Genesis 27 tells the sordid story of deception and dishonesty. Rebecca wanted to make good on God's comment that the older would serve the younger. Taking things into her own hands, she coached Jacob in deceiving Isaac, his father and her husband. I wonder why she would do such a thing: did she closely identify with the underdog, as a woman in that society? Was it that important that she create a sibling hierarchy herself instead of waiting to see how God would arrange that to happen? Was she using her sons to get back at her husband for something? Did she feel so disenfranchised that she needed to use deception to get some control over what happened to her life? Why was Jacob so obviously closer to her than Essau? Was she afraid of what would happen to her if Essau received the greater inheritance and blessing from Isaac? Was Jacob such a milquetoast that he obeyed his mother against his will? That seems highly doubtful. But none of these questions are answered in the biblical account. We just notice that she and Jacob had a coalition against Isaac--a classic relational triangle--something that makes for trouble.
The long and short of it is that Rebecca and later, Isaac, sent Jacob off across the country to Uncle Laban's family until the wrath of Essau had worn off. Isaac thought of how he had obtained his own wife in that country, and Rebecca just wanted him to be safe. So off he went.
Remember, Laban was the one who had blessed Eleazer and then Rebecca, when he had seen them last. When Jacob was brought to his house, after kissing his cousin Rachel, and weeping aloud at the well, Laban welcomed him with open arms--his "own flesh and blood" (Genesis 29:14).
It appears that Jacob willingly went to work right away for Laban, helping him with his livestock and whatever pursuits Laban was involved in. I don't know if Laban didn't have a son of his own or not--the Bible doesn't list any--which is unusual in a society in which lineage is reckoned by males. Laban approached Jacob and invited him to name his price for his work on the farm. Jacob was in love with Rachel and asked for her as a wife. He offered to work seven years if he could just have her as a wife. Bear in mind that he had no money for a dowry, so his work took the place of gifts for the family.
When it was time to marry, Laban threw a huge wedding feast. In the evening, he slipped Leah into the tent with Jacob and that is the person with whom he consumated the marriage. I wonder what Rachel thought of all of this, or where she even was that night. Probably sobbing her heart out in some tent. Surely she could not have been duplicitous along with her father. But we don't know for sure what happened with her at that time.
And what of Leah? Was she a desperate single woman who had been waiting to get married but no one wanted her? Or was the only problem that she was a year or so older than Rachel and without marital prospects? I wonder, when Jacob was making love that night, if he was calling out Rachel's name. Why didn't she identify herself on that unfortunate wedding night? Did she have no choice in what happened to her? Was she in agreement with her father, or did it not matter? It was a morning after of shock and heartbreak. Jacob had just experienced a dream of a night with the woman he had been waiting to marry, only to find that he had been the butt of a very cruel turn of events.
He confronted Laban the next morning. "What is this you have done to me?" Didn't you say I am your own flesh and blood? Haven't I been faithful to you in all that I've done for you on this farm? How could you do this to me?"
Laban's answer: "It's not our custom here to give the younger daughter before the elder daughter. Finish the bridal week and then we will give you the younger one also--after another seven years of work." It occurs to me that in the seven years Jacob lived in that country, he would have learned of this custom himself. But it seems that he was completely shocked by his uncle's behavior. I wonder if he didn't fight back or leave because he realized that just seven years before that, he had been the one to pull the wool over the eyes of his father and brother. So he really deserved what he got.
I wonder why Laban felt he could get away with this. Did he not have any concern about giving a daughter in marriage who would not be loved--could not be loved? Apparently, this was not of concern to him. How did he feel he could justify asking Jacob to work another seven years--much less, present this business transaction the day Jacob was at his most vulnerable? Were elder males such that they had to be obeyed, regardless? In Laban's response to Jacob, there is no tenderness, no apology, no regret. Only a business proposal. There is no concern for Rachel, and certainly no regret for Leah's dismal marriage future. The very time when Leah should be enjoying the greatest affection and attention from her new husband, he was longing for her younger sister. It was a dismal business to be a woman in those days.
In seven days, Rachel became Jacob's wife. There is no mention that they had another wedding feast for her. I would have felt very left out and as though I were an add-on, had I been Rachel.
And life moved on as though nothing had happened--nothing is said about Laban. But he looks very unpleasant to me by this point, paternalistic society or not.
September 24, 2006
September 23, 2006
Laban: A kind man gone bad
In my study of the Bible a few months ago, I came across that directly spoke to a situation I had been facing with an abused client: What does the Bible have to say about abusive people, and what should be done about being abused?
As I read the story of Jacob, his wives, and Laban, some interesting points became visible. This will be too long to complete in one entry, but here's the first part.
The story of Laban starts clear back in Genesis 24. Abraham knew that his final days were close at hand, so he deputized Eleazer to go back to his homeland and find a wife for his son, Isaac. Eleazer, being a pious man, asked God to show him what woman should be brought back for Isaac. The sign would be that when he stopped at a well to ask for a drink, the woman would also offer to draw water for his camels. He wanted a kind, generous, hospitable woman with a good heart.
This is exactly what happened. The Bible states, "Before he was finished [praying] Rebecca, the neice of Abraham, came out." She was beautiful and she wore some sort of indicator that she was unmarried. She gave water to Eleazer and graciously offered water to his camels. Her speech showed respect to Eleazer, by calling him "lord." It was the custom to offer lodging to strangers and travelers during that time, and she was quick to invite Eleazer, his companions and their camels to their home. Eleazer immediately gave her an earring and gold bracelets on her hands. This was a significant symbol of favor.
This is where we first see Laban. He was the brother of Rebecca. The Bible says that he ran to the well and asked Laban--Thou blessed by the Lord--why he was just standing there. He urged Eleazer to accept the hospitality of his family, even as he pronounced a blessing on him. After Eleazer entered their dwelling, Laban rushed to feed the camels, and offered water for Eleazer and his servants so they could wash their feet--refresh themselves before they ate. We see here a young man who by all appearances was a hospitable, generous, thoughtful and kind person.
Eleazer tells Bethuel, Rebecca's father, and Laban about his purpose in stopping there. It seems, from the biblical language, that Laban must have been an older brother, because he is given authority and is mentioned in conjunction with Bethuel. We also see later on that after he hears Eleazer's story, the two men admit that the coincidence that brought Eleazer to their home is God ordained. They could not argue or protest this. Then they gave Rebecca to him to take back to Isaac.
Right here, I rankle at the paternalistic practices of buying and selling women in those days, as though they were cattle. Eleazer gives Bethuel and his wife a dowry: jewels and "precious things." Thank God that this dowry system is no longer legal in this country. Apparently, women were such a liability in that society that they were accounted worthwhile only if they bore children or were beautiful enough to bring a large dowry. This horrid practice persists in some countries today.
The family asked that Rebecca stay with them for 10 days before she returned with Eleazer, but he was so eager to get back that he said no. To their credit, they did ask Rebecca if she was willing to go with him and she agreed to go. So Rebecca was sent off the next day with him, back to marry Isaac--sight unseen. Thankfully, she was sent with a nurse and with "damsels" --must have been women servants or companions of some sort. The next day they went off.
Bethuel and Laban blessed her as she left in a typical Bible times way. So this is where we find out that at one time Laban seems to be behaving as young men typically did in that paternalistic system. It's hard for me to tell the difference between unacceptable and acceptable behavior in the Bible, because so many of the male-female behaviors during that time make me recoil. However, the Bible doesn't indicate that he was "churlish" as Nabal, the husband of Abigail was. Nabal was clearly an abusive, irritable, and mean-spirited man. Laban was not characterized that way at that time.
Rebecca became the wife of Isaac and he loved her. She became the mother of Jacob and Essau. More about this in the next entry.
September 20, 2006
Déjà vu
Today I found myself laughing aloud as I drove to work. For whatever reason--the smell of the air outside, the way the sky looked, the sun on the hospital--something reminded me of the day I started my first job as a nurse. I was wet behind the ears and hardly recognized any equipment I saw. I realized that I was truly a hazard to the wellbeing of most patients there. It could be the family genes, but I had it in my mind to bluff my way through whatever unknowns that would present themselves.
One of the nurses who was assigned to orient me that day, invited me to help her give a patient a bedbath. Not any kind of patient, and not any kind of bedbath. This was the trauma unit. Every patient seemed to have a cast, metal hardware, be covered in bandages, have tubes from every orifice, or be on some sort of specialty bed. The bath consisted of two large body towels in a plastic bag full of hot water and rinseless soap. One large wet towel would be placed over the patient and we'd all scrub up and down, back and forth with it, being sure everything was cleaned. Then it would be whisked away and the patient would be covered with a large hot towel with which to be dried. After turning the patient over, the same routine would be repeated on the back, etc.
I watched the first bedbath and noted the assured way the nurses worked: not flinching at nakedness, scrubbing in a way that would surely make me blush, and all the while talking with the patient to be sure he felt okay during the bath. I didn't know if I could do it, but was up for the next bath.
About four of us descended on a large male patient, pulling the curtain partway around him for privacy. I don't remember much about him, just that it took all four of us to life his casts, turn, and scrub. As three of the nurses turned the man to his side, I was left with a large, dirty, soapy towel dripping down my arm. There was no place to put it and I looked around to find a place to set it down. Just then I recalled seeing these wonderfully seasoned nurses throwing the towel through the curtains onto the floor outside the bathroom door. Well, I could do that. I wound up my arm, hoisted the huge towel in the air, and with a surge of energy, threw it overhand at the bathroom door. However, just then, Dr. Thompson, a large stiff, jowly doctor with white hair, walked past the curtain. The wet towel slapped up against the back of his neck, wrapping part way around his face and leaving water marks on his tie and collar.
He whirled about to face me. If looks could kill, I was on my way. His eyes bored into me--the guilty one with wet hands and one upraised arm. The other nurses froze, horrified, as they watched Dr. Thompson disentangle himself from the dirty towel. "That kind of behavior should never be seen in this hospital," he spat.
"Yes sir..." My face turned red and my stomach started doing somersaults. "I'm very sorry."
"See that it never happens again!"
"Yes sir."
Dr. Thompson strode out of the room, his subdued residents with twinkly eyes, following close behind. He looked like an egotistical bantam rooster. I almost fainted. The nurses around me cackled and howled with laughter, in a quiet way so as not to be heard outside the room. I was "in" --at least with them.
Isn't unexpected memory entertaining?
One of the nurses who was assigned to orient me that day, invited me to help her give a patient a bedbath. Not any kind of patient, and not any kind of bedbath. This was the trauma unit. Every patient seemed to have a cast, metal hardware, be covered in bandages, have tubes from every orifice, or be on some sort of specialty bed. The bath consisted of two large body towels in a plastic bag full of hot water and rinseless soap. One large wet towel would be placed over the patient and we'd all scrub up and down, back and forth with it, being sure everything was cleaned. Then it would be whisked away and the patient would be covered with a large hot towel with which to be dried. After turning the patient over, the same routine would be repeated on the back, etc.
I watched the first bedbath and noted the assured way the nurses worked: not flinching at nakedness, scrubbing in a way that would surely make me blush, and all the while talking with the patient to be sure he felt okay during the bath. I didn't know if I could do it, but was up for the next bath.
About four of us descended on a large male patient, pulling the curtain partway around him for privacy. I don't remember much about him, just that it took all four of us to life his casts, turn, and scrub. As three of the nurses turned the man to his side, I was left with a large, dirty, soapy towel dripping down my arm. There was no place to put it and I looked around to find a place to set it down. Just then I recalled seeing these wonderfully seasoned nurses throwing the towel through the curtains onto the floor outside the bathroom door. Well, I could do that. I wound up my arm, hoisted the huge towel in the air, and with a surge of energy, threw it overhand at the bathroom door. However, just then, Dr. Thompson, a large stiff, jowly doctor with white hair, walked past the curtain. The wet towel slapped up against the back of his neck, wrapping part way around his face and leaving water marks on his tie and collar.
He whirled about to face me. If looks could kill, I was on my way. His eyes bored into me--the guilty one with wet hands and one upraised arm. The other nurses froze, horrified, as they watched Dr. Thompson disentangle himself from the dirty towel. "That kind of behavior should never be seen in this hospital," he spat.
"Yes sir..." My face turned red and my stomach started doing somersaults. "I'm very sorry."
"See that it never happens again!"
"Yes sir."
Dr. Thompson strode out of the room, his subdued residents with twinkly eyes, following close behind. He looked like an egotistical bantam rooster. I almost fainted. The nurses around me cackled and howled with laughter, in a quiet way so as not to be heard outside the room. I was "in" --at least with them.
Isn't unexpected memory entertaining?
September 19, 2006
Power of Precarious
I didn't know if I was doing this whole play therapy thing right. Sal, who was caught in the middle of his parent's ugly divorce, had been brought in for counseling. He had been acting out at school. His parents had locked horns on every major and minor issue surrounding their divorce. I still couldn't figure out why they were getting a divorce. Both told me they desperately loved one another, but things had gone from bad to worse with them. They were unwilling to come in for therapy themselves and instead, wanted me to "fix" their son.
Sal was six years old. He didn't have words to describe what was happening to his little world. He had no way to explain how disruptive everything felt to him, so he became disruptive himself. That way, people would know what he felt like. It was my job to help him think aloud about his situation and to help him put words to his experience so he could discharge the raw intensity of it and go back to the business of just being a little boy.
So here we sat, playing a game in which we hammered blocks of "ice" out of a grid until finally the entire platform collapsed onto the floor. The one able to knock out the most blocks without making it all fall apart won. I wasn't sure what was so therapeutic about it, as I was still trying to figure out how to do this therapy business. Sal energetically hammered out block after block, stacking the pieces on a low table next to our game. While we tapped out the pieces he told me what it was like to be a kid with ADHD in school and how people thought he was bad. I kept hammering and we fell silent, intent on our game.
Sal kept collecting his hammered out ice blocks and absentmindedly placed his last one up on the table. It hung halfway on and off the table, ready to fall to the floor.
"Wow, Sal!" I exclaimed. "That block is pretty precarious!"
He screwed up his face and squinted up at me.
"What's precarious, Barbara?"
"It means ready to fall and not very steady." I couldn't help but notice the deep blue of his eyes and in that moment I loved his little soul.
"Oh. I never heard that word before."
"It's a very big one" I heard myself say as we went back to hammering out ice blocks.
Sal worked quietly for several minutes. I wasn't sure how to get him back onto the topic of his ADHD or his parents' divorce. I knew he had an older sister and she was furious about her parent's choice to divorce. She had sided with her mother and wanted nothing to do with her father. This must have had some impression on Sal. Surely, he intuitively knew about the impact of her rage on the family. But you can't just come out and ask little kids things like this, so we kept playing our game in silence.
Suddenly Sal scrunched down on one knee and put down his hammer. "Barbara, I think my parents have a precarious love." His eyebrows furrowed and he looked deep in thought before looking up at me for a response. "Do you think they have a precarious love?"
"Maybe they do."
"I think so." And he sat for a brief moment looking at the ice blocks on the floor.
"Ok. I'm done with that. Let's play something else."
It is strange, but the next week I could see that he truly was done with that. He was more attentive and seemed to have gained some sense of control over the situation with his parents. He couldn't change them nor could he change the impact of his sister on the family dynamic. But now he had a word for what was happening: His parents had a precarious love. And he could move on to something else.
There are many times in life when we need to understand what is happening to us in order to calm ourselves. Even if it's not a good or pleasant thing, we need to be able to articulate what is happening so we can put it away. Sal did. His parent's precarious love did not change, but he did.
It is strange, but the next week I could see that he truly was done with that. He was more attentive and seemed to have gained some sense of control over the situation with his parents. He couldn't change them nor could he change the impact of his sister on the family dynamic. But now he had a word for what was happening: His parents had a precarious love. And he could move on to something else.
There are many times in life when we need to understand what is happening to us in order to calm ourselves. Even if it's not a good or pleasant thing, we need to be able to articulate what is happening so we can put it away. Sal did. His parent's precarious love did not change, but he did.
September 15, 2006
The Boss
You have met Otis before. Here he is again, waiting for his humble subjects to approach him for a scratch under his chin or a swat with his feathered toy. It is such fun to have this little character in our home.
September 14, 2006
Wait and see
I was in over my head and it would not be easy to back out now. It was a relationship that should never have taken place, and I was in the thick of it. I thought we had similar beliefs--if he had any, they were not religious and scarcely spiritual. He expected me to stay home with babies while he worked. I was on my way to a doctorate and had no intention of staying home full time after all the effort to get such a degree. I did a zillion things in my spare time. He did one. It was a match that never matched. My conscience had smitten me and I decided to board a plane, fly to his home and put an end to the relationship.
It was with a very heavy heart that I sank into the airplane seat and strapped myself in. I hoped that I wouldn't give in to his persuasion, as he was quite good at keeping me on the line. I had prayed and worried about the whole thing. Lost in thought and barely holding back tears, I turned my head to the little oval window and stared outside onto the tarmac.
Just then, a heavyset woman came down the aisle, her skirt swishing against the arms of people seated on either side. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and she looked me squarely in the face. "Hello darlin'," she sang out. "You look like such a nice young lady. I'm so lucky to get to sit by you."
I smiled one of those smiles that was a cross between a determined look and kind patience. It stopped the lady dead in her tracks. She had been settling into her seat and she stopped shifting about, looking right at me. "Honey," she said in a voice that was full of warmth. "The Lord's gonna fix it. You wait and see."
There must have been something in my face that told this dear person that I was full of struggle inside. And she was compelled to tell me that everything would be all right. I could have thrown my arms around her and fallen weeping against her generous bosom. "The Lord's gonna fix it."
I don't remember much else about that flight or the woman, except that her words echoed in my head for the next three days whilst I ended the relationship that should never have started. The Lord did fix it.
When I was younger I used to be so worried about looking right and saying the polite things to people. What would they think of me if I were to say what I really thought? There were times when I did say what I thought and got into trouble. But rarely did I ever say the kinds of things that this woman had said to me that day: that God really does love you. That having things and being a jet setter is nothing compared to being able to read to your children at night in a humble, peaceful home. That there are worse things than dying: living a rat race, or living like you're waiting for some "big moment" to come but until then make do with a miserable existence. That being alive and connected to other people is what makes life worthwhile, not the prestige of a fantastic job that keeps you so busy that you can't spend time with your family.
So today, those who read this--I want you to know, that the Lord is going to fix whatever it is that you face. It may take time and you may feel like you can hardly hang on. But He is able to fix anything and support anyone. It might not come when you would like, but God's gonna fix it. You wait and see.
It was with a very heavy heart that I sank into the airplane seat and strapped myself in. I hoped that I wouldn't give in to his persuasion, as he was quite good at keeping me on the line. I had prayed and worried about the whole thing. Lost in thought and barely holding back tears, I turned my head to the little oval window and stared outside onto the tarmac.
Just then, a heavyset woman came down the aisle, her skirt swishing against the arms of people seated on either side. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and she looked me squarely in the face. "Hello darlin'," she sang out. "You look like such a nice young lady. I'm so lucky to get to sit by you."
I smiled one of those smiles that was a cross between a determined look and kind patience. It stopped the lady dead in her tracks. She had been settling into her seat and she stopped shifting about, looking right at me. "Honey," she said in a voice that was full of warmth. "The Lord's gonna fix it. You wait and see."
There must have been something in my face that told this dear person that I was full of struggle inside. And she was compelled to tell me that everything would be all right. I could have thrown my arms around her and fallen weeping against her generous bosom. "The Lord's gonna fix it."
I don't remember much else about that flight or the woman, except that her words echoed in my head for the next three days whilst I ended the relationship that should never have started. The Lord did fix it.
When I was younger I used to be so worried about looking right and saying the polite things to people. What would they think of me if I were to say what I really thought? There were times when I did say what I thought and got into trouble. But rarely did I ever say the kinds of things that this woman had said to me that day: that God really does love you. That having things and being a jet setter is nothing compared to being able to read to your children at night in a humble, peaceful home. That there are worse things than dying: living a rat race, or living like you're waiting for some "big moment" to come but until then make do with a miserable existence. That being alive and connected to other people is what makes life worthwhile, not the prestige of a fantastic job that keeps you so busy that you can't spend time with your family.
So today, those who read this--I want you to know, that the Lord is going to fix whatever it is that you face. It may take time and you may feel like you can hardly hang on. But He is able to fix anything and support anyone. It might not come when you would like, but God's gonna fix it. You wait and see.
September 12, 2006
More on words
Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars. —Gustave Flaubert, French novelist, Madame Bovary, 1857
September 11, 2006
My Gene Pool
I come from a long line of people who love to produce "hogwash," as my father calls it. No one in my family would be surprised to see that I keep a blog. My father writes all sorts of letters and memos to people either to make a point or to be heard. One of my cousins is writing a book; my sister and another cousin have real appreciation for comedic writing. I suppose it is in my blood to write, and it probably all stems from my grandfather, Dale.
His name wasn't Dale, but he was called that by my elder cousins and Dale he was until he died. We didn't know it was a first name, he was just Dale to us and that meant Grampa.
A self-made man, Dale was a hardware store owner turned mayor, turned salesman. He could really turn a phrase. When he and Nanna celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, he published a full page glossy flier with their picture on it. It was entitled, "Why Every Man Should Love Women." He spun out quite a tale and made many intriguing assertions--ideas that most of the family would not have recognized as belonging to their marriage had they not known that Dale wrote it. It's quite an eye roller, even now.
As a young man, Dale was a violinist. His accompanist was a young lady named Iva. During one concert while he was playing Humoreske, he recalls that he looked down into Iva's eyes where he saw "a line of diapers flapping in the breeze." If he told us this story once, he said it 100 times. They were married shortly thereafter. Their engagement picture shows Nanna turned away from him looking miffed about something, and Dale grinning from ear to ear. It was a metaphor for their entire marriage.
On Sundays we often had whole family gatherings at our grandparents' home. The meal usually included mashed potatoes, gravy and peas. There was a grand old painted white round table and everyone squeezed in around it. It seemed enormous to me then. Halfway through the meal Nanna would ask in true hostess style, "What will you have, James?" Turning to her with a beneficient smile he would announce, "Just a slice of you, my pet." There would be a hiss and Nanna would stamp the heel of her little black shoe on the floor. Our chuckling would begin.
Soon it would be time for dessert and Nanna would bring out a lovely cake. As she cut the cake, Dale would take a dish in one hand and hold it out to her. "Iva, how's your bowels?" Before she could respond he'd say, "Have a piece of cake." We would erupt into gales of laughter and Nanna would be madder than a wet hen.
My grandfather was an extrovert of the truest sort. He was happiest being around people, chattering away with them. He was a wonderful storyteller and many of his stories we could repeat verbatim. Dale loved music. Even after he could no longer play the violin with his arthritic fingers, he would play "O Susanna" on the harmonica, while stomping and dancing through the house. As children, we were delighted with his energy and verve.
Oh he was a dancer alright! There was a period of time when he'd go downtown to the bank and dance with all the tellers every week. I'm not sure what Nanna thought of that, but the tellers sure enjoyed his visits.
At one point Dale bought a piece of property which he wanted to have for his sons. I was too young to remember much about it, but I do remember "P'Tung Studio." It was written on a sign over a hollow where frogs lived. We got a real charge out of that.
As I get older, I have begun to observe myself saying some of the same things that Dale and my father have said. I consider both of them to be eccentric in some ways, but very endearing. When I see my sister or brother following suit, saying things that could have just as easily come out of my father's mouth, I have to say that everything seems right in the world. The familiarity of their words and the feelings engendered remind me of the long line of unique word turners from which we all hail. Perhaps I shall be making a spectacle of my relationship with Sam in a more updated way than Dale featured Nanna in the media back in the 60s. My words will probably embarass someone I'm related to, but they are written in the fulness of appreciation and love for the gene pool from which I sprang. I could be off doing much worse things than writing a blog.
His name wasn't Dale, but he was called that by my elder cousins and Dale he was until he died. We didn't know it was a first name, he was just Dale to us and that meant Grampa.
A self-made man, Dale was a hardware store owner turned mayor, turned salesman. He could really turn a phrase. When he and Nanna celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, he published a full page glossy flier with their picture on it. It was entitled, "Why Every Man Should Love Women." He spun out quite a tale and made many intriguing assertions--ideas that most of the family would not have recognized as belonging to their marriage had they not known that Dale wrote it. It's quite an eye roller, even now.
As a young man, Dale was a violinist. His accompanist was a young lady named Iva. During one concert while he was playing Humoreske, he recalls that he looked down into Iva's eyes where he saw "a line of diapers flapping in the breeze." If he told us this story once, he said it 100 times. They were married shortly thereafter. Their engagement picture shows Nanna turned away from him looking miffed about something, and Dale grinning from ear to ear. It was a metaphor for their entire marriage.
On Sundays we often had whole family gatherings at our grandparents' home. The meal usually included mashed potatoes, gravy and peas. There was a grand old painted white round table and everyone squeezed in around it. It seemed enormous to me then. Halfway through the meal Nanna would ask in true hostess style, "What will you have, James?" Turning to her with a beneficient smile he would announce, "Just a slice of you, my pet." There would be a hiss and Nanna would stamp the heel of her little black shoe on the floor. Our chuckling would begin.
Soon it would be time for dessert and Nanna would bring out a lovely cake. As she cut the cake, Dale would take a dish in one hand and hold it out to her. "Iva, how's your bowels?" Before she could respond he'd say, "Have a piece of cake." We would erupt into gales of laughter and Nanna would be madder than a wet hen.
My grandfather was an extrovert of the truest sort. He was happiest being around people, chattering away with them. He was a wonderful storyteller and many of his stories we could repeat verbatim. Dale loved music. Even after he could no longer play the violin with his arthritic fingers, he would play "O Susanna" on the harmonica, while stomping and dancing through the house. As children, we were delighted with his energy and verve.
Oh he was a dancer alright! There was a period of time when he'd go downtown to the bank and dance with all the tellers every week. I'm not sure what Nanna thought of that, but the tellers sure enjoyed his visits.
At one point Dale bought a piece of property which he wanted to have for his sons. I was too young to remember much about it, but I do remember "P'Tung Studio." It was written on a sign over a hollow where frogs lived. We got a real charge out of that.
As I get older, I have begun to observe myself saying some of the same things that Dale and my father have said. I consider both of them to be eccentric in some ways, but very endearing. When I see my sister or brother following suit, saying things that could have just as easily come out of my father's mouth, I have to say that everything seems right in the world. The familiarity of their words and the feelings engendered remind me of the long line of unique word turners from which we all hail. Perhaps I shall be making a spectacle of my relationship with Sam in a more updated way than Dale featured Nanna in the media back in the 60s. My words will probably embarass someone I'm related to, but they are written in the fulness of appreciation and love for the gene pool from which I sprang. I could be off doing much worse things than writing a blog.
September 9, 2006
100 Things About Me
(I saw this on another blogger's site and decided to see what I could come up with)
1. I’m 47 years old and feel like I’m 20.
2. I’m five years younger than my husband.
3. I’m 30 years younger than my mother.
4. I’m the third of four children.
5. I always wanted 10 siblings.
6. When in high school I told my mother I’d like to have 10 sons.
7. I’m a stepmother.
8. After watching “Sound of Music” I wanted to be a governess who turned into a stepmother.
9. I could have been a nun because I'm passionate about spirituality and service and I'm a hopeless introvert
10. I love being married.
11. I’ve lived in 25 different places (26 if you count college)
12. I dream of living in New England, in the country
13. Most of my young life was lived in the country
14. I took piano lessons for about three years
15. One piano recital was my first and last
16. I played French horn for six years in middle school and high school, and bass clarinet for a year in high school
17. I would be happy to lie down and die if I could only perform Verdi's Requiem as the mezzo soloist
18. My siblings and I had a four-part, mixed quartet and used to sing quite a bit
19. I used to tag along with my father’s traveling high school choir when I was very small
20. I was a voice major when I started college
21. I was a merciless prankster in college
22. I detest raisins and figs
23. Watching people brush their teeth can make me gag
24. I’m overweight
25. I think ill of people who swear
26. I’m in a mixed race marriage (although no onlooker would think this, and I don’t think of this often)
27. I’m the only one of four siblings who has not been divorced
28. I’ve crocheted over 45 afghans and love doing it when I have time
29. I’d like to learn how to quilt
30. Cooking and entertaining are favorite activities of mine
31. I love to sing arias from La Bohéme in the shower
32. My husband and I like to sing duets from time to time
33. I often purposely sing a hair off-key when singing congregational hymns with my sister, just because she can’t control her horrified response and it renders her unable to sing because she cracks up.
34. I dream of being able to build furniture
35. I love to remodel old houses
36. I assembled all of my new office furniture myself
37. I consider myself to be quite shy
38. I often forget that I have an advanced degree
39. I’m a good therapist
40. I'd like to have my own television show about family life and relationships
41. I love to preach sermons
42. Laughter is one of life’s miracles
43. I’ve never been a graceful person
44. Being known as a gracious person is one of my life goals
45. I’ve sung for President Ford
46. I’m on a lifestyle-eating plan to trim down and be healthier
47. I’ve taught social workers, therapists, nurses and doctors
48. I used to be an RN
49. My favorite kind of music is renaissance voice music: motets and madrigals
50. I wish I played the double bass in an orchestra, and hope to some day
51. I got married when I was 44 years old
52. I sustained scalding burns over 40% of my body when I was 17 months old
53. I used to sew all my own clothes
54. I have a good eye for design
55. I’m a very good stick person artist
56. I’m in my third year as a stepmother to three teenage girls
57. Using the Meyers-Briggs Temperament Inventory measures, I am an I/ENFP/J
58. My ISFP husband and I are blissfully married most of the time
59. Writing is a relaxing and rewarding pastime
60. I’m intolerant of incompetent leadership
61. I’ve lived in eight states
62. I’ve traveled to Europe eight times
63. I used to dream of operating an orphanage in Mexico
64. I would like to kayak over the Lewis & Clark route West
65. It would be terrific to hike the Pacific Rim Trail from top to bottom
66. I’ve climbed San Bernardino, San Gorgonio, Mt. Baldy, San Jacinto, Half Dome, El Capitan, and Whitney (twice)
67. I’d like to learn how to be a better conversationalist
68. There have been two times in my life when during prayer, I was afraid to open my eyes because it felt like God was sitting on the edge of my bed right next to me
69. I have experienced miracle after miracle in my life
70. I would like to write a Gestalt Therapy textbook
71. I’ve written a book on domestic violence
72. I’m scared of working with electrical things (wiring)
73. I can’t tolerate the feel of fingernail polish
74. I’ve always had an affinity for all things Jewish
75. I like the shape of my nose
76. My idea of a very bad time is being forced to endure the entire playing of Wagner’s operas, prolonged exposure to Kletzmer or Mariachi bands.
77. When I started studying therapy I read every assigned reading plus every therapy book I could get my hands on, for three years.
78. I appear very confident, so people falsely assume I’m competent
79. I would love to be a concert pianist
80. I’m a good story teller
81. I’m fascinated by people from other lands, other cultures and backgrounds
82. I have no desire to travel in Asian countries
83. I almost adopted a child from another country
84. I wish I were closer to my brothers
85. I once heard a woman being raped in a van and was so naïve that I did nothing about it
86. As a nurse I have cared for two internationally known personalities
87. If I had my druthers, I would be independently wealthy and live the life of an eternal student, with private tutors here and abroad
88. I’ve never been able to stand on my head without feeling like I’d pop an aneurysm
89. Many people (particularly students) are intimidated by me before they get to know me
90. My cousin Linda, has been like a big sister to me
91. I’ve promised my nephew that we will kayak for a week in the Boundary Waters within the next couple years
92. I love people but being around them for prolonged periods of time makes me feel utterly exhausted
93. Sometimes I feel like I have Alzheimer’s because my memory is horrible
94. My mathematical skills are pathetic (I’m certain I have a math disability)
95. I have always felt very close to God, even as a very small child
96. I love to wash dishes by hand—and they smell so much better than if they’re washed in the dishwasher!
97. My trousers unexpectedly dropped clear to the ground once, as I stood at the edge of the freeway.
98. I have a wonderful network of friends
99. I've watched many, many people die
100.I never expected to be this happy in life
1. I’m 47 years old and feel like I’m 20.
2. I’m five years younger than my husband.
3. I’m 30 years younger than my mother.
4. I’m the third of four children.
5. I always wanted 10 siblings.
6. When in high school I told my mother I’d like to have 10 sons.
7. I’m a stepmother.
8. After watching “Sound of Music” I wanted to be a governess who turned into a stepmother.
9. I could have been a nun because I'm passionate about spirituality and service and I'm a hopeless introvert
10. I love being married.
11. I’ve lived in 25 different places (26 if you count college)
12. I dream of living in New England, in the country
13. Most of my young life was lived in the country
14. I took piano lessons for about three years
15. One piano recital was my first and last
16. I played French horn for six years in middle school and high school, and bass clarinet for a year in high school
17. I would be happy to lie down and die if I could only perform Verdi's Requiem as the mezzo soloist
18. My siblings and I had a four-part, mixed quartet and used to sing quite a bit
19. I used to tag along with my father’s traveling high school choir when I was very small
20. I was a voice major when I started college
21. I was a merciless prankster in college
22. I detest raisins and figs
23. Watching people brush their teeth can make me gag
24. I’m overweight
25. I think ill of people who swear
26. I’m in a mixed race marriage (although no onlooker would think this, and I don’t think of this often)
27. I’m the only one of four siblings who has not been divorced
28. I’ve crocheted over 45 afghans and love doing it when I have time
29. I’d like to learn how to quilt
30. Cooking and entertaining are favorite activities of mine
31. I love to sing arias from La Bohéme in the shower
32. My husband and I like to sing duets from time to time
33. I often purposely sing a hair off-key when singing congregational hymns with my sister, just because she can’t control her horrified response and it renders her unable to sing because she cracks up.
34. I dream of being able to build furniture
35. I love to remodel old houses
36. I assembled all of my new office furniture myself
37. I consider myself to be quite shy
38. I often forget that I have an advanced degree
39. I’m a good therapist
40. I'd like to have my own television show about family life and relationships
41. I love to preach sermons
42. Laughter is one of life’s miracles
43. I’ve never been a graceful person
44. Being known as a gracious person is one of my life goals
45. I’ve sung for President Ford
46. I’m on a lifestyle-eating plan to trim down and be healthier
47. I’ve taught social workers, therapists, nurses and doctors
48. I used to be an RN
49. My favorite kind of music is renaissance voice music: motets and madrigals
50. I wish I played the double bass in an orchestra, and hope to some day
51. I got married when I was 44 years old
52. I sustained scalding burns over 40% of my body when I was 17 months old
53. I used to sew all my own clothes
54. I have a good eye for design
55. I’m a very good stick person artist
56. I’m in my third year as a stepmother to three teenage girls
57. Using the Meyers-Briggs Temperament Inventory measures, I am an I/ENFP/J
58. My ISFP husband and I are blissfully married most of the time
59. Writing is a relaxing and rewarding pastime
60. I’m intolerant of incompetent leadership
61. I’ve lived in eight states
62. I’ve traveled to Europe eight times
63. I used to dream of operating an orphanage in Mexico
64. I would like to kayak over the Lewis & Clark route West
65. It would be terrific to hike the Pacific Rim Trail from top to bottom
66. I’ve climbed San Bernardino, San Gorgonio, Mt. Baldy, San Jacinto, Half Dome, El Capitan, and Whitney (twice)
67. I’d like to learn how to be a better conversationalist
68. There have been two times in my life when during prayer, I was afraid to open my eyes because it felt like God was sitting on the edge of my bed right next to me
69. I have experienced miracle after miracle in my life
70. I would like to write a Gestalt Therapy textbook
71. I’ve written a book on domestic violence
72. I’m scared of working with electrical things (wiring)
73. I can’t tolerate the feel of fingernail polish
74. I’ve always had an affinity for all things Jewish
75. I like the shape of my nose
76. My idea of a very bad time is being forced to endure the entire playing of Wagner’s operas, prolonged exposure to Kletzmer or Mariachi bands.
77. When I started studying therapy I read every assigned reading plus every therapy book I could get my hands on, for three years.
78. I appear very confident, so people falsely assume I’m competent
79. I would love to be a concert pianist
80. I’m a good story teller
81. I’m fascinated by people from other lands, other cultures and backgrounds
82. I have no desire to travel in Asian countries
83. I almost adopted a child from another country
84. I wish I were closer to my brothers
85. I once heard a woman being raped in a van and was so naïve that I did nothing about it
86. As a nurse I have cared for two internationally known personalities
87. If I had my druthers, I would be independently wealthy and live the life of an eternal student, with private tutors here and abroad
88. I’ve never been able to stand on my head without feeling like I’d pop an aneurysm
89. Many people (particularly students) are intimidated by me before they get to know me
90. My cousin Linda, has been like a big sister to me
91. I’ve promised my nephew that we will kayak for a week in the Boundary Waters within the next couple years
92. I love people but being around them for prolonged periods of time makes me feel utterly exhausted
93. Sometimes I feel like I have Alzheimer’s because my memory is horrible
94. My mathematical skills are pathetic (I’m certain I have a math disability)
95. I have always felt very close to God, even as a very small child
96. I love to wash dishes by hand—and they smell so much better than if they’re washed in the dishwasher!
97. My trousers unexpectedly dropped clear to the ground once, as I stood at the edge of the freeway.
98. I have a wonderful network of friends
99. I've watched many, many people die
100.I never expected to be this happy in life
September 7, 2006
Crass
( Onslow, from the BBC production, Keeping Up Appearances)Uncouth people drive me nuts. People without manners, or who are so oblivious to social convention that they stand out like a sore thumb--and when this is pointed out, no matter. There is something to be said for propriety, and I would like to say it. (Beware, here comes a harrangue!)
I recall eating lunch with someone a few years ago who continually belched loudly with his mouth open, looking straight at my face to get a response. He was in my home, at my table, eating a meal I had prepared for him. He was a weekly visitor--a relative who frequently found his way to my house because he had no other place to go. There he'd sit, smacking his greasy lips together, belching, laughing with his mouth so wide that one could see half-chewed food inside. He was soon not welcome.
Today I ate lunch with someone who asked if it was acceptable to each quiche with one's hands. I don't know where the parents were during the childrearing years of this child, that this information was somehow overlooked. I was horrified and shot a look like a dagger. I confess, I have no patience with poor table manners, particularly when poor manners are touted as preferable to acceptable etiquette.
(Jethro Bodeen from the "Beverly Hillbillies")
When I left home at the age of 21, I had a basic knowledge of proper table conduct: don't chew with your mouth open' wipe your lips on your napkin before you take a drink so you don't leave mouth prints on the glass; use the salad fork for the first course/salad; don't yawn at the table; cover your mouth if you laugh aloud; don't smack your lips; take your soup from the side of the bowl; don't swish your drink through your teeth to clean them; and don't dunk your bread in your milk. That was a good start for proper table manners in America, 1970.
Our family was given specific instructions in table manners by mother. Many were the agonized expressions we saw cross her face as we slurped our soup or played "Lookie, Lookie!" with our siblings. Elbows on the table were fair game for a jab from my father's fork. Belching was not permitted at the table unless, of course, if was my father's hiccup-type accidental burp (he has been heard belching entire words: "Wheeeeeeateeeena!" or, "Ripity-bip-de-bip!" that caused no end of mirth.)
Of particular concern was the way we interacted with hosts and hostesses when invited out to eat in the homes of other families. We were always to compliment the cook on something: the flavor of the greens, the crispness of the salad, the delicious entre. If the meal was a bust, we were taught to compliment the hostess on the attractiveness of the table, or the colorful meal. Anything--just don't fail to compliment the hosts.
We were once invited to have dinner with an older couple originally from the Ukraine. I don't recall recognizing one thing on my plate that day: bitter, unfamiliar foods do not bode well with children. But we had been taught to eat what was put before us, so we dutifully fell to. As if to add insult to injury, at the end of the meal we were served large mugs of tea, the flavor of which nearly made our lives pass before us. While the three older children grimaced and with watering eyes politely sipped this beverage, the youngest sibling charmed us all into looking out the window for some reason. As we turned in our chairs, he upended the sugar bowl into his tea and stirred vigorously. His tea became as thick as syrrup. The hostess was delighted to see him cheerfully drinking from his mug. It was the only bright spot in that meal, unfortunately.
I complimented our hostess on her beautiful table. My sister told her that she loved how our meal had been served in courses. That left my older brother with the "colorful meal" compliment. But the youngest brother had said nothing yet. We were keenly aware of this as we bundled up to leave the house later in the evening. We were hugged and kissed by these dear old folks as we started out the door. Then came baby brother. Our hostess placed both hands on his shoulders and looked sweetly down at him. He swallowed, and here came his requisite compliment: "Thank you for dinner. I liked the salt!" He said it in such a winsome way that she beamed at him. I don't know if she fully understood the import of what he was saying, but we certainly did. Mother winced and Daddy's eyes started to crinkle at the edges. We kids were mad that he could get away with that for a compliment!
"I like the salt" has become our family's code language to describe dishes or meals that we can hardly tolerate. We still eat everything put before us without complaint. My husband was taught the same thing in the same way. I think it was how things were to be done. So when I was faced with a meal of shrimp quesadillas and warm raisin salad, I turned off my brain and ate the quesadillas and dug around the raisins to eat most of the salad. It was miserable, but that's what propriety dictates.
Therefore, when I serve meals here and kids say things like, "Yuck! Can I have a PBJ?" or "I'm not going to eat this kind of food!" or "Whuffl tha psftch" (mouth too full to talk), I feel the hackles come up rather quickly. Perhaps I'm too close to the Great Depression generation, who impressed on us that we are fortunate to have a choice in what we put on the table. When manners were the only thing that distinguished a lady eating boiled potatoes from a common thug eating boiled potatoes.
I don't know exactly how to develop tolerance for crass behavior over the table. I suppose that I could admonish myself to think of that long table in Heaven at which we shall all dine and be served by the Lord, and not be slurping, burping and laughing with our mouths open. Meanwhile, I hope for grace to model and teach where possible (without becoming exasperated).
Do not kill fly on forehead of friend with ax. (Chinese Proverb)
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