It's been a good choice

I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen since our retirement party, and she asked me, “Are you glad you stayed in Ashland?” After nearly twenty months of living in our own home in our choice of town, rather than where the Salvation Army assigned us, it was a fair question. And the answer is . . . Yes!

“How do I love thee?” asked poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “Let me count the ways.” First, unlike those who run off to Florida the day their Golden Buckeye card arrives in the mail, I happen to like snow. Growing up in Buffalo, you get used to it, I suppose. Sledding, snowball fights, snow people, snow angels, and fluffy snowflakes shimmering in the streetlights – much more interesting than beaches and palm trees.

Here’s another reason. After years of packing my own groceries and schlepping them to the car through the snow and slush (a necessary evil of the East coast), I’m glad someone else schleps them to my car and loads them in. Thanks, White Barn, Hawkins and Buehlers, for your extra mile service. To date, I haven’t driven away from Buehlers without my groceries.

I especially appreciate living in a community where the people at the BMV are friendly. I’ve experienced a horror story or two over the years, but on my recent trip to renew my license, the staff was courteous and kind – I like that! They didn’t even make me change the weight on my license. Made my day!

I’m excited for the future of Ashland, as the new schools are built and the community has an accessible, contemporary performance space at the new auditorium. I’m glad for the kids of Ashland, and can’t wait to see the middle –schoolers on their first day in their new digs.

Even though I haven’t been too faithful in my attendance at the study circles sponsored by the Center for Civic Life, I love the community conversations happening these days, especially around the subjects of the arts and our downtown. A community that talks together will grow together into the future. And I’m grateful, too, for the affirmations and actions of faith that permeate our community. We don’t always talk about those things, but they are the underpinnings that strengthen who we are and inform what we do.

And then there’s the university and the seminary, with the richness they bring to our city in so many ways. Sports, art, music, their libraries, entertainment, and thoughtful presentations – there’s a warm welcome at AU and ATS.

Here’s another reason I’m glad we stayed. I’m not living in a retirement community with a bunch of blue-haired old women and paunchy men. Instead, I’m in a real, live, multi-generational neighborhood. I can watch the children play (in the snow), chat with the kids on their way home from school, and catch up with friends at the supermarket (while someone else schleps my groceries).

While I sometimes complain that Ashland lacks the chain restaurants that other locations have, I really like our homegrown eateries, especially the Lynway, the Dairy Bar, and Kelly’s. I’ve got favorites at each, especially the pie. It may not be cutting edge gourmet, but who really likes artichokes and hummus?

Speaking of food, I love that our Dairy Queen stays open all year. Not every town is so lucky. After driving home from Wooster in the snowstorm the other night, I treated myself to a Blizzard, and it was worth every calorie. And, in the midst of that snowstorm, the A&W opened. Woohoo! The Coney dogs are calling my name for sure.

There’s more, but I’ll save some for a day when I’m desperate for a column idea. What I discovered is that my early impressions of Ashland were spot-on, as the Olympic skating commentators have been keen to say. It’s been almost eight years now, and I’m still a smitten immigrant, glad to call Ashland home. And the best part? It’s like Lauren Myracle says: “I live in my own little world. But it’s OK, they know me here.” Now if I could just get the lovely Madelyn Simone and her parents to move to Ashland . . .

Sochi Olympics

After years of anticipation, the 2014 Sochi Olympic Games are off and running – or should I say skating and slaloming? I snuggled up to watch the opening ceremony, but somewhere between the entrance of the US delegation and the Russians, I was off to dreamland. So I’ve had to depend on Facebook to fill me in on the rest of the evening. How did we ever have the Olympic without Facebook? The commentary is much better than the talking heads on television.

First reaction? What’s with the American sweaters? My friend got it right: “Uh, I think we won the Patriotic ugly sweater contest – thanks, Ralph Lauren.” Stylish or not, I was relieved to know they were “made in the USA,” one of my dad’s mantras. The sweaters themselves are a patchwork of American craftsmanship — of wool carded from Oregon, spun in Pennsylvania and North Carolina, and knit in California. Here’s the best news – if you are an Olympics groupie, you can get your own for just $595.00

As in many modern day Olympics, the opening ceremony did seem a bit over the top. The overview of the complex history of Russia and its amazing cultural contributions was eye-opening, but, like another Facebook friend noted, “I didn’t get the dancing marshmallows.” I’ve had that feeling before, as when viewing some contemporary art or listening to opera. Am I the only one who doesn’t get it, or do others just pretend they do?

I felt bad for the Olympic orphans walking without a flag. Apparently India was suspended from the Olympics due to alleged corruption, and its three athletes had to enter under the Olympic banner. I love what shooter Mansher Singh had to say about his orphan status: “When you see your flag in the opening ceremony, you feel like a warrior for your country . . . It's a great feeling and you kind of swear in your chest." I wonder if that’s a guy thing? Fortunately, that controversy has been resolved, so while India may not achieve gold in Sochi, at least their athletes will be able to swear in their chests at the closing ceremony.

There have been concerns expressed over the possibility of terrorism at the games, a very real threat in our contemporary world on such a world stage. One Facebooker commented: “I'm afraid the terrorists they've been warning about made it into the stadium and have taken over the sound system. The music they are playing during the Parade of Nations could qualify as torture.” See my comment on marshmallows and opera above.

The Russian venue has had some logistical difficulties, and while the athletes’ villages are said to be good, there have been some housing issues for the press and other guests. My West Coast friend said it best: “I’m totally over the complaints about accommodation conditions in Russia. It's Russia . . . I mean, like what do you expect? Didn't you see Dr. Zhivago? 

One last Facebook comment: “Those opening ceremonies were incredible. Now bring on the Curling.” I’ve been a sports fan since I was a young child, but I’ll reveal my deep, dark secret on the pages of the Ashland Times-Gazette. I don’t get curling. What’s the point? I suppose I’d better watch my back now that I’ve made a public statement on the subject, because those curling folks are intense. Watching curling with the family does tend to bring up remarks about women with brooms, but some things you just have to ignore.

Beyond the ugly sweaters and the giant marshmallows, the Olympics have certainly livened up these long, cold February evenings. We each have our favorite event, as does my young friend Leo, who asked, “Mom, when this [speed skating] is done, can we watch the girls spin around with their Daddies?” We marvel at the grit and determination these young people exhibit, and we hold our collective breath as they experience the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I’ll be sad to see the 2014 Olympics come to an end, but don’t despair, for in thirty months, we’ll have Tiger Woods, rugby and beach volleyball in Rio. Can’t wait!

Back to the Future

By the twenty-first century, predicted civil engineer John Elfreth Watkins, there will be no more mosquitoes, flies or roaches, and automobiles will cost less than horses. Riding home from a day with the lovely Madelyn Simone, I caught a bit of a NPR piece that mentioned Watkin’s prophetic words, published in the Ladies Home Journal in 1900.

What will our world be like in the future? Growing up in a world that welcomed the Jetsons into my home every Saturday morning, predictive images of the future were a standard 1960s childhood experience. How close will George Jetson’s lifestyle be to the year 2062, the setting of the cartoon series? Inquiring minds want to know.

As Watkins’ article reminds us, the attempt to foresee the future did not start with George and Jane Jetson. Watkins had successful visions on his list in 1900, including color photography, mobile phones, television, hot house vegetables, and an increase in height among Americans. We may not have strawberries as large as apples, but given the vast technological changes since 1900, he did quite well.

In 1910, the French artist Villemard drew upon futurist ideas of his decade to create a series of images of schools using audio books, mail being sent by dictating a letter into loudspeaker, and newspapers being listened to each morning. Villemard’s postcards, which may have been included as a premium with food purchases, also sketched some airborne contraptions, including flying firefighters and a fly-through restaurant. Move over, McDonalds.

Writing for the Greenville, Mississippi’s Delta Democrat-Times in the early 1950s, Henry Nicholas polled intellectuals from many disciplines to see what their predictions of the future might be. Nicholas’ conclusions were broader than Villemard’s, but his experts were sure that space travel would be integrated into contemporary life in the twenty-first century, and dreamed of a world with less disease and the elimination of world wars. Nicholas also suggested that by the year 2000, humans would have mastered the planet, particularly in terms of energy and natural resources, and that cheap, harmless birth control methods could be added to the diet “as one saw fit,” thus regulating the sizes of families and nations. 

I wonder if the creators of the Jetsons read Nicholas’ article, for they agreed with at least one of his conclusions, that the people of the twenty-first century would work shorter hours and have much more leisure time. George Jetson only worked two days a week, and other than shopping at Mooning Dales, I’m not sure what Jane did, since the robot-maid Rosie did whatever housework got done. Not quite so in today’s world.

I’ll probably be humming the Jetson’s theme song and chuckling over their comedic exploits the rest of the day, but Nicholas’ predictions keep tugging at me. I look at the schedules and stresses facing young families and wish they had sense of leisure, of rest. How we all long for the elimination of cancer, AIDS, heart disease, and chronic illnesses and other challenges that make life so difficult for those we love. And while I give thanks for a lifetime that has not seen a world war, I often pray the prayer of John Oxenham: “Peace in our time, O Lord, to all the people, peace.” The price of unresolved conflict, whether in Syria, the South Sudan, or on the streets and playgrounds of our own community, are still too high.

In the difficult days after World War II, words attributed to German theologian Martin Luther (although likely not his) were often repeated, “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” Without the fortune-teller’s crystal ball, we can’t accurately predict the future, and the tenets of faith warn against any demand to control it. Yet we can plant our own apple trees so that success in medical research and treatment, a safe and healthy environment, and “peace in our times” can be harvested in future generations. Forget the gigantic strawberries, space travel and fly-through fast food – safety, well-being and peace describe the world I envision for my grandchildren and yours. Calling Johnny Appleseed . . .

State of the Union

First televised in 1947, the State of the Union address traditionally takes over the airwaves on a chilly night in January. Its roots lie in Article II of the Constitution, as the President “shall from time to time give to the Congress Information of the State of the Union, and recommend to their Consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.” Based upon that directive, President Barack Obama stood in the House chamber on January 28^th, 2014 to speak to elected officials, Supreme Court justices, invited guests, and the American people as he outlined his perception of the state of our Union (the United States of America), as well as his hopes for the days to come.

Since Mr. Obama’s appearance pre-empted our usual Tuesday night slate of NCIS, I was faced with the choice of re-runs on cable, turning in early with a good book, or performing my civic duty to be an informed and engaged citizen who keeps up with the political happenings in Washington. The prospect of watching one more bathroom demolition was agonizing, and since I was in-between books, I gathered with my husband and son to watch the State of the Union Address.

First impressions? Michelle Obama’s forest green silk Alaia was a great frame for her famous First lady smile. The VP’s spouse, Dr. Jill Biden was lovely in purple, accented with a camouflage cast on her broken wrist, strengthening once again her connection with military families. I do envy the powerful women gathered in the senate chambers, with their wide array of colors and styles, but with my deficient fashion sense, I’d be terrified I’d end up on the worst-dressed list of the night. At least the dark suit/white shirt uniform most of the men chose relieved them of that pressure.

But enough for fashion. I felt sorry for VP Joe Biden and Speaker of the House John Boehner – imagine having to sit alongside the president for the whole speech. I’m afraid I’d smirk, burp, or roll my eyes at the most inopportune moment. For a while, it looked like the Speaker of the House was playing the game where you see how long you can last without blinking. He did quite well.

And the message of the night? Oh, yes, that is the point, isn’t it? When we stop being distracted by the fashion police and the endless stream of tweets, we must hear the message. Jobs and unemployment, financial security and the national debt, immigration, health care, the role of government; they were all spelled out for the American people, couched in the political rhetoric of Washington with a Democratic twang.

Here’s my challenge in listening to the State of the Union address. I kept thinking of the scripture verse from II Timothy 4:3 where people will gather to themselves teachers who will tell them what their itching ears want to hear. So I – and we – have to ask ourselves: are our ears itching? Can we listen and look for the truth, or do we only want to hear what we want to hear?

What shape is our country really in? It’s the same question we ask about our marriages and families, our churches and communities. How can we tell? Policies and pronouncements can distort reality, but in essence, one truth remains. Regardless of what we think of the rest of his speech, President Obama got this right: “It is you, our citizens, who make the state of our union strong.”

The closing image of Mr. Obama’s speech was a young Army Ranger, horrifically injured in Afghanistan. Here’s how the president likened Cory Remsburg’s tough recovery to our American future: “None of it is easy. But if we work together; if we summon what is best in us . . . with our feet planted firmly in today but our eyes cast towards tomorrow, I know it’s within our reach. Believe it.” Yes, we have troubles, but we have hope. Whether in our families, our communities or our country, our “union” is worth fighting for. We can change our tomorrows. Itching ears or not, it’s what I needed to hear on Tuesday night.