How to Open Doors

After my sister moved back to Michigan she gave me a box of files which contained some of my parent's writing. In that file I found this gem from 1968. I am posting it for several reasons. First and foremost, although he gave this speech in 1968 this still applies - to all the women of the world. Second, I have been thinking that perhaps I should create a website where many of my parent's unpublished works could be made available to people world-wide, and I am very interested to see what kind, if any response I get from that idea. And last, because this is a primary historical document which should not be buried, recycled or shredded without it being made available for people to read.

Please read it and let me know what you think about the idea of publishing other works.

HOW TO OPEN DOORS

By

Dr. George H. Axinn

Professor of Agriculture

Assistant Dean of International Programs

Michigan State University

An Address Given To

Associated Country Women Of The World

September 2, 1968

HOW TO OPEN DOORS

            When your committee asked me to address myself to the topic – How To Open Doors – I was not at all sure what they had in mind. They explained, however, that part of your task would be to open many doors that have never opened before in your own countries, and the committee asked if I could not provide some suggestions to make this process easier.

          My first would be, fear not the door. Think of the door not as a gate to keep you out, but as an entrance through which you may go.

          Another way of looking at the topic is - - how to make sure that people who can make things happen understand you and your message, and will be able to help you make the right things happen.

          And this brings us to our first real consideration - - have a message.

That is, as you have been discussing during the program today, decide what needs to be done. Search out the significant. Separate the significant from the insignificant. Do those things which need to be done.

          By message, I mean the changes in behavior that you would have others make. It may be that you want certain individuals in your society to understand things they do not now understand. Perhaps you merely want them to know certain information they do not already know. Or, perhaps you are interested in changes in attitudes towards women, toward organized women’s groups, toward problems of children, or areas like literacy and adequate food supply. Perhaps you are interested in changing peoples' actions - - perhaps family habits in regard to nutrition, sanitation, safety, or child care. Whatever the message, a first important step is to analyze the barriers. That is, why is your goal not already achieved?

          That is, whatever you decide upon as the significant thing which needs to be done - - why has it not already been done? Here is where intensive analysis will bear fruit. If you can provide accurate answers to this question of why, you have gone a long way toward solution to the problem.

          Then, if you can specify who needs to understand what; to do what - - you have a message. It has been helpful to some to organize this development of a message as follows:

1.     Decide what needs to be done.

2.     Study - - why has it not already been done - - analyze the barriers

3.     Identify  key people  - -  individuals and groups whose behavior must be changed,

4.     Decide what change needs to be made by each.

5.     Separate changes in  - - thinking  - - feeling  - - action.

Then if you can specify who needs to understand what; to do what; to know what  -- you have a message.

          From a public relations point of view, for your organization, there are certain messages which must follow the work that you do. In this sense, first do good works, and then tell people about them. If you can see to it that your organization continues to do good works, and continues to make sure that people know about them, its public relations will be good.

          Now to the second major task - - analyze your audience.

          By audience, I refer to the individuals or groups at whom your message is aimed. The audience for many of you will be the power structure of your particular country. Who are the key people? Who are the people who make a difference? These will be leaders of various kinds. They may by office holders or they may be office seekers. If they are seeking office, they are particularly vulnerable to groups like yours at election time. It is effective policy for pressure groups to attempt to elect their friends, and to defeat their enemies, in all political parties. That is, if your group can avoid attachment to any major political group, but bring pressure to bear on those seeking office on both sides of every contest, the group will do well in the long run.

     Another consideration in terms of the audience is the timing. What is the best time for any particular individual or group in your audience? Choosing the “right” time may be as significant as anything else in the strategy you develop.

          Keep in mind that each human being sees the world from his own individual and unique perspective. Therefore, if you can divide your audience into smaller groups, or ideally into individual persons, and deal with each appropriately, you will be most effective.

          Thus, remember that the individuals you choose as targets are just as human as you are. Often working through the wife or the children may be more effective than working directly. Particularly for women’s organizations such as your own, the wife of a political leader or office holder may provide access which you cannot get directly. Thus the wife or children may become major targets in your audience.

          Having specified the audience, the next step is to select a variety of channels.  That is, will you merely call on individuals by going to their offices, or will you call them on the telephone? Will you write letters, will you put stories in newspapers, will you attempt to use the radio, will you call people at their homes, will you stage meetings and get groups together? There are many different kinds of channels  - - that is the tool or means you use to get your message to the audience. Deciding which channel to use for which message aimed at which audience is one of the crucial tactical decisions in the grand strategy of getting your message understood.

          Personal contacts are critical. Sitting down with another individual and talking face-to-face is probably the most important kind of thing you can do if you want to ensure understanding by the other of whatever message you are trying to convey.

          In using face-to-face communication, my general suggestion is to come often and not stay too long any time. That is, as you make visits to government officials, politicians, businessmen, and others, in general, I would suggest that you visit them often - - but make each visit a rather brief one. But remember, there are many other channels you can use in addition to these face-to-face visits. If you have access to a telephone, it can be an excellent channel. Organize in such a way that many members of your group are making phone calls systematically to the audience you are trying to reach, and you will find the telephone relatively inexpensive and highly efficient.

          The same can be said for mail. If you have access to machines like cyclostyle or mimeograph or duplicator - - such that you can prepare a letter and make many, many copies of it - - usually pays for your group to develop a mailing list of key individuals in your audience. The mailing list can be organized in such a way that you do not mail to each person each time you mail. Rather, each mailing can be directed to those people on your list for whom a particular message is important.

          Then there are many, many other channels. Exhibits at certain events have proved useful. The same can be said for posters and other kinds of display. The newspapers and radio and television are among other channels you can use. This brings me to another critical step.

          Treat the message on each channel so that it will penetrate the audience. That is, you will achieve a high impact on the audience… you will have a greater chance that your message will get through to the audience …. if you treat the message in such a way that it is believed and acted upon. The message is a statement of your intention for the audience. The treatment is the content. It is the design that you give to the message. For example, have a trademark. That is designate your organization in some way that you can have a visible symbol – the 4-H clubs in this country have that in a clover that they use. Your country has a trademark or symbol in your national flag. I am suggesting that your organization should have a trademark – a visible symbol quickly understood both by literate and non-literate groups in the audience – and which would identify you or your organization with the message.

          Then, particularly with respect to the personal visiting you will do, but on all other channels as well, create a friendly atmosphere. A friendly atmosphere is the universal solvent for all human problems.

          Bonds of friendship are built on links of common interest. So, no matter how different from you the individual you meet seems to be, try to find some link of common interest that you have with him or her. It may be place of origin; it may be the school you went to. It may be a common taste for a certain kind of food, it may be participation in some other organization of which you are both members. Study your audience. Find out as much about him or her as possible in advance, and then look to links of common interest – so that you can treat your message in such a way that you build bonds of friendship with the audience through these links of common interest.

          Another general suggestion is to be persistent. Keep at it. If you need to see a very important man, and he is too busy to see you on a particular day, keep coming back until he does see you. And then, if it is necessary, see him again, and again, and again until he understands your message, and does the things you want him to do. Be persistent. Repeat, and repeat, and repeat.

          Another good rule to keep in mind as you attempt to have others understand you and your organization - - do not judge another person until you have walked in their shoes. That is, try in your mind to put yourself in the place of the other.  Listen to the way the other speaks, and to his or her choice of words. Then you try to use the same words to have the same meanings.

          One way to do this is to ask questions. It is a good general strategy, or treatment, to ask questions in your interview anyway. That is, instead of telling the other person what he or she should do, ask questions which will lead him or her to conclude that he or she ought to do what you would like him to do. Seek advice. Many people like to give advice, and if you seek advice the other person will probably give it to you. Having given you the advice, he may be identified with your cause.

          For example, if you are trying to get money for a literacy campaign, and you are visiting businessmen in your community – I would suggest that you first ask each businessman, during your first interview, for his advice as to how you should go about financing the literacy campaign. Once he has given you his advice, use it as much as you can, and you will probably find his willing support in your effort.

          Another useful technique is the reverse question. When an individual asks you for information, turn the question around and say, “How would you do it?” … or “What do you think we ought to do about that?” Also build as much common interest as you can in the questioning. And above all, be sincere. Be interested in the answers that you are getting from the other person, and ask questions which are seriously related to your message.

          It is difficult to listen. Many people have trouble listening. But, in interviews of this sort, I would urge you to listen most of the time. It is hard to find out what the other person is thinking if you are talking all the time. Again, be sincere; try to feel the feelings the other person is feeling as he speaks – that is, try to put yourself in his or her place. And then occasionally give a listening response. Repeat the essence of what the other person has said in your own words so that he or she will know that you do understand what the other is saying.

          While we are talking about treating the message - - I would suggest a variety of treatments. Don’t treat the same message the same way each time. If you are sending a duplicated letter through the mail – perhaps illustrate it – or maybe used a different color paper each time. If you have a trademark so that each one will have the same trademark, but come on a different color piece of paper each time – you will have both the repetition of your symbol so that they know who you are, and you will have the variety of treatment by changing the color of paper. The same is true of your meeting or personal interview or telephone call. Vary the length. Make some short and others long. Don’t ask the same question each time. Sometimes come with a friend – other times with more than one. In other words – change the treatment from time to time to make your presentation interesting.

          And then get some feedback from your audience. Try to determine whether or not – or to the extent to which – your message is getting through. In a personal visit if you concentrate on the face of the other person, and listen carefully to what he or she has to say, you will know whether or not you are being understood. The same can be done with a little less effect on the telephone. If you send letters or broadcast on the radio or put items in the newspaper – then you might use the telephone or  personal visits to find out how well your message is getting through. If you mail a letter to 300 people – pick ten or fifteen at random from the group and visit them – and in this way you will be able to estimate how effective you have been with the total group.

          And then remember to follow up. If someone promises to send money to your organization, and does not do it in a certain amount of time, call again and remind them of the commitment. It may be necessary to do this many times – but your follow-up will pay.

          Now I have said many things, and perhaps I have said too much. In a way, it can be summed up in three short sentences. That is, keep it simple; say it often; and make it burn.

          If your message is highly complex, deal with one item at a time, so that you can keep it simple. Do not be afraid to repeat the message as often as necessary until it is clearly understood or accepted by your audience. And then make it burn. Make it as human and as touching and as dramatic as necessary – so that you can make it burn.

          Again, keep it simple; say it often; and make it burn. As I said in the beginning fear not any door. Remember, it is not a gate to keep you out, but an entrance through which you may go.

GHA

August 28, 1968

         

Wigsten Women or McGoniGals

My Aunt Jane McGonigal passed away this summer. She was my Mother’s only sister, and my last surviving aunt. It’s okay that she passed; she lived a long productive life and was well loved by many. I drove from the mitten across Canada to Ithaca, New York where the family was gathering to send Aunt Jane on her way.

Tribute boards of pictures had been set up in the basement of the Presbyterian Church to be viewed after the service while everyone enjoyed a beautiful lunch. I was hesitant to go over and look at them as I wasn’t sure I would be able to maintain my composure… but eventually, after the crowd had thinned out, I did. I fought back my tears as I gazed upon the likenesses of my aunt and mother – these two remarkably courageous women.

Raised on the family dairy farm in tiny Horseheads, New York, somehow the Wigsten sisters were completely fearless. It is really beyond me how these children of the depression era, these farm girls from a tiny town grew up to be such strong and brave women. Both of them spent their lives quietly fighting for those who were less fortunate, those  in need, wherever and whenever they saw it. They were completely fearless.

After the service, on one of the hottest days I can remember in upstate New York, the family gathered at the beautiful farm of my cousin Cathy. As there often is at these kinds of events, there was plenty of food, drinks, laughter, and tears. It was wonderful to spend time with my cousins, George and his Cathy, Peggy and her Tom. But it was also very wonderful to spend time with all their adult children, to get to know them, and enjoy what wonderful people they have become.

Sitting under a huge tree on the side of the house, overlooking the farm, as deer meandered by, I enjoyed spending a brief time with the cousins, and remarked on my astonishment that the Wigsten girls had grown to be so fearless. And how their daughters and grand-daughters and now great-grand-daughters were following suit – each in their own way.

I enjoyed getting to know the McGonigal grand-daughters Katie, and Lorna, and her daughter Zora, who is four years old. Lorna showed me pictures of Zora participating in protest marches in Philadelphia, where they live. Zora thinks protest marches are a lot of fun and from the picture she clearly enjoys making her voice heard.  The Wigsten women and/or  the McGoniGals clearly have the same kinds of fearlessness.

You can only imagine my astonishment to find that Zora (at four years old) knows the chorus to “Rock my Hijab” written and performed by my friend from Flint, Michigan, Mona Haydar, another one of the bravest women I have ever met. I am so proud of all the strong women in my life.   

Being "Other"

Today I ran across an essay that I wrote some years ago, and I find that it resonates with the current state of the world.

Being "Other"

Armed Conflict through the Eyes of an Eight Year Old Child

As a child, I found myself in the rather peculiar position of living on a university campus in post-colonial Nigeria, in the mid-1960s. At the edge of my little girl consciousness, there was a military overthrow of the government, and sometime later the Eastern Province where I lived, seceded from Nigeria and became Biafra. I was eight years old at the time, and to say that the events that ensued left their mark on my life would be putting it mildly. It was in this setting that I first became aware of Others. This was not only due to the fact that I was very obviously Other to my peers at the small University elementary school. It was also the fine nuances of Others within the Nigerian population.

            From a sociologist’s point of view, some fifty years later, I find that I am still asking the same questions. What is the mechanism that allows people to justify the use of violence in order to maintain their rightness? Is being right more important than anything else? Does being right trump all the other characteristics of one’s humanity? And, how do people who engage in that kind of behavior manage to survive afterward? Do they simply believe that the Other is so undeserving that treating them in a violent manner is actually justified in their own minds?  I still do not understand.

            Nigeria, as we know it today, is comprised of three very different ethnic/religious/language groups; Hausa/Fulani, Yoruba and Ibo. There are natural physical territories created by the Niger and Benue rivers. These three groups of people were bound together by the European lines drawn on a map. In 1886 the British Royal Niger Company was chartered, and in 1900 the territory came under British control. The British remained in control until Nigeria gained its full independence in 1960.

When I moved to Nsukka in 1965 I met Susie. She was my best and only real friend in Africa. She was the other American girl on campus; seventeen days older, blond, fearless, and we were usually inseparable. On Saturdays I often asked our cook, Samuel, to make us some peanut butter sandwiches. He wrapped them carefully in wax paper and we packed them, some fruit and two cokes carefully into her green knapsack. We climbed to the top of the tallest hill overlooking the campus and had ourselves a picnic.

            As we walked up the well-trodden path towards the top of the hill we were talking, laughing and singing.

            “I love to go a wandering…” at the top of our lungs. “Across the mountain side…” watching our footing as we walked up the steep path. “Val-a-rie, Val-a-rah, Val-a-rie, Val-a-rah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…” Sometimes singing in rounds so that there could be a constant ha-ha-ha-ing as we sang and laughed.

            Susie always went first, she was braver then me. I watched the frayed ends of the straps on her knapsack sway like a metronome as she walked in time with our song. I could never tell if she was really singing along with me, or just half-heartedly saying the words to keep me happy.

            Ibo men worked the fields, planting cassava in neat rows that curled around the hillsides. The men were shirtless, wearing khaki shorts and sandals as they wielded sharp blades of metal tied to well-worn hand carved wooden handles. They looked up at us as we passed and smiling at us, nodded their heads in our direction. I wondered what they thought about these two crazy little white girls marching purposefully up the hillside. Did they resent our carefree lives as they toiled under the sun to dig their livelihoods from the red rocky soil? I wasn’t sure of anything except that I was Other.

            In 1956 oil had been discovered in the Niger River delta by Shell-British Petroleum. The first oil production began in 1958, two years before the country gained independence. Oil exploration continued and in 1965 the Eti/Asasa oil field was discovered off shore, south of Warri. Production from this oil field has been the foundation for Nigeria’s position as a major oil producer. The oil fields are located in the Niger River delta area, which has traditionally belonged to the Ibo people of the Eastern Province.

            Under colonialism the British had set up the seat of government in Lagos, which is located in the Western Province. The Hausa/Fulani in the Northern Province have traditionally had a strong governing system, and they were well loved by their British colonizers, who appreciated the Hausa sense of order. They also had the largest population. Unfortunately the British choice of Lagos as the capitol left the resources in one region, the population in another and the power structure in the third. Others forced to pretend they were not Others. When the British left, they were kind enough to have poured all the ingredients for a political and human disaster into the pot. When the dish was served, it had, as its main ingredient, the lives of between 150,000 and three million Biafran men, women and children.

            The story of this conflict has been told from many different views, usually connected with different ethnic affiliations. Except for the story from the view of an eight year old American girl caught in the middle. I heard about the military coup on January 15th of 1966 at the dinner table, my parents speaking in hushed and worried tones of the effects there would be on the fledgling University of Nigeria in Nsukka. An Ibo General had been appointed head of the government. The next day in school I once again became aware of my Otherness as the American girl in the school yard where the Nigerian boys boasted of great feats of war as they kicked the soccer ball across the red clay playground. Should I be afraid? The boys assured me that the Ibo were the mightiest of warriors with unfailing courage, it was only right that an Ibo be in power. In reality Otherness became a major factor in our lives, with any Other but Ibo becoming an enemy, one to be scorned, hated, and even killed. Again, I was reminded that I was the Other, not an Ibo.

            Unfortunately this was also the case for the Hausa in the North, only it was the Ibo who were the Other. In September of 1967, after a summer of rumors and reports of violence in the North against Ibo living there, matters came to a head. Some 30,000 Ibo were massacred, and over a million fled back to the East and to their ancestral homes. The story of the “Massacre Express” reached my schoolyard, as one of my classmates related the scene at the Enugu Train station where he had gone with his mother to meet relatives arriving from Kano. The train arrived ahead of schedule, packed with mutilated and tortured bodies, only the conductor left alive. Was this story true? It didn’t matter. It was true enough for the children in my third grade class. In the telling I witnessed my classmates’ transformation with that story from the innocence of childhood to the fear of an unknown future. The fear of being Other.

            Shortly after that incident, I began to see strange pictures in the doors of shops, on trees and in cars and lorries. The sign said, “Have you seen this face?” and had drawings of five men’s faces, each marked with the traditional marking of Nigerians who were not Ibo. Below the pictures the signs said, “Report them immediately”. The physical identification of Others. You have that mark on your face, you must be an Other, and an enemy; less than I am and evil.

            I have a vivid memory of a trip to Enugu being cut short by a soldier with a gun at one of the many check-points along the way. He demanded that my Mother, an American woman in her mid-thirties, put one of these signs up in our car. My mother refused, turned the car around and drove back to our house on campus. She was really angry, livid in fact. Feeling her mood, I sat quietly in the back seat of that old Peugeot all the way back. I didn’t understand. After she finished a heated conversation with my father where she related what had happened, I found the courage to ask why they wanted us to put that sign in our car. She explained to me that because of the problems, the government was looking for people they thought might be a threat. But that our faces were also different, and that no one should be persecuted on the basis of their face alone. We were a different kind of Other.

            On May 30^th, 1967 Lieutenant-Colonel Chukwuemeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu announced the formal secession of the Eastern Province of Nigeria and the creation of the independent nation of Biafra. My parents had a short wave radio in their bedroom, hidden under a specially carved wooden box, and the conversation with the American Embassy in Lagos that day included both the news of the secession, and the order that we prepare to evacuate all women and children. That afternoon my mother supervised as we loaded up our smallest bags with essentials for the trip home. My father rode his little Honda 50cc motorcycle around to tell the staff personally, and ensure they understood the need for calm.  By July the Nigerian Federal Military Government sent troops into Biafra and full scale civil war ensued.

            The American, British, Indian and Dutch women and children were evacuated from our little campus in Nsukka. Our own household staff said good-bye to us as we left the house. With all the foreign families gathering at the University Continuing Education Center early in the morning, hundreds of students, staff, villagers, farmers, and their children came to witness our departure.  All along our long trip to the airport in Port Harcourt tear streaked faces came out of the bush and lined the roads. I will never forget as hour after hour our caravan of cars passed people who had heard we were leaving, many who walked for miles to wave good-bye, and be witness to the sign. This sign was the beginning of the end for many of the people who had stepped out of the bush to pay their respects to us as we fled back to the safety of America.

A Nigerian Federal blockade was used as the weapon of choice in a country where the population relied on food imports to survive. The Federal Military Government was supported diplomatically by the British and amply supplied weapons by the Russians, strange bedfellows during the cold war. The United States adopted a policy of non-involvement however continued to recognize the Nigerian government. Unfortunately for the Biafrans, the most powerful ally they had was the South African Apartheid government, who was not exactly popular with most of the other governments on the planet. Others recognizing Others.

 Outnumbered and outgunned, the Biafrans fought to hold on to their resources and eventually just to their lives. In a time before the word was popular, in this genocide, the Nigerians waged and won this war by starving their Biafran neighbors to death. As in any time of nutritional crisis, it was, naturally, the most frail who were the first victims of this act, young children and the elderly. The Biafran soldiers in this conflict were not the target of the Nigerian military, it was their parents, grandparents, nieces, nephews and infants. These children were targeted because they were Others, and would grow up to be Others. So in the end, while around 100,000 soldiers lost their lives, hundreds of thousands, and possibly millions, of civilians paid the ultimate price.

            The British Colonial system had combined three peoples and declared to them, “You are now one” when they all knew they were not. Were those who drew the lines on the map and put these people together aware of the differences when they made that fatal mistake? Could the British have remained ignorant of these differences after they had been there? Did they simply ignore the differences, or did they assume that the Others could work it out on their own when the British abandoned them? Or did the colonization of this part of Africa simply reinforce the Otherness that had been in place for centuries? What would the outcome have been had they drawn different lines on that map so many years ago, or would these Others have come to blows anyway?

            Oddly, even when we returned to America, I never got over feeling that I was Other. I had lived in Africa, where I most definitely was Other. And because I had lived in Africa I was the Other to my schoolmates in America. But unlike any of my classmates at the Nsukka campus elementary school, I had been spared because I was a particular Other.

One day, several years later on the television I saw pictures of sad-faced children with distended bellies and flies circling like vultures. I felt a strange sensation of unity with those children; they might have been my classmates, my friends, my peers. In that instant, I was suddenly transformed from the Other to membership in the group of people who had lived in Biafra.

I have long since accepted the notion that I am Other, and will always be Other. And in the same breath, I have membership, and am one with all the peoples of the earth. Since spending my formative years in Africa, when some one asks me where I am from, I remember being Other, and I always respond with, “Earth. You?” For we are all Other, and that itself is what makes us one.

 

For Memorial Day

As a special treat for Memorial Day I give you parts of the story of my Dad in the U.S. Navy. My favorite story from this period in his life was how he figured out a way to make ice cream.

My Dad, George, wanted to fly planes. So when he joined the Navy he signed up for the Naval Aviator Program. He and my mom, Nancy, eloped partially because Navy Pilots weren’t allowed to be married. Unfortunately, or fortunately, as the case may be, the program ended before he got to train to fly. Instead of learning to fly he was shipped off to an island in the Pacific where he was a supply clerk (think Radar O’Reilly here) at an air strip. (I think this may have been Guam, but I am not sure.)

While he was away, Nancy lived on the family dairy farm in upstate New York, and worked as a soda jerk at the local drug store. She wrote George every day, and regaled him with details of her life – including explicit descriptions of the ice cream sundaes, milk shakes and other frozen treats she created behind the counter in downtown Horseheads, New York.

In the primitive conditions on an island in the South Pacific, they had very limited resources for refrigeration, and a treat like ice cream was unheard of. George would get Nancy’s letters, and read aloud to his comrades about the ice cream treats she had created. In the sweltering South Pacific heat they all longed for ice cream.

 Each day the pilots were required to get in so many hours of flying, and they would take off, fly around for a while, and then return. When they returned from their little trips, they would complain about how hot it was on the ground. It was then that George realized it just might be cold enough at those altitudes for cream to freeze. So he hatched a plan and set it into motion. He put the ingredients into a metal container and promised the pilots that they could have the first spoonfuls if they took it up with them during their flights.

George, and as much of the company as possible, would line up and be waiting on the runway when the plane landed. George would have two spoons, and would hand one to the pilot as soon as the container, which was almost too cold to hold in his hands, was removed from the plane. Then each of the men in the company would get a spoonful of the frozen treat.

For this Memorial Day, if you are lucky enough to have ice cream as part of your day, really taste that first spoonful, and think about those men on an island in the South Pacific, how my Dad managed to make ice cream, and smile. As I will.

The Bane of my Existence

     If you have ever been to my house you know that most of the first floor is covered with tile. Often, when someone comes over for the first time the first thing they will say is something along the line of, “Oh, I love these floors!” to which I usually respond, “Yes, the bane of my existence”. Then I have to explain to the quizzical looks that these floors are the one thing the builders did right when they built this house in 1965, as they are laid atop a 4” bed of cement. The tiles themselves are Mexican Saltillo, picket style, and there are about three of them in each square foot of floor space. They run from the front door of the house to the back door, from the eat-in kitchen all the way to the family room and the garage entrance. They are under every cabinet, appliance and wall on the first floor. (All in all, about 600 square feet of tiles.) Saltillo tiles are hand-made, no two are alike, and they are uneven and extremely porous. They are not sealed. So they soak up every and any liquid the come in contact with. And they have been the bane of my existence. 

                                                           Nick with Gambit back in 2005
                                                           Here you can see how the floors usually look

     When we bought this house 18 years ago, I thought the floors were red brick with black grout and I thought, “Great! The boys won’t be able to screw these floors up.” And I was right; nothing that the boys have ever done has made a dent in those floors. I have come to realize that nothing short of a large quantity of C-4 will ever make a dent in these floors. After a couple of years of cleaning and scrubbing the everyday messes created by an active family, black gobs started to come up from the grout revealing grey crumbly cement. This was a concern.

     Then one day I knocked a pot lid into the space beneath the stove and was shocked by what I discovered upon crawling in to the cupboard to reach under and retrieve it. (Yes, I probably should have sold tickets to that event.) As I reached under to pull out the lid my hand touched something that clearly was not the pot lid. So I grabbed a flashlight to get a better look before I stuck my hand back in there again. What I found was a perfect 9 by 11 glass baking dish and, much to my horror, rose and gold colored tiles with off white grout.

     And so began my quest to clean the tiles. This started a chain of events which just went from bad to worse, reminding me in many ways of the movie Money Pit. I spent hours on my hands and knees scrubbing with everything I could find, masked to protect myself from all the harsh chemicals, pulling up years and years worth of Mop-n-Glow encrusted grout and peeling layers from the tiles. We rented an industrial floor cleaning machine and tried everything we could think of. When I finally realized I needed professional help, the first contractor who came to the door looked down, said, “I won’t do this job” and walked away. (Not even a “Hi, it’s nice to meet you”.) We ended up needing to have all of the grout replaced, which meant that there were guys on their hands and knees, using a Dremel-like tool, digging out all of the old grout.
    
     Yesterday, for the second time in the past 18 years I have accomplished the goal of getting the floor cleaned. The first time, you ask? It was during the 30 seconds between a contractor completing the “two week” job which took more than three months and our walking out the door to head to Germany for two years. Unfortunately, by the time we got back, the floors (which need to be sealed every year) were already dirty again.

     My boyfriend did a lot of research on the internet and we bought a steam cleaning machine, in hopes that it would do the trick on the floors (along with other cleaning tasks like the grill, the fireplace doors, etc.). I was hopeful, but didn’t really know if it would work on these floors or not. Imagine my delight when he tried it on the floor for the first time and loads of dirt came right up! It is a slow process, but I don’t have to get on my hands and knees with a toothbrush, and it does the job! I started with the kitchen yesterday, and in about three hours the floor was clean. The only problem is that now the rest of the floor is clearly very dirty!

                                             Before, dirty, nasty floor!

                                             The Steamfast!

                                             SO much better!
     I am excited about bringing these floors back to their intended beauty, and even though it is going to take time, using the steam cleaner is not physically taxing, so it just means time and attention, not painful scrubbing. I figure that if I spend a few hours each weekend, I will have it done by the spring, when it will be time to start over and then I will be able to seal them once again. An accomplishment for 2014!

Welcome 2014

    
Welcome 2014. Usually on New Years I come up with a single word which is supposed to be my guiding concept for the coming year. I have been having difficulty finding my "word" for this year, but thought perhaps I could work it out by writing my way to the "word". It is another one of those times when I am in transition mode, something I have done pretty frequently, and with so much uncertainty, the "word" for this year has so far escaped me.
     Part of the reason I am in this strange place is that I have accepted a new kind of position that will start in a couple of weeks. I will be wading into the unfamiliar territory of a research assistant at the Social Research Center in Ann Arbor. This is a part-time gig that will allow me to both work a "real job" and continue to work from home on my writing and editing projects. I am hoping that this new job will open some doors and help me to focus on my field of study, Social Sciences.
      So now I am facing the dreaded hour long commute - which is daunting in the mitten in January and February (and sometimes March and April), but is still not as bad as the hour and a half to two hours my boyfriend faces each way every day. That fact brings me to another undertaking for 2014, getting our house projects completed so that we could put it on the market and move closer to his work, if that is what we decide to do. This is no small task for many reasons, and while I am looking forward to getting the house in order and updated, these kinds of things require a lot of time and effort - always. Handy-man type projects always take longer and cost more than I think when I start them, and often, we wait until things have to be done before we face them.
     There are more things in the house that need to be done than we can easily afford, and one thing almost always leads to something else. Here is an example: We need a new fridge. The one we have I bought in 1985 while pregnant with Nick. The ice maker is kaput, and for some reason, the paint has decided it is time to peel off and fall on my floors. It still runs very well, and things stay nice and cold inside, but I know it is simply a matter of time before it gives up. So my boyfriend and I went shopping and picked out the one that we want – really beautiful French door model. The problem is that no matter how we have measured it, it will not fit through the doorways so that we can get it into the kitchen. Well… we also need to replace all the windows in the house (and should have done so 15 years ago) and part of that project is that we want to put in a door-wall from the kitchen to the deck – which would also allow us to get the new fridge into the house. So now, in order to get a new fridge, we need to tear a huge hole in the back of the house and put in the sliding door so we have an opening large enough for the new fridge to fit in. Oh – and the whole kitchen needs to be painted since we have had a new chunk of ceiling since about 2008 which is naked above the table and the paint is beginning to wear off the cabinets, and… and… and… One thing leads to another.
     So I have been thinking about words like ‘projects’ or ‘completion’ or ‘execution’, but now I am thinking about "accomplishment" as my word for 2014. I am thinking that I should probably look at each small part of a project I get done as an accomplishment which will lead me toward the larger completion. In thinking about this I have also realized that I have often failed to acknowledge my accomplishments, no matter how big or how small. So this year, dear 2014, I will stop and acknowledge my accomplishments, no matter how small, in my quest for larger project completions. There. I just finished my first blog post for 2014. Well done, me.

A baby speaks...

A dear friend passed this on to me shortly after the birth of my first child... and today I share it with all of you. (If it doesn't bring tears to your eyes...)

A BABY SPEAKS

In Silence I lie and watch thy face, Sweet Mother mine.

And think how full thou art of grace, And, oh how kind!
And I almost laugh as I hear you say
“I think the baby has noticed today.”

To Thee I am “baby” – thou dost not know

How often I’ve lived – how long ago
A chieftain I was, and once a King –
Though now I appear such a little thing!

I’ve had my share of earthly joy;

Of woman’s love I’ve made a toy,
And once in martyrdom I died –
(To atone for my other sins I tried!)

But God, a seal upon my lips has set,

And twill not be lifted ‘till I forget,
For God is much wiser than thou or I -
I must not remember how it feels to die!

Dear little mother, with eyes so brown,

When I wanted rebirth I sought around
‘Till I found thee, with thy face divine,
And then I knew that thou wert mine –

That thou my mother in truth would be.
Sweetheart, I was wise in choosing thee!
So day by day into thy face
I’ll look until I lose all trace
Of other lives, and only know
That I am here and love thee so.

(Author Unknown)

(From Magazine “Woman’s Life”, March 7^th, 1896)