Removing Statues and Evolving Communities

It seems to be impossible to scan social media, read a paper, listen to the news or even a radio without encountering some kind of discussion, debate or argument regarding removing offensive statues.

Some city workers of New Orleans took the statues of Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis, and Confederate General P.G.T. Beauregard, down under the shelter of darkness. They had been deemed a public nuisance by the City Council, so down they came.

Lately, it seems that we no longer bother with a democratic process, a bit of rope and some really pissed off people suffices. The latest, a woman in North Carolina pulled down a Confederate statue with many people, including police, looking on. From the looks of it, it was a really big statue — had I been anywhere near it, I would have run for the hills (or a brewery).

I have no idea what is inside of a statue, but I would guess that as it lands, parts go flying. Politics aside, an impulsive removal of a statue is really dangerous!

Should they be removed? I do not believe that by removing a statue, we erase history. That is nonsense. History is history, you can’t erase it (although the idea is tempting and I have had some parts of my history that I wouldn’t mind erasing). The intent of a statue is not to tell history, but to memorialize and honor it. They are monuments of honor and respect that a community feels and wishes to display. But here’s the deal — that community changes. 

That’s the really cool thing about a community, it evolves. People die and people are born and everyone forms opinions, tastes and preferences based in a large part upon the community, city, state or country one is a member of. Peers, media, family, etc all influence people and help shape every single individual into a unique person. The unique people of 2017 are quite different from the unique people of 1870. Perhaps the only things in common with the people of different generations, are that both are unique and the process of how they became the people they were or are, pretty much stays the same.

So, a statue that was extremely meaningful to a community in 1870, might not be as important to the community in the exact same geographic location but is a completely different community than the one that erected the statue.

Just as we remove buildings to create a park, or homes to build a freeway, or when a brewpub appears in an abandoned church, our community is constantly changing born of the ever changing needs and wants of the people that make up that community. Statues are no different.

A statue is kind of cool. I appreciate the artistic skill (some, not so much) that goes into creating a great monument. I respect the sentiment, usually. If I disagree, I simply mind my business, much like I do at an art gallery, and move on.

My point is, it is up to each community to decide what they want displayed in public areas. If something is deemed offensive by the majority, or by an elected body of people, then it can and should come down. It does not erase history, thankfully we have libraries and Wikipedia for that. It is just a reflection of an evolving community. A statue has no right to occupy a plot of land for the remainder of the world’s life, nonsense. So if New Orleans decides that it no longer wants  Robert E. Lee hanging out in a park and that he might be better off in a museum, office or garage, that is its prerogative. Thank goodness my community never erected a statue of Bill Cosby!

Personally, I feel that Confederate statues’ time has come to accept that their tenure of public real estate has passed and they should gracefully go to a museum, where their roles in history can be explained, for good or bad. It was a bad time, a bad thing and their existence is a painful reminder to many people of a painful past. It should never be forgotten, but it should also not be memorialized in a way that conveys respect — just my opinion. I don’t live in the South, but if I did, I would want the statues to be replaced.

I would also like to add, that no matter how awful a person, group or even community feels a statue is, it is anarchy to allow an individual or individuals to impulsively tear it down. This is how riots begin, emotions erupt, police respond… trust me, it usually does not end well. There are legitimate and safer ways to remove anything offensive from public property and I am on the side of “going through the channels.” 

I realize that the current and active movement to extract offensive articles, and rename parks, airports, and buildings in our community is a slippery slope — where does it stop (or should it)?  Recently, my community decided that the name of a popular lake needed to be changed because it was named after a slave owner. I actually have no problem with renaming a lake;  we renamed a mountain in Alaska from McKinley to Denali and that seemed to be fine, no rioting, no earthquakes, the sun still rose and set each day.

My problem with renaming our lake was that the name that was selected - Mde Maka Ska, which very few people can pronounce, or even remember (I had to look it up). Forget about even spelling it. It means Great White Lake, so why didn’t we call it that? I suspect what will happen to the new name, because few can say it much less remember, it will continue to be called Lake Calhoun, further ensuring that the offending name will be remembered forever.

A majority of our founding fathers owned slaves, lots of slaves! George Washington owned over 300. Jefferson, while a huge opponent of slavery and a champion of human rights, wasn’t such a “champ” back home. He owned many slaves. He even gave a moving speech against slavery, but also said that he couldn’t set his free because they could never take care of themselves…. So, as a nation should we rename all things Washington or Jefferson? Time to remove their monuments? I guess it depends on each community’s perception.

It is my opinion that we can only follow our hearts today and do what we believe to be just. Taking down a statue is not desecration, or an attempt to change history. It is a reflection of an evolving population that chooses to honor and respect people that exemplify their values. Sometimes, I agree, sometimes, I disagree, but people, such is life.

D Day - A Personal Perspective

D Day June 6, 1944

Imagine you are about 18 years old. You are on a boat, in the ocean, far from your home, in a foreign country. You know that you are about to participate in a world altering event - one that will mean life or death to many people, a number that you cannot even wrap around your brain (you are, after all,18). You are floating in almost silence as you and the people around you think about what is to come. Many are seasick, and the stench of vomit is incessant.

While waiting to embark on your voyage, you have listened to nonstop, unending air raids from an enemy determined to annihilate you. The raids were so frightening that you actually looked forward to embarking into the cold, dark waters to face an event that nothing in life had prepared you for. 

The following is an actual description from the memoirs of my father, John McLean. He landed the morning after the first wave of D Day at age 20. It is important to note that he was in the second wave of attack - he and the other soldiers had already learned of the fates of the soldiers in the first wave. The air raids they listened to before their departure, foretold a grim prognostication of their own future:

“We were unassigned at this time, in other words, replacements, some referred to us as cannon fodder. We boarded a ship on the evening of June 6 and sometime during the night, shoved off, and arrived the morning of June 7. We went over the side of the boat, down cargo nets, and into LCTs (as seen in the movie, Saving Private Ryan) and took off towards shore. The sailor operating our unit was somewhat shy (scared), didn’t want to get too close, and dropped the gate and I was first off, having been made a first scout by a Lieutenant, and dropped in over my head. I was loaded with a rifle, shells (bullets) and a full field pack of about 52 lbs.” 

What brave men they were. Most left comfortable lives and answered the call, and my father was one of them. He left college, friends, a great job and without a thought to what was ahead, enlisted in the infantry. He had spent a year at West Point and could have enlisted at a higher rank, and not have been “cannon fodder,” but he didn’t. Much to the deep trepidation of my grandmother, he wanted to fight.

I look at 18 year olds today and I see a different picture. Their biggest fears are getting pulled over for speeding, drinking or texting. Their biggest worry is getting a sufficient score on the ACT or SAT test to ensure acceptance at their dream college. At 18, their thoughts are with college applications, college essays and grad parties.

Don’t misunderstand me, I am not criticizing. Their worries are what every parent wishes for their children - because at 18, they are indeed, children. No parent wants their 18 year old to prematurely become an adult. No one wants to see them jump into 10 feet of water carrying 52 pounds - with a rifle, and let’s be honest, very few are eager to see their 18 year old voluntarily head into military service.

As a country, we had never faced this kind of fear and danger. These brave men had no idea of what they would encounter. I doubt they even fully understood the conflict beyond the fact that our soil had been violated. They understood what an enemy was, and that the enemy had dared to attack them, and their way of life, and that was enough. It was that simple…yet it was so complicated.

I recently was going through some old pictures I had collected after my mother died. I was looking for ancestors for my ancestry hobby (ok, obsession). They were not very chronological - photos from high school were mixed with photos of her great grandparents. Each one triggered a different reaction from me, smiles, frowns, laughs and curiosity (everyone, please write names on the back of every picture).

She had several from high school of her boy friends (not her boyfriends). On the back, she listed a name and she also noted that he had died in the war. There were about six perhaps, and it was overwhelming to me. I stared at each picture, and tried to memorize each face. They were just like any 18  year old boy today, with a goofy smile, posing in a comical way - almost like today’s “selfies.”  The sacrifice that each had made was so hard for me to fully appreciate. 

My mom met my father shortly before he shipped off. It was accidental meeting; he was at her house with a friend picking up her sister to go on a double date. My dad’s date was their next stop. They never picked up his date, instead, they talked and spent the evening playing bridge with my mom and her sister, my aunt. My mom was five years younger and still in high school.  During the next several years, and throughout my dad’s military service, they kept up a letter correspondence. Both often said that their letter writing really helped each other get to know each other in a way most couples don’t experience. My dad was injured and shipped stateside to many different hospitals. When he finally returned to Minnesota, my mom met his train and they were married shortly after - she was 20 and he was 25. What a leap of faith that was, and one that yielded 10 children and 60 plus years of marriage. 

The war made men out of children and it did it within mere weeks. It was a war that changed their lives in ways we simply can’t fathom; it is impossible to understand and appreciate what they faced and how they processed their fears. Honestly, to consider what they faced and to think of my son facing that, brings tears to me. As a mother, knowing your son, or daughter, faced that imminent and real fear of death, and faced it alone, thousands of miles from home is simply paralyzing. I don’t know how that generation did it. How did they put one foot in front of the other every single day following that telegram from the War Dept.? 

It was a generation filled with sacrifice. 

Today, D Day, is a day worthy of reflection, and a day worth acknowledging the sacrifices made by the men and women of World War II.

If you see a serviceman or woman, please take time to say thanks.

Volunteer

Earlier today I waited for my husband while he had rotator cuff surgery. The waiting room was in the lower level of a major hospital and, as waiting rooms go, it was pleasant. There was free coffee, and it was better than most free coffee one finds in a waiting room.  The chairs were comfortable and strategically placed to offer a moderate amount of privacy while accommodating several members of a patient’s family and friends. The Wifi was dependable, free and adequate for live streaming. It had two, functional televisions - one showed a game show (I had no idea that game shows were still on TV) and the other offered CNN. Both were attentively operated by a passionate, waiting room volunteer. Ah, the waiting room volunteer.

My husband was one of the first cases. We arrived at the hospital by 5:30 a.m. and he was in surgery a little over an hour later. I hadn't had breakfast so I ventured through the myriad of halls and down a few escalators to the cafeteria. When I returned, I asked someone if they knew where I should wait and I easily found the waiting room. I gave a glancing smile to the volunteer at the front desk and found a spot to settle in. Shortly after I fired up the computer and accessed the Wifi, I heard a voice calling, “Colleen?” I answered, “I’m Colleen.”  The volunteer summoned me to the front desk for an orientation.

I approached the desk, smiled and waited. Immediately I was reprimanded that I should have checked in with him, as he had important information to relay to me. I listened attentively. He went over how the texting worked, who would come find me when the surgery was completed, where John would go after surgery etc. Most of the information had already been disseminated to me when we checked in at admitting, but I listened anyway; I had nothing else to do and I appreciated his dedication as a volunteer. After a few minutes of politely listening, I was becoming concerned about my unattended laptop and purse, as a few more people came in to begin their waiting process. Unbelievably, he stopped them and told them to wait, that he had important information to impart to them and that he would now begin all over again so he wouldn't have to say it twice. Say, what? 

All I  wanted to do was go to my spot, connect to Netflix and make time pass; he had already taken up five minutes of my time and this was getting tedious. It was also definitely awkward, not to mention redundant. The new people entering the room, were not as attentive as me and slowly, they just ignored him, found their spots and the lecture ended. Volunteer did not look happy, but he stopped talking and moved on to other duties. 

Soon, I needed to use a restroom, which was “offsite,” meaning not within the confines of the waiting room. As I made my way past the desk, he raised his eyebrows, much like a teacher does when a student deliberately walks towards the exit door. I explained the purpose of my journey and he gave me a tight smile, as if to say, “If you must.” 

He seemed relieved when I returned.  A young woman approached him and asked if he knew where the cafeteria was. He answered robustly, with a smile, “Yes, I do!” She waited a bit and when he said nothing more, she looked perplexed and returned to her seat. Perhaps she realized that he was an eccentric fellow and that it might be better to leave him alone. He got up, emptied a waste basket then returned to her and said, “Do you want me to tell you where the cafeteria is?” She answered, “Yes?”  as if she thought this might be a trick question. He then explained that technically, she never asked him to tell her where it was, just that she asked if he knew where it was. And again, he said robustly, “And I do know where it is!” After which he smiled as if he had just told the most hysterical joke. She smiled weakly and waited. He gave her instructions and I can only imagine how happy she was to leave. I almost offered to show her the way myself, just to find an excuse to leave.

At some point, a physician came and began a discussion with Volunteer which I tuned out. It is funny how when you suddenly hear something odd (and you didn’t even know you were listening), your attention becomes intensely focused. I heard Volunteer raise his voice and say to the doctor, “I will tell you only if you allow me to talk!”  I thought surely he was joking. I took a peek around the corner and the doctor seemed irritated but unwilling to begin a battle with Volunteer. I’m not sure what they had been talking about, but the doctor left in haste. 

Things quieted down and I settled into a rhythm of watching Netflix, checking Facebook, listening to the drone of CNN, and I had an interesting conversation with someone regarding wolves. In the next cubicle over, I heard a wolf cry (I later learned it was from a computer) and asked a woman in my cubicle, “Is that a wolf?”  The man on the computer shouted over the wall, “Yes!” and that seemed to be his cue to come and chat. Turns out, he is really passionate about wolves and wanted to talk to me about them. He was nice, and since I like wolves as well (as much as the next person), we chatted about the differences between coyotes and wolves. It turns out that wolves eat the flesh of their prey and coyotes rip it apart. That conversation was thankfully short, as I continued to wait.

 After a few hours, I was called by Volunteer to meet with John’s doctor in a special waiting room. I admit, it did give me a start and I wondered if this is how they dole out bad news….. The doctor came in and just talked about the surgery and some of the difficulties they encountered and how he worked around them. It turns out that the special waiting room has a whiteboard which he needed to explain what he did to John’s shoulder. 

I returned to the waiting room and was soon asked by Volunteer to follow him. He led me back to the final room of a long hall, which obviously was John’s (because his name was on the whiteboard) but Volunteer stopped me before we walked in. He did a peek around the corner and asked me to gaze in and verify that this was my husband. Um, his name was on the wall … but OK, I went with it. John gave me a weak smile and I began to go in, and was again stopped by Volunteer. Volunteer asked, “Is this your husband?”  I answered (my patience was waning), “Ha ha, yes, this is him,” and I was allowed to pass. He made some reference to plastic surgery but I was really over humoring him, as I entered the room with no more thought to Volunteer.

Fortunately, that was the last I saw of Volunteer. In John’s recovery room we were surrounded by competent, knowledgeable and compassionate nursing staff. They had a refreshingly efficient way of communicating which was both welcome and appreciated.  We watched a video, and discussed signs of infection. I learned what the half life was of narcotics (my question), and how to remove the sling and ice pack (which we totally screwed up when we got home). We went through the various medications to take, when to take them, and what side effects he could expect from the surgery and the new medications. Time flew by and soon he was being wheeled to the car, and home to begin another period of waiting called recovery….

So What?

What is all the fuss about Caitlyn Jenner (or Bruce if you just can’t come to grips with calling him Caitlyn)?  I have been following his story, along with millions of others as his transformation has evolved. At first, I thought it was just the paparazzi creating a story where one didn’t exist, but then when he had the Adam’s apple surgery, I began to think the story had legs (because no one would do that on a whim). So what?

I have seen postings on the story in all kinds of media outlets, Twitter, Facebook, newspapers, TV,  etc. I see and hear the comments and am flabbergasted at the vicious, hateful, judgmental posts from complete strangers that know nothing about Bruce/Caitlyn. Honestly, I am shocked.

Who cares? Why are so many people worrying about something that has absolutely no effect on their lives?  Every day, all across this beautiful planet, in cities, towns, villages etc., people are making decisions that are vastly dissimilar from ones I would make for myself, and I am just fine with that. As long as these decisions don’t result in harm to me, or anyone else, I say go for it. I will still sleep soundly at night and live my life just fine.

How is this decision any different from any other personal decision a person makes about being true to themselves? Body piercings, tattoos, clothing, hair color, fashion, makeup, all are ways to differentiate ourselves and I am OK with it all. Personally, I would never get a tattoo because it is so permanent, but I don’t hate it on others (well, some I do). I am occasionally shocked with some tattoos and how much of the body they cover, but it isn’t my body and I didn’t have to endure the pain so why should I care? The same is true of multiple body piercings, not my bag and I can’t figure out why people would want them, but hey, as long as you keep sharp objects away from me, we are cool. But I digress…..

I have read some people call him/her a “sin against nature,”  and also a comment that, “God doesn’t make a mistake.” My first reaction was to laugh, and I did when I read it. My mirth didn’t last long because almost immediately, I was angry.

With regards to the “sin against nature,”  how dare anyone accuse another of sinning when the action caused no harm? Sinning is kind of a personal thing people, because it involves a great deal of religious connotations many people do not subscribe to. As far as using Bible passages as proof, forget about it - I don’t use the Bible to set my moral compass. Some people do and good for them, I mean it, good for them. The operative words being “good for them,” as in, not for me. Faith is a wonderful thing, but let each person practice what he or she believes and not project his or her faith onto someone else.

As far as “God never makes a mistake,” all I can say is what do you say about babies born with cancer? Or children born with congenital defects that are so severe they do not get to see a birthday? I’m not calling these mistakes, but rather, I don’t blame God for everything that I see as hurtful, wrong or different from my way of thinking.  I hardly think of a person who cannot identify with the sex they are born with as a mistake. Because someone identifies with another sexual identity or orientation is not a mistake, just a fact of life. If it is or isn’t a choice, so what? If that is what a person needs to be to feel whole, then so be it, why on earth would I care?

Before I wrote this, I Googled “transgender suicides,” (because, let’s face it, Google has become our “go to” source for anything we want to know, or to prove. I think my daughter has it speed dialed into her phone, she uses so often to prove me wrong…..).  I wanted to see the statistics on transgender suicides because I watched the Diane Sawyer interview with Bruce, and he spoke of the pain so many transgenders endure.

The statistics are staggering. From just the sources I read, about 40- 50 percent of all transgenders have attempted suicide at some point. I’m not going to document my sources, look it up yourselves, it is a sobering statistic. Even if the number is inflated, it is still jaw dropping, to me. I suspect that there are others who aren’t bothered by transgender suicide attempts, but I am. All suicides bother me and for reasons I think which are obvious to any human with compassion.

Why would anyone ever choose this type of lifestyle change, endure the hatred and judgments of strangers, unless living in a body with a sex you don’t identify with is a living hell?  And what about those that just like to crossdress, you know, as a choice?  So what, I have absolutely no clue why anyone cares what someone else does. Why is it that women can dress as men, act like men and it is cool, edgy, acceptable - we shrug our collective shoulders and carry on.  So if a man wants to dress and act as a woman we quote the Bible, judge, froth at the mouth (figuratively speaking, of course) and basically act as if society will unravel right before our very eyes.

I have read comments about Caitlyn Jenner that suggest that transgenders are mentally ill. Really? So doing something that makes you feel whole, happier, and able to live life feeling healthy is a mental illness? I disagree. Caitlynn sounds a lot healthier and happier now than she did as Bruce. The gold medals didn’t do it for her, being the top athlete in the world didn’t do it, the fame didn’t do it, and being on a trendy TV show didn’t do it. Sounds like living all of this felt like a lie and was hell for him living that life. Coming out as a woman, living a life she always identified with, did it, (or is doing it, I guess). If she is happier now, then everyone can relax and move along.

So what?

My Happy Place

I'll admit, I like Facebook. I haven’t reached the level of contempt and disdain that others apparently have about it. I often hear people complain, and others swear that they are done and are going to delete their account. However, I still enjoy the communication it affords me. I like having the ability to sustain connections with people I otherwise would never maintain contact with.

I like posting pictures, and animal stories that make me cry, checking in when I am on the run, sharing amusing things which make me laugh, and I like the freedom to say what I have on my mind. I enjoy the pictures people share, especially the ones of children and animals. I am certain that not every one of my friends always cares about what I am posting, but so what? If they don’t like it, they can just scroll on by, no harm done.

I don’t like to use Facebook to express my political opinions. Oh sure, I might click on a like button once in a while or make a comment about someone else’s posting, but rarely, if ever, do I post about a current, political issue.  If I feel the need to comment on someone else’s posting, it isn’t to propagate my personal beliefs, but rather to point out something in the post I feel is wrong or misleading. I am polite, factual, and as brief as I can be, at least I try, to be polite that is.  

I have opinions, yes. To be sure, I have strong feelings on certain issues, and I feel I am right. But the purpose of posting my heartfelt opinion is moot – I would never be able to change anyone’s mind because other people with a disparate opinion think they are right also. Frankly, I am not even sure I would want to change their mind.  I don’t consider myself a member of any particular party. I do not agree with the totality of any one party’s platform. I easily lean both right and left and sometimes, I sit on my virtual fence.  I know how I feel about some issues in general, but I am open to evaluating dissimilar ideas.  I am far from perfect and that is exactly why I avoid stepping into the political arena on Facebook.  

I have friends who are just the opposite. From the content of their Facebook page, it appears as if the sole basis for why they post is to express political opinions. Fair enough.  Just as I like to keep things neutral, they like to use it as a virtual Speakers’ Corner. And I think that is just as valid a reason for using Facebook as mine. To each his own. Fortunately, Facebook allows us to choose what we don’t want to see just as easily as what we like to see. If I don’t like someone’s postings, I just eliminate it from my feed.

That isn’t to say that I eliminate the people I disagree with, far from it. I actually enjoy the postings that are wildly different from my opinions. Some make me laugh, some make me think, and some make me search for more information. I appreciate these postings and think of them like collecting coins or pebbles - some are more fine than others but collectively, they make a nice assortment of things to ruminate on.

What I don’t like are the postings that make a broad sweep of any one group and then proceed to deride that group, often under the guise of a “joke.” These are comments, which originate from a pack mentality, and are comparable to something frequently heard on a grade school playground. These comments are oftentimes directed at religious groups, political parties, a particular sex, a state, or even a country.  If you belong to a stated group, then you are laughed at, insulted, put down, intimidated or otherwise offended.  My problem with such comments is that it is insulting to assume every member of a group thinks alike, as if there can be no differentiation of thought.

Not all Republicans are rich, greedy and unethical just as not all Democrats disregard the value of hard work, independent thinking, or entrepreneurship. Not all Catholics believe that birth control is evil or that gay marriage will destroy civilization. Not all Muslims are terrorists, nor are all women who wear a burqa unable to think for themselves or feel demeaned. And finally, not all illegal aliens are here to get everything handed to them. I hate comments that assume every member of a group holds the same opinions, behavior and motivation, and I dislike very much any comments that are intentionally insulting.

If I ever wanted to convince someone that my way is the right way, I wouldn’t do it by hurling insults. The only thing that accomplishes is to create a deeper divide and strengthen animosity. It is dismissive of larger issues and creates divergent paths, not allowing for dialogue.

I work in a school, a school that works tirelessly to prevent bullying and to create a safe environment for children to learn and exchange ideas. As a community, city, state, and country, we strive to wipe out bullying and discrimination. Though not always successful, we continue our efforts. I have seen insulting postings from people who if asked, would condemn bullying and say that they have worked to extinguish it. Then they fire up the computer and just do it in a different forum, but it is still bullying. I suspect, they don’t see it as bullying because they get so many “likes” on their postings and so many like minded comments. So if all of your friends think it is OK…..sound familiar?

Go ahead, post an opinion on Facebook, be angry, and cry out about things you find outrageous.  It’s OK to be mad about a news story, a political event or a politician even, and it’s OK to use Facebook to comment and tell your friends. But people, please leave the insults out. I want to hear how you feel but if you make insulting jokes, comments or post rude pictures, I won’t be your friend anymore…….

Facebook is my happy place and I intend to keep it that way.

News Alert: Christmas is Over, St. Patrick's Day Approaches!

A friend recently commented on why it was so long between my last posting and my current one. I answered, “I guess I wasn’t inspired.”  I realize how idiotic that response was. Over 365 days, and nothing inspired me. Obviously, I have not been paying attention, but recently I have noticed something …Why on Earth are Christmas decorations still up?

I will explain how it works at our house (as I am charge of all things Christmas). The lights go up whenever there is a warm weather opportunity within a few weeks of Thanksgiving. They do NOT get plugged in until the official start of the holiday, the day after Thanksgiving (don’t even get me started about stores and people that fudge that start date). Our lights are proudly displayed throughout the holiday season, which ends the day after New Year’s, at which point the plug is pulled. I will grant some leeway for the white lights if it is: 1) cold, and 2) snowy. Once the snow and cold moderate, turn off the lights, thank-you.

I think there are homes in Edina that must be competing for how long they can leave their lights up. Seriously, it is a land that time has forgotten; you would swear Christmas is just around the corner, with so many light displays still burning brightly. I made a snide comment last week and my son immediately defended the ones with “white lights”  as being OK in the winter. No, unless you are serving dinners on your patio, just no. Lights are wrong when approaching April.  I don’t even like the red ones for Valentine’s Day or the green ones for St Patrick’s Day. Lights are for Christmas. The reason they are pretty during the holidays is because they are special, as in DOESN’T HAPPEN OFTEN. If we keep lights up until spring and beyond, then it isn’t special at Christmas. I blame these selfish, light hoarders for ruining the “Christmas Spirit” for the rest of us.

It isn’t as if we have had a winter like LAST year. Last year, I understood, everyone understood, you would have to have been from Mars (or Florida) to not have understood. I couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to step foot outside in the God-awful, frozen tundra.  So no, I don’t really fault anyone for leaving them up, but then simply unplug them, how difficult is that? When illuminated in March, I can only conclude that these people are lazy. Don’t they see them? Aren’t they embarrassed?

As if the lights aren’t enough, I have noticed two other holiday displays still in place as recently as today, and in my own city!  One, a display of wooden cutouts of Santa and Mrs. Claus, and a few other figures, life size no less, and the other is another festive garland of fake pine boughs and festively bright, red bows adorning a charming picket fence spanning a few hundred feet. Both of these holiday trimmings took a great deal of effort to install (more than I would expend), so clearly, these people have had periods where they have experienced bursts of energy. Why have they not noticed what month it is, and if they are aware that St. Patrick’s Day is next week, why are the adornments still adorning?

I know that it is none of my business, and I will not say a thing to them, write them a discrete note, look up city statutes, or even gift them with one of the many calendars I received from Christmas. I will simply pass by, bite my tongue, and maybe silently ask St. Lawrence (patron saint of the lazy) to give them a nudge.

The F Word(s)

I have learned. After LAST winter, I have experience. I know how to survive (and I know the correct prayers for no snow).

To survive winter, the key is in the F word or words….Fleece, Flannel and Fire.

Fleece – I bought a Fleece jacket at the U of Michigan M Den. I was cheap, so I bought it from the boys’ section. One of the benefits of being a short person, is that I can buy products from the boys’ section for much less money. In the winter, I wear this jacket about 80% of my waking hours. I confess, I have two jackets, both equally warm, but one has bright yellow shoulders and is a bit flashy. I wear it only while in Michigan or on game days, cuz, well it is game day so people here need to deal.

Flannel – A few years ago, I made myself some flannel PJ’s, not the granny style, but the kind with a top, jacket style, and a separate bottom. Folks, these are warm, warm warm, and the beauty of it is you wear a tank underneath so it is comfortable while sleeping, just ditch the jacket.  I go from my fleece, to my workout, then to my flannel PJ’s. Very Minnesotan.

Fire – Best home improvement we ever did was to install a gas fireplace. I love wood burning fires, but I am terrified (and would worry endlessly) of a creosote fire happening from the buildup and I am not a fan of cleaning out the c*$p in a fireplace, not to mention the mess, and the smoke, and the danger. With the gas, you just turn it on and get warm. Did I mention the remote control?

As winter is finally loosening its grip on us, and spring is within reach (a possible 50 by next week), I realize that I haven’t complained once about this winter. I have survived nicely, the anti-snow prayers have been most effective, and I have found the F words get the job done.  As spring approaches, here is what I am most looking forward to:

Sunsets that you can actually watch and savor

Sleeping with the windows open

Long days and nights

Bonfires

Biking, oh, I have missed biking

Eating outside at restaurants

The sounds of children playing in the neighborhood (and even the fights, I like those very much)

The sounds of birds, owls, squirrels running through the woods, coyotes (when they're nice, and not  chewing cats), and the odd ramblings of wild turkeys

Color in the landscape, especially green (have you ever noticed that in winter on cloudy days, there is no color outside? Everything is gray, a little brown and white)

Lilacs

The first dandelion (makes me giddy, for real)

The smell of cut grass

Getting a new dog (I sure miss Claudia; this will be the first spring without her)

Thunderstorms

Activity on the lake involving boats and swimming and not shacks (good grief)

Margaritas and Gin and Tonics

Planting and smelling dirt

Talking to neighbors for longer than a quick wave and a hello

Grilling

Baseball games

How about you?