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ære din far og mor

ære din far og mor

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Ephesians 6:1-3

Children, obey your parents because you belong to the Lord, for this is the right thing to do.  “Honor your father and mother.” This is the first commandment with a promise:  If you honor your father and mother “things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on the earth.”

 

I heard a good sermon recently.  It was about family dynamics, all aspects really, fathers and mothers; fathers and their children; children and their parents.

Honor your father and your mother and things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on earth. 

I hope my kids are paying attention.

And they want a long life.

 

Today would have been my dad’s 96th birthday. Needless to say I miss my dad, I miss him sharing stories, I miss sharing his stories.

My dad wrote the note above to his Uncle Gustav in Norway, and sent it along with the photo posted.  I am not exactly sure of the date of the photo, but I am going to guess based on how Kim and I look,  it was around 2001, so my dad would have been just a few years older than I am right now.  This note and the photo, were shared with me by one of Uncle Gustav’s daughters, one of my dad’s cousins.

A couple of months ago, I was researching my mother’s great-grandfather Charles H. Rosch, who also had some interesting stories to tell that I hope to share someday, in my My Heritage account.

I found the name of a person who was also digging into that side of my family and decided to reach out to her using the My Heritage messaging component, an area of the app I had never visited.

Once there, I sent my message and then noticed I had a message in my inbox from May of 2023, a month before my father died.  The message was from a cousin of my dad’s named Bjørg.  She explained in her message that her father was Talmar Gustav Jansen, and that Bolette (my grandmother Sophie, Bolette was her first name) was her aunt and that she was the youngest grandchild of Grete and Theodor Jansen, my father’s grandparents.

So it turns out that Bjørg, is my father’s youngest cousin and is in fact younger than me at 67 years old.  My grandmother had many siblings, Uncle Gustav was the youngest and only four years old when my grandmother emigrated through Ellis Island to America.

Eventually, Gustav himself would come to the United States.  He had his fiancée Anna come over from Norway, and they were married in Brooklyn.  My father’s family attended the event, and I have seen photos of their wedding.  According to Bjørg, her two oldest siblings were born in the U.S.  Then, after about ten years, Gustav and Anna returned to Norway with their children.

In my Norwegian American family, legend had it that “onkel” Gustav returned to Norway and introduced American-style split-level houses to Norway.

Having always heard that story, of course, I had to ask Bjørg if that was accurate.

Bjørg confirmed that to be true and even said a local newspaper wrote an article about it.  She also said he traveled back and forth from Norway to the United States many times, bringing back cars and other items he could sell for “good money” in Norway.

I guess my brother Carl and I got that family buying and selling trait honestly.

When my dad was still active on Facebook, he told us he was communicating with at least one of his cousins in Norway.  It turns out it was not Bjørg since she is not active on Facebook (a smart one), but she suggested that it might be another cousin named Ove Ludvigsen.  So I dipped into my dad’s Facebook page and sure enough, I found Ove. And just last night, I reached out to Ove myself on social media.  Ove is the son of my grandmother’s sister Ragna Johanne.

I must say, when I first read that first message from Bjørg, and I realized I had received it only a month before my dad left us, I was very sad.  I know it would have made him really happy to learn another one of his cousins was reaching out to him.

Instead, I apologized to Bjørg and explained that I was just now seeing her message and that my dad had passed away about a month after her inquiry.

Now, almost two years later, it is I who is really happy to have connected with family, hear their stories, and share my dad with them.

And even though Bjørg admits that her “engelsk” is not that good, she has since mastered Google Translate and has been able to learn about my dad through the stories he shared with me.

 

Honor your father and your mother and things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on earth. 

My father role modeled that for us.  He and his siblings took good care of my grandparents in their later years.

And he lived a long life.

I don’t know how that is going to work out for me and Kim and our siblings.  It didn’t work out so well for Carl and he was a great example.  But all we can do is try our best.

The rest is in God’s hands.

 

And once again, with my father providing the inspiration, I am again reminded of the words of Nichole Spector:

…the fact that in the end, we all become stories. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, sure, but also: words to words.

More words to words, more words to share.

And to answer your question, Pop, according to Bjørg, your grandfather lived to be 99 years old.

So thanks Pop, and Happy Birthday.

 

Postscript:

ære din far og mor means honor thy father and mother in Norwegian…I think…

 

Uncle Gustav’s split-level in Norway

 

My great-grandparents Grete and Theodor Jansen


My grandfather Carl Oskar Christiansen with Sophie, Tante Helen (my grandmother’s only sister to come to America), and Gustav


 


Uncle Gustav and Anna’s wedding


 


Farsund, the area of Norway where my grandmother is from.  Looks nice, huh?


							


	

			







	
	        

        	        	
                                             
        

        
	

		It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God
					

				It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God
			

		
				

			
 
 Comments  11 comments

		

			


			

				
Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary.


Kim and I will be married 21 years tomorrow.


 


I remember a time in my life when I prayed for someone to come into my life.


I prayed that in some detail I might add.


 


Kim was that answered prayer.


 


Yesterday was Kim’s birthday.


I found this birthday card that said “You’re a Special Gift from an incredible God.”


I liked that.


Because it was true.


 


Sunday was my birthday. I turned sixty-five. A big milestone I guess.


 


We had split up for the weekend again, Kim with her mom, and me with my parents.


I had some time to go through a lot of old photos they had packed away in many photo albums.


 


Lots of memories in those photos, I made as many copies as I could.


 


Some nice photos of all the kids, Donny, Savannah, Hayley, and Alexa together and some with extended family we didn’t get to be with too often


 


More gifts from God…my kids.


 


Though one we had to give back.


 


 


Last year on Father’s Day I wrote about a special one from 19 years ago, the last one with all the kids together.


 


This year was another special one in that I was able to spend it with my dad. Not everyone turning sixty-five is lucky enough to be able to say that.


 


Another gift, our parents.


 


Though we had to give one of them back in October.


 


 


But I think for me, especially in the last year or so, I have been able to be good son.


I have been blessed with that opportunity.


 


Though I don’t have any regrets, as a result, however I can’t always say I have been a good father, or a good grandfather.


 


Grandchildren as you may know, are another gift from God.


 


Time, priorities, social distancing, travel restrictions, whatever, all made it difficult to focus on more than our parents it seemed.


 


Of course, we were able to have some grandparent time with Cameron.


 


And some family time with Savannah and Hayley (and Leon and Malcolm of course),


including celebrating Hayley’s birthday on June 7.


 


 


But I still hadn’t seen the Florida kids, Ethan, Christian, Alexa, and Namaan since December of 2019 and that was really starting to get me down.


 


Then a few days before Christian’s sixth birthday on June 13th, some stars aligned and though Kim was scheduled to be with her mom, she encouraged me to book some flights surprise the kids.


 


With vaccines and the world returning to some form of normal, it’s been really nice to hug and kiss my local kids and grandchild.


 


But I must admit it was especially nice to hug and kiss the daughter and grandkids I hadn’t seen in twenty or so months.


 


And I got to attend the birthday party as well.


 


As you can tell, June and July have always been eventful months in our lives.


 


In fact, Monday June 28th was Cameron’s birthday, and we all went out to dinner to celebrate his eleventh birthday.


 


And in July sadly we remember giving Donny back on the 19th.


 


But we celebrate Savannah’s birthday on the 20th and Ethan’s birthday on July 25th.


 


But today sadly, I also remember another gift from God.


My brother Carl.


Because a year ago today we had to give him back.


 


I am grateful for the gifts God has given me.


 


And though I don’t always understand, I accept that there will be those times I don’t understand.


 


It is nice to have memories when you need them.


 


And it is nice to be able to make new ones for when you need those.


 


 


I will share some, some new ones and some old ones:


 


The photo at the top is one of my brother Carl flying through the air in his backyard.  He always had the coolest stuff in his yard. Donny had a soccer tournament in Trenton and we were all able to get over to celebrate my nephew Jason’s graduation from college.


 


These are from another milestone birthday, my 30th.  Hayley was my birthday present that year.


Hayley was about 3 weeks old


That’s my nephew Johnathon on the right and neighbor Laura Marson on the left helping me out


I had to show this one of my niece Chelsea, my dad, and Alexa. Look at Alexa’s face, have you ever seen anything like that?


 


This was my 46th birthday in 2002. My last with Donny.  Savannah is in the refrigerator.




 


Hayley’s 35th birthday this month.




 


Here is me on my birthday this week.




Kim and Cam at his birthday celebration and making a wish.




 


Ethan and Christian packing up after Christian’s party and hugging my kid for the first time in 20 months.




Here are a couple of photos of family in New Jersey. Donny, Savannah, and Hayley in the first one.  And  a rare one of the whole family with all my kids in it.




 


My dad this Father’s Day




 


And here is one more of Carl holding Chelsea and Alexa




 


Memories.


Gifts from God.


Got to have them, got to love them.


 


“Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father…” (James 1:17)


							


	

			







	
	        

        	        	
                                             
        

        
	

		Parkinson’s Awareness
					

				Parkinson’s Awareness
			

		
				

			
 
 Comments  8 comments

		

			


			

				
I fell in the creek.


I had just finished running my best run on the trail near my neighborhood that crosses the Sugarland Run and I hit the stepping stones a little too fast and a little too confident maybe.


I felt myself moving in a bad direction and rather than fight it and risk an awkward fall and a possible injury, I went with it and stepped into the creek and waded across the stream to the other side.


I was close to home so finishing out in my wet running shoes was not an issue.  However, feeling a little silly was and thankfully no one was around to see my misstep.


In the twenty years I have lived by this creek and this trail I had fallen in only one other time before.


And there may have been a beer or two involved in that incident.


And Kim will tell you I have been known to fall off my bike a time or two.


But there may have been Margaritas involved in those incidents, as well as a little loose beach sand.


All of those situations involved a lot of laughter too.


 


Today is World Parkinson’s Awareness Day which kicks off Parkinson’s Awareness Week (April 11 to April 17) which is part of Parkinson’s Awareness Month (April).


Parkinson’s is Parkinson’s Disease.


It was estimated that by 2020 there would be a million people living in the U.S with Parkinson’s and more than ten million worldwide.


In my life, at least two people who I have been close to were diagnosed with Parkinson’s.


My friend Frank, who I wrote about last spring after he contracted Covid and passed away as a result of the virus, had Parkinson’s.  He once told me he realized something was wrong with him when he started having problems landing his airplane.


The other person, whose disease progression I have experienced a little more closely, is my dad.


My dad has Parkinson’s Disease too.


Like my friend Frank, my dad realized something was changing with him when he started having problems doing things that were relatively routine to him.  In my dad’s case, it was riding his bike.  He started falling frequently.


In his case though, there were no Margaritas to blame.


 


According to the Mayo Clinic:


Parkinson’s disease is a progressive nervous system disorder that affects movement.


The Parkinson’s Foundation says not all people are affected the same but these symptoms are common:


    

  • Tremor 
    • 

  • Bradykinesia (Slow movement)
    • 

  • Limb rigidity
    • 

  • Gait and balance problems
    • 



 


Though the cause is unknown, and there isn’t a cure, there are some medications that may help.


 


However, in addition to the “motor” impairment, some Parkinson’s symptoms may be unrelated to movement (“non-motor”). People with PD are often more impacted by their non-motor symptoms which can be more troublesome and disabling than motor symptoms. Examples of non-motor symptoms include: apathy, depression, sleep behavior disorders, loss of sense of smell, cognitive impairment, and hallucinations and delusions.


 


 


Many people have become familiar with Parkinson’s Disease because of the actor Michael J. Fox who was diagnosed with young-onset Parkinson’s in 1991 at the age of 29 and became an advocate for Parkinson’s research.


My father’s disease includes less of the tremors commonly associated with Parkinson’s and more of the limb rigidity, gait and balance problems, and slowness in movement.


As a result, he falls a lot.


It’s hard for my dad, who was used to wind sailing, skiing, snowboarding, climbing ladders, was comfortable working and standing on the edge of a roof, and unlike me could skip across stepping stones in a stream.


I didn’t get those genes.


I learned early on that balancing on a surfboard, a skateboard, or a pair of skis were not to be part of my life’s enjoyment.


And now as my dad’s disease progresses, he experiences more of the non-motor symptoms including cognitive impairment and hallucinations.


Though I am not concerned about my recent inability to navigate the rocks across the stream,  I have lost my sense of smell, and that is one of the early non-motor symptoms of PD.


Therefore I am hoping I didn’t get those genes either.


The organization EndingPD.org  has a Facebook page titled Ending Parkinson’s Disease and is currently running a campaign called #Give a Dime, a take-off of the 1930’s March of Dimes program that helped to fund polio research.  In conjunction, they are organizing a “Red Card” campaign that will flood the White House with cards telling the President why you give a dime.


I thought flooding the White House with cards sounded like fun so I sent away for my cards to then send to the President.


 


And I sent another card this week.


It was to my dad.


You see today is not only World Parkinson’s Awareness Day, but coincidentally it’s my dad’s birthday too.


Today my dad turned ninety-two.


So Happy Birthday Pop!


Thanks for helping to make the world a better place all these years and for helping to make the world more aware of Parkinson’s Disease.


 


 


Postscript:


 


If you want more info about Parkinson’s Disease the Parkinson’s Foundation is a great place to start.


I learned about EndingPD.org and the #Give a Dime and the Red Card campaign when a co-worker of mine sent me a video of a young lady named Charlotte who was supporting the cause because her grandfather suffered from the disease.


And should you happen to make a donation or send the President a card, I thank you.


							


	

			







	
	        

        	        	
                                             
        

        
	

		A Void
					

				A Void
			

		
				

			
 
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I hadn’t planned on writing anything today.


In fact, I was hoping to avoid it.


Of course the first thing that pops up in the morning, not that I needed it, was the reminder from Facebook.


Then the nice back and forth texts from the siblings “Thinking of all of you today” and the phone calls, “how are you doing today?”


 


Kim still describes her grief after Donny as like having a bowling ball shot through the chest.


There’s  a hole there now, a big one.


The size of bowling ball.


A void.


 


But life doesn’t stop does it?


And that may seem cruel sometimes.


There is no  “Hey, wait a minute, I’m grieving here!  Before you just move on and forget, let’s think about how I am feeling!”


Nah, there’s none of that.


Because life needs to go on, right?


There are others that need to experience their sadness, and maybe I need to experience more.


There are others that need to experience their joys, and maybe I need to realize some of my joys too.


But life doesn’t wait for us to say “okay, I’m ready now, you can proceed, let’s get on with it, I got this.”


 


So I guess the reality is, as much as I might try to…


I can’t avoid the void.


 


But in my sadness and still disbelief, and in spite of the void, I can’t forget what is really important.  I can’t forget all those happy times, the words of encouragement, the support, and maybe most important thing, his example.


I can’t complain, nope I can’t dwell on the negative.


Because as I have said before,  he wouldn’t want that.


 


 


So Happy Birthday to my “Cancer Brother.”


Happy Birthday, Carl.


And like your shirt says, you were very brave.


Brave and so, so much more.


And that is why today, instead of trying to avoid it, I need to celebrate.


So, you would be very proud to know, that for us to celebrate,  I spent more than five bucks on the bottle of wine I plan to open later.


And, I may even drink mine out of a jelly glass.


 


Postscript:


Void, a noun*


    

  • An opening, a gap, and empty space
    • 

  • A feeling of want or hollowness
    • 

  • The quality of being without something
    • 



 


Or maybe…someone.


 




*Merriam-Webster.com


							


	

			







	
	        

        	        	
                                             
        

        
	

		My Ride’s Here
					

				My Ride’s Here
			

		
				

			
 
 Comments  19 comments

		

			


			

				
I was staying at the Westin

I was playing to a draw

When in walked Charlton Heston

With the Tablets of the Law


He said, “It’s still the Greatest Story”

I said, “Man I’d like to stay

But I’m bound for glory

I’m on my way

My ride’s here…”


 (From “My Ride’s Here” as written by Paul Muldoon and Warren Zevon)


 


I got a nice email from Mike Vineyard back in early May.  Mike is the brother of Steve Vineyard, my pastor who passed away unexpectedly back in January of this year.


You might remember.


I won’t share it exactly but in his email he said he had read and enjoyed some my posts and had even subscribed to the website.


I don’t know Mike.


He didn’t remember meeting me and truthfully I don’t remember meeting him either.  Ever since having Donny’s funeral at the Sterling United Methodist Church, I don’t like to attend funerals there.    So I generally make myself as busy as I can be helping out in some way that keeps me distracted.


But I surely appreciated his comments and his desire to receive my future posts.


 


“My Ride’s Here” was the eleventh studio album released in May of 2002 by singer-songwriter Warren Zevon.  I read that he described the album as a meditation on death.


It was released several months before Zevon was diagnosed with a type of cancer called mesothelioma.


Warren Zevon passed away in September of 2003 at the young age of fifty-six.


 


According to the Mayo Clinic:


Malignant mesothelioma (me-zoe-thee-lee-O-muh) is a type of cancer that occurs in the thin layer of tissue that covers the majority of your internal organs (mesothelium).


Mesothelioma is an aggressive and deadly form of cancer. Mesothelioma treatments are available, but for many people with mesothelioma, a cure isn’t possible.


The primary risk factor for mesothelioma is exposure to asbestos.


 


My brother Carl had mesothelioma.


He died on Tuesday morning, about fourteen months after his diagnosis, at the young age of sixty-six.


 


According to my California brother Gary, who recently was able to spend a week with Carl, he told him that he really liked the song “My Ride’s Here” by Warren Zevon.


Zevon didn’t know he had mesothelioma at the time that he wrote that song.  Yet most interpretations believe “My Ride’s Here refers to the last ride, the one that takes us to the other side.”


Another wrote: “I hope when my time comes I can show half of the class that Warren had and that I can catch my last ride with the dignity he had. There’s no warning, no big production, just the fact that it happens to all of us.”


My brother was a class act.  A genuinely nice guy.


Back in April, I connected with a friend, Lee Scott, who was part of the group of friends we hung with back in Jersey in the early 70’s via Facebook.  I told Lee coincidentally my brother and I had been reminiscing  and talking about him a short time before that.  He asked about Carl and I explained what was going on.  In his response, he said he was sorry to hear and that Carl “was always the more sane of us.”


He was.


He was the pragmatic one.


 


We have all heard this said I’m sure “yeah I know that guy, he would give you the shirt off his back!”


In the literal sense, I don’t know if my brother Carl would have given you the shirt off his back.


He needed that shirt to hide the wounds, the scars, and the colostomy resulting from years of fighting rectal cancer, then lung cancer.


But he would have given you anything else you asked for and more often, even if you didn’t ask.


He just showed up.


Then he met a form of cancer he couldn’t beat, one where “a cure isn’t possible.”


And he faced it with dignity, continuing to give right up to end.


 


I still don’t know Mike Vineyard.


But I feel like I know him a little better today than I did last week.


I know what he felt like back in January and I expect I know what he feels like today.


 


Since Donny’s accident, I believe as the Bible says, God knows the day your ride is going to show up.  I know that it happens to all of us, and as much as we would like to think otherwise, we don’t have control.


And so Tuesday morning, without a lot of production, and to some degree for us, without warning, Carl decided, as the song said,


“Man I’d like to stay


But I’m bound for glory


I’m on my way


My ride’s here…”


 


 


Well, okay then.


 


I wish you would have waited another hour or two, but I understand.


 


You couldn’t miss your ride.


 


I love you.


 


I will see you when I see you.