Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Happy Birthday...

I remember everything. I wish I didn't, but I do. I used to joke when people would ask, "Mandi, how the heck do you remember that?" that I am an elephant, and you know that they say elephants never forget.

So, I'll never forget that January 30 is my grandfather's birthday. He would have been 82 years old today. He died somewhat suddenly of a stroke in the fall of 2001 when I turned 17. I am the eldest of his grandchildren. My siblings, Ruthie and Ben, and I never doubted the immense joy (despite their tough and staunch exteriors) we gave our grandparents. Grandpa never said much, but when he did, we listened. We spent a great portion of our childhood in the presence of both our parents and grandparents, and this makes me one of the luckiest people ever. I had two sets of parents. My grandpa was a constant, watchful presence in my life. Whether through stories, lectures, or interactions we learned the values of work, family, integrity, and faith from my grandpa. We knew when we disobeyed and violated those values too! He rarely had to tell us our errors, because we knew the "look," as he would lovingly tilt his head slightly, gently furrow his brow, gaze directly at us with his clear, blue eyes, and raise his right hand with a pointed index finger slowly, and gesture it ever so subtly in our direction. If you didn't catch it the first time, he'd do it once more and add your full name in his stern, deep German voice. The pointed finger and "Amanda JoAnn Degner" could stop even my most spastic, hyperactive behavior in its tracks. There was rarely words, we just knew. I guess Grandpa was wise in knowing the power of nonverbal communication far before I studied it in college learning that 60-65% of communication's impact is tied into our nonverbal behavior. He was a smart man.

Grandpa loved us more than anything. Sometimes when I'm visiting home, staying at my childhood home, I get up early. As I fumble with their coffee maker, I stare sleepily out the kitchen window toward the barn and can still see his powder-blue Chevy Blazer parked next to the milk-house like it was, without fail at 6:30 am sharp, every morning until the day of his stroke. I miss having him watch my siblings and I do our barn chores and goofing around. Hearing him laugh at our sibling interactions or our attempts to "tame" the barn cats are some of my favorite memories. His laugh was like his singing in church--loud and proud. He was proud of us, and I can tell you with certainty that we are proud to say he is our grandpa. I wish he was here to see the three of us now...

My Grandma takes joy and pride in being able to bring happiness to others through food and company. She is a true, beautiful German "haus frau" (housewife). To this day, the best compliment I love to recieve from her is on my cooking, baking, or creative efforts when she says, "Mandi, you're becoming such a good, little haus frau." We always had a birthday dinner with Grandpa and she would make whatever he wanted that night. He loved fish soup. I remember having it a few times on his birthday. I think I might try to make it sometime soon in honor of him. Yes, I can do that even if that's not typical of how people in my culture remember our loved ones. I haven't been able to talk about my grandpa this much since before he died. I'm breaking the rules. Happy Birthday Grandpa. We miss you.
Love, Mandi

In honor of Grandpa, a recipe for fish soup:


Traditional European Fish Soup
Ingredients:
2 1/2 tablespoons butter
2 1/2 tablespoons plain flour
4 -5 cups fish stock or 4 cups vegetable stock
1 medium carrot, finely chopped in strips
1 -2 cup leek, finely chopped in strips
1 -2 potato, peeled and cut into small cubes (optional)
1 (14 ounce) can chopped tomatoes (optional)
4 -6 ounces catfish (or fish of your own choice)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
salt and pepper
2 tablespoons sour cream (optional)

Directions:
Melt 2 tablespoons of the butter, add the flour, stir for about 2 minutes without browning the flour.
Add the fish stock at intervals, stirring all the time, let it boil gently for 5-10 minutes.
Melt the rest of the butter and saute the carrots and leek and potatoes, if using, for approx 10 minutes.
Add the tomatoes (if using) and simmer for another 5 minutes, then add fish and the cream.
Simmer for another 5 minutes, or until the fish is tender.

Add the parsley and salt and pepper to taste.

Serve garnished with sour cream.

Monday, January 28, 2013

"It's so nice to see you feeling better..."

Honestly, it's just nice to feel anything at all. I've never been so happy for the days that make me cry, slam doors, or spin in circles. I can be sad, pissed off, or crazy-happy and just "be."

I was asked by a former therapist for permission to use my artwork in a presentation which she will be giving. Of course, I gave it to her. Art has been the dynamite to the cold, dark walls around my past. I spent years completely closed to any indication that there was anything "wrong" with me. I was dying at my own hands, but nothing came out when asked, "Mandi, what is behind all of this? What do you feel?" Nothing. Therapists talked at me for years. I listened intently to others share their pain, but couldn't touch mine. I knew they were probably right, something was probably there, but it was too deep to even see the wounds or hear the screams.

Enter, a kind, soft-spoken art therapist that could piss me off like no one ever could. She didn't stop being nice despite my tantrums! I hated art. I had never taken an art class in my life. I had no desire to draw, paint, sculpt, or whatever she wanted me to do. I was an intellectually-minded, 20-something with aspirations of academia and research. "Don't make me paint, it's messy and I am scared that I won't be able to do it!" Oh! How I hated that I might not be good at something!

 But I was instantly hooked. There was something about moving that brush across a surface and making it come to life that made me listen to myself. I wanted to do this. No, I needed to do this.

Years went by before I could see how much I needed art. Art blasted away all of the inhibitions that my intellectual mind put on my feelings and allowed the pure, real, raw feelings to spill out...little by little, year after year. Now, I know that it saved me from my own hands. The hands that were trying to squish the life right out of me, were also the hands that would create the way to crawl out of the darkness. Now these same hands just want to express whatever is right here, joy or sorrow, anger or excitement, frustration or love are all possible! I can give hugs and receive hugs without feeling as if I will turn to stone. I can hold it all by the hand and let it be here. I'm so glad I'm finally here.


Monday, January 14, 2013

It's not too late. It's not the falling down that is "failure." No, "failure" is defined by staying down.

I'm feeling very story-full today. 
This one I actually wrote part of. I ended the story in a different way. I wrote this a very long time ago, but I still believe that no matter how many times I fall, I can get up and make the next right choice. I hated the original story because it ended without hope. At the time when I was reading the original story, hope was something for which I had to grasp every day. I needed to be reassured that it wasn't too late. Since then, I have seen and felt the reality that for some, it was too late. I hate reality. Sometimes, I side with Garrison Keilor who said, "I believe in looking reality square in the eyes and denying it." This has been one of the most heart-wrenching life lessons that I have watched unfold before me. Sometimes, I can be mindful of this pain before making a foolish choice of my own, but other times, I mess up and ignore the grim reality that we only get one body, one life, one chance. I choose hope and I will always choose hope; for myself and for all of us. 

I love trees. Anyone who knows me, even just a little, knows that I love trees. This story is about trees, so I naturally was drawn in by its message. Sometimes taking the humanity out of our own stories seems to invalidate our suffering, other times, such as in this story (at least for me), the depersonalization illustrates a beautiful picture who's image is permanently branded on to our hearts. For me, the connection to the earth that is created by this story reminds me of how deeply and intricately woven together we all are not just to each other, but to the very earth upon which we walk. 

It's not too late yet. Change is possible if we embrace how wonderful and uniquely beautiful each and every one of us truly has been created. No one says to a tree, "you aren't beautiful because you don't look just like that other tree." So, why do we expect that we should look just like another? There are no two trees that are identical, yet we have no trouble accepting the beauty that these differences create as we admire forests full of unique trees. Why can't we do this with each other? Without imperfections and differences, I believe that beauty itself would disappear. 

So, enough of that...here's the story about the trees.

Mandi

(original story) -author and title unknown

Once upon a time there was a gardener who loved small trees. He didn’t like trees that were tall and full—only small and dainty ones, and he planted all varieties of them in his grove. One year he noticed a young tree coming up that he hadn’t planted. Normally, he grew only the trees that he had carefully selected, but this tree had leaves that were a nice almond shape and a trunk with nice texture and lovely coloring, so he decided to let it stay. The tree grew, and the gardener became unhappy because it wasn’t small like the others, but had a large trunk and full branches. So, he decided that he would make this tree small like the others. First, he chopped off its long and bushy branches and cut its trunk to a shortened height. Then, he stopped giving it water regularly as he did the other trees and built a shade around it so that it wouldn’t get so much sun. He believed that if he held back nourishment, the tree would stop growing and become small and dainty like the other trees in his grove. Gradually, the tree did stop growing, but instead of becoming a small, dainty tree, it became a large tree that never grew. Its trunk was full and ready to support many branches, but they had all been cut away. The sparse new growth it had managed to generate without proper sun and water was spindly and unhealthy. One day when the gardener stopped by, he saw the leaves had become thin and curled. The trunk that had been large and tall now looked silly at the shorter height. The gardener shook his head sadly and said, “What have I done? Instead of creating the tree I wanted, I have ruined the tree I had.” 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
continued.... the hope for us all.

by Mandi Degner
***(the ending that we all deserve...and my outlook on it all!)**** 

The gardener sat quietly among the array of trees with whose beauty he had been so consumed for as long as he could remember. This time, however, it seemed as if all these other trees faded into the background as he stared in pain at the sickly tree. As he stared, a tiny bud on that spindly tree captured his gaze. “Could there be hope? Can this tree start over?" He wondered, “Is it even worth my time? Is it too late?” A twinge of hope tugged the gardener to try. 
Every day, the gardener took special time to care for this tree just as he tended to the others. Knowing this would probably not be easy or quick, and somedays he doubted heavily, but the gardener kept patient. Diligently, he watered the tree and nourished it daily with extra care and fertilizer. The gardener never went near this tree with his pruning shears again. At first, the tree seemed to fade faster and faster even with the intense and special attention. The tree still looked sick, and the gardener became frustrated. “Stay strong,” he whispered, even though some days he wondered if this was even worth it. 
After many months, the tree began to lift its once downcast limbs, buds turned to leaves, and new branches grew! Although much different from the other trees, the gardener saw beauty and uniqueness in this tree. In the spring, the blossoms of the revived tree opened to reveal vibrant, strong, and beautiful flowers that he had never seen before. “Look what I would have missed!” He cried, “If I would’ve settled for ruining the tree, and just cut it down no one would have ever seen such beauty! Look at the beauty that has come from such pain!” 
Under the leaves and new growth of the tree are still scars from the pruning shears, but they fade as new branches and leaves continue to grow. Whichever way the tree grows does not matter because the tree is vibrant and alive, thus reminding the gardener that painful mistakes don’t have to stay painful. “I could have ruined one of the most beautiful trees, but it wasn’t too late.”

Embracing fear?

So, I'm starting this. We'll see how long it lasts, seeing as it seems much like journaling, which I often start with good intentions and then stop after about 2 weeks (at best!)

I love stories with a message. I like things that are interesting, funny, or captivating, but also make me consider the underlying messages as well. I like to think. I like to apply themes in songs, literature, or art to the life I live and  the context in which I live it. Thus, I do indeed spend a lot of time drawing conclusions and making sometimes silly metaphors out of things. I love it. It works for me, and sometimes it's the only way I can reach others.

I was asked by someone recently what I thought was the most important or meaningful lesson I have learned in the past year. This was hard. There has been so much I have learned. Surprisingly, none of the top 5 had anything to do with academics or intellect! I've learned to stop running. No, not literally (but yes, I had to learn that too), but to stop running every time I felt scared. I learned to recognize and listen to fear, and that in doing this, it doesn't scream quite so loud at me. I can still be ok, and be scared. I won't die. I pasted a story a LONG time ago in an art journal, and I found it this morning while I was thinking about this. I want to share it with anyone who is willing to read it. The lesson is a good one. The picture drawn by the story is beautiful and a very poignant illustration of what I just mentioned. Have a wonderful day everyone!


A Parable
By Barbara Stanny

Once upon a time there was a farmer who lived at the edge of a forest where a horrible monster dwelled. The monster was mean, ugly and threatened to destroy everything. To protect himself, the farmer built walls around his property. But no matter how high the walls the farmer built, or how strong they were, the monster tore them down. 
One day the farmer sat at his hearth, poking the embers, trying to spark a flame. He was cold and he was tired. 

"My life has become unmanageable," he thought. "All I do is build and rebuild walls. My crops are dying. My wife and children have left. My friends rarely come around, and those who do only complain about the monster. I'm tired of living like this. I can't take it anymore..." 

At that very moment, a Fairy Godmother appeared. She introduced herself to the farmer, and offered him a wish. 

"I want the monster to go away," the farmer cried immediately. 

"I can't make monsters disappear," she told him."But I can show you how to do it."

"Anything, I'll do anything," the farmer exclaimed.

"You must go into the woods and find the monster," the Fairy Godmother said. "Then look it in the eye and embrace it."

The farmer was horrified. "I can't do that. It'll kill me."

"It's already killing you." The Fairy Godmother said gently.

The farmer was silent. She was right. He had little to lose. "All right," he said firmly. "I'll do it."

"Know this," the Fairy Godmother said. "You won't be alone." And in an instant, she was gone.

The farmer was frightened but determined. Off he went into the woods. Deeper and deeper he traveled. "This is crazy," he thought, pushing back branches. "I've spent my whole life trying to keep the monster away, and now I'm going looking for it. How do I know this will work? Why am I taking this risk?"

He was just about to turn back when he heard a fierce growl, felt the earth tremble, and there miles above him, loomed the most hideous creature he had ever seen. The farmer stood frozen. He wanted to run back to his walls, back to the safety of his cold, lonely cabin. But something kept him there, and he knew what it was. His pain had gotten worse than his fear.

So he looked up, right into the monster's eyes, and something amazing happened. The monster starting shrinking. Smaller and smaller it grew until it was no bigger than he was. Then the farmer went over and touched it, cautiously. 

"Embrace it," he heard the words echo from a distance.

The farmer took a deep breath and put his arms around the monster's neck, tentatively at first, then more willingly. And to his surprise, the monster became so tiny it could fit in the palm of his hand. He scooped it up and stared at it. It was no longer a threat. But the farmer had a sudden thought. What if it grows back?

Again, he heard the reassuring voice. "When you learn to face what makes you fearful, it need never control you again."

At last, the farmer was free, and all the energy he had put into building walls was his for building a new life. His shoulders grew straighter. A smile cracked his face. "I had this power all along," he realized in amazement. "Imagine what's possible now!"
And the voice whispered back, "Believe me, this is only the beginning..."