A Child of the World

I’ve always known I was a child of the world. I was kind of hoping that I was a child of the universe but sadly, a recent DNA test shows no alien heritage.

I didn’t take the test but my brother did. His children gave him and his wife the tests for Mother’s and Father’s Day this year, and I have since told them that it was a pretty darn good gift for me as well.

Before the test, when people asked my heritage I could easily respond: 75% German, 25% Irish – loosely rounded out of course. Now, I have to ask them if they have an hour? (My mother would have responded “American,” and that would have been the end of that discussion.)

A Benetton Ad that speaks well for itself.

My brother teased me through the reveal of our heritage. He asked what DNA I thought was running around my body. I gave him the usual, to which he revealed that our Western European heritage, including German, was just 37%. With my sense of DNA self already coming undone, I learned that this portion of my heritage could include ancestors from Poland, Austria, Switzerland, Belgium, France, the Netherlands, Croatia, Hungary, Slovakia, and/or Romania.

No wonder I have never particularly liked German food.

I’d known that my mother’s family immigrated as Germans to the U.S. but from Russia. This opened up a discussion between my brother and me about that side of the family. I knew that somehow we were descendants of Germans who had gone with Catherine the Great to Russia when she married the Tsar. What I didn’t know was that Catherine the Great had invited Germans to immigrate to Russia to help populate the huge country. However, the Germans didn’t assimilate well, kept to themselves and lived as Germans in Russia, including maintaining the German language. So, ultimately, while my mother was the first of the Sturtz children to be born in the U.S., she didn’t learn English until she started kindergarten in the mid-1920s.

Oh, now I get it.

Twenty-two percent of my DNA comes directly from Great Britain. No way! I’m British! No wonder I’m addicted to Brit Coms on HULU. OMG, I must have ROYAL DNA in here somewhere…but where? I must now insist that you all refer to me as Dame Donna or Lady DU. (I’m doing the Queen’s wave to you all.)

Another 20% of my DNA make-up is from Ireland. OK, so I wasn’t too far off and I do really like the accent. My grandmother, Edna Louise, was Irish…but now, who knows what else?

By this point, my brother and I have had several text exchanges as he continued to reveal parts of pieces of my heritage.

Twelve percent, he tells me, has been traced to Italy and Greece (I love Greek food! --- except stuffed grape leaves and lamb ;-). This portion of me can reach into Serbia, Kosovo, Bulgaria, Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Macedonia. Serbia, Kosovo, Bulgaria, Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Macedonia --- are you kidding me? Except for news coverage and restaurants, what do I know about this part of the world --- and yet their in me.

Now he tells me we’re down to trace regions for our DNA. Four percent from Eastern Europe --- Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, Poland, Ukraine, Czech Republic, and Moldova.

This makes sense to me since we knew that second cousins had traveled through some of those countries in the 60’s or 70’s in search of relatives and found them. Of course, by now, I am coming to understand the impact of migration on my make-up.

One percent of the DNA is solidly from Norway and other Scandinavian countries.

Less than 1% can be traced to Finland and Russia --- I told you those Germans kept to themselves.

The most interesting surprise to me was my West Asian and the Caucasus connections. Ancestors of mine could be traced to Israel and Palestine. (I make this point specifically. It wouldn’t be the first time that my ancestors found themselves on different sides in a fight.)

Yet also from Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Jordan, Syria, Iraq and Iran. (These very people and places our politicians and hate mongers have tried so hard to teach us: 1. to hate because they are all a bunch of terrorists, and 2. that they like many other ethnic groups shouldn’t be allowed into the U.S. and if they are already here --- even the ones with citizenship --- should be shipped out.) Now what do I do? I’m truly one of them, even if just by a trace. Can I stay?

As I am writing this, I am listing to a discussion with Pakistani American parents Khizr and Ghazala Kham, whose son, Army Captain Humayun Khan was lost in Iraq while serving in the U.S. military. They came to public attention after presidential candidate Donald Trump attacked all Muslims including American Muslims.

How is it that we can so easily condemn all people for the bad actions of a few? (Which begs the question: Why haven’t we shipped out some of those crazy extremist Christians? I bet I could trace their DNA to somewhere else. Ok, I couldn’t do it, but I’d be happy to pay for it!) tee hee.

All of this also suggests to me that while I was raised Christian, my ancestors may well have been Jewish, Muslim, Greek Orthodox and who knows what else.

I’m a very diverse party of one headed to Taboon’s for my comfort food: Chicken Ghallaba. Middle Eastern food, I love it.

 Post Script: I have since received several website links from a friend that seek to prove that we can all trace our DNA to Mars. So perhaps I am a child of the universe after all.

My brother has advised me that since the Earth is in the universe, I can safely claim to be a child of the universe. So I do.

Now, I'm working on the title of Child of the Galaxy!

That's what friends do

We couldn’t find him anywhere.

We called out his nickname: Johno. We made jokes at his expense knowing his sarcastic chuckle or, when something really got to him, his deep huge guffaw would give him away.

He was with his grandparents we were told.

We had the whole place to ourselves. Well, except for the residents and they weren’t talking.

He died in February but wasn’t buried until June (Michigan winters and frozen ground.) We thought we’d find his grave easily enough. Yet disturbed ground or a new marker at least but John Clyde just wasn’t there for us.

John C. Brandon, 1990

I suppose that’s fitting. A bit of a joke on us since we couldn’t make it to his funeral. I arrived back in the state just an hour after his funeral ended.

The point is, he was always there as a very long term friend is and neither of us made it to his send off. We feel especially bad because I’d just talked to him about the three of us having dinner when I got back from my travels. And then he was gone.

He’d been confined to a wheelchair. Years of dialysis had taken its toll. So many health problems setting in and bodily systems shutting down. Still, always cheerful and ready to play.

John had come into my life with my first husband. Best friends since kindergarten they were. BFFs long before acronyms became the language of lazy teens.

While divorce often gives custody of friends to the spouse who brought them into the marriage, John was among the few who assumed joint custody quite comfortably.

Our politics were 180-degrees. We never hesitated to make sure the other understood our position ---- not always so respectfully expressed…yet somehow the overall respect remained and we remained in touch even though our lives took us in very different directions.

Since his death, we have both felt that we didn’t get to properly say goodbye or pay tribute to a loyal, decent, funny guy.

So, here we were on a day trip to say finally pay our respects in our own way. A CD of John Denver and a quart of milk (he was addicted to milk) replaced by a pot of mums because I couldn’t find the CD. But no luck and while I doubt he’s rolling in his grave (he was cremated), he’s definitely guffawing at us from above.

He knows us too well. We won’t give up. I’ll call the small town’s city hall and his address, section and plot numbers. Then, I’ll find the CD and we’ll make another day trip to say farewell because he was always a friend and that’s what friends do.


In memory of John C. Brandon (1955-2016)

Post Script 9.3.2016 - We found John after calling the city clerk for the burial plot. Just in time for his birthday. His nephew told us that a marker wasn't in place yet so we took our own...and his favorite drink for a toast.

Now Playing... John C. Brandon on piano with John Denver sitting in on vocals. Play on friend! Play on!

 

"Over and Next": Underrated for seizing life

“Over” and “next” are two of the most underrated words in the English language according to Norman Lear, creator of “All in the Family,” “The Jeffersons,” and “Maude” among other groundbreaking television programs.

On a recent “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” broadcast on NPR, the 93-year-old was asked what he thinks has  contributed to his longevity in life and work.

“Over and next,” he responded without pause.

Paraphrasing him: When it’s over, it’s time to move on to the what’s next.

We often cripple ourselves reliving the past, paying penance for our regrets, and trying to undo what can no longer be undone. In the meantime, we’re missing what’s next.

“Over and next.”

Sound like a good mantra for those of us who strive to get the most out of our lives.

Watch a short video featuring Norman Lear.

Not Dead Yet

By HEIDI EWING and RACHEL GRADY | Jul. 6, 2016 | 7:44

At the age of 93, Norman Lear is still entertaining America. What’s his secret?

Stop Trump's hate

Trump's vote mongering among the gun toting haters of our country is making targets of our American Muslim and gay friends, neighbors, and co-workers for this same group. (As well as our immigrant neighbors. Remember, this country was founded on welcoming people in need AND protecting their religions as well. Imagine that ;-).

Each-ONE-of-us has to work to stop Trump's hate. We can't sit back and wait for someone else to do it for us.

We have to remember that across cultures, the majority of us are peaceful decent people. We cannot let the few fanatical haters justify violent actions against innocent people as defense of this nation.

Trump is giving those people permission to act on their hate every time he opens his mouth.

We have to stop Trump's hate. Denounce it and vote to defeat it.

Forget the "why"

“Why?” might play an important role in criminal investigations as it goes straight to motive but I’m coming to terms with the energy wasted by asking it in times of personal pain. It rarely seems that the answer can justify the effect and it --- to date --- has never been able to reset the course of life after the effect.

Recently, I learned that a very lovely friend from high school died too early from cancer. (Mid-50s, which seems to be common among women --- me, two cousins-who-are-sisters, two sisters-in-law, and too many other women in the chemo suite with me.) Our paths crossed because she was my brother’s high school sweetheart.

Looking at some Facebook comments about her, one poster wrote. [She was] “wonderful, positive, quirky and fun…I primarily remember her with braces” …as do we all. Smile.

It was her joy, energy and excitement with life the made her stand out. And while her path took her away from my brother, it did take her onto a career as a neurologist, marriage and three daughters. Her focus in life was to do good and I can only imagine the difference she made for her patients and their families and in her community.

My sadness manifests itself in the realization that someone so young and contributing so positively is lost too soon. Getting an answer to why, “cancer” doesn’t comfort the sadness or fill the void created.

A year ago one of my best friends in the GALAXY died far too young at 67 due to health issues.

In high school he was told by a guidance counselor that he wasn’t college material. He went on to Princeton, Antioch College, and Newark State College focusing on guidance counseling and education. He then spent the rest of his days inspiring school students to see themselves as college students, helping them prepare to get into college, and ensuring that they were successful once they gained admission.

I recall telling him more than once that he saved lives every day to which I’d get a humble little blush and tiny grin…maybe a chuckle from time to time.

What struck me most about him and still does is that he never had a doubt about what he was put here to do and just went about doing it as best he could. “Leave a mark, now a stain,” he would suggest to anyone listening.

He left his mark indeed.

But I’m left wondering why the cosmos, my God, whatever karmic structure is out there decided that someone who helps so many young people and would have been happy to continue to do so for many, many, many years was taken so soon.

How could a spiritual being think we didn’t need these valuable people in the world?

God and I have had lots of words about this over that last year as I’ve come to terms with this absence. He (God) has let me stew a lot and finally, I was led back to someone’s comment on Facebook after this death.

“Who will fill his shoes?” someone posted.

To which I responded, “I hope we will all step up,” knowing that none of us alone were probably able to fill those shoes. After posting, I quickly forgot about it and went back to pondering “why?”

Perspective comes with time because indeed, that’s where at least a part of the answer has come from for me.

As painful as the losses are, perhaps those voids are created to remind us that we should not be so dependent on one person to carry the whole burden of addressing needs and coming to the assistance to those in need. While at the same time, the rest of us laud ourselves for whatever sideline support we offered.

Maybe, just maybe, we lose some of the best of us too soon as a “slap me into next Tuesday” notice that it’s our time and turn to step up and contribute to the needs around us.

Spending too much time pondering the “why” factor stunts us all and doesn’t honor those lost. The better question has to be: “How can I help now?”

Remembering Barb Jahnke, MD, 1959-2015 and Tendaji W. Ganges, 1948-2015

It’s all about the cats interlude*

Well, I can finally say I will drop everything for my cats!

Underwear in hand this morning to get my day going, I got distracted by a cat and went off to tend to my herd’s needs.

And then I couldn’t find my underwear.

I had literally “dropped my drawers” to take care of my cats.

I promise not to drop any grandchildren or a good glass of wine for the cats, but I now believe I can officially say, “I’ve dropped everything for my cats.”

Lest you think I’m some shuttered in cat lady, it isn’t all snuggles and fresh litter among us.

Pi in the Sky - He's not there voluntarily

Just last week I was threatening to put them all out on the curb and get a new batch of cats who would appreciate the mahogany climbing tree I built for them. While Sweet Potato Pi can be found cat napping in the cubby from time to time. None of the three have accepted the challenge of climbing the tree.

Well, so far anyway…until it isn’t my idea…and they can officially call it their idea to climb and perch.

It's all about the cats all the time it seems. I don't know how they got so spoiled???

Just herding cats.

*I titled this entry “interlude” since there will probably be more cat commentaries along the way.

Media Skepticism Part II (local newspapers)

(Author’s Note: Sorry for the interruption between Parts I &II but I thought Flossie had something worth saying for all of us.)

 

I have lived long enough to witness the media I love the most --- newspapers --- teeter harrowingly on the brink of extinction ---- (It could happen in my 26 years but I have an old soul.)

I have also lived long enough to see the career I knew I was destined for --- journalism --- live out periods of high ethnics (post-Watergate) and surrender to sensationalism (pick a medium, pick a story).

I have a lot of bones to pick with this profession, but at 60, the one that bothers me the most is this natural and perhaps necessary evolution away from hard copy news to Internet rivers and streams of electronic news, and the audience that loses out as a result.

When the country switched from analog to digital in 2008, the FCC reported that less than 2.5% of American households were unready and did not make that switch. Interestingly, The Nielsen Company reported that by October of that year all but .05% of households had made the conversion and that those that hadn’t were most likely to be African American, Hispanic, Asian, younger, lower income and those less likely to have Internet access in their homes.

Yet, the same report shows that of that small percentage, one-third was age 55+ (no doubt also low income, without access to the Internet and of all cultures). A group of people who no doubt counted on their TV, along with their newspaper, as company in the household during the day as well as an important information source. Of approximately 116M households in 2008, that would mean somewhere around 5M households (some 5M+ citizens) lost this important companion.

I couldn’t find any estimates on how many households may still be without TV because they didn’t make the switch but I do worry that too many of them are elderly and out there alone.

Closely following the analog/digital switch and the gap in service it may have created, came the loss to too many newspapers.

I cannot help but remember my mother and aunt living alone, without the freedom of a car and only so much yard work to be done. I remember the talk radio station on all day to fill the void in an empty house. I also think about my mother’s dinner schedule around “M*A*S*H” reruns and the news, and her “stories” in the evening to pass the time.

The newspaper industry has struggled for decades to cultivate young readers in hopes of turning them into dedicated adult subscribers but electronic technology and the Internet got in the way.

Newspapers were very late coming to the realization that they had to change to survive. They still struggle to figure out how to remain a relevant and effective source of news with TV and radio long having held that breaking news position and a mindless number of alternative news sites on the Internet for newshounds to track.

Yet, their most loyal readers --- the seniors who grew up knowing that the newspaper was a constant they could count on --- are the least attended to by the industry today and the ones most likely to require this version. While seniors are certainly tech savvy, many are still not likely to spend their days following the electronic river of news, where the most coverage is today.

Granted, they have calculated that we aren’t their long-term audience, yet at the same time, the industry has discounted us completely.

HEY! we're still here. We’re the ones who still want ink on our hands when we finish the newspaper for the day ---- every day. We're the ones who want all of the news "that's fit to stream." We'll trade you the Sudoku, advice columns and other syndicated stuff for pages full of the news of our city!

And we're happy to pay for it...It's not like you have to do it forEVER! (see two grafs above.) I'll even put "She still subscribed" on my tombstone. (Full disclosure: I can't really do that since I'm going to be freeze dried and my dust thrown in the wind --- I've take up too much room on this earth already.) But I would put that on my tombstone if I was getting one.

Flint, Michigan’s Flint Journal is owned by Booth Newspapers and became a part of MLive.com when the parent company decided to form the MLive Media Group in 2012 to handle the advertising and news for all of its newspapers and websites.

From 30+ reporters to cover the MANY stories of this urban community prior to MLive, the Flint Journal is down to eight-ish reporters according to Managing Editor Bryn Mickle. And as Mickle explained to my students last year, those reporters focus on the daily Internet stream of news, not on the content for the newspaper, which publishes four times a week --- Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Sunday.

Interestingly enough, since the MLive group is based in Grand Rapids, Michigan --- two hours away from Flint and on the western side of the state, the Flint Journal is edited, designed and printed in Grand Rapids. (Pause to let this sink in.) People in Grand Rapids are making decisions, with a bit of input from the Flint staff, about what the Flint Journal hard copy will contain. Just as they are for the other community newspapers in the system: The Bay City Times,  The Grand Rapids Press, Jackson Citizen Patriot, Kalamazoo Gazette, Muskegon Chronicle, The Saginaw News and Advance Newspapers.

If one subscribes to the paper long enough --- one year for me --- the template of daily coverage is obvious and sacrifice of local news just as obvious. MLive tends to drop in the biggest story among their coverage areas whether it has relevance to the other communities or not.

A weekly entertainment column covers the highlights of performers across the state for that weekend, completely ignoring the amazing arts events that happen nonstop in Flint. ---- FLINT IS AN ARTS TOWN! --- But how would a columnist not in Flint know about Flint arts if he’s just surfing the web looking for events calendars to help him fill his column?

Often, from Friday to Sunday or Sunday to Tuesday, the same story is virtually repeated rather than covering ---- “NEWs --- as in breaking news or new news in case you don’t get that “news” means the latest not just the best we’ve got to help us save money in the production process.

Instead of spending money on sufficient reporters to cover the local news, two full pages are given over to comic strips and Sudoku, more pages include three syndicated advice columns in a row (thanks, I needed that) along with horoscopes and other filler that has nothing to do with the community or the state --- just more paid for syndicated feature stuff.

Whew though! Plenty of pages are still dedicated to obituaries because most subscribers are 55+ and our parents (my mother) trained us well to check to see who we know who died. One service they’ve preserved for us ---- or actually the one service that makes them money since those death notices are paid for by the funeral home or family. Cha-ching.

It’s not that I don’t want the latest information on the Flint Water Crisis but that’s not the only story in town. And by the way, I’d much rather read about the other stories in my town than fluff features about Grand Rapids, Jackson, Kalamazoo, Muskegon or even Saginaw (my home town.)

I’m troubled by any justification behind generically filling each community’s paper with copy from other communities to save money. Whatever cash savings they are enjoying, they plan is at the expense of their subscribers who still hope for the the service that once was the community newspaper.

Will I cancel my subscription? Are you kidding! Newspapers are my life. I want my news in hard copy and I will always support my local paper ---- but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worthy of some constructive criticism from time to time.

Do you think it is still possible for publishers to think more about their audience than their bottom line? I don’t.