Avoiding Apathy

From the Farm:

AVOIDING APATHY

Published in the Casper Journal July 12, 2011

Life is easy right now. Most of the people I know have a car (more than one), a phone (more than one), a T.V. (more than one), they often take vacations (more than one) and even own a home (some have more than one). I don’t personally know anyone going hungry, and even friends of mine who’ve experienced a “downsizing” in their job status are still able to make ends meet and live comfortably. Some would call our current standard of living “the abundant life.” And it is very abundant. However, we must be very careful that the “abundant” life doesn’t become the “apathetic” life. July is a good time for a wake-up call.
My wake-up call came when my teenage son excitedly told me one day that he had seen a piece of the Berlin Wall. “It was behind glass,” he explained. “A real piece of the wall. Imagine that!” I waited for him to finish the story of his trip to the museum before I replied.
“Actually, I have a piece of the wall downstairs,” I told him. “You do?” He didn’t believe me. “And, you can touch it,” I added. As he eagerly followed me to the basement, I realized that I had never shared with him two important experiences of my youth.
Various circumstances took me to Germany twice as a teenager. The first time was in 1988, to visit Hans and Inge Wittke, scouting friends of my dad’s. They lived in Dusseldorf, and I stayed with them for a month while I practiced my Jr. High school German skills. As active German scouters, the Wittkes provided an opportunity for me to attend a German scout camp for two weeks. Hiking, bicycling and backpacking through the green fields and hills of West Germany is an experience I will never forget.
Just as sharp in my memory as the campfires, German scout songs and quaint German towns are, is the memory of a one day trip to the East German border. We climbed to a high castle, where we could look over barbed wire and “no man’s land” into East Germany. It was frightful to see people - actual people - on the other side. Later, we drove right up to the border and stopped at the sign that read, “Halt! Hier Grenze.” I could see the guard towers and the soldiers inside, and they could see me.
Coincidentally, I traveled to Germany exactly two summers later, as a 16-year-old, to spend a month with a German family in Nurnberg. The year was 1990. Just nine months earlier, the Iron Curtain had fallen. One week of the student exchange involved a trip to Berlin. We traveled by bus from Nurnberg, driving through the old East Germany.
After hours of grey houses, grey broken streets, and grey “Travies” (cars big enough to fit two people and a sack of potatoes) we finally reached the old West Berlin. Warm beds, orange juice (not available in the East) and colorful flower boxes were a welcome sight.
Our tour the next day took us to Checkpoint Charlie. It was now a museum, and we walked uninhibited from one side of the city to the other. The Berlin Wall had been cleared from the Brandenburger Tor, but the rest of the wall remained. The other students and I rented hammers and chisels from the street vendors, and chopped away pieces of the wall to take home as souvenirs. There was plenty of wall for everyone.
Viewing the East - and the grey poverty - first through barbed wire, and then from the other side, was another experience I will not soon forget.
But the Berlin Wall fell a long time ago. My children read about it in history books now. Visitors to Germany can no longer chip away their own souvenir wall piece, and the once grey East German houses are now filled with typical flowerboxes again. Will we forget the Iron Curtain? Will we become apathetic in our abundance? Have we perhaps even forgotten the American Revolution?
Abundance is all around us, but it could turn into apathy if we allow it to. July is a good time to remember; a good time to discuss freedom; a good time to teach children. I think I’ll bring up my piece of the Berlin Wall and use it as a centerpiece on our dining room table. We can look at it as we eat dinner and discuss our blessings and our freedoms: our two cars, our spacious house, our open lands, and our opportunities.
In fact, we’ll do more than look at the wall, I’ll let my children touch it and hold it. I hope it touches their souls like it touched mine. I want the wall and the experiences I share to stir in them a gratitude for the abundant life, a fire of freedom that will teach them to avoid apathy, so that their liberty is never placed behind glass and made a museum piece.

Wyoming For Me

From the Farm:

WYOMING FOR ME

Published in the Casper Journal June 25, 2011

I just made an executive decision ... I’m moving to San Diego. After two beautiful days of blue sky, warm weather, lovely beaches and indescribable flowers, I can’t resist. My husband and I traveled to San Diego for his business conference. While he was in meetings, I spent my time strolling paths by the bay, watching amazing ships, listening to the seagulls and drinking in the aroma of jasmine hedges lining the walks. While I’m not generally a fan of big, dirty cities, San Diego seemed clean and inviting. Friendly trolley car drivers explained points of interest as we drove through the streets. Smiling shopkeepers offered assistance as they sold everything from produce to Italian ice cream to tourist shirts. The Navy presence — everywhere in San Diego — was astounding and impressive.
Coronado Island was incredible. I visited it twice. The white, sandy beaches and the warm Pacific Ocean were tantalizing. Glittering flecks washed up with each wave (was it gold?) and the beach sparkled as far as I could see. The lovely island history — both Mexican and American — appealed to everyone. I didn’t bring home much in the way of souvenirs — just a few photos and a sunburn — but enough memories to draw me back someday. So lovely. So different from Wyoming. So impressive.
Various circumstances have taken us to many places in the past three months. Besides San Diego, we’ve also been to Denver, Chicago, Detroit, Salt Lake City and Omaha. Quite frankly, every city has impressive sites, and the people are friendly. America the Beautiful shines. On second thought, I could probably live anywhere in our great country and be happy.
But even with the beautiful places we saw, I was always glad to come home. Every city had its downfalls: gas prices, toll roads (who’s bright idea was that???), tornados, security checks and lots and lots of rain. When all is said and done, I’ll still take Wyoming. Nothing quite compares to our beautiful prairies, laid back communities and incredible wildlife, not to mention an affordable standard of living.
In just the past week, summer has come to our farm. Tiny corn, potato, onion, pea and bean shoots are poking through the ground. The irises are in full-bloom, and the aroma of lilacs wafts through the air. Hills all around are green, and our chickens are laying constantly. (We eat eggs every day!) We may not have hedges of jasmine or a deep blue bay to watch, but the overflowing North Platte River, just down the hill, is nearly as impressive! The ponds of Edness Kimball Wilkins State Park may not be the ocean, but my children still spend hours there, catching fish, swimming and playing on the sandy beaches. I also love the miles of open space and star-studded skies of Wyoming. Perhaps we aren’t moving to San Diego, after all.
It’s not quite July, but I’m already feeling patriotic. Poet Henry Van Dyke’s words (with my own, western twist) ring through my mind:
It’s home again, and home again, Wyoming for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars!

Moral Madness

From the Farm:

MORAL MADNESS

Published in the Casper Journal June 14, 2011

I’m sick of immorality. I don’t care if you’re rich, or famous, or even (especially!) if you’re a politician. Cheating on your spouse is dishonest and wrong, and it hurts others.
Recent newscasts (which I sometimes have to turn off if my children are listening) have shared stories of political leaders on each side of the aisle who act immorally and then spend money to cover it up. Incredible! How can we trust people to be true to their country if they can’t even be true to their spouse? If you’ve made a commitment, then keep it! No matter what your societal status is, if you can’t control yourself, you have no right to lead others. Did you never study Shakespeare? “This above all: to thine own self be true ...”
What is it about our society today that makes morality so old-fashioned? Why do we think we can break timeless laws without consequences? This nonchalant attitude, blatantly displayed by those in political power, is filtering down through the ranks until every part of our culture is affected. Henry David Thoreau said, “As if you could kill time without injury eternity.” I say, “As if you could kill chastity without injuring society.”
My husband and I have been married for 15 years. (I know, I know. That’s just the blink of an eye for some of you old-timers out there.) Despite the fact that our current lives allow less time alone then when we first courted (eight children constantly vie for our attention now), we’re happier today than when we were married. Somehow the passage of time deepens love, understanding and respect. I can only imagine that our next 15 years, and the 15 after that, and the 15 after that, will continue to improve our relationship.
A one-night fling can never afford the same satisfaction that long-term love brings. It’s the difference of opening packages on Christmas morning compared to the joy of giving a gift to one you love. It’s eating ice cream, compared to holding a newborn child. It’s the thrill of a Ferris wheel ride compared to an exhausting yet exhilarating mountain climb. Pleasure and joy are sisters, but one is much younger than the other.
As election rhetoric, debating and mud-slinging get underway, I care only about one thing: Are you a moral candidate? Really? Truly? Will your spouse second that? Can we trust you with your family, and with your most important relationships? Then no matter what side of the aisle you sit on, perhaps we can trust you with our country.
However, if you think immorality is in style then don’t even try to set a toenail on my ballot. You don’t deserve to be anywhere near the leadership of this nation. Despite worldly trends, we’re still “one nation under God,” and morality is at the top of His list. If you think double standards outside of marriage are “no big deal,” then go home to your private life and your dishonest ways. Stay out of the White House and off Capitol Hill. As a country that trusts in God, we need leaders we can trust. And that trust begins at home.

Traveling With 10

 From the Farm:

TRAVELING WITH 10

Published in the Casper Journal May 25, 2011

We found it at last ... the vehicle which five car salesmen said “didn’t exist,” an 11-passenger, all-wheel-drive van with doors on both sides. I saw it on the internet and called the dealership, in Indianapolis.
“Does that eight-passenger van have a third bench option ... to seat 11 people?”
“No ma’am,” the salesman responded. “Those vans don’t exist.”
“Well, if there’s any way to add a bench, call me back.” I hung up. Ten minutes later my phone rang.
“I just went out to look at the van and it already has 11 seats.” The salesman sounded a bit surprised.
“What about a passenger door on the driver’s side?”
“No ma’am.”
“Well, I’d still like to see some pictures,” I told him. Within a few minutes I had several photos in my inbox. I pulled up the first photo: three benches, 11 seats. I pulled up the second photo: AWD, printed on the back door. I pulled up the third photo and called the salesman back. “It looks like it does have an additional door.”
“Yes ma’am. It does.”
“DO NOT SELL THAT VAN TO ANYONE!” I nearly yelled into the phone.
“Where are you calling from?” he asked.
“Wyoming.”
There was a stunned silence before he asked, “And you want to purchase a vehicle in Indianapolis?”
“Have you ever tried buying an 11-passenger, all-wheel-drive van in Wyoming?” I questioned.
“Well, ma’am we can only hold it for 24 hours with a deposit.”
“It will take us 24 hours just to pack our family,” I said. “I’ll give you a deposit every day next week, but you can’t sell that van.” He transferred me to a manager, and the deal was made.
“It’s very red,” the kids said when they saw the pictures that night. “It’s an apple van,” my daughter piped up. “Remember, it’s from Indian-APPLE-is.”
“What should we say when people make fun of how big it is?” one son asked.
“Tell them people made fun of Noah’s ark, too, but it sure kept his family safe,” joked my husband.
And so, we planned our trip to the Midwest to pick up the van. Have you ever taken a long trip with 10 people? Clothes for 10, food for 10, backpacks for 10, entertainment for 10 ... what might any of these people need at any time during the next week? Coats for the cold, swimsuits for the sun, shoes or sandals, pajamas, underwear, socks, and a change of each, just in case.
We’ve traveled to the Midwest before, but this time we tried something new and took the train. Driving to Denver was the most stressful part ... almost as stressful as boarding the train. Each child had a coat, a backpack, a small bag and a blanket. In addition we had three car seats, a double stroller and a huge food cooler. A friendly conductor seated us near the front of the train, with lots of space.
Once the ride started, it was heavenly. No red lights, no traffic, no seatbelt signs, both parents free to help with kids. In addition, everyone had their own comfy seat. It reclined, it had a light, and the bathroom was available whenever anyone needed it. (No, Amtrak isn’t paying me to write this.) In addition, there were pillows for sleeping, foot rests and an observation car with huge windows.
The scenery was incredible. As we stared out the window at the green fields of Iowa my preschooler commented, “How about in Wyoming we stop planting yellow grass, and start planting green grass?!”
The travel seemed to take a fraction of the time, and we arrived rested and cheerful to pick up our van. There it was: big, red and all ours. We all climbed inside. All-wheel-drive? Check. Fifth door? Check. Eleven seatbelts? Wait ... there were actually twelve, an unexpected bonus! The van had other surprises as well, including a cool DVD player.
The ride home was as enjoyable as the train trip there. Everyone had their own comfy seat, plenty of foot space and big windows to watch the green fields go by. We left on the Amtrak and returned in the apple van. Traveling with 10? There’s nothing like it.

A Mother's Day

From the Farm:

A MOTHER'S DAY

Published in the Casper Journal May 10, 2011

Happy Mother’s Day! As a mother myself, I’m quite convinced that Mother’s Day wasn’t created by a mother. I’m equally as sure that the day can only truly be appreciated by mothers.
As the mother of eight children, my Mother’s Day begins early. “Clink, clank, crash ...” I hear sounds from the kitchen. Pretending I’m asleep, I listen to my children (and husband) whispering and scurrying around making breakfast. The slight aroma of burned toast reaches my nose, and I hear the kitchen window opened quickly for some fresh air.
Soon, their voices “wake” me up. “Happy Mother’s Day,” they sing. I pretend to sit up groggily and act completely surprised by their efforts. “Breakfast in bed? How nice! Wow! All of my favorite foods!” I do like lying in bed, and I do like eating breakfast, but combining the two can be a bit tricky, especially with eight little people sitting around me. They watch my every bite. “Is it good?” “Is this really your favorite breakfast?” And eventually, “Can I try some?” Soon, we’re sharing spoonfuls of the special meal all around, spilling a bit of juice, toast crumbs, and granola on the bedspread. Happy Mother’s Day.
“Guess what, Mama? Today you won’t need to do any work!” pipes my six-year-old. I smile as they clear the breakfast away. Yes, a lazy shower is enjoyable, but just as I get out I hear a wail from the baby room. No one can decide what the twins should wear, or quite how to tackle and dress them, and so I help. I go in to the kitchen and quietly wipe up counters and sweep the floor and then ... we’re late! (Only mothers ever look at the clock.) It’s into the car to leave for church.
On the way, everyone reassures me that the Mother’s Day program will be wonderful. “I can’t wait!” I smile. It’s nice to go to church on Mother’s Day, but somehow the program always turns out a bit differently than planned. My four-year-old refuses to sing, my eight-year-old is hidden on the stand behind a tall boy, and the twins are fussy during the music. Still, who can resist a group of children singing sweetly to their mothers? Happy Mother’s Day.
At home, everyone begs me to “put my feet up” in the living room while they make a special dinner. And so I lounge on the couch. As I turn the first page of my magazine, the fire alarm goes off. My husband, apron on, assures me that all is well and I hear more kitchen windows opened. Lots of discussion and busy noises come from the kitchen as the sound of shattering glass makes me jump. Never mind. I’m putting my feet up. But wait ... a diaper must be changed and everyone else is busy ... and so I fill in.
Soon I’m escorted into the kitchen. Gourmet food? Well, in the minds of eight children and one devoted dad, yes. Perfectly gourmet, despite the idiosyncrasies. And besides, I didn’t have to cook it. Happy Mother’s Day.
After dinner, it’s back into the living room for a special party. Starting with the youngest, I’m presented with an assortment of gifts wrapped in a variety of paper. Construction paper cards, homemade necklaces, photos in hand-painted frames, and lots and lots of coupons. “I’ll sweep the floor every day for a month!” “This coupon is good for a week of breakfast in bed!” (Oh goody!) “This coupon may be exchanged for as many hugs as you’d like.” “I’ll do all of my jobs without being asked.” Piecrust promises? Perhaps. But solid gold in a mother’s scrapbook. Happy Mother’s Day.
Speaking of pie, we gather on the lawn for pie and ice cream. Yes, it’s my favorite. Yes, I’m going to eat two pieces. Yes, Sara Lee or Marie Callender (whoever she was) made it to perfection.
Who invented Mother’s Day? It wasn’t a mother. We’re too busy cooking food, herding children and changing diapers to stop and celebrate. And it’s hard to commemorate a role we all feel so imperfect in. However, despite our perceived motherhood weaknesses, it’s certainly nice to be celebrated. And, we don’t require much. Singing, pie, children ... a perfect Mother’s Day.

Happy Holidays!

 From the Farm:

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Published in the Casper Journal April 26, 2011

Happy New Year! Happy Valentine’s Day! Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Happy Easter! At our house, we love holidays and celebrate them to the fullest. From green pancakes on St. Patrick’s Day, to egg hunts at Easter, we do it all.
Holidays in Wyoming are a bit different than in Las Vegas. Be it Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day or Easter, Vegas celebrates holidays with a bit of a twist.
The first clue I had that Vegas wasn’t “holiday happy” was when my son was in kindergarten. As my first school child, I was excited to celebrate the holidays in his classroom. A week before Halloween, we received a note from the teacher explaining the school would celebrate “Nevada Day” on Oct. 31 in memory of Nevada’s statehood. (Yes, Nevada became a state on Halloween.) Only western costumes were allowed. I swallowed my disappointment that he would have to save his official costume for trick-or-treating and helped him pick out a pair of chaps, western vest and a cowboy hat to wear to school. When we arrived, I expected to see cowboys and cowgirls milling around everywhere. Instead, all of the other boys were wearing sombreros! My son was the odd man out.
The next holiday was Thanksgiving. I recalled my own “Thanksgiving Feast” as a first-grader and anticipated helping out in the classroom with a festive meal. However, when the note from the teacher came home, the holiday was called a “harvest feast.” Yes, fall is definitely harvest time, so the teacher was politically correct. “What about the Thanksgiving feast of the pilgrims?” I wondered.
In December, I began to grow wary of school holidays. Sure enough, a note came home about a “Winter Concert.” At the concert we heard the children sing about Santa Claus and Rudolph, dreidels and Kwanzaa. At the end of the evening, the music director stood and invited us to sing “Silent Night,” as a standard American tradition. I breathed a sigh of relief. There was a touch of Christmas in the concert.
When February rolled around, we learned all about Black History Month, with barely a mention of Presidents Lincoln or Washington. On Feb. 14, the children were invited to exchange “friendship cards.” No, I’m not Catholic. I don’t know much about St. Valentine, but our family certainly celebrates Valentine’s Day. At home that night we decorated our sugar cookies and exchanged pink hearts.
In April, another note invited the children to bring filled, plastic eggs for the “Dinosaur Hunt.” I must admit, I’ve never seen a real, live Easter Bunny. But then again, aside from bones in a museum, I’ve never seen a dinosaur either.
Yes, I’m glad to be in Wyoming. Our family celebrates Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, President’s Day, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day and Easter. We do all of them whole-heartedly. We dress up. We cook special food. We hang decorations. All of the holidays didn’t stem from our personal religious beliefs, but they’re American, and we are, too.
When I lived in Japan, I wore a yukata in August and enjoyed the Obon parades. I watched families set lights on the water in memory of their dead. Over New Year’s I ate mochi and gathered with friends at the temples to observe. I’m not Buddhist, but I enjoyed the celebration. It was Japan!
This is America, and some celebrations are just American. I don’t mind adding holidays to represent a variety of nationalities, but let’s not forget some of our original customs. Besides, traditions provide comfort and stability to children. I don’t want that comfort watered down.
So, if you see me on the street some time, I may just say, “Happy President’s Day!”, “Happy St. Patrick’s Day!”, “Happy Easter.” No political correctness here. We celebrate as often as we can. Can I say it again? Glad to be in Wyoming, proud to be an American.

Money Matters

From the Farm:

MONEY MATTERS

Published in the Casper Journal April 12, 2011

I had an argument with my husband last week. It was about our family budget. He wanted to cut spending. I wanted to expand it. He thought we should spend less on oatmeal. I wanted to spend more on paper plates. He threatened to shut down our family. I threatened to stop making meals. We held a conference behind closed doors. The kids waited outside, breathlessly. Finally, we exited the room with an agreement in hand.
“Well,” my husband began, “instead of cutting out oatmeal, we’re just reducing to once a week.”
“And,” I added, “we’ll now be using paper plates every weekend.” The kids cheered. The compromise was accepted and signed into law.
Really? No. Although I do fix more oatmeal than my husband cares for, and we all wish we could use paper plates every day, I doubt that either issue would shut down our family. Besides, how do you shut down a family? No matter what disagreements are had, people need to eat, sleep and be clothed. I’d suggest that the government act a little more like family.
Does money matter? Of course it does. However, money may not matter as much as some people think. I remember when we were expecting our sixth child, one well-meaning friend asked, “But how will you afford another baby?” Others questioned, “What does your husband do for a living?” For some people, “children” is synonymous with “money.”
I’ll be the first to admit, children do cost money. It takes resources to keep 10 people going. We often subsist on hand-me-down clothes, second hand furniture and large doses of homemade bread. However, I don’t believe we’re any worse for the wear. Daily entertainment involves playing outside or with siblings, while the X-Box doesn’t exist in our house. All of our babies have slept comfortably in the same wooden cradle (the one I slept in) and shared many of the same blankets and sleepers. Birthdays are simple, with lots of cake and singing, and a few memorable gifts. Weekends are rarely spent at the roller rink, but at the nearby park or building a fort in the back yard.
Yet, despite our lack of “worldly goods,” we’re all rather happy. In fact, I’d say that our happiness comes in large part from our simple lifestyle. Singing together while washing a stack of dishes, a good family swim and a side-splitting game of charades are memories likely to last a long time.
As you can imagine, anyone with eight children qualifies for every government program under the sun (unless, of course, you’re a millionaire.) Still, I was raised old-fashioned and taught to do without government handouts. Our family chooses liberty over dependence. We don’t mind eating beans for a few meals at the end of a month.
I also appreciate the work ethic my children are learning. When my son went to the National Scout Jamboree, he sold popcorn and did odd jobs for nearly two years to pay his way. My daughter bakes homemade bread to finance her violin lessons.
I’m certainly not opposed to money. I love quoting Mark Twain who said, “I despise people who have money, but it would be dangerous to offer me the position.” I wouldn’t mind a little extra cash to take a trip to Disneyland or go out to eat on nights I don’t feel like cooking. Sometimes I’d rather purchase name-brand clothes at the store, instead of saving hand-me-downs. These things would be nice, but would we be any happier? I doubt it.
Money can buy convenience, but it doesn’t buy happiness. Wasn’t that what the Revolutionary War was all about? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Those opportunities are priceless and cost little.
Then listen up, folks in Washington. We depend on you to ensure our rights. Leave the other details up to us. We can choose our own financial compromises along our pursuit to happiness. It’s time to get in, get out and get on with it. I’m sure most people would agree. Our family would.