Seizing and rebuilding

“So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You think I care about that? I do understand. You wanna be really great? Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make them wonder why you’re still smiling.”

When I was about 39 years old, still married to the boy I dated in high school, but separated due to a work opportunity, I rented the movie Elizabethtown after reading a review that it had one of the best soundtracks in recent history.  The reviewers were right–and I spent the next couple of years listening to it during my increasingly frequent cycling workouts, while I worked in the yard, and commuting the 20 mile stretch of US 81 between Concordia and Belleville, KS.
My father had died a few years before, and the business we built was falling apart at the seams, as was my marriage, and everything I’d worked for during the first half of my life.  I saw something in Drew and Hollie Baylor and Claire Colburn that directly corresponded to what I was going through at that time.
Claire’s feelings of rejection.  Drew’s career imploding after a marketing fiasco.  His mother, Hollie’s reaction to sudden tragedy by trying to seize life and hold on tight, all spoke to me.  The movie gave me hope,  allowed me to laugh, and helped me to start to pick up the pieces of what remained of the package marked FRAGILE of my my life, after being run-over by a Mac truck.  At least, that’s what it felt like.

Road trips are wonderful things for sorting out and solving all the ills of the world, and Claire is right–everyone needs to take a road trip.  But my time for taking long road trips was about over–I needed to find what I was good at, and build a new life.  I have.  I plunged into the world of divorce and single parenthood.  Instead of living in the shadow, hiding my discontent at being the woman behind the man, I’ve built a career, and I’ve found love, and I’m still smiling.

Road trip to Dallas, first stop Oklahoma City

On March 1, 2013, we set out early in the morning for Dallas, Texas.  Today, I consider it a pretty long drive.  After all, now I only commute three blocks to work.  There was a time, however, when I took more long interstate drives, so I recognized the subtle thrill that comes from packing the suitcase into the back of the truck and making sure our road munchies, insulated cups and cell phones were accounted for.   Then, we were on the road.  
Great Bend, Kans. to Dallas is a right angled drive.  You drive two blocks from my house, then head East for two hours, then head south for another six hours.  Conversation started slowly, but by the time we reached McPherson, my mom and I were thick into solving the problems of the world, while dear husband kept his eyes on the road and fit a comment in edgewise when one of us stopped to breathe.  Dear daughter alternated from listening to boredom to sleep.
One destination along the way I suggested was the Oklahoma City National Monument. I was happy mom and daughter were interested.  Our wonderful driver was happy to humor us.  I’d like to believe it touched him to see the field of empty chairs and the soothing, black marble “pond” of centimeter deep water that passed between the bookend marble slabs at either of end of the block, labeled simply 9:01 and 9:03.  We wondered aloud what they meant, and were answered by a National Parks guide.
“It signifies the moment between when life was ordinary, and when everything changed, not only for the people of Oklahoma City, but the entire nation,” he said.  So often today, after the tragedy of 9-11, it’s easy to forget that this bombing was a first for the country.  
In 2008, on a different trip to Dallas, I’d stopped for the first time, in the middle of summer.  It was sultry, and there was a different feeling than on this cold March morning when we stopped.  The first time, I lingered, looking at artwork, reading the notes left on the chain-link curtain along the street outside the memorial.  I slowly made my way to the Survivor Tree, and reached up and picked a leaf to press in one of my herbal books.  I read the plaques and wished I had time to go through the museum before I was expected at my destination.  
This time, I took more time to really look at the empty chairs.  I noticed that the name of each of the victims was etched into the base.  I was told at night, the glass bases light up, and the names are very visible then.  There were tiny, impromptu memorials, stuffed animals and flowers left on some, evidence that on top of not being forgotten by their country, they were also not forgotten by their loved ones.  This time, I registered that the walls behind the chairs were foundation walls–of a building no longer standing.  I knew all of this before, but somehow standing in the cold breeze, it was far more noticeable.  I turned around, and there was the Survivor tree, standing bare in it’s spot in the former parking area where many of the victims and survivors left their cars before heading into the Alfred P. Murrah building each day for work.  Now, several semi-circular levels lead your eye up to the ground level on the north side of the pond.  Another guide told us the pond was where the road was where the truck bomb was parked before it detonated.  I pointed to the fourth pine tree from the east, “There, there was a loading zone where he parked it, and ran to get in his other car,” he said.  “He claimed he didn’t know there was a daycare center there, but in the end, he shrugged and called it collateral damage.”
He was only too happy to tell us more, with far fewer visitors there the first of March than on my first August visit.   
Daughter asked questions, “When did it happen, did anyone survive?”  Two years before she was born.  I remember not being able to stop from crying when I saw Charles Porter’s photograph of a firefighter carrying the body of an unconscious toddler, smeared in blood and debris from the scene.
It made me curious to learn if the child had lived or died–something I probably forgo over the past 18 years.  Sadly, I learned she did not–having passed away shortly after the photo was taken.  As we turned to leave for the warmth of our car and the rest of the trip to Dallas, daughter spied a tear in my eye, and asked quietly if I was crying.  I choked out that it was a very emotional place.  And I was grateful that for once, she didn’t laugh.

Protecting a birthright

(originally run in the Great Bend Tribune, Great Bend, Kans. Feb. 3, 2013 edition)

(illustration courtesy of http://www.freeduh.com)

Recently, I was moving photos and pictures around on my walls.  My favorites are two shadow boxes, one with a photo of my great grandmother and great grandfather, their daughters and a photo of their house on the farm.  The farm is in Kackley, a tiny almost-ghost town in North Central Kansas.  In the other box is a set of hand painted knobs my mother created 20 years ago, which adorned her kitchen cabinets for years until she remodeled.  One of them has a miniature painting of the barn from the old farm.

Looking at them, I cant help  wishing I’d had a chance to visit with my great-grandmother.  I’d ask her all kinds of questions, starting with what finally made her decide to leave Sweden on her own and follow her sister to Kansas, where she became a house maid until she married my great grandfather.  It was a common thing, back in the 1890s for a young woman from Sweden to do, but still, what courage it must have taken to follow through with.

This relative of mine has been the inspiration of my adult life in many ways.  She traveled alone, she made her own way, she was tough when she had to be, and living out on a farm, she had to be often.  But she never became rough.  Though she learned how to use a gun, and was known as a crack shot and able to blow away snakes on a fence post, she insisted on having a fine piano and having her girls learn to play.

This week, I had an opportunity to visit Doris Reile’s class of people who wish to go through the naturalization process.  It occurred to me, I don’t know if my great-grandmother or great-grandfather ever became naturalized citizens.  The Immigration Commission was not formed until 1907, so I have to assume they simply came into the country and became citizens.  Because of this, all the rest of us who followed after her are firmly native born U.S. citizens.

Now that the election is over, and the fiscal cliff deadline has been pushed back, reports are beginning to make their way back into the media about immigration reform.  Once again, Nativists are attacking our birthright as citizens, this time through the “Birthright Citizenship Act of 2013”, H.R.140.  In a sneaky move, they hope to avoid an amendment to the Constitution by amending the Immigration and Nationality Act, according to a report by Devin Burghart, published in Nation, State and Citizenship and republished on Institute for Research and Education on Human Rights.

The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services website says the INA was created in 1952.  It was basically a way to organize and codify a number of existing provisions and “reorganized the structure of immigration law”.  It goes on to say “The Act has been amended many times over the years, but is still the basic body of immigration law.

So far, 13 House Representatives, mostly from southern states, are in favor of changing the act to “require that only the children of citizens, legal immigrants permanently living in the country, or immigrants in the military, be granted citizenship.”  In other words, they don’t want any more illegal immigrants having babies in the United States and thereby ensuring their child has a birthright of citizenship.

While I can see how some might think that’s a good idea, I have to disagree.  Sneaking around and slipping in a change in the law in a sneaky way only raises my suspicions at motive.  The 14th Amendment was ratified in 1868 to underscore the fact that former slaves were to be considered citizens now, and there should not be any question of that fact.

I can understand wanting to secure borders from possible terrorist threats, but honestly, when was the last time you ever held a baby and worried what it’s motive for being in your arms was?

Veronica Coons is a reporter for the Great Bend Tribune. She can be reached at vcoons@gbtribune.com.

Slipping it in

(originally run in the Great Bend Tribune, Great Bend, Kans. Jan. 20, 2013 edition)

When I was growing up, my mom made a point of going to the grocery store by herself, rather than dragging us along.  There were several reasons, but mostly because she didn’t like listening to all the pleading to get snacks that weren’t on the list.  

I can’t stand the pleading either, so I am following in my mom’s footsteps.  But now and then, bringing one of the kids along simply can’t be avoided. One of the children, whose name I will not mention, is prone to slipping items into the basket on the sly, in hopes that I won’t notice when I’m at the checkout. I’ve become very observant now—which has really helped to keep my grocery budget under control.

That same scrutiny comes in handy when I sit down to translate political speak into plain English. This week, Governor Sam Brownback gave his annual State of the State speech.  Rather than watch it, the next morning I grabbed the transcript and a pen and began reading and underlining, writing my questions in the margin, and figuring out what it all means.  I haven’t studied like this since I was studying Economics in college. And I admit, I’m torn.  I consider myself a liberal Republican, sometimes a conservative Democrat.  I don’t disagree with everything that Brownback wants to accomplish during his administration, but I disagree with enough of it to take seriously the proposals he makes.  

Consolidating departments and eliminating duplication I agree with. Decluttering is a good thing to do, and if one can do the job, why pay for two?  

But repealing an 80-plus year tradition of requiring Kansas corporate ownership of agricultural land to be owned and operated by entities that actually reside in Kansas, I am adamantly against. I’m all for the Governor enticing business to locate in Kansas, but not at the expense of the stewardship of our land. Those who have a close, personal stake in the land are the ones who will take the best care of it.

Next, while I’m not sure how much money is needed to provide our children an adequate education, I believe in the authority of the state Supreme Court.  It’s disastrous to suggest that supreme court judges be subject to the political whims of whoever is in power. Changing the constitution because you disagree with the court’s ruling borders on becoming a new chapter of George Orwell’s Animal Farm.

And I’m shocked and astonished that Brownback would propose we completely eliminate measures to ensure educational equity in the state by allowing districts to raise unlimited property taxes to fund school districts locally. The spin he put on that really made me feel like I had to get off the ride before I lost my lunch. Many qualified Americans fought long and hard over the years to bring equity to education, and to defend it. We don’t need to have a state full of haves and have-nots when it comes to something as vital as education. You never know where the next Einstein is lurking. Why, when I moved to rural Kansas ten years ago, I was amazed to find that the district we lived in, which had over 50 percent of the students receiving free and reduced lunch and where the average home sold for less than $100,000 had a higher than average number of National Merit Scholarships. I have to credit that in part to educational equity. 

But as I read on, I felt there was still something missing. I couldn’t put my finger on it until the next day, when I learned about the speech after the speech.  

We all knew the budget shortfall was going to have to be made up somehow. I think it was cowardly of Brownback to not mention his plan during the State of the State address though. Declaring his intention the next day to eliminate the mortgage interest deduction just makes it look like he’s trying to slip something into the cart of goods he’s selling voters.

The mortgage interest deduction may not be the only motivating factor for buying a home, but it’s at least in the top three to five. In fact, it is taken into consideration when a would-be home purchaser sits down to determine how much house can be purchased. By getting rid of this, Brownback may be able to follow through with cutting income taxes, and that may very well help entice businesses from elsewhere to move here. But at what cost?  Will Kansas simply become one more state where the native population cannot afford to invest in their own state, and be forced to choose to either live as a slave or move on to greener pastures?  

Veronica Coons is a reporter for the Great Bend Tribune. She can be reached at vcoons@gbtribune.com

The Humane-ity of it all

This dog is currently at the Great Bend, Kans. Humane Shelter. He looks just like my own dog. For more information about him, take a look at the FB page.

The last time I truly felt helpless was during a recent visit to the Great Bend Humane Society animal shelter, where I came face to face with the dogs and cats that have been brought there  to wait for fate to happen for them. 

Some of the animals are there because they were found running “at large”, while others have been abandoned by owners that can’t care for them anymore.  By that, I mean either they’ve become too old or sick, and no family members are willing to take them in, or the owners lives have changed in some other way, and they are no longer able to keep them.  Some have been abandoned simply because they didn’t “fit”.  Others, because their parents weren’t neutered or spayed. 

It is a tough thing to look through the gate at a loving animal, and know that you are not the one who can take them home and give them the love they need.  I already have all the pets my family can handle, and I only make so much money.  Yet, there is that tug on my heart that asks, “why?  surely you can take in one more?” 

I wish I could help more.  All I can do is photograph them and write a story about the experience, and hope others are touched in some way.  All I can do is love my own pets up and make sure they are cared for to the best of my ability.  And then, I have to turn my back, and walk out the door, listening to the lives behind me as they bark or merely turn in circles, attempting to find that spot where they can be comfortable on the cold floor until someone comes to either give them a forever home, or give them the injection that will take them home to God forever. 

Voice of experience should not be silenced

image courtesy of April Scarlett, idea mapper.

(originally published in Dec. 30,2012 edition of The Great Bend Tribune, Great Bend, KS)

It’s ironic.  Kansas Governor Sam Brownback wants Kansas to become one of the most hospitable states in the nation for business, but one of the steps he’s taking to do this might spell the end of a proven program that helps business start-ups get off to the right start and offers continuing assistance into the future.  

Earlier this week, I met and visited with Karmi Green at the Prairie Enterprise Project here in Great Bend.  She provides free, confidential business coaching to those starting a new business or tweaking an existing business.

I asked her what she would do if I came into her office and told her I wanted to start a business selling baby blankets.  I was just threw an off-the cuff idea out.  It was the first thing that popped into my head.  Much to my surprise, she smiled and said okay, and began.  

The first thing she would do after visiting and getting to know the client for a while, helping them to define why they wanted to start a business in the first place, would be to have them create a “Back of the envelope business plan.”  We started working through it and as we broke down different aspects of what it would take, I was able to envision a real and viable business.  This could really work, if I really wanted to do it.  If I did, she would have been with me every step of the way from the initial spark to the day I open the doors and on into the future.  Again, all of this absolutely free with confidentiality assured.

The new year is a time for reflecting and making resolutions.  When I see something I did was a smart move and made my life better, I don’t decide to quit doing it.  As a community, we need to reflect.   As I listened to Green tell about the people she helped as an Enterprise facilitator these past 10 years, I had to wonder why we would allow this project to simply fade away–which it will if a new source of funding isn’t found in the next year.  

What’s this?  I thought it was free, you say.  Well, it is for the business person using her services, but Green still has to eat.  She still has to put gas in her car and needs a phone and a heated office for obvious reasons.  The money comes from somewhere, and that’s been from taxpayers via city and county governments, and through the sale of tax credits via the state government.  It’s a non-profit funded in large part by tax dollars.  Your’s and mine. It’s an expenditure I approve of, like free and public education and the presence of police and fire department personnel.  The reason is, to keep these things funded, people need to have jobs that create the tax dollars that pay for these things, and this program is one really good way of creating jobs.  

Brownback’s elimination of the sale of tax credits swung a life-threatening blow to the Prairie Enterprise Project.  Funds from the sale of these tax credits make the budget, and the lack of them breaks it.  By charging unearned income tax, the state could provide tax credits for sale.  This will allow the state to eliminate unearned income tax, which in theory would make the state more attractive for starting or locating an existing business.  That means, if you own a business, you don’t pay state income tax on the income derived from the business.  If you only work for the business, you earn your income, and therefore you pay state income tax on it.   

Follow the train of logic here, and it becomes apparent that everyone who resides in Kansas should be grabbing the backs of envelopes and whipping out napkins at local diners and jotting down business plans like mad until they hit on the right one.  If only one percent of them turned out to be a viable plan, think of the jobs that could be created!  I hate to admit it, but I can begin to understand Brownback’s thinking here.  

People who own a business will benefit most from this taxing structure-as long as it is a good and viable business.  For the vast majority of us, it doesn’t pay to own a business that doesn’t pay but offers a tax break.  And that is why we need to keep the Prairie Enterprise Project in business.  We don’t need to have a lot of people enamoured with an idea, but lacking business savvy and experience  creating a bunch of failed businesses.  All that does is stoke the fires of those with “Can’t do” attitudes and cause paralysis among those who have failed but could succeed if they give it another try.  Green is very happy to report she has helped hundreds of people determine their idea simply wouldn’t work the way they first thought it would–saving them thousands of dollars and their pride to boot.   

We as a community financially support projects like the new ballpark or whatever will come of the convention center, so the comparatively small amount of money is not the issue here.  Who knows, some of the businesses that may be born out of the project could grow to use a convention center, or at the very least, sponsor a baseball team.

Dreams of Gardens Future

(originally published in Dec. 30,2012 edition of The Great Bend Tribune, Great Bend, KS)

The year 2012 was not the most eventful year ever but it definitely made the top ten list.  I have to say, the events were mostly all life-affirming.  They represented finally reaching the light at the end of a tunnel.  I finished phase one of a college experience, married a wonderful man, travelled outside the United States for the first time ever, found a new and better job and moved to my new home.  Of all that I left behind, the things I miss most are some very good neighbors and friends, and a really wonderful garden.  

Going into the new year, it’s time to start planning for 2013. I call it the New Year’s to do list, because it sounds less intimidating than “resolutions.”  Two things on the list include planting a vegetable garden in my new yard, and coming up with something great to make to share with my family next year.

This is the second year that my mom and my brothers and sisters-in-law have impressed and inspired me with their craftiness, creativity, and organizational skills.   Oldest brother and wife had an amazing garden this year, and canned sauce and other goodies.  Not only that, we received some awesome mixes from them this year that I can’t wait to make, except that they look so pretty in the jar, I’m almost afraid to take the lids off unless its really a special occasion.  

Youngest brother has been craft-brewing beer for several years now, and came through with the best of his best for me, and again, I feel like the only time to open one of the fancy ceramic-topped brown bottles is if I have something really special to celebrate.  

 

His wife made salsa out of my mother’s excess peppers and tomatoes, and I love to look at the melange of colors just waiting for me to be daring enough to twist the top and empty the insides into a bowl.  I need to get better chips first though.

Isn’t it amazing how something handmade elevates the value of the product above the everyday usual fare you wouldn’t think twice about digging into?  To me, these jars and bottles of food and drink represent spending time with my family, something I simply can’t get enough of throughout the year.  

About the same time Christmas has passed for another year, the gardening catalogues start to appear.  I’m staying put this year, so the garden is my number one priority home improvement project.  Already, the beds are prepared and resting.  Except for the places where faithful Boy-boy has chosen to dig.  More than just my husband has warned me that he’s likely to ruin my garden, but I have a plan, and I’m sure he’s not going to.  But, that’s a topic for another column.

The last time mom came out to visit, she brought home grown Asian pears and Russian tomatoes.  For years, she thought the pears were awful, mealy and bland.  That was, until a friend taught her the way to tell when an Asian pear is at it’s peak.  At that point, it is the most delightful tasting fruit ever.  The ones she brought were perfect, and prompted me to purchase three for my yard, which I intend to espalier into a fence.  

The tomatoes were such a dark red, they were almost black.  We enjoyed them so much, when I heard mom had saved seed for the next year, I asked if I could have some, and sure enough, mom produced an envelope along with one of my gifts.    I’ve got just the spot along a south facing fence to tuck the future seedlings in, just as soon as I’m sure they can make it.  

Memories of gardens past, and dreams of gardens future, fueled by the numerous catalogues that begin filling the mailbox, beckoning me to sit down and pour over the pictures and descriptions and decide what will fit (I always over estimate) are the things that sustain me during these days that hover near zero.