On January 19, 2020, my 101 year-old father (Dee Molenaar, a well-known mountaineer) died. Two days later, the first case of COVID-19 was reported in the United States – in a town 40 minutes to the south of my home. Ahmaud Arbery was murdered the next month, and George Floyd was killed a few months later. We watched as our friends went insane with QAnon conspiracies; our president ordered peaceful protesters tear gassed so he could hold a Bible in front of a church; and white supremacists marched in our streets waving Nazi banners and Confederate battle flags. Then – because 2020 wasn’t done with us, yet – murder hornets were found in the United States – this time in a place 40 minutes to the north of my home. And on January 6th our country was turned upside down and our democracy almost shaken out of its bag.
In an effort to process Dad’s passing, and the year that followed, I began combing through news stories, Facebook posts, and my own blog. I found moments that made me laugh out loud, and others that were gut-wrenching for me. I found moments that had me shaking my head – wondering what the hell had happened to my country – and other moments that inspired me and made me proud to be an American. At some point during this process, I realized I was creating a book.The book, A Scrapbook of a Year and a Day: January 19, 2020 to January 20, 2021, consists of news stories, personal anecdotes, essays, poems, and observations of what we all lived through in 2020.
I divided the book up by months – starting with January 2020 and ending with January 2021. At the end of the chapter for January 2020, I brought in comments by some of my friends about the passing of my father. This is my introduction to some of the characters the readers will be seeing throughout the book. One of the characters is my life-long friend, Jack Arends, who made national headlines later in the year when he cast his electoral vote for Biden-Harris after being diagnosed with a terminal illness. Another character is a friend (whom I refer to as “Letitia W.”) who became deeply involved in QAnon conspiracies and ended up in D.C. on January 6th. A third friend is Paul Swortz, who the readers later see as one of the veterans protecting the BLM protesters in Portland.
I’m editing now – trying to comb out all the the little typos and misspellings and duplicate words and omitted words – my fellow writers will all be able to relate to that. But I wanted to let you know what I’ve been up to here.
Looking forward to seeing what 2021 bring us! Karen Molenaar Terrell
A Year and a Day
On the nineteenth of January my father died And so began the roller coaster ride that was 2020 and 20 days – a year we struggled to find our way.
At first there were empty streets and quiet weeks of smogless skies and distant peaks I found peace in the stillness – peace in the calm That time alone was a much-needed balm.
But after – a montage of images flashes now through my mind – much of it dark, some of it kind – exploding up, crashing down, fire and rage all around Our nation boils and seethes and a Black man gasps, “I can’t breathe”
Veterans protect fathers with leaf blowers who protect the mothers who protect our Black sons and daughters from tasers and guns. Ahmaud, Breonna, and George – say their names Black Lives Matter – our nation sits in shame as bigots and bullies scramble to shift the blame – and settle on “Karen” (which is really lame).
And a just woman with a doily collar and a selfish man who keeps up the holler and lie of “Stop the steal” and refuses to let the nation heal – our neighbors reel and keel in their zeal – fed rumors and news that are not real.
Dye runs down a lawyer’s face a narcissist screams, “Show your strength!” NAZI and Civil War flags fly in our streets D.C. police pummeled and beat. Racism and bullying and bigotry and hate, caskets of COVID victims, rioters climb gates Long lines for vaccinations, as people wait.
In the end the heroes win – as heroes always do – they step up and vote and stop the coup – they wear masks to protect each other – me and you – they stand up for Breonna and Ahmoud and George – and in the fiery fire a stronger land is forged. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
I’ve been sort of aspiring to be “Grandmother Willow” for a few years now – hoping to dispense my wisdom and years of experience to the younger generations. And today it hit me that the younger generations are dealing with a whole new world than the one I was born into – and they’re having to make up a lot of stuff from scratch to deal with this whole new world. So. Yeah. My years of experience are from a different world than theirs and I’m not sure how helpful anything I have to say will be at this point.
I guess this is all I have to offer: Live in a way that you can feel good about yourself. 1) Be kind. 2) Be honest. 3) Be fair. 4) If you make a mistake, admit to it and learn from it. But don’t let your mistakes keep you from moving forward. 5) Forgive people their mistakes, and forgive yourself, too. 6) Don’t focus on accumulating material stuff. That’s not going to bring you joy. 7) Stand up to bullies. 8) Give yourself time alone, with your own thoughts, now and then. 9) Don’t be afraid to say “no” when saying “yes” is going to be harmful to your own spiritual growth, or to someone else’s. 10) Don’t be afraid to say “yes” when you know it will make you a better human, or make the world a better place. Karen
Finally got back up to Bellingham for my boardwalk walk this morning. (I haven’t been up there for maybe a week – the snow and cold has kept me on the neighborhood roads for my walks.)
I was sitting in the car, getting ready for my drive, and I started looking around for a CD to listen to on the way. My eyes went to the pocket on my driver’s door and I spotted a CD there and pulled it out. It was still hermetically-sealed in its plastic – hadn’t been opened, yet – and I have no idea how or when I came upon this CD. Did I buy it? Did someone give it to me? How long ago?
The writing was too small for me to see what kind of music this was or who it was by…I was intrigued. I unwrapped it and stuck it in the CD player and this man’s voice came through the speakers, singing one of my favorite old Christian Science hymns: “He leadeth me, He leadeth me; by His own hand He leadeth me…” (Joseph H. Gilmore)
I started crying. Love knew exactly what I needed at just that moment.
Later on – when I could look more closely at the writing – I found the CD was made by a musician named Andrew James. Bless him.
Music connects us one to another, doesn’t it?
“Whatever inspires with wisdom, Truth, or Love – be it song, sermon, or Science – blesses the human family with crumbs of comfort from Christ’s table, feeding the hungry and giving living waters to the thirsty.”- Mary Baker Eddy
Notes to self: This will pass. You’ve lived long enough to know that. Ride on top of the wave and let it take you to the other side.
Think of all the sunsets and sunrises and new friends you haven’t met, yet, still ahead of you.
Breathe in. Respiration. Inspiration. Breathe out.
Recognize what is truly you. And recognize what is absolutely not. Let go of the false you. You don’t have to waste time tending to it or fretting about it or trying to fix it. Just unwrap yourself from it and throw it in the dumpster. It’s not part of you and never was.
Recognize you can be happy even when you’re sad.
You’re not here for you. You’re here for something greater than you. As long as you can love you have a reason to be here.
Nothing can ever separate you from Love. Nothing can separate you from your joy.
Today is full of magic. Look for it. Find it. Be grateful for it. Amen.
I spent years searching for those perfect moments and then in a perfect moment it became perfectly clear that each and every moment I am closer than near to Love and Truth and Life right now right here every moment is perfect There is never a separation between all that’s good and me. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
My emotional, mental, spiritual be-ing is absorbing the hope and joy of the new day soaking up the inspiration like a thirsty tree in a desert that hasn’t seen rain for four years. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
Oh man. Lady Gaga, and Klobuchar, JLo and Garth Brooks made me teary – and that didn’t surprise me, really. But I was really moved by Mike Pence’s presence and Mitch McConnell’s presentation of the flag to VP Harris – and… what the heck?! I never could have seen THAT coming. January sixth changed so much for our country – and not all of it was bad. In the end people I never would have expected became heroes. Whoah.
We’re still here! We’ve lived through yesterday and made it to today and that has been no small feat.
On this Inauguration Day I celebrate you – each and every beautiful one of you! I celebrate your compassion, courage, and commitment to kindness. I celebrate your honesty, your decency, your charity. I celebrate your moral strength and integrity. I celebrate that you stand for justice; kneel for equality and fairness; and dance for the joy that no one can steal from you. You have transformed the world. You have made it a better place. You are a wonder.
A new day is dawning. Go out there and work your magic, my friends. Karen
Went on a nice long walk in Bellingham this morning – needed the fresh air and space for my thoughts.
I reached out to Dad in my thoughts (I don’t mean that I, like, “summoned” him – Dad’s not a ghost or anything – he and Mom are always with me in the same way Love, God, is always with me). And the thought that came back to me was full of joy. I know Dad’s happy. I think I was trying to talk to Dad about all the uncertainty and grief of these times – but it came to me that the things I seem to be experiencing are no part of Dad’s experience – no part of “where” he is (and I don’t mean “where” as in a location – but as a state of mind). I felt that I was being encouraged, then, to claim my own joy, too. The words from John came to me: “Your joy no man taketh from you.”
I’m not sure I’m explaining any of this at all well, but… the gist of it is that what I’ve been learning, lately, is that whenever I feel like I have a hole in my heart – it’s instantly filled with Love. Love is constantly giving me whatever it is I need. My sense of being connected to the infinite Love of the cosmos isn’t dependent upon my parents or husband or children or friends – it’s always with me. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
“Heaven is not a locality, but a divine state of Mind…” -Mary Baker Eddy
On the nineteenth of January my father died And so began the roller coaster ride that was 2020 and 20 days – a year we struggled to find our way.
At first there were empty streets and quiet weeks of smogless skies and distant peaks I found peace in the stillness – peace in the calm That time alone was a much-needed balm.
But after – a montage of images flashes now through my mind – much of it dark, some of it kind – exploding up, crashing down, fire and rage all around Our nation boils and seethes and a Black man gasps, “I can’t breathe”
Veterans protect fathers with leaf blowers who protect the mothers who protect our Black sons and daughters from tasers and guns. Ahmaud, Breonna, and George – say their names Black Lives Matter – our nation sits in shame as bigots and bullies scramble to shift the blame – and settle on “Karen” (which is really lame).
And a just woman with a doily collar and a selfish man who keeps up the holler and lie of “Stop the steal” and refuses to let the nation heal – our neighbors reel and keel in their zeal – fed rumors and news that are not real.
Dye runs down a lawyer’s face a narcissist screams, “Show your strength!” NAZI and Civil War flags fly in our streets D.C. police pummeled and beat. Racism and bullying and bigotry and hate, caskets of COVID victims, rioters climb gates Long lines for vaccinations, as people wait.
In the end the heroes win – as heroes always do – they wear masks to protect each other – me and you – they step up and vote and stop the coup – they stand up for Breonna and Ahmoud and George – and in the fiery fire a stronger land is forged.
Back on New Year’s Eve 2015 I bought my little Ford Fiesta, Rosalita Ipswich O’Molenovich. Today she reached 100,000 miles on the odometer. I found myself tearing up – thinking back to all the adventures Rosalita and I have shared in the last five years, and all the memories that are packed inside my little car. Rosalita still has the red scrapes from the times we shoved Mom’s red walker into her hatch. I can still picture my centenarian father (Dee Molenaar) sitting in the passenger seat, his head turning as he took in the scenes on our drives together. I remember taking Dad up to Mount Rainier in Rosalita, and the adventure Dad and I had going to the Big Four Inn (see the story below).
Thank you, Rosalita, for helping me care for my parents. Thank you for helping me get Mom and Dad to doctor’s appointments, and epic celebrations. You’ve done well, little one. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
I stop by to see Dad while I’m in town on an errand. My plan is to take him for a quick drive to get him a root beer float, if he’s up for it. He says that sounds like a good idea. Meagan puts his alpine hat on his head, gets him in his sweater, and puts shoes on his feet. He is still wearing his pajama bottoms. That puts a smile on my face. I tell him he is a fashion plate. Meagan points out that Dad can actually pull this look off, and I have to agree.
When we get in the car Dad asks, again, where we are going.
Karen: I thought we’d take a quick drive and I’d get you a root beer float.
Dad: That sounds good. But what I’d really like to do is go to the Big Four Inn.
The Big Four Inn would be a major trip. I hadn’t planned on this today. But… Dad has been mentioning the Big Four Inn for a year now. Maybe two. I’ve always managed to brush this idea off, and suggest we do it another time. But… this might be our last drive before I start another school year. And I don’t really have anything else planned for today – and there’s nothing else I really want to do with my day. So. Maybe. Maybe today we’ll drive to the Big Four Inn – or to where the Big Four Inn used to be before it burned down. I’m going to think about this on my way to Big Sisters Espresso for Dad’s root beer float.
As we’re driving through town…
Dad: We used to dance in that building on the left. On the second floor. We’d come down from the Big Four Inn and dance there.
Karen: Do you like to dance?
Dad: I’m not very good at it. I started too late. All my friends used to go dancing every Saturday in Los Angeles. I didn’t. (Thinking.) Do you like to dance?
Karen: Yes! You used to dance with me when I was a little girl.
Dad: (Smiling.) Did I?
Karen: (Remembering.) Yes. You’d pick me up and dance with me. I loved dancing with you.
Dad: I love doing everything with you.
As we head out of town…
Dad: This isn’t heading towards the mountains.
Karen: I’m going to get you a root beer float first and figure out how to get there.
When we get to the Sisters Espresso, I order Dad his root beer float. As I’m waiting for the float, my neighbor and friend, Denice, shows up. Denice is a mountain woman, too. It occurs to me that she might know how to get to The Mountain Loop Highway.
Karen: Hey Denice, the sons and I used to go hiking along The Mountain Loop Highway all the time when they were growing up – but I can’t remember how to get there anymore. Do you know how to get on The Mountain Loop Highway?
(And sure enough, Denice knows exactly how to get there! She quickly gets out her phone, taps in some words, and reads me the directions.)
Root beer float in Dad’s hand, Dad and I head out for The Mountain Loop Highway.
Dad: Are we going to the Big Four Inn now?
Karen: Yup!
I head east up the South Skagit Highway. I am feeling a happy, blissful freedom as we travel along the Skagit River, through maple trees and cedars. I am on another adventure with Dad.
Dad is observing our route…
Dad: The old route was on the other side of the river. (He’s right.)
A little later…
Dad: Now we’re going to cross over the river and get on the other side of it. (He’s still right.)
At one point I stop to take a picture of the river and I snap a quick photo of the sedimentary layers in the cliff next to the road. Dad has noticed the layers, too…
Dad: You see that white layer there? I think that’s ash from a volcanic eruption…
When we get to the Darrington Ranger Station I stop to take a little break. I ask Dad if he wants to get out of the car and he says yes – he wants to go into the Ranger Station and look at maps.
Dad: (As he struggles to get out of the car, laughing…) I wonder if the rangers can see me trying to get out of the car. This doesn’t look very good.
Karen: (Laughing.) Don’t worry about it!
We manage to get into the ranger station and I help Dad over to the big 3D map in the corner. I position a chair for him if he needs to sit down while I use the restroom. When I come out he’s sitting in the chair next to the map, talking with the ranger ladies. He’s already asked them about the Big Four Inn, and Erika is looking at Big Four Inn postcards with him. I buy the cards for Dad (25 cents apiece) and ask the rangers how to get to the Big four Inn. I’ll need to go straight through Darrington, they tell me, and follow The Mountain Loop Highway – at some point it’ll turn into a gravel road – and somewhere on the other side of the gravel road we’ll pass the field where the Big Four Inn used to be.
Erika has been enjoying Dad and his stories. She confides in me that her great-aunt lived to be 106 – she passed on just last spring. I let Dad know that Erika’s great-aunt was 106. Dad nods and says he’s just a kid. Erika says that her great-aunt just started using a walker in the last year or two before she died. I tell her Dad doesn’t like to use his walker. He can be pretty stubborn about not using it. Erika smiles and says her aunt could be stubborn, too. I observe that’s probably why she lived so long, and why my Dad is still alive at 100. Erika laughs and agrees.
I turn to help Dad out to the car, and he wants none of it. The ranger ladies are watching.
Dad: No. Don’t help me! I’m not a cripple. I can walk on my own!
Karen: Okay, Daddy. (I keep my arms ready to catch him if he falls, but he manages to get himself to the car on his own. He is a stubborn Dutchman. He is also my hero.)
We drive into Darrington and I stop for gas.
Dad: Where are we?
Karen: Darrington.
Dad: (Looking around him in wonder.) Darrington. I’ll be damned. Darrington.
Karen: (Pointing to the Mountain Loop Road sign.) The Mountain Loop Road.
Dad: (Nodding.) Yeah. The Mountain Loop Road.
The road becomes narrow at spots – but every time there’s a car coming from the opposite direction there always happens to be a place for me to pull over.
Dad: You’re a good mountain driver. (Thinking.) It’s nice to come up here when there are roads to travel on. This used to just be a trail. (A little further…) It’s nice to finally be back here. I never dreamed that one day I’d be back here as an old man with my daughter driving me in her own car. (Thinking.) All the rangers at that ranger station were women. Women are fighting for their rights. I don’t blame them. (More thinking.) It’s hard to drive with all the shadows on the road – hard to see the ruts.
The road becomes more primitive now – in places there are ruts and pot holes in gravel – in some places the gravel disappears and the road becomes a little slippery and muddy.
Dad: I never dreamed that someday I’d be up here – an old man gripping the door handle.
We pass the trailhead for Mount Pugh and I stop to let Dad see the sign. I’m wondering if he’ll recognize it. I am not disappointed.
Dad: Mount Pugh. I climbed that one.
Eventually we roll onto asphalt again. We pass the trail to the Ice Caves, and I remind Dad that we hiked up there once with Pete Schoening. Dad nods his head, remembering. Not far beyond that is a sign that says “Big Four Picnic Area.” On a hunch I turn to follow the road to the picnic area and sure enough…
Dad: This is where it was!
(I park in front of the site of the old inn. I’m blocking the road, but there haven’t been many cars today, and I want Dad to be able to get out here and not have to walk too far.)
Dad: (Getting out of the car.) Ohhh… this is where it was… (There are tears in his eyes. His voice is choked up.)
Dad makes his way to the display that shows pictures from the Big Four Inn. He spends time there, looking at each picture, remembering his days in the Coast Guard in World War II, when he was stationed here for a time. This was a good time in his life.
Dad: What’s that…? Oh… the old fireplace. And the chimney. Yeah. I wish I’d brought my camera…
Karen: I brought my camera. I’ve been taking pictures.
Dad: Good.
(A car pulls up behind my car and I scurry back to drive my car out of the way so the other car can get past. I want to explain to them that my dad is 100 years old and I just parked there so he could walk to the site of the old inn. But I know they don’t care about any of that – the straight-lipped looks on their faces tells me that. So I pull out of their way and then loop back to where I was so I can load Dad back up in the car.)
Dad: What’s your hurry?
Karen: We’ve been gone a long time, Daddy. I need to get you back. (I’d told Dad’s caregivers we were going for a short drive, and I haven’t been able to call them because we’ve been out of cellular phone range.)
Dad: (Looking at his watch…) Oh yeah. 3:30. Okay.
As we’re driving away from the Big Four Inn…
Dad: Thanks for finding The Big Four Inn for me.
A little further…
Dad: Mom won’t be worried about us this time.
As we’re getting near his home…
Dad: We saw some pretty country today.
Karen: Did you enjoy our drive?
Dad: (Nodding.) Yes.
We pull into his driveway and I come around to help Dad out of the car. Dad shifts his body around, trying to get in position to get out of the car. This is not easy for him. He looks up at me and I look down at him, and we both start laughing. Then Dad manages to get his feet on the concrete and I heave and he’s up.
Dad: Thank you for the drive today.
Karen: I love you, Daddy.
Dad: I love you, too. We blow each other kisses and I leave him on the lounge chair in front of the television.
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 