The last one

Dear Cuming County,

I left off my letter last week extolling your praises, and if I had stopped there, I would be leaving out so much.

I’ll miss being part of the West Point Community Theatre, helping make decisions as part of its board of directors and appearing on stage in performances (although I haven’t completely ruled this out ... it’s not that far from Lincoln to West Point).

I’ll miss being a TeamMates mentor. I was in the program for only one year, but even in that short amount of time, it made an impact on my life. I hope I made a difference.

I’ll miss being part of Elkhorn Valley Arts Unlimited and being part of a community of people dedicated to supporting the arts.

I’ll miss attending worship at Zion St. John Lutheran Church, the “singing-est” church I’ve ever known.

I’ll miss the Wisner News-Chronicle staff tremendously. Perhaps you don’t know, but the individuals who put out your newspaper each week are quite awesome. They are smart and hard-working professionally, and personally, they are some of the best people I know.

As I review the list of things I’ll miss, it’s clear that Cuming County is a special place, inhabited by exceptional people.

Since writing last week, many people have expressed their sadness at our moving, and I respond with “we’re not going to be gone forever.”

Cuming County, and Wisner in particular, is where my family went from being two to three, and then to four. It’s where Jim and I bought our first house and filled it with sweet memories. It’s where I spent some of the best years of my life, and so how could I possibly leave it for good?

Expect to see us for future Cuming County Fairs, WPCT productions and St. Patrick’s Day parades.

In the meantime, I’ll be starting my new job on Aug. 27 at the Nebraska Press Advertising Service in Lincoln. I’ll be the advertising assistant, and so in effect, I’ll still be working for the Wisner News-Chronicle ... along with the 174 other Nebraska newspapers that are Nebraska Press Association members.

And while I won’t have a weekly column anymore, you’ll still be able to read my work at Kirkhaven, my personal blog (http://alloneway.blogspot.com), or e-mail me at the.kirk.4@gmail.com.

This is harder to wrap up than I thought. I’m torn between excitement at the new adventure in our lives, and sadness at leaving this one behind.

So I guess I’ll close On the Lighter Side with a most sincere thanks to you all for reading my words. It’s been a blessing to me, and I hope it has been to you also.

All the best,
Violet

And just for funsies, here's a photo gallery of some of my performances at West Point Community Theatre. For the record, if my girls are a little on the dramatic side, I have NO IDEA from whom they get it ...

As Tiffany Houston in "Back to the 80s" {2009}

"Back to the 80s"

As Sheila Hussy in "Rustler's Revenge" {2009}

As Elaine Harper in "Arsenic and Old Lace" {2009}

"Arsenic and Old Lace"

"Arsenic and Old Lace"

As the Milkmaid, far left and four months pregnant, in "Oliver!" {2010}

As Kate in "A Pirate's Life for Me" {2011}

"A Pirate's Life for Me"

On the Lighter Side

Published Aug. 15, 2012

Dear Cuming County ... I’ll miss you

Short and sweet good-byes are not my style, apparently.

I closed out my newspaper column with a two-part love letter to the county we'll be leaving in less than a week. Here's part one:

The view from our front door {obviously not recently}

This is a really difficult column to write. It’s my penultimate offering to you, the readers of the Wisner News-Chronicle, before my family and I move to Lincoln at the end of this month.

The decision to move has been a long time coming, and is bittersweet. The bitter I’ll get to in a minute, but the sweet will be finally living close enough to our families to call them neighbors.

If you’ve read “On the Lighter Side” for any length of time, you’ll know my family and Jim’s are extremely important to us.

When it was just the two of us, it was enough to see them on holidays and the occasional family gathering. After Evangeline was born, it got harder to say good-bye after visits. And after Brielle’s birth this May, we found ourselves spending every weekend this summer down south.

With our move, we’ll complete a set: All of my grandmother’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be living in Lincoln. My mother will be a 45-minute drive down I-80 and Jim’s parents live just an hour’s drive south in Kansas.

Though my girls don’t know it yet, it’s a tremendous gift we’re giving them to grow up with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins nearby.

But that gift doesn’t come without a price, which of course is that we’ll be leaving the friends who have become like family over the past four years.

So, as a parting gift to my readers, I’d like to close out my time here with a two-part love letter to Cuming County, and especially Wisner, the place where our family began.

Dear Cuming County:

We moved here in July 2008. It was an oppressively hot day when we pulled up outside of the little house that would become our home. I’d never set foot in it before; Jim had arranged for it while I was still working in Oklahoma.

But I loved it right away, just like it didn’t take me long to fall in love with you.

Within a month, I was working at the Wisner News-Chronicle. If there is a better way to learn about a new community than working at its newspaper, I’d like to hear it. It was through my work at the paper that I learned who is related to who, who used to live where, who graduated in what year and with whom.

It didn’t take long to recognize people, and so consequently, I knew a lot more of your people than maybe they realized. It sometimes made me feel a little stalkerish, but also it made me feel at home to see familiar faces.

I love shopping at stores where you know the majority of the other shoppers. I love being on a first-name basis with local librarians. I love bowling with women who don’t hold my 97-pin average against me.

Where else could I have found not one, but two, excellent childcare providers for my children? Where else could I have joined in organizations dedicated to promoting the arts in rural Nebraska, even as an outsider — and a young one, at that? Where else could I have written a self-involved weekly newspaper column without recrimination?

There’s nowhere quite like Cuming County, and nowhere quite like Wisner. We won’t forget you.

Until next week,
Violet

On the Lighter Side

Published Aug. 8, 2012

In pursuit of a gold(en) childhood

Here’s a fun fact: Sports movies make me cry. Every single one, every single time. I’m not talking rivers of tears, but I get choked up when the U.S. hockey team scores the winning goal in Miracle or when Rudy gets called to the field at the last minute. 

Don’t even get me started on Chariots of Fire.

So it shouldn’t be surprising for you to learn that I limit my Olympics viewing — for fear that every tissue in Cuming County quickly would be put to use. (That, plus the fact we don’t have conventional television in the Kirk house.)

But I did catch some of the events over the weekend at my grandmother’s house, and even my unathletic soul was stirred.

As a child, I remember watching figure skating during the winter Olympics, thinking “Hey, I could do that,” putting on a twirly skirt and practicing “triple axles” in the hallway.

Shockingly, the Olympic Talent Team never called.

Watching the competition now as a mother, I’m tempted to think the same thing, but with my children in the spotlight.

Every parent believes his or her child is exceptional; what a rush it must be to have that acknowledged globally.

And every parent, myself included, believes his or her child has what it takes to go for gold.

But then I think of the sacrifices Olympians and their families make, and wonder if gold medals come at an impossibly high price.

I want my girls to be little girls for as long as possible. There will be non-negotiables down the road — chores, homework, piano lessons, fetching Mommy her emergency chocolate — but I want them to pursue the gold medals of their own choosing. And that’s only after they’ve had the chance to have a thoroughly carefree childhood.

I probably won’t be an Olympic mom someday, though secretly I won’t rule out the possibility.

But whether I’m cheering for my girls in the bleachers at a basketball game or quietly beaming with pride at a dance recital, I want to know they’re doing what they love.

And you can bet I’ll bring tissues.

Brielle can't exactly play yet, so she fills her time by looking adorable. Mission accomplished, no?

Meanwhile, big sister Evangeline can't get enough of the life aquatic. (Jill - I think she looks so much like D. in this photo!)

On the Lighter Side
Published August 1, 2012

Celebrating the ‘town too tough to die’

I’m the lucky one in the office: I get to cover all the water events at Pilger’s Q125 celebration this weekend.

So even though the heat will be scorching, I’ll be keeping cool near the kids’ water fights and duck races at the Pilger pool.

If you’re less inclined to get wet, there are lots of other activities on offer this weekend. A full list of events can be found on the Pilger page of this week’s News-Chronicle, or you can go to www.pilgerq125.com.

Pilger’s motto is “the town too tough to die,” and while it’s an apt description of the village today, it’s also a tribute to the pioneer spirit needed 125 years ago when it was established.

Over the past few months, I worked a weekly feature for the Q125 that detailed Pilger’s history. The accounts that resonated most with me were those of Pilger’s founding fathers and mothers, often told by their children.

Life wasn’t easy 125 years ago. Settlers new to Stanton County built rudimentary shelters and learned how to navigate life in a lonely prairie. Neighbors were few and far between, and medical assistance even sparser. One long-time Pilger resident told about when one of his siblings was bitten by a snake. Driving in an ambulance to a hospital emergency room was a reality that existed decades in the future, so the family relied on the expertise of a Native American who knew how to extract the venom and treat the wound.

Another local historian remembered how her mother got tired of walking over a mile to get water from the stream, so she got out the shovel and dug a well closer to the homestead. Considering this hardy woman probably had a houseful of children to feed, clothe and protect, it’s difficult to imagine summoning the energy to do it.

That’s why Pilger — and all other small, rural towns — have celebrations like the one this weekend, to commemorate the sacrifices of their founders and to remember the toughness it took to survive in the early days.

But it takes toughness to continue the existence of a town, and that’s also what Pilger will celebrate.

It’s tempting for outsiders to look at small towns and dismiss them as insignificant simply because their numbers are few. That’s a mistake, because so much pride beats in the hearts of those who love their communities. It’s evidenced by the amount of work and planning that goes into creating a Q125 event; I know the committee has been at work for at least a year.

And it’s not just during celebrations that you can see that early pioneer spirit at work. During village board meetings and Sunday church services, at adult swim at the pool and at the annual sweet corn feed, the residents of Pilger are actively supporting their community and keeping it going.

I’m from a Nebraska town so small, it makes Pilger look like a metropolis, so I know a thing or two about hometown pride.

Pilger isn’t my hometown, but I’ll help celebrate this weekend like it is.

I invite you to join me in the town too tough to die — happy birthday, Pilger.

On the Lighter Side

Published July 18, 2012

Not my first rodeo

For regular visitors, this is mostly a revision of what you've already read. I'm back at work at the newspaper and wanted to catch my newspaper readers up on the last six weeks or so.

Going back to work is fraught with emotion. Any working parent knows the cycle: You're excited to get back into the land of grown-ups, where adult conversation is abundant and you can go to the restroom unaccompanied. And yet part of you yearns to be with your babies, spending the day all snuggled up together. Even if you're fortunate enough to have excellent child care (which I do - thanks Maria!), you're still anxious about the hours you spend away from your Bunny and CuddleBug (insert your child's sure-to-be-embarrassing-when-she's-16 nickname here).

I have no deep thoughts on the nature of being a working mother, other than it's been my norm since Evangeline was eight weeks old. It's what I have to do, so it's what I do. And I'm thankful that I have a job that I do love — it makes it much easier to leave these sweet faces each morning.

I’m convinced both my daughters will grow up to be journalists: They already know how to keep a deadline. 

Let’s back up six weeks to May 29. The Tuesday after Memorial Day and alumni reunion activities is traditionally a busy issue for the newspaper, and naturally, it was also my due date.

If you recall, I spent the month of May in a state of anticipation, expecting the birth of our second child any day. I left little undone at work each night, convinced I wouldn’t be back in the morning. And as the weeks of May passed, I grew increasingly impatient.

So on Memorial Day, Jim decided we needed to take matters into our own hands. We loaded up Evangeline and left to seek out the bumpiest gravel roads we could. Unfortunately for us, the county roads department does an excellent job and the roads we found were smoother than highways we’ve driven on in other states (Missouri, I’m looking at you).

Regardless, by the time I went to bed on Monday night, I suspected things were starting to happen. On Tuesday morning, I knew labor had started, but since my contractions were mild and still infrequent, I decided to head into work.

There is nothing quite like putting a newspaper together to keep your mind off impending labor. I worked happily through the morning, and by the time we finished the issue around 2 p.m., I figured it was time to go home.

My mother and Jim tolerated my puttering around the house until 5 p.m., when they started to insist it was time to leave.

“We’re going to the hospital,” they said. “What you do is up to you.”

We got to the hospital shortly after 6, and Brielle was born at 8:23 p.m. So maybe I did cut it a bit close ...

Despite her somewhat aggressive prenatal nickname — Stormageddon — Brielle is a relaxed, easy baby. She loves to cuddle and any crying is done only to alert me that it’s time to eat. And I have high hopes that her recent six-hour stretches of sleep through the night will become a regular habit.

Evangeline is largely indifferent to her new baby sister, although she enjoys playing with Brielle’s “beet” (feet).

The biggest surprise to me is how easy it was to transition from parenting one child to two. Granted, there are now two sets of diapers to change and two sleep schedules to balance, but mostly, it’s all familiar territory.

And that’s nice, because now I can focus on the fun stuff — snuggling with my little ladies, planning future tea parties and shopping trips, discovering their distinct personalities and quirks.

Don’t get me wrong: I know having two children under the age of two is full of all kinds of crazy. But it’s a good kind of crazy, and I’m loving (almost) every minute of it.

It’s not my first rodeo, after all.

Do middle kids have all the fun?

My sister tells me the best days of parenthood are ahead of me, because “the second child is the always most fun.”

I should point out that Lily is the second-born in our family.

I’ve read a lot over the years about birth order and its impact on personality. Here’s an extremely brief synopsis of common birth order stereotypes:

Oldest: Ambitious, responsible, disciplined. Famous oldest children include Oprah, Winston Churchill and Bill Clinton.

Middle: Diplomatic, easy-going, agreeable. Famous middle children include David Letterman, Princess Diana and Madonna.

Youngest: Outgoing, social, humorous. Famous youngest children include Jim Carrey, Steve Martin and Rosie O’Donnell.

Only children share traits with oldest children. Famous only children include Tiger Woods, Maria Sharapova and Alan Greenspan.

But the simple order of when you were born into your family isn’t the end of the story. Gender and spacing matter, too.

Lily and I are 22 months apart, and having two children of the same gender close together can blur the birth order lines. (My mom likes to say she has two oldest children.) Also, there’s a five-year span between my third sister and Andrew, the youngest. In a lot of ways, he’s more like an only child than the youngest.

If you’ll allow me a small moment of indulgence, he just graduated from high school at the top of his class and in the top 4 percent of all Nebraska seniors. He’s going to UNL on a full-ride scholarship to study biology. We’re maybe just a little proud of him.

As the first of four, I identify easily with the oldest child role. I want to do everything “right” and there’s nothing worse to me than disappointing someone. At the same time, I think I’m a little more flexible than the typical first-born stereotype would suggest.

That’s why it’s important not to read into birth order as if it’s set in stone. It’s a theory, not a horoscope. A lot of it, I think, has to do with how parents raise each child.

As I read through online articles on birth order, some of them geared specifically toward parents offer tips on how to nurture each child according to their place in the family, such as: Encourage first-borns and let them know perfection isn’t necessary for love. Listen to middle children and spend one-on-one time with them so they won’t feel lost. Emphasize the importance of what youngest children do and let them know they are unique.

So are second-born children more fun? I’m guessing that has as much merit as the expression “blondes have all the fun.”

What I do know, birth order notwithstanding, is that unlike energy levels, there will be plenty of love to go around for both my children.

On the Lighter Side

Published May 16, 2012

Outstanding people in an outstanding community

So ... remember when I wrote about our state newspaper contest a few weeks ago? The banquet was a week and a half ago and I *finally* made it there. (You can read why that's a big deal in just a minute.) I love being around other newsy people, and community weekly journalists are a specific breed. We're not as high-strung as our brothers and sisters who work with daily publications, but that doesn't mean we're less committed to journalistic ideals. 

One of the highlights of attending the NPA convention was getting to see my dear friend, Gerri Osborn Peterson, who is deserving of an entire post of her own. Right out of college, she purchased her hometown newspaper, the Hooker County Tribune in Mullen, Neb., and runs it single-handedly. I don't know how she does it, but she does an amazing job — with a smile on her face! Since she lives in the Sandhills and I'm in the northeast corner of the state, we don't get to see each other often. But when we do, it's like we're right back in the basement of Jesse, working on the Sower and imagining what life as a "real" reporter would be like. 

With Gerri at the awards luncheon.
(This is a newspaper-related post —
the photo had to be in black and white!)

(By the way, Gerri was named the Outstanding Young Journalist at the National Newspaper Contest last year, so I have it on good authority that she's awesome!)

Anyway ... here's what I wrote in my newspaper about the event:

There is a nearly universal truth in community journalism: Kids love to have their photo taken; adults hate it with a burning passion.

If I take your picture sometime down the road and you’re not exactly thrilled about it, I will understand completely — because I hate being in front of the lens, too.

This past weekend was the annual Nebraska Press Association conference in Lincoln. Twice in the past three years I’ve tried — and failed — to attend the conference. The first year, there was a conflict with the spring musical I was performing in at the West Point Community Theatre. The second year, I developed a fairly debilitating ear infection the night before leaving for the conference. So this year, with just six weeks to go before my second child’s due date, I was pretty convinced I would go into labor at some point prior to Friday.

But the third time’s a charm, and I was in the ballroom of the Holiday Inn Downtown on Friday afternoon to accept the Outstanding Young Nebraska Journalist in Weekly Newspapers runner up award. And though I was “that” person, making Elaine take my photo a couple of times — it’s hard to feel photogenic when you have the approximate gravitational pull of Saturn — it was definitely an honor I won’t forget.

Essentially, being under 30 and employed at a Nebraska newspaper made me eligible for the award. What made it happen, though, is the fact that I love what I do and I work with amazing people who, unsolicited, nominated me for the honor.

So when I look at the etched glass plaque on my desk at work (let’s be real: I have a toddler at home — it would remain unbroken for precisely 1.7 minutes in our house), what I see is not so much myself as outstanding, but that I work in an outstanding community, with outstanding people.

The rest of the Wisner News-Chronicle was well-represented in additional awards presentations throughout the weekend.

Jeff Recker won the Best Photograph of 2011 with his shot of the greased pig contest from last year’s Livestock Show. Jamie Parker and Marilyn Raabe took honors in the advertising category. Our 2011 spring agriculture special section and career technical education pages also placed in the competition.

Being one of the smallest newspapers in our judging division, we felt like we held our own quite well.

But a contest only reflects the opinion of one judge, considering single entries just one time. What really counts are the opinions of the people who read the Wisner News-Chronicle every week.

That’s why the most important take away from the NPA conference wasn’t the hardware, but the information shared at workshops about how to make our product better and more engaging for our subscribers.

The goal of our newspaper is to inform you, the readers, of what’s happening in the community and to do so in an effective, clear and attractive way.

If that means including your photo in an issue, I sympathize with your reticence — but just know your image helps make the complete picture award-winning.

On the Lighter Side

Published April 18, 2012

On the farm or in town, Nebraska values are the same

Although I grew up on a hog farm, I can’t claim to be a true farm girl. 

Not exactly the kind of outfit you'd wear to load hogs ...

 I didn’t enter livestock in the county fair as a 4-H’er or participate in FFA in high school. My father quickly learned that asking me to walk beans would be met with weeping and gnashing of teeth. 

I couldn’t tell you how to know when the best time for planting or harvesting is and I have only the tiniest understanding of what a farrowing shed is. 

No, I’m not a farm girl. Agriculture, at least directly, is not my calling in life. 

But even so, I am saddened by the thought that my children won’t have the same experiences on the farm I did.

This hit home to me over Easter weekend when my family visited Gayle and Kathy Giese’s farm for a hay rack ride to see Fern Moeller’s two day old baby goats. 

It was the first time Evangeline had explored a farm and I could tell she loved it. After an afternoon in the sun, jeans bearing the evidence of playing hard, she was so not ready for a nap. Being on the farm had energized her in a way that would have made her Grandpa Ray so proud.

And as happy as I was to see her enjoying herself, I felt a bit remorseful that visiting a farm, for her, will be a treat and not a daily experience.

Windblown and loving it! (Photo courtesy of Krista Giese, photographer extraordinaire)

When I was growing up, anytime we visited aunts or uncles who lived in town, Mom had to remind my sisters and me to use our “quiet” voices. 

“We have to be respectful of their neighbors,” she’d say. 

It was an unprecedented thought for a girl who was used to being at least 80 acres away from the nearest neighbor. 

My first driving experience was on a tractor, and when I finally graduated to a car, I learned how to navigate it on a gravel road

Our playhouses were myriad, with tea sets (old margarine tubs) and furniture (discarded milk crates) scattered among the many barns on our place. 

I’ll admit, the distance from town started to chafe when I got to high school and I began to spend more time in the booming metropolis of Waco (population 250) than I did at home. 

As an adult, I enjoy living in town. In the winter, it’s awfully convenient to have someone else clear snow off the roads and I am a big fan being within walking distance of the grocery store. 

My kids will have a good childhood, regardless of whether the road leading to our house is paved or not. Living in town or in the country, I can teach them the things I cherish from my Nebraska childhood — self-sufficiency, creativity, hard work (whining about walking beans aside, I did learn how to do a good day’s work), valuing family (because when you’re miles away from any other kids, you really have to get along with your sisters) and respecting nature. 

Plus, there’s still hope they’ll have a chance to help out on the farm in the summers: Uncle Andrew is going to major in ag studies at UNL. 

In the meantime, we’ll enjoy the afternoons spent with friends, soaking in the sun and watching baby goats.

On the Lighter Side

Published April 11, 2012

A life well-lived will be remembered with sweet memories

Grandpa and Evangeline, April 2011

One of my most dedicated readers will never read this column. But this one, it’s all about him. 
My grandfather, Lester Spader, went home peacefully early Sunday morning, surrounded by his children, beloved by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, respected in his community, secure in his faith. He was 91, and until his later years, had been blessed with incredible good health. A life-long farmer, he worked hard and even after “retiring” (really, what farmer ever truly retires?) he kept busy growing the most delicious sweet corn in York County.

Last Sunday was the last time I saw him. Evangeline and I visited him in the nursing home, a place he’d lived for the past couple of years. During previous visits, Evangeline had been shy around her great-grandpa, but this time was different. She smiled and played peek-a-boo with Grandpa, in between dashing into the hallway to charm other residents. I know she won’t have any memories of him, so it will be up to me to share some with her. 
Grandpa had a sweet tooth. There was always a drawer full of candy in his office. And it didn’t contain wannabe candies like peppermints; no, it was always the good stuff — miniature Snickers, Hershey bars, chocolate kisses. Think Willy Wonka with a hog farm instead of a chocolate factory. He loved to share that sweet bounty with his grandchildren, and with any other child who looked like they could use a treat. One summer day after he picked me up from swimming lessons, he leaned out of the car window and asked one of my classmates if he would like some candy. This was in the heyday of “stranger danger” awareness in elementary schools and this little boy clearly had been trained well: His eyes huge, he made tracks away from Grandpa’s car. I know Grandpa didn’t understand why his innocent offer was rejected; after all, he came from a different, better-intentioned generation. 
He graduated from high school in 1939 and served in WWII. He and my grandma Frances were married in 1947 and in 1952, my father was born. Eventually, their family grew to include my uncles and aunt, plus several nieces and nephews they also raised. Grandpa and his three sons farmed together, producing hogs, corn and soybeans in the fertile flatlands of southeast Nebraska. 
Most people outside of York County probably never knew my grandpa’s name, but in Waco and York, the county seat, there was always a great deal of respect attached to the family name. That’s due to the fact that my grandpa was a decent man, hardworking and honest, friendly and family-oriented. It’s why I still include my maiden name in my byline; I’m proud of the people I came from and I strive to live up to their legacy. 
During one of my last visits with Grandpa, I told him the name we’ve chosen if our second baby is a boy and together we found where it’s referenced in the Bible. I commented that his large-print Bible was well-used and he told me about when he read through it from Genesis to Revelation. It took a while, he said, but it was good reading. 
Like the rest of my family, I will miss Grandpa Lester and there is always sadness in the loss of dear one. But as we prepare to celebrate his memory later this week, I’m also aware of the joy that comes from knowing a long life well-lived ended peacefully. 
There can be no greater accomplishment than to leave this earth with the hope of salvation and the knowledge of generations of love.
On the Lighter SidePublished March 28, 2012

A smorgasbord of traditional flavors

I wish I would have taken photos of the food; a visual would be excellent. But if you want recipes, definitely check out Mennonite Girls Can Cook. If my brother ends up marrying a Mennonite girl, I vote they host at least one holiday per year. (Andrew, you're a high school senior and you've got a lot of amazing stuff ahead of you ... this can wait for a while.)

While Wisner was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with corned beef and cabbage last weekend, my family enjoyed an entirely different type of cuisine.

My brother Andrew is a senior at Heartland Community School in Henderson, a traditionally Mennonite town located on the very western edge of York County. Slightly smaller than Wisner, it’s been home to my mom and brother for the past two years. I’ve spent enough time there to know it has a flavor all its own.

If you eat anywhere in Henderson, like we did at the Heartland High School Band’s annual Smorgasbord, you’ll know without a doubt you’re in a place that takes its heritage seriously.

As I surveyed the tray of food in front of me, I realized I recognized about a quarter of it. So I asked my brother to “translate” for me. Here’s a sampling of what we had: Verenika (cheese-wrapped dough, fried or baked) in ham gravy, zweibach (sweet yeast bread), borscht (cabbage and vegetable stew), priescha (similar to verenika), homemade noodles and gravy, portzelky (raisin cookies), sausage, ham with beans and coleslaw.

There was more on the tray, which fairly creaked with the effort of holding all the food, that I didn’t have time to ask about: I was too busy enjoying it. My daughter, who normally eats like a bird, devoured everything I fed her. Between the two of us, however, we didn’t come close to finishing it all.

It was the ultimate comfort food, delicious and homey. Andrew told me the band parents prepare a lot of the food weeks ahead of time and freeze it, but trust me, it tasted like it had been made earlier that day. And apparently, everyone else in town seemed to think so, as the line for food wound its way around the halls of the school and didn’t let up until it was time for the concert.

The meal reawakened my love for traditional food, tasting the dishes my ancestors would have made regularly and knowing it sustained them to travel to new frontiers and begin life in a new world.

I may, however, concentrate more on the German side of my culinary heritage ... I can’t imagine trying to convince my toddler to eat lutefisk.

On the Lighter Side

Published March 21, 2012

Naming woes the same ... or worse ... the second time around

Is it just me, or is it much harder to name your second child than it was your first? I wrote about it this week in my newspaper column, and as I wrote it, I thought Wow, this is kind of neurotic. But I can't be alone ... can I? I'd love to hear how you picked names for your children.


There must be something about the third trimester that makes me anxious about one thing ... baby names. 

At this point during my pregnancy with Evangeline, I wrote a column about the difficulty Jim and I were having in picking out a name for our firstborn. We wanted a special name, one that would grow with our child and suit his or her personality. We didn’t want a name that would be mocked easily or difficult to spell. And we didn’t want a name of any of Jim’s students, past or present.

All those criteria still apply, with an added caveat: The second name has to “go” with the first.

Evangeline is what I call a vintage name. It has religious undertones, it’s feminine and it’s multi-syllabic. I would like Baby #2’s name to share those qualities at least in some measure, so our children feel there’s cohesion in their name choices.

That rules out trendy, short or gender-neutral names. No Pats or Robins for us.

Having been through this once before, I know no amount of careful choosing will ensure our child’s name is said (or spelled) the way we intend. For the record, we pronounce Evangeline’s name to rhyme with “clean” or “queen.” In her 17 months of life, she’s been called Evangeline (rhymes with pine), Evangelina, Angelina, Angeline, Evie, Eva and E ... and I’m sure there are more incarnations to come in the future.

Surprisingly, Jim and I agree on a boy’s name. In fact, we had it picked out the first time around since we were so very sure we would have a son.

The bad news is we can’t concur on a girl’s name. That means, of course, that we will have another daughter.

If we do, I’m not too concerned she’s going to end up permanently as Baby Girl Kirk.

We didn’t have a girl’s name picked out ahead of time with Evangeline, either, but the first time we saw her, we knew exactly who she was.

On the Lighter Side

Published March 14, 2012

•••

I'm not ready to share our boy name, but his initials would be MRK. We DO have a middle name picked out for a potential daughter, so her partial monogram would be _EK. With that in mind, it's obvious her name canNOT start with an F ...

Leap years, seconds don’t bring back lost time

Happy Leap Day! Today is an excellent day for sale shopping, since it's an "extra" day for retailers to clear out winter merchandise before spring officially arrives. I plan to take advantage of it but shhh ... don't tell Jim. :)

Speaking of Jim, he celebrated his golden birthday yesterday (28 on the 28th). He likes a low-key birthday and that's what he got. Tortillas with Spanish rice and refried beans, Grandma Charlotte's angel food cake and watching the latest episode of Castle before heading to a school board meeting (and driving home in a surreal February thunderstorm). His ultra-exciting birthday gift from his wife: A Camelbak water bottle and the go-ahead to pre-order Mass Effect 3. 

Because his work often goes unnoticed, yet frequently criticized (I have yet to figure THAT out), so I want him to feel appreciated and cherished when he comes home. If that means keeping birthdays low-key, that's what I do.   

The Kirks, serving up boring birthdays since 2007.

Happy birthday, my upstanding and sincere husband. I thank God for you every day and I pray your 29th year is full of love and peace.

Ahem. Sorry about that. Here's my column for this week, inspired by my very own not-quite-leapling.    

If my husband had been born just one day later, I’d be married to a seven-year-old. 
In a few years, our children would be “older” than their father.

So much for respecting your elders ...

Fortunately, although Jim’s mother had the option to have a leap year baby 28 years ago, she decided against it — and I’m thankful.

Leap years come around once every four years to synchronize the calendar year with the seasonal year. Because seasons don’t repeat in a whole number of days, a calendar that has the same number of days would, over time, drift with respect to the event it was supposed to track. Having an “extra” day inserted once every four years corrects that drift.

Creating Feb. 29 was a complicated and centuries-long process. Various calendars over hundreds of years have compensated for it differently, and even today, Chinese, Hebrew and Islamic calendars differ from the Gregorian calendar we use in the United States.

Traditionally, leap day is when women can propose marriage.

In Danish tradition, if she is refused, her refusal must be compensated with 12 pairs of gloves.

People who are born on Feb. 29 are called “leaplings,” and most celebrate birthdays every year on either Feb. 28 or March 1.

Leap years happen every four years, and although there’s some informal debate about abolishing it, the leap second is at more risk.

Leap seconds are used to synchronize atomic clocks with the Earth’s rotational cycle. They’re used every few years and most of us, myself included, don’t even notice them.

But for members of the scientific community, a second is a big deal.

In January, 700 delegates from 70 nations met in Geneva to discuss whether the leap second is worth keeping. Those in favor of removing it suggest if it’s forgotten, it could create major problems with global computer and cell phone networks, air traffic control and financial trading markets. Defenders of the leap second say it’s worked for 40 years — why change it now?

Whether we have an extra day or an extra second, I’m mindful of the fact that all of our time is precious.

With a toddler at home, I see every day how quickly time passes and how irrevocably it’s gone once it does.

We’ll never have all the time in the world, but as long as there’s enough time to do what’s important — like telling a little person how special they are — that’s time enough.

On the Lighter Side

Published February 29, 2012

The newest addition to our family is furry

Beckett

Before last week, I thought our little geekling due at the end of May would be the newest addition to our family.

I was wrong.

A while back, Jim mentioned a black kitten that had been dropped off at Zion St. John. It was friendly, he said, and really good with the students. He was tempted to bring it home, but since we already have two cats, a toddler and a baby on the way, we figured it was better to let kitty roam.

Beware the tender heart — it will lead you down the path to becoming a crazy cat lady.

Then last Tuesday, Jim sent me a text asking “Do you want another cat?” By then, we’d heard the predictions for heavy snowfall over the weekend and I couldn’t stand the thought of that sweet kitty freezing to death in a country ditch.

“Yes,” I texted back. I made an appointment with the vet for later that afternoon. Despite the rational side of my brain thinking “Three cats? Really? Who needs three cats?” I was excited to meet our new kitten.

Bad news comes via text message.

“I let the cat out to use the bathroom and it didn’t come back,” Jim texted a while later. “Not sure if it’s gone.”

Disappointed, I canceled the appointment with Reb and went home to pay attention to Winston and Rosie.

Early Thursday morning, Jim called me at home — the kitten was back and if we wanted it, I needed to come get it now.

Evangeline and I were immediately enchanted with the six-month-old kitten we named Beckett. After receiving a clean bill of health from Reb, we took him home to meet Winston and Rosie.

After the requisite amount of hissing and pouting, the older cats accepted Beckett ... or at least tolerate his presence.

My uncle once told me one child takes all your time and money — so you might as well have a few more to keep her company.

I’m discovering it’s not so very different with cats, either.

On the Lighter Side

Published Feb. 8, 2012

Objectivity shouldn’t come at expense of reader interaction

Another of my newspaper columns and a disclaimer: If you're not affiliated with the newspaper industry or live in my corner of Northeast Nebraska, this probably won't be the most interesting ever. But if you are a consumer of local news in any form, it might be worth a read just to know what happens on the other side of the broadsheet.

I'm sure there are soulless, morality-free journalists out there. 

I just don't know any of them.

Here at the Wisner News-Chronicle, we just sent off our entries for the Nebraska Press Association’s 2011 Better Newspaper Contest.

The contest challenges Nebraska newspapers of all sizes to enter their best work from the previous year. Organized newsrooms keep a running record of photos, features, layouts and special sections they feel are worthy to be entered. That is not the procedure here — which isn’t to say we’re not organized, for the record. We just have a different method.

Jeff, Jamie, Marilyn, Elaine and I spend a few weeks in January poring over the past 52 newspapers. I don’t quite know how to describe the feeling that comes from reviewing the body of a year’s work — it’s equal parts surprising and mortifying. It’s surprising because often I’ve forgotten what we’ve covered; it’s kind of like finding a extra $5 in a coat pocket. It’s mortifying because you see precisely what you should have done better ... and didn’t.
 the bane of a newspaper’s existence: Every mistake or poorly designed page doesn’t go away. It’s printed in black and white and impossible to ignore.

But we’ve come a long way, design-wise. It was almost a year ago when we switched over to the redesign, which included new body copy, headline fonts and fresh take on our front page flag. It’s made life much easier from a page layout standpoint, and I hope it’s been a positive change for our readers, too.

So every year after our entries are on their way to Lincoln for judging, I resolve to make our upcoming newspapers the best I can.

At my first newspaper job, a colleague told me the reason contests exist is so reporters, photographers and designers can get affirmation from their peers. To receive praise from your readership is, in a sense, to relinquish the objectivity necessary for producing unbiased news.

I’ve revised my views on that sentiment since working at the News-Chronicle. Certainly we want to be objective, but I don’t think it needs to come at the expense of reader interaction.

I like hearing how people react to our newspaper — what they like, what they don’t, their suggestions for stories we could cover. It is, after all, the readers who are the reason we produce a newspaper each week. There is nothing more affirming than to hear people can’t wait to open their News-Chronicle each week — that they feel out of the loop if they don’t read it.

Newspaper contests give us a chance to reflect and review, to reevaluate and renew our vision for the coming year.
But we don’t write to win contest awards. We write, photograph and design for you, our readers.

Look! I was a winner, that one time!

On the Lighter Side

Published February 1, 2012

No excuse for not passing it on

I will be completely honest: When Peggy Liermann asked me over a year ago to consider becoming a TeamMates mentor, I was hesitant. With a baby due in October, I didn’t see how fitting an hour every week for mentoring would work in my schedule. So I told her to ask me in a year, figuring that if she was anything like me, it would be forgotten in the bustle of daily life.

Fortunately, Peggy is not me. Sure enough, last August she approached me again and this time, I knew there was no excuse.

A background check, a couple of hours of training and an overview of the TeamMates mentoring program — founded in 1991 by Tom and Nancy Osborne to provide support and encouragement to school-aged youth — and I was ready to meet my mentee.

Here’s what I’ve discovered in my first semester of mentoring: It’s fun. It’s rewarding. It’s much less of a time commitment than I anticipated. The hour I spend with my student passes more quickly than any other hour in the week. We talk, write and she beats me at Yahtzee nearly every game.

January is National Mentoring Month and Jan. 26 has been designated as “Thank Your Mentor Day.”

I’ve been blessed to have several excellent mentors in my life, people who took an interest in my passions and nurtured me in the pursuit of them. Without them, I don’t know that I’d be doing what I am today, and I am thankful for their positive influences.

There are two ways to honor your mentor: 1) Contact your mentor to express your appreciation and 2) Pass it on by becoming a mentor to a young person in your community.

I don’t meet with my mentors for an hour every week — in fact, it’s been years since I’ve seen most of them. But they’re never far from my thoughts, especially on the days when I serve as a mentor.

Mentoring isn’t about perfection or solving every problem. It’s about encouragement and support, building a relationship with youth to give them a sense of purpose and hope.

It’s about passing it on.

On the Lighter Side

Published January 25, 2012

A tale of two searches

I started this blog five years ago as I sat in a cold and lonely hallway, waiting for EPS school board members to emerge from executive session about their search for a superintendent and tell me "No comment." It was not the best time of my life. 

But it got better and now I'm covering another superintendent search, this time with much less hallway-sitting and futile phone-calling. Comparing the two districts may be comparing apples and oranges — virtually everything about them, from size to student demographic, is different — and yet I was struck by how much more efficiently and openly this search has been conducted. 

Not everyone is passionate about education politics. I honestly can't say I am, either. But as a tax-paying citizen, I appreciate that our school board members are being accountable to the district's patrons by willingly sharing information with local media (i.e., me). 

In a political climate where most elected officials are notorious for spin and secrecy, it's refreshing to encounter an example of precisely the opposite.

Transparency is a valuable quality in superintendent search

Wisner-Pilger’s superintendent search is not the first one I’ve ever covered.

When I moved to Enid, OK, five years ago, the city’s largest school district was preparing to start a search of their own. As the education beat reporter, it was my job to let our readers know how the process worked, who was involved and how close the school board was to finding a new superintendent.

During my first week on the job, as the newspaper’s editors explained what they wanted, it didn’t seem like an insurmountable task. Go to a few meetings, talk to some people, write it up — all that I could do.

However, I quickly discovered it wasn’t as simple as I’d hoped.

One problem was the fact that the search committee was extremely reluctant to speak with anyone outside their group. That most definitely included a newspaper reporter.

At least one night a week, I’d camp outside a closed-door meeting, waiting for hours to see if anyone would emerge with information to share with me. Sometimes all I needed was a simple “no comment,” but even that was hard-won.

Eventually, the committee began meeting at country clubs outside of town, changing their meeting locations and times. Each time, I’d be dispatched to wait, to pester, to glean whatever scraps of information I could.

One point the committee was especially close-lipped about were who potential superintendent candidates were. At one point, my editor told me to identify where vehicles in the parking lot came from; an impossible task, as Oklahoma license plates are alpha-numerical instead of labeled by county like they are in Nebraska.

I hated it so much. Instead of doing what I thought I’d be hired to do, I was venturing uncomfortably close to tabloid territory. I sympathized with the search committee members; I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be peppered with questions about an issue I didn’t want to discuss.

Mostly, though, I felt sorry for the patrons of the district who were being kept in the dark, despite my best efforts to do otherwise.

Happily, Wisner-Pilger’s superintendent search is less fraught with secrecy. The search committee has been helpful and forthright, willing to answer questions and share information. As a reporter and as a district taxpayer, I know precisely how valuable that transparency is.

This isn’t my first superintendent search. But it’s the first one that’s not a nightmare to cover.

On the Lighter Side

Published January 18, 2012

Good enough for Benjamin Franklin, good enough for me

http://dailyroutines.typepad.com/daily_routines/statesmen/

Is it me, or does this week seem really long ... and, as of this writing, it’s only Tuesday?

I suppose that’s the price you pay for consecutive three-day weekends. With Monday being our busiest day at the News-Chronicle, it was strange last week to be sipping decaffeinated coffee in my pajamas at 9 a.m. instead of laying out pages. Strange, but nice.

Now it’s back to reality, and even though this week seems interminable, I’m glad. Being Lutheran and a fourth-generation German-Swede, it should come as no surprise that I’m a creature of habit.

For the sanity of my family and co-workers, that’s a very good thing. If I’m not ready to head out the door by 7:30 a.m., weekday or weekend, there’s a good chance nothing productive is going to happen that day. There’s a mental fork in the road at that time of the morning. One road leads to a day full of getting down to business ... the other leads to a Netflix marathon.

There’s a reason why most parenting books recommend developing routines for children — there’s nothing better for creating a sense of stability and security than knowing what to expect.

Take a look at any schoolchild’s daily schedule and you’ll see it clearly illustrated. Every minute is designated to a specific lesson or activity. If you ask any teacher, you’ll find out the most trying days in the classroom are the ones that diverge from The Schedule. (The capitalization is intentional; it really is that important.)

I don’t think it’s any different for adults. There aren’t many certain things in life, but having a general idea of what’s coming at you each day helps prepare you for that uncertainty.

It doesn’t take a big leap, then, to figure out why January is a popular month to purchase new personal planners and calendars, digital or otherwise. It’s a new year, time for a new start.
Benjamin Franklin suggested the following “scheme of employment for the twenty-four hours of the natural day”: 

5-7 a.m. Rise, wash and address Powerful Goodness (God)! Contrive day’s business, and take the resolution of the day; prosecute the present study, and breakfast.

8-11 a.m. Work.

12-1 p.m. Read, or look over my accounts, and dine.

2-5 p.m. Work.

5-9 p.m. Put things in their places. Supper. Music or diversion, or conversation. Examination of the day.

10 p.m.-4 a.m. Sleep

Two questions should be asked every day, according to Franklin. Morning: What good shall I do this day? Evening: What good have I done today?

If a set routine was good enough for one of America’s Founding Fathers, it’s certainly good enough for me. While I don’t know that I’ll get up by 5 a.m. willingly (after the baby is born, though, sleeping in until then will be a luxury), it’s a good template to adapt for my own life.

Each day deserves routine to ensure a balance between work and play.

Sources: The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin and http: dailyroutines.typepad.com.

On the Lighter Side

Published January 11, 2012

Promises, not resolutions, for 2012

There are no New Year’s resolutions on my horizon for 2012.

Seemingly positive on the surface — who doesn’t want to lose weight or eat their recommended daily servings of fruits and vegetables? — resolutions are really negative.

Essentially, resolutions are an exercise in self-loathing: You’re identifying the things about yourself you dislike most. I don’t know about you, but some days that’s the only exercise I get.

Add to that the fact we already live in an extremely critical environment. Turn on any television news channel or read online commentary and you’ll quickly find out what’s wrong with everyone else.

It isn’t bad to recognize wrong-doing or to offer suggestions on how to correct a problem. Self-examination can be healthy and it’s necessary for personal growth. But it’s also okay to lighten up on yourself. That’s why I think promises, and not resolutions, are a better way to approach the new year.

So here’s the two-step process to make New Year’s promise: First, identify personal habits and qualities you like about yourself. Promise yourself you’ll keep on doing what you do well, and give yourself credit for it.
Second, promise to reward yourself. I love to read, so whether it’s for 10 minutes or an hour, that’s my daily treat. Have some fun and pick your own. 

It’s a simple approach, but it’s one that I hope will lead to a 2012 full of promise.

On the Lighter Side

Published January 4, 2012

•••

I didn't include this in my weekly newspaper column — the governor's column had to get in somehow — plus, I thought it was a bit self-indulgent for that medium. But that's not a problem here, so without further ado, here are my promises for 2012: 

• I promise to continue being a mother to Evangeline (and soon, Stormageddon!), and being amazed each day at what a blessing they are. 

• I promise to be a good example for E and Stormy, modeling patience and compassion in my words and actions. 

• I promise to devote time to being a wife and friend to the Captain, making him know he takes priority in my heart and life.

• I promise to keep taking care of my body and the precious life growing inside me, with moderate exercise and healthy eating habits. 

• I promise to take time for myself, knowing that a wife, mother and employee who is serene makes a better environment for everyone around her.

• I promise to make time for my extended family, whether that means regular phone calls, cards or, even better, getting to see them in person.

• I promise to ground myself in God's Word daily, that all my doings and life, being ordered by Him, would be pleasing in His sight. 

My rewards for 2012 won't be much different from what they were in 2011, though I expect they'll be even sweeter — and rarer — with two children in tow:

• Reading: I promise to read, every day possible, both for recreation and for education.

• Thrifting: I promise to be an intentional thrifter, purchasing what my family needs and a little bit of what they want.

• Writing: I promise to write something every day, even if it's as insignificant as a clever quotation.

I'd love to hear what some of your 2012 promises and rewards are! 

A yearly tradition finds new life

Growing up, my New Year’s tradition was to write a letter to my future self to be read in a year’s time. I still have them, bundled up in a box somewhere in the closet, but I don’t need to read them to remember what they say:

2000, 2001, 2002: “Maybe this is the year HE will notice you! You never know!” I wrote for three out of the four years of high school. And yes, I meant the same boy each year. And no, it never happened.

2003: “By this time next year, you’ll be halfway through your first year of college. I can’t believe you’ll be out of high school!”

2004: “This guy, Jim, seems pretty cool. I wonder where we’ll be in a year.”

2006: “Wow, next year you’ll be signing this letter as Mrs. Kirk. I can’t wait for July!”

2007: “Good bye, Concordia. Hello, Enid News & Eagle.”

2008: “Wisner’s a pretty nice place. I hope you stick around here for a while.”

Then I stopped writing my yearly letters. I felt that after high school and college graduations, a wedding and a “real” job, there wasn’t much left to anticipate.

In a way, I wasn’t completely wrong. The early part of my twenties was packed full of life-changing events, most of them good. After so much activity, though, it was bound to slow down. What I didn’t anticipate was how much I would enjoy the “settling down” phase of my life.

I like going home every night to Jim and Evangeline, knowing we can look forward to an evening of family time. I enjoy completing the regular chores it takes to keep the household running smoothly, knowing that a sink full of dirty dishes means we’re eating well and a pile of dirty laundry means we’re all in the same place. I cherish Sundays at church, reciting the liturgy and singing hymns my great-grandparents also sang.

And with a young child in the house, there are still plenty of surprises to keep life interesting. I would never have guessed, writing my letters as a teenager, the joy a new tooth brings, or the simple pleasure of tucking in a sleepy baby for the night.

As I wrote our family newsletter, I had so much to say about Evangeline’s accomplishments over the past year. When I got to filling in relatives on what Jim and I had been up to, though, I was amazed that not much had changed for us in 2011.

Then I realized I can trade in my old tradition for a new one: Writing a letter for Evangeline to read in a year’s time, a letter detailing my hopes for her in 2012.

There’s a whole world of firsts waiting for my daughter, and I’m excited to be by her side as she experiences them.

PS: A confession - it's the third day of 2012 and I haven't written Evangeline's letter yet. As she is currently content playing with new baby doll (thanks Aunt Astra!), I don't think she'll mind too much. 

On the Lighter Side

Published December 28, 2011