Christmas 2009 in Arlington

Season's Greetings and Peace to all! We enjoyed a quiet Christmas together in our new home. Even though we are still dealing with unpacking boxes we managed to get a beautiful tree in Arlington. Selena did most of the decorating and she baked a lone batch of Christmas cookies. As part of our Christmas Eve tradition we each picked out a piece (of any kind) to perform or present. Here is the poem that I performed. I prefaced it by saying that one had to imagine that I was about 5 years old with pigtails wearing overalls.

"The Moo Cow Moo"

My papa held me up to the Moo Cow Moo

So close I could almost touch,

And I fed him a couple of times or so,

And I wasn't a fraid-cat, much.

But if papa goes in the house,

And my mama she goes in too,

I keep still like a little mouse

For the Moo Cow Moo might moo.

The Moo Cow's tail is a piece of rope

All raveled out where it grows,

And it's just like feeling a piece of soap

All over the Moo Cow's nose.

And the Moo Cow Moo has lots of fun

Just switching his tail about,

But if he opens his mouth, why then I run,

For that's where the Moo comes out.

The Moo Cow Moo has deers on his head,

And his eyes stick out of their place,

And the nose of the Moo Cow Moo is spread

All over the Moo Cow's face.

And his feet are nothing but fingernails,

And his mama don't keep them cut,

And he gives folks milk in water pails,

When he don't keep his handles shut.

But if you or I pull his handles, why

The Moo Cow Moo says it hurts,

but the hired man sits down close by

And squirts, and squirts, and squirts.

-Edmund Vance Cooke

When it was Xavier's turn he brought down his guitar, of course, and played a beautiful version of "O Holy Night". Loved it! Too bad I didn't get it on tape.

Selena presented a somber but beautiful poem by Wang Ping, a poet that she read and met in a class last spring:

"Tsunami Chant"

I'm not a singer, but please

let me sing of the peacemakers

on the streets and internet, your candles

in this darkest moment of night,

your bodies on the steps of government buildings,

your voices from the roots of grasses and trees,

from your pit of conscience.

I'm not a prayer, but please,

please give my voice to the children

in baghdad, Basra, Afghanistan,

and every other bombed-out place on earth,

your crying out in pain and fear;

please give my hands to the mothers

raking through rubble for food, bodies;

my sight to the cities and fields in smoke;

my tears to the men and women who are brought

home in bags; and please give my ears

to those who refuse to hear the explosions,

who tune only to censored news, official words.

I'm not a citizen, but please

count my vote against the belief

the that the american way is the only way,

count it against the blasphemy of freedom,

against a gang of thugs who donned crowns

on their own heads, who live for power,

and power only, whose only route is

to deceive and loot, whose mouths move

only to crus, whose hands close

only into a grave.

I'm not a worshiper, but please

accept my faith in those

who refuse to believe in painted lies,

refuse to join this chorus of supreme hypocrisy,

refuse to sell out, to let their conscience sleep,

wither, die. Please accept my faith

in those who cross the bridge for peace,

only to be cursed and spat upon, but keep crossing

anyway, every Wednesday, in rain and snow,

and my faith in those who camp out night after night,

your blood thawing the frozen ground,

your tents flowers of hope in this bleak age.

I don't posses a bomb, don't know

how to shoot or thrust a sword.

All I have is a broken voice,

a heart immense with sorrow.

But please, please take them,

let them be part of this tsunami

of chanting, this chant of awakening.

-Wang Ping

For dinner I pulled out a roast from the freezer. This summer I bought a whole beef from a woman in Pine City. She has goats and raises the calves on goat's milk! Well, the meat is superb and the broth is also very tasty. Anyway, our Christmas dinner was pulled together from things we had around the kitchen and the pantry. The down side to living out here is that you can't buy any good food in the supermarket!!! Uff-da! It's all Kemps, Gold'nPlump and Nabisco!

Keeping with Rodde tradition, Xavier and Selena gave a double ration of food to Mathias, the barn cat. The chickens also got extra greens and beef fat tonight. In the dead of winter chickens are always very happy to get anything! The dogs didn't get anything unusual because they are ALWAYS fed like princes anyway. I suppose I would give them some tripe if I had it. That would send them into ecstasy.

Well, we'll top this off with some photos of the evening.

Christmas morning from the living room window

On the farm

The past couple months have been a whirlwind of selling the house and buying our farm. The only word that comes to mind at the moment to describe that whole process is 'nightmare', but within the realm of possible realities everything went rather well. Ah, oh, except for the discovery of the crack in the chimney in our Ham lake home 2 days before closing, or the detection of carbon monoxide at the farm (from the old water softener) and some other annoyances. I could go on, but considering that the deal could have fallen through altogether we are just happy to be settled in our new home.We have a cozy little 1600 sq ft farm house (1925) with three bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The beauty of these 30 acres is the proximity of all of the outbuildings to the house and the number of buildings in excellent condition. The hoop barn has a new roof, has electricity and running water, and is big enough for a small homesteader such as myself. The pasture is set up with electric fencing and the 10 acres of woods is a short walk from the pasture. I'll be able to harvest wood for heating the house during the winter. The house has a dual heating system, one being the wood boiler and the other propane.

We live 7 minutes from Arlington and 4 minutes from Gaylord. Ironically, we are now closer to town living here in the country than we were to shopping areas in suburban Ham Lake where it would take us 10-15 minutes to get anywhere!

The above photo shows our farm from a distance. It looks rather bleak but we are tucked away in our wooded wind block. Our driveway is a quarter of a mile long (below) and I will have to plow this during the winter! I've already named the plow truck "ball and chain" and will undoubtably write some blogs on the subject in the near future.

We've had a recent snow covering but so far I haven't had to get out the Ball'nChain. When I bought the farm I purchased the owner's 1974 Ford truck with a snow plow on the front. It has chains on the tires and doesn't have any heat but it starts and runs good enough to push snow off of the driveway all winter.

Below is a photo of the chicken house which is located right next to the "tool shed". The chickens are already making themselves at home here and enjoying unhindered access to the pasture and grass.

The lights and heating lamps are all ready to go. My friend Jennifer gave me one of her young laying hens so I'll have some eggs this winter. The other old girls are not in the mood for producing eggs anymore. Hmmm... anyone for chicken soup!

We have become well acquainted with the resident barn cat, Mathias. He has access to the milk room from a small opening in the wall. He is very friendly and we are trying to figure out how to make him a house cat without making Jota a raving, lunatic beast! All we need for that is for Mathias to give him a clawed mouthful and I think our Dane will turn into a wimp.

"Anduvimos Como Los Hijos Que Perdieron signo y Palabra" (La generación de 1973) (*) por Soledad Bianchi

"Last week of freedom for 17 years. Santiago, Chile, Sept 73" by Marcelo Montecino**

I go through René's papers and things a little bit at a time. Two years after his death I am still reading old papers and finding things that I was unaware of when he was alive. Last night I read this article written by one of René's students when he was still a professor in Chile. Soledad Bianchi wrote this article in 1989. She is also a poet. My apologies to those of you who can't read Spanish and would like to read this article. It is about an idealistic generation of Chileans that hoped for so much with the election of Salvador Allende and the aftermath Pinochet's coup in 1973. It is the 36th anniversary of the coup.

En el mismo centro de la década del sesenta, en 1965, yo ingresaba a la universidad. Venía de un colegio particular, católico, de clase media acomodada, pero para continuar mis estudios de Profesora de Castellano había elegido la laica Universidad de Chile y su facultad más combativa y atrayente, el Pedagógico. Hacía sólo un año se había iniciado el gobierno de Eduardo Frei. Desde el Padagógico, la rebeldía, la protesta, la ampliación de mundo, la corrida de barreras mentales, más confianza en el porvenir, los paseos por sus jardines, el estudio, la reforma universitaria, la taza de té de Nicanor Parra con la señora Nixon, la guerra de Vietnam, la muerte del Ché, la Nueva Canción Chilena... Todavía allí, en el mismo Pedagógico, ahora como docente, participé en la elección del Presidente Allende en 1970. Me cuesta pensarme sola en esa época de proyectos colectivos, prolongada hasta que desde esos mismos patios miraríamos desolado el bombardeo de La Moneda, oyendo, impotentes, los rumores más feroces del golpe de estado.

Fin de una etapa y no sólo para mí, brutal cierre de un ciclo para nosotros, ciertos chilenos, algunos chilenos, muchos chilenos, que vivimos nuestra juventud impresa por la marca de la esperanza, del optimismo, de la creencia en un futuro mejor que estaba en nuestras manos variar. Rasgo propio de la juventud, podría pensarse, y tal vez lo sea, así como nuestra generosidad y entrega: queríamos, estábamos seguros y convencidos que lo mejor sería para todos, luchábamos -junto a otros- para que los cambios favorecieran a las mayorías, mucho más allá de nosotros. Quizá esta certeza absoluta era la base de la alegría, la confianza podría verse como el cimiento de cantos, de consignas gritadas a todo pulmón, de desfiles y marchas, de banderas. ¿Irresponsabilidad?, tal vez, pero preñada de amor, humor, desdén, y, ¡ay!, una buena dosis de sectarismo. Y, rápido, mucho color y sol nublándose ese martes 11 de septiembre 1973 cuando quedamos sujetándonos apenas con las uñas de las potentes rocas que nos habíamos negado a percibir en nuestras cercanías, apenas afirmados de ese terreno que se dezlizaba bajo nuestros pies.

Entre la fe ciega, la derrota y la añoranza, asi quedamos situados en un nuevo espacio, ahora ajeno y de otros, aun que obligadamente nuestro, también, a pesar de nuestra diferencia: jóvenes-viejos, ahora: aterrados, derrotados, vencidos y con el desconcierto del corte brutal, del fin abrupto, desconcertados ante este nuevo mundo donde hasta el lenguaje había variado. Obligados a simular indiferencia, constreñidos a olvidar con rapidez, a fingirnos otros sin pasado, con la intención de no olvidar proyectarnos, ¿a dónde, cómo, con qué, con quiénes?

Quince años más tarde, el viernes 7 de octubre de 1988, en medio de la alegría y el bullicio de grupos, entre multitudes, una mujer hierática no sigue la muchedumbre que ingresa al Parque O'Higgins. En sus manos, un cartel: "Humberto F., detenido-desaparecido, saluda el triunfo del NO": ¿cómo no identificarse con ella si cualquiera de nosotros podría haberla reemplazado como mujer, madre, hermana, pariente o amiga de detenido-desaparecido, cómo no reconocerse en ella si una mínima circunstancia podría haber variado el nombre del ausente por alguno de los nuestros? Sobrevivientes, débiles y fuertes, enteros y vacilantes, eso fuimos, eso somos, los que hablaron y los de silencio poderoso, ni héroes ni traidores ni monumentos sino mujeres y hombres rodeados de muertes, violencia, injusticia, exilio, cesantía, resentimiento, sospecha, censuras, desconfianza... y solidaridad. Ahora, más realista, quizá demasiado pragmáticos, no tan creyentes, menos militantes y ojalá menos sectarios, con la amargura de un mundo ido que como todo trayecto vital es imposible de recuperar, con afanes desmitificadores, pero sin olvidar. Y con el desgarro de esa mujer que festejaba el plebiscito desde su dolor, mirar hacia adelante y construir nuevas oportunidades sin negar ni negarnos, nosotros los veteranos del 73.

-Soledad Bianchi

Octubre de 1989

(*) Versos del poema "Cordillera" de Gabriela Mistral

Photograph from

1973, Chile Before and After the Military Coup

Xavier's performance online

As a winner of the Thursday Musical competition Xavier was invited to tape the Villa-Lobos piece for Baby Blue Arts.  If you want to see it online go to http://www.babybluearts.com/ and click on "search artists", then "alphabetical", then type in:  Jara, Xavier.  His is the Villa-Lobos, "Choros".  The Baby Blue Arts site is really cool as it features local artists of all kinds.

Also, I've heard from several friends who didn't get a chance to hear him on the radio when he performed as a the Schubert Club for MPR.  You can hear that here:  Schubert Club holds annual student competition.

A Day with (Great) Aunt Aldora

On Friday the kids and I took a short trip with my parents to visit my aunt Aldora in Wisconsin.   (No doubt from the photos you'll be able to guess that she is my mother's sister.)
                                             Byron, Alice, Xavier, Selena and Aldora Lee.

Xavier and Aldora.  Xavier brought his guitar and played his repertoire for us.  We had a unexpected surprise when Debby Lee came by and visited with us.




Aldora's room.  You might recognize her room from the familiar objects we all remembered from her homes in Rake and Osceola.  There were several incredibly beautiful quilts that she made.



I couldn't help put take a couple shots of the photos!  The kids were thoroughly embarassed...
                                                                Brian and Hanna.
We went to coffee hour and sang some old tunes.  Selena and Xavier had never heard of many of these songs that probably dated back to the 20's and 30's.  Mom and Aldora spent some time chatting instead of singing.

Camping near Chicago

We are on our way to Ithaca, NY for the annual GFA (Guitar Foundation of America) convention.  We found a campsite near Chicago where we set up the tent.  Xavi and I can get this done in less than 10 minutes.  I watched a neighbor RV contraption set up their camp and it took them twice as long!  Next stop:  Caryn and Al's place in Dayton, OH.

Selena finishes another year at ARCC

For Selena, Friday marked the end of another semester at Anoka Ramsey Community College (ARCC) and the last year with the PSEO program (Post Secondary Education Option). She has been taking classes for the last 2 years at ARCC and plans to finish her A.A. next year. After that, only she will know... She's had some interest in transferring to a college in Washington called Evergreen because they have an approach more suited to her unschooling background, but also because of the various programs in environmental studies. Please let me know if you are acquainted with other colleges or universities that are more "unschooly".

Some weeks ago I asked her if she was looking forward to the end of the semester and she replied that, "no, not really". This surprised me a LOT since my own experience as both student and teacher has shown the exact opposite. Most people are happy to get outta-there. Anyway, we've talked some about this and, in general, it's the stimulation of getting out and going to class that she likes and will miss during the summer. There are some things that she really enjoys about taking classes (listening to interesting lectures, reading some of the books and writing papers that she's interested in), and then there are other things that she won't miss (doing small group activities, reading textbooks, and doing book reports on online articles). These categories align with the kind of learner that she has always been; listen, read and write.

Well, school is out but learning continues. Selena has a summer reading list that includes "Don Quijote", "Love in the Time of Cholera (Garcia Marquez), and "House of the Spirits" (Isabel Allende). We'll also be starting Spanish on a daily basis, so maybe she'll be able to read these novels in Spanish someday. (When I was a student in Spain my initial goal was to be able to read "Cien Años de Soledad" in the language that it was written.) Also, she'll be studying for her driver's permit, which she can get without a blue card when she's 18, in August.

Well, that's my Selena! She doesn't always offer things that I can blog (brag!) about so I'm grateful that she allowed me to do so this morning and take her picture.

                                             Selena enjoys a good book with Skippy Lu.

Who are those cuties?

Thank you, Becky, for sharing this photo on your facebook!  Yes, it's Jimmy and Xavier (my nephew Jim) when they were about 4 years old.  It must have been Thanksgiving, 1997.