This Suburban Life

A strange thing I've noticed since moving to the 'burbs is how acceptable it is to be alone with a man your own house under the guise of home maintenance. Even though Bob and I both work equally full time, for some reason it seems that I am the one who ends up hosting the house consultant guys.

Whenever such a man knocks on the door, my first thought is why in the world would I ever invite this strange man into my home? And then I remember that I'm the one who made the appointment. I must invite him in. Due to the nature of the visit it doesn't work to politely chat in the living room reception area. I must escort this strange man to the most private areas of the house.

the furniture delivery guy
the washer delivery guy
the home warranty inspection guy
the vent duct guy
the furnace guy
the wet carpet guy

I've already told you about the pool guys, Mr. Cigarette, Mr. Toothless, and Mr. Potbelly. And to be fair, Bob hosted the air conditioner guy and the furnace guy's wife, who actually installed our new furnace.

So today it was the recycling guy, Mr. Curious. Thankfully, the recycling is actually picked up at the end of our driveway so there was no pressure to acceptably invite Mr. Curious into the house. Our recycling had piled up and the green bin was overflowing. Amanda was herculean in transporting that thing down the end of the driveway.

Anyway, I decided that I wanted to see exactly how Mr. Curious handles the pick up and if he would just spill over a huge mess that we would need to clean up; given the fact of our overflowing green bin.

And so I spied on him out the window.

I'm pleased to report that he did a great job of carefully separating all of our disposables. But here's the thing. Because I was spying on him through the front window, I noticed that after Mr. Curious finished our job he looked at our house. Twice. Oh my goodness, what must he think of us? They drink a lot of milk. They are sloppy people. They have many parties. They should mow their lawn. How could such a nice house produce so much trash?

And then I'm wondering why I care what Mr. Curious thinks of us.

And then I'm thinking that there is something appealing about being a sanitation worker. A part of me could easily don coveralls and gloves and just have at it. Single handedly sort my whole portion of the city. It's that same part of me that would enjoy being a letter carrier. Go for a really long walk everyday and get paid for it. I wonder what our mailman thinks of us.

Throughout history the role of women has been in the private domain; the role of men in the public. And yet Bob and I think that everything would be much better if it were reversed. Women taking care of world affairs. Men taking care of the home. Generally speaking of course. Give us ten years or so and that's how it will be in this family.

I think I've read one too many John Steinbeck novels.

Gotta go. Thanks for coming over!

Cheers, T

Summer of My Content

I am reading John Steinbeck's "Winter of Our Discontent," the first time in ages that I've indulged in fiction. It's glorious. There are so many good one liners that I really ought to be underlining along the way. Here are a few that come to mind:

No one wants advise, only corroboration.

I don't believe in ghosts but I've seen them.

. . .something about how you can't be insulted if you're secure and content

. . .another one about how to "incline" and the power of inclining others

. . .the secret of psychotherapy

. . .morality deconstructed

. . .Good Friday Services as consenting to public execution

OK, I promise to go back with my yellow highlighter and get them straight up. There's a bunch of 'em and they're really good.

In the parking ramps of hospitals are a lot of things. You may remember that last year I kept bumping into my Turkish surgeon (Dr. Sanan, photo). Of course I remembered him very well and yet he just walked by me, off to another neck slicing or something else routine I'm sure. Once Bob came across him in the lobby and almost asked if he would please wait because I was coming; thinking that if we chatted it would be the end of my obsession. Time dulls most obsessions. Reality spoils more obsessions. (Hey, I got some up on Steinbeck.)

Today I was thinking how cool it is to enter a hospital and report to the nuclear medicine department. Doesn't that sound impressive? That's where the thyroid testing is done and it's time for my annual body scan. Fortunately, everything is in my favor.

Yet back in the parking ramp there are rows and rows of spots that say "reserved for cancer patients." Yesterday empty; today all full of ordinary sedans, mini vans, and SUVs dented and all. Tuesday must be chemo day. I said a prayer for the ordinary chemo patients. (I'm not a chemo patient, just to be clear. I'm being monitored for the easy cancer, slow moving thyroid.) Later I learned that another dear friend from seminary has been diagnosed with breast cancer. So I said a prayer for Kathryn O-O too.

Anywho, Amanda has a visiting friend from St. Paul here this week. A lovely young girl of whom I am doing my very utmost to not be jealous because she finished sixth grade in Spanish and now goes onto Jr. High Spanish Immersion program in the amazing public school district of St. Paul. Algebra in Spanish. Western Civ in Spanish. Physical Ed in Spanish. Art in Spanish. OK, alright I'll stop. The girls don't speak a lick of Español between eachother. It's so ho hum. They are way too involved in the Jonas Brothers and web searching multi-colored "skinny jeans." Evidently, slightly flaired pants are now out of style. FYI.

Bob is teaching a Stephens Ministry class at church. Aidan is demolishing a city via his new alter ego, the Hulk. I think it's time for home happy hour and maybe more good quotes from John Steinbeck, who won his nobel prize the year I was born.

Thanks SO MUCH for coming over!!

With love, T

Dancing with Barak

So the next president of the United States of America is a couple miles down the road making history. NOW. He's here NOW. Why did Barak Obama decide to come to my present home town on the same night as the grand finale of Dancing with the Stars?

If Kristi Yamaguchi doesn't win, it will make no sense. She's charismatic, inspiring, and she transcends race. Plus she can dance. I mean, Hillary did a great job and all. I didn't caucus for her but let's hand it to her for what she has accomplished. Girl power! But evidently men tend to always win the dance competition. I don't know why, maybe people just like watching big football players do ballroom dancing. There is a charm to it, I admit.

But how can anyone beat a Olympic double gold medalist?? Even John McCain, who has an amazing history with being a war hero and all -- which I highly respect. And up until recently he actually was an independent thinker. Eight years ago I would have voted for him. But now, well, he's got problems, for example finding out that one of his top aids has ties with Burma's military junta. Now that's a catastrophe.

Mr. President, thank you for coming to Des Moines, yet I hope you called in last night to vote for Kristi.

Thanks for coming over, friends! Take care.

With love, T

Stunned with Gratitude

Amanda and I went through a box of cards, all given to us during Bob's illness last year. Could someone please always remind me that I have no right or reason to ever complain ever again. Not after that intense show of sustained love that was freely given to us over the course of an entire year. Honestly, even now I think about that and how beautiful it all was -- the cards, gifts, food, prayers, visits, thoughts, empathy, bake sales, dinners, flowers, prayer shawls.

I mean, people suffer much worse than we ever did and they suffer alone. And they're never counted. And they're nameless. That has to be the worst thing.

To suffer with family, friends, and strangers accompanying you is actually quite beautiful.

Once my dear sister, Margaret Obaga, stopped by our apartment exactly when Bob was retching, a time when we would especially want to be alone because of the sounds and smells and our desperate clatch to dignity. No, no, no, not Margaret. East African's don't do alone. She basically walked right through the front door, as did all our African neighbors, and showed me what to do. Sprinkle flower on the bottom of the brown bag to buffer it all. If we were in Kenya she would pad with dirt. Cool a cloth for the palms of the hands. Another cloth for the face. Margaret literally held the bag as Bob coughed up bile. Soft words. It's OK. It's OK. A prayer. We were blessed in the retching.

And it would be these kinds of visits that would string us along like a lifeline for months.

And how quickly we go from holding vigil with a host of angels all around us -- to a mundane everyday life where the smallest irrelevancies command the spirit. I'm reminded of the time I longed for the mundane. When I wanted nothing else but utter boredom. And yet it seems that my long-term response to all of this is some kind of inner restlessness as though the adrenalin of it all never really went away. The boredom I wanted so badly back then now feels quite uncomfortable.

So anyway, thanks everyone. I truly feel blessed to know each and every one of you. I wanted to close with a portion of the prayer, the St. Patrick's Breastplate, which you may remember I reduced to a simple mantra of "Christ here, Jesus near" during the most nerve wracking times.

Christ to shield me today
Against poison,
against burning,
Against drowning,
against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

The funny thing is I still use this chant. I can't believe how often I still can wrack up such nerves that would warrant this prayer even these days. I mean no one is immediately dying in this house. Our security is not threatened. We are surrounded by all things beautiful, including Bob's call to ministry at St. John's that also stuns me with gratitude. Still other things that seem so important take hold. I hope the prayer will give you strength and hope. And I thank you so much for coming over to the Charmer blog.

With love, T

Photo: anniversary flowers from Bob

Calling All Men

Bob has a secret. Strong women are not to be tolerated. Strong women are not to be mediated. Strong women are not to be politely affirmated.

Strong women are to be CELEBRATED.

It seems that Bob tends to hang around women who are leader-types, pastor-types, visionary-types, bishop-types. With the exception of me, of course; I'm an Ipod type.

And Bob's secret is this, working with these women is full of joy. And so much more.

I for one don't get all high and mighty that our denomination ordains women, because in the history of the world it's only been for the past 35 years. Sure that's great, but all in all we're not that far ahead of denominations who do not ordain women. And besides, counting our Senior Pastor, there is barely even a handfull of female Senior pastors in the whole denomination. So, friends, let's not get too self righteous over that one.

But I will say this, take a look at these pictures and you will see the front lines of those who pave the way (pave as in present tense) for women's leadership in the church. And they do it with wit, wisdom, elegance, and grace. They do it with style, smarts, and strategy. With all their hearts and souls.

So, while I'm thinking on how "Two Tickets to Paradise" would be a great karaoke tune, these women are discussing how to bring about peace in Kenya, how to be in the city for good, how to be a relevent vessel of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Maybe I'm still at princess camp, but holy cow, these women are intense.

I'm not a theologian but I have read that part in the Bible where it says that men and women are both created in the image of God. I also believe it to be true that God is neither male or female, no matter who translated all the pronouns into the HE-English. You would think that it would be a no-brainer.

In many ways for these women it was -- it still is -- a no brainer. They are simply called to be pastors. Even with the biggest, baddest push back they could get. And they've all gotten it, friends. Hense, strong women.

Before I go crass how about if I sum it up this way: The glory of God is women and men working together. That's the best way I've heard it said. And there's so much work to be done. There's so much joy to be had in doing that work.

Why am I getting so philosophical? Because dear friends from St. Paul came to Des Moines this weekend. See photos and captions.

Anyway, so that's Bob's secret. Calling all men: don't be threatened by strong women. Be thrilled. Be glad for strong women. Enjoy strong women. Let strong women do their thing and we'll all be better off. Work together people!

As always, I thank you for coming on over. Take care.

With love, T

photo top: The Rev. Susan Tjornejoy, our pastor in St. Paul; Bob; Margaret Obaga, aka Auntie Margaret to the kids, who really must be the Bishop of Kenya one day

phtoto middle: The Rev. Rachel Thorsen Mithelman, Bob's supervisor; Pastor Sue, The Bishop-to-be Margaret, bad-hair-day-me soaking up the woman power in this photo op

photo bottom: me and my Margaret, just trying to get through one single day without a downfall of snow; Margaret preached at our church for Mission Sunday; four different services, four different sermons; with prayers for Margaret's Kenyan homeland which is in great distress now making it very difficult for Margaret to be so far away.

Margaret Obaga for president!

Our Iowa Caucus

Ok, friends, here's the quick and dirty of our caucus experience:

The Democrats of this Mork-Speirs family report to the Knox Presbyterian church down the road, the designated meeting space for the Democrats of our neighborhood zone.

The church is packed. Standing room only. The kid sitting next to me hands over a 64 page booklet of Barak Obama's platform.

I think we're breaking a fire code. I double check proximity to emergency exits.

The Hillary campaign gives out free food, making Aidan so happy but he's still an Obama supporter. ("Because he has the most commercials.") My son garners a bag of chips, five cookies, and one HOPE identification badge. Amanda commands two cookies, yet remains undecided.

They keep coming in. Through the church door. More and more.

We're lucky there's a pew for us. Others stand in this room and around the state.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" The friendly caucus chair opens the meeting. "There are choir bleachers up here if you're looking for somewhere to sit."

"Bear with us and this incredible turnout. This is happening all over Iowa."

People bring chairs up from downstairs. The meeting starts 20 minutes late so that everyone can get registered.

Caucus mathematics: to be a viable, a candidate needs the support of at least 15% of the total participants in the room.

We take a headcount, numbering off like school kids on a fieldtrip. 1, 2, 3. . .26 is me. . .the room claps at number 200. . .the total is 211. Sixty more than expected.

A little boy has to go the bathroom. His sister takes him.

You vote with your body at a caucus. We sit with the Obama people. After a second headcount we determine that our camp is up to 74 supporters who by now are sitting together in the basement fellowship hall, with no room in the sanctuary for this large of group. This allows us 2 delegates. We need 15 more people to get a third delegate, the count to be added to the state total.

"There's a group of undecided people in the hallway, who will go and invite them to the Obama camp?"

A black man.
A grey grandma.
A teacher from Aidan's school.
They all get up and go forth to chat with the undecideds. Everyone claps.

Biden and Richardson are not viable in this caucus. Their people start to trickle in. Clapping.

We've been here over an hour. Everyone is patient and good natured, waiting for the undecided to determine their clump of people, aka voting with their body. Mostly quiet chatter. Nintendos work great for a 2 hour caucus process. We just need a couple more people so we can eek out a third delegate. They come. We make it.

And you know the rest how it all turned out in Iowa.

Afterwards, we go to the private home caucus party in our family room, serving up TV news and popcorn. This evening of experiential learning is declared a victory as the kids are officially engaged with the presidential campaign. It's going to be a good one. Now, if we can just keep our candidate safe. The Charmer blog prediction: Mr. Barak Obama will have virtually no viable opponents. It's the rebound of the pendulum that swung so far over to the Bush administration.

Power to the people!

Goodnight friends and thanks so much for coming over to the Charmer blog.

With love, T

Some Good News from Kenya

Ok, so caucuses are in one hour. That means I still have time to post another dispatch from the Charmer Travelblog: East Africa 2000. I just want everyone to know that even with the current tragic unrest in Kenya, the quiet heros still outnumber the angry mobsters. We checked on our dear seminary neighbors, the Obagas, who were just in Nairobi for their daughter's wedding. They are OK. Here's a picture of Margaret Obaga, who graced my very first blog dispatch. She is one of the many people who saved Bob's life last year. And really, all of us, bringing porridge and chai to me and Mom Speirs, because it's hard to eat when you're in a long, slow panic. She's now a Ph.D. student.

*

A poster in the lobby says “Chapa Kazi. Sio Mkeo Chapa Kazi..” Work hard, but don’t work on your wife. The characature is of a man chasing his wife with an ax. KAACR, LWR's partner, is very pleased to be in a new office. It’s a pleasant place -- with donated furniture from the French embassy, which has a heart for KAACR’s work – right smack in the middle of one of Nairobi’s sprawling slums. Their mission is to further the welfare and rights of children.

I wondered what exactly are ‘child’s rights?’ Coming from the states, this was not immediately apparent to me. I later found out that what they are referring to are some pretty basic things: food, clothing, education, protection, health.

KAACR started in 1989 with a $20,000 grant from LWR. “We didn’t even have a bank account,” said Joy, the CEO. LWR literally helped KAACR find a bank and start an account and assisted them in developing a strategic plan to help the children of Nairobi. “LWR is not just a donor, but a partner.” Here are some ideas of what “capacity building” can do for an organization and more importantly, the beneficiaries:

· Demystifying the constitution (deeply involved with the constitution, especially with issues relating to children)
· Gathered data on effects of debt on Kenyan children (I wanted to ask more about this, but didn’t have the chance and wondered if Robin Walter did when she visited.)
· Watches legislation in the parliament, for example, refugee children are not included in refugee legislation. KAACR watches legislation closely and tries to make an intervention before it gets to the floor to ensure that children’s rights have been considered.
· Teaches parents: Poverty isn’t an excuse for abuse.
· Translates the UN rights of the child to daily life of slum children
· 1999 was KAACR’s 10th anniversary – over 1000 children came to the celebration
· teaches children how to help each other – from simply mending each others’ clothes, to creating “protection rings” to rescue each other from violence.
· One program: “Child Rights Clubs” -- now has 40 clubs formed with a total of 1,000 members. Oldest club is 7 years. Many of the clubs are in the slums. (I would later visit two clubs.)
· Works on issues specific to the girl child: early marriage, keeping in school, teaching respect
· Trains social workers, police officers and lay counselor on how to be sensitive with children

LWR colleagues offer congratulations on the wonderful development of the organization. LWR is all about relationships. We are not just a “donor” – we are intimately involved with the people and programs we support. They want to tell us about their progress. Like a beautiful marriage, we work together to support similar values. KAACR CEO, Joy, said, “LWR helped us to walk, crawl and everything else.”

LWR colleagues suggest that LWR might support a project that would train KAACR in fundraising, donor relations and strategic planning. Their eyes brighten. Really. It seems like a novel idea. “We would really appreciate that kind of training,” several KAACR staff say. The relationship is deepened.

*

With love, T