Susan E. Greisen's Blog, page 11
September 30, 2020
Mom’s Birthday
September 30th is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 97. Even though she has been gone over 6 years, her final few months are in etched my mind. Her declining cognitive state was accelerated with a fractured hip and she was ultimately placed in the hospice program.
When and how does forgiveness happen or reconciliation for that matter? If I could achieve it, how would I know when it was reached? I was tired of wasting my energy on anger and blame, yet forgiving my mom was the farthest thing from my mind at that time in my life. All of our past arguments and her blatant conditions of love seemed to stand in my way. Of course, I had to do my own personal work regarding my resentment that I harbored toward her throughout my life. You see, Mom and I never had a close relationship. It was strained and distant at best. (Below are segments of Part VIII and XI from my book.)
I won’t soon forget my welcome back to the farm after spending two years in Africa in the Peace Corps before continuing on one more year in Tonga . Mom’s criticism of her 21 year old daughter began to flow the day I walked off the plane. “What’s that you’re wearing? My, what is all that funny-looking jewelry?”
Her interrogation continued into the evening. She pestered me with more questions. “What happened to your hair? It looks a mess. God, you’ve gained weight. Why are you going back to the Peace Corps again? Didn’t you have enough?” Dad was silent. Disapproval and harsh judgments filled my homecoming. I fumbled with my responses but quickly realized I had changed and grown in those two years, and clearly they had not.”
As Mom aged and her dementia progressed, she was moved to an adult family home for total care. Gradually her defenses melted and her tongue lashing ceased. During one of my visits, in what I hoped was one of her lucid moments, she said something remarkable. My mom—who once told me at age seventeen that becoming a nurse would be the worst profession, who criticized my hair, my dress, my cooking, and my choices—cupped my face in her hands and said, “You are so beautiful. I love you and I am so proud you are a nurse.”
At age sixty-one, I never thought I’d hear those words. Prior to that day, Mom never told me she loved me or approved of my choices. Possibly she harbored those thoughts all along. Perhaps she felt safe expressing them only when she neared the end of her life and had nothing to lose. If my qualities and accomplishments were competition for something she never had, that meant little to her now. Her approval and love were the hopes I had been clinging to all along.
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As she lay on her death bed, I took her beautiful hand in mine. And for the first time I saw through the thin veil she wore all those years. I saw her as a child, a wife, and a mother who hadn’t receive the unconditional love and acceptance that she deserved her entire life. Only then could I say these words to her. “You are so beautiful, I love you, and I am proud you are my mother.”
I didn’t need to hear her say, “I’m sorry for all the horrible things I said. I wish I could have given you the love you deserved.” No, I would never hear those words from her mouth. Telling her “I forgive you,” out loud wasn’t necessary. At that moment, I looked into her eyes. I saw straight through to her soul. She was a mirror of myself. It was then I knew. Akin to knowing when you’re falling in love: it is a feeling, a surrender, an epiphany…the moment when the inner souls of two people meet.
Days from her final time on this earth, our two souls met. It was then I felt true and unadulterated forgiveness. In her semi-conscious state, I believed she felt it too. There was a peace and reconciliation between two needy souls that day.
Mom passed away peacefully and silently in July 2014.
September 14, 2020
Judged and Misunderstood
When bad things happen to young people, it’s often hard for them to shake that memory. Being judged and misunderstood was the cross I needed to bear from a very young age, even until today. I was certain I had reprogrammed those old tapes or that my calloused skin would shed judgmental comments or thoughts. But I was wrong.
(Susan age 8)
I have sold many copies of my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, since April 2020. I featured my rural Nebraskan childhood in the first few chapters and mailed several copies to my hometown friends. My curiosity went wild wondering what my classmates from grade school and high school would think about my story. 6-8 weeks had passed since they had received the books, but I had heard a favorable response from only one. What about the others?
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Finally Karen, (here at age 8) a grade school and high school friend texted me and asked if I could call her. My monster of being judged and misunderstood reared its ugly head. I was certain there was something about my lifestyle, how I wrote about my high school boyfriend, or that she found a gross inaccuracy somewhere in my book. Certainly she would have something to say about me not wanting to be a “farmer’s wife.” After all, that’s what she became after getting married shortly after high school.
After almost an hour on the phone chatting about the farm, the weather, the crops, the children, and grandchildren she said, “Oh, about the reason I wanted to talk to you…” My shoulders tensed. I grabbed the arms of my chair. She went on, “I want to order another autographed copy of your book.”
“For who?” I queried.
“For my granddaughter who is graduating from high school. She and my son are struggling in their relationship and I’m hoping that your message of forgiveness and unconditional love will help her.”
I stammered to say, “Oh… um, thank you so much for recommending my book to her.”
I told her that giving my book to a seventeen year old seemed surprising, particularly because of my unconventional lifestyle that I lived when I was close to her granddaughter’s age. Our conversation deepened and she explained that life is different now. “Kids know and talk so much more. People express their feelings,” she said.
I was told never to talk about my feelings. “Don’t hang out your dirty laundry for everyone to see,” Mom often said. We never talked about our family issues to others or even to best friends when we were young. So there was no surprise that Karen didn’t know all the family issues I had in my life through high school and she was sorry she had not known.
Karen admitted that my rejection of becoming a farmer’s wife did not bother her. She knew I would not be happy in that role nor did she want to follow my journey. She was pleased with her life and she was happy for me.
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What a wonderful acceptance from a lifelong friend. I can only hope that my old tapes running in my mind are getting worn and won’t play as often.
Here we are at our 40th high school reunion. Due to Covid -19 our 50th high school celebration was cancelled. Hoping for a trip back to Nebraska in 2021.
August 28, 2020
A Book that Keeps Giving
Those pink birds just keep coming. There seems to be no end…..
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My books keep selling, five months into Covid-19. I delivered most by hand in the first weeks, many by mail. Village Books and internet sales are continuing. But during one home delivery, Nancy S. gave me a head ornament of two pink-felted birds. How appropriate. Last week I received these glasses from my sister-in-law, Joan. OMG. But later that week I opened an envelope that left me in tears. Patti H. made me a custom Covid mask with pink flamingos on one side and images of loving healthcare workers on the other. I experienced a rare moment of speechlessness. Adding these to my other gifts of a stuffed pink flamingo and a set of flamingo wine glasses, all have become like lucky pennies that one finds on the street; people seem to be discovering these pink birds everywhere. They are certainly a metaphor in my book and hopefully you will find that too.
But then there were other gifts. Peace Corps friends found me after we lost touch over forty-five years ago. Through word-of-mouth, a new batch of colleagues and readers has emerged. Reconnecting has been very special. Our volunteer work and its meaning has not been forgotten, and I feel the surge of energy and urgency to save the Peace Corps for the future. More about that in a future blog.
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Ironically those birds were following me long before my publish date. Here I discovered a bachelorette party parading down the main street in Granada, Spain 2018.
Keep your eyes open for those pink birds. They are everywhere!
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Stay well and safe.
August 14, 2020
Unfettered Love – Part II
What is it about Africa that causes its visitors or temporary residents to fall so deeply in love with this continent? I hear it over and over again. The words of love echo from the first Peace Corps volunteers who landed in Liberia in 1962 to the newly returned volunteers in 2020 (post-civil war, post Ebola). I have heard it from the round-the-world travelers who spent time in Africa and said it was their favorite place on earth. Not until I wrote my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, did I actually understand it. May these excerpts guide you through my process.
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Part III, Chapter, Tragedy to Affection.
“In my first five months in Liberia, human birth and death were now a part of my life. The political future of the country was yet unknown. I witnessed the tenacity and strength of life juxtaposed with the fragility and fatefulness of loss that can be out of one’s control—so many hard lessons that can never be acquired from a textbook. Through these experiences I discovered my small village wanted me and cared about me. Zorgowee began to feel like home. I became a part of the Zor Clan, its people and the culture. To me and many who felt its love, Zorgowee became affectionately called Gowee. And so, from that time forward, Gowee was its name.”
Part V, Chapter, My Salvation.
“My self-inflicted despair seemed minuscule compared to the daily difficulties of the people in Gowee. The thin fragile line between life and death rarely seemed to affect the value of their precious existence. The villagers easily found happiness with rice in their belly and a roof over their head. Their resilience was remarkable. I had so much more to learn from my people in Gowee.”
Part V, Chapter, Diamonds and Near Death.
As the flames flickered, serenity overcame me. I sensed a connection to the hardworking villagers and their simple lifestyle. Their bond with nature and love of family resonated within me. It was that night my love for Liberia and its people grew deeper.”…..
…“Weeks after my recovery [from a deadly illness] I came to an ironic conclusion. Sitting around the fire with the villagers in Gorton was the day I fell so deeply in love with Liberia. That was the same day I came closest to my own death.”
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Part VII, Chapter, Difficult Choices.
“For two years the villagers of Gowee became my African family, especially Martha, Rita, and Clara, including Sami—the family who loved and accepted me the way I was. Our lives bonded when I ate rice with them by hand from one common bowl and when I held the baton of the tall devil. By the full moon I danced with my people to the sound of the talking drum...
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…I carried a baby on my back while I walked through my village. Martha and Rita plaited my hair so I looked like them. I nearly died, at least once, from a tropical disease. One infant boy in the village was named after my dad. Sami’s daughter was named in my honor, but she died before I could hold her. In those special moments, I became one of them. There was no other place I would rather have been than Gowee.”
Despite the multitude of hardships I witnessed, that at times pierced my heart, the love for Africa and its people is something special, unique, boundless, and unrestrained. At the young age of twenty I learned the meaning of an unfettered love. My final words in this chapter captured it perfectly…
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“My deepest pain also held my deepest love; of course, Africa will always be my first love.”
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August 9, 2020
Unfettered Love – Part I
On August 3rd 2020, one of Sami’s sons, Osama, contacted me by Facebook. In a short time we agreed to make a video call. (On previous video chats I had already met Samer and Susan (my namesake), two of Sami’s five children). Leen, his seven year old daughter, was particularly interested in me and spoke better English than her father. She wanted to come visit, “Because everyone speaks English in America,” she said. I told them I was sorry I couldn’t come next month due to Covid-19, but I would visit as soon as it was safe to travel to Lebanon. In each of my video calls with Susan, Osama, Samer and their families, everyone told me how much they loved me and couldn’t wait for my visit. They call me “family.” They call me “Auntie Susan.” It’s only natural, because their father, Sami, was a best friend and like a brother to me. The love conveyed over the video calls was palpable. In our earlier chats we cried, appreciative of the rare fact that we even found each other after I lost contact with their father almost 50 years earlier. I had learned in the first contact that Sami passed away 21 years earlier, but his wife Ciham was still alive. I told the family of my memoir and how I wrote two chapters dedicated their father. Osama smiled when I told him that I will come to visit when things are better and bring the six books I have saved for them.
We spoke briefly of the plight in Lebanon as their government was in free fall. They have electricity about 3 hours a day due to the diesel oil issues, and meat was $40.00 a kilo. This is a country and its people living on the edge.
The very next day, August 4th, a blast equal to a nuclear explosion ripped through the port of Beirut. As soon as I heard the news, I messaged Osama and Samer and both replied that everyone was fine and fortunately no one worked in Beirut. They will have periodic electricity because their families have generators. If could hop on a plane today to help them, I would.
The amount of unfettered love between me and my newfound family in Lebanon – a family two and three times removed, a family I have never met – is hard to fathom. The single thread that connects us was my friendship with their father and grandfather, Sami, when we lived and worked in a remote village in Liberia 50 years ago.
Call it fate. Call it God’s will. Call it the alignment of the stars. Call it whatever you choose. I will eventually meet, hold, and cherish – in person – my new family in Lebanon.
It is another kind of love. One I could never have imagined happening to me.
An Unfettered Love – Part II will follow in my next blog. I welcome any of your comments. Stay well.
July 31, 2020
Pinning, Peace Corps and My Ticket Out
I recently reunited by phone with Mrs. H., one of my Practical Nursing instructors. Now in her 90s and sharp as a tack, her speech was a bit slurred from a head injury she had sustained in an earlier fall. Nonetheless, she remembered me and all the details including that I had been elected president and graduated at the top of my class. The charter course of Practical Nurses training was only nine-months long, but packed with knowledge and skills taught by the three best RNs that our small community of Kanton had to offer. She told me they developed a particularly challenging course because they wanted us to be prepared. When Mrs. H. secured my practical nursing pin to my collar, at age nineteen it was a graduation day I will never forget.
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I had decided in my teens that I did not want to become a farmer’s wife. Not only did nursing provide me with other opportunities, but another door opened to the world outside our remote Nebraska farming community when a commercial flashed across our TV screen. “The toughest job you’ll ever love. Join the Peace Corps.” I now had a plan. I was going to Africa. I had my ticket out.
Excerpt from Part I, Chapter, My Ticket Out.
“A bigger question remained. Why, exactly, did I want to go to Africa? The best short answer I gave was, ‘Because I’ve never seen it before.’ These were Dad’s exact words when he took our family to explore eight western states five years earlier. Perhaps, with that response, he could understand my reason.
Many people thought I was crazy. Maybe I was. That pink flamingo print planted the seed of wonder, the image of the black boy in Omaha gave me a purpose, and the TV in the corner of our living room gave me Popeye, the Road Runner, and Tarzan as my mentors. That Peace Corps commercial gave me my ticket out. My eyes were now open to the world outside our small farm.”
From Chapter, My Ticket Out, just as I’m boarding the plane to Africa.
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“I wore my handmade navy-blue polyester bell-bottom jumper with daisy rickrack on the hem. To straighten my wavy hair, I slept with my orange juice can rollers all night and teased it the following morning to create the perfect flip. Eyeliner and perfectly arched eyebrows accentuated my eyes. Clip-on earrings accompanied my fashionable pumps to complete my ensemble. I’d be one of the coolest girls in the Peace Corps training. I turned to wave to Mom from the flight stairs as the lyrics to the Peter, Paul, and Mary song, ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane,’ rang loudly in my head. Yes, I was leaving on a jet plane and I didn’t know when Iʼd be back again. A brand-new life outside our remote farm beckoned…and I was going to find it.“
More blogs to follow regarding inside stories and photos about my memoir. You can purchase an autographed copy of In Search of Pink Flamingos via my website under BOOK. Sign up on my mailing list on the bottom of that tab to not miss any of my blogs.
July 14, 2020
Peace Corps Worldwide Book Review
Peace Corps WorldwidePeace Corps Worldwide is a publisher and provider of writing services for Peace Corps volunteer authors. They have written a nice review of my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos. Please click on review and it will direct you to the write up. This link reaches thousands of return Peace Corps volunteers both at home and abroad. Feel free to make a comment in the section provided on this link.
More blogs regarding inside stories about my memoir coming.
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Stay well and safe.
July 10, 2020
Daisy
Many of us had pets during our childhood. But how many had a pet pig? Don’t laugh, pigs are extremely intelligent. Have you seen the movie Babe? My nursing aspirations began with this little pet pig. I can’t forget that sweet face and disposition. Here is an excerpt from In Search of Pink Flamingos, Part I, Chapter, Teen Angst:
“The true test of my nursing instincts and the building of my skills began the day Dad asked me to be the nurse and caretaker to a newborn runt from a big litter. This little pig, much smaller and underweight than her aggressive siblings, would never have survived the competition to nurse at the teat. In the past, Dad terminated any small weakling, especially from a large litter. That time, Dad told me to raise her by hand—a great honor and challenge for an eight-year-old.“
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“I called her Daisy. A pure white Yorkshire with a little pink nose, big pink ears, dark eyes, and a curly-q tail became the cutest pig on the farm—maybe because she was mine.
…..When Daisy became too big for the porch she slept outside under the granary; she never seemed to mind being separated from the others, she had free rein of the farmyard. In the mornings I’d head outside to call her. ‘Daisy, Daisy, where are you?’ Down the hill she came, half asleep and ran into my arms. I hugged and may have even kissed her—she was that special. Daisy nuzzled me like a dog while I bathed her with the hose. She followed me everywhere while I played and worked in the farmyard all summer. We were bonded like family.”
My mom, a transplant from Florida, never loved the farm as Dad and I had. No one ever found her in the farmyard slopping the pigs with us. She thought the pigpen smell was disgusting. But after she passed away my sister-in-law, Joan, boxed up some of her memorabilia and I found this:
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a ceramic sow with a litter of pigs and a runt that Mom had chosen, painted and fired many years after leaving the farm. Had she remembered my special bond with Daisy? Did she have a hidden love or fondness for our farm life? Maybe it is not uncommon to vacillate between loving something and disliking it. I have only a glimmer understanding of what my mom was feeling during and after her days on the farm. And now that she is gone, I will never know.
More blogs containing inside stories about my book coming soon.
You may order my memoir directly from my website by clicking the BOOK link above. You will receive an autographed copy if you order it from Village Books. Check out previous blogs on this website containing photos and companion stories about In Search of Pink Flamingos.
July 5, 2020
Book Launch Success
After a few technical hiccups, Village Books sponsored my Covid-delayed launch on June 28th. Friends and family from across the land attended, 73 to be exact. People from all facets of my life were present including grade school, high school, Peace Corps, nursing, family, and Bellingham friends. A slideshow, excerpts, and Q&A rounded out the event.
If you missed the launch and would still like to watch it, click on this link https://www.crowdcast.io/e/susan-greisen-in-search to view the recorded event. Fast forward a few minutes to miss the technical problem areas and, voila, there it is. All the viewer chat comments are available on the recording. You are still able to buy my book there or on the link on my website. (No, I didn’t have an eye issue, it was just hard to look at myself on the screen. I kept looking for the audience…)
It is surreal to see my book on the Featured Local Authors column at the front of Village Books, right next to the cash register. I thank them immensely for promoting my book and the event.
This book just keeps on giving. Three of my readers have gone on their own to various venues and asked them to carry my book: Barnes and Noble in Fort Myers, FL; the public library and an independent book store Jefferson City, MO; and Whatcom Museum Gift store in Bellingham. So many people I don’t know have written me via my website to rave about my book and what it meant to them. I am so touched with the response.
Don Drach from the Friends of Liberia Organization has asked if I would repeat an extended version my my virtual talk and slideshow to the returned Peace Corps Volunteers nationally. Maybe even a virtual book club event with the author after volunteers have read the book for a deeper Q&A and discussion. Volunteers are so enthused to speak about their experiences abroad and I look forward to hosting such an event.
Don regretted not being able to introduce me at the book launch due to the technical difficulties, but he sent me a portion of his intro that I want to include here: I’ve referred to the author as Susan 4 times, but I know her as Gowee Sue. In fact, all of her Peace Corps friends knew her by that name, and we call her Gowee Sue to this day. With her book she has captured – often humorously, sometimes with sadness and frustration, but always with honesty and humility – our collective Peace corps experience in Liberia. And so much more. It’s a wonderful book, and now please join me in welcoming the equally wonderful Gowee Sue.
More blogs to follow regarding inside stories and new photos about other tales not told in the book. To be assured that you get these blogs, either sign up on the website or check the Follow box on the lower corner of the site.
As always, Gowee Sue
June 23, 2020
Virtual Book Launch Countdown, Sunday, June 28, 4PM PST, 7PM EST. Signup on link below
https://www.villagebooks.com/event/litlive-susan-greisen-0628920
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Note from the author: I look forward to all of my friends and family across the US from the East Coast, Midwest, West Coast and Hawaii. Even if you’ve read book, there will be new slides, readings, and Q&A. See you there.
