For the world to read.

Sometimes it's hard to decide where to submit things...do I leave it on my blog, send it to our local paper, run it through the Huffington Post, or submit to a new place?   I felt the country might like to know about life regarding marriage equality in Minnesota so I went this way because they already know me and have run some of my work.

I hope you take the time to read and share. 

Life is good in Minnesota as we wait for the rest of the country to catch up.

Love in Retrospect

What a crazy day I had yesterday! I went to St. Paul, MN to watch history being made as Minnesota's state senate voted to legalize gay marriage, an event that will happen today when Governor Mark Dayton signs it into law.

The Wabasha Bridge in St. Paul ready for history!

How wild! How crazy! As I listened to the senator's speeches and the wild roaring love-chants floating throughout the capitol rotunda, it was almost impossible to take in.

It seems I have been thinking about gay rights and marriage in ways I haven't always fully understood. It started with my sister wondering out loud as a confused teen, "What is wrong with me?" to a young man named Bob Gardner who joined the first speech team I coached as a brand spanking new English and speech teacher. I immediately recognized him as gay and watched feeling helpless at times as he navigated a path that was fraught with insecurity and worry and torment. I shepherded him into my fold, wanting to protect and guide him if I could, but mostly I let him be the person he was meant to be. He would be the first to say that it wasn't always easy.

I can't think of a time when gay people weren't a part of my life. I can't think of a time when I ever really thought they should be viewed as less than though I do admit to confusion of the normal sort, the kind that clearly tells me I am not gay. Yet never have I once doubted those who know they are.

And I can't think of time where I ever let religion cloud what I thought of it. I was raised Methodist and so I know as many stories as the next Sunday-schooled child, but I can't remember ever letting those stories from long ago ever affect the reality of what is clearly in front of me.

I remember being drawn to Maya Angelou and Mildred Taylor and Harper Lee as a middle school girl in rural white Iowa. As someone almost embarrassingly "normal", whose only major oppression is that of her own mind, I felt gobsmacked reading about people whose daily life was filled with oppression and discrimination. I know now that it was part of an education that went far beyond the page. When Atticus told Scout to "walk a mile in someone else's shoes" I took it literally and have worked hard throughout my life to at least allow myself to dip my toes in water than might not always feel good to me. Not everyone resides from a middle-class, heterosexual white world and it has served me well to remember that.

But I have to confess that I never thought simple life experience would turn into anything that had purpose. What a surprise this has turned out to be.

Life happens, and if you pay attention it guides you in ways you could never have imagined. If you are wise, you follow.

A VOTE No fall campaign shirt recycled to VOTE Yes for gay marriage. 

And follow I did. Most of you know this part of the journey for me so I won't belabor it. Nor will I ever claim to have had a major part in Minnesota's historical moment. But I did make some noise and while it was barely a whisper in the last few months, I needed to be there yesterday to understand that this is what democracy can do. I needed to see with my own eyes that our voices can and have been heard. It's easy to get jaded into today's political climate, but there I was watching it with my own eyes. 

Two years ago, I was sitting in the front yard with a few people including my husband and Jeff and Lori Wilfahrt. We were trying to figure out how we could make some sort of difference in the way our state was then proposing to leave out gay people.  None of us then would have predicted this day.

Lori Wilfahrt, celebrating a movement that continues to honor the spirit of her son, Andrew.

Jeff Wilfahrt honoring his son and countless others he met along the way.

But what has brought our state to this day is simple. It has been our stories, the backbone of the whole campaign. "This is what happened to me" has been whispered and chatted and shouted and sung and written and emailed and prayed about all over this state. It has been our willingness to share and our willingness to listen and to inhabit and imagine, "What if that were me? What if that were my child, my sister, my brother, my neighbor, my friend?" that has moved so many people.

So many of us have tried on another pair of shoes and paid attention to how they fit.  It is clear to many that some adjustments need to be made.

And here we are, the twelfth state in the nation to fully embrace more of the good people who have been serving and loving and working and contributing all along.

 It feels nothing short of wonderful to have been a part of it.

Mother-land

Don't we all live in mother-land? Whether we have kids or not, we come from mother.  Complex, confounding, essential, intricate, nourishing, perplexing--most of us can speak volumes about gifts given or sorely missed from the woman who gave us life.

My own personal relationship to my mom and the journey to becoming a mother of children are not threads in my life that I take lightly. But over time what I have come to realize is this--as women, we are all mothers. By nature we crave intimacy, to be known and to know, to teach, to share, to love, to lift up. Our very way of being fills this world with such graceful power, tenacious spirit, and a loving force that has driven the course of history. Women-mothers are the directors, the nurturers, the leaders, the hands, ears, and eyes always in tune to what is needed. 

Raising a small child is not required to live in mother-land.

My life is filled with teacher-mothers, a mosaic of women whose chance encounters or vested relationships made lasting and deep impressions on the person I have become. I carry each of them with me and try to remain cognizant of my own "mother moments".  As I am talking to my young co-workers about major life decisions or crafting my observations of pop culture with preteens or trying to view the neighborhood I live in through the eyes of children or casing venues for any number of purposes based on their physical accessibility, I am mothering beyond the walls of my home.

I don't know a single woman who doesn't do something like this. 

You don't have to give birth to a child to bring your individual ideas and creativity and spirit to this world. You don't have to nurture wee ones to teach values and perseverance and self-reliance. 

Of course we can't ignore (nor should we) our moms on this day. But I find it totally acceptable to get a little selfish and think about the gifts you have already offered to this world, and better yet, start planning what you wish to offer up next.

A random new life

I thought it would stop, but I found myself waking up with tears in my eyes (again!) after what I thought was a sound night of sleep. Getting there is still hard.

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My kids are sad.

Thing 2 is focused on longevity and some of the words that I had spoken at the service.

"Why did you say we were selfish?" he asked after a long weekend of family and photos and stories and tears. 

"Well, I said humans were selfish. No matter what we have, we want more. Grandpa lived a rich life and did so much of what he wanted to do.....including giving you squish-a-roonies and teasing you about "getting the girls". But for those of us who loved him, any amount of time with him would not be enough time."

"So what's the average age?" he asked me.

"For what?"

"For living," he said.

I thought and then said, "I don't know. Most people live long and productive lives if they care for themselves and are reasonably safe. The number is different for everyone."

He seemed satisfied but pensive. It was all he wanted from me, all he could take for the moment, and then he said, "Will you read to me?"

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Thing 1 is out of sorts. She doesn't like being thrown off her schedule, even at almost age 12. She doesn't like all the traveling, she doesn't like why we have been traveling, she wants the stories and hates the stories, and her heart just can't bear it at times.

"It's just so hard, mom. I won't ever see him again." Tears are streaming down her face as I try to comfort her.

"I know. It is hard. But we have each other, babe. And you, lucky girl, got Grandpa for 11 years..the record for his grandchildren. You are the Keeper of the Grandpa Wilfahrt Stories."

We lay together for what feels like hours, but is only a few minutes. Her breathing relaxes, but she is not asleep. 

"I just don't know how to think about it, " she whispers.

I say nothing because I don't know either.

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Thing 1 is sleeping on our floor again, a habit I thought we'd kicked. 

I noticed she picked up Harry Potter when this whole ordeal began almost six weeks ago. She'd moved on from that two grade levels ago, but she is racing through it once more now on Book 6. I know she has memorized every line in each book and there is comfort in a story that will not change. 

She will read it over and over until she feels settled.... and I will not stop her.

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Big Man is immersed in work. At night he is furiously pounding through the paperwork death leaves for the living. A soul-less task, impersonal and perfunctory. You were here and now you are not. Please let us know. 

While he attends to the business of death, I go after the business of living. Dirty dishes and clothes, homework, dog walking, soccer practice, summer camps. 

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New day, new normal, new way of life. 

Unwelcome, hard, no choice.

About a boy and his dad.

They have always been funny, these two. Paul kept Bob on a wild ride of --what should we get up to next?  Long time ribbing of how they were the youngest and most spry men in attendance (even when Paul's gait was unsteady) did not prevent them from actively participating in the omni-sexy model railroading that is all the rage these days.  Upper Midwest  road trips from Madison to Milwaukee, Minneapolis to Winona and points in between. Paul would drive a long ways to go to a model railroading show and if Bob could tag along, he would.

Paul developed a penchant for holiday decorations after his kids had grown and graduated.When his first grandchild came along, it seemed the perfect time for a Christmas inflatable. For a few years, he kept adding to these with the penultimate being two gigantic polar bears. But there wasn't much for them to do so he moved on to Halloween. Here is where he could create some action.  A technology guru and a long time fan of special effects, he was always interested in what the average man could do at home. And so with his ever-willing compadre, they would putz and tinker and make endless trips to Menard's and Home Depot for the right this or that. It goes without saying they likely already had whatever this or that may have been. This or that  just could not be found due to.... organizational challenges.

Over the years Bob has been gifted with any number of masks, weird hats, costumes, and special effects gadgets to enhance the haunted houses we started doing in our own garage. Not everyone can claim they received a bubbling cauldron, a strobe light, or a animated rat the size of our dog for their birthday...or even Christmas. Such gadgets allowed Bob to set up an empty exam room at Winona Health one Halloween to the delight and surprise of patients and staff.  Again, not everyone can claim their doctor had animated Halloween displays...in their exam rooms. Paul radiated pride at this feat.

There are endless stories of the funny man and his boy. Those, of course, are easy and fun and healing to tell. It explains at least part of my husband's heart, his penchant for seeking fun and sharing it with others, especially his own kids, and particularly his son.

But here is what won't be said this weekend.

Bob has lost his best friend, his mentor, his North star.  There have been pivotal moments in his life when what he needed for that final push in a big decision was some sort of stamp of approval, some clarification in his thinking, some guidance. He could talk to me, he could reason his own way through so much, but whenever he felt really hurt or particularly stuck, his dad pushed him through it.

The phone calls are done. The endless Saturday morning chatter about another railroad scene. The middle of the week phone calls where Paul was seeking guidance from the one doctor he trusted most, his son, about the latest medical malady.

I don't know why I didn't see it before, that Paul was his best friend. But it has hit me like a ton of bricks, the realization of what he has lost. 

We will find our way through this together since there really isn't any other way.

This weekend we will gather with friends and family to celebrate the wonderful life of The Original Big Man.  And I will do my best to take care of his boy.

Tiny explosions

Sometimes they are literal and sudden...such as the tragedy of yesterday. How utterly horrifying for those runners and all the friends and family and supporters along the way.  A day that has been meticulously planned for, where the months of gritty work is finally realized and ends in complete mayhem and confusion is just stunning. 

Sometimes, though, disaster creeps up on you. The Original Big Man's future remains unclear. His delirium persists and we just feel like maybe this might be it.  This might be who we have now, a weak man with few lucid moments just lying in a hospital bed. It's been a slip and slide sort of realization after all the whiplash of he's dying! He lived! He'll recover, right? Or won't he? What is his future? What is ours? No one seems to know.

But I am reminded of the goodness in our families and our friends.

My mom had arrangements to visit so I could be with my mother-in-law when her oldest daughter finally had to return to her real life. My brother had arrangements to leave at a moment's notice just to be with us as needed. My sister took my baby boy for two nights so I could help my in-laws.  My friends have called and sent messages and offered their ears and their hands and cared for my kids.  I am breathing in daily the beauty of people whose good wishes and prayers sustain us.

The folks in Boston will do the same.

Whether it takes you by surprise or the hard truth slowly creeps in, the feelings are no different.  Shock at the situation you are in, grief as the circumstances reveal themselves, pain at what is lost. It's all there no matter how it arrives.

People do show up whether or not you have lived life well by making deposits and investments in those around you. No matter the circumstances and without a background check, people give with abandon, pray without asking, love without questioning, and, as we saw yesterday, run toward the disaster to help, to serve. Rather than wonder at the horrors, it seems best to take in the light, that golden gleaming nuggets of evidence that goodness is far more resilient than any brief flash of evil. 

For all of us, Life is a series of tiny explosions made smaller by the work of our hands and heft of our hearts 

A surprise for me!

I tidied up my latest post and sent it off to The Huffington Post. They have a quick turn around so when I did not hear from them in two days, I assumed it was a no-go.

Imagine my surprise as I was driving home from another trip to St. Cloud when I checked my email to see this:

Thank you very much for your blog post. It's been published and can be found at this permanent link:

    http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-gray/beauty-is-a-beast_b_3023798.html

It's also permanently listed in your author archive:

 http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-gray/

I kind of giggle when I read "in your author archive" because there are many moments when I still feel like I am in Mrs. Reymond's 7th grade English class toiling away at a draft of this or that waiting for a smile of encouragement she would always give me. A crowning achievement was re-writing the lyrics to "Elvira" by the Oak Ridge Boys. That I successfully crafted that country hit into a Christmas poem should have made it clear to me that I was on my way right then and there (yes, you can laugh...it's ok), but I harbored doubts for a long while. 

At any rate, the other bit about writing and reacting to news for opinion pieces is that you have to do your work. I read several pieces from reputable news sources about Obama's remarks about Kamala Harris. I wanted to be sure that I was not "overreacting." Bloggers and tweeters have a way of blowing things out of proportion quickly. I sat on this for a day or so (eons in the news world) until I felt confident that, yes, I had a clear understanding of what had happened.  I learned too much later that Harris herself had commented on Obama's looks prompting him to reference her looks in his response.  This exchange was part of something bigger that I did not catch. 

Oh well.   

Obviously, the Huff Post isn't going to run things that are way off base because that detracts from their credibility. After re-reading what I wrote a hundred times, I think the essence of my angst still holds true no matter the exact context which is why they made the choice to run it. 

So, if you are wondering why my production for them and our local paper is slow, I hope this gives you a clearer picture. Despite it not being something I do for pay, I do not wish to look like a reactionary crackpot. Given how my days go, it takes lots of time to research not only what is going on, but that someone else hasn't already said what I did. It can make me crazy and sometimes, frankly, I just pass. With the family issues we have had as of late, I feel lucky to have an opinion on what I am making for dinner. 

Thanks for sticking with me readers. I so appreciate your kind words, enthusiastic responses to what I write, and the good vibes you give me. In the end I do it because I can't imagine not doing it, but sharing it makes it that much sweeter.