Naming Names

I scheduled a massage on short notice and my regular therapist wasn’t available, so I went with this guy named Artum. I’m guessing at the spelling, but I think it’s probably pretty close. On the other hand, nowadays it could be spelled F-R-E-D and still be pronounced Artum. And who am I to judge? I named my daughter Eiledon (eye-LEE-dun).

Apparently, Artum is my massage clinic's deep tissue rock star, but I didn’t care one way or another. I was just there for a run-of-the-mill relaxation massage with firm pressure. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the guy's name. When I’d booked the appointment they said, “Artum,” and I immediately forgot it. When I checked in, they said, “Who are you seeing today?” and I said, “I’m not sure.” “Oh! You’re seeing Artum. He’s really good.” “Great,” I said, “Artum.” Even repeating it wasn’t enough. By the time he came and got me from the waiting room, I had no recollection of who would soon be whaling on my aching muscles. He introduced himself, “Nice to meet you. I’m Artum.” Fifteen seconds later, my mind was a blank.

So I’m lying on the massage table and the kid is doing a marvelous job of working out the TMJ-disorder-created knots in my back, neck and shoulders and all I can think is, “Now what’s this guy’s name again?” I keep coming up with “Gunter,” but I know that’s not right, because I’ve heard the name Gunter before and I know this guy’s name is brand new to me. I run through a few more. “Hunter. Gunnar. Arthur.” Nothing. “Spencer? Artax? Wait, wasn’t that the horse in Neverending Story?” It’s no use. Some nameless dude is giving me a massage.

My hour is up and after dressing, I meet… this dude… in the hallway where he hands me a glass of water and asks me how I’m feeling. “Great,” I reply. “Thanks.” He walks me to the lobby door, reminding me to drink plenty of fluids and take it easy. Then he’s gone.

I walk to the front desk, very conscious of the fact that I need to leave this guy a tip and I can’t think of his name. Just as the receptionist smiles up at me, I overhear a member of the staff gushing to a new client, “You’re going to be seeing Artum today. He’s our deep tissue specialist. He’s one of the best therapists we have here.”

Oh, thank you God!

“I’d like to leave a tip for Artum,” I say, and then do so. As I schedule my next appointment, the receptionist asks, “Did you want to see Artum again?” And spend the whole time I’m supposed to be relaxing trying to remember his stupid name?!?!? “No, thanks,” I say. “I’d like to see my regular therapist.”

Her name is Kenisha. But I’ve already memorized that one.

A Few of my Favorite Things: Part Five

My Celtic Jewelry

My maiden name was Fergus, solidly Scotch Irish, but the truth is that I’m over half German and the rest is some sort of anglo-mutt. Still, I feel much closer to my Celtic roots than my German, and nowhere is this more evident than in my powerful affinity for the Celtic knot.

While the Celtic knot as we know it didn’t appear in Celtic art until after Christianity reached the British Islands (5th century AD), nor is there any evidence that knotwork or the spiral and geometric patterns that preceded it were assigned a particular meaning, I have developed my own interpretation and the symbol has become an important part of my faith statement.

A Celtic knot has no beginning or end, evokes beauty in simplicity, and depicts interconnectedness. That’s a lot of how I see God.

I started collecting Celtic jewelry in 1997, with this ring I purchased at the Scottish Heritage Festival in St. Paul. It’s still my favorite piece—simple, silver and stunning. In 2000, I used it as the pattern for the piece de resistance of my collection: my permanent anklet. The truth is that I lose things. Lots of things. I even worried when Dan proposed that I would lose the engagement ring (I haven’t yet!) So I thought a tattoo would be the perfect thing for me: jewelry I can’t lose!

The necklace came from Irish on Grand in St. Paul, probably around the same time as the tattoo. Just a couple weeks ago, I met a woman at the Scottish Highland Festival grounds at the Renaissance Fair wearing the identical piece. She didn’t know where hers had come from—it had been a gift.

I bought the barrette in St. Michael, MD, when I visited Sue just after her son was born in 2002, and I wear it more than any other hair accessory I own. It’s the perfect thing for pulling my unruly mop out of my face.

I have several other pieces, now, as friends and family have figured out these are gifts I’m sure to be happy with. Dan brought me a beautiful silver knot necklace in 2005 when he was in Scotland. His parents have given me a delicate, hammered gold Celtic cross, a stone-carved knot on a leather thong, and a large medallion engraved with the name of Manawydan, a character from Welsh mythology.

In all honestly, I’m not really that big on jewelry. I don’t own anything remotely expensive, have no desire for gold or diamonds or anything of the sort. I prefer simple, rugged and meaningful. And when I wear these pieces, I am reminded of my connection to God and that, as much as the jewelry itself, makes me feel just a little more beautiful.

A Few of my Favorite Things: Part Four

My Tupperware Modular Mates

Yes, I’m serious. I like to joke that my kids got my ADHD from me, and that’s why I’m so geeked out over really good organizational tools. Clutter makes me nuts. I find the sense of overwhelm extremely unpleasant and if I have to move more than one—at most two—items in order to get something I’m after, I get really irritated. I have been systematically downsizing my life over the past few years, predominantly because of a change in values and a genuine desire for a simpler, more spiritual life. But the side benefit has been less clutter. In some places, anyway.

But I was introduced to Tupperware long before I was introduced to Recovery. It was a sort of early marital rite of passage, I suppose. I was living in Grinnell, Iowa at the time and a gal from church had a party. I remember looking at the catalog and saying, “My mom has this.” “My mom has this, too.” “Hey, my mom has this. And she’s had this stuff for as long as I can remember. Maybe there’s something to this Tupperware thing.” What my mom had never had, however, was the Modular Mates system. I was blown away by the before and after pictures of a stuffed food cabinet and the promise of a pristine, symmetrical and easy-to-access organizational system. I HAD to have it!

The price was not right, however. I don’t know if you’ve ever considered Modular Mates, but the cost to put together even a basic set was more than my early-married one-income budget could allow. But I was not to be daunted so easily. When we moved back up to the Twin Cities, I hatched a plan to get my dream cabinets! I would SELL Tupperware, buy everything at 35% off, re-invest all my profits, amass a s---load of Modular Mates, and then promptly quit. Sound Machiavellian? Puh-leeze. The Tupperware company made plenty of money from my sales efforts. Plus I recruited my sister as a salesperson before jumping ship and she made them even more!

And yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am living the Tupperware dream, I tell you! And it was worth every bit of time, money and effort. Because when I want to make scones or granola, everything I need is right at my fingertips! Ahhh. The simple things in life.

A Few of my Favorite Things: Part Three

Text Messaging

I know I’ve already written a blog on my affection for Text Messaging, but I think it’s worth revisiting for this series on my favorite things simply because of a text conversation Dan and I had a couple weeks ago that I’m still laughing about. A couple pieces of information you’ll need for it to make any sense follow. I don’t guarantee the information will make the conversation funny to you. It will just help you understand the context. Just sayin.’

First of all, years ago at St. Olaf, when we were dating on the QT, most of our quality time together was spent late at night and off campus. One of our prime destinations was the local More 4 grocery store, where we would just hang out, talking and laughing, messing around with the toys, reading greeting cards and being generally silly. Indicative of the rather off-beat and random sense of humor that drew us together, Dan would frequently threaten to shout out at the top of his lungs to no one in particular, “EXCUSE ME! DO YOU HAVE MAALOX IN THE GALLON JUG?” He wouldn’t actually shout, just fake-shout under his breath, and then continue his imagined conversation by adding, “OH! BUT DO YOU HAVE IT IN CHERRY? OR JUST THE MINT?” And so forth. Being young, deeply in ‘puppy love,’ and generally weird, we found this hysterical and joked about it for years. It’s probably been a decade since anyone’s referenced it, but it’s still there in the back of our minds, a great memory.

Secondly, I am notorious for frequent short-term memory lapses. I can’t count how many times Dan has asked me to stop off at Jerry’s Foods on our way home from church to pick something up and I’ve said, “Sure, no problem” only to drive right by the store not five minutes later. It’s well known among friends and colleagues that if you don’t see me write something down in my planner, there is almost no chance of it ever getting done. And if it’s not on my computer calendar, I simply will not show up. I’m pretty sure my kids get their AD/HD from me, which is why I’m generally so hyper-organized. But on the fly, I’m a total flake.

So a couple weeks back, I had to run up to Jerry’s Foods to pick up a couple items. As I’m walking out the door, Dan says, “Oh, hey! Can you pick up some aluminum foil? We’re completely out.” I say, “Sure. But I’m not stopping to write it on my list so I hope I remember.” He says, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t forget.” At that point, I’m expecting a text message. It’s a frequent strategy he employs to help me.

I hear the text arrive while I’m still in my car. Not great timing, I think. There’s still a really good chance I’ll forget to even check once I’ve parked. But I do remember to check as I’m walking in. The following is the complete conversation as I’m wandering through the store.

6:48pm Dan: Aluminum foil

6:49pm Dan: Aluminum foil

6:50pm Dan: Don’t forget…

6:51pm Dan: Aluminum foil

6:52pm Bek: Dork

6:53pm Dan: Soon to be a dork with aluminum foil

6:54pm Dan: That is, if you don’t forget it. Buy aluminum foil.


A brief break while I actually shopped. And then:


7:02pm Bek: What was I supposed to pick up again?

7:03pm Dan: A giant gallon jug of Maalox

7:03pm Bek: Cherry or mint?

7:04pm Dan: Scotch


I laughed all the way home.