A Locavore Christmas 2021 Part One: Judy Siegel Photography

The cargo ships are still docked, unpacked, unshipped, and threatening to ruin Christmas. We are now in Whoville, folks. But don’t despair!

What an awesome opportunity for me to make my annual case for Christmas shopping locally! Not just – support American made products. One step further – support your neighbor’s products.

My newest favorite local business is Judy Siegel Photography and I’m extremely excited that she has opened a sales feature on her Facebook page so the public can purchase her products. https://m.facebook.com/JudySiegelPhotography/

Judy is extremely gifted at artistic photography and has focused her merchandise thematically on the State of Michigan. Her phenomenal piece – Mackinac on the Rocks – qualified to compete in this year’s ArtPrize in Grand Rapids.

Judy is an amazing person who continually freely gives her time and energy and talent to the community – particularly to the City of Hudson. She posts beautiful photos of life in Hudson on the city’s social media. Donates her work to the local paper. Has captured incredible images of our city’s churches, businesses, downtown -and gifted them. Her generosity is above and beyond.

If you love the natural beauty of the Great State of Michigan or are Christmas shopping for a homesick Michigander who could use a reminder of home, this is where you need to be! Gifts range in price from a few dollars to a (worth-it) hundreds of dollars.

I highly recommend the 2022 Calendars. Why? The photographs are #PureMichigan in all its gorgeous. My daughter made it into one of the photos. The cost – $20 – is extremely reasonable. Everybody needs a wall calendar, so it’s extremely giftable. And a 2022 Calendar signifies hope that there will be a 2022!

If I were looking for the best. meaningful. family heirloom level. gift… the metal version of “Mackinac on the Rocks.” Absolutely, no question. You may have seen it on display at the Hillsdale County Fair. If so, you know I’m right. It is stunning. Can’t afford this version? It comes as a print in various sizes and is also on other merchandise like t-shirts, including girl/women-fit and all the ladies said Amen to not wearing boxy men’s tees!

I’m intrigued by the $4 gorgeous stickers she is selling. As someone who dabbles in crafts and in scrapbooking, I see a zillion usages. My understanding is that some of the stickers are dishwasher safe so can be added to drinking cups. Easiest craft project EVER!

You can buy directly from Judy Siegel Photography. Or, her products are available in Hillsdale, Michigan at The Gifted Garden. https://m.facebook.com/pages/category/Art/The-Gifted-Garden-of-Hillsdale-104502708388316/

Thank you Judy for all you have contributed to our community. It’s time to pay you back and cross some people off our shopping lists at the same time!

Fight Like A Girl – May is Mental Health Awareness Month

May is Mental Health Awareness Month: Fight Like A Girl

At the beginning of 2010, I was a healthy, happy, creative, energetic, career-focused, wife and mom, Type A, go-getter whose only medical problems were seasonal allergies and dysmenorrhea. Ten years later, every aspect of my health was in shambles.

One of the most disheartening things I’ve learned in the past eleven years is how unfair the medical community is toward women. The research is solid. Women seeking medical help are not believed, not tested, not diagnosed, and not adequately treated in comparison to men. Women are far more likely to be labeled a hypochondriac or to be immediately written prescriptions for anxiety and/or depression. They are less likely to be prescribed pain medication than men – even with the exact same injury and treated by the exact same doctor. The Michigan pain laws and the corresponding prescription system are heavily biased against females. This has been a recurring theme in my story – including nearly dying from a Graves Disease induced heart attack after being told my problem was I needed a hobby. Let’s be real. No man would EVER be told that by their doctor.

https://www.heartandstroke.ca/articles/heart-disease-in-women-they-told-me-it-was-anxiety

Donna Jackson Nakazawa, one of the most widely respected experts on autoimmune diseases and demographic bias said this: “The average patient with autoimmune disease sees six doctors before attaining a correct diagnosis. Recent surveys conducted by the American Autoimmune Related Diseases Association reveal that 45 percent of patients with autoimmune diseases have been labeled hypochondriacs in the earliest stages of their illnesses. Some of this, no doubt, has to do with the fact that 75 percent to 80 percent of autoimmune disease sufferers are women, who are more easily dismissed by the medical establishment when hard-to-diagnose symptoms arise. In half of all cases, women with autoimmune disease are told there is nothing wrong with them for an average of five years before receiving diagnosis and treatment. Patients — most especially women — are often left feeling both confused and marginalized, or worse, labeled as psychosomatic malingerers.”

That has been EXACTLY my experience!

I’ve laughingly said that if men had periods, there would be morphine drip poles at every work station and each man would get 5 paid sick days each month. I’m only half joking. Dysmenorrhea puts women at a huge disadvantage in the work force – both in missing days of work due to pain and also in general lost productivity while at work. Does anyone truly believe accommodations wouldn’t be made if males had pieces of uterine tissue falling out of them every 28 days? Well… in Michigan, a day of golf has zero sales tax. Tampons and pads – 6% sales tax. 36 states tax feminine hygiene products. This issue has been brought to our legislative committees year after year and never gets any further. My favorite comment by a male legislator regarding women in poverty being kept out of the workforce and girls out of school due to the cost of feminine hygiene products: Newspapers can be used as sanitary napkins. Yes, because every woman in poverty that I know has a newspaper subscription. And for real, what the freaking heck?

This article is infuriating… https://michigangolfjournal.com/dont-take-for-granted-this-game-we-love/

EBT cards (food stamps) cover potato chips, candy, pop, ice cream, birthday cakes… but not tampons. WIC does not include tampons and pads – even though its mission is to help women post-childbirth. Community food pantries can purchase in bulk with government subsidies. Feminine hygiene products are not available with this program. Female prisoners must purchase their own, at highly inflated prices. Or go without.

Providing basic supplies for women to use during menstruation is a human dignity issue.

http://blog.legalvoice.org/2015/05/dignity-hygiene-period.html?m=1#:~:text=Because%20tampons%20and%20pads%20are,stamps%20to%20afford%20these%20necessities.

https://www.today.com/health/menstrual-pain-linked-days-lost-productivity-women-having-periods-t157332

There’s as much of a stigma attached to female reproductive health as there is to mental illness. And there is a lot of overlap. Over 50% of new mothers experience mild depression. Up to 15% of these women will develop a more severe and longer-lasting depression, called postpartum depression, after delivery. One in 1,000 women develop the more serious condition called postpartum psychosis.

75% of women with regular menstrual cycles state they have PMS (Premenstrual Syndrome) when described as: anger, irritability, depression, and internal tension. 40% add the word severe. Around 8% have PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder) – which is physical and psychological symptoms so debilitating that the woman cannot participate in normal daily life. I have been diagnosed with this. Yet… the topic is so taboo that it’s rarely talked about. Even less acknowledged is the disparity between men and women when it comes to sexual health. Doctors and Big Pharma will move heaven and earth to help men have functional sex lives. In some US states, and in some countries, courts have ruled that men in prison have the “right” to access both Viagra and pornography.

We’re all adults here. I was straight-up with my OBGYN about pelvic pain. Her answer – you have anxiety and that would be up to a different doctor to treat. No. Anxiety doesn’t cause crippling pain, cramping, and bleeding. I have severe endometriosis, cysts, fibroids, and a friable cervix. They have nothing to do with anxiety. I needed something for pain. I got a second opinion. OBGYN – we don’t treat pain related to sexuality. It’s typically caused by anxiety, which would be up to a psychiatrist to treat.

What’s at the heart of that? A long-standing societal view that a healthy sex life is just not something women talk about or should expect. True story – after several embarrassing appointments with my doctor with me trying to explain I needed help, I finally asked my husband to accompany me. He said with zero nervousness, “I like to have sex with my wife. She’s in pain. I want a solution.” Total truth, the doctor – who had ignored me numerous times -immediately wrote a prescription for 60 Vicodin and handed it to me. That, of course, was pre- opioid restrictions. The chances of a woman getting controlled substance pain meds or relaxants now for sex are exactly 0%. While sexual dysfunction is more common in women than in men, the FDA has approved 24 treatments for sexual dysfunction in men and ZERO for hypoactive sexual desire disorder in women.

This is extremely informative:
https://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4724459

It took awhile for me to figure this out. But I finally learned how to game the system. If I want to be taken seriously about my medical problems, I have to wear business clothes and relate to the doctor on a white-collar basis. If that doesn’t work, take my business-clothed husband with me, and stay silent while he mansplains the situation. That strategy has a perfect track record. Oddly, this is true even when my physician is female. I’ve specifically sought out female physicians. Even more oddly, nearly 100% of the time, when one of my female physicians is talking about one of my other specialists, she will use the pronoun “he,” automatically assuming the doctor is male. My neurologist, who is female, has a sign in her office that says, “If you need a refill, please let the doctor know before leaving so he can take care of it.” It’s an office used solely by her. Someone handwrote the letter S with a pen to make it she.

The most recent anecdotal example that is so typical that I wasn’t even surprised… We were going to Florida this last February. The way the days fell, we would be just arriving in Florida when my (extremely limited prescription) pain pills for dysmenorrhea would be due for refill. I had a pain clinic appointment that my husband wasn’t able to get to. I figured, no big deal. I had info on a pharmacy near where we would be staying. Or, the clinic could bump my prescription by less than a week. No. The doctor said both were illegal. I went round after round after round with the doctor as calmly and professionally as I was in my clothing choice – power dress, dress shoes, makeup, etc. Explained the situation. Is there any solution whatsoever? No. I finally started crying because I knew without those pills, I would end up in an emergency room. This reaction earned me a disdainful glare. I called my husband from the parking lot and told him what happened. In the hour it took me to get home, the prescription was filled and on the counter. I asked – how did this happen? My husband shrugged and said, “I called the clinic and said that my wife needs her prescription called in early because we’re going on vacation. A little while later the pharmacy called and said the prescription was ready.”

Awareness

Fight Like A Girl. But be sure to let a man do the talking.

https://www.usnews.com/news/the-report/articles/2018-04-20/why-women-struggle-to-get-doctors-to-believe-them

http://www.mcgilltribune.com/sci-tech/sick-and-tired-how-the-medical-field-neglects-womens-health-03232021/

https://www.berkeleywellness.com/healthy-community/health-care-policy/article/when-medical-symptoms-are-dismissed-all-your-head

https://www.washingtonpost.com/health/is-bias-keeping-female-minority-patients-from-getting-proper-care-for-their-pain/2019/07/26/9d1b3a78-a810-11e9-9214-246e594de5d5_story.html

Why won’t doctors believe women?

https://www.webmd.com/women/news/20180607/why-women-are-getting-misdiagnosed

• 

It’s Time to Get Right with the Lord: Mental Illness and the Holiness Movement

I was born at the tail end of Generation X and was raised in a fundamentalist, evangelical, slightly pentacostal church environment known as the “Holiness Movement” or CHM (the Conservative Holiness Movement) at a time filled with eschatology and Frank Peretti. Lengthy reel to reel films depicting the book of Revelations gave me nightmares for decades. I was brought up to be wary of anything that could possibly invoke demons, including meditation and psychologists, particularly if the two were combined. Healing services were standard. Sometimes a person was healed of a physical illness. Sometimes, they were not and sought out a route of Western Medicine treatment with no stigma. Just more prayer for their surgery or procedure and an acceptance of God’s will if they died. 

On rare occasions, it was whispered that their death or illness was related to unconfessed sin – theirs or a family member’s. There was a horribly tragic story in my extended family that took place long before my birth that I’ve heard was “caused” as punishment for the teenage rebellion of another extended family member. It was a frightening way to grow up. If you weren’t one hundred percent sure you were “right with the Lord” at the end of a service and didn’t go forward to an altar call, chances were you would get hit by a train that night or the Soviets would launch a missile and you would go to hell. Every service ended with the question, “Is every heart clear?” I was left continually wondering if I was saved or if I accidentally lost my salvation somehow that day. Just to be sure, I would re- get saved each night. And I know I’m not the only one who performed this nightly ritual. Fear was my primary reason for being a Christian. 

What was absolutely not acceptable in this brand of Christianity was mental illness. If you were depressed, it was because you hadn’t sought the joy of the Lord, which would be your strength. If you had anxiety, you weren’t following Paul’s command to be anxious for nothing but in everything give thanks. The cure for any illness relating to the brain or chemical imbalance was, “Get right with the Lord.” There was no medical backup plan and you certainly weren’t going to a healing service to admit depression or anxiety! If your mental health was worse than general anxiety or depression – you were shipped off to the “State Hospital.” This was also known as the Funny Farm or the Looney Bin or the Nut House. By that point, it was a joking matter. In my growing up years, I spent time around two adults who had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I can soundly verify that the Church did not welcome them with loving arms of acceptance. They were laughed at behind their backs for being crazy. 

Ironically, in the CHM church culture in which my husband Wes and I were raised, behavior that the general population would view as “being crazy” was proof of being filled with the Holy Spirit. My earliest memories of church prayer were gibberish of 100+ people praying loudly at the same time. I never had any idea what was being prayed for or about. On the rare occasion that I am back in that culture, I excuse myself to use the restroom during prayer because I get so confused by the cacophony. If you didn’t occasionally run frantically around the church sanctuary or make odd noises or burst into uncontrolled laughter or start singing loudly in the middle of a sermon or whatever, it was doubtful that you had fully surrendered your life to God. Time for another altar call or the Soviets would get you. 

Fast-forward 25 years and the more modern evangelical and holiness Church culture (My husband is a Wesleyan pastor) on the surface seems to have become more accepting of mental illness, but there is lingering suspicion about the psychiatric community. I will admit that the emotional, psychological, physiological, and spiritual are sometimes difficult to parse out. Certainly someone’s explosive temper can be a sin. It also can be due to damage in a frontal lobe of the brain. It also could be caused by a chemical imbalance. I love an elderly matriarch of our church who told me, “I’ve learned that when I start seeing and talking to people I know have died, I have to go to the doctor because I have a UTI.” And she’s correct. UTIs often cause hallucinations in the elderly. If such a person lost their temper with a caregiver, which happens, they aren’t sinning. A UTI has caused mental illness. 

I had been a happy, career-focused, family-loving, intelligent, stable pastor’s wife. Capable. Confident. In love with Jesus. Healthy. Athletic. I was a type A perfectionist; and to be honest, if given a task of any kind, I knocked it out of the park. I was mostly cheerful and other than a winter slump in Michigan’s January and February, I found life enjoyable. 
And then everything rapidly came crashing down around me. Numerous autoimmune diseases. A stroke. Stessed-based seizures. Unusual compulsions. Bouts of rage – which were completely out of character. Waves of manic can’t calm down heart racing run around getting everything done. Bouts of I can’t even get out of bed because the effort to stand up is just too much. Everything got very, very bad in a relatively short amount of time. 
Wes and I knew that what I was dealing with was much than depression and anxiety. Bigger than the aftermath of a stroke. Bigger than a therapist could handle. I needed more help. I did go through the process of being annointed and prayed over in accordance with scripture. I examined my spiritual life. I fought hard for a spiritual life! I even went to a pentacostal mystic elderly woman who had books written about her gift of healing, who laid hands on me and prayed for my mind. I wrote out verse after verse after verse about having a sound mind and claimed them. 

For those of you that are like what the actual heck? I don’t even know what to tell you. It’s a culture. And Wes and I were both raised in it. 

Looking back, I am bewildered by some of our decisions. This was not 1960 and we belonged to a modern typical evangelical church. But we felt an obligation to the church board to notify them that I would be seeing a psychiatrist. I know each member knew that my behavior had been bizarre, but this information stunned them. I cried. I felt completely disgraced while waiting for them to somehow approve as if it were a motion on the table. The stigma is very much alive in the evangelical church. They discussed their concerns and was I going to be sure to go to a Christian psychiatrist because secular ones can really mess you up…. I do think some of that stemmed from misunderstanding between psychologist and psychiatrist. 

Word spread as it always does. An older woman I love dearly grabbed me on a Sunday morning and said, “Oh I wish you wouldn’t keep going to all these doctors when what you need is to run to Jesus!” Another woman came to me and said, “Are you really crazy?!” 

Why did we think we had to have some type of spiritual approval to go to a medical doctor? We certainly didn’t go to the board for approval for our eldest to have her renal system reconfigured. We didn’t have a meeting every time I caught pneumonia. Wes didn’t add to the agenda that he was taking blood pressure medication. Our youngest’s chronic strep throat was never discussed – we simply made an appointment and had her tonsils removed. 

In the course of the past let’s say 5 years, when it came to my mental illness – and yes, I eventually would be diagnosed with autoimmune bipolar disorder (an autoimmune disease attacked my brain and manifested with the same symptoms of bipolar 2)- in the Christian community I experienced: 

* Being shoved into a brick wall while an exorcism was attempted – because I had been wandering aimlessly outside in the snow in my bare feet and was confused

* Being asked by my Christian therapist if I had dabbled in Satanism 

* Was told that my emotional imbalance was evidence of living in unrepentant sin

* Accusation that a family member’s serious illness might be caused by my heart full of bitterness, followed by pleading with me to “get right with the Lord” so they wouldn’t die

* Was told repeatedly that depression and anxiety were evidence of a life unsurrendered to Christ

* One of Wes’s family members had researched Graves Disease, informed the whole family of the potential psychiatric side effects, and if I entered a room she was in, she would grab her child and leave the room. We spent one Thanksgiving with her upstairs with her child, not joining the family, and one Christmas on opposite sides of the living room with her looking terrified while clinging to her child. We quit attending family events 

* Feeling scrutinized continually – I don’t know if people anticipated horns growing out of my head or what exactly

* Had people leave our church

* Was accused of committing insurance fraud because having emotional problems isn’t being disabled

A few years before, a woman well-known in our circles who is my age and in my stage of life had some type of mental breakdown and was in and out of psychiatric facilities. She had always been a well-respected, intelligent, Christ-filled, career balanced with family, dedicated to church, lovely and well-loved girl. The breakdown made her prime fodder for gossip among Christians, with an emphasis on which sin she may have committed. I heard phrases like:

* She went off the deep end

* She’s bonkers

* She’s back in the nuthouse

* Did you know —– went crazy?

* She’s in the looney bin again

* —– went nutso again 

Her tribe most definitely abandoned her. Your tribe runs away at the time you most desperately need them to lean in. 

I knew exactly what to expect from the Church.

I so much love Ann Voskamp and her bravery in telling her own story. How she sat in church while her mother was institutionalized and listened to the pastor tell a joke of which the punchline was looney bin. How the people around her laughed. 

She poses the question- if the Church isn’t for the broken, then who is it for? Jesus said the healthy aren’t in need of a doctor. He came for the wounded. 

Wes and I attended a fundraiser event for Right-to-Life of Michigan about a year ago. One of the speakers made a joke about crazy people. Wes’s posture changed and I saw his muscles tighten. My head dropped in shame. The audience laughed. Our table members laughed. People who knew better laughed. My face was hot and my eyes filled with tears. If Right-to-Life doesn’t view all of humanity as made in the image of God and therefore worthy of dignity and respect, then they’ve lost their purpose. 
Christ is always inclusive. He is always for the marginalized. He is always for the poor in spirit, the meek, the lonely, the betrayed, and every other category that makes society nervous. His fiercest judgment was reserved for those who thought they had it all figured out. The most respected and revered by people are the ones he railed against. His Kingdom is all about the forgotten, the ignored, the mocked, the ridiculed, and the condemned. He adores the addict, the prisoner, and yes, the “crazy.” 

The Jesus I have come to know and love doesn’t accidentally lose people. Do I think someone can leave God. Well, I believe in free-will so I have to say yes. But I also believe in the God of C. S. Lewis. The God Who is the “Hound of Heaven.” I believe in the God of Rev. Albert Barr, who actually said in a CHM campmeeting service that you can try to leave God, but He will fight every step of the way to keep you. There’s no accidentally losing your salvation, getting hit by a train, and going to hell. If the Russians launch a nuclear missile at us – Hallelujah, we are going to heaven! 

The Jesus I love sat with me when I crawled into my closet or under tables. He walked next to me as I wandered in confusion. He held me as I sat on the floor of our bathroom writing the word, “worthless” all over my body with a marker. He cried with me as I used sharp objects to cut my skin. He held me back when I was about to jump off our balcony because I thought I knew how to fly. He loved me while I used a meat tenderizer to smash every one of our drinking glasses. He didn’t reject me when the rage caused by Graves Disease in me was so strong that I lashed out at people with the power of my written word. He knew that the continual compulsion to use scissors to cut up my clothes, my dishcloths, my hair was out of my control. 

My brain breaking was no different than a liver wasting away or an appendix bursting or kidneys requiring dialysis. He remembered my frame – that I am but dust – and His heart was filled with compassion. He prevented my children from ever seeing me in the midst of a psychotic break. He gave me a husband who is with me every step of the journey. 

He led me to the exactly right doctor, who figured out the right formula to bring my thoughts into sanity. Who restored my brain. Who balanced the chemicals. Who made me feel mostly normal. Normal enough that I can hide the fact that I’m not. 

He helps me fight the continual thoughts that my family would be better off without me. That my contribution to the world has been nothing. That if I disappeared, no one would notice. 

I have learned the beauty of grace. We sing, “Marvelous, infinite, matchless grace; Freely bestowed on all who believe.” Then we refuse to accept it. Refuse to extend it. We desperately need less law and more grace. 

Church… we have to do a better job. We have to radically change our thinking. We have to look. We HAVE TO LOOK AROUND US! It requires intentionality. It requires a willingness to step out of our comfort zone. If you look outside your little group that makes you comfortable and is so much fun, you will see lonely, broken people. It’s not always going to be easy. Mental illness is tough stuff. It takes a lot of grace and patience and forgiveness and knowledge to truly befriend someone with mental illness. 
Nichole Nordeman, in her song “Dear Me,” (which broke my heart to listen to how badly I had understood Jesus all wrong) says, “Jesus loves you this I know; And there are no exceptions.” No exceptions, Church. Not even for the mentally ill. 

Christians, when it comes to the church’s view of mental illness, it’s time to get right with the Lord.

————————————

*Clarification – the toxic church culture I am referring to for the most part is NOT my years in Buckley. Throughout my childhood and teen years, I had one foot in a “typical” church and one foot in the Conservative Holiness Movement my parents and extended family were part of (NY Pilgrim). Wes was raised entirely CHM (Allegheny)

Dear Senator Zorn: We Know Exactly What You Meant

Dear Senator Zorn, 

I am one of your constituents. I’ve always thought you were a likable guy. I voted for you twice. 

You’re in hot water for wearing a mask made of what appears to be a confederate flag patterned fabric to session yesterday. Not as much hot water as you should be because of the dynamics of your district, but you definitely made the news. 

I am thankful you apologized. I am all about grace and forgiveness. I mean major grace and forgiveness. Because I have needed so much grace and forgiveness myself. We all need so much grace and forgiveness. 

But apology doesn’t necessarily indicate enlightenment. And it should. 

Senator Zorn, I don’t think you get it. Like, you REALLY don’t get it. 

You put on a mask you admit you knew would raise eyebrows and hinted that you thought people would interpret it as a confederate flag – but chose to wear it anyway.. You chose this attire for a session full of tension – rather than seeking common ground. So there’s some duplicity in your apology/explanation. It wasn’t just an oops, thought I was representing the Great State of Kentucky. And why would you be representing Kentucky anyway? 

When questioned, you pivoted to the Confederacy needs to be taught in schools. No sir. No. You CAN NOT use this as any sort of defense. The teachers in Michigan are a solid no on this excuse. Do not insult our intelligence. 

The Confederacy is thoroughly taught in schools. It is taught in required US History courses. More importantly, it is taught in required Michigan History courses. Historians can get a little cynical about the causes of the Civil War and what exactly the motivating factors were for the Union to fight. But not when it comes to Michigan, Senator. Our Michigan youth went to fight and die in the south for one reason only: Abolition. They fought, under the Union flag, to free the slaves. Your district is filled with places significant to the Underground Railroad. The towns you represent each have memorials to our boys- some of whom were fifteen, sixteen years old. The land around the Capitol boasts monuments to the Michigan lives lost fighting. That makes it sacred ground. 

The work of the Abolitionists, the development of the Republican Party as a result, and the lives of our young men who voluntarily fought for liberty – This was the Finest Hour of our Great State of Michigan. And you disgraced it. 

You aren’t alone. On April 20th, many of your legislative colleagues were frolicking- yes frolicking – among confederate flag waving, militia member, white supremacist, law-breaking residents of Michigan while many of their own constituents lay dying from covid. It was appalling. It was disgraceful. It was disappointing. And voters are watching carefully to see who participates on April 30th. 

It is SPITTING IN THE FACE OF OUR STATE TO ALLOW THE CONFEDERATE FLAG ON THE CAPITOL PROPERTY!!! We fought hard to end the confederacy. We sacrificed lives to defeat tyranny. We united our nation. We birthed the Grand Old Party in the process – a party that currently bears no resemblance to its origins.  Michiganders should DESPISE that flag. It represents captivity and death and chains and beatings and ownership of humans by humans – and is a reminder of why we gave up our sons’ lives. 

When you were asked what the confederate flag stood for, it was obvious that you had not the slightest clue how to answer that question. Twice. You went with, “The Confederacy.” So you deliberately chose to wear the emblem of our enemy? 

I don’t buy it.

You know exactly what it stands for. It means rebellion. 

This version of the flag was used following the Civil War as a symbol of terror against Blacks, Jews, and Catholics. It was a symbol of hatred. It was a huge middle finger to the United States for demanding at least a faltering, slow, stumbling push toward all people are created equal. 

It means- you can’t tell me what to do. It means- I reject laws. It means- I have no obligation to others. It means- I am a rebel. It means- You can’t make me stay at home to save the lives of others. It carries with it connotations of 
racism so strong that even conservative former South Carolina Governor Nikki Haley demanded it be removed from her state capitol grounds and that it take a place ONLY in history. Its day is over – said the proud southerner. 

And we all know exactly what it meant when you put it on yesterday. 

It was a giant eff you, Governor Whitmer. 

And that is not okay, Sir.

Dear Mildred, Mabel, and Gertrude: Relax. The Pledge of Allegiance Is Still Being Said.

From time to time… Actually, let’s make it… Every. Single. Week. I see a meme or post complaining that today’s kids don’t say the Pledge of Allegiance at school like they did growing up.

The memes generally include a phrase like:

* I don’t care who this offends
* I bet you’re too afraid to share this
* Facebook will probably take this down
* Somebody will call me a racist but
* How many people are too scared to post this

Mildred, Mabel, and Gertrude – you need to chill. Nobody is afraid or offended or accusing you of being racist. Facebook is totally cool with you loving the Pledge.

To be clear – I am about as patriotic as a person can be. I love America, despite her flaws. I decorate in Americana. It takes very little in displays of love for our country to get me ugly crying. The Veterans walk by during a parade- I’m a mess. The National Anthem at a sports event – my mascara is a lost cause. My family throws a 4th of July party each year and we do a sing-along time of patriotic songs and end with Happy Birthday to America.

But let’s get real truthy about the Pledge of Allegiance in school:

1. 48 states have Pledge of Allegiance in school laws. That would be out of 50. Using Common Core Math, I calculated that 48/50 is 96%. That’s a pretty high percentage. All but 2 states have laws about how, when, where the Pledge is required to be recited at school. Those laws basically say something like, “The Pledge of Allegiance shall be recited daily in each public school.” Some states require it during the first hour of the day. Some states include a moment of silence after. Some require a Pledge to the state flag after the Pledge to the American flag.

So to clarify… if you attend public school anywhere in the United States except Iowa and Vermont, you will hear the Pledge being said daily. In Iowa and Vermont, it is at the discretion of the school district.*

2. It is illegal to FORCE a student to say the Pledge. In 1943, SCOTUS ruled that the recitation of the Pledge could not be mandatory. Students are allowed to sit or stand quietly while the Pledge is being said. Some religions (e.g. Jehovah’s Witness) do not allow pledging allegiance to anything/anyone but God. Obviously foreign exchange students cannot say the Pledge, as that would be treason. And students- under the First Amendment – have the right not to participate for whatever reason they choose.

They do NOT have the right to be disruptive during the Pledge at school. The school has the authority to maintain order.

3. For those who complain about the Pledge not being said daily in school – How many of you patriotic adults say the Pledge each day? Other than school staff or people who work in some way for the government, I’m going with zero. I have never seen anyone out in their yard, paying homage to the flag sticking out of the side of their house. Not even once have I seen this. Ever.

4. For many of you who claim that kids today don’t say the Pledge like you did, you are absolutely correct. Today’s kids include the words, “Under God.” Those words weren’t added until the mid-1950s.

I say this all the time because I believe so strongly in Truth: Don’t post anything you haven’t verified. It takes only a couple minutes to fact-check yourself.

God bless our beloved United States – With Liberty and Justice for all.

💕

* There is contradictory information about if Wyoming has a Pledge law.

I’m a Conservative Christian. Please don’t Bring Back School Prayer!

So… there’s prayer back in school now? Not really the way people are imagining it. There is still no school-sponsored prayer. The President cannot override a SCOTUS ruling.

For those of you who want prayer in school, I respectfully ask you to think about the following:

Which prayer are you advocating be prayed at school and by whom? I’m Protestant. I love worshiping with my Catholic brothers & sisters. However, I prefer my children not pray to Mary. But what if their teacher were Catholic? A well meaning wonderful Catholic public school employee a few years ago was speaking at a conference I was at and there sadly had been a death of a student the day before and he offered a prayer for her soul and all the souls of all those who had died – probably having no idea that the Baptists were a little squirmy over this theology. Some very close friends of mine are LDS. We have great mutual respect. If I had their children in my class, I really doubt they would want me referencing the Trinity in my prayer and it would be something if I were praying, I would naturally do without even thinking about it. Even in rural conservative towns like mine there are Muslim and Buddhist and Hindu students… and agnostics and atheists. Whose prayer exactly are we going to use? By the time we make it generic enough to fit everyone, does it have any meaning? Are you confident enough in the spirituality & theology of all staff members in your public school that you feel comfortable with them leading your child in prayer each morning? I’m not.

Some alternate suggestions for Christians who are concerned about a lack of prayer in their local public school:

1. Pray with your own kids every day before school. My parents did this with me 180 mornings x 12 years. We do this with our kids. It means much more to your kids and will have a far greater impact than a generic prayer over the school intercom crammed between the pledge & announcements.

2. When you drive or walk by your local public school, slow down or pull over (in a non-creepy way) and pray a blessing over that school. For protection. For teachers and staff. For students. For administrators. For learning.

3. Contact a public school teacher you know. Offer to be faithful to pray daily for her classroom. Send the teacher notes letting her know you care about her and her students and are consistently asking for God to bless all that happens in that room. Ask her how you can best pray for her.

4. Teach your kids how to *pray without ceasing* – that they can silently talk to God all day wherever they are and during whatever they are doing. Further, your kid is perfectly free to pray aloud at school at appropriate times. He can pray a blessing over his lunch. She can hold a prayer meeting after school in a classroom – as long as other groups also have permission to meet. He can gather a group of kids to meet before school around the flagpole for prayer. No one is keeping your kid from praying at school.

5. Quit blaming the schools for getting rid of prayer in school. In the court case that eliminated school sponsored prayer, the school was the defendant. A parent was suing to have it removed. To claim that schools got rid of prayer is inaccurate – parents did. Also, quit using the phrase *kicked God out of schools* – if you are Christian, you should believe God is never kicked out of anywhere. In addition to His omnipresence, He is also in the hearts of His people – many of whom carry Him silently with them each day as they enter the doors of your local public school.

Devoting the time you spend complaining about your local school to praying for it instead – might change your school. It may even change you.

A Locavore Christmas, Part 2: Kim’s Massage and Wellness

My quest this year is to do the majority of my Christmas shopping from Small Businesses. This Blog series is to prove that you can buy local and still have amazing presents under the tree!

Yes, Amazon Prime is a time saver and has a huge variety of products, but the people working at Amazon don’t know you and you don’t know them. They don’t care about your individual purchase on a personal level. Your local Small Business owner does.

Small Businesses are invested in their communities. Their owners and employees are your friends and neighbors. THEY care about your purchase and you are directly providing them with a livelihood.

Today, I’m featuring “Kim’s Massage and Wellness Center,” located on Main Street in Hudson, Michigan. Kim’s offers Alternative and Holistic Health Services and products.

Kim’s specializes in a wide range of types of massage at all different price points. Kim’s also offers waxing, facials, and many other spa treatments.

Simply scrolling through her FB page – I immediately want to schedule: “Holiday Pure Bliss: Relaxing back massage, back exfoliation, hot towel steam, nourishing hand and foot treatment, head-neck-shoulder massage.”!!!!

What I love about Kim’s is buying massage therapy gift certificates. Kim offers a multitude of types of massages at all different price points. Who doesn’t love a great massage?!

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m into super cute packaging. Kim’s gift certificates are gorgeous.

The gift-certificates are a perfect addition to a gift basket of beauty items or are beautiful on their own.

Shop downtown Hudson and swing into Kim’s while you do! For more information visit http://kimsmwc.com/.

A Locavore Christmas, Part II: Silver and Rust

This Christmas I am challenging myself to kick my Amazon Prime habit as much as possible and find high-quality gifts from Small Businesses.  Amazon and Big Box Stores have their place. Their strengths are vastness and low prices. But no one at Amazon gets a huge smile on their face when a purchase is made. No Walmart employee gets giddy over a full cart. Stockholders are always the top priority for these companies.

Small Business owners are our friends and neighbors. We raise our kids together. Our little athletes are sponsored by these businesses. Small businesses are the heart of our communities. Entrepreneurship has always been a point of pride for Americans.

I ask you to join me in my quest to Christmas shop Small Business! I will be featuring businesses and products that I personally believe in and recommend.

My current favorite store is “Silver and Rust,” on Main Street (M-34) in Hudson, MI.

The store itself is adorable and a fun place to browse. The products sold are made on-site at Silver and Rust or by other local artisans. The store has a country-style type feel to it.

Silver and Rust regularly offers “Make and Take” type classes. Or, your group can book a custom party in which each member creates something beautiful. 

What I LOVE about Silver and Rust is:

1. They’re an actual store. There aren’t many places in Hudson where you can browse merchandise.

 

2. The items are high-quality but very reasonably priced.

 

3. Custom orders – You can take any idea to them and they will figure out how to make it. I stopped today, dropped off an apron for my favorite little chef, handed over a business logo to be printed on the front and the answer was, “No problem.” I also placed an order for super cute custom made Christmas ornaments for $5 each.

4. Silver and Rust carries a wide assortment of state of Michigan themed gifts. These are poignant and perfect to send as presents to your now out-of-state Michigander loved ones who could use some nostalgia.

Swing by “Silver and Rust” to get into the holiday spirit. I promise you will find some perfect gifts!

For more information, go to:

https://www.facebook.com/silverandrust/

To the Magical Miss Weber: Thank You

I had the privilege of attending a small public school in the Northern Michigan town of Buckley.

When I say small, I mean my graduating class was 25 students. And of these 25 students, the majority shared classrooms and teachers and lockers and lunchlines and chicken pox and head lice for 13 years straight. Our principal when we started Kindergarten was the terrifying Mr. Davis. Our principal when we graduated from high school was the still terrifying, yet beloved, Mr. Davis.

My class solemnly entered the storied halls of learning in 1982. Actually, we came bursting, full of energy and spunk, into an old-fashioned bright red genuine one room schoolhouse that had been designated the Kindergarten.

We were greeted by a woman who looked like an adult from our perspective. This was Miss Weber’s first year of teaching and when I look back at photographs I have the same thought many parents probably had that day – there’s a baby teaching babies!

Although most people have very few memories of their kindergarten experience; educationally speaking it’s the most important year. We are all familiar with the poem: All I Really Needed to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten. The kindergarten experience is foundational, not just academically but in establishing school norms and behavioral expectations. Learning how to be one member of a large group, instead of life being just you and your baby brother. Finding out some kids are better than you are at some tasks. And that you are quicker in other areas. Having an authority figure who isn’t a relative. Being asked to sit quietly for periods of time – and growing that stamina over the course of the school year. There is a definite cultural shift to becoming a kindergartner.

As we entered Miss Weber’s kindergarten room, directly to our right was a set of wooden cubby lockers. Each had a name printed on it and I discovered I was no longer Carrie, but had become Carrie W. That’s because there was a Carrie D. and a Karie K. I would remain Carrie W. until I got to college. There was an Eric J. and an Erik H.; Jesse R. and Jesse Y and Jessaka. We later added a Jessie M. And there was a whole slew of Jennifers! Our parents evidently lacked creativity. Each cubby had hooks for a bookbag and a coat. Defying all geometric principles, by mid-October it managed to also hold snowpants, winter boots, mittens, hats, and scarves.

On one hook in each cubby was a mysterious index card dangling from a string. The name of the locker’s owner was printed on the card. On the first day of school, Miss Weber explained that these were called punch cards. If someone didn’t follow the rules, they would be asked to retrieve their punch card and Miss Weber would squeeze a metal tool to put a hole in the card. Anyone who had a hole in their card would not get a treasure on Friday. We collectively gasped in horror at such a consequence. As time went on, some kids shrugged off having a weekly card that resembled swiss cheese. Most kids got a punch about every three weeks, blushed and looked embarrassed, and resumed classroom life. The once every two monthers would return to their seats sobbing in embarrassment. I got a hole punch. After the walk of shame returning my card to its hook, I ran away from school and went home, having forever disgraced the name of Carrie W. To this day, hole punchers make me a little nervous.

We quickly fell in love with Miss Weber. As a teacher myself, I know how special that first class is and am confident she fell in love with us too. She was energy and sparkles and enthusiasm and comfort. She wanted to be there and that made us want to be there too. That little schoolhouse was abuzz with activity, learning, and fun.

We learned much about the soap opera lives of the Letter People. Mr. Q, who was so quiet, had a crush on Miss U and always followed her around trying to stand next to her. We would now refer to that as stalking. Poor Mr. V tore his velvet violet vest and was so embarrassed that he refused to stand at the end of a word. Mr. K came to town, kicking everyone and everything and stealing Mr. C’s sound. Mr. S felt sorry for Mr. C and shared his sound any time Mr. C stood by Miss E or Miss I. Mr. C and Mr. K eventually resolved their differences and would often stand together at the end of the word and make their sound together. We had a huge Letter People Party and had to dress like a Letter Person. My parents decided for me – I was green-haired Miss O. Miss Obstinate. My parents said I had plenty of practice.

We learned how to write the letters. Many of us, myself included, felt betrayed by our parents for teaching us to write letters with straight lines – traditional manuscript. Miss Weber taught us letters that had the fancy name of D’nealian. That meant: Put a little hook on the end of most letters. Our parents knew nothing about letters. They suspected these new letters were a Communist plot. Just like New Math. There was a disco-song based on each letter. Miss Weber would play the song on the record player and we could walk fast, but not run, all through the room. She would randomly lift the needle from the vinyl and the music stopped. That meant freeze. If she caught you moving, you were out. The music resumed and stopped. The best part was trying to freeze in a unique pose like two hands on the ground and one foot in the air – as if you just accidentally landed that way at the precise moment the music ended.

We sang every day. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was for babies but we endured it. Our favorite was The Dinosaur Song: Allosaurus, Diplodocidosaurus, Brontosaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Stegosaurus, Trachodon, Triceratops, Pteranodon, Dinosaurs! Dinosaurs! Dinosaurs! Whoooaaahhh.. (Yes, I just googled spelling 8 times). We sang The Days of the Week (clap, clap). I’m Getting Eaten By A Boa Constrictor was a favorite except my conscience struggled. On “Oh heck, he’s up to my neck,” I wouldn’t sing the heck because it was as bad as the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks word. I always hoped Miss Weber wouldn’t notice and give me a hole in my punch card. On the Months of the Year, we were supposed to sing quietly and beautifully. Our prettiest voices. “Fill them with joy and with cheer, the months of the year.”

The classroom had centers and we could choose one to play at during free time. A nook filled with books and soft cushions. A kitchen. A building area with various wooden shapes. A puppet theater. A shopping center with a cash register. A finger paint center that mysteriously was often “out of order” and unavailable. Miss Weber would choose a theme each month and decorate the room accordingly. During Space Month, she brought in two refrigerator boxes that she had turned into rockets. Not only did the outside look like a rocket, the inside had a construction paper control panel. To this day, in my mind, it’s the coolest thing any of my teachers ever did.

We learned new words and new skills. Manila had nothing to do with Vanilla. Manila paper meant paper that could give you slivers but was cheaper than white paper. Dittos were worksheets with slightly blurry purple ink. They even smelled like purple ink. Show me an image on your phone of a ditto and I can still smell the purple ink. We learned what “The Office” was. It was a place in the Big Building where kids delivered notes from teachers. Being sent as a messenger was a sacred responsibility and The Office was a mysterious place filled with thick cigarette smoke.

Guiding all this learning was the magical Miss Weber. She was never impatient or brusque. She was fun in ways that most grown-ups had forgotten how to be. She showed us a cartoon, on a film projector, of “Ferdinand.” There’s a scene in which the Matador, in total frustration, pulls his hair out. That was hysterical. But then, Miss Weber let us watch the film backward! The Matador put his hair BACK INTO his head!! That was the funniest thing we had ever seen. We laughed so hard that someone fell out of their chair, which started a chair falling out of epidemic. Instead of getting upset at the silliness, she played that section back and forth, letting us fall apart at the hilarity. She laughed too.

The school year ended. We were sad to say goodbye but excited to become mature first graders who would learn how to read! For the next few years, every time Miss Weber would walk from the Kindergarten to the Big Building for lunch, those of us who were at lunch recess would swarm her. The first ones to get there got hugs. The surrounding kids got pats on the head. Always eye contact and spoken names. Never annoyed at being slowed down on her journey. A few years later, we learned that Miss Weber was leaving our school to teach somewhere else. Crying among 9 years olds is contagious and we were a collective mess at the thought of not seeing her every day. She got married and changed her name to Mrs. Lint. Out of loyalty to our experience, we still referred to her as Miss Weber.

Fast forward many years. Our class, the Class of 1995, was gathered in the cafeteria getting ready to walk down the aisle to graduate from high school. Moms were in there snapping photos of us posing as a class. The cafeteria door opened and a woman came in, looking tentative. We looked back, just as tentatively. Then it hit us. Almost collectively we spoke the name Miss Weber. And we ran to her and were given hugs all around. She spoke to the group of us. She told us that other than the births of her children, this was her proudest moment.

We walked down the aisle, took the stairs to the platform, and sat in metal chairs. This group that had traveled in the same lane for such a long time, about to part to make our marks on the world. Miss Weber sat toward the front, on the right. When I got up to speak, I had a perfect view of her. Her face was beaming and her eyes were full of tears. After we exited, she went down the receiving line, speaking to each former student individually. How she recognized us after all those years bewilders me as a teacher. Our hug that day was the last time I saw her. I left Buckley and never really looked back.

The decades have flown by. The Class of 1995 has their 25th anniversary next year. We are in our 40s and have careers and degrees and spouses and have brought our own children to Kindergartens.

Those decades disappeared when I received word that Miss Weber had passed away, fairly unexpectedly.

With tears flowing, I was again a five year old with missing front teeth, climbing into a cardboard rocket headed for outer space. I can still hear Miss Weber calling us to circle time and reading to us from picture books. I remember the thrill of running fast to get to her first for a big hug.

The magical Miss Weber has left this earth but oh the priceless investment she made while she was here. Her legacy is spread all over the country and perhaps in locations around the world. All of the untold stories that begin with walking through the door into an energetic and enthusiastic Kindergarten classroom.

To the Lint family – On behalf of the Buckley Class of 1995, thank you for sharing Miss Weber with us. She was very much loved by her students. We mourn with you today.

A Locavore Christmas, Part I: Woolies by Banya and Bama

This Christmas I am challenging myself to kick my Amazon Prime habit as much as possible and find high-quality gifts from Small Businesses.  Amazon and Big Box Stores have their place. Their strengths are vastness and low prices. But no one at Amazon gets a huge smile on their face when a purchase is made. No Walmart employee gets giddy over a full cart. Stockholders are always the top priority for these companies.

Small Business owners are our friends and neighbors. We raise our kids together Our little athletes are sponsored by these businesses. Small businesses are the heart of our communities. Entrepreneurism has always been a point of pride for Americans.

I ask you to join me in my quest to Christmas shop Small Business! I will be featuring businesses and products that I personally believe in and recommend.

My first product to showcase is mittens made by “Woolies by Banya and Bama,” located in the small town of Buckley, Michigan.

The owners of Woolies are women who started this business in 2010. Mittens are made from recycled wool sweaters and recycled buttons. The mittens are lined with thick plush fleece. They are high quality – far more so than you can find in your local shopping mall.

Woolies also does custom orders – they will take a sweater of a lost loved one and create mittens from it as a beautiful yet useful momento.

As you can see from the pictures, Woolies range from adorable to classy.

Why do I recommend Woolies?

1. I know and trust the owners and have confidence in their products and in their professionalism in their treatment of customers.

 

2. I love their commitment to environmental friendliness through reusing existing textiles and buttons that might otherwise be thrown away. The world is struggling with how to handle massive textile disposal due to fast fashion. Woolies are a way to push back against throw-away fabric practices.

 

3. The mittens are high quality, warm, and will last a long time. Absolutely worth the price.

 

4. Woolies make a great Christmas present  because all women need mittens. They are a useful yet beautiful gift.

“Woolies by Banya and Bama” will immediately ship their product at cost. No mark-up on shipping charge. They accept PayPal for orders.

For more information or to order, visit: Woolies by Banya and Bama