Category Archives: Family

Blest Be The Tie That Binds

Spring                New Moon  (seed moon)

The notion of legacy, Frank’s question from last Woolly meeting, has rolled over one more time in my thought.  While resuming watching the Mahabarata, Time (the narrator of this long epic) comments on family as a garland.  A family is like a garland, made of individual flowers, but joined by a common thread.  The thread, he says, should be invisible, and the flowers’ scents and colors, though distinct, must not clash.

It made me think of the thread in our family, rather than the individual flowers.  In the West we spend so much time growing, cultivating, nourishing the flowers we often forget about, neglect the thread.  In Chinese culture the family name comes first, then the given name.  I mentioned a woman I called Ming Miao to a Chinese acquaintance who thought a moment, then said, “Oh, Miao Ming!”  This difference is not subtle, it lies in the way we name ourselves.

To complicate matters even more the thread has become a cord in our  3rd millennial realm of shifting family ties, divorce, single parents and adoption.  Perhaps the musical metaphor would serve better here, individual family members as notes and the link between them all a Wagnerian leitmotif.

This section of the Mahabarata has made me wonder about spending time nourishing the thread, the cord, the leitmotif.  I’m not sure I even know where to begin.  Two ideas pushed themselves forward at once.  The first, stimulated by Roy Wolf, the host of our sheepshead game, involves regular communication in writing with grandchildren.  He writes each grandchild a letter once a week.

The second came forward from another prod in the Mahabarata.  The sage has a key role at this point in Indian history, especially in his role as teacher and as an advisor to kings and princes.  In commenting on the purpose of the sage Dronacharya noted that learning alone has no purpose; learning must be shared.  “The river,” he said, “cannot fit in one vessel.”

One of the links in my family, from both the Ellis and Keaton side, is a long tradition of teachers.  My grandmother Ellis was a teacher.  My mother was a teacher.  Many of my cousins on both sides are teachers as are my brother and sister.  Jon and Jen are both teachers.  The teaching occurs at all levels from elementary school through graduate school, but teachers have a major presence in all my family links including Jon and Jen.

There is, too, the art of taking in knowledge and passing it on through different forms of vocational practice:  medicine, military, clergy.  That too is a mark of my family.  These three are the oldest and in some person’s definitions, the only, professions.  Professing and sustaining the traditions of medicine, warrior and person of faith also teach, but outside of the educational establishment.

OK.  Let’s say that teaching or transfer of knowledge is somehow the link, or at least a strong part of the link.  Now what? Don’t know right now, but this seems important to  me.

Kate

Spring       New Moon (Seed Moon)

This year’s vegetable garden, part of it anyhow, continues to grow under the lights.  We’re still eating onions and garlic from last year’s crop and this year we plan to have even more stored food.  Of course, we’ve had  canned tomatoes, cucumbers, relish and jelly for several years.  Kate’s got the Iowa farm kitchen thing goin’ on.

Speaking of Kate, she got her first commission for a quilt this week.  A woman liked her work on a memorial quilt for a four-year old who died suddenly and asked her if she would make a quilt for her daughter commemorating her soft ball team.  She’s apparently played with these same girls since junior high or so.  Kate’s got a big heart and she’s done two quilts recently, the memorial quilt and a quilt for a colleague with multiple myeloma that involved many, many hearts signed by his friends and patients that show it.

She’s a crafty lady. Kate makes shirts, dresses, bags from felt and cloth, cans, cooks like a gourmet and is a mean hand with a trowel.  Not to mention that medical thing.

The dogs have begun to lobby for lunch.  I’m gonna feed them and then go the grocery store myself.

Family and Friends, All of It

Spring          New Moon

“A person writing at night may put out the lamp, but the words he has written will remain. It is the same with the destiny we create for ourselves in this world.” — Shakyamuni

Paul Strickland and I sat at the Origami eating noodles and sushi.  We muttered about the AIG bonuses, parsed some recent appearances by Obama and then veered into the realm of faith.  Paul remains a committed Christian and I have long since fallen away.

“I miss the assurance and comfort faith gave me,” I admitted to Paul, “but it’s a bell I can’t unring.”  He looked at me with a trace of doubt about how to proceed.  Such admissions tempt the faithful to evangelize, but Paul steered a path away from temptation.  He refers to God as the Great Spirit, a nod, I imagine, to his Cherokee heritage.

We went on to the nature of time.  He commented on the strange notion of simultaneity, which apparently he and I both embrace.  That is, everything that ever happened and will happen are, at each moment, all in existence.  This odd idea proceeds for me from the notion of conservation, nothing is ever lost, matter and energy constantly in transition from one state to another, but never exhausted.

There was other stuff, too, but in the end we got up, two older men, baby boomers approaching retirement age, and commented on the way out of this Japanese restaurant that family and friends, that was it, all of it.


The Acid and Whitehead Days

Imbolc     Waxing Moon of Winds

A week of constant preparation, meetings, thought has come to a close.  Tomorrow Kate and I will celebrate our 19th anniversary.  We’ll have dinner at Osaka, then drive into Orchestra Hall to hear the Wynton Marsalis Jazz Band interpret Theolonius Monk.

Back in those days, the acid and Whitehead days, a group of us went to Cincinnati for the Cincinnati Jazz Festival.   Herbie Mann.  Thelonius Monk.  John Coltrane.  We stayed on Mt. Adams where the streets have names like Celestial Avenue, Paradise Lane, Seraphim Street.  We smoked a lot of dope and drank in the jazz.  Since then, I have considered those artists the main line to my soul, especially Coltrane.

Bed Time.  Good night.

A Pain

Winter             Waxing Wild Moon

Kate’s neck has begun to hurt again.  I hope it doesn’t mean the nerve root block has lost its potency, but it might.  Where we go after that we don’t know right now.

Errands and business meeting in the AM.  Nap and Sierra Club research in the PM.  Workout, then a bit of TV.  Now, off to bed.

A Source of Mutual Creativity and Emotional Support

15  steep rise 30.31  NNW2  windchill 14  Winter

Waxing Gibbous Wolf Moon

Kate has responded well to the injections.  She is pain free and giddy about it right now.  She bought me supper at Canyon Grille tonight.  A nice place and good to be out with her.   We reaffirmed our love for each other and the joy we have in our relationship, a source of mutual creativity and emotional support.   This pain has been constant since early November so it is difficult to overstate the relief she feels.

That was the high point of the day.

Finished The Given Day by Dennis Lehane yesterday and began White Tiger, a book recommended by Woollies Charlie Haislet and Paul Strickland.  A good read for those of you in Southeast Asia.  An Indian entrepreneur communicates his life story to the premier of China via e-mail.

Much to do tomorrow, then preaching on Sunday.  We’ll see how Homecomer goes over.

Winter Happy

7  rises 29.48  WNW2  wchill 5  Winter light snow

Waxing Gibbous Wolf Moon

The seeds for the 2009 vegetable garden sit on my desk beside me in piles according to growth habit:  viny, climbing, bushy, root or leafy.  When I get the chance, they’ll go in my homemade database with pertinent data and places to record germination, first bloom, first fruit and eventual production.  I’ve gardened for years, but never taken this much care.  Why now?  Not sure.

Kate’s off to see the physiatrist in Elk River.  I hope he suggests some things that help her. She’s going to stop by Cottage Quilts on the way home.

I’m off to the cities this morning to count ballots for the ex-com and see Michelle.  Michelle liked my first draft of the legislative updates, so it will go out Sunday evening.   Many more to follow.

A light snow this morning, enough to make the outdoors beautiful and wintry.  This kind of winter makes me happy.

At 50, What Next?

3  bar steep drop 30.16  0mph  NE  windchill 3  Samhain

Waning Gibbous Moon of Long Nights

My brother Mark asked me my thoughts on turning 50.  This April 11th he has his 50th.  By then it will be, as it always is, twelve years since I had that birthday.

Twelve years ago is a long time and when I first started to answer Carl Jung came up.  He should have, but not in the positive way I had in mind.  I began that piece by reflecting on Jung’s notion of life’s  two halves:  an external, career and family half followed by an interior, reflective and calmer half.  Hmmm.  But that was the upbeat spin.

How Jung came into my turning 50 is less philosophical.  In 1996 I shifted my credentials from the Presybterian church to the Unitarian-Universalist.  In 1997, my 50th year, I had to take an internship to qualify for recognition.  I did.  Unity Church Unitarian (no relation to the Unity movement) in St. Paul and First Unitarian in Minneapolis both offered me internships.

It felt good to be wanted in a professional capacity again.  I had given myself 5 years to make it as a writer (with no real idea what making it meant) and I failed.  No sales.  Not even any bites.  Instead of the romantic I’ll stick with it no matter what I decided to go back to the trade I had learned.  I felt a need to earn money and to have recognition as a skilled and valuable person.

This whole episode was a mistake and a big one.  I crowned it with accepting a position as minister of development at Unity, essentially a fund-raising position.  I hate fund-raising and everything associated with it.  But I said yes because I was asked.  Pretty desparate.

That was how Jung came in.  Early on I could see I’d made a mistake but I needed to understand why.  What did it mean?  My long time analyst John Desteian, a Jungian, and I worked on it.  In the end we decided I had regressed, rather than moved forward.  I had regressed by returning to safe territory.  John said that most regressions occur because we have to go back and pick up something we needed.  In this case I needed to be reminded how much I’d wanted out of the ministry six years before and why full time ministry was a bad fit for me.

It felt wonderful to leave after the fund-raising goal had been met, an increase of 10% over the prior year.  I did it, but I did not want to do it again.

I came home and save for one brief relapse when we needed money I learned my lesson.

What was the lesson?  That the world of work and achievement had come and gone in my life.  Now I needed to pursue life itself.  That did include writing, whether I sold anything or not.  I have not.  It meant I needed to face life as myself, not as a role or job holder.

So, Mark, turning 50 for me meant a need to go back and relearn a lesson I had not grasped completely the first time around.  I don’t know what turning 50 will mean for you.  Perhaps reflecting on the expat life?  Perhaps following some abandoned or long cherised dream?  Maybe you’ll tell the story of South East Asia as only someone of your particular experience can.  Who knows?  I can tell you this.  Pay attention to what happens around this time because it has deep meaning for the rest of your life.

I’m Tired and I’m Glad to Be Home

1  bar steep fall 30.29  3mph  NE  windchill -1   Samhain

Waning Gibbous Moon of Full Nights

Car news.  Not as bad as I thought, apparently, but the folks can’t assess it well until tomorrow.  Needs a new tire for a test drive.

Got the MIA early.  Kate took me and then went on to the dentist.  I spent a good bit of time with the print collection show then wandered upstairs and sat in the Japanese galleries for a bit.  In the Minnesota Artist’s gallery I tried to connect with both artist’s work, but the level of contrivance seemed high and the level of meaning low.

My tour group was special ed kids.  I thought they would be developmentally delayed, but the issues were something else.  Couldn’t identify them myself.  Their attention was shorter and their ability to abstract very limited.

Drive home in snow and cold.  Still achy from the long day and two hour tour of the Russian Museum show yesterday.

Nap time.

A Magical Effect

26  bar steep fall 29.56  0mph NE  windchill 26   Samhain

First Quarter Moon of Long Nights       Day  8hr 53m

At last snow has begun to fall.  Already we must have gotten an inch or so and it may well snow through the night.  I have the patio light on so I can watch it fall.  The reindeer, lit with white l.e.d. lights, turns its head back and forth, its wire frame body now sketched in fluffy snow.  The lit holly and berries on the patio table also have snow cover, the lights blinking up through small mounds of white.  We only have lights in the back and few at that.   They do a touch of whimsy to the long winter nights.

A gentle snow has a magical effect on the heart as well as the landscape.  It is one of mother nature’s outright expressions of joy.

Tomorrow I have agreed to go to a workshop on dismantling racism as I wrote earlier.   When I was in seminary, I participated in anti-racism training seminars run by James and Mary Tillman.  I even traveled to Atlanta and went a weekend long seminar with students from Morehouse University, one of the south’s premier black colleges.  With Wilson Yates, a professor of sociology at United Theological Seminary, we created an anti-racism training kit complete with videos for rural congregations.  At one point I worked with a professional program evaluation company, Rainbow, and evaluated the work of the James and Mary Tillman programs in various institutions.

Institutional racism and the unearned advantage of being white and male have been part of my political analysis ever since.  That first round of work was now over thirty years in the past.  It is a testimony to the intransigence and institutional nature of racism that now another generation has taken up the fight.

Part of me does not look forward to a long day on a difficult and unpleasant subject while another part of me is eager to get back to practical, political work on the issue.  We’ll see how it goes.

Kate’s neck bothers her today.  She has improved a lot in the last three weeks, but she has quite a ways to go before she can go back to her full time work schedule.