This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land

I just got back from a short swim at our Peoria Hotel pool, the Jameson Inn.  I was the only one in the pool area, and enjoyed the water and the quiet.  I sat in the hot pot for a bit before coming back to the room, warming up and relaxing.  We were on the road again a little too long for my hip's comfort and I think all three of us (sister, dog, and myself) are happy to be out of the car.

Iowa is pretty.  And windy.  I thought Ames was picturesque.  It has a lovely old downtown that is about 2 long blocks with boutiques and restaurants and big shade trees.  We found the cornerstone of Mary Greeley Hospital where Carol was born and took her picture there.   It was an odd sensation, knowing that our parents most likely walked the downtown streets that we were driving.  Since I've never had much family association/connection to PLACE, it was an unusual feeling for me, again on this trip of history, to have a sense of those who have passed.  I kept thinking if I just squinted in the right way I might catch a glimpse of 60 years ago and see an Army sergeant with his new bride strolling down the sidewalk.  They would perhaps still be shy with one another -- he with a promising career in the Service, she pregnant with her first child, gloriously pleased to be making a family.  (My Aunt Ruthie once told me that Mother only ever wanted to have a family with children.  And because she was a juvenile type 1 diabetic, diagnosed at 11 years old and often ill, having children was a big question.)  This experience of seeing the places where my parents lived has made me ever more interested in someday going back to Germany to visit where I was born and to go to the areas we lived overseas.  It's been magical.

Some of the magic was broken this afternoon on our drive out of Ames, yet it was a good reminder to help me shake off any naivete I might have carried on my journey through America's breadbasket. You know -- the waving wheat that sure smells sweet kind of sentiment.  If I really want to see the whole world (and I do) I need to occasionally take off my rose colored glasses and look with honest eyes.  Here I am, driving along in my nostalgic haze in postcard=like Ames, and I come to a stop light.  In front of me is a man driving an old pick up truck.  He has bumper stickers and signs -- "One Big Ass Mistake America" (look at the first letters of each word) and "2012 - No more Re-Nig"  It took me a minute to catch the meanings of these phrases and then I could hardly believe it.  I actually took out my camera and snapped a picture so I could refer to it later.  Once I took it all in, I wanted to ram the pickup.  I paused a moment and decided instead to send this driver love.  It took a lot of effort on my part.  What I do know is that prejudice and bigotry come from fear.  My grandfather on my father's side was a racist, born and raised in rural southern Indiana.  As his granddaughter, I loved him, but I am sure that now, as an adult, I would not like him.  He was anxious and afraid until the day he died, more than 25 years ago.  These bumper stickers could be on cars in Richland, Washington or Portland, Oregon, or even San Francisco, California, so I know this kind of fear and ignorance is not exclusive to Iowa or the Midwest.  It makes me angry, and sad, and ever more determined to combat fear in positive ways.  I want to help my country continue to be a place for discourse and disagreement, big enough for many differing opinions, but I will not tolerate this kind of racial violence in my home or anywhere else I find it.

I spent the rest of the windy drive through Iowa from Ames to Peoria thinking about fear.  Carol has honored so beautifully my need for silence and quietude.  We haven't played music in the car or watched tv at night, choosing instead to read or rest.  Today I contemplated the contrasts between fear and love, between wind and calm, between being educated and being ignorant.  I didn't come up with any answers or deep insights; I just reaffirmed my commitment to working on my own pockets of fear and ignorance, storm and unrest, stupidity and carelessness.  One of my mantras since I learned the song in Jr. Girl Scouts has been "Peace Begins With Me".  As we traveled one day closer to my new home, I got a big opportunity to set my mind to Peace.   So be it.  Peace Be With Me.  Peace Be With You.