These Are My Heroes

Here are their faces. I admire many women of conscience and courage. Dr. Wangari Maathai. An San Suu Kyi. Hatshepsut.  These women are mighty. And globally known. But each began taking steps at home. In communities. I live in this house. In this community, in this town, in this state, in this country, on this planet. Change and growth seem daunting to me when the enormity of the world's problems swell my brain. I feel overwhelmed, helpless. Will we live soon on a planet where violence against women has ended? Can we escape the privatization of prisons and the incarceration of our poor brothers and sisters? Can we feed all the children? To take action feels too hard when viewed through a mighty global lens. Today my hero is my great grandmother. She came to America from Finland with four children. Her husband had gone ahead to work in the Canadian silver mines. He died young. My great-grandmother did what all women did in the early 20th century. She worked. Her children worked. She grew food, milked her cow, fought off male predators, taught her children to live in nature. She carried water home, cooked the food she grew and the food her men caught. She chopped wood, did laundry in community over a fire with other women. She concocted medicines, baked bread to barter for other food, and laughed. She told stories, and listened to other storytellers. She cried and raged. She danced. She loved her extended family, and threw out her man when he came home too drunk. Let him back in when he was contrite. She lived. Completely. And she is a hero to me.

Other People's Business

Today is Scott's 48th birthday. I took him to breakfast to begin celebrating. The restaurant only had 4 other people in it. 3 men sat in the corner together. It was 8:20 a.m. so the three were not in a hurry to get to work. None looked old enough to be retired. They were talking loudly. Voices carry in a high ceilinged room when it's not crowded. One voice was dominant. Blah blah food stamps. Blah blah unemployment. Blah blah socialism. Within minutes, he established to me a little bit about him. He is either unemployed or underemployed, he will vote for the Republican or Tea Party candidate in the elections in November, he is blue collar, upper lower class, mildly educated, watches Fox News, and will have the tendency to lean in the "ists" direction. Classist, racist, etc. He is either hard of hearing, or believes his views need to be shared with the widest possible audience. I knew he was wearing either a John Deere or Caterpillar ballcap before I glanced his way as we were leaving. He talked the way working class people have talked for centuries - everyone else is doing it wrong. And then I wondered about me. About all the attention paid to other people's business. Perhaps when I focus on other's shortcomings, or develop a negative impression too fast, it's because there's something that's poking at me about me. OPB. OPB is not my business, it's not anybody's business. Social networking sites try really hard to make it their business, because those things are in the business of connecting people, not to each other, but to the marketers who are paying to reach the people who have to have an opinion on OPB. I don't care if someone likes WalMart.  I truly do not care what you had for dinner last night. That's OPB. Something changes in the world when comments can be made on every damn thing anyone does or espouses or thinks. People might begin to believe that their opinion matters beyond its importance. When OPB becomes my business, or your business, then sides are taken. Lines are drawn. And the importance of those lines is blown all out of proportion. Someone outside of our own locked heads must be blamed - whoever that is, even if it's someone just like us we do not recognize in our finger pointing. I learned a lesson today. It does not matter what I think about those guys in the corner. It's not my business. And I'm reminded again I don't have to have an opinion on everything. Scott and I enjoyed our breakfast together, right after we agreed that those guys were talking loud. And then we ignored them, and concentrated on our business - enjoying our breakfast and celebrating Scott's special day.

Viktori and Mariah

We were on Drummond Island this week and I remembered to bring home this picture of my great-grandparents. It hangs near the stove and the kitchen window. The light has faded it, and cooking spattered the glass. I've wanted to scan it and preserve the picture digitally, then return it to its berth. They look happy. I wonder who took the picture? Someone in another boat? Where are the children? Is this water in Finland or Canada? Was it a lovely day, or overcast? Was the rest of their day as pleasant? I love this serene moment for the pair, can hear the water against the oars, and smell Viktori's pipe. Ah, the pleasures of a quiet trip on the water with someone you love.