Sonntagskind

I learned today that I can kill vampires with my urine or saliva. 

I was going to write about how grumpy I get when people call me lucky because I work hard for some of this luck. But then I remembered that I am lucky. Luck comes from the German gluck (I don't know how to write umlauts), which means happy or good fortune.

All of that German got me thinking about when my friends called me "Sonntagskind" in Europe after college. I worked enough temp jobs to buy airfare over and back, then I relied on the hospitality of friends for the rest. 

Oh my. I am queen of mooching, but this took it to a whole new level. It did fall in place and that's how I got the name Sonntagskind. I have enough German to know it means "Sunday child" but I didn't realize what all that meant.

According to the great source Wikipedia, it originally referred to someone born on the sabbath (Saturday). A Sonntagskind in folklore was able to:

1. See or smell demonic creatures
2. Destroy vampires with urine or saliva (I had to put that in twice because it's so fabulous)
3. Foresee death (This is the gift that got children born on Saturdays ostracized from their villages. Who wants to know when they are going to die?)
4. Bring luck or predict winning lottery numbers

So I was able to mooch my way across Europe relying on friends and friends of friends. My favorite memory was in Budapest where I stayed with a Hungarian family twice removed from my friends in Germany. I ended up teaching English in the university and spending the afternoon on a hill of green grass with some twenty-somethings talking about life. 

The mom wanted to make me a traditional Hungarian meal. It was fried chicken. Amazing, but I didn't tell her that my grandma's was better.

The coming together of that experience was luck, but it was not easy. I spent four hours wandering Budapest looking for their apartment with a fifty pound backpack on. My luck comes packaged with some resilience and willingness to risk. 

I suppose that's why it bothers me when folks call me lucky. I am lucky, but I have never had an adventure placed before me without effort on my part.

My kids don't hike for miles by some spontaneous magical force of nature. I have dragged their booties out into the woods from the moment they were born, playing games, singing songs, and pretending I was Donkey in Shrek. They know this is what our family does and it is magical in its own way.

I plan my life out months in advance so I can figure out ways to sneak in recreation and breaks. Spontaneity is not easy to pull off with three kids. 

The idea of luck seems to dismiss the effort involved in adventures. 

Or it could just press the memory button of when I had whupped the one I love at cribbage repeatedly and he said, "The guys all say it's luck." He would still be removing cards from an orifice if I didn't love my decks of cards so much.

But luck, whatever that means, plays into life just like it does cards.

I had to look it up to see if I truly was a Sonntagskind. Yep, February 13, 1971 was a Saturday so if you are a vampire watch out.

Intimidation

I love my brother, but we don't have a ton in common. We both love ping pong and somewhat spicy food and each other, but we don't approach the world in the same way. That's okay.

One of my seminary professors reminded us before graduation not to be judgmental asses (I don't think he actually used those words, but he meant it). 

You have to assume that people are trying to do the best they can with the resources they have and you never know how long of a journey they have made to reach the point where they currently are. Good words to remember.

So I love my brother and I don't mean this to sound judgmental, but there was a wonderful shattering moment at dinner when I was home. 

My brother is a bit gruff. My son is a bit annoying. The two of them at dinner was hilarious.

I don't remember what Elijah was doing, but I'm sure it was irritating. My brother locked his jaw, looked at him with full force intimidation and growled "stop." And my son laughed. 

It was brilliant. In this moment of intimidation that is a mode of operating for so many folks in our culture, my son laughed, which made us all laugh. 

Our family doesn't work by intimidation on most days, except when I threaten to sell them to the gypsies, which I realize is not culturally sensitive or good parenting, except when I roll down my window driving through town calling for the gypsies, that's awesome parenting skills.

Intimidate - To make someone timid or afraid.

If there is a modus operandi that is contrary to the Christian message, it is intimidation. One of Jesus' main sermons was, "do not fear." I don't want my children to be timid or afraid. I don't want them to be annoying little turds either.

There are ways of disciplining and resolving conflict that don't require intimidation. It just takes a little more effort and patience. 

Do I lose my patience and resort to intimidation tactics of growling or yelling? Yes I do. 

But those are moments I confess at the end of the day as we talk through our happy, sad, God moments. I ask for forgiveness for the many times I am not the parent I want to be.

That makes me realize that the great defense against intimidation is not only humor, but an environment of grace. 

When a family or culture functions by intimidation and fear, then those involved in that system have to resort to lying, sneaking or blaming to get around the threat. 

When a family or culture functions by grace, then those involved may admit when they are wrong, live in truth, and take responsibility for what they do.

We don't have our stuff all together by any stretch of the imagination, but I had a moment of joy to realize my children do not cower in the face of intimidation. If you could have seen the look on my brother's face. Makes me giggle thinking about it.

Memories or A Circle of Hell Called High School

I was wandering through the parking lot of my high school with my children when memories came flooding over me. 

One, I made the kids march on the parking lot line with high knees and pointed toes like we did in band.

Two, I explained what it was like to sit through four years of classes in a building from the energy crisis of the 70s with tiny windows you cannot see out of. Do you know how you cope with that kind of boredom? Obvious. You write notes to your friends, fold them, and then flick them across the room like a football. Texting has nothing on note passing.

Three, I did not whine about missing valedictorian by a hundredth of a point to the guy I helped through math. I've moved on. No need to relive that again. Unless someone does care, and then I'll be happy to whine.

Four, we talked about the Lichtenstein reproduction in the cafeteria and why I still say, "M-Maybe he became ill and couldn't leave the studio."

I also told them the story of why it was necessary for me to drive to school even though I only lived a couple hundred feet from school and it took me three times as long to drive. It's actually pretty inexcusable, except that I got heckled walking by the woods and I did not have the self-confidence to hold my head up high. 

I can't say high school is overflowing with awesome memories. I remember getting teased quite a bit. I had big unruly hair and I think I might have been a nerd. It was the 80s, but my hair couldn't even be tamed by hairspray. One unpleasant memory was the popular boys behind me in lunch line making fun of me. It culminated with one of them putting gum in my hair. Do you know what it is like getting gum out of huge hairsprayed hair?

I cried. Not in front of them, but as soon as I could lock myself in the bathroom and start cutting and icing it out. There are times I'd love to go back and tell that crushed girl to stand up for herself and teach her a few helpful words.

I also have great memories. A crew of us would buy all the bouncy balls we could afford and take them to the parking garages in downtown Columbus to send them flying all over. Whoever caught the most won. 

I remember doing giant shadow shows on the side of the downtown buildings standing in front of the big lights. 

I'm always thankful to my brother's friend Mark who was willing to take me to my senior prom when I couldn't find a date. He was so much cooler than I was and the fifty dollars to talk him into going was well spent.

Good and bad memories. 

It all goes into who I am now. I can laugh at most things, cry at some, and marvel at how it all works together for good or at least some good stories walking through a parking lot. 

A1 Sauce

November is "get the heck out of Juneau" month. It's getting darker and raining and getting darker and raining so I like to head out with the family. Once the snow comes all is well, but November is rough.

Getting out of Juneau naturally means TSA. I don't mind all the security stuff. Stripping in front of strangers is kind of a hoot. The House of Babes used to advertise around seminary for exotic dancers. Three thousand dollars a week! Actually, I don't think they ever advertised there, but I might have posted a classified on the news board.

What cracks me up about security is seeing the bin of confiscated items. A huge bottle of A-1 is my favorite so far. Who brings a huge bottle of A1 in his carry-on? 

I've spent a good chunk of time thinking about this. What traveling scenario requires a 33 oz. bottle of steak sauce? I have to ask that especially now that I've looked it up and realized there is an adorable 1.4 oz travel size I have to own immediately.

As a great lover of A1, I know it is not for steak connoisseurs so whoever this person was, he was not involved in some kind of culinary competition. Maybe it's a trip to Aunt Bertha's who cooks steak every night till it's dead and only redeemed with the handy and huge bottle of A1 stashed under the table for such emergencies.

I have to admit I'm stumped and that bothers me. One of the great lessons in acting is that nobody acts without motivation. When you develop a character, you need to know what motivates her to do what she does or else you look like a psychopath. In theater, you have to be aware of what stories, what mitigating circumstances, what true or false realities a person has built to bring them to a point of action.

That's helpful in all our other relationships too. There was a great chapter in Kirt's book for police families about the a**hole syndrome. It's easy to start believing all bulls**t comes from a**holes. Once you enter this syndrome, then you don't have to deal with relationships and what folks are thinking because they are dismissed as a**holes (I hope my dad appreciates all these asterisks). 

This is a syndrome to be avoided not by guessing why some a**hole would be so stupid to bring a 33 oz bottle of A1 on the plane, but by asking. If I could have found the culprit at SEATAC, I would love to have asked. When you can, ask. 

When you can't go with Luther's explanation to the 8th commandment, "We should fear and love God, so that we do not lie about, betray or slander our neighbor, but excuse him, speak well of him, and put the best construction on everything."

It's probably a good idea to ask yourself the same question too. What is my motivation? Why am I doing this? What lies am I telling myself to make it all right? If I had to tell Tari, would she swear at me?