of my brothers was hit with a serious illness that brought us to preparing for his final arrangements.  Thankfully, love, prayer, and tenacity returned him from the edge – stunning doctors and caregivers and renewing hope for his ultimate complete healing.  A week after we got his clean bill of health, another brother was rushed to the operating room to deal with an unexpected heart blockage.  The surgeons did their magic, and all is well now. 

However!!!  There’s always a “however”. While working the phone chain across the country to talk about those 2 brothers, another brother confessed to symptoms that indicated possible strokes and neurological issues.  He had an appointment scheduled but, in typical Albert fashion, he had some other stuff to do first.  The morning after the heart brother was released from the hospital, the third brother was in an ambulance.  Tests, transfers, more tests, and it was revealed that a large, thankfully operable and cancer free, tumor had taken up residence in his skull.

 

Normally in life, I prefer all the rain to pour down at once so we can get it out of the way, let the clouds clear, and allow the sun to shine freely once again.  That’s the way car problems and house repairs tend to come and I’m fine with that.  This is a bit much.

When life offers challenges, I often look to the lessons of the previous generation for encouragement.  Grandpa would make some machine-based analogy, I think, and that makes sense. 

My pack came from the same factory.  Some of us are SUVs, some of us are diesel trucks, and some of us are sedans.  We all rolled off the line during the same production era.  Should it really be a surprise that the recall notices all come around the same time?  Sometimes, it’s necessary to replace a part or repair a hose so you can get back on the road and keep adding miles to the odometer.

My job as the baby of the family is to nag everyone else to check their recall notices and make sure we have regular inspections and tuneups.  I’m confident that we’ll all be rocking down the highway again soon but for now, I’d like the rain to stop so the sun can shine on our chrome once again.

The People Who Live In My Head: Me Too...

The People Who Live In My Head: Me Too...: I know, I know.   The Me Too movement is hot right now and my eye rolling is not considered appropriate.   Women are taking a stand and dema...

Me Too...

I know, I know.  The Me Too movement is hot right now and my eye rolling is not considered appropriate.  Women are taking a stand and demanding to be heard.  That’s a good thing.  But doesn’t everyone deserve to be heard?

Human beings can be awful to one another.  That’s a fact.  Human beings have always been awful to one another.  While I’m a firm believer that most humans are good, terrible things do happen.  I understand that and accept that as fact but I’ve never been okay with victim mentality.

I’m a child of the 70s and I first hit the working world in the early 80s.  Not only was that a time of 4 martini lunches and recreational cocaine habits, but I was also in the Spring Break center of the Southeast where debauchery was the norm.  I’m also female.  There is no question that my younger self was leered at, grabbed at, backed into corners, and groped by any number of customers, coworkers, and bosses – just as my mother’s younger self was chased around the desk by lecherous bosses and forced to endure endless butt grabs and inappropriate comments.

Why did these things happen?  Not because men are monsters.  Not because women are weak prey.  They happened simply because humans are flawed and bad behavior breeds in the environments that allow it to grow.  Humans make mistakes.  We make decisions about our actions and, sometimes, those decisions are not the best ones.  Thankfully, humans are also capable of evolving and will if they are encouraged to do so.

That is where Me Too gets it right.  If bad behavior is to be stopped, it first has to be identified and rules must be made clear.  That’s how we learn and that’s how we grow.  My issue with this movement is the time lapsed between an action and a claim of action.  Time changes memories.

As I mentioned, I have absolutely been on the receiving end of bad behavior.  But right there, in each and every moment, I spoke up.  I said no.  I pushed back.  I very occasionally threw a punch.  And every single time, I told someone.  Immediately.  Not ten years later.  Not a month later.  Right there and then in the moment, I spoke up.

I’m not saying that these women who have come forward in the Me Too movement are lying.  I’m not saying they weren’t treated badly.  I’m not saying that the men involved didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m just saying that I don’t think Victim movements are very helpful to anyone.

When every woman who has ever felt objectified stands and screams “Me Too!”, it waters down the pain of those who have actually been victimized.  Poor choices sometimes lead to places you didn’t intend to be.  Ideally, we walk away from those places a bit wiser and make better choices.  Sometimes, the ability to leave is taken away and bad things happen.  Those are the times when a person who has been on the receiving end of those bad things should stand up and speak out.

Last week, I was the lucky recipient of a jury summons.  I was called upon, I was questioned, and I was selected as a juror.  The case, unfortunately, was a rape case.  A 5 year old rape case.  For days, I sat with 12 other jurors, listening to detailed testimony, reviewing evidence, hearing witness statements, and taking extensive notes.  It was very clear to me that the plaintiff believed fully that she was raped.  The defendant believed fully that all relations were consensual.  Certainly, police reports and emergency room exams made it seem clear that the woman was upset and had sexual contact.  Reports and exams can’t say that those things were forced but the other evidence can prove or disprove it.

Based on what I saw, what I heard, and what I didn’t hear, I believe that this young woman had been drinking on her birthday and was alone because her friends had to leave and the boyfriend she lived with was sick at home.  She encountered this man who wanted to party with her in the wee hours of the morning.  She got in his car, with her cell phone in hand, and went to several places in attempt to find more drinks.  Eventually, they ended up at his apartment, where she entered on her own, cell phone in hand, and continued to drink.  Things progressed without her ever saying "No" until, at some point, her boyfriend woke up and realized she wasn’t there so he texted her.  She panicked, ran out of the apartment, and began yelling and screaming until neighbors came out, leaving a scared and confused man behind.  Much drama ensued, police were called, the man was arrested and she was taken to the hospital.

After collecting all of this information, when we were sent to the jurors’ room, the judge announced that I was chosen as the alternate so I didn’t have to stay for the deliberation and verdict unless another juror dropped out.  I waited an entire day to hear that a verdict was decided and the man was found guilty and sentenced to 20 years.  I’m still unsettled by it all. 

In closing arguments, both attorneys referenced Me Too and Time’s Up.  Was that enough to sway what 12 intelligent people would have decided without it?  Was that enough to take this man away from his wife and 2 young children (remember this case was from 5 years prior) for 20 years?  Had I not been dismissed as the spare, would I have been able to convince the others on his behalf?  I don’t know and that makes me sad.

I believe that this young woman regretted her decision to go with this man that morning.  I believe that she realized she’d have to answer for those decisions to her boyfriend.  Her story didn’t fit the places, timelines, and evidence presented, but she’s had 5 years to convince herself that she was in the right and that she was raped.  Regret is a powerful thing.  But regret does not equal rape.

The timing of this case was unfortunate.  Many lives have been shattered by one person’s story, just as we’re seeing careers and reputations being damaged in the daily news.  I absolutely believe that some bad people did some bad things, and I’m happy that those  women are finding the courage to fight.  Sadly, too many other women are using Me Too to lash out for vengeance, attention, or both. 

I appreciate that these things are no longer being swept under the rug and women are able to tell their stories and be heard.  But single voices can easily get lost in crowds so I hope we as a society can find a way to hear individual stories, consider what we’ve been told, and base our opinions on real information.  That’s how we can move forward and evolve as a human family.  I further hope that those who have been a victim of something terrible can find a way to make that word past tense.  I have been on the receiving end of bad behavior.  I was a victim in that moment when the bad behavior happened.  I don’t wear a label and carry it around.  I DO carry lessons learned.  I do talk to my daughters about these things so they don’t have to learn these lessons the hard way.

Do you want a world where we don’t have to be afraid?  Do you want a world where we’re all respected and we can speak our truths? 

Me Too.  So that’s my goal and I don’t think a protest sign is going to get me there.

 

Lines In The Sand...

Here’s the thing about lines in the sand:  they are, by nature, temporary.  No matter how much focus is placed while drawing a line, a change in the wind or the flow of the water can easily make it disappear.

I think that rings true with more than just a simple mark in the sand, it’s true of division of any kind.  Separation goes against nature.  Division is counter to growth.  So why do we humans keep trying to make it work?  Whether we’re choosing sides based on gender, race, ethnicity, religion, class, or any number of other arbitrary labels, how does division serve us?  How does it serve anyone?

This is not new, obviously.  Prejudice, judgment, fear, and ignorance have drawn lines between people since the beginning of time.  Fortunately, those willing to open their eyes to see, notice that it’s pretty easy to cross the lines and greet those on the other side.  This is how we’ve evolved.  It’s how we’ve learned.  It’s how we’ve grown.  But so many just keep drawing the lines and keep dividing.

I’d like to think that, in the 21^st century, this would no longer be such an issue.  With our ability to communicate so quickly, to travel so easily, and to interact with strangers outside of our own communities, we should be able leave those issues behind us.  Instead, the ability to speak so instantly seems to be revealing the fears and bigotry that never actually disappeared; they only hid behind polite facades.

It seems that so much of this separation is self-inflicted.  Standing in solidarity with a group of like minded cohorts can feel empowering.  When one is marching in protest against something, it can be easy to forget to be for something, too.  Likewise, focus on gender, faith, race, and so on can separate us more than it unites us.

Human beings – ALL human beings - are stronger together.  United in our love for one another, united in understanding, united in support, we can withstand any storm.  When you think about the wind that blows away the sand where lines are drawn, instinct is to seek protection.  The strongest blankets are woven from many strands.  As a bonus, those blankets woven from many different strands are not only stronger but more interesting, too.

Think about some of the slang we use to describe those we disagree with or those who loudly advertise their disinterest in the well-being of others.  We call them “blowhards”, “windbags”, “blusterers” and so on.  So is it any surprise that they deliver the gusts that do the most damage?

When the winds blow against me, I find that weaving together with other strands – human strands – is what keeps me safe and warm.  On the other side of the chill that the wind brings, I trust that the lines drawn will no longer be visible so humanity can continue to walk together with no concern for dividing footprints in the sand.

 

 

It's Not The El Dorado...

The house that has been our wonderful home for the past 17 years has been revolting against us.  All normal wear and tear, really, but our family has aways been prone to the “when it rains, it pours” approach to challenges.  Of course, a 27 year old water heater was going to go.  Air conditioners don’t last like they used to.  Carpets and furniture need life support.  And so on and so on.

Carpets were removed and beds and couches left the building with plans for flooring and more comfortable seating.  Unfortunately, our perfect storm hit at a time when my income stopped flowing, so all improvement plans were put on hold for better days.  Fair enough.  Floors can wait and we’re comfortable enough on temporary furniture.  We knew the HVAC was struggling but we survived the hottest part of August and September and felt victorious!

And then…then the water heater threw in the towel.  Or, I guess I should say WE threw in the towels to prevent the steady stream of water from getting to the vintage amplifiers in the room on the other side of the wall.  We were lucky!  Well, we were lucky that we caught the breakdown before we left the house (as we were about to do).  We stopped the hemorrhaging and forgot about it for a few hours.

Pulling back into the neighborhood, we remembered there was work to do…and there was school tomorrow for two girls who could really use a shower.  Thankfully, I am my mother’s daughter and those instincts guided me into action.  Large pots of water hit the stove and old fashioned baths saved the evening.  Then, financial juggling commenced and 12 days later, we had hot water once again.

Obviously, none of these life hiccups are all that unusual.  That’s part of home ownership.  That’s the luck of the draw sometimes.  That’s life.  We survived it and, in the grand scheme of things, I’d choose that challenge over many others and, I hope, our children learned something about life by observing the way we handled it.

When I talked to my brother Mike about our latest adventure, he said that when faced with residential breakdowns, he tells himself “It’s not the El Dorado, so I’m doing okay.”  I laughed, because I think of the El Dorado often – usually when dealing with a minor inconvenience and wondering how my mother did it.

I’ve mentioned the El Dorado before, usually as a funny little aside when talking about other adventures.  As an adult looking back at myself as a child, it IS kind of a funny adventure we had.  As an adult looking back as a mother, I am astounded by my own mother.  We were kids and kids are resilient.  How did SHE survive?  More to the point, how did she survive with her sanity and sense of humor intact?

Let me walk you through this.  My mother had lived in the same town all of her life.  This place was home to her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and half of her siblings.  One of her brothers was in Maryland, preparing to open the first of many restaurants and he thought she needed to come along to help him.  I can’t pretend to know what moved her to pick up everything she knew and head east, but that’s what she did.  What we all did.

First, we needed a place to land, so my oldest brother Tim headed to Baltimore with my uncle to scout landing pads.  Tim found the perfect home for our family - a cool house in a great neighborhood, close to schools and everything a family would hope for.  All that was left was to load up the station wagon and complete the move.  So my mom, her nine children aged 5 (me) to 16, along with two extra teenage boys, said our goodbyes to our hometown loved ones and away we went!  I was little, but I was excited for this adventure and I remember the drive pretty clearly.  I remember plotting with my brothers about what our new life would be like.  I remember finally seeing our new house in our new neighborhood and I remember walking though the knee-high grass in the yard.

That’s all I remember because that’s as far as we got.  After the long drive, with a car load of energetic kids, we were met with the news that we would not be moving in to this new and exciting home.  Again, I was 5, so I don’t recall what happened next.  There was an issue with financial paperwork and we had no place to go.  No home back in the home town.  No home in the new town.  11 kids – including 2 extra brooding teenage boys – now what?

My uncle made some calls and worked out a temporary landing spot for us.  Next door to the restaurant he was opening, was a motel called the El Dorado Motor Lodge.  A closed, completely vacant for a very long time motor lodge with limited plumbing and limited electricity.  But, we’re on an adventure, right?  Besides, this was only a hiccup on the trail, right?  Right!?!?

What I remember is the fun.  We had free range of countless motel rooms to explore!  We were experienced campers so we can do this!  And we’ve got a roof over our heads and actual beds instead of sleeping bags on the ground!  What I remember is my brothers sneaking me in to the movie theater across the highway to see Jaws!  I remember elaborate hide and seek games.  I remember dumpster diving and finding treasures like notepads and pencils.  Fun!

Looking back, what I also remember is that we were there for about 8 weeks.  Our new unavailable home was 25 miles away.  My mother drove us all 25 miles every morning to the elementary, junior high, and high schools.  I was in kindergarten which was only half day.  So after driving us to school, she drove back to try and untangle the paper nightmare that was keeping us homeless.  Then she picked me up at lunchtime.  We’d go to a park to eat a sandwich and use the playground until it was time to retrieve my siblings.  Then back to the El Dorado, where she pulled groceries from the camping coolers that we had, to assemble dinner using an electric skillet, an electric popcorn popper, and an electric coffee pot.  We also had a camp stove, but I don’t remember using that inside.  After dinner, dishes were washed in the bathtub in one room while homework was done, showers were taken and grumbling was done in other rooms.  Buckets of old bath water flushed toilets.  Extension cords ran to powerless rooms for those few with power.

Eight weeks.  Two months.  Eleven kids.  100 miles or more a day.  I never saw her cry.  If she did, she did it out of our line of vision.  Life at the El Dorado Motor Lodge was an adventure.  For me.  I was five.  For my mother, I can only now imagine that it was a hell that most of us can’t fathom.

Things worked out.  We finally got in to our fabulous new house in Baltimore (furnished, in part, by dressers and tables acquired at the motel).  We were in a great neighborhood, surrounded by all the wonders of a bustling city, and we made friends with kids from our block who are still in our lives to this day.  I don’t know the behind-the-scenes details of those El Dorado days, but I believe that my entire family is stronger for having lived it. 

There’s no question that my mother quietly provided that strength.  That she never *showed* us any chinks in the armor allowed us all to carry on with faith that all is right in the world.

So, when my house stages a revolution and I want to scream and cry, I think back to those times and remind myself that It’s Not The El Dorado.  This, too, shall pass.

Splinters In The Toe Of Humanity...

My house is undergoing a bit of a transformation.  Long overdue repairs and cosmetic updates, mostly, but it’s enough to feel the ripples throughout the daily flow.  In preparation for the new flooring that will come, we pulled up all of the 17 year old carpet that lived through 2 kids, 2 dogs, one cat, and a thousand spilled chocolate milks, magic markers, and muddy footprints. 

In the interim, this leaves us with rough plywood subflooring upon which to walk.  It’s a step in the process, so we’re not complaining about the disturbance.  However, we still have a household of active bare feet.  Bare feet + rough plywood = frequent splinters.  That’s the cost of progress and we have tweezers at the ready.

Usually, this is a problem with a simple solution.  Shine a light on the area and eject the offending intruder.  Sometimes, however, the offender is more persistent and will not leave easily but the evil has been identified, so the solution shifts to applying healing salve and monitoring the situation until the healthy body ejects the intruder on its own.

Hmm, this seems familiar, doesn’t it?

Unless you’ve been under a rock for the last several months – and, honestly, I can’t say I’d blame you – you are aware of some of the bigger disturbances happening in our bigger homes – our country and our planet.  Splinters in our foundations.

The thing about splinters is that they arrive unannounced.  Even if we know we’re walking on rough wood, we assume that the care in our steps will be enough to prevent attack.  But the splinters see our tender skin and get under it in effort to show their might and deliver their painful messages.  They think they’ve accomplished something but all they’ve really done is gotten our attention and caused us to shine a light on their hurtful acts so they can be ejected.  If they don’t go easily, a salve of love and healing will drive them out.

Likewise, when rough hateful groups show up and attempt to cause harm, the solution is to shine a light on them, identify them, and drive them out with a show of love and human healing.  That strips them of any power they may have thought they had and strengthens the true power – LOVE.

Sometimes, we are called upon in other ways to show our loving humanity.  In the past couple of weeks, Mother Nature descended upon us in the form of hurricanes and, instead of splinters, we were attacked with water.  Lives were lost, homes were lost, but LOVE was never lost.  In the hours and hours of news reports covering two hurricanes in a very short time, that’s where the focus lies – the loving humanity.

Businesses opened their doors to provide free shelter.  Families took in strangers.  Celebrities raised funds to support recovery.  Neighbors gathered food and clothing for strangers who lost everything.  A millionaire hunkered down on his private island not to save his things but to save animals.  You know what these news reports never talk about when reporting these acts?  Politics or religion.  Just humanity.  Maybe that’s the lesson here.  I hope the lessons carry forward.

Just like my human body will eject an ugly and annoying splinter that happens in the midst of my home's transformation, perhaps we should look to our humanity to eject the Ugly in our daily world.  Shine the light, folks.  Apply the loving salve  Heal.  Transform.