Time capsule....

Thirty seven years ago, on January 26, 1973, my dad passed away unexpectedly, and his funeral was on the 31st of January. So quite naturally, he's been on my mind some during this past week. Obviously, his sudden death changed my life, and I'm not gonna lie, it was not really for the better. But in each and every experience I go through in life, I try to take something positive from the episode, so at least it's not a dead loss (no pun intended, though you can laugh if you want to.)

Although it can be difficult sometimes to find the positives in a bad situation, it can be done if you are sincere in your efforts, and this week something has occurred to me which seems worth commenting on, if only for the purpose of communal therapy. (Cheaper than the real thing, and often just as effective!)

A pertinent digression here. [I've tried to be better about not haring off on tangents lately, really I have, but this one applies, I promise.] Recently, someone I know heard that I write a blog, and said, somewhat derisively, "Oh, so you write your diary online." I was somewhat non-plussed by that assessment, never having thought of it in quite that way. It is always interesting to hear another point of view when you think something is clear cut and self-evident.

His implication, [okay, it was based on more than just the blog, I'll admit,] was that I am just another crazy person in cyber-space, and since that is an analysis I leave to others to judge, I didn't have much of a response. But in my mind, it's not really a diary, not a day to day one, anyway, so that unexpected characterization made me think about whether or not this weekly exposition is simply the narcissist in me revealing itself, or if there is a greater purpose.

My hope is that ultimately I can give comfort or at least a laugh through our common experience, and by revealing pieces of myself, we can find each other. That desire goes to the heart of my blog today - by reaching out with my experience, I hope that others will be positively affected from knowing they are not alone, even if I don't know them, and they don't know me.

[So now I have my answer for my friend if it ever comes up again, and more importantly, I have reaffirmed the answer for myself, too. It's good to look inward periodically to make sure you understand yourself, even if no one else does, I think.]

Anyway, getting back on topic, I don't honestly recall a lot about my dad's funeral, because I was lost in a haze of incomprehension at how quickly life had changed, and it had been a bit difficult to absorb in such a short time frame. But I do recall one thing from the sermon our pastor gave which has stuck with me all these years, and really informed my adult behavior in a permanent way. It was, in a sense, my dad's true legacy to me, one thing that I can point to and acknowledge as his ongoing contribution to who I became as an adult.

But first, a background note. [As differentiated from a tangent, this is critical information to know in making sense of the story. Definitely not just another side track.] As Minnesota Lutherans, we don't talk ourselves up very easily, and we extend that to the members of our immediate families, as well. We can be inwardly as proud as anyone, but we don't talk about it in public, because that is just, well, Not Quite Nice. So even though I know my dad frequently did things for others and touched a lot of lives, I didn't really hear about it much, because he would never have talked about himself that way.

I can easily envision my mother, then, in planning my dad's funeral service, asking the pastor not to make the sermon a big eulogy for my dad. She would be uncomfortable with that kind of thing, like we were bragging or something. Rather, knowing her, she would use the service as an opportunity to present the Christ centered life my dad led to those present, his final gift of himself to us, in a way.

[Yes, Mom, I will be sure your service is handled in a similar way when that time comes. We will not spend a lot of time talking about what a fabulous person you have been your entire life, or how much you meant to us.... Ya right. I am cut from a different cloth, and it will be all about you, for once, and there is nothing you can do about it!]

As I said, I don't recall most of that sermon. (I don't recall a word of the message from my wedding, either, so obviously, I am not to be relied on for recall after stressful major life events!) But I do remember part of the message was about how you may do some small thing and influence other people without ever knowing it, and my dad exemplified this in a positive way.

Somewhere in the back of my head, that idea hit home for me. It prompted a lifelong awareness that we don't live in isolation, and what we do in life is important, not only to us, but to those around us, even if we don't know it. From that moment was born my mantra - if I would be embarrassed to have my mother or my children know what I'm doing, I probably shouldn't be doing it.

The flip side of that, however, is an awareness that sometimes you are influencing people for good without knowing it, as well. You may never hear about it - very few people have the time or awareness to come back later and tell you how you made a difference for them without even trying. But rest assured, those people are out there, and those incidents matter deeply.

One of the stories I do know about came to us much later, years after he passed away, from a young woman who had met my dad by chance when she was having trouble in her life. The details don't matter, but many years later, she had the opportunity to tell my mom that it was because of my dad's influence that she became a Christian and reclaimed her God given life. Hearing that made us feel so good about him, knowing that he was so lovingly remembered by someone we weren't even aware of, and that he had been such a positive influence in the life of someone he barely touched.

I have thought of that story this week, as I was thinking about my dad and the legacy he left me, as his daughter. That legacy includes many of the same things that all good fathers leave their children, of course, and I don't mean to give those qualities short shrift. He was a wonderful person in the ways that count most, and we were richly blessed by the time we had. The full church at his funeral was a tribute to the number of lives he touched, and it gives me great pleasure to know that he is remembered well by so many people.

But as my parent, and as a person, I think the greatest gift my father left me was his positive example of a shared life well lived, not because he thought someone was keeping score, but because that is who he was. It is an example I try to emulate every day, with an awareness that no matter how long or short a time we have on this rotating rock, we can make a difference for someone else, and that is the most important thing we will ever do.

Not every chance meeting has to be life changing, of course. Most, in fact, are fleeting incidents that make little difference other than in the moment, here and gone without another thought. Sometimes, it's as simple as making someone smile in the midst of a hard day, or giving a helping hand when someone needs it. But I think it is important to be aware that there are times when we do something life changing for someone else and we don't even know it, and that it matters, to them and to us, how we live our everyday lives not only in our time, but for all time.

I have no patience for these silly celebrities who issue statements that they are not role models, and shouldn't be taken as such. Usually, these foolish statements are presented as the self-indulgent excuse for something stupid they have done for which they have been rightfully called out, but for which they do not want to be held accountable.

Apparently, it is obvious to everyone but them that there is a price to be paid when people are shelling out a lot of money for them to do what they do, and they are receiving all sorts of ego-feeding attention and special treatment because of it. Their cost is that people have the right to an expectation of a certain standard of behavior, which is moderated by the type of fame you have, and to comment upon it when you fall short. Different benchmarks are going to be applied to Tiger Woods or Miley Cyrus or John Edwards than are applied to Alex Rodriguez or Charlie Sheen or Bill Clinton, because the audience expectations are different in each situation.

But for better or for worse, they are all role models to a very wide audience, and they need to realize that with the money and the privilege comes scrutiny. If they don't like the negative judgements, then behave. It really isn't that complicated.

Just like celebrities, we are all role models to those whose lives we touch, whether we want to be or not. The decision is not ours whether we will be the role model, that judgement falls to those who are watching us. We can only control what type of model we want to be, and how we influence others by our choices. That is the bottom line, and it's a solid one, not dotted or wavy.

I have heard, on occasion, where something small and unintentional that I have done has made an impact on someone else, and it is always surprising to know that someone as insignificant as I am, in a planet full of people, can make a difference. I don't mean that in the way of false humility, of course I have my place, and it is important to those who are close to me. But in the general scheme of the world, I'm a teensy little cog, and I never really imagine anyone is paying attention to me.

And yet, my actions affect other people all the time, whether I am helpful or hurtful, happy or sad, pleasant or angry. It is impossible to know whether the smile you flash at the unhappy clerk might not just change their outlook for the rest of the day, but it has happened. You will never know what accident you may have averted by simply allowing another car in, or not taking offense when you could have. You are modeling adult behavior for your children and their friends all the time, and you never know what lessons they will learn from watching you.

My dad was not perfect, and he made his mistakes, some of which were bigger than he would have liked, I'm sure. But when he left us, he also left an example that was worth emulating, and which has served me well over the years. I would encourage you to think hard about how you want to influence people, because you are doing it every day, whether you know it or not, regardless of your intention.

I have been blessed in my life by too many people to enumerate here, from teachers and bosses to friends and relatives, and to begin would be to leave someone out, which would cheapen the entire effort. Besides, my list is not yours, and it is your own life list that I want you to think about. Consider those people who have, in some way, moved you or reached you or touched your life, and think about how many times those actions were insignificant on the surface, but meant everything to you in the moment.

My dad's memory is a living one, because he lives on through his example in me and in my brother, and beyond us, in our children. Although we still miss him all these years later, I think he would be pleased to know that those he touched have touched someone else, and the circle didn't close with him, but has been expanding ever since.

Every time I write a blog post, I am aware that people I do not know will read it, and I sometimes wonder how my words will affect someone who doesn't see my intentions clearly from my body language or my tone of voice, or just from the basic knowledge of who I am and how I generally live my life. It is always my hope, whatever the topic, to move people in a positive direction, and to uplift those who are hurting through the realization that they are not alone in their experience, even if they disagree with my conclusions.

I wish everyone had the perspicacity to know just how valuable they are in someone's world, even if they are a little cog like me. You are making a difference to someone, you can count on it, because the life we lead touches that of too many others not to. However you make your mark, be sure it's the one you want it to be, because time is a capsule that follows you into the future, and forever is a long time to be remembered for the wrong reasons.

Thanks, Dad, for being the kind of person who filled a church with your goodness. I hope that when my time comes, I will leave your legacy untarnished.

Shit happens.... (Sorry mom.)

A couple of days ago, my daughter and I enjoyed another one of life's heartwarming mother-daughter moments as we put away the Christmas decorations which have been teetering at the top of the stairs for two weeks while we both found better things to do. The decorations are stored in my basement storage area, back in a far corner where they are out of the way for the eleven months of the year they are not needed, yet easily accessible when it's show time.

This is not a job that either of us enjoys. Truth be told, we would rather do almost anything else. Which explains why they remained at the top of the stairs for more days than is seemly while we simply worked our way around them.

At some point, I could no longer tolerate their presence in my path between my kitchen and my office, interrupting my morning coffee infusion process, and they had to go. Hence, the enforced labor situation, with a grumbling teenager grabbing the top box and stomping down the stairs with me in hot pursuit.

We walked back into the area where they are to be stored, only to be confronted with a small disaster. An entire stack of boxes had toppled over, and stuff was strewn everywhere. I put down the box I was holding, and went over into the corner to see what had happened. That is when I got a whiff of something aromatic. I do not mean that in a good way.

I grew up on a farm, and I have been closely associated with the back end of a cow, which means I am not unfamiliar with odors of various strengths. While my daughter was overwhelmed by the stench and fled, I am made of sterner stuff, and I was determined to stand my ground (for the English majors in the audience, this is what is known as foreshadowing) and root out the cause of the problem.

I got the flashlight, and looked high and low to find the source of the smell, which was, by that time, becoming almost intolerable. I screwed up my courage and pulled open the cover of the sump pump pit, thinking perhaps a small critter had washed in from the pipes around the house. I pulled out boxes and moved things, searching desperately for the cause of the problem. I hate dead things, but the smell was so bad, I felt I couldn't leave it there, either, so I was trying to be bold and face my fears and just deal with it.

I finally gave up, and as I stepped back from the little storage space, the odor dissipated slightly. I couldn't understand it, because there was nothing disturbed, no sign or reason to think that anything was there that didn't belong there. And yet, the odor continued to waft over my nostrils in a malodorous cloud. It was inexplicable, something was clearly amiss, and it was my job to find it, because failure was not an option.

I went back upstairs to regroup, and plan my next line of attack. I was discussing the options with my mother, who is wise and experienced at solving life's problems. We discussed at great length the type and substance of the odor, and finally I decided it was less a "dead" smell than an odor like sewer gas.

I changed into my shorts and t-shirt that serve as my pajamas while I contemplated my next step, talked to my mom some more, then went down to the storage area one more time to survey the situation. That's when I noticed that the smell was gone. As mysteriously as it came, it had disappeared, leaving me with nothing but questions and frustration.

Erin humored me by going downstairs once again, and verified that the odor was no more. It was inexplicable. I didn't know what to think. I gave up and went to bed, thinking that I would never know the answer, and slightly annoyed with the whole situation.

The next day, I set my boots up on the edge of my bathtub so I could put them on, when one fell off and onto its side. Under the arch, there was a large of patch of dried something, of a suspicious color and visual texture. I leaned over and picked up my shoe, and a familiar scent found it's way into my nostrils once again. I looked at the bottom of my boot in disbelief, then burst out laughing as I realized that the smell in the basement corner was, in fact, coming from me, and disappeared because I had taken off my boots and put on my slippers as I got ready for bed.

I have been thinking about that moment ever since. I think life is a lot like that. Shit happens, but so often we have no idea where it's coming from, or how we got into the mess in which we find ourselves. We look everywhere for the answers to our problems, filtering the information to fit our preconceived notions instead of simply looking at the situation, and seeing it as it really is. I had a perception of where the cause of the problem was located, and because I was so busy looking for information that would support what I "knew" to be true, I was unable to see the solution that was literally a foot away.

Answers to life's biggest problems aren't always so easy to come by, but the answers to our own problems often do begin, and end, with us. The dog doo on the bottom of my shoe was a good reminder that although I can't always avoid stepping into a mess, I can certainly recognize it when I do, if I don't filter out the information I need in favor of how I want it to be.

And with the right information, I can get the mess cleaned up a lot faster, too. Mop, anyone?

The meaning of life....

I have been thinking the last few days about the meaning of life. What is it that gives life, not only mine specifically, although that is an important part of it for me, but "Life," in general, value and substance and direction? It is a big question, one that is impossible to fully wrap my thoughts around, and yet, there are times when the answer seems clear and straightforward and direct. I suppose I am oversimplifying, but I have boiled it down to one question for myself ~ when I am gone from this earthly life, what will I be remembered for?

The question has not come in a vacuum, of course. Among other things, I have been stunned by the recent sudden and too early deaths of a couple of people about my age whom I have known over the years.

The question has also been prompted by an assignment my daughter was given, to sum up the meaning of life in one paragraph. (It was more complicated than that, but that was the part that caught my attention.) I have already failed, of course!

I heard the news a few days ago of the death of a personal hero of mine from my childhood, Miep Gies, a woman who made it possible for the story of Anne Frank to become an international call to remembrance. I have often contemplated the heroic acts that she and her cohorts performed under nearly intolerable conditions, simply because it was the right thing to do, they could see no other path, and wondered whether I could see my way so clearly and simply.

There are a lot of other moments, too, over the last few years which have caused me to evaluate the worth of my own life, as striking events generally do. There are so many questions, as one ponders the vagaries of a universe which is so patently unfair. The tsunami, Hurricane Katrina, and now the disastrous Haitian earthquake lead most thoughtful people to question their faith and their contribution to this life, and I am no different.

Big and small, the questions haunt us, as we try to make sense and order in a universe where nothing is sensible or organized. Why are some children born to wealth, while others are born to suffer and die in third world countries where medical care consists of a bandaid and a prayer? Why are beautiful people, who already have so much going for them, showered with additional, unearned blessings both professionally and personally, just because they happened to be born attractive? Why do some people have all the luck, while others, through no fault of their own, would have no luck at all if their luck weren't bad?

Difficult questions, all, with no simple answers.

What will people say about you when you are no longer here to speak for yourself? How will you be remembered? What will your children tell their grandchildren about the person they knew you to be?

Death is a great human leveler. I suspect what looks important from this side of the grave will be inconsequential when we reach the destination for our souls and answer for how we have lived our lives.

How, I wonder, will I justify myself on judgment day when I stand before God and give account for myself and how I have lived my life? It is in the solemn moments of quiet reflection, when I am alone with my soul, stripped naked of my pretensions and my outer facade, that I confront the deepest questions of my faith and my being. That, to me, is where I find the meaning of my life.

I realized on my recent birthday, my 49th, that I have likely lived more than half of my life already. I have started to examine more intensely the picture that is emerging, and I am surprised at the composite that I see. I am not who I was when my life started, nor am I who I was half a lifetime ago. Neither am I who I thought I would be, which is the most surprising part of all.

When you are young, you have vague notions of leaving the world a better place than you found it, as if you could somehow quantify the universe, and the swirling contents of the measuring cup are lapping at the rim because of your efforts. The young are often the leaders of reform, pressing for Justice and Truth, filled with the fire to make the world a better place.

What happens, I wonder, to those high ideals that once seemed so achievable, but in middle age flatten and fade like the slowly expanding waistline which increasingly bars the view of your shoes? The virtues are no less important, it is the attainment of them that becomes an impossible hurdle, and slowly, we give way to the next generation.

If we are not going to achieve all that we dreamed, no one can or does because all lives have choices which limit our ultimate realities, then what defines the most important characteristics of our lives? Have you settled for something less than your ideal, or are there vestiges of that early you lurking under the surface of the developing picture? If this were your last day in this world, would you be satisfied with the words that would come to the minds of those left behind?

I have thought often of the legacy that I will leave for my children. I don't have wealth or fame or even any real inheritance to leave to them by which they can remember me. All I can truly leave them is who I am - my words, my deeds, my little voice that will live on inside their heads, burning through their consciousness at odd moments, quietly, unexpectedly.

As a writer, I leave my children the work of heart that my words have created, and they will never want for the answers to how I have felt about anything. They are laid out in crystal clarity, my thoughts in my own words, said just as I would say them. My son will argue, even in absentia, I suspect, when he disagrees with what I have expressed. My daughter will always roll her eyes at the choice of words, thinking to herself that I never failed to use a ten letter word when a five letter word would have done just as well.

But I also suspect that those thoughts will cause them to smile, just a little, as they recall the many other moments when we had those same conversations for real, and perhaps, just maybe, it will be enough.

What will people say about me when I am no longer here to speak for myself, to be myself? Perhaps it is better that I not know, that the future, unseen and unheard, is a mystery that remains hidden. Maybe that old saying, that we should live as if each day was our last, is not so foolish after all.

Rest in peace, Miep Gies....

Miep Gies, one of the protectors of Anne Frank, and the woman who saved Anne's journal from the Nazis, died today.

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you were put into the position of Miep or Corrie Ten Boom or the tens of thousands of other "Protectors" of the Jews during WWII? They could have gone about their business claiming ignorance, but instead risked their lives to save people who could do nothing for them in return.

When I am frustrated by the small problems in my life, it is always good to be given perspective....

Rest in peace, Miep. The world will miss you.

The pen is mightier than the sword....

Don't get me wrong, I'm all in favor of stopping the terrorists when they threaten our security or our way of life. I'm pretty fond of my computer and my Starbucks, and woe to them who try to stand in my way. But I have to be honest, the so-called "Gilligan's Island" incident has tickled my funny bone, and I just can't help giggling about it a little.

For those not in the know, a guy from Oregon who was afraid to fly recently got on an airplane to go to Hawaii with his girlfriend. First off, there was a brief to-do over where his bag needed to be stowed, since he was sitting in the exit row, and he was reluctant to give up his bag. I dunno. Maybe he actually listened to that canned announcement in the airport about not letting your bag out of your sight or something.

After that little bit of nonsense was resolved, he engaged in the activity that Americans do best these days - he complained. Mind you, his complaint was a little unorthodox. When I say I'm going to "Write A Letter," I address it to the person in charge, and I get to the point, spelling out what the problem is, and how I want it fixed.

This guy was not exactly an example of brilliance in action. Apparently nervous about flying, he wrote a note on a comment card to amuse himself, signed it, put it into a sealed envelope, and handed it, in the early hours of a long flight, to a flight attendant whose primary responsibility is identifying and dealing with problem passengers.

Check.

She showed him.

They turned that plane right around and went straight back to Oregon, escorted by two fighter jets, where they were met at the airport by the FBI. The first he knew that he was the cause of the change in flight path was when they were snapping his mug shot 20 seconds after landing. Bummer.

My point is not to pick on a flight attendant, the cabin crew, or even the FBI agent on the ground, all of whom, in my opinion, overreacted a little in the stress of the situation. In their defense, and keeping in mind the underwear bomber incident just a few days before that, I am sure they were primed to be on the lookout for any odd behavior, ready to take everything out of the ordinary seriously. I realize it's a lot easier to make the right call sitting in my snug house a thousand miles away from the action, and they were doing the best they could with the information they had at hand.

I'm not even really trying to pick on Mr. Erudition, who obviously needed to pay more attention in his high school comm (stands for communication) arts classes. [Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be if you were the teacher who passed him?] Clearly, he was not gifted with the knowledge that there is a time and place for everything, and an airplane is not a comedy club.

When you read this guy's note, it is not exactly specific. With regard to anything. Well, except for the fact that he is evidently afraid the plane is going to crash, he doesn't want to end up on some remote island like the castaways (this one particularly tickled me, since he looks like that is exactly where he has been the last couple of years or so,) and he likes Mary Ann best!

Brief tangent - just thinking out loud here. I wonder if anyone has ever done a survey of Ginger vs. Mary Ann, and figured out what that means about the chooser. For that matter, how about Gilligan vs. Skipper or the Professor? [I don't see why the boys should have all the fun.] Personally, if I had to pick one, I'd probably go with the professor, because he was the only one that had a shot at actually getting them off the island, and away from the irritating people with whom I would be trapped.

Anyway, my point is to lament the death of common sense in our society, as clearly evidenced by all parties in this particular episode. It's a fatality that I, for one, sincerely mourn.

I received a travel mug for Christmas that came with the following warnings:

-Do not overfill mug as hot liquids can scald.
-Always make sure lid is securely attached before drinking.
-Leakage may occur if mug is tipped over.

I weep for any civilization in which those warnings need to be spelled out.

We are inundated, on an hourly basis, with stupid. We live in fear and trembling, ever vigilant lest something Go Wrong. We are litigious over every little problem, everything is someone else's fault, and nothing falls under the category of "Stuff Happens" any more.

We have doctors doing a bazillion dollars worth of unnecessary tests on patients every year, for fear they have missed something and will get sued. We have fast food restaurants warning us that the hot coffee we have ordered is hot, because they are afraid of getting sued for serving hot coffee. We have fighter jets escorting planes back to the airport because some nut case with a pen is afraid of becoming Gilligan.

There is no need for a terrorist to wield a sword when a pen will bring us down just as surely. It turns out that we are all still afraid of the bogeyman, and he is us.