Watch out world---here we come (until mid December)!

I now have the Covid Booster #3.  Because of medicines I take for auto-immune disease, I never felt like I was fully immunized.  My sister-in-law (Debbie), a liver transplant, is part of a Johns Hopkin's study of people taking immune suppressing drugs.  She got her third shot in August and further testing showed that she was fully immunized, at last.  So, I patiently waited for my turn to get the booster, confident that I, too, will be fully immunized.

Debbie and my brother Jim are so confident of her immunization they are now on a cruise.  After almost two weeks of having the booster, I am feeling more confident that I can  get out, too, but I'm not quite ready for a cruise.  I am ready to get out of the house, though, and explore some places that I haven't seen in more than 3 years:  Missouri Botanical Garden, St. Louis Art Museum, the Butterfly House, Kohl's Department Store, Costco.

Our self-imposed isolation began in December 2018.  Since my diagnosis with auto-immune disease, I traditionally isolate from mid December until mid March.  But, in January 2019, my husband was diagnosed with lymphoma.  So, we never emerged in mid March 2019. . . .  Just as I was beginning to feel confident I could leave him at home alone to have lunch with my sister and cousin in late February 2020, Covid reared its ugly head. 

I took some baby steps in May and June 2021:  I had a pedicure, a hair cut, went to 2 thrift stores, CVS,  Dierberg's and Schnuck's.  We also went to the Doubletree to celebrate our 50th anniversary with our children and their families.  We watched our grandchildren play in the pool, had lunch in a cabana, had a catered dinner in our own hospitality room with some video entertainment put together by our daughters and spent the night at the hotel.  Did I feel safe?  NO!  The hotel was packed with two huge parties none of which wore masks.  I refused to get on an elevator with anyone other than family members.  We only spent one night at the hotel despite paying for two.  We were luckier than many of our friends, though, whose anniversary plans were totally destroyed by Covid.

So, I am ready to step out again for the next two months.  We are not ready to travel or eat in a restaurant.  But, we are ready to visit some much loved places and people.  So, while Jim and Deb are dining on fine cruise cuisine, we will still be eating at home, eating out-doors, getting take out.  While they are seeing the tropical sights in the Bahamas, we will be  enjoying the tropical Butterfly House.  While they are playing socially distanced Bingo, we will be attending socially distanced church one Saturday night.

Baby steps. . . .

Teddy Bears' Picnic

 The Presbyterian Women’s Teddy Bear Picnic brought back several memories of stories from my childhood.

I was the only granddaughter for 3 years on both sides of my family.  I was showered with dolls and dresses and all things pink from not just my grandparents but my great aunts and uncles.  One of the great aunts bought me a giant black and white panda which I slept with. I loved the texture of its fur— so soft and, well, furry.  I didn’t have much use for dolls, and couldn’t understand why other little girls liked dolls that were hard, plastic and so needy, wanting clothes and shoes to be changed, wanting a bottle, needing diaper changes.  My mother later confessed she was concerned that I wasn’t very “motherly”.. .

So, when I was in Kindergarten and chosen to be in the musical performance of “Teddy Bears Picnic” I was super excited—it’s all I could talk about.  I can still hum the tune.  My mother and grandmother hopped on board, made me a new dress and the day of the performance my mother spent a lot of time getting my hair in banana curls:  after sleeping in rag curls Mom had to  section my hair,  wrapping each section around a finger, brushing each hair to smooth the curl, then slowly removed her finger.  After she applied my rouge and lip stick, I was ready to go.

The time for my performance arrived.  Grandma and Mom were in the audience—they couldn’t wait to see the star with the banana curls and new dress.  When they saw me, they were so disappointed: I heard this story repeatedly from them.  I had been crammed into a teddy bear costume with only my eyes showing—no makeup, no curls, no new dress.  But I was so happy to become a teddy bear for a few minutes!

When I had children of my own, my mother even bought me the book Teddy Bears Picnic with a record of Bing Crosby singing the tune! I still wonder why some prefer dolls to the warm fuzziness of a teddy bear.

Louise's Birthday 2005

 

I almost missed writing a blog for Mother's 100th birthday, but I have a few more weeks before it is her 101 birthday.  With Covid isolation last summer, my brain wasn't working that well, but now that things are a little more "normal". . . .

Mom had a lot of ideas on how she wanted to celebrate her 85th birthday, though:  sky-diving, a tattoo, Glamour Shots.  We decided we should take a poll of her children/grandchildren (who had been coached to circle "Glamor Shots") to see what her birthday "treat" would be and just have a regular celebration for now.  We celebrated her 85th birthday at her home at Lake Sherwood with Doug and Christi Provost, Leah and Todd Warren, Rebecca and Jason Lewis, Jim and Deb Long, Harry Provost, Dave and I.  Several of our cousins next door popped over to say hi too. Since it was her first birthday after Dad passed, we tried to make it as festive as possible with games, contests (spitting watermelon seeds but Leah bought seedless watermelons making it a challenge finding seeds to spit)and awards.  Oh, Glamour Shots was the winner for her birthday "treat"!

Meanwhile since she would have to wait for her birthday "treat", she surprised us with a visit from friends who brought their Harley for her to ride---fulfilling another of her bucket list wishes.

It had been awhile since I had been to Chesterfield Mall and didn't realize that Glamour Shots was no longer there---in fact, it was nowhere in St. Louis!  Fortunately they still had a studio in Dallas where my sister Jane lived.  So, we took a road trip to visit Jane and Richard with Glamour Shots photo shoot on the agenda.  

We got to the mall a little early and shopped around buying some dangling earrings for her to wear.  When it was our appointment time, the ladies in the studio were clearly intrigued at glamour-izing an 85 year old woman.  I don't know who had more fun: Jane, me, Mom or the ladies in the studio.

I LOVED all of her glamor shots but Jane, being a professional business person, wanted one shot that was a little more conservative (boring). Mom obviously had a great time and that event is one of my favorite memories.  Later, we went back to pick up the photos and they had made a large photo of her as part of their display---she was clearly the oldest model in their display, hopefully setting a trend in her age group.  Mom proudly used the photos on her Christmas cards that year.

She was gone a year later, so we'll never know what her plans were for her 90th birthday.   Jane used the "professional business person photo" for her funeral cards which is why Jane had wanted that pose. .. . I'm a little sorry that we didn't use the more glamorous photos.

My Evolving Views on Race, Part IV

 In trying to explain why she couldn't preach outrage over the Trayvon Martin verdict, Nadia Bolz-Weber states, ". .. I could not with any integrity 'stand my  own ground against violence and racism---not because I no longer believed in standing against these things (I do!), but because my own life and my own heart contain too much ambiguity."

"Ambiguity" is precisely what I feel after the Derek Chauvin verdict---not an ambiguity that says "I don't care" but an ambiguity that says I feel deeply for everyone.   I feel strongly that Chauvin was guilty of murder.  I feel strongly about Black Lives Matter.  But, I also am supportive of our police officers.  There would be no celebration regardless of the jury's verdict but a profound sadness for both sides. The verdict will not bring George Floyd back to life.   As Pastor MP said this morning at our Thursday morning discussion, "Derek Chauvin is still a child of God." 

This sad ambiguity is what I feel anytime race is discussed. When I was much younger, I felt the outrage.  I taught the protest songs, the Harlem poets, Black literature.  But, I am older, more experienced and hopefully wiser now. Even during that protest period I realized that a white woman teaching black literature was in some ways condescending---that I had appropriated a culture and a cause that was not my own.

After DNA analysis, it is with some satisfaction I say, "I descend from African slaves."  But after careful genealogical research, I can also say, "I descend from a woman who moved with her slaves into Missouri."  Both statements are true.  In my family history, I have slaves and slave-holders.  I know there are those that say, "it is in our country history"  or "many of us have that in our history, move on".  Until you see the evidence in black and white, you can't know the impact both of those statements have on me, an American.  

Even knowing these facts for several years has not smoothed out the jagged edges of being descended from slave and slave holder.  In some respects, it has become even more difficult to live with.  Recently the Black Lives Matter movement has made me aware of "white privilege".  This made me hurt even more.  Cousins who descended from the same slave I descended from have hurt for many more generation than my family has.  I've traced my line back to the early 1800s,  and they were already passing for white. They had some of that "white privilege" working for them.   And, this hurts me to the bone: knowing that cousins suffered for hundreds of years longer than my family did.

So, how did my family live "white".  First, mixed race was not a big deal in Colonial America.  There simply were not enough European people around.  My earliest known mixing of race was in the late 1600's---English and Native American.  I even qualify for the Jamestown Society based on that family.  But sometime after the Revolution when slavery became more of a political issue, being mixed race was not something talked about.  Many families congregated together forming their own settlements because they didn't really fit in with European, Native American or African communities. (for more on this, click here) Those who favored the European side moved on and passed for white.  During the Jim Crow era, they weren't allowed to be mixed race so they didn't talk about it.  One drop of African blood made them Black. Period.

I inherited West African DNA from my grandmother who was "orphaned" at a young age and didn't know much about her family.  See, it is that easy. Stories, rumors, suspicions are forgotten.  I don't know if my mother suspected. Although she grew up in Arkansas, went bare-foot and spoke with a Southern drawl she would not allow disparaging words about Blacks.  "Your grandpa's best friends have always been Black"  "Growing up, we saw no difference in Black and White---we all just played together."

That is what would make me happy---not taking sides, but just playing together as they did when Mother was a child.  Endless discussions about racism in America give me anxiety because I feel like I should take a stance.  But the stance I want is one that would make no one in that discussion happy.  I want to live in a community where we live side-by-side, go to churches which are integrated, where the children playing on the playground have a range of skin tones.  I want to live in a community where people are judged by their thoughts and not by their skin color. I want to live in a place where people of color can live without fear of being pulled over for simple traffic violations.  

And the slave holding ancestress?  Bringing slaves into a border state was a terrible idea around the Civil War.  She had several children she could live with in eastern Missouri.  She did not choose to live with my ancestor but his brother, Sam.  During the Civil War, Yankee vigilantes arrested Sam and executed him for having slaves.  No trial, no explanation---it was clear that if Sam had slaves, he supported the Confederacy.  (click here and scroll down to Samuel Long) The vigilantes?  They were Germans who had recently emigrated and settled around Big River. I descend from one of those too.  I scream "American".  

For Part III, click here

For Part II, click here

For Part I, click here

Intentional vs. Accidental

 In our Thursday morning church discussion last week of Nadia Bolz-Weber's book Accidental Saints, several in the discussion indicated that intentionally being Christian was important to them.  How could they do that and be an "accidental saint", someone who stumbles into being Christ-like?

As a teacher, I would compare it to my teaching.  I intentionally made daily lesson plans with goals, objectives, activities, but occasionally a student would ask a question that to answer it would keep me from achieving those daily goals.  I would have to weigh it --- stick to my intentional plan or shut my plan book and teach a whole new lesson---an accidental lesson.  This is called a "teachable moment"---giving the lesson that is needed not the one that was planned.

I often had this situation when I was teaching English as Second Language.  The students would ask a  language question  or cultural question not in my plan book.  One year I was teaching in a district that was so rigid that they didn't really support the "teachable moment".  All material to be copied needed to be submitted a week in advance, had to be approved by the principal---no exceptions.  So, if a family of 3 from Taiwan moved into the district, I couldn't have work for them because I had only 10 copies that had been pre-approved 10 days earlier.  But, even worse was not being able to teach to the questions that popped up almost daily.  I by-passed the red tape by getting copies at Kinko's, paying for them myself (and ultimately finding another district to work in).

Can you imagine a baseball team manager playing a game intentionally without allowing the accidental.  They would print up the roster and could not change it.  If a player became injured, wasn't playing well, or thrown out of the game, the game would have to be played as"intended." Or a coach who can't  change the game plan?

Most of us aren't teachers or baseball managers but practicing Christians.  We can have a plan each morning to read the Bible, pray before meals, donate food to Circle of Concern, but if we don't keep our hearts open, we've missed the point.  The difficult conversation about race may help you understand your neighbor better. The telephone call interrupting your Bible study may be helping a friend who needs a listening ear.  Letting someone ahead of you on Manchester Road on your way to Circle may help a mother running late picking her child up on time. Paying it forward at McDonald's may help the man who just realized he left his wallet at home.   All are opportunities to put our Christian principles to work without knowing it ahead of time..  By deviating from our intentional practices, getting out of our comfort zone, we can often become the saints we want to be:  accidental saints.

Star Word: Justice

 My 2020 star word  was "Unwind"

Looking forward for something

 I could do at home---

Just me—-

I asked for 2021 word hoping for just the same. . . 

But no.  “Justice”

How can I do this at home alone? 

I can't go out in crowds, non-fiction bores me,

Blood pressure can't handle disagreements.

Listening to Amanda, I began to understand:

"Justice" can be my platform, my stand.

It's not just me or just them but just us.

Working together, even while living my alone life.

If my foundation is "Justice”, I can stand,

And fight at home with words. 

Don't need to justify or argue— just stand

for what is just and true—Justice.