The real race.....

Over the last week, I have had an opportunity to confront, up close and personal, prejudice at it's root. It has slapped me in the face, pummeled me in that part of my psyche where I make the most basic decisions that guide my life, and turned my ideas of who am I and what I stand for upside down. It is a shock, it saddens me, and I am left wondering what I really stand for, if, when the chips are truly down, I can't stand for what I know in my heart and mind and soul is right.

This brief, but compelling experience, made me understand, perhaps for the first time, just how deeply we are divided, what an extremely arduous task it is to overcome the basic life experiences that serve to separate us, and just how far we have to go in order to achieve anything like fairness and equality. It took a brief phone call, which forced me to step out of my personal comfort zone for a few minutes, to open my eyes to my own flawed thinking, and my own instinctive personal biases, setting off a crisis of conscience in my soul that I not only didn't expect, but didn't even realize I could have.

Most people who know me well would probably say that I am fairly color-blind. I have never been, or so I thought, especially aware of skin color or racial or ethnic background when meeting people. Like everyone, I make snap judgments when meeting someone new, based on a list of mostly nebulous criteria. But I judge most people, or at least, so I believed, on the same set of criteria, even if I don't have it strictly laid out in my mind. I have been intolerant, in fact, of people who looked at ethnicity and made judgments based on that alone.

At times in my life, I have been friends with people from a variety of ethnic backgrounds, and I always found it interesting, rather than an obstacle or a drawback, that we had different backgrounds and life experiences. At one point in time, I was even married to someone from another culture, and whose ethnicity is a part of my children's heritage, even though he is long gone.

I thought I had experienced the worst side of racial bias, not only in the way my marriage was viewed by other people when we were out in public, but also with friends from other backgrounds. I have been close friends with women who wouldn't allow me to get out of the car when I drove them home from work, and who refused to go shopping with me for my own safety. I have seen intolerance, I have felt the sting of it against me, and I thought I understood it from the inside out.

I now realize, belatedly, that I foolishly prided myself on my ability to overlook what is, after all, a basic human characteristic. I now realize the reality - you cannot overlook it, because it is part of each person's life experience, and goes into making up how they act and react to the world. That reality is part of each person's life filter, for better and for worse, and to try to ignore it means you are ignoring something fundamental in a person's understanding of the world.

This earthquake in my own psyche occurred in the most innocuous of ways, as they so often do. Last week, in the course of my business day, I had the opportunity to converse with someone from a totally different background - not only the color of our skin was opposite, but our life experiences were clearly a world apart as well. It was an eye opener for me; one which, although clearly needed, turned out to be pretty uncomfortable.

This person called asking for assistance, and my job was to provide that assistance. It is something I do many times a day, for a large variety of people, and I don't generally think about their ethnic background, unless there is a language barrier that makes it difficult to converse.

The woman I was speaking with had definite ideas about the help she wanted, and how she wanted it delivered. And that is where the disconnect began for me. Because she wanted me to come and call on her in her home, to speak to her in person, and to help her sort through the complex maze of information she had received, so that she could make the best decision for her.

The details of where and how I went wrong with her are really not important, because one reason is as bad as another, when it comes to doing the wrong thing. Ultimately, I agreed to meet with her, but reluctantly, and with a certain amount of trepidation, not because I thought I couldn't do the job, but because I felt afraid to go to the part of the city where she lives.

I can make plenty of excuses for myself which sound convincing, if I don't look too closely at the underlying assumptions. The crime rate is high. She wasn't particularly cooperative on the phone. It's a long way from my office, and will waste my time, because she probably won't go with me in the end, anyway. Valid excuses all, and most people wouldn't fault me for using them to escape from a situation that makes me uncomfortable.

But the actual truth, deep down inside where it doesn't normally get exposed to scrutiny, was that I made assumptions based on her location, economics, and the way she dealt with me on the phone, which were more about stereotype than my experience with or knowledge of her.

Because I didn't have any.

I had one brief phone call, and from those few minutes of fleeting conversation, made all kinds of assumptions to justify what I wanted to do, rather than what I needed to do. Or more to the point, what she needed me to do.

I am ashamed of myself, in a way I do not want to be. I know better than to make assumptions based on where someone lives, or the type of car they drive, or how they dress, or the language they speak. I am a more tolerant, more understanding, more compassionate, more enlightened person than that, at least in my own mind. I find it almost unbearable to realize that, in the moment of trial, instead of following the example of Jesus, reaching out to the disenfranchised, I became a Jonah, attempting to run away from the responsibility that had been placed upon my shoulders.

Like the Biblical Jonah, I considered the options for reneging on the agreement. I asked for someone else to be assigned to the job, giving the reasons, all legitimate and valid, why I was the wrong person for it. I thought about simply not showing up, my own personal storm raging around me all the while. I worried and wondered and fretted all weekend about what I should do, how I should deal with this situation that had so unexpectedly arisen, and which made me so nervous and reluctant.

It is humbling to be smacked in the face with one's own wrong minded thinking. To be forced to own the wrong is difficult, uncomfortable. But after some time to think over my initial response, I realized that this woman needed my help, she had asked for it, and I had no excuse not to give it. So I determined that the correct, and only, course of action for me was to simply keep my word and fulfill the promise I had made to her. My own conscience ultimately led me to realize that I could only do the right thing, which was to show up and do what I could to help her sort out the various options available to her, and to assist her in choosing the one that was best for her.

And that is where this story takes a different track, becoming one of redemption and grace. I received a phone call from her the morning I was to visit, asking if I would still be coming. I could hear the mistrust in her voice, and when I told her I would, indeed, be coming, her whole tone and approach to me changed. Suddenly, she was worried about my ability to find her home, whether or not I could make it on my own, if it was, indeed, convenient for me to visit her that day. I assured her I would be there at the appointed time, and she sounded happy and relived.

When I arrived, she was waiting for me in her driveway, waving and calling out to me, happily anticipating the arrival of someone who not only agreed to help her, but who actually carried through on the promise. It was bittersweet for me to be received with such graciousness and joy, when I had started out so begrudgingly.

At that moment, I realized how the difference in our life experiences was the real chasm that divided us. Because she has lived where she lives, and grown up as she has, she has learned never to trust anyone, and that everyone will let her down. It is not the color of her skin that makes her different, it is her whole experience, of which that is a part, which has affected her approach to the world, and other people in it. She can no more ignore that reality which she has lived than I can ignore the realities that have shaped my own skeptical approach to the world. The chasm that divides us is also one for which we can find a bridge, because, in the end, the very differences that divide us also have commonalities.

I had a delightful visit with her, helped her decide what was most important for her, and ultimately, as I knew it would be, we decided that she needed something other than what I could do for her. But the real story, the payment of my commission, came in the moment when I understood that the life experiences that divided us were also what make each one of us vulnerable to the mistakes and rash decision making to which I almost fell prey.

Sometimes, when you take a chance on someone, it pays benefits you never imagined. I have carried that experience with me all week, and pondered the lesson I learned. I hope I now understand how much more complex my own decision making process is than I realized. When I am talking with someone, I know I need to reach them where they are, not where I am, because that is where understanding begins.

That old commercial told us to "Reach out and touch someone." The lovely woman I met this week reached out to me and touched my heart unexpectedly, and I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. The only regret I have is that I ever hesitated in the first place.

Don't be afraid to find a bridge to someone different. You never know until you reach across just how narrow the chasm might be. And you might find a bridge is already under your feet.

In the bank....

I am very proud to reveal, when asked, that I am a Minnesotan, born and raised. I lived there for the first 27 years of my life, and I formed opinions about the state and its people which I cling to, even now.

For example, Minnesota nice is not just a cliche or a catch phrase. Although Minnesotans tend to be extremely reserved, [the hula hoop of personal space for your average Minnesotan is 2.6 times larger in diameter than for the inhabitants of any other political entity,] they are deep down kind, and generally speaking, about as generous of spirit as people anywhere on earth.

Growing up in the midst of the austere and thrifty Minnesota Scandinavian Lutheran crowd, [think Garrison Keillor and you will recognize the town where I spent my childhood,] I formed the opinion that Minnesotans are, by and large, a fairly serious group of individuals. No nonsense and straight forward, low key and lacking in the drama factor found in some other areas of the country, Minnesotans can be counted upon to bring a sober reality to most situations.

I can back this up with statistics, too. I have thoroughly researched this subject in a non-scientific survey. [Okay, it was entirely from my own memory, but still, I surveyed myself, and I think that should count for something.]

This review has revealed that while a number of famous people have called Minnesota home, [Charles Schultz, Charles Lindburgh, Loni Anderson, Jessica Lange, Bob Dylan, Hubert Humphrey, Judy Garland, and F. Scott Fitzgerald come to mind off the top of my head,] I can only think of one comedian that has achieved national fame - Louie Anderson. [Well, there is also the aforementioned Keillor character, but I have a love/hate relationship with his writing, since he seems, at times, to have a love/hate relationship with Minnesota, and especially Minnesotans, so I don't necessarily consider him all that amusing.] I am comfortable with that lack of comedic representation, because there is security in knowing that every situation has been assessed with thoughtful judgment before a plan is put into action.

Thus, it has taken some mental acrobatics for me to accept that along with that sober, this-is-my-cross-to-bear mentality, comes an equally compelling reality. Minnesotans will occasionally go straight off the deep end and do something so totally unexpected, so completely random and off-the-wall, they leave the rest of the country in a daze of shock and awe of which former President Bush could only dream. I don't know if Minnesotans just store up all their stray impulses to release in a single massive pop of the balloon, or if the cold occasionally freezes their brains and causes a collective mental fart.

But I am rather disconcerted, and certainly at a loss to understand, much less explain, episodes such as Jessie Ventura as governor, Al Franken sweeping out a long time politician for senator, or how a guy named Prince could take the world by storm from the confines of a purple world in the middle of Minneapolis.

Well, okay, Prince is a little more obvious, since the alternative music scene in the Twin Cities is one of the most vibrant anywhere. But the purple? Definitely not a color embraced by a sober populace. Although it happens to be my favorite color. Of course, you will notice I no longer live there. More evidence to consider, I think.

Um. Getting back to the topic. In the midst of these musings, I recently read of another departure from the norm that piqued my interest. Apparently, a couple of state senators have come up with a plan to save the state's economy. Forget bailouts and tax credits and fancy economic schemes. They are going to hold the world's most expensive garage sale.

I must admit, I am amused by the idea of state level senators holding a garage sale. I don't think cut rate and thrifty are the first adjectives that normally come to mind when thinking about politicians. So I suppose we can forgive them for not realizing that the first rule of a garage sale is to put a price on your item, then cut it by three quarters. And then expect a fight, while the shoppers continue to negotiate for more favorable terms.

It tickles my fancy to envision the lawn in front of the Capitol dotted with tables of outdated and useless detritus from the mechanics of government. And who will be hawking the wares, I cannot help but wonder? Will we be able to give the legislators a piece of our minds along with a piece of our cash, in exchange for items that the government bought and paid for, but no longer needs? Will their children sell baked goods and soda off to the side to sustain the weary shoppers, who will then look longer and spend more of their stored up pennies?

I don't know about you, but if I were still living in Minnesota, I think I would be a little nervous about the idea of a garage sale as the basis for my state's revenue stream. It seems like a foundation built on shifting sands, since you can't really count on having several billion dollars worth of unneeded items laying around each year to fund your educational and highway requirements.

In truth, I laud the effort of those legislators to try to recapture something of what has been spent on items no longer needed or in use, but I have some genuine concerns, too, especially about privacy. Simply reformatting the hard drive on a discarded laptop won't cut it when it comes to privacy. Your average 14 year old is probably sophisticated enough to recover what was erased, although it will defeat their adult parents who are in the midst of a crashing meltdown at work. Do the state's lawmakers realize that? Hopefully they will check with their resident adolescents before putting this idea into practice.

And if it is good enough to sell to the general public, how come it was replaced with something new? Did that replacement need to occur, or was it replaced because that is what has always been done?

The whole scheme sounds a little sketchy to me, but I do give them points for trying. At least they have proposed a solution, rather than just complaining about the negative situation in which we currently find ourselves. I don't know about you, but I am tired of hearing about what we can't do, and I am more than ready for some brainstorming among our so-called leaders.

I have learned in life that if you continue to do something that isn't working, there is no reason to expect the outcome to be successful. If you want a different outcome, you need to change your methods. Well, clearly our current strategy has not been working, so it looks to me like the time has come for some drastic changes. Kudos to them for at least trying, even if the strategy is a little, well, unusual.

I have heard in the past that many local government entities routinely sell discarded items on E-Bay and other online auction sites. If they have outlived their governmental usability, it's not a bad idea to try and recoup some of the expense. But this is certainly taking it to a whole new level, and I am entertained at the thought of what you might find at that state level garage sale.

Cars? Computers? Books? Desks? Filing cabinets? What would the state sell, if they could? It would be interesting to see what no longer fits into the government that originally thought each item was exactly what was needed. I cannot help but wonder how many of those items would still be in the original packaging, with the price tag still attached? [Come on, we have all done it, and the government is run by people, so you know there have to be oodles of items that have never even been out of the box.]

And how would you determine the price of the items being sold? I don't see it working out for the Legislature to be out there on the lawn debating and passing votes on each pen and stapler. [I can see it now, someone will be waving away a mosquito and will vote to sell the quadriga for a dollar.] And yet, they are the ones who are charged with the ultimate responsibility for state finances, so it seems they should also be the ones who determine the costs and benefits of each source of revenue.

In the meantime, I cannot help but giggle a little at the vision I have in my head of the garage sale on the lawn of the Minnesota State Capitol grounds. We could mix and mingle and learn about our government up close and personal. Perhaps it would even give us some insight into the inner workings of that august body of elected officials, although I, for one, am not really sure I want to know.

Or maybe it would just be a cheap thrill to own a pen once used by Jessie.

Better or worse?

I read a quote recently that really resonated for me. John Atkinson said, "If you don't run your own life, somebody else will." Truer words have rarely been spoken, I think, because there is always someone out there ready to tell you where you are going wrong, what you should be doing differently, or how you can be better. The bookstores and libraries are filled to the rafters with self-help books designed to make you the better you, to address all your foibles and to create the best version of yourself.

I have a lot of, shall we say... quirks. In fact, I would imagine most people looking in from the outside would probably consider this a pretty quirky household altogether. We are filled with people and pets and even a house itself that is full of our own little nuances, goofy little things that make us who we are, but which may be hard to comprehend to those outside our little circle.

I don't know if every household has the kind of wacky inhabitants that we do. I only have one household, and don't spend a lot of time in anyone else's. [Although the one other household I do spend some time in is definitely as quirky as ours, so I don't know if that means I'm only comfortable around quirky people, or if it means that everyone is quirky.] But it has occurred to me that the quirkiness quotient is rapidly diminishing, as my children get older and presumably will someday live elsewhere.

My son already has one foot in his own apartment, but he still keeps one foot dangling here, as well. And that foot comes attached to a strange memory failure, which occurs whenever he sets foot in this house. Suddenly, out of nowhere the guy with the photographic memory is unable to recognize a waste basket or dishwasher, and can't remember where anything belongs.

My daughter will go off to college in another year, and then will do the same balancing act. She seems to suffer from some type of odd and thus far medically unidentified tunnel vision, which prevents her from identifying her own belongings anywhere but in her own room, which is always spotless, and of which she is inordinately proud.

And me? I will be left with a lot of memories and an assortment of goofy pets. Since I will have only my own quirks to live with, I suspect they will get even more pronounced, as there will be no one to stand in the way of my having everything my way, all the time. Oh, the power I am anticipating. I will enjoy being a despot in my own little kingdom.

What will I do, when I have the entire house to myself, and no one to answer to? Well, I can list a few things I've been dreaming about for the last few years.

I will have popcorn for dinner whenever I want, without feeling guilty about it.

I will no longer have a week's worth of clothing piled on the stairway.

I will not have shoes impeding my progress from living room to kitchen, waiting there like silent ankle assassins, waiting to trip me up on my way to find sustenance in the middle of the night.

I will go to bed at 7 p.m. whenever I want.

I will be able to open a cupboard door and find all my glassware neatly lined up in rows.

Of course, there will also be some things I won't be able to do any more, and I will miss those things as much as I will enjoy the new found freedoms I will experience.

I won't have the fun of taking my daughter shopping at the vintage clothing stores for the prom.

I won't have a daily hug from someone who calls me gorgeous and really means it.

I won't have someone who appreciates my sense of humor around to hear all my silly maunderings and actually laugh at the right times.

I won't have the daily interaction with someone who loves me and takes me at face value, with no facade possible.

I won't have the fun of talking to young people all the time, which keeps me young and in touch with my inner child. How much less rich my vocabulary will be when I don't know slang expressions like tool and poned. [Although, to be honest, my children will tell you I don't know them now.]

I remember when I went to college, and my own mother, an unintentional single mom for many years at that point, since my dad up and died on us when I was 12, told me she missed my mess. Finally, she just laid some of my stuff around the house to remind herself of me. That, my friends, is love.

I have always lived each phase of my life to the fullest, and I will do so in the future as well. I am rarely sorry to see one phase end, because that means another one is beginning. And as the mother of an adult son who is more interesting than most of the other people I know in this world, I can honestly say I enjoy this phase at least as much as any other that I have been through with my children.

Although my life has been an ongoing struggle, and that has not changed, I feel like now I have two other people who are constantly on my side, who care about me almost as much as I care about them, and who can and will be there for me when the chips are down. We are in this life together, and you can't really ask for more than that from your closest relatives.

Going through a divorce (or the death of a parent, for that matter,) tends to make the remaining family members appreciate each other more, and pulls you together, at least in my experience. Although I should have known it from my own life journey, the most surprising thing about getting divorced, for me, was that my kids consider that they got divorced, as well. It wasn't my divorce, it was ours, and they felt the full measure of the pain involved.

But they also understand, in a fundamental way that children who are more fortunate to have smarter parents who chose more wisely do not, that in this life, you have a team of people in the fray with you, and if you pull together, you are all uplifted, and you all benefit. It doesn't compensate, exactly, for what they lost out on, but it's a good thing to know who is really there for you, and who you can count on.

I have never been a very authoritative parent. I have always felt like I was there more as a mentor and advisor than as a coach. My job is to give advice and provide options, and then to be there to help sweep up the mess when things don't work out. I occasionally get criticized by people who don't understand the internal dynamic of our quirky little group, because they think I don't discipline enough, and I am too much of a pushover.

Perhaps that's true. But I also have children who are grown, or nearly so, who are unafraid to talk to me about anything that is on their minds, who call me first when something goes wrong, who ask for my advice and actually listen to the answer, who think I am smarter than anyone else they know, and who call me their best friend.

And although I have come in for my fair share of criticism for my parenting style, as most lenient parents do, I have also had a lot of people ask me for parenting advice, or even telling me to add a book on parenting to the ever growing list of books I need to write. My response, to one and all, is that you have to find your own style, because you can only do what works for you, and what you really believe in. I can't help anyone else to be the best they can be, not even my own children, because that comes from within, and is part of the very core of who you are as a person.

But I certainly have learned some truths along the parenting journey, and today, as I reflect on it, I thought I would share with you my own personal parenting manifesto. If you can take from it something worthwhile, then I am glad. If not, I encourage you to write your own, and find your own style that will work for you. Parenting is a process, not an event, and you will have an almost endless amount of time to keep refining until you get it right. And in the end, just remember, your children are hard wired to love you, no matter what you do wrong. So relax, and enjoy the ride.

Parenting Manifesto

By Me

-Parenting is a lifelong commitment lived on a daily basis. No one action will determine the course of a child’s life forever; for better and for worse, your child will be influenced by your actions over their lifetime. So don’t sweat the small stuff. Choose your battles carefully, and make sure they really matter.

-Don’t waste time feeling guilty over mistakes or misjudgments. Your child will see how you handle those situations, and use your behavior as a template for their own lives. Use mistakes as an opportunity to teach your children how to learn from failure. This will teach them self-esteem.

-Never be afraid to say, “I’m sorry,” or “I was wrong.” This will teach your child about grace and the healing power of forgiveness. Children have an unlimited capacity to forgive. So should you.

-Accept your children for who they are, and they will accept you, too.

-Always be honest. Children learn more from what they see us do than from what they hear us say, and they model their behavior accordingly. If you want your children to be honest with you, you will have to be honest with them first. If you don’t know the answer, admit it, and use it as an opportunity to find out together. You will teach your child to trust and be trustworthy, one of the most important elements in a successful life.

-“No” is not a dirty word. When it is used lovingly and carefully, you are teaching your child boundaries. The limits you teach will become natural, and will make them better citizens, friends, employees, spouses, and parents.

-Respect is a two way street. You are entitled to their respect, and you should demand it. By doing this, you teach them respect for authority. At the same time, make sure they know you respect them, as well. They are doing their best to fit in to a big, scary world with a lot of strange rules that often don’t make sense, especially when they are young. By respecting them for their efforts, you are teaching them that they are valuable, even if they aren’t exactly perfect.

-Basic values are not relative. Some things are right, and some things are wrong, and that’s the way it is. Children will be influenced by many sources, but they will learn their basic values from you. Use your influence wisely, and on a daily basis. Don’t just talk about values ~ live them each day. Values do not come naturally, they must be learned. Children taught values become adults with principles.

-Over the years, you will receive endless parenting advice. This is a part of parenting, and you can’t escape it. Some of this advice will be good, some will be bad, some funny, some bizarre, some helpful, some hopeless, some stupid, and occasionally, there will be a flash of brilliance. Just remember that every child is different, and what works for one child may not work for the next, even in the same family. You should do what works best for your child and your family. When all is said and done, parenting is mostly trial and error, and you will struggle as all other parents have struggled before you. That is part of the joy and pain of parenting, but nothing can give you greater satisfaction in life.

-Love your children unconditionally, but don’t expect your children to love you back in the same way. They won’t. Instead, they will grow up and love their children they way they were loved, in an endless chain. Seeing your grandchildren loved and cherished will be your reward, and it will happen sooner than you think.

-Your children will never know that you love them unless you show them. Hug them every day, even when they think they are too old. Read to them, sing with them, play with them, be with them. Most of all, listen to them. Establish a habit of listening to them in toddlerhood. They grow up faster than you can imagine, and if they learn early that you listen when they talk, they will still be talking later about the big stuff that really matters.

-Teach them the value of a clean conscience. Facing the consequences of a bad choice may be painful, but they will learn from it. Being responsible is a reward in itself.

-Teach them that they can come to you, no matter what. Let them know you will always stand by them and love them, even in times of trouble. This doesn’t mean you relieve them of responsibility for bad decisions; but that you will be there with them to stand by them when they face those consequences.

-When they know they can trust you in the bad times, they will also share the good times. Those are the moments that you dream of, and nothing else in life will mean as much to you.

-Keep your sense of humor. You will need it! Teaching your children to laugh at themselves is an important key to a longer and happier life.

-Walk with God each day. Don’t just talk about God, live a godly life each and every day. Children should hear God in their parents’ voice, feel God in their parents’ presence, and see God in their parents’ actions ~ then will they know the power of God’s love in their own lives.

-The single most important advice I ever received was this nugget ~ your best is good enough. Remind yourself each night when you go to bed that you did the best you could, and let that day go. Tomorrow is a fresh start, no matter what happened today. This is a prescription for good mental health, for you and for your children. Begin tonight, and make it a lifetime habit.

So what advice would I give, when I am the one jumping in to fill the void? Stop worrying about everyone else's opinion of your own quirky family. As long as it is working for you, it's good enough. And don't forget to enjoy the journey.

Back into the future....

I had the sad occasion of attending my aunt's funeral this past week. It was a grueling two days, but I knew I would always regret it if I didn't go. So I hopped into the car, and eight hours later, I was back to my past.

It is always fascinating to glimpse backwards into my childhood. Even as we celebrated the wonderful, rich life of a dearly loved woman who always had a smile on her face and a song in her heart, I felt myself slipping easily into the role of my childhood - youngest in my generation, never taken too seriously, sort of a frivolous luxury to the extended family, and yet, somehow valued none-the-less.

When the pastor asked if anyone would like to stand up and say something special about my aunt, I thought of so many things I could have said, but once again, felt my own insignificance, and said nothing. I told myself that it would be impossible to sum her up in just a few, brief words. It wouldn't do her justice, because she was so much more than mere words can tell.

But I knew my position in the family held me back as much as the lack of words ever could have, and I'm not complaining. I think that there is an unrecognized value to family occasions, even sad ones such as this. It reminds me where I came from, and tells me a little bit more about myself each time I see those people who led the way for me to be who I am today.

One of my cousins recently laughingly told me that I am still a brat, and I had to giggle at the characterization of myself. It is always surprising to me to remember that is how they saw me way back when, because to me, I was just being me. I am, according to most people, sharply witty, but sometimes the edge is a little too cutting, and it was that characteristic to which my cousin was referring that day. I didn't realize that quality came out of my childhood, but clearly it did, as I have several cousins that seem to have that same trait in evidence.

When I spend time with those people I rarely see, but who are the people closest in relation to me in this life, I see where I came from, and it is evident where my quirky personality derives it's basis. My cousins tease and poke fun and seem to see life in much the same way I do, and in that troubled time, it was comforting to be with people who know so much about you, there is no choice but to simply be yourself.

I think that legacy may be the most important one that our loving parents could have left to us, in fact. We are a family of goofy, irreverent humorists, I realized, and I, for one, am grateful to have a piece of that shared history.

But there are some other pieces of the legacy that have been left to us, as well, and my aunt has her own place in my heart. I am singularly blessed, because she left behind three daughters and a son who remind me, in so many ways, of the person that we have lost, but who lives on in them.

Scent is always a memory keeper for me, and certain smells will immediately call to mind a person or an occasion that I associate with that scent. The scent I associate with my mom is baking bread. [She can't abide store bought bread, which makes me a disappointment, I'm sure, since that's all I ever have, if I have any at all.] The scent of the baking bread is one that fills the entire house, and makes my mouth water just to think of it. I never get a whiff of that scent without seeing my mother right in front of me, pulling the fresh loaves out of the oven, and swatting my hand as I eagerly wait to cut into the freshly turned out manna she created.

Like most women of her generation, my aunt was always in the kitchen. In fact, I cannot recall ever seeing her in any other room of her house. I am sure I did, she couldn't have stayed in the kitchen every waking moment, but it certainly seemed like she did to me.

Since she was out there, anyway, she would make the most delicious treats you can imagine. In fact, her grandson was inspired to go to cooking school to become a chef because of her influence when he was a child. So part of her legacy lives on in him, too, as he delights his customers with his own specialties.

The treats for which my Aunt Alice was most famous were her fattigman and her donuts. Those donuts must have been a lot of work for her, but you never heard her complain as you stole them away from her, hot out of the oil, almost before she could set them down. She was always delighted that she had made someone she loved happy, and it was a mutual admiration society as you basked in the warm glow of her smile.

At the visitation the night before the funeral, [a visitation is sort of the Lutheran version of a wake without the fun,] my cousins had provided some food for everyone to snack on. [Lutherans cannot get through any occasion without food and coffee to sustain them. You will never starve to death around a Lutheran. Trust me on this one. I gain five pounds just thinking about going home.]

Never a big socializer, and entirely disconcerted by the number of people who seemed to know me, but whom I didn't recognize, I fairly quickly located the food room. I decided to hide out in there, while various members of the family came and went. I really enjoyed that smaller opportunity to talk to some of the younger set that I don't really know, except in name. It worked out really well for me, too, until my mother came and found me. Some things never change, even when you are 40 something....

One of my cousins mentioned that Alice's donuts, made by two of her daughters, were in an ice cream pail off to the side. When I rushed to snap that cover off and take one to savor, the amazing aroma came wafting up out of that pail and filled my nostrils, not with the scent of donuts, but with the scent of my Aunt Alice.

It was almost as if she was there in front of me, once again frying those delectable treats for me to gobble down as fast as I could. And it soon became apparent that it wasn't true just for me. When I commented on how they smelled like my aunt to me, everyone in the room agreed, and said that was true for them, too. I know as long as I live, if ever I encounter that scent again, I will be immediately transported back to a little kitchen where my aunt would be creating sweet delicacies for us to devour.

My aunt loved to sing, and she loved it when others sang as well. One of my only talents, which I mostly squandered growing up, was an ability to carry a tune. So sing I did, almost every Sunday of my adolescence. Many of the older people in that little stone church, now mostly gone, were very appreciative of my efforts, [or truthfully, lack thereof,] but my aunt Alice was always so proud of me, it made it worth the little effort I had expended. She would hug me each Sunday, and tell me how much she enjoyed hearing me sing. Not only did I make my aunt happy, but getting that hug had the added benefit of sort of having a little piece of my dad again, too.

My aunt was one of the hardest workers I've ever known. She worked day and night to be sure that her family never did without anything essential. But you never saw her without a smile on her face. She made do with whatever she was given, and didn't waste time regretting what she didn't have.

The last time I saw Alice, I once again saw a glimpse of that lovely, warm smile that lit up whatever room she was in. She was a patient in the local nursing home, her mind ravaged by the Alzheimer's that stole her away piece by piece over the last few years, and she didn't recognize me at all. But she looked at my mother, the sister-in-law from her younger years, and she complimented my mother on her lovely outfit she was wearing that day. The essential good that lived within her was not stolen by the disease that stole her from us, it seems, because she remained gracious, even in her personal fog. And then she smiled at us, and my heart melted once again as I was reminded of her loving presence, gone now, but never forgotten.

As I thought about my loving aunt these past few weeks, I have taken great comfort from Isaiah 40:31: "But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." I know my aunt embodied those words, and I am comforted now to think of her soaring and running, and able, once again, to be the spirit that God intended her to be.

I have recently been struggling with my own advancing age. I can't quite believe I am pushing 50, since I still feel 25, and it doesn't seem possible that the adults of my childhood are now in their 80's and 90's. I had an age related moment of laughter in the midst of the sadness last week, however. My cousin, over 60, and with children not much younger than me, said with a bemused look on her face that she supposed since both of her parents are gone, and with her older brother gone as well, that makes her the oldest one in her family-by-birth, so she must be a grown up now!

I can only hope that as my generation picks up that torch and leads the way for the generations that follow us, we can do it with as much grace and goodness as the one that led us into the future.

The underrated virtue....

In my line of work, I talk to a wide variety of people every day, in many different types of business. Most of the time, I am more knowledgeable and educated in insurance matters than they are, and I am the one providing them the education.

But there are also people from whom I learn more every day, and their kindness to me is not something I would ever want to take for granted. I learned a valuable lesson about appreciation and gratitude many years ago, and I will never lose sight of how important it is to both appreciate and acknowledge when someone else has done something for you, not only for them, but for you. That is the hidden lesson of gratitude, the one parents forget to mention when they encourage their children to say thank you, and the one that we forget to acknowledge to ourselves when we are on the receiving end of it.

Years ago, in another lifetime, when I had more money and time than was good for anyone, I volunteered all the time, especially at school. While my main motivation was, of course, to enable my own children to have those experiences, I never lost sight of the fact that without my help, other children wouldn't have had those opportunities, either. And that made me feel good.

In recent years, I have cut way back on my volunteering, because I simply do not have the time that I did when my children were younger. I have to work, and my time is extremely limited, so I must pick and choose more carefully. But a couple of years ago, I did a long volunteer project that almost became my full time job for a couple of months, as we rehabbed an apartment for a transitional living charitable organization.

I was unexpectedly there when the young woman who would be living in that apartment came to see it for the first time, and the lesson of gratitude really sunk in for me that day. She overwhelmed me with her appreciation, and it was almost more than I could handle, because I didn't do it for the thanks or the appreciation of others, I did it because it was a good thing to do.

But her appreciation, her deep gratitude, which I felt so overwhelmingly that day, has motivated her to be a better person, to do a little more for herself and her children, to be successful in her efforts, in part because she does not want to let us down. She is so aware, even now, of the gift she has been given, that it motivates her to continue working hard in order to give back the only way she can - by being successful and making a better life for herself and for her children.

What she doesn't realize is that her hard work and success has also inspired me to do better for myself and my children. Her gratitude has had a much longer reach than anyone could ever have realized, and it continues to enrich lives on both sides of the gratitude equation even now.

We hear a lot about paying it forward, and in volunteering, that is what I did. We don't hear as much about the value of giving backwards, and I think that is just as important, because it connects us to those who have done us right. So often we dwell on those who have done us harm, but by refocusing on those who give us a hand up, we can reframe the world in a more positive light.

I didn't volunteer for the appreciation. I didn't do it to hear anyone say thank you, or to get any type of public recognition. But in all the years that I helped those kids in school, there were only a couple of times that the absent parents recognized the efforts I had made to enrich the lives of their children, and went out of their way to thank me.

It meant a lot to me to have those efforts noticed. In fact, the next time I felt a little burned out on volunteering, and thought about saying no, I remembered that gratitude those parents had felt, and knew it was worth it. That motivated me to be a better and more giving person, which benefited not only the children, but me.

I think it also motivated those parents to try a little harder. By being in my debt, it made them want to do something more themselves. My efforts made them reach to be the same better person they perceived me to be. When they asked me to call on them if I needed a favor, or if there was something they could do to help, they were really saying they would love the opportunity to pay me backwards. They weren't grateful for the money spent, or the activity we did. They appreciated my efforts and my caring. And when I eventually asked them for a favor, as I always did sooner or later, they were happy to be able to do something for me. It was a way to return the graciousness that I had shown to them, and made them feel good, too.

I got to thinking about this during the past week. Gratitude and appreciation seem to be a dying art in our fast paced society today. I work with someone who has frequently gone out of his way for me. He has spent a lot of time educating me, challenging me, strategizing with me, coaching me, and just generally helping me figure things out in my new line of work. I am very grateful, because he didn't have to do any of it, and it has taken time and effort on his part. Although there is a certain motivation for him to help me be successful, after all, if I make money, he does too, he has gone well beyond that, and I want him to know that I both recognize and appreciate it.

I have said thank you on several occasions, and he always turns it away, as though he has done nothing more than the barest requirement. He will say, "It's nothing," or "Just doing my job," even though we both know he has done considerably more than that for me. But it seems he cannot accept the gratitude that I feel towards him for having helped me out.

It is troubling to me when people are unable to accept gratitude, because it is important for them to know that their efforts are not wasted. I always make an effort to acknowledge when someone does something for me, because the next time someone comes along that needs that extra hand of help, I want them to remember that it made a difference for me, and it is worthwhile to give to others.

I am not perfect, many people do many things for me all the time, and I can't say thank you 24 hours a day. But I do try to acknowledge, every single time, when someone has made a substantial extra effort on my behalf. I want them to know I am aware of it, so their extra effort will feel worthwhile to them. And it is important for me, as well, to recognize that there are times when people do nice things for me, for no compelling reason at all.

It can be a harsh and lonely world, at times, and it is good to know that there are people out there who are nice, who are caring, and who can be counted on, even if there is no obvious imperative for them. When you run across someone who has done something for you above and beyond the expected, don't forget to say thank you, and to let them know you are in their debt. A debt of gratitude is the best kind of debt - it reaps rewards on both sides of the equation, and the price is already paid.