Blog Archives - trish hermanson

Why I Fight for Peace

2/23/2018

Within walking distance of our home, I stop at the front porch of a woman who survived the sinking of the Titanic because I’m trying to figure out how to survive my own shipwreck.
     Molly Brown built this summer cottage to escape a disaster other than the Titanic - the hassle of her modern life. From her home in downtown Denver, Molly would travel two and one-half hours by horse-drawn carriage along a dirt road to her lodge, a pastoral retreat near the banks of Bear Creek.
     Fast-forward one hundred years, and Molly’s haven is no longer placid. On two sides of what is now an events center, four lanes of suburban traffic whiz by. A strip mall with a convenience store sit across the street. And this is my neighborhood.
     But it’s more than the congestion of city life that rattles me. It’s the stress of 24/7 news and phone alerts and texts and social media. They’re all good communication tools, but they can be toxic, even addictive experts say, leading to never turning off.
     Most of us don’t have the luxury to build a getaway as Molly did. For me, it's crucial I create a time and space for a sanctuary at home, even if it’s only a chair, a lamp, and a cup of tea. Otherwise, the cares of the world - and of my world - run me over.
  How do you create your refuge?

The Curse of Olympians

2/16/2018

One stumble at the Olympics cost American figure skater Debi Thomas the gold, but it’s her stumbles since then that have been more costly.
     Considered the best African American skater in history, Thomas carried home the bronze metal from Calgary thirty years ago. She also captured gold, silver, and bronze in World Championships. And all this while studying at Stanford University. Medical school followed for Thomas, then licensure as an orthopedic surgeon.
     Fast forward - Thomas has divorced twice, lost custody of her son, let her medical license expire, declared bankruptcy, and moved into a bug-infested trailer in the Appalachians. What happened?
     Olympian mentality, she says.
     Her commitment to perfection led to her being frustrated with the performance of medical coworkers. She couldn’t get along and never lasted more than a year at various institutions. She started her own practice, only to watch it tank. As for her skating medals, she told the Washington Post they’re stashed away in a box somewhere.
     So this week as I watch Olympic figure skaters with their flawless Salchows and Axels, I’m reminded that performance isn’t everything to snag a gold medal in life. It’s learning how to carry on when the spotlight turns off. How to live with imperfection in myself and others. How to be a team player.
     In a beautiful twist of history, Thomas, who lost her gold medal with a stumble, is now promoting the sale of gold as an economic hedge. She’s picking herself up, as we all need to when we stumble.
  Lest we fall under the curse of the winners.

Genius or Dimwit?

2/9/2018

A full-page advertisement one page over from the newspaper comics caught my attention: pay $55 and learn if I carry the seeds of genius. Find out whether I can join the ranks of Mozart and Rembrandt and Jefferson and Einstein and Newton. All I need to do is pay $55.
Hmm. I’ve fallen for promises before. For instant wealth. Quick cures for health. And helpful hints to happiness. I know how well they worked. And now it’s genius?
I may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but I could picture a lot of dollars flying out of a lot of pockets for this one. If I pay $55 to learn whether I’m a genius, I must be a dimwit because there aren’t any short cuts in life. It’s a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.
I turned back to the comics. More enlightenment there.

So What's the Point?

2/2/2018

My heart always aches at estate sales, especially when I knew the owners.
Colt and Monette were pioneers in our neighborhood. Now treasures they accumulated over a lifetime are selling for a pittance. Everything parceled out - like the days of their lives.
     We sift through Colt’s tools. He was a rocket scientist back in his day, a neighbor mentions.
     I didn’t know that.
     Monette was a counselor at Columbine High School who saved students at the shooting, someone says.
     She never talked about that.
     Wasn’t it just yesterday they were here? They were frail, but I never imagined their being gone. Then Colt passed. And shortly after, Monette followed, as quietly as a falling leaf.
     We come upon her pottery collection in her kitchen. I buy a terra cotta mug and walk back home, thinking about the neighbors I thought I knew - but didn’t really.
     In my kitchen, I sip tea from Monette’s mug and glance around. Some day, Duane and I will drift away like falling leaves. All his tools and my collections will be up for sale for nickels and dimes. Folks will wander through, searching for bargains.
     So what’s the point of living anyway?
     Definitely not in treasuring “stuff.”
     I take another sip from Monette’s mug and picture the smile on her wizened face. I wish I’d made the time to know her better.    Because that’s what matters - prizing people and the God who made them.