Thursday, June 26, 2014

FROM WHERE I SIT  Guilty of Prejudice ? JUNE 23, 2014  PAT SPILSETH

Sunni, Schite, or Kurd; Coptic Christian or Muslim, Roman Catholic or Lutheran, black or white, male or female, young or old?  The daily news is filled with angry differences between people, the fear, guilt and violence often occurring because of differences.   

Diversity is relatively new.  Sameness is comfortable.  Norwegians settled near other Scandinavians; Russians, Orientals and Africans found homes and friends in areas of cities with people who looked and spoke like them.   In this country’s early days we feared Indian uprisings so our government put the Indians on reservations, killing their nomadic way of life.  In business it was feared that women rising to power jobs would take away from their mothering and household duties.  Men would feel guilty to be at home and be judged effeminite if they became “house husbands”.  

Anger, fear, guilt and persecution have existed since the world was created.  By this twenty-first century, one would think we would have been been informed, educated and understanding of one another.  Why do some still feel the need to persecute, even kill each other?  Whether we kill with swords, bullets, words or drones, destruction is everywhere.

The Middle East has always been in constant turmoil.  From Sadat’s murder to Saddam’s downfall, Israel’s constant conflict with its neighbors, Syria’s dictator Assad gassing his own people and now another angry uprising in Egypt...when will it ever end?  Sunday night’s 60 MINUTES TV program had an interesting report on the Coptic Christians in Egypt whose churches are now being destroyed by radical Muslims.  Groups of people are being persecuted because they think differently than the ruling part.

When most of us were very young, we rarely noticed differences.  We just wanted to play, eat and sleep.  We were color blind, not conscious of social class, income levels, clothing designers or car models.  Our little world was only about us and our family.  But as kids grew and entered school, we started to notice differences: some kids were bigger, could run faster, had fancy clothes and a bike.   We felt the pain of indifference, unworthiness and inability when it came to choosing teams, friends or being chosen for a date.  Remember how devasting it was to be picked last?  A teacher’s red marks on that paper we’d worked so hard at were soul crushing.  

Growing up in small town Minnesota, our communities were homogeneous.  Race wasn’t an issue.  We knew people of different nations looked different; some thought different, but we rarely encountered those folks.  Almost everyone I knew was pasty white in the winter and burned red in the summer.  Moms worked at home; dads made the money.  In Glenwood had no blacks, Orientals, Mexicans, Russians, or Italians.  Indians and divorced people were rare.  When we disapproved of another’s opinions, it was easy to avoid or shun them.  We Protestants did not date Catholics and vice versa.   As we grew older, our parents, TV, newspapers and even movies pointed out differences that existed in our expanded world.  We learned who was an Indian, a Jew or a Mormon. 

We became aware of differences.  Some individuals tended to become judgmental: a red nose indicates he’s a drunk; he must be rich because he drives a Cadillac; those that get commodities at the welfare office must be poor or have too many kids.  Most of us were light skinned, blondes or brunnettes with a slight Northern European accent.  Uffdas and knee slapping laughs could be heard in every school, church, cafe and bar in town.  We ate meat and potatoes, mostly white food with plenty of sugar and butter.  
When we got to college, we were confronted with radical new ideas of 1960‘s desegregation in cities and schools.  On TV we saw race riots in LA and Milwaukee, but our black classmates from Chicago and the South became good friends.  

Cowboy movies showed us that the men in black hats were bad; the good guys were in white, like angels.  In the fifties, some folks built bomb shelters, and kids at school hid under their desks when we had drills.  Going to the movies we saw the news “shorts” of Nazi or Russian soldiers and feared the overwhelming power of their menacing black leather coats and boots. Our country entered Cold War diplomacy with the Soviet Union and an era of McCarthyism threated to destroy Hollywood, even our US congress.  Hilter’s Nazis threatened the world and scared us.  Finally we went to war to stop their pervading, destructive power from conquering the world.  Today we fear the spread of Islam radicals spreading their violence and uneducated ideas worldwide.  

Differences can be disturbing.  Life among similar people makes most folks comfortable.  Some people feel terrible guilt if they don’t eat fish on Friday or candy during Lent.  A few churches don’t allow their women to wear makeup.  Some churches meet on Saturday rather than Sunday.   Growing up, upon entering school or driving down to the Cities, we began to learn that people are different. Women used to be considered the weaker sex, but in many educated areas of today’s world, we hold jobs of power and achievement as well as being mothers at home.  Religious, uneducated zealots are trying to curb schooling for girls in some parts of our world, destroying any education or jobs for women.  Their women are to remain in the home providing children, food and care for the ruling menfolk.  


In most parts of the world today people are more educated.  We’re more aware of differences: age, race, sex and ideas are discussed.  Differences can be viewed as interesting: they can stretch our learning and expand our world.  Today’s world is a puzzling dilemna.  We have to decide what prejudices are uneducated and feared?   What ideas are destructive and should never be accepted?   Let’s hope we make good choices.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

FWIS GOLDILOCK'S TRAVELING ADVENTURES

FWIS   Goldilocks’ Traveling Adventures  June12, 2014    Pat DeKok Spilseth

Tossing & turning in different beds every night while traveling is not my cup of tea.  My pillow may be too soft; the bed too hard; the sheets scratchy; not enough blankets to keep me warm.  Like Goldilocks, I ‘m fussy about my sleeping accommodations. 

On our road trip out west to Montana, Dakota, Wyoming, New Mexico and Mexico this month, I missed my daily routine.  My stomach wanted coffee, juice and cereal, muffins or an egg for breakfast before 8AM, a light lunch at noon and a hot meal around 6PM.  I’m used to regularity.  I prefer a scheduled life, humdrum though it may appear. 

No longer am I the adventurer who, on the spur of the moment, hit the open road looking for adventure.  I was part of that wacky twosome, Thelma & Louise, during college years in the 60‘s and into my thirties.   Now I’m a senior citizen.  I’ve traded traveling adventures for remaining at home with my books, music and family.  I’m content sitting on the deck overlooking the lake with Buddy, my friendly Beagle, in my lap.   I get my thrills reading the daily newspaper or a good mystery.

For me, traveling is hard work.  I hate early morning alarms rushing me to get on a 6AM flight, cramped airplane seats, no food on flights and no leg room.  Though I enjoy Dave’s traveling privileges flying, being on standby is no longer fun.  We used to plan our destination, but it was OK if we landed in a different place.  Didn’t matter: Disneyland or Philadelphia, Oslo or Amsterdam, Florida beaches or NYC, Paris or Milano...life was full of unexpected adventures.  I could handle that in my 20‘s, 30‘s and 40‘s.  

No longer. I don’t want to end up in Florida with bulky sweaters and boots or in San Francisco with only swimsuits and shorts.  I prefer some routine: a slightly modified schedule is OK, but not a total change of plans.  Last week we rose at 3AM to fly on a 6AM international flight from Mexico City to Dallas, got through customs, but got “bumped” three times trying to fly from Dallas to Mpls.   Flights were full!  Finally we arrived home in Mpls at 10PM.  That trip was too long and stressful.  I’m still tired.

Driving through our vast country, from MN to Dakota to Montana took us through lush lands of newly planted green crops, endless blue skies with puffy clouds, past bobbing oil rigs, towering silos, grazing cows and bison.  We drove Grandma Agnes’ Olds packed with suitcases and boxes toward towering mountains with wildflowers gracing the land.  Driving from Minnesota to Montana is a long haul, through Dakota’s Black Hills to Wyoming into Colorado and finally New Mexico.

Though I don’t remember being there, photos tell me that my folks took me to Mount Rushmore when I was a little girl.  Seeing the stoney faces of Washington Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln carved on the mountain filled Dave & me with patriotism, pride in my country.  

In Montana we stopped at the Little Big Horn National Park where General George Armstrong Custer’s Company met an overwhelming force of Lakota and Chayene.  Mesmirized with a park ranger’s 40 minute talk, we learned about the Battle of Little Bighorn and Sitting Bull, who lived in present day South Dakota.  An accomplished hunter and warrior, Sitting Bull was a political and spiritual leader of traditional Lakota culture.  He resisted the encroaching westward expansion as he tried to preserve their traditional way of life as nomadic buffalo hunters.  

President Grant’s administration had instructed 25 year old General Custer, who had military success in the Civil War, to remove the Lakota Sioux and Cheyenne to the Sioux Reservation in Dakota Territory.  In 1876 war broke out between Federal military forces and combined Lakota and Cheyenne tribes.  Riding white horses and wearing wool uniforms in the 92 degree heat, Custer and his 7th Cavalry of 262 men lacked water and were vastly outnumbered.  They met total defeat at the Battle of the Little Bighorn, June 25, 1876.  Although they won the battle, the Indians lost the war against military efforts to end their independent nomadic way of life.

Red granite markers identify fallen Indian warriors at the battle.  In contrast, 265 white marble miliary headstones identify Custer and his men’s graves.  Monuments to both the cavalery and the Indians have been erected on the grounds. The words of Black Elk  “Know the power that is peace” echo at this disquieting scene for those who pause to consider our government’s treatment of native people.

In 1868 the US government believed it “cheaper to feed than to fight the Indians.” Government representatives signed a treaty at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, with the Lakota, Cheyenne and other tribes of the Great Plains making a large area in eastern Wyoming into a permanent Indian reservation.  A promise was made to “protect the Indians against all depredations by people of the United States.”

Peace did not last.  In 1874 gold was discovered in the Black Hills, the heart of the new Indian reservation.  News spread quickly.  Gold seekers swarmed into the region in violation of the treaty.  Though the army tried to keep the gold seekers out, they kept coming. The Indians left the reservation and resumed raids on settlements and travelers.  

Coming home is the best part of a trip for me. Traveling is always an adventure, providing new knowledge of history and interesting people to meet.  But like Goldilocks, I’ve found that my big bed at home, sleeping next to Dave & Buddy our Beagle, is just right.  Nothing beats home sweet home.  951


   

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

SUMMERTIME, and the Livin' is Easy

From Where I Sit    Summertime, and the Livin’ is Easy    May 24, 2014  P.D. Spilseth

Summertime, with the double mm’s, makes me feel happy.   Sunny days bring smiles to everyone’s faces.   With today’s weather in the 80‘s:, everybody seems to be out on the lake.  

Folks in kayaks and canoes troll the shore, idyllical and peaceful.  Speedboats are pulling water skiiers; pontoons are cruising with folks barbequing and sipping drinks; kids on jet skis are pounding through the waves; fishermen are trying to find a quiet spot where the fish are biting, and the grandkids next door are jumping off the dock.  With moms nearby, babies in waterwings will soon be floating on the lake at the shoreline.  This weekend is the summertime we’ve been dreaming of all winter.

Delicious summertime...time to open the windows, slather on sunscreen, get into the garden and slap those pesky mosquitoes.  TIme for iced tea, watermelon, burgers, beer and brats, cole slaw and salads.   I’m ready for a sun-soaked summer.

Memorial Day is early this year, but the weather is perfect.   We’re enjoying the first sunny weekend of the summer.  Time to visit the graves of loved ones and honor our veterans who have sacrificed for the freedoms we in America enjoy.  Parades with marching bands and veterans hoisting flags and guns pass through towns going to cemeteries and village gathering places for speeches and gun salutes.  Neighbors are firing up their grills to cook brats and burgers for family get togethers. It’s time to enjoy this much longed-for weekend of bliss.  Time to relax on the lake in the sunshine.  

This promises to be the BEST SUMMER EVER!  Here in Minnesota, we need assurance that weathering our eternal winters will bring a summertime reward.  Not everyone is tough enough to handle our Minnesota weather extremes.  Some more delicate folks are snowbirds, moving for several months to Arizonia, California and Florida.  Summertime sunshine provides jewels in our crowns for living in MInnesota~

Time for ice cream, corn on the cob, farmers’ markets, flip flops and floats.  Winter’s snowy, freezing weather had us devouring carbs and sweets,  but by May we’re ready to wiggle into swim suits and shorts, sundresses and sun visors.  We may be a bit chunky, but we’re not vain.  Though we clothe ourselves in parkas, wool scarves and Uggs all winter, we’re ready for summer swimsuits and flipflops.  We Scandinavians draw the line at Speedos, however...  We are prideful.

The aged geraniums I’ve had inside all winter are adjusting to their newly potted lives outdoors on the deck.  Though their leggy leaves and red and pink blooms are drooping slightly, in another week or two they’ll be back to their perky selves.  Daily, I see the hosta growing several inches, and our tall maples provide cooling shade with their leafy canopies spreading over the entire yard and down to the lake.  Violets are blooming around the foot of the maples, and Andy’s restored Chris Craft Roamer and his Tidyboats pontoon are parked at the dock.  Unfortunately, we put in the dock too early this year.  Because we’ve had too many rains of 3” and more, now water is splashing over the slippery dock.  My wooden bench and swimmers’ ladder are ready for me to relax after a swim.  It’s only the end of May so the lake is still icy cold, but by mid June, it’ll be refreshing for a swim.

A water skier is riding the waves across Carmen’s Bay.  As I relax with my coffee and newspaper on the deck in the early morning silence, I can hear the drone of a fishing boat motor on the lake   Whether I rise at 5 or 6 AM, I never seem to beat a fisherman or two floating in their boat on our Bay.  Cardinals and nuthatches flit around the birdfeeder, and bunnies are hiding under our deck and in the woods.  A fat raccoon is nesting in one of our maple trees.   Between frequent naps on the deck, Buddy occasionally jumps up to chase the bunnies and squirrels hiding in the pines and flying through the maples.  Our Beagle had high hopes...he truly believes he could climb the trees.  One of these days, Buddy may catch a squirrel or a bunny, but I have serious doubts about that.  

Summer, unfortunately, brings bugs.  Scratching and itching, I hope no ticks are feasting on my skin or Buddy’s.  This year, ticks are supposed to be more numerous than ever.  They’re hardy, having survived our winter that seemed to be everlasting.  


Grandkids have arrived for the weekend at our neighbors’ homes.  Action Jackson will be over for cookies shortly so I’d better start baking his favorite, my chocolate chips.  Jackson, Cooper, Allie, Ethan and Avery will sit with me and Buddy on the deck recounting their latest escapades at school and their ball team scores.  It’s gonna be a lazy, hazy perfect summertime on the lake once again...  833 words