I was born and raised in the Midwestern town of Rockford, Illinois. It was heavily, overwhelmingly Swedish. And while I've not a drop of Swedish blood, my taste buds were inevitably influenced; primarily by Swedish pancakes. Granted, frequent family trips to places like the Swedish Pancake House and Stockholm Inn have a lot to do with my love of Swedish pancakes. Like many comfort foods, they transport me back to happy times in the arms of a loving family.
So why, you might ask, has it taken me decades to learn to cook this delightful treat? The short answer is that they aren't terribly easy or intuitive. Plus, despite being a pretty good and often adventurous cook, the risk of failure where it really mattered to me was intimidating. Years and thousands of miles away from my Swedish hometown, living in a small, rural western town and relegated to seeking out iHop on business trips, I often bought Swedish pancake mix only to toss it later when it became clear that the expiration date preceded the birth of several neighborhood children.
When I turned fifty, my resolution was to learn and participate in at least one, major new skill or activity each year for the rest of my life. Still, more than a decade later, Swedish pancakes had not even made the list. Well, it hovered at the bottom for a while, but then there was that one huge failed attempt.
About a year ago I decided this was it and bought a Swedish plätt pan. Surely the right equipment would make this a success. Swedish pancake batter is extremely thin, doesn't bubble like traditional batter, requires high pan heat as well as exquisite timing and a great spatula to turn. I have never seen such a mess of mistimed, both underdone and burned slop in my life. Yuck! The pan went into the cupboard for over a year.
Last week it made a brief appearance, but the batter was old, the heat high enough to start the butter in the pan on fire and set off our smoke alarm and the final results were underdone - but a bit closer to actual pancakes than the ball of batter I tossed the year before. While neither my husband (nor the cats - who clearly do not like loud smoke alarm noises) were terribly impressed, I was encouraged.
So today, my resolve firmly in place, new batter in the cupboard and a few clues as to what not to do, I made Swedish pancakes. Real, edible if not yet perfect Swedish pancakes. While I have a long way to go, this morning's Swedish pancakes can be considered a success. Evenly done (mostly), unripped from turning, pansized and round (again, mostly), properly thin they lacked only the traditional lingonberies. Repetition may even be possible! Maybe even from a scratch recipe rather than a box mix!
Best of all, while I was eating Dad, Mom, Melanie and Michele were right there in the room with me.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Facts, Truth and Opinion
"I have one major rule: everybody is right. More specifically, everybody including me has some important pieces of the truth, and all of those pieces have to be honored, cherished and included in a more gracious, spacious and compassionate embrace" ~Ken Wilber
Truths, based upon facts, leading to opinions, make our conversations a lively and learning experience. Passion, based on respect, leading to understanding, make our families and communities a brightly colored kaleidoscope of efforts for the common good.
When did we forget that facts matter?
A whole industry has grown up to check our public speech, making sure our truths are based on facts. An industry we should be ashamed is necessary. Where is our built-in monitor for speaking clearly either facts or opinion; not confusing one for the other? When did we lose concern for the reverberations of our speech; for the impact of our words on others, in favor of our adamant grasping at the right to say what we want, when we want, as loudly as we want? How have we forgotten to listen?
Rotary, one of our time-honored service groups, has a simple and straightforward Four-Way Test:
"Of the things we think, say or do
Is it the TRUTH?
Is it FAIR to all concerned?
Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?
Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?"
Perhaps it is time, not just for every Rotarian, but every American to take up these principles and judge ourselves, our thoughts, our actions and surely our words by their light.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
OPEN LETTER TO CONGRESS - SAVE THIS DATE: JANUARY 17TH
Dear Congress,
The horrifying event in Arizona presents a challenge and a choice to you; not just all of you, but each and every one of you. Will you choose to continue the great American history of democracy or will you follow TSA, fleeing shoes and underwear toward fear? Will you cower from your own constituents or will you say "Not in Our America"?
Will you be any less brave in fighting for and carrying out our American means of governing than our men and women fighting exactly the same rule of fear and lawlessness in the Middle East? Or the citizens of those countries whom we ask to risk much for a philosophy of government?
Thank you for the pause to respect and reflect. But then it is time to rise up, without party or prejudice, without thought for personal or political gain, without endless planning and plotting and dare to do what Congresswoman Giffords demonstrated. Congress and constituents must converse, debate and interact face to face for our democracy to survive.
If we preach democracy abroad, we must be willing to demonstrate it fully at home. The list of Americans, who at considerably more risk than that faced by a Congress in a comfortable world and capable of mustering reasonable security resources, is long and illustrious - starting with the likes of George Washington or Patrick Henry.
How will our generation of leaders measure up?
I propose that on January 17th (a date with it's own illustrious history of bravery) every Congressperson hold a 'Congress on Your Corner' in their own District.
Let us say to those who would have America ruled by firepower rather than persuasion, by passion unbridled rather than passion assembling, by force and fear rather than courage and conferring: Not In Our America.
And yes, I know it is easy to ask for others to be brave in the face of danger, however limited. Yes, I know prudent precautions may stretch already reduced law enforcement resources. Yes, I know moving 535 individuals in one direction is currently proving arduous.
However, I'm betting on you and on us. If you come, we will too.
Sincerely,
Marcia Illian Banta
One American Citizen
The horrifying event in Arizona presents a challenge and a choice to you; not just all of you, but each and every one of you. Will you choose to continue the great American history of democracy or will you follow TSA, fleeing shoes and underwear toward fear? Will you cower from your own constituents or will you say "Not in Our America"?
Will you be any less brave in fighting for and carrying out our American means of governing than our men and women fighting exactly the same rule of fear and lawlessness in the Middle East? Or the citizens of those countries whom we ask to risk much for a philosophy of government?
Thank you for the pause to respect and reflect. But then it is time to rise up, without party or prejudice, without thought for personal or political gain, without endless planning and plotting and dare to do what Congresswoman Giffords demonstrated. Congress and constituents must converse, debate and interact face to face for our democracy to survive.
If we preach democracy abroad, we must be willing to demonstrate it fully at home. The list of Americans, who at considerably more risk than that faced by a Congress in a comfortable world and capable of mustering reasonable security resources, is long and illustrious - starting with the likes of George Washington or Patrick Henry.
How will our generation of leaders measure up?
I propose that on January 17th (a date with it's own illustrious history of bravery) every Congressperson hold a 'Congress on Your Corner' in their own District.
Let us say to those who would have America ruled by firepower rather than persuasion, by passion unbridled rather than passion assembling, by force and fear rather than courage and conferring: Not In Our America.
And yes, I know it is easy to ask for others to be brave in the face of danger, however limited. Yes, I know prudent precautions may stretch already reduced law enforcement resources. Yes, I know moving 535 individuals in one direction is currently proving arduous.
However, I'm betting on you and on us. If you come, we will too.
Sincerely,
Marcia Illian Banta
One American Citizen
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
HOLIDAY HEART
For Dad, our Christmases held all the magic, the opportunity and the pleasure he missed as a child of the Depression. The tree was front and center, presents were many, stacked high; gifts of the heart and traditions like giant candy canes, Andes candies and Lifesaver Storybooks for each child, fudge for me, cherry cordials for Mom. He could make a million presents out of small nothings. And there was nothing he liked better than playing Santa on Christmas morning as we - one at a time - opened presents, ate cinnamon rolls and smelled the turkey cooking.
Although he has been gone now for fifteen years, Christmas is such a cherished time for me that in sixty-two years I have never missed being home for the holiday.
But I'm having trouble finding my holiday heart this Christmas.
A few short weeks ago an old acquaintance lost his miserably brief encounter with glioblastoma. And among our LiveStrong family, one has this month gone into hospice, one will be leaving us as I write, for one we have moved the Christmas gifts to this weekend and three are in that awful "suspect I am about to need hospice" place.
Elizabeth Edwards, Aretha Franklin, Ron Santo...this week alone.
My head knows I should grieve and then return to the fight with renewed determination. My head knows that allowing cancer to destroy even more of life than it already has gives it power it should not have. My head knows that honoring those who lived with cancer and are gone means living without quiting. My head knows that withdrawing from my life dishonors those who had no choice. My head knows that failure to use my rage and despair to change the course of this insidious disease is failing to dignify the long and painful journey of others.
My heart knows sorrow, grief, anger, bitterness and wrath - the violence of which pushes holiday spirits aside.
A still, small voice of reason reminds me that as the children glow with awe and anticipation, as quiet comfort is shared by family and friends, as the season's songs echo sweet refrains, as hope for a finer future arises; weariness will recede leaving room for the holiday spirit to once more inhabit my heart.
Maybe not yet, but surely.
Although he has been gone now for fifteen years, Christmas is such a cherished time for me that in sixty-two years I have never missed being home for the holiday.
But I'm having trouble finding my holiday heart this Christmas.
A few short weeks ago an old acquaintance lost his miserably brief encounter with glioblastoma. And among our LiveStrong family, one has this month gone into hospice, one will be leaving us as I write, for one we have moved the Christmas gifts to this weekend and three are in that awful "suspect I am about to need hospice" place.
Elizabeth Edwards, Aretha Franklin, Ron Santo...this week alone.
My head knows I should grieve and then return to the fight with renewed determination. My head knows that allowing cancer to destroy even more of life than it already has gives it power it should not have. My head knows that honoring those who lived with cancer and are gone means living without quiting. My head knows that withdrawing from my life dishonors those who had no choice. My head knows that failure to use my rage and despair to change the course of this insidious disease is failing to dignify the long and painful journey of others.
My heart knows sorrow, grief, anger, bitterness and wrath - the violence of which pushes holiday spirits aside.
A still, small voice of reason reminds me that as the children glow with awe and anticipation, as quiet comfort is shared by family and friends, as the season's songs echo sweet refrains, as hope for a finer future arises; weariness will recede leaving room for the holiday spirit to once more inhabit my heart.
Maybe not yet, but surely.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
2 TXT or not 2 TXT?
Despite being at ease with most new technology and social networking, I've never really "gotten" texting. And just when it appears I have good use for texting, it turns out that not only are my fingers crooked, but I have to locate my glasses in order to see the letters.
Part of the Bye-Bye Birdie phone generation where we lost facial cues, I love to write, so email - even with its loss of vocal cues - was a natural extension of my conversations. And I'll admit I find the challenge of being concise but meaningful on Twitter or Facebook an intriguing exercise in connectivity. Yet texting always seemed to remove even more cues without adequate replacement. Oh, occasionally when my plane had landed and I refused to be one of those people who share their most intimate thoughts or travel plans with 200 others, I might painstakingly text "my plane has landed meet you at baggage".
But there were always those old, arthritic fingers. And while I'd mastered the easy, occasional LOL, IMHO or :-), translating texting when you don't know either of the languages can be daunting. So it was longhand (longword?) for me.
Then there were those who sent hundreds of text messages a day, sometimes while sitting side-by-side with the recipient. (Don't even get me started on texting while driving, you don't have either the time or the ear protection.) Does anyone really have that many urgent comments in one day? Is the exchange of competing texts really "conversation" or simultaneous soapboxes? And what can be made of the seventeen year old, straight A student who, when asked why she was constantly texting instead of picking up the phone or talking face-to-face, replied that she was uncomfortable with the "silences" of conversation. Really?
The last two days have caused me to rethink my reluctance to text. With my Mother in the emergency room, subsequently admitted to the hospital and with family anywhere from 300 to 2000 miles away, phoning was a luxury for when I had substantial news. For all the rest (resting comfortably, still having tests, being admitted, doctor not here until noon) texting private information in the midst of a noisy, chaotic and distinctly impersonal setting worked remarkably well.
Now if I could just reliably find my glasses.
Part of the Bye-Bye Birdie phone generation where we lost facial cues, I love to write, so email - even with its loss of vocal cues - was a natural extension of my conversations. And I'll admit I find the challenge of being concise but meaningful on Twitter or Facebook an intriguing exercise in connectivity. Yet texting always seemed to remove even more cues without adequate replacement. Oh, occasionally when my plane had landed and I refused to be one of those people who share their most intimate thoughts or travel plans with 200 others, I might painstakingly text "my plane has landed meet you at baggage".
But there were always those old, arthritic fingers. And while I'd mastered the easy, occasional LOL, IMHO or :-), translating texting when you don't know either of the languages can be daunting. So it was longhand (longword?) for me.
Then there were those who sent hundreds of text messages a day, sometimes while sitting side-by-side with the recipient. (Don't even get me started on texting while driving, you don't have either the time or the ear protection.) Does anyone really have that many urgent comments in one day? Is the exchange of competing texts really "conversation" or simultaneous soapboxes? And what can be made of the seventeen year old, straight A student who, when asked why she was constantly texting instead of picking up the phone or talking face-to-face, replied that she was uncomfortable with the "silences" of conversation. Really?
The last two days have caused me to rethink my reluctance to text. With my Mother in the emergency room, subsequently admitted to the hospital and with family anywhere from 300 to 2000 miles away, phoning was a luxury for when I had substantial news. For all the rest (resting comfortably, still having tests, being admitted, doctor not here until noon) texting private information in the midst of a noisy, chaotic and distinctly impersonal setting worked remarkably well.
Now if I could just reliably find my glasses.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
PAST >>> TITLE IX >>> FUTURE >>> ?
For one hour this morning I looked into the past and the future and marveled at both.
In 1972 I was a young adult, teaching school and pretty sure the world needed changing. A single Mom with a daughter, I was a firm feminist - a title I am still proud to claim today. Much of that world is now so out of date as to seem weird and unbelievable to women today. I never wore pants to school. In fact, the big issue for female teachers in 1972 was whether we might be allowed to wear nice, matching pantsuits instead of dresses in which to teach. (The results were mixed for many more years.) And we were still paid on a different and lesser pay scale.
Then there was sports. The oldest of three girls, competitive sports weren't discouraged; they just didn't exist in our universe. Because we were encouraged to be active, be outdoors, be educated and think for ourselves, I quite sure had any of us wanted to participate in sports we would have been supported. But it is a measure of the prevailing social beliefs and norms that the seed was never even planted.
I was well into adulthood before the movie "A League of Their Own" taught me that my hometown had female sports heroes. But like other outliers - Babe Didrikson Zaharius, Iowa six-on-six half court basketball, the many, many valiant women PE teachers etc. - they are admired in retrospect.
By 1972 I may still not have seen myself in sports, but I most assuredly saw the discrimination. Like many teachers, I was dragooned into coaching a girl's JV volleyball team; a position for which I was eminently unqualified but earnest. My friend, the female varsity coach, had plenty to share about the state of women's sports.
Then Title IX passed Congress.
Like all such legislation, the next years were spent working out the actual rules under which the legislation would proceed. Already a passionate leader in women's issues, I became part of the State of Illinois Task Force which drafted and submitted recommendations for the final rules.
I don't remember the myriad issues involved in the minutia of rule making that lasted for several years. Someday I'll pull out the files again and wonder at the details.
But I remember the fire, the feelings and the hope.
We wanted the next generation of girls to play sports. We wanted them to get equal chances at equipment, facility time, quality coaching, fair scheduling and crowds of eager spectators; watching not because they were girls, but because they were good.
The rules took effect. Life moved on. I moved across the country to a new job; organizing and advocating for other causes. My daughter played some sports, grew up, became her own style of feminist, woman and mother. All my grandchildren play sports.
Then today, courtesy of Dr. Heather Van Mullem and Lewis Clark State College, I had the opportunity to both review the past and visit the future of Title IX. In a burst of "I wonder what ever happened..." I attended a public presentation on Title IX, the current status of women in sports administration and coaching.
In a room where the others were (way) post-Title IX babies, I listened with pleasure at the huge strides made and listened philosophically to the the road not yet traversed. Millions of girls now play sports and have opportunities of which my generation only dreamed. A truly WOW moment.
Yes, there still is a glass ceiling into administration and coaching. Yes, the sports/business model (in my opinion an anti-education model for all student athletes) seems to have absorbed women's sports. Yes, the vast majority of colleges still don't really meet all the Title IX requirements. Yes, the impact on minor sports - men's and women's - was an unanticipated downside of the big three major sports unrestrained consumption of resources.
Yet...
I can see a future in which women who have played sports want their daughters to have the same opportunities; in which women who work in sports continue to press for equality and the shattering of the glass ceiling; in which women like Heather care enough about both sport and women in sport to focus on what good has come and what good needs yet to happen.
And I am confident that while perfection is always out of reach, progress in never-ending.
In 1972 I was a young adult, teaching school and pretty sure the world needed changing. A single Mom with a daughter, I was a firm feminist - a title I am still proud to claim today. Much of that world is now so out of date as to seem weird and unbelievable to women today. I never wore pants to school. In fact, the big issue for female teachers in 1972 was whether we might be allowed to wear nice, matching pantsuits instead of dresses in which to teach. (The results were mixed for many more years.) And we were still paid on a different and lesser pay scale.
Then there was sports. The oldest of three girls, competitive sports weren't discouraged; they just didn't exist in our universe. Because we were encouraged to be active, be outdoors, be educated and think for ourselves, I quite sure had any of us wanted to participate in sports we would have been supported. But it is a measure of the prevailing social beliefs and norms that the seed was never even planted.
I was well into adulthood before the movie "A League of Their Own" taught me that my hometown had female sports heroes. But like other outliers - Babe Didrikson Zaharius, Iowa six-on-six half court basketball, the many, many valiant women PE teachers etc. - they are admired in retrospect.
By 1972 I may still not have seen myself in sports, but I most assuredly saw the discrimination. Like many teachers, I was dragooned into coaching a girl's JV volleyball team; a position for which I was eminently unqualified but earnest. My friend, the female varsity coach, had plenty to share about the state of women's sports.
Then Title IX passed Congress.
Like all such legislation, the next years were spent working out the actual rules under which the legislation would proceed. Already a passionate leader in women's issues, I became part of the State of Illinois Task Force which drafted and submitted recommendations for the final rules.
I don't remember the myriad issues involved in the minutia of rule making that lasted for several years. Someday I'll pull out the files again and wonder at the details.
But I remember the fire, the feelings and the hope.
We wanted the next generation of girls to play sports. We wanted them to get equal chances at equipment, facility time, quality coaching, fair scheduling and crowds of eager spectators; watching not because they were girls, but because they were good.
The rules took effect. Life moved on. I moved across the country to a new job; organizing and advocating for other causes. My daughter played some sports, grew up, became her own style of feminist, woman and mother. All my grandchildren play sports.
Then today, courtesy of Dr. Heather Van Mullem and Lewis Clark State College, I had the opportunity to both review the past and visit the future of Title IX. In a burst of "I wonder what ever happened..." I attended a public presentation on Title IX, the current status of women in sports administration and coaching.
In a room where the others were (way) post-Title IX babies, I listened with pleasure at the huge strides made and listened philosophically to the the road not yet traversed. Millions of girls now play sports and have opportunities of which my generation only dreamed. A truly WOW moment.
Yes, there still is a glass ceiling into administration and coaching. Yes, the sports/business model (in my opinion an anti-education model for all student athletes) seems to have absorbed women's sports. Yes, the vast majority of colleges still don't really meet all the Title IX requirements. Yes, the impact on minor sports - men's and women's - was an unanticipated downside of the big three major sports unrestrained consumption of resources.
Yet...
I can see a future in which women who have played sports want their daughters to have the same opportunities; in which women who work in sports continue to press for equality and the shattering of the glass ceiling; in which women like Heather care enough about both sport and women in sport to focus on what good has come and what good needs yet to happen.
And I am confident that while perfection is always out of reach, progress in never-ending.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
In 2006, 2007 and 2008 my efforts to defeat cancer and support the wonderful work of the Lance Armstrong Foundation were focused on the Portland LiveStrong Challenge in which I rode my bicycle and raised funds.
As many of you know, I choose to skip the Challenge in 2009 in order to focus my work as a Local LiveStrong Leader on building a grassroots organization in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley. Now an active and growing group - http://www.lewisclarklivestrong.org/ - I am once again turning my attention to fundraising via the LiveStrong Challenge. But this time for the grandaddy Challenge - Austin, Texas 2010, home base of the Lance Armstrong Foundation.
AND I NEED YOUR HELP TO REACH MY GOAL!
Consider this:
** 1.4 million Americans are expected to be diagnosed with cancer this year.
**Nearly 1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women will develop cancer during their lifetime.
**By 2010 (that's NOW!) cancer is likely to replace heart disease as the leading cause of death in the United States. It's already the biggest killer of those under the age 85.
Please contribute to my LiveStrong Challenge Ride and help the Lance Armstrong Foundation continue to provide SurvivorCare, access to screening, educational materials, local grants and investment in research.
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