Author: Denis Wilhelm

10 Things You Should Know About Mexico City

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I’ve been working in Mexico City again this week and I’ve made some ‘not so keen’ observations that might help others that travel to this beautiful city of nearly nine million people.

Here goes:

  1. People appreciate it greatly when you “try” to speak Spanish – even a little bit. It’s not too hard to remember “si” or “buenos dias” or “gracias”. I’m always greeted with smiles when I speak Spanish (or perhaps they’re just suppressing their need to laugh at my poor pronunciation).
  2. Men don’t wear shorts here. Only children and touristas.
  3. Public prayer is encouraged. In the El Palacio de Hierro department store in which we were installing a new shop there was a small shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe at the employee entrance. Several people blessed themselves upon arrival or departure from work. Imagine that at a Macy’s!
  4. Margaritas are for girls. Next time order a Michelada or a tequila.
  5. Refried beans is the breakfast of campeones! Just eat it. It’s great with your eggs.
  6. Mexico City is in a valley of mountains; the elevation is high and the air is dry. Wear a sweater at night. It gets cool even in the summer – nobody will think you’re a sissy (unless of course you order a Margarita).
  7. There is a rich and vibrant history here. There is French, German, and English colonial heritage as well as Spanish. The Mexican people have also held on to many native customs and traditions. How sad for the U.S. that the same is not true.
  8. Mexicans work hard. My installation crew here could easily “out-work” any crew I’ve had in the U.S. or Europe.
  9. Films dubbed in Spanish in Spain are annoying to Mexicans – According to Jorge, “Rambo or Rocky shouldn’t speak ‘proper Spanish’ with the lisp!” “Muy loco!”
  10. If you look like me people will ask you if you’re Steve Martin – happens every time I’m down here. I usually just smile and say “si” or “buenos dias” or “gracias”.

Evening sky over Mexico City

    I’m looking forward to getting home tomorrow but I will miss Cuidad de Mexico a little. Especially Jorge, Hector, Gustavo, Miguel, Marco and Marcela who did an amazing job this week and welcomed me into their city as well.

Tonight it seems only fitting that I ask Our Lady of Guadalupe to watch over each of them. May she intervene on their behalf and ask her Son our Lord to bless them and their families.

Oh yes – #11. We’re very Catolico down here, too.

Peace,

Denis

Below is a link to a slide show from my trip this week – disfrutar!

http://tripwow.tripadvisor.com/tripwow/ta-028b-6f66-a828?lm

Don’t Be Fooled By Her Size

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

When my wife was a little girl she wanted to be Barbie® – tall and blonde and all the rest. But instead God decided to make her Midge® – Barbie’s best friend. Midge is short and brunette and NOT BARBIE. But even though Midge (Deb) is ‘vertically challenged’ you shouldn’t be fooled by her size. She is larger than life. Her circle of influence is boundless. She dreams big. She has more class in her little finger than most folks have in their entire body. And she has more friends today than I have had in my entire life.

The best things do come in small packages

Most descriptions of her include phrases like: big heart; generous spirit; huge smile; hearty laugh; giving friend, loving mother, and caring daughter. These are hardly the images of a mousey little Midge. And Deb does things in a big way, too. Meals are an event. You’ll never leave her table hungry. Holidays are a time for elegant decorating and grand entertaining, and fabulous food.

And if you are in need, she’s the friend/sister/daughter/mother to call on. If you need a laugh, she will always deliver. If you need someone to hold or if you need to be held, her arms are always open wide. If you need to cry, she will cry, too. Debbie has this incredible gift of making you feel that when she’s with you, no one else is more important or more needed at that moment than you. You have her complete undivided attention. And she gives her entire self.

Her children and grandchildren will also tell you that she is a ‘force to be reckoned with’ as well. And most importantly, you should NEVER attempt to hurt one of her children or grandchildren – she’s like a lioness in her need to protect them. And I believe that she would “stare down the devil” if the need arose.

And for me, well when Deb walks in the room it’s like everyone else fades into the background. All the light in the space seems to be emanating from her. She just gets to me.  Deb always tells our granddaughters “that you have to be pretty on the inside if you want to be pretty on the outside”. And she lives those words, too. Her beauty shines through.

Barbie, you might be a statuesque blonde but you’re empty on the inside, I’ll take ‘ma femme petite belle’ over you any day!

Even though I’m over a foot taller than she, I know that she stands well above me in terms of heart and soul. But most of you are already aware of this.

Peace,

Denis

Deb, it’s been my pleasure and honor to “look up” to you all these many years. I love this life we share.  I love you, D

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cjgav6VXUxc

Sunday Mornings

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I love Sunday mornings. It’s officially my time to do nothing. We leave for Mass around 10:00 so there are 3 or 4 glorious hours most Sunday mornings with nothing planned. What makes this makes this time so precious is the fact that it is so carefree – no agenda; no schedule; no demands. Just blissful peace and quiet. I don’t like the television on (although occasionally I will turn on some music). Most mornings, I “hit the ground running” but on Sundays I like to  S L O W   D O W N  and breath in the beauty of life. I like to take time to be thankful for my blessings.

Over coffee and a leisurely breakfast we’ll discuss our day (or not) but mainly we just sort of “drink in” the serenity of another Sunday morning. It’s cathartic. When the kids were little I told them that at bedtime or nap time they needed to rest and “recharge their batteries”. I think that’s what Sunday mornings do for me – they recharge my batteries.

It might seem a little silly and perhaps I’m just playing games with my mind but I need my Sunday mornings. I need for the world to be peaceful and still for just a moment. I need the quiet freedom Sunday morning provides. It refreshes my soul and re-energizes me.

Summer Sunday Morning

Of course I know that some folks work on Sundays and not everyone lives a 9 to 5 existence. But I think we all need to find our ‘Sunday morning’ regardless of what time or what day it may really be. Our world is becoming more and more hectic and fast-paced everyday. We all demand constant information and instant gratification. We must be fast; first; and best! So what I’m suggesting is slightly counter-cultural: stop running (for just a moment); stop worrying (if you can); stop achieving (or over-achieving). Just relax. Just take a deep breath and let go of it all. Find your ‘Sunday morning’ wherever and whenever you can. And relish it.

Tomorrow I will be able to “slay dragons” but only if I have my Sunday morning first.

Peace,

Denis

Modern Family

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

When Deb and I got married we were determined to have a ‘Modern Family’. We wouldn’t be confined to traditional roles and we would NEVER have the kind of marriage our parents had. After all, this was 1975 and times had changed and we were young and current and ready to embrace life head-on. We even toyed with the idea of me taking Deb’s last name. Instead of her becoming Deborah Wilhelm; I would become Denis Dobbs. But Debbie and Denis Dobbs sounded a little too cute. And besides we might then be inclined to name future children with double “D” names as well. Debbie and Denis and Durwood and Dolly and Dora Dobbs – yikes! Plus with brothers named Dave and Dean, I had spent my formative years being called David-Dean-Denis by my dad. So we abandoned the idea of me taking her maiden name and the ‘hyphen-thing’ (Dobbs-Wilhelm) seemed like too much trouble. Still we were convinced that we should work hard to be a couple that wouldn’t become the stereotypical husband and wife.
 
We were resolute in our desire to live equally as husband and wife. We shared the household tasks. We both worked outside the home. We had a partnership-marriage. Everything was 50-50. We made all of our decisions together. Our mantra was: Whatever we do MUST be good for both of us! There was no “me first”. I made a conscious effort to avoid terms like “the little lady” (although Deb is little and a lady) and I never expected her to sacrifice ANYTHING that she wanted for me or vice-versa. We both would bristle when people assumed that I would be the “bread winner” and she would be the content little “housewife”. Who did they think we were – June and Ward Clever???
 
Then we had children. And we adapted our ‘Modern Family’ in a way that I would have never imagined. Deb chose to work part-time and forsake a career. This was unthinkable just a few years earlier but looking at Tyson’s sweet face for the first time we knew we couldn’t place him in daycare. So we adjusted our lives accordingly. I worked days; Deb worked nights and we were blessed with a sister-in-law who would cover the overlap times (Aunt Pat is still adored by her niece and nephews). And then came Bess. And then came Blake. So we shared the load. We both changed diapers; gave baths; took turns with feedings; read bedtime stories; etc., etc.  For several years we took opposite shifts at home. Deb handled the daytime – breakfast, lunch, playtime, nap time; I took care of the nighttime – dinner, bath, bedtime stories & prayers. I believed then that my sons and daughter would benefit from having a dad that was ‘hands-on’. I still believe that today.

When I see what my son-in-law Travis does everyday for his kids and how natural Tyson is with his daughter it reminds me how much I loved those years when my children were small (even the dirty diapers). It was important for me to know that I could do it all – even though I never had to. Deb and I have a partnership. And although our goal was 50-50, anyone in a successful marriage will tell you that sometimes it’s 80-20 or 40-60. You carry your partner when you can because you know the day will come when you’ll need to be carried, too.
 
As the years flew by the children grew and jobs changed and we sort of (gasp!) fell into more traditional roles. I was on a ‘career-track’ and Deb continued to work part-time until the kids were in school. And even when she went back to work full-time her primary focus was still on the kids and the house. We had become what we were determined to avoid – TRADITIONAL.
 
But Deb loves to cook and family mealtime was important. Once our daughter pointed out that we were unusual as a family because we ate dinner together almost every night (at a table and actually speaking to one another!). We worshipped together on Sundays and prayed together at bedtime and at meals. I took care of the lawn. Deb took care of the house. From the “outside looking in” we were very much the kind of couple my parents were – except we chose our roles; they were not thrust upon us.

And that’s what makes us a ‘Modern Family’ today. I work. Deb stays home. She cooks. I eat. I mow the lawn. She cleans the house. We don’t do things this way because we’re expected to – we do things this way because we haven chosen to do things this way. We can both change our grandson’s diaper. We can both travel around the world. We can both lounge on the sofa watching football. We can both freely show emotion or wipe a tear or give a hug or speak our love.
 

The (almost) Dobbs

Today’s ‘Modern Families’ come in lots of different shapes and sizes – single parent families; same-sex couples; blended families; bi-coastal families. But love remains the same. Ultimately what role you fill or how you look to someone else doesn’t really matter. Family is where you can be you. Family is where you can refresh your soul. Family is refuge. Family is hope. Family is eternal. Family is love. I guess that’s not so modern after all.
 
God has blessed Deb and me with one another and with our beautiful children and grandchildren. Our ‘Modern Family’ might not look like the one I envisioned 36 years ago but I really like this one better. And the journey from there to here and beyond continues to be amazing…
 
Peace,
 
Denis

Making Anna Cry

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Last night my three year-old granddaughter Anna was being a little mischievous. She was antsy at dinner and didn’t want to eat anything (except dessert of course). After much cajoling she finally ate enough to qualify for some ice cream. Once that milestone had been met she promptly bounded out of her chair and dashed to the refrigerator. And then she threw both the refrigerator and freezer doors open. When I reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to open the refrigerator she protested that “she had eaten her dinner”.

Now usually I’m pretty accommodating when it comes to the grandkids (some would say I’m a sucker) but this particular time I decided to hold my ground. In a battle with an impetuous three year-old you have to be pretty wily. So I decided to show her who was boss. I told her that I would gladly get her some ice cream from the downstairs freezer after she picked up the Legos that were strewn on the laundry room floor. Did I mention that I was using my big loud “I’M IN CHARGE” voice? Anna is not accustomed to hearing me speak to her that way and with that came the tears. Not just tears – sobs!

Her mother had previously threatened her with a dreaded “time out” and Anna was undaunted. But Pawpaw raising his voice and telling her NO? That was too much! And she cried. And cried! And cried!
 
When her Nana tried to intervene by asking her why she was crying so hard, she responded: “Because Pawpaw was mean to me!” Ouch! That stung. I had merely wanted her to mind me, not to emotionally scar her for life. What had I done? What kind of beast had I become? Now I was the one fighting back the tears. But instead of giving in (my first impulse), I decided to reason with her. Reasoning with a three year-old is like trying to put socks on an octopus. But I gave it a try because I think that Anna is more reasonable than most three year-olds (at least in my experience – remember I raised her mother).
 
I held her and wiped her tears and explained that my old refrigerator couldn’t handle being opened and closed too often and that the doors don’t always close all the way without the special push that Nana and Pawpaw give them. Because three year-olds anamorphize most things, in her mind that poor refrigerator became a living thing which must be treated with some compassion. Additionally I told her that I would help her pick up the Legos and we could count them to see how many we each could pick up. She smiled because she counted: “one, two, three, four, five, one hundred”. And then declared herself the winner! By then most of the tears were gone although her little face was still red and tear-stained.
 
When I returned to the table with the promised ice cream she seemed to have forgiven me but I’ll never know for sure. And of course Deb (Nana) and Bess (Mommy) were now crying, too.

During Happier Times

Making Anna cry is not what I had intended to do. But I suppose that all grandfathers find themselves in tough spots sometimes. I could have ignored her naughtiness, and maybe I should have, but something made me risk her adoration by standing firm. I hope that she will understand how much I love her and that even the best granddaughters need to be told “no” every once in a while. But for now I’ve sworn off disciplining my grandkids, I much prefer being the big softie.
 
I don’t plan on making Anna cry any time soon. Honestly, it’s really more than I can take. So yes Anna; whatever it is you want, the answer is yes!
 
Peace,

Denis

Made With Love

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

“What would you like for dinner?” That’s Deb’s usual request as I’m walking out of the house on my way to work each day. My response: “I don’t care” or “Whatever you would like” or some other non-response. I might as well say “I can’t be bothered with that right now!” And I’m ashamed of myself for doing that…

I’m not a ‘foodie’ but I love to eat. And I love to eat good food. But I can’t (won’t) cook and I don’t know what’s “in season” or what it takes to prepare most meals. It’s not that I don’t care; I just don’t care that much. This makes me kind of a rat-bastard because Deb loves to cook and she puts so much thought into each meal. And I (on most nights) just come home and wait to be served. Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate it and I am always thankful but I don’t necessarily understand the ‘art of cooking’. It’s similar to my complete lack of regard for opera or ballet – never quite acquired an appreciation for either. I suppose that the ‘finer things’ in life are often lost on me.

But yesterday when asked, ““What would you like for dinner?” I thought about it and replied, “Something light or summer-timey”.  And away I went. I never gave it another thought.

To my delight when I came home Deb was preparing bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. Now I don’t think that she needed Julia Child’s cookbook for this meal but to me it was as wonderful as if she had prepared Boef Bourguignon. The BACON smelled amazing! And the fresh lettuce and tomatoes, that she had ‘hand-picked’ at the produce market down the road, were perfect. Not to mention all of the other produce that she purchased: peaches, watermelon, strawberries, blueberries and carrots.

I savored that BLT! It brought me back to a simpler time. And the worry and stress of my day slipped away. It occurred to me (once again) why my wife is such a good cook. It’s because all her meals are made with love. She takes the time to plan most meals based on my half-hearted suggestions and then she goes the extra mile by hand selecting the ingredients to prepare whatever is on the menu du jour. It doesn’t matter whether it’s Veal Prince Orlov or Sloppy Joes she always adjusts her recipes to add a ‘dash of love’. And often a dollop!

Cooking with Nana ~ a living legacy

So when you sit down to dinner tonight and give thanks to God for your blessings don’t forget to thank the cook, too.

Bon Appétit,

Denis

P.S. Deb, I reckon that we’ve shared over 13,000 dinners together – that’s a lot of love!  I can never really thank you enough (but I’ll keep trying).

Did I Ever Tell You About The Time…?

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I can almost hear the groans as I write this. “YES! We all know that story!”

Maybe someday Noah will continue the legacy

My Dad, God bless him, loves to tell his stories. The problem is that he has told the SAME stories (and jokes) for as long as I can remember. He really needs some new material. Dad is 85 years old now and I suppose he is entitled to repeat himself but everyone in the family can tell his stories verbatim. 

Somehow that doesn’t bother him. He tells them again (and again). Mom usually rolls her eyes and the grandkids giggle because it’s a ritual they’ve come to appreciate. Sometimes they’re the instigators. “Hey Grandpa, how did you and Gram meet?’ or “Hey Grandpa, did you really travel through the Panama Canal during World War II?” or “Grandpa, what’s that joke about the priest, the rabbi, and the Lutheran minister?” And he’s off and running…

Now of course I am doing the same thing (and I’m not certain when it really started). I will repeat the same joke ad nauseam – because “if it’s funny the first time”…

I will recount for the umpteenth time a story (which may contain some truth) about something that happened before most of my captive listeners were born. I CAN’T HELP MYSELF. I don’t know, maybe it’s genetic; maybe it’s a learned behavior. It’s like the cycle of abuse – I’ve become the abuser (in this case the serial story-teller). And I kind of like it. No, I really like it. It’s frightening!

The problem for serial story-tellers like me is that our victims are all too willing. Most people are either too polite to ask that I “shut up” or they are actually entertained (initially). It doesn’t matter. If I have a willing listener – I will talk. All normal social clues such as yawning, looking at a watch, blank stares, preoccupation with cell phones, PDAs, etc., have no power over a serial story-teller. Debbie even tries to ‘intervene’ by asking me to “not tell that one again” – that’s utter foolishness. Once I’ve settled in – you’re there for the WHOLE STORY. I wish I could stop, but I can’t.

And I know that someday I’ll be very sad when Dad’s not around to tell his stories (even though we sometimes groan). But he needn’t worry, I’ll be telling them for him. Maybe that’s my purpose – to keep the flame alive. Perhaps Dad is passing the torch so that HIS stories will live on long after he does. Or maybe it’s just an annoying habit that I’ve picked up.

Either way, did I ever tell you about how Mom and Dad met…?

Peace,

Denis

Burden

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” These are Jesus’ words in Matthew’s Gospel. And often I need that reminder.

We all feel burdened from time to time but sometimes I admit that I play the “martyr”. Why me? Poor me! How can this be happening? What else can possibly go wrong? It’s during these times of self-pity that I forget God’s promise of love. I become so self-absorbed that I can only focus on my needs – my pain – my heartache. And my burden only becomes greater because I fail to remember that I am never truly alone.

During those darkest times – when I am feeling alone and unloved and that I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders I try to recall the words of a hymn that Deb shared with me the first year that we were married:

God has not promised skies always blue,

Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through;

God has not promised sun without rain,

Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

But God has promised strength for the day,

Rest for the labor, light for the way;

Grace for the trials, help from above,

Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

Burdens. We all must bear them from time to time. Some are heavier than others. Some can be life-changing. And some might seem insurmountable. But nothing is stronger or more powerful than God’s love. The beauty of my life is that God delivers his love to me daily – through the shared hymn given to me by my beautiful wife; by the sweet kisses of my granddaughters or the giggle of my grandson; by the loving words of my children; by the comfort and concern of my siblings; by the countless kindnesses bestowed upon me by friends. Many times they have dried my tears; shared my struggles; helped me find my way.

"Nana, why are you crying?"

The other evening Deb was reading a bedtime story to our granddaughters – “That’s What Grandmothers Are For”. Now she has been known to cry watching a Hallmark® commercial so the fact that this book’s tender message brought tears to her eyes was no surprise to me. The girls however were both concerned because Nana was crying. Instinctively our younger granddaughter Anna grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. The pure compassion of that gesture then brought me to tears. What an amazing example our children have set for their own children!

Being Christ to one another is the ultimate expression of God’s love. Thanks to each of you for the times that you have carried my burden. I hope that you will allow me the honor of carrying yours, too.

Aretha Franklin sang about it in 1969. Still sounds good today…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reeE8mbh0zA

Peace,

Denis

Summertime

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I love summer! Sunshine. Hot weather. Swimming pools. Cool drinks. Baseball. Watermelon. Picnics. Patios. Barbeque. I love it all.

My love of summertime started as a kid. NO SCHOOL! My best friend and I would meet up after breakfast and literally play all day long. On most summer days we would pack our lunches so that we wouldn’t have to be home until supper and then we would resume playtime again until dark. There were only a few rules in the summer:

  1. Be home in time for supper.
  2. Be home again before dark (and that could be bypassed if you had a pre-approved backyard campout at your friend’s house).
  3. Go to Mass on Sundays.
  4. Take an occasional bath (especially prior to aforementioned Mass).

Summertime and the livin’ was easy! Lena Horne sang it and we lived it…

Hunting "Wild Chihuahuas" on "The Hill"

Of course times were simpler back then and maybe safer, too. Certainly parents didn’t have the fears then that they do today. The only helmets that we had were our “Army helmets” that we wore when we played soldiers. We swam in creeks. We drank out of those same creeks. We played in open fields. We ate wild berries. And we somehow survived.

Today begins the 4th of July weekend and I’m determined to let my grandkids be a little adventurous today. We won’t be drinking creek water but maybe we’ll drink from the garden hose when the “adults” aren’t looking. Maybe we can run around barefoot in the backyard. Or perhaps we’ll “hunt for wild Chihuahuas” up on the hill in our overgrown garden. I love that my grandkids encourage my need to be a kid.

I hope that you get to have some summer fun, too!

Peace,

Denis

iPod, iPad, iTunes, iPhone; it’s too much information!

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I love new technology. I especially love it when it works. I have an iPod® and an iPhone® and my son and son-in-law each have an iPad® (which just look like giant iPhones® to me). I have some ‘apps’ which I recently learned means ‘applications’ but I don’t really know what that means. And I don’t need to (or want to) know – please don’t try to tell me. I just want the phone to stop dropping calls. I also would like it to stop “pocket dialing” people; which means when jostled in my pocket my iPhone® mysteriously finds numbers and dials them – it’s like magic!

Now I’m told that there are many wonderful things that my iPhone® can do, but really just making phone calls and reading the occasional email is enough for me. Oh, and playing games when stuck in the airport or waiting in a long line is fun, too. But I don’t a need a GPS tracker that works like an electronic ankle bracelet or an ‘app’ that tells me what the restaurants in New Zealand are serving or what the temperature is on Mars. It’s too much information!

 And I refuse to text! I do not accept text messages nor will I send them (mainly because I don’t understand the abbreviations). It took me about a year to realize that LOL wasn’t someone’s initials! Don’t even get me started on OMG! What’s wrong with spelling an entire word or phrase? Remember how excited we were as children when we learned how to write? Wouldn’t it be fun to relive that excitement and use actual words in our written communications? Imagine the joy in being clearly understood by those with whom we are corresponding – instead of the receiving party asking “what in hell does this mean?”.

Call me old-fashioned but I don’t need you to send me Facebook® updates every time you leave your house. As glad as I may be that you “like” your favorite dry-cleaner, car wash, liquor store, or deli, I don’t really need you to share that information with me. Also I wish the folks at Amazon® would stop sending me “recommendations” daily. If I had that kind of money I would hire somebody to go out and buy stuff that I don’t need at a real store. And how do I get those STORY-PEOPLE® to stop??? I swear I’ll purchase another over-priced item if they’ll just stop sending me those daily STORY-PEOPLE® stories!

I think tomorrow I’ll write all my memorandums “old school” in long hand on real paper. There’s probably an ‘app’ for that, too.

Peace,

Denis