family

Round robin

two parallel arrows pointing in opposite directions

As my grandparents moved on through their lives, some important friends joined them in a round robin correspondence. They had a cycle of friends who each contributed a letter to the circuit. When a group of letters arrived, after reading their friends’ messages, they removed their own and replaced it with a new bulletin and forwarded the messages on to the next person in the list.

I don’t know when the project started, but I imagine it beginning with friends from church or their careers who wanted to keep in touch as their lives progressed. Rather than leaving the people behind, they kept their community going with their communiques.

When I was collecting stamps, I found the Cover Collectors Circuit Club. An originator would pick a list of members around the world. The list would specify its own one-shot round robin so that members would forward an original postal cover to the next person in the list.

Another correspondence project is Postcrossing which enables you to send postcards to someone randomly selected from around the world. In compensation, members receive postcards from a similarly selected person from another nation.

Bill and Madelyn’s round robin project is from a different era when people were starting to disperse but still chose to keep a community going. It might be the start of my family’s legacy of building a larger community than one of parents, siblings and children. The investment needed to support a relationship can’t really be sustained by tools designed for profit motives that debase the connection possible with real contacts and sincere support. Do I really want to hear from a synthetic pen pal?

Society’s connective tissue is built out of stories shared from one person to another. When it is dangerous to tell stories, the legacy of a round robin collection of friends is torn apart. I try to keep hearing new stories. Perhaps I should start telling stories as well.

Overlooking the garden

a few green leaves from a garden

Bang! The window rattled in the kitchen overlooking the garden. The morning sun slanted into the room, lighting up the counter piled with dishes just washed. The knives that she received for Christmas were from the uncle who was distant because he seemed to listen but rarely spoke.

The garden was just starting. She was proud of the even rows that are kept clear of weeds and pests. Somehow, the insects overlooked her garden. Her hatred of poisons and herbicides had been well respected most years.

The window was not normally a target. All spring, the cool breeze that came through it spread the aroma of stew and spices. Past years, the bakery items would be shared with the neighbors. The perfection of the garden’s beauty seemed far from the mess that was her childhood. It was overwhelming and nothing made sense.

Uncle Mark was surely a misfit. No one visited him. I was glad when he gave the gifts last year. He was pulled into the family finally and his reticence to speak was replaced with his chuckling followed by hearty laughter and everyone knew something had changed. At the get-togethers, they always played cards. Oh Heck and Euchre. Uncle Mark had pretty bad luck. The cards ware never what he needed to earn points. He was a good sport and even played to help the kids beat the serious players. It wasn’t so much sacrificing to help the others but rather a streak of mischief-making that had never been evident to anyone.

The knives were still new. their hardwood handles didn’t have much wear. The days of cooking had been slowly fading away. It wasn’t a problem that made her slow down, but rather the old enthusiasm and inventiveness weren’t fun anymore. Perhaps it was time to share the household with another person.

The summer was just beginning, and the harvest was not yet causing the fridge and pantry to overflow. Peas would be the first followed by beans and radishes. The sunny days had been slow to arrive this year. It was time to find something new to do. The days are growing longer, but the time spent alone is more burdensome than before. Life was changing and the future was not so shiny anymore.

… from the red book

Cooking

From the red book…

They say I’m a good cook. I try new dishes. Just tell me the ingredients and often I can figure it out. I’m always learning.

Sometimes my mom wasn’t a very good cook when I was little. Sometimes the scrambled eggs had shell fragments. But once I grew up, I have some favorite dishes that she made. Her pot roasts had awesome carrots onions and potatoes. The chuck roast was ready to tear into and I would cover it all with gravy. I always put pepper on top.

We had a beverage we called pond scum. It was a couple different Kool-Aid packets with 7-Up. Usually, it was only for parties. Another dish we had that I loved was “beany goop” which was a casserole with different kinds of beans in it and a breaded topping.

One of my friends says that she has to follow a recipe religiously careful. I’m more flexible. I don’t think I’m a cooking heretic. I just have things I make.

The old kitchen had shiny copper titles on the wall. There was a window over the sink looking out at the field and the mountain behind it. The dinner table was off to the left and we had a lot of family dinners there. I don’t remember much specific besides my insistence that “no singing at the table” was a rule.

I get a little sad when I think of those days. We lived far away. The school bus took us in to school. I sat in the middle on the right. It let me watch the roads go by and I could stay out of the target of the mean kids.

In the winter, snow drifts piled high. I liked playing. We would lob snowballs at the trees. The weather never seemed radical back then. We got rain when we needed it and the snow was not oppressive. For some reason, I don’t remember shoveling snow. We didn’t have a sidewalk—living out in the country, there wasn’t any point.

I remember the snow cones with real snow. We would dribble maple syrup on them. It was nice.

I’m a late bloomer in my cooking. When I was in school, I didn’t cook much. I don’t remember anything to remark on. I was glad that I could eat in the cafeteria. Sometimes I have nightmares that the cafeteria would be out or that I got there too late. My cooking now might be a subconscious wish to never be late.

After hitting bottom

Thought bubbleThere are two ways to look at hitting rock bottom.

One is that you can’t lose any more. “You’re bottom is where you stop digging.” You’ve lost your family, home, career, money, self-respect. What more can you lose?

The other is to treasure anything that you get after the point of crisis. You’ve lost your home, but you’re grateful there’s a shelter that you can stay at. Your family is gone, but you’ve met someone who is willing to pray with you.

The former is a natural attitude toward a bottom. Is the latter grateful attitude more likely to lead to recovery?

Things I’m grateful for

  • A beautiful sunrise
  • Unplanned renewals
  • Family heirlooms
  • Answers are provided
  • Community
  • A sturdy house
  • Toastmasters
  • DNA
  • Wisdom

Who can the elderly care for?

If their health deteriorates, the elderly might need people to care for them. When a family isn’t available, they can live in nursing homes. The staff of these facilities helps as much as they can with their needs.

One need that might not be met is their need to nurture and care for others. All through their lives, they’ve cared for their children and grandchildren. Once the transition to assisted living and other support arrangements, there’s no one for them to care for any more.Her face lit up when she saw a friend arrive

People are much more mobile now and move far away from their parents. Other people have had bad experiences and don’t want to be around their parents. These barriers can isolate the elderly and disconnect them from the rest of the world. Loneliness and depression are often the results.

One aspect of this can be to care for pets that are in the facility. However, that leaves out the human connection that is a spark of life that only people can share.

One approach for progress in this area is for churches, synagogues, mosques and temples to help with this need. They are well-equipped to organize volunteers who could support the elderly in their community. By going and learning more about the individuals and their stories, this lonely time can be more meaningful. It would be an effort to honor the ones who still need to care for someone.

Original image: Happy Planet 2. By Patrick Doheny [Image license]

*The* candidate litmus test

People talk about litmus tests for candidates. Do they vote the right way on abortion? The right way on the LGBTQ rights? The right way on immigration?

An example of a litmus test showing both blue and red reactions In chemistry, a litmus test is a chemical reaction on a strip of paper that turns red in an acid and and blue in a alkali.

I guess the use of litmus tests is unexpectedly appropriate to American politics. States are marked as red and blue, just like the litmus test.

The litmus tests that ask questions about abortion, LBGTQ rights, and immigration are emotionally charged. People get passionate about them. They can violently disagree and not be willing to listen to the other side. Heaven help us if you bring them up at Thanksgiving dinner.

I have a much simpler litmus test. It’s not complicated. It isn’t based on emotion and passion. It’s something you can discuss at the dinner table without getting indigestion.

Test to ask a candidate: Would I hire you as a crossing guard in my neighborhood?

Very simple, very to the point and something that gets right to the heart of life… what is best for our kids? The kids are the ones who have no say in the matter and are the most affected by who we vote for in November.

Can you trust a candidate with your kids when you’re not around? Choose well!

Original image: Kitchen Science 27. By Lenore Edman [Image license]
Check out Evil Mad Scientist It’s *awesome*!

Recovery Words: Self-Castigation

Self-castigation: attacking oneself with severe criticism, reproof and punishment.

Before recovery, this can be a way of life. The shame of letting your family down again. The regret of losing a job by acting out at work. Everything is your fault and you can’t get out of it.

It seems that the people around you are not as hard on you as you are to myself. You see all the lies and secrets and know how badly you’ve really been doing. The family is ready to forgive you and your friends just hope you’ll get better. You’re out on your own in your own head and that makes it all worse.

After a while, the self-castigation can become as bad as the effects of the substances or not having them when you need them. If you’re so bad that you can’t even control it when you want to, your shame and guilt don’t have an answer. One conclusion is that punishment and criticism are the responses that make sense.

Once this attitude has taken hold, it takes a long time for it to go away. When you make a small mistake, it reminds you of past big ones. You get support from your friends and you’re glad they’re in your corner. It’s almost as if you have a resentment against yourself and can’t let it go.

It was a big relief when this attitude isn’t your first way to respond to your own mistakes. You talk to people who understand you and believe them when they say you’re doing well and that they are glad to see you or hear from you.

When you’re alone, it’s hard to find a balance, but with friends and people who care giving you support, you can get closer to self-acceptance.

Self-acceptance: To be contented with, appreciate and respect oneself.