Duck Deal in the Park

With every passing year, I’m increasingly surprised by the things that come from practicing presence. Sometimes the most incredible things happen not because we’ve planned them out, but because our world can be full of grace that we get to receive. Recently a friend asked me to write this true story down. So I did. And, I am very grateful that she made me, because the story is very true and very beautiful. My grammar and syntax don’t begin to do it justice. Suffice it to say, this experience changed me, and however insufficient my communication of it is, some stories need to be told:

The word “Sabbath” always sounded pretty dull until the summer our teacher told us that resting was wrapped up with feasting and feasting wasn’t just about food—it was about all that brings life.

I was working in Denver for the Summer. So was my friend Alex. We were doing this program called “Denver Urban Semester.” We were taking spiritual formation classes and we both had internships. I was hanging out with homeless youth—“youth” loosely defined, and she was hanging out with women coming out of the sex trade—strippers, escorts, and what have you. Needless to say, it was a heavy summer. This was after our sophomore year of college. We would come home from work every day, bursting with stories and tears.

We needed more laughter—more moments with life in them. In response to our teacher’s charge to “Sabbath,” Alex told us that she needed a duck. This had been a dream, she said, for a while. Who was I to deny the girl the Sabbath of her choice? If ducks bring rest and life, by all means, don’t let me stand in the way. It turns out that ducks are considered exotic birds in Denver, Colorado and as such, are not sold in pet stores. So, we drove.

We found ourselves an hour outside of the city, in Conifer, in a mansion. The internet had directed us here, and it is here that we met a father and a son, avid duck breeders whose kitchen was full of kiddy pools and heat lamps. There was a sadness about the place, for some reason we all knew that mom had just left, probably for good. The ducks added an element of comedy that seemed appropriate for the somber house. They only charged us 5 dollars. Alex had forgotten her money and someone else paid. But, the 3 week old duck was hers. And ours. We all assumed roles in the family, as centered around the duck. Alex, of course, was the mom. Grant was the dad. Nathan and I were the strict Aunt and Uncle, and Rachel was the crazy, fun Aunt.

We named the Duck “Mugatu Skiddly Bop Bagova Na Na Na,” a conglomeration of jokes, mostly centered around the movie ZOOLANDER, which we had watched the night before. And rightly the question was posed, who doesn’t want to scat in the middle of their pet’s name?

Alex and I lived in a loft apartment. There were tiny stairs that led up to a tiny room where our bed was. You couldn’t stand up straight, you just had to hunch over until you were lying down. So, clearly, we moved our bed downstairs to the living room, and Mugatu got our vacated bedroom. Things went smoothly for a while. We weren’t really supposed to have pets in our apartment, but exotic ducks aren’t really supposed to be pets, so we were breaking the implicit and explicit rules about pet ownership.

The duck would make repetitive cheeping noises when we came in the door from work until someone, most probably Alex, went upstairs to get it. Evenings would be passed with the duck accompanying us no matter the activity. Alex was frequently seen laying on her back, Mugatu on her stomach, stroking her head and neck and overall communicating “You are my duck and I love you.”

There were two major problems, however, that we were reminded of daily. First, it smelled worse and worse with every passing minute. Our apartment was hot, and if there was air conditioning, this was not the kind of conditioning we had asked for. Second, the duck was growing with absurd rapidity. Boxes felt like a cruel way to confine our beloved duck. Release into the wild was a viable option until Alex googled the plight of domesticated ducks set free into the world—gang rape and then probable death. Every website said it. We were at an impasse. The duck had grown out of our small apartment, and the local lake looked like a possible crime scene.

We put off dealing with it until one morning before work. A somber discussion decided that today we figure out what to do with Mugatu. There would be no rest until we found a home.

My day at work was pretty normal. I hung out on the streets with my new friends, which was, I suppose, akin to spending time in their kitchens, living rooms, bathrooms, and bedrooms. I heard stories that so few others got to hear—crazy stories. I watched my new friends get spat on and avoided by the people in suits coming out of big tall buildings. I watched as people tried to engineer my new friends out of the only place they had to call home. I went to the park after lunch to see what people were up to—the shade from the trees was a welcome relief from the hot Denver sun. I saw a new guy that day, a guy I’d never seen on the streets before. His name was Paul.

We must’ve talked for an hour. He was a traveler. So, unlike a lot of the kids living on the streets, he wasn’t a part of a group—he went it alone. Denver was one stop on his uncertain trek around the country. He’d been messed with a lot because he didn’t have a street family. He was recounting his most recent journey for me in great detail. It was hard to hear and broke my heart and then he finished his sentence with the wonderful words I have in my recent memory—“And then the fuckin’ cops took my duck away.”

“I’m sorry—what?” I said.

“Yeah, my duck, Lucky, the fuckin’ pigs took her away.”

All too casually for what had just been revealed to me, I
replied, “Are you in the market for a new duck, Paul?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have one, I have a duck and I need to give it to
someone. I mean, I really can’t take care of it anymore
and actually my roommate and I decided this morning
that we had to find a way to get rid of it today, and now
you are telling me you had one and it was your best friend
and I just thought that that maybe you might want one?”

He stared blankly at me for a moment. Without responding to my question he began telling me all the ways to care for a duck. He told me that Lucky loved Lettuce. He told me that Lucky came when he called her after a bit of training. He told me that the best way to train Mugatu would be to carry it around with me all day—like he did Lucky, and then it would know it was mine and that I would protect it. I told him that it wasn’t possible to carry it around all the time with me and that also I maybe was a little allergic to it, although I didn’t want my roommate to know just how allergic. And that actually, he knew much more about duck care than I ever would—not that I didn’t want to learn. So, I offered again.

“Paul, can you please take my duck? I won’t charge you anything
for it and I think it would be the best way to care for it. You know
more about it than I do.”

“When can I get it?” He asked.

“I’ll bring it to the park around 4ish. Meet me back here?”

“Yeah. Just call me,” He said, “I’ll probably be down under the
bridge drinkin’ some juice but if you call three times I’ll know
it’s you and I’ll come find you. You know, I believe in God.”

“Yeah? Me too.” I said. “Why do you say that?”

“Every time I ask Him for something, I get it. I’ve never asked for
something I needed and not gotten it. I needed a duck, and here
God is, bringing me a duck.”

“That’s beautiful, Paul. Keep askin’, my friend. Obviously
God loves you a lot.”

What happened that afternoon is now affectionately referred to by my family as “the day I did a DUCK DEAL” in the park. My grandpa makes my parents tell the story at parties and he cries every time. Mugatu is happy and living in Laramie, Wyoming with Paul. They live near a river. Not long after moving there I got a message from Paul telling me that Mugatu is a girl—you can’t find those things out until they molt. He now calls her Mugat-a, and they will call me occasionally to check in.

 

 

 

 

 

Kindly,

Annie Dimond

 

 

 

 

 

 

Serendipity

When I was in college I was determined about two things: I was not going to have children and I was not going to be teacher. That’s it. I had countless discussions with my friends about my decision. And, actually, sometimes I did not discuss it at all, the decision was taken and nothing would change it! On the other hand, I really did not have a “plan” for my career, I had “thoughts”: I was curious about working in R&D at a big tech company, most likely a pharmaceutical company as I thought of after I started graduate school. Fast forward to today, things have flipped by 180^o: I have three little kids that are my greatest joy and I am physics teacher (and have not done yet R&D). Wow! Did things change!!! Even more, I never imagined I will be leaving in, Omaha, NE, the heartland of America!

 

A series of decisions in my life threaded the path that brought me to Creighton and I feel so glad about it; well, I feel glad only 99.9% of the days as I always have room for doubts in my life. When I started college, back in my home country, the goal of anyone majoring in physics was to leave the country to pursue graduate studies.  So, that is what I did. And among the options I had, I applied to a university in the Netherlands where I was accepted. I, of course, had never thought in my life about living the Dutch adventure but the door was open and I could not miss that one. My husband and I embarked into our new life and together we enjoyed fietsen naar de stad om haring met ui te eten and also the Dutch way to live a life. When I was finishing graduate school I was looking for R&D positions in the Netherlands (plan A) but nothing came up so I shifted to look for research positions in the USA (plan B, I also had plan C, plan D, plan E…).

 

Coming to the United States of America. Not really the country I had at the greatest esteem at that time. But I interviewed at few universities and people were so nice to me, the options to do research were concrete and feasible and even though the geography was all new to me I got the feeling I could handle it. I got the impression that somehow I could be part of the landscape. So I accepted a postdoctoral position in Santa Barbara, CA. That was beautiful, even though the beach actually did not compare to the nicest beaches I had visited before, the mountains did not compare to those that I loved the most, the architecture was not as impressive as real Spanish colonial style. Nonetheless, the magic of the town reached out deeply my heart: I now can evoke the smells, the pleasant atmosphere, the music, the sounds, the scenic views. Back then, out of nothing, one day at the beach it came to my mind for the first time in many years that I could perhaps have a child. And that happened. And, with my baby in my belly, a new feeling arose: I needed to settle down and, for that, I needed a more stable job.

 

I was, therefore, in the job hunting race. I was undecided on which way to go until I attended a workshop on teaching and research at primarily undergraduate institutions. I swear I attended the workshop out of curiosity, without any other purpose. And the whole perspective just clicked on me: In the US, I could work at a college, similar to mine in my home country, doing teaching (yes, after years of introspection I had to admit my soul was that of a teacher) and doing research (fills me with the greatest intellectual joy). And have time for my family. Fantastic! It looked so appealing and seemed to fit on me. So I did my homework on getting to know the world of academia in the US and how to get a job there. When I received the phone call from Creighton for a one-year faculty position I first needed to think, where is Omaha in the US map? And then, together with my husband, we thought one year in the Midwest would not hurt, the position would give me good job experience and then we could relocate (again). So, we came to Omaha. Well, five years and two more kids later, we are still here. And I feel content.

 

How long are we going to stay here? Who knows, forever maybe. Have I changed my perception of the US? Yes, and now I have it at a great, but critical, esteem. Am I part of the landscape? Most of the time, but not always. Do I handle the geography? Much better now, with room for improvement. I keep myself as competitive as I can in the midst of the daily struggles of a teacher-scientist mom. As long as I can see the smile of my kids without looking at them and I can appreciate the progress of my students without using metrics, I know this is my place. Still, I hope to see if a door opens and I expect to have the wisdom to decide whether I will go through it.

Kindly,



Dr. Patricia Soto
Assistant Professor of Physics

To Love a Migrant

This comes to you from Nogales, Mexico.  This comes to you from a small room overlooking a line of division, overlooking las cicatrizes en la Tierra – the scars on the Earth.  I’m not entirely sure how it happened but as the sounds of life floated up from the bustling streets below, my empty page filled itself with words… 

To Love a Migrant


An ever changing, never-ending cycle is the tide

 

So come and go the migrants

In and out in endless quantities

 

To love something you can never hold

 

A moments exchange is all there is


To love the migrant is to love in the moment

 

As quick as it came, so it will go

 

In the day

In the night

Every night

Every day

 

The moments come and the moments go

And so it is to love the migrant

 

So it is to love the tide

Every day, every night I listened to stories.  There was, of course, physical work that I did but in reality I was a listener.  Each day I would look into hundreds of eyes.  Eyes that I would learn to love, eyes that I would learn to let go, eyes that I would never see again but each time, they were eyes that were nothing more than purely human.  These eyes were invitations for the stranger to enter into their reality and into their life. 

 

Staring into the eyes of fellow migrants were moments of true vulnerability.  They were moments in which neither of us could hide or suppress our brokenness, moments in which we could be nothing more than painfully vulnerable with the other, as strangers and as wanderers.  In those moments, I began to understand humanity. 

There was no way to run from our brokenness, much like we were able in the other sectors of life, but not here.  I began to understand humanity because I began to embrace their brokenness as they embraced mine and understand it as part of the human journey but not its definition.  Brokenness and imperfections are part of our human context but they are not what we are defined by, they are neither our start nor our end, they are simply threads woven into the greater scheme of our human life.

 

And that is how I learned to love.  To love in entirety, to love because we are human. To love in the moment because for the migrant, it is all we have. 

 

Kindly,

Kara Luebbering

 

Reflections

Body Image. How we look, how we feel. As women, these are common issues we’ve at least faced before, if not every day. In a society so focused on a certain look, the ideal beauty, it can sometimes be hard to feel even pretty at all.

I know I’ve been there before. I’d heard the pep talks, the whole spiel that “You’re beautiful just the way you are”. And of course, while that’s all true, for some reason it never really stuck. I might’ve gone a few days telling myself “I’m beautiful just as myself” but after awhile, being surrounded by our society’s view of beauty, I’d find myself back in that familiar place of not always feeling so pretty.

Now while I have experienced a wonderful turn of events, I can’t say that that was the old me, because this is a continuing issue that we as women face every day. Instead, I found a way to make myself, but most importantly other women, develop a better body image.

It all started with Tri Delta. I was initiated into our chapter here at Creighton last spring. Not long after initiation, I heard about a program called the Reflections Body Image program. I had only heard good things about the program, and since it was just a two week commitment, I figured I’d give it a try. At first I saw it mainly as a chance to get closer to some of my new sisters; I never thought then it would have such an impact on my life.

The program first grabbed my attention because it seemed different that most body image based programs. Instead of being like a pep talk, Reflections took a more assertive approach. We talked about why society has this view of “ideal beauty” and how it negatively affects us. While it was more personally based, it still presented more of a challenge to me than just telling myself I was “beautiful no matter what”. It was this approach that intrigued me, and what led me to my next big move.

I noticed one day on our website that our Executive Office was looking for 5 women to be the “faces” or ambassadors for Tri Delta’s new body image program to be launched this fall. The process seemed simple, and it was open to all chapters nationwide. After going through the Reflections program and seeing how different it was, and the effect it could have, I figured why not go for it?

Little did I know that decision would change my life. In April, I got an email offering me a position as one of the 5 national ambassadors for this new program. So since then, I’ve been working with the other four Ambassadors and our Executive Officers getting ready for the launch of the new program. This new program, Body Image 3D, takes body image to an even deeper level. It challenges us as women to keep a healthy body image by keeping up with body image’s 3 basic components: a healthy mind, body and spirit, a 3-demesinal view.

Now, I know I’m not always perfect when it comes to my body image, but I’m learning, through myself and through this program. My new hope for this program, however, is that maybe somehow through me, I can help someone else see the beauty in themselves. Because everyone deserves to feel beautiful as who they are. And while changing society’s views of beauty may take time, the real place to start is changing the views of our own beauty.

Seeing beauty in 3D.

 

Kindly,

Leah Renauld