© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag
Floor Furnace
In the fall of 2009, I was in the middle of a divorce. My 4.5-year marriage had been failing for longer than it had worked. It became apparent to me that this relationship wasn’t what I needed. A friend of mine owned a small rental house that was empty. She lent me the key so I could have a place to go to get away from my soon-to-be-ex-husband and the house we owned while the legal system caught up with what my heart already knew – that the relationship was over.
This is very much like the floor furnace I describe in my blog. Unfortunately, I do not have a photo of that actual floor furnace to share. (image obtained from Pinterest)
This rental house, a small 2-bedroom, 1-bath bungalow, had a floor furnace in the dining room that heated the house. That floor furnace would become my touchstone over the next year.
It is where I sat when I called my mom and told her I was divorcing my husband.
It is where, wrapped in a blanket, I sat and cried about the loss of the life I had known and tried to figure out what I wanted to do next.
It is where I stood each winter morning in my robe to warm myself after I moved into the bungalow and finalized my divorce.
It is where I conducted many hours of conversations with my very patient girlfriends as they helped me navigate the emotional labor of ending a marriage and moving forward with my life.
Its creaks and clicks became the soundtrack of my life while I surveyed the world and planned my next steps as a single woman.
Like a light bulb to a new-born chick, it provided me with physical warmth during an emotionally trying and cold period in my life.
In January 2011, I left the floor furnace and moved out of that bungalow, headed on a northern migration. I had that furnace for just one year, but that was all I needed. I had developed a plan forward and it was time to move on, much like the chick that outgrows its need for warmth from the light bulb.
There are times when we will realize the smallest thing did so much for us – a moment of understanding silence, a book that touched us deeply, a hot cup of tea at just the right time. These are the simple things that make the hard times in life bearable. While things and moments are fleeting, their impact on us lasts a lifetime.
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine HaslagGold Stars
A gratitude practice became a part of my life a handful of years ago. At the time I started this practice all I could see was everything that was “wrong” in the world. I was wasting so much energy on what didn’t appear to be “right” and was looking for a way to shift that energy into something productive. Someone suggested that I cultivate a gratitude practice to shift my attitude and view of life. They challenged me to see the flowers on the wallpaper rather than focus on the cracks in the plaster.
I am a researcher, so I started this work by reading a few books on gratitude (365 Thank Yous: The Year a Simple Act of Daily Gratitude Changed My Life and The Gratitude Diaries are two books I recommend on the subject). This led me to add some basic gratitude practices to my life. I started sending thank you notes on a regular basis to my friends and family (the Dollar Store has a good selection of Thank You cards that work perfectly for this). I sent thank-you notes for gifts, phone calls, kind words, friendship, and just to let others know that I thought they were awesome. I also wrote a few things I was thankful for each day in my journal. This helped me to spend time acknowledging the good things present in my everyday life.
As time went on, I started to see all the things there are to be thankful for, even on the crappiest of days. The hot cup of tea in the morning, the car that starts without issue, a clear, star-filled night sky, indoor plumbing on the coldest days during the Minnesota winter. I discovered that there is ALWAYS something to be thankful for and nothing was too small for gratitude. Over time, I realized it was the little things that could get me through the hardest of days.
My gratitude practice has grown over time. Early in the pandemic, a good friend of mine and I started ending our conversations by sharing “good things” in our lives. Hearing what she is thankful for has helped expand my view of all the things available to be grateful for in the world.
About halfway through lockdown in 2020, I decided to add something else tangible to my gratitude practice, so I brought the gold star back into my life. This was a simple, visible, and slightly quirky way for me to show gratitude to myself and those around me. It was also a way to spread a little childhood joy in the grind of adulthood.
Many of us may be most familiar with the use of gold stars in the classroom. Gold stars would come to us on the top of an assignment we completed well, on a chart posted in the front of the classroom for good behavior, or in a loose form so we could put it on the front of our notebook or wear it on our shirt and show everyone how awesome we are. As a child, we loved to get those gold stars. It told us we had done something good and someone noticed our efforts and work. It was gratitude in a tangible form.
The gold star provided me with something visible to brighten up the day and restore some innocence to the challenges of 2020. I started sending gold star emojis and animations to friends via text for a job well done. I found some puffy gold stars at JoAnn’s and used them to decorate the inside of thank you cards. I ordered gold star stickers to share and included a sheet of them for each person in every family to whom I sent Christmas cards. It was fun sharing this simple joy. I wanted others to know that I saw them, I saw the good they were doing, and I thought they were awesome. Some of my family and friends commented on how the gold stars made their day. They too were taken back to the joys of receiving a gold star from their teacher for a job well done. I hope they shared their gold stars with others and kept spreading the gratitude. I have decided to keep a supply of gold stars on hand and bestow them to people on a regular basis as a way to say “thank you.”
There is an old story told by many indigenous tribes in North America that talks of a grandfather telling his grandson that there are two wolves fighting inside each of us. One wolf is evil and one wolf is good. The grandson asked his grandfather which wolf will win this battle. The grandfather said, “The one that you feed.”
I chose to feed the good wolf with gratitude and it was so simple to do. It can be shared through a symbol like a gold star or a thank you note, but it can also appear in less tangible forms: a pat on the back, saying thank you, or a kind smile to a stranger while shopping. There is no limit to gratitude. It never runs out and it costs us nothing to share.
© Catherine HaslagMemorex
When I was 12, I was given a boom box for Christmas. I had always loved music and this was a tool to access the musical world. The boombox had an AM/FM radio, cassette tape deck, and a CD player component on it. My favorite feature of this gift was the ability to record songs from the radio onto a blank cassette tape. At that time, the only way to listen to music on demand was to own a recording of it on cassette or CD. The cheapest, but by far not the easiest, way to possess a recording of your favorite song was to record it off the radio. I had many mixtapes of my favorite songs for my efforts.
One of the blank cassette tapes I used to collect my favorite songs from the radio.
The quest to capture my favorite music from the radio took time and planning. I ALWAYS had a blank tape cued up in my cassette deck when I listened to the radio so I was prepared to press record when the latest Counting Crows or Bush song came on. I might spend weeks trying to get a song. Sometimes I couldn’t get to the record button fast enough to catch the start of the music. Other times I turned on my boom box only to find that a song I had been trying to record for weeks was in progress and I was just moments too late to capture it. I hunted for songs like a lepidopterist chases butterflies. DJs would sometimes talk through the intro or end of a song, so many of my radio recordings have the sound of DJ sprinkled in. I think DJs did this just to torture those of us trying to record from the radio.
When a cassette was full, I would listen to the songs over and over. I could rewind, pause, stop, and start at any point in the music I wanted. It was an amazing feeling to have built my own mixtape of sounds I loved. It was equally incredible that those cassettes survived the constant use of a teenage girl.
Now, we have almost any song we desire at our fingertips in an instant. When I was a teenager, I listened to the radio for hours a day. Now, I rarely listen to the radio. Spotify, Amazon, and my collection of MP3 music files are my go-to when I need to hear a beat. My boom box no longer has a blank cassette ready to record. Mixtapes have been replaced by playlists.
I still vividly remember most of the songs I captured from the radio on my mixtapes. I have created a 90’s Mix Tape Spotify Playlist so that I can reminisce about those times whenever I want.
When you listen to it, I hope you also hear a teenage girl lunge across her bedroom to hit record.
© Catherine HaslagWhat I Didn’t Know
May 25, 2020
I didn’t watch the full video. 8 minutes and 46 seconds. I saw parts of it, but not the whole tape. I can’t watch the video of George Floyd dying, of anyone dying.
I had the privilege of sitting with my feelings on this for a while. To learn more. To take it all in. I began reading. Looking. Researching for anything I could find.
I found a mountain of information. Podcasts. Books. Videos. Theses. Documentaries. Journal articles. Newspaper pieces. Magazine reports. Websites. There was no end to the documentation. What I could read, view, and listen to. New information to learn, to shatter my old misunderstanding, and develop a new, more accurate picture.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the deluge of resources I found, but I was. It was eye-opening. Once I started looking, learned so much about US history. More than in any class I took. Our history spells out the impact of racism and how far its tentacles stretched. Education, healthcare, housing, travel, restaurants, the GI Bill, voting rights, religion, policing, marriage, redistricting. There isn’t an area of life that isn’t affected by systemic racism. Every person in the United States has either benefited from or been disadvantaged by this disease.
There are many perspectives to history. The white perspective is the primary one told in this country because white is the dominant race, the dominant caste. There is a vast amount of US history that isn’t taught because it doesn’t paint white people in a positive light. This creates an incomplete and unfair narrative of our country, its history, and its people.
Redlining. Gerrymandering. Jim Crow. Segregation. Racial profiling. Stop and frisk. Voter ID. Poll taxes. Travel bans. Internment camps. Reservations. The war on drugs. All forms of racism make it harder for people of color to live their American dream. All efforts to keep the privilege in the hands of white people. White privilege. White power. White supremacy.
Equal rights have not been established. All lives don’t matter until all lives are treated like they matter. Black and brown lives don’t matter in the United States. Four hundred years of history demonstrates this. The evidence is there for anyone to see if one is open to seeing it.
I believe that the United States of America is a great country. I believe in the quest to form a more perfect union…more perfect union for ALL those who call the United States home. I also know that quest is a messy one. We are not a country of saints. Far, far from it. To paint this country as such is a lie and dooms us to repeat our sins of the past.
If you are open to learning about how systemic racism permeates our society, I encourage you to access the Google Docs link below. It is a file that contains the list of resources I found in my research on systemic racism. As I continue collecting resources, I will continue to update this document.
#SystemicRacism Resources Google Docs Link
These resources tell another side of US history, it’s not a pretty one but it’s true. My hope is that the research I have done will help open more eyes to the reality of our nation and those who are mistreated in it because of the color of their skin. My dream is that as we know the fuller story of US history we will break the ongoing cycle of systemic racism.
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine HaslagWhen Does My Life Course Catalog Arrive?
Photo of at my Master’s Degree Ceremony in 2005.
When I was in college, way back when Napster was king, Blockbuster was the go-to for movies, and AOL still mailed CDs, there was this thing called a course catalog. It was a book that colleges printed each year that contained every degree program and course the university offered. It was my bible for figuring out what classes to take each semester so I would finish my degree. It gave me direction through the maze of college. Each year I would pick up a new one from Carrington Hall and pour over it to determine which classes I needed to take not just for the next semester, but for my entire college career. I wanted to make sure I was taking the right classes this semester to set me up to take the right courses every following semester until graduation. It was my guide for 6 years for both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees.
Imagine my surprise when I graduated and entered the real world only to realize there is no course catalog for life. Nothing that explains what the next “right” thing to do is. No outline of the next 4 to 6 years. No clear description of prerequisites, options to choose from, or clear path of A to B will get me to C.
I am a planner. I have used many different planners to organize my life over the years, but none of them tell me what to do next. Do I stay with my current job or start looking for other options? How long do I stay in a relationship I am unsatisfied with before it’s time to end it? Is it still taboo to wear white shoes after Labor Day or can I keep wearing those cute white slingbacks until it snows?
Life is improvisation, learning as you go, and working with the information you have at the moment. Sometimes we succeed and sometimes we don’t. Each piece of life is a class with no syllabus, course description, or even a set semester. It took me a long time to realize that we don’t get a course catalog for life. Rather, we get to develop our own as we go.
© Catherine HaslagThe Seat of Our Democracy
Washington D.C. has a special place in my heart. I have visited this city 4 times in my life. The first was in 1992. I was 11. My grandpa paid for my plane ticket and I accompanied my mom on a business trip. He thought it was important for me to see the nation’s capitol. We visited the Smithsonian, the National Zoo, walked the mall, and rode the Metro. I love the DC Metro. The smell of the underground stations hasn’t changed since I first inhaled it nearly 30 years ago. Underground must, stone, urban vibe, with long notes of history.
Photo of a DC Metro Station in 2017.
I can feel that history when I walk the town. Retracing Lincoln’s steps from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to Capitol Hill. Running my fingers through the carved stone that lists those who died in the Vietnam war. Enjoying a drink at the Hawk and Dove where Bobby Kennedy supposedly decided to run for president (according to my mom’s friend Phil. I have found no documentation for this, but it’s a good story.) Watching July 4th fireworks from a grassy area near the Capitol Building and picturing the bombs and rocket’s red glare that the song describes.
The Lincoln Memorial in 2017.
I have stood in statuary hall and in the galleries of the house and senate. I met Senator Claire McCaskill of Missouri in the cafeteria of one of the Senate buildings (I can’t remember which one), had a photo taken with Senator Al Franken of Minnesota when I was in DC for AAUW Lobby Day, and met Representative Ike Skelton of Missouri when I was 17. He was my US House Representative then and took the time to step out of a committee meeting to speak with me and other youth who were visiting from his district. Kit Bond and John Ashcroft sent their college interns to talk to us, not having time to get to know people who weren’t old enough to vote for them. The energy of the Capitol Building and all the office buildings around it is intoxicating and magical and I was lucky enough to experience it.
The United States Capitol Building in 2017.
When I was in DC for the 4th of July in 2009, I was shocked to see how different the city was after 9-11. It was harder to tour the White House, Capitol Building, and Library of Congress. There was more security everywhere, and not just because of the upcoming holiday. It was obvious that most of the new fencing and other security measures had been in place for more than just a week or two. It was shocking to see a city at the center of our democracy so closed up.
This city is the seat of US history and democracy for me. The place that holds the rooms where it all happens in our democracy. The center of our work towards forming a more perfect union. When the Capitol Building was stormed on January 6, I was angry at the desecration. This anger gave way to deep sadness as I realized yet another level of openness would be lost from the insurrection. That while our democracy is still standing and the flag is still there, some of our innocence was also lost. That we are a divided, not United States of America.