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Meeting Volodymyr

In the mid-2000’s I had my dna researched by several services to see if/how they overlapped. It was no surprise to me to learn that my dna was mostly connected to Eastern Europe, with a fair amount in Western Europe. And through dna research, the websites offered the names of others who share some of the same dna. There are ways to walk back through the generations to discover the exact connections, although I have not ever done that.

Many of the folks who have their dna work completed do so and then disappear, their curiousity apparently satisfied. I had thought to possibly connect with others who were interested in meeting others. But for the most part, that thought was not satisfied. One day, however, a message appeared for me – from a distant, distant – distant relative, a cousin. He was from the same place in Ukraine that my grandparents were from (I’ve written about them, both illiterate, in other posts).

And so, through the magic of the Internet, I met Volodymyr. For several years, we stayed connected with numerous messages on Facebook. If I’d text him, he’d respond. In these days of internet connections, I consider that a miracle! We learned about one another’s politics – and agreed to simply disagree with no more conversation!

In August, Jeff and I made a trip we look forward to each year. In the months leading up to our few days away with Rainier, Lia, and Celeste, who live in Seattle, we talk about places we’d like to see. This year, we traveled from our home in Oakland to Seattle by plane, and then we drove two cars from Seattle to Vancouver, B.C. Vancouver, where my cousin Volodymyr lives with his wife, Olesia, who had lately returned from a visit to Ukraine. In some (covoluted) way, Rainier is also related to Volodymyr.

Jeff and I, Rainier and Lia were all happy to meet our cousin and his wife, Olesia. When the seven of us met in at their high rise condo in downtown Vancouver, my cousin and I stood a few feet from one another, uncertain. He looked pleased to finally meet me. I felt happy, too. We stepped forward and gave one another a wam, welcoming hug! For this moment, I am grateful.

Volodymyr, Olesia, Rainier and Lia and Celeste, and Jeff and I spent several hours together, walking through downtown Vancouver, ending up on the shore of the West End of the city. Sometimes I walked alongside my cousin, and sometimes his wife. We chatted about our lives, about their trips to Ukraine. We shared photos from our phones. My cousin and his partner were generous with their time spent with us. We were happy to meet them and so happy to have those several hours together.

Volodymyr tells me that our common relatives were from (anglicized, of course): Buzifka, or probably Sabadash. He had on his phone a photo of a babushka, like my grandmother, a relative distant to me.

And so, I made a connection to that distant place. I had hoped to travel there again – I’d been in Ukraine in 1988, in the last years of the USSR – but the continuing war and the struggle there now prevent me from traveling, although Olesia had just returned from Ukraine. I am grateful for their generosity, and for their interest. Before we parted, we took a picture of us all along the water. I cherish this memory.

With family in Vancouver, August 24, 2025

community, memories, remembering

Meeting the Bishop

The year was 1981. That was the year I declared my intention to be ordained as a minister in the United Methodist Church at my local congregation, Kenwood United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. I had plans to attend the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, California. Marjorie Matthews, the first woman to be consecrated a Bishop in the Church – the whole Church, across the world, across history – was Bishop of the United Methodist Church, Wisconsin Annual Conference.

At the time, I was still working as a Public Affairs Officer for the Food and Drug Administration, a position I’d taken the year before, after an early career with the Social Security Administration. Through my Sunday attendance and activity at Kenwood UMC I had learned about a trip to England, the “birthplace of Methodism,” where John Wesley, known as the founder of Methodism, had been born, in autumn. I signed up for the trip. I hadn’t been part of the United Methodist Church for very long, and I knew little of the history of the denomination (having been confirmed in the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod, I knew a lot about Luther and I had even memorized Luther’s Small Catechism) and I thought the timing of the trip was perfect for me as I prepared to leave my career to go to seminary. I signed up for the trip to visit Wesley’s England after securing a passport. I’d never traveled outside of the United States before.

And so the thought of the trip was exciting and well-timed for me. I would be traveling alone, and I hoped to meet a few folks who were also part of the tour. I had learned that Majorie Matthews, the Bishop, would be traveling on the first leg of the trip to London. Knowing this, I’d teased several friends that I’d be traveling with the Bishop, as if she and I were friends.

Apparently, Bishop Matthews was on my flight from Chicago to London Heathrow. When the flight landed, I made my way to the bus that waited for the group to take us to our hotel. As I stepped into the bus, I saw Bishop Matthews standing at her seat. I nodded to her, and she reached out to touch my arm. “Sit with me,” she said. She explained that she’d be in London overnight, as I would, and she asked if I would be interested in being her roommate for the night, to spend some time seeing London. After that night, her obligations would begin, and she would no longer be traveling with my group.

Bishop Matthews loved beautiful clothes. In our free hours that first day, we shopped together in London. I purchased a beautiful black skirt and matching blouse with a floral print that was more elegant than anything else I owned. Bishop Matthews served as my encourager. I was learning by being with her that as an ordained woman, who I was now would be part of who I would become. I could still enjoy the beautiful clothes I loved. I owned that outfit for many years.

And – I had a story to tell my friends when I returned home. Yes – I had traveled with Bishop Marjorie Matthews, the first woman Bishop – ever in history – in the world. I had an outfit to prove it!

*

The following Spring, when I was in Berkeley as a student at PSR, I received a note from Bishop Matthews that she’d be attending a meeting of the Council of Bishops in the Bay Area. She invited me to come to see her. When I did, she introduced me to the Bishop of the Northern California-Nevada Annual Conference, a kind and politic action. I was beginning to learn about the importance of community and how we can be generous to one another.

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If the world hadn’t stopped

If the world hadn’t stopped 
its incessant orbit, 
its frantic motion – one day to the next –
if all the people hadn’t halted their wars, 
their value counted in barrels of oil, 
I expect I wouldn’t have seen the sun brightening, blue by blue, 
or known the smell of the morning air, fresh, 
as I go sniffing like a cat 
to catch a whiff of what has gone before. 
I would not have opened my window, grateful, 
or wondered at the sound of humans calling into the night to give thanks.

I expect I wouldn’t have stopped midday to pray,
my arms lifted beside the lonely tree, 
its branches lifted, also, in gratitude 
for the magic of the sun, the sky, the dusk and dawn. 
We would not have murmured together at the light 
of the lilies at dusk, 
at the quiet that hangs over the morning air, 
at the call of the crow hoarding its bounty: 
all of us inhabitants of this magnificent earth.





Mary Elyn Bahlert, 2020

Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, View Place, 2020

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Gingko Trees

I’m always delighted to walk under the Gingko trees in Mountain View Cemetery near our house in Oakland. The branches are full and leaf out over the sidewalk as we pass under them, the shade protecting us from the afternoon sun here in Oakland. And gingko trees hold special memories for me.

When I was a student at Washington High School in Milwaukee, an English teacher gave us the assignment of finding the gingko trees in Sherman Park, a few blocks to the north of the high school, along Burleigh Street. And so I took a walk through the park, looking upward into the trees and finding the ginkgo trees, collecting a few leaves to take with me to complete the assignment.

The upper flat we lived in during my high school years was on North 49 Street, in the block south of Burleigh, and so those trees stood only a few blocks to the east of where my family lived. Many times, I walked through the streets from Center to Burleigh, stamping through the leaves on autumn days, or quickening my pace during the winter as I skirted around icy places on the cement.

The streets were beautiful then, the branches of elm trees and a few maples meeting overhead and over the road, lush green in the summer and bright orange and red in the autumn.

Sometimes, I like to walk along those streets in my memory. They formed an audience to the person I was becoming. And those streets marked the edges of what I knew, even in the years after I stood in a doorway of our flat, looked out into the street, and said aloud: “I don’t belong here.”

I didn’t know it then, but my path would take me far away from those narrow streets, those crowded flats. I didn’t know it then, but I would live for many years in northern California, for many more years than I walked home from school under the trees whose branches covered me, followed me home.

Gingko leaf, from a tree in Mountain View Cemetery, Oakland photo by meb, 9/2025

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At Solitude Swale

We trek to a place of solitude,
this lonely place, to sit,
to listen to the water, to the wind, to the silence:
the silence speaks to us as we walk, as we sit.

And in this lonely place the loneliness drains from us –
from our arms, our legs, our beating hearts –
richness fills us:
the voices of the pines, the balsam, and the birch
which call out to us in the wind.
Gentle, the breeze ruffles the needles, the leaves.

We have searched – endlessly –
for this place:
for the solitude that is in loneliness,
for the depth that is boundless,
without form.

Here, the emptiness fills us,
completes us.

—Mary Elyn Bahlert, “At Solitude Swale,” Door County, Wisconsin, 5/2025

At Solitude Swale, photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, May 25, 2025