The Land of Extravagence

As we have said to a number of people since our return to the States in July, we aren’t all that shocked by American culture. In fact, it feels a bit strange how normal things feel despite the radically different “normal” we feel over in Ethiopia. Well, we put that normal to the ultimate test earlier this month when we joined in the fun of a family reunion in the Wisconsin Dells. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the Dells, it is a fairly typical tourist town. Wisconsin in general is Chicago’s weekend playground as evidenced by the crazy Illinois drivers that speed up the interstates on Friday and zip back down again on Sunday. Where do they go? Lake Geneva and Door County are hot spots, but for the true adventurer, bent on overdosing on fun, Wisconsin Dells is where it’s at. Huge resorts, golf courses, amusement parks, themed restaurants, native American shows, boat rides, rock formations, cave tours, and Noah’s Ark, the largest outdoor waterpark in the world. Why someone would build the largest waterpark in a state like Wisconsin is beyond me, but three months of summer must generate enough revenue to make it open up year after year.

 

Two months earlier, I was sleeping in a mud-walled, tin-roofed hotel. One of the nicer hotels in the areas whose amenities included very loud music blasting outside my door until 10:30pm, onion choppers tapping away at 6:00am, two community squatty potties in stalls without doors, shared with people who obviously have very bad aim, a shared shower in the common bathroom, once again without a door, a sizeable hole in the ceiling which I hoped the rats were aware of so as to not join me and the fleas in bed (yes fleas), room service and most important, electricity, with the added feature of the management running a generator from 7pm-10pm if the city electricity is shut off – all for the competitive price of 35 birr (aka. $2) a night. I’m not bragging, nor looking for sympathy, that is just normal. But, if that is normal, how could I walk into a two-story, three bedroom air-conditioned condo rented on a golf/waterpark resort, situated in a city built entirely to satisfy those with a craving for flashy, overpriced fun? How could I feel normal shooting down water slides in one of the two HUGE indoor waterparks, or keeping my head above water in the wavepool when my neighbors in Gesas are busting their tails to find water six months out of the year? How could my head not spin in circles as I walked through the resort’s arcade room, bigger than my Ethiopian house, with a multi-leveled, high ropes course overhead, a massive indoor playground the next room over and a 3D mini-golf course on each side (whatever 3D mini-golf is)? How could I not be shocked as we drove around looking for go-kart places, checking for special offers at four different places just on the main drag of town? How could I not do a double take at fancy gimicky restaurants such as the one that earned my business and Micah’s resounding approval with their billboard – “Have your meal served on a train!” (I have to admit, the model train delivering the food to our table was pretty cool, and those down the line from us were lucky not to lose a fry on the way by)?

 

And yet, our weekend in the Wisconsin Dells was not dampened by culture shock. Why? Because it felt oddly normal – just as normal as the hotel in Gilgel Beles, Ethiopia. Such extravagance is what we, as Americans, have come to expect of our entertainment, resort towns. At the end of the weekend, my uncle Dave came up to me and asked, “What do you think about all this? Pretty ridiculous compared to what you live in, huh?” Yes, he has a point, but it made me think. Is it wrong to enjoy a weekend at the Wisconsin Dells? Do I owe the rest of the world an apology for these two days of soaking in extravagance?

 

It reminded me of the first time that I brought rural Gmz people into Addis Ababa for the Anthropology workshop. Habtamu and WoHis were scared spitless for the first couple days as there was much more than they could take in.  Slowly, they adjusted and ventured out on their own here and there. One evening we had them over to our house for dinner and Habtamu pointed at the stove and asked, “What is that?” I explained that there is gas hooked up to it and we light a fire on it for cooking. Then I closed by saying, “You know, we foreigners, are lazy and we don’t collect firewood or make clay pots for cooking our food.” Habtamu cut me off before I could finish, “No, no, no, you aren’t lazy, you do different work and this stove thing is a good thing.” In other words, he did not accept my apology for our simplified cooking methods. There were a few times, as I stood in line for a waterslide or buzzed around the go-kart track, that I thought to myself, “What would the Gmz think of this?” Sure they would think more practically about how a go-kart would help them get to town and out to their fields. And seeing all the chlorinated water in the waterpark may create some interesting reflections. But, overall, I think that the Gmz people would not accept an apology for our enjoying even our most extravagant playgrounds. Rather, they would dive right in and enjoy it with us if they had the chance. Eventually, the final whistle would blow, the pool would be emptied, and the Gmz would return to their subsistence living with the same joy and contentment that they always had, changed only by the memory of extravagant living.

 

I guess what I am saying is this. Our Wisconsin Dells weekend was a time to be enjoyed, a temporary experience, building lifelong memories as a family. Our contentment in the real world should not be based upon, nor even affected by our enjoyment of the occasional extravagance. For us that’s actually somewhat easy. In Ethiopia, our everyday life is simple, and there is no other option. Here in America, you are constantly confronted by billboards of life screaming out the latest technology, entertainment venues, “gotta have its,” and “you deserve its” whose primary goal is to erode your contentment in the simple life. When we come into Addis, eating at the Italian restaurant is a nice. When we come to the States, driving through Wendy’s is a special treat. When we arrive at the extravagant, over-the-top waterpark resort, we enjoy it to the fullest, without apology, and without regret.

 

Enjoy Your Pie: A Eulogy Message

Jack C. Williamson
March 2, 1921 – September 9, 2012

Banana Cream, Coconut Cream, Chocolate Cream, Butterscotch Cream, Custard, Pumpkin, Apple, Blueberry, Raspberry, Cherry, Peach, you name it, he liked it. Sorry, it’s not good to under-exaggerate…my grandpa Williamson didn’t just like pie, he was a true connoisseur, devoted to the dying art of pie eating. And that devotion was one he loved sharing with others. My dad remembers times as a kid on family vacations, walking into small mom-and-pop diners, you know the type with the big glass case housing some of the most mouth watering pies you’d ever seen. Well grandpa, grandma, my dad and my aunt Joan would walk into the diner and head straight to the pie case, weigh their options and place their pie orders BEFORE ordering their meals. That’s just good parenting if you ask me. First of all, it teaches available resource management, you can’t let some joker come in off the street and buy the last irresistible piece of banana cream while you’re still munching your meatloaf. And second, it teaches simple space management, having laid eyes on tasty treat to follow, the Williamson family learned very quickly to leave open the appropriate wedge-shaped corner of their stomachs. I don’t know if my grandma entered marriage as an expert pie maker or if she became one out of necessity having married my grandpa, but believe me, all of us in the family have benefited from grandpa’s devotion to these circular sensations.

 

Now of course, Grandpa Williamson was devoted to more than just his sweet tooth craving for pie.

 

Year after year, he showed his undying devotion to the tiny little garden back behind the garage. Declaring all-out war against rabbits that might nibble off his pepper plants or disturb his tomatoes, we received frequent updates from the front lines in the backyard veggie wars.

 

Although he wouldn’t overtly admit it, I think deep down he was devoted to mission of putting the All-You-Can-Eat Buffets in town out of business. I never remember my grandpa being particularly tall, or certainly not large, but I kid you not, that man could pack away more in one sitting than I care to eat in a day. Surely, the buffet owners cringed as they saw him return to his table with his fifth plate heaping with their fine foods. I often thought, not only did he get his money’s worth, but also made up for us kids who struggle to hold our own.

 

I suppose you could say that he was devoted to the principle of keeping the air clean of what he viewed as noise pollution. My dad remembers riding in the car with grandpa listening to the radio, “Up next ladies and gentleman, ’96 tears’ by the group known as ‘Question Mark and the Myseterians’ – (na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na). No joking, grandpa could not last 10 seconds into that song without blowing a gasket!

 

Yes, it’s true, my grandpa was a man of devotion, but his area of greatest devotion was not related to his tastebuds or his stomach. My grandpa demonstrated true devotion first and foremost, to his family. In a world fractured by dissolved relationships and broken homes, grandpa set the bar high in his faithfulness to my grandma for over 60 years of marriage. If monogamy is learned by example and passed down from parents to kids, we, his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren are indebted to Jack and Betty’s devotion to one another. Even in the final week of his life, as he knew the outcome of his diagnosis, his primary concern in leaving this earth was this – I want to be sure that Betty is taken care of! That’s devotion down to the very last day!

 

Grandpa was devoted not only to his wife, but to his children as well. Story after story are told of special events at home, visiting relatives, and on family vacations, investing the most important gift one can give their children – time. From what I understand, there was a lot of time spent together in boats, fishing up in northern Wisconsin. Legend has it, one day he and my dad were out fishing and they found a bay covered with lilly pads. Hoping for some tasty bass that evening, they began to cast into the weedy waters, only to get their lures repeatedly stuck. My dad put a special weedless surface lure and after only a few cast, reeled in a most interesting of catches – a big old bullfrog. Unsure of what to do, he asked his dad, “just put it in the bottom of the boat.” He said. With the bullfrog hopping around at their feet, they went back to fishing and soon hooked, another bullfrog. Well, as the hours passed, they never did find the fish they were hoping for, but they pulled into dock that evening with a boat full of about 20 large bullfrogs, hopping every which way. The fish dinner they had set out to find, was transformed into frog leg surprise and a lifelong father/son memory was born. Shared memories like these are what bind us inseparably to our loved ones, and grandpa new that, investing in his children every step of the way.

 

Grandpa’s devotion to family didn’t end with his own children, but rather extended down to us, his six grandkids. Despite loud mouths, our rambunctious play, and the infamous breaking of the marble jar, I know that grandpa wouldn’t trade a day with us for anything. Even now in our adulthood, he loved our visits, always speaking of their being room in his inn. Evenings at grandpa and grandma’s house were always fun when shared around the kitchen table playing cards. As my memory recalls, grandma was most often out in front, with grandpa, almost without fail in, and I quote, “the basement.” In the community drawings, my grandpa was uncharacteristically lucky, but his luck ran dry at the card table, as he would say “loused by all the unsensible players at the table with him.” Yet he always played. Why? Certainly not to win, but rather to be with us, enjoy our company and express his devotion to us, his family. His devotion to me personally was demonstrated in his and grandma’s faithfulness in writing letters to us when we lived overseas. For some, out of sight means out of mind, but not for grandpa as usually once a week we would receive a long email full of questions about our work and news from home. We were never behind in knowing the Peoria weather forecast and kept abreast on the status of his garden scene battle with those pesky rabbits. We heard of restaurants coming and going, special deals to be found, and of course how lousy the Cubs were doing that year. Another theme surfaced in those letters especially as his body was getting weaker and weaker. The theme of Anthony’s help. Anthony drove us here. Anthony fixed this and that. Anthony took a day off of work to help with such and such. Grandpa appreciated all that Anthony was doing for him and grandma, as we all do, but I know that if you ask Anthony, he will tell you the other side of that story. He would say, “I am the one indebted to him, after all he did in stepping into the father role that I otherwise would not have had. How many times did he take Mark and me fishing? How many Cubs games did he take us to? How would I have learned about mechanics, or electrical systems, or general maintanence, or so much of life in general without his direct influence and intentional investment in me? Believe me, my helping them these past few years was is only a fraction of the gratitude I have for his shaping me into who I am today.” My grandpa invested in us grandchildren, devoted, I believe, above and beyond the call of duty for the average grandpa.

 

But Jack’s devotion to family didn’t end with my generation either, his love didn’t run out when it came to his eight great-grandchildren. It seemed nothing brought a smile to his face faster than to have one of his great-grandkids burst into the room. Thomas, Peyton, Elise, Tessa, Micah, Jackson, Penelope and Calvin. As much as he loved watching these bundles of energy tear into their toy basket at home he loved interacting with them even more, unintimidated by the near 90-year age gap. What some would call uncalled-for racket, grandpa would shake his head and smile, “that’s just my little Bright Eyes and Punky Punk having a good time as they toddle laps around the house.” For my family personally, I was touched to learn what grandpa said earlier this summer, “I want to be sure to live long enough to see Travis and Andrea come home from Ethiopia, and of course to meet my little Micah.” The fact that Micah held the final spot of grandpa’s bucket list demonstrates his devotion to his family. What a joy it was, just four weeks ago, to go on a picnic at Bradley Park, I thought grandpa’s face was stuck in a permanent glow as he watched Thomas, Micah and Jackson monkey around the playground and zoom down the slides.

 

Jack’s Williamson devotion to his family is the resounding theme that echoes down the corridors of our lives. A lesson we all ought not soon forget.

 

I was told that when grandpa received word that his body was in its final decline, that he took the news well. When he was told that this particular condition would take him quickly, he said “Good, that’s what I want.” As news spread to family members, so also did the sadness of knowing we would soon say goodbye. But, as family members came by the hospital during those first few days after the diagnosis, they reported to us that grandpa was in good spirits, sometimes almost even excited at the prospect of his own passing. Thinking about that after church one day, I asked an old nearly-retired pastor about his experience with people at the end of their lives. He told me this, “There are really only two people who approach death without fear, either it’s the strong believer or the strong atheist. The atheist has nothing to fear because he believes that death is simply an end, with nothing more. The Christian, however, has nothing to fear, because death is the beginning of an eternal existence far more preferable than the one we know here on earth. The Christian has a plethora of promises packed into Scripture that, if believed, should eliminate any fear of the so-called “great unknown.” How could my grandpa approach death with excitement, while the rest of us mourned? Because he stood firmly on the promises in Scripture. For example, Romans 8 says, “There is now no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.” Revelation 20 speaks of the glorious New Jerusalem with language that parallels the  perfect paradise originally created in the Garden of Eden. My favorite passage, loaded with promises for eternal life after death is found in 1 Cor 15, a long chapter on the resurrection from the dead. Verse 22 speaks of all being made a live in Christ. Verses 42-44 talk about the perishable being raise in imperishability, the dishonorable rasied in glory and the weak raised in power. Finally I love the end of the chapter where it promises “When this perishable body puts on imperishability and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled, ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ‘Where, oh death, is your victory? Where, oh death, is your sting?’This victory over death and the promise of eternal life in heaven is a powerful force in our lives. As I think about it, setting our hopes the promises of eternal life in heaven is not at all unlike the Williamson practice of setting their hopes on choice piece of pie before the meal began.

 

Jack Williamson, somewhere in his 58 years of devoted membership here at United Presbyterian Church, heard and internalized the gospel message, of Jesus’ death that took the punishment for our sin and his resurrection demonstrating his victory of sin’s ultimate curse – death. With devotion to these life-giving truths, Jack approached the ugliness of death with confidence and interestingly with excitement, because he knew its ultimate Victor – Jesus Christ.

 

If we could call grandpa on some sort of a spiritual phone, what would we tell him? “Grandpa, dad, Jack, we rejoice with you this day, having finished your race with confidence and now having entered into the eternal life with your Savior. Enjoy the pie God set aside for you when you trusted in him for salvation. Enjoy it well. We down here, we still have to finish our meals, but through our faith and devotion, our pie has been set aside for us too. And boy do we look forward to eating it alongside you again. Until that time, enjoy your pie, as God’s promises tell us, the stomach never fills and the buffet of God’s goodness never closes. Enjoy your pie.