Category Archives: Family

The Johnson/Olson Clan

Summer                                                      Most Heat Moon

The deck continues. Ruth’s out building a house using found materials while her Dad drives screws into cedar decking. Kate’s asleep for her nap, but I’m awake, an hour or two shy of a full night’s sleep. Kate’s sister Anne is out pruning the crab apple tree. This Johnson/Olson clan loves working. Or, at least, they work a lot.

Jon kvetches about the heat and the humidity and how Denver is better. But I reminded him of the 107 degree days I’ve experienced out there in August and early September. Oh, yeah. Well, it gets hot some. A dry 107 degree heat will cook a chicken, too.

Meanwhile, I’m downstairs, my head in Ovid, wrestling with declensions and conjugations rather than electric drills and Japanese saws. To each their own.

 

New Entertainment

Summer                                                   Most Heat Moon

Kate and I have a new screen related entertainment: looking at photographs of properties in Colorado. As we’ve winnowed our search criteria, a surprising one recommended by Jon, has popped up. Live around 8,000 feet. I may have mentioned that here before. It knocks the top off the high temperatures. With my hyper-Norwegian wife that sounds ideal.

He did point out gardening can be tougher at altitude because sudden snow storms can pop up late into the summer months. I’ve begun considering rolling hoops over the garden beds to protect plants from sudden temperature change and from the more potent sun in mid-summer. They will probably prove necessary there. Cold frames, too, perhaps.

I asked Ruth, if she could live wherever she wanted in Colorado, where would it be? She had a quick answer. “Close to A-basin.” A-basin is the skiing area associated with the Arapaho Basin. So, we’re looking at homes in the Idaho Springs, Georgetown, Clear Creek County area, too. This way Jon and Ruth could drive up on an evening before the morning rush on Saturday, stay overnight with us, then leave at a reasonable hour to ski. A possibility.

It’s interesting how having them here has pushed the move more into the foreground of our lives. It’s been a background for so much of what we’ve done this last couple of months, but the end result has seemed far away. With Jon and Ruth’s presence we can feel what having them around more would be like.

Fireworks at home

Summer                                                            Most Heat Moon

Turns out old fireworks, kept dry, work just fine. We sent up fountains and pyramids and sparklers and butterflies. It was a magnesium fueled fun fest made safe by the wettest June ever.

Ruth had a couple of good interchanges. When her Dad told her she knew so much he wouldn’t have to tell her anything, she said, “Dad, just because I know things doesn’t meant that’s bad.”  uh, hmmm.

Then, when a particular firework did something dangerous, she said, “Oh, it’s more fun when they’re dangerous.” Every parents’ dream sentence from an 8 year old daughter.

The firepit got a good workout tonight. The dogs stayed up late and we all had a great time. Food from Famous Dave’s, a barbecue feast for four. Gunpowder thanks to the Chinese a really long time ago.

 

Light

Summer                                                               Most Heat Moon

Under what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Jon’s recent brush with pulmonary 205370_10150977727553020_150695969_nhypertension pushed him into dark territory and he came out from his excursion with some light. First, he said, he was ok with dying, mostly he was sad about leaving the kids behind. It frightened him, too, but not in a paralyzing way. The unknown has its terrifying side and he looked into that, realized its inevitability and said, all right. That’s seeing the face of life’s most troublesome enigma and smiling back at it.

Too, he said, he thought about what he might change if his life had a shorter horizon than he imagined. His answer? Nothing. His Colorado life, one created by his love of skiing, now includes his family, his home and his teaching. He’s been at the same school for 15 years and has just completed renovating his home.    He did the finishing work almost completely, from plumbing and tiling to building cabinet tops and a dining room table. It’s a good thing to learn at mid-life, that the way you are in the world is the way you want to be in the world. Not everyone can say that.

 

Ruth

Summer                                                                    Most Heat Moon

Sitting on the couch tonight, I had a conversation with Ruth. She helped her dad with the 2011 01 09_1223deck today, so I said, “You could be a carpenter.” She said, “I could.” Paused. “But I want to be a scientist. Or a science teacher.” “In elementary or college or?” “College.” she said with a definitive tone.

We talked about Benjamin Franklin and the Franklin stove, Davinci and his ornithopter, Edison and the phonograph and the light bulb. She studied inventions by famous inventors in a program called GEMS, Girls Excelling in Math and Science. This is an hour and a half after school, two nights a week. She loved it.

Ruth is fresh and eager, a learner already excited, seeking. 8 years old. What a privilege to share her life.

A Naked Deck

Summer                                                          Most Heat Moon

Jon and his friend, Max, worked together years ago as the “monkey boys” of Dave Schlegel’s house renovation crew. They did this and that, both learning a lot about how to do various necessary household work. Today they’re putting those skills to work replacing our deck surface and a fence. Right now the deck is naked, wearing only its braces under the hot July sun.

Gertie wanted to go out, so I let her outside through the garage and into the orchard. But when it came time for her to come back in she crawled between two braces and followed the space between them to the back door where she leaped up and came in the kitchen. She wasn’t going to let a few missing boards get in the way of her usual route back inside.

This is a wonderful gift they’re giving us.

Great news. Good news. Not so good news.

Summer                                                               Most Heat Moon

The good, no, great news. Jon’s heart is fine. No pulmonary hypertension. An electrocardiogram.

The good news. Jon and Ruth are here for the weekend while Jon resurfaces our deck and puts up a new fence between the deck and the perennial garden.

The not so good news. July 4th is a nightmare of astraphobic dogs and their owners. Us, for example. Plus tonight we also added two new humans to the mix. So Kepler, the Akita, usually calm and quiet, barked and barked. Then Gertie barks. When we put the dogs in their crates, both Gertie and Vega, calm methodical Vega, broke out of their crates, something neither one ever does, never even tries to do. This was during the fireworks part of the evening.

So things are, as Elvis used to say, all shook up. Hopefully by tomorrow they’ll calm down. Of course, Jon will be working on the deck, which is the main way the dogs get in and out of the house. Ah, maybe Sunday or Monday?

Domestic Courage

Summer                                                         Most Heat Moon

Sexism rides through the institutions of our culture: through church and corporation, through the military and onto the athletic field, through higher education and elementary, too. Take medicine for a contemporary example. Since the days of NOW and conscious raising, many, many women have become doctors. According to a recent survey there are approximately 234,000 women physicians compared to 535,000 men. (kaiser fdtn.)

Those 234,000 women are disproportionately in the lower paying medical disciplines though not dominant in any of those either. Pediatrics is the sole exception with women making up 55% of all pediatricians in 2008.  But. They earned 66% what male pediatricians did. (Center for research into gender and the professions.) This link gives more detailed analysis.

Continued activism by feminists (male and female) in the workplace will be necessary for years, perhaps generations, to come.

Personal bravery, I called it domestic courage in a eulogy for Ione, a working woman who raised three daughters on her own, working evenings as a bookkeeper, is necessary though when the political gets personal.  When the issue is culturally determined sex roles, then the political comes home. It has to because there is no social nexus more culturally determined by gender than marriage and family.

Kate is an example of domestic courage and institutional courage. Here are three instances. In high school in Nevada, Iowa during the early 1960’s, Kate did outstanding academic work. This would not surprise anyone who knows her. In time long before advanced placement classes, the International Baccalaureate degree or any other now common place for accelerating advanced students, she asked to graduate in her junior year and then attend nearby Iowa State. Her request, though unusual, was granted. Until it came time to make it happen. Then the school went back on its word.

It’s difficult to imagine in our current educational reality, how much courage it must have taken for a young, beautiful girl to pass up cheer leading and the prom to push for an education that met her intellectual talents. That her attempt failed is neither surprising nor a reflection on the domestic courage it took for her to put herself forward. (I say domestic courage here because of the enmeshed nature of small towns with their elementary and secondary educational systems, an enmeshment I know only too well from my own experiences in Alexandria, Indiana.)

Becoming a physician, after first overcoming sexist objections to her becoming a nurse anesthetist, (a telling picture of her class at Mt. Sinai shows her with seven men), she applied to medical school over the objection of her then husband. The admissions personnel at the medical school told Kate that since she had a physician for a husband what was the point to her ambitions? They slapped a good deal of preliminary work on her, which she did, then accepted her reapplication.

The domestic courage in this instance involved persisting in her own ambitions, in spite of being a young mother and in a demanding marriage. She got through this by studying in the morning, early, before Jon and David got up.

Then, once in medicine, Kate continued her fight against sexist restrictions and organizational assumptions.  The clearest of these was her insistence that low income working women couldn’t afford to take time away during the day for a doctor’s appointment. The Coon Rapids Allina Clinic needed to offer appointments after traditional daytime hours.

When the resistance became obdurate, Kate volunteered to do it herself, which she did for several years until the Clinic decided to open an after hours clinic.

Now, as a grandmother, Kate feels (and I do, too.) a necessity to pass on this kind of consciousness to our grand-daughter Ruth. Sexism will not be eliminated by the time Ruth hits college or the work place. She needs an understanding of her own power and her right to her own path. We can help ensure she gets that.

 

 

 

 

A Dull, Gray Day

Summer                                                           New (Most Heat) Moon

It is what my Aunt Roberta would have called a dull, grey day. For my Aunt Roberta, Aunt Barbara and Aunt Marjorie most days were dull and grey. All three had a bipolar diagnosis. Aunt Barbara remained hospitalized for most of her life. Aunt Roberta was in and out of the state hospital as she got older and after her divorce from Uncle Ray. Aunt Marjorie starved herself to death after a career as a dietitian and a life long reputation as the family’s best cook by far.

(where the grocery store used to be in Aunt Roberta’s tiny community of Arlington, Indiana)

This is the set up for my vasectomy story which I’ve recounted briefly here before. It was 1973 and the feminist movement had begun to flow through academic institutions like the wave at a baseball game. When it hit United Theological Seminary, where I was a second year student, I was already committed to women’s liberation. (And, yes, I know I still carry my sexist upbringing with me and make my slips.)

This was also before I went through treatment at Hazelden’s outpatient program so drinking was still part of my life, as were the exaggerated mood changes that go with it. As a result, I wondered then about my own sanity, though after treatment it was clear the mood changes were chemically enhanced.

Being sexually active (this was still the 60’s culturally) and aware of the imbalance between women’s responsibility for contraception and men’s tendency to exploit it, I began to consider a vasectomy.

What made the decision sensible to me, even though 26, single and childless, was the history of bipolar illness in my mother’s family. I saw then and see in the same way now no need to pass those kind of genes along in the collective pool. Neither did I have then nor do I have now any need to reproduce my self, the selfish gene be damned. It was then that I committed myself to adoption if I ever wanted a family, though having a family felt unlikely at the time.

My decision was made without consulting any one else. It was my responsibility and I would see to it. A clinic on Rice Street in St. Paul found time on their schedule and I went in around 4 o’clock on a spring afternoon. The procedure is simple and was so in my case save for too little anesthetic as we began. Which a quick indrawn breath and a wince remedied.

Since that time 41 years ago, I have been functionally infertile. I’ve never regretted the decision though I did try to have it reversed in my mid-30’s. My second wife wanted a child of her own. The reversal failed and we reverted to the adoption plan which had been my preference since 1973.

(I put this in for our dogs.)

It’s not something I think about very often though it does come up. It surfaces usually when I recall the agony of my three aunts, how much I cared about them and how little the family’s love could do to quiet their inner life.

 

A House With A History

Summer                                                         Summer Moon

IMAG0531Why not write a history of this spot, this hectare? An ecological history. It can start with the glaciations, consider the flora and fauna since then, focusing in more tightly once the first nations began to arrive, then even more tightly as Minnesota began to emerge.

Another starting spot would be today, or from Kate and mine’s presence here. How we decided to be here, why. Go over decisions we made early on like hiring a landscape designer at the beginning. Recount our twenty years, the good decisions and the bad ones, the easy ones and the hard ones. The other historical and geological material could be worked in as backstory.

It would be good for people to view an average approach to the land, one which changed over time (though its roots were indeed in the back to the land movement) and which took advantage not of a particular approach, but of many. An approach that is dynamic, 06 27 10_beekeeperastronautchanging with new knowledge, the seasons, aging, new plants and new desire.

The flavor of “Return of the Secaucus 7” with some Scott and Helen Nearing, Wes Jackson and Wendell Berry thrown in, too. Ah, perhaps it could be a sort of third phase update of the movement years, an upper middle class idyll moving against the grain of upper middle class lifestyles.

Not sure whether to pursue this or not, but it could be interesting. Might even help sell the house. A house with a history.

A structure based on the Great Wheel might be interesting.