Blog Archives - trish hermanson

Am I an Axolotl?

6/27/2019

At an aquarium, I met an axolotl, a salamander that is doomed to remain in the water because it doesn’t mature fully, and I wondered whether I’m sometimes an axolotl.
During metamorphosis, this strange creature loses its tail fin and develops legs, but continues breathing through gills. It’s stuck in the water while other salamanders climb onto land and breath fresh air.
     I get stuck in the waters of immaturity sometimes, too. Like when I don’t accept responsibility for my words - whether they build up or tear down. Or my actions - whether they hurt or heal. Or my time - whether I give it freely or hoard it. Or my finances - whether I invest wisely or consume it all. Or my relationships - whether I encourage or discourage.
     None of us remains fully adult. We dip in and out of immaturity, perhaps because our self awareness is as blurry as murky water. As Fifteenth Century writer Thomas à Kempis says, “We rebuke small faults in others but overlook greater faults in ourselves.”
     What a breath of fresh air when I choose to be grown up.
     But it is a choice that requires amazing grace.
     *** Photo: Stan Shebs, Steinhart Aquarium, San Francisco.

Congratulations to Doug Reents, who bid the highest for lunch with me, and whose bid goes to JeffCo Eats, which provides food for kids who sometimes find their pantry bare. Between Doug's bid and others who donated outright to jeffcoeats.org, we raised more than $200. I just popped into the mail a Panera gift card for Doug because we don't live in the same community. Enjoy!

DEAL! Lunch for Less than $5 Million

6/20/2019

Deal of the week! For less than $4.57 million we can have lunch together.
     That’s how much tech guru Justin Sun is paying to have lunch with financial whiz Warren Buffett, the Oracle of Omaha. Proceeds go to charity.
     So here’s my offer: bid on a lunch with me, and if you win, the Ditz of Denver promises not to give you a shred of financial advice. The winning amount will go to a nonprofit where I volunteer, JeffCo Eats (jeffcoeats.org), which supplies food to kids who qualify for meals at school but sometimes find the cupboard bare on weekends.
     It’s a horrible problem. In one family, the kids play a guessing game of who’s going to get to eat when Saturday comes.
      The winner and I won’t dine at a swank place like Buffett and Sun do, and I won’t wear a suit and tie. We’ll visit a local barbecue with paper napkins and plastic forks for lip-smackin’ food (or somewhere else, if you wish). If you live outside Denver metro, I’ll send you a gift card. I’ll also give you an autographed copy of my novel “The Wooden Indian Resurrection” or my children’s book “Hooty McTooty Discovers True Beauty.”
      So let’s spread the love for kids and do lunch. Email me or post your bid on my Facebook page by June 26, with the opening bid $15.
  We common folk may not be able to raise five million bucks, but we can ease some kids’ hunger pains. And to them, that’s worth millions.

The Father I Don't Know

6/14/2019

I’m the blondie in the stroller with my sister, pushed by the father I don’t know.
     Early one morning my mom came into my sister’s and my bedroom with red eyes. She handed us tiny cups of grape juice and quietly announced, “Daddy’s in Heaven with Jesus.”
   The night before at age thirty-nine, he’d slumped over from a sudden sharp headache and died. A brain aneurism, we think.    Ask me my age then, and I would have held up five fingers.
     Ask me today how many memories I have of Daddy, and I’ll hold up four fingers - staring at the back of his head from the back seat of the car as he drove; burying my hand in his giant palm as he walked me to kindergarten where he was the principal; running to his school office to get a bandaid when I fell and scraped my knee; and wrestling with him at night until I collapsed with giggles.
That's it.
      I’ve studied photos of him in his college football gear. Read romantic letters he wrote my mom from a sub chaser during World War II. And watched home videos where he flashes his wide grin.    But honestly, I don’t know him.
      So I’m throwing out a challenge to you who still have your dad. Sit with him and look through old photos. Watch home videos together. Call him and ask questions, questions, and more questions about his growing up, his dreams, his career.
     You may discover a father you never knew.

How to Fall Forward Like My Friend Victoria

6/7/2019

My friend Victoria showed me that when we fall, whether from our failures or things others inflict upon us, we don’t have to fall back. We can fall forward.
     Even through tough times, Victoria’s stock response was “it could be worse.” And she endured tough times: hiding under the kitchen table when Nazi bombs rained upon England during World War II, a hardscrabble upbringing in Liverpool, the death of a husband, raising kids on her own, a foreclosure, and a brain injury when a truck hit her.
  Her attitude that life is an adventure kept her moving forward as she threw herself into various careers. Some brought in bread, some busted. At one point, Victoria was so broke she lived off of canned tuna and “gutter apples” she scrounged. But she heeded the words of her hero Winston Churchill to “never give up.”
     When her hip went bad, she moved in with us, crawling up the stairs until she regained her health. Yet when I was down about something, she’d brew a cup of proper tea, remind me “you gotta laugh,” and regale me with stories.
     In recent years she’d gone from surviving to thriving through her blog, Honey for Your Soul. Hundreds responded to her life-giving encouragement. Her final tweet: “Never quit! Keep asking, seeking, knocking!”
     Then a heart attack. The finish line. And this time when she fell, she landed in the arms of Jesus.
     The best fall forward. Ever.

Painting by Kerolos Safwat