Vision

Beltane                                                          Emergence Moon

When Kate was in high school, she was ready to graduate a year ahead of time. She had gotten agreement that she would take classes at nearby Iowa State. Then the school backed out of the agreement.

When she applied to medical school, she was told that her husband was already a doctor. Why did she want to be a doctor, too? She went anyway, studying in the early morning hours, so she could continue to be a wife and mother.

When she was the lead physician among pediatricians at the Allina Coon Rapids Clinic, she saw the need for evening hours, for pediatricians and family practice doctors working closely together. She saw the speed-ups underway with scheduling crowding appointment times and doctor visits measured by demeanor rather than medical results. She got angst and a bad back for her efforts.

She is a woman of vision, able to see, as the old testament prophets did, ahead. She was born just a few years before she could have been heard more clearly, yet she now has the satisfaction of looking back and being affirmed that her seeing was clear. I’m proud to be the husband of a woman who can see the horizon. And beyond.

Allowed?

Beltane                                                                Emergence Moon

Kate and I drove on a blue highway, Minnesota Highway #10, from near our home here in Andover to Detroit Lakes, then, after the wedding turned around and drove back. Along the way, when I mentioned my driving “to get there a little faster,” Kate surprised me by saying, “Well, I’ve only recently been allowed to drive when we’re together.”

Allowed? This stubborn Norwegian woman, whose eyes have seen far ahead all of her life, further than life could take her, most of the time, felt the need to be allowed? That set me back and I knew it was true. As she’d pointed out a couple of years ago, I always drove. Never any question about it. And, as with most deep seated discriminatory impulses, her driving had never crossed my mind.

She drove to Denver a couple of years ago and reported that her back felt much better than when she rode. I said, “Well, you should drive then.” Guess that’s when she was allowed. This is not an easy thing for me to admit, since I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to eliminate discrimination, especially sexism and racism, in the institutions in which I’ve worked and the communities in which I’ve lived. But there it was, staring back at me from the driver’s seat.

I’ve gotten use to the passenger’s seat over the last year and a half or so. It was a transition and one I’m glad I’ve made. I can see more, enjoy the trips more. Shows you what you miss when you drive with blinders on.