Bapka's House - Open for Business!

Recently I had a Bapka kind of day.  You know, the kind of day when memories are made that will make permanent impressions.

The good kind, I think.

It was Mother's Day - first of all.  Which is a great day for memories all by itself.  Church and flowers and lots of hugs from all sorts of places.

But Bapkas aren't just for hugs and kisses in church.  We have this other layer of attention to give and receive.

When I was growing up my Grandma's house was the place to be when this or that had you under the weather.  Whether it was strep throat or mumps or a bad cold or stomach aches - Grandma could somehow make it better.  I don't know how she never seemed to get sick herself with every sick person in 100 miles arriving at her door, but she didn't.

She always had a bowl of chicken soup and ice cream ready just in case.

Even better, Grandma somehow could fix the ailments of the heart variety.  I can't tell you how many times I came in on conversations between Grandma and some heartbroken soul sorting through a difficulty. More than once the cares of the world were tossed onto Grandma's table, sorted through like buttons from the tin, properly arranged and solved.  Grandma always seemed to have the right words.

And the right amount of coffee and cake.

At the end of the counseling, the patient would leave and Grandma would pick up the tablecloth and toss out the cares with the crumbs into the wind in the back yard.

I want my house to be like that.  A place where laughter and tears are equally comfortable.  Grandma taught me we are in this world to help one another - large and small.

I'm sorry Arthur was sick on Mother's Day.  I know how much he enjoys the bustle and activity of his other Grandma's farm, but I'm so very glad for him - and me - that Bapka's house was here.  A bit of quiet, a couple of movies, some ice cream and his temps were lower, his throat not as sore and both of us with a heart full at the end of the day.

I may not always have the right words and my chicken soup might carry the Campbell's label, but I'll do my best to minister grace just like Grandma.   Bapka's house is open for business!

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Readers - I will be at a book signing event in Chippewa Falls on Saturday, May 26 from 11:00 to 3:00.  The Book Cellar - the only bookstore in Chippewa County - is hosting the event.  Please stop by and see us!  More information can be found here:  The Book Cellar.


Books can also be ordered at the webstore on our website at:  A Writer's Pages.

Thanks for being the best readers ever!
- Kris

English and Science and Life

I'm not one to re-post previous posts, but I just read this post that was posted when I was struggling to get my way through school and I thought I might post it again.  I have many new readers so maybe you haven't read this before.

 It's about school and life and what we're made of.  Something to consider.  Yes, I did learn a lot of things at St. Kate's.  Can't believe it's coming up on a year since I graduated.  This season I'm in is passing slowly.

As always, I hope my rambly words gives you something to think about.

Just exactly what are you made of?

March 20, 2010

Biology and English are not always on the same page. Well, to be honest, they aren’t generally in the same part of the library. So what’s a writer doing in a human genetics class? Learning.

It’s required. Everyone has to take a little bit of everything. It’s true. I admit it. I would never have chosen a Science course for an elective. Left to my own narrow-minded choices I would have taken a literature class or a writing class or even an art class. But Science? No, thanks. I’ll pass.

But to pass this level, I couldn’t pass this class and so now I’m just trying to pass.

And finding a whole new world to explore.

Writers are, after all, thinkers who express their thoughts and hope someone understands. Scientists are thinkers who explore their thoughts and hope someone can communicate them.

I guess we’re not so far apart after all.

This particular Science course is student-ed by a rather interesting cross-section of women. Several are divorced, but not all. Most have kids, but not all. Some have had great difficulties with marriage, divorce, pregnancies and kids, but not all. We talk about those things in this class as we explore the link between past, present and future through DNA diagrams.

There have been confessions of small-minded frustration. Admissions, and repentance, of personal bigotries. Dissections of character splayed on reflections of ourselves. What would we do if we could choose to have a perfect child? What do we think about knowing things our grandparents feared? How far would we search and how much would the answers be worth?

Human genetic research has made us consider what we’re made of.

Our professor tries to guide the learning and discussion and, I fear, has found curiosity has a life of its own in this class. Well-planned lessons fall behind as the learners push and pull the knowledge from her and one another. There are things we must know to say we have been here, but then there are things which we are taught here unexpectedly. For example, what it feels like to struggle through infertility; how an adopted child considers their biology; the fear of family history.

It stretches our minds as we try to wrap our intelligence around the idea that miniscule strings coiled within our cells map out our identity. Whether we have blonde hair or brown; we are tall or short; we will have early onset Alzehimer’s or clear minds and wasted bodies. It’s there!

The value of a human life, marred or perfect, has been the elephant in the room. The idea of a perfect genetic race is not new to mankind. It seems we humans have no lack of the superiority gene. Yet, when considering our own imperfections balanced against someone else’s perceptions, we can’t help but wonder if we are invalid. What determines the value of a human life? Or Who?

We toss about hypotheticals questioning our own ideas. What would we do if we could know it all? For ourselves? For our children?

But do we want to know all of it?

What will we do with that knowledge? If we can obtain it? Because who can afford it? Not me. Not now, for sure.

Or does looking at my family pedigree tell me all I need to know? I am likely to be overweight, depressed, diabetic, have heart disease and die in my 60s. That’s what my family tree says. Of course, I can watch what I eat, keep a positive mental attitude (prayer, helps, of course), and get hit by a truck tomorrow.

There are no guarantees. We are given this life to live and live we ought.

I’d like to know the worst case scenario for my future health. I’d like to be able to prepare myself and my family and make sure I don’t become someone’s problem.

I don’t think it would change my lifestyle. I would still try to live fully each day. To enjoy the blessings as they unfold, to sorrow the sadness when it crosses my path, to love lavishly, to serve God as well as I’m able. That’s the core of my life, honestly.

The more I consider the details of creation, the more convinced I become that Someone has set it all in order. To me, Science proves creation was on purpose.

All these thoughts are those which I see written around the beakers, the test tubes, the micro-needle-looking-holder-things, the PowerPoint slides, the textbooks and laptops. I may never understand the modes of inheritance or get a correct probability, but I have learned to articulate the value of life.

That’s knowledge to pass on.