Ukrainian Holiday Memories

  "Do you have a holiday memory or reflection you are willing to share?"  The email was inviting  me to prepare a talk for the weekly gathering of the Lake Chapala Unitarian Universalist  Fellowship (LCUUF). 
Immediately, I thought of my time in Ukraine as a peace Corps Volunteer.  I have  so many memories.  What a great chance to reflect and share.  So I got to work and began crafting my talk.  

LCUUF during a Social Justice public demonstration

LCUUF characterizes itself as, ..."brave, curious, and compassionate thinkers and doers. We are diverse in faith, ethnicity, history and spirituality, but aligned in our desire to make a difference for the good. We have a track record of standing on the side of love, justice and peace."

I presented my talk on December 18th, 2022.  And with their encouragement, I’m posting it here. The text is below and at the end there’s a link for a video presentation. I hope it's meaningful to you.  

                                        _______________________________

After 40 years working with social change organizations, I retired from AARP and joined the US Peace Corps. I went to Ukraine. What an adventure. 

 Now come with me as I recall holiday memories from Ukrainian and reflect on their meaning.

Resourceful & Courageous Mothers

I’m working with mothers in a new nonprofit. It’s called Hearts of Love. Their mission is to change the way disabled children - their disabled children – are treated. During Soviet times, they were shunned. Why? Because they didn’t fit the Soviet ideal of strong healthy comrades. They were the flawed ones. Kept at home and out of sight. No special services. No playground activities, No friends. Nothing.

But when the Soviet system crumbled, a group of courageous and resourceful mothers said, “Nyet, No more.” They created the Hearts of Love Center. Regardless of disability – physical, emotional or mental – children were welcomed. They were coming out of the closet and into the light of day.   

Hearts Of Love Center

It’s Friday. That means Art Day at the Hearts of Love Center. It’s become a popular activity to paint with the American. That would be me.

Since the holidays are approaching, I make a huge Christmas tree by taping together blocks of copy paper and painting branches. I explain, with some help from my interpreter, that our art project is to decorate this holiday tree.

All ages and levels of ability soon get busy. Some children draw with careful details. Others are mostly scribbling. No matter, all are handmade and all will adorn our tree.

I tell my young artists, “Your art is unique. Claim it with your name. When you sign your name, you’re telling the world, I made this….LOOK!”

One boy with a muscular palsy surprises me. Instead of his usual scribbles, I see him concentrating with all of his attention. Slowly he produces a design. Wow!

Proudly, he shows it to me. I dig deep into my language learning for the right Russian words to say - Otlichnaya Rabota! Otlichnaya Rabota! Good Job. We both smile.

As I put away art supplies, a little girl bursts into the room. “Chi, Chi !” she insists. Time for tea. I follow her to where a party is being laid out.

Birthday Girl

No Styrofoam here. China cups and plates encircle the table with pots of peppermint tea. It’s the little girl’s Birthday. She’s 8 years old. Her mother has brought in a small cake. It’s a very special treat.

As we settle around the table, a wonderful Ukrainian ritual is repeated. People begin sharing birthday wishes. These are not quick clichés like those printed on a Hallmark card. No, the people share stories - intimate stories about a person’s character, talents and goodness.

Each person takes time to tell their story. No hurry when you’re celebrating a birthday. I love the way Ukrainians are not embarrassed to express kindness. It’s a lesson to copy.

I look at the little girl. She’s wearing a red dress. Red is considered a most beautiful color in Ukraine. This little girl is so sweet and beautiful.

The Birthday Ritual continues. Gentle words of appreciation accumulate like dozens of gifts – but only more valuable. I am touched when her older brother speaks. I don’t know all his words, but I understand his tone and body language. He admires and loves his little sister so much. We all should be so blessed.

Soon it will be New Years. For Ukrainians this holiday is more like our American Christmas, but without all the commercial excess. It’s family time centered around a shared meal. I’m honored to be invited into this family

A whole roasted chicken

We’re gathering at Babushka’s home. Like most Ukrainian celebrations, the living room has been rearranged to accommodate the generations. A grand daughter is so excited to show me the table with food laid out. She especially wants me to see and take notice of “an entire roasted chicken.” I smile and do take notice.

But then...I wonder why does she seem to cherish it so much? Could there be deeper significance - “an entire roasted chicken?”

I believe all people carry collective memories. I learned during Peace Corps training that food shortages are a Ukrainian memory. When the Soviet empire collapsed there were long lines at markets. During the World Wars, Ukraine was the landscape of countless battles. The fertile farm land was scorched over and over again and families were left to sift through ashes.

And even more, Ukrainians endured the Holodomor. Holodomor? Have you heard about it? Like most westerners, I didn’t know. I was ignorant.

Holodomor is a Ukrainian word for death by forced starvation.

In the early 1930s, Stalin targeted opposition for extinction, especially in the rural farming communities. As a result about 6 million men, women and children were slowly killed - starved to death in a man-made famine engineered by this totalitarian regime.

Amazingly, we remember the Holocaust, lest we forget, but shame on us.  The Holodomor is mostly forgotten. Yet among Ukrainians...they never forget.

So maybe, there is a deeper significance in collective memory - a whole roasted chicken

We begin our New Years meal. And the first of many toasts is made. Toasting has a rich heritage going back to Cossack times. Each one is offered with eloquent words, a heartfelt speech and a shot of Vodka, of course.

My family shares five rounds of toasting. First and second rounds are to welcome everyone and honor our friendship together. The third to honor women. The forth to honor men. The fifth is to give Glory to Ukraine. There can be more, but often five shots of vodka is enough. Don't you think?

As we celebrate, a Surprise bursts into the room.

Surprise!

A bouquet of balloons is brought to the table. The granddaughters have inserted poetic best wishes into each balloon. Everyone selects one and squeezes it until it explodes. With a loud bang, out pops a truly hand-made blessing.  What a splendid activity. It costs next to nothing, but is filled with warm regard and love. So simple and thoughtful and lots of fun too.

Annya, an older granddaughter gives me a handmade card. I think she composed the kind message inside. I read it…

Jud & Annya

We wish you health...so you may enjoy each day in comfort.

We wish you love of friends and family...and piece (sic) within hearts.

We wish you beauty of nature ...that you may enjoy the work of God.

We wish you wisdom to choose priorities...for those things that really matter in life.  

We wish you generosity so you may share....all the good things that come to you.

We wish you happiness and joy...and blessings for the New Year.

We wish you the best of everything that you so well deserve.

As I leave this loving home, it begins to lightly snow. Nostalgia drifts into my mind and heart.   I remember home, family, and friends. Many memories from America and now more are here in Ukraine. It's a Wonderful Life….

May you too be blessed during this holiday season and cherish the deeper significance of your memories.

Link for the LCUUF Service 12/18/2022

Keeping Sane During COVID

For more than two years, I’ve stayed close to my home, in Washington, DC. In fact like many, you might say I'm cocooning. 

No impromptu visits with friends. No dinner parties. No crowded restaurants. No human contact except from behind a mask while peering into eyes of others at the supermarket. You never know where COVID might be lurking.  I'm trying to live a sanitized and vaccinated life.

I think going digital is keeping me sane. 

My passion for teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) has beamed me into a new online world. 

I've become digital with Zoom.

Of course there is a learning curve. I had never used Zoom and now I’m about to use it for teaching.

First I had to teach myself so I went to “Google University.” That’s my name for the plethora of information delivered via text and videos online. Since I’m mostly a self taught ESL teacher, I’m accustomed to learning new skills on line. 

Before too long I’m creating break-out rooms, projecting videos, using online games, sharing my whiteboard and testing students via a chat box. That’s kind of good for an older guy like me if I do say so myself.

Oh sure, I make plenty of mistakes getting lost on the various levels of the software. Several times, I click on the wrong icon and end a Zoom meeting abruptly. Fortunately, my students know enough to rejoin.

I try to celebrate mistakes in class. I tell my students, mistakes are the doorway to more learning. 

My first group of Zoom students motivate me. Thank you Dzung, Ahn, Fang, Mahmoud, Jehan, Abid, Quinquin, for your patience and encouragement. We discovered that Zoom English and friendship can connect us beyond national boundaries. It’s a wonderful blessing during this age of COVID.

Sunset on Lake Chapala, Mexico

Since October I have been teaching ESL in Mexico. This time it’s in person! One of my classes has 8 students from the local Technical School (like a community college). In order to graduate, they need to pass an intermediate level test and give a speech in English.

I’ve been promoting the idea of becoming Self Guided Learners. Instead of a teacher, I introduce myself as a Coach. I explain, “Just like a coach, I can help you learn to play the game. And our game is English.” I supply curated links on the Internet and show them how to maximize practice time.

I found a great video that set in motion a lot of quality practice. It’s called JAM or “Just A Minute.” Students select a random topic – travel, friendships, favorite foods or whatever. If they get stuck for a new topic, they ask Google to produce “topics for conversations.” After all, they are becoming Self Directed Learners.

Then with no preparation, they set a timer for 60 seconds and start talking without pausing. The genius of this activity is that it forces a learner to stop mentally translating and start using English to think. Sure it’s hard to stretch the mind in this way, but thinking in English is an important step towards fluency.

Recently, I started a new project. It emerged during a Zoom conference about refugees with Unitarian Church leaders.

Many Afghan refugees are coming into the Washington, DC area. Typically, the men know some English since they worked with Americans in Afghanistan. 

But the woman do not. They stayed at home and now are in a strange land with an even stranger language.

Of course when they heard of my ESL experience, they wanted to set up tutoring sessions. I soon realized that one on one tutoring or even a class was not a sustainable solution given the numbers. 

 I got to thinking how do people learn a new language?

Often they hope for magic. If only we have a class or a tutor….they say to themselves...we’ll understand. But in reality, there is no magic, rather it’s a slow steady process that relies more on their own practice, patience and perseverance.

That’s when I decided to produce a guide. It’s entitled Yes, You Can Learn English. I began sharing it with churches and agencies. My hope is that refugees and new immigrants will be empowered to become Self Guided Learners. 

If you would like a copy to share with others, email me and request “Yes, You Can Learn English.” My only request is that you share it freely.

During these COVID years, I’ve learned that we can in fact turn lemons into lemonade. We pause and assess the situation. We see where there are still needs and discover ways to help. We risk making mistakes and learn a few new skills. Along the way we find unexpected friendships. 

 I think we’re not only keeping sane, but we’re finding ways to thrive.

Sunflower Metaphors

I like to think it started with my resident cardinal flicking a seed from the winter bird-feeder.  Fortunately, the seed found a place to germinate in a corner of my patio flower bed. 

I discover it during Spring cleanup. I'm thinking, "Is it a weed?" But then, it doesn't look like one. So instead of pulling it out, I decided to let it grow.  

Wondering.

Soon the seedling grows. It reaches upwards towards the sun. I'm measuring its growth against the bricks of my apartment building. Each day it's a brick taller. That's more than 3 inches! By July it's reaching towards my upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

Wow.

There's no doubt that my cardinal planted a sunflower. Its tall stalk supports a large central flower head reaching for the sun. Bright yellow pedals encircle a core of new seeds.

Delightful 

I'm thinking, "How can I protect it?" Frequently, Spring winds and storms howl through my patio. The sunflower could be damaged. So, I go looking for stakes to support it. I settle on one that's about 6 feet tall. 

 I joke with friends, "It's a Jack-in-the-beanstalk happening."

 Golden moments

But then, a squirrel comes. The large golden flower is too much of a temptation. The squirrel climbs the stalk and has a hearty meal. The flower is gone.  Only scraps remain scattered on the patio below. 

 Disheartening.

Days turn into weeks. The beheaded sunflower is no longer growing. The stalk broke off under the weight of the squirrel. The leaves still spiral upwards but there is nothing to frame and show-off. 

 So sad.

But then, I notice small buds. They are forming between the remaining stalk and the spiraling leaves. Soon yellow flowers appear. A friend comes by and together we count more than a dozen new flowers where there had only been one. 

 Amazing.

The theologian in me is pondering. Out of serendipity emerges wonder. When destroyed, it re-emerges in a dozen new ways. I think, "What else can be understood this way?" Metaphors for living drift into consciousness.

Today, I'm admiring the many sunflowers from my window. 

Oh no.  I see another squirrel. I bang on my window. He looks startled. I bang some more. He scurries away. But you know, squirrels always return, don't they. Another metaphor for life. 

Waiting on the World to Change

Happy Labor Day.

It’s the end of summer, the start of a new school year and a time of rest before it’s back to work...if only we were living in normal times.

But of course, we aren’t and haven’t been for more than six months. Covid19 leaps from nation to nation, group to group, person to person. We feel helpless. It’s like the song that’s become an International Anthem for healthcare workers during this Epidemic. 

We are all Waiting on the World to Change

Meanwhile, I avoid people.  I’ve stopped making multiple trips to the grocery store.  

Even when I go, it’s a quick in and out.  Returning home, I always wash my hands from thumbs to elbows and face too.  I keep singing Happy Birthday to time the washing just as the CDC recommends.  

My local Giant has retrofitted plexiglass at checkout counters. Precautions are in place for both shoppers and employees. Signs urge distance – at least 6 feet to be safer.  Masks are required and thankfully people comply. 

Fortunately, no Kens or Karens are throwing tantrums here.

Yesterday, I went on a walk – solo. As I rounded a corner I saw a neighbor. She lives on the same hallway as I do. Yet, I had not seen her since before the Epidemic. 

Obviously, both of us have been avoiding human contact. Even in this chance meeting, we step back 6, 8 maybe 10 feet. But still, talking through our masks, we try to connect. It’s like a moment of human warmth without touching.

I talk with distant friends via Zoom. I try to have a few calls every week so that I don’t get to feeling too isolated. That can be a danger when you live alone. It helps a lot, but honestly, it isn’t the same.  

Risking a little exposure, I’ve started inviting friends in pairs and threesomes for wine time on my patio. We avoid hugs even though we all want to embrace. 

We sit apart.  We admire the garden. We pretend all is well. But, it’s not.

Sometimes, wine time turns into whining time. Between sips, we unload the stress. It’s not just the little annoyances, but also about the mega issues. 

This epidemic has become a pandemic with economic, social, and political crises. Disasters scream for attention.

We talk about lost jobs. I don’t know exactly how they make calculations, but numbers keep growing. “Did you see that story about Food Banks being overwhelmed?” So many people are in need that the social safety net is shredding before our eyes.

Years ago I was part of a Campaign to End Childhood Hunger. We had success expanding nutrition programs for children and their families. But now, gains have been canceled and it seems like a lost cause. 

Don’t we still realize that families without income grow more and more desperate?  And children go hungry…in America.

We talk about racism. Who can avoid it? Every week brings news of another black person shot by police. 

The nation is shocked to see in Prime Time the murder of George Floyd. “I can’t breathe,” he says crying out for his mother before a final gasp.

An eye witness shares what he saw...lest we forget.

Last month, a friend told me about a Black Lives Matter demonstration in which she and her husband were participating. 

 I decide to join them at the busy intersection of Wisconsin and Western Avenue.

I felt safe going to this demonstration since we each had our own street corner. Maybe there was some exposure in taking a Metro to get there. But with only 2 or 3 people in the Metro car, I figured it was worth the risk. 

After all, I’ve been waiting a long time for change and here’s a chance for me to say, “Enough is ENOUGH!”

So, I hold up my homemade sign – Black Lives Matter. 

Surprisingly, passing cars honk and people flash thumbs-up in support.

Increasingly, I feel human goodness bending that arc of history towards justice just like Martin Luther King once predicted. It's inspiring.  

A few weeks later, a friend and I replicated the demonstration on Connecticut Avenue. 

Every Thursday we hold up our signs. Again, cars honk. Passengers gesture support.  

People walking up the Avenue thank us. Some ask if we need water. We invite them to join us. Maybe some will, but if not, we’ve all had a moment of affirming life no matter the color. Is America changing?

What are we to do as we wait on the world to change?

I keep thinking about a weaving metaphor. It’s like our times are calling forth a weaving of a new human cloth.  Could it be a reckoning of people first?  As strands of yarn are shuttled back and forth, magic can happen.

Colors mingle together like a rainbow of humanity - red, yellow, black, brown and white.  What's it going to take to see one human family? 

Textures make us want to stop and feel the pain as well as the joys of others.  Surely we can care and love more.    

Weaving together thoughts and prayers, causes and demonstrations, acts and plans.  Each strand portraying dignity and worth.  It's a beauty.  

Black Lives Matter started in 2013 with three community organizers. They were outraged by the acquittal of Trayvon Martin’s murderer. They took that outrage and wove it into a new thing inviting others to do the same.

Now people in America and around the world are engaged in change. There so much work to be done and so many talents needed.  

Ending racism and building justice is no quick fix.  It'll take more than signs and demonstrations.  But let's begin (again?)  A new cloth is being woven by people like you and me – one strand at a time. 

Martin Luther King called this the work of a Beloved Community.

For King, “The Beloved Community was not a lofty utopian goal to be confused with the rapturous image of the Peaceable Kingdom, in which lions and lambs coexist in idyllic harmony.

“Rather, The Beloved Community was for him a realistic, achievable goal that could be attained by a critical mass of people committed to and trained in the philosophy and methods of nonviolence.” - The King Philosophy

Thank God these are not normal times. It’s time for weaving….