Assumption of Decency

Posted on February 16, 2012 by rhondakalkwarf

When I introduced this blog, I said I would surely stay away from politics and organized religion as topics. Never say never. Today, I need to rant a little because there’s just way too much animosity in the air right now.

There are ongoing standoffs in congress. Republicans and Democrats regularly attack one another. The Republican presidential candidates are running attack ads against each other. Now the president wants to destroy the Catholic Church or maybe organized religion altogether.  Bitterness abounds.

In my opinion, what’s missing in our discourse is an assumption of decency. Are our leaders malevolent, or might they possibly be well-meaning but misguided?  Is the motive power-grabbing or are they trying to solve problems by pressing for the solutions they believe will be most beneficial?  Whichever side you’re on.

Why can’t we agree to disagree?  When did compromise become a dirty word?  Our nation is a rich tapestry made stronger by diversity of thought and tradition. Different ideas are opportunities for growth, not character flaws. When it comes to political or religious ideology, how is it every person and group confidently claims the corner on Truth?

Recently, I have been enjoying a new Dierks Bentley song called “Home.”  The song pays tribute to the beauty of this country in spite of its scars.  In particular, this part really speaks to me:

Free, nothing feels like free
Though it sometimes means we don’t get along
‘Cause same, no we’re not the same
But that’s what makes us strong.

From the mountains high
To the wave-crashed coast
There’s a way to find
Better days I know.

It’s been a long hard ride
Got a ways to go
but this is still the place
That we all call home.

The message is refreshing in this era of rampant discord. Maybe moving forward with an assumption of decency could be a first step to get beyond the bitterness. There are a lot of challenges we face, but if we could address them with a respect for one another and our differences, we might just begin to make progress.

 

“Home,” was written by Dan Wilson, Brett Beavers, and Dierks Bentley and is featured on the recently released Dierks Bentley album by the same name.

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The Heart of His Story

Posted on February 1, 2012 by rhondakalkwarf

I had one of those, “Gee, I wonder what ever happened to …” moments today. I thought of a guy I knew in high school, actually the first boy I ever kissed. We went to a dance together and maybe a party somewhere along the line. He attended a different school, so I didn’t see him very often.

Attractive and intelligent, he planned to be a doctor. I saw him last when he stopped by to visit me at college on his way to school in another state. After that, we lost touch. Today, we might have been friends on Facebook.

When he crossed my mind, I was already at my computer, so I googled him. Turns out he did become a doctor, later moving into the business aspects of medicine and eventually into international leadership in his church organization. Sadly, the first listing was his obituary. Unable to wrap my head around the fact that he was gone at the age of 56, I clicked on a link to a YouTube video tribute. I watched the heart of his story unfold. I saw him as a child and then in high school when I knew him. There were pictures from his wedding and the births of his children, followed by documentation of all the other special moments and people in his life. His thoughtfully written obituary described how his participation in bible study grew from an avocation into his vocation and led him to travel internationally for his organization.

I marvel that I didn’t recognize the seeds of this man in the boy that I knew. He was just another nice guy to me, but watching the tribute and reading his obituary, I learned about the man he became and how very special he really was. My sympathies go out to his family and friends and the many people he touched in his life.

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Senior Benefits

Posted on January 5, 2012 by rhondakalkwarf

My husband joined AARP when he became eligible a few years ago. Since then, I stood on the technicality that he is the member and I have benefits as his spouse. Last week, though, I received my first senior discount.

The woman at the museum was diplomatic as she looked at the four of us. “Is anyone in the group over 55?” she asked politely. Well, I’m the youngest in the group and we all qualified. Then again, a three dollar discount is three dollars saved, and I’ll take it.

My mother refused senior discounts for years. She didn’t want to admit she was old enough to qualify. I’ll admit it; I qualify for senior discounts sometimes.

And there’s the rub. Sometimes. There are all sorts of discounts out there. The harbinger was AARP. My husband qualified at 50. The museum senior discount was 55. Some places it’s 60 or 62 or 65. Unfortunately when we went to that really nice, really expensive golf course with the great senior rate, you had to be 65 to qualify. I supposed we could have lied about our age, but that just didn’t feel right. Besides, how embarrassing would that be to be caught? After all, we are old enough to know better!

Checking http://www.aarp.org, I learned that members qualify for discounts at many stores and restaurants, most car rentals and major hotels chains, and on many other goods and services. You can join AARP when you’re 50. When I turn 62, I’ll get a discount on continuing education classes through the high school district. At our local community college, once I turn 65 I’ll qualify for a 100% discount on tuition if I register shortly before the class begins. In our area, seniors used to ride Metra free, but now pay a discounted rate. Amtrak offers a discount at 62. There are lots of websites out there dedicated to listing senior discounts and I plan to study them further.

The one senior benefit I’m really looking forward to is the senior pass offered as part of the America the Beautiful national parks and federal recreational lands pass. Once Jon turns 62, he will be able to purchase this lifetime pass for $10. The pass will provide access to the parks for our vehicle and up to four people. It is honored at parks run by five different federal agencies: the National Park Service, Bureau of Land Management, Fish and Wildlife Service, USDA Forest Service and Bureau of Reclamation. Other than park admission, other benefits of the pass vary by the agency but can include discounts on amenities such as camping, swimming, boat launching, and guided tours. Looks like maybe we’ll want to buy a camper and tour the country once we qualify for our senior pass!

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Tribe of Women

Posted on November 8, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

I was raised in a tribe of women. From the time I was born, I lived with only women; early on with just my mother and later with my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and my aunt. In spite of our actual defined relationships, to me my family resembled a traditional one. Grammy was the mother. Gram was the father in our family. My mother was young when I was born, and for most of my childhood, she was more like a big sister. My aunt is my age and we grew up as sisters.

Grammy was my great-grandmother. Although she was sixty-six when she died, I always thought of her as old. She usually left her gray hair up in pin curls unless she was going out. Her wardrobe of housecoats had pockets where she could put the bobby pins, crayons and other miscellaneous pieces she picked up over the course of a day. She often had safety pins pinned to the front of her housecoat, handy if she needed one. Mostly, Grammy wore slippers, always with her stockings rolled down around her ankles.

Grammy cooked for us, cleaned for us and made sure we had clothes to wear. She didn’t buy our clothes, though, because she didn’t have her own money. She got us off to school and was the one who was home to make our lunch or give us a hug and clean our scraped knees when we fell.

Gram was my grandmother. She was strong and tall, nearly six feet. Gram was the one who hammered in the nails to hang the pictures each time we moved. She had the last word on decisions to be made. She drove the car. At mealtimes, she sat at the head of the table, while Grammy and my mother served the food. Gram had her place on the couch near the end table and if I was sitting there when she came in, I was expected to move.

My mother was exciting and beautiful. She was much younger than all my friends’ mothers and she was single. She had pretty dresses that she wore on dates with handsome men. She sang to me and made me feel special. She was like a favorite big sister. Although we were all a family, I always felt like my mother belonged just to me. When I was very young, she and I had our own apartment and I always wished it was still that way after we moved in with everyone else. I liked it best when it was just the two of us.

My aunt and I are five months apart in age and our family liked to dress us alike. We had play clothes, bathing suits, Easter outfits and Christmas dresses. Whatever it was, hers was red or pink and mine was blue. I always wanted to have the pink.

In school, I was a grade ahead of my aunt. Each time we moved to a new apartment and started at a new school, the teachers and the other kids struggled to understand our relationship. Sometimes the kids made fun of us. It was hard to be the new kids, but it was even harder because our family was different. We were lucky to have each other.

For about fifteen years now, we’ve had a tradition of a “Girl’s Night Out” to celebrate each of our birthdays. Our tribe has expanded to include my daughter, daughter-in-law and sister-in-law. The men in our family understand this is our special time.

In difficult times, our tribe bands together to face our challenges. Recently, when my grandmother needed hospice care, my mother, my aunt and I met with the various organizations to select the best provider for her. When she passed away, we worked together to make the final arrangements. The men in our lives lent support and encouragement, but they realized this was something we needed to do with one another.

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Missed Opportunity

Posted on August 29, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

My aunt died last week. She was my father’s sister. I wasn’t close to her; in fact, I only met her once, briefly. It doesn’t seem like her passing should be a big deal for me. If only…

My mother remembers my father’s only sister as a very sweet girl. She and my mother were sophomores in high school when my mother and father ran away to get married and await my arrival. When the marriage didn’t work out, I stayed with my mother and had no relationship with my father or his family. My mother was always afraid my father’s family would try to take me away from her. For their part, I think my father’s family wanted to forget the whole unfortunate incident and that was easiest if I wasn’t around. I had one brief visit with my paternal grandparents when I was eleven, but I never saw my father again.

I tried to contact him after my visit with his parents. They discouraged my inquiry and while my mother was supportive, she was clearly uncomfortable. By now I knew my father was remarried with a whole new family (his parents sent me a picture) and I decided to let the whole thing go. Clearly, my mother and father would not reunite and we would not all live happily ever after, at least not together.

Fast forward to 1994, now the mother of two young children myself, I decided I needed to know more about my father. I wanted to know if we resembled my father. I also wanted to know about his medical history. I contacted a people search firm I heard advertised on the radio. For $29.95 on my credit card, I learned my father was dead. When I asked the women on the phone how he died, she said, “I don’t know; I can’t tell.” She suggested I write the Social Security Administration for a copy of his death certificate. When I did, they responded with a request for information proving I had the right to know.  I decided I didn’t care enough to continue and dropped my inquiry.

Then about five years ago, I was contacted and put in touch with a half brother and two half sisters, children of my father and his second wife. I met each of them, as well as my father’s second wife, my stepmother. We’ve developed a relationship, and my stepmother, in particular, was a great source of information about my father.

Recently, I’d been thinking I would like to learn more about his early life and his family. I knew that this aunt only lived about five or six hours away and decided I might try to talk with her. She had never shown any interest, but I thought she might be curious enough about me to agree to meet. I planned to contact her once summer was over. And then, last week she passed away.

While I don’t mourn the woman I met only once as a child, I do regret missing the opportunity to talk with her. If only I had tried to meet her earlier when I first connected with the family, I might have learned a lot about my father and the way he lived and his family background. She was his little sister; who knows what she might have told me! I’ll never know, because I didn’t take the time to ask when it was still possible. When she passed away, she took all that information with her. There is no one left who can tell me what she could. I thought I had more time.

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Remembering Ron Santo

Posted on August 11, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

Last night I was thrilled to be part of the crowd gathered to honor Ron Santo as his statue at Wrigley Field was unveiled. Ron’s family was there, along with former teammates Ernie Banks, Billie Williams, Fergie Jenkins, and many others. Current Cubs players stepped away from their game preparation to be part of the event. There were even players from the Nationals, the opposing team for the game last night. The crowd of onlookers filled the sidewalks, the streets, the restaurants and the balconies surrounding the event at the corner of Sheffield and Addison and the ceremony was broadcast on television.

It seems Ron Santo has always been a part of my life. Most recently, I enjoyed his broadcasts of the Cubs’ game, regardless of whether the Cubs were excelling or not. He and Pat Hughes were always entertaining. In his earlier days, he was exciting to follow as a player. Who would forget the 69 Cubs? Before that, I actually met Ron Santo, when I was just ten years old.

We didn’t have much money, but my mother wanted to take me on a vacation. She knew someone who owned (or managed) a hotel nearby and we went there for a few days away. It was toward the end of a hot summer and we spent our days out by the pool, my mother reading and sunbathing, me swimming in the pool. There wasn’t much to do in the pool and no other kids to play with and after a while I got bored. That evening, my mother bought me a big, bright, beach ball to keep me amused.

The next day when I was playing with my new ball, a group of five or six young men came out by the pool. They seemed happy and playful and asked if they could join me. Together, we played with the ball, batting it around and tossing it in and out of the pool. I would jump into the pool and they’d try to hit me with the ball. They volleyed it back and forth and threw it at one another. There was lot of yelling and laughing. I enjoyed their company and the attention. Eventually, their enthusiasm got out of hand and my new ball got broken. It was time for them to leave anyway.

After they left, my mother tried to tell me who it was I’d been playing with. She explained to me that they were Cubs players. It didn’t meaning anything to me because, at the time, I didn’t know the first thing about sports teams or baseball or Cubs. I just knew my new friends had left.

Ron Santo was one of those players. The next day he stopped back by the pool with a new beach ball. It was bigger and better than the one they had broken, but I didn’t enjoy it nearly as much without my new friends. They weren’t able to play that day because leaving town and wouldn’t be back until after we returned home.

Replacing my ball was an act of kindness consistent with who Ron Santo was. He had a big heart. He wore that big heart on his sleeve and bled Cubbie blue, as anyone who ever heard his broadcast knows. Over the course of his involvement with the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, he was responsible for raising over $60,000,000. He was beloved by his family, friends, teammates and fans. Ron Santo, you will be missed!

 

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How We Met

Posted on July 19, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

I think it’s such fun to talk with others about how they met their husband or wife! Even the most reserved people brighten as they tell their story. Blind dates, church groups, friends’ weddings, they all make good stories.

I met my husband in high school. It was the day after Labor Day my sophomore year and I was new to the school. I was sitting at lunch with a group of friends I met at a festival the day before.

He caught my attention as he approached our table. Also new to the school, he’d already hooked up with one of the girls in the group. As he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, I was struck by his self-assurance. Such confidence was an oddity, I thought, among the high school boys I knew. He seemed quite mature for his age, especially with his sideburns and beard.

Now forty years later I still have a clear sense of that meeting. I remember who was there and where they were sitting. I knew that day he was special, although I certainly didn’t imagine then we’d be where we are today.

We never dated in high school. Our circles overlapped and we knew each other casually. He dated many different girls and I dated fewer guys for longer periods. He says now he wasn’t ready for me then. I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment! I agree that if we’d dated then, we probably wouldn’t be married now.

Our paths crossed occasionally during college breaks. He asked me out a few times, but each time I was dating someone else. Eventually, I was the one who asked him out. I didn’t exactly ask him out; I made up a flimsy excuse about needing him to get my typewriter from his friend, my girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. The ruse worked, although he says he saw right through it. I’m sure he did, too, but that’s OK because it’s worked out pretty well.

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My Faithful Sidekick

Posted on July 7, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

I work at home and often, the work is solitary. Sometimes it’s just nice to have another living, breathing being around. After the first six months alone, I caught a program on television about pets and pet adoption. It was awfully quiet around the house; I decided to go online.

I thought a medium size dog would be good. The dog had to be mellow because I knew Jon and I weren’t likely to do much running in a field with a dog and we don’t have a fence. I also am not terribly fond of dogs who jump on me.

I started with the rescue groups nearby. I followed links from one group to another and I only considered those groups that provided some information about the dogs’ temperament. I still wasn’t really serious and I didn’t want to look at any group where I would have to go visit to see the available dogs.

Leafing through, I came upon Queenie (not my choice for a name). Now how could anyone not love that face? I sent an inquiry to the rescue group to see if she was still available.

“We need to talk about something,” I said the next evening as Jon and I were driving in the car. “What?” he asked. “I think I might want to get a dog,” I told him. He said he wasn’t surprised (he knows me well). We talked about what changes it would mean to our lifestyle, but he agreed. OK, maybe “agreed” is a strong word; he acquiesced.

Later that evening when we got home, I reached for my laptop. “Do you want to see her picture?” Perhaps he was a bit taken aback that I already had a dog picked out, but his response was, “Now that’s an ugly dog.” Naturally he reconsidered once he came to appreciate her inner beauty!

The description on the website raved about what a wonderful dog Queenie was. She was quiet but friendly, they said. She didn’t walk on a leash, but they were sure she would learn quickly because she was so eager to please. They thought she would probably bark when strangers came to the door and, while we weren’t necessarily looking for a guard dog, we were OK with that.

We passed our home inspection and on April 7, 2010, Queenie moved in. She was everything they said and more. Specifically, she is a guard dog. Her first goal was to rid the neighborhood of all the pesky squirrels and bunnies. Since she walks on a leash, several times she almost pulled our arms out of the socket until we bought a harness to walk with her.

She barks furiously when dogs walk by the house. For a while, she was doing a great Kujo imitation when we passed other dogs on our walks. We had to take her to a trainer to break her of that. The dog park is out of the question because her doggie manners are not everything they should be. Thunder makes her bark. During the July 4th celebrations, she barked wildly as the revelers in our neighborhood shot off firecrackers and fireworks well into the night. Medication and her Thundershirt™ weren’t enough and she spent much of the evening in the basement.

All that being said, I love my crazy dog! She sits in my office behind my chair and I worry I will roll over her tail or her paw. I’d post another picture, but she’s not too fond of cameras and usually shows up as a brown blur. Right now she’s shedding so much I think I could make another puppy out of the fur I comb off of her or clean out of the vacuum.

But she keeps me company. She gets me away from my desk and outside on days when I might otherwise work straight through without a break. She follows me like a shadow. And she barks when strangers come to the door! I don’t worry about leaving the front door open because Queenie is there. She’s my guard dog and I wouldn’t give her up. Besides, who could resist that face?

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Traditions

Posted on June 13, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

What are the special traditions in your family? Here are some of my favorites:

• Decorating our children’s bedrooms for their birthdays.

• Cutting down our Christmas tree.

• Visiting the pumpkin farm for pumpkins, apple cider and caramel apples.

• Sharing the best part of our day each night during dinner.

• Celebrating our anniversary with a family dinner of corned beef and cabbage.

Last weekend we went to Pittsburgh for my brother’s wedding. His bride grew up in the Serbian Orthodox community there. The wedding and all the festivities were steeped in the rich traditions of their community. We could have felt like outsiders, but the members of the wedding party and the larger community opened their hearts and their arms to us.

The man they chose as their Kum fulfilled the role I think of as Best Man. However, being the Kum is a lifelong commitment and he will serve as godfather to their children, as well. The Stari Svat was the master of ceremonies for the wedding and the rest of the celebrations. The Stari Svat was the son of the bride’s Kum (her godfather). Both the Kum and the Stari Svat wore sashes with the colors of the Serbian flag. The American flag and the Serbian flag were included in all the ceremonies and events of the day.

The wedding day began Saturday morning with the Skup. As family and close friends gathered at the Serbian Club to await the arrival of the bride, we were given sprigs of rosemary tied with ribbon. We all moved outside and the band serenaded as the bride got out of the limo. There was a light lunch, lots of music and many toasts to the happy couple. The Stari Svat let us know when it was time to leave for the church for the actual wedding ceremony.

Having been to many weddings in my life, I can honestly say this was completely different. During the Betrothal part of the service, the Kum exchanged the rings between the bride and groom three times. In the Serbian tradition, it seems like everything happens three times, in remembrance of the trinity.

The priest bound their right hands together with a ceremonial cloth to symbolize their unity. Then he crowned them with beautiful crowns to symbolize that they are now the king and queen of their own little kingdom, their home. This was especially meaningful for the bride because the crowns were the same ones used in her parents’ wedding ceremony. After they drank from a common cup, the priest guided the bride and groom, along with the Kum and Stari Svat, on a ceremonial walk three times around the Sacramental table.

Once the ceremony was over, we moved outside where there was tailgating and music by the Serbian band from the Skup. Instead of rice, coins were thrown when the bride and groom emerged from the church. Because it was Pittsburgh, there are some great pictures of the bride and groom holding very large cans of Steeler beer (even though Steeler beer is brewed in Canada and not actually named for the much loved Pittsburgh football team.)

The reception was easily the most familiar part of the day for me. The cake was smaller than I usually see, but that was because there was a huge cookie table. The cookies, all homemade, were traditional Serbian cookies brought by friends of the bride’s family.

Did I mention the dancing? There was dancing at each event. There was some standard wedding stuff, but the highlight was the traditional Serbian dances. Everyone, young and old was dancing. I was impressed to see how the younger people have embraced their traditions. I really wish I had done some research so I could have danced along (I learned to salsa dance on the internet).

All in all, a wonderful time was had by all. The day was a celebration of love for the new bride and groom. It was also a tribute to the Serbian traditions and the people who honor them.

 

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What’s in a Name

Posted on May 26, 2011 by rhondakalkwarf

Do you know the story behind your name? Were you named after a family member? Is there a naming tradition in your family or as part of your culture? My husband’s middle name is his father’s first name.

When my mother was expecting me, she came up with a list of ten names for boys and ten for girls. On the day I was born, my mother chose the name Rhonda from her list for her new baby girl redhead, since the raven-haired actress Rhonda Fleming was performing in town. I don’t know how I got my middle name. I think maybe it just sounded right with my first name.

When I was a girl I desperately wanted to know someone who shared my name. I was in high school when I met my first “Rhonda”. We were getting dressed in the locker room and we saw our name on each other’s uniform (remember gym uniforms?) It was the first for each of us. Mostly, though, I’ve been grateful for my unusual name.

I also worked with a woman named Rhonda once. I was a little put out when I found she had been hired. “What were they thinking?” I thought.

My son and daughter-in-law are busy thinking up names for their new baby due this summer. Amy says she finds it much easier to name fictional children than to really choose a name for their coming baby. They are trying to find the perfect name that honors their families, sounds good, works with Kalkwarf and isn’t too popular. As a teacher, Amy also avoids the names of some of her more challenging students.

I loved picking names for my children. Since it was before the time of routine ultrasounds, we picked a name for a boy and one for a girl. Of course, the day before I went into labor with my overdue son, I decided I wanted a different boy middle name. I went through the baby name book (pre-internet) and chose five possibilities. Jon worked late that night and as we were heading to bed, I showed him the list. He agreed with my favorite, Clayton, and the decision was made. Labor began in less than an hour. I always thought Ben didn’t want to be born until we had the right name for him!

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