The Power of Fredbird

This week is pretty special to me, for two reasons: the first (and more trivial) being that the St. Louis Cardinals are in the World Series. Anyone who’s been following the postseason, or perhaps more significantly, the regular season, knows it's more a Cinderella story than Cinderella.

The second is that Saturday, Oct. 22 will be what would have been the seventh birthday of my little sister, Tarah. Tarah, or "Sugar" as we affectionately refer to her, passed away from a rare lung disease in April of 2008. She was 3 1/2.

There's actually a pretty intimate connection between the two. I’ve been baffled before by the power of sports, but when I realize the number of memories we've built with Tarah that are somehow associated with sports, some of it makes sense.

And I'm not talking about a power that makes people lose control, scream at TVs, throw things and spend hundreds of dollars on tickets (though yes, that does happen to the best of us). I'm talking writing stories you can't script and cementing connections across zip codes and generations.

Sports gives me a happy memory everytime I see Fredbird (the Cardinals' mascot), watch SportsCenter or even pick up a football. All three have very specific connections to Tarah, and relive a moment with her every time I see them.

Tarah loved Fredbird. Fredbird is nothing more than a big cardinal in a t-shirt and baseball cap, but she loved him. He was what she noticed everytime we'd watch a Cards game with her. We were able to take Tarah to at least two Cardinals games before she passed away, and seeing Fredbird was a dream of hers. Not only did she get to see him, but my brother Joel bought her a little stuffed Fredbird when he was in St. Louis once on a seminary visit.

Two of my favorite photos I have of her were taken in St. Louis. The first was at her very first Cardinals game, two months before her first birthday. We were in the car still, just before we walked over to Busch Stadium. She was still in her car seat, but the picture is a close-up of her face. Her big blue eyes are strikingly alert. She was wearing a red shirt and white headband with a bow, her lips pursed in a coy smile so telling of her personality, even then. We have it blown up and hanging on our refrigerator.

The other photo was two years later. This time, we’re outside the car, walking to the stadium. Joel was holding her. Tarah was wrapping her tiny little arms as far around his neck as she could. She'd started having episodes at this point, but you'd never know it looking at that picture. I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. She pulled out her cheesiest smile, pushing her round little cheeks up so high her eyes squinted shut, hugging Joey hard as ever. She used to say she was going to marry Joel, and if any picture captured that, it was that one.

Those St. Louis trips expanded into countless other stories about Imo's Pizza, Ted Drewes, Sem housing, getting lost in St. Louis and Tarah clapping at all the wrong times. Memories are made anytime, anywhere, and sports just happened to be one of the ways we created them with Tarah. And that's pretty cool.

Sports may seem a bit trivial and unimportant in the grand scheme of things, maybe even just a bunch of stats and numbers, but it's also a venue for something special. Be it universal principles, endurance, pushing limits, heroes, cross-country connections, experiencing your team'ss Super Bowl victory with your Dad or pounding backs in a sports bar or stadium full of people you've never met, or some of your best friends, a love of the game. It's a connection to people.

For me, among others, it's family. Our sports organization we created as kids. Thanksgiving football games at our Grandparents' house in Wisconsin. Every Sunday afternoon in the basement after church for NFL Sunday. Cheering for Texas A&M just because Adam went there. Cheering for Tim Tebow just because he's Sam's hero. Tossing around the baseball in the backyard with Sam. Shooting hoops in the early fall evenings. Filling out March Madness brackets together. Dancing to "How You Like Me Now" with my little brother after the Cardinals eliminated the Brewers for a "happy flight" to the 2011 World Series. Screaming so loud we scare our dog after a good play. The list goes on.

And come Wednesday, it'll mean hugging that little stuffed Fredbird for game one of the World Series and wondering how Tarah's going to be celebrating her seventh birthday in heaven. She probably wouldn't want to watch Saturday's game on her birthday, though, as inferred by one of her favorite lines, spoken anytime we opted for SportsCenter over Barbie of Fairytopia: "No spowts!"

What a Sweet Old Mannnn...Nope.

What started as a routine trip to the grocery store for cheese, crackers and fudge sticks Tuesday evening quickly turned into the stuff of legend for my friend Elizabeth and myself.

Preparing for a visit to an friend’s apartment, we decided to drop in on our local grocery store to try and scrounge up some culinary compliments to Wood Chuck Cider and other such libations.

What we found instead was a combination of a cute old man with a charming sense of humor and the overly-enthusiastic suave of a young cad stuck in the body of a 70-year-old.

The start of our visit was as normal as anything. The entrance doors opened automatically, as usual, the store was air conditioned as usual, and the fruit and vegetables were on the left-hand side, as usual. Passing the check-out aisles,we made our way towards the snack aisle, eyeing some Triscuits.

Along the way, I spotted some Keebler Peanut Butter Fudge Sticks. I had promised our friend the food assortment would be “interesting,” so throwing in fudge sticks with cheese and crackers seemed to fit the bill.

Once we got our hands on some Triscuits, Elizabeth was suddenly struck with a cheese revelation.

“Have you ever had ‘Laughing Cow Cheese’?” she asked excitedly.

No, I replied, which sent us heading in the direction of the dairy.

Standing between us and the dairy section, however, was the baked goods area...and Mr. Smooth the Senior.

As we passed by cakes, muffins and pies, a tower of cupcakes caught my eye.

“Look!” I said to Elizabeth. “They’re teacher cupcakes! I should get you one!”

Elizabeth, who happens to be one of the greatest educators in the greater Midwest, chuckled and declined.

“You should buy the whole tower!” came an unfamiliar voice from behind. We turned to find an elderly gentleman, probably in his 70’s, grinning from ear to ear and pushing his cart towards us. He was wearing khaki pants, a plaid, button-down shirt and a completely unassuming old man face.

Expecting to pass by, smile back, maybe laugh a little and go about our business, we pressed on towards the bright lights of the dairy wall.

“Are you two in school?” he asked.

The encounter was far from over.

“No,” Elizabeth replied, “I’m a teacher.”

“Oh, a teacher!” he replied enthusiastically. “What do you teach?”

We stopped to face him, as Elizabeth proceeded to tell the man where she taught and what grades, mentioning the school was in Inwood.

This location triggered a bizarre story about an anonymous financial contributor, a pastor and hogs. Or something like that.

He then asked me if I was a teacher, as well.

“Nope,” I said. “I work for a newspaper.”

Ah, the Argus Leader, he beamed.

“Nope, a paper in Canton,” I replied, hoping he might think that there's more than one.

“Oh, Canton. Well that’s wonderful!”

So far, nothing terribly disconcerting. Small talk from an old man shopping solo, trying to charm two young girls. Happens all the time. The direction the conversation took from there, however, was hardly commonplace.

“You girls should come around here more often. I don’t get to see beautiful women very often, and when I do, my head starts spinning and I’m just full of jokes.”

Elizabeth told him he was very charming. Still innocent enough, I suppose. But he wasn’t done.

“Y’know, if I was 45 years younger...”

We giggled, amused.

“...I’d take you both out for dinner tonight. And then I’d wine and dine you until you’d say yes to everything I did.”

What?

Yes, he said that. Our reaction was a mixture of complete horror and uncontrollable laughter.

He was not finished.

“And then, the next morning, I’d marry one of you. And if I was really lucky, I’d marry both of ya.”

Speechless, we began mentally preparing our exit route and trying to process in our heads what in the world had just happened. And we were still laughing.

His mind and tongue may have be as youthful as ever, but that was about it. His weathered skin blanketed a facial structure that probably could’ve picked up two cute girls in a super market in his glory days (though I certainly hope that was all talk). But today was not his lucky day.

When we finally managed to calm our laughter down to stifled chuckles, and the situation seemed to be closing in on itself, the silver-haired fox began pushing his cart ever so slowly in the opposite direction, keeping eye contact with us as he said how nice it was to meet us, yada yada yada, but I think his last line was my favorite:

“Now you girls remember to go to church on Sunday!”

I Love Weddings!

One of the happiest things in the world is to see people you love genuinely happy.

This past week, I got to see a dear friend from college the happiest I've ever seen her. Granted, I haven't seen her in years, and I didn't know her nearly as well as many others, but she's one of those girls that you could not see for 10, 20 years, and would still want to meet up with for coffee if you found out you were in the same city at the same time. She's a genuine, kind-hearted, selfless woman who loves the Lord and shows it. She's just beautiful on the inside and out.

My brother and I drove to Greeley, Colorado this past week for two nights to see this girl marry the man of her dreams, the perfect lid to her pot, as our wonderful hosts, the Dissellcones (I'm pretty positive I butchered the Dutch spelling), put it.

We drove up Wednesday and the wedding was Thursday. We stayed with the lovely aforementioned couple who had hearts bigger than Texas, a sense of humor that had me laughing all weekend and the sweetest love for each other, nearly 50 years after they first met. They had meals twice the size of any normal one three times a day, treats available every time in-between, great stories and zinger one-liners.

For example, when Arlin found out we were both pastor and doctors' kids, he said: "You know what they say; if you're a doctor's kid, you're sick for nothing. So if you're a pastor's kid, you must be good for nothing!" He also said something about Winnipeg being renamed Winter-peg and some insulting Dutch phrases (poking fun at himself). They also had a ping pong table. Winning.

Anyway, the wedding was Thursday. Now, I've been to weddings before where the bride is so overwhelmed with stress and worry that she forgets to be happy, and you'd almost think she wasn't. Weddings where the brides have their priorities focused and are able to look past the little details that may not go perfectly make the happiest ones.

Now, I know weddings are potentially one of the most stressful endeavors a girl will ever undertake, but some handle it better than others. And a huge part of that is realizing what's most important.

This wedding was one of the happiest I've ever been to. Not only because the bride and groom couldn't hide the love for each other written all over their faces if they tried, but because the wedding was blatantly Christ-centered. They were grounded in a love bigger than themselves, and that was so evident in their love for each other. What a beautiful thing!

And it helps that they know how to party, too. Great food (shrimp hors d'oeuvres and a chocolate fountain instead of a cake), fantastic company, a Bob Marley sing-a-long and one wicked dance floor. ALL NIGHT LONG! Well, until midnight. Then clean-up, some good laughs, dancing out the door, singing into the night and great memories with wonderful people.

Congratulations, Becca and Konrad, and I wish you the absolute best as you continue to grow in Christ, each other and explore a whole new world of adventures ahead.

Turkish(ly) Delight(ful times)

“Let’s pause from this period of intellectual enjoyment and take a moment to ponder the meaning of friendship.”

Such sentences are not uncommon from my very dear, intellectually stimulating cousin Amanda. We’re both sitting at the kitchen bar atop two tall wooden bar stools, the legs characterized by the loving mark of Vincent’s claws. The sky outside the glass kitchen doors leading to the porch is black, dotted with the light of scattered stars.

Amanda and I are huddled over a handful of literature books, drooling over Hopkins, T. S. Elliot and W. B. Yeats. Amanda points out Hopkins’ use of nature and Christ, and the sense of excitement he conveys. I point out Yeats’ ability to transport his reader into a completely different world, time and dimension with the power of words. I like Hopkins' use of nature as well, as Amanda has me read a poem of his for the first time, and Amanda reads some Yeats and says she likes him, but he's not her favorite.

We’re in heaven. The calm night sky pours in through the windows, most of the family is filtering into bed, and Amanda and I have the run of the kitchen to discuss literature to our hearts’ content as we wait for our Turkish Delight to settle (yes, we made Turkish Delight).

The sentence that began this post, about the meaning of friendship, pleasantly interrupted our English powwow when Esther, Hannah, Tabby and Julie came upstairs to show off their new fingernail art.

“Let’s pause from this period of intellectual enjoyment and take moment to ponder the meaning of friendship," Amanda says to the girls as they fill the kitchen with the aroma of freshly-popped popcorn.

The girls, caught a bit off guard, but seemingly interested, paused for a moment. Once they'd pondered the question, a list started pouring out of the qualities of a good friend. They jumped right in. Esther told us about her friend from church that no one else gives the time of day to. It's not a pity thing, she said, but a desire not to leave her behind because she cares about her.

Why are you friends with your friends, we asked. The discussion continued, as we got a glimpse into the world of these girls' ideals and principals, probably without them knowing it. They may only be 9, 13, 15 and 16, but they know what's going on. And they know they're still learning, too. So do Amanda and I.

We asked if friendships should be rooted in obligation. We all know each other because we're cousins. But we're friends because every year we're discovering more dimensions of awesomeness. Amanda's love of literature, ballet, the simple joy of a well-constructed sentence, love of laughter and storytelling skills with seamless comedic timing. Katie's and Anna's adventurous spirits in lands of the great unknown, Katie's fashion sense, Anna's great taste in television, Emily's cool, calm and collected smarts, caring spirit and ambition, yet slap-happy ridiculousness. Josiah's easy-going nature, ever-present smile and good-natured sense of humor. His and Peter's appreciation for the Onion News Network and tennis. Peter's level-headedness, intelligence and deadpan humor. Julie's disdain for mushrooms and mad violin skills. The list goes on and on.

Needless to say, combining these personalities makes for some pretty legit shenanigans, from our intellectual discussions concerning the intent of authors and their literature and the true meaning of friendship to dappling in the world of allrecipes.com user comments, how the Turkish Delight looked like a festering caterpillar and a nail-biting account of Amanda’s car troubles. And of course, Peter’s caution that google-ing a recipe is sketchy unless you scroll down to at least the third one.

Love is Spelled T-I-M-E

"Well, look at this!" Grandpa exclaims, scanning the front page of a copy of the Sioux Valley News, seated comfortably at the kitchen table. "Your name is splashed all over the front page! You're a VIP!" He continued gushing, shaking my hand, and eventually asking for my autograph.

I'll admit, I was pretty excited the first time I saw my name in print on that newspaper: "Laura Heckmann, Sioux Valley News Reporter." But that eventually lost its novelty, in line with a calling card for complaints on every story I write. Grandpa somehow managed to turn it into something magical again.

And it wasn't even about the paper, or whether or not I really was an accomplished writer, or that my name was all over the front page. It was that he cared because my name was on it. I have no idea if my family cares about the inner workings of newspapers, or what types of tasks fill a reporters day (probably not), or anything that paper has to say, but suddenly because I, their niece/cousin/granddaughter, was a part of it, it mattered.

Earlier this morning, I was joined around 11 a.m. by the ENTIRE crew at the newspaper office. As in, almost the entire side of my Dad's extended family. Grandma and Grandma, two sets of aunts and uncles, a handful and a half of cousins, my dad and two of my siblings.

From the second they stepped in they were wide-eyed and full of questions. Visiting my office had been put on their schedule as a major field trip for the morning. They wanted to take my picture by the cash register, in front of newspaper stacks, sitting at my desk and working the stapler. They wanted to know how the newspaper runs, how we put it together, what kinds of customers we have. They wanted to see the storage area, know what the stacks of paper were used for and marveled at the large paper cutter.

Amanda and Peter (two of my cousins) sat in on half a Commission meeting with me. The entire family has sat for hours, both nights of the reunion so far, just listening to stories from everyone else, wanting to know the intricate details of our lives and marveling at our accomplishments.

It's overwhelming in the best possible way, to know you're cared about.

I suppose it's pretty easy not to take interest in something that doesn't interest me. I can forget that relationships aren't about keeping me entertained. If someone is talking about planting corn seeds, the art of square dancing or how they once played an extra in a small budget movie, if I care about them, I'll care about what they do. I'll care about what makes them happy, or what fills their day. And I may just learn some fascinating things in the process, about the subject, but more importantly, about the person.

This family cares, and by the time they'd left my office, probably close to 45 minutes later, I couldn't help but beam and feel like I'd just gotten a gargantuan hug that hadn't unwrapped me yet. They made me feel special and in a way I rarely have, and I only hope I'll carry that genuine, wide-eyed curiosity for my loved ones beyond today. Thanks fam, for not only reminding me how blessed I am by all of you, but what can learn from you, as well.

Who knows, this may even give me a new perspective on Commission meetings.

Terry the Postman

Terry works at the post office. The post office is just down the sidewalk from the the newspaper office. I go there every morning to pick up the mail for work. I know I’ll run into Terry if I go around the lunch hour, because Beth, the postal worker I usually encounter, is on her lunch break (or so I assume). Terry is never at the counter, and I always have to wait at least a minute or two before he makes an appearance (if he’s the only one there when I happen to stop in), but it’s usually worth the wait.

Terry is on the short side, small frame, bald, no-nonsense, but not afraid to tease. His eyes are kind yet stern. Our conversations have ranged from the rubber spiders that have been hanging on their back wall since Halloween to Indian lore. And sometimes, he can be just plain ornery. Not blatantly. He’s never been rude to me. But I can tell when he’s not in a good mood. He’s especially quiet, short and mechanically polite.

That was what I encountered Friday morning. I had to stop by the post office on my way back from an interview to pick up the office mail.

Sure enough, around 11 a.m., Beth’s side of the counter had a sign pointing to the other side. I walk to the other side, shuffling around and making as much noise as I can, hoping Terry will hasten at the commotion.

I jingle my keys and set them noisily down on the counter, gazing around the small entry area. The rubber spiders still hang from the wall. One large one and one baby one. I’ve told Terry many times that they really should replace them with butterflies, at least until next Halloween. But he insists the kids like them.

A few minutes into my wait, Terry emerges from the back. He smiles diplomatically and I tell him I have a 50 cent postage charge I need to take care of. He doesn’t make his usual chatter, or ask any questions, he just takes the yellow card from me and tells me there’s another 50 cent charge. I tell him I don’t have any other change on me, so he says ok, we’ll just leave it for next time.

He cashes me out, gives me a receipt and my parcel, and sends me on my way.

It was odd, I thought. Not like his usual self. Granted, he’s never been Happy the Dwarf, but he just seemed off about something.

And for some reason that bothered me. I wanted to ask him if his day was going alright, but thought better of it, said goodbye, and he politely told me to have a good day. I told him “you, too,” and jingled out the lobby door.

I feel like if something was bothering him, or even if it wasn’t, regardless of if he wanted to explain, the fact that someone cared enough not only to notice, but to ask, would've made him feel a little better. But I’ll never know, now. Until my next opportunity, I suppose.

Google+! Woo!

Ok, this Google+ thing. I have to blog about it. I have it. I gave in. And I was curious. I’m a sucker for peer pressure when it comes to social networking. Even Twitter (though admittedly, I never use it). The great question before us now (or me, at least) is whether Google+ will become the new Facebook, or falter into MySpace status. Will it stick?

Honestly, I have a hard time imagining anything taking over Facebook, but I suppose something had to threaten it. Whether or not Google+ will make a dent, spread like wildfire, or die remains to be seen. In fact, it’s so new right now that it’s in a sort of “trial phase,” allowing curious blighters such myself in only by invitation.

It all started about two weeks ago, when rumblings of this foreign concept that was “Google+” started popping up on scattered Facebook statuses. And then the mysterious “+1” started appearing next to my Google searches.

My realization that this was an invite-only novelty just happened to coincide with a friend offering invites to anyone who so desired one. I desired. And I got. What the heck, I thought, let’s give it a shot. Besides, everyone else is doing it.

So, I launched into the uncharted waters of Google+. When the invite arrived in my Google e-mail, it sent shivers down my spine. It was new. It was exciting. It was in a trial period! It was like being a part of history!

At first glance, it appeared very similar to Facebook, only aesthetically boring by comparison. It kind of looked like the Google screen, I suppose, only with a profile picture and their own version of minifeed.

I quickly realized, however, that the claim to fame of Google+ was its friend “circles;” the ability to place different friends in different circles and share whatever you want with whomever you want, and perhaps more importantly, keep what you want from whomever you want. You no longer have to worry about Grandma and Mom seeing those party photos. And your friends don’t know who you put in what circles. So, if that friend who thinks you’re bosom buddies ends up in the “Acquaintances” circle, he'll never know.

Also, that mysterious “+1” next to Google search items is essentially, I learned, Google's equivalent of a “like” on Facebook.

I’m very new to this, obviously, so I may yet (and probably will) stumble across other novelties of the network as time goes on, but the real question will be if it stamps out Facebook. Because there really is no reason to have two social networking sites that do essentially the same thing, just in slightly different ways.

Until all is revealed, I remain a humble and ignorant explorer, learning with the rest of you noobs. It's like a great equalizer; no one knows what they're doing! I'll relish this ignorance as long as I can.

And before I close, I must throw in my philosophical slant on this new age of networking. I noticed as I was starting up my account that I used Facebook to go down my list of friends to try and think of people to look for on Google+. And in doing so, I realized I was skipping over a notably large number of them.

Google+ is like starting over. It’s a new identity in the realm of social networking. Cheesy, I know, but kind of true! I picked out the people I actually knew I would care about hearing from. I was able to reevaluate all the info I probably hadn’t changed on Facebook since I started it, my first summer before college, about six years ago! Man, have things changed.

What a nostalgia trip. And I’ll leave the rest in my head. But if anyone else has embarked on this journey, please, give me your thoughts! Obviously it’s still new and still catching on, and still has a lot coming, but the feedback at this stage is fascinating.

The way I see it, this is like any other uncertain relationship that people are either bold enough or stupid enough to jump into. You hope the initial trials and tribulations will eventually reward your trust with a worthwhile investment. It will also draw the line between bold and stupid.