Some Days Are Hotel Rwanda

Never again.  The world vowed after the horrors of the Holocaust. Never again can this be allowed to happen. Until it happened again. And again. And again.

Never again is happening now.  In the Iraqi city of Mosul, there is a mass exodus as the Islamic State orders Christians to leave, convert, or die. The Syrian civil war has displaced tens of thousands of Syrian refugees to Lebanon.  Historically, Lebanese hate Syrians. The stage is set.  It will happen again. And again.

On Sunday evening, I had the privilege to listen as Mr. Paul Rusesabagina spoke to a group in Arlington Heights.  Paul Rusesabagina is the Rwandan hotelier who protected 1,268 Hutu and Tutsi refugees during the Rwandan Genocide of 1994. We know his story best through the movie Hotel Rwanda.

1994 - the year before I met my husband.  I was living in Chicago, working, and watching cable television.  Cable television made global events up close and personal. During the Iran-Iraqi bombings, I hated being home alone. It seemed as though the bombings were as near as Schaumburg.

By 1994, I was finding the trick to T.V. news watching. Reports from Rwanda were devastating. The word Genocide was being used. Again. My solution unfortunately was as simple as a remote click: Click On. Watch. Gasp. Shudder. Click Off

I went to hear Paul Rusesabagina for two reasons. One was that he is a hero. It is an honor to be in the same room as a hero. The next person I hope to be in the same room with is Pope Francis. Or maybe Matt Damon. Or Emma Watson.

The other reason I went is I was curious. What would he suggest we do?  By "we" I mean those of us living in the cozy, cushy northwest 'burbs of Chicago.  As a citizen of the world, what can I hope to do as 20% of a population is being decimated in a landlocked country in central Africa? Or in the Middle East?

There was so much said by this man and so much more he could share. Three takeaways:

It's All About Power

Almost every situation in human history is about getting and keeping power.  You either have the power or you do not.  Us/Them, In/Out, Good/Bad, Right/Wrong.  The power is always shifting.  If you do not have the power, you are out - exiled or marginalized. Convert, leave, or die. Think like we do, get out of our lives, or go to hell.

Every day we can be influenced by power or by lack of power, by trying to gain power or by trying to survive the powers-that-be. Adults/children, Bullies/Bullied, My Faith/Your Faith, My Orientation/Your Orientation. We can think about this and how it is influencing our lives. Then we can think about helping our children think about it.

It's All About Leadership

It is human nature to try to distance from or pretend not to see unpleasantness. As crazy as it sounds, it can be reassuring when our leaders ignore issues or talk around the issues.  Or, as in the case of Rwanda, leaders could ignore as almost a million people lost their lives in less than one hundred days.

It is obvious to most of us that our current politics offer major distractions. What we have here in the U.S. is pretty much a partisan pissing contest. Where are the politics of challenging systems that don't work, of cooperating despite our differences, of protecting the most vulnerable? Call me idealistic. Paul Rusesabagina remains idealistic, despite what he has witnessed. And he continues tirelessly working for change in the world.

We can dislike our own complacency. We can expect more from our leaders. We can teach our children to challenge and to question, without punishment for doing so. We can help them recognize that compassion is cool. In their own lives, they can speak out for those that are bullied, for those that our marginalized, for those that may be different.

Words

Mr. Rusesabagina said more than once, "Words can be the best and the worst weapons in a person's arsenal."  He encouraged us to sit down and talk. To share awareness. He encouraged the audience to never be silenced as silence implies affirmation.

We can search for truth. We can listen to the truth by which others live.We can teach our children to search for truth.

The truth is I did not come home Sunday evening with bullet points detailing steps to take, as a person or for a nation or for the world. I came home knowing for certain that this will happen again. And again.

The most horrible reality I took home with me Sunday evening was this: Genocide is a product of basic human nature. It is said that we can't change human nature.  But, I listened to Paul Rusesabagina and I disagree.  He witnessed evil.  He continues in hope.

The Kingdom of God is here.  Don't take my word for it, Jesus said it first. I believe we can make the world a better place, maybe just one person at a time.  One of Paul Rusesabagina's closing comments was this, "He who saves a single life, saves the entire world." That is from the Talmud.

Shalom.

Paul Rusesabagina

Some Days Are Nostalgic, Part 2

If you are younger than forty, chances are these nostalgia posts are a bit foreign to you.  Unless you have a mom or dad or grandparent who shares stories about "things we did in the old days."

I never refer to my past as the "good old days." Nor "the bad old days" for that matter. I think every generation is not without its own mixed bag of good and bad. For example, when I was younger, things in our culture were far less open. It was my experience that families argued once all the windows were closed so it appeared that no families (but ours) argued. More secrets were kept and only weak people sought mental health help.

Today our family talked about S&H Green Stamps.  Our fourteen year old daughter said, "What's that?" So we googled a picture of S&H Green Stamps:

We told our daughter how some stores gave their customers sheets of stamps after every purchase.  Customers saved the stamps, sticking them in books. Customers could redeem the books of stamps at the local S&H Redemption Centers for stuff. Stuff like appliances.

What is funny is both Jay and I shared stories of sticking the stamps in books for our moms.  Both our moms would wet a sponge and put it on a saucer.  We could use the sponge to wet the stamps so our mouths would not turn green. But neither of us remember anything that our family redeemed.

For reasons I do not totally understand, this past month I started saving the Jewel Osco saver stamps. Honestly, I have never saved stamps for anything before in my adult life. I am wondering if I never saved stamps because I remember all the work of pasting stamps but do not remember any of the reward.  Who knows? I just never became a stamp saver.

But...I think there is something going on with my decision to save stamps right now.  I am pretty certain it is not an intense longing for Cuisinart Classic Stainless Cookware. Truth be told, I have never been gaga for cookware.

But look at this picture of my Jewel stamps and Stamp Saver Card:

Yes.  These stamps are GREEN.  I think I am subconsciously channeling my mother! That is why I stopped after sticking but two stamps on my Stamp Saver Card. I am going to ask my daughter to stick them for me. She may not remember the fabulous cookware we get but she will probably have a great story to share some day.

Some Days Are Nostalgic, Part 1

I was paging through the new Lands' End catalog and saw this:

I wore this!  Same turtleneck.  Same jumper.  Almost the same herringbone except my jumper had the more traditional herringbone pattern.  I wore my jumper in the 80's. What a trend setter!

I love that jumpers are returning to style.

Here is something I was hoping would never returns to style:

Years ago I donated these, along with platform shoes, to my daughter's dress up clothes stash. I wore them in the 80's. Not with the jumper, of course. I had several pair in different colors, some with wooden soles. We called them Barbie shoes. Anytime I needed to get somewhere in a hurry, I kicked them off and carried them.  And driving? Forget it.  Crazy kids and their crazy fashions!

I think Barbie shoes have been back in fashion. I am sure podiatrists everywhere are secretly happy.  It's a cash cow.

I believe this calls for a blist! A blist is a list on a blog.  I actually thought I invented this word. But I did not. It is in the Urban Dictionary. The fourth possible definition of blist, according to the Urban Dictionary is, "A list written as an addition to your personal blog."

So this blist has a compare and contrast feature.  We can compare Fashions We Would Love to See Return to the contrasting Fashions We Hope Never Return. Fun way to start the weekend? There is great potential here for bridging any awkward conversation gaps at parties, on the sidelines, on a drive, on a golf course, or at the dinner table. Let the blists begin!

FASHIONS I WOULD LOVE TO SEE RETURN

OVERALLS

Similar to jumpers, they are so comfortable and do not nip or tuck anywhere on your being.

PEASANT TOPS

Always a classic style.  So pretty and flowing, fun to wear. Similar to jumpers and overalls, peasant tops can be worn by many body types.

HATS

By this I do not mean the currently popular skater hat like this:

I'm thinking more Jackie Kennedy or Audrey Hepburn hats like this one from Breakfast at Tiffany's:

And, for the men, fedoras. My dad wore a fedora. Now my daughter does:

FASHIONS I HOPE NEVER RETURN 

BELL BOTTOM PANTS

This was a silly look. Also it was dangerous any time you got on a bicycle or a motorcycle.

BIG SHOULDER PADS

There was supposedly some optical illusion that took place to make a person's hips look smaller.
I thought they just made shoulders look bigger.

HIP HUGGER PANTS

For us of the high-waisted persuasion, a day in hip huggers was a day in a vise.

Some Days Are Whoppers

I have been blessed with several people in my life who never said "I told you so." My Aunt Harriet and my friend Mary Jo never said this straight out to me.  They knew I had food sensitivities about twenty years before I came to the realization that I had food sensitivities.  Many years ago, my friend Noreen asked me, "Why would you have white bread in your freezer?"  Back then, I did not even understand the question.

Food sensitivities are complicated. They are different from food allergies - think nuts and difficulty breathing. They are different from food intolerances - think milk lactose and bathroom challenges. Food sensitivities stem from a plethora of reasons. Symptoms are varied, even delayed several days after eating something culpable.   My understanding is that 95% of humans have food sensitivities to varying degrees. When I consider this statistic, I do not feel so alone.

When I am feeling disciplined and emotionally healthy, I restrict my diet.  I feel great - less achy, less foggy, and more energetic.  Two mantras that help me a great deal are

"My body is a temple." (Bible)

and

"Let food be your medicine and let medicine be your food."  (Hippocrates)

The very first time I restricted my diet, it was hard for me to believe I would never eat a Burger King Whopper again.  I am not sure why a Whopper. I was not addicted to Whoppers, probably had one several times a year.  I think they must represent for me the ultimate in something that is so good and so bad all wrapped up with a side of fries and a Coke.

Over fourteen years ago, Jay and I experienced something that was so good and so bad all wrapped up together. We felt overwhelming joy while witnessing unimaginable loss. Both at the same time. This is the reality of adoption.

As we settled at home the first evening with our beautiful baby daughter, I made plans for our dinner.  I told Jay, "I'm going to Burger King. You want a Whopper?"  Jay said something like, "Whoa."  It had been a long time since either of us had asked the other this question.

As I drove to the local Burger King, I realized that it had been impossible for us to prepare.  We had known that the day after our daughter was born would be the best day of our lives juxtaposed with the worst day of our birth mother's life. Somehow knowing this and living this were not the same.

I gave my order at the drive thru menu board.  "Two Whopper meals with Cokes, please."  The young man taking my order asked, "Do you want onion rings with that?"

I guess I lost it just then. It hit me, like a sucker punch, "My God, does everything have to be this difficult?" And in a measured voice I asked, "Did I say I wanted onion rings?"

I did not know until months later that Burger King changed its meal options to fries or onion rings. The man taking my order was asking a simple question. He just did not know what he was up against: a new mom, experiencing joy and loss, knowing the joy would never completely ease the pain of loss for any of us, ever.

Now over fourteen years later, I still think of that drive thru moment. When things in life seem hard, perhaps much harder than they need to be, I ask under my breath, "Did I say I wanted onion rings?"

Some Days Are Vulnerable

This blog entry is dark and a little bit creepy. Proceed with caution.

When I was in my twenties, I was sick. I do not think I understood at the time how much illness colored my world. I would not relive my twenties if you paid me.

During a rather dark stretch, I wrote a poem. I found it recently, handwritten and buried in some old cards and letters. It is bleak but not without hope. I will always be grateful that hope wins.

I never wrote a serious poem again. But I did find a Ghostbuster. My Ghostbuster's name was Mary, a gifted social worker.

There's a ghost in my room and I am afraid

Afraid of the Ghost of the Unknown

Now surrounding me like a shroud

I can sense his gnarled fingers beckoning me forth.

But I cannot move

There are other ghosts lurking in the darkness

Holding me captive with their beguiling familiarity.

The Ghost of What Was

Holding tight, knowing pain

Protecting my heart with an icy grip.

The Ghost of What Is

Billowing fog, hushing dreams

Clouds of caution muting risk.

Take my hand and walk with me

If one of us stumbles, we both may fall

And lose each other in the darkness.

But together we can light a candle 

And face our Ghosts in the flickering light. 

Some Days Are Twilight Zone-esque

One of the best television series was The Twilight Zone.  The element of suspense and the unexpected twist at the end of each episode was the winning combination. Goosebumps every viewing.

I blogged weeks ago about an experience I had at a Stevenson High School football game.  Well, now you are going to hear...the rest of the story.

My daughter is a member of the school's marching band.  On Fridays with scheduled home games,  she remains after school to prep with the rest of the band.  The football game in reference occurred on a Friday my husband Jay was out of town.  So I was home alone.

True confession: that particular evening, I took what was suppose to be a quick, pre-game nap.  It would have been wise to set an alarm.  I awoke with a start, realizing I had missed at best the entire first half, including the halftime performance.  Bad mommy.

But, this is a big school and football draws a big crowd. My plan was to go and simply blend in. Who would know? I got in the car and went to the high school.

Cue Twilight Zone music here.

The football stadium lights were on. There were cars in the parking lots. There was not a soul anywhere to be seen. I am saying nobody, anywhere. It was still. It was freaky.

The words crossed my mind.  "...you've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone." Either that or I was Left Behind.  That thought crossed my mind too.

The unexpected twist at the end of this episode was not so exciting. Lightning had been sited during the game.  Everyone was inside the school, waiting for a designated amount of time to pass before returning to the field and sitting on metal bleachers.

This is the same lightning I apparently napped through. The best drama of the evening was my performance.  I walked into the school, pretending I knew what was going on. Because, really, what kind of card-carrying Band Booster Club member sleeps through a home game?

"It was just another night of football in Lincolnshire, Illinois. Athletes, cheerleaders, marching band, fans. Then the lightning was sited. They will all go on playing - in the Twilight Zone."

Some Days Are Game On

We have a closet in our home with board games stacked floor to ceiling.  Many of these games are from long ago: Scrabble, Sorry, Chutes and Ladders, Battleship, Operation, Candy Land.

I remember playing The Game of Life. This game had a very cool three dimensional board with a built-in clickety spinner.  The place markers were little convertible cars. The goal of the game was to retire (finish) with the most assets (stuff).

The Game of Life was suppose to mirror real life. The first choice in the game was college or business.  Then you got married, had a family, and collected stock, property, and cold, fake cash. The most coveted square was Pay Day. I believe a better name could have been The Ultimate Status Quo Game.

There have been several revisions to The Game of Life since the original 1960 edition. Even with revisions, there is no way any game can mirror real life.

How do you revise The Game of Life to accommodate the impact of the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, the Cold War, the Digital Revolution, 9/11, the recession, escalating political discord/dysfunction?  Just for starters. It would take more than changing the convertible car to a minivan.

The Game of Life, even the most current edition, is a game, not a mirror, and certainly not real.  Honestly, what could be more not real than the status quo?

Oh, I know.  Barbie's body measurements?