“I had heard. Known. Cared. I had even reacted and raged. But when these boys told me of the whistleblowers, the horror grew feet and walked within me.
Boys not big enough to hold a gun were given merely a whistle and put on the front lines of battle. Their sole duty was to make enough noise to scare the enemy and then to receive- with their bodies- the first round of bullets. Lines of boys fell as nothing more than a temporary barricade.”
-Falling Whistles, a journal entry.
When I first read the above journal entry, I was completely dumbfounded and horrified at the same time. Kindergarteners with whistles sent to take bullets in a bloody, pointless war that has been raging in the Congo since at least 1997. I literally cannot wrap my head around it. What kind of monsters do this to children?
As an advocate in the field of sexual violence, the Congo was already on my radar. Soldiers on both sides of the war use rape as one their main weapons; the United Nations has dubbed the Congo as the “rape capital of the world.” I also knew of child soldiers but this story was new to me.
I searched out the Falling Whistles website after I first saw one of their whistles in a magazine. The author of the above journal had been on a mission to Africa to equip kids with shoes when circumstances led him to the plight of the child soldiers in the Congo.
Enraged by what he saw, he returned to the states wanting to do something to help the children of the war-ravished Congo.
“Coming home, a close friend offered a fierce embrace and an unusal gift. A whistle. Hanging over my heart this tiny tool kept the Falling Whistles story alive. Everywhere we went, people asked what it was. That’s when we saw- their weapon could be our voice.”
It was then that Falling Whistles was founded. Buy a whistle, wear it in protest, and pray for peace. 100% of the proceeds go towards rehabilitating war-affected children.
So, I ordered my whistle hoping that somehow it would make a difference- yet knowing I could buy a million whistles and the war would still rage, kids would still suffer, soldiers would continue to rape and pillage thousands upon thousands of Congolese. In all reality, what difference does one whistle make?
After nearly a month, my whistle arrived. I humbly put it on. I rarely take it off.
Surprisingly, several people, including strangers, have asked me what is around my neck? “Is that a whistle? Why are you wearing a whistle?” It was then I really understood what the Falling Whistles founder meant when he said, “their weapon could be our voice.”
No matter how big or small, our voices do make a difference. Every time somebody new asks me about the whistle, my voice makes difference. Every time somebody new hears the story of the Congo, a tiny bit of power is ripped from the monsters that rape and force children into the front lines of a senseless war.
A whistle can’t save a nation but maybe, just maybe, it can save one child at time. Maybe one whistle does make a difference?
Please add the children and people of the Congo to your prayers. Your voice does make a difference.
You can check out www.fallingwhistles.com for the complete story of Falling Whistles.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
From the Huffington Post: No more rape
By:
Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo -- I have been back in Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), for two weeks now meeting with leaders, activists, social workers, therapists, recent survivors, business owners, UN officials. There is good news and bad news. The bad news is that the situation on the ground remains the same if not worse. Just a few weeks ago more than 600 women were raped on the Congo-Angola border, and more than 15,000 women have been raped in Eastern Congo this year. The massacres and recruiting of child soldiers continue. The indiscriminate and random killings rage on.
The good news is that there is palpable change in the women. Just last month, the Women's World March brought out thousands of Congolese women who vocally and proudly stood up for their rights. The women of Congo have broken the silence and are claiming their voices and vision. They are resilient and brilliant. They have huge dreams and ambitions (even if they are often muted by the massive trauma and violence). They are outspoken leaders and visionaries and they could and should lead Congo out of her misery. They are indeed building a movement. There is AFEM, a network of women journalists, run by Congolese women reporting on the war and daily news throughout the region. There are the Green Mamas, a collective of survivors who have planted fields of vegetables, and who are not only surviving off the profits, but bringing more and more women into the process. There are hundreds of local women's groups creating businesses, building leadership, fighting for judicial reform, developing healthcare and education, and there is V-Day's City of Joy, a revolutionary community for survivors of gender violence where women will turn their pain to power. It opens Feb. 4, and it is owned and run by the Congolese.
It is very clear now that those of us supporting from the outside need to listen and take direction from women on the ground. We need to be very careful that in our well-intended rush to help end sexual violence we don't institutionalize victimization or create a self-sustaining and self-perpetuating business of rape. We need to keep the focus razor sharp on the root causes of the war, and not only on the consequences.
There are so many questions.
Why, when so many war criminals have been identified, have the vast majority of them not been arrested or held accountable? Why, after 13 years, are there still weekly massacres and thousands of rapes and former child soldiers being brought back into the militias when the world knows exactly what is going on? Who is invested in keeping it this way? Why is the UN spending $3 million a day on peacekeepers who are there to supposedly protect the women, but whose main contribution seems to be taking photographs of the devastated women after they've been raped? Why isn't $1 million a day of that money going for training, paying, and feeding a Congolese army that in a very short time could be capable of purging the FDLR and protecting the borders of the Congo? Why are the failed (as the ICG recently stated) military strategies Kimia 2 and Amani Leo still being implemented by the Security Counsel and the Congolese government? Where is President Obama, who as a senator shepherded a piece of legislation, SB 2125, the Obama Democratic Republic of the Congo Relief, Security, and Democracy Promotion Act of 2006? There, he seemed to understand that "both the real and perceived presence of armed groups hostile to the governments of Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi continue to serve as a major source of regional instability and an apparent pretext for continued interference in the Democratic Republic of the Congo by its neighbors [Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi]." Why has he suddenly gone silent? Who changed his thinking? Why, when it is known that the war in Congo is an economic war fought over the mines and minerals, isn't there monitoring in place of the flow of gold, copper and coltain by now? Why continue to do very expensive, elaborate and time-consuming UN reports without any follow up or enforcement of law? Why are we still arguing over the definition of genocide and femicide and spending fortunes counting the numbers of raped women rather than stopping the atrocities?
Here and now we actually need to end the rape. We need to say NO MORE. No more millions spent counting the raped and studying the raped. No more gratuitous rape interviews. (I think the Congolese women should declare a story strike.) No more gawking. No more tragic photographs of nameless black women. No more pity. No more feigning ignorance about the situation. No more minerals stolen out from under the people. No more raped and re-raped and re-re-raped. No more children born of rape. No more fistula. No more stigmatization. No more destroyed vaginas. No more brutalized wombs and bladders and colons. No more dead raped nine-month-old babies or 80-year-old mamas. No more money being spent on or made on rape. NO MORE RAPE.
Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo -- I have been back in Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), for two weeks now meeting with leaders, activists, social workers, therapists, recent survivors, business owners, UN officials. There is good news and bad news. The bad news is that the situation on the ground remains the same if not worse. Just a few weeks ago more than 600 women were raped on the Congo-Angola border, and more than 15,000 women have been raped in Eastern Congo this year. The massacres and recruiting of child soldiers continue. The indiscriminate and random killings rage on.
The good news is that there is palpable change in the women. Just last month, the Women's World March brought out thousands of Congolese women who vocally and proudly stood up for their rights. The women of Congo have broken the silence and are claiming their voices and vision. They are resilient and brilliant. They have huge dreams and ambitions (even if they are often muted by the massive trauma and violence). They are outspoken leaders and visionaries and they could and should lead Congo out of her misery. They are indeed building a movement. There is AFEM, a network of women journalists, run by Congolese women reporting on the war and daily news throughout the region. There are the Green Mamas, a collective of survivors who have planted fields of vegetables, and who are not only surviving off the profits, but bringing more and more women into the process. There are hundreds of local women's groups creating businesses, building leadership, fighting for judicial reform, developing healthcare and education, and there is V-Day's City of Joy, a revolutionary community for survivors of gender violence where women will turn their pain to power. It opens Feb. 4, and it is owned and run by the Congolese.
It is very clear now that those of us supporting from the outside need to listen and take direction from women on the ground. We need to be very careful that in our well-intended rush to help end sexual violence we don't institutionalize victimization or create a self-sustaining and self-perpetuating business of rape. We need to keep the focus razor sharp on the root causes of the war, and not only on the consequences.
There are so many questions.
Why, when so many war criminals have been identified, have the vast majority of them not been arrested or held accountable? Why, after 13 years, are there still weekly massacres and thousands of rapes and former child soldiers being brought back into the militias when the world knows exactly what is going on? Who is invested in keeping it this way? Why is the UN spending $3 million a day on peacekeepers who are there to supposedly protect the women, but whose main contribution seems to be taking photographs of the devastated women after they've been raped? Why isn't $1 million a day of that money going for training, paying, and feeding a Congolese army that in a very short time could be capable of purging the FDLR and protecting the borders of the Congo? Why are the failed (as the ICG recently stated) military strategies Kimia 2 and Amani Leo still being implemented by the Security Counsel and the Congolese government? Where is President Obama, who as a senator shepherded a piece of legislation, SB 2125, the Obama Democratic Republic of the Congo Relief, Security, and Democracy Promotion Act of 2006? There, he seemed to understand that "both the real and perceived presence of armed groups hostile to the governments of Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi continue to serve as a major source of regional instability and an apparent pretext for continued interference in the Democratic Republic of the Congo by its neighbors [Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi]." Why has he suddenly gone silent? Who changed his thinking? Why, when it is known that the war in Congo is an economic war fought over the mines and minerals, isn't there monitoring in place of the flow of gold, copper and coltain by now? Why continue to do very expensive, elaborate and time-consuming UN reports without any follow up or enforcement of law? Why are we still arguing over the definition of genocide and femicide and spending fortunes counting the numbers of raped women rather than stopping the atrocities?
Here and now we actually need to end the rape. We need to say NO MORE. No more millions spent counting the raped and studying the raped. No more gratuitous rape interviews. (I think the Congolese women should declare a story strike.) No more gawking. No more tragic photographs of nameless black women. No more pity. No more feigning ignorance about the situation. No more minerals stolen out from under the people. No more raped and re-raped and re-re-raped. No more children born of rape. No more fistula. No more stigmatization. No more destroyed vaginas. No more brutalized wombs and bladders and colons. No more dead raped nine-month-old babies or 80-year-old mamas. No more money being spent on or made on rape. NO MORE RAPE.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Does it get any easier?
They say reality bites.
When my brother and his family left for Oman last August, we knew the separation would be difficult. We had been preparing all summer for the day that they would leave. Many tears were shed and hugs were plentiful, but we all agreed that time would fly by until next summer when we would all be together again. Between Skype calls and Facebook, we’d make it.
While we knew it would be difficult, I don’t think any of us expected it to actually be so hard, if that makes any sense. I surely never expected it to hurt so much.
A simple drive through Eden Prairie a few weeks ago, where they used to live, was when reality jumped up and bit me. Occasional tear-ups ensued over the next day or two which was followed by a complete and total meltdown (something I hate and can count on one hand the actual meltdowns I have had in my adult life. Not a fan of being an emotional wreck.)
Driving home from Target, a favorite haunt of my sister-in-laws and mine, the waterworks started and didn’t stop. I drove home through blinding tears (in retrospect I should have pulled over) and cried until there were no more tears.
I missed them all so much but I was missing my sister-in-law Michelle the most.
Somewhere over the years we had transitioned from in-laws to friends, from friends to one of my very best friends. From one of my best friends to someone I relied on for laughs, advice, and comfort. She had become one of the rocks in my inner circle.
Sometimes we would talk daily, other times not for a week or so. Sometimes we might go a month or more without seeing each other but I always took comfort in the fact that she was just a phone call away. At any time I could hop in my car and be there for one of her amazingly warm, heartfelt hugs. Hugs like no other.
Now, that was gone. Who knew several thousand miles and a 10 hour time difference could throw a such a wrench into a person’s life? Yeah, reality really does bite.
Since the meltdown, on any given day I find myself missing each and every one of them more and more.
I miss my nephew Joey’s smile, a rare smile that literally lights up a room. He makes everyone else around him smile. His love for family is unparalleled.
I miss my nephew Jake’s sense of humor and his passion for whatever he’s into at the moment (currently skateboarding.) With both of us being the oldest in the family, we kind of “get” each other.
I miss how my niece was just beginning to really be one of us “girls.” She loves to wear dresses, shop, and eat chocolate yet at the same time will chase down a snake or an insect of any kind. We aren’t sure where she gets that.
I miss my youngest nephew’s nonstop chatter and story telling. He can make us laugh till we cry and has on several occasions. He stated a few weeks ago that he is ready to go back to Minnesota. My heart melted.
My brother? I just plain miss him.
With the holiday season fast approaching, the entire extended family is feeling the pain of the distance between us, yet we are comforted in the fact that we will be them in six more months. However painful at the moment, we know the separation isn’t permanent.
As for their experiences so far in Oman?
Their jobs are good and the kids have adjusted well to school.
They have a beautiful apartment with a view of the mountains. Their surroundings are breathtaking.
They have swam in the ocean, explored caves, camped in the mountains, and recently spent three days camping on the beach.
We take comfort in the fact that their family is making memories and gaining experiences that will last a lifetime.
We’ll keep the Kleenex box close throughout the season and we'll probably have a couple of family Skype dates, which will no doubt ease the pain some. Maybe after the holidays it will be easier?
My heart goes out to everyone that will be separated from loved ones this holiday season. Whether temporary or permanent take some comfort in the fact that you aren’t alone.
I wish you safe travels and good times with friends and family. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
When my brother and his family left for Oman last August, we knew the separation would be difficult. We had been preparing all summer for the day that they would leave. Many tears were shed and hugs were plentiful, but we all agreed that time would fly by until next summer when we would all be together again. Between Skype calls and Facebook, we’d make it.
While we knew it would be difficult, I don’t think any of us expected it to actually be so hard, if that makes any sense. I surely never expected it to hurt so much.
A simple drive through Eden Prairie a few weeks ago, where they used to live, was when reality jumped up and bit me. Occasional tear-ups ensued over the next day or two which was followed by a complete and total meltdown (something I hate and can count on one hand the actual meltdowns I have had in my adult life. Not a fan of being an emotional wreck.)
Driving home from Target, a favorite haunt of my sister-in-laws and mine, the waterworks started and didn’t stop. I drove home through blinding tears (in retrospect I should have pulled over) and cried until there were no more tears.
I missed them all so much but I was missing my sister-in-law Michelle the most.
Somewhere over the years we had transitioned from in-laws to friends, from friends to one of my very best friends. From one of my best friends to someone I relied on for laughs, advice, and comfort. She had become one of the rocks in my inner circle.
Sometimes we would talk daily, other times not for a week or so. Sometimes we might go a month or more without seeing each other but I always took comfort in the fact that she was just a phone call away. At any time I could hop in my car and be there for one of her amazingly warm, heartfelt hugs. Hugs like no other.
Now, that was gone. Who knew several thousand miles and a 10 hour time difference could throw a such a wrench into a person’s life? Yeah, reality really does bite.
Since the meltdown, on any given day I find myself missing each and every one of them more and more.
I miss my nephew Joey’s smile, a rare smile that literally lights up a room. He makes everyone else around him smile. His love for family is unparalleled.
I miss my nephew Jake’s sense of humor and his passion for whatever he’s into at the moment (currently skateboarding.) With both of us being the oldest in the family, we kind of “get” each other.
I miss how my niece was just beginning to really be one of us “girls.” She loves to wear dresses, shop, and eat chocolate yet at the same time will chase down a snake or an insect of any kind. We aren’t sure where she gets that.
I miss my youngest nephew’s nonstop chatter and story telling. He can make us laugh till we cry and has on several occasions. He stated a few weeks ago that he is ready to go back to Minnesota. My heart melted.
My brother? I just plain miss him.
With the holiday season fast approaching, the entire extended family is feeling the pain of the distance between us, yet we are comforted in the fact that we will be them in six more months. However painful at the moment, we know the separation isn’t permanent.
As for their experiences so far in Oman?
Their jobs are good and the kids have adjusted well to school.
They have a beautiful apartment with a view of the mountains. Their surroundings are breathtaking.
They have swam in the ocean, explored caves, camped in the mountains, and recently spent three days camping on the beach.
We take comfort in the fact that their family is making memories and gaining experiences that will last a lifetime.
We’ll keep the Kleenex box close throughout the season and we'll probably have a couple of family Skype dates, which will no doubt ease the pain some. Maybe after the holidays it will be easier?
My heart goes out to everyone that will be separated from loved ones this holiday season. Whether temporary or permanent take some comfort in the fact that you aren’t alone.
I wish you safe travels and good times with friends and family. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
"It" always happens this time of year...
This time it started a little over a week ago. I think it was a simple conversation with Pastor Joyce in the News office or maybe it had already started and that’s what sparked the conversation.
The mention in last week’s column made it worse.
It always comes this time of year-my incessant craving for lefse that mysteriously strikes when November comes along.
I don’t know when it started.
I grew up eating lefse. My mom always broke it out around the holidays, something I continued in my own family. It was only in the last few years that I noticed my cravings for lefse intensify each year.
Mind you, I didn’t know that people actually made lefse until I was an adult. We bowed to Mrs. Olson whose lefse always hit the shelves around the holidays. Die hard Scandinavians and lefse-ites will tell you that there is no comparing homemade lefse to store bought. Some of us don’t care.
It was “store bought” that got me the other day. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I caved to Mrs. Olson. Maybe if I downed a package of the white stuff, it would go away? Definitely worth a shot I thought to myself.
On the way home, I think I drooled at the thought of tearing into the package, loading each amazing slice with butter and sugar, and enjoying a little slice of heaven for a while.
The first bite of the season was magnificent. Amazingly, I only had a couple of pieces that night. I was pretty proud of myself for not downing the whole package.
I was out of town for a couple of days and on the way home late on Saturday I remembered the stash of lefse still in the fridge.
I made it until Sunday morning when I discovered that lefse and coffee make an amazing breakfast combo. I had never paired the two and was impressed with how the two complimented each other.
Sunday night came and the rest of the package had to go. I even offered some to my oldest. He thankfully declined so I was able to chow the last piece.
The package was gone. The craving was gone! Yes, I thought to myself. One pack this year did the trick. I was free from it.
That was until this morning however. Usually on Tuesday mornings there is absolutely no room in my brain for anything other than “getting the paper out.”
Somehow, it crept back in. I have the feeling it won’t go away anytime soon.
Maybe, one more package will do the trick. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?
The mention in last week’s column made it worse.
It always comes this time of year-my incessant craving for lefse that mysteriously strikes when November comes along.
I don’t know when it started.
I grew up eating lefse. My mom always broke it out around the holidays, something I continued in my own family. It was only in the last few years that I noticed my cravings for lefse intensify each year.
Mind you, I didn’t know that people actually made lefse until I was an adult. We bowed to Mrs. Olson whose lefse always hit the shelves around the holidays. Die hard Scandinavians and lefse-ites will tell you that there is no comparing homemade lefse to store bought. Some of us don’t care.
It was “store bought” that got me the other day. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I caved to Mrs. Olson. Maybe if I downed a package of the white stuff, it would go away? Definitely worth a shot I thought to myself.
On the way home, I think I drooled at the thought of tearing into the package, loading each amazing slice with butter and sugar, and enjoying a little slice of heaven for a while.
The first bite of the season was magnificent. Amazingly, I only had a couple of pieces that night. I was pretty proud of myself for not downing the whole package.
I was out of town for a couple of days and on the way home late on Saturday I remembered the stash of lefse still in the fridge.
I made it until Sunday morning when I discovered that lefse and coffee make an amazing breakfast combo. I had never paired the two and was impressed with how the two complimented each other.
Sunday night came and the rest of the package had to go. I even offered some to my oldest. He thankfully declined so I was able to chow the last piece.
The package was gone. The craving was gone! Yes, I thought to myself. One pack this year did the trick. I was free from it.
That was until this morning however. Usually on Tuesday mornings there is absolutely no room in my brain for anything other than “getting the paper out.”
Somehow, it crept back in. I have the feeling it won’t go away anytime soon.
Maybe, one more package will do the trick. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
What is American Heritage?
From my editorial column in the 11/10/10 edition of the RP News:
When reading the MACCRAY School Board report today the last few paragraphs struck me with concern and wonder. If you haven’t gotten to the story yet (it’s on the next page), a district resident questioned the board on why they would “allow” a Hispanic Heritage Day to be celebrated at the MACCRAY Schools. “Why not an American Heritage Day?” the resident asked.
My first reaction was, of course, a huge concern over the underlying prejudice and the racial tones of the question posed to the board. Honestly, I have no idea if prejudice and racial issues were the cause of the citizen’s “concern” over Hispanic Heritage Day.
Nonetheless, it angered me. After finally simmering down a bit, I began thinking about the statement and to really wonder, what is American Heritage? Do you know?
My ethnic background is Swedish and German. Ron “the print guy” is also of Swedish and German descent. My news-mate Char is a bit different. She is of a Norwegian and German background. My husband is German, Polish, a smidge Native American, and I believe a couple of other things tossed in. Our kids are then an even bigger mix. Where does it end? When do we quit identifying our heritage with the countries our ancestors came from? When do we start being Americans? Nothing else, just American?
Imagine for second that our little corner of the world quit identifying with their Dutch background? What if Madison ceased to be the “Lutefisk Capital” because it no longer celebrated the town’s Norwegian heritage? No more lutefisk and lefse? Or take the city of New Ulm and its longstanding German heritage? How many communities in Minnesota would change tremendously if they stopped identifying with their “heritage?” I can’t imagine how different our state would be. Can you?
Personally, even though it’s my “ethnicity,” I really can’t identify with being Swedish or German. I learned a couple of Swedish phrases from my grandpa, who had immigrated from Sweden, and growing up I was forced to eat lutefisk (I thought lutefisk was Norwegian?) with my mom and my grandpa when they would cook up a batch (love you mom!).
Growing up I loved to listen to my grandpa talk with his thick Swedish accent and he loved to laugh at a good “yoke.” If my grandpa hadn’t been an immigrant, I highly doubt I would know much about Sweden at all. As for my German heritage, no one that I knew in my close family had ever lived there.
The United States is called the “melting pot” of the world for a very good reason. We are! We are a nation of every single race and ethnicity mixed together in one big place.
What would we celebrate if we were to have an “American Heritage Day?” Would we dress up as cowboys? Would we eat burgers, fries, and apple pie all day? Are burgers, fries and apple pies even “American?” Would we play baseball and eat hot dogs?
American Heritage is all of the above. We are lutefisk, lefse, apple pie, burgers and fries. We are a little bit of every corner of the world. We are truly a melting pot. How can we celebrate one ethnicity and not all?
It is only when the day comes, if ever, that we stop celebrating and acknowledging all of our ethic backgrounds, that we can stop celebrating “Hispanic Heritage Week.” In this great melting pot of a nation, I don’t foresee that happening for generations to come.
That is our American Heritage.
When reading the MACCRAY School Board report today the last few paragraphs struck me with concern and wonder. If you haven’t gotten to the story yet (it’s on the next page), a district resident questioned the board on why they would “allow” a Hispanic Heritage Day to be celebrated at the MACCRAY Schools. “Why not an American Heritage Day?” the resident asked.
My first reaction was, of course, a huge concern over the underlying prejudice and the racial tones of the question posed to the board. Honestly, I have no idea if prejudice and racial issues were the cause of the citizen’s “concern” over Hispanic Heritage Day.
Nonetheless, it angered me. After finally simmering down a bit, I began thinking about the statement and to really wonder, what is American Heritage? Do you know?
My ethnic background is Swedish and German. Ron “the print guy” is also of Swedish and German descent. My news-mate Char is a bit different. She is of a Norwegian and German background. My husband is German, Polish, a smidge Native American, and I believe a couple of other things tossed in. Our kids are then an even bigger mix. Where does it end? When do we quit identifying our heritage with the countries our ancestors came from? When do we start being Americans? Nothing else, just American?
Imagine for second that our little corner of the world quit identifying with their Dutch background? What if Madison ceased to be the “Lutefisk Capital” because it no longer celebrated the town’s Norwegian heritage? No more lutefisk and lefse? Or take the city of New Ulm and its longstanding German heritage? How many communities in Minnesota would change tremendously if they stopped identifying with their “heritage?” I can’t imagine how different our state would be. Can you?
Personally, even though it’s my “ethnicity,” I really can’t identify with being Swedish or German. I learned a couple of Swedish phrases from my grandpa, who had immigrated from Sweden, and growing up I was forced to eat lutefisk (I thought lutefisk was Norwegian?) with my mom and my grandpa when they would cook up a batch (love you mom!).
Growing up I loved to listen to my grandpa talk with his thick Swedish accent and he loved to laugh at a good “yoke.” If my grandpa hadn’t been an immigrant, I highly doubt I would know much about Sweden at all. As for my German heritage, no one that I knew in my close family had ever lived there.
The United States is called the “melting pot” of the world for a very good reason. We are! We are a nation of every single race and ethnicity mixed together in one big place.
What would we celebrate if we were to have an “American Heritage Day?” Would we dress up as cowboys? Would we eat burgers, fries, and apple pie all day? Are burgers, fries and apple pies even “American?” Would we play baseball and eat hot dogs?
American Heritage is all of the above. We are lutefisk, lefse, apple pie, burgers and fries. We are a little bit of every corner of the world. We are truly a melting pot. How can we celebrate one ethnicity and not all?
It is only when the day comes, if ever, that we stop celebrating and acknowledging all of our ethic backgrounds, that we can stop celebrating “Hispanic Heritage Week.” In this great melting pot of a nation, I don’t foresee that happening for generations to come.
That is our American Heritage.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
To the "gutsy" facebook posters...
"Shame on you America: the only country where we have homeless without shelter, children going to bed without eating, elderly going without needed meds, and mentally ill without treatment - yet we have a benefit for the people of Haiti on 12 TV stations. 99% of people won't have the guts to copy and repost this. I DID............................”
For those of you with Facebook accounts, you have no doubt seen this message or some version of this posted on a friend’s wall. Maybe you have even been one of the “gutsy” ones, as the status proclaims, to post this.
I have seen this status in various versions several times and every time I see it, I get just a little more annoyed. I get little more annoyed at the ignorance and prejudice that accompany a statement like this.
No one in this country can really deny the truths to this statement. We do have millions of homeless persons, hungry children, elderly without meds, and mentally ill without treatment. It’s true, that’s not the annoying part of the statement to me. What irks me is the fact that the poster can’t see the big picture. Unlike Haiti, we don’t have two million homeless people living in tiny plastic tents, surrounded by hunger, disease, and raw sewage in America. That is why we give to Haiti and other impoverished countries around the world.
Although disaster relief and living conditions in New Orleans and the south were less than stellar after Hurricane Katrina struck our own shores, I can’t imagine that the living conditions (although atrocious in some places) came close to rivaling what is currently happening in Haiti.
Or take the Democratic Republic of Congo where war has been raging since the 1990’s. Millions have died due to starvation and disease, besides the casualties of the armies perpetuating the fighting. Children as young as seven are plucked from their homes and schools and forced to fight in rebel armies. Those that are too small to hold a gun are given whistles and sent to the front lines to make noise in attempts to scare the opposing army. Then they take the first round of fire. I can honestly tell you that I have never once worried that something this horrible would ever happen to one of my kids living in the United States. I can’t imagine you have either. I can’t begin to comprehend the fear and horror that families of the Congo live in every day.
Or what about the rest of the billions around the world that are starving or dying due to infectious diseases caused by a lack of clean water? Most of us in the United States can say we have clean water and access to food. Yes, poverty and starvation happen in America. Yes, this is intolerable but in America there is almost always hope and help. I am guessing people in third world countries don’t have much of that.
So to all the “gutsy” Facebook posters bashing those in America that see beyond our shores to the plights of people less fortunate than us, that is why we Americans give to people in Haiti and around the world. That is why we aren’t “gutsy” enough to copy and repost.
For those of you with Facebook accounts, you have no doubt seen this message or some version of this posted on a friend’s wall. Maybe you have even been one of the “gutsy” ones, as the status proclaims, to post this.
I have seen this status in various versions several times and every time I see it, I get just a little more annoyed. I get little more annoyed at the ignorance and prejudice that accompany a statement like this.
No one in this country can really deny the truths to this statement. We do have millions of homeless persons, hungry children, elderly without meds, and mentally ill without treatment. It’s true, that’s not the annoying part of the statement to me. What irks me is the fact that the poster can’t see the big picture. Unlike Haiti, we don’t have two million homeless people living in tiny plastic tents, surrounded by hunger, disease, and raw sewage in America. That is why we give to Haiti and other impoverished countries around the world.
Although disaster relief and living conditions in New Orleans and the south were less than stellar after Hurricane Katrina struck our own shores, I can’t imagine that the living conditions (although atrocious in some places) came close to rivaling what is currently happening in Haiti.
Or take the Democratic Republic of Congo where war has been raging since the 1990’s. Millions have died due to starvation and disease, besides the casualties of the armies perpetuating the fighting. Children as young as seven are plucked from their homes and schools and forced to fight in rebel armies. Those that are too small to hold a gun are given whistles and sent to the front lines to make noise in attempts to scare the opposing army. Then they take the first round of fire. I can honestly tell you that I have never once worried that something this horrible would ever happen to one of my kids living in the United States. I can’t imagine you have either. I can’t begin to comprehend the fear and horror that families of the Congo live in every day.
Or what about the rest of the billions around the world that are starving or dying due to infectious diseases caused by a lack of clean water? Most of us in the United States can say we have clean water and access to food. Yes, poverty and starvation happen in America. Yes, this is intolerable but in America there is almost always hope and help. I am guessing people in third world countries don’t have much of that.
So to all the “gutsy” Facebook posters bashing those in America that see beyond our shores to the plights of people less fortunate than us, that is why we Americans give to people in Haiti and around the world. That is why we aren’t “gutsy” enough to copy and repost.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The never ending battle of the bulge...
“There’s plenty of time to train, work, take care of family, and race. You can run a 5K in the morning and still get the kids off to their activities after the event.” Really? I thought to myself laughing, maybe in a perfect world. I couldn’t help but think the lady who was a contributor to the article I was reading was cracked.
A paragraph later the article continued, “Sign up for a race and tell everyone you know.” Really, I thought to myself again. Risk utter humiliation by telling everyone I know that I’ve just signed up for a 5k running race when I can barely get out and walk? The reasoning, according to the article, is that by stating your intentions you will be motivated to get moving and accomplish the goal you set for yourself, not to mention the accountability that comes with telling everyone that you know. A goal, motivation, and accountability, exactly what I need I thought to myself. Exactly what I need to deal with the one thing in my life that I keep choosing not to- my expanded waistline.
You see, like millions of Americans, I am a person that is clinically classified as obese. For me to say that about myself, let alone write it for thousands to read, is not something that is easy for me to do. Forcing myself to deal with something that I haven’t for years, in a very public way, is one of the scariest things I have done- ever. Total humiliation is the first thing that comes to mind if I fail in my attempt to reduce my plump frame. I am hoping that by writing about my struggles there will be some accountability to my fitness intentions. I am hoping that by sharing my struggles some of you may find comfort in the fact that you are not alone in the battle of the bulge.
For me, although not obese until adulthood, weight is something I have struggled with most of my life. As a preschooler I vividly remember a parent at dance class commenting about my chubby legs. As a teen and young adult I battled an eating disorder complete with a compulsion to exercise for hours at a time, even though I was never overweight to begin with.
In my mid 20’s, after landing a desk job, having kids, and settling into adult life, the weight began to creep on. By my late 20’s I had joined Weight Watchers where I successfully lost nearly 50 pounds. I even managed to keep if off for a couple of years. It was after I quit smoking in my early 30’s coupled with my lack of diligence when it came to diet and exercise that the weight piled back on and has since been here to stay.
I could give you reason after reason why I am overweight but will spare you the excuse list. There is no excuse good enough to account for my size other than the fact that I eat too much and don’t exercise enough. It’s as simple as that. I know it. I’ve known it for years.
Remarkably, a weight problem, although very visible, can be easy to ignore. Avoiding full-length mirrors and photographs and dressing appropriately can go a long way in covering up the excess pounds. I have discovered that if I face the camera, put my shoulders back, suck it in, and smile half way; I look pretty good. It’s those unplanned side shots and glimpses in the mirror where I gasp at the sight of myself. I wonder who that pretty fat girl is. I wonder how it can be me.
In mid-August, when getting ready to move our youngest to college, I vowed to myself to tackle my weight once and for all. That very same week I was asked to walk in a 3-day, 60-mile walk next summer and I ran into Annette from Mainstreet Fitness who informed me that they were converting to a 24/7 facility. I literally laughed out loud at the obvious signs I had been given from above.
Admittedly, even though I have the support necessary to accomplish my goals, it has been slow going since August. The extra nudge I needed came this morning when I logged on to Facebook. A link to a website called active.com (thanks Bonnie H.) led me to the article I quoted earlier. The article that inspired me to sign up for a 5k. That’s right, a 5k.
I signed up for the Turkey Leg 5k to be ran in Willmar on Thanksgiving morning. I immediately stated my intentions publicly by posting to my Facebook world that I had signed up for a race. Now I am stating it you. Considering I can jog about two blocks at the moment, I have my work cut out for me.
Will my weight problem be magically solved because I have vowed to run race? I know better than to think that. Will it put me on track to tackle the bulge once and for all? You bet.
I have a goal and motivation. Now I have to be accountable. Am I scared to death of failing and being totally humiliated? Of course! I will definitely be seeking comfort in the fact that I am not going at this alone. With just over a month until race day; please, wish me luck. In the meantime, I will keep you posted on my progress which I am guessing will be quite entertaining to say the least.
“There’s plenty of time to train, work, take care of family, and race...” Right? I’ll soon find out.
A paragraph later the article continued, “Sign up for a race and tell everyone you know.” Really, I thought to myself again. Risk utter humiliation by telling everyone I know that I’ve just signed up for a 5k running race when I can barely get out and walk? The reasoning, according to the article, is that by stating your intentions you will be motivated to get moving and accomplish the goal you set for yourself, not to mention the accountability that comes with telling everyone that you know. A goal, motivation, and accountability, exactly what I need I thought to myself. Exactly what I need to deal with the one thing in my life that I keep choosing not to- my expanded waistline.
You see, like millions of Americans, I am a person that is clinically classified as obese. For me to say that about myself, let alone write it for thousands to read, is not something that is easy for me to do. Forcing myself to deal with something that I haven’t for years, in a very public way, is one of the scariest things I have done- ever. Total humiliation is the first thing that comes to mind if I fail in my attempt to reduce my plump frame. I am hoping that by writing about my struggles there will be some accountability to my fitness intentions. I am hoping that by sharing my struggles some of you may find comfort in the fact that you are not alone in the battle of the bulge.
For me, although not obese until adulthood, weight is something I have struggled with most of my life. As a preschooler I vividly remember a parent at dance class commenting about my chubby legs. As a teen and young adult I battled an eating disorder complete with a compulsion to exercise for hours at a time, even though I was never overweight to begin with.
In my mid 20’s, after landing a desk job, having kids, and settling into adult life, the weight began to creep on. By my late 20’s I had joined Weight Watchers where I successfully lost nearly 50 pounds. I even managed to keep if off for a couple of years. It was after I quit smoking in my early 30’s coupled with my lack of diligence when it came to diet and exercise that the weight piled back on and has since been here to stay.
I could give you reason after reason why I am overweight but will spare you the excuse list. There is no excuse good enough to account for my size other than the fact that I eat too much and don’t exercise enough. It’s as simple as that. I know it. I’ve known it for years.
Remarkably, a weight problem, although very visible, can be easy to ignore. Avoiding full-length mirrors and photographs and dressing appropriately can go a long way in covering up the excess pounds. I have discovered that if I face the camera, put my shoulders back, suck it in, and smile half way; I look pretty good. It’s those unplanned side shots and glimpses in the mirror where I gasp at the sight of myself. I wonder who that pretty fat girl is. I wonder how it can be me.
In mid-August, when getting ready to move our youngest to college, I vowed to myself to tackle my weight once and for all. That very same week I was asked to walk in a 3-day, 60-mile walk next summer and I ran into Annette from Mainstreet Fitness who informed me that they were converting to a 24/7 facility. I literally laughed out loud at the obvious signs I had been given from above.
Admittedly, even though I have the support necessary to accomplish my goals, it has been slow going since August. The extra nudge I needed came this morning when I logged on to Facebook. A link to a website called active.com (thanks Bonnie H.) led me to the article I quoted earlier. The article that inspired me to sign up for a 5k. That’s right, a 5k.
I signed up for the Turkey Leg 5k to be ran in Willmar on Thanksgiving morning. I immediately stated my intentions publicly by posting to my Facebook world that I had signed up for a race. Now I am stating it you. Considering I can jog about two blocks at the moment, I have my work cut out for me.
Will my weight problem be magically solved because I have vowed to run race? I know better than to think that. Will it put me on track to tackle the bulge once and for all? You bet.
I have a goal and motivation. Now I have to be accountable. Am I scared to death of failing and being totally humiliated? Of course! I will definitely be seeking comfort in the fact that I am not going at this alone. With just over a month until race day; please, wish me luck. In the meantime, I will keep you posted on my progress which I am guessing will be quite entertaining to say the least.
“There’s plenty of time to train, work, take care of family, and race...” Right? I’ll soon find out.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Why I choose not to "celebrate" Columbus Day...
Christopher Columbus; a seafaring hero that “discovered” America or a barbaric, murderous, torturer? It all depends on what side of history you choose to see. We all know that the history books are written by the “winners,” right?
Even before Columbus Day was first made an official federal holiday in 1937, we Americans have celebrated the “great voyage” of Christopher Columbus and his crew. The voyage of the Nina, Pinta, and the Santa Maria; remember the stories and songs from elementary school?
Americans have been taught for centuries that Columbus and his men were heroes that set out to discover a new land for the greatly oppressed people of Europe to flee to. What we aren’t always taught is that in fact, Columbus was on a treasure seeking mission for the Spanish government and believed that when he stumbled upon the Americas that he was really in the East Indies. It wasn’t until a few return trips later that he realized he wasn’t in fact in the East Indies after all.
Don’t get me wrong. For anybody in the 1400’s to set sail on the ocean blue, into the vast unknown of the mighty Atlantic Ocean, was definitely a noteworthy feat. These men had to be extremely brave, crazy, or really yearning for the proverbial pot at the end of the rainbow (my guess is a combination of all three) to have set foot on one of those ships. The living conditions on the ships during the two-month voyage to the Americas were not all that hospitable. With crude navigational equipment they successfully sailed the Atlantic, not once, but several times. Definitely an accomplishment not to be forgotten.
What we don’t always hear about, or we choose to ignore, is the fact that Columbus didn’t actually “discover” anything. He landed in the Bahama Islands; islands that were already inhabited.
Columbus never actually set foot in the United States; he didn’t discover the country we now live in. Parts of North America had already been explored by the Vikings 500 years earlier. Besides North America, like the islands, was already inhabited.
What we also don’t hear about, or we choose to ignore, is the fact the Columbus and his men (using Christianity as their shield) were responsible for the murder, torture, rape, and enslavement of thousands upon thousands of native islanders; not too Christian in my book.
Because of Columbus’s “discovery” Europeans would eventually settle in North America bringing with them diseases that ravaged the Native American population. These diseases resulted in the deaths of millions, not to mention the war and torture that eventually ensued causing the deaths of millions more. The term “genocide” comes to mind when I think of the early history of the country we live in.
Imagine how you would feel if suddenly the shores of the United States were invaded? If our homelands were taken (which ironically aren’t “ours” to begin with)? One needs to look no further than September 11, 2001 to get the answer to that question.
It's time the federal government did away with the official observance of Columbus Day. South Dakota does not recognize Columbus Day instead choosing to observe Native American Day; a day that seems definitely a more appropriate day to observe given the circumstances.
A seafaring hero, the great discoverer of our land or a barbaric, murderous torturer? Which side of history do you choose to see?
Even before Columbus Day was first made an official federal holiday in 1937, we Americans have celebrated the “great voyage” of Christopher Columbus and his crew. The voyage of the Nina, Pinta, and the Santa Maria; remember the stories and songs from elementary school?
Americans have been taught for centuries that Columbus and his men were heroes that set out to discover a new land for the greatly oppressed people of Europe to flee to. What we aren’t always taught is that in fact, Columbus was on a treasure seeking mission for the Spanish government and believed that when he stumbled upon the Americas that he was really in the East Indies. It wasn’t until a few return trips later that he realized he wasn’t in fact in the East Indies after all.
Don’t get me wrong. For anybody in the 1400’s to set sail on the ocean blue, into the vast unknown of the mighty Atlantic Ocean, was definitely a noteworthy feat. These men had to be extremely brave, crazy, or really yearning for the proverbial pot at the end of the rainbow (my guess is a combination of all three) to have set foot on one of those ships. The living conditions on the ships during the two-month voyage to the Americas were not all that hospitable. With crude navigational equipment they successfully sailed the Atlantic, not once, but several times. Definitely an accomplishment not to be forgotten.
What we don’t always hear about, or we choose to ignore, is the fact that Columbus didn’t actually “discover” anything. He landed in the Bahama Islands; islands that were already inhabited.
Columbus never actually set foot in the United States; he didn’t discover the country we now live in. Parts of North America had already been explored by the Vikings 500 years earlier. Besides North America, like the islands, was already inhabited.
What we also don’t hear about, or we choose to ignore, is the fact the Columbus and his men (using Christianity as their shield) were responsible for the murder, torture, rape, and enslavement of thousands upon thousands of native islanders; not too Christian in my book.
Because of Columbus’s “discovery” Europeans would eventually settle in North America bringing with them diseases that ravaged the Native American population. These diseases resulted in the deaths of millions, not to mention the war and torture that eventually ensued causing the deaths of millions more. The term “genocide” comes to mind when I think of the early history of the country we live in.
Imagine how you would feel if suddenly the shores of the United States were invaded? If our homelands were taken (which ironically aren’t “ours” to begin with)? One needs to look no further than September 11, 2001 to get the answer to that question.
It's time the federal government did away with the official observance of Columbus Day. South Dakota does not recognize Columbus Day instead choosing to observe Native American Day; a day that seems definitely a more appropriate day to observe given the circumstances.
A seafaring hero, the great discoverer of our land or a barbaric, murderous torturer? Which side of history do you choose to see?
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Living in a "Rape Culture"
Ahh, it has been a while! Shortly after the inaugural post, life got a little crazier than normal forcing me to put this blog on the back burner for a while. I have had many good intentions to continue posting but a recent opinion piece written by a dear friend and coworker finally gave me the inspiration to do so.
Titled Evolution, this piece deals with the culture that we live in; a culture that supports rape. A culture that places the blame for rape and molestation on the victims of sexual assault and abuse. A culture that thinks it's okay for women and children to be treated as sub-class citizens.
When writing this piece the author used the current publicly accepted statistic that says 1-in-6 women are victims of sexual assault. She knows along with many of us that work with victims of sexual assault and abuse that the actual figure is much higher. 1-in-3 is more realistic and when you combine all forms of sexual abuse and assault, from childhood molestation to marital rape, the figure is more like 1-in-2.
As a culture we can continue on this path or we can get our heads out of the sand and make change happen. Please read with your eyes wide open and feel free to pass on, repost, and share...
Evolution…
Titled Evolution, this piece deals with the culture that we live in; a culture that supports rape. A culture that places the blame for rape and molestation on the victims of sexual assault and abuse. A culture that thinks it's okay for women and children to be treated as sub-class citizens.
When writing this piece the author used the current publicly accepted statistic that says 1-in-6 women are victims of sexual assault. She knows along with many of us that work with victims of sexual assault and abuse that the actual figure is much higher. 1-in-3 is more realistic and when you combine all forms of sexual abuse and assault, from childhood molestation to marital rape, the figure is more like 1-in-2.
As a culture we can continue on this path or we can get our heads out of the sand and make change happen. Please read with your eyes wide open and feel free to pass on, repost, and share...
Evolution:
A process of gradual, peaceful, progressive change or development, as in social or economic structure or institutions.
Humans have mastered the art of evolution. As Americans we consider ourselves more evolved than the rest of the world. Even in these troubled times we have a powerful economy, the biggest army, the most powerful democracy, and we are the undisputed king of media. America is the world’s most powerful country. We are tech savvy, forward thinkers, humanitarians of the world, who *POP* (that’s the sound of your American bubble of oblivion bursting) live in a rape culture.
Many have heard the term before. Some may find it offensive while others doubt its existence, but I think statistics prove that it’s real. Rape culture is 1 in 6 women being sexually assaulted in her lifetime. 76% (90% if you are a child) of these victims will know their assailant. Our wives, mothers, sisters and daughters are being sexually assaulted by people they know, love, and trust. A rape culture would have us believe that most reports of rape and almost all reports of child molestation are false. The statistics on false reporting are between 1 and 2%. In reality, only 20% of sexual assaults are reported at all. Victims live in fear and shame of their abuse. Perpetrators rely on this and it’s worked wonderfully for them for centuries. A rape culture, in its attitudes and actions, support and empower the rapist.
A rape culture believes that “no” doesn’t really mean “no”, it means that a woman just wants to be romanced, that it’s time to turn on the charm, to push, to beg, buy her another drink, to convince and persuade, to bully and wear her down until she stops saying no. In a rape culture, men who have this ability are given credit as being a lady’s man or Casanova because a rape culture believes that girlfriends and wives do not have the right to reject her partner sexually. Most Americans do not know that marital rape is a crime, and if they do, they do not believe that it can exist. “What’s the big deal if he had sex with you, he’s your husband." Having sex against someone’s will is not sex, it’s rape.
We get angry at victims for not protecting themselves. She should have known better than to walk to her car alone. Why did she invite him into her home? Her skirt was too short. For us to believe that a woman is innocent in her victimization she would have to be a homely virgin wearing a turtleneck who got lost in a dark alley on the wrong side of town.
Not even Hollywood is liberal enough to escape the rape culture mentality. Whoopi Goldberg came to the defense of Roman Polanski who drugged, raped, and sodomized a 13 year girl in 1977, by saying “well it wasn’t really rape-rape”. What is “rape-rape”? If a 13 year old girl being drugged and suffering vaginal and anal penetration isn’t rape, what is the definition? I wanted to ask Whoopi but she’s not taking my calls. It’s too bad because, despite the movie “Jumping Jack Flash”, I really liked Whoopi Goldberg. I’m sorry, but that brand of ignorance is a deal breaker for me.
Do you remember the Michael Vick dog fighting scandal from 2007? He was sent to federal prison, and placed on indefinite suspension from the NFL. As a guest on a sports talk show, Paul Zeise a reporter for the Pittsburgh Post Gazette stated, "It's really a sad day in this country when somehow ... Michael Vick would have been better off raping a woman if you look at the outcry of what happened. Had he done that, he probably would have been suspended for four games and he'd be back on the field.” The comment resulted in Zeise getting fired from his position at the Gazette. They didn’t feel the statement was politically correct and they worried that he may have offended people. It’s true, I’m horribly offended. Not because of what he said, but because the truth in what he said is so sadly ridiculous. Truer words have never been spoken. Can I get an “amen” from Kobe Bryant and Ben Roethlisberger?
In a rape culture, kind well meaning men who would never victimize a woman or a child, stand in silence when they witness domestic violence or sexual harassment. They’re conditioned to believe that it’s none of their business or they don’t want to appear oversensitive to their peers.
It’s also women who won’t stick up for other women, who laugh at jokes that make them uncomfortable because they don’t want to seem uptight or worst of all, be called a feminist lesbian. For the record, I’ve been called both and have lived through it.
A rape culture believes in equality for some but not all. It might be okay for women to be equal but it’s not okay for gay, lesbian, or transgender people. A rape culture does not support truthful sex education in our schools or access to affordable contraception and a rape culture does not support a woman’s right to chose.
Our American rape culture is so pervasive that we are hardly able to identify when it occurs. How can we possibly tolerate living in a world that is steeped in inequity and oppression? It is real and it’s played out in our lives politically, economically, and socially, every minute, every hour, of every day. If many examples seem innocuous and perhaps alone, they are, but added to everything we are exposed to on a daily basis, it’s an example of the sum being greater than its parts. All too often we accept the unacceptable because “that’s just the way it is”. Both men and women assume that sexual violence is a fact of life. Sexual violence, however, is neither biologically nor divinely ordained. What we accept as inevitable is in fact the expression of values and attitudes that can change.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Inaugural Post!
Hey! Welcome to the Prairie Girl's Guide to Real Life inaugural post! Exciting I know...
As a girl (OK so I am 40 but a girl at heart) in rural Western Minnesota there are a few things us girls just need to accept. Glamour and Cosmopolitan magazines will never publish articles on "How to Look Remotely Stylish When its -15 Below Zero" or "How to Lose Weight Eating Tator Tot Hotdish and Homemade Pie." You won't find make up tips on how to get a glow on the pasty white skin that seems to set in this time of the year. We have no Macy's or Bloomingdale's close by to keep us in the latest fashions. Nor do we have a gourmet grocer around the corner so we can whip up a dish like Mahi Mahi with mango salsa for dinner. There aren't any Bally Fitness gyms on main street...
But we do have online shopping, cozy coffee shops, some of the best scenery in the state, and of course we have each other! So stay tuned for my tips on surviving life on the prairie. I'll leave you with this tidbit--don't run on ice with high heeled boots. I currently cannot sit on my right butt cheek due to the damage it received when I landed on it this afternoon.
As a girl (OK so I am 40 but a girl at heart) in rural Western Minnesota there are a few things us girls just need to accept. Glamour and Cosmopolitan magazines will never publish articles on "How to Look Remotely Stylish When its -15 Below Zero" or "How to Lose Weight Eating Tator Tot Hotdish and Homemade Pie." You won't find make up tips on how to get a glow on the pasty white skin that seems to set in this time of the year. We have no Macy's or Bloomingdale's close by to keep us in the latest fashions. Nor do we have a gourmet grocer around the corner so we can whip up a dish like Mahi Mahi with mango salsa for dinner. There aren't any Bally Fitness gyms on main street...
But we do have online shopping, cozy coffee shops, some of the best scenery in the state, and of course we have each other! So stay tuned for my tips on surviving life on the prairie. I'll leave you with this tidbit--don't run on ice with high heeled boots. I currently cannot sit on my right butt cheek due to the damage it received when I landed on it this afternoon.
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