It seems like every other person I meet is heading to Fargo this weekend to run in the marathon. I love it!
I was supposed to run in the race this weekend, but that’s a different and not-that-interesting story. My heart will be with the runners - my family members who are coming from many states to compete and one brave friend in particular. Kathleen Wrigley had brain surgery last September that left her with significant and possibly permanent impairment in her sight.
Most people would spend time nursing their wounds and feeling sorry for themselves. Not Kathleen. She trained for the marathon, as she says, for one simple reason, “Because I can.”
People often say they could never run a marathon. Most are wrong. Some health or mechanical issues might be “game enders,” but watch a person with no legs wheel across the finish line and explain to me why you can’t do it.
It’s been 20 years since I ran a marathon. When I finished I told myself I would do it every decade as a commitment to staying strong. That was a good idea. Running a marathon is a powerful experience, one that benefits your mind more than your body. And it reinforces some of the most basic truths of life.
The biggest challenge isn’t finishing the 26.2-mile race – that’s the fun part. Training is the challenge. Logging hundreds of miles on a treadmill, track or pavement can be lonely, boring and painful. Your mind plays tricks on you. Halfway through you tell yourself it’s silly, too much, not worth the effort. A bad run fuels doubts about your ability to finish. More than once you want to quit.
The thousands of people who will complete the marathon this weekend worked through all of those challenges. It was hard and not much fun at times, but achieving a big, worthy goal never comes easy. Convenience doesn’t build character.
Tapering is a vital part about preparing for a marathon. With the hard training behind, runners spend the final weeks before the race storing up their energy. My friend Bob, who is running his first marathon on Saturday, told me last week, “I hate tapering. I feel so lazy.”
What an incredible statement about hard work. After running 18, 19, 22 miles at a time, a short run of 10-12 miles seems almost pitiful it’s so easy. Hard work changes the mindset of the human brain. After a while what was once impossible becomes second nature.
The training and tapering are vital, of course. Without investing in that, the marathon experience would be miserable. But for those who are ready, finishing the 26.2 miles will be easier than they expected.
Why is that? It’s the fans. People line the streets virtually the entire route of the Fargo marathon and that level of support and enthusiasm fuels every competitor more than the world’s best energy bar.
And isn’t that how life is? We work so hard and do our best, but when times are tough or we face a difficult challenge, it’s energy from others in the form of love and encouragement that gets us through.
The ultimate lesson of a marathon is that, regardless of whether you ever chose to run one, we are all much stronger than we imagine. Whether your goal is getting in shape, getting a degree or being a better parent, make a training plan, work harder than you think possible especially when you have setbacks or doubts, and accept the love and support of others who want to help you succeed.
Most of all, stick to it for one simple reason: Because you can.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Disney doesn't 'measure up' for Sam
I have vivid childhood memories for a family vacation I never took.
My parents, clearly under the influence of some kind of judgment-altering drugs, loaded all seven of their kids in a station wagon with bald tires and pulled a pop-up camper out to California for a month-long tour of the West Coast. The year was 1967 and I was “just a twinkle in their eyes,” as my dad always said.
I remember this trip as if I was there only because I had to watch and re-watch it on 8 mm home movies throughout my childhood. The two favorite clips featured my siblings riding the tea cups at Disneyland and a large hippo at a zoo relieving himself in a pond. We never tired of watching that bowel movement and played it over and over, forwards, backwards and in slow-motion.
I was indignant throughout my childhood that my parents took that trip without me. Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that this “trip not taken” even registers in my childhood memories. Of all the sacrifices my parents made and blessings I received as a result, why do I remember this?
It illustrates one of the most unjust aspects of parenting. We can work so hard and do so many things right, but ultimately we have no control over the things that our kids will most remember or be influenced by.
I’m remembering this because we recently returned from a family vacation at Disney World. It was a great trip, filled with “magical moments” and a few heaping helpings of whining, bickering and standing in line.
Despite our best efforts, I fear our son Sam might walk away with one overpowering memory of the trip: rejection. Just a few notches too short, Sam was left on the sidelines for most of the thrilling rides like Rockin’ Roller Coaster, Expedition Everest and Primeval Twist.
When asked to describe his favorite part of the first day, he replied with sarcasm far beyond his four years, “Oh yeah. I know. The part where I couldn’t ride any of the cool rides because I am too little.”
He was still taking the rejection hard at the end of the week. When he measured less than the necessary 42 inches for a log ride at Sea World, I argued with the gatekeeper that he had qualified all week for similar-sized rides at Disney. “Sorry lady. No exceptions,” he said flatly.
As we walked away, Sam hung his head, lifted his palms toward the sky and said, “What is this? Honey I shrunk the kids week?”
The trip required consultation and guidance from two massive “Doing Disney” manuals, the setting of a daily alarm and ridiculous outlays of cash. Yet, despite all of this planning and effort we can only hope that our kids will remember the happiest and most magical Disney moments rather than the fact that they were too little for the really fun stuff.
I guess justice is finally being served for the ill feelings I harbored so long over the family dream vacation I wasn’t born to see.
My parents, clearly under the influence of some kind of judgment-altering drugs, loaded all seven of their kids in a station wagon with bald tires and pulled a pop-up camper out to California for a month-long tour of the West Coast. The year was 1967 and I was “just a twinkle in their eyes,” as my dad always said.
I remember this trip as if I was there only because I had to watch and re-watch it on 8 mm home movies throughout my childhood. The two favorite clips featured my siblings riding the tea cups at Disneyland and a large hippo at a zoo relieving himself in a pond. We never tired of watching that bowel movement and played it over and over, forwards, backwards and in slow-motion.
I was indignant throughout my childhood that my parents took that trip without me. Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that this “trip not taken” even registers in my childhood memories. Of all the sacrifices my parents made and blessings I received as a result, why do I remember this?
It illustrates one of the most unjust aspects of parenting. We can work so hard and do so many things right, but ultimately we have no control over the things that our kids will most remember or be influenced by.
I’m remembering this because we recently returned from a family vacation at Disney World. It was a great trip, filled with “magical moments” and a few heaping helpings of whining, bickering and standing in line.
Despite our best efforts, I fear our son Sam might walk away with one overpowering memory of the trip: rejection. Just a few notches too short, Sam was left on the sidelines for most of the thrilling rides like Rockin’ Roller Coaster, Expedition Everest and Primeval Twist.
When asked to describe his favorite part of the first day, he replied with sarcasm far beyond his four years, “Oh yeah. I know. The part where I couldn’t ride any of the cool rides because I am too little.”
He was still taking the rejection hard at the end of the week. When he measured less than the necessary 42 inches for a log ride at Sea World, I argued with the gatekeeper that he had qualified all week for similar-sized rides at Disney. “Sorry lady. No exceptions,” he said flatly.
As we walked away, Sam hung his head, lifted his palms toward the sky and said, “What is this? Honey I shrunk the kids week?”
The trip required consultation and guidance from two massive “Doing Disney” manuals, the setting of a daily alarm and ridiculous outlays of cash. Yet, despite all of this planning and effort we can only hope that our kids will remember the happiest and most magical Disney moments rather than the fact that they were too little for the really fun stuff.
I guess justice is finally being served for the ill feelings I harbored so long over the family dream vacation I wasn’t born to see.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Indecent Exposure: Can we spare our kids?
The first time my kids saw “Dancing with the Stars” my son, age 5 at the time, said, “Mom, why is that lady dancing in her underwear?”
On Monday night we watched a bit of the program again – OK, I was curious about all the hype regarding Kate Gosselin – and my daughter, age 8, asked another underwear question. “Wow, how does she even wear underwear with that dress mom?”
I wondered the same thing. For the next minute we were transfixed watching this dancer move as we tried to determine the answer. The entire right side of her was bare from her heel to her underarm, only a couple, thin rhinestone strings secured the dress across her hip. My daughter leaned closer to the TV, squinting to see more clearly, “Is she even wearing underwear?” she asked with a hint of concern for the woman who was performing a lot of really high kicks.
The producers of that show are masters of costume illusions. The audience is left to feel, at any given time, there is the real possibility a dress might fall off one of the beautiful women dancing across the stage. A most popular move is to just rip their dress right off, only to reveal a tinier outfit underneath.
I’m torn about this show. The professional dancers are amazing both physically and artistically. But the costumes are over-the-top risqué and the presentation of women is so highly sexualized, I don’t see the value of encouraging these ideals for my boys or my girl.
Not that you can really get away from it anymore. The entertainment industry is completely consistent in the way it treats women and girls. We are to be perfectly shaped, tanned, young and scantily dressed at all times. Our value is not in our brains or our heart but in how much we appeal sexually to men.
This characterization pervades so much of our culture and even touches our own arts scene I’m sad to say. At a recent local dance production, I was dismayed by the costume selections for the young girls. A majority of the numbers featured teen or pre-teen dancers in low-cut, spaghetti strapped dresses revealing a stage full of young girl’s cleavage and mid-rifts.
Many of the costumes were decorated with feathers and other embellishments in key areas. Some were translucent teddies that could have been purchased off the rack at Victoria’s Secret.
The show itself was top notch – the music was fun and modern, the choreography was creative and the quality of the dancers was fantastic. But intentionally or unintentionally, the costumes were distracting and created a sexual overtone for the show that was unnecessary and unfortunate. How was the audience of dads, brothers and grandpas to watch the show respectfully and appreciate it for the quality of the dance?
I’m not suggesting we cover our girls from head to toe and make them ashamed of their bodies. But, as the parents and adults who are influencing our young men and women, we need to push back hard against the cultural forces that exploit their sexuality and seek to elevate it to a position of prominence.
We need to draw boundaries for our kids – boundaries that protect their innocence, youth and budding sexuality. Boundaries that allow them to grow up gradually and gain confidence not only in their beautiful bodies but in the beauty, potential and value of their whole self.
On Monday night we watched a bit of the program again – OK, I was curious about all the hype regarding Kate Gosselin – and my daughter, age 8, asked another underwear question. “Wow, how does she even wear underwear with that dress mom?”
I wondered the same thing. For the next minute we were transfixed watching this dancer move as we tried to determine the answer. The entire right side of her was bare from her heel to her underarm, only a couple, thin rhinestone strings secured the dress across her hip. My daughter leaned closer to the TV, squinting to see more clearly, “Is she even wearing underwear?” she asked with a hint of concern for the woman who was performing a lot of really high kicks.
The producers of that show are masters of costume illusions. The audience is left to feel, at any given time, there is the real possibility a dress might fall off one of the beautiful women dancing across the stage. A most popular move is to just rip their dress right off, only to reveal a tinier outfit underneath.
I’m torn about this show. The professional dancers are amazing both physically and artistically. But the costumes are over-the-top risqué and the presentation of women is so highly sexualized, I don’t see the value of encouraging these ideals for my boys or my girl.
Not that you can really get away from it anymore. The entertainment industry is completely consistent in the way it treats women and girls. We are to be perfectly shaped, tanned, young and scantily dressed at all times. Our value is not in our brains or our heart but in how much we appeal sexually to men.
This characterization pervades so much of our culture and even touches our own arts scene I’m sad to say. At a recent local dance production, I was dismayed by the costume selections for the young girls. A majority of the numbers featured teen or pre-teen dancers in low-cut, spaghetti strapped dresses revealing a stage full of young girl’s cleavage and mid-rifts.
Many of the costumes were decorated with feathers and other embellishments in key areas. Some were translucent teddies that could have been purchased off the rack at Victoria’s Secret.
The show itself was top notch – the music was fun and modern, the choreography was creative and the quality of the dancers was fantastic. But intentionally or unintentionally, the costumes were distracting and created a sexual overtone for the show that was unnecessary and unfortunate. How was the audience of dads, brothers and grandpas to watch the show respectfully and appreciate it for the quality of the dance?
I’m not suggesting we cover our girls from head to toe and make them ashamed of their bodies. But, as the parents and adults who are influencing our young men and women, we need to push back hard against the cultural forces that exploit their sexuality and seek to elevate it to a position of prominence.
We need to draw boundaries for our kids – boundaries that protect their innocence, youth and budding sexuality. Boundaries that allow them to grow up gradually and gain confidence not only in their beautiful bodies but in the beauty, potential and value of their whole self.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Key to longevity comes in a cup
I am blessed to be friends with a neat woman named Alma. I don’t see her often but appreciate any time I have to be with her. Alma is always armed with a huge hug, kind words and a greeting that warms you like a Snuggie.
With her shoes on, Alma tops out at about five feet. Her tiny frame is all heart and spirit. At 86 years old, she still cooks, shops, drives, quilts, volunteers and cares for herself independently. During my last encounter with Alma I asked her to share her secret to longevity. “You know Alma. What gets you out of bed in the morning?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s easy,” she responded in a flash. I waited eagerly for her words, expecting nuggets of deep wisdom and inspiration.
“Coffee,” she stated emphatically. “Coffee is what gets me up every morning.”
This might be my favorite no-nonsense response of all time.
I thought a lot about Alma during the last six weeks for one simple reason. I gave up coffee for Lent.
My kids suggested this awful idea a year ago, when the last Lenten season was over. I nearly choked on a perfect cup of mocha when they said it.
“No way. I would never do that!” But as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was destined to be my next Lenten sacrifice. Darn kids.
You’re probably drinking a cup of coffee right now, so take a sip and enjoy while I describe my coffee fast. The novelty of the sacrifice helped me survive the first few days of nagging headaches. Then I discovered home-brewed Chai tea – a bit too sweet and utterly void of coffee’s richness, but it provided some comfort for a few weeks.
About half-way through Lent I marched bravely into Starbucks one morning to stare temptation in the face. The smell alone made my legs wobble. I felt like Ferdinand, the bull who prefers to sit under a tree and smell flowers rather than fight like a respectable bull.
I wanted to sit in Starbucks and spend the day smelling the fresh ground coffee, but I feared the baristas’ stares might break my resolve. So I dashed out the door with a green tea latte – a terrible concoction that tastes like warm, seaweed flavored milk with too much sugar -- and cursed the wasted $5.
As my fast progressed, I not only missed the taste of coffee, but the routine of having it every morning. I missed the pleasure of sharing it with my husband and girlfriends. I missed the way it can substitute for sleep on occasions when this delicious commodity is in short supply.
And I really missed the heavenly combination of strong coffee, rich cream, and anything home-baked with butter and sugar.
I’m not exactly suspicious of people who don’t like coffee, not yet anyway, but I do have to fight the urge to feel sorry for them. What’s not to like? Coffee is the perfect vice – a no calorie, energy-boosting, entirely legal, socially acceptable drug that comes readily available in a cup and is endorsed by happy, healthy, long-living grandmas.
My fast proved I can live without coffee, but I’d really rather not. Forty days was enough for me. I’m not about to ignore Alma’s simple secret to longevity again anytime soon.
With her shoes on, Alma tops out at about five feet. Her tiny frame is all heart and spirit. At 86 years old, she still cooks, shops, drives, quilts, volunteers and cares for herself independently. During my last encounter with Alma I asked her to share her secret to longevity. “You know Alma. What gets you out of bed in the morning?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s easy,” she responded in a flash. I waited eagerly for her words, expecting nuggets of deep wisdom and inspiration.
“Coffee,” she stated emphatically. “Coffee is what gets me up every morning.”
This might be my favorite no-nonsense response of all time.
I thought a lot about Alma during the last six weeks for one simple reason. I gave up coffee for Lent.
My kids suggested this awful idea a year ago, when the last Lenten season was over. I nearly choked on a perfect cup of mocha when they said it.
“No way. I would never do that!” But as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was destined to be my next Lenten sacrifice. Darn kids.
You’re probably drinking a cup of coffee right now, so take a sip and enjoy while I describe my coffee fast. The novelty of the sacrifice helped me survive the first few days of nagging headaches. Then I discovered home-brewed Chai tea – a bit too sweet and utterly void of coffee’s richness, but it provided some comfort for a few weeks.
About half-way through Lent I marched bravely into Starbucks one morning to stare temptation in the face. The smell alone made my legs wobble. I felt like Ferdinand, the bull who prefers to sit under a tree and smell flowers rather than fight like a respectable bull.
I wanted to sit in Starbucks and spend the day smelling the fresh ground coffee, but I feared the baristas’ stares might break my resolve. So I dashed out the door with a green tea latte – a terrible concoction that tastes like warm, seaweed flavored milk with too much sugar -- and cursed the wasted $5.
As my fast progressed, I not only missed the taste of coffee, but the routine of having it every morning. I missed the pleasure of sharing it with my husband and girlfriends. I missed the way it can substitute for sleep on occasions when this delicious commodity is in short supply.
And I really missed the heavenly combination of strong coffee, rich cream, and anything home-baked with butter and sugar.
I’m not exactly suspicious of people who don’t like coffee, not yet anyway, but I do have to fight the urge to feel sorry for them. What’s not to like? Coffee is the perfect vice – a no calorie, energy-boosting, entirely legal, socially acceptable drug that comes readily available in a cup and is endorsed by happy, healthy, long-living grandmas.
My fast proved I can live without coffee, but I’d really rather not. Forty days was enough for me. I’m not about to ignore Alma’s simple secret to longevity again anytime soon.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
No experience necessary
I’m fulfilling a job that I never applied for. I’ve been doing it for about 8 ½ years. I had no experience when I started, but no one interviewed me or checked my references. It was an easy job to land but it’s the toughest one I’ve ever had.
The responsibilities are daunting and the hours grueling. On any given day, I might serve as a seamstress, laundress, chef, or chauffer. I’m a counselor, coach, cheerleader and drill sergeant. I have to regulate, respond, mediate and enforce, serve as boundary setter, spy, juror, judge, lifesaver, teacher and tutor … All this before the morning school bell rings.
I’m a parent, of course. And I know I’m not alone in feeling vastly under-qualified for the job.
Kelly Hagen, who writes a column in this space every Friday, will soon be adding “dad” to his list of titles and jobs. I enjoy reading about how he and his “sweet Annette” are preparing for their first child. It’s one of the most magical times in life.
Kelly didn’t apply for this job either, and probably lacks experience like most new parents. I don’t have any advice for him in that regard, but will offer a few reflections.
Parenting is a profession that’s easier to perform from the sidelines. Before I had kids, solving behavior problems in other people’s naughty children was a snap. Temper tantrums, disrespect and outright manipulation were easy to spot and curtail.
But last week, I was momentarily speechless when my own 8-year-old responded to my request with a defiant, “You can’t make me.” The first thought that crossed my mind. “Oh no. Now what do I do? She’s finally realized it -- I can’t make her.”
Parenting demands constant, instantaneous judgment calls. The boys are being sassy, should I give them a break because they are tired or drop the hammer? Are we expecting too much or too little. Am I being consistent or nitpicky? Are we providing supportive guidance or preventing her from learning from a mistake?
Parenting magnifies your own weaknesses and insecurities and provides a fast track to growing up.
As challenging as this can be, it’s not the toughest part about parenting. When I was pregnant with our first child, I remember crying out of fear to my own mom (maybe the hormones had something to do with this).
It wasn’t labor or delivery. I didn’t fear nursing or sleepless nights (although I should have.) What scared me to tears was being so vulnerable -- realizing the potential heartache and pain I was subjecting myself to by having a child.
My instincts were dead on. I was right to fear this and still do. Nothing would be more painful than losing a child to an accident or illness. But my mom quickly placated my fears.
“Well, sure,” she said. “But there is so much more joy.”
I’m grateful she was right. Tiny triumphs bring endless joy to a parent -- watching them successfully snow plow down Huff Hills for the first time, say an unprompted prayer for a hurting grandparent, play a new song on the guitar or sound out a tough word. These are the small treasures that bring endless joy to a parent
It’s a crazy job, filled with heartache and laughter, worry, doubt, and a whole lot of joy. Experience would be helpful, but isn’t necessary -- you’ll get plenty of on the job training.
The responsibilities are daunting and the hours grueling. On any given day, I might serve as a seamstress, laundress, chef, or chauffer. I’m a counselor, coach, cheerleader and drill sergeant. I have to regulate, respond, mediate and enforce, serve as boundary setter, spy, juror, judge, lifesaver, teacher and tutor … All this before the morning school bell rings.
I’m a parent, of course. And I know I’m not alone in feeling vastly under-qualified for the job.
Kelly Hagen, who writes a column in this space every Friday, will soon be adding “dad” to his list of titles and jobs. I enjoy reading about how he and his “sweet Annette” are preparing for their first child. It’s one of the most magical times in life.
Kelly didn’t apply for this job either, and probably lacks experience like most new parents. I don’t have any advice for him in that regard, but will offer a few reflections.
Parenting is a profession that’s easier to perform from the sidelines. Before I had kids, solving behavior problems in other people’s naughty children was a snap. Temper tantrums, disrespect and outright manipulation were easy to spot and curtail.
But last week, I was momentarily speechless when my own 8-year-old responded to my request with a defiant, “You can’t make me.” The first thought that crossed my mind. “Oh no. Now what do I do? She’s finally realized it -- I can’t make her.”
Parenting demands constant, instantaneous judgment calls. The boys are being sassy, should I give them a break because they are tired or drop the hammer? Are we expecting too much or too little. Am I being consistent or nitpicky? Are we providing supportive guidance or preventing her from learning from a mistake?
Parenting magnifies your own weaknesses and insecurities and provides a fast track to growing up.
As challenging as this can be, it’s not the toughest part about parenting. When I was pregnant with our first child, I remember crying out of fear to my own mom (maybe the hormones had something to do with this).
It wasn’t labor or delivery. I didn’t fear nursing or sleepless nights (although I should have.) What scared me to tears was being so vulnerable -- realizing the potential heartache and pain I was subjecting myself to by having a child.
My instincts were dead on. I was right to fear this and still do. Nothing would be more painful than losing a child to an accident or illness. But my mom quickly placated my fears.
“Well, sure,” she said. “But there is so much more joy.”
I’m grateful she was right. Tiny triumphs bring endless joy to a parent -- watching them successfully snow plow down Huff Hills for the first time, say an unprompted prayer for a hurting grandparent, play a new song on the guitar or sound out a tough word. These are the small treasures that bring endless joy to a parent
It’s a crazy job, filled with heartache and laughter, worry, doubt, and a whole lot of joy. Experience would be helpful, but isn’t necessary -- you’ll get plenty of on the job training.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sunshine protects our democracy
Sunshine protects our democracy
“Sunshine on My Shoulders” is a favorite bedtime lullaby in our house. “Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry. Sunshine on the water looks so lovely. Sunshine almost always makes me smile.”
Ok. I’m no John Denver. I only know one verse and I’ve changed the words a bit to my liking. But it’s a comforting tune, and always leaves us feeling more peaceful. It rings rather true right now as the dark days of winter give way to much lighter days of spring.
Already, we have two more hours of sunlight than we did just a few months ago. Ahhhhhhh -- it feels so good.
I recently heard something interesting about sunshine that had never occurred to me. Sunlight illuminates everything for us, but is invisible itself. We can see the source of light, of course, the sun. And to some extent we can see rays streaming from it. But a ray of sunshine is invisible to our eyes. We can not reach out and touch it.
This is sunshine week in the media – a time to celebrate the importance of having a free and independent media that has ready access to the records and meetings and lawmaking processes of our government.
In America, the business of government, at least a vast majority of it, is conducted openly – in the sun. The laws protecting the openness of these processes are often referred to as “sunshine laws.”
Now, unless your name is Jack MacDonald (the lobbyist for the North Dakota Newspaper Association) or you work for a news organization, protecting sunshine laws probably isn’t high on your list of priorities.
This issue is a bit like the sun for most people. We don’t see it or think about it and take for granted these protections will always exist.
About 10 years ago, I had the opportunity to spend three weeks traveling and learning about the struggles of establishing a democracy in a place where this form of government was entirely new. I was in Bulgaria, which at the time was trying to create a viable form of democratic government after years of communist rule by the Soviet Union.
I was illumined, to say the least, by the challenges this and all Soviet block countries faced after the “walls” came down. The biggest difficulty wasn’t setting up schools, building infrastructure or delivering healthcare. It was far more fundamental than that.
Their toughest battle was creating a fair and just legal system that people could trust. Bulgaria’s legal system was fraught with corruption. Their fledgling economy limped along under the absence of legal, enforceable contracts that businesses could count on. Criminals could buy their way out of jail.
And many of the people charged with fixing these challenges, the government leaders, were accustom to operating in the dark and resisted being unaccountable to the people who elected them. They could pad their own pockets freely, reward their friends and protect their own future. Without the threat of legal consequences, these people had little motivation to change.
I learned in Bulgaria that a sound, impartial legal system is the foundation for everything in a democracy. Sunshine laws are a vital part of this. Like sunlight itself, we take them for granted, but our country would be awfully dark without them.
“Sunshine on My Shoulders” is a favorite bedtime lullaby in our house. “Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry. Sunshine on the water looks so lovely. Sunshine almost always makes me smile.”
Ok. I’m no John Denver. I only know one verse and I’ve changed the words a bit to my liking. But it’s a comforting tune, and always leaves us feeling more peaceful. It rings rather true right now as the dark days of winter give way to much lighter days of spring.
Already, we have two more hours of sunlight than we did just a few months ago. Ahhhhhhh -- it feels so good.
I recently heard something interesting about sunshine that had never occurred to me. Sunlight illuminates everything for us, but is invisible itself. We can see the source of light, of course, the sun. And to some extent we can see rays streaming from it. But a ray of sunshine is invisible to our eyes. We can not reach out and touch it.
This is sunshine week in the media – a time to celebrate the importance of having a free and independent media that has ready access to the records and meetings and lawmaking processes of our government.
In America, the business of government, at least a vast majority of it, is conducted openly – in the sun. The laws protecting the openness of these processes are often referred to as “sunshine laws.”
Now, unless your name is Jack MacDonald (the lobbyist for the North Dakota Newspaper Association) or you work for a news organization, protecting sunshine laws probably isn’t high on your list of priorities.
This issue is a bit like the sun for most people. We don’t see it or think about it and take for granted these protections will always exist.
About 10 years ago, I had the opportunity to spend three weeks traveling and learning about the struggles of establishing a democracy in a place where this form of government was entirely new. I was in Bulgaria, which at the time was trying to create a viable form of democratic government after years of communist rule by the Soviet Union.
I was illumined, to say the least, by the challenges this and all Soviet block countries faced after the “walls” came down. The biggest difficulty wasn’t setting up schools, building infrastructure or delivering healthcare. It was far more fundamental than that.
Their toughest battle was creating a fair and just legal system that people could trust. Bulgaria’s legal system was fraught with corruption. Their fledgling economy limped along under the absence of legal, enforceable contracts that businesses could count on. Criminals could buy their way out of jail.
And many of the people charged with fixing these challenges, the government leaders, were accustom to operating in the dark and resisted being unaccountable to the people who elected them. They could pad their own pockets freely, reward their friends and protect their own future. Without the threat of legal consequences, these people had little motivation to change.
I learned in Bulgaria that a sound, impartial legal system is the foundation for everything in a democracy. Sunshine laws are a vital part of this. Like sunlight itself, we take them for granted, but our country would be awfully dark without them.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
How welcoming are we?
My husband called me on Saturday morning while he was away on business. “Hey, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Having coffee in Times Square,” he responded glibly.
I stood in my faded flannel p.j.s, surrounded by dirty dishes and noisy kids, and looked out my window into a gray sky and barren white field of snow. I imagined spending the day eating and people watching my way through Manhattan, soaking in the sights, sounds, tastes, people and experiences in New York City that are like no other place on earth.
As I stood at my window, I pondered the contrast between the winter landscape in my view and the stimulating scene my husband was living that moment in New York. And I wondered, how realistic is it to think, that someone who grew up in a big city like that can learn to love life in small town North Dakota?
We learned last week about a couple, Michael and Jeanette Tristani, who tried. The allure of free land drew them from Miami to Hazelton, N.D., four years ago. But they are pulling the plug on the experiment and going back to Florida.
The story focused heavily on dramatic claims of being run out of town by unwelcoming locals, but the couple has said repeatedly the biggest reason they are returning to Florida is to care for aging parents. The fact they didn’t feel they fit in at Hazelton probably sealed their decision.
The story was picked up by media outlets nationwide. It’s the kind of tale people on the coasts love to read to support their stereotype about Midwesterners – that we blindly cling to our guns and our religion, unwilling to accept new ideas, new people or change of any kind.
Hazelton has actually worked harder than most small North Dakota towns to change its destiny. Ironically, their aggressive attempt to alter their course might ultimately make them the poster child for the stubborn, dying small town -- something comedians and politicians reference in one-liners about close mindedness.
This is the kind of story that sticks in the brains of people who don’t remember anything else about North Dakota. That’s really unfortunate. But perhaps the story might trigger some worthwhile discussions in our communities.
Whether or not Hazelton was at fault (and facts reported since the original story suggest they weren’t) this story speaks to one of North Dakota’s biggest challenges. How do we attract and retain people to sustain our communities and grow our economy while maintaining the qualities we love about this state?
Many of our rural communities are losing the struggle to create a new identity beyond traditional agriculture which can no longer fully sustain them. Yet our low unemployment and growth opportunities in many industries provide an opportunity now to recruit people to our state.
We might be well served to reflect on how welcoming we are. How open are we to people who look different and have a very different world view? What are we doing to help them find a place in our communities?
North Dakota won’t be a match for everyone. The contrast for folks from Miami or New York might be too extreme. But people who desire to live in our state and integrate into our communities should receive a warm welcome from us and find in North Dakota a safe, comfortable and friendly new home.
“Having coffee in Times Square,” he responded glibly.
I stood in my faded flannel p.j.s, surrounded by dirty dishes and noisy kids, and looked out my window into a gray sky and barren white field of snow. I imagined spending the day eating and people watching my way through Manhattan, soaking in the sights, sounds, tastes, people and experiences in New York City that are like no other place on earth.
As I stood at my window, I pondered the contrast between the winter landscape in my view and the stimulating scene my husband was living that moment in New York. And I wondered, how realistic is it to think, that someone who grew up in a big city like that can learn to love life in small town North Dakota?
We learned last week about a couple, Michael and Jeanette Tristani, who tried. The allure of free land drew them from Miami to Hazelton, N.D., four years ago. But they are pulling the plug on the experiment and going back to Florida.
The story focused heavily on dramatic claims of being run out of town by unwelcoming locals, but the couple has said repeatedly the biggest reason they are returning to Florida is to care for aging parents. The fact they didn’t feel they fit in at Hazelton probably sealed their decision.
The story was picked up by media outlets nationwide. It’s the kind of tale people on the coasts love to read to support their stereotype about Midwesterners – that we blindly cling to our guns and our religion, unwilling to accept new ideas, new people or change of any kind.
Hazelton has actually worked harder than most small North Dakota towns to change its destiny. Ironically, their aggressive attempt to alter their course might ultimately make them the poster child for the stubborn, dying small town -- something comedians and politicians reference in one-liners about close mindedness.
This is the kind of story that sticks in the brains of people who don’t remember anything else about North Dakota. That’s really unfortunate. But perhaps the story might trigger some worthwhile discussions in our communities.
Whether or not Hazelton was at fault (and facts reported since the original story suggest they weren’t) this story speaks to one of North Dakota’s biggest challenges. How do we attract and retain people to sustain our communities and grow our economy while maintaining the qualities we love about this state?
Many of our rural communities are losing the struggle to create a new identity beyond traditional agriculture which can no longer fully sustain them. Yet our low unemployment and growth opportunities in many industries provide an opportunity now to recruit people to our state.
We might be well served to reflect on how welcoming we are. How open are we to people who look different and have a very different world view? What are we doing to help them find a place in our communities?
North Dakota won’t be a match for everyone. The contrast for folks from Miami or New York might be too extreme. But people who desire to live in our state and integrate into our communities should receive a warm welcome from us and find in North Dakota a safe, comfortable and friendly new home.
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