Courage and Hope

[ID: Painting of a solitary tree on a hill with the words "Be strong enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help, and brave enough to ask for it." Attributed to Mark Amend]

I am a member of a Facebook Group called 'Twin Cities Mutual Aid Network." It's made of over 2,000 members of people down on their luck, and other people who have the ability to help them. Most requests are for $20 for gas, $100 for a security deposit, $50 to help give a little girl a birthday party. Those who are able to donate typically give $5 or $10, a micro-donation amount, and when everyone pools their money these needs get met. 

The pandemic has been unequally unfair to low-income workers and to women, and it is primarily these people who make up the Facebook group, not people like me who are doing fine through all of this.

One of the challenges of this group is that those asking and those giving are going entirely on trust. Donors trust that those who are describing their situations are painting a real picture of what they need, and because there's no way to verify that, the donation amounts are small. The administrators do a good job of monitoring this — one person was kicked out of the group for asking for assistance for her kids but was using photos of her friends' kids to get help (she doesn't have children).

I noticed a man continuing to post throughout asking for assistance. First it was to help pay for repairs for his car, then his car got towed because it sat so long in one place, to money to pay for a hotel so he could have a place for him and his daughter, to money for a security deposit on an apartment. Each time, he never received quite enough to get by. 

He and I got connected via messenger and started chatting. He needed way more help them he was ever going to get in micro-donations. I asked if he would be willing to meet, to tell his story, so that I could rally to get him more meaningful support. He agreed.

We met at Fat Nat's Eggs in New Hope, close to his cousin's apartment where he was staying the night. I asked if he would entrust me with his story, so I could write about his situation and create a GoFundMe page for him. He agreed. You can read the story here, and make a donation if you'd like.

Some of the things he told me brought me back to Dr. Ibram Kendi's book, Stamped from the Beginning, which I read this past summer. 

When he was a senior in high school, he was accused of being involved in an incident that occurred at the school. Chandan was physically intimidated and interrogated by a police officer about his involvement in this incident, roughly pushed up against a wall with his hands forced behind him.  As Chandan points out, if the police had evidence they wouldn't have needed to intimidate him or attempt to get him to confess to something he hadn't been a part of. This is a 17-year-old boy — Chandan is a slight figure, tall and slim. Would a white teenager have been treated so roughly? Because of this incident he left school and never earned his high school degree. He was certain that the police were going to continue to harass him until they eventually charged him with something.

Now, during this pandemic, Chandan is looking for work. He had heard from an acquaintance that a hotel near him was hiring a slew of housekeeping positions because they anticipated that business would start to return soon. He and his friend, a woman, both put in their applications the same day. She was called the next day for an interview and hired on the spot. He was called the day after and interviewed. The hiring manager told him, "If I don't call you by the end of the week, please call me and I'll let you know." Chandan did as he asked and when he talked to the hiring manager on Friday of that week was informed that all the positions had been filled. The manager used this tactic to fill all the positions with people other than Chandan and then turn him down. I'm not sure if Chandan was being discriminated against because of his race or his gender, but once again, he didn't get what he needed.

He and I spoke of his hopes for the future and for his daughter, who is cute as a button. It takes great courage to ask for help and abundant hope that you'll receive it. I am hoping that Chandan gets the help that he needs through this endeavor.

The Feeling of Community

Monday March 8th, 2021 was to be the first day of Derek Chauvin's trial for murdering George Floyd. It ended up being delayed by a day as the courts wrestled on a matter of how many charges he can face at one time. Regardless, the community showed up.

People in my house began rousing around 6:30 a.m., wiping sleep from their teenage eyes and dressing for the day. Breakfast was delivered by the boyfriend, bagels were munched down and we all piled into the car with signs in hands.

Downtown Minneapolis during the pandemic has a strange feel to it. No longer are there crowds of business men and women dressed in suits, ties or heels, waiting impatiently on corners for the light to change, checking their phones or talking into their Bluetooth devices. Parking spaces are available in every ramp at steep hourly prices since no one is parking in ramps all day right now. Breakfast spots that used to have lines of customers waiting for food are temporarily closed until employees return to downtown. The few people you see walking the streets are usually essential workers; postal carriers, delivery service people, cleaners. The working poor gather in doorways and corners, wondering what the day will bring them. 

We walked through blocks of this surreal downtown to reach the Minneapolis Government Center since the street in front of the center has been closed and the plaza surrounding it barricaded with fencing, concrete barriers and barbed wire. The flowers we had placed in the fencing the day before were still there. We looked to the left and there we found our people — hundreds of them. 

Our people were of every color, ethnicity and gender. They held signs, wearing shirts from various previous events seeking justice; "George Floyd Changed the World," "Native Lives Matter," "Justice Delayed Is Justice Denied," and many more. 

We walked around a bit to get a sense of the space. We checked out the t-shirt vendor selling "Black Lives Matter" t-shirts, bumper stickers, hats and other items. We found the People's Revolution van, a business sprung up from the protests of the past year that provides mobile AV support for marches such as this one. We read the massive banner that marked where the front of the crowd was, then took our place several feet behind it. 

The first speaker began with "Good morning! I am so happy to see all of you here, my community, my friends." And we, four middle-class white people, felt like we belonged. We could sense the people around us smiling, crinkles at people's eyes giving away the smiles behind their masks. 

The words from the microphone bounced off the empty buildings around us. Native dancers performed a traditional dance in front of the banner, the accompanying drums booming from the towers around us. The chants of the people reverberated back to us from the buildings' heights. 

The buildings around us created an echo chamber of sound.

Cries for justice resounded through downtown Minneapolis. The court must listen. The world is watching.

History Has Its Eyes On Minneapolis

The sit-in on Hennepin Ave and reading of the names of Minnesotans murdered by police in MN.

Today the girls and I participated in a silent march to honor George Floyd's memory and demand justice on the eve of the trial of his murderer, Derek Chauvin. There were several hundred people in attendance. We also noticed a huge contingency of press were there; cameras and microphones everywhere, two broadcasting station helicopters hovering overhead. 

They had a white coffin draped with a massive spray of red roses representing George Floyd and all Minnesotans killed by police brutality. They handed out flowers for participants to carry along the route. Afterwards, many of the participants chose to place the flowers in the massive fence that's been placed around the government building where the trial will take place. 

The coffin being carried to the head of the march, the courthouse where the jury will take place in the background.

 The white coffin and a massive banner that said "I Can't Breathe!" were at the front of the march. While chants and music are often a part of these demonstrations, the organizers today asked people to be silent. It was quiet with the exception of quiet chatter. Partway through we stopped, sat in the street for 8 minutes and 43 minutes, the length of time that Derek Chauvin had his neck on George Floyd's neck, and heard the organizer read out some of the names of the more than 400 people murdered by police in the state of Minnesota. It sounded like a someone reading names at a graduation, only all of these people died at the hands of police. We only got through people with last names starting with A through J before we were out of time. 

For the number of photographers and videographers I saw through the crowd, the one thing that drew many of them to point their cameras their way was the crew who were there boarding up the glass on the Marshall's store. 

Media interviewing a march participant.

A photographer stands on the van at the front of the march, another taking photos through the crowd.

I don't know what this coming week, weeks or months will bring. I do know that Derek Chauvin is the first White police officer being charged for murdering a Black man in Minnesota, even though hundreds have lost their lives to police brutality. As in the weeks after George's death, I believe the national media will focus on the few incidents of violence, anger or destruction. The massive peaceful gatherings will be largely ignored. 

We will be watching this carefully, helping to amplify the voices of those who deserve to be heard and seen, and hoping for justice for George.

The President We Needed

On Wednesday, November 9, 2016, I tearfully awoke my daughters to the news that the lead that Donald J. Trump had held the previous night never flipped, and he was elected president of the United States.

My sister-in-law in NYC made this observation: "He may not be the president we want, but he's the president we need." I didn't get it.

But over the course of what I can only describe as the most troubling four years of a president's administration, I have to admit she was right.

With one of their own in the highest office in the country, white supremacists came out of the woodwork, chanting "Jews will not replace us!" and re-igniting the flames of hatred that had been felt in their hearts but rarely spoken in the decades since the Civil Rights movement. Sadly, BIPOC people felt the wrath of this movement with even more dark-skinned bodies murdered at the hands of police, more violence inflicted upon them. Trump's rhetoric in calling Covid-19 the "Kung Fu flu" has resulted in a rise in hate crimes against Asian-Americans. He spoke the words — they are out there, and his followers responded enthusiastically with their actions. 

White Supremacists march in Charlotte, NC, 2017.

A protest on May 26, 2020, after the murder of George Floyd.

Now we can begin the work. 

We cannot change what we cannot see. Now we see the racism that lives in the hearts of many Americans. We see it plainly. It had simply gone underground, it never went away. Over the course of decades it was quietly written into our health care policies, our social welfare policies, our criminal justice system. 

Source: Sentencing Project (sentencingproject.org)

Source: MN Dept of Health Infant Mortality Study (pdf)

We would have never known the work we need to do with Hilary Clinton as president. But with Trump, now we see what needs to be done. We need to re-write health care policies, social welfare policies. We need to unravel our criminal justice system from the bottom up and re-build it. 

At a national level, at a state level even, the work seems daunting. What impact can I make to change the world we've built? I'm just one person.

My answer has been to start local. I became involved in social justice movements here in Minneapolis, showing up to support groups like Justice for Jamar Clark, Black Lives Matter, Native Lives Matter, Poor People's Campaign, and others. These are opportunities unique to me as a resident of Minneapolis, a city at the heart of the movement after the murder of George Floyd.

I recently joined the Racial Equity committee of the Fulton Neighborhood Association. I can learn how to address racist speech and ideas by educating myself on how to have a civil discussion with someone with whom I disagree. And I can support local and state candidates who put the needs of BIPOC communities first. Yes, first. Because they have been on the back-burner for so long, we need to prioritize writing policies and legislature that work as well for these communities as for White communities. Too much is currently in existence that not only does not support them but actively works against them. This fact sheet (pdf) from the Poor People's Campaign succinctly outlines the disparities in the state of Minnesota. 

If you are interested in doing this work yourself, here are some places to start:

1. Join the Braver Angels email list, read and learn. Braver Angels is working to de-polarize politics by teaching people how to disagree civilly. They host debates between people of opposing sides of an issue and moderate discussions using techniques to find common ground while still disagreeing. If you're a podcast listener, take a listen to their "Braver Angels" podcast. Start here, with their debate between Bob Woodson, veteran of the Civil Rights movement, and Hawk Newsome, co-founder of Black Lives Matter New York. 

2. Learn about the Black, queer, feminist lens. You can start by reading "Unapologetic" by Charlene A. Carruthers. Or, if you aren't going to read a whole book about it, read this interview. By evaluating a movement's work through the lens of a Black, queer, feminist person we can ensure that the work being done improves the life of anyone within that intersectionality.

3. Change happens at the local level, so look there for opportunities. What can you do to make your own neighborhood or city more welcoming to more people? Are there organizations or groups that are doing this work? What talents do you have that you can bring to the table? Or, if there aren't any groups doing this work, how about starting one?

4. Pay attention to local politics and institutions. Does your child's school have a policy supporting their BIPOC students? What steps are they taking to ensure equal treatment of a diverse student population, or...if the population is not diverse, what are they doing to expose students to the issues that face children of marginalized groups? How does your city government work? Is there adequate representation of populations? If not, can you support a candidate who supports BIPOC communities? Would you campaign for that candidate? 

Please join me in awakening our nation to the disparities that exist in our country. It takes more of us working at every level to make change. 

The Sweetest Soul

 

Yesterday was Day Two of a tension headache for me. I get these occasionally, more often after a car accident in Sept of 2019. It's the kind of headache that over-the-counter painkillers only touch mildly, turning it from excruciating, debilitating pain that would keep me in bed all day to a constant ache, making it difficult to concentrate and sapping my energy.

I was scheduled to attend a conference via video stream all day yesterday. I made it through the morning but after the lunch break I couldn't bring myself to stare at a screen again. I laid down for a while, later getting up to try to get a few things done.

Marissa was off school this particular day due to school closure to prep for in-person instruction the following week. She'd been having a difficult time of late — February is a hard month for her, with our dog being put down in February of 2014, and her friend dying by suicide two years ago. She dreads February and I understand why. 

I asked her if she wanted to go to Target with me, just to get out of the house and get a few things. She LOVES Target. As a joke once I bought her a t-shirt that read "Target is my happy place," because for her, it is. She can peruse the skin care and make up sections for hours. She also knows that taking her to Target is not my favorite thing to do for that exact reason; she can peruse the skin care and make up sections for hours. 

But off we went to Target with her behind the wheel, getting some driving practice. She spent time in her favorite sections while I got some things at the pharmacy, the grocery area, returned something at customer service, and checked on an order in the order pick-up area. We left about 45 minutes later with a single bag of items, not bad for a Target run.

We arrived back home with our items and she said to me, "Thanks so much, Mom, for using your energy to go to Target with me. I know you're not feeling well and it takes a lot of energy to do things when you're not feeling good, but you chose to do this with me and I appreciate it." 

I don't think I've ever known someone so intuitive, emotive and thoughtful all at the same time. What an unbelievable kid. 

He Keeps Me Laughing

Wayne and I have a running joke about how I, as the mom of our girls, don't get any privacy when I have to use the bathroom. As I documented in this post from 2015, I've gotten into the habit of announcing when I have to use the bathroom so the family knows to leave me alone for the next several minutes.

We also joke about how men can't multitask. Okay, I joke, Wayne grumbles and says that women are too "judgy."

Which brings us to this past week's hilarity.

I went downstairs to Wayne's office to ask him a question, only to discover that he was in the downstairs bathroom, peeing. I yelled through the door, "Hey I have a question for you."

"Just a minute, I'm peeing," he yells back.

I find this ironic. 

"Are you kidding me?" I reply back, "I've checked over homework while on the toilet, listened to the kids' day, had essays slid under the door to me, given kids spelling quizzes while on the toilet, and you can't answer a single question?"

By this time he had finished, washed his hands and opened the door. He deadpanned:

"Well, I have to aim."

Six Steps to Save Our Democracy

I hope what I watched yesterday are the final death throes of one of the worst years in our country.

On January 6, 2021, Congress held a joint session to confirm the results of the national elections, an event usually symbolic in nature, only to have their session interrupted when protestors (insurrectionists) breached the walls and entered the building to stop the proceedings. 

There was talk before this of Republican legislators choosing to not accept the electoral judges votes for Biden, which would have pushed us to the brink of our democracy. Instead, an "attempted coup," as CNN describes it, halted the proceeding before they got to that point. Security around the building was not prepared for the mob that approached them. It's hard to believe how easily and quickly they were able to access the building while every single member of Congress, the current vice president and future vice president were in the building. Think about that for a minute the next time you are tempted to compare this event to a Black Lives Matter protest where some white guy lights a Target on fire.

Some quotes from this evening:

"Can the United States last for the next two weeks with a president who incites acts of violence?" CNN anchor.

"Are these the death throes of something, or are these birth pains? Will we come away from this broken...or better?" Van Jones, CNN commentator.

Whatever happens from this...we need a reboot. 

I hope that we can actually have a peaceful transfer of power. And then, when the dust has settled and the smoke cleared, we need to re-assess what it means to be the United States of America, what it means to be a Democrat, a Republican, independent, non-political, a citizen.

I believe our two major parties need to be challenged. If you actually talk to someone who is on the other side of the fence (talk to, not type at), you'll discover that their party does a lot of things they don't agree with. There are a lot of parts of the Democratic platform that I don't agree with: there is a lot the Republican party stands for that people who consider themselves Republicans don't agree with as well. 

For us to survive as country we need:

1. Term limits. No more than 6 years in office for House of Representatives, no more than 12 years (2 terms) in the Senate. No more focus on fundraising, re-election campaigns, political futures. Do your jobs and focus on the needs of the American people. Then leave and become a private citizen.

2. Campaign spending reform. Companies are not people and do not get to donate to political campaigns. Too often legislation goes the way of whomever spent the most money to make it happen, and not the way that will help the most people. Check out represent.us for more on this. 

3. A strong third party that pulls the moderates from both parties. Leave the far left and right in the original two and create a party that meets people where they agree. 

4. A reinstatement of the Federal Communications Commission fairness doctrine which requires broadcast media to address issues important to the public and to provide "fair and balanced" coverage of issues. This doctrine was in place from 1947-1987 and it was removed by the urging of emerging cable networks who said it had a "chilling effect" on free speech. That it did, if you wanted to spread conspiracy theories and bald lies about someone. (In case you didn't catch it, Fox News, the network that had pushed for the elimination of the Fairness Doctrine, began reporting yesterday evening that the people who committed insurrection yesterday were actually BLM and antifa people. Sure...because BLM protestors like to carry around confederate flags and have white supremacy tattoos...)

5. An expansion of FCC regulation over social media networks. Regulation has not kept up with technology where news is shared; clearly we need to expand this because the industry has proven that it cannot and will not patrol itself. Watch The Social Dilemma for a better understanding. 

And finally...and this is the biggest one..

6. We need to address the myth that we live in a post-racist society, fess up to the human rights violations that this country was built on and begin the process of reparations. We have a sitting president (for the next two weeks) who, in a presidential debate, would not denounce white supremacy groups and said to the Proud Boys, an organization identified by the Southern Poverty Law Center to be a hate group, to "Stand down and stand by." He then spent the last two weeks encouraging his followers to disrupt the proceedings 

The difference between how BLM protestors were treated over the summer — when peacefully protesting for the right to not be killed while going about their lives — and the way the mobs yesterday were treated was yet another nail in the coffin in the myth of "justice and freedom for all" that we purportedly live in. 

We've got two weeks left before Biden is inaugurated. Let's hope that we can survive these 14 days as a republic. Then, let's get to work.

Grateful for 2020, Welcome 2021

I cannot begin to write about how amazing the past few weeks have been. I am so incredibly grateful for my life. 

Neither Wayne nor I lost our jobs this year due to the pandemic, though my business took a drastic "pause" in late winter/early spring. Still, year-end giving time kept me busier than I've been other years, and I'm immensely grateful for the work and the relationships built throughout this time.

We know of people who have gotten Covid and recovered. Yet, we mourn the loss of Wayne's dear Aunt Margie who passed on Christmas morning. We will miss her welcoming smile and loving nature. It was a treasure to visit with her. She was glad to share her gift of artistry with those who knew her, always unsure of her talents which would leave a person in awe of its beauty. It was a blessing when she passed as she suffered from memory loss for several years and was no longer herself. She is the closest person to us that we know of the more than 345,000 (and counting) souls lost to this pandemic, and I am saddened for those who are experiencing their first holiday without their loved ones this year. 

Our children are healthy. They are sometimes grumpy, moody, impatient and annoyed, as teens are, so we know they are responding normally to the times we are in. Our eldest is planning for college and excited for her future, as are we. Our youngest is forging relationships through the quarantine with new friends and — gasp — a boyfriend, and somehow pushing her way through her anxiety which is telling her to keep in her shell, don't do things that are new and scary. She's doing them anyways. I'm so incredibly proud of her.

One of Marissa's new hobbies, learning the ukelele.

Wayne's work is keeping him busier than ever right now, sometimes in fun and challenging ways, other times in frustrating and seemingly fruitless ways. Still, he gets to work from home, something he was dreading at one point and now is enjoying immensely. Sometimes he takes Beauty for a run over lunch hour, an activity they both love every chance they get.

Wayne ready for a card game.

I look around see and so many people struggling to put food on the table, to keep a roof over their heads and their children out of trouble, and I give whenever I can, which is often enough that I hope I'm making a difference.

None of us will forget 2020; the pandemic, the cries for social justice, the election that wouldn't ever freaking end. 

I will hopefully never forget the gratitude I feel in this moment for the additional time with my family to connect with our teen girls. I was able to spend time writing, exploring new hobbies, baking, being out-of-doors, and doing new things I've never tried.

Happy New Year. Welcome 2021. 

Let's move on, shall we?

Patio dining quarantine-style.

Hey Everybody! Let's market clothing to teens that reduces their self-worth!

Since Marissa's been at home doing distance learning she's no longer in her school uniform and is wearing comfy clothes every day. Her favorite sweatpants finally wore through and she did a little online shopping to replace them. She selected two pairs from PacSun and they were delivered to our door. Unfortunately they were both a little too big, so we went to the local PacSun store to return them to select a smaller size. 

After returning the clothing to a sales associate, Marissa made her way to what I thought was a tasteless display of Playboy branded materials at the front of the store. She began sorting through the sweatpants with little bunnies on them, looking for the right size. 

"Uhhh....you are not buying Playboy branded sweatpants," I told her. She looked at me with a shocked look on her face. "Playboy? What are you talking about?"

She thought the little bunny wearing a bowtie was just a cute graphic. She had no idea that it stood for the Playboy brand. And then she informed me that the sweatpants she had bought online were Playboy branded — I just hadn't seen the icon before approving the order because it was so small on the screen! 

We laughed about the fact that she didn't know they were Playboy sweats and I didn't realize she'd purchased Playboy sweats. But then we had a real discussion about why a retailer that caters to teens and young women would carry the Playboy brand and honestly, I don't get it.

The caption on the t-shirt on the far left says "Stretch Limousine Daydreams."
What exactly are we daydreaming about?  

In today's awareness of feminist issues, a soft porn magazine's brand isn't relevant or wanted in our culture. All of the things that Playboy embodies is harmful to my teen girls. I would never support their business by buying their brand. And I certainly would never want my 15-year-old daughter wearing Playboy gear. Ever. Who lets their teens buy this stuff?

I tweeted to PacSun and told them how disappointed I was that they carry the brand. Then again, PacSun also carries Brandy Melville clothing. If you don't know this clothing line, they have really cute items for teens, but they have no sizing. Really. The tags all say "one size." If you don't fit into the size they have, well then, I guess you're not the right size. 

What a great idea, market cute clothes to teen girls in their growing years when self-consciousness is its highest and self-confidence is often at its lowest, and make them feel worthless for not fitting into tailored clothing that assumes that all teen girls should be able to fit into their "one size." We looked through some of the pieces and they were tiny. Some of Marissa's short, petite friends could fit into them, but probably not the vast majority of teen girls. "One size" clothing should be reserved for scarves or hats, maybe a wrap, not jeans or tailored shirts. 

From the Brandy Melville website.

Marissa finally found some sweatpants that weren't offensive and that actually fit. selected from the fraction of the store that wasn't off limits due to its brand or its size. I'm not sure she'll want to shop at PacSun in the future. I'm grateful that she and I could have the conversation that we had on the way back home about the issues with both of these brands. 

Living Through History

Marissa and I in the car, where many of our conversations take place.

 Marissa and I had such an interesting conversation tonight, as we often do. 

She was talking about how people have told her that she is "living through history," with the pandemic raging through the country. She said, "I always thought that history was something that happened to you when you were a kid, and once you were grown up history didn't happen anymore. I didn't think about the fact that you and dad are also living through historic times."

I told her about how my Grandpa Vern Floria, my dad's dad, was born in 1901 and died in 1996, just short of his 95th birthday. A few times I would talk to him about what he'd seen in his life.

He remembered a time when cars weren't everywhere, when you were lucky if your family had a horse to get around, and otherwise you walked. 

He remembered when zippers were invented. All the rich kids could afford to have them, while he and all the other poor kids were stuck wearing button-fly pants. 

He was too young to fight in WWI (just 14 when war broke out) but too old for WWII. His eldest son, my Uncle Dean, fought in WWII, his youngest son, my father, in the Vietnam War in the early 1970's. 

"Imagine," I said to Marissa, "Grandpa Vern remembered when zippers were invented, what life was like before cars, and also lived to see the personal computer change the way the world works." 

"Wow," she said, "Omigosh, I just realized something! He was alive when 'Friends' was being broadcast!"

And there you have it, Marissa's version of living through history.

Marissa's Special Elbow

I hope I'm not alone in wondering when to seek medical attention for my kids. When is it appropriate to tell them to "buck up" and when should you seek an expert's advice? I have the privilege of having two kids for whom every ache and pain is deemed worthy a trip to the emergency room...at least in their minds. I cured one of my kids of that by finally taking her. After six hours of sitting around, she was given two ibuprofen and told to go home, they couldn't find anything wrong with her. 

About six weeks into the school year, Marissa started complaining about her elbow hurting. She was careful about bumping into anything, as any touch caused her pain. Eventually we ended up at Tria's urgent care for it, where she was fitted with a partial splint to protect it and keep it somewhat stationary. 

There, the doctor took a look at her record and her many trips to Tria for this same elbow, and said, "Hmmm....we've seen you a lot for this, but we've never taken an MRI. Let's do that." 

The MRI indicated something surprising — Marissa has an extra muscle in her elbow! Only about 4% of people who have elbow surgery have this, and the percentage of people who have elbow surgery is quite small, so let's just say it's pretty rare. 

They did more testing and an ultrasound which showed that as she moves her arm the muscle impinges on her ulnar nerve. A-ha! The source of her pain. Thankfully they could do an outpatient procedure to remove the tissue that was compressing the nerve.  

She was cleared for surgery and we were able to get it scheduled in a week. Dr. Bohn (pronounced "bone," which I thought was ironic considering she's an orthopedic surgeon), was highly recommended and had an opening on Thursday, November 5th. 

Marissa barely slept the night before surgery. She was anxious about the coming day, as anyone would be, especially a 15-year-old. She and I stayed up together from 2 a.m. to 4:30, entertaining each other with stories and laughing. Pretty soon her mind was relaxed enough that she could get a couple of hours of sleep before we had to go to the surgery center. 

Marissa was amazing through all the pre-op. She got an IV with no issues, chatted with the nurses and asked a lot of questions. They gave her a nerve block for her arm, which deadened all feeling in her arm and made it feel like it weighed 100 pounds. She said her arm felt like it belonged to a stranger.

Finally Dr. Bohn came in to greet her before surgery. She said, "Let me check to see how this arm is doing," she picked up Marissa's arm and let it go. It dropped like a rock onto the pillow below. Dr. Bohn laughed and said, "That cracks me up every time." 

Marissa did great and the surgery went well. Dr. Bohn had to transpose Marissa's nerve to another area of her elbow joint, so it will take some extra time to heal. It took Marissa a while to wake up, but eventually she did and we headed home for recovery to begin.

The day after surgery all of the nerve block had worn off and Marissa was in a lot of pain. The meds she had been prescribed made her sleep and she slept most of the day, but whenever she was awake she was in a lot of pain, so we got a different medication that would help more. 

It's been a few days now, and every day is better than the day before. Hopefully no more trips to urgent care for elbow pain for her. 

Intersectionality. Defined.

 

Today the media declared Joe Biden the winner of the 2020 presidential election.

I didn't know how to feel. I was thrilled, in awe. I was sad that it came down to this. That 70 million people had voted for hatred, for white supremacy. 

I had been invited — several times via text — to a rally this afternoon. I didn't plan to go, but after Biden's win was announced via mainstream media an hour before the rally, I decided to attend. I was rejuvenated, energized, excited. I had to celebrate with like-minded people. And so I went, and had the most incredible experience.

I've never seen so many people from so many walks of life come together for a single movement. This wasn't about women, or Blacks, or homeless people, or Natives...this was about ALL of us. Together. Signs demanding change to address climate change. To require paid sick leave. To create policies to acknowledge that Black lives matter. To allow women to control their own bodies. 

THIS was the embodiment of intersectionalist activism: When every cause becomes my own cause. We are all on the same page, speaking out for the most vulnerable among us, those without a voice, without the means to advocate for themselves. 

I saw Blacks and whites bumping elbows, friends greeting friends, people dancing in the streets. I can't think of another election that created this much jubilation among its supporters. A Native American tribe of dancers danced in front of the marchers, all speeches translated into sign language and Spanish.

A woman wearing a "pussy hat" from women's marches. 

I have been to dozens of protests and rallies and marches this year, and years prior. None felt like this one. The sense of community, that it was always welcome to speak to your neighbor, no matter their color or religion, the spontaneous dancing, the jubilation. 

Thrilling.  

Trump's supporters may see it differently, but they have no idea. They've been blinded by his rhetoric and glamour. He has spoken lies, and they chose not to hear the "mistruths." This is not just any old victory, this is as if the people of Germany had the ability to vote Hitler out and did so. Bells rang in Paris, people took to the streets in Belfast, Ireland, fireworks went off in England. This isn't just Democrats supporting this win, it's the world, relieved that Trump will leave office. The world feels a little safer now. 

Hate crimes increased exponentially since Trump took office. His rhetoric inflamed hatred, divisiveness, racism, xenophobia and misogyny. His policies only benefited white men with money. As Paul Wellstone said, "When we all do better, we all do better." Under Trump, no one did better,  unless you were white, male, and privileged, and most definitely a family member. 

With Trump as president, it felt like the people against the government. And while I know Biden will not be the savior we need, he won't be the Satan we had. Perhaps now we can move forward. Together. 

The "unapologetic Muslim women." (per their t-shirts)

Fall Reflections on my Dad

Dad and I in Minneapolis, 2015

This coming October 28th it will have been four years since my dad passed away. I hate that autumn is associated with the loss of two of the most important people in my life, my dad and my fiancé. 

No one was more surprised when my dad died than he was. He said he wanted to outlive his own father, my Grandpa Vern, who lived to be 94. Dad was diagnosed with colorectal cancer at age 60 and battled it for 11 years before it finally took him.

Some of my most memorable times with him are from my adulthood. He, my sister Kristi and I became good friends as adults. His visits to Minnesota, Indiana and Michigan with us are some of the silliest, funniest memories I have of him.

In December 2013 my sister graduated from Valparaiso University for the second time, this time with her BSN degree. Dad drove up from Arkansas and I flew in from Minneapolis for the event. Kristi and Dad picked me up in Chicago and we toured the town. Lunch at a little deli, a tour of Willis Tower and goofiness all around. I love the photo Kristi took of Dad and I pretending to descend upon a miniature replica of the Chicago downtown area.

At the Willis Tower skydeck

Kristi's nursing school graduation, 2013

Look out Chicago, the Florias are in town! 

Dad could make any outing special, an ordinary day extraordinary. He saw the wonder in nature, the goodness in people and beauty in the every day world. Once I was visiting he and my stepmom Terry in Arkansas, and he was telling me about a spider he had watched spin a web over their kitchen window. Later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, I hear him call for me excitedly. "Jenny! Come here, the spider's back! Look at this." We turned off the kitchen light so we could see into the night. He and I stood at the window in the darkness and watched the spider, which was outside thankfully, begin its dance. Back and forth and back and forth she swung, creating a web that spanned the entire window. We probably watched the spectacle for half an hour or more. It was finally complete, and we saw her nestle in the center of the web, ready to pounce on any insect that dared enter her creation. She was quickly rewarded and we watched her go to work preparing her meal. By the next morning the web was gone, only to be spun once more the following evening. 

He and Terry often took road trips north to visit us and other family, and he made the drive sound like the most amazing trip ever. He spoke of the little cafes they stopped at, the roadside stand where they bought some apples, the kids he saw riding bikes down a sidewalk. He would make up a little story in his head about those people, what they were doing, the relationship between them, and always find something quaint or endearing to say. Later, Terry would confide in me that the café was more like a dive, the roadside stand not quite as picturesque as he made it sound, and the kids looked like they were up to no good. Not that Terry was being negative, but my dad always had rose-colored glasses coloring his world.

Antique shopping in Hopkins, 2015

Fall was one of his favorite seasons. He would wax poetic about the leaves turning vibrant colors, the industriousness of the squirrels preparing for winter, the chestnuts he and Terry harvested from their chestnut tree. He and Terry celebrated Halloween with all her family, whom Kristi and I call our "southern rellies," with everyone coming together with well-executed and quirky costumes. My sister made it to Arkansas for a few of those parties, they sounded epic.

An Arkansas Halloween party, 2015

Floria Reunion in St. Louis MO, May 2016

So...it's that time of year when I reflect on all those wonderful memories and remind myself to be grateful that my dad and I were friends. And I still miss him.

It's Apple Picking Time!

When our girls were younger we used to go apple picking every fall. It was such a fun tradition, everyone excited for a hayride, maybe petting some farm animals, fresh apples and, best of all, homemade apple pie!

As the girls have entered their tweens and teen years, excitement over this adventure has waned. Hay rides? Too itchy. Petting zoo? Too many germs. Fresh apples? Too...healthy.

But this is Lindsey's senior year and if she joins us again next year she'll have to make a trip home from college to join us (at least that's the plan), so off we all went to Afton Apples in Hastings, a place we've visited many times before.

The place was crazily busy — I don't think we've ever seen it this busy before. We waited in a long line just to pick up a bag to pick apples. We walked out to the orchard and found the Haralson's, which make the absolutely best baked goods. 

Within a minute Marissa was fascinated by an apple with a rotten gash on it that had a ladybug inside of it. She took it upon herself to free the ladybug from the gooey interior and marveled at it on her hand for a while before it flew off.

Marissa freeing a ladybug from a rotten apple.

We picked for all of maybe 10 minutes and had two full bags of apples. There is something so satisfying about finding a lovely bunch of apples on a tree, giving one a little tug, and having it easily come away in your hand. 

Back to the store to pay for the apples and get some other goodies; a quart of fresh apple cider, some apple and pumpkin donuts, and fresh apple brats for lunch. Delicious.

By this time it was nearly 1:00 and the crowds were too much for the girls, so we took all of our goodies, including our lunch, and ate in the car. As we were leaving the line of cars arriving was longer than when we'd arrived just a few hours before. Glad we went earlier in the day.

Lindsey re-creating her "I don wanna be here" face.

While Marissa re-created her toddler smile of scrunching her entire face.

They're both taller than the picture board now.

Back home Lindsey declared herself "tired" of apple pie, and wanted to try some other recipes. So she made a batch of beautiful, flaky apple turnovers that were delicious. Later on she baked up a batch of apple cinnamon muffins that are the toast of our breakfasts right now. Both of these recipes used a TOTAL of 7 apples — only 1 3/4 bags left to go!

Today we dropped one of the bags off at my friend's house, their family makes applesauce every fall, so we'll be happy to contribute to their supply for that endeavor. 

Some day the apples will be gone, but the memories will be there.

2008 apple picking

2008 apple eating

25 Years!

It is my husband and my 25th anniversary today.

This seems quite incredible to me. I'm not that far out of high school, right? Our kids are just out of diapers, not about to graduate high school. These are laugh lines, not wrinkles, around my eyes.

My parents never got to see 25 years, they divorced before reaching that milestone. They both remarried within a year of each other, and as I like to say, my parents are happily married, just not to each other. I don't think I can say that anymore now that my dad is gone.

I look back at the people who attended our wedding. At the time I didn't have a single niece or nephew on my side — Wayne had eight. I remember feeling awkward the first time any of them called me "Aunt" Jenny. Our ringbearer, Travis, is in his 30's now and has 5 kids of his own. Our flower girl is living in New Mexico with the coolest dog ever, playing in a band and making music. 

Our flower girl, Emily Thomas

Our ringbearer, Travis Cambronne

I think of the guests who were there who are no longer with us. My father-in-law, Neil Horsman, my Grandpa Dolaskie, Carol and Chap Smathers, Phyllis and Pete Disher, Tom and Ann Dolaskie, and, of course, my dad who walked me down the aisle with a grin on his face. Over the years they've all left the mortal world; I like to picture them getting together in heaven reminiscing on the old days, laughter sprinkling down like dew drops.

One of the pages from our guestbook.

My dad walking me down the aisle. 

Do we have a secret to a long marriage? Not really. Except to say, it isn't perfect. No marriage is. They ALL take work and are not easy. We've learned over the years that there are traits that make a marriage work: 1. Patience 2. Listening skills 3. Humor.

We've both learned the value of time away from family and each other. Wayne finds peace in his long runs, and I've learned that when he can't go for a run, either due to family obligations or injury, his patience gets short, his temper goes up. I have a vested interest in making sure he can go for his runs. 

On the other hand, I re-charge by spending time with my girlfriends. We tell funny stories, support each other in our shared struggles and encourage each other in our endeavors. I have the most amazing friends and am thankful for their support every day. Wayne makes sure I get time with them away from the family because that's good for my mental health.

September 30, 1995

At one point in our marriage I was the breadwinner and Wayne was the main caretaker for our girls while I traveled. And then it reversed, with him accepting a promotion and my taking a new job that got me out of the airports and able to be home more. Now we've hit an incredible balance, with him just years from retirement and I working my business out of our home, able to balance parenting duties with professional duties. We are so fortunate. 

Our wedding party with our ushers

And that's where we are today. A bit older, a lot wiser, and a lot funnier. At least to us.

But one thing remains the same: Neither of us can really dance. Our kids can confirm this.

Happy anniversary, Big Honey.