Where's the Beef?

We talked about community today and how we form friends. Sort of a crazy connection, but I was thinking about how our social interactions and bonds are sometimes created through media. About once a week at school, I hear someone say: "Ouch, Charlie!" You know exactly what I mean right.

Well, I want you to see a commercial that those of us tv viewers in the 80's had in common. A ubiquitous saying!

Sure hope I don't offend you vegans.

Letters

Sara-4 letters; Jim-3 letters; Gina-4; ; Sandy-5. Average letters in a name of a child growing up in my neighborhood in the 70's-4 letters. Sounds trivial, doesn't it. But when I went to kindergarten and practiced spelling my name, I was at a distinct disadvantage due to my name:
K-A-T-H-E-R-I-N-E-9 letters. I wasn't an outcast nor did I get placed in the slow-learner group due to my lengthy name; however, somehow I just felt out of place. All of those insecure feelings changed when I met a new friend in first grade. She lived close to my neighborhood, so we road the bus together to Ralph R. Reeder Elementary school. With backpacks on our laps and school lunch boxes safely stowed at our feet, we traveled the fifteen minutes across suburbia to our school. As we traveled, we spelled each other's name. It was a revelation. She, too, had 9 letters in her name: D-O-M-I-N-Q-U-E! Oh what fun we had saying our names, spelling our names, and counting the letters in our names. There was nothing trivial about the letters in our name. Those letters were the basis to our friendship.
I kept my faith and hope in Santa Clause until I was twelve years old due to Dominique. She wrote a letter that was published in the Star Tribune newspaper inquiring about the reality of Santa. Due to the editor's sort of a "Yes, Virginia" response to her letter, I could not bring myself to doubt the magic of Santa. Each December I would slip the article out from my Mother's desk and reread the newprint to be reminded of the faith required to believe in something and someone who seems contrary to fact, to possiblity, to reality. I held onto my childish desires and wishes for as long as I could. Much of this was due to a letter and someone's acknowledgment of that letter.
A letter can convey a lot. We form our names and our identities with letters. We send our love and our concerns in letters. A letter can give us a connection. Take a look at someone who seems different from you and see if you can find just one thing you have in common. You might not have to try too hard; just for starters, we all have letters that make up our names. Who knows, you might just make a new friend or maybe you'll have a part of your faith renewed.

Are you "casting on"?

English 11 is reading Death of a Salesman. Willy is bemoaning the fact that he has worked all his life to pay for the mortgage of the house only to have two people live there.   Linda, Willy's enabling wife, reminds him that life is a "casting off."  It is a brief statement that holds truth.  For teenagers and a young (sure hope I can still say young) mom like me, life is all about a casting on.  Kids need/want new clothes, shoes, electronics.    I scurry about meeting everyone's needs by casting on one more item for skiing, a new dress for a dance, the right frame for a bedroom.  For me, I work to cast on to my home to make it a comfy place to reside, to relax, to celebrate life.   It is a daily casting on.

So what about a casting off?   I talked with my neighbor across the street today as we were both getting the mail.  She is in her 60's and anxious to retire.  She is ready to retire so she can "start getting rid of all her junk."  All four cars are in in the driveway, rather than the in the three-car garage, due to all the stuff in the garage.  It is time to cast off!

If life were more about a casting on of dreams, hopes, and aspirations, perhaps there would be less to "cast off."  Perhaps.

Willy's son Biff wants to follow his dream of working on a ranch.  He finds peace while he is working with his hands.  Happy, the other son, is trapped working in a "successful" job but is lonely and malcontent.   Arthur Miller's timeless message reminds us to cast on that which can stay, that which is long-lasting, that which will feed our heart and our soul (rather than just filling the garage).

assumptions

I had to take a biology quiz yesterday; I received a six out of eight.  My daughter taught the lesson, and she guided me through the whole complicated cell reproduction process.    However, on the quiz, I made what I thought to be an educated guess at the first answer.  I immediately crossed out an answer since I assumed that definition was not possible.  I saw two terms I did not remember being applied to the lesson, so out it went.  Well, I was mistaken.  Minus one right from the get-go.

What do you know about plagiarism?  I hope you know that you cannot use another writer's words or even ideas without giving her credit.  You must cite your sources.  But what if you lived in a different country.  Do you think the same stringent rules on crediting sources holds?  The assumption is that everyone knows you have to give credit.  Futhermore, we also know that you don't have to agree with the critic.  In fact, you can cite the source and then go on to disprove the source.

Well, once again I was mistaken.  My student from a former Communist country has not learned the same lessons.  In fact, she was penalized for disagreeing with a critic in her home country.  In some cases it was better for her friends to use someone else's writing so as not to sound less intelligent.  No credit was needed.

Life is in the details.  Mistakes can be made so quickly.  I have been reminded to ask questions before I simply jump to a conclusion.  What seems obvious just might need more clarification.  That's not so hard now is it?  

The American Dream

What do you think is the American Dream?  Are you living it?  Is it freedom? Success? Wealth? Happiness?  Who can reach the American Dream?  The hardworking? The educated?  New immigrants?  

Jonas, from Ethiopia, is a custodian who fastidiously attends to Room 304b.  Often, we have conversations about acquiring the English language; his family in Ethiopia; and his schooling.  Yesterday's discussion centered on children.  He is convinced that American freedom is in jeopardy since white Christian Americans tend only to have two children while minorities, such as Hispanics and Muslims tend to have more than two children.  I steered the conversation toward education.  For it must be that the freedoms and rights of our country rest in our education system rather than in the mercy of various cultures.  We are the great melting pot.  We are the most diverse country in the world.  If we begin to fear other cultures and other religions, than we are bound to be a separate nation.  A nation pleading for isolation of others such as Northern Ireland or Israel.  

My faith in our country rests in education.  The American Dream can easily be shattered if it only means monetary wealth.  Whatever trouble Tiger Woods might be in, money is not going to solve his problems.  If the American Dream is only success it can easily crumble.  Any business owner or financial planner can attest to the crashing economy making success as fragile as china plate resting cockeyed on a shelf while a bull brushes past.  The American Dream must connect the people of our land to history, to literature, to science, to understanding of others.  The constant hope is that we continue to build an understanding of what it means to be a member of humanity; an understanding that fear can lead to hatred which can lead to war which leads to death and breeds the cycle again.  Freedom must be accompanied with the education of all and the desire to eradicate fear of those who are different.

My faith also rests in God.  A God of forgiveness and grace.  A God who taught us to pray: "Thy kingdom come."  This kingdom of God can not be one of fear and hatred.  How then can we love our neighbor if we do not know our neighbor?  Education is a starting place, and living in the world and with God's people is a way to make education a journey rather than only a destination.  

Tomorrow, I'll tell Jonas a bit more about The Great Gatsby.  A man whose dream was ultimately shattered.  Maybe there is something more he and I can teach each other about this American Dream.  The dream that spans across mighty oceans and continents that allows one man from an African nation to receive an education and to be free from oppression.  In the end, I think I have found my definition of the American dream by knowing a man from Africa who works as a custodian in order to go to school in a country where he is free to dream.  I guess he is wondering who will keep this dream alive for the next generation.

Shoes on my feet

Last week as I was walking into school, I must have felt something unusual as I walked.  I can only assume this is the reason that I looked down at my feet to see that I was wearing two different shoes.  Now before you jump to any wild conclusions about my lack of sanity, I must explain.  The shoes were both brown and both made by Dansko, the same shoe company.  I had the giggles that made my hike up the 35 stairs that take me from the parking lot up to the second floor and then up again to the third floor even harder than usual.  The giggles turned into downright hysterics leaving my mascara running down my cheeks.  

I vowed I would keep my mistake a secret.  That was until I remembered another funny shoe story.  Last Christmas I was at a party with friends from school.  One of the women had to leave early to take tickets for the basketball game.  We said our goodbyes and off she went.  I mingled for quite a while longer and then it was time for me to head for home.  I went to put on my black Danskos and immediately knew something was amiss.  One shoe felt like mine, but it was quite obvious the other shoe was, oh let's just say, too small for my size 9 1/2 foot.  Could it be?  Yep, the friend that left for the basketball game was in such a hurry that she didn't notice she was wearing size 6 on one foot and 9 1/2 on the other foot.  I hobbled into the game, swapped shoes, and then I headed for home.  I knew she was one person who would appreciate my mismatched shoes.  She did!

One more shoe story.  I have hated my big feet ever since I was about six years old.  My most vivid memory is shoe shopping at Kinney's Shoes.  I chose a really cute pair of tennis shoes.  There were three eyelets for the laces.  I excitedly waited for the clerk to bring out my size.  I sat swinging my legs on the little stool in anticipation.  When he brought out the shoes in my size, I argued with him, for these were NOT the shoes I had chosen.  I marched over to the counter to retrieve the sample shoe I wanted.  I counted the eyelets for him to ensure he understood.  In the end, I left the store in tears without a pair of shoes.  

I never wanted anyone to notice my big feet.  Comments about my big feet used to leave me in tears: "Wow, I never knew you had such huge feet!"  Or "I thought you would be taller with such big feet."  But fretting over my feet never made them smaller nor did it make me feel better.  But laughing at myself certainly made me feel lighter, happier, and unabashed.  It's good to grow up!  

Sol Invitcus

Recently, I found out that the celebration of Christ's birth was moved to December 25 to transform a previous pagan worship of the sun, Sol Invitcus.  So rather than worshiping the light of sun, Christians could worship Christ as the Light of the World.  My first question is what were the pagans doing worshipping the sun during the darkest part of the year?  To me, if you want to worship the sun, you do it anywhere in let's say, June, July, or August.  So that part I simply don't get.  My second question is what do the powers that be (Romans? Catholics?) think about the worshipping pagans now?  So they (Romans) thought that by plunking in the grand celebration of Christ's birth the pagans would suddenly stop worshipping something other than the creator.  No dice.  Nope, ain't happening.  

Trust me, I might be prone to worship the sun if it were shining more than four hours a day (in addition to my worship of Christ the King, of course!).  Sun light is a pretty essential factor.  Just ask your doctor to check your Vitamin D level and you'll discover the necessity of sunlight.  But instead of the natural light of the sky, blinking white, pink, red, green and now neon blue lights litter my neighbors' yards in hopes to do what?  Draw attention to the birth of the Saviour?  Or, shed some colorful light on a really dark night since the sun has just up and left the sky?  I'm not sure.  The lights covering trees and trimming houses are a comfort on a dark night.  They are beautiful when they shimmer and glitter.  But that is because it is so very dark outside, so very dark when we are all still awake and trying to go about our productive lives. 

I guess the attempt by the State of Rome to eliminate a pagan holiday by replacing it with the most holy of days has kind of mussed it all up.  For it seems to me, we still have a pagan holiday, but it is smothering the birth of a Savoir.  Maybe Christ's birth should be celebrated on the real day of his birth.   December is dark and cold.  It is a month to be mindful of the need for light, for pure essential light.   I just wish Christ got all the attention on His day.