Good People

If you get a chance to read the book, In the Garden of Beasts : love, terror, and an American family in Hitler's Berlin, by Eric Larson, I hope you take the opportunity. It is the true story of the American Ambassador to Germany and his family in 1933 and 1934.  Very easy to read, this book is a true eye opener. 

How did this happen? you will ask many times as you read through. Why wasn't something done to stop this? I don't know the answers to these questions, but, for me, the story raised a lot of other questions. Are we living in a comparable time, where evil is breeding in different parts of the world? Do we have an obligation to combat this evil, to try and stop it?

I have always believed that we should never have sent troops to Viet Nam, Afghanistan, or anywhere in the Middle East. This is not a reflection on the men and women who were sent to fight; they are truly the heroes in all of this, doing their best to protect our country. I think the boys and girls in Washington are to blame for most of the wars we have been involved in. But it doesn't seem to matter who is in power in Washington, the wars drag on.

This book has given me serious pause. There were several times I said to myself that the rise of Hitler should never have happened. What happened to the good people of the world? Is our situation today analogous? What should we do about it? Should we bring all the troops home? My answer to this question for the last several years has been Yes. But now I wonder, if good people do nothing, who will? If good people do nothing, are they good people?

It reminds me of the poem attributed to Martin Niemõller:
              

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Maybe you shouldn't read this book. It could raise serious questions for you, too.

Mom's Banjo

Mom's banjo has been around as long as I can remember. When she moved into her condo, the banjo came home with me. Since then, it has floated between the living room wall, the attic, and the office, which used to be my son's bedroom.

All I know about the banjo is that it is a B&D Symphonie Silver Bell, and it is heavy. The B&D stands for Bacon & Day; and Symphonie is spelled that way right on the banjo. My grandfather was somehow able to get this beautiful banjo for mom in the 1930s, in the heart of the Great Depression. That she managed to hang onto it for all those years seems unlikely, but she did. Now it is mine.

Last Christmas, Adam and Beth gave me the gift of banjo lessons. I had been making noises for several years that mom's banjo needed to be played, so they thought I should learn. I took my first lesson about six weeks ago, and have now been through three hours of frustration, laughter, anxiety, and pain. Usually the frustration wins out. How long will I keep up with the lessons? I haven't the foggiest. I was ready to quit after the second lesson, but then I remembered why I wanted to take the lessons in the first place. This banjo needs to be played; and I need something that takes me out of my comfort zone.

I now know two chords, the C chord and the G7 chord. Actually, I know three because I peeked ahead in the lesson book at the F chord, but don't tell Andre.) I have not yet figured out where my fingers go on the frets or strings (the banjo is a four string tenor banjo), or how to slide them up and down the strings, or what frets equal what notes.
Until my next lesson, in two weeks, I will be practicing the chromatic scale on all the strings. So if you happen to be in my neighborhood and hear what could be an animal in distress, please don't get too upset. I will just be me, practicing.

Wish me luck.

Spring Cleaning

Does anyone spring clean anymore? It used to be a time when my mother washed walls, cleaned out closets and cupboards, sent the winter clothes up to the attic in boxes, and brought the summer clothes down from the attic. Of course,she didn't do all this herself; she had three daughters to do it for her.

I started my spring cleaning this week. I managed to get the cabinet that holds rags, extra Coke, Pepsi, Perrier, juice, and catalogs done in one day. It took several hours, because I had to decide which catalogs to keep and which to throw out. I could only make this decision by looking at every catalog, not just the cover to see when it was dated, but inside to see if there was something I needed but had forgotten about. Luckily, I didn't need anything.

The next day, Tuesday, I took all my cookbooks down off the shelves, washed the shelves, dusted the cookbooks, and put them back on the shelf.The cookbooks take up three shelves, each one about two feet long, so you know this took me quite a while. I had to look in most of the cookbooks, especially the ones in which my mother had written recipes. I don't remember her ever making any of the recipes she had so carefully copied into the spiral notebooks and the binder, but I had to see what she thought was worthwhile saving. Then there were all the church and community cookbooks I had collected over the years. I was amazed at how many I had, all the way from Fairport Harbor, Ohio, to southern California.  These cookbooks hold a lot of traditional Hungarian, Finnish, and other nations' specialties.

You know it took several hours to clean these three shelves. At this rate, I should get my spring cleaning done by Christmas.But that's okay because I found a recipe that my son had asked me about several months ago. Today, I think I will skip the cleaning and attempt to make Verna Lepisto's torte.

A Review of the Book, "This Town"

Did you know that most elected senators and congressmen never come home again? They may visit and establish offices locally, at least as long as they are running for election; but once their political career is over, they seem to lose all ties to the locality that elected them in the first place. And their political career is never really over. This book tells all.

This Town was written by Mark Leibovich in 2013. It starts with a funeral, that of Tim Russert, and ends with a party hosted by Ben Bradlee and Sally Quinn. In between, Mr. Leibovich describes the insider goings on in Washington, D.C. The first word that came into my mind while I was reading this book was silly.

Washington is no longer populated by Democrats or Republicans, but by millionaires, all out for the same thing - fame and fortune. The job D.C. seems to do best is to celebrate itself.  The players in D.C. have been heard to call the voters stupid, and maybe we are for electing such dolts; but I think the voters are getting smarter and elect the idiots to get them out of our neighborhoods.  We know that D.C. doesn't care about us, and that one person will have a hard time making a dent in the insider goings on.
The voters are wising up to the players, and prefer to ignore them by banishing them to D.C.

More and more of the people elected to Congress, elect to become players for real after they leave public office. They stay in D.C. and get jobs with lobbying firms, law firms, super PACs, and anyone else who will pay for the privilege of having a former politician, elected or not, on their team. It doesn't seem to matter what beliefs the politician had when he or she was elected; all that matters is who will pay him or her the greatest sum of money.

And the media plays along. On page 302, Mr Liebovich states, "The media seems less concerned with being in tune with America than they are with promoting their own brands and worshipping celebrities."

Our so-called leaders haven't a clue as to what is happening in Ohio, or Iowa, or even California or New York. All they seem to care about is who will be at the next party; who can they get to know better; how can they get to be insiders. One statistic that really struck me was this: In 1974, 3% of retiring members became lobbyists in D.C. ( per The Atlantic). Now 50% of senators and 42% of congressmen do. Which asks the question - what are these people in Washington for, to serve the people who elected them or to get rich and powerful? Maybe we should wall off the city and start a new Capital somewhere else, like in Oklahoma.

As a side note, our former congressman, Steve LaTourette, has established a Super PAC, Defending Main Streeet. Does anyone know if he still has a home in Lake County?

Procrastination

Procrastination - putting off what should be done today until tomorrow, or maybe even the next day.

I don't think I have always been a procrastinator, but maybe I have. Right now, as I was looking up the dictionary definition of procrastinate, I got sidetracked by another word on the same page. You know, the one in large type at the top of the page that tells you what the last word on the page is. This word is proctodaeum, and, no, I'm not going to tell you what it means; but it's probably what you're thinking. You're going to look it up, aren't you?

A few weeks ago, I decided I needed more to do to keep me busy, or I might just sit on the couch all day reading. So I signed up for a creative writing course, bought and loaded new accounting software for the Finnish Heritage Museum, took a weaving class, borrowed lots of books from the library (along with some great BBC mystery videos), increased my knitting time and ambitions, promised I would brush the dogs more often - you get the idea. The picture on this page is Rebecca, weaving instructor, and Linda learning how to string the loom. I don't think "string" is the correct technical term, but close enough. Can you guess what I've been doing most of lately? Watching TV! After all, the Olympics are on, and they only come around once every four years, well every two if you count both the Summer and Winter Olympics.

Then there's Den. He really helps out a lot, does most of the cooking, and looks after the dogs. But he has this stereo. It is somehow attached to the computer, and to the TV, and he loves to spend time trying to make it sound incrementally better. In his experiments, he comes across all sorts of music styles and videos, and I have to listen to and watch them. Is this procrastination? I hope not, because it's really very interesting and entertaining. Just because I get nothing else done doesn't really matter, does it?

Oh, wait - I don't have any books or videos overdue at the library, and we did finish the weaving class, so, maybe I'm not such a procrastinator after all. In fact, I think I will work on my writing for my class right now. Just saying it makes me feel better.

Dialogue With My Sewing Machine

Below is a writing exercise assigned by the instructor of an online creative writing course I'm taking. It seemed like a fun exercise at the time, but maybe it's just silly.

Me: I really should put you back in the cabinet.

Sewing Machine: Why? I couldn’t see anything in there.

Me: But you are taking up space that I could use for something else.

SM: So what? This cabinet top is a mess anyway.

Me: I know. But if I put you away, I could straighten it up.

SM: You know what’s here; you don’t need, and probably won’t, get it in any sort of order,

Me: You’re right. But Den thinks you look messy. Besides, if I put you away, you will stay cleaner.

SM: I’m not so sure that would happen. What about all the dog hair flying around? It would just catch in my parts and never get dusted off. At least now there’s a slight chance I’ll get wiped down every couple of weeks. Now I have a question for you – why don’t you ever use me anymore?

Me: No time.

SM: You could make time. You’re making time for this course; you make time to knit. Why can’t you make time to sew?

Me: I don’t know. I used to sew a lot.

SM: I know. We made lots of things together; I bet we could again.

Me: But I was never very good. Well, maybe the down vests and jacket were good, but those were kits. I don’t really know how to sew very well.

SM: And you never will if you don’t practice. Think about it.

Human Hibernation?

It seems that all I want to do this time of year is sleep. And eat, but we won't talk about that. If I ignore it, it will go away, right? Is this always being tired a way of coping with the cold and dark? Or do I suffer just a bit from SAD?

I have always liked winter, or at least I did after I learned to cross country ski (Thanks, Ginny). It is the perfect time to get outside and enjoy the trees and bushes stripped of their greenery, with the bare branches dark against the snow. And the snow - sparkling like crystals; nothing is more beautiful.

But this year, I haven't even thought about skiing, probably because I now have a tendency to break something when I fall. The snow is still beautiful, the stars seem to shine more brightly than at other times of the year, but I just don't seem to want to be outside as much. The couch next to the fireplace is very comfortable, and there are lots of books just waiting to be read. The problem is, my eyes want to close, all on their own, when I get warm and cozy in the living room. I think it has to do with hibernation.

It wouldn't surprise me if, thousands of years ago, humans were able to curl up in caves and take a long winter nap, just like bears. How else were they going to survive the freezing cold? Those skimpy animal loin cloths certainly weren't going to keep them from freezing their tushes off. And did you see the article about the Swedish snowmobilers who found a man who had been trapped in his car for two months? He was still alive! Doctors think that because his core body temperature dropped to 88 degrees F. and he kept very still, he was able to survive.

Doesn't this prove humans can hibernate? Not that I would want to try to survive an ordeal like the Swedish man, but maybe I can use this human hibernation as an excuse to take my afternoon nap every day without feeling guilty.