Author: Denis Wilhelm

Spiritual Desert

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Like me, do you ever find yourself in a spiritual desert?  Those times when my prayers seem empty and perfunctory, it feels as if I’m just going through the motions.  And maybe I am.  So I pray: God, please help me!                                   

During those times I will attend Mass and sing and pray along and listen to The Word but I might as well be driving through the Automatic Car Wash.  My experience is completely passive and it barely registers on my psyche.  It almost feels as if I’m watching someone else – it’s not worship; it’s not prayer; it’s just sort of dutiful religious regurgitation.  Not exactly inspiring!

But sometimes maybe just BEING THERE is enough.  Maybe just being in the presence of others that are truly engaged spiritually has its own grace.  Perhaps being part of a community of believers means that sometimes we carry one another along the journey.  Possibly the prayers and singing of the ‘inspired ones’ can lift me up before God when I can barely pull myself into the pew. 

I sure hope so.  Because lately these desert experiences have been coming along more frequently and lasting much longer.  I sometimes fear that this life on earth may make me lose out on eternal life.  Too many times I approach the altar angry or hurt and can’t (or won’t) let go of my outrage.  Too often I have judged others as hypocrites.  And I it find more and more difficult to forgive and yet I expect complete forgiveness for my own shortcomings.

So I trudge along; hoping that maybe just by being at Mass and participating, however vacuous, I might find some grace and be touched by the Holy Spirit.  Witnessing my family’s worship, during these empty times, I wonder why I can’t feel God’s presence as they do.  Sometimes when my spirituality feels particularly bankrupt I find comfort in just holding my granddaughter in church.  She is certainly closer to God and just that simple act brings me a measure of peace (God’s peace?). 

Some days my prayer is just this:  God, please help me!  And there are times when that’s all I’ve got…

Peace,

Denis

Riding Bicycles

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Remember when your bicycle was your only mode of transportation?  When I was a kid my friend Alan and I would ride just about everywhere – pavement was optional. And our bikes weren’t mountain bikes with 18 gears and European traction.  They were Schwinn’s or Huffy’s with big fat tires and fenders and baskets in the front to accommodate our paper route jobs.  Later we graduated to “Banana Bikes” with the crazy handle bars and “banana seats”.  We would ride to school.  We would ride to our friends’ houses.  We would ride to the neighborhood stores.  We would ride to the park or swimming pool.  Having a bicycle meant freedom and we relished it!  At about 13 years old we road our bikes across two river ferries to a State Park in a neighboring state – to my knowledge our parents still don’t know about this.  My point: if we could get somewhere on two wheels – we would go there!  We didn’t need to ask for a ride (in a car) and we often didn’t ask permission to go beyond our normal boundaries (see State Park trip above).  We just rode our bikes.

Now I know that those were simpler times and maybe there weren’t as many child predators then (but I doubt it).  We grew up in a relatively small town and I suppose there was a certain amount of naïveté that came along with small town life – bad things only happened in the BIG CITY.  We were safe.  The only thing we had to worry about was getting home before dinner or dark – whichever came first.

Recently my wife and I bought bicycles.  We thought it would be healthy and fun!  We bought BIG cruisers with BIG seats and BIG tires.  Debbie’s bike even has a bell, like the one she had as a girl.  Apparently these bikes are made for “people our age” as the snotty-nosed punk at the bicycle shop pointed out.  Incidentally, I think that kid was high.  

Anyway, you know how they say “it’s just like riding a bicycle; you never forget”?  Well I’d like to know who in hell said that and how they know, because I seem to have forgotten a lot about riding bikes.  For instance:  I don’t remember my thighs burning after a 3 mile bike ride.  I also have apparently forgotten that you pant like a dog and sweat like a pig just cruising through your subdivision.  I also don’t remember my butt being sore from a short trip to the Qwiki-Mart down the street.  And I certainly don’t recall ever having to soak in a tub after a FUN BIKE RIDE.  Oh, my! 

God certainly has a sense of humor.  Why else would he let middle-aged people think that they should ‘start’ riding bicycles again after a 40 year hiatus?  Come to think of it – calling ourselves middle-aged is pretty funny, too – unless I live to be 110 years old.  And that’s not too likely if I keep riding my bicycle!  I need to quit writing now and go ice something.   Happy Trails.

Peace,

Denis

Uncle Ted

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July 21, 2010 marks the one-year anniversary of my Uncle Ted’s death. I loved him and he loved me – of that I am certain. Ted was my uncle by marriage but he was much more than that.  He was my friend; my confidant; my role model. 

Uncle Ted and Aunt Sha shared a true love story – and she followed him in death less than two months later. It was always hard to imagine what life for one would be without the other, so I guess God’s blessing was that they didn’t spend much time apart. I like to think that Uncle Ted was just getting things ready for Aunt Sha’s arrival – making certain things were ‘just so’ – everything to her liking. That was what he did for her here on earth – why not in heaven, too? 

When his pastor eulogized him, I was especially touched when he said, “Ted loved his Church”. Those words struck a chord in me because it was such a simple statement but so true. He did love his Church – he loved each of the members.  I was always pleased and proud to worship with him at First Baptist Church in Benton, Kentucky. And he witnessed to me in so many ways:  he showed me that a real man does not need to be ashamed to profess his love for Jesus. We prayed together, we celebrated life’s joys together and he comforted me in times of despair.  He always listened to me and took care to offer encouragement or counsel as needed. He NEVER questioned God’s plan for us and accepted each day as a gift from God to be cherished.  I’m learning to do the same. I often used to pray “Oh, God this time let’s try it my way!” but Uncle Ted taught me the folly and vanity of that prayer.  Now I pray that the Holy Spirit will give me the strength to accept life’s challenges and I’m learning to praise God for each day. 

I’m Catholic and Uncle Ted was a devout Southern Baptist. It didn’t matter. We looked for the commonalities and didn’t focus on the things that were divisive. My Catholic upbringing was very different from Uncle Ted’s Southern Baptist tradition but we rarely disagreed on faith. I learned so much from him and I think I taught him some things, too. My Church believes that we are saved by Baptism and we believe in the Trinity, the Sacred Scripture and life-everlasting, as does his.  I know that most of the ritual in my Church is non-essential, but it was the way I was raised and I find comfort in those traditions. Uncle Ted and I understood that the fact that we are both Christian was the most important thing. I will always treasure the times that I sat next to him in the Church that he loved so dearly. And I am proud too that he joined me on occasion at my Church. Uncle Ted and I both knew that God is neither Catholic nor Baptist.  God’s ways are not man’s ways. 

I still miss him everyday. I miss his advice and his sense of humor. I miss the sound of his voice.  And I have to admit that there are times when I still talk to him (in my head). Uncle Ted knew more about my kids; my job; my life than my own parents. Every so often he would call just to check in and I was always better after our conversations. If an e-mail that I sent or phone message that I left sounded disconcerting, he would call immediately. And I know that he was proud of me and the life that Debbie and I have built. I believe he loved our kids as much as his own grandchildren. Our trips to Kentucky will always be some of the best memories we share as a family.

Uncle Ted witnessed to my family and me in everything that he did. I will always think of him with these words attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “Preach the Gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.” 

Peace,

Denis

Matriarchs

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Ever since our recent family reunion I’ve been thinking about my dad and my grandparents and great aunts and great uncles.  My dad’s generation of Wilhelms was all-male – he had two brothers and three male cousins – no girls.

My dad is a big guy and has a big personality and is from a generation of men that think “men are in charge” (or should be).  What’s interesting to me is that in this male-dominated Wilhelm family, in my opinion, the strongest Wilhelms were the matriarchs.

From my earliest childhood memories, my grandmother Kyra worked outside the home as a nurses’ aid.  In the 1950’s and 1960’s, while other grandmas were at home rocking babies and baking cookies, mine was at the hospital taking temperatures, dispensing medications and changing bed pans.  The stories of my great-grandmother Elizabeth are legendary:  Coming to this country alone at thirteen from Germany; marrying one brother and then another, after the first died after only nine months of marriage; then raising her young family alone after her second husband (my great-grandfather) died.  She was tough, stubborn and a force to be reckoned with. And my great-great-grandmother Mary apparently converted the entire family to Catholicism back when women had no say in such matters.

Then there were “The Aunts”.  My three great aunts (my grandfather’s sisters) were never married.  Aunt Marie, Aunt (Wilhelmina) Minnie, and Aunt (Elizabeth) Liddy would have been called old maids back in the day.  They lived together in the family home that became the base of operations for all Wilhelm family gatherings.  I’ve heard stories that Aunt Minnie was once (almost) engaged but I don’t know if that’s true and it doesn’t matter because she remained devoted to her sisters and the entire Wilhelm clan.  In some ways growing up with the Aunts was like having three more grandmothers – maybe even better than that.  They balanced and complemented one another.  Where Aunt Liddy was more nurturing – she rocked the babies and sang lullabies, Aunt Marie was more artistic and willing to let us “mess in the kitchen” with her.  She made great play dough (not to be confused with Play-Doh®) and would let us play with it for hours.  And she would burn cinnamon in an old German ceramic “house-shaped” contraption – it was magical!  Aunt Minnie was my Godmother and my favorite.  I can still feel her gentle hand on my shoulder and smell her perfume.  She was a business woman – the County Nurse’s secretary.  And she was well-respected in our hometown.  I remember walking downtown with her many times and people would greet her very politely as “Miss Wilhelm”.  I was always so proud to be with my Aunt Min!

I’ve often thought about all the things that they did for each of us – especially my generation of 24 great nieces and nephews.  Each birthday Aunt Liddy would call to find out what kind of birthday cake we wanted – and she would make it exactly to our order!  Each Easter meant an Easter egg hunt at their house and after each family left, the Aunts would re-hide the eggs for the next nephew’s family (I learned about the re-hiding of the eggs many years later).  Christmas would mean cookies that arrived from some cousin in Germany and although we didn’t care for them then, it breaks my heart now to know that the Aunts would share their treasure with us.  Christmas also meant packages wrapped in white tissue paper – always wrapped the same way each year.  The gifts were simple (and practical) but even as a kid I loved receiving socks or a shirt knowing that the Aunts had bought it just for me.

As kids, we Wilhelms, might have taken the Aunts for granted.  Didn’t everybody have three extra grandmothers?  But looking back I cherish what they meant to us and I honor their memories by visiting their graves ocassionally.  This is something that Aunt Minnie and I would do together – we would go to the Wilhelm burial plots in St. Peter’s Cemetery and pull weeds and place flowers at the graves of the ancestors that I never knew.  So now when I go to ‘visit the Aunts’ I thank them for instilling in me a love of family.  And pride in being a Wilhelm.  Even if I am only a male.

Peace,

Denis

Family Reunion (Skinny legs and all)

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Last Saturday the Wilhelms had a Family Reunion.  This came about because my cousin Colleen who lives most of the year in Thailand was in the States for a few weeks.  She and her sister Lynnette were going to be in town for a couple of days and asked if any of us could maybe meet for dinner.  Because of the resourcefulness of my cousin Keith a family reunion was pulled together on very short notice.  So what was originally going to be dinner with a few of us became a reunion for all of us.  What a treat for those of us that could attend!

Cousin Colleen and granddaughter Anna

Our family is relatively small and many of us still live within 20 miles or so of the original “Family Home” and yet to my knowledge this was the first-ever Wilhelm Family Reunion.  I think it was pretty standard reunion stuff – we gathered at a local park and shared a meal and good memories.  We were able to meet (or re-introduce ourselves) to spouses and children and grandchildren.  Because the event was planned pretty hastily there were some family members that couldn’t join us.  But there’s good news:  we’re already planning another reunion for October 2011.

What struck me on Saturday was the feeling of belonging.  We all share this common ancestry that is neither good nor bad or remarkable or dreadful.  We’re just a bunch of regular people that happen to be related to one another and yet it was wonderful to be together and feel connectivity.  Maybe for people that have frequent family reunions this is not that impressive but for me it was the first time that this many Wilhelms got together for something other than a funeral. 

We shared stories.  We reminisced.  We looked back at the past by remembering grandparents and into the future by watching our children and grandchildren interact on one hot summer afternoon.  And it was nice – it was more than nice.  It was family.

My cousin Diane felt it was necessary to summon me to stand with her and several other cousins to compare our skinny legs (for the record mine are lean and muscular).  She pointed out to everyone’s amusement that we had our Great Aunt Marie’s legs.  Who knew that genetics could play such dirty tricks?  I guess I never realized that I had inherited Aunt Marie’s “Olive Oyle-esque” legs.  Talk about a birthright!  What’s completely unfair to me is that I also inherited the Wilhelm nose – those cousins that share this trait can also feel my pain.  Why couldn’t I have inherited my grandmother’s artistic ability?  But instead, I got the LEGS and the NOSE.  I’m just thankful that my wife has improved the gene pool for my kids and grandkids.

Today I’m also thanking God for all the Wilhelms – the ones that were with us on Saturday and the ones that couldn’t be there for whatever the reason.  I’d like to think that there were some happy Wilhelms in heaven looking down on our gathering, too.  They will always be with us in spirit.  Thanks for the memories.  And thanks for the legs Aunt Marie!

Peace,

Denis

Nostalgia

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We lived in Mequon, Wisconsin for 10 years. Recently while visiting friends there, I had an opportunity to walk to our old house. I visited with our former next door neighbor and got caught up on kids and grandkids and what the new neighbors are like – actually there have been a couple of sets of neighbors since we left but that’s another story. 

No one was home at our old place so I walked through the yard and it felt strange and wonderful. I realized then how much I miss that place and that time. Of course there’s no going back but the memories are nice. Our kids were in grade school when we moved there and this fall our oldest granddaughter begins kindergarten and time keeps marching on. Blink of an eye – yesterday and today. Walking across the lawn took me back to a time when our kids were at home and there were backyard ballgames; sleep-overs with their friends; bonfires; dinner table discussions (and debates); cub scout den meetings; graduation parties; first dates; etc., etc.

It’s funny how most memories are a little fuzzy; especially the good ones. Maybe it’s the fuzziness that makes them good. In my happy memories of Westfield Road, the house is always clean and supper is on the table. The kids are well-behaved and we all live in peace and harmony. No one ever has hurt feelings; the bills are all paid and life is care-free. That’s mostly true. Well it was sometimes true. BUT the good times there were good and that’s what I choose to remember. We had a good life. And we could not ask for more. There was love and laughter and that made up for “the not so good stuff” that we sometimes had to deal with.

Mequon was an interesting place to live. It is a very affluent suburb of Milwaukee. We bought the last affordable house – we affectionately referred to our place as the ‘little house in Mequon’. That way everyone from Mequon that we encountered at church or school or the local market would know at first meeting that we were not normal Mequonites. Most folks were CEO’s or CFO’s or COO’s of the companies that they worked for; if they didn’t own the businesses outright. You couldn’t ‘swing a cat’ in Mequon without hitting a doctor (mostly specialists), a lawyer, or a local news celebrity or sports star. Let’s just say: we were out of our league.

And yet somehow we fit in. Our kids made great friends (although I suspect some of their parents were a little leery about dropping their kids off at our place initially – no three or four car garage; no swimming pool; no tennis court; not even a paved driveway). We found a great place to worship. We found fabulous schools. And a funny thing happened along the way – we found out that we weren’t so different from most of the people that we came to know. Our daughter’s best friend is someone she met her first day of school there and I suspect that they will remain friends for life. We also learned that being rich isn’t always about having money. Some of the saddest people that we met were some of the wealthiest. Everyone knows that “money can’t buy happiness” but somehow you just think it should at least prevent heartbreak – but it can’t.

We learned pretty quickly that people that who judge you by where you work or how much money you make or what university your child attends aren’t really worth knowing. And we found wonderful life-long friends that have accepted us for what (and who) we are. So we may have been poor by Mequon standards but we were always blessed abundantly by God with family, friends, a good home and lots of love.

Please forgive my nostalgia but sometimes we all need to look backwards to face the future. And of course I realize today that we are still blessed abundantly and will continue to be…

Peace,

Denis

The Canoeing Incident

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Last week we went canoeing on the Fox River in Wisconsin. Turns out we went canoeing IN the Fox River. This should have been the easiest canoeing trip ever (and in lots of ways it was) but still we managed to tip our canoe over and “become one with the river”. Now my wife will tell you this is my entire fault but it takes two to canoe (or two to canoe badly as the case may be). I’ve been canoeing 3 or 4 times in my life and 2 of those times have been with Debbie and both times we’ve ended up in the water – so our record is 2 for 2. Never turned a canoe over without Deb in it – I’m just sayin’…

We were with our friends Sue and Jeff and fortunately for Sue we provided plenty of opportunity for her to flex her laugh muscles. Sue assures us that the guffaws did not begin until after she knew that we were safe – or that Debbie was safe – she never actually mentioned my safety…hmmm? So depending on who is telling the story, here’s how it went down (no pun intended):

Debbie’s version: We were effortlessly skimming along the river when, all of a sudden, Denis shirked his responsibilities as co-captain and allowed the canoe to head directly toward the shore. He carelessly ignored my warnings and we crashed into the stony river bank. The jolt of our unexpected landing sent shockwaves several miles down the Fox River. Of course because we slammed into the bank, the canoe capsized and we narrowly escaped with our lives. It’s only because of my valiant efforts that we managed to survive the entire debacle at all.

Sue’s version: I was taking a break from paddling and was therefore able to witness the entire accident. Debbie and Denis apparently had gotten caught in an eddy in the river when strong winds slammed their canoe into the embankment. I screamed (this was later mistaken for laughter but I WOULD NEVER LAUGH AT MY FRIENDS’ MISFORTURE). I paddled our canoe to them and single-handedly saved them (I think Jeff may have been asleep). It’s only because of my valiant efforts that they managed to survive the entire debacle at all.

Jeff’s version: I warned Debbie and Denis to be careful! That river can be treacherous –it’s outdoors and everything! I was startled awake by Sue’s laughing (I had dosed off due to a sugar-crash from the previous day’s tour of fifteen bakeries in Southeastern Wisconsin and was having a glorious pastry dream). When I came to I noticed that Debbie and Denis were both in the water and that their canoe had filled with water. It’s only because of my valiant efforts that they managed to survive the entire debacle at all.

My version (AKA – THE TRUTH): I was watching a couple of dragonflies mating and sort of lost track of where we were in the river. Debbie yelled that we were going to “HIT THE BANK”! I asked her to remain calm (this didn’t happen). Of course when we nudged the river bank Debbie’s flailing arms caused such a wake that we capsized. I thought that the cool water actually felt pretty good. I don’t mean to brag but I did SAVE DEBBIE’S LIFE. It’s only because of my valiant efforts that we managed to survive the entire debacle at all.

I guess it’s true what they say, “Whatever ends well, something.., something…” Anyway, we’re back home now and dry. So today I’m thanking God for good friends, good times, and memories that will last a lifetime.  And that’s THE REAL TRUTH.

Peace,

Denis

Fireworks or why I turn into ‘Mr. Wilson’ on the 4th of July

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I actually like fireworks.  I like the big fireworks displays at the local parks and festivals.  What I don’t like (hate) are the subdivision fireworks displays that make me feel as if I’m living in a war zone.  I hate all the little hooligans that live in (and around) our usually quiet little subdivision that feel the need to “light up the sky” for several days before AND after the actual 4th of July – did I mention that this is mostly illegal?  Go to the park you punks; you’ll save money (or your stupid parents will) and you won’t annoy me!  Is that too much to ask?

Debbie tells me what she hates about the 4th of July is that EVERY YEAR I turn into Mr. Wilson – “Dennis The Menace’s” cantankerous old neighbor.  Well, I have a mind to tell her a thing or two…  She won’t even yell at kids when they “cut through” our yard.  If things were left up to her we’d all be living in a state of chaos!  Somebody has to take a stand – this year I may sit in my yard with my garden hose on ‘power spray’.  That’ll teach ‘em!

Anyway, I think that perhaps in the past I may have overreacted but this year I’m really trying to exercise some self control.  Here’s my current plan:

I WILL LEAVE HOME

I figure if I stay away most of the weekend then afterwards I’ll only have to deal with the clean-up.  I won’t have to hear the dogs yapping every time another little darling shoots off yet another firecracker or M-80.  I won’t have to endure Debbie rolling her eyes every time I groan or curse.  And I won’t have to stay indoors the entire weekend for fear of shrapnel or falling debris.

Now I may be exaggerating a little (perhaps it’s due to the bad ‘Sparkler” burn I suffered as a kid. Those things can do some damage when you get one caught between your flip-flop and a barefoot – stupid sparklers!)  And maybe the kids in the neighborhood are just having fun – “remember fun?” Debbie sneers, as she rolls her eyes again.  “Yes”, I tell her “remember sanity?” “I’m trying to hold on to mine!” 

So this year I am going to embrace a détente.  This year I will celebrate Independence Day in a new way.  Freedom from neighborhood fireworks!  But I’ll still be cursing when I’m sweeping up on the 5th  on my return!

The Lord’s Prayer says “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us”.  So while I’m struggling to forgive the little neighborhood hoodlums for destroying my peace and quiet, I hope God will forgive me for turning into ‘Mr. Wilson’ yet again.

Peace,

Denis

Anticipation

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Our son Tyson will be stationed at Kusan Air Base in Korea for one year beginning in December 2010.  This is considered a “hardship” tour, which means he has already been given his follow-on assignment (where he’ll be headed after Korea).  The good news: He will be stationed at Scott Air Force Base in January 2012 which is only about one hour from where we live.

So now we can look forward to having Tyson close by.  He enlisted in the Air Force in 1996 and he has lived on or near the following Air Force bases: Lackland (Texas), Keesler (Mississipppi), Vandenberg (California), Tyndall (Florida), Ramstein (Germany), plus two deployments to Iraq, and now Kusan (Korea) and finally Scott (Illinois).  After what will be 15-1/2 years of service he will finally be home (or practically home).  We have the next 18 months to anticipate his homecoming!  It’s hard to believe that he has been in the Air Force now for 14 years and so I hope that the next 18 months flies by for him.  But I don’t really want to wish his life away…

Praying that Scott Air Force Base would be his follow-on assignment seemed too selfish so my prayers were that he would be sent somewhere that would improve his life and his career and if that happened to be Scott it wouldn’t be such a bad thing!  Now that we know for certain that he will be close-by the anticipation is that much greater. 

It’s strange when wishing and hoping and praying are suddenly replaced by dreaming and planning and envisioning.  I’m looking forward to simple things with Tyson – taking in an occasional Cardinals baseball game, having Sunday dinner together, just hanging out.  Of course there are the important things, too – having him near his daughter again (they’ve been separated for almost a year now), having him home for all the holidays, him not having to miss out on weddings, funerals, graduations, etc., and finally being able to buy or build a permanent home.

So we will wait in joyful anticipation.  But I’m not a good ‘waiter’.  Patience is not my strong-suit and I want him home now.  Today!  But who knows what great experiences he will encounter in the next 18 months?  Living and working in Korea alone is an opportunity not afforded to most of us.  It will undoubtedly benefit him both personally and professionally.  

So one prayer is answered and a new one begins:  “God please help me be patient!”

Peace,
Denis

I WENT TO CHINA AND ALL I GOT WAS JET-LAG

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I’m certain there must be T-shirts with that emblazoned on them.  The truth is that I went to China and didn’t get much more than jet-lag but I did manage to bring back a few trinkets.  Plus I now have some limited knowledge of a country that I had never visited. 

My trip began badly – never a good sign.  I was supposed to be on my way to Shanghai last Monday but flights to Chicago (my connection) were cancelled due to weather.  This was puzzling because it was beautiful here and according to friends in Chicago the weather was fine there, too.  So my trip was delayed by one day and what I had hoped to have five days to accomplish was squeezed into four.  I arrived in Shanghai on Wednesday afternoon, traveled to Shenzhen (Southern China) on Thursday evening, back to Shanghai Friday night, and then left for home on Saturday.  In between I toured three factories.  World travel – how glamorous! 

I’m not really complaining (well maybe a little) because I’ve wanted to make this trip for years. 

Here’s what I found: 

The city of Shanghai is beautiful.  Everyone that I encountered was gracious and very hospitable.  Hotels are clean and modern and the food was fantastic.  Most of the buildings in Shanghai are new.  The architecture is stunning.  There is lots green space – all new structures are required to incorporate at least 30% of their development to gardens, landscaping, etc.  The freeway system is fast and efficient.  The airports are very modern and well equipped.  Workers seem generally happy and the standard of living has increased exponentially in the last several years.  And the quality of the product that we manufacture in China surpasses what we are able to produce domestically.  Plus shopping is fun and friendly. And bartering makes it at least feel like you are getting some great deals.

On the other hand, in Shanghai there are 22 million people that all seem to want to be first in line.  Personal space is not a concept that they have embraced – in a culture where everyone lives in such close proximity, it is completely acceptable to cough or sneeze in another person’s face.  Stop lights and stops signs are merely a suggestion – motorists just drive as if no one else is on the road.  Pedestrians have no right-of-way!  Peeing on the street is not frowned upon (I thought this only occurred on Bourbon Street in New Orleans).  Chairman Mao is on their currency.  Factory workers generally will not make eye contact with foreigners and then they will salute you as you leave their plant (I found this particularly unsettling). 

This trip, as most international travel does, made me keenly aware of how big this world truly is and how insular my life has become.  I have always considered myself to be adventurous and open-minded but the truth is: I like my life; my stuff; my way.  I like routine.  I need familiarity.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t like to travel and try new things.  It just means I need to get “home” and hold on to the ones that I love.  Nothing felt better than being with my family at Mass on Sunday morning and holding my granddaughter.  I guess that’s why Mass on Sunday is important to me.  It’s mine.  It’s my family’s.  It’s our time together with our God.

So after my whirlwind trip I’m back in my office today and suffering from jet-lag and oddly (sort of) missing China – at least the little bit of China that I now know.  I expect to return in a few months for more product review and plant tours and maybe a trip to Hong Kong.  Until then I’ll try to read more about China and become better prepared for when East meets West.  And I will look forward once again to “coming home”.

Peace,

Denis