Donation requests for disease research and disaster relief regularly flood my mailbox, reminding me continually of the great sorrow in this world. Sometimes I wonder why I devote my time to a museum when there is so much else to be done, and how I can ask people to donate to support Conner Prairie's mission.
At times of doubt, I think of my husband Ted, a dedicated physician who treats patients who are very sick with skin or kidney cancer but also does clinical research to advance options.
We've been married for 25 years, and in that time I've witnessed the incredible demands of such work. Overseeing care, answering questions, and emergencies have mean't that he missed kids' soccer games and school ceremonies. He's spent family outings on the phone, and come home too late for family dinners. (Once when Ted actually got home for dinner, my oldest son said, "Look Mom we have a special guest tonight.")
It may surprise you to know, that through the years with Ted, my appreciation of the value of places like Conner Prairie has grown. Ted loves to come to Conner Prairie. It is a place where our family can connect, where we can share stories about our families, where we can learn about Indiana, our adopted home. He finds mental renewal here. At Conner Prairie, he actively engages in learning; he's fascinated by the story of the Lenape Indians and finds the environment rejuvenating. Since its opening last year, the 1859 Balloon Exhibit has become his favorite experience - Ted and my son, Daniel, are pictured above.
As I've gotten older and the evanescence and fragility of life has loomed larger, my appreciation has grown for places like Conner Prairie that enrich our communities and allow us all to continue to learn and grow.
Efforts to cure illness and alleviate suffering must be supported; but my husband who spends too many hours in front line care would be among the first to assert that without places for enrichment and renewal, the entire community suffers.