Tonight I discovered something about myself that should have been pretty obvious: The fact that our family has donuts for breakfast each Saturday is more than a treat for me. It’s an emotionally comforting ritual with deep roots.
In college, during Mark’s and my stint as singing waiters, Saturday mornings were our time to rehearse the music for our weekend dinner shows. Larry Kussatz, the owner of Carver’s Restaurant and our music director, would always have fresh pots of coffee and platters of donuts ready for us at 9 a.m. We each had our favorite selections – donuts and songs – and we each counted on this weekly ritual, just as we counted on each other to fill in the melody or harmony of our particular vocal part.
As Mark and I reconnected tonight with Pamela Cross Samuels, one of a select few who knows what it felt like to be a Carver’s Singer, I found myself grateful for the comfort my Saturday donut continues to bring me each week. I also found myself hoping that Pam has something similar to comfort her at the end of weeks when she might feel at bit overwhelmed at times.
In the years since we entertained diners at Carver’s (Craig Bennett being such a patron), we’ve all experienced some fairly daunting life detours. The most dramatic part of Mark’s and my detour story is connected to Stross’ birth, as recounted in Involuntary Joy. Yet Pam’s and Craig’s lives have also been defined by moments that are equally as book-worthy.
For instance, HIV has detoured Craig’s life plans while leukemia has detoured Pam’s. Her diagnosis came six months after losing her mother to cancer and seven years after becoming a single mother. Yet it’s clear that Pam refuses to have her life defined by chronic myelogenous leukemia (CML), single-parenthood or life without her mother. As we lingered tonight – laughing over who we were back then and how we lived out our more naïve existences – we affirmed the rhythm of life and the transcendent power of love. We helped transport each other to happier times, silently acknowledging a fierce, if unspoken, love for one another along with an inability to fully recognize that love for what it is.
Tonight we affirmed there is nothing that can diminish the power of life itself. Not physical and intellectual disabilities, not HIV, not singleness, not single parenthood, not the loss of a parent, not the loss of a job - not even chronic myelogenous leukemia.
And certainly, if we ever experience a week when we begin to feel diminished or overwhelmed, we can count on the revival that Saturday morning donuts and a fresh pot of coffee might bring. Emotional comfort with deep roots. “What would I do without my music? What would I do without my song? What would I do without my music, to pick me up when everything seems wrong?”
Love to you, Pam. Thanks for the memories. And, thanks to you, too, Craig! Let’s do it again. Soon. Life’s way too short. (Don’t we know it!)
It was late in the spring of 2000, and I was angry. I didn’t know that I was angry though. Not until Mark uttered these words a second time: “Is that what you want?”
I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. His repeated question hung for a space of time that allowed me to live through the experiences that had gotten me to that particular moment – the way someone’s life flashes before them when threatened.
Did I feel threatened? Mark had – quite possibly – offered me exactly what I wanted and even needed. I had simply to respond: “yes” or “no.”
His question came after I blasted into the video editing bay where he was working on a project for Waldorf College in order to harangue him. It was a long diatribe. Something about the college (who happened to be his employer and our primary source of income) and how we had tied ourselves to a place that had announced a little more than a year earlier that it faced dire financial circumstances. I also included some fierce sounding accusations about how he spent an exorbitant amount of time at the college and that it didn’t seem to be appreciated. The entire episode was tinged with overtones that said I was tired of being the go-to person on certain matters related to our sons’ care.
Only seven years previous, we had chosen this life arrangement: Mark becoming our family’s primary breadwinner rather than me continuing in that role. Me becoming our children’s primary care provider, and our family living in a city with a population that represented 2 percent of our previous hometown. Stross was 9 and Skye was 5 at the time. And, evidently, I was tired of being the home-based parent, because these incredibly revealing words tumbled accusingly from my mouth: “You know, I could have been the vice president of communications for some company somewhere by now.”
Silence.
Mark and I looked at one another, me unflinching as I – in private horror – wondered where my statement had come from; he unflinching as he gathered his thoughts and then offered a genuine and animated response that affirmed my anger.
“Is that what you want?” He asked, looking part relieved and part frustrated. “Is it? Because if it is, I’m game. Just say the word, and we are out of here. I’ll go to my office right now, type up a letter of resignation and start packing. You mean more to me than this place. A hell of a lot more. And if you’re not happy, I’m not either. So if it’s time for us to leave so you can do what you need to, let’s do it.”
His words were exactly what I needed to hear, but I couldn’t determine if they were what I wanted to hear. I said nothing. He continued even more pointedly.
“Is that what you want?”
There it was again, but this time my life flashed in a dizzy mess.
I did not want to say “yes” just because I was angry – and I could no longer deny that I was angry. In fact, I was something beyond angry. I was not living the kind of life I wanted to live. I had tried so hard not to become a victim of circumstance after Stross’ birth, but I had finally begun to acknowledge what I had lost. Stross’ dramatic needs now shaped mine. He was born with conditions regarded far outside the realm of normal. My life now reflected his realities. No, they were my realities. Non-normal realities. Whatever that meant.
I also could not say “yes” out of a selfish need to preserve an identity that fit about as well as my pre-pregnancy jeans. But I was scared. Mark knew it. He was scared too. He didn’t want to lose any more of me than what I’d already shelved.
I answered using the word that best matched my mood.
“No.”
“So you don’t want that?” Mark asked. “I know you are right. You could have been a vice president. I won’t hold you back.”
“I said ‘no.’”
“Then what is this about?”
“I don’t know.”
That was more than 10 years ago. And I did not know what it was about then. But I do know now.
Two roads had diverged in the woods that was my life. And looking down one as far as I could, I had not liked what I could not see beneath mounds of nettles and undergrowth. However, I could not take the other road either. Instead, I had hoped it would keep for another day.
Yet way leads to way, just as it did years before that moment when we decided to have a child. And then again when we decided to have Mark become a stay-at-home father, and yet again when we decided to move and switch roles, and still again when we decided to have a second child, and still once more when Stross became gravely ill and we thought about moving after he recovered as a way to manage our debt.
I have never been able to figure out a way back. I can only hope to keep moving toward new diverging paths that pose easier choices. And I learned long ago –simultaneous with Stross’s first breath – that it is futile to wonder where other paths might have led.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Can you hear me sighing? I sure hope so, for if you can, that will make all the difference.
I have been writing blogs. They just haven't gotten into written form.
I have crafted:
- one about connecting with the divine through a caterpillar that barrel-rolled across the sidewalk, missing my footfall;
- one about the yellow brilliance of the last blooming day lily of the year amid a row of dried-brown sister blooms;
- one about welcoming people with disabilities into every day life in the simplest of ways;
- one about Reformation Sunday and how I was suddenly 6-years-old and hearing my Aunt Lois' voice as I joined in singing a rarely used canticle;
- one about fear and how it negatively shapes a person's response to divine things;
- even one about November.
I wonder what it will take for my thoughts to - once again - spill out for public viewing. Am I too busy? Am I feeling private? Am I wondering if my thoughts matter to anyone?
I am not sure. Then again, if I knew, would I tell you?
I like to think so.
I like to think that I live as I imagine a writer does - seeing poetry in everyday life.
I also like to think that one day I will live a life that allows me to regularly share the poetry I see.
Amen. May it indeed be so.
P.S. - Thank you for reading ... listening ... sharing ...
I pray that the meditation of my heart and the impulse of my spirit are acceptable in your sight.
Of course I have a lot to say about the experiences I enjoyed today. But I don't want to. I would prefer to have these two vlogs say it for me. Of course, what they say to you will depend on how well you know my love for my alma mater, Wartburg College.
The first vlog captures the overall fun of the day; the second vlog toys with idea that there truly might be something known as a quirk of fate - or three.
.
Update: Nicole Johanningmeier was also a Page editor and a Maggie award winner! .
. Update: Demonstrating another twist of fate, Emily Schmitt informed me today that her father is Steve Schmitt, a high school classmate of mine. Wow! .
Boy Scout Camp – Day #6 Nighttime, Friday, July 23, 2010
Today I got to see and experience a little bit of what camp was like for Stross and Mark this week. But only a little bit.
I am fully aware that everything that has happened for Stross this week absolutely could not have happened without Mark. My contributions pale in comparison, as do those of the Scout leaders and camp counselors. Sure, we could say it took us all working together. But, really, without Mark, nothing else could have happened as easily or with the focus on what really mattered: making Stross’ dream of attending a real Boy Scout Camp come true.
Mark and Stross were up at 6:20 a.m. and on the road back to camp by 7 a.m. Mark slept soundly last night even after taking two fairly lengthy afternoon naps. He was beyond tired yesterday, but his time of respite had him rejuvenated enough to head out the door in plenty of time for Stross to get to his first session. In fact, those at camp worked with Stross today to help him catch up on what he missed yesterday, so by the time Skye and I arrived at camp, courtesy of a ride from my sister, Jill, Stross had everything punched on his card: a rewarding accomplishment. But, again, it didn’t happen easily and not without a great deal of support for Stross’ brand of independence.
A day is coming – sooner than Mark and I care to admit – when we will need to broaden our circle of support even wider, entrusting others to help us keep making Stross’ dreams come true. Soon we will need to do what all parents do – facilitate launching both of our sons into situations that will allow them to be as independent as possible, according to their respective abilities. Where Stross is concerned, that means expanding our team of respite nurses and supported community living supervisors to also include an organization with resources – personnel and medical – beyond what we can provide for him. And we will have to do it, because we cannot always be here to keep doing these things for him.
I am not sure if those of you who are reading this fully connect with what you have been experiencing. Lurking under all of the anxiety-ridden and problem-solving experiences, and even infused in the joyful and peace-filled moments of accomplishment, there is an undercurrent of mortality. Mark and I faced our deaths this week.
Who will do this for Stross when we are not here? Who will help make his dreams come true?
We don’t have answers to those questions yet. We have ideas. We have some contingency plans. But we don’t have sufficient answers to our life’s most important questions. I wonder if parents with children who have disabilities ever feel that they do. I also wonder if they too hope to outlive their child for their child’s sake.
We are not worried about Skye’s future.
We are deathly afraid about Stross’.
During the span of his two decades of life, we have lived conflicting dynamics. We know how much things cost, and we know the types of things insurers label over-and-above. We know what we want Stross to have according to our definition of quality of life. We know there are people who believe that if you cannot afford healthcare, you should figure out how to live without it – or not live, I guess. We also know there are people who fight extremely hard to fashion laws regarding situations they have never personally faced.
There were many who fought hard against the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) 20 years ago for economic and principled reasons, yet we cannot imagine what our son’s life would be like today without the provisions of that law, even as poorly enforced or followed as it sometimes is. Same for the door-opening education legislation passed in the 1970s known as the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) and others like it. People fought against those laws before they were enacted too – again for economic and principled reasons. And, again, I cannot imagine what Stross’ life would have been like without them.
Separate might seem easier for some who live in our shared society, but separate is not equal. And those who cannot navigate life normally need a way in.
Could Stross have gone to a camp for special needs kids this summer? Sure. Would it have been painful for us? Yes, but in fully different ways – and one very significant way: It would not have fulfilled his dream.
For now, for as long as we possibly are able, we can help do that for our son. We will stand by and with Stross for as long as he needs us, even after we launch him into a version of supported independence that we cannot fully fathom today. We will know when the time is right. We will know when the organization or system we’ve put in place is right. If we cannot determine that, we will not have done right by him.
I hope you have time to sit back and enjoy the 9:58 minutes of this Family Night video. Will you be able to see what happened this week through Stross’ eyes? I can, and I love the privilege of seeing life through him. I love how he continues to usher in moment after moment of involuntary joy. It’s a lot of pain. It’s a lot of work. But I cannot imagine what my life would be like today without him.
Lady Gaga's performance on the Today Show Friday morning made me cry. I'd like to say I was surprised by my reaction. (I mean, Lady Gaga sings and I start to cry?) But now, in my middle years, I'm pretty good at recognizing what is really happening not long after my eyes begin to tear: Lady Gaga's deep joy at performing in New York resonated with me. She was being exactly who she is, in exactly the place she was meant to be. Lady Gaga wasn't working. She was taking people on a joy-filled ride where all was right with the world. And she was thanking them - thanking God, too, I believe - for the blessing that is her life.
I remember that feeling. Not on that scale of course. And I miss that feeling. Probably more often than I care to admit. It's a sensation that makes you wonder if kismet is more destination than destiny (if kismet is even real). And in that moment - a fleeting moment - you believe in kismet and recognize that you may have arrived at a place you didn't even know you were going. And, of course you want to stay in that place ... forever. The first time I experienced such a moment was performing the leading role in a musical with The Country Road Players. I was 18. But then during my junior year of college, I lived kismet every Friday and Saturday night as a singing waiter at Carver's Restaurant in Waverly, Iowa.
That job is still the best job I have ever had - and not just because it is how I met Mark, my soul mate. (Yes, that young woman in the top photo with really short hair is me, thrilled to be singing next to the tall handsome man with the beautiful smile who could lift the rafters with his voice when he wanted to. I already admitted in Involuntary Joy that I fell in love with his voice first.) While I loved singing next to Mark the most, I also loved singing with every other member of that wonderful ensemble known as the Carver's Singers. During my time in the group I sang with Jennifer (Jen) Bahlmann, Pamela (Pam) Cross, Elizabeth (Liz) Phillips, Lynette Reynolds, Dan Philippe, Mike McVey, Craig (George) Koeckeritz, Paul Johnson, and Mark Newcom (of course). When we weren't singing together, you might even find us just having fun together, as on the night shown in the photo of the Mardi Gras BASH 1985. That is Paul, Craig, me and Mark. And, what an incredible night that was. It wasn't just fun. It was magical, for that was the night of Mark's and my first kiss.
A photo that shows four members of the group actually shows 50 percent of the Carver's Singers at any given time, for there were only ever eight members in the group - two singing each vocal part. If someone had to leave because of schedule conflicts or life circumstances, they were replaced with another who earned his or her way in by audition. And once you earned your way in, you became a member of this special fraternity forever - even when your performing days were over.
Musical camaraderie, musical excellence, musical memories to fill our lifetimes. Carver's Restaurant isn't there anymore. It and the accompanying Friar Tuck's Lounge were turned into a Country Kitchen for a while. Then the building was razed to make way for the Waverly Public Library.
I'm not exactly sure how many years there were five-course dinner shows that featured Carver's Singers. One veteran once said they think there were probably only about 20 musicians who have been part of this unique group. Broadway show tunes, modern jazz standards, medleys of patriotic music or music from the 20s, pop staples - you name it, we could sing it; and in between musical sets, we'd serve delicious gourmet-prepared meals. During my time with the group, we even produced two summer musicals with dinner shows. That summer I took the stage as Agnes in "I Do, I Do" and then directed "The Fantastiks" while performing the role of the mute. (Yes, those of you who know me well: That was one of my most challenging roles.) After Mark and I married and moved to Texas, we stayed in touch with a few members of the group. Paul was in our wedding, and we hosted he and Kris (then girlfriend, now wife) when they came to Fort Worth the following year. We'd see members of the group at Wartburg College homecomings, and then when we moved to Des Moines in 1989, Kris and Paul had an apartment near ours. So did Craig. So we got to see them off and on then, too. But when Paul and Kris moved to Texas (how ironic), our correspondence waned to things like greeting cards and birth announcements. Until last week. Last week we reconnected with them during their trip home to Iowa to see family. We got to meet their two sons and to spend time talking while dining. We didn't do any singing, but we sure reconnected with what those days were like and recorded some of it in the vlog. I hope you enjoy listening to we middle-aged (former) singing waiters (and one #1 fan), as we remember some of our glory days. Glory evenings, really, when everything felt right with the world for five-hour stretches that carried us - and those who came as our audience - to places where only music can go.
I wish we could fully carry you back there with us; I wish you could hear what I do when I close my eyes and take myself back to the Chalet Room with its curved brick walkway and stone fireplace. But you probably have your own Camelot, your own time of kismet. And if you don't, I pray you will one day. I know I haven't given up hope of finding my corner of the sky once again.
One day, sometime soon I hope, I'll be somewhere and start to feel tears fill my eyes because I'll be there - in that place - doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing because of who I am called to be. It likely won't involve music again. Not in a Carver's Singers way. But it will be right - kismet. And I will be blessed to be part of blessing others.
Amen. May it indeed be so.
P.S. - A big thank you to restaurant owner and musical director Larry Kussatz for allowing us to be part of your dream that became a reality.
Sometimes I feel myself holding back, wondering if what I want to share in my blog will offend someone. That's not a bad thing by any means. But it messes with my impulse for authenticity and my drive for healthy honesty.
As a person who lives very much "out there" (Hello? Have you read Involuntary Joy or some of my blogs?), imagine my surprise at feeling hesitant about sharing how I celebrated the anniversary of our nation's independence. Why would I, the daughter of history teachers who included me in assisting with political campaigns as a child (in fact, my father is even a former Republican candidate for state office), hesitate to share that?
What has become of me? Has our current political climate affected my sensibilities?
I sure hope not. That's why I've determined to hesitate no more. I'm telling what I did to celebrate Independence Day, by golly. You ready?
I marched in an Independence Day parade in Clear Lake, Iowa, on behalf of a candidate that I hope gets to stay in office (that's me with Iowa Governor Chet Culver) and on behalf of another candidate I hope gets to oust an incumbent from office (that's me with Senate candidate Roxanne Conlin, former assistant attorney general for the state of Iowa). And, Sharon Steckman, I'd sure vote to keep you in office if I lived in your district! I participated politely and respectfully, proud to be part of a country that - for 234 years - has adeptly navigated political changes in leadership by engaging regular citizens in the process.
If you think I hesitated because I didn't want to offend my parents, think again. They might have marched alongside me if we still lived in the same part of the state. The birth of Mark's and my oldest son had many in our family - beginning with us - rethinking our concept of political systems and the way government influences social structures. But that's a topic for a fully different blog. This one is about me exercising my freedom on Independence Day (well, technically, the day after). It's about me, being me.
I walked a parade route and saw people lining the streets in celebration of their country's freedoms. I watched political candidates waving, greeting, and connecting as best they could, and I saw people choosing to respond or not to.
Most people were polite and respectful. Some (very few) were not. But, if citizens choose not to get involved or if they choose to participate in a manner that is not polite and respectful, we might not like it, but that is a celebration of our freedoms as well, isn't it?
That doesn't describe what I did or how I did it, though. So why did I hesitate to post this?
I hope you watch the vlog and see what I saw. I hope you spend a few minutes walking along with me. We live in a beautiful country. Incredibly beautiful. Comprised of citizens of every make and manner. I'm glad anyone chooses to sacrifice his or her own time and personal dreams to navigate the political system into office. It's not an easy path. And I hope the only ones who choose to navigate such a path do so for all the best reasons: to serve the citizens of the city, county, state or country they love.
This past week I enjoyed one of life's full circle moments. I sat in a classroom where I was learning from a former student. I have always asserted that I would proudly learn from, and even work for, many of the students who I've been privileged to meet when collaboratively learning in my classroom. This past Tuesday I had that opportunity, courtesy of Kelli Linn-Bloomquist, the woman who invited me to a workshop she has designed for our nation's homeland security needs, and Teeg Stouffer, the man who taught the workshop. Because of them, rural first responders will be able to do the best job possible when fulfilling their duties as public information officers during emergency situations. Kelli did a super job designing the course, and Teeg did a super job teaching it.
Teeg has the heart of a teacher, and no where is that more evident than the work he does through Recycled Fish. Recycled Fish, a nonprofit organization Teeg founded just a few years ago along with Waldorf College classmate Ryan Libby (class of '98), highlights his educational skills at all levels. Through countless ways, he communicates about lifestyle stewardship. It's evident that Teeg's passion palpates to the pace of the environmental pulse. He has the heart of an angler and understands what it means to fish downstream.
What began as a desire to encourage catch and release fishing has grown to something far more, as you can see below.
Recycled Fish is a 501(c)3 non-profit organization that started out talking about Catch and Release, but it’s bigger than that now. We’re a national movement of anglers who live and promote a lifestyle of stewardship both on and off the water.
We’re doing stuff like putting in low flow shower heads and changing how we care for our lawns, because that stuff matters to fisheries as much or more than catch and release.
If we want more and bigger fish in our waters, now and for our kids, the choices we make every day matter because our lifestyle runs downstream.
Today, Recycled Fish has more than 12,000 members worldwide and is growing. But it never would have existed at all without Teeg's passion and vision - along with the support of good friends and an incredibly supportive life partner, Amy Ruter Stouffer, Waldorf College class of '99.
As you'll hear in the vlog, Teeg and Amy, his wife, have shared life in incredibly adventuresome ways. Once they even sold or stored all their possessions in order to head out on the road, working in promotions together as a team. Now, they remain a new kind of team. While Teeg works for the health of the world's waterways through Recycled Fish, Amy helps "inspire people to plant, nurture, and celebrate trees," through the Arbor Day Foundation. (And you know our family has a soft spot for trees and tree houses!)
Our lives - Mark's and mine - have been intersecting with the lives of former students fairly frequently these days. These seemingly regular encounters have come as unexpected, yet timely, blessings, sustaining us as we continue to navigate upstream. As Teeg reminded me lately - in more ways than he likely intended - our lifestyles run downstream.
May I seek to live in a way that helps sustain the lives of those who follow after. Amen. May it indeed be so.
While this blog is about Gabriella "Gabby" Gonzales, it could just as easily be about any of the students who graduated from Waldorf College this year after having given us the privilege of getting to know them as they learned in our classrooms. It's about Gabby, because she came to our home on Tuesday to say goodbye shortly before leaving town. Not every student takes the time to do such a thing, but when one does, we always feel blessed by his or her visit. It gives us an opportunity to mark the moment with that student–to acknowledge this significant milestone and promise that we will stay in touch. (And we try really hard to.)
The visit alone - beyond anything said during the visit - acknowledges that we shared life together, and it made a difference to all of us.
Gabby arrived at Waldorf College a few short years ago and soaked up as much of the college experience as possible. She played soccer, led KZOW as station manager, and helped WAL-TV as well. She also immersed herself in many other college experiences while learning as much as she could about the communications profession. As you'll hear in the vlog, she has a career in mind now along with a plan for how she can begin to make it possible.
And so, Gabby is heading back to California, back to her home state - her home town - feeling a bit like she's leaving home. That's simply what happens when you go to college. You create a temporary home, and end up surprised at how much you permanently care about it. Even if it has a lot of snow (blizzards!) and tornadoes.
Thanks for sharing the best of yourself with us during your time here, Gabby. I hope you felt like we gave you the best we had to offer as well. We - and Waldorf College - are better for having had you here.
Stross has been working out weekly his entire life. That is not an exaggeration. Within months of his birth, a physical therapist began regularly coming to our home to teach us exercises for him. The intent was for us to help him develop the muscles he could use while looking for ways to compensate for ones he could not.
Our mini mighty man soon wowed us with his ability to use his upper body to pull himself the entire length of our living room floor using a baby-sized army crawl. Then he learned to throw his body from side-to-side while standing in an apparatus called a parapodium as he began to comprehend what it meant to "walk." His actual walking lessons were intense therapy sessions twice each week all through his toddler and preschool years.
The list of other physical feats is endless for our oldest son. In recent years, as little by little he has grown past his capacity to do some of the things that we (Stross, his father and I, and countless physical therapists) worked so hard to accomplish, we have had to shift gears. We are now focused on maintaining what we can of his physical abilities for as long as we can, working toward a quality of life that keeps him as independent as possible.
His exercise is no longer considered "physical therapy." Insurance is no longer willing to pay for sessions that are not building toward something that looks like restoration or rehabilitation. Maintenance of physical health is something we all have to do, and therefore, an insurance company makes no exceptions. But, make no mistake, the risks of losing range of motion and muscle strength are higher for Stross. Consequently, the need to maintain the abilities he has is as vital as it is difficult. That's why Mark and I have done what can to get Stross the help he needs without the help of insurance. We aren't exercise experts, but we can connect him with people who are. Sometimes he connects himself.
This past year Andre' Franco, Stross' workout buddy, has been a blessing. As a future personal trainer, Andre' couldn't have been better. Unfortunately, Andre' had the audacity to graduate and get married in May. (You can check out his and Eva's wedding here.) Now he plans to move away, and that means we will be searching again.
I am once more doing my best Scarlett O'Hara - planning to think of it another day. After all, we've got a bit of time. Andre and Stross still have some great summer workout sessions ahead, "getting his pump on," as Andre' says. And my son is inspiring me to get my pump on too, in my own Menopausal Momma way. I have bone health to consider; my body can't do what it used to either.
Part of me wants to believe that if I were Super Mom, I'd become Stross' workout buddy. But, then again, that really isn't the same, is it? I'm pretty sure Stross prefers working out with a cool guy named Andre' who he considers a really great friend. And that's the way life probably is supposed to be.
So, thanks, Andre' - from Stross, Mark and me. You've given us a wonderful model to follow. We will be forever grateful as we keep moving and building our collective muscles - together.
Today our family had the privilege of sharing lunch with Mr. John Eliason, Waldorf College class of 2009. He was in town to capture wedding images of Samantha Langerud and Steven Boucher.
John, always smiling, brought us up to date on many things in his life, including how much he enjoys his work as a corporate video producer for Fastenal, headquartered in Winona, Minn. For those who may not know, Fastenal operates as an industrial supply network with more than 2,500 locations in the United States and Canada. They also sponsor NASCAR No. 60 Fastenal Ford driver, Carl Edwards.
It was simply super to see how happy John is - staying in touch with his wonderful Camp Wapo, making wedding videos for friends, taking photos of friends and landscapes, living in beautiful Winona, and working at Fastenal. We were glad he wanted to make time to touch base with us.
Thanks, John. We will heed your closing admonition to "stay classy" and trust Waldorf College to - just as you asked - do the same.
Kelli Linn was back in Forest City today. More significantly, back in the land of Waldorf College.
She's Kelli Linn-Bloomquist now, a married mother of three young children (the newest just 3 months old). Kelli works as the coordinator of the Homeland Security Training Center located on the campus of Iowa Central Community College. In her role, she is responsible for coordinating media training opportunities for those working in government security positions across the state of Iowa - soon across the United States.
Kelli has an extensive media background, having worked in multiple media roles, and I regret I didn't take the opportunity to learn more about those vast experiences in the short time we met for lunch at Scoopy Doos today. It was simply more fun to reminisce about her days at KZOW, connect on what it feels like to be a working mom, and compare our concerns and hopes for our individual futures.
She confessed to feeling nervous about coming back; I've heard that before. As other alumni have shared, coming back to Waldorf - a place that has played a significant role during formative moments - isn't always easy. The rush of emotions that floods in can threaten to overwhelm. I know that feeling myself. I've had trips back to my alma mater, Wartburg College, where I have entered the Waverly city limits busily wiping tears.
I hope Kelli felt like she came home today - and not the literal kind of coming home - the kind of coming home that finds you meeting yourself as you were once-upon-a-time. Those experiences are empowering. They give you the hope you need to carry who you are now into the future.
As Kelli herself in advises in the video, "The biggest thing in life is just to show up." Wonderful advice, Kelli. And I agree. If you don't start by showing up, nothing else can hope to happen.
Kelli, it was wonderful to have lunch with you. Thank you.
As always, I continue to look forward to what might come next.
Those who know Mark's and my "back story" know that we met as singing waiters. Only a few people witnessed what took place on those weekends as we reluctantly gave in to an infatuation that had the potential of becoming something more. The something more has extended more than a quarter century - 9 months figuring it out, 9 months being engaged, and 24 years marveling at what it means to be married.
Of course we love singing with each other at a wedding (and, yes, we sang at our own wedding). Weddings allow Mark and me to experience the intimacy of music in exponential portions: phrasing together, breathing in sync, knowing when the other might miss a lyric and then finding our way back despite it. During a wedding, we are all about the married couple, trying not to look directly at each other too much, since the attention belongs to the bride and groom. But during the pre-wedding rehearsal, we can just be us and have fun singing together, because - truly - there is nothing else like it in the world.
The song in this vlog (footage begins with actual wedding but the remainder is our pre-wedding warm-up) is one of the very first songs we ever sang together - early in our dating relationship. I don't think we could have comprehended how prophetic the lyrics have been. I simply know that every time we sing Evermore, decades of experiences pass through my mind in a storyline that feels epic.
I always wanted to marry a man I could sing duets with - and not just any kind of duets - romantic ones. So whenever we have an opportunity to sing together, especially for a wedding, I am reminded that I had a dream come true. I know I probably take that for granted too often. But I'm not taking it for granted tonight: I got to marry a man who made my dream come true; and not just one dream, but a few others as well.
Ok, that's probably more schmaltz than you like. But you know what? It's real. And I will be deeply grateful from this time forth and evermore.
Our band's rehearsal this week turned into a time of shared survival as we waited out a threatening storm. While our community - and even our physical location in the community - fared well (only severe wind damage with downed power lines and trees), others were not as fortunate.
As you can see from my vlog, every person reacts to threatening weather in a different way. But we knew that already, right? What you won't see here are the vast number of text messages and phone calls that were being made by each one of us to our loved ones. We all needed to be assured and reassured that our children and significant others were safe and acting responsibly.
What you will see in the vlog is how a married couple - namely Mark and me - can act fully opposite of each other during a time like this, and how we likely weren't fighting about it because we didn't want to fight in front of our friends. That is simplistic thinking - totally - as I'm not acknowledging all the other dynamics at work. I believe there is likely a testosterone v. estrogen ratio at work, guiding reactions during a storm, as well. I'll leave you to hypothesize about how the ratio may or may not manifest itself.
Anyway, I know this: If I have to be hunkered down somewhere riding a storm out, and I'm not with my children, I can think of no better place to be than with my husband and a handful of really great friends, and I can think of no better situation for my children to be in that where they were last night. Stross - with a nurse/friend in our basement; Skye - with faculty friends and their son in their basement.
Not gonna lie, wasn't thrilled about the sheet metal roof over my head, but at least the building had a cinder block bathroom. And we could have all fit in it if we had to! Just so you know ...
Since last night my thoughts and prayers have been with families whose lives have been changed forever by the tornadoes and severe storms that blew through. My paternal grandparents had to rebuild their farm after a tornado when my father was 7 years old. My Aunt Lois' and Uncle Chuck's farm has been hit by a tornado - twice. One of my cousins has also had to rebuild a farm after a tornado, and another cousin has in-laws whose quality of physical life has forever been altered because of a tornado. The danger and impact of nature's atmospheric turbulence is all too real sometimes.
When I think of tornadoes - or twisters, as some like to call them - I also think of this line: "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt." Indeed.
I pray you are feeling safe and well-cared for today. And, perhaps like me, you have appreciated the reminder that - truly - there is no place like home. No place at all.
Well, our band, Until Further Notice, (which we lovingly refer to as UFN or 'just a little mixed up fun') had another night of rehearsal recently. We got through the remainder of the songs we think we might be able to have performance ready in time for our local Relay for Life concert.
We're still searching for harmonies that, at times, seem hopelessly lost. Mark and I are pretty confident we're not singing things the way we used to. We just hope the new way we are singing them will eventually sound just as good - or maybe even a bit better.
I was reminded - yet again - of the joy there is in simply letting music and lyrics take you to another place in time. I think that is part of what happens to each one of us when we get together. We connect with a part of our past that resonates with some sort of musical memory - kind of like muscle memory only with music. For Mark and I, it's likely that our musical frequencies tune to the days when we met as singing waiters at Carver's Restaurant. On some level, singing equates flirting to us, and mingling our voices in harmony is a bit of an intimate experience. Don't worry. I'll stop there. Or if you'd like to know more, read how I describe those days in Chapter 2 of Involuntary Joy. (Yes, another shameless plug, but it's my blog. I'm entitled.)
As for Dave, he sings melody and plays bass for us, but he began with the guitar. So Dave's musical memories might connect him to times in college when he pulled out a guitar and began playing with roommates or dorm mates or whomever wanted to discover what sounds there were to be made during a late night jam. Even I can envision that kind of night in my mind, and I never managed to learn guitar chords well enough to play. Ah, good times. What is there to say about Gremmer, our lead guitarist? He is a drummer at heart but taught himself to play the guitar, in part, because we needed him to. That says a lot right there, doesn't it? Have you noticed that he is one of those guys who can't help but smile with his entire face? And on rehearsal nights, Gremmer smiles a lot, and he dances with his guitar a lot too. He's got this sway-and-weave sort of movement that indicates he's "feelin' the groove." That makes us all smile. And then there is Roger. I don't know you if can tell (you should be able to), but Roger is like, well, a real drummer who used to play in real bands. The kind of bands that had scary names and car loads of female groupies. That stick twirling you see him doing from time to time? He can probably do it in his sleep now. In fact, I think he could drum in his sleep.
I wish you could see and hear our other guitarist, Greg Owen, as well. He and Roger share a rock 'n' roll past. They were in two different bands together. Our band, Until Further Notice, is their third. And while we might not have the hardest and loudest sound of the bands they've been in, we've been together the longest and might have the tightest sound. That counts for a lot.
So here we are again with different songs this week. Still the same crazy fun, however. I hope you enjoy. Oh, and if you missed the excerpts from last week's rehearsal, you can check them out here. (June 3 UFN Rehearsal) Enjoy!
Those of you who have read Involuntary Joy might understand how my husband's place of employment (which has also been, at times, mine as well) has shaped our lives in the same way a person would. Our arrival on campus – almost exactly 17 years ago – felt a bit like coming home. The "call" to kinship with her DNA was undeniable. And so, we uprooted our lives, trading old dreams for new ones in order to share a future that we believed was full of promise.
Before I write much more, I feel the need to share this: Waldorf College is one of the easiest and, paradoxically, most difficult topics for me to write about. When I've had the opportunity to write copy for marketing or public relations pieces, the words flow easily, for I know Waldorf intimately and honor the wonder of her, cherishing the personal transformations that have occurred on her campus since her beginnings in 1903.
This is not that kind of piece; therefore, my task is exponentially more difficult–as difficult as writing about a family member and wanting it to be "just right." Doubting that is possible, I'll forge ahead anyway.
As the fruit of Lutheran education (Go, Wartburg Knights!), I have lived my adult life in kinship with all sister institutions as if they were members of the family. Because I grew up United Methodist, I never really thought much about my spiritual heritage (I was baptized Lutheran) until I was courted by the admissions staff at Wartburg College. And then, thanks to encouragement from then President Robert Vogel, I soon forsake scholarship packages from other institutions for the chance to become a Wartburg Knight – a decision that had my Lutheran godmother, Aunt Lois, rejoicing. Once transplanted on the Wartburg campus, it was as if a seed had found the soil it needed to grow deep roots and flourish.
You see, I know what it means to "Be Orange." But I also know what it means to "Live Purple." Waldorf College ... what am I to do with you? You helped bring some of my husband's vocational dreams to life and coaxed me into the classroom. You didn't seem aware that I'd vowed to not follow in my educator parents' footsteps. And, yet, I became an educator in spite of myself – all because you needed someone to teach the knowledge and skills I enjoyed using while employed in a career I loved.
So, year after year, as young men and women found their way to campus to discover their individual callings, my roots stayed watered and even deepened. I felt myself growing with Mark and, in turn, both of us felt strengthened by colleagues who shared a vision for educating "the whole person" in an atmosphere where faith and reason divinely mingled.
In recent years, the people who are Waldorf College have experienced personal pruning and even transplanting – each event as difficult as the circumstances that are represented by the change. For instance, this summer our family will say good-bye to friends who have lived in this community for 26 years – nine years longer than we have. They came as a couple and have raised four children here. We have been in a Bible study with them for more than a decade and have celebrated our children's confirmations, graduations, and various school accomplishments. We have grieved together. We have been frustrated at life together. We have been awed by life together. Now they are moving on - transplanting their lives to a place where they can continue to be nourished and grow. It's not as if we have never seen people come and go from this fascinating place. We have. In fact, when we arrived 17 summers ago, we were taken under wing by several elderly couples who had recently retired from Waldorf. The kind of emerita and emeritus (now no longer living) whose names and spirits are infused in the hearts of thousands of alumni. They saw Waldorf through some of her darkest days and believed we had come to help her transition into an expression that would help her withstand unforeseen days to come (i.e., changing from a junior college into a baccalaureate institution).
Their tutelage testified to us in recent years when we needed it most - when our roots felt exposed, and we wondered what remained for us in this place they had built with love. As the ground shifted under us, we wondered: How deep do our roots go? How much nourishment do we require? Are we healthy enough to withstand inclement times? I even found myself wondering if I was more like a hosta or a rose – or if it even mattered.
I still don't really know.
Whenever Mark and I hear of another friend who has decided to uproot – to transplant their life in a place with soil that promises rich nourishment – we look for the sun and stretch to search for water. Are we still able to flourish where we are planted, or are we in denial about the condition of our garden?
This past week we got some unsolicited nourishment from two former students - Melanie Lane, class of '07, (the first vlog) and Justin Hawley, class of '99 (the second vlog). We had a chance encounter with Melanie, who works at Mayo Clinic, in the Rochester subway, just outside our favorite lunch spot. She joined us for lunch, bringing stories and memories full of life and light and love. And when she spontaneously thanked us and shared what we have meant in her life, I cried. I didn't know how much I needed to hear what she said.
Obviously, I didn't ask her repeat what she said for my vlog and I won't type her kind words verbatim here (even I am not that tacky), but I did ask her to repeat a story she shared about her volleyball coaching experience. Waldorf communication alums, you'll see why.
When we got back to Stross' clinic exam room, I posted on Facebook that we had run into Melanie during lunch. That generated a posting with an offer to share dinner from Justin Hawley, another communications alum who has transplanted to Rochester, Minn., where he is flourishing. And, fortunately, we were able to – almost as spontaneously – make that reunion happen as well. Then, during dinner he, too, volunteered extremely kind words about Mark and I in an expression of affirming gratitude.
I've spent a lot of time tending to my garden this week - figuratively, of course. Perhaps Mark has too. We both seem to need reassurance that our lives are still in a place where we can - not just grow - but flourish.
Hey, Waldorf College Communications alumni. If we haven't told you lately, please know that we love you. Your lives continue to nourish ours. We are grateful. Many blessings to you - each and every one.
Sometime in the late 90s, Mark and I became part of a worship band – first known as Band-Aide – that facilitated our church's Wednesday evening worship experience. More than a decade and several versions of that original band later, five of us, who have been known as Until Further Notice for at least 10 years, continue to find our way back to the music that first brought us together:
• Roger Lyons, drums • Jeff Gremmer, acoustic guitar • Dave Melby, bass guitar and lead vocals • Mark Newcom, vocals • Joy Newcom, vocals
and when we are fortunate enough to get on his schedule so he can join us in a reunion concert: Greg Owen, the man who can make a guitar sing.
Last summer, we got back together after a four-year hiatus for a reunion concert as part of Forest City's Puckerbrush Days. We had so much fun that we agreed to do a concert again this year on July 17, and we even added a concert on June 26 for our local Relay for Life.
I think the music is a tonic. We feel younger when we play - almost invincible again - at least for a little bit. And how we interact with each other is a good medicine too. We can talk about anything that comes to mind and have fun with it, even if it's serious business. In the time we've been Until Further Notice, we've survived a couple divorces, a bankruptcy, surgeries (for ourselves and our children), serious illnesses, career shifts, career ends and beginnings, child craziness and much, much more.
Last night, after our gear was stored and our minds began to shift out of musical mode, we sat on the floor talking about baseball (perfect games, bad calls, catching equipment, wild pitches, crazy teammates, and groin injuries), and we laughed and lingered as long as we could.
Our sound isn't fully back yet. But it's very close. Maybe we will even work up some new tunes this summer. Who knows? I'm just glad we've kept our covenant to one another to keep getting back together as opportunity allows - even if it's for a few concerts every summer. And I'm grateful we all still feel like we want to keep making music together - until further notice.
I awoke with a new chapter in the ongoing story that is my relationship with Mark forming in my head, probably because today is our anniversary. We have been married 24 years.
Because it is our anniversary, I will be spending the rest of my day with my first love, not engaged doing something I love: writing.
But I look forward to sharing what-I-have-yet-to-write someday soon - my attempt to explain how we are quite different today than the young man and young woman who vowed to share life together on May 30, 1986.
I know that our friends and relatives wonder about our relationship, and that strangers don't even know what to wonder. I hope to write of the wonder.
Our story is worth telling. I look forward to every chapter yet to come. Until then, I'll share the beauty of my anniversary roses with you. This year, after their delivery, I was left wondering: How does he keep managing to surprise me with such predictable regularity?
I love you, Mark. Thank you for sharing all of life with me. Only you - you alone - can know what that means. Happy Anniversary!
Every spring for the past 16 years, Mark and I have celebrated commencement with a promising class of men and women at Waldorf College. For many of those years, we celebrated twice: in April for those graduating with an associates in arts degree and in July for those graduating with a bachelor of arts.
On this first day of May, we watched 117 students celebrate the kind of beginning that only comes from a successful ending. They earned a college degree in a field that matches their interests and, I hope, their vocational passion.
Bittersweet? A little. Wistful? Nostalgic? Yes, a little of both of those, too. But mostly we are this: proud.
Thank you, Graduates. Thank you for choosing to attend Waldorf College and for entrusting us with your education. It has truly been a privilege to share in your lives and to watch you mature in understanding. We look forward to learning where life takes you. Please stay in touch. May heaven's richest blessings crown every passing year.
On Thursday, April 22, I was the featured speaker at an all-school assembly for WCLT High School (Woden-Crystal Lake-Titonka). The invitation came after several factors fell into alignment:
1) Students from W-CL-T heard me speak about writing Involuntary Joy during a presentation in an English class at Waldorf College.
2) The students were also taking Miss Sara Blaser's Contemporary Issues class at WCLT High School. When Miss Blaser allowed the class to choose a book to read for discussion, they asked for permission to read Involuntary Joy.
3) The class read the book and used its content for discussions about parenting, motherhood, birth defects, raising children with disabilities, working mothers, and more.
4) Meanwhile, Lisa Pleggenkuhle Grummer, who attended the same high school I did, was regularly substituting at WCLT. She read Involuntary Joy at about the same time as the class, and she invited me to lunch in her home for our own time of sharing. In fact, you may have met her in a previous blog.
5) Lisa suggested that Miss Blaser invite me to come speak to WCLT's Contemporary Issues class or even to students in the Biology and Anatomy classes. Lisa even wondered about the possibility of having an all-school assembly.
6) Principal Ken Kasper and Miss Blaser agreed that there were a lot of topics addressed in the book that could be enlightening for all the students, and so, I accepted their kind invitation to present an all-school assembly.
Today's vlog features outtakes from our time together. This high school (approximately 80 students) is a wonderful piece of living Iowa history, for school consolidations will soon end the days of graduating classes numbering less than 100. In fact, the school boards of Woden-Crystal Lake and Titonka recently voted to explore whole grade sharing with neighboring districts, and in coming years, students will no longer fill the halls of this current facility.
I felt honored to be standing in the WCLT gymnasium on Thursday (brightly decorated for prom) and talking to a group of young men and women who know full well that much of life is about adapting to change. Like our family, they have learned that you simply take what life hands you and keep moving forward.
To a student, each young man or young woman was courteous and attentive as I shared our family's story - my story. Clearly, each one–on either an academic or intensely personal level–understood that preparing for adulthood means anticipating unforeseen circumstances, whether fortunate or unfortunate, but not allowing them to make you afraid. Heck, many who stayed after to talk to me personally let me know that their lives have already been filled with challenges met or in the process of being met. And they are doing a great job of growing up to be exactly who they are meant to be.
I recognize it has become cliche' to say that children are our future. But, truly, I trust the young men and young women that I spoke to on Thursday to create a new way of living in our world. It is why I was comfortable sharing intensely personal stories. Perhaps hearing a bit of our family's experiences can better prepare them for whatever else life brings their way. Part of my hope is that they become more comfortable with a world where "normal" is defined broadly enough to include all the abnormal situations encountered by families living with and caring for persons whose lives fall outside of "the norm" - whatever that is.
And, yes, Gretchen, Jamie and Miss Blaser. I will still post the vlog we made about Contemporary Issues class. What a wonderful conversation! Thanks for making this all happen.
Tonight I discovered something about myself that should have been pretty obvious: The fact that our family has donuts for breakfast each Saturday is more than a treat for me. It’s an emotionally comforting ritual with deep roots. 
