STOREHOUSES OF SNOW

Another Beginning

2011-02-07T15:26:00.000-06:00

It's snowing in Tennessee. Seems I am not done with snow yet. It's a wet heavy snow and coming down pretty fast. The ground is covered but not the roads. The temperature right now is 39 degrees. If it drops too much, it might be a messy commute or evening.

It's nice to be "home." As much as any place is home, Tennessee is home right now. I woke up in my own bed. Fixed breakfast in my small kitchen. Everything is so familiar and yet it is strange.

As I left South Dakota last Thursday, I recorded some of my feelings as I left. I have put the audio together with some photographs from the last three years. It's a bit rambling in spots but I hope you'll take a few minutes and hear my reflections and thoughts as I left the Storehouse of Snow.

Likely this will be the last installment on this blog. I did record somethings as I entered back into Tennessee. I may post them here, we'll see. Although nothing I have said in this blog is necessarily profound or meaningful to anyone other than myself, I hope you've enjoyed taking this journey with me. As you listen and watch this video, it's not only my thoughts you'll hear, but my heart.

Leaving the Storehouse of Snow from Joyce Lighari on Vimeo.

And so this chapter is closed and a new journey begins....

Turning the key in the lock for the last time

2011-02-03T08:53:00.000-06:00

It’s that day. It’s that day I never thought would come and now is here too soon. Life is so strange that way. I have despaired this day would ever come. I have prayed for it. I have cried for it. I have packed my things a million times in my head and imagined how it would be when I turn the key in the apartment door for the last time.

In a couple hours, when I turn the key, it really won’t be the last time. There will be one more trip with family crew in tow. We will empty the apartment to the walls and carpet. Our South Dakota acquired furniture will jostle in the back of a U-Haul to its new home in Kingston Springs. It will be such a stressful trip that the emotions of leaving will be hidden under the rapid movements of people hurrying perhaps to beat a storm, get back to work, and life. Maria, my youngest grandchild will keep us distracted as she chatters and seeks attention.

I’ve thought of this day so many times. It’s here. I have written so many wonderful blogs as I’ve laid in bed in the early morning or tossed and turned avoiding sleep at night. The inspiration will come again. I will put those thoughts on paper. I still have things to say about the Storehouse of Snow.

I think I’ve been silent on this blog for the last few days because I’m in pain. It’s not the same pain that I struggled with for months and years during this sojourn to the crucible. This pain is a good pain. It is the pain of evaluation and reflection. It is the pain of parting with friends. It is the pain of realizing that when you face the truth, the truth is never what it seems. I’ve said before, it never really was about South Dakota. It was about me.

Yesterday we had lunch with some of the people who work with my husband. His support staff and a new hire that is a friend of mine. We chatted over food. He mostly with his support staff, me with my friend. It was an odd but pleasant lunch. When time came to say good-bye, there were a few hugs. His main support person cried. My husband patted her on the shoulder as they disengaged from a farewell hug. He said what I’ve heard many times when I’ve cried. Be strong, be strong. Those words never seemed comforting to me, but I wondered they brought her any comfort for her. I hope so.

My next stop was Wal-Mart. Yes, Brookings Wal-Mart, home of much of angst and ire over rudeness and unfriendliness. I remembered not to smile and say excuse me. I will have to work on my manners when I get home. But my perspective is different. I didn’t get angry. From there I went to McDonald’s for a last un-coffee with a friend. Neither of us drank coffee and I had nothing.

As I walked in the door, a woman, also named Joyce who cleared tables and used to give us free cookies was waiting for a ride. She greeted me and said: “Are you the one who is leaving? Are you leaving Brookings? Why are you leaving? Don’t you like us?” I was stunned. I guess my friend had told her while she was waiting. Maybe Joyce asked about me. We hadn’t been to McDonalds for a long time. Perhaps she missed us.

As I composed myself to answer her, I thought there was a time if I had been truthful I would have said “NO, I hate this place and can’t wait to leave. Leaving couldn’t come soon enough.” But I’ve changed. Something has changed inside of me. That’s what crucibles do, they mark you, the cause you deep despair, and then they change you. To Joyce, I replied, we have family. We have kids and family in Tennessee, we are just going home. She smiled and said “we’ll miss you.”

I never thought I’d feel this way. And I certainly never thought I’d admit it, but I will miss South Dakota.

Offended?

2011-01-27T10:33:00.000-06:00

I wrote on my other blog, Sounds of Hope about googly eyes. Through google and other means, I have a pretty good idea of where people come from who read my blog. I’m always curious. Lately, Sounds of Hope seems to have a global interest. Google analytics tells me that every day, at least a few people put my name in a search engine. I think that scares me. It makes me wonder. Yet, I have put myself out here in the cyber world to tell my stories.

This particular blog has been about my journey to the crucible of South Dakota. Yesterday, from what I can piece together from comments, google analytics and other tracking, someone from Madison SD found this blog. The comment they left indicated that they didn’t understand why I wrote the blog. I evidently hit a nerve.

Madison SD is a rather pleasant college town about 50 miles from here. The first summer we were here we spent a few hours there. It was the year of the presidential primaries. We ran into Bill Clinton who was campaigning on a misty rainy day in that fair city. We stopped at the local McDonald’s and saw that people use it as a place to play cards as well. As far as SD towns are concerned, Madison seems nice.

It was interesting that someone from Madison would just happen to stumble on my blog. If people from India, China, Russia, the Philippines and even some places I’ve never heard of happen to stumble on Sounds of Hope, I guess it’s not unusual. I felt bad that they were offended by my ramblings. I found it interesting in a blog where I was coming to terms with South Dakota in what I thought was a more positive frame of mind would be offensive. Oh, I know that my blogs have caused some rankle and rage by some of the good folk of South Dakota. But with perhaps the exception of my ranting about Governor Daugaard, I attempted to let readers know that this was about me – not the state. Even the first blog I wrote on Storehouses seemed to make that pretty clear – at least I thought so. It was a person from Madison who first asked me what God had for me in the Storehouses of Snow. How ironic?!

I responded to this fine person from Madison that I wished I had met them. They said they smiled and said “God Bless You.” For those of you who know I have a penchant for sarcasm. This is not sarcasm. I appreciate so much the “Sunbeams” I’ve met here in South Dakota. The sunbeams who didn’t like what I said sometimes but looked beyond that and understood. And those precious but wonderful few who held my hand, assuring me it would be okay, and helped lead me out of my own misery. Maybe this person from Madison could have been a friend. I wonder how many other good people I missed meeting while I was here. I could have used more friends but God gave me enough. The ones He gave me will forever be in my heart.

It’s almost over. This sojourn to what for me has been a crucible is over. I mentioned Kathleen Norris when I started this blog. She’s not popular with a lot of South Dakotans either. I think she probably is just as misunderstood as I am. But that’s okay. I’m in good company.

To the fine folk of South Dakota, especially my new accidental reader(s) in Madison, I wish you well. This blog will continue until the last piece of furniture is out of the state. Until then, keep reading as I process these last few days in the Storehouse of Snow.

Thank You South Dakota

2011-01-25T10:21:00.000-06:00

Someone asked me why I thought God had brought us to South Dakota. That’s a very good question. One I’ve been struggling with for three years. I did have an answer for her. It was to get to know my husband.

Okay, I know we’ve been married for 33 years. You’d think I’d know him pretty well. And I do. I tell him that I have a PhD in him. I study him. I know his habits. When he’s in the bathroom in the morning if I listen for ten seconds, I know exactly how much longer it will be before he’s done. I know his favorite foods. I know how he likes his eggs. I know his likes and dislikes. I know his sizes. There isn’t much I didn’t know about my husband, even before we came to the land of snow and ice.

So why did I have to come here to know my husband that I didn’t know. When the call came for us to come to South Dakota we were celebrating our anniversary at a beach in Florida. We’d been married for 30 years. I don’t often get my husband to go to Florida nor does he love the beach as I do. It had the potential to be such a perfect day. We were there for five days. Usually our anniversary trips are overnight, if that.

Birds at Coco Beach

Picture I took as we left the beach that evening

It was an omen of things to come. I said to him, do you realize this is the longest we’ve ever been alone, just the two of us? He married a ready-made family of 4, my three children and me. In a little over a year of the “I do” our first child came, then another, and another, and another and another. Organized and disorganized chaos was the manner of our lives. Kids, careers, life – always busy. Somehow we managed to stay together in spite of some very serious challenges. Sometimes our love continued through all manner of disappointments, discouragement, and despair. We survived illness, death, and poverty. Trust me, I’m not being dramatic either. We went through hell and back quite a few times.

For the last three years, it’s been him and I, alone. Those five days that seems so unique are now our way of life. At times, we came close to not making it. The pressures of job and snow almost shattered our lives. I sunk into a deep depression. He fought battles at work. We learned that without each other, we couldn’t stand the pressure. We learned how to hang on to each other. In the process, I fell more deeply in love with my husband than I ever dreamed possible. Why? Because I’ve seen his character. I’ve learned he is a man who can be faithful. I’ve learned to put the issues of the past, in the past. I’ve learned to forgive. I’ve learned that he loves me.

I’m watching him sadly begin to disconnect from his dream job. I’m watching him bring home personal remnants from his office. I see his sad face as people ignore him and marginalize him. I see how hurt he is by the lack of appreciation from those he cared so deeply for and helped. I’ve seen a man who truly cared for the people of South Dakota and Extension hang his head as in cannibalistic fashion, they jockey for position. I hurt for him.

He’s strong. But I’ve seen his vulnerable side. I’ve leaned on him. I am going to be strong, so he can lean on me through this transition. It’s the least I can do.

Yes, ours is a great love story, and it's not over. We go back to Tennessee more in love with each other than when we came to South Dakota. For that, I suppose I will have to say Thank You to South Dakota and it's Storehouse of Snow.

In My Heart There Rings A Melody

2011-01-23T12:17:00.001-06:00

If you have read much of my blogging, you know I have a memory and love for old hymns and gospel songs. Sometimes they just seem to pop into my head like a jukebox of the past. Some of the things that spin in my mind even Bill Gaither’s Homecoming haven’t done. Some of them I hear with a Norwegian accent, others I hear with the magnificent sounds of the Salem Gospel Tabernacle choir. Yet other times I think of Sister Crandall leading the Calvary Tabernacle choir or Sister Parker on the piano. The other day a song popped into my mind, I searched for it on youtube and found it played on the organ. That reminded me of a former Pastor, Lon Calloway who could make you love organ music.

The last two days, two golden oldies have been floating around in my head. Until I looked up the lyrics I had the two merged in my head. I hear these songs with a Norwegian accent and picture Doris on the piano, Fran on the organ, Elise on the vibraharp, Bob on the saw, Erik on the trumpet, Ruth on the trombone, and Oscar on the banjo. Later I would sit with these saints playing an odd little green instrument called a melodica.

Sounds of my childhood forever etched in my ears memory. With a thin red hymnal with three gold crosses in my hand, I would sing along.

These songs floating in my head are happy songs. For so long, happy songs have been absent from my mental jukebox. As I have pondered the words of these songs, I realize they are my testimony. A testimony of how God has worked in my life in the Storehouse of Snow.

I’d share a youtube video with you, but it seems they are lacking of these two precious old songs. The first one, “Whosoever Meaneth Me” was written in 1910:

I am happy today, and the sun shines bright,

The clouds have been rolled away;

For the Savior said, whosoever will

May come with Him to stay

All my hopes have been raised, O His Name be praised

His glory has filled my soul;

I’ve been lifted up, and from sin set free,

His blood has made me whole.

Simple words from another time still have meaning. I am happy today. I can see the sunshine. My hope has been raised. I’ve struggled with demons of depression, sadness, and fear for so long that I thought I’d never see the sunshine bright again. I thought the clouds would never disappear. Thank God, they have. Lest anyone think it is just because I am leaving South Dakota, it isn’t the leaving that has given me hope. It is the faithfulness of God to make me “whole” or ‘holy.’

Sin isn’t always about what you do. Sin is often the effects of others who have sinned against us. This time in the Storehouse has caused me to face and name the sins that have been done against me and experiencing the grace to make me holy and whole. This is where my hope comes from. And caused me to merge with those verses above, the chorus to It is Truly Wonderful What the Lord Has Done:

It is truly wonderful what the Lord has done

It is truly wonderful, it is truly wonderful

It is truly wonderful what the Lord has done

Glory to His name

My mental jukebox is playing another song now as I reflect further on my sojourn in the Storehouse – it reminds me that in my heart there is a melody. It reminds me that Jesus still sweeps across the broken strings and stirs slumbering chords. Amen.

Sunbeams

2011-01-19T10:50:00.000-06:00

I’ve commented a lot about the people here in the Northern Plains. I so wish that my experience had been better here. I also wish occasionally I could have been quieter about my struggle, my observations, and my opinions. But I haven’t been. Truth is rarely pure. What is truth for me is based on my own experiences.

The first temperature I saw on my computer this morning was minus 13. It’s minus 13 here in Brookings. It has climbed to minus 11. The good news is there isn’t as much wind today. The better news is that the sun is out. Sunshine and light just make everything better. It’s so easy to let the negative overpower the positive. It is so easy to concentrate on these frigid temperatures, rather than the sun. I’ve been guilty of that with my assessments of the people of the Northern Plains.

Overall I’ve found the temperature of the people here pretty cold. There are times when to say they’re responses to me have left me as shivering as if I went outside today. I’ve always admitted I had a bad attitude when I first came here, but I did attempt to be friendly. My attitude was based on personal issues with the decision to come here, not the people. The attitudes about the people came from experience. Even my oft harangues about trips to the local Wal-Mart came after my excuse me and smiles were met with sour expressions and glares.

I’ve neglected to focus on the sun. There are people I have met here who are some of the nicest I’ve met anywhere. There are friends here who have so warmed my heart that I will cry when the day comes for me to leave this frigid wilderness. Parting will be different and sadder when I leave here. Everywhere else I’ve left, I always knew I’d go back to visit, or live. Not so here. When I leave I probably will never return. Shockingly, that makes me incredibly sad.

The sunbeams in this wilderness experience are relatively few. But their warmth and love is exceedingly wonderful. Perhaps you need the frigid to enjoy the warm just as you need sorrow and pain to full experience joy. I would attempt to name you, my sunbeams of warmth, but you know who you are. I hope you know how much your warmth means to me.

It sounds corny, but perhaps we should join in a chorus of:

Cornyness and over sentimentality aside, there are some of you who really have been sunshine for me. I may not hold you in my arms, but you will forever be in my heart.

Core Values

2011-01-10T09:41:00.004-06:00

Just when I thought I was beginning to get South Dakota, just a little bit, I am reminded how much I don’t get it here. It’s been snowing for a couple for a couple of days. It’s also snowing in Nashville. Now to people up here, I realize it sounds ridiculous that with just the forecast of snow, they closed many of the schools last night. I understand that Atlanta is under a state of emergency this morning because they had 6 inches of snow.

Its fine and dandy to say that the south has no plows and therefore needs more time to get the snow cleaned up. That’s true. They don’t have that many plows. However, at least in TN they were out with the brine on the road and had the salt trucks ready to go.

Remember that heavy dump of snow in the Northeast? They got more in the last few days in Connecticut. I used to love those major snows in Connecticut. I even had a job where I made decisions about closings when I lived there. Everything would stop for a few hours, maybe a day when the snow fell in Connecticut. The big difference there was they had enough plows and actually used them expeditiously.

I-90 the major east - west interstate through South Dakota

I-29 the major north-south interstate through South Dakota

I’m no stranger to snow. Someone was shocked yesterday that I used pretty and snow in the same sentence. I’ve used that language before, they just never heard it. Why? Because I just don’t get it here. I don’t get why if they aren’t going to buy and use plows to actually clean the roads when it snows, why they don’t at least close things so people can stay safe. They do neither.

In an attempt to understand South Dakota better I decided to listen to governor of South Dakota Dennis Duagaard’s inauguration speech. It wasn’t a bad speech. You can hear it here. He kept it fairly short and to the point. He talked about South Dakotans core values. They were self-reliance, persistence, and frugality.

Governor Duagaard did help me understand. He talked about how the settlers who came to South Dakota were self-reliant. He also said the natives before them were also self-reliant. I think he was wrong. I’m not native nor do I think I know that much about native culture. However, I think community is important in native culture. He went on to talk about not being dependent. I guess that’s part of the reason why the state feels no responsibility to clear the roads in a timely fashion or close the schools. It is up to you to be safe. It is up to you to be able to afford a 4-wheel drive. If you can’t afford one, and you die on the road, that’s your problem-self-reliance. After all it was your fault if you do.

Duagaard talked about helping someone who has fallen but if they don’t get up right away and work themselves, you should leave they lie there. What about the old, what about children, what about people with emotional or physical disabilities? Using the word MUST he proclaimed that South Dakota must be self-reliant. Thank you very much Governor Duagaard, I prefer to rely on God. Relying on myself usually gets me in trouble. Quoting Calvin Coolidge he talked about persistence. Then he moved on to frugality.

Everyone chuckled as he told a story of someone who publically embarrassed some people from California saying welcome to South Dakota a state that pays its bills. I am sure they felt a warm friendly welcome here.

No I don’t get it. I guess I never will. The Bible talks about caring for one another without reservation. In all the encounters Jesus had with people in need, He never told one of them to work harder or get a job to solve their problems. He just gave them what they needed. Jesus fed hungry people without a means test.

We are called as the people of God to be in community, to be one body. We are called to sacrifice for each other just as Christ sacrificed for us. Scripture principles call for interconnectedness and mutual dependence. It calls for generosity, not frugality and withholding from those in need. 1 Corinthians 12 cautions us not to tell the weaker part of the body that we have no need for it. In fact, we give it special treatment.

It is still snowing. People will end up in ditches, some will die, others will slip and fall on the ice breaking bones. I guess that they just weren't self-reliant enough. I guess it’s better to save a penny then save a life.

I know this blog will not endear me any further to some people. I am sorry about that. Really I am. I would prefer you liked me. But it’s just the way I see it. My core values and South Dakota’s core values as declared by the Governor just don’t match. My core values are caring about people without reservation and generosity. What about you? What are your core values? Snowy days are a good time to think about such things.

DISCLAIMER: Before I get in too much trouble with my blog, these views are MY OWN and do not reflect that of any other member of my family.

I'm Limping

2011-01-06T18:35:00.000-06:00

South Dakota and I have been

wrestling as Jacob wrestled at Peniel.

it does look a bit like parts of South Dakota, doesn't it?

Do you know the story? You probably have heard parts of it or think you know it. It is but a few verses in Genesis 32, it reads:

24 Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. 25When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. 26 Then he said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Jacob said, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me." 27 So he said to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob." 28 Then the man said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." 29 Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him. 30 So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved."

Maybe it sounds dramatic to you that I compare my time here in South Dakota to this story in Genesis. Without knowing the depths of despair I have felt, the aloneness, the fear – you would be right. Jacob was afraid of his brother. He was facing an uncertain future. He was removed (in his case by his own wishes) from his family and all things familiar.

I think Jacob faced himself that night. I think he dealt with all sorts of memories and life issues. Whatever or whoever it was that appeared to Jacob, this experience changed Jacob forever. Wrestling with self is wrestling with God. It’s asking those tough questions. It’s asking the why and facing painful truth that causes you to look at yourself in truth.

I think South Dakota has caused me to limp. I know South Dakota has blessed me. Yes, I really did say that. In the midst of all my complaining and whining that was really the expression of pain, I’ve been changed and therefore, I have been blessed. I’ve called South Dakota a crucible. It has been. Yet, it has changed me in ways I am sure I still don’t realize.

I tried so hard not to connect and yet I cried in desperation for connection. The harsh winds of disappointment seemed unrelenting over the last three years. The coldness of aloneness left me paralyzed. I’ve honestly thought I would die as the cold and winds continued. Springs were far too short. Summer brought confusion rather than relief. Fall came quickly and winter seemed never ending.

I’m better though. I’ve wrestled with South Dakota and we both won. South Dakota changed me. Changed me forever and for better. I’ve wrestled with myself. I’ve seen once again that God knows best, and will bring me through the harshness of life. My life has been preserved. I’m ready for the future in a way I haven’t been in a very, very long time. I’m actually thankful for this limp, for it means I’ve survived the crucible of encounter with the face of the Lord.

I CAN CHOOSE

2010-12-29T11:39:00.000-06:00

I’m in an odd mood today. I’m not sure it is a good mood or bad mood. It is probably neither, it just is odd. I had an odd dream about people I used to know in CT. He was a leader at the Senior and Disabled Center in Newington and she was British. She was the first one to suggest my youngest daughter’s name. I knew the name, but she was the one who suggested it for the child I was carrying. I could recall her name but couldn’t his. Finally, it came. However, their last name still escapes me.

It started me thinking about the past. I am thinking about loss. I was thinking about people I’ve known who still matter to me but who have gotten so busy that they’ve forgotten me. It seems that the human plight is to forget. We forget so quickly people who loved us, worked hard for us, cared for us and prayed for us. People like a former pastor. Or friend who I gave my heart and soul to that never bother to answer an email or keep in touch. I guess that’s the way life is – people move on. I told my grandson the other night that friends come and go and occasionally, if you are lucky, you’ll find a lifelong friend. It is family that usually will be there for you.

However, that’s not completely true either. I have two brothers. When we had our last angry parting, one of the brothers said something like this: “I don’t think we want to be the type of people that down the road say I once had a sibling but I don’t know anything about them.” I said I didn’t care. I still don’t really care. It’s just I am still hurt and angry about how they treated me. I still want to scream at them. This Christmas as money was so tight with food and presents scant I thought how the chain goes back to their greediness for money that didn’t belong to them. I thought of the terrible things they did to my mother and to me. I thought of lying to my mother that they cared and their presence was there. But there is nothing I can do about it.

But we never were destined to be close. I came when they were half grown. They moved on in their lives and never had time for me. It’s the same with some of my own children. The eldest ones hardly know the younger ones. I hope and pray that they do always remember that they are their siblings and treat them right though.

I guess I’m feeling sad about losses today. There have been a lot of them. My life has been turned upside down and rearranged so many times. There have been too many moves and no opportunity to have roots. There have been too many friends that I have loved that have forgotten me-too many family members who forget. A career that fell on the rocks because of evil vindictive people and so many missed opportunities – they do take their toll.

Yet, I have hope for the future. I’ve lost all hope at times. I know the depths of despair and depression. I know how it feels to be cast-off and abandoned. But I’ve learned to stop. To stop and reflect rather than react so you can choose. I still need a lot of practice in stopping. In my sadness today I am stopping and saying I can choose. I am not powerless. I can choose. I can choose to believe the truth. I can choose to have hope.

Tennessee Christmas

2010-12-25T11:19:00.001-06:00

It’s Christmas morning. Overnight, God took his sifter and dusted the trees and ground with white snow. It’s pretty. Snow and Christmas just go together. Here are some of the views from my windows in Tennessee.

It’s nothing like the snow that falls in South Dakota. It isn’t like the snow that falls in Connecticut or the snow of my youth in New York City. Truly South Dakota is a storehouse of snow.

I will probably never know all the reasons God sent me to the storehouse of snow. I am sure that years from now, I’ll still be pondering this experience, trying to make sense of both its pain and occasional joys. As hard as I tried, when ultimately we leave and return south, I will miss some people very deeply.

We had a good Christmas. It could have been very slim. A “savior” stepped in and saved us. We were able to shop and have a meal. Last night it was ziti, sauce, and meatballs, simple food to get us to the main event of reading the Christmas story and opening presents. Everyone had plenty to eat. A few cookies, a slice of julekake, a cup of coffee before the fun began.

I guess I like tradition. When I was a young mother with two small boys, I decided that we needed them. There was never any doubt that we’d open presents on Christmas Eve. I am Norwegian. That’s an absolute. I wanted my children to hear the Christmas story as part of their festivities. Every Christmas Eve the tradition is that the youngest child who can read, reads the story. My youngest daughter is so glad there are some grandchildren around; she had that honor for many years. This year we deviated, I had my 17 year old grandson read Luke 2:1-20. I video recorded it. It is such a testimony to God’s faithfulness. You can read more about this here.

Sometimes I pray, sometimes I don’t. That part of the tradition never stuck. Then the youngest child opens a present. In turn, youngest to oldest each person gets a chance to open. Each one waits their turn. Some people may like mayhem but I always wanted to see the look on each child’s face as they opened their present. It was like savoring a fine meal. I can still see my children when they were young as their eyes burst open and the squeals came out.

Over the last few years, our Christmases have had a hollowness to them. Too many of the family is missing. I still have allusions of massive family Christmases. When the children were little I would imagine all 8 of them home for Christmas. We’ve swelled to a small tribe of over 20 but we only had eight last night. But there was joy. There was a joy in the family I haven’t experienced for a while. Maybe it’s me. Maybe the long days and nights in the storehouse of snow have changed me. I know they have and like Mary, I ponder them in my heart.

I miss my mother. I sat in the chair she normally sat in at Christmas. She’d say with each gift, “oh, I don’t deserve this.” After a box of tea, a new shirt, new pj’s, perhaps some jars of jelly, she’d go off to her room for the night with tears in her eyes. Yet, I know that she is in heaven with my dad, with her best friend Marguerite who joined her a few months after she got there. She’s there to hug the child I lost, the grandchild I lost and all the others who have gone. She’s happy. She’s very happy. She’s a peace. Most of all, she’s seen Jesus.

It’s another Christmas. In a few days we’ll head back to the storehouses of snow for more lessons. I’m a better student now. I’m ready for the snow.

Holding Your Nose

2010-12-18T11:47:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid, most medicines were not flavored. Like the old Little Rascal’s series where Alfalfa has to take medicine and he puts a clothes pin on his nose, I wished for a clothes pin. I would occasionally hold my nose. I remember taking aspirin. I think you could buy children’s flavored aspirin, good ol’ St. Joseph’s. I don’t know whether it was because it sounded Catholic and we avoided all things Catholic as a child or if it was that it just cost unnecessary money but we never had it. Instead my mother would take an aspirin, break it in two and then two again. The ¼ aspirin would then be crushed between two spoons. A few drops of water were added along with some sugar. My mother would come with the spoon saying I needed to drink some sugar water. It did mask the aspirin taste a little bit. It was a good day when I finally learned to swallow a pill.

My experience in South Dakota is a bit like taking medicine that tastes bad. I have always known deep in my soul that God was in control and He had a purpose in sending me to South Dakota. I don’t much get into discussions of God’s perfect will. I don’t know if this was “His will.” I do know that God is with us where ever we go and that He does work all things for our benefit.

While it is true that I came kicking and screaming up here, I’ve never doubted there was a reason, a purpose to it all. I’ve experienced a lot of pain in this South Dakota crucible. You’ve read about it here on these pages. There will be more pain. There is always more pain in this life. Anyone who tells you different is delusional or just not honest. I am not saying all pain is good either. But pain tells you something is wrong. Pain demands you deal with it.

I’ve been dealing with pain I had neglected for the last few years here in this frozen desert. I have feared for my sanity and my life. I have cried many tears. I have asked many questions. I have come to the brink of despair and even death. My emotions have been raw. I experienced another dark night of the soul. I found that in one’s life you can experience this more than once. I begged God for relief. I sought help and prayed even when I couldn’t pray.

I’ve survived. I’ve not only survived but I’m better. Not better in the sense that a flaw has been righted but in the sense that I am a better person. I have chased demons that have haunted me all my life in this wilderness of snow. I have slayed a few and learned how to fight the others that still occasionally show their heads. It’s not been easy.

I’ve learned so many things about myself, Joyce has been uncovered. Joyce has been found once again. She is ready to live the rest of her life. She has hope once again. The crucible always refines you. I’ve held my nose and taken my medicine. There was no spoonful of sugar to help this medicine go down. But I’ve swallowed the medicine and it has made me whole.

Norwegian Chapati's

2010-12-15T12:25:00.001-06:00

There is snow on the ground. More is expected today. A scant 2.4 inches is what the forecast says. Nothing to get excited about in the Storehouse of Snow here in South Dakota. I have Julekake proofing in the kitchen. Plan to make some stew tonight for supper. Just wish I had some good lamb to make lamb stew. That was my favorite as a child and seem fitting when I think of Julekake and all things Norwegian.

I just finished listening to Jeg er så glad hver julekveld. If you want to hear it, you can go here. It has such a haunting melody. It reminds me of my childhood in Norwegian Brooklyn. When the Julekake goes in the oven and the fragrance of cardamom fills the air, the memory will blossom further.

When I first came to South Dakota, other than seeing Mount Rushmore for the first time, the thing I was most excited about was reconnecting with Norwegians. I remember my father and how he would seek out other Norwegians. He loved connecting with his homeland and roots. One time he somehow or other found some girl who was from Sweden who was attending William Woods College in Fulton MO. I have no idea how he found her. I do remember having to meet this striking blonde beauty. She was a bit snobby. However, my father just wanted to welcome her and make her feel comfortable. His father was Swedish. Something we rarely talked about - but for my dad, Sweden was Norway's neighbor. Living in Missouri that was about as close as he could get.

The first time we visited Brookings it was the weekend of the bi-annual Fjordland Sons of Norway Waffle Feed. I really didn't expect authentic Norwegian waffles at a waffle feed. Commercialized Belgium Waffles were the offered fare. Sadly, I don't think they've ever tasted a true Norwegian waffle with lingonberry jam. But I have. I make them too - they are awesome. I'll stack mine up against any Norwegian bakers.

My husband and I walked in to stares and glares. I realized it was a small town but still, if you want to make money, you could be more pleasant. Little did I know that this is just culture here. I realized that yesterday as I walked the aisles of HyVee trying to be pleasant. It's just how they are...

My husband feeling very magnanimous and over paid them. He said this is a donation. He asked about membership. I'd love to know what was going through their heads as this Pakistan was asking to join Sons of Norway. We asked to see the president of the lodge. She was the only really pleasant person that day. This trend has continued unfortunately.

We joined Sons of Norway. I was rather excited. I had never been a member of SONS. I think when the eventual move back to Tennessee happens I'll try the Music City Vikings. They look like a fun bunch. My experience with Fjordland has been like everything else in South Dakota, very disappointing.

The first year I was here in SD I decided to bake. I made cookies and lefse. I have always tried to do a bit of Norwegian baking for the holidays. Nothing like my mom would do, but still an effort. Here is a picture of a platter from that first year:

I was shocked to find out that here in SD they know nothing of Julekake or Fattigman. I don't think they've ever heard Jeg er så glad hver julekveld, they've probably never been to a Juletrefest - and yet, somehow, they've never believed I was truly Norwegian. How odd?!

Oh well, as they say, it's there loss. I may have had a bad attitude in moving here, but I did try with things like Sons of Norway. Really did want to connect with Norwegians here. But the upper Midwest plains I guess took it's toll on them as well. I'll enjoy my Julekake all by myself - oh and my Pakistani husband will be happy I made it too. He even knows what it is. And lefse? He refers to them as "Norwegian Chapati's." I'll take mine with butter and sugar, no curry, thank you.

Are you a senior?

2010-12-09T10:06:00.000-06:00

I'm in TN. It's cold. Not as cold as the freezer I normally abide in, but nevertheless, it is cold. My daughter was shivering yesterday as she asked me if it was as cold in South Dakota as it was here. She of course knew the answer. She's been to South Dakota. She was there last January and told me that it was the coldest she had ever been. She hasn't been back since.

I am here because I have class on Saturday. My last class of the semester will include the first introduction to our Statistics teacher. I'm dreading that. I'm dreading that more than the snow that will fly while I am taking that class. I keep telling myself that I'm reasonably smart and that although math has always been my nemesis, I can do this. I have panic attacks at the sight of an equation that includes a square root symbol, an x or a y. I have glaze over every time we talk of research methods in class. I think it's going to be a long hard winter, in more ways than one.

Hopefully the winter in Tennessee will be mild and I will find a reprieve from the weather here often. I may have to be here for the month of February as I have two classes that month. And it's a short month! Maybe I'll have more experiences like the one I had last night.

Rather than tell you again about my experiences in the grocery store or at Wal-Mart in South Dakota, let me tell you about the experience at Publix last night. For those of you not familiar with southern grocery chains, here we have several. One is Publix which is probably my favorite although a bit more expensive. We also have Kroger and Harris Teeter. Nashville is fully blessed to have Trader Joe's and Whole Foods as well. I used to think shopping at Whole Foods was too expensive, that was until I went to Pomegranates in Sioux Falls the other day. YIKES!!!

I didn't want to go to the store. I was tired. I had things on my mind. But we needed a few things and needed to eat at home instead of out. I picked up eggs and veggies and bread. Standard fare. I was turning an aisle by the frozen food and it happened. While it wasn't a near collision, it was close. This very pleasant woman pushing her "buggy" (a southern term for a grocery cart - a term I refuse to make part of my vocabulary). She smiled! She smiled so nicely. I smiled back. We went on about our business. I called my husband at home and said you'll never guess what happened. This woman and I had a brief exchange of pleasantness in Publix. It was such a big deal to me that I had to share it. Just like I'm sharing it with you.

I got to the check out. The young man, looked like he was still in High School had evidently been taught manners. He asked the standard, did you find everything you needed? I said yes, thank you. He said EXCELLENT! and smiled. He went on to ask me how my day had been. This was 9:30 p.m. He must have been up at 6 a.m. to get to school on time. He'd no doubt dealt with the hassles and stress of High School algebra - yes, I'm thinking about math again. Nothing could be more stressful than Algebra - you know I managed to even get out of taking College Algebra but there's no getting out of statistics.

Back to the grocery store --- as he made a little bit of small talk with me - not a lot, just enough to let me know that he saw me as a human being, I thought how different is this? Then he asked the question that no one wants to hear. He said, are you eligible for our senior discount? They give a senior discount on Wednesdays. I said how old do you have to be? He told me. I sighed a sigh of relieve and said, no I'm not,. He gave it to me anyway and I saved 5% on the order. Maybe it won't be so bad and I'll get used to just saying yes, I am eligible. I have put in the years after all.

What was strange about the whole thing was that I wasn't the least bit offended or upset at the question. The kid was so nice and polite. He was right, I am close to that age.

As I left the store, I clicked on the radio to listen to Dr. Asa On Call. There was this man calling about his wife. It was the sweetest thing I'd heard in a long time. A gruff but very southern sounding truck driver was calling about his 47 year old wife who was fainting. He said it scared the crap out of him. He said he was "fixin" to do something and she just falls over. He used every colloquial southern phrase and it was delightful. What was most delightful was his concern for his wife. In it's own way, it was another southern experience of care and concern. It warmed my heart to know that a Bubba can really show a soft side

So is this just another rambling of Joyce about the wonders of Tennessee compared to my angst about living in South Dakota? No, I have a point here. It's Christmas time. It is a time where the difference between pleasantness and politeness verses rudeness and refinement can make all the difference in your day. I am going to remember MY manners even when people don't show any and make my own happiness and pleasantness the next time I meander the aisles of the Brookings HyVee or the Brookings Wal-Mart. Maybe you should do the same. We'd all be happier for it.

Rambling

2010-12-03T11:01:00.000-06:00

As the first real snow in Brookings SD is falling, I should be reading and annotating, working on my powerpoint, or my chapter two outline. I am in pretty good shape but I still have a lot to do. Nevertheless, I have so many ideas floating around in this head of mine and the itch to write. And I don’t have the itch to write the boring dissertation stuff. I could probably write ten blogs about different themes and still find something else that is on my mind. My brain is like that. It seems to never stop. I sometimes wonder if that is a diagnosable mental disorder… My brain is fertile, too fertile sometimes.

South Dakota friends… and others, You will be happy to know that I get it… at least I think I do. I get a few things finally. I was peddling away on my exercise bike listening to praise music, jammin’ with Jesus, sweatin’ and looking at the snow fall. I thought Okay, I think I get it. If I grew up here, not only would this be home to me, but I’d have lived my life with fairly harsh conditions. I’d be a product of my environment. Now before you react and say “Oh there she goes again!” Listen to what I’m trying to say. I think about how this time in South Dakota has affected me. It hasn’t been pleasant. Largely it’s been a shock to everything about my life. For me the changes were rapid and harsh. But like the wind, rain and snow that slowly erodes and changes the land, so the weather erodes the spirit. I was thinking this a.m. “How would I be if this was where I grew up?” I’d probably have never learned that it is polite to say excuse me when you run people over with your cart at Wal-Mart. I’d probably smile less. I’d probably never say “God bless you” when someone sneezes. These things are important to me. But they aren’t to others. It doesn’t really make them rude. It just makes them different. On the other hand, I’d probably value hard work over sentimentality. I’d probably be less relational and more self-reliant. I’d probably enjoy the wide open spaces..

You’ll be happy to know I finally have figured out why 4-H achievement days are important. I have figured out why livestock takes priority over people. I don’t like the fact that the roads won’t be cleaned in a timely manner, but I still get why it’s not a big deal here. Yesterday I was in Sioux Falls and shocked to see that the 1” of snow they had on Monday was still covering some side streets. I thought WHAT???? I shouldn’t be slipping on snow after 3 days… but I also get why it’s not important or a big deal. It’s just how people live here.

I’ve stopped fighting with South Dakota. It was a battle I could never win anyway. Someone asked me yesterday if when I leave here I’ll miss South Dakota. I thought for a moment. The expected answer is Heck, NO!!! I am sure that is the answer some of you expect too – you figure this woman is going to party and shout when she leaves here. She’ll be screaming hallelujah as she crosses the border for the last time. And while I probably will be happy when I leave, I will miss South Dakota. Oh I won’t miss snow and rude people, but I will miss many things about South Dakota when the time comes to finally leave. South Dakota has changed me. It’s harsh realities have actually made me a better person. For that I am thankful.

Okay, time to work on the important stuff like school...

Smile Sweetie

2010-11-28T09:36:00.000-06:00

I live a lot of my life on Facebook. I suppose that sounds very sad. And it is. However, it is how I've kept connections and sanity during the long stint in South Dakota. People still don't understand how incredibly hard the adjustment (or in my case lack of adjustment) to SD has been. I've said repeatedly it's not just the weather. I understand that even some of the locals don't like bad weather.

Last week a Facebook acquaintance from South Dakota made a comment about hating the winter weather. She's more a friend of a friend, but I've met her a few times. She's a very overly positive person. Those people are nice and it works for them. But sometimes the drippy everything is perfect, make lemonade out of lemons type of people get on my nerves. I had a friend in Connecticut who was like that too. We are no longer friends and it is largely because she found my realism too much for her Pollyannistic view of life. I do miss her though.

After this acquaintance commented on the weather, I made this comment:

When I say that, people get mad at me.

She replied:

I'm only talking about the weather, not the location or the people

Unable to leave it alone, I said:

It doesn't matter what I say - I can just say it's cold or icy and

people jump down my throat, but oh, I guess that's the people, my bad...

Zing!!! Zingers.... It was obvious she didn't care for me. It was obvious that she, like a few others in South Dakota feel the need to defend their fair state and its people.

I wish they could have been with me this week in Tennessee. While I will confess that the rudeness of Wal-Mart employees can be universal. I ran into a few of them at Cheatham County's Wal-Mart. Overall, I was once again amazed at the difference in people.

Thanksgiving morning, unprepared for the feast, I went to Kroger to correct that situation. My cart (buggy in the South) was getting full. No one cut in front of me with their cart. Those occasional potential corner collisions were met with a smile and an Oh Excuse Me from both us. When I say oh, excuse me in Brookings, it is usually met with a glare rather than a smile.

In the parking lot, a young man stood by my car waiting to take my cart, along with his, to it's waiting place in the parking lot. He didn't work there. He didn't have to do that. He said to me, "May I take that Ma'am?" I said, Oh Thank You - he said have a Happy Thanksgiving Ma'am.

Then yesterday we made our last ritual stop in Tennessee. We always stop at the Sudden Service gas station in Pleasant View, TN. They have a Wendy's, a convenience store and best of all a Dunkin Donuts. One last cup of coffee for the road, and donuts to munch on as we travel. Heavenly. My husband paid for our gas purchase. The young woman behind the counter called him "sweetie" - "Thanks Sweetie." He is old enough to be her father, and I know it is just habit with her, but it still sounded nice.

We purchased a few things at Wendy's. There we heard, have a good day Hun... I guess there is something about cowboy boots and buckles that prevent that kind of endearments? As I ate my spicy chicken nuggets I heard another woman at the register say to her customer, Ya'all have a blessed day. You too replied the customer... Ahhh, I hated to leave the south.

Finally, we got our coffee to go. And of course the sour cream donuts I love so much. The young woman behind the counter was all smiles. Her register wasn't working. She had to go to the back for everything she did... She still smiled. She went out of her way to be pleasant. She greeted a regular by name but never missed a beat or a smile in her interactions with me.

That was a nice way for Tennessee to say good bye to me yesterday. Soon it will welcome me back home again. Until then, I'll try to remember not to smile in Brookings and to forget my manners or say excuse me. I've adjusted. It is the people. They are different. I suppose they aren't bad. They like each other. Maybe they even remember to say please and thank you and excuse me among themselves... but they just don't smile.

Faithfulness is more important than happiness

2010-11-27T11:06:00.000-06:00

I wonder how many times I have gone through this feeling of dread in the last two and half years. Has it only been that long? Two and a half years? As I count on my fingers, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November…. Yes, it’s actually been two years and eight months since I first saw Brookings SD. But who’s counting J

I’ve written before of my husband’s elation and my sorrow when he first was summoned to work for the people of South Dakota. I am often chastised because of my comments about the people of South Dakota. I suppose I view them through my own lens and since I do, I see them differently than someone who finds the Dakotas home. Some people feel the same way about my beloved Brooklyn.

Today I am heading north again. I wish this were the last time. I don’t know when the last time will be, it is just a reality of life now. I am reminded of the words of my professor, “It’s not for forever but it is for now.” It just is. It is how my life is lived at this present moment in time. I live like a yo-yo on a string being pulled here and there seemingly against my will.

Yet, it is my choice. I could stay in Tennessee. I’ve always had that choice to stay here. I have a home here. I have children here. And in retrospect, the correct decision would have been to stay here. It is my husband who is bound to the people of South Dakota, not me. Yet, I am bound to him in this love relationship of 32 years. Over and over, every time I get in that car to head north I am saying “I do…for better or worse.”

I want to stay here. I can’t describe to you how I feel when I come home. I am sure you know the feeling of coming home. But this is different. There is a lightness and a contentment that comes over me that is hard to describe. Today I have the opposite of that feeling. Today I feel the dread and angst of not just two days of being in a small car, but of returning to a place that is not home.

Like the marines, there are a few good people in South Dakota. I’ve met some of them. There is the professor at the seminary who I’ve only met briefly in person who still cheers me on and encourages me. What a gift! There are the beautiful friends I’ve made at Grandview Covenant Church. They are true gems. I have been so blessed to know them. I feel the same sadness of leaving that I feel now when I think of the day I will not see them. Then there is my un-coffee buddy. She’s help me cope in ways she can’t imagine. And my wise woman – the wise woman who has known my darkest secrets and my deepest pain and held my hand as I walked through a maze of despair.

In a couple of hours I’ll get in my tiny 2003 red Chevy Cavalier, what a story I could tell you about that car. Like me, she’s old but she has been so faithful. I’m being faithful today too. I am returning with my husband to South Dakota because it is the right thing to do. Sometimes I get tired of doing the right thing. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have this strong moral compass telling me to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” or telling me to “love unconditionally.” But I do have this compass, and ultimately I am thankful for it. I think it is the compass that guided 32 years of marriage.

Today I’ll renew my vows again. I will forsake all others and keep myself to my husband. I will say “I do” not with the giddy joy of a bride, but with the wisdom of an old woman. A wisdom that tells me that faithfulness is more important than happiness.

Someday we will say good bye to South Dakota. Someday I will have one place to live again. Someday… but that day is not today.

That Four Letter Word S--W

2010-11-16T12:20:00.000-06:00

I had a good day yesterday. That's odd for South Dakota. Although perhaps it's not as odd as I make it out to be on this blog. The problem never has been really South Dakota, the problem was always me. South Dakota does make me crazy. South Dakota does make me sad. South Dakota has drug me to the pits of depression. However, it's really not because South Dakota is some how inherently evil. It just is like oil and vinegar, or any other two elements that can never fully integrate, I am not a good in South Dakota.

It's fine to say that South Dakota can't change for me, to say that it is me who has to change to accommodates it's ways, it's weather, it's idiosyncrasies, it's people. But I can't. I've tried. I can however, learn to navigate this hostile terrain safely.

There was a bit of rain yesterday that was a harbinger of the snow to come. I've been checking weather.com, accuweather.com, weatherbug and the national weather service. All with the anticipation of the dreaded four letter word, snow.

When I was a kid, I think I loved snow. I remember building snow forts. While I pine away with romanticized visions of life in Brooklyn, Brooklyn has changed perhaps even more than I have. There are but scan few Norwegians left in my old neighborhood. 8th Avenue is a China Town. The 17 of May parade, still held in Brooklyn, now marches in a different direction on a different Avenue. Salem Gospel Tabernacle is no longer Salem, it is Sunset Park Community church. There are no string bands or Smörgåsbord or Juletree Fests. But it still snows in Brooklyn. Snow seems to be a constant in my life.

I had a conversation about snow today with my husband. It really wasn't about snow. It was about me and snow. I've been doing all this weather checking because I have to head south again for class on Saturday. I was contemplating do I leave tomorrow or Thursday. Two days of driving in a little 2003 Chevy Cavalier that like me, is feeling her age. I've driven in extreme snow many times and survived. But I'd rather not do it again.

Cows, South Dakota and Snow - all synonymous

Oh I signed on for this so I supposed I shouldn't complain. But here is where this all comes together. Snow can be predicted but is always unpredictable. A slight change can dump more snow or less snow. Today's snow will not be like tomorrow's snow. The snow in Brooklyn is a different experience than the snow in Missouri. The trace snow in Tennessee does not compare to the mountains of snow in Connecticut. And of course nothing is like the powdery whiteout blizzards of South Dakota.

I want predictable. Oh not that I'm not fun loving and like adventure and new experiences, I do... but when they are done, I want predictable. I want to know that if I plan to go to Tennessee on this day, that's the day I'll go. I want to know that if I plan to get up in the morning and do this or that, that by the time the day is over I've done this or that. I want only occasional changes in my life-not constant the every day something changes patterns of my life here.

Thats the problem here in South Dakota -- besides the cows and the rudeness and all the other things I complain about, the real problem is me. I want some stability. I want to know where home is. I want to not have my life reordered and changed. Like the rapid changing weather patterns here in this Storehouse of Snow, I find the changes paralyzing and depressing. If the weather has to change, can it not change so fast? Can I have a warning that it's changing?

My husband's job makes extreme demands on him. He's become a soldier - no I don't mean he's joined the military, I mean he is a soldier. He's always ready for the changes and demands. He sets aside his emotions and just does it. He never checks the weather reports. He never considers whether the weather might change. He just packs up and goes. I can't do that - that's why he's adjusted to South Dakota and all the places we've lived so much faster than I have.

Snow is coming - change is coming - and it keeps coming - the cold dark depression of winter is setting in to South Dakota. I'm not ready for it. I don't think I will ever be ready for it. But it will come nonetheless. I will drive tomorrow, or the next day and go south. I will have Thanksgiving at "home" - if it is home? in Tennessee. Then I'll return to the snow and leave again in a few days. Such is life right now -- constant change impinging on a life that wants stability.

Until then, I guess I need to lace up my boots, button my coat, tie my scarf and navigate through another South Dakota winter.

A Day in the Life

2010-09-25T17:54:00.000-05:00

It’s been a while since I’ve written on this blog or any blog. I’ve missed it. It’s an odd thing how I feel about writing and blogging. Last week I was in Missouri for a few days. An old friend introduced me to someone else as a writer. I’ve never had that happen before. I’d like to be considered a writer. Then another friend got in my face, in love, and exhorted me about writing a book. Someone else said, you should write a book. Yet, here I am, not even blogging of late.

I really wanted to blog last week about manners and how nice it was to be in Tennessee. I can’t tell you how many times I noticed the little courtesies that make life better. Doors opened. Smiles given. Being called ma’am. That used to bother me because I didn’t want to be old enough to be a ma’am. Now I’ve either accepted being old or just like the respect. Then there is the courtesy of being called Miss. I didn’t like that either when I first moved to the south. Now I rather like it. It means that someone has respect for me.

I had a wonderful time in Tennessee. I didn’t want to come back. It was odd. When I left South Dakota for my week in Missouri and Tennessee I cried. Not that I love South Dakota now, but because of a whole host of reasons that don’t belong public. But also, I had found myself acclimating, just a bit, to South Dakota. I can’t say I like South Dakota. That would be going way too far. But I don’t hate it as much as I used to – I guess that’s progress.

But I didn’t want to come back here. I really had to force myself to get in that car and come back here. It was hard. I was alone. It’s one thing when my husband is with me and in a sense I feel I have no choice. This time I had a choice. Today I am even wondering if I made the wrong choice. Nevertheless, here I am in South Dakota on a really pleasant fall day.

Today I went with my husband to the Sheep Growers Annual meeting or whatever it was called. I just know for sure it was Sheep Growers. I am beginning to think that stay in the apartment than go to some of these things.

We had to hurry to get to lunch on time. My husband needs to be “seen” at these places. There is no useful purpose in his presence. He is not a sheep grower. He is not a sheep specialist. It’s all about being seen for reasons I will never understand.

We were served a basic cold cut lunch. No lamb. Conversation around the table was really sparse. I noticed that sheep growers also like to dress like cowboys. Do they call them sheepboys? Then the program started. It was a presentation about two “master” sheep producers. Now I like sheep. I like lamb. I am curious about a lot of things. I might have actually found it interesting to know more about sheep.

However, the presenter was definitely speaking to the home crowd. That’s understandable. It was a sheep growers meeting. Did you know that they ultrasound pregnant ewes? I don’t know what a dry ewe is and I never could figure out why they send them to Western SD. I don’t know why or what a Peruvian herder is used for in this process. I finally figured out what AI was – artificial insemination. I couldn’t figure out what ET was – I found out it was embryo transplant. I don’t know the difference between a feeder or a club production or a seeder stock. I don’t even know if I got these terms correct. I was bored to tears.

I was approached after lunch about taking a walk with some other women. Hmmm… more sheep talk which was like a foreign language or a walk with women I never met. I finally opted for the walk. I found out that the town of Huron (often pronounced urine) SD is a city of murals. We were walking to see the murals. Instead of walking in the direction where ¾ of the murals were, we walked away from them. We browsed a Salvation Army Thrift Store. Finally, we visited Potter’s Shoes. It seems that it is a very happening store. Selling Birkenstocks to sheep growers wives really sort of surprised me. But there we were, in a store with expensive Clarks and Birkenstocks in a deserted desolate downtown.

I’m back to the apartment. Husband is napping. I guess visiting with the sheep growers was too much for him too. I’m still bored. I am thinking I made a mistake to come back here. Just think of all the people who would be happy to see me and the things I could be doing if I were in Tennessee.

Lighten Up

2010-09-02T17:16:00.000-05:00

I don’t watch a lot of TV. I do sit in front of the computer screen a lot though. When I was in Rapid City earlier this week, I did watch a couple of old movies on TV. Sometimes mindless entertainment is good. This was particularly true when I watched the old Pauly Shore movie, Son-in-Law. It was on CMT.

Here is a clip; this is about when I turned the movie on. I love the scene where he drives the big combine.

Stories like this are classic and predictable. There all sorts of stories of city folk coming to rural areas.

Sometimes you’ll see the reverse. The classic TV show The Beverly Hillbillies or Green Acres are but two examples. We laugh. Who can forget Arnold the pig, or Mr. Haney or Granny Clampett.

We see the humor and irony. I was particularly surprised that CMT-TV was showing this particularly show. Seemed like in the end the country folk decided Pauly Shore was all right after all. And CMT, COUNTRY Music Television thought it was okay to laugh at that.

Sometimes these moves to places that are foreign to your experience and your taste, are not so funny though. Sometimes they are downright painful. Sometimes you put a fish in a different pond, one they don’t know, they aren’t acclimated to and they die. Other times, they learn to swim and adjust. Mostly they just never feel like they fit, but they keep swimming anyway.

What struck me as I watched this is that people sometimes don’t understand this blog. They don’t understand me. They don’t understand that this is just my attempt to swim in a new pond. It isn’t a pond of my choosing. I don’t fit here. Remember, someone told me that too – see this blog.

The other night I was sharing my Amanda blog with my husband. He didn’t like the first few paragraphs. He thought maybe someone would blame him for my comments. I guess I shouldn't have talked about the State Fair and cow poop. So, here is the disclaimer. These are MY THOUGHTS and MY FEELINGS. Not his. Poor guy, he thought his job might be in jeopardy for what I write. That would be pretty sad.

So my point – here is my point. If CMT can put on a movie about the ironies and ridiculousness of life – particularly life where different cultures intersect – if country folk can laugh at country folk and city folk at city folk, I think the people of South Dakota can understand me as well. If not, don’t read my blog. It’s that simple.

You never know what you might see in Murdo, SD

2010-09-01T12:30:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been to Murdo, South Dakota? I have. Several times we have gotten gas in the truck stop which rarely has more than two trucks on the dirt parking lot. When you go in the store to use the bathroom, you find discounted t-shirts for Sturgis, a few animal skins for sale and the general assortment of food, snacks, drinks and souvenirs. No surprises other than the animal skins.

I’ve stayed at the Super 8 by the antique car museum before – clean, with no frills. But I’ve never been to the museum. Guess it’s just not our thing. Close by is the 1880 Prairie Town that boasts it’s connection to the Kevin Costner epic movie, Dances with Wolves. I’d like to go there sometime but I doubt we will. My husband isn’t much for spending money on tourist things. I’d like to eat in their box car diner. That sounds interesting. I like that kind of stuff.

This time I got to see more of the town of Murdo. Again, not really a whole lot to talk about. It’s just a typical South Dakota town of reasonable size. Now you have to understand that when you say reasonable size in South Dakota you are talking about a town of 500 people. Murdo also boasts that it is the hometown of Senator John Thune, Republican. That might be a really big deal someday. Thune’s name is mentioned as a Presidential contender.

We stayed at a small hotel, American Inn next to what some would call a honky-tonk. The music coming from it said, there is a good time to be had here. The clerk told us to leave our key in the bucket in the morning as no one would be there – she also said, they weren’t serving breakfast that Sunday. Maybe they were all at church?

We decided on the Star Restaurant for breakfast. If you are heading through Murdo and need a meal, I recommend the place. As we enjoyed our blueberry pancakes, I heard that they were having a bus come in-probably tourists. I thought that was good for their business. A couple came in with a NY accent and the server called her sweetie and dear.

Then she came in. Since I am not sure what is politically correct nor do I care, since she attempted to look female, I’ll call her she. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cross dresser in person. I certainly didn’t expect one to come in to the Star Restaurant in Murdo. I wanted to take a picture, but I knew that would be rude. She was hard to miss. She had rosy cheeks, way too rosy. She had twinkling eyes enhanced by mascara and a little liner. She had an odd hat on with her dyed blonde hair sticking out, a t-shirt, plaid Bermuda’s and multi-culture striped knee socks covered with sandals. She was about 6 foot tall with very broad shoulders. She was an interesting site.

I have to be honest. My first reaction was not very nice. Interesting how quick we are to judge. How quick our self-righteousness rises up and we judge, we assume we know something when in reality we know nothing.

I am sure everyone noticed her – how could you not? She was a sight to behold. But no one stared. No one made comments that I heard. The server greeted her with a smile and welcome. She ordered pancakes too. I was impressed with the people in the café in Murdo. Even in a conservative Western town in South Dakota, the people were polite, as they should be.

But I had to think about my reaction. I didn’t like it. Even though I was polite, I had a reaction. I guess it would be easy to say it was human nature to have a reaction. But then I thought, maybe it was even God who reminded me, that she was a person, a fellow-human being, created in the image of God, she was someone’s little boy once upon a time, she had people who either do or have cared about her and loved her. That put it all in a different perspective.

I was told that education would change me. I’ve also realized that next to my salvation, education has changed me the most. I realized in the Star Restaurant in Murdo, I was changed. I thought about all the lectures, exegetical work and research I’ve done on image of God. My Old Testament prof used to say if you don’t understand Genesis, you don’t understand God or the scriptures. He was right. I see things so differently now.

I am not saying anything about the rightness or wrongness of this behavior. I am certainly not saying I support Gay Rights or anything like that… I don’t know how I feel about that issue. Like everything in this life, it’s not simple, it’s not black and white, and it’s complicated. What I am saying is when you see someone different, when you see someone who is “other,” they really aren’t that different. They are people, fellow humans, just like you with feelings, aspirations, and dreams. They are people with family and people who love someone and someone loves them. They are people with pain, or maybe joy.

Maybe they are just hoping that someone will love them, just the way they are…the only one who can really do that is Jesus. But as His disciples, I think we are supposed to hold our judgment, hold our tongues and reach out in love. When you do that, you have the potential to earn the right to say something, to maybe tell them about Jesus – tell that that Jesus can give them hope, forgive their sins and give them a new life. That Jesus job, our job is to love.

Seattle's Best - her name is Amanda

2010-08-31T12:05:00.000-05:00

As much as I go on and on about rudeness in South Dakota, in all fairness, I need to tell you about Amanda. I am in Rapid City for a few days. Once again, I am the tag along wife – but better than sitting in the apartment. Sometimes that apartment feels like a luxury cell, but a cell nonetheless. State Fair, more cows and cow poop, is just around the corner. I’ll be a Fair widow for over a week. I do get to preach at one of my very favorite places otherwise, I might have taken off and gone somewhere, anywhere for the Labor Day weekend. But preaching, especially at Grandview, always has top priority.

Friendliness has been lacking in my South Dakota experience. Maybe it is because in general we have noticed that Rapid City is friendlier. Maybe it is the Air Force base, maybe it is the tourists, I don’t know, but there is a better feel here. Plus I am downtown in an old classic hotel away from the cowboys and belt buckles, arrogance and big hats. So when I find friendliness, I pay attention to it.

We had a good experience a few weeks ago that I should have written about. We were in the little town of Clark SD, which is in Clark County for a 4-H Achievement Day. Not only did they have awesome BBQ chicken, they had really friendly people. My husband and I both talked about it for days. Everyone, from the children, to the old people were friendly. We ran into some people from this county at other 4-H AC Days and lo, and behold, while the locals at those Fairs were typically non-friendly people, the ones from Clark came and said Hi and continued to show that they were friendly. I joked that maybe it was the water – if it was, I should bottle it and sell it all around South Dakota.

So what about Amanda? You are probably thinking maybe I forgot about her. No, I didn’t. I am sitting in a Seattle’s Best Coffee Shop off the lobby of the Alex Johnson Hotel in downtown Rapid City and she is busy working behind the counter. I sat here yesterday for a few hours. The coffee was good, the internet was free and I had good company too.

Amanda is an employee at this coffee shop. I hope her boss knows how good she is – she should get a raise. I owned a coffee shop once upon a time. It was a great experience even if we lost money and worked way too hard. One thing I learned is that people come to a coffee shop not just for the coffee. Starbucks seems to know that, I learned about that in class this summer in leadership class - it is ALL ABOUT THE PEOPLE.

Amanda knows that. Yesterday when I ordered my scone from another worker, she quickly heated it for me. She heard me give the other worker my name and from then on, she called me Joyce. She heard it, she put it in her head and called me by name. I was here a long time yesterday. She’d come by and say Joyce, is everything okay? She knows that people like to be recognized by name.

I saw that they had their health inspection. I remembered those days. I saw her give a hi-five to the other worker after he left. I asked her about it. She happily told me that they got a 100! If there was an inspection for customer service and friendliness, she’d get a 100 for sure.

Today, I am here again. She greeted me as soon as I walked in the door. She said Hi Joyce, how are you this morning? I watched. She asked everyone their name and repeated it using their name in the order and when she gave it to them. Sometimes if she could catch someone on the way out, she’d say good bye and call them by name.

Just now three women walked in with gift bags. They obviously hadn’t been in here before. She looked at them and said good-morning ladies. Then she noticed their gift bags and said, oh Ladies, are you having a party? She made them feel instantly welcome.

We can learn a lot from Amanda. She’s young, cute and hopefully won’t spend the rest of her life working in a coffee shop. But if she does, she’ll be the best barista. Not because she makes great coffee but because she makes you feel welcome.

People ask me why I haven’t found a church in South Dakota. It’s been what, almost 3 years now? People ask me why I don’t feel at home here, and why I don’t like it. They think it is the weather. Or they think it is just me. It’s neither. It is because when I go to church there are no Amanda’s to make me feel welcome. There is no place I go where someone lights up my day with a big smile and a Hi Joyce, How are you today? It's the people, it really is all about the people.

You know what they say when you start pointing a finger – there are four looking back at you. I guess I should try to smile more and light up someone’s day. How about you?

Rude People Annoy Me

2010-07-23T16:49:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I blogged anywhere. I haven't forgotten about blogging. I sort of miss it. However, my life has been consumed with a research project. I'm in the throws of a 100 entry annotated bibliography. I can tell you I am sleeping well at night after a day of boring reading. Oh, it's not that bad for a nerdy person like me but sometimes, I think, man, I'm too old for this.
There are so many good things I could write about these days. Life is much less dull. I have been told recently that I seem so alive these days. Another friend told me I am like a little girl. Maybe starting another school adventure has made me into a school girl again. I don't know but life is good. I am sure some of you who have read through this blog in the past are saying, "I don't believe she said that."
So it is with some reservation I have decided to write a blog of discontent again. I rather like the word, carping. I am going to carp about something. That something is, I miss manners.
Remember the old book "Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?" I am sure there was something about excuse me, thank you, please, etc. I had a neighbor who was rather mean and stern when I was a child. Her name was Mrs. Ohman. There was none of the first name business in those days. And she wasn't one of the honorary "Aunts" or as in my neighborhood, "Tante" (Norwegian for Aunt). She was just MRS.
I would stay at her house sometimes as a kid when my mother was in the hospital or went away for something. She had a daughter a little bit older than I was, her name was Nancy. I've written about Nancy before when I confessed to playing "devil cards" in her basement. Mrs. Ohman made me do dishes when I was staying there. She also would correct me about my manners. She would look at me with a stern face and say, "What's the magic word(s)"? That would mean I forgot to say please, thank you, pardon me, excuse me, etc. It actually was good training. I tried to teach my children about manners.
A week or so ago a Facebook friend was lamenting in her status about manners too - she missed gentlemen. I replied and we exchanged comments. She seemed to want to blame women for not behaving like ladies thus causing men to behave badly. I thought that was a bit like saying that women behave badly and therefore it's okay for them to be abused. I know, that's a bit far. I am sure she didn't mean that.
Then we got into a short snippet discussion about power. I said something about using my power. She didn't seem to agree. I guess I came across as a feminist. It's okay. We just stopped commenting. She's still my Facebook friend.

So what triggered me today? A trip to Wal-Mart - that bastion of American capitalism. I don't know, something about a trip to Wal-Mart in South Dakota will always bring out the worst in me. I get tired of people who can't say excuse me. I wonder what has made people here so unfriendly and rude most of the time. But honestly, I am rather used to navigating my cart through the store and just not noticing the rudeness any more.
It was the clerk. It was the clerk and the woman in front of me that did it for me. The clerk's clumsiness knocked over one of my items and sent it to the floor. He was scanning the woman in front of me's artificial flowers. Between me and the item was my cart. The woman in front of me bent over and picked up the item throwing it on the belt. I said the magic words; I said "Thank you." That was greeted by that glare I've come so accustomed to here. Thank you? Is that a foreign word like excuse me? I looked at the clerk who was also look at me with a similar glare. I thought how rude! When he finally got to my items, he forgot the customary, how are you? Did you find everything today? etc. As he was scanning another friendly Wal-Mart associate walked by so they could exchange their scorning comments about working at Wal-Mart.
The bright spot was the greeter. As I walked by, the white haired woman had a genuine smile. I thought wow, one person in South Dakota who remembers her manners.
Okay, I know this isn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things. If you shop at Wal-Mart you know customer service sucks. I even decided to do the survey request for the $1000 on the receipt so I could complain. They gave me no chance to complain.
It isn't just Wal-Mart though, my farmer's market experience the other day was equally bad.
OHHHH I wish there were a Target here in Brookings. They train their employees on manners. I think it's needed. Oh well, back to research.

Unique Things You Don't Know

2010-06-29T23:42:00.001-05:00

I almost feel I need to start another blog. Yet, I don't want to abandon the ones I have... I am just not sure where this fits. It sort of fits on Sounds of Hope but that has become my blog of personal history. It isn't about South Dakota, so maybe I shouldn't be writing this blog here.

Nevertheless, this blog has been so much about my struggle with life. Not just life in South Dakota but my life as it is now. I've written some pretty painful stuff since I've blogging. I've sarcastically written about South Dakota and some of its odd ways. I've really never meant any harm. If you had listened closely, very closely, you would have seen the struggle to find meaning and hope in what was a very hard situation for me.

I am just so anxious to put to paper how I feel. Something inside me has shifted. Something has changed. It is hard to put into words or fully describe. There is so much I could say and so few words with which to describe it.

Today I had technology classes with a former graduate of this program, an elementary school principal who has a vision of technology in the hands of hungry learners. He's personable. I've connected with him because I like technology. I've connected because he's easy to connect with.

As I was sharing my thoughts about my impending dissertation, the one whose topic I have now changed a half a dozen times, we chatted about my life. I feel this need to be self-effacing about my age. He told me I was inspirational. I've heard that before and wasn't quite sure about it. This time though, it sounded more sincere and believable.

Then I mentioned about the 8 kids - incredulously he asked if I had birthed them all. I said yes. Then in the flow of this odd short conversation I mentioned that once upon a time I was a single mother with three children who had been abandoned by her husband and had just gotten a GED diploma. He looked at me and said,

"Joyce YOU can do anything you want!"

I knew what he meant. He meant that if I had accomplished those things, I COULD do anything I wanted. That is ringing in my ears tonight. I believe him. I can.

Tonight we had a very strange experience for a doctoral program. I knew this was a Christian campus. This is my second degree here. I'm home. I had no idea how spiritual this journey would be. I am finding it more profound, more life changing and faith building than the seminary, or the MA program on this same campus.

We built an altar - we raised our Ebenezer as a group led a group discussion on the meaning of life. It was like church, actually, it was better than most services I've attended. On Sunday, we were given a Bible from the founder of this program. We had communion together. Tonight we were led in worship by the group ahead of us. One of them shared he didn't know Jesus when he started the program. Both he and his wife are now baptized. Wow! Get your doctoral degree and find the Lord.

But something else happened tonight. Our professor asked us to share something about ourselves that was unique. One of the young men has made a movie - a real movie, not just some youtube video. Another young man runs marathons. A woman was in the Navy and was an iron woman. Wow! What a group! Another man shared a tender story about never finding his voice until he was in twelfth grade. I thought how many people never find their voice. He was blessed to have found it. He has a soft, gentle, southern sound that as you know is music to my ears.

Then this other man stood up and shared that he'd shook hands with a president. He said he's shook hands with Ronald Reagan. Everyone was really impressed. I should have been too. The professor mentioned seeing Roslyn Carter and Carol Channing. There was a short discussion about how our lives sometimes interface with the famous. I take nothing away from these experiences. Nor is my intention to brag. But what hit me was the enormity of the experiences I have had. I had never thought about it that way.

When I was a child, twice I saw Lyndon Johnson in person. I shook his hand. He was right there in my neighborhood. Another time, at the same location in front of OLPH Catholic church I saw Bobby Kennedy. I saw Hubert Humphrey in person.

Later I would sit in the audience of the old Mike Douglas show. I remember Arthur Treacher - yes, there really is an Arthur Treacher. I was on Romper Room with Miss Jane when I was little as well as Bozo the Clown - no I'm not old enough for Howdy Dowdy though.

As a child I went to the New York World's Fair and the Montreal World's Fair. I saw great works of art at the museum's in NYC. I would literally play at the Metropolitan. I saw the Mona Lisa there when it came on tour.

LBJ wasn't the only president I've shaken hands with, I shook hands with Carter. Later, as a leader in the field of aging, I saw Clinton many times. Shook his hand. I was a delegate to the White House Conference on Aging and sat in the room with Hillary and the Cabinet. Hugh Downs was there, as was the feminist Bella Abzug. I had a personal conversation with Bella. I've been to a reception for the King and Queen of Norway. I've had a personal conversation with the now deceased Benazir Bhutto. I even saw Pat Boone in the airport at Sioux Falls. He had a nice chat with my husband as they went through security. Pat got pulled aside, he evidently has a plate or something in one of his legs. For one of my children's birthday's, she got tickets to Regis and Kelly - we went. Harrison Ford was his guest that day.

I've testified before the Connecticut legislature and been there for the bill signing chatting with the Governor. I had a personal conversation with Chris Dodd outside the building where I was director during the Tiananmen Square crisis. He was called out by his aides for updates, I had the key to let him back in the building. We chatted about the crisis.

I am sure I am forgetting something that might amaze you. I thought tonight - what a life I have had! What opportunities that I have had - had I told them all of this they would have thought I was a braggart or liar - but they are all true. And I'm not bragging. I am thanking God for all the amazing experiences I've had.
I'm really looking forward to more.

We're Back

2010-06-16T17:04:00.000-05:00

I saw porta-pots. A friend reported that she saw them on a trip to Western South Dakota. Maybe someone read my blog!? I don't know why they have porta-pots now, but I am so glad.

However, the hospitality issue is still a problem. We had a wonderful amazing trip to Arizona this past weekend. The customer service and friendliness was noticeably wonderful. I already sent an email to the hotel where we stayed - it was a low-budget hotel too... so it wasn't that we paid big bucks for that hospitality.

We ate at Denny's twice. Both times the servers were polite, attentive, friendly - everything you want. I should send an email to Denny's about it too. I am like that. I may complain but I also try to compliment with the same zeal.

Arizona is not only a beautiful place but the people are great. We saw the Grand Canyon for the first time. It left me awestruck. I can't wait to go back and see it again. Check out our video here.

We visited the mission in Tucson again. There is something about that mission. It seems to replenish our souls. We prayed at the mission. We even lit a candle. It was a Maria Guadalupe one that we bought in honor of our granddaughter. We even paid our respects to St. Francis' image. Saw a beautiful little ceremony for a young girl. You can see a video of it here. We came home different people in many ways. I know I am more hopeful about the future.

Sadly we left Arizona on Monday. Service on Southwest Airlines was good as usual. We arrive very late in Omaha and decided to spend the night. Mistakenly we thought we'd save a few dollars and stayed at Motel 6. NEVER again. I realized that the extra $20 I would have had to spend to stay at a LaQuinta or other low-budget hotel would have been more than worth it. A quick breakfast at McDonald's in Omaha and off we went to back to South Dakota.

As soon as we got into South Dakota I did notice a porta-pot at a construction site. I was happy. Then we stopped at another McDonald's. This one was in South Dakota. I ordered a coffee. This time there was no smile. There was no "can I help you?" It was just a glare and a "here you go" when we got the coffee.

My husband and I just looked at each other, shrugged and said, "guess we're back in South Dakota." Today I had a less than enjoyable experience at Wal-Mart. No customer service there either... At McDonald's this morning I discovered that nearly every place else in the country will give you a large drink for a dollar. Here you get a small cup for a dollar.

Oh well, it's home for now. The day is beautiful. Some of the people I've met here are truly very nice people. They redeem the place for me. Next week I'll leave again and won't return for weeks. I'll drink all the sweet tea I want that is made right and only costs $1.

Where's the Hospitality?

2010-06-10T12:23:00.002-05:00

I can't resist. I love to spar. I love to debate. I don't mean anything by it necessarily, it is just what I like to do. I can be like the proverbial dog with a bone.

I am pondering the comment challenging by assertion that the state of South Dakota doesn't put porta-pots on the highway for its workers. If you haven't read it, you should. Read my response.

This blog is about my journey in South Dakota. If you read carefully you'll see I am really working hard at coming to terms with this new life. It is my way of processing how I feel. It's not intended to be personal.

I moved here from the south. The south, particularly Tennessee is associated with hillbillies and rednecks. Gretchen Wilson made Red-Neck Woman a hit a few years ago. I suppose that didn't help the image of the south. But one thing about southerners is they are pretty willing to laugh at themselves and expose the ironies of their view of life.

Before I lived in the south, I lived in staid New England. It was supposed to be a place that was cold and proper. It was supposed to be a place of indifference. That wasn't true either. It was a warm inviting place that values each individual and the community. I've never seen such pride in your hometown as I saw in New England.

But of course, they have their weird ways and they can laugh at it. Like the southerners they don't mind poking fun at themselves and they laugh at the ironies of their view of life. Every place has its beauty and strengths, including South Dakota. Likewise everywhere has its weirdness.

Okay, by now you see where I'm going. I came to South Dakota with a bad attitude. Not because of the state but because of other things going on in my life. So admittedly, I made it harder on myself to live here.

Nevertheless, I've tried. I've tried to adjust. I actually have adjusted some. I used to hate it here. Now I've moved up to I can tolerate it as long as I can go to Sioux Falls frequently. As long as I can have a lunch with someone at least once a week who is friendly it's not so bad. Summer weather will come for a week or two I suppose - if not, at least it's not minus 30 and snow. You have to be thankful for small blessings in your life.

One thing I don't want to lose here is my sense of humor. I like looking at the ironies of life. I am an observer. I notice things about my environment. I grew up in New York City. I had to learn to observe everything around me. I could easily get lost. I could get hurt. Observation is as natural to me as breathing. So I observe odd things like no porta-pots. And yes, I think its weird. I think it's terrible too. I think it's terrible that the needs of individuals are neglected in order to save a penny or two.

Garrison Keillor has made a fortune pointing out the humor and ironies of life in the upper mid-west. I like Keillor. He's right. People here have weird ways just like every other part of the country. There is humor in Lutefisk, being Lutheran and Lake Wobegon.

Recently someone made an observation to me that I had not noticed. Have you looked closely at the sign that greets you when you enter the state of South Dakota?

Look carefully. Do you see the word welcome in this sign? Now here is a trivia question for you. What is the name of the only other state that doesn't have welcome on its sign?

Adding WELCOME and an attitude of welcome to the State of South Dakota would be another plank in my campaign if I ran for office in South Dakota -- porta-pots and hospitality might not get me elected here though.

What No Porta-Pots?

2010-06-08T11:14:00.000-05:00

We just got back from the Hills. I love to go to Rapid City. I've said before that I could live in Sioux Falls. Well I could also live in Rapid. It's different. But it's alive. It has commerce. It has natural beauty. I'm a big fan of Rapid City and the Black Hills.

Someone used to tease me because of my dislike of South Dakota. She would say to me that I should get a job as a spokesperson for South Dakota tourism. Actually she's right. I should get a job for tourism. I think everyone should come to South Dakota at least once in their life.

Come see the Badlands, the Black Hills, Mount Rushmore!

I remember the first time I saw Mount Rushmore. I was so excited. I had flashbacks to being in the 3rd grade looking at my social studies textbook picture of Mount Rushmore. It had a picture of an old station wagon in front of the carvings. I thought I want to see that. Then I'd think, I'll never see that because we don't have a car. We live in Brooklyn. I'll never see that in person.

Whenever we leave South Dakota, there will be a part of me that is very grateful that I had the opportunity to visit Mount Rushmore and Western South Dakota not once, but many times now.

Yesterday we ate once again at Wall Drug. It is getting to be part of our ritual from trips to Rapid. It's not that the food is spectacular. We just like it. I had a buffalo burger yesterday that was overpriced but so yummy. We've been to Wall Drug a lot to eat this past winter. In the winter the place is quiet. In summer it comes alive with tourists. There is so much energy in Wall.

We noticed the license plates of the cars we past and those parked in front of Wall Drug. There was a line of people for food yesterday. One man in front of us hesitantly asked to try one of their donuts. I abstained from their donuts yesterday. I am sure he wasn't disappointed. They are amazing!

There is a lot of construction on I-90. It seems this is the year for bridge repair. All of a sudden I noticed it. In Connecticut they always have a police officer or two for any construction work on the roads. The police love the overtime for these activities. Tennessee doesn't always station police but they work a lot at night to not inconvenience travelers and tourists. Connecticut has that same consideration. Iowa, which we frequently drive through, doesn't.

South Dakota, like so many other things they do here, is different. There were no police around. They were working in the day time. Traffic is usually minimal in South Dakota so construction on the interstate is not an issue. However, then I noticed it. I thought... what????

I looked and looked and realized there were no porta-pots on their construction site. I thought now that's just too much. Here are these workers, working all day, outside, and if nature calls, I guess they are just out of luck.

In Tennessee they use local and state prisoners to do trash pick-up on the highways. Guess what? They get a porta-pot. Yep, on the back of the pick-up or on a trailer following the van that transports the prisoners to do this community service, there is a porta-pot. South Dakota doesn't even give it's workers the same luxury.

After my realization my husband and I had a lengthy discussion about penny pinching and toileting. I said, what do they do walk a half a mile to find a bush or tree - trees are sparse here. That takes more of the tax-payers time than putting a porta-pot for them to use. Then with my usual sarcasm, I said, what? do they have to wear a diaper? We laughed. Then we got serious. My husband brought up women working on construction sites. Women don't do as well behind a tree.

South Dakota is a great place to visit. They have plenty of rest areas for you on I-90. Clean ones too! They'll rent you a CD to listen to in the car for $20 with $15 refunded when you return it. You'll learn all about the state. You should come here.

But if you live and work here, forget about services and bring your own toilet paper.

People are voting in South Dakota today in the primary.

If I were running for office I'd make sure that the construction workers got Porta-Pots.

HOME

2010-05-16T11:49:00.001-05:00

As soon as I got out of the car Friday night I could smell them. The beautiful fragrant smell of honeysuckles. They grew in Brooklyn as well. They have always been a favorite. I realized that I don't recall seeing honeysuckles in South Dakota. Maybe they have some somewhere. But I've never seen them.

Even before we arrive our son had called to tell us that the rhododendron in the backyard was in bloom. My husband had found a deal on near dead rhododendron at Lowe's several years ago. He planted them in a very odd spot in the back of the house near the trashcans. I didn't like the spot. But I was thrilled to have the rhododendron. I fell in love with them in Connecticut. While they are not common in Central Tennessee, they are abundant in the Smoky Mountains. Someday I want to go to the Smoky's in the spring and see them in bloom.

Yesterday I started my doctoral degree at my Alma Mater Trevecca Nazarene University. TNU's campus is beautiful any time of the year. I drove in taking in the beauty of magnolias in bloom. I understand why songs are song about these beautiful trees.

As I parked where I have parked hundreds of times before I saw an old friend, a beautiful old maple tree. I looked at the tree. I thought yes, I am home. This fall I will see you in your brilliant colors once again.

I saw the devastation of the flood. I drove by a friends house now destroyed. Her neighborhood can only be described as resembling a war zone. It is raining today and there are flash flood warnings. I am praying for Middle TN and her recovery from this horrendous devastation.

I heard the sounds of a southern accent. I heard people use the polite phrase Miss. I heard sir and yes ma'am. I had the door held open for me. I had a man get up to give his seat to me. There are still gentlemen in this world. They mostly live in the south.

After a long, tiring, a tearful trip from South Dakota, I am back home. I have been so conflicted. I have been so sad for so long that I have despaired that I could get excite or be happy. My husband tried to tell me that getting my EdD would make me feel empowered. I told him I was too old for that.

Yesterday was a good day. I found a spark of excitement as I sat once again in Quick lecture hall recalling all the times I had sat there before. Usually Tommy would be sitting behind me in class and we would chat about our dreams and aspirations. I still chat with Tommy but only in chat settings on the computer.

There were all new people sitting around me in this familiar room. All new professors were explaining the parameters of this new adventure. Dr. Swink, the dean shared her own Trevecca story as well as the history of this wonderful institution. She told us we couldn't graduate if we couldn't sing the alma mater and say the word doctoral correctly. The word is DOCtoral, not docTORal, and heaven forbid you ever say doctorial. Then she taught us a cheer for cohort lucky 13. We'll have a doctoral in 2013.

I think I will have a doctoral in 2013. I think I can do this. I want to do this. I am still sad, very sad about my experience with the seminary. Even at the eleventh hour one of the professors held out some hope for me. However, I didn't get any verification that things would move forward for me. While I am not abandoning my call to ministry, the only door God has opened is to return to Trevecca. I am thankful for that.

Next month I will experience living in a dorm for the very first time as cohort 13 experiences ISLE. I had three children when I did my undergraduate work. I'm not much for communal living. It will be a challenge. However, I rather suspect it will ultimately be good for me. I will meet new people. I will be challenged and motivated. Perhaps I could be empowered.

I have four books to read in the next five weeks. I have at least 15 pages to write. I will work with a group of strangers on a presentation for one of those books. I will pick and begin to hone my dissertation topic. I will adjust and craft it for use as academic research. I have been assured that the faculty of TNU will guide me, support me, and help me get to the goal. I believe them. There is something about the faculty of Trevecca. You just feel secure with them. You know they care about you. One faculty member referred to herself as the ISLE mama. She assured us that she'd be there from 7 am until 10 pm to make sure we had what we needed.

When asked yesterday why I was pursuing this degree, I thought my answer is so long I don't think I can give it right now. When I finally did answer, I said: I helped my husband get a PhD many, many years ago. I had children. They are all grown now. It is finally my turn.

I used to be an optimist. I used to hold on to hope that things would get better. I am no longer an optimist. I hope I have not descendent to the ranks of a pessimist. I would prefer to think of myself as a realist. The reality is that life is hard and much of the time it sucks. All we can hope for is a day like yesterday, where you smell the honeysuckle or see an old maple tree once again in full leaf greeting you as it has so many times before. There is a spark of hope. I'll have a doctoral in 2013.

Ramblings...

2010-05-13T08:49:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I wrote here. I am wondering if I should close down this blog or not. I try so hard to be hopeful about living in South Dakota. My intentions were good. Despite appearances to the contrary, I have really tried to give South Dakota a shot.

I remember my husband remarking to someone that he didn't understand why I was so upset about living in South Dakota. He had a good job. It was still in the United States after all. If you are astute, you can already see what is wrong with his statement. HE had a good job.

Lately I've been struggling a lot with my life. If I liked where I lived, I am sure it would help. I have no job. I have no purpose for being in South Dakota. My life is filled with making oatmeal for him for breakfast, doing laundry and an occasional trip to Wal-Mart. It seems only when I leave Brookings do I experience anything that gives me life.

Last weekend we visited Connecticut. One of our daughters finished Law School. Talk about proud! This is the second of our daughter's to finish Law School. There is a third preparing for her LSAT exam to enter Law School. As our daughter ascended the stage to be hooded, like band concerts of her youth, I had my video camera trained on her. As I heard her name, I felt this strong surge of emotion. My husband whispered in my ear, congratulations, this is your achievement as well. I started to cry. Tears have been very close to the surface much of the time of late.

It was Mother's Day. As we had driven around Connecticut, I found my own mother lurking around. This was where she was last vibrant and full of life. She never drove a car in Tennessee. She never had her favorite grocery store or restaurant. She didn't pick up kids from school in Tennessee. But in Connecticut, she did. In Connecticut she held her last job. She cared for children in the church nursery at age 80. She was last fully alive in Connecticut. Her memories haunted me all weekend.

I also had a life in Connecticut. I had a great job. All the major politicians knew me. I'd be called upon to testify at the legislature on important issues. When they were passed, I would stand by the governor as he signed the bill into law. The major newspaper would call me for quotes on issues. They did a two page feature article complete with pictures, just on me.

I had a great church where I was able to serve. Most importantly, almost all the children were either at home or very close by. I got to see them everyday. One of my granddaughters used to meet me at the door when I would come home. She had been playing school with her auntie still a child herself. The granddaughter would leap into my arms and then say Nana, go cook. I would cook with her on my hip as I had done with every one of her aunties and uncles, my own children. It wasn't unusual to cook for over 10 people a night. Their were boyfriends and girlfriends to feed in addition to our children.

There were children who camped out at our house for a variety of reasons. I saw one of them this weekend. She is a beautiful young woman raising two amazing children by herself. She is strong, smart, articulate and amazing. I was so glad to see her.

I missed my mother this Mother's Day. Yet, here I was at a daughter's graduation. I stood next to my grandson Josh. Josh is the youngest son of my son Jason. He will start High School next year and dreams of a future as a chef. His goal is the Culinary Institute. He is already much taller than I am.

Our graduate's children were there. She completed this degree with two full time jobs. Mothering her three children her primary job, a job in business as secondary. People have remarked, I don't know how she did it. I don't either. I have an idea only because I too put my self through college with three small children. But this was Law School. She is remarkable.

I am no less proud of any of my children. They are all amazing. I feel like those annoying people you meet who want to pull out a photo album and show you every picture of their family complete with long stories. I won't.

It was a hard weekend. I have yet to recover. Memories of my mother on Mother's Day mixed with regrets and tensions of my current life made the trip difficult. Like so many times, there seemed to be no place to go for consolation. Yet, I was in Connecticut. I did have a friends there. Unlike here in South Dakota, as the sadness and pain seemed more than I could bear, I used my lifeline and phoned a friend.

Dreariness and winter like weather greeted us as I returned to South Dakota. Alone, I will ponder this weekend and try to recover. Alone, I will ask the whys and cry. South Dakota is a harsh place.

Today I will start the two day trek to Tennessee. I will get to see my granddaughter Maria who suffered 2nd degree burns. I will finally get to wish my oldest daughter belated Happy Birthday in person. On the way, we will see my oldest son in Missouri. His son's birthday is tomorrow. Maybe we'll see him too. I will stop and visit my mother and dad in the cemetery. I will be grateful that my step-family honored her with flowers for her birthday. It will be complete, I will have seen all of my scattered 8 children within a weeks time. I will have visited my parents at their final resting place. I had visited our granddaughter at her final resting place in CT.

Saturday, I start a new chapter of my life. At long last I will begin a doctoral program that I probably should have done 30 years ago. These children, their father, their lives have occupied my heart and my time. They tell me this is finally my time. I just wonder why "my time" has to be here in South Dakota.

Lily of the Valley

2010-05-03T11:46:00.002-05:00

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou

Like the rising floodwaters covering the land surrounding my home in Tennessee, there is no control over emotions. We’d like to bottle them up. We’d like to put restraints and controls on our emotions. We want them only to come out when we want them to, or need them to. How often we hear, get a grip, or control yourself.

We build up walls and dams over our emotions, hoping against hope for control. We let the gates open from time to time and pray the dam does not break. I’ve had my dam break. It’s messy. People don’t like it. Even those that care about you often don’t know what to do when the dam of tears bursts unexpectedly.

I am sure there must be some psychological theory about holding back emotions. I’ve been on both sides of the therapist’s couch. It’s much easier to be on the giving side of that couch. To open your heart and deepest thoughts to another person, no matter how professional and trustworthy they may be, is terrifying.

My dam hasn’t broke this weekend, but it started leaking. There are cracks in the façade of Joyce the strong one. Like the persona of a rebel I crafted so well as a child, my adult persona is one of strength. I suppose I am strong. I had to be. I’m not as strong as I appear. Underneath is still a sad little girl.

Today that little girl is missing her mommy. Today is my mother’s 92^nd birthday. My emotions are so close to the surface today. I am praying my dam doesn’t crack and break today. No one is here to console me. No one is here to absorb some of my pain. No one that is but this paper on which I write.

I have expected that grief would hit me at a time I didn’t expect. I suppose I should have expected that on my mother’s birthday, the first birthday since her passing, I would experience some emotion. The power of this emotion has caught me by surprise. I really miss her.

As a small child, my father would take me to the store. He would tell me we had to buy something for my mother. He wanted to teach me the beauty of gift giving. I would pick it out. He would pay for it. The message was clear. When it is your mother’s birthday, you honor her. My mother did likewise for my father.

On the heels of my mother’s birthday would come Mother’s Day and another trip to a store to buy something for her. It was good training. When I got older and got an allowance, I would use my own money to buy gifts.

When I was a child, we still wore corsages for special occasions. On a Sunday morning, a woman with a corsage on her dress or coat would signify she was special that day. On Easter, Christmas and Mother’s Day most of the women, had corsages. But on another day, the corsage said you were special, someone loved you very much.

There was a florist at the corner of 53^rd and 5^th Avenue in Brooklyn. In their window, they had a display of birthday corsages, one for each year up until age 18. I liked to look at them. They didn’t have flowers but items that spoke of each year of development. In horror now, I remember that at age 18, your corsage was made of cigarettes. You were old enough to smoke at 18. What a horrible message!

We moved from that neighborhood when I was 9 years old. Before we moved, I had saved up my allowance for my mother’s birthday and Mother’s day, 7 days apart. I went into that florist and ordered a corsage for my mother. I laid down my $5 ordering an orchid. Already I had learned the lesson from my father. I already knew that if I gave her the corsage for the Sunday closest to her birthday, stored in the refrigerator, she could also wear it on Mother’s Day.

A purple orchid - A simple corsage - My gift from my heart

My mother would tell me of a gift she received one year for Mother’s Day. Her favorite flower was lily of the valley. Perhaps using the same florist, one of my brothers gave her lily of the valley for Mother’s Day. The vase became sacred. I still have it. It is now sacred to me. I suppose to her it was like the mother coffee mugs I cherish.

If I could, I’d find lily of the valley today. If I could, I’d place some on her grave. If I could, I’d have some to look at today as I grieve the loss of my mother. I’d smell their distinctive delicate aroma. I’d think of my mother.

She is now joined with her mother, father, sisters, brothers, my dad, her great granddaughter Rukhsanah and other loved ones celebrating her first birthday in heaven.

Happy Birthday Elsie Mae

SSDD - Same Stuff, Different Day

2010-05-02T10:47:00.001-05:00

I had a very bad day yesterday. I think my husband thinks it is the blogging on Sounds of Hope. I am really dredging up the past. It isn’t that. Oh, I am not going to say it doesn’t affect me at all. Thinking and writing about the young me, abused and mistreated. Sure, that would make anyone stop and think for a few minutes.

On the other hand, writing about those days so long ago is good. In an odd and surprising way, it is making me feel more powerful. I am telling my own story, in my own words. It is truth. It is long past time that I told the truth about myself. I always allow other people’s feelings and opinions about me to define who I am. I should stop that. It is time to say NO, you are wrong about me. So many assumptions – even by those in my own family have crippled me from going forward. Deep inside, I am still that insecure person I am writing about on that blog.

Friday I got a copy of my mother’s Last Will & Testament from the court in Missouri. I remember the day she went to sign her Will. For some reason or other, I went with her downtown but didn’t go into the attorney’s office. I hesitantly ask her what she had put in her Will. At the time, she had some assets. A mobile home and a car, perhaps she still owned the duplexes in Hallsville. I no doubt had Rukhsanah on my hip or in my arms, and Sofia holding my hand. I never went anywhere without my children.

She said that she had made me Executrix of the estate and that she left everything to me. Friday, I saw exactly what she said. There is something strange about seeing your parent’s words on paper after they are gone. They seem to take on new power. I would love to see my Father’s Bible, where he wrote about his life. My brother has it and I will never see it. I have my mother’s Bible. He’ll never see that.

I had that same strange feeling when I found my father’s baptismal record from the Paulus Parish in Oslo Norway. Dated at the dawn of the 20th Century, it showed his parents names and his sister as one of his sponsors. I also found his confirmation record and wondered what my dad was like then. He was living in Norway, the youngest of seven children of a stonemason and homemaker.

I watched Spike Lee on the TV series Who Do You Think You Are? He lamented all the times he could have asked his grandmother questions about her past and didn’t. I had lots of time to hear my mother’s stories. Almost no time to hear my dad’s. I was a child when he died. I was 19 years old, pregnant with my second child. I didn’t know how to grieve or even if I should. I just knew that my greatest champion in this life was gone.

Yesterday, I sent letters to my two brothers. The ones who refused to attend to their mother’s death, her final affairs or her funeral. However, when it came to the meager insurance money that the Will stipulates was to go to her final arrangements, they greedily assumed they were to share. In light of such immorality, I doubt the letters and proof will mean anything. Once again, I am defending my mother’s wishes. Ultimately, a judge will have to decide.

The Will, the letters, the thoughts of my dad, then yesterday I scanned through some pictures of my mother. I am putting together a little memorial book for myself, that one day may be valued by my children. I have included the blogs I wrote as she transitioned from this life to the arms of her Savior. As I looked at those pictures, particularly this one

sadness and grief flooded my soul. Her birthday is tomorrow. I wish I had gotten in the car and gone to Columbia to lay flowers on her grave this weekend.

When my father died, a picture sparked a deeper feeling of grief. My mother sent me a picture of my dad, a simple passport picture. I broke into tears. Yesterday, I had that same feeling thinking about my mother. Pictures like this one brought too many memories back.

Like a caged animal, I was captive in this apartment yesterday. I needed to go out, feel the air, smell spring. Nevertheless, my husband was bound to his laptop. He is out all week, seeing people, feeling important, doing important things. I sit in this cage day after day after day. No attempt to find life and vitality here in South Dakota has worked. I sit in the same corner of the couch, laptop on my lap, reaching out to a cyber world for friendship. I hate this apartment. Hard as I try, I still hate living in South Dakota. I can’t go back to Tennessee because love for my husband holds me here. I am so stuck.

Today, once again, I will cook wonderful food for my husband and make sure his laundry is done. I’ll straight the kitchen, sweep, touch up the bathrooms and change the sheets. My husband doesn’t demand such things, I just do them. I love him. It is how I show that love. I might even open a book for school. Lately I have been paralyzed with lethargy. Seminary course that have wasted my time and energy hold no interest for me.

We might go out. But what is there to do in this place? Go walk around a store after an hour's drive to Sioux Falls? Drive around the countryside that all looks the same in South Dakota. I don't know what will do but it will be good to get out. It won't be enough.

Yesterday was a bad day; today will likely be the same.

The Most Dangerous Question of All

2010-04-30T08:27:00.001-05:00

The last few days have been largely uneventful. I am reminded of the beauty of ordinary days. Even though they are boring, when appreciated you realize that life changes in an instant. I had lunch with someone yesterday and we talked about how life changes in an instant. Everything familiar can become a mocking reality of what has been taken or lost.

I’ve been thinking a lot about loss the last few days. I am experiencing the lost of yet another dream, of a plan gone bad. I am so tired of this. I am too old for this. At this point in my life, life should have less wrinkles. It should be pressed smooth. It has already had great pressure and heat. Isn't that supposed to smooth the wrinkles? I should be able to say, yes, I am doing this. Or no, I am not doing that. It should have some definitiveness.

I’ve written before about my sadness about leaving the seminary. I’ve talked about plan A, B, C, and whatever this latest plan is – the plan to get an EdD. Sometimes I wonder if I should just stop and be an old person. Maybe I could just be a granny and take trips to visit grandchildren. Or be content to just be a good wife who gets up every morning, no matter how much I want to sleep and fixes oatmeal for her husband. (I really do that.) My husband never wants for clean clothes or a hot meal. I smell up the kitchen routinely with fresh curry dishes for him for lunch. He is a spoiled man.

my husband's favorite dish, Aloo Gobi

I’d like to go off on a tangent now and talk about how I would like to be a spoiled woman. However, that would make this blog just about personal whining. That is never productive for any of us. But for the record, I’d like to know what it is like to be spoiled. Maybe that is another loss as well since I doubt I’ll ever know. Yes, that’s sarcasm.

I was watching Oprah the other day. I don’t watch her all the time because if I did, then I’d really feel like someone with no life. This day she had Queen Rania from Jordan. She was there to promote her new children’s book. I wonder why a Queen would need to promote her book? Strikingly attractive and articulate, the Queen shared she was about to turn forty. Oprah assured her that the 40’s are wonderful and said wait until you get to your 50’s! It's wonderful!

In some ways, I agree with Oprah. Life is different after 50. All of a sudden, it is like some wisdom switch turns on and you understand things that you never really did before. It’s hard to explain. Your body isn’t what it used to be and sometimes it gives you trouble. But you feel the same inside as you did when you were 20. Best of all, your mind, your understanding is alive with all sorts of new insight. A friend recently said that at this age she felt the ripest.

I feel that way. I am free from the constraints of raising children (and of that I did more than my share). While I deeply feel the lost of my mother, I no longer have concerns about her care. South Dakota could be a place where I reinvent myself and give of my wisdom to better life here. And yet, once again, everywhere I turn, I am faced with loss of dreams. Even my offerings of knowledge, faith, understanding, gifts and intelligence are set aside by decisions of others.

I realize I am now at the stage of anger in this grief process. We are so afraid of saying we are angry. An old boss at a mental health center where I worked used to always ask the patients, are you mad, glad, sad or scared? Mostly the answer was sad. They dealt with deep issues. Nevertheless, usually the prevailing emotion, admitted or not, sometimes deeply hidden underneath, was mad.

I’m mad. I know there is nothing wrong with anger. It is a human emotion. What you do with your anger determines its correctness. Right now, I want to express my anger in some vengeful way toward the person that I have now perceived as the person who took this dream away. He is clueless to the level of pain and disappointment he has caused. But that is always the way, isn’t it? People go on with their lives, they have made decisions, spread discouragement, not offering help and they just go on. Unaffected by their decision their life is the same. Their paycheck is the same. Their dreams continue. Yours are shattered.

Once again, one of my dreams has become a nightmare robbing two years from the quickly diminishing years remaining. Once fruit is ripe, it can rot much faster. There is an urgency to my timetable that wasn’t there when I was 20 or 30 or even 40. So I scramble to move on. I have a new plan. Hopefully it will be the final plan leading to contributions of my substance. Yet, still, I wonder why the brightest spot in my South Dakota life, dreams I hoped to be fullfilled at Sioux Falls Seminary had to die.

Why? The most dangerous and unproductive question of all.

I Love Something in South Dakota!

2010-04-28T10:50:00.001-05:00

I know someone who likes to tease me that I should be employed by the Tourism Department of the state of South Dakota. She knows I have struggled a lot with living here. She knows that most of the time something negative will come out of my mouth. However, what she doesn’t realize is that I could be hired as an ambassador for the city of Sioux Falls.

I love Sioux Falls. Yes, you heard me right. I actually said there is something in South Dakota (besides my husband) to love. If I lived in Sioux Falls, I’d have no problem living in South Dakota. It is a very nice small city. It isn’t just that they have two Targets or a TJ Maxx and a decent mall. It isn’t just that they have some really good restaurant choices or that they have well stocked grocery stores. Although I don’t follow their politics, it seems to be a well-planned and administered city.

I found myself interested in their recent election. A 47 year old banker won in a run-off election to a 62 year old politicians who was known as the “no” guy. I understand the 47 year old ran a really energetic grass-roots campaign. I saw the 62 year old on the television with his grandson a lot. As I watched from a distance, I thought a lot about my own brushes with politics.

As it is in most places, news emanates out of the major city. In this case, it is of course, Sioux Falls. On my way to class I usually listen to talk radio. No, it isn’t because I am a flaming conservative. It is just that I like talk better than music when I am bored. Music can put me to sleep. Plus even though much of the chatter I disagree with, it is more entertaining. Sometimes views expressed make me mad and then I can talk to the radio. Other times I might cheer and say Yeah, that’s right! Talk radio is just more interactive.

The trivia question contest sponsored by HuHot Mongolian Grill always comes on as I turn on 28^th Street. I usually know the answer and wonder how people are so stupid. Today the question was:

On this day in 1789, what was the name of the British ship captained by a man named Bligh that was mutinied?

Not surprisingly, that question was answered on the first call. That one was almost too easy. It always reminds me of when my husband and I were first married. We knew we’d have to be almost ready to go out the door to school and work when we heard Quickie Quiz come on KFRU radio in Columbia MO. We can both still sing the jingle – it’s time for quickie quiz, a quickie quiz, come on and play our game, we’ll bet you’ll be a winner. All you guys and gals… I actually called once and won free chicken from KFC.

I usually hear an ad for Jumpy Monkey coffee when I am around Dell Rapids. I keep thinking I’ll get some Jumpy Monkey coffee as I like the concept of supporting a good cause by purchasing something I like, like coffee. A woman named Gloria tells us all about how she loves her job at Jumpy Monkey and the best part is putting the coffee in bags. I would like that too – smelling coffee is enough to get me excited. Gloria has a disability of some sort. Jumpy Monkey supplies jobs for people with disabilities. She likes Blueberry Cobbler coffee. I don’t like Blueberry coffee but they do have Snickerdoodle and Cinnamon Sticky Bun coffee which makes want to go buy some right away.

In between the ad for Jumpy Monkey and the HuHot quiz, I heard a PSA this morning. It was for the Center for Active Generations in Sioux Falls. I’ve visited this place. It is an amazing example of a great Senior Center, something near and dear to my heart. Until visiting this Center, I had never seen anything that I thought compared to the Newington Senior and Disabled Center where I was Director for nearly ten years.

I started a flashback, a bittersweet flashback of the years in Connecticut. Like me, the director of Active Generation is doing a big event during the month of May. While they didn’t mention that May is Older American’s Month, I suspect that this went into the thinking of planning their Active Living Expo during May. The PSA went on to highlight free health screenings, entertainment, snacks, etc. I started the same event in Newington, we called it the Senior Expo. I would illicit sponsors to provide freebies to our clientele. Usually that day we would have about 60 vendors with about 10,000 seniors come through our doors.

The Sioux Falls event is early in May. Ours was always the cap to a full month of activities. We would have a Dial-A-Ride Dinner. A time for our transportation staff to be thanked and honored. All our riders loved a meal out in the evening. We usually had about 100 people there.

I see on the Center for Active Generations website that they have April as Volunteer Month. During May we would have our Volunteer Recognition Breakfast. We served breakfast to several hundred people. At this event, a volunteer or two were honored and their photograph forever mounted on a wall of honor. I wonder if those photographs are still there.

Ahh, those were the days. See, I once had a full life. I don’t mean for this to sound as negative as I suppose it sounds. I sound like an old woman whining about bye-gone days. I just can’t help reflect on what was when I hear that my ideas are now being replicated all over the country.

Oh, I am not saying they stole my ideas. I know better. I know having an expo for seniors was really not new to me. But it was new for Newington. It was something that grew and grew and brought vital information, screenings and joy to seniors and people with disabilities in the town of Newington. I miss those days.

Sioux Falls is a great city. It has so much to offer including one of the best senior centers I’ve ever seen.

Brave Cowboy

2010-04-27T17:29:00.002-05:00

I have a new hero. Well, maybe that is an exaggeration. For me a hero would be someone who took me on a long trip, found a great job for me, made me wealthy enough that my husband and I could just retire and get away from South Dakota. Nevertheless, I met a neat guy yesterday.

I didn’t really talk to him personally. I probably could have but I just didn’t. I feared that if we talked he’d never stop. He was a talker. He had a lot to say. He is also a politician so that adds to the chatter.

He is from the western part of South Dakota and looked like it. If you don’t know what I mean, read Cowgirl. He wasn’t a physically big man. By the time we were finished that day, he stood feet talker in my estimation.

He wore a huge cowboy hat, a western cut sport coat, tight jeans complete with a huge belt buckle and around his neck was a beaded bolo tie. Probably in his 60’s, he was a remarkable sight, all my stereotypic attitudes jumped into place.

Then I found out he was a state legislator. I thought man they’ll let anyone run in South Dakota. My husband told me he was a Republican. He is but he isn’t. Here in South Dakota politicians have been known to change party affiliations as well as alternate between the House and Senate in order to beat the term limit rules. Where there is a rule, people will find a loophole.

His district includes one of the reservations. I am still unsure whether he is Native or not. My husband said he wasn’t. He didn’t look like he was but looks are deceiving. He referred to Natives as our people or my people.

I was in Pierre yesterday to attend a roundtable on Native issues. My husband was actually the person who was supposed to be there, but since he knew I am interested in these issues and that I plan to write a dissertation on these issues, I tagged along. There were about 50 people in attendance, 3 were legislators, the rest professionals of one sort or another interested in the topic. Then there was me.

Lots of issues, lots of talk, I wonder what will be done. Like the water issues meeting last week, I always wonder what all this talk accomplishes. Nothing seems to change. What was it though about this unusual man that impressed me? What did he bring to the table that spoke volumes? He did not have any great words of wisdom really. He knew the issues, he spoke with knowledge and authority. He spoke the truth.

This Senator, a Republican only because he couldn’t run again as a Democrat I suppose, spoke the truth. Not only did he speak the truth about some of the issues of Natives, the harsh reality of inequities, injustices and indifference, he spoke the truth of his life.

People in the public eye often want you to think they are better than you are – they have all the answers but often their life does not resemble anything of yours. Even if they have deep family issues, they are hidden behind a glossy smile, slick words and arrogance. This guy was different.

At first glance, I made certain judgments about him. I was reminded once again that it is dangerous to judge by appearance. When he first got up to speak, I thought oh boy, what does this cowboy know about anything? He knows a lot.

There was the topic of the disproportionate number of Natives in prison. He knew about that. No he hadn’t read a study about it. He knew it because he has family members who have had the experience including his wife and his son-in-law who was arrested and now in prison for DUI. There are children who now miss their dad. He must have had children who missed their mom, his wife, as well. He knows that prison does not just affect the person incarcerated, it affects a family, a community. He knows that most of the people in the prisons are not bad people, they are people like you and me who make mistakes. He knows first hand the ache in your heart as you loved one is taken away. He knows that the legislation he helps make, affect real people like his own family.

The good Senator told us that real life effects his stand on issues. With great poignancy he told about voting on a DUI bill. Opposing a bill that required swift punishment for a first offence, he asked his fellow legislators if they had ever had someone killed by a drunk driver. They hadn't. Then he share that his son was killed by one and how he held him in his arms as he died in his front yard. Reality collided with legislation affecting his voting. He knew that while the death of his son was tragic, the solution was prevention, education and intervention before a person makes the deadly mistake of driving while intoxicated. He knew, he knew first hand.

The cowboy clothes made me think he was arrogant. He was far from it. He was humble, honest and truthful. I'd probably vote for him if I lived in his district. I am not even registered to vote in South Dakota, preferring to remain a voter in Tennessee. A man like this might change my mind causing me to invest in South Dakota. I don't care whether he was a Democrat or a Republican. I suspect the people of his district feel the same way.

We need more honest, real people who live real lives, affected by pain, suffering and the harsh realities of life making decisions that affect our lives. His response to his realities is to serve in public office. His response was to be brave, speak the truth about his life and say because of this, I care about issues.

My response to the harsh realities of my life is to write. He gave me me courage to speak the truth. He gave me courage to continue to blog on Sounds of Hope. I am doing a series there about my youth, about molestation, domestic violence, welfare, food stamps and all manner of topics that people want to hide. Thank you Senator for being brave and helping me be brave as well.

No Good Pizza In Brookings

2010-04-23T14:05:00.000-05:00

You’d think I’d like living in a small town. It seems most people say they do. In some ways, I grew up in a small town. My block, 53^rd Street between 4^th and 5^th Avenue in Brooklyn NY had all the elements of a small town. We had neighbors who looked out for you, knew your name, who your parents were and where you lived. Like other small town inhabitants, they had no problem correcting your behavior and sharing your antics with your parents.

Without crossing the street I could go to the candy store, the drug store, a delicatessen, a clothing store, a bank, a variety store (5 and dime store, remember those?) and more. Also without crossing the street, I could board the bus or descend into the subway. The world was literally steps away.

On our block, we had all manner of people except people of color. Eventually that changed as well. We had a Jewish woman, a single mother, who had the tattoo markings of a German concentration camp. People spoke in whispers about her perhaps fearing her pain.

We even had a bad neighborhood on our block. My mother would hold more tightly to my hand when we walked passed 3-4 apartment houses that she called the “tenements.” I was admonished to never play with any of the children who lived in these apartments. That always seemed sad to me because there were so many children. Always on the stoop without supervision, they seemed to have lots of fun. They must have been told things about me as well, as they were the ones who made fun of those of us who lived a few doors down in apartments, rather than tenements.

What does this have to do with South Dakota living? Nothing. Today it is colder, grayer and windier than yesterday. Yesterday was beautiful; today it is just dull. We are waiting for rain.

I live in an apartment again. I don’t think they have any tenements to avoid here in Brookings. I am not even sure there are really bad neighborhoods here. But if I walk out of my door here, there are no friendly faces, no one knows my name. I can’t walk to a corner for a slice of pizza fresh out of the oven dripping with olive oil served by a guy named Sal.

I should be studying but I can’t focus. My heart is somewhere else. I wish I could travel back in time to those days when my world was 53^rd Street.

I've Seen the Daffodils, I Still Want More

2010-04-22T15:06:00.000-05:00

The trip back from Rapid City the other day was particularly long. My mood was not the best. I was neither angry nor upset. Rather I was a sad and reflective. Long periods of silence were interrupted with tears.

Someone asked me if I had seen a lot of wildlife. Sometimes we do, and I still marvel at it when I do. I was asked particularly about wild turkeys. I thought about the very large wild turkey I saw coming up the driveway at our home in Tennessee the last time I was there. I was quite amazed, through the brush to see him strutting around. I so wanted to take a picture of him.

As I thought about Tennessee, I wondered if my rhododendron bush was in bloom. I wondered if I’d miss it like I did the daffodils in my front yard. I don’t love rhododendrons as much as daffodils, but I do love them. I am sure I had seen them as a child. They are common in the Northeast. Nevertheless, it was our first year in Connecticut that I noticed them for the very first time. We first visited Connecticut prior to our move there in the early spring. I was in awe of them. They reminded me a bit of an orchid.

Last years blooms in my yard in Tennessee

I did notice some blossoms on trees, the greening of the prairie grass, the verdant blanket of wheat and the occasional whiffs of manure. Cows have been calving. We always comment on the calves. So little, they follow their mothers with great devotion. Desolation is being replaced with delicate life.

Yesterday, I noticed more and more daffodils in Sioux Falls. The tulips are also in bloom. While not common, a yellow burst of forsythia dots a yard. I wish I lived in Sioux Falls. It well deserves its #1 ranking by Forbes magazine. Although not to the level of rejuvenation I feel when I return to TN, a short trip to Sioux Falls is renewing. If it is coupled by a bargain find at a store, or a leisurely lunch with a friend, it can transform my mood to positive.

Sioux Falls Seminary (SFS) has also served to renew and transform me. I received a letter the other day from the Dean. It is time for a progress review. A year ago, I was excitingly anticipating my first classes at Sioux Falls Seminary. I loved those first two classes. I felt like at last, I have something to do of purpose in South Dakota.

While I felt oriented, I was required to go to an orientation last fall. I received this large 3-ring binder and was told this would be used for my progress review. It would be reviewed at the half way mark in my academic career at SFS. A recommendation based on progress would determine if I went further.

It’s that time. Yet, I am leaving again. All the hopes and dreams I had for my career at SFS have been dashed by the reality of accreditation policies. I was told I could never get into the Doctor of Ministry program without a ministry placement. While my grades are all A’s and I have proved myself more than capable of the work, without a place of service, I was unacceptable.

Visits, pleadings, prayer, requests for help in finding a placement, led nowhere. Ultimately, I am moving on to another path for the doctoral degree. I am excited about the new path, but feel very sad to be leaving the seminary. I am also sad that I have lost another valuable year of my life pursuing what I thought was a great plan.

I have gifts. I know that. I know they are gifts from God. I am not saying I am great, I am saying God has blessed me. He has given me a great mind to learn, exegete and preach the word of God. Yet, here in the Storehouses of Snow, there is no place for me to serve.

I don’t know if I’ll turn in my notebook for review. There is little point. My advisor was clear that I had no hope for a doctoral degree at Sioux Falls Seminary. His exact words were “I am not optimistic you can find a ministry placement.” His pessimism brought reality in view.

I’m thankful for all I’ve learned there. It will always be close to my heart. I have two classes to finish this semester. I am sad to leave.

Where is the Center of Nowhere?

2010-04-20T11:43:00.002-05:00

It was a strange day yesterday. I learned some things. That isn't what made it strange. It was just that once again we traveling across the state of South Dakota. I also visited the little town of Centerville for the first time. I don't know if I will ever go back there again. It is in the middle of nowhere.

Centerville is south of Sioux Falls and is on the Vermillion River. There are water problems in Centerville. There are water problems, particularly flooding, all over the state of South Dakota this year. Our purpose in visiting Centerville was the same as about 100 other people, to learn more about the water problems in South Dakota.

Honestly, while I care about people who are experiencing loss due to the floods, I can't say this was high on my list of personal priorities. The other 100 people cared a lot about these issues. It is personal. It is there every day existence right now. It is not the first time they've dealt with water problems.

I never knew there were such things as "ditch commissions" - I think that was the name of it. Nevertheless in small town South Dakota there are people who meeting regularly to discuss ditches, drainage, dams, berms, and all manner of issues related to water.

This meeting was planned by the only Congressperson for the State of South Dakota. It has always fascinated me that there is only one congressional district in the whole state. We lived in Connecticut for many years. You could pretty much get from any one place in Connecticut to another in two hours. Unless of course there was traffic. There we had five congressional districts. In our years in Connecticut we met all of the Congresspersons several times.

We also met our Senators several times, Senators Dodd and Lieberman. In fact, I stood with Senator Dodd on the steps of the Newington Senior and Disabled Center discussing the Tiananmen Square crisis in 1989. He was there to speak. I was the Director. His staff needed him for a phone call on the crisis. Oh those were the days... I miss having a life.

All this is to say, I am no stranger to politicians. This was my first time to meet Senator Herseth-Sandlin. Cute, petite, attractive, articulate and smart are words I'd use to describe her. As I watched her run the meeting, I wondered how much she really knew about water problems.

As the meeting progressed, real life problems of water were shared. One woman with her voice cracking with emotion, shared that this was the fourth time her basement flooded. She shared she hated to see the water come to Davis, the small town she lived in. It seemed that Davis had lots of problems.

It seemed that water threatened this small town. They wanted the river straightened to avoid destroying its meager existence. It is easy to say that Davis doesn't matter. I don't live there. For these people, this is home; their home sweet home.

There were no answers at that meeting. A lot of promises to get people together. The Corp of Engineers were honest about the pessimistic options. Probably there is little that can be done. Money issues, lack of benefit ratios, all add to the problems of Davis and water in South Dakota.

Honestly, I was bored most of the time. It's not my issue. It's not my home. It's not even "my state." I haven't invested myself here. I also have no idea what to do about water. We left Centerville and headed to Rapid City. I could just drive away and go on with life. The people I left behind in Centerville have to live with water problems.

During the six hour drive to Rapid City, I thought more about water. I saw a lot of water on the way. Flooding is changing the landscape of South Dakota. I also thought about the people I saw in Centerville.

There is nothing about their lives that is like mine. Little do I understand their lives or their struggles. We have little common ground. Nevertheless, they are hurting. They are angry. That matters. The people that live along the Vermillion River matter. I hope someone does something to help them.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

2010-04-18T11:59:00.001-05:00

Yesterday we celebrated our two years in Brookings with a return trip to the Sons of Norway Waffle Feed. The event is held in the place where they serve congregate meals in Brookings. It’s called 60 plus dining. I doesn’t appear to be a fully fledged Senior Center. Just one large room is all I have seen.

As we came in the smell of baking waffles filled the air. I didn’t count but it appeared that there were about 20 waffle irons. I know those kind of waffle irons well as I used two in the coffee shop I once operated. These were basic, but good waffles. When I had the coffee shop my favorite to make were Pecan Pumpkin Waffles topped with cinnamon butter. Alas, there was no variety in the waffles. There was plenty of variety in the syrups.

No allusions to “real” butter, a gallon size jug of butter substituted was available, along with your choice of 7 or 8 different flavored syrups as well as some small cups of defrosted frozen strawberries to top with whipped cream. I chose blueberry. My husband chose the strawberries and cream but I think added some maple syrup. We passed over the sausage.

I made the mistake to ask for a fork since I had not seen them. I was rather scolded as if I were looking to take one too many. I know from my days as a Senior Center director that people do take these things home with them. They were on the tables. Next time, I’ll remember. We opted to sit at a table alone. We’ve had the experience of trying to butt in on tables to be friendly. It is usually met with the same reaction as when you take someone’s seat at church.

As with our first experience at the Waffle Feed, the same person made conversation interesting. The first year we were here, she was the president of the lodge. She greeted us warmly. We had a pleasant chat. She even sat and kept us company while we ate.

Our first year, we were in Brookings there was snow on the ground. A heavy wet snow was piled high. I wondered if the Feed would be cancelled but was told no this is South Dakota and those Norwegians are a very hardy bunch. That day, two years ago, would be capped off by the rodeo.

I was not aware that rodeo could be a university sport. For reasons I have never been able to figure out, my husband likes rodeos. Maybe it is a male thing. I don’t think there is anything in his background that would compare to a rodeo. I’ve already shared with you that I wanted to be a cowgirl when I was little. Now I was no so interested in an evening of rodeo.

There were real cowgirls at this rodeo. They had pink cowgirl outfits on with lots of fringe and a bit of sequins. One cowgirl, I think she was a queen, princess, or something, would make a majestic ride through the arena. As with all college sports, it opened with the National Anthem. She carried the American flag as we stood for the Star-Spangled Banner.

They roped calves, rode bucking horses and bulls. It was quite the show. I am not a member of PETA nor did I think that the animals suffered greatly. I really don’t know whether the animals enjoy the competition. For the humans however, it is as if you can smell the testosterone in the air. As I have so many times over the last two years, I asked myself how in the world I had gotten here.

Remember the song from the Sound of Music, where Maria sings,

Somewhere in my youth or childhood days I must have done something good.

When I lived in Connecticut and life was good, I used to sing that in my mind, as it was intended. Life was good. Now I wonder what I didn’t do that condemns me to places I’d rather not be. It was never a life long dream of mine to attend a college rodeo in South Dakota nor live here.

As I’ve been sharing my memories of that first week in South Dakota, it has occurred to me that you may be thinking that I’ve regressed. That my determination to find what God has for me in South Dakota has dissipated. It has not. These are my reactions, my first lasting impressions of South Dakota. They continue to color and perhaps even distort all reactions to this day.

I am on a journey to find my place in the Storehouses of Snow. I will find it. I see clearer glimpses of it every day. I am reminded of the words of the Apostle Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians:

We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us! (1Corinthians 13:12 The Message)

You see, I am here because of love. I am here because I love my husband. I am here because I believe God joined us as one flesh. As I look at what else Paul has to say about love, in this magnificent passage, I realize I have fallen short of that type of love. Yet, I am here. I am here because of love. Moreover, I am here because God has led us here, for what purpose? I have no idea.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.
Love doesn't strut,
Doesn't have a swelled head,
Doesn't force itself on others,
Isn't always "me first,"
Doesn't fly off the handle,
Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn't revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

Lasting First Impressions... Part 2

2010-04-16T11:10:00.002-05:00

I was here for a week that first visit to South Dakota. I spent many hours alone in the hotel room, a dark dismal room that fit my mood. While my husband was escorted to meet the people who would become an integral part of his professional life, I watched TV, browsed the internet and read. I also watched the mounting snow wondering how I came to be in what I now call the Storehouses of Snow.

One day an employee of the university who someone thought had a story similar to mine picked me up. He had been in the ministry, a Norwegian and Lutheran. I suppose no one in South Dakota could imagine that I could be Norwegian, be in ministry and not be Lutheran. Born and raised in rural South Dakota our similarities were slim. Further, he now had a PhD in Sociology from South Dakota State. I suppose the intentions were good.

He didn’t understand how I could be Norwegian and have been raised Pentecostal. That I could be a good Norwegian and not grow up in the upper Midwest a Lutheran was way beyond his grasp. We visited for an hour or so. He picked up the tab for lunch muttering something about being reimbursed by the Dean. Obviously, he did not enjoy our lunch meeting any more than I did.

I was looking forward to the Sons of Norway Waffle Feed. Now for those of you not from the upper Midwest, I suppose you wonder what is a feed? More accustomed to words like Waffle Breakfast, I did. I suppose the choice of words comes from the farming background of most of the inhabitants of South Dakota. Feeding the cattle, pigs, and other livestock evidently is synonymous with feeding people as well. Livestock are fed "feed" so are people.

We had never been part of Sons of Norway in Brooklyn. They drank and had bars in their lodges. Like the VFW or American Legion, they owned their own buildings and were known for their drinking and partying. Good Pentecostals did not engage nor desire to be seen in such places. However, a Waffle Feed seemed harmless. I’ve since learned that the Sons of Norway folk here usually do not have their own buildings, do not have bars and do not serve alcohol at their meetings.

My husband’s glee continued even at the Sons of Norway feed. He saw important people. I suppose he had yet to realize that Brookings is a relatively small town. Many of the leaders are Norwegian. Plus it is always good politics to be seen supporting community events.

I didn’t expect to be served true delightful Norwegian waffles, and I was not disappointed. Standard waffle fair was served with a side of pork that we do not eat. Surprisingly, the Norwegians here do not make delicious authentic Norwegian waffles, nor do they know what they are... how strange?! Equally strange the people though it was strange to see us at their community event. Nevertheless, my husband pursued and found the then president of the lodge who is a delightful person. She did her best to make us welcome; we joined the lodge by the internet that weekend.

Thinking that joining Sons of Norway would be a way to meet people in Brookings has been a disappointment. Hoping to connect with Norwegian roots has not materialized either. Mostly older people, they still wonder what this Pakistani and American couple are doing in their midst. I’ve offered to speak on Growing Up Norwegian in Brooklyn at their meetings but they have chosen people to speak about Poland instead. I may not renew my membership this year.

We headed south that day, then west. I had seen the signs for the Corn Palace and we drove to Mitchell. If you haven’t seen the Corn Palace, it is an interesting structure. I thought about Mount Rushmore, still a childhood dream of mine, but knew it was too far. Snow still covered the barren landscape as we drove back to Brookings.

It was time for Rodeo. I’d never been to a Rodeo and can’t say it was ever an ambition of mine.

Let me pick this up the next time. We’ll explore the world of the Rodeo through the eyes of a girl from Brooklyn.

Lasting First Impressions...

2010-04-15T12:03:00.001-05:00

It is two years this week since I first stepped foot in South Dakota. Two years! Two LONG years… The day I stepped on the plane, I had my last class for my MA at Trevecca Nazarene University. It had been a long road, almost done; comprehensives would be in the Fall. Lots of hugs and see you at graduation, well wishes for the comprehensive and off I went to the airport. A short flight to Cincinnati, a sandwich waiting for the plane to Sioux Falls then boarded I sat in my seat.

An ominous feeling came over me. I had prayed so hard my husband would not accept the job in South Dakota. I didn’t want my life to change. Things were finally looking better in my life. It had been quite a while since I felt that way. I had a plan. I was transferring all my credits to Lipscomb, had been awarded a 60% merit scholarship and was going to transfer into their Masters of Divinity program. I was excited.

Then the call came, on our 30^th wedding anniversary no less, offering him his long desired job. While South Dakota had never been on our radar screen, it offered to make his dream a reality. How could he not accept it? Nonetheless, I prayed he would not at the same time trying to be supportive.

Family meetings with our two children still living with us proved futile. Finally he said yes and left for South Dakota for attendance at unpaid meetings. Two years ago this week, he worked hard to prove himself as that right choice. That he did an excellent job then and through out his time here in South Dakota is beyond question.

A night flight is often very quiet. The lights dimmed. Many people sleeping. The flight was not crowded. Usually no one talks to me so I sat in silence trying to read a book. I now had some decisions to make. Decisions I did not want to be in the position to make.

I could stay in Tennessee and follow the plans that seemed so enticing. Two daughters, a son, a mother and a granddaughter made that choice very appealing. All more important than my plans for school or continuing to pastor the church I planted. Nonetheless, I wasn’t sure I wanted to give those up either. My husband was oblivious to my pain as he basked in the glow of his new position. Could I, did I want to, live in another state from my husband and only be a visitor in his life?

It was very dark. It was very cold. The bitter wind almost swept me off my feet as I arrived in Sioux Falls. The small airport in Sioux Falls was absent of life and sound other than the conveyor belt with my luggage. I asked him how his meetings were going. He was ecstatic. Yet, we didn’t talk much because most things out of my mouth were not surprisingly sarcastic. I was in pain. I was angry that I had to be plucked out of my life to satisfy his life.

Shadows of putting advance degrees on hold while he finished his. Shadows of waiting as one child, then two, three, finally five more children were born. All the time waiting, waiting for my turn to finish my dreams. Now so near, they were evaporating once again.

The first day in South Dakota it was still very cold. I heard on the news that a blizzard was forecasted. It was April! Never in any place that I had lived, even in the cold Northeast with its mountains of snow, had I seen snow in April. I went to meet with the then head of the Sociology department. The only PhD offered at South Dakota State that even remotely fit my interests and qualifications was that.

It was a very unproductive disheartening meeting. I tried my best to be upbeat and I succeeded. Nonetheless, the department head had no interest in my becoming a student in her department. Her cluttered desk and demeanor told me this was a waste of my time. She was scattered and focused on her own upcoming retirement. After being treated so well at Lipscomb, the difference was both stark and discouraging.

I looked out the window. It was snowing. Big, large flakes of snow were pouring from the sky. I joined my husband at his meeting. I was introduced as his wife, as a minister and as a Norwegian. The only thing that might have given me capital here was the Norwegian part. I have since learned that to be Norwegian from Brooklyn is not well accepted by the Norwegians of the Dakotas.

Since I have so much more to say about this experience of arriving in South Dakota, I think a several part series would be good. So I will stop here and finish in the subsequent days. It might be one day, it might be two or more. I don’t know at this point.

I do know that South Dakota made a very poor first impression. I am working hard to overcome that first impression. Nevertheless, first impressions are lasting impressions.

2800 Miles in a Week

2010-04-08T11:32:00.000-05:00

In case you’ve missed me, I’ve been traveling a lot. During Holy Week, we hosted my husband’s brother and the daughter of another one of his brothers for a brief visit to South Dakota and then Tennessee. It was an interesting way to spend Holy Week.

On Monday last, my husband and I drove to Minneapolis to pick them up from the airport. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this area, that is a 3 ½-4 hour drive each way. We were late meeting them. Having a propensity for lateness in such activities, all was forgiven quickly. We took them for a short trip inside Mall of America. One cannot visit the cities without seeing this capitalist icon. Monday we logged 430 miles.

Tuesday we started late. We picked up a rental car to save the miles on my husband’s prize possession. Then a brief stop to show my relatives where I go to school. Next stop, was a visit with some friends at Fort Thompson SD. I’d love to digress into a long story about this visit. It was unusual to say the least. I did write about playing with Destiny after the visit. Like our never-ending travels, I will just keep going.

By nightfall, we were safely in Rapid City having supper at the 24-hour Perkins Restaurant having logged another 400 miles. A brief sleep and it was on to Mount Rushmore. I like going to Mount Rushmore. I remember the first time I went the excitement of the little girl who used to look longingly at the picture of Mount Rushmore in her Social Studies book returned. It was a childhood dream comes true. Having seen it about 5 times now, the excitement has waned but the awe has not. No trip to SD is complete without a stop at Wall Drug. After eating there, we journeyed through the surreal landscape known as the Badlands. By the time we reached Brookings that night at midnight, we had logged another 500 plus miles.

Having begged my husband to reconsider his plan of leaving at 6 a.m. on Thursday morning, we left at 2:00 p.m. for Tennessee. Opting for a saner two-day trip, we arrived in Columbia Missouri at midnight. Mileage log for that day was 550 miles. A quick breakfast with my son, a trip to the cemetery to see my mother’s date of death engraved on the stone, a whirlwind visit to our alma mater for the sake of the relatives, we finally arrived at our home in Kingston Springs TN at about 7:30 p.m. Passing the Arch in St. Louis, we completed that day having driven 475 miles.

It was delightful in Tennessee during Easter weekend. It was warm. The daffodils were finished in my front yard, but the peach tree and the pear tree were blossoming. The view from the front of the house was breathtakingly beautiful as white blossoms covered the trees and the vibrancy of the forsythia was striking this year.

Easter Sunday, I attended the church I had visited for Ash Wednesday. I remembered the pastor’s admonition to remember I was dust, even when dressed in my Easter best. The service filled me with hope for my daughter and her family. They had found a good place to worship. My granddaughter sang about having Jesus down in her heart. I took home the lily we had purchased in memory of my mother. It is now planted in the front of my home in Tennessee.

Sadly, by 3:00 p.m. on Easter Sunday we were on our way back to South Dakota. Leaving the relatives to visit with others in Tennessee, we traveled together. The further north we traveled, the more the temperature dropped and we saw no signs of spring. I was sad. It was so good to feel the heat on your face, to see trees in bloom, and smell spring. Over two days, we traveled another 1000 miles plus. Monday night after a supper visit to Taco John’s we returned to our quiet apartment in Brookings.

Yesterday I saw some daffodils in Sioux Falls. The surprise of seeing bright yellow caused my breath to stop. I don’t remember seeing daffodils last year. Perhaps I did. Probably I did. But this time I really saw them. I am seeing more beauty and purpose here in South Dakota. I will get to have two springs this year. One brief in Tennessee and perhaps one longer, here in South Dakota.

When I next return to Tennessee, it will be to start my doctoral program at Trevecca. It will be the middle of May. I will be glad to return. It will be the beginning of a new chapter in my life. As I’ve thought about writing a dissertation, something about South Dakota has taken root in my life. I have a passion for the original people, the first nations, of South Dakota. I am thinking to write my dissertation on some issues that might benefit these true South Dakotans. Maybe I’ve found my reason for being in South Dakota. It has taken a while, but there is hope. After all, I did see daffodils in South Dakota.

Playing with Destiny

2010-03-30T23:30:00.004-05:00

Sometimes joy comes unexpectedly. Sometimes it comes in ways you’ve never expected. Sometimes joy surprises you. Today joy surprised me. Today I played with Destiny.

Now that sounds dangerous, doesn’t it? It is the thing we search for. We all hope to have some destiny in life, so we search for our destiny. Sometimes destiny break-in when we least expect it. For some, all of a sudden they find themselves in places they don’t expect and have an epiphany catapulting them into their destiny.

We take destiny very seriously. We feel our lives will be a failure if we don’t reach our destiny. Something so serious should not be played with.

Today started out as one of those days. My husband’s brother and another brother’s daughter, a niece are visiting. They are nice people, but clashes of culture and my lack of understanding their language always make these visits difficult for me. Add to that cooking food I can’t eat and sometimes, my mood and attitude is lacking. I try really hard to practice hospitality. It isn’t that I don’t like them. It is just difficult for me. Usually when they leave, I feel bad that my attitude took the better of me.

This morning my routine was disrupted. I cooked an omelet with enough red peppers and chilies to kill someone. I made a strong bold tea that stained my stainless steel. I ate two slices of blueberry bread toasted while they feasted. Custom dictates loud chewing so I retreat to the other room praying for grace.

Nothing went well today. Everything was off, timing, meals, a cold shower, etc. You get the picture, it was NOT a good day. That was until Destiny came along.

My husband is trying to do some good. So he takes his brother, his niece and I on an odd trip to Fort Thompson reservation. We meet with a dear sister in the Lord who is native, who was preparing a Seder supper. We meet with her friends. What an odd group, including some colleagues of my husband, we were now ten people in the small apartment. Four were Native Americans, three were from Pakistan, and three of us, were plain vanilla folk.

After a delightful chat with our hostess, I started stressing about our long trip. I dreaded the trip in the car of four more hours with people who chose not to speak in English. I was getting tired. Then I started to play with Destiny.

Destiny is this absolutely delightful four year old child who was trying to watch Pocahontas among all these strange people. She had a book in her hand and I offered to read it. I read the book once, then twice, then another book, and then back to the first book. I coaxed her on my lap.

Before long, I was a little girl giggling and playing with Destiny. She charmed her way into my heart and will never leave. She brought me such joy. As I heard myself laugh, I thought, I haven’t laughed with such joy in a long time. There is nothing like little arms around your neck to remind you that life is worth living.

I forgot about the adults. They could have their conversations. I forgot about the long morning and the long drive ahead of me. I forgot about school. I forgot about all the things that stress me. As I hugged beautiful little Destiny good bye she kept saying “squeezes!” Playing with Destiny was the best thing I’ve done in a long, long time.

Doin' the Crawl

2010-03-27T15:55:00.001-05:00

I’ve lived in college towns before. I’ve learned that unless you are a student or a faculty member, the campus is like another world, even if you are only a mile away. I never know what is happen on the campus. Sometimes I wish I did because then we might actually find something to do here in Brookings.

My husband is an administrative faculty person on this campus. I am sure he gets all sorts of notices across his desk about all sort of interesting things, he never pays attention to them, or shares the. My husband’s ability to filter out things he is not interested in is amazing. Me on the other hand, I have radar that won’t quit. It is always bleeping at me with all sorts of information. None of which I filter. Most of which, I remember.

For a very small campus town, Brookings has a pleasant looking downtown. It has signs of life. You do see people walking on the streets. I’ve been one or two of the eating establishments on Main. I’ve never been to their famous burger place though, Nick’s Hamburger Shop or George’s Pizza. Both are supposed to be city landmarks. A friend convinced me to poke around a couple of shops on Main. Neither did a whole lot for me; I haven’t been back.

Today I went downtown. As I left, I thought, I haven’t written about South Dakota much lately, maybe I’ll get some inspiration when I go downtown. I did.

I was to meet a friend at a restaurant I’d been to before, Sun Dried Tomatoes. Last time I was there I had a Panini. It was okay. I’ve had better. Compared to the Panini’s I made at Joyce’s Pegram Deli and Coffee Shop in lovely little Pegram TN, they were small, overpriced and not that good. Nonetheless, it was a nice place to visit with someone and the food certainly wasn’t bad. The pizza I had today was good.

As I got downtown, late as usual, I thought OMG, what don’t I know? There was little place to park. You don’t expect this in a small town like Brookings. Finally I found a place two blocks away across from a beautiful old building that says City Hall on it but isn’t anymore. City Hall is now found in a very ugly newer building several blocks away.

I still had no idea what was going on in Brookings. There was a buzz in the air. There was a sense of life and vitality that I don’t expect to find in South Dakota except in Sioux Falls or Rapid City. Certainly there couldn’t be anything that great in downtown Brookings on a Saturday in March. As I had walked to the restaurant, someone was standing on another street corner tapping on a make-shift drum while his friend played the accordion. I met my friend, a native South Dakotan. She wondered aloud about the busyness of downtown.

Then I found out what was going on. It was Pub Crawl. Now the name alone tells you this is a college binging activity. This is not part of why parents send their kids to college. There is even a mention of it in Wikipedia. It is also known as spring “Hobo Day.” The idea is that college student roam from bar (pub) to bar throughout the downtown. After drinking their way through the city, they eventually have to crawl from pub to pub.

As we left, I thought now this is a strange event to be having the day before we start Holy Week. Maybe it is some sort of South Dakota version of Mardi Gras. Here they were, at noon already filling the bars with their beads on.

I suppose it is a rite of passage. It is like spring break in Florida. None of this stuff is new or unique to South Dakota. Yet, it strikes me as ill timed. At a time when we are going into the most sacred week of the Christian calendar, crawling drunk through downtown isn’t exactly a good way to reflect on our Savior’s sacrifice.

How are you preparing for Holy Week?

South Dakota - The Tornado's Vortex

2010-03-25T11:04:00.002-05:00

In a strange moment of conversation yesterday, I told someone that I was beginning to wonder what the big deal was about South Dakota. I’ve made a very big deal about having to be here. I almost said live here, but not sure I want to “confess” that yet.

The sun is shining today. Yesterday was warm today isn’t warm yet. I heard on the news mention of getting shorts and sandals out. Bear in mind that I have seen people in shorts in 40 degree weather here, so talk of shorts may be premature. I even hear a few birds today.

I know the answer to what is the “big deal” about South Dakota. Certainly, the weather is a factor but every place has weather to complain about, it’s all relative. When it is beastly hot and humid in Tennessee I complained. I probably wouldn’t complain as much now as I used to, but hot and humid is pretty bad too.

A woman in class yesterday who had read my blog said to me, Man, you really don’t like South Dakota! I replied: my blog is toned down. It used to be worse. She had moved from somewhere else. I think she came from Minneapolis. Okay, Minneapolis is a city and Brookings SD is not. I think she failed to consider the culture. Upper Midwest culture includes Minneapolis. Just listen to Garrison Keillor if you are in doubt.

I tried to explain my situation to her. I mentioned family. She seemed quite happy not to have family close. I couldn’t mention to her the real reasons. The feelings, experiences and emotions, so personal, that are wrapped up in my difficulty with the move to SD. It isn’t the weather, it isn’t just family, it is me.

It is the move to SD, not the living here that is my problem. Moving here is wrapped up with emotions and things I cannot share. I look like just a crabby person who doesn’t want to live in South Dakota.

What people can’t realize is that this move snuffed out so much of my life, my inner core. Like the tornadoes that plague the plains, I feel I have been in its vortex threatening to suck me into a hole so deep I would never recover.

I realized yesterday that I had some sort of emotional connection to the seminary. A professor tried to tell me several months ago that I was part of the seminary family. I didn’t believe him. I thought he was just being nice. He is a very nice man.

Yesterday, while students still look at me like who is she and why is she here? Some still don’t talk to me. It can be lonely even in class. Nonetheless, I thought I am going to miss being here. It has been a bit of an oasis of sanity for me.

South Dakota is getting to me. It is alluring me in ways I was unwilling to accept. I accept it as part of my journey through life. It will teach me. Whenever I leave here, I will hold parts of it as something dear in my life.

We may yet have a spring blizzard. It often happens here in the Dakotas. I think I can survive. Part of my inner core is coming back alive again.

In the Twilight Zone

2010-03-23T15:50:00.001-05:00

The last two days I have been reminiscing about Brooklyn. I was born in Brooklyn NY. It was a wonderful experience growing up in the borough of trees and churches. I’ll bet most of you didn’t know that Brooklyn was known as the Borough of Churches, but it is. Every year on Brooklyn Day in June, all around the borough there would be parades. The parades were very unique, they were Sunday School parades. I came across this picture of one of those parades on facebook:

I am the one on the second row on the far left. My mother was our Sunday School teacher. I think that year we studied the Kings I & II from the Old Testament. My mother made crown shaped books for us to write something about the kings. One week we’d write that this king was a good king and loved God, next week he was a bad king and disobeyed God. Such is the state of humanity to this day. My mind and heart were roaming around Brooklyn and Salem Gospel Tabernacle yesterday when I realized it was time to change my clothes. I had a Cattlemen’s Association banquet to go to in Ward SD.

I changed my clothes no less than four times yesterday. I couldn’t seem to settle on what to wear. Finally I chose one of two dress pants I own and jazzed it up with a tank, jacket and a scarf. We headed for Ward.

Ward has a population of 49 – yes, only 49 people. I’d been there before to the restaurant that was holding the banquet. It had been an interesting experience. Food was good but we were starred at quite a bit.

Flooding dotted the sides of the road as we left the interstate for the 15 miles to Ward. Passing a semi with a flat tire, we pulled into Ward and parked in front of the Wisconsin Synod Lutheran Church.

Cars were everywhere. This banquet brought cattle folk from two counties and swelled the town to quadruple its size. We entered the Feather’s Nest ready for the evening. Like something out of the Twilight Zone, I began to realize that I had entered another dimension. My mind was still back in Brooklyn, my body in Ward.

My husband greeted a few people; we paid our money and found a seat. I recognized the two men we were seated with and exchanged greetings. Another couple came and sat across from us. They lived near the booming metropolis of Bruce SD, population 260.

The conversation around me centered on cows. What else would you talk about at a Cattlemen’s Banquet? The woman from Bruce was talking to the young man sitting next to me. He appeared to be about 13 years old. She was asking him about his showmanship at the Fair. Something I have never understood is showing livestock. But it is a big deal here in SD. Evidently the young chap had done well. She encouraged him in his endeavors telling him about a workshop in Sioux Falls where he could develop his showmanship skills.

My brain wandered off and returned in time to hear another conversation between the woman and the young man. She was telling him about the high tech equipment they have on their farm. She glowingly shared that they have an antenna on the top of their silo. This antenna is connected to a computer in their barn. All of this is to record information about their cows. It seems that attached somewhere to each cow is a transmitter. Pretty high tech stuff, wouldn’t you say?

She went on to explain the purpose of all of this technology. The transmitter recorded when the cow was in heat. Yes, when the cow was in heat! They now knew the moment the cow went into heat and for how long. I sat there thinking... how did a nice little Norwegian girl from Brooklyn ended up at this table listening to this conversation. It went on. She told him that this transmitter records when and how many times the cow was rode while in heat. I nearly spit out my water on that one…

Now I understand-if you raise beef you need to know this stuff. I like steak. I like hamburger. I know where it comes from and how it gets to my plate. Nonetheless, it was hard for this Brooklyn girl to appreciate this as a dinner conversation. Sort of reminded me of a scene from a movie where the city girl goes to the country.

I looked around. There was this 7-foot man with Wrangler work jeans with the crotch nearly to his knees, plaid western shirt and no teeth talking to the man in Dickies work jeans with the bright green John Deere suspenders. I thought yep, I’m definitely not in Brooklyn; this is not like any place else I’ve ever been.

We got our salad but I passed on the pickled herring. I may be Norwegian and we always had a jar of Vita Pickled Herring in the fridge, but I never acquired the taste for it. Sitting down, we noticed a table had been added to our string of tables. Someone exclaimed: we aren’t last anymore, we must not be good Lutherans. I know there is a private joke there somewhere.

As the meal concluded the man across from me stuff chew in his mouth for dessert. The program started. We returned to the theme of showing cattle at the Fairs and achievement days. One of the big winners was also the young woman who was the first runner up for Miss SDSU. It seems that you can be a beauty pageant contestant and champion cattle show-person. Who knew? Not me.

Okay, so some of you are laughing and some of you are mad at me. I admit I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all.

My purpose though is not to laugh at these good people who provide me with the best hamburgers and steaks you can find anywhere. If you want to laugh, laugh at me. Laugh at the irony of God taking someone who walked the streets of Brooklyn. Someone who knows the NYC subway system well and can find her way around Manhattan to this day. Then picture them in Ward SD on a Monday night for a Cattleman’s Banquet.

Is this what they mean when you say God is stretching you?

Has-Beens

2010-03-20T15:14:00.000-05:00

Last night I was an invited guest for a Scholarship Banquet at the Seminary. I know I was invited because I have the invitation. I turned in the RSVP card, on time, to the receptionist at the seminary. Assured that it would be given to the proper person, I didn't give it another thought. When I got to the door there was no sticker with my name nor one for my husband.

Since that was my second trip to Sioux Falls, I was tired. My husband had a stressful day at work. I stood there wondering why I came. I was embarrassed and frustrated. I mumbled to the equally stressed and embarrassed woman in charge, that I really had turned in my RSVP.

She asked us to handwrite our name tags and go sit at table 13. I thought 13! That's not a lucky number. My husband wanted to know if table 13 would be outside. It wasn't. We hung our coats and found the table.

To my delight I recognized the other student sitting at my table. She has listened to my lament on living in South Dakota. She has said she'd pray for me. She has been kind sharing her struggles living in this state.

Also sitting at the table was a former dean of the seminary, a former administrator in fund raising and their wives. The fund raiser with typical friendliness of his profession greeted us with an engaging welcome and smile. His name was Ben. He said he knew almost all the donors who had funded our scholarships.

The former dean was less friendly. Nevertheless it was a nice table to sit at even if it was table 13. As we chatted across the table, that awkward chat of strangers pushed together at a social event, I asked Ben what he had taught before he became an administrator. He said "Oh I'm not that smart. I just raised money."

I said something about being fortunate to sit at this table with illustrious contributors to the seminary. He said "oh, no, it isn't such an honor, you are sitting with the 'has-beens.'" Of course I said that wasn't true.

It's odd how we creep toward the final chapters of our lives that we see ourselves as has-beens. I am watching Crazy Heart, a movie about another so-called 'has-been.' I am fast approaching the age of has-been. Often as I sit in class, I see other students looking at me wondering what this old woman is doing sitting in their classes.

Ben should not consider himself a has-been. He was a contributor to all of us who came behind him at the seminary. Some of us couldn't go to school without scholarship money. What a great contribution he has made. As long as his contribution continues, he will never be a has-been.

I've been interviewing for another chapter of my life, a chapter of more education. In this interviews I have said several time, I'm not done. I still have something to contribute. I do!

Spring comes late in South Dakota, very late. While daffodils are blooming elsewhere they are not here. I haven't reached full bloom either. I may be old enough to be a has-been but I'm not. I have not been in full bloom yet. I'm still pushing through the hard ground. I'll get there. With God's help and grace, I will get there.

It's Enough

2010-03-18T10:00:00.001-05:00

I am in Florida. The sun is shining. The water is nearby. I can see palm trees and green. I get on a plane today and go back to South Dakota. I don’t want to go.

I am working very hard to accept the place where God has planted me but the truth is I’d rather stay here. I know my life isn’t in Florida. I actually know my life is not in Nashville full time for now. I believe I will return to Nashville and I look forward to that day, but for now, my life is in South Dakota.

There is a chance of snow in the forecast tomorrow for Brookings. I will leave this sun and beauty for flooding and cold. I will drive twice tomorrow to Sioux Falls because the things I need to do aren’t in Brookings.

I am not sure what South Dakota has for me or what I have to give to South Dakota. I just have to believe, as I return, that this is where God wants me. A dear friend talking about his own living situations said to me that he looks at as if he is a soldier and God has him stationed at a particular place.

I am not crazy about the military metaphors but I guess it fits. I enlisted in the service of my King a long time ago. That means I don’t always get to choose everything about my life. When God opened the doors for my husband to South Dakota, He knew that we were a package deal. This may feel like part of the “worse” in the “for better or worse,” nevertheless that’s what I promised. I suppose it isn’t the worse. I can think of many things we’ve been through that were a lot worse.

I’ve said a few times that the problem with South Dakota is not the weather. However, today it is. I don’t really want to go back to the cold. I don’t want to go back to loneliness and isolation. But God has a plan, and I have a husband I love. I’ll get on the plane today to the land of snow.

Maybe God doesn’t have anything for me in South Dakota. Certainly there are times I feel like that. But is that important? Is it just about what I do? Or is that I am learning more and more about myself? Is it that I am more in love with my husband than I have ever been? Is it that for the first time in 32 years we have lived alone together? All of those things are special gifts.

It’s enough.

Three Skevts of Coffee

2010-03-15T08:08:00.002-05:00

Occasionally something really nice happens in South Dakota. I’m on the “pulpit supply” list at the seminary. This means that if a church has a need of someone to fill their pulpit on a given Sunday, they notify the seminary. The seminary then sends it out to all of us on the “pulpit supply” list. This list includes not only students but also faculty.

When their request goes out like, it is sort of a lottery for the church. Or should I say more like biblical casting of lots. They might get a PhD who teaches at the seminary or they might get a student. If they get a student, they might get someone experienced or not.

Last fall I got one of those emails. It was for a church in Iowa. It said it was close to Sioux Falls. Sioux Falls is 50 plus miles from me but by South Dakota standards, that’s not far. To go to this part of Iowa requires 70 miles from my house, but still within a range, I thought I could handle.

I replied saying I’d like to do this. I got a response back; I won the lottery that day. I was the first to reply. My obsession with emails can sometimes be a good thing. Then I got nervous.

I had a prayer and praise report all in one. I was praising God for the opportunity to preach and praying desperately about my concerns. I didn’t know anything about this church. I didn’t know how they felt about women in the pulpit. I didn’t know how liturgical they were, if I had to preach from the lectionary. I knew nothing. I was told I’d hear from the contact person, in this case the pastor.

I did. It was a woman! Okay, I could cross that off my list of concerns. There was a pretty standard order of service. I still didn’t know how formal they were though. I don’t have a problem with formality. I am just not sure how good I am with it.

I asked the pastor about the prayer times. She said oh, just whatever the Holy Spirit leads … Whew! that I could do. Writing formal prayers was not my strong point. I rather like the freer flow when it comes to prayer. The last hurdle in my mind as I prepared was could I wear pants for preaching? I still struggle with that issue. Too many years of hearing about the evils of women looking like men.

Ok, I know you are laughing now but I heard that a lot when I was young. For the good Christian female pants were never acceptable anywhere, let alone church. However, if you were going to grace the platform, you should have no make-up, elbows covered, panty hose, skirt to mid-calf, and good supporting garments – a handkerchief or something for your knees, just in case the skirt crept up.

So preaching in pants was something to be thought about seriously. However, I had no skirt to wear. With some fear and trepidation, I headed to preaching that morning.

We got their early, a rarity for us. The church sits in a cornfield. You drive along wondering where you are and then all of a sudden you see this gleaming white steeple. Two cars were parked and one of the occupants was sweeping the walk.

As my husband and I walked in, we were warmly greeted. I mentioned we were there for pulpit supply. Someone thought that was to be my husband. We laughed; it was an honest mistake. No one seemed to look at my pants.

Nervously I went with a church leader to the office for prayer. I think he was trying to figure out this woman they sent. I nervously studied the bulletin.

If anyone cared about my pants, I couldn’t tell. I left there so much richer. I told my husband that is one of the nicest experiences I’ve had in South Dakota. Oh, well, it wasn’t South Dakota, it was Iowa. Nevertheless, the upper Midwest has some possibilities.

Yesterday, I filled that pulpit for the third time. I still get excited every time I go there. In pants, I walked in greeted with a warm handshake, then a hug by someone saying Good Morning Pastor Joyce.

The church has begun to feel like home to me. The warmth of the people is exceptional. They are amused at this Norwegian Pentecostal from Brooklyn New York with the husband from Pakistan who fills their pulpit and worships with them.

I thought about the saying about the three cups of tea made know by Greg Mortensen in his book by the same name. When you share your third cup of tea in the remote areas of Pakistan where Greg has built schools, you have become family. This was my third time at this lovely church.

I think though it is more fitting to talk about three skevts of coffee. They are mostly Scandinavians drinking straight up black coffee.

The first time you drink a skevt of coffee, you are a stranger.
The second time you take a skevt of coffee, you are an honored guest.
The third time you share a skevt of coffee, you become family.

When I Grow Up, I Want To __________?

2010-03-12T11:12:00.003-06:00

I don’t know if you’ve seen the new AARP ads. Mixed between paper towel ads and the red hot sale at HyVee, these ads actually caught my attention. It shows people about my age saying “When I grow up I want to ____________.” There is a woman in one of the ads that says, “when I grow up I want to write a book.” I can’t remember the specifics of the others but for personal reasons, that woman echoes in my heart.

It’s a good advertisement. It got my attention. I am not sure what AARP wants me to do after I watch this advertisement. Probably they want me to join AARP. Or maybe they think that I will feel empowered if I join AARP to write a book, open a business or sail around the world.

I actually remember when I first heard about AARP. My father would have been old enough for AARP, if it existed, when I was born. For a while, he and my mother lived in a retirement high rise, OATS Towers in Columbia MO. It was there he saw his first AARP magazine and quickly joined. I don’t know if it empowered him. Probably it didn’t.

Nevertheless, something seems to happen when we get older. For me, it is like going through adolescence all over again. Life is shifting. Life is changing. I am changing. I find myself at times just like the awkward insecure girl I was at 13.

Once again, I am trying to make sense of life. I am trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up? One thing I do know, is that I don’t know very much. It isn’t that I need more education although I still pursue additional degrees and take courses. While feeding my brain is important, I find my heart needs nourishment. It is on the inside, the questions of who I am and what I want to be that are the most urgent. I have found I don’t know myself very well.

I’ve been a mother since I was 17. I’ve been the wife to two husbands. The first husband, an abuser who abandoned me with two children and pregnant, is a distant memory. The other one has been my soul mate, lover and dearest of all friends for 32 years. For most of my life, I have seen myself by my roles and relationships. As the 13 years I once was, I ask myself again, who is Joyce?

My dad seemed to find himself in his 50’s when he became a new dad once again. When my brother’s talk of my dad, the same dad, it sounds like we had different fathers. The truth is, while his physical attributes were the same, he was not the same. Perhaps it was that I was a girl. I rather suspect it was more the person he became with age.

Opportunities of the Older Americans Act opened a new expression of the complexity of my dad. Similar to my mother, who evolved and grew into a very amazing woman, he grew. When he grew up he worked with disabled children. The OATS bus would pick him up and take him to work as a foster grandparent. He worked first at Woodhaven, a home for disabled children.

Later he was transferred to Head Start. For a year of his life, the bus took him to work with economically disadvantaged African American children. My father was born in a foreign country (Norway) the last year of the 19^th Century. He had a grade school education, was captured by Germans during World War I, was an illegal immigrant to the US, was a man of great mystery and complexities, who still spoke with an accent. Everyday he would give love and receive love from little children living in the projects. My father would often walk through the neighborhood where these children lived. As he did, children would come out of their homes yelling Grandpa as they eagerly awaited a hug.

Eventually my father returned to Woodhaven. The Columbia Daily Tribune did a feature article on him. Here are the photos from that article.

I wonder what opportunities for growth I will experience here in the Storehouses of Snow. Had my father never moved from Brooklyn NY to Columbia MO he would never have known the joy of loving these children. He might never have become a more loving caring person. He changed; he grew up. Like my mother, he continued to grow until the day he died.

Now it is my turn to grow up. Now it is my turn to find out who Joyce is.

It is time for me to complete the sentence-when I grow up, I want to be ___________. Perhaps the answer is stored here in the snow.

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion ...

Philippians 1:6

Cloud Living

2010-03-10T19:16:00.000-06:00

If I say the word cloud to you, your reaction will depend on your frame of mind. You might think of a beautiful blue sky with white puffy clouds on summer’s day. You might think how wonderful it would be to soar among the clouds. You might wish to sit on cloud nine.

If life is hard, you think of storm clouds. Coming toward you the gray mass bodes the coming deluge. One night our first year in Brookings, while the tornado sirens blared, we foolishly watched from our balcony as the tornado brushed the south side of town.

There is a cloud sitting on South Dakota. I don’t know how much of South Dakota is under this cloud. I do know that the 55 miles to Sioux Falls are under this cloud. It was a very dreary trip to Sioux Falls today. Rarely could I see more than two car lengths in front of me.

I suppose you could call it fog. Melting snow and the contrast of the air form these treacherous conditions. The moisture that filled the cloud speckled my windshield. I lamented my lack of an umbrella. Yet, I doubt it would have helped.

This was a different type of cloud. I’ve seen clouds sit on the ground in South Dakota many times now. I thought about the fog that I am in since the death of my mother. While this fog is different and definable, I have been in a fog for two years. I have not been able to see more than a few days ahead of me since moving to South Dakota.

It’s been gray for days. I’ve been in the apartment for these days. It’s sort of the same with my life. I’ve stay inside. I’ve dared not wander around in this cloud. Just as I found I could drive through the cloud to my destination and return, I can move forward here in South Dakota. Driving through the cloud I believe I will get to my destination, whatever it is in here in South Dakota.

I have daffodils in my apartment now to remind me that the clouds will eventually part.

"Daffodils" (1804)

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

I wandr'd lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Escaping Cabin Fever at Wal-Mart

2010-03-09T11:09:00.002-06:00

I went to Wal-Mart on Sunday. Considering I live in a town, where the only significant places to shop are Wal-Mart and HyVee a trip to Wal-Mart is not of any great interest. Nevertheless, this trip was interesting.

Usually I leave Wal-Mart or HyVee a bit miffed. It seems there is a lack of manners here. Either that or manners are different. I miss the excuse me’s and smiles when your “buggies” pass in the store. On a country road, I became accustom to a congenial wave from the pick-up truck that meets you.

I’ve long known this is all superficial but I was accustom to it and grew to like it. Last time I was wandering around Target in Nashville, someone smiled and said excuse me. It startled me. I thought oh my, please don’t let me lose my civility.

On Sunday, while I was wandering around Wal-Mart I was shocked again. Prepared to annoyed, I was surprised as a woman smile at me and said, “Excuse me.” I looked at my husband and whispered OMG she said excused me. Then another person smiled at me.

I bought some amazing fresh beets. The beets really don’t need to be added to this blog. I just want to tell you about them. Last night I had cooked beets with butter along with some barbecued chicken and some nasty rice. I wanted potato salad but thought that was pushing spring too much. Besides the potatoes in my cabinet were filled with eyes and soft. Leftover rice from the freezer was an unfitting substitute. Those beets were the star of the plate. Both my husband and I wanted more. I’m going to buy more today.

Beets are a winter vegetable. They store well like potatoes. Nonetheless, they remind me of summer picnics. My mother made great pickled beet. My Aunt Rachel introduced me to purple pickled eggs. Once convinced to taste them, I would beg for them. My childhood summers were filled with pickled beets, purple pickled eggs, potato salad and chicken, summer on a plate.

Maybe the beets do fit in this story. My experience of friendliness at Wal-Mart isn’t over. I had navigated through Wal-Mart behind a large cat palm plant we found on clearance for $3.00. We came to the checkout with our plant. The clerk smiled. That too was a surprise. He said, looks like you are bringing spring. We need some spring!

He kept talking about spring. I guess like me, he was starved for green. Seeing the green reminded him that new life will soon emerge from the brown frozen ground.

As he handed me my receipt and I said thank you, he said the most interesting thing. He said I’m going to tell everyone you brought spring. I’m going to remember you because you are bringing spring. As we meandered through the puddles in the parking lot, my husband and I laughed. We wondered what had happened to us in Wal-Mart. He said I’ll bet you’ll blog about this. He was right. I said I’ll call it “escaping cabin fever at Wal-Mart.” I did.

What a strange beginning for a strange week. This week I have some important appointments. I have an appointment that may lead to the much desired, prayed for and sought after ministry as a Pastor. Could my call be fulfilled in South Dakota? I have another appointment concerning a doctoral program here in South Dakota. I will fill a pulpit this Sunday in a beautiful church that is filled with the most beautiful people I’ve met in the upper Midwest. I likely will also hear about the doctoral program in Nashville. It’s a strange week.

Maybe, just maybe, the glimmers of hope and acceptance that are springing up concerning life in South Dakota are what these people saw in Wal-Mart last Sunday. Maybe as I embrace the hope of spring, it will be contagious. Spring comes late in the Dakotas. Thankfully, it does come. It will come for me as well.

Today I plan to go to HyVee. I am hoping their daffodils are in.

Galoshes

2010-03-08T10:02:00.000-06:00

The bare ground is beginning to show in South Dakota. The piles of snow are black and brown. They are ugly. The local news evidently had time to fill. Taking a rain gauge, they melted a foot of snow in it to show the amount of water produced from the melting snow. In a “duh?” moment, the anchor said but that water is brown! Of course it was, it also had sticks and other debris in it.

Yesterday, the trip across the Wal-Mart parking lot was a bit like navigating around streams and rivers. One lake filled most of the area we walked. I thought about galoshes. I wondered why no one wore them anymore. I imagine if I poll the people walking into Wal-Mart, all but the very old would even know what galoshes are any more. I like the sound of the word galoshes.

I thought about being a kid in Brooklyn when the snow was melting. There would be rivers in the streets. The storm drains would back up because of the volume. Every paper wrapper carelessly discarded, along with leaves and other debris floated quickly to the storm drain. Sometimes you couldn’t get across the street without getting your feet wet; unless you listened to your mother and wore galoshes.

I thought about the boys at PS 94 whose mother’s would make them wear those bright orange raincoats when it rained. They looked like miniature crossing guards or police officers. With only their faces exposed, covered from head to toe they would be completely dry once they shed their rubber skin. Puddles would form in the coat closet as they noisily dripped on the wood floors. My galoshes were never pretty. Pretty was expensive. My family stuck with basics. My galoshes would have looked something like this:

It was always hard for my little hands to get those galoshes over my shoes. It was worse when the school bell rang signaling it was time to go home. Mrs. Dickinson, my favorite teacher at PS 94 would complain about people who were absent when we wore our galoshes. She would look at us and say “Where is Bobby or Nancy today? It’s only rain! Are they "sugar cubes” that will melt in the rain?” That alone was motivation to get to school on rainy days. I didn’t want Joyce to be substituted for Bobby.

It’s a grey ugly day in South Dakota. The fog was so dense you couldn’t see last night. The temperature above freezing will bring more melting and water. More debris will collect.

I think it is sort of like that with my soul. My soul was covered and washed white as the snow. And yet, debris remains in my life. Some has been there a long time. Other has recently collected. As the snow melts, I see that debris. It's brown, black, ugly and dead. As it is exposed, the rain and force of the melting water needs to wash it away. As the March winds blow, it will push more of it away. Finally, in April, the showers will come. They will wash away the remaining debris making way for new growth in my soul. Nevertheless, I will look for some galoshes to protect my soul as the winds, the rain and adversity continues.

I am Ekte Norsk

2010-03-07T12:22:00.003-06:00

I slept most of the way back from The Cities yesterday. We had gone to Minneapolis Friday and came back yesterday, Saturday. I wrote some about our trip on Sounds of Hope. Like no other place in the country, other than my beloved Lapskaus Blvd. Brooklyn, the upper Midwest is Norwegian.

On the way to The Cities, we drove through the quaint town of St. Peter's. In the middle of the north side of Main Street, was a shop with all the flags of Scandinavia. We've seen this shop before and have commented that we should stop some time. On the way back, exhaustion had over taken me. I could barely keep my eyes open. I wanted to go to IKEA for my Scandinavian "fix." I didn't even ask because of this extreme physical and emotional fatigue.

To my surprise, as we drove through St. Peter's my husband stopped in front of Swedish Kontur. The store with the flags. I actually protested going in, saying all they have is fancy stuff we can't afford. I was right. Nevertheless I left with a bag and a hand written receipt. I found a treasure I could afford.

Before I found my treasure, my eyes feasted on a beautiful set of Porsgrund Farmer's Rose.

We never had any Farmer's Rose in my house. We were too poor for that. Our good dishes had come with my parents first television set as a premium. I thought they were beautiful. I treasure the few pieces of it that remain. My mother was given a tea set when she married my father. The cups are paper thin. I don't remember her ever using them. They graced her make-shift china cabinet and I dusted them regularly. A few of them remain as well.

Farmer's Rose has always captivated me. In the recesses of my memory, I see stately Norwegian women in apartments better than ours, serving ekte gjetost and other Norwegian delicacies on these beautiful dishes.

Like my mother, I can't afford Farmer's Rose. I've poured over ebay ads for a few pieces. They are there, but I can't afford them. My brother knew of my love for Farmer's Rose. He has served me on his Farmer's Rose dishes. I own two mugs because of his graciousness. I don't think I've ever put anything in them. I cherish them. I have brought them here to South Dakota in hopes of preserving them from carelessness.

I longed to purchase Farmer's Rose yesterday. Perhaps my protest for shopping was that I knew I would leave disappointed. They were beautiful. The sight of them can take my breath away.

My husband scanned the Norwegian sweaters gulping at the prices. I think he should have one when he goes to Sons of Norway meetings with me. Lots of Pakistani Norwegians in Norway wear them, why not?

As we wandered to the back of the store I spotted my treasure. It was a tiny cup. It was not Norwegian, it was Swedish. On both sides it said Rida, Rida, Ranka. A flood of memories came over me. My dad already white haired and in his 50's when I was a little girl. He'd sit in his green recliner like all men of the 50's reading the newspaper or watching Lawrence Welk on Saturday.

It seemed like it was often that he would call his "lilla venn" to come sit on his lap. Sometimes I would sit on his foot and he would give me a horsey ride. He would say in what I thought was Norwegian, Rida, Rida, Ranka. I can hear the meter of the poem, but I don't recall the words.

I've looked to find the words in Norwegian. When I try to imagine the sounds of the words I have found in Norwegian, they don't match his rhythm. I have found some but I rather think he said it to me in Swedish. The Swedish words seem to match.

Rida, rida ranka,
hästen heter Blanka.

Liten riddare så rar

ännu inga sporrar har.

När han dem har vunnit,

barndomsro försvunnit.

As I stumble at these words, the meter reminds me more of my dad's version. My dad's father was from Sweden. Something I didn't know growing up. Maybe my dad learned this from his dad. I don't know. I never knew any of my grandparents. In the pictures my dad had on his bureau, they always looked stern. A first cousin who knew them changed that view when he said: it was always a great day when we went to Bestefar and Bestemor's house. I wish I knew them. I wish my dad had told me more stories about them.

I've returned to another land of the Norwegians. Perhaps these stern looking people I see are like my grandparents. Perhaps someday I will say it was a great day when I got to visit and live with Norwegians from upper Midwest. Perhaps these distant aloof people are like my dad. He could be like that, often seeming to be in a world of his own. Like him, underneath the aloof exterior, there maybe someone who loves to play with a child on their foot reciting Rida Rida Ranka.

Truth be told, I am like him as well. I can appear very distant. I hold much inside myself. I am Norwegian too.

I'm No Figure Skater

2010-03-04T10:04:00.001-06:00

There is still a lot of snow here. There is snow in the forecast for this weekend. The forecast is iffy so maybe it will be rain. Rain will wash away some of the snow. They are concerned about flooding now that spring is nearing. A friend told me she is praying that the snow melts slowly.

I want the snow to go. It reminds me of the bleakness of my existence here in South Dakota. More than the snow, I want the ice to melt. I am terrified of ice. I have never slipped and fallen on ice that I can remember. I have little balance so I walk cautiously and grab onto my husband at every opportunity.

Even as a little girl I had many fears of falling. I never learned to ride a bicycle because of this fear. My father bought me a tricycle when I was little that was huge. To reach the peddles of the trike, he had to put blocks on them. When my friends graduated to bikes, I was finally able to reach the peddles of my trike.

I must have asked for the bicycle, or perhaps he just thought it was time. He went to a thrift store to buy one for me. Once again, the thing was huge. Way too big for my small body to handle. I remember him walking beside the bicycle to stabilize it while I tried to ride. Both the bike and I were clumsy together. He took it back and got his money back. I never learned to ride.

My dad did take me ice skating. I did ice skate. I think he had visions of me being a great ice skater. I could get around the rink finally without holding on but I never learned to pick both feet up - one foot always clung to the ice, refusing to raise.

I loved the skates my dad bought for me. They were white. They were new, a rarity in my childhood. I saved my allowance money and bought pom-poms for them. Prospect Park had free skating every Saturday morning. I'd take the city bus, transfer to another one and arrive at the park to skate. I was not yet 12 years old because had I been, I couldn't have skated for free. It didn't cure my fear of ice or my fear of falling.

I used to think I liked new challenges. I think I did. Every move until this one I have welcomed. My brother told me when I first moved to South Dakota that I'd make an adventure out of it. I haven't. I have only tenuously walked out on the ice. I'm afraid.

The ice will melt and for a time I'll be more confident. As surely as it will melt, it will return again. I need to find some ice skates. Like then, I will never be a good skater but perhaps I can drag one foot behind me and get around the rink without holding on. I don't have to be a good skater. I can still cling to the sides of the rink at times. I need to try to skate on the ice once again.

Return

2010-03-03T09:21:00.001-06:00

We are back in South Dakota. I wonder if I will ever say I am back home when I arrive in South Dakota. I say it sometimes. Sometimes without thinking, I say I’m going home. Life is ordinary here, even boring. I think that will actually be good for a while.

I had a wonderful send off from my stepfamily. I suppose I should stop calling them that since I have discovered that they are more family than anyone else is. I always wanted sisters. When my mother was married to Murl I felt like I had sisters. My sister Helen said to me after reading my Sounds of Hope blog about Patchwork Intimacy, “Joyce, you don’t have to have the same blood in your veins to be family, do you?” She is right. Families are those people that love you just the way you are. It has little to do with biology.

After a hearty breakfast and two more hours of fellowship, we started the long trek north. My stomach prone to turmoil churned from the results of the last two weeks. The tears expressed and the tears not yet shed seemed at war in my stomach. My stomach settled as the sun began to peak out ever so slightly near Kansas City.

By St. Joseph, the dreaded snow seemed permanent on the ground. After this, we never saw ground without snow, not always deep, but always there. It signaled to me that I was returning to South Dakota, the frozen land. Snow as it falls is beautiful; when it freezes to ice, it permanently locks everything in its frozen shell. I marveled at the thought that the ice will give way to green grass and green stalks of corn.

I saw something I’ve never seen before on this trip. I saw at least 30 hawks. They seemed stationed to watch me as I traveled north. High in the trees or low on a fence post they were vigilant. There was a time I would have tried to make out some meaning to their appearance. Yesterday I just marveled at their number.

I saw something else I’ve never seen before. I saw herds of deer grazing in frozen fields. At first glance I thought it was a herd of cows. As I got closer I knew they were two small to be cows. By the time the sun was setting in marvelous reds, I had passed many fields where deer were foraging for food. Yesterday I saw well over 100 deer in these fields.

This bleak frozen land had more than enough food to feed all of the creation that depended on it. The deer, the hawks as well as the thousands of geese I saw, all had enough food. I suppose they had to look for it, nevertheless, it was there.

I thought this frozen land, that I so dreaded returning to has enough to sustain me as well. I may have to look for it. I may have to look beyond the frozen ground and see that there is enough food to sustain me as well. There will be food for my soul provided by the hand of God. I will look for it. It will sustain me through these last days of winter as the cold of the death experience lays heavily on my soul.

I thought of an obscure verse to an old hymn. I hummed it to myself trying to recall the words. As I did, I recalled its triumph. I have found the Lord and He will feed me.

Feeding on the husks around me,

Till my strength was almost gone,

Longed my soul for something better,

Only still to hunger on.

Hallelujah I have found Him

Whom my soul so long has craved

Jesus satisfies my longing

Through His blood I now am saved.

I remember a Norwegian elder in the church of my childhood breaking into the last verse spontaneously, particularly during communion.

Well of water ever springing

Bread of life so rich and free

Untold wealth that never faileth

My redeemer is to me

Hallelujah!

Until spring comes, God's provision will be mine.

The Crocus Are Up

2010-02-26T09:39:00.001-06:00

It’s been quite a while since I wrote here. I have not been in South Dakota now for nearly two weeks. My attempts at acclimation were abruptly interrupted. A brother of my husband was returning to their native Pakistan. Symptoms of an illness that took their mother and sister were showing. He wanted to return home. He wanted to be near what was familiar and comfortable for him, his wife, his siblings, his hometown, and his children.

Just in case, my husband felt an urgency to say good-bye in person. We threw things in our suitcases. We drove halfway to Tennessee. In my beloved Columbia Missouri we rested. The next day saw us to Tennessee. I rested. My husband lapped up the last few moments with his brother before he left.

Saturday, he started his journey back home. He arrived safely. For the last week, my mother has been taking a journey home as well. My mother didn’t go back to Waynesboro her childhood home. She did not go back to Brooklyn NY where her children were born and raised. She returned to her heavenly home. I have written about it on Sounds of Hope.

I am “home” right now in Tennessee. I will leave tomorrow to complete my mother’s final wishes and arrangements in Columbia Missouri. I suppose I have many homes. Brooklyn is home. In an odd way, Waynesboro feels like home. Connecticut is home. Tennessee is now home. Columbia is beloved the most. My father rests there and now my mother.

What about South Dakota?

I don’t think it will ever be home. I could be wrong. There were times I never thought Tennessee would be home, and now it is where I long the most to be. As I scanned the condolences and comments on Facebook, I realize there are some people from South Dakota whose warm words are giving me great comfort and support. I’ve received emails from the Seminary community. Most are heartfelt and personal. There is a professor in the midst of his own serious trials who I met by chance before his sabbatical. He sends warm condolences and I know he has prayed for me.

Could it be that there is a life for me to return to in South Dakota? The daffodils are almost up here. Although unlikely, I might get to see one before I go. I have seen crocus and heard birds singing. When I do return to South Dakota I realize that I do have some people there that I care about and that seem to care about me.

You can easily overlook the tiny crocus just as I have overlooked those glimmers of beauty and hope in South Dakota. I am going to go back looking with fresh eyes for the beauty that might be there. I am almost anxious to return.