Spring - afoot and fancy free

There are some who want springtime to break out early and there are others who live where it actually does. 

Southern Living editor Lindsay Bierman calls attention in the February 2014 issue that the cover conveys spring for a very good reason. 

He says February heralds the return to warmer weather. The choice of herald in his explanation is brilliant. It sold me right there. 

A herald announces good news. In February in the South that news is the arrival back of spring.

This year's February cover was turned into a celebration of spring, Bierman said, following staff discussions (which must have come up annually in the past). 

The staff debated whether the February cover should reflect winter, as the calendar places the month, or if the magazine better serves its readership by casting February in the light of spring.

Bierman figures (with apparent consensus from his team) that spring in the South deserves declaration by February. He advocates for the February cover to serve as a spring issue from here on in.

There's no question that the South has a head start on spring over the rest of us. It does seem smart for the magazine to capitalize on this.

Elsewhere, where this winter has dragged on, the hope that February would be a reprieve from the cold, ice, snow and wind hasn't come to pass.

Those weary of winter regard spring as a beautiful word. As this protracted season drags on, however, spring has a nearly unobtainable reality to it. 

Those stuck in the trenches of winter begin to dream of places where spring is established, where spring has come and been and flowered and rushed on.

It makes me think of the patterns by which spring arrives. Spring comes creeping, it comes in waves, it recedes and flashes forth. Spring in each region has an aspect found nowhere else.

In the north our experience of spring is a slow advance of the season. Its presence for quite awhile is noted by the longer daylight and not a whole lot else.

When it decides to arrive the timing can be so swift it can catch us off guard. By somersaults (mostly mental in nature) and automatic grins we welcome it. 

Until this occurs we must wait while spring unfolds in the warmest regions of our country and works its way to us.

By late January there are clues that the United States is tilting at a more direct angle toward the sun.

Longer daylight is observable. The blooming season becomes more pronounced in the warm climates, and birds there twitter increasingly. Their songs each day are more clearly heard.

Spring begins in Florida for sure, in California and the tip of Texas. The various places spring has first onset are familiar because we hear about them from many sources.

Sometimes these spring oases are known to us through weather news. Often it's via glowing tans as family members and colleagues return from winter vacations or they share on social media their renewal time in the sun.

From its southernmost outposts the wash of spring continues farther afoot and fancy free. It eddies and swirls northerly. It steals along with the lengthening rays. It spreads. It gains a dominant hand over the land.

February in the South, as Bierman suggests on his editorial page, is spring with no doubt to it. 

Not every southern February shows the season's full countenance. But count on spring being there in sufficient form by now, or so close it's splitting hairs to say it isn't.

Sometimes you have to look harder for it. Spring can be elusive in the South (and nonexistent in other places) in colder years. 

Some years spring in the South lies very near the surface even through the quiet winter period. 

A Georgia friend reported snowdrops blooming in the yard in late December this year. At Christmastime, she said - both a discovery and a  delight.

The southern countryside stretches and awakens under blue cloudless February skies.

The bright red blur of cardinals, cheerful robins on green grass, bluebirds quick of motion, cedar waxwings and other feathered species of joyous birdsong gladden this month's mild days.

Frogs are in chorus from nearby creeks. Daffodils are southern sunshine where their yellow flowers catch the eye.

Squirrels race and scold, accelerating the sense that spring is breaking all around. 

Many southern gardeners use February to plant cool weather crops like carrots or radishes. The seeds, set carefully in their rows, hasten through frost-free nights for readiness of picking. 

The new plantings add to crops like spinach, which are already growing, and which make tasty February meals of homegrown greens.

Potatoes also are planted in these early gardens. In some areas of the South potatoes planted soon will be harvested in May. New potatoes on the dinner table by Mother's Day sounds pretty wonderful to many of us.

February in my area will never be misconstrued as spring. February covers of our regional lifestyle magazines have little recourse other than to stick with a winter theme. 

(Unless the editors fool us with a February picnic cover photographed on a rolling green lawn, leading us to believe a copy of Southern Living was sent by mistake.)

As we turn the pages of the February issue of Midwest Living many of us dream forward.

We wonder where the celebration of winter - excellently highlighted through photos, travel features, stories, tips and recipes - will take us. 

It'll take us (we know it well before the last page) to our own awaited season of spring.

The magazine recognizes that the February issue is our bridge, our long span. It deposits us, in the end, on the distant and lovely shore we take for spring in our parts.

At this stage it's still a far shore barely perceptible on the horizon. 

Others have had a foothold on it (it seems to us) since time began. But we'll get there. One foot (of snow) at a time.

Ro Giencke - February 21, 2014

Valentine trail

 
Pretty in pink this wish  from the heart 

Conveys happy thoughts wherever we are.

Part of the valentine trail of greetings for
Valentine's Day, a day among the best.

May these special personal wishes, 
Like sea shells lining our daily forward path, Remind us of the beauty in friendship
And the transforming gift of love.

Valentine's Day is here - we note it every year.

May its hours fill us with gladness and cheer

As we share and connect 
With those we hold dear.

Happy  Day !!

Ro Giencke - February 14, 2014 

Joan Mondale, role model

As a Minnesotan the news of Joan Mondale's passing at age 83 touches me personally. 

Joan Mondale and her husband Walter Mondale were a political couple who lived their values on a national and international stage. 

They did so with grace and an understanding of service not as a platform for self advancement but as a bridge you build that connects and brings others forward.

Walter and Joan Mondale's political life spanned many years. Much of their career was spent in Washington DC where Walter Mondale served as Senator from Minnesota, then as Vice President (1977-1981) under President Jimmy Carter. 

The Mondales also served their country abroad when Walter Mondale was later named Ambassador to Japan.

In the global sense the Mondales had the full life that comes to few of us. Their mutual career (she his inestimable support every step of the way) moved them into the center ring of things with all which this brings. 

It can be awesome to stand within the ropes and know, which surely the Mondales felt (with their hometown backgrounds giving context to the experience) that an eminent position isn't to be taken lightly but comes with responsibility. 

Integrity is tested at this level as it is no matter where we are. I believe the Mondales demonstrated a great deal of integrity. This endeared the couple to those who paid attention as they carried out their public and personal duties.

Maybe it's part of the Midwest character that the Mondales had the knack of quiet living. They didn't lose the knack of being comfortable in their own shoes. They had a sure idea of who they were and went about being themselves.

They were the family next door as lots of us viewed them. We didn't really know the Mondales, as we can say of many people, and then surprise ourselves by how much about them we actually know. 

The Mondales had media coverage and through the stories and interviews they took on real form and meant something to us. 

Joan, an accomplished potter, was a promoter of the arts. We were familiar with this interest of hers but equally we knew and appreciated her role as supportive wife and loving mother. 

We had a good idea of the Mondale family because they were before us for decades of public service. Besides Walter and Joan there were daughter Eleanor - who died in 2011 at age 51- and two Mondale sons.

A few years ago we were at a Twin Cities restaurant. One in our party, with a nod of the head in the direction of the adjacent table, alerted us to the presence next to us of the Mondale family.

The entire family was seated and having a wonderful time. It was a time, as I recall, when Eleanor seemed to have a chance of beating the brain cancer which ultimately claimed her. 

It was a moment of rubbing elbows, in a way, with them. Considerate of their desire for privacy at a public meal we left them alone to eat and enjoy.

It was the holidays. They, like us and the numerous groups filling the popular West End restaurant, were appreciating the social pleasure of gathering as a clan to share a festive dinner together.

More than political accomplishments the Mondales, as a married team working through the national political system, left as their mark upon us the stamp of their common decency.

I say this with the greatest respect. Walter and Joan Mondale utilized their abilities and interests (especially in the areas of environment and the arts). They championed their causes without ever losing, in the bigger game, the basic courtesies based on respect and which are essential to every human transaction.

In their public service years, and afterwards, I identified with Joan as wife and mother in the various moves and multiple reframings of their lives. 

Joan Mondale's ability to be on her toes and at the same time keep her feet firmly planted was apparent and this too was admired.

Public lives take poise and stamina to both stretch and stay grounded and she learned to do this very well. There was strength in this slim smiling woman who settled back into the Minnesota lifestyle when their public time came to an end.

Tributes have been plenty following Joan Mondale's death on February 3. The words have been kind and heartfelt. Often in death one is seen most clearly as they were all along. It's as if for the first time all the attributes are lined up and brought to the light.

In Minnesota the truth is that one of the great ones among us is gone. We were lucky to have Joan Mondale. She represented us well. She needed neither political office nor official title to serve but by demeanor and dignity added to the stock of our worth. 

No votes were required for her to win our affection.  She did it with her gifts of service and warmth. We've gained from what she generously gave. Thank you Joan Adams Mondale (1930-2014). 

Ro Giencke - February 7, 2014

While fishing for walleyes I snagged a truck

Spring is fifty three days away. 

We heard this while the weather news was on and the national map on the TV screen showed bands of ice poised to glaze over half the Southeast. 

The mention of spring in the offing was surely intended to inject hope as the end days of cold January play out and a new forecast repeats the old. 

My hunch is the suggestion of spring around the corner succeeded in its aim. It generally works to have a goal to concentrate on even when it may take awhile for it to come into actual focus.

Being given a definite number of days which separate us from spring, but also lead us to it, lifted spirits for many of us. 

It puts a statistical handle on winter. From this light it makes it bearable. It becomes surmountable with relative ease when you have days to count off one by one, however painfully winter has dragged on to this point. 

If you're anywhere in the eastern United States this winter you know it's been a long and unforgiving season. Winter has persisted until its start is lost in the vapors of cold air that keep blowing from the Arctic. 

By the calendar this punishing regime of below normal temperatures began in December. The pattern, as established, is relentless. It's tested the patience of otherwise indestructible winter types who take the cold in stride. 

Adding another layer, shrugging and saying This too shall pass has lost some flavor with them. It's put these more cold-resistant colleagues in the same boat as those of us who weeks ago called surrender to the chill.

Earlier I happened to catch CNN as a reporter was on location in Minneapolis. In this weather segment a local person, bundled up against what's been a battery of below-zero temperatures, gave her comment on the frigid state of things.

It feels like winter has gone on forever she said. She struck me as someone making the best of a tough situation and being honest about it too.

I liked her remark. It indicated a good natured acceptance of something out of her control to change except by the attitude brought to the continuing situation.

Turn to any TV channel and there's a kind of fascination with the rigors being put up with this unremitting winter in the Midwest. 

With the polar vortex calling the shots this year the Pacific zonal flow, which favors more seasonal winter temperatures, doesn't have a chance. With the forecast stuck at the North Pole the parkas east of the Mississippi River stay hanging in the closet by the front door.

CBS TV evening news cast the cold weather parked over Minnesota in a softer light and cheers to them. The story, which aired yesterday, was about an ice fishing contest held at Brainerd in the central lakes area.

It was a well done story. It caught the essence of the hearty way of life that deals with severe conditions and makes sport of it. 

The gist of the story, as I took it, was that cold weather doesn't get in the way of traditions that keep the Midwest strong. In fact, cold weather is part of the tradition.

The ice fishing contest, a yearly event, was an active scene of confident ice fishermen as the cameras panned over the lake ice.

The scene reminded me of a famous line from the popular Lake Wobegon show. It took looking up the exact words to get them right although they were in my head, remembered, in a fairly similar version.

The precise wording is: "Welcome from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."

The words are those of Garrison Keillor and they're appropriate for the ice fishing event which is close both geographically and in spirit to the imaginary Minnesota community he has created for his radio audience.

 

The virtuous and hard working citizens of Lake Wobegon, who come to life for millions through the brilliant monologues of Garrison Keillor, would very much approve the endeavors of this convocation of ice fishermen bent on winning a truck, for the biggest fish caught, as grand prize. 

In fact, look around and you might see some of the Lake Wobegon citizenry among the contestants. It's the kind of challenge they thrive on. 

They're versed in the kind of homespun truth that tells them it's worth believing that a good day on the winter ice, a little backslapping among old friends and a spot of fishing luck might combine to let you drive away a new truck.

Hard packed snow, cold conditions (evidenced by the no-nonsense outerwear that collectively was a sports clothing catalog of winter survival gear), the small circular holes of clear frigid lake water (the holes drilled by ice auger, the essential tool of winter fishermen) and the rosy patch at the horizon, which may have been the low late afternoon sun, contributed visuals for the TV story. It came across very Minnesotan and full of life.

Ice fishing as sport and pastime may have baffled a small portion of CBS viewers. Some may have questioned its fit in a news program format. For lots of us, however, the story brought levity and something more.

People joining forces to have fun together, thumbing their noses at Mother Nature, or invigorated by weather too raw for plenty of us, is a refreshing antidote to news with an often grim thrust.

The main point in the ice fishing story could have been one of many. I took it as this, that Minnesota is a rather pristine and rugged place with a good deal of outdoor room for having a good time. 

Minnesotans brace for the weather which comes with the territory. They are its equal even in its extremes. They put up with, they put forward, and unify with the elements. They have great enjoyment in it.

True class has to do with rising above ever changing vicissitudes. It has to do with modesty, hard work and endurance. Sometimes, as at the Brainerd ice fishing event, class is exemplified by gusto and a definite flourish. 

And that modesty thing that pairs so naturally with class? Minnesotans do it reasonably well. 

Don't be surprised if someone gives this answer when you compliment them on their new 2014 GMC. "While fishing for walleyes I snagged a truck."

Ro Giencke - January 28, 2014

Road taken

Getting in touch with my sister I asked about a mutual acquaintance who had the boom lowered. The diagnosis has come back and it's cancer. 

Bad news is something we don't get accustomed to. As often as it might break upon us, in all the forms it can be delivered, we don't ever acquire sufficient armor of protection to deflect the pain when life upends us or those who matter to us. 

Life's just not an easy road. It can be essentially smooth and we're thankful for this. We come to be ecstatic with the uninterrupted good stretches as we get wise to the fact they generally don't last.

Almost all of us, at some time or another, eventually hit the rough spots. They're the unmarked locations along our highway surprising us with frost heave bumps, unplanned detours and potholes deep enough to swallow us entire.

There's not always an inn at the wayside when our road emergency comes. We steer or brake as conditions dictate and do our best and sometimes could use an assist.

On the road of life every kind word shared adds a brick to that structure of hospitality we look for off to the shoulder as it becomes imperative for it to be there. 

When we find it we benefit from its comfort, hope, help or encouragement. It bails us out when the chips are down. It shelters us to send us out when prepared to again take our place in the stream of traffic. 

Kindness in word, backed by considerate and direct action, makes all the difference. 

What we give as help to another, when it's their turn to need it, adds invaluably to the road of life which is the one road we travel together.

Ro Giencke - January 23, 2014

A measure of place

A remark by film star Cate Blanchett in the January 2014 Vogue stays with me like credits on the screen after the movie is over. It comes out of the interview in which we learn the Australian actress is half American.

Her father was a Texan. A parent with roots elsewhere widens your heritage.

Through her dad Blanchett had access to another continent, another way of life. She alludes to this. She says when you have a parent who is from a different place you think of the world as bigger than where you are.

My head bobbed yes at that part. She's right I said. She hits the nail on the head. Later I wondered why the comment struck a chord. Siding with Blanchett so swiftly wasn't a thought-out process. It lined up with something instinctive within me.

It caused me to review my childhood. My dad was from the Mid South. My mom was from the Midwest. As kids we saw, and figured out for ourselves, that our parents, who loved each other dearly, were still at times as on opposite shores of a vast gulf.

The gulf in their case was the dividing waters of the truths that embodied their expectations of life. Their truths were theirs because of where they were born and where they grew up. Places instruct you. The bunch of us understood this without being able to say how we knew.

With our parents it wasn't a matter of one perspective being right and the other wrong. It was that sometimes the two viewpoints were separated by the information put into them, or taken in by them, deep from their starts.

I think that's how it is for many of us. Our world begins with the size that fit our parents. Our original world is the size of those we first know and love.

Watching and absorbing we compare and contrast. We begin the path of making the decisions we make, and the viewpoints and insights we carry and continue to evolve.

Ro Giencke
January 11, 2014

Best word in the English language

When our kids were flying home regularly – college semester breaks and vacation time early in their careers – it came easily to see that landed was the best word in the English language.

“Landed” popped up on the airport flight information screens when planes arrived. 

We headed directly to the screens to check plane status when we arrived at the baggage carousels, usually some minutes before our kids were expected in.

The confirmation on the screen that they had come in safe and sound meant everything to this mom, in those empty nest years, adjusting to her kids being far away.

A decade has passed since then. Landed remains a beautiful word. 

Landed, over this period, has been joined by a word also so meaningful as to prompt me to suggest it for the top of the word list. 

I believe this word shares honors with landed as best word in the dictionary. The word is received. 

To know we’re received by another puts us on firm ground. 

We’re like a jet with wheels down coming in to roll smoothly down the runway. 

In being received we feel the exhilaration of arrival which always starts with a walk through a new opened door.

There are many kinds of being received. We can be received through an act of hospitality.

Our ideas can be received through another’s listening attentive manner. The package that is each of us, in the totality of our interests, habits, needs and gifts, can also be received.

To be received, as the word connotes to me, is to be accepted, taken into or understood. The act of being received significantly influences us.

Similarly, when we receive others, through taking time and making time for them, we connect and make possible the bringing forward of the best in each of us.

We touch firm ground in the touch we give others to count them in. Received, we step up. Received, we step out. Received, we confidently step in where encouraged to belong.

Ro Giencke

January 1, 2014