Two Christmas Gifts


(click to enlarge illustrations)
Tuesday brought an unexpected assignment: the kind that goes along with the general category of “honey, do….” Ellen, my spouse’s long-time friend, needed a ride to a doctors appointment, and there was a schedule conflict. I volunteered.
Ellen is a long-time U.S. citizen, of African descent, whose accent betrays her growing up in one of the islands of the British West Indies. Ellen’s appointment flowed out of a knee problem so serious that she had to be transported by ambulance recently from the city bus on which she was riding for medical care. The pain had been too excruciating.
Back and forth to her job requires 3 1/2 hours a day on the bus, part of which requires a two block walk to the bus stop closest to her home, and a transfer in downtown Minneapolis. It has been very cold recently, and one day was just too much. Ellen badly needs a knee replacement. She needs her job more. She has no car.
As I drove her to and from the appointment we chatted about this and that. Ellen is someone you’d enjoy visiting. Even on the worst of days, she is upbeat.
I noted the big difference between Christmas weather here and on her home island. She’s been here a long time, and she thinks the snow is an important part of the Twin Cities Christmas season.
We talked a bit about Christmas back home on the island, and it brought out her own nostalgia.
I didn’t take notes – I was driving, after all – but she talked about how at Christmas time people from the churches went around singing Christmas carols in the town in which she lived. There was visiting, small gifts exchanged, other rituals that go with important occasions.
An apparently important event was the seasonal changing of the window drapes in homes…I gathered it was not a competition, rather an opportunity to admire and compliment the work of the occupants of the homes.
It brought to mind simpler times, not filled with fashion, and day after exchanges at the malls, a quest for things for which we have no need, as we have here.
There are many more pieces to this story, of course.
But on a Tuesday afternoon in St. Paul MN I got a great Christmas gift, thanks to my spouse and her friend, Ellen.

(In the caption for this post, I talk of two Christmas Gifts.
The second gift came in the form of the Christmas card which included the two pictures you see above.
This came about the same time as my visit with Ellen, and came from Mohamed, who I have been honored to have as a friend for 63 years. Mohamed (his birth legal name) I knew by another name way back then in rural North Dakota. His faith, then and now, Mohammedan (Muslim).
There was a brief message with the card, but the card really says it all.
“Let there be peace on earth” goes a song oft-sung.
Let peace…and its necessary neighbor, justice…begin with each and every one of us.)

Dick Bernard: Two Gentle Books for Peaceful People….

The old ballad comes to mind as I begin this post: “Home, home on the range, where the deer and the Antelope play, where seldom is heard, a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.”
As this latest round of “daily dismal” – the 2016 election season – nears an end, I’d like to invite attention to some truly positive inspirational books about people like us; like the folks most of us are blessed with next door; the people we see at the grocery store, in church, out walking in the park….
The two books (click on the titles for more information about each):
“Green Card Youth Voices”. 29 Immigration Stories by young people at a Minneapolis High School
“A Peace of my Mind American Stories” 63 people, 40,000 miles across the USA
In my opinion, both books deserve and will receive national recognition.
Very briefly:
Green Card Youth Voices
It was a privilege to listen to three of the 29 authors of this book read from and discuss their experiences as Green Card Youth, immigrants to the United States. The three, pictured below 2nd, third and fifth from left, were Zaynab Abdi (pp 1-4) from Yemen; Fosiya Hussein (pp 113-115) from Somalia; and Wendy St. Felix (pp 109-111) from Haiti. (The other two in the photo, visitors at the talk: Lulu, a PhD student from Brazil; Shimri, a peace activist from Israel.)

October 20, 2016, Minneapolis MN

October 20, 2016, Minneapolis MN


It is very easy in these days to become terminally cynical about any hope for the future.
Kids like these (and there are lots of them) bring hope back.
Green Card Youth Voices is more than just pages and pictures. Each story includes a link to an on-line video interview with the author; and there is a Study Guide at the end of the book. So the book is not a destination, it is a beginning of a journey.
I highly recommend getting to know the organization, Green Card Voices. I had the very happy privilege of meeting the Executive Director of the organization, Tea Rozman-Clark, where her group was having one of its first programs, at Hosmer Library in South Minneapolis, in Nov. 2013.
A Peace of my Mind American Stories compiled by John Noltner.
american-stories001
I met John Noltner some years ago when he was beginning a photo journalism project, interviewing people engaged in peacemaking. His first book, A Peace of My Mind, and subsequent traveling photograph display which has been very well received around the United States led him to a 40,000 mile journey around the U.S., and lengthy interviews with 63 ordinary people about life’s stories and lessons.
September 27 I was privileged to be with a large group listening to John talk about his project.
Sitting nearby, it turned out, was the subject of one of the stories, Deanna Thompson (pp 44-45) a six year survivor of Stage Four Breast Cancer, teacher of religion at Hamline University, St. Paul, a positive example for us all.
Deanna Thompson (at right) Sep 27, 2016

Deanna Thompson (at right) Sep 27, 2016


Another story is Padre Johnson‘s, Cody WY (pp 86-87). The students above are holding Padre’s 1992 book, Journeys with the Global Family, recounting his time spent with people in 159 different countries in the 1970s. His is a remarkable story.
John Noltner’s trip to American Stories is described here, including link to a long interview in the Smithsonian on-line newsletter.
There you have it: two new books, 92 stories by and about ordinary people – people like us. These are ideal gifts for yourself, and others, at any time. Every story gives cause for reflection. Check them out. They’re an investment, not a cost.
IN MEMORIAM:
Connections may seem random. They really never are. Everything has a reason.
A year ago this week my friend, Lynn Elling, then 93, seemed more and more determined that there must be a meeting about peace at his favorite restaurant, Gandhi Mahal, in Minneapolis. I knew what he wanted, but precisely who and what was not clear this time. Finally, I went to his home, and eight of us met with him on Friday evening, Nov. 6 (photo at end of this post).
It was Lynn who had invited me to the initial event of Green Card Voices in Nov. 2, 2013. It was through Lynn that I had some time earlier met Padre Johnson.
Lynn’s resume for Peace is long and stellar. He could not, would not, “put his feet up”. He too-well remembered the carnage at Tarawa Beach as a young LST officer in WWII.
Sep. 21, he was at the Dedication of The Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis as a Peace Site.
Our Nov. 6 meeting ended, and Cathy Manning took Lynn home.
The next day, Nov. 7, he was admitted to the hospital, and except for about two days near his death he didn’t come home again.
He died Feb. 14, 2016, at the doorstep of 94.
Lynn, there are others after you who carry on your work. Thanks for your efforts.
In peace.
Lynn (at right) at what turned out to be his final Friday night gathering at Gandhi Mahal restaurant.  The next day he went into the hospital, and except for three days in January, 2016, never returned home.

Lynn (at right) at what turned out to be his final Friday night gathering at Gandhi Mahal restaurant. The next day he went into the hospital, and except for three days in January, 2016, never returned home.

#1164 – Dick Bernard: A Friend, Annelee Woodstrom, turns 90

Annelee holds court, August 13, 2016

Annelee holds court, August 13, 2016


Today, up in Ada, MN, there will be a little party for our friend, Annelee (Anneliese Soelch) Woodstrom, who is about to turn 90.
I say “little”, facetiously. When someone has lived in a town for 57 years; was a longtime teacher in the area public schools (Twin Valley); is a well known author, still writing and speaking publicly about her experiences growing up in Nazi Germany, and living as a war bride in post war United States (Crookston and Ada MN), one picks up a friend here or there.
Annelee wrote yesterday “Tonight 11 people will be here, 10 arrive tonight. Well, we will manage. Four of my relatives flew in from Germany.”
A while back she asked for a print of the old barn at the North Dakota farm of my ancestors, so our birthday gift to her, received earlier this week, is
(click to enlarge)
Busch barn, rural Berlin ND, May 24, 2015

Busch barn, rural Berlin ND, May 24, 2015


She said, “Somehow, that photo gives me peace.”
I’m very happy to oblige, with special thanks to the family friend who took the photo in the first place.
I happened across Annelee 13 years ago, when I read in the Fargo (ND) Forum about her new book, “War Child Growing Up in Adolf Hitler’s Germany” (see link above). Our friendship started there, and I was honored to help her with her second, “Empty Chairs”, about her years in Minnesota; and now I’m assisting on her third, as yet untitled, which ties her abundant life learnings together. The reunion today puts the third book in the background, but only for awhile. She’ll be back at it, and I have no doubt it will be completed.
It was her lot in life to begin schooling in Mitterteich Germany, (walking distance from today’s Czech Republic) coincident with Adolf Hitler’s rise to power. Her parents refused to join the Nazi party, and at 13 her formal schooling ended and she was put to work as a telegrapher, living through the worst times of the war, reduced almost to starvation at the end.
Her father, a road engineer by trade, was conscripted into the German Army, and except for one home leave, he was never seen again. They believe he died in Russia, but are not sure.
She met her “Gentleman Soldier” Kenny Woodstrom at war’s end, and in 1947 came to the United States as an “alien” to marry him – a marriage of over 50 years, till his death in 1998.
In the late 1960s, she decided to go to college at Moorhead State, and commuted back and forth from Ada, and for 22 years she taught in Twin Valley Minnesota Public Schools, at one point being recognized as a finalist for Minnesota Teacher of the Year. It was an honor she richly deserved.
nea001
One of her two children, a daughter, Sandy, was killed by a drunken driver, and her son, Roy, was a long-time librarian at a Minneapolis public library. Her son, daughter in law, Linda, grandchildren and great grandchildren and a great many others will be greeting her today in Ada.
Annelee’s is one of many life stories. She still does public speaking, and if you have an opportunity to hear her speak, make it a point….
Happy Birthday, Annelee.

#1114 – Dick Bernard: Bienvenue Canada, the Trudeaus & French-Canadians

Much more information about the French in Minnesota available here and here.
What is your heritage? What is your story? Comment/Questions/Stories are welcome: dick_bernardATmsnDOTcom. (For many more stories, simply put the words Collette or Bernard in the search box of this blog.)

Octave Collette and Clotilde Blondeau - 1868 - Minneapolis MN

Octave Collette and Clotilde Blondeau – 1868 – Minneapolis MN


I’m in the midst of updating the index of a small French-Canadian newsletter, Chez Nous, which I edited for 16 years for midwest French-Canadians from the mid-1980s through 1990s.
And four of us from the French-American Heritage Foundation are at mid-point in a four week workshop presentation on our shared French-Canadian heritage.
So the visit of Canada Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his spouse to the Obama’s in the White House this week is a good reminder of the very long connection between French-Canadians and the United States; and a good time for a brief “seminar” on a branch of the French-Canadian family tree very familiar to me: my own family.
It did surprise me to learn that the last such state visit between the two heads of state was about 20 years ago. After all, Canada, the French in Canada and the U.S.have a very long history in North America, going back to the founding of Quebec City in 1608.
Collette Reunion t-shirt, Dayton MN 2002.

Collette Reunion t-shirt, Dayton MN 2002.


My Dad, Henry Bernard, was 100% French-Canadian, born in Grafton, North Dakota, Dec. 1907; graduating from high school there. His father was Honore (always known as Henry) Bernard, immigrant from Quebec ca 1894, carpenter, then flour mill chief engineer; his mother was Josephine Collette, born in 1881 at what was then called St. Andrews, Dakota Territory, where the Park enters the Red River of the North, baptized, and growing up on a farm, near tiny Oakwood.
They married at Oakwood ND’s Sacred Heart Parish in June, 1901. (You can access the Sacred Heart Parish Centennial book here. It is chock-full of French-Canadians. (See Part 2, page 27 upper left corner for “my” Collette’s). Oakwood is “suburban” Grafton – about four miles east.)
*
There is plenty of French-Canadian blood in the veins of Minnesotans and midwesterners. The 1980 U.S. census – the last to record such data – showed 7.9% of Minnesotans to have French descent (Wisconsin 7.3%, Michigan 10%).
At minimum, hundreds of thousands of Minnesotans carry some French or French-Canadian lineage.
French-Canadians were true non-native pioneers here, though often unrecognized. Ours seems always to have been a quiet heritage. Yes, there is a story about that, too…for another time. (In the Chez Nous index project I re-noted an article written by University of Minnesota professor William Rogers for an Adult Education journal in 1975. You can read it here: Fr. in MN 1975001)
*
Thirteen years ago, members of the Collette family staged a reunion at the historic French-Canadian parish of St. John the Baptist in Dayton MN, and event organizer Vernon Sell of the Minneapolis Collette’s designed the t-shirt pictured in part above.
Every family story is different. The Collette story in some ways is representative of the migration from Quebec to this area; and integration of the French-Canadians in this area.
Briefly: The first Collette came to St. Paul from St. Lambert QC in about 1857; my great-grandmother Clotilde Blondeau and her parents and siblings came to Dayton MN, probably from Ottawa Ont area, sometime shortly after 1850.
Most of the rest of the Collette’s, seven boys and one girl, came to then-St. Anthony, and settled near what is now the St. Anthony Main end of the Stone Arch bridge in Minneapolis about the time the Civil War ended. Octave Collette and Clotilde Blondeau (photo below) married at then-St. Anthony of Padua Parish in then-St. Anthony in 1869.
In 1875 the family moved to the Dayton-Otsego area, where they lived till about 1878, when the first of the group walked to the Red river Valley to take homesteads. Two other girls, by now married, had moved to the area of Oakwood from Quebec. About a dozen Collettes from Quebec had transplanted to Dakota Territory before North Dakota became a state (1889).
(click to enlarge photos)
The Collette men in Oakwood ND 1887 likely after the death and burial of their wife and mother Mathilde.  Dad is front left; the Priest is at front right.

The Collette men in Oakwood ND 1887 likely after the death and burial of their wife and mother Mathilde. Dad is front left; the Priest is at front right.


Visitors from Winnipeg to the Henry and Josephine Bernard home in Grafton in the 1920s.  The 1901 Oldsmobile still exists, in a Pennsylvania museum.

Visitors from Winnipeg to the Henry and Josephine Bernard home in Grafton in the 1920s. The 1901 Oldsmobile still exists, in a Pennsylvania museum.


1954 photo,Unlabelled photo summer lunch in the farmyard of the homeplace at Oakwood.  Apparent identities as known.  At right: Bonnie and Maurice Collette; from left Beatrice and Alcide Collette; at end of the table Josephine and Henry Bernard.  The others are not known, and the photo is not labelled.

1954 photo,Unlabelled photo summer lunch in the farmyard of the homeplace at Oakwood. Apparent identities as known. At right: Bonnie and Maurice Collette; from left Beatrice and Alcide Collette; at end of the table Josephine and Henry Bernard. The others are not known, and the photo is not labelled.


As happens in families, in time one of the boys, Vernon Sells Grandpa, married, and returned to the Dayton MN area to live the rest of his life with his family in what is now Otsego, between Dayton and the present day Albertville Outlet Mall.
One of the brothers, and two sons of another brother, in the early 1900s, headed north into southern Manitoba to take available land between Ste. Elisabeth and Morris MB.
Another brother moved back across the Red river to Argyle MN. Others moved to other places like the west coast.
So it happened over the years that this family, like so many others, blended into both the United States and Canada, all now speaking English, but the Canadian cousins likely speaking French as their first language at home.
*
Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau comes from the French-Canadian tradition, as does his first lady.
Yes, I’m very proud of this heritage.
What are your stories? Check in with us at FAHFminn.org, consider joining our mission to preserve the French in Middle West heritage. Write me at dick_bernardATmsnDOTcom.

#1112 – Dick Bernard: Welcoming Refugees

POSTNOTE March 7: Here is a powerful video from Kathy, who says: “Here is a short video recently completed under IARP [Iraqi and American Reconciliation Project Minnesota] guidance. A refugee story of recent reluctant Iraqi refugee.
Ali lives here in Mpls. now. I find his telling of his story quite impactful.”
PRE-NOTE: If you haven’t already done so, help out Green Card Voices with a donation today. The information is here. Deadline is midnight tonight. POST-NOTE to PRE-NOTE Mar 7: Green Card Voices made its goal!
*
Sunday at Basilica of St. Mary a refugee family was welcomed, several Somalians arriving in the Twin Cities via several years long stay in a refugee camp in Kenya.
The welcome message is here: Basilica Refugees 3-6-16001. I would encourage you to take the time to read the entire message.
Ours is a very large parish, so this was a process covering months. In fact, I’ve written about refugees before. Here are some. Midway down in the December 1 post is another Basilica newsletter.
And, of course, there are differences of opinion. Not everyone is welcoming….
Today’s newsletter brought me back to a post I started in mid-February.
The relevant “snip” from the earlier draft is below and above the * * * for those with an interest.
* * *
Earlier [mid-February, 2016] was the well-publicized dust up involving Pope Francis and Donald Trump about whether a bridge or a wall is the most appropriate way for a Christian to treat immigrants, legal or illegal. The spotlighted case: the Mexican border.
* * *
This flap, as well as the death of Catholic Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia about the same time, brought into focus the quandaries of even religious people, of the same denomination, when dealing with issues such as immigration, including completely legal immigration. Those reading will know the distinctions, and probably are on one side or the other of the general issue.
Personally, I noted that this year Pope Francis has declared as a “Year of Mercy” for the worldwide Catholic Church. It is how he spoke at the Mexican border about treatment of immigrants.
Mercy is a call taken seriously by local parishes. I’ve seen it in disparate places, from Waikiki, to the Big Island of Hawaii, to the Franciscan Retreat Center.
At Waimea on the Big Island, Mercy and immigrants was spotlighted two days after Christmas Day. Then back home came another reminder. (both at the end of the post).
*
“Mercy” is being spotlighted this year. And I’m glad it is.
But Mercy is not as simple as it sounds. It is a challenge.
The declaration, as amplified by the Pope Francis/Donald Trump “dust-up” in mid-February, has brought forth memories of a powerful workshop I attended in March, 2005, where I found myself stuck in the role of Mercy, in competition with Peace, Justice and Truth. (We were all “birds of a feather” in this workshop – people who could talk easily with each other about this topic. At the same time, the instructor forced us to choose one of the four words to ally with.
And I was assigned to “Mercy”.
I’ve dusted off my brief recollection from that workshop, and you can read it here: Mercy002 Note how Mercy fared….
A phrase I hear quite often from friends in Peace and Justice work is that “Without Justice, there can be no Peace”.
Where do “Mercy” and “Truth” fit in?
Something each of us might ponder.
Have a great day.

#1111 – Dick Bernard: An Ask: Help "Green Card Voices" reach its goal and continue its mission

March 1 an e-mail from Tea Rozman-Clark, Executive Director of Green Card Voices announced a fundraiser which ends Sunday night.
I enthusiastically support this fundraiser for this wonderful, indeed essential, organization whose purpose is to celebrate the contributions of immigrants to the United States (thus “Green Card”). You can contribute here. I just looked at the page (10:15 a.m. Friday Mar. 4) and they’re at $10,143 or their $13,000 goal.
(click to enlarge)

Tea Rozman-Clark at Festival of Nations booth for Green Card Voices, St. Paul MN May 2, 2014

Tea Rozman-Clark at Festival of Nations booth for Green Card Voices, St. Paul MN May 2, 2014


Your contribution money will be very well spent.
Dr. Rozman-Clarks e-mail is below and speaks for itself.
I have known of Green Card Voices since a chance experience with it at Hosmer Library in south Minneapolis in the fall of 2013. It was just beginning.
I wrote about that chance meeting then, Nov. 2, 2013. You can read the post here (scroll down). March 5, 2014 I did a followup post, and yet another on May 3, 2014.
“Start ups” of any kind are always a difficult proposition. Green Card Voices started right here in Minnesota, but its message is essential everywhere.
Give it a helping hand before the deadline, and get to know its mission, and get involved. Your will be money very well spent.
*
I encourage you to read the contents of Tea Rozman-Clarks March 1 e-mail, which follows.
Hello friends!
I hope the winter season is treating you all with gentle compassion (sometimes the cold is a good reminder of how valuable warmth is. At least, this is how I frame it in the frigid Minnesota winter).
I’m writing because I have a request. But first, let me start at the beginning:
Many of you know that I run Green Card Voices, which utilizes digital storytelling to share personal narratives of America’s immigrants, fostering tolerance and establishing a better understanding between the immigrant and non-immigrant populations”.
Last September our organization recorded 30 most courageous youth, coming from 13 countries, candidly shared stories of family, school, change, and dreams. After recording their narratives, we knew that this was bigger than just a recording. We wanted to go a step further and bring their stories to an even wider audience with a powerful book Green Card YOUTH Voices: Immigration Stories from an American High School video multimedia package and make it available to schools and beyond.
I cannot stress how much their stories inspire me. Especially in the current political climate.
To raise the money to print and publish this book, Green Card Voices is running an Indiegogo campaign. Indiegogo is a crowd funding website that gathers money from individual donors, and rewards different donation amounts with different ‘perks’. It is an excellent choice for non-profits with very limited budgets. We are trying to raise $13,000 to fund this project, and have raised $9,616 thus far. We have 6 days left.
This is where you come in. Consider backing these young immigrant writers by preordering the book (price $30 + $6 shipping) and selecting one of the perks.
I honestly feel pretty odd about making this kind of request, but I strongly believe that this book and the stories of these students can have a powerfully positive impact on the students themselves, and anyone who has the chance to hear their stories.
You can donate on our campaign page here, as well as watch a video about the book project, see photos of the students and the process so far, and learn more about the details of the book. And please feel free to share this email, or parts of it, with whomever you think would have an interest in this project.
By helping fund this project, I truly believe you are helping empower a generation that will work to build a nation where all voices are heard and valued.
Sending love to you all!
Yours,
Tea
Here are some helpful links if you want more information:
Green Card Voices website: www.greencardvoices.org
Indiegogo Campaign:

Tea Rozman Clark, Ph.D.
Executive Director, Green Card Voices
2015-17 Bush Leadership Fellow
@ Intermedia Arts 2822 Lyndale Ave South, Minneapolis, MN 55408
612.889. 76. 35, tea@greencardvoices.com, www.greencardvoices.org
Facebook fan page
: https://www.facebook.com/GreenCardVoices
Follow Us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/GreenCardVoices
Follow Us on Instagram: http://instagram.com/greencardvoices
Donate: Please visit our web site to learn how you can help by making your tax-deductible donation today:http://www.greencardvoices.com/donate-now/
Get involved: http://www.greencardvoices.com/get-involved/
Educate: If you are a teacher we encourage you to use our resources! If you are interested in joining our pilot educational program feel free to send us your request at info@greencardvoices.com and we will be happy to send you the Teaching Guides customized for your classroom’s skill level.
Host a Touring Photo Exhibition: Photographers Justin Evidon and Neha Belvalkar captured the beautiful portraits of American immigrants as a part of the Green Card Voices project. If you are interested in having a photo exhibition at your location or organization, please contact us at: info@greencardvoices.com.

#1094 – Dick Bernard: A Homily to begin a New Year

See also Jan 11 and Jan 20, 2016
My Christmas message here, Dec. 17, 2015.
Aloha.
We just returned from nineteen days in Hawaii, most of which time was a wonderful visit with my cousin, Georgine, and her circle, as well as the use of her home on the Big Island of Hawaii.
Mahalo!
Only one previous time, in 1985, did I visit Hawaii. Certainly I’m no expert on our 50th state. Still, there are many learnings, simply from observing. In later posts, I’ll share more observations about the Hawaii I saw the past 19 days. This initial post focuses on events part of three of those days.
We are home bodies. Christmas and New Years this year was far away from home. One becomes aware of customs and traditions, similarities and differences, inclusion and, yes, exclusion.
December 23 was not a particularly good day, and in mid-afternoon in a McDonalds restaurant in a Kailua-Kona Walmart, I had the good fortune of passing about an hour of time listening to a concert of community elders sitting across from me (picture below, click to enlarge). They were simply folks, singing in English, and in Hawaiian, tunes familiar, and unfamiliar. At most, there were about nine in number. It was a very pleasant time, and they seemed pleased there was an audience.

Singers in McD's in Kailua-Kona Hawaii, Dec. 23, 2015

Singers in McD’s in Kailua-Kona Hawaii, Dec. 23, 2015


Earlier, the Honolulu Star-Advertiser Dec. 20 edition featured an essay by Minnesota home-boy Garrison Keillor on Christmas. Neat: GK Honolulu Star-Adv001.
But the high-lite for me was the Christmas Day homily of Fr. Stephen at Annunciation Church in Waimea (called Kamuela by the post office, as there are six Waimea’s in the islands.)
One doesn’t have to be Catholic or even Christian to know the basics of the Christmas story: Jesus was conceived and born, and on goes the story.
I happened to be sitting in a pew directly in front of a doll, the infant Jesus, which, ironically, was directly in my sight-line to the crucifix on the wall behind the altar.
Fr. Stephen had a very simple Christmas message which I interpreted like this: Jesus was born, and then he died, and then he was resurrected…the basic elements of the story we all know.
But in a most gentle way this teacher seemed to nudge my thinking in a new way. Surely, Jesus went away, leaving his disciples behind, those folks who had become dependent on him doing miracles and such. There they were, stuck with continuing the hard work Jesus had begun.
In a sense, perhaps, we were being reminded by our homilist that we need to learn that we are the ones who “must be”, as Gandhi so famously said, “the change we wish to see in the world”. We cannot delegate our responsibility to someone else. At least that is how I heard the message.
I started to see the Christmas message a bit differently than I had always seen it. If those apostles of Jesus were a bit slow on the uptake, so long as he was on the scene, so are we, and its best that we nudge ourselves off of our sense of hopelessness or dependence on whatever it is that holds us back, and get to work, actively, in our own spaces and places to make our community, our world, a better place for everyone. It’s not enough to blame the President, or the Republicans, or whomever. We are, each of us, responsible….
With our involvement the world can indeed become a better place.
At the end of Mass December 25, the excellent community choir sang the Hawaiian Christmas song – you’ve all heard it: here’s Bing Crosby’s rendition.
Mahalo, everyone at Annunciation in Waimea, Big Island, Hawaii.
Fr. Macedo, Dec 25, 2015

Fr. Macedo, Dec 25, 2015


Annunciation Choir 12 25 2015

Annunciation Choir 12 25 2015


A PS: A couple of days later I was back in the same Church, again listening to the same choir, and the same pastor. It was Holy Family Sunday. The message this time was about the tough time this Biblical family had for some years after Jesus was born. As Christians know, Herod was not especially happy at this new child. The family was not welcome. They became “Illegal Immigrants” for a considerable time
After church, myself, this stranger, this short term “migrant” in Waimea, was welcomed to participate in the after Mass hospitality.
Migrants are not a pleasant topic these days.
Back home, going through mountains of mail was a Refugee Facts001. Might be a good fact sheet to look at as this New Year begins.
Aloha.

#1091 – Jerome Meyer* and Dick Bernard: At Christmas Season 2015. The Old Red Barn; and The Cottonwood Tree

As 2015 ends, all best wishes for peace and kindness embracing everyone, everywhere. As sung so movingly at Pope Francis’ visit to the Twin Towers Memorial in NYC some months ago, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”
Here are two stories to help bring perspective as 2015 comes towards an end.
Pictured, the old Ferd and Rosa Busch barn between Berlin and Grand Rapids ND, built about 1915; unused since 1997. (Photos by Tom Maloney on May 24, 2015.) The Cottonwood tree (link at the end of this post) remains, about a half mile east of the old barn.
(click on any photo to enlarge it)

The Busch barn, rural Berlin/Grand Rapids/LaMoure ND May, 2015, by Tom Maloney

The Busch barn, rural Berlin/Grand Rapids/LaMoure ND May, 2015, by Tom Maloney


The Busch barn, rural Berlin/Grand Rapids/LaMoure ND, May 24, 2015, by Tom Maloney

The Busch barn, rural Berlin/Grand Rapids/LaMoure ND, May 24, 2015, by Tom Maloney


Psst! Hey you. Yeah, I mean you.
It’s me speaking. The old red barn. I’m guessing very few of you have ever seen me because I’m tucked away on an old abandoned farm acreage near a seldom used township road a few miles from the main hiway and somewhat hidden by a large grove of trees.
So, why am I talking to you?
Well, I just heard from a reliable source that I will be torn down, smashed and buried in a big hole and finally covered up by the Mother Earth I was built on. I’m sure my demise will not show up in the death notice column in the local paper; and there probably won’t be an obituary.
So before I’m no longer around I would like to say a few things to you.
I probably have had three or four farm owners in my life time. And sad to say the current owner no longer has any use for me, I’m so obsolete. I knew my time on Earth was getting short, as so many of my barn friends have disappeared from the local landscape.
For most of my life I could see up to 10 barns over the horizon. Now I can only see one across the barren field and that one has it’s days numbered too. I’ m sure my current owner needs a little more land for a larger farm profit.
I probably was built in the late 1930’s. I’m too old now to remember the exact year. This makes me well into my 90’s.
I’ve seen many good productive farm years and a few bad ones and years when the owners struggled just to exist and make bank payments. Some how we all survived. I’ve felt summer temperatures of more than 100 degrees and winter temperatures of 20 degrees below zero with very strong winds.
I’m still standing. Very few metal nails were used when I was built from local timber because most of my wood frame was held together by wooden pegs.
Boy, was I a beautiful sight when I was built. I thought I was a castle. For awhile I was the best looking barn in the township with a bright coat of red paint, white trim, a shiny roof, four tall lightning rods, and a big weather vane on top of a large dome shaped cupola.
I had new pulleys and a long trolley under the roof to hoist the bales up in the hay loft from the wagons.
In the early days, similar to all my fellow barns, I was the farm building with the most activity. I was used seven days a week 365 days per year. I provided shelter and a home for 12 cows that were milked twice per day. The mornings were started early as the farmer milked at 5 am in the morning, then came back at 5 pm for the evening milking.
There were always a few calves in the pens, sometimes a few pigs, and in the early days, four work horses that were used for field work before modern tractors took over.
There were always about a dozen cats that called me home. They couldn’t wait until the milking started because they always got a good supply of fresh, warm milk. I also had a large storage area in the hayloft where bales were stored for the milk cows to eat and straw for their bedding.
I even got electricity sometime in the early 1940’s. Then, the old kerosene lanterns were only used when electricity went out during storms.
I still can hear the faint sounds of laughter of the children playing games and swinging on the ropes hanging from my wooden beams. Believe it or not, I even had a barn dance when one of the farmer’s daughters got married.
Sometimes people made fun of my name by asking “were you born in the barn?” if you left the door open in the house and the cold air came in. Or if your fly was down on your trousers, people would say “your barn door is down”.
What glorious memories I hold onto. I’m now old, tired and spent. My wood frame is bending, my foundation is crumbling, and I’m about to fall over. The cold North winter winds continue to shake my whole body.
However, I have no regrets, I have served my owners well, and I’m proud of it. I haven’t been used in the last 20 years. My roof now is battered and has a big hole in it, so I sometimes get wet inside when it rains and when the snow blows in.
My once bright red paint now is faded, most of my windows are broken, my wood frame is leaning, the lightning rods are broken off and my weather vane is rusted in one position.
The original farmyard light no longer is on electricity and has been disconnected for many years. The only light I have now is nature’s sun and an occasional bright moon.
I still have a few feathered friends visiting me and a couple of cats that seek shelter. I wonder where they will go when I am gone.
So, I guess this is the last time you will hear from me. The few area farmers I still have around me probably will give me only a quick glance and then go on with their daily work when the big rigs arrive to take me down, bury me and cover me up.
I can’t complain though, because I have had a good, productive life. Hopefully there will be a few people who will remember me. But that soon will pass as new generations farm. My only regret is I will have no marker where I will be buried, and no one will ever visit my grave site. But I guess that’s okay – I was just an old barn.
Summer corn fields will now hover over me, and winter ice and snow will cover me.
Well, I’ve got to go now because I see the sun is setting in the West, and the end of the day for me has come.
By Jerome Meyer of Albert Lea Minn.
Our generation was lucky to have lived and enjoyed these things.
It’s sad the next generations will not have these memories.

The Busch Barn, the morning after the roof blew off, late July, 1949

The Busch Barn, the morning after the roof blew off, late July, 1949


F. W. Busch farmstead, with brand new barn, 1916.

F. W. Busch farmstead, with brand new barn, 1916.


The original barn at right, circa 1907.  This first barn was just to the north of the second barn.     Busch farm harvest time 1907.  Rosa Busch holds her daughter Lucina, Others in photo include Ferd, behind the grain shock; Rosa's sister, Lena, and Ferds father Wilhelm, and young brother William Busch.  It is unknown who was unloading the grain in background.  Possibly, it was Ferds brother, Leonard, who also farmed for a time in ND.

The original barn at right, circa 1907. This first barn was just to the north of the second barn.
Busch farm harvest time 1907. Rosa Busch holds her daughter Lucina, Others in photo include Ferd, behind the grain shock; Rosa’s sister, Lena, and Ferds father Wilhelm, and young brother William Busch. It is unknown who was unloading the grain in background. Possibly, it was Ferds brother, Leonard, who also farmed for a time in ND.


ABOUT ANOTHER FARM VETERAN: an essay I wrote about a Cottonwood tree on the same Busch farm, here.
* – The cast of characters for the stories, above:
Someone named Jerome Meyer apparently wrote the story about a barn near Albert Lea MN, which is above. As yet, I have been I unable to verify, or get permission from, the author, or know when the article was written, but his story, from my own childhood experience, rings so very true. It came to me as an e-mail, forwarded by a long-time good friend. My thanks, and if necessary, apology, to the real author of the Old Barn.
All blessings to everyone, everywhere.
COMMENT:
from Madeline, Dec. 12: While I was in Sweden, I learned why barns are traditionally red. Scandinavians brought the concept with them to the US: link here.
from Christina: I so enjoyed the piece about the old barn. It brought tears to my eyes. I forwarded it to my brothers and sisters and my kids. My youngest son bought my folks’ farmstead about two years ago. It’s a different house but still the same old barn. One of my brothers said he thought it would be OK to tear that barn down. I think he just wanted to tell us if we want to tear it down it would be OK. When I forwarded this piece I said I hoped [my son] would let the barn die and fall on its own. My Dad’s name is still written on the milk separator door. The barn has so many memories. Thank you for sending it. I copied the piece so I could keep it.
A Blessed Christmas to you and your family.
from Norm: Like all oldies, even the barn has added a few years: [from the post] “I probably was built in the late 1930’s. I’m too old now to remember the exact year. This makes me well into my 90’s.” We like hearing, “Wow! You don’t look a day over 75.” Wonderful piece Dick and makes me want to do something similar for some of the memories around.
from Larry: Having grown up on a farm, I, too,have have memories of our old barn. I was about 4 when our barn was brought across Bald Hill Creek (which ran through our farm) from somewhere south of us. Playing in the hay mow, milking cows since I was about 7, turning the cream separator before we got electricity in 1947 or ’48. Our old barn “died” when I was a grown man, and my mom had it buried. Now the old house is gone, too, so it is too difficult to visit my old home.
from Jerry: I enjoyed the story of the red barn. I have watched many barns end their life too, including one on the farm where I grew up. As a kid, some of those barns seem enormous and stately.
from Norm: A great observation from the old red barn!
We had two similar barns on our farm, one of which is still standing albeit eight feet lower than it was when originally built on an adjacent farm that my Dad bought many years ago. The thing was toppled by the wind before it could be anchored down on its new foundation and had to be jacked up, that is, primarily the roof, with new sides put in place and some roof damage repaired before it could be used again.
I am sure that it has lots of stories to tell as well and I will have to seek them out the next time I am at the farm that is now owned by one of my brothers and myself.
The other barn was knocked down and buried many years ago just as apparently is the fate of the red barn whose story you shared with us.
Ah yes, lots of good memories, Dick, of growing up on a modest farm (by Iowa or North Dakota standards) albeit with lots of hard work and toil often for very modest returns. On the other hand, we raised our own beef and chickens so we never starved and, of course, never thought that we were poor or whatever.
from Jane: Thanks, Dick. We have an old barn here on our farm, built into our hillside in 1901. Luckily it has had a metal roof for about the last 50 years, so it is doing pretty well. We saved it from pushing out and down the hill about 20 years ago. Our barn was built by Ole and Lena Waage, so we have Ole and Lena’s barn! We’d love to renovate it, if Santa leaves the where-with-all!

#1090 – Dick Bernard: Muslims

Seek First to Understand, Then To Be Understood; Stephen Covey, Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.

A mosque and cemetery on the North Dakota prairie, July 28, 2007

A mosque and cemetery on the North Dakota prairie, July 28, 2007


(click on photos to enlarge them)
A place of Peace, the Ross Mosque, July 28, 2007

A place of Peace, the Ross Mosque, July 28, 2007


My growing up was in the tiniest of communities in various parts of North Dakota. The population density of ND, then, was roughly ten persons per square mile. Today it is really not much different.
We lived in eight different places in my first eighteen years, twice, literally, in the country. Five of those eighteen years, our closest neighbors were farmers. Sometimes the towns were mostly Catholic (my “brand”), sometimes mostly Lutheran, with a few other Protestants tossed in. If there were atheists (and there were atheists, I’m certain), they kept quiet….
There was almost no cultural diversity of any kind worth noting in those small towns of my youth.
Then there was 1953-54, my eighth grade year, in the “blink of an eye” town of Ross where I met the only childhood friend I still keep up with regularly, 62 years later.
I knew him as Emmett, a farm kid; the official records record his first name as Mohammed. I am forever grateful that he and I met, and have stayed in contact ever since. He was and is a great gift to me.
The rest of this part of the story is here, from Sep 5, 2010.
For those who are all stirred up about Muslims these days, but really have never actually known a Muslim, I’d recommend this, my own, story about a Muslim kid and his farm family and kinfolk in my tiny North Dakota town.
Many years have passed by since 1953-54.
I have known many Muslims in many contexts over the years.
Just last year I spent a couple of months with Ehtasham and Suhail, from Pakistan, whose project was to film Americans who professed peace.
Ehtasham interviewing Native American author and Vietnam War veteran Jim Northrup, Memorial Day, 2014, Vets for Peace gathering.

Ehtasham interviewing Native American author and Vietnam War veteran Jim Northrup, Memorial Day, 2014, Vets for Peace gathering.


(Ehtasham Anwars Facebook page includes two video summaries of his interviews of 10 Minnesota Peacemakers. Take a look. Scroll down right hand side.)
Sometimes I see amusing things, like the time, in my town, when I saw a tall Catholic Nun in the traditional black habit, coming out of the local FedEx. She brought back old Catholic school boy memories for me. She was out of place, that’s for sure. Then the person opened the car door and when she turned I saw that she had her face covered, in full hijab.
The only generalization I can make about Muslims is that they are just good people, like anyone else.
Occasionally, certainly, a rotten apple can be found in the barrel of life – it is no work of genius to find an example.
But we Christians, and those who are Jews, don’t have to look very hard to find our own very bad examples. Start with supposed “leaders” who gin up fear and resentment of some “other” for political advantage.
But at its essence, all of us, all of humanity – share common roots; and we are generally good people.
Take the time to really appreciate others you may not know, and appreciate their own customs and traditions which are very rich.
There are many positive websites. Here’s one to begin with: Islamic Resource Group. Another is Unity Productions Foundation.
Ruhel and Lynn, Dec. 2, 2015, Bloomington MN

Ruhel and Lynn, Dec. 2, 2015, Bloomington MN


When we went to visit our friend, Lynn Elling, in the Nursing Home, Ruhel Islam of Gandhi Mahal Restaurant in Minneapolis brought along soup and bread from the restaurant, and helped feed Lynn. It was a very tender time.
It will always stay in my mind that at the very time Ruhel was helping Lynn eat the soup he had brought, the two killers in San Bernardino were preparing to press the trigger in their insane rampage. We had no way of knowing that. Ruhel’s action represented the very best of humanity, what we see most. The killers in any places represent the murderous fringe of all societies.
Who do we wish to recognize and empower?
POSTSCRIPT:
There seems considerable fantasy thinking when the emphasis is on the belief that terror can be kept out, by refusing to allow people who might theoretically do bad things in.
Not only can we not keep terror out, but the very hysteria of labeling people or groups as somehow evil only magnifies the threat to us.
I have a small personal example from a dozen years ago.
I was invited to join a delegation going to Haiti in 2003. I was the oldest in the group, and I went only as an opportunity to learn. That was my sole agenda.
On a particular day, we were invited to visit with a group of men and women from a slum, all of whom had been victims of political oppression, including rape, and the like. It was plausibly believed, at the time, that the United States was behind a move to oust the democratically elected President of Haiti, whose constituency was the poor, the very constituency we were visiting. The U.S. had previously supported the long-time brutal dictator of the country and, paradoxically, was not enamored of “democracy” in that impoverished country.
I just sat and listened as people described the outrages that had happened to them some years earlier. I had nothing to say. I took a few photos.
Afterwards, after a lunch provided by us, we went around the group to shake hands.
One of the men – I remember this vividly – refused to shake my hand.
I reminded him of something. Perhaps my age, my race, my nation, my demeanor reminded him of something offensive, probably related to the historical long time dominance over his country by the United States of America.
The “blowback” these days for dissing someone else is very likely and deliberate.
In even the poorest countries there are cell phones and television and networks now. People are aware.
What happened in Haiti sticks in my mind whenever I’m reminded of the gracious invitation of my friend in Pakistan to come and visit his country. Who is it who will see this American if I visit, and I remind him of something?
In other words, we make bad things much much worse by our “better than thou” attitude.
Our national arrogance is not helpful.

#1086 – Dick Bernard: "Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream…A Million Copies Made"

Lynn Elling, Sep 21, 2015, at Dedication of Minneapolis' Open Book as a Peace Site, sponsored by Minnesota Peace and Social Justice Writers Group

Lynn Elling, Sep 21, 2015, at Dedication of Minneapolis’ Open Book as a Peace Site, sponsored by Minnesota Peace and Social Justice Writers Group


Eight years ago – it was June of 2007 – I decided to drop in on the annual meeting of World Citizen, one of the member groups of the Minnesota Alliance of Peacemakers, of which I was then President.
During this meeting, an elderly man, Lynn Elling, who turned out to be the person who had founded World Citizen back in 1972, stood up and gave his 86-years young rendition of the peace anthem composed by songwriter Ed McCurdy, and made popular by John Denver, and many others: “Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream”.
A couple of weeks later, at the annual meeting of another MAP member organization, Citizens for Global Solutions, Lynn and his wife, Donna, sat down at the same table as myself, and he “set the hook” (those who know him know what that’s all about – for others, he’s a retired salesman!). For eight years now, in varying ways, I’ve tried the impossible, to keep up with Lynn Elling*, WWII Navy officer and lifelong peace advocate.
Early in our acquaintance, I learned that in 1971, Lynn borrowed John Denver for a day, and John sang his song, and another, and talked about peace in our world, for the film Man’s Next Giant Leap, which can be watched here.
I write about this today, for a couple of reasons:
First, Lynn, now closer to 95 than 94, is being transferred to Presbyterian Homes in Bloomington (98th and Penn). A day or two ago, it looked like finis for my friend, but the “old bird”, as he describes himself, doesn’t accept invitations from Father Time readily. So, sometime in the next day or two, Lynn’s health permitting, his friend Ruhel Islam of Gandhi Mahal, Larry Long and myself, will go down and hear Lynn’s story, once again. (If you know Lynn, and plan to visit, call Presbyterian Homes first (952-948-3000); and plan a trip Dec 2 or later.)
We’ll all know that Lynn’s every Friday evening at Gandhi Mahal has probably ended, and it will be a bittersweet visit.
Either of us could pass on before Lynn – that’s how life goes, you know. But the odds are not in Lynn’s favorite in this race: he has a long head start.
He’s run a good race for a lot of years, and it’s getting to be time to move on.
The second reason, relates to Ed McCurdy’s simple but powerful song about A Million Copies….
At this moment in history, it is easy to be terminally depressed about the state of our world. All you need to do is to watch the TV “news”.
But there is a major climate conference going on in Paris which is serious business. Sure, far too late, but going on nonetheless.
And there are major initiatives going on, largely not covered by the “mainstream media” to deal positively with the Syrian Refugee Crisis, and the xenophobia that has gained currency in the current U.S. Presidential candidate contests.
The event of the week is the attempt of politicians to get political distance away from the horrific incidents at the Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs. Were it not so very sad, it would almost be funny to see the attempts to manipulate the story. If you’ve got the time, read a long summary here.
Here’s what my own Church newsletter had to say about the Syrian Refugees on Sunday: Basilica Refugees001. Places like Basilica of St. Mary take on these issues.
Then there’s the business of “a million copies made”.
When McCurdy wrote his song, “leadership” was considered to be “man’s work”, and getting signatures of a million men was a very, very tall order.
The song was a fantasy.
Today women and kids are far greater players in all ways in this world, with much more power, if they so choose. And the men, not in McCurdy’s room, have far more power as well.
Still it is far easier to click a box on a screen in favor, or against something; or just fall into hopeless mode. “I can’t do anything anyway, why bother?”
But as in McCurdy’s Dream, individual effort is what will, in the long term make the difference.
The future is not to be delegated.
If you can’t make a million copies, make one, or two, or twenty.
Do something beyond your comfort zone, and do it every day.
Dick Bernard, Ruhel Islam, Lynn Elling, Larry Long, December 2, 2015

Dick Bernard, Ruhel Islam, Lynn Elling, Larry Long, December 2, 2015


* – The website behind Lynns’ name, A Million Copies, is a tribute to two passionate advocates for Peace and Justice, Lynn Elling and Dr. Joseph Schwartzberg. It is in need of maintenance, but remains identical to when I put it on line in March, 2008.