Author: Denis Wilhelm

Watching Time Fly

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My sweet boy!

Deb was holding our grandson Noah the other night and I walked up and asked, “Noah, do want to come to Pawpaw?” He put his little arms out toward me – it was wonderful!

Just over seven months ago he came into this world and now he has two teeth; he’s crawling; he likes to pull his sister’s hair and no one can make him laugh harder than she can; he’s a known earring snatcher; he can pull himself up into a sitting position; his ‘likes’ and ‘dislikes’ are CLEARLY known; and his personality has already been established – he’s a happy, sweet, curious, boy who is easily distracted AND doesn’t like big noises. (The being easily distracted and disliking big noises might be hereditary).

Lately I’ve been marveling at how much his big sister Anna has grown (okay maybe not in stature but certainly in intellect – besides we like petite in our family!) and everyday she seems to know something new. But Noah’s changes are equally amazing and every day or so he has accomplished a new feat. And their relationship is growing each day as well. From the start Anna made it clear that Noah was HER brother but now he seems to know that she’s HIS, too. Their interactions are something to behold – they already seem to have a special understanding that is uniquely their own.

All this ‘watching the grandkids grow’ business has got me thinking about how “time flies”. It seems like only yesterday that our kids were crawling and playing together and learning new things each day and now they have kids of their own. My Mom would tell you, “the older that you get, the faster time flies”. Wow! And now I know it’s true – I’m watching my life go whirring past at record speed. Part of me wants it to S L O W D O W N and another part of me is excited for the next phase; the next adventure; the next milestone.

Big Sister ~ Little Brother

So what can we do? Well, we can’t do anything about time. But we can do everything about how we spend (or mis-spend) it. I’m going to try (once again) to quiet myself and listen to God. I’m going to continue to exercise and eat right so that I can get down on the floor and play with Noah, Anna, and Charlise AND then hopefully be able to get up off the floor without assistance. I’m going to remind Debbie how much I love her and thank her for loving me, too. I will (try) to take time and be patient with my parents and in-laws (more prayer will be required for that one). I will try to be a better husband, father, brother and friend. I will try to be a better employee, boss and colleague. I will try to be a better citizen. And I will celebrate MY LIFE and whatever time God allows me to have here on this Earth.

In the meantime, I need to learn how to “crawl like an animal; not like a baby, Pawpaw!”. That was a recent request – so I guess I’ll be learning something new everyday, too.

Peace,
Denis

Telling Stories

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"Tell me a story..."

My granddaughters like stories. The three-year old likes to hear stories; the six-year old likes to tell stories. Charlise the (six-year old) tells some pretty fantastic tales. Her stories sometimes involve robots that live at her house or mythical beasts that she has encountered. A reoccurring theme in her stories has her winning a gold medal or trophy or some equally worthy award for some astounding feat of intelligence or strength or bravery. She often dwells in that land between reality and imagination that only six-year olds are allowed to inhabit – on occasion she lets me journey there with her, too.

Sometimes I get involved in the story-telling. I think that the best stories are the ones that everybody knows – we all realize that the ‘Big Bad Wolf’ won’t be able to blow down the house of bricks but the fun is in the anticipation of it all and his ultimate failure – take that you ‘Big Bad Wolves’ of the world! Anna (the three-year old) told me yesterday, “Pawpaw, stories are supposed to begin with Once upon a time…, and end with happily ever after…” I like her style. I think we’re all looking for the “happily ever after(s)”.

Family stories are my personal favorites; these too are the ones that everyone knows by heart but hearing (and re-telling) them keeps us connected to the past. We honor our family traditions; we remember; we give thanks. I believe they also help us define the future. No one can live forever but our stories (and the stories of our ancestors) can live on long after we’re gone. Those traditions, those memories can live on in future generations. It can become our legacy – telling our (their) stories.

Here is one of my favorites:

The Good Thief

Once upon a time, a young man left his family and home in Europe and came alone to America in the 1800’s. His intention was to work for one year, save his money and return to his home in Alsace-Loraine. He lived in a boarding house and shared a room with another immigrant. He found work as a day-laborer on a farm in Florissant, Missouri. Because he spoke no English and trusted no one, he kept what little money he earned under his mattress. As planned, after working for one year, he had saved enough money to return home. The night before he was planning to leave, while he was fast asleep, his roommate found his money. The next morning the young man awoke to find his money and his roommate gone! Of course he had no choice but to remain another year and try to recoup his losses. During that unplanned year he met a young girl and fell in love. He never returned to his home in Alsace-Loraine. He married the young girl, bought a farm in Florissant and raised a family there.
And they lived happily ever after…

That young man was my great-grandfather Wilhelm Moellering. Our family calls the roommate the “Good Thief” because, needless to say, if not for him none of us would be here today. We honor Wilhelm’s memory by telling his story (some if it may actually be true) and we remember to thank God for an unplanned event that changed the course of history – at least for one family.

So go tell your stories and listen to other peoples’ stories, too. And remember it’s more about the journey than the destination, although sometimes it’s fun to find out where you’ll end up – even if you already know.

Peace,

Denis

He is Risen, Indeed!

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Today the Alleluia returns! The bells will ring. The choirs will sing. Our salvation is secure.

Easter Sunday Mass is always exultant but of course there’s usually a bit of unplanned “entertainment”. That’s what you get when you stuff kids full of Easter candy, put them in itchy new clothes, pack them into an overcrowded church (if only every Sunday could be this well attended) and expect them to sit quietly for over an hour.

I for one LOVE the ‘carnival atmosphere’ of Easter Sunday services – My version of heaven is filled with wiggles, giggles, and jelly-bean breath.

WHY DO YOU SEARCH FOR THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD?
HE IS NOT HERE. HE IS RISEN!

Have a joyous Easter!

Peace,

Denis

“Good Friday – what’s that?”

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Today our office is closing early. It’s Good Friday and the boss has decided to shut down early – more of an “Easter weekend” thing than a “Good Friday” thing but because I’m a Catholic Christian, and I view today as a day of solemnity, I appreciate the gesture. It will afford me some quiet time in prayer – always needed.

I know that many people in our world (and office) are not Christian and I support their right to freedom of (from) religion. But I’ll admit that I was shocked (a little) this morning when I went around informing the staff that we would be closing early. Here’s what I encountered: one staff member wanted to know why we would be leaving early. When I explained that today is Good Friday, she said “What’s that?” I was dumbfounded. This twenty-something had no idea what Good Friday was or what it meant or that Easter was this coming Sunday. I felt a certain amount of indignation!

Just to be clear – this young woman was born and raised in Saint Louis, Missouri; her parents are not first generation immigrants; English is not a second language; there is no obvious cultural or religious reason why she wouldn’t have at least a cursory understanding of what Good Friday is or Easter means. And yet for her there was complete and utter ignorance of this most important Christian holiday.

That got me thinking. How ignorant am I of other religions? How often do I assume that everyone is Christian or at least understands why my Christian observances are so important to me? Who am I to lord my Christianity over others? I believe that a message was sent to me today: be more tolerant; more accepting; less judgmental; more Christ-like. After all, Jesus gave us plenty of examples of reaching out to those considered “unworthy” during His time here on Earth. Remember the Samaritans? The woman at the well? Tax collectors?

So this Good Friday I will remember that we are all created in His image and I will pray that I am cured of my blindness and prejudice and can encounter Him everywhere that I journey in my life.

‘Lord, by your Cross and Resurrection you have redeemed the world’ – all of us.

(Not just middle-aged, white guys like me).

Peace,

Denis

Small Things

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The small voice on the phone says, “When are you coming home, Pawpaw?” “I miss you.” And suddenly everything else that seemed so important falls in place behind that tiny request. The idea of “home” rushes over me and I know (once again) what is truly important in my life. “I miss you, too”. And so much more…

The small things in my life are what define me; they give me hope; they bring me joy; they “carry me home”. So tonight I am reflecting on those small things.

Coming home to supper on the stove and having the aroma of a meal prepared with love fill my soul.
The way Deb always wraps her leg around mine when she’s sleeping that lets me know that I am where I am meant to be.
Finding something everyday to laugh about (usually at myself).
A call from one of my kids just checking in, always ended with an “I love you, too”.
Bedtime stories, songs and prayers with my grandkids (just like we use to do with our own kids).
A compliment freely given.
The kindness of a friend.
A hug.
A kiss.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

I like the idea of doing small things. Probably because I’m not capable of doing great things. But when I think about my life and what is most important to me it’s usually the small things. And I am blessed with a life that is filled with small things imbued with great love.

In Mitch Albom’s book “Have a Little Faith”, he recalls a conversation where he asks his Rabbi for the secret to happiness. The Rabbi’s response: “Be satisfied. Be grateful for what you have. For the love you receive. And for what God has given you.”

Satisfied. Grateful. Loved. Sounds like happiness to me. And yet, there are days when I forget (God, forgive me!) to be grateful. There are times when greed or avarice makes me completely dissatisfied with EVERYTHING with which I have been blessed. And on my darkest days I reject the love of others – too angry or proud or stubborn to accept even God’s love.

But then I get a glimpse of heaven ~ usually delivered when I least expect it. And I am reminded (once again) how precious the small things in my life truly are.

Wishing for a “small thing” to find its way to you today.

Peace,

Denis

Holy Week

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I had a rare opportunity to begin Holy Week in Espana. I went to Mass at the Cathedral de Santa Maria la Real de La Almudena in Madrid yesterday for Domingo de las Palmas Misa. In English that means I went to the Cathedral in Madrid for Palm Sunday Mass. I love architecture and history and this place has both. It took over 100 years to build the cathedral. It’s adjacent to the Royal Palace. It is apparently built over a Moorish mosque that was destroyed in 1085. As early as the 1500’s plans were discussed for building a cathedral in Madrid. Construction didn’t actually begin until 1879 and due to the Spanish Civil War the project was abandoned until the 1950’s. The cathedral is very modern in European terms – Pope John Paul II dedicated it in 1993. It has a Neo-Gothic interior and Neo-Romanesque crypt. It is an amazing structure. The way the light filled the space seemed truly divine.
As beautiful as the building is, what actually made my experience so memorable was the excitement of the people. We began with a procession outdoors in the vast courtyard between the Royal Palace and the Cathedral. The clergy and dignitaries were carrying palms but most of us in attendance had bunches of olive branches mixed with Rosa Maria (rosemary). I suppose it’s fitting that we were waving olive branches in Spain; you see olive orchards from central Spain to the coast when traveling by train. The music was being broadcast outdoors and it filled the courtyard and beyond – all the way to Plaza de Espana. I felt as if I was being lifted up by the voices in the choir. The atmosphere was truly celebratory.

HOSANNA A NUESTRO REY! HOSANNA EN LAS ALTURAS!

Of course I was only able to understand a little of what was being said during Mass but because our Church is truly universal I knew that my friends and family were listening to the same Passion account in my parish at home. And I was able to understand many parts of the Mass (if not all of the words). It’s amazing this faith of us ours – ancient yet new; timeless yet present. I took tremendous joy today in knowing that millions of Catholics (and other Christians) were celebrating Christ’s triumphant journey into Jerusalem in much the same way. The fact that I was celebrating in Spanish made it all the more special. It made me realize that in French or German or Spanish or English; whatever language that faith-filled people speak the message is the same:

The crowds preceding him and those following
kept crying out and saying:
“Hosanna to the Son of David;
blessed is the he who comes in the name of the Lord;
hosanna in the highest.”

What I’m reminded of again this Holy Week is that Jesus died for our sins – it’s easy to think of our collective sinfulness and of Christ’s saving grace. What’s harder for me to wrap my head (and heart) around is the fact that He died for the sins I committed today and will likely commit tomorrow. His death and suffering was for you and me. He wasn’t crucified just for those who lived 2000 years ago. His sacrifice is as real today as it was on Calvary. How we embrace it and reconcile ourselves to His unconditional love is entirely up to us.

Wishing you each a peace-filled and blessed Holy Week. May you find the comfort this Easter Season that only our Savior can bring.

Peace,

Denis

Habla Ingles?

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I’ve been in Spain on business for a week. I’ve toured a dozen or so ‘El Corte Ingles’ department stores here in Madrid and Valencia (think Macy’s meets Telemundo). I love Spain (what I’ve seen of it) and I’m trying to learn to speak Spanish. I really am.

But “habla ingles?” is still how I begin most conversations here. Sometimes I begin with “hola!” or “buenos dias” or “buenas tardes” or “buenas noches” but I’m not quite sure when “tardes” and “noches” begin and end so usually I just say “Hola”. I often say “gracias” and “de nada”, too. Beyond that things get a little sketchy. What I have found is that MOST Spaniards seem to appreciate that I’m trying to speak a little (muy poco) Spanish (or they’re just enjoying my stupidity and can’t wait until I’m gone so that they can let out a big belly laugh; either way I’m fine) and many will respond S L O W L Y so that I can understand them (sort of). I can see why total immersion teaches you how to speak a second language. You’ve just got to figure it out – if you want to eat or need to go to the bathroom or have lost your way – you need to be understood.

I will be happy to be home next week but if I had another week or fifty-two here in Espana I could really be “habla-ing some Espanol”. But instead, I guess it’s back to ‘Rosetta Stone’. I hate those cheery ‘Rosetta Stone’ people; they’re so smug and they’re ALWAYS right. If I could just move to Spain for six months or a year I would never need ‘Rosetta Stone’ again. Of course that would mean quitting my job and living in Spain with no income; not to mention the cost of airfare, hotels, paella, manchego cheese, wine and cafe con leche. Hmmm? I guess maybe ‘Rosetta Stone’ is a more reasonable option – damn it! I just think that I learn better “on the job” so to speak. No one in Madrid or Valencia has asked me “donde esta la biblioteca?” (where is the library?) but I have been asked “quires otra copa de vino?” (would you like another glass of wine?) and because “si” is my default response, I only realized after the third “copa de vino” that I should probably say “no”. So hey, ‘Rosetta Stoners’: here’s a heads up – we’re not spending our free time at the library. I’m just sayin…

I actually felt pretty good about myself today. I asked a Senora if she wanted my seat on the Metro and she understood me. Also I asked a couple how old their daughter was and then told them “mi nieta es tres anos tambien” – I felt so Continental!

Tomorrow I’m going to Mass – of course it will be in Spanish. I just hope nobody asks if I want more “vino”.

Adios mis amigos.

Paz,
Denis (pronounced: DAY-NEEZ)

Birthday Party!

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Three is BIG (sort of)!

Today is THE DAY. It’s Birthday Party Day! Granddaughter Anna turned 3 on Thursday and this afternoon she’s having HER BIG PARTY. Three year-old birthday parties are big stuff – there’ll be cake and ice cream and ‘themed’ decorations. Anna’s cousins and friends will be there as well as Aunt’s and Uncles and Grandparents. And in the middle of it all there will be this tiny three year-old wielding her “Birthday Power”. It’s mystical! When it’s your birthday you reign supreme – at least when you’re three! I’m not sure that she understands that this party is all for her. On Thursday when I said to her, “Happy Birthday Anna”, her response was, “Happy Birthday Pawpaw!” But I have a feeling by the end of the day she’ll have it figured out. After heavy doses of sugar and lots of presents and having her picture taken a thousand times, she’ll be likely be ‘channeling’ Shirley Temple in “The Little Princess”. Entitled but benevolent ~ gifted yet gracious.

Oh Anna, how did you get to be a big girl so fast? It seems like just yesterday I was holding you for the first time in the hospital and now you’re three! But even though three is BIG; as you yourself explained it, “Pawpaw I’m still a little girl and sometimes little girls like to be carried and sometimes they like to walk.” So I’m going to ‘carry you’ as long as you’ll let me. In my heart you will always be that tiny baby girl in my arms (just like your Mommy is) and I will cherish that memory forever. So go ahead and get BIG and be everything that you are meant to be. I’ll be standing here on the side-lines watching and trying to capture each precious moment as it passes by. You’ll ALWAYS be my girl and I’ll always be your Pawpaw.

So LET’S GET THE PARTY STARTED! And if sometime during your BIG DAY you need to be ‘carried’, I’ll be waiting here with open arms.

Happy Birthday!

Love,
Pawpaw

More of Everything

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Remember the “Seinfeld” episode where Jerry is flying First Class while Elaine is stuck in Coach? He’s being feted while she’s suffering through a miserable flight. At one point the flight attendant asks Jerry if she could get him “more of anything” – his response, “More of everything!”

I spent three days in Las Vegas this week where the slogan is “What Happens in Vegas – Stays in Vegas” but I think “More of Everything” would be an equally fitting slogan. After all over-indulgence is what Las Vegas seems to be all about. There’s too much food, alcohol, gambling, skin, etc., etc., etc. Most folks seem to leave Las Vegas with heartburn, hangovers, empty pockets, regrets, and shame (you know who you are!).

So why the attraction? Why do millions flock to Vegas each year? Is the desire for “more of everything” so compelling that ordinary folks lose all sense of decorum and reason? Are we a society that is morally bankrupt? Is mankind really willing to abandon everything that is virtuous for a good time? I don’t think so. I don’t believe most people go to Vegas to become hedonistic pleasure-seekers. I think most (like me) are sent there for business conventions. The rest are probably just looking for a fun get-away with built-in entertainment. And if you get bored with the casinos and the shows you can take a tour of the Grand Canyon or play a round or two of golf. So it’s not a bad destination – all things considered.

But as with most things in life – I’m the odd man out. I’m not a gambler. I’m not much of a drinker. And I’m too cheap to pay $150.00 to see a “Vegas Headliner” (whose show will be aired on HBO or Comedy Central in a few months anyway), I don’t play golf, and I don’t have a burning desire to join a bus tour (with a bunch of senior-citizens) for a tour of Hoover Dam. So what’s a guy like me doing in Vegas? PEOPLE WATCHING – that’s what!

I love to walk “The Strip” and watch (sometimes stare at) the other people in Las Vegas. I try to imagine what their story might be, or why in hell they chose to wear those plaid shorts with that striped shirt. Sometimes I just find myself in utter amazement that people must really believe that “What Happens in Vegas – Stays in Vegas” because nothing else would explain their behavior/attire/choice of companionship. And I’m not judging (well maybe a little) – I’m just observing. I suspect that some of these folks must live pretty dull lives and this week or few days in Vegas is their only opportunity to “make up for lost time”. Or maybe they’re just someone who stifles or suppresses all their creativity or playfulness and can only “let loose” when no one is watching – so to speak. But I’ve got news for you, nerdy accountant from Des Moines or frustrated housewife from Memphis or neglected store clerk from Baltimore – I’m watching. I’ve been watching you partake in “more of everything”. And I’ve been a voyeur at your expense. So there’s my shame.

Vegas revelers, while God’s is forgiving you for your over-indulgences, I hope that He forgives me for staring (and sometimes laughing) at your humanity. We all want “more of everything” at times. But as the saying goes: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR – YOU JUST MIGHT GET IT. Because let’s face it; what happens in Vegas will probably follow us home…

Peace,
Denis

‘Old’ Was Not One Of The Things I Wanted To Be When I Grew Up

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Like looking into a mirror

How does the saying go? Something like: “the only certainty in life is death and taxes”. Now I would add “and getting old”.

But I don’t really think of myself as old – I’m middle-aged. Which means at 55 years-old I am in my middle years, right? Only if I live to be 110! So maybe it’s time to face my mortality; something us baby boomers seem to be in great denial about. Oh, we have our “bucket lists” and our life insurance policies but do we ever really think that someday we’re going to run out of time? I know I don’t. I keep planning my next vacation, my next adventure, my next birthday party, etc. I don’t have an end-game. Not only do I not think about my life ending – I really haven’t given much thought to getting old(er). Because old was not one of the things I wanted to be when I grew up!

This week Elizabeth Taylor died. At work a group of YOUNG PEOPLE were talking about it and I commented, “Do you suppose that Debbie Reynolds is dancing on her grave?”. There was complete silence. Finally one of them asked, “Who’s Debbie Reynolds?”. Not only did they not get my HILARIOUS reference to the tawdry break-up of Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds by the man-stealing Liz Taylor in the 1950’s, they didn’t even know who Debbie was! Really? “Tammy”? “Singing in The Rain”? Anyone? When I mentioned Carrie Fisher and “Star Wars”, I got a few nods of recogition – apparently one these brats had parents that were “Star Wars” fans. At that moment I felt like I should be driving a Studebaker, wearing “trousers” and hanging out at the Barbershop.

So I guess I am beginning to face my own mortality; I just don’t like it. I realize that, I am in fact, getting older each day (and maybe becoming a bit obsolete). I watch my parents now dealing with ‘old people stuff’: illness and aches and pains and hearing loss. And I realize when I see Dad struggling sometimes to be steady on his feet that I’m only 29 years younger than him. Twenty-nine years ago Tyson was 3 and Bess was about to turn 2 and that seems like only yesterday. So tomorrow it will be me (if God allows) who is 84 years old and wobbly on my feet.

Today I have decided that even though I may not have wanted to be old when I grew up, I will try to embrace aging with dignity. I want to be around to see my grandkids as adults. I’ll gladly be the ‘old man’ dancing with my granddaughters at their weddings. I will someday help “pack-up” Noah off to college. And if God truly blesses me with a long life I will continue to share my HILARIOUS stories and my PROFOUND WISDOM with another generation of Wilhelm/Kleckners and they will show their appreciation with their kindness and patience for this old man.

Until then, I think I need to go hug my Dad.

Peace,
Denis