Imagination

Winter Retreat

Jeanna GLeave a comment

Back in middle and high school, my church youth group took an annual trip to Camp Squanto in New Hampshire for a Winter Retreat. The recent weather impacts across the country have me thinking an awful lot about that trip. You see, growing up in the Northeast, we expect bad winter weather so much, that it’s never really bad, because we’re prepared. We can appreciate and enjoy the beauty of snow because, for one thing, when it arrives, it sticks around for awhile. Secondly, we know how to manage it efficiently, leaving time for play. So regardless of the weather, we’d still make the trip further north to camp, where we’d retreat from the stress of school, and play with our friends in the seclusion and serenity of a Winter Wonderland.

In the north there were 10’ snow banks on which we were kings. Sledding hills were covered in enough snow to ensure a smooth ride and cushion at the bottom. We would build snow forts, dig tunnel mazes, and have massive snowball fights. We could snow shoe and cross-country ski our way to the store. And the ice actually froze thick enough that we could fish, skate, or play hockey without worrying (too much!) about falling through.

Snow much fun!

One of my favorites memories of the Winter Retreat was playing Broom Hockey. We’d sweep off the outline of a large square on the surface of the lake. Everyone had a broom, and there was one ball. The game was won when one of the teams swept the ball all the way around the square one time. Sounds easy enough until you consider that everyone is slipping in their winter boots, and the other team is trying to steal the ball and move it in the opposite direction around the square. The games would go on late into the night. Then we’d tiptoe into the Dining Hall and warm up with hot cocoa before collapsing into bed.

I have so many sweet memories of the beauty and fun of my childhood winters, that living in the south in the winter leaves me feeling rather rueful. The winters down here are cold with little to no snow. Lately we’ve had rain, freezing rain, ice, and more rain; not much to enjoy about that. Ironically, when most people move south to retreat from winter, I’d rather retreat to winter!

Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler!

Jeanna G1 Comment

It’s Marci Gras! I did my part to make sure Fat Tuesday lived up to its name by making and eating an absurd amount of gumbo and cornbread. I’ve never been to the Mardi Gras festival, but I have been to New Orleans, and our hotel was right on Bourbon Street, and we visited the Mardi Gras museum to see the floats. I was also traveling with my 7-year-old at the time, so I had to be somewhat prudent. Anyhow, I was watching the news this morning about New Orleans and how there is no parade because of Covid, but houses and yards are decorated to the nines. One interviewee said, “The parade may be cancelled, but the spirit of Marci Gras cannot!” And that is when I got teary-eyed.

I don’t know about you, but I hope post-Covid celebrations rush in like someone opened the floodgates. Potential memories are being stolen from us. Sweet memories of passing out cupcakes on your birthday or Valentines to your classmates were erased like a chalkboard this past year. Dancing like nobody’s watching on a crowded amphitheater lawn is only a hallucination. Singing the school fight song with 109,000 other fans in the university stadium must have been a figment of my imagination. Hugging and holding hands? Only in our wildest dreams. Festivals, reunions, and play dates are all fictional chapters of our now boring lives. Gosh, I even fantasize about struggling to get the bartender’s attention during happy hour!

I hope when we become a herd again, we become immune to boredom. I hope we flock together and have a parade. A day of parades all over the world with singing and dancing, and everyone has a seat together at the grandstand with a perfect view of the spectacle. But the timing of these Mardi Gras celebrations will be reversed, because we’ve been abstaining for too long, as if we’d given up togetherness for lent. It’s time for the spirit of Mardi Gras that has been hibernating in our hearts to wake up, take a real good stretch, and let the good times roll!

Homage to My Dad

Jeanna GLeave a comment

I knew it would be a good day when, early on a Saturday morning, my dad would wake me up by singing, “Good morning! Good morning! How are you today? Good morning! Good morning! It’s time to get up and play!” Then he would whisk me off to a secret father-daughter breakfast at the Dandy Lion diner. Some of my fondest memories are of time spent playing with and learning from, or just being with my dad.

Any time I have a question, he has an answer. He isn’t showing off, or making up answers to move me along, he’s just really stinkin’ smart! My education would have been a lot more difficult, and much less successful, if my dad hadn’t taken the time to help me.

Aside from helping me with schoolwork, he taught, and continues to teach, me many practical skills. He isn’t “MacGyver,” but he can fix just about anything. Just watching him work encourages me to be resourceful and thorough. First, I study what needs to be fixed, and then it seems as though a conveyor belt of potential, readily available tools runs through my mind until I settle on the perfect ones. Then, voila! Problem solved. Dad would take me along to the lumberyard and hardware store, and he’d let me sit at his workbench out in the garage. I see him break things, and instead of showing anger or embarrassment, he jokes, “One step forward, two steps back!” I laugh with him, but each time is truly a lesson in persistence and the importance of trial and error. At 81, his workbench is still in the garage, but now it’s known as “Papa’s Fix-It Shop.”

We built a dollhouse together.  First he taught me how to draw pictures using perspective, enabling me to create on paper the image of the house that I had in my mind.  Next we bought the supplies and built my dream house.  I didn’t even use it all that much.  It was the shared process that I enjoyed the most.

Dad taught me how to fish.  We would go out to Christensen’s pond, bait our own hooks, cast our lines, and sit and wait. We even tried ice fishing there! We didn’t last long, even with bottom heaters, but that’s an experience I won’t forget.

Dad isn’t a jock like some other fathers, but he encouraged physical activity. He would go to the gym to swim and workout. He took me to the biggest hill to go sledding, and he taught me how to successfully swing a golf club. He would cheer me on from the sidelines of the soccer field and applaud my dance recitals. Dad also signed up to coach my town basketball team when I was in elementary school.  I don’t remember ever actually handling the ball during those games; I just ran up and down the court.  He didn’t give me a hard time about ‘getting in the game.’  He saw that I was having fun, and knew that was enough.  From there, my love for the fun of the game grew.  I became more and more involved in sports as the years passed, ultimately leading to a career in teaching others how to live a healthy life through physical activity. And, having both graduated from Big 10 schools, we always have something sports-related to talk about and root for.

Dad also took me to the Gun Club to teach me how to shoot. We’d practice with his revolver at the range. I learned a lot about safety, control, and patience from those outings.  

Dad taught me how to create art using sunlight and a magnifying glass.  I learned about poetry, and gained an appreciation for jazz.  I was able to internalize the values of listening without interrupting, living one day at a time, and ‘letting go.’  One day he would teach me how to draw a body in proportion, and the next would be a lesson in operating a manual transmission.  A regular lesson is, “Say your prayers and take your C’s!”  He is a modern day Renaissance man, and I am forever grateful for the knowledge he is so willing to share and instill.

When mom worked nights, dad and I would cook together.  During my vegetarian phase, he used the opportunity to introduce me to okra, eggplant, and falafel.  Peanut butter and pickles is an unforgettable combination, as are the sundaes he could always conjure up for TV time.

I knew it would be a peaceful night’s rest when dad would tuck me in and, instead of reading me a storybook, he would create a tale on the spot.  Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear would always have a new, exciting adventure, in which Baby Bear would prove to be heroic and successful.  She would swim to the rescue of a distressed swimmer, or score the game-winning goal.  The sky was the limit for “Baby Bear,” and he never leads me to believe otherwise. Now my daughter tells me of his nighttime stories in which she is the heroine, and they seem to have the same enchanting effect.

Oftentimes, it seems as though fathers get nervous about how to relate to their daughters, asking, “What do I say to her?, What would we do together?, or How will we connect?” If my father ever lacked confidence in how to address these quandaries, I could never tell. The adventures and lessons didn’t happen everyday, but they were regular, and they still exist.  The fact that he came home from work every evening and asked me about my day could have been enough.  But he took the time to share his self with me, and that is how I know he loves me.  It’s as easy as that.

I am filled with awe as he, now as Papa, continues to share his time and talents by creating meaningful, invaluable experiences with my daughter.

What do you miss doing with your dad? What did you learn from him? What do you wish you had been able to do with your dad? What would you change and what would you keep the same? How will those experiences affect how you parent?