Family Moment

 

These family photos were taken on the final day of our summer vacation at the cabin on Sweet Lake, less than a month before dropping Sam off at the University of Minnesota in the Twin Cities for his first year of college. It was a bittersweet respite, with Sam struggling to "be with" us while trying to stay in contact via sketchy WIFI with his friends. I was sad that I couldn't get him or Tom out to kayak with me on the lake more, a sacred ritual for me. On the water I watched the loons guiding their chick, reminded of my similar role as Sam's mother. I am conflicted by my fear of that ending while excited for his new beginning. 

Growing up fast

Between a scavenger hunt at Hartley Park and a video game night sleepover this Saturday, my 13-year-old son and two of his buddies took time to participate in the local March for Our Lives rally. They made signs in the car on the way. They gathered with hundreds of others at the Central Administration Building. They marched eight blocks to the Civic Center, holding their signs and chanting "We call BS" and "Protect our kids, not our guns." Despite the wind and cold, they respectfully listened to the rally's speakers and stood in silence while the names of the 17 students who were killed at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School were read. Then, with frozen fingers and toes, they ran back to the car and turned the heater and fans up full blast.

I am so proud of these youths -- and all the others here and across the nation -- for standing up and speaking out. We must listen to them.

Sharing some heart-breaking moments for this mother this past week:

• In one of our discussions, my son said that the federal government needs to provide money so his school can have more police officers -- "because the one officer his school already has isn't enough to keep him and his schoolmates safe." 
• I realized that having a SWAT team and their bomb-sniffing dogs come into your school during a lock-down drill is common enough that my son didn't even mention it when asked, "What happened at school today?" When prodded, I learned: No, he didn't get to see the police officers or their dogs because he was hiding in a corner of his classroom behind some desks. Eye roll, here. "Mom, we've been having lock-downs since kindergarten."
• My son tearfully looked over at me while a grieving mother spoke during Saturday's rally about her 17-year-old son being shot to death by his college roommate.

I am sick of the smugness and the audacity the politicians and gun rights advocates show anyone and everyone who speaks out. I am sick of the NRA and gun industry whose greed has taken away all commonsense and any responsibility on this issue. And I am sick of the rest of us (myself at times included) who remain silent. #Enough. #NeverAgain.

Insightfulness Hits Home

I just completed J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis. It’s a good read, especially if you want to glean an understanding (Does anyone think our country could use more empathy these days?) of the plight of poor whites in greater Appalachia.

Listening to a panel of authors on CBS’ Face the Nation on New Year’s Day, I had pledged to read this book and a couple of others: Diane Guerrero’s In the Country We Love: My Family Divided and Amani Al-Khatahtbeh’s Muslim Girl: A Coming of Age. Vance’s book was the first of these I came across in the new books section at Mount Royal library branch.

Beyond its relevance to the divisions in our country today, Hillbilly Elegy gave me a lot to think about regarding my own experiences growing up and living my young adult years in West Virginia. I – thankfully -- grew up in a much, much more stable family than J.D. Vance. I didn’t experience divorce, multiple fathers, a drug-addicted mother, extreme neglect, and poverty during my childhood.

But I reported on the effects of such family instability spilling over, often messily, into communities during the first five years of my journalism career covering eight rural counties around Parkersburg, W.Va. I was perplexed at some of the stupid, violent, even murderous acts otherwise calm and reasoned people committed.  And I had heard of cases where someone who was defending their family’s honor – that Hillbilly Code of Honor – wouldn’t be convicted.

I left my home state in 1989. My husband, son and I still travel back annually to visit my Mom and cousins. I’m proud of my Appalachian heritage. Sometimes I long to return and just stay in the home my mother and father built on that acre of former farmland up a hollow. It would be foolish to move my son and husband from a state that’s always near the top of the rankings on education, health, economics, environment and opportunities to a state that’s always near the bottom. And I wish that wasn’t so.

Tis the Season

A friend shared this photo of a ham that's on sale at Walmart for the Jewish holiday of Chanukah. For Jews, eating ham or pork any time of the year isn't kosher. Linking ham to the the upcoming Jewish holiday is totally inappropriate, even offensive.

Was this a gag, a major faux pas on the part of some ignorant store employee -- or is there a tinge of anti-semitism in the corporate culture of Walmart? Trouble is, we don't and won't know -- for sure. 

This morning, I had to move a Christmas tree lamp out of sight of my teachers and students. It had been placed on a desk in our synagogue's main office. Most Jews don't celebrate Christmas, unless they are in a family of mixed religious observance or they shirt-tail in on the holiday of extended family or friends. 

To see a Christmas tree decoration in my synagogue -- the one place we, especially our children, should be free from or shielded from the bombardment of the major Christian holiday of Christmas -- is totally inappropriate and offensive.  

Once again the same questions apply: Was this a gag, a major faux pas on the part of an ignorant employee -- or passive-aggressive anti-semitism coming out in a Jewish workplace. No matter how this is resolved, I and others who are subjected to the lamp won't know -- for sure.

Happy I live in Minnesota

DFL caucus-goers search for their precinct rooms at Duluth East High School on Tuesday./ DNT photo

Looking at my state's caucus results today, I'm happy to say I live in Minnesota. That more voters in our state chose Bernie Sanders over Hilary Clinton, says to me our DFLers are aspiring. That they chose Marco Rubio over Donald Trump or Ted Cruz, says to me our Republicans are more rational.

Tom and I stopped in at our precinct's DFL caucus last night at East High School to cast ballots for a presidential candidate. Sam, 11, listened from the backseat while we discussed Hilary vs, Bernie on the drive there. Walking the few blocks away we had to park, we talked about him looking for campaign buttons and stickers. Entering the crowded lobby and hallways, the energy was palpable. It was a good energy, not angry.

We waited in line to get into the busy, crowded classroom where our precinct's caucus was being held. Our neighbor from across the street registered us. Another person I recognized loaned us her pen. As an election judge serving my precinct's voters for the last nine years, these actions represented an odd "turn of the tables" for me. I had never participated in a caucus before, although I covered them once as a newspaper reporter.

We chose to vote and leave rather than participate in the caucus discussion. Tom needed to get back to his work, it was a school night for Sam.

Bernie Sanders and Hilary Clinton laugh during CNN debate.

Once home, Sam put the Hilary sticker he had scored on his water bottle, and wished he'd gotten a Bernie sticker too. (A caucus worker fashioned one out campaign literature and masking tape, but it wasn't the same.)

On his way upstairs to bed, he quietly told me he voted for Bernie Sanders in his school election. I had heard him earlier in the week speaking against Donald Trump because of the things he had said about Muslims, building a wall around Mexico, and because "he lies." He showed me Bernie's "A President who will:" campaign literature in explaining why, pointing to "Act to Stop Climate Change" and "Make public colleges tuition-free" bullet points.

I have to admit I didn't vote for Bernie, choosing the DFL candidate I believed more "realistic" in her campaign goals and in winning the presidency. But I love that my son chose him. I hark back to Paul Wellstone. And I hope that some day, I again will choose the "idealistic."

A precious present

Our last family visit with my sister-in-law Cathy and brother Mike, Arlington National Cemetery, July 2015

It turned out to be a more important trip than any of us realized.

I wanted to show my son our nation's Capitol but I didn't want to short-change our annual summer visit to my Mom's in West Virginia. I called my brother to see if Mom could stay with him in Arlington -- IF we could convince her to accompany us to D.C. At 85, she had sworn off any more travel. But for some reason, she agreed to go.

Josh and Erin, National Zoo, July 2015

Tom, Sam and I spent four days in Washington, seeing the monuments on the National Mall, visiting the Smithsonian museums and Bureau of Engraving and Printing, getting time with extended family during meals and visits to the National Zoo and Arlington National Cemetery. Mom got to spend a lot of time visiting with my brother and his wife. I was glad we made the trip.

But now, even more so. My sister-in-law Cathy died last Monday from an illness not fully diagnosed. She was 62. Her passing came as a shock. Although she had been struggling with health the past few years, symptoms would be treated and activities resumed. On Saturday, we believed her latest struggle, with pneumonia, had turned for the better. On Sunday, it turned for the worst.

I'm grateful we made this trip. My family is too. We had four extra days with Cathy - a precious present.

More Waste Management Woes

Our garbage service woes continue. Our Waste Management hauler missed Friday's pickup. We left the can on the curb thinking maybe MLK day on Monday could have pushed back our scheduled service.

On Sunday, after checking that the can was still full, I called customer service. Closed, a recording referred me to the Waste Management website for service where I filled out a form about the missed pickup. This is the same site that it took four months for me to receive a response from last summer. (See Customer Service Lament post.)

So I called customer service again Monday during their "business hours." She scheduled a pickup and promised that a Waste Management hauler would be by before 6 p.m.yet today -- pause -- or by noon Tuesday.

The last time I had service scheduled because of a missed pickup, they never came until the very end of the week, on our regular service day. Want to place a bet on when my "scheduled pickup" will actually happen?

UPDATE: My scheduled pickup time came and went. I had to make a third call to customer service mid-afternoon on Tuesday. The rep learned they had "closed" my scheduled pickup as if it had already occurred, then doggedly pursued tracking down my actual route manager. After 20 minutes on the phone, she scheduled another pickup. They finally got it -- before the end of the day on Tuesday.

Of Clocks and Clockmakers

Our pendulum clock died shortly before Christmas. Its mechanical heartbeat ceased. Its chimes that resounded at the top and bottom of the hour were silenced.

The absence of a clock ticking in the house was unsettling. Not to mention that my husband, who can become minutely focused on any project at hand, would lose all track of time.

We knew we wanted another pendulum clock, preferably old and preferably oak. A search of Duluth antique stores turned up nothing. An effort to find "the Clock Man," a dealer who used to have a nice collection of clocks at Father Time, failed.

In our effort, we found Al Hazebroek, who has cleaned and repaired clocks for more than 30 years. He and his wife are downsizing. He invited us to his home to look at some clocks with which he was willing to part.

We liked several, but chose this old schoolhouse clock. It was made by a Duluth man named Wittala or Wuotala, according to Al. I googled Duluth clockmakers by those names and got a hit for a John Leonard Wuotila. His obituary said he inspected arriving foreign ships as a plant protection and quarantine worker for the USDA. And, among many other things, he enjoyed making clocks.

It has taken us a while to get used to our new clock's tick and chime. It's of much better quality than the one it replaced. And I really like the fact that it's locally made.

Paying It Forward

Six years ago during holiday break, my son started learning to ski. In the photo at top he is being helped by a Chester Bowl ski cadet.

In the image at bottom, he now wears the green jacket. On Saturday, Sam began his official duties as a ski cadet, helping others learn how to ski at Chester Bowl's week-long ski camp.

I'm incredibly proud that he has chosen to be a ski cadet. As such he needs to log 50+ hours on the hill. Already, he teaches non-skiers how to side-step up the cordoned-off bunny hill, catches them at the bottom, and helps them get back up if they fall. He accompanies beginner and intermediate skiers on the chair lift then skis down the hill with them, slowly following or leading, if necessary, or skiing alongside at their speed. Later on in lessons, he and other cadets will guide lines of new skiers in snake formations down the hill.

Outside of ski camp and Thursday night ski lessons, he will help other skiers on the slope -- retrieving runaway skis or dropped ski poles, assisting someone who's taken a tumble, going for aid if someone is hurt.

There are some perks. On days he's on duty, he receives free meals at the hill. And he gets to ski for a lot longer time than in previous years. But the best perks are mine and Tom's. We get to watch our son take on more responsibilities and make a contribution of his own to the world.

Fighting for the Not-So-Little Things

I discovered this week that our Health Reimbursement Account and I both paid the same medical bill. The HRA payment was made on July 7. My personal check was cashed by the Essentia Health system on July 23. I telephoned the business office of Essentia Health early this morning, seeking reimbursement of my $95.55 over-payment.

The woman on the line told me she couldn’t return the money until a medical bill from a service I received on Nov. 23 is fully paid. I haven’t yet received that bill from Essentia Health. But I shared with the woman what I know about its payment from my insurance account details online: My insurer already has sent payment for what’s covered and the portion that’s to be paid from our HRA “is pending.”

I reminded her that Essentia Health, aka, the Duluth Clinic, aka St. Mary’s Medical System, was founded on Benedictine values. I also explained that my husband teaches ethics at the College of St. Scholastica, which is run by the same Benedictine nuns who founded St. Mary’s. I told her that it didn’t seem very ethical to keep $95.55 of my money for five months without letting me know an over-payment had been made. And it was even less ethical to continue keeping it once I requested it be returned.

She, of course, would have to speak to her supervisor about this. I asked her to let me speak to her supervisor. “I will try...” she said. On hold for a fair amount of time, I anticipated I would hear the standard spiel about her supervisor not being available and I would need to call back. Surprisingly, the woman came back on the line saying she would process my refund.

It makes me very sad that I’m surprised when someone actually does the right thing, or almost the right thing.

Great Literature

By sheer coincidence I find myself reading two books about the sea simultaneously. Both are turning out to be excellent reads, most notably for their absorbing tales and descriptive writing.

Our family read-aloud is Margi Preus' "Heart of a Samurai," a book that was gifted to my 10-year-old son. It's a story about a Japanese boy who is shipwrecked, rescued by a whaling ship, and comes to live in America in the 1840s. We're captivated by the boy's efforts to adopt western life, the cultural comparisons he makes, and his struggles to achieve his dream to once again see his family and homeland.

My personal read, E. Annie Proulx' "The Shipping News," is a true delight I discovered in a Little Lending Library on Minnesota Point. A widowed man moves to his ancestral home of Newfoundland with his two young daughters and aunt to start new lives.I'm awed by the vivid images of life in Newfoundland, the simple way in which the complex struggles of the dad in starting life over again are portrayed, and the depth the author has given her colorful cast of characters. I savor carefully crafted phrases, such as evoking his daughter's "Beethoven scowl." I'm smitten with the small-town newspaper stories the protagonist and his colleagues cover and, especially, the headlines that run through the main character's mind about his own life.

Both books received high prizes: Preus earned a Newbery Honor, Proulx the 1994 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.Reading them, makes me commit to writing more regularly and entertain the idea of returning to newspapering -- but at that small-town level where it can be a lot more fun.

DC Adventure: Arlington National Cemetery

I wasn't in the right frame of mind when we arrived at Arlington National Cemetery.

We got delayed at our subway stop and were late meeting Mike and Cathy. I was annoyed that my Mom spent so much time at the women's memorial, considering all of the other sights in Washington that Tom, Sam and I wanted to see.

We got to talk with my sister-in-law about her time in Afghanistan and Iraq. We saw President John F. Kennedy's grave. By the time we got to the Tomb of the Unknowns and watched the changing of the guard, I was able to appreciate the experience.

Parents, please!

This message is to all parents who have wondered if you should allow or should not allow your child to participate in an activity: USE YOUR COMMON SENSE!
  
My husband purchased a Red Rider BB gun for my son when he was about 5 years old. We waited until he was 8 to give it to him. We spent several afternoons on his grandmother's acre of land teaching him basic gun safety and giving him the time to learn how to load, aim and shoot the gun responsibly. His targets were empty pop cans and zombies drawn on paper plates. He had his safety glasses on so as not to "shoot his eye out." An adult was with him at all times.

  
There is absolutely no reason a 9-year-old should be learning how to shoot an uzzi, even if it is at a shooting range under the guidance of a gun instructor.

No matter what the rules allow, no matter what the guidelines recommend, no matter what a licensed professional says  -- you are No. 1 in keeping your child and others safe.

Allow me to repeat: USE YOUR COMMON SENSE! 

A lack of standards

Since I left the Duluth News Tribune as managing editor in 2008, seldom have I commented on the changes that have occurred since the break-up of Knight Ridder and sale of the paper and its other local publications to Forum Communications. On Sunday, while glancing through the Budgeteer News, I paused at the by-lined story on Temple Israel's upcoming Scholars-in-Residence program.

Since the story was credited as a work of Duluth Budgeteer News reporter Teri Cadeu, I expected to see some original reporting and writing. Beyond the byline, not a single word was original. The article was the press release from the synagogue published verbatim. I know, as I had posted parts of the release on the synagogue's Website the previous day.

Back when the Duluth News Tribune purchased the Budgeteer News and other local publications, I was charged with working with the editors of those publications to raise journalism standards and to foster sharing of news coverage among long-time competitors. Many participated, along with reporters and editors at the Duluth News Tribune, in sessions I led on journalism ethics and standards, including issues such as plagiarism, accepting items of monetary value from sources, and the use of anonymous sources.

One such session specifically outlined the use of press release material in reporter by-lined or newspaper-credited stories. Facts could be used -- as long as they were verified independently. Quotes could be used -- only if those sources refused to be independently interviewed and we reported in the story that they were being cited from a news release. Writing needed to be one's own; the lifting of phrases or paragraphs wasn't allowed unless credited as part of the news release. Failure to follow these guidelines resulted in discipline up to and including termination from one's job.

Sadly, I'm not surprised or even that upset about what I found in Sunday's Budgeteer News. It's simply a level of standards I've come to expect.

Dose of reality

In a heated election year, it's important to have a credible source. I appreciate this organization: www.factcheck.org and the work it does!

Duluth's great flood of 2012

Chester Creek rushes over a pedestrian bridge in the park.

My family hunkered indoors Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning, listening to the thunder and downpours of rain, counting seconds after lightning strikes. We continually monitored the radar, as well as news and community blog postings of the havoc and destruction the storm was wreaking. Once in a while we checked on the small trickles or streams, depending on the severity of the rainfall at the moment, running in from various points in our basement.

My son was engrossed by the images of high water rushing over rocks we had rested upon during a hike last week in Chester Park, water surrounding the Target store, cars in sinkholes, and the tales of seals and a polar bear escaping from their enclosures at the zoo. (One seal was found on Grand Avenue.) He was saddened by reports of the barnyard animals' drowning.

By 1 p.m., I put on my rain boots (Sam's are too small, again), and we headed out into our neighborhood to view the storm damage. "He's going to be telling stories about this one to his children," our mailwoman predicted, as we encountered her on the street.

We witnessed the raging brown waters of Chester Creek from atop the Ninth Street Bridge (after road workers had checked its structural integrity and reopened it). We walked along Chester Park Drive, observing from above the road washouts and mudslides that carried large trees from the upper woods, across the hiking trail and almost down to the creek. We washed the bottoms of our muddy boots and tennis shoes in the small but steady runoff coming down our alley.

Today, in honor of Duluth's great flood of 2012, my son and I read the chapter from Winnie the Pooh, "In Which Piglet is Entirely Surrounded by Water."

Life's hard lessons

My son and I went to buy Valentines for his classmates yesterday. He spent about 20 minutes, narrowing his choices to two Star Wars varieties -- shiny image-changing ones or paper cards with strawberry lollipops. He chose the latter.

He couldn't wait to get home and address them to his classmates. But when he opened the box, we quickly realized we had been duped!

The box clearly showed four different Valentine cards: Yoda, Darth Vader, Darth Maul and R2D2/C3PO. A picture of an individual lollipop showed its "actual" size. But inside we found no cards, only cellophane bags with Darth Vader on the front and the lollipop inside.

My son was highly disappointed. "Where are the cards?" "Where's Yoda?" and "Why would they do that?" He asked the last question several times. "It's called deceptive advertising," I responded, acknowledging his and my outrage.

With some gentle questions, I tried to assess whether his disappointment in the product would overcome his joy at giving Valentines to his friends. In the end, he labled the bags and readied his Valentines for school.

This morning, though, he was still questioning the matter. I explained the concept of ethics and how some companies and people have good ethics and others don't. He still can't get over "Why they would do that."

No wonder

I find the Washington Post's raw analysis of the median net worth of our House of Representatives compared to the common man's interesting. To view them, click here.

In today's mail

A postcard arrived in the mail today from the Minnesota Department of Agriculture issuing notice that an aerial application of a biological insecticide to slow the spread of the gypsy moth will occur in my area the week of June 13.

Seems a tad late, considering yesterday's posting.

Invasion battle begins

The Minnesota Department of Agriculture began its attack against gypsy moth caterpillars in our neighborhood around 5:30 this morning.

I was awakened by the loud drone of this plane that delivered the weapon of choice: Btk, Bacillus thuringiensis kurstaki. The soil fungus activates spores in the stomachs of caterpillars that eat vegetation upon which it has been sprayed, causing the caterpillars to die in seven to 10 days.

The official government fact sheet on Btk reports it is relatively harmless to humans and pets, though they recommend staying indoors up to 30 minutes after the spraying, waiting for the dew to dry before going outside, washing your hands after being outside, and washing any skin that comes in contact with wet spray.

Another aerial attack is likely to come later this summer. It would drop synthetic pheromone chips that confuse male moths, making it difficult for them to find female moths and mate.