Letting go of a light from the past

Originally published in September 2005

Letting go of a light from the past

In previous columns, I think I’ve established that I am a pack rat. I collect books, still have some of my childhood toys, and pretty much have held on to anything I’ve written since about the seventh grade. I’ve also got a streak of thriftiness, often holding on to things I think I may have a use for some day.

My closets and cupboards are neat and organized, but chaos can be found on the dining room table, bathroom counter top, and mostly in my room.
My room is always a work in progress. I’ve got file boxes piled on file boxes, and many projects going at once. It’s not only where I sleep, but also where I have my computer, exercise bike, a reading chair, the television and my birthday gift to me, an X-Box.
I’m working to conquer the clutter and may soon burn out the motor in my shredder as I get rid of old bank records and things on file that I don’t need anymore.
Countless books have been written on the subject of clutter, and I own about two or three. There are believed to be many psychological reasons for clutter, ranging from it being a manifestation of depression or anxiety, or as a symptom of Attention-Deficit Disorder or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Some research suggests that people use clutter as a way to avoid dealing with other people. We also develop an emotional attachment to things.
I’ve always had a good memory. I can vividly recall the home I lived in from kindergarten to fourth grade, remembering details that surprise my parents.
I think my house may be as cluttered as my memory is. Take a walk through my home with me, and I can fill you in on the history of things, from where I got them, how long I’ve had them and even who I was with.
My fiend of a cat, Zoopie, took the decision out of my hands on what to do with an one item I’ve had for about 20 years.
When I was about 10 or 11, I bought a night light for my room. Yes, that seems a bit old to have a night light, but it was a porcelain-like figure of a woman leaning against a full grown unicorn, with a baby unicorn frolicking at her feet. Being the horse-crazy girl that I was, I loved it and had to have it.
The night light was purchased at a jewelry store in the Mesa Mall in Grand Junction, Colo. My family and I were visiting our friends, the Niemalas that day. Their daughter, Dana, is between my sister and me in age and the three of us were as thick as thieves. I saw the light in an ad in the newspaper and we made a trip to the mall. I know that Dana’s mother, Janet, was with us that day. It’s a memory made poignant since that lovely woman passed away several years ago.
I remember the store, and though the mall has grown and changed since then, I bet I could still lead you to the corner where it stood, where the main hall intersected one that went to a sporting goods store on one end and Mervyn’s at the other. I also purchased a pen that had a digital watch that is long since gone.
Over the years, the night light stood on a dresser in my room, making the move from Colorado to Michigan. The baby unicorn’s horn broke off and was glued back on. The light was packed away for a few years while I was in college. When I moved into my own home, it returned to its place on my dresser. I’d reclaimed my bedroom set from my parents that Mom had purchased from a co-worker when I was a teen. The dresser had a vanity mirror surrounded by knick knack shelves.
When I moved in 2003, I got rid of that bedroom set. Most things displayed on the shelves have a new home, but I didn’t have a free outlet plug for the night light.
The light was left in a box in the basement. Zoopiecat, on a mission to explore and get into places she doesn’t belong, knocked that box down last week.
The night light fell out and hit the floor, shattering the head of the big unicorn into fragments too tiny to find.
Perhaps if I had been able to let go of the night light two years ago, it would now be watching over some other horse-crazy little girl at night while she dreams.
Instead, it has been sitting on my kitchen counter for the last week. I need to toss it in the trash.
And now that I have remembered it here, I can.

Discover the magic of reading

Originally published June 21, 2003

Discover the magic of reading

I love books. When I pick up a good one, it is hard to pry it out of my hands until the last page has been turned.
As a child, I would hide under the covers of my bed with a flashlight and a book because I just could not fall asleep without finding out how a story ends. My mother is still convinced that’s the reason I need glasses.
As an adult, I never seem to have enough time to read. There is a tall stack of books on the bedside table waiting to be read, and I keep a running list of books that I want to pick up from the library. I have outgrown the need to belong to music clubs, but I am still an easy target for book club offers that appear in my mailbox.
I have passed on my love of reading to my son, and together we have not only read some of my old favorites, but also discovered a lot great new stories, including the Harry Potter series.
I did not want to read Harry Potter at first, as whenever something gets a lot of hype in the media, my contrary nature makes me want to avoid it. However, when trailers for the first movie began to appear; my son was so intrigued by it that I decided we really should read the book before going to the movie. He was too young to read it himself, so I read it aloud. It was the first chapter book I read to him, as previously he could not seem to sit still for books unless they had pictures.
From the first chapter, we both were captivated by the story. When it was over, we moved on to the second book.
Knowing how much trouble I have putting down a book, I swore to myself that I would only read the book with my son. No reading ahead allowed. I was able to keep that promise until, 50 pages from the end of book three, my son fell asleep. At that point, I was too caught up in the story to resist, and I finished the book. Then I made the mistake of picking up the fourth book at 11 o'clock at night. I think I got about an hour of sleep and only made it through work the next day with steady hits of caffeine.

Harry Potter, Public Enemy No. 1?
According to the American Library Association, the books in the Harry Potter series are more challenged than “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” or “Catcher in the Rye.” Having read the series, I have trouble understanding that. Have the opponents of the books actually read them, or have they just heard that the word "witch" is inside; therefore they must be bad books?
The Harry Potter series touches on the importance of family and friendships, standing up to bullies and facing your fears in a way that captures the imagination of children and adults alike. The series has pulled kids away from television and computer screens back into the pages of a book.
To me, that's a wonderful thing.
I do believe it is just as important for parents to know what their children are reading as it is to know what they watch on television. Mom learned that when I was 13 after my younger sister picked up a V.C. Andrews book I had finished and then used a few colorful phrases from it to call me names. Mom demanded to know where she had heard those phrases, then read the book herself. After that, those books were no longer allowed in the house. To encourage me to read something better, she offered me a $1 for each "classic" book I read. As a parent now, I’m considering a similar offer to get my son out of his comic book phase. Because I believe it is important for adults to know what kids are reading, I highly encourage everyone to read the Harry Potter series.
Discover for yourself what all the hype is about.
You’ll be surprised at how much you enjoy them. Don’t dismiss them as bad because they contain wizards, witches, and magic. I could write a series of columns on my views of censorship, books being banned and book burnings, but I won’t.
Today, book five in the Harry Potter series has been released. I am avoiding the rush to the bookstores and will wait impatiently for the copy I pre-ordered from Amazon.com back in March to arrive. This time, I am holding myself to the promise of only reading it aloud to my son.
I need my sleep.

(Note- We got 70 pages into book 5 when my voice began to give. My son had to leave to spend the weekend with his father, and granted me a special dispensation to read ahead. I had it finished that night.)

2018 Reading Wrap-Up

2018 Reading Wrap-Up

I only read 80 books in 2018, probably the least number of books I’ve read since my son was an infant.

Why?

Moving home.

New job.

Trying to date.

Seven of the titles were rereads. Fourteen of the titles were written by male authors, the rest by female. I only read fiction books in 2018, and 67 of those titles belong to a book series. I read 40 romance novels, eight mysteries, and 26 science fiction/fantasy books.

Taking up a great deal of my reading time in 2018 was the Mazalan Book of the Fallen series by Steven Erikson. Ten titles, plus a book written by Ian C. Esselmont that is a companion to Erikson’s books.

 I read six books/novellas by Elizabeth Hoyt, five by Mary Balogh and four each by Louise Penny and Maya Rodale.

Two titles that stood out for me are “I’ll Be Your Blue Sky” by Marissa de los Santos” and “Lake Silence” by Anne Bishop. 

*Fully aware I neglected to wrap up my 2017 books. No promises I will ever get around to it, but it was more than 212 books.

We miss you, Dad

Today marks seven years since we lost my father to cancer. Sharing the column I wrote two years ago, just before Father's Day, in memory of him.

Five Years Gone By
Originally published June 17, 2016

In 2007, I helped write my maternal grandfather’s obituary. I called it the hardest writing assignment of my life.

I was wrong.

Less than four years later, my father asked me to write his obituary. He’d been diagnosed with brain cancer in 2010, shortly after undergoing brain surgery on his 36th wedding anniversary. We lost him on May 31, 2011. He was 58.

In addition to his obituary, I also wrote and delivered a eulogy for Dad. Writing often serves as my therapy, so sharing his story and the lessons he taught my family, and the legacy of love and friendship he left helped me.

We laid him to rest in the U.P., his birthplace. I visited him over Memorial Day weekend. While driving in rainy weather on Friday and Saturday, I realized that driving in the rain could serve as a metaphor for the cycles of grief.

Sometimes the rain comes down in an unexpected torrent, leaving you unsure where you are and unable to see ahead. Sometimes the rain is steady, but you can keep moving forward. And sometimes there is a break in the clouds, allowing sunlight to pour through, offering hope of better weather ahead.

In the five years since we lost my father, my son learned how to drive, graduated from high school and is now attending the same university his grandfather and I did. My sister moved from Indiana to Georgia and Florida, and now works in Indiana again, commuting back to Florida most weekends. I made a commitment to better health before turning 40 and ran my first half marathon. My mother recently remarried, adding not only a wonderful stepfather to our family, but also a stepbrother and stepsister.

Not a day goes by when we don’t miss my dad. But we carry him with us in our hearts.

The lessons we learned from his life and losing him too soon still resonate with us. I shared some in my eulogy, and feel those lessons are worth sharing again.

My father kept a planner, tracking his life in his neat, precise print. He logged his exercise routines, and kept references and business contacts in it. He stored a copy of his favorite margarita recipe in the planner, and tucked in a photo of my mom and a love note from her. He kept a list of his friends, and wrote down his values — from having close relationships with those he cared about, to having security and a meaningful job, to having free time to enjoy his hobbies.

Dad also wrote down his dreams.

Perhaps someday we’ll understand God’s plan in not giving him enough time to achieve them all.

If we can learn anything from losing him, please let it be this…

Writing down dreams and goals is important, but don’t wait for some future date to pursue them.

Buy that home in the mountains or on a lakeshore.

Travel to Alaska… Yellowstone… England… or France.

Visit the Apostle Islands.

Drive a Corvette Stingray.

Live each day as if it may be your last, and always let those you love know how much they mean to you.

Women continue march toward equality

Women continue march toward equality

My column from January 21, 2017.

I am a feminist.

It’s a word that far too many seem to find even more offensive than another word that begins with “F.”

Gloria Steinem said, “A feminist is anyone who recognizes the equality and full humanity of women and men.”

I do not hate men or believe I am better than them. I don’t feel I deserve special privileges. I believe that as a human, I should have equal political, economic and social rights.

Why do I identity as a feminist?

When I was born a woman could not apply for a loan or credit card without a male co-signer. Three months later the Equal Credit Opportunity Act was codified.

Harvard grudgingly admitted women, but did not abolish quotas or offer similar scholarships until the late 1970s – when it finally began using the same criteria to admit a woman as it used to admit a man.

A pregnant woman could be fired from her job without recourse until 1978.

While no law prevented a woman from serving on the Supreme Court, no woman was appointed until Sandra Day O’Connor in 1981. Today there are three women serving out of what should be a court of nine judges (one seat has been vacant for nearly a year).

Marital rape was not criminalized in all 50 states until 1993. And around the world 120 countries still don’t have laws against marital rape, and too many allow child brides — some younger than 10.

A women could not attend a U.S. military academy until 1976. Women could not fight in combat until 2013.

I grew up near the largest ski jump in the western hemisphere, but a woman could not compete in Olympic ski jumping events until the 2014 games in Sochi.

In my mother’s lifetime (in 1972) women could not enter the Boston Marathon. That’s the same year that Title IX – the landmark legislation that banned educational discrimination on the grounds of gender – passed.

While many only think of sports when they hear Title IX, it also opened doors for women in higher education. Before it passed it was legal to expel a pregnant student. Title IX allowed boys to take a home economics class and girls to take shop class.

Women could not serve on juries nationwide until 1973.

Before the Equal Pay Act of 1963, employers could openly discriminate against women by offering unequal pay for performing the same job as men. Unfortunately a wage gap still exists.

In my grandmothers’ lifetimes, women could not enlist in the military. It wasn’t until 1948 that Congress passed the Women’s Armed Services Integration Act.

In my great-grandmothers’ lifetimes (in 1920), American women finally received the right to vote. Until the Cable Act passed in 1922, an American woman who married a foreigner lost her American citizenship and had to take her husband’s citizenship — even if they both lived in the United States.

Today, a Women’s March on Washington takes place in Washington D.C., with more than 600 “sister” marches planned around across all seven continents, with at least eight marches taking place in Wisconsin. There are even marches organized in Iraq and Saudi Arabia, and I admire participants for their bravery and pray for their safety.

The Women’s March on Washington’s stated mission is, “We stand together in solidarity with our partners and children for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health and our families, recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of our country.”

It was created to send a message to the new presidential administration that women’s rights are human rights. This is at a time when women still hold less than 20 percent of the seats in Congress, although we make up more than half the population.

While we’ve come a long way on the path toward equality, on a global scale there is still a long road ahead of us. Educating females is not a priority: Of the estimated 781 million illiterate adults in the world, roughly two-thirds are women.

Malala Yousafzai — who stood up to the Taliban and survived being shot for speaking out about education for girls — said, “I raise up my voice—not so I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard .... We cannot succeed when half of us are held back.”

In sexual assault cases we too often still blame the victim, if we believe them at all.

Females make up 98 percent of trafficking for sexual exploitation.

“Like a girl” is still considered an insult.

So today I stand in solidarity with those who gather in support of equality. And I will continue to march forward seeking it.

Digging In To One's Roots

Digging In To One's Roots

My column from January 7, 2017.

Years ago a school project that required my son to work on a family tree sparked my interest in digging into my family’s history.

Using genealogy resources available online, a family Bible, photographs and conversations with a paternal great aunt and my maternal grandmother, I traced my way back through the past and learned what “once removed” means when talking about cousins.

Social media played a role in my search. I met distant cousins on both sides of my family, including one from my mother’s side of the family still living in Finland and one on my father’s side who lives in Cornwall in the United Kingdom. I discovered a distant cousin who lives in Wisconsin, but is also a Yooper. We both attended Michigan Tech, where her daughter and my son are now in their third year as students. She is a descendant of Sam, a younger brother of my great-great-grandfather Henry.

Two five-generation photos printed in newspapers —one featuring me as an infant, and the other with my paternal grandmother as the baby — helped me trace back that branch of the family tree to the names of my great-great-great-great-grandparents on the maternal side of my father’s family.

The Lutey family Bible, passed down to my father and now my son, helped me discover the names of my great-great-great-grandparents, which led to the discovery of my great-great-great-great-grandfather John Lutey, born in Cornwall in 1795. His brother is a great-grandparent for my distant cousin in Cornwall, but I did not need that research to tell me he was family. He looks too much like my grandpa Jim and great uncle Hans for me to have any doubt.

Given what I learned about my family’s origins, I could tell you I was part Finnish, Swedish, Cornish, Danish, Slovakian and possibly French Canadian and Austrian. One birth certificate suggested I might even have traces of First Nation Canadian in my blood.

My cousin in Finland set me a digital copy of a hand-drawn family tree that also helped me in my research. I printed copies to share with my grandmother, who shared closer roots to that side of the family. I’ve traced my family back to great-great-great-grandparents through that tree and conversations with Grandma Ethel.

Last year, I tried another method of climbing my family tree – using my DNA to tell me more. What I learned fascinated me, and suggested inaccuracies in old birth records (or the scandalous possibility that a person I thought was a distant great-grandfather might not be).

The DNA test revealed my ancestry origins as being approximately 56 percent from Finland/Northwest Russia, 14 percent from Scandinavia (Sweden, Norway and Denmark), 12 percent eastern Europe, 10 percent from Ireland (which includes Scotland, Wales and Cornwall), 6 percent western Europe, 1 percent from the Iberian Peninsula and less than 1 percent from Great Britain.

The mystery of the Iberian Peninsula percentage puzzled me, until I remembered my history lessons and the story of the Spanish Armada during the reign of Elizabeth I of England. In 1588, a fleet of 130 ships set sail from Spain, intent on invading England. They failed, and one-third of those ships did not return to Spain. Some sailors washed up on the shores of Ireland.

Mystery possibly solved.

I found it fascinating that my Cornish ancestry is considered as being from Ireland and not Great Britain. Having Scotland included in that bloodline lends credence to research that suggests the Lutey family name originated there.

I usually pay more attention to St. Urho’s Day — a March 16 celebration of a fictional Finnish saint — but this year I plan to enjoy St. Patrick’s Day, since I can now legitimately claim I am 10 percent “Irish.”

I bought another DNA testing kit as a Christmas gift for my son and look forward to him sharing his results.

A cousin on my mother’s side used a DNA test from the same source, so it helpfully revealed our family connection as “highly likely” to be first cousins. The site, Ancestry.com, also reveals many potential fourth to sixth cousins, but will only allow me to connect with them if I sign up as a member. While I initially used a site called Family Echo to build and store my genealogy research and family tree, I am slowly importing that information into Ancestry.com in hopes of connecting with more family.

If you are interested in tracing your family’s roots, I recommend starting at a local library to utilize genealogy tools available there.

Digging into your family’s past serves as a great way to find distant relatives and offers a personal look back at history.

Update- As part of a research study, I received the results from a different DNA test (through 23 & Me) that switched the "Irish" to United Kingdom. So much for claiming Irish blood on March 17.

Combating the Winter 'Blahs"

Combating the Winter 'Blahs"

My column from January 13, 2017.

When feeling down in the dumps, one of my favorite ways to lift my mood is to find a cute animal video online.

It becomes much harder to feel grumpy when watching puppies or kittens frolic, chubby baby pandas taking turns going down a slide or sloths hanging out after a bath.

Sometimes the cute animal videos make the news. Owners of a convenience store in Toronto shared surveillance footage of stealthy squirrels that slip in the front door to shoplift nutty candy bars as part of a plea for ideas on how to prevent the theft. Simply closing the door is not an option, as the store feels stuffy (and an open door is more likely to bring in customers, not just larcenous squirrels.)

I sympathize with the storeowners. Shoplifting, even when committed by tiny, furry beasts, costs business owners far too much. Those poor squirrels clearly have a need for chocolate though– and studies show that dark chocolate stimulates the production of endorphins- brain chemicals that bring feelings of pleasure. I tend to squirrel away stashes of chocolate at home, the office and in my purse for a quick mood-lifting fix.

Exposure to the sun can help improve one’s mood, a resource that can be rare during winter months. Listening to upbeat music serves as another spirit enhancer, one that I try to use cautiously, given my tendency to sing along or start dancing at my desk. Such behavior can disrupt (or wildly entertain) the workplace.

 Another suggestion is to keep a positivity journal. Write down at least one good thing that happens each day in a journal or on a slip of paper stored in a decorative jar. Taking the time to look back and reflect on the good things in life can help us cope with the bad.

Studies suggest scents can help lift spirits. Try using a candle, essential oil diffuser or a roll-on. The scent of lemon can induce feelings of joy, lavender can calm and peppermint improves concentration. If you can track down scratch and sniff stickers, that could be a fun way to enhance your mood. Those were one of the best rewards for good work in school—even the ones that smelled like a freshly cut lawn, licorice or leather. Orange, grape, pizza and popcorn remain my favorites.

Sometimes just taking a few moments to focus on your breathing can help improve your mood. When we become tense we tend to take rapid, shallow breaths. A few deep belly breaths can help calm and center you.

Recent weather (and road) conditions have denied me access to one of my most reliable methods of boosting my spirits – going for a run. Sub-zero temps earlier this month did not deter me, I just added more layers. But ice-coated streets and sidewalks make running too hazardous, especially after a slip and fall. I own a pair of ice/snow cleats that fit over boots or running shoes and tried to go for a run on Wednesday morning, but even those did not offer enough grip to pick up the pace safely. A friend and I made it for about 1/3 of a mile before opting to visit a gym for a cardio-focused workout. While not nearly as satisfying as a long run, working up a sweat helps my mood. I often call exercise my “sweat-therapy.”

How do you combat the winter blahs?