Month: November 2020

I have little doubt that mostly everyone in our nation is exhausted, some more so than others. In between the pandemic and the vitriol of the recent election our emotions are frayed. We need a moment of rest, a brief time to heal mentally. Sadly the very man whose influence might best reassure us and provide us with respite from the anxiety has so far been unwilling to graciously accept the reality of his defeat just as men and women have done from the beginning of our democratic republic. 

While the results of the election demonstrate just how divided we are, the process has been fair and no amount of recounting is likely to change the outcome. We must begin to heal. That is the imperative for all of us if our country is to survive and thrive. Healing means loving our country and its people more than personal or party ambition. It means urging all of us to turn to our neighbors and work together to do the hard lifting that lies ahead. 

One of the most interesting American political stories involved Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, two of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, men who had very different ideas of how best to build a new nation but who had mostly admired one another until the poison of politics stressed their friendship. Eventually they ran against each other for President. It was a hard fought race filled with venom and accusations. Jefferson was victorious but Adams’ bitterness was so intense that for many years the two of them would neither acknowledge nor speak to one another. 

Theirs was a feud that seemed unlikely to end until Adams held out an olive branch suggesting that they had both always wanted what was best for the fledgling country. He came to see that their mutual love of the nation was far stronger than their differences so he sent a conciliatory letter to Thomas Jefferson and the two men began a correspondence that would last for the remainder of their lives. Not only were they able to discuss their dreams for the nation that they had helped to establish but they became the best of friends. Ironically both of them died on July 4, 1826. Adams last words were “Jefferson still survives” not knowing that Jefferson had actually died five hours earlier.

We have real issues to face, important battles ahead. We need our President to be conciliatory. We need for him to hold out an olive branch for all of us. We all must acknowledge the results of the election and begin the process of transition and President Trump can help us to do so. Presidents traditionally do these things for the preservation of the systems created by men like John Adams and Thomas Jefferson who believed that power should lie with the people, not a king or a dictator. We speak with our votes and then our leaders concede to our voices.

President Jimmy Carter transformed defeat into public service for those struggling to find a safe place in which to live. President George H.W. Bush was heartbroken when he was defeated by Bill Clinton but he too became a model of graciously accepting loss. Eventually he and President Clinton would join forces to remedy the devastation of hurricane Katrina. Their partnership resulted in a deep and respectful friendship. In fact when our former Presidents gather together we see that they are united in the work they have done for the nation. They set aside their partisanship for the good of the people and learn to respect one another just as Adams and Jefferson did.

We are watching, President Trump. We need for you to honor our country and its traditions. We long to see moral courage from you. We need to know that you love all of the people, not just the ones who voted for you. We are exhausted and anxious. Please end your days as our leader with dignity. Model the behavior of the best of our leaders. Ease our fears. 

I know that President Trump is beloved by much of the country. I understand the disappointment in his defeat. I have been in those very same shoes a number of times. It is difficult to concede after a hard fought and contentious battle but it is what a truly good leader does in the United States of America. 

The winter months ahead will most surely be difficult. President Trump will retain the reins of power until almost the end of January. There will be many issues that he must address during that time. I pray that he will not let us down by sulking and continuing to chafe over his loss. I hope that he will not keep spreading seeds of distrust among his supporters that will only have the effect of further dividing and weakening our country. I want him to be a man who graciously spends his final days in office doing whatever it takes to bind our wounds and keep us as safe as possible from any form of harm. 

President Trump may stand in front of thousands of flags flaunting his patriotism but such gestures are  meaningless if he tears down our most precious freedom, our right to vote. The voice of the people must be heard. There has been no theft of votes, no fraud so large that it has stolen the election, but right now President Trump is the one appearing to be in the process of mounting a coup. He needs to stop the ridiculousness right now. This is not who we are as a nation. We are a democratic republic and while many may not believe that the best man won, he is still the person with the most popular and electoral votes.

Please, President Trump, acknowledge Joe Biden and ask us all to work with him, not for selfish reasons, but because we all love our country. If you do not destroy the legacy of our election process you will not destroy your own place in history. Be a true American and show your love of country.

Our world is hurting. Our nation is hurting. Our people are hurting. Humanity is weary and anxious. We are many different cultures with different concerns but for one moment in time the specter of Covid-19 unites us in the realization that a virus has the power to upend us with the force of an army. It has no special regard for prime ministers or presidents. Any of us might succumb to its invasive determination to use our bodies for its own survival. Covid-19 has changed the way we do things, changing our routines and traditions and threatening our sense of freedom and control. It has left us divided and angry, spilling over into our workplaces, schools and even houses of worship. 

We are tense and argumentative with one another. We want to control our destinies but we disagree on how that should be done. Only hindsight will prove beyond a doubt who among us has had the right answers and who has been very wrong. For now we use our reasoning and our emotions to decide how to protect ourselves and our loved ones from harm, and some of us even argue that our concerns about Covid-19 are ridiculously overblown. They insist that if we simply ignore the virus, take our chances, we are more likely to become universally immune. 

We cling to scientific data or stories that seem more like superstition. Our reactions spill over into how we want to be led, what we are willing to personally do to stall the spread of the disease. While we may attempt to simply carry on as usual from day to day Covid-19 is always lurking in the background. Just as we become more relaxed we hear of an uptick in cases near us or learn of a friend or family member who is fighting for life in the hospital. All the while our emotions are tested again and again. Our disagreements become feuds, our feuds lead to disruptions of once treasured relationships. All the while we pretend that we are okay even as we know with certainty that we are not.

Our young see this and because we are attempting to shelter them we sweep our fears aside. We think that being as normal as possible will reassure them until we learn, often by accident, just how anxious they actually are. We find that they need to talk. They need to express the sadness that is washing over them, the sorrow that they do not understand, the oppressive feeling that somehow we will never be the same again.

I am retired from teaching, and yet I am not. I have been unable to fully walk away from educating the young. I am unable to endure the rigors of the sixteen hour days that most full time teachers experience, but I enjoy having interactions with students for a few hours each week. There are ten young men and women with whom I interact on a regular basis. Sometimes the most learning occurs not in an hour long lesson about mathematics but in a five minute discussion of feelings. Almost always such conversations lead to revelations about their fears and for now those fears center on the uncertainties created by Covid-19. 

If we have no other reason to work together to address this pandemic it should lie in our desire to protect our children. While the virus itself has thankfully had a somewhat minimal impact on the physical health of our young, it has profoundly affected their mental health. Whether they continue to learn remotely or have returned to a face to face encounter with their teachers and their peers they are feeling the tension and divisiveness that is ripping through the adult world. In the worst case scenarios it is causing them to break down mentally, and their depression presents itself in many different ways. It is not always obvious that a young person is in the depths of darkness. Sometimes the only clues are falling grades or temper tantrums or risky behaviors. 

It is important that we have very honest conversations with the children. We have to do more than just take their temperatures each day. We should be allowing them to voice their concerns with impunity. We should be willing to find counseling for them if their sorrow is extreme. Sometimes just talking with a professional makes all the difference. At the same time we must be aware that all of our anger toward one another is only adding fuel to the fires of confusion that are haunting the youngest among us. We ourselves must admit that we have become a nation in the throes of depression, a world filled with more questions than answers. Ignoring the realities around us is infecting our minds in troubling ways. 

Our children need to feel secure. They need to see us respecting and embracing one another, not constantly quibbling. We must demonstrate that we are caring people whose only goal right now is to work in a spirit of love and cooperation to ensure the safety of everyone. As adults it’s time to set aside our differences and step up to our responsibilities. This should not be a game or a contest of wills. It should not focus on winning and losing. Our children are hurting and the cure will only be found in working with one another. We all need to heal.

Long ago there were two wonderful nuns, Sister Justin and Sister Rita, who ran the religious education program at St. Frances Cabrini Catholic Church. Everyone in the community loved and admired them for their dedication to teaching the children and their unwavering love of God. They convinced me to teach a kindergarten class on Wednesday afternoons and that little bit of volunteer work literally changed my life. 

I did not feel that I was particularly good at planning and executing the lessons but Justin and Rita assured me that I was doing a very fine job. I, on the other hand, can recount with laughter all of the mistakes that I made. There came a time when Justin asked me to allow a woman to join me each week as an aide, so even though I did not know her I reasoned that a little bit of assistance might bring a bit of order to the chaos of teaching twenty wiggly five year olds about Jesus. I soon learned that my new partner was named Pat Weimer, never suspecting that she would ultimately become one of my dearest friends. 

Before long Sister Justin and Sister Rita announced that they were going back home to live in the Beaumont area where they had spent their youth. All of us in the parish were devastated to learn that they would be leaving and wondered how anyone would possibly have the talent and joyful energy to replace them. When they called me and requested that I meet them at their home I assumed it would be to ask me to renew my commitment to teach the kindergartners in the coming school year. I was stunned when they urged me to accept a position as Director of Religious Education for students in preschool through grade five. It was such an unexpected development that I found myself stuttering my agreement to their offer even as I mentally began laughing at the absurdity of the idea that I should be the first layperson to ever hold that position in the parish.

Justin and Rita were masterful at selling an idea and before long they were introducing me to my intermediate and high school counterpart, Shirley Hines. I had not before met Shirley but I took an immediate liking to her and began to believe that with her at my side I might actually be capable of doing well with such an important job. She was funny and energetic but also organized and wise. I saw myself as her junior partner, someone who might learn from her and follow her example, so I tentatively began to believe that I might actually be able to do a good job for the children of the parish. 

The two of us began to call ourselves Laverne and Shirley. We literally laughed ourselves through the early days of our adventure. Of course the parishioners were not so sure that two lay people would ever be able to meet the high standards that had been set by Justin and Rita. Of course they were right in that assessment but it had become apparent throughout the Catholic world that the days of having a fleet of nuns ready to take on the jobs of educating children were long gone. Lay people would have to take on those roles whether or not the members of the church community liked it. 

Shirley and I were fortunate to have two lovely women who assisted us in carrying out our mission. Judy Maskel was our secretary and Girl Friday, always deftly caring for our every need. Judy Millin was our saving grace on the business end of things, keeping us within budget and managing the accounts associated with the program. The four of us built a friendship that would last for decades and that kept us sane as we carried out our day to day work. 

I eventually left to begin teaching full time once both of my girls were in school. I had learned a great deal in the school of hard knocks from my foray into being a Director of Religious Education. Shirley and I had been called “agents of the devil” for daring to replace Justin and Rita. The two of us blazed a trail from which our parish never turned back. At the time we made about five thousand dollars a year even though we worked more than forty hours a week. Going into a classroom as a full time teacher would quadruple my salary instantly and allow me to be at home with my family in the evenings instead of almost living at the church. While I knew I would miss my dear friends at the church I knew it was time for me to move on just as Justin and Rita had done. 

I recommended that my friend Pat take over as my replacement and she would prove to be a very worthy choice. She would spend decades refining, expanding and improving the program at the church while I made my way as a teacher and administrator in public schools. All the while Shirley, the two Judys and Pat and I continued the friendship that we had forged in those pioneering days of taking on jobs that had once been the domain of nuns. Year after year we met for lunch or at gatherings in our homes and kept the fires of friendship burning brightly. 

Pat died over twelve years ago. Judy Maskel followed her to heaven later. Shirley Hines and Judy Millan and I last met just before Christmas of 2019. We laughed and felt as close as ever. Not long into the new year of 2020 Shirley had a stroke. She now lives in a rehabilitation home and because of Covid-19 we only see her in the photos that her daughter posts. There is a sadness in knowing that she is not making the jams and bread that she always brought to us. Somehow the mischievous glimmer in her eyes that always brightened our days is missing. We long for a time when we might once again be allowed to just sit with her and recall our decades of friendship that began in such an unexpected way. 

It is so often that the serendipitous moments of life are the ones that change us the most. Stay open to unexpected changes. They may bring the very people that you need into your life. Miracles are not always spectacular but instead they often quietly lead us to the joy that we seek. I learned that truth long ago and I know how much better my life has been because two ladies named Justin and Rita convinced me to try something that changed me forever. 

I usually wait until the day after Thanksgiving to begin decorating my home for Christmas but this year I’m more anxious than ever to put up a tree and deck the halls. I already know that our big extended family Thanksgiving feast has been cancelled and I definitely won’t be hosting a Christmas day gala for over forty people. In fact it is most likely that nobody but my husband Mike and I will even see our Christmas decorations so it does not appear to matter when I bring them out. Heck, I could keep them up all year and who would know?

My mother-in-law is in her nineties and she no longer has the energy to take down her decorations and store them away for eleven months out of the year so she has another trick up her sleeve. She keeps her tree on a stand with wheels. She decorates it once and when Christmas is over she moves it to a discrete corner and covers it to keep the dust away. When December comes she removes the cover and relocates the tree to the center of the living room. Her ingenuity is remarkable because nobody ever notices the tree hiding in the corner of a room that only she visits when it is not Christmas. I think that she is actually rather clever.

I know people who set up their holiday decorations in December and leave them there until Valentine’s day. They do their Christmas shopping after the crowds have left the stores and everything is on sale. It’s a different way of doing things but certainly not without a certain amount of merit.

I have friends with whom I usually share gifts that I probably won’t be able to see this year, at least not in the traditional way. I was thinking that I will hand deliver their presents to their front porches much as Amazon does only mine will be nicely wrapped. I’ll ring the doorbell and stand in the yard with my mask firmly in place to give them Christmas greetings. I am determined not to allow a pandemic to become the real grinch that stole Christmas.

I always send out lots of Christmas cards. My list is sadly dwindling with each passing year because so many in the older generation are slowly dying. I found that the younger set are not as into the tradition of mailing greeting cards so while I use close to a hundred stamps each season I rarely get even half that many holiday greetings in return. Nonetheless I like the idea of reaching out to members of my friends and family hopefully to bring a little smile to their faces. 

I am so ready for a break from politics and Christmas seems to be just the panacea for which I have been searching but I suppose that first I need to celebrate my November birthday and deliver my annual October birthday gift to my dear friend Monica whom I have known since we were both in second grade more than sixty years ago. We usually meet for a long and leisurely lunch somewhere but I don’t go inside restaurants yet so perhaps we can sit together in her backyard with our masks and appropriate distances. I have a pretty great gift for her that I purchased long before the virus was a thing and I can’t wait to take it to her. 

I have other objectives to accomplish in November before diving totally into Christmas. I allow myself one slice of pumpkin cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory each year. I used to purchase an entire cake back when I was able to eat anything without gaining a pound. Now I only have to gaze longingly at something that is fattening and add several pounds to my girth. My weight gain has been daunting now that I am avoiding the gym because of the virus. No amount of walking on the treadmill or following exercise programs seems to help. No doubt it’s because I spoil myself with sweet treats to make up for the fact that I mostly stay home.

I have so many traditions that are going by the wayside this year. I suppose that is not totally a bad thing. Being flexible keeps me more creative and adventurous. Change is certain so perhaps it’s better that I go along with the flow. I need to try more serendipitous ways of doing things if for no other reason than to keep from turning into a stodgy old lady.

There will be no visits to Galveston’s Dickens on the Strand celebration this year. I won’t be able to walk merrily through the crowd at the Nutcracker Market. For that matter I don’t expect there to be a presentation of the Nutcracker ballet. We may have to meet the Scheffler family in a park to exchange the ornaments that I have already purchased for them. My brother will not host a Christmas Eve gala where we gather for an evening of laughter and exchange of gifts. Only one of my church lady members is still able to meet up for lunch. I guess I won’t have the annual gathering with my buddies from Revere Middle School either. My house will be rather empty on Christmas Day but I may try something that a friend once offered as a delightful holiday change. She spoke of staying home on Christmas Day and lounging in her pajamas while eating lasagna and watching movies and reading any new books she received as a gift. I’ve often wondered what a day like that might be like and this may be the year to find out.

So all in all it sounds like a time in which anything goes. I can bring out my Santas from around the world anytime I please. There are no rules this year. My Christmas sweater will be just as ugly on November 25 as in December. I can bake cookies and wrap presents anytime I wish. This may be one of the most freeing times of my life.  

I was never able to talk with my grandmother, Mary Ulrich. She spoke only Slovak and I spoke only English. She called everyone either “pretty girl” or” pretty boy.” The rest of the time she simply padded around her home in her bare feet offering weak coffee loaded with sugar and milk to any visitors who came. Sometimes she set a loaf of dark rye bread on her dining room table as a snack to go with the coffee. Mostly she sat in her chair in the corner of the living room surveying her good fortune in having a huge family that loved her as much as she loved them. 

Mary Ulrich came to America from the Slovakian region of Austria Hungary around 1913. She traveled alone on a small steamboat and stepped onto American soil in Galveston, Texas where her husband, Paul, was waiting to meet her. They would both work a number of jobs until they had saved enough to purchase a plot of land near downtown Houston, Texas where they would build a tiny house, room by room. 

My Aunt Valeria who was Mary’s third child has told her children that my grandmother first worked as a cook on a farm where my grandfather labored. Later she found work as a cleaning lady in one of the downtown Houston buildings. Her boss sexually harassed her and when she told my grandfather he insisted that she quit. Later she worked in a bakery located near her home on North Adams Street in east Houston. 

The children kept coming for Mary. She birthed ten of them by 1926. Two of them died in infancy. Caring for the family became Mary’s full time job and if she had ever spoken any English she lost that ability as she became more and more isolated in her house. Her focus turned to caring for her family and that meant a daily routine of cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and tending her garden. It must have been quite a chore with four boys and four girls squeezed into a tiny house no bigger than about nine hundred square feet. 

My grandfather worked at a meat packing plant doing hard labor. He never once missed a day of work and he frugally managed to feed his family on a very low salary. His dream was to one day own a farm and by scrimping and saving he hoped to eventually achieve that goal but just shy of his sixty fifth birthday he died leaving my grandmother widowed and without the skills or resume to work to support herself. Luckily her children shouldered that responsibility without complaint and by then President Franklin Roosevelt had introduced the Social Security program. 

Mary lived in her home repeating her daily routines until she died in her eighties. I was married with young children of my own by then. I so wanted to talk with her but language was a barrier that neither of us were able to overcome. I only knew of her and I sensed the essence of her character. I do not know if she was able to read or write. I know nothing about her family back in Slovakia. I wonder to this very day what kind of thoughts she had. I only know how much I loved her gentleness and the simplicity of her unconditional love. 

I often see memes from people insisting that everyone in America should learn and use English or go back to the places from which they came. There is a commonly held belief that a person is not really a good citizen unless he or she adopts a particular American culture. I’m sometimes asked if I am willing to agree to forcing people who come here to adopt a certain standardized way of doing things. I think of my grandmother Mary whenever I hear such ridiculous ideas. I realize that if we had indeed insisted on compelling every person who ever came to our shores to become just like the so called majority of us in thought, customs and language my grandmother would have been considered destructive when she was just a sweet lady who never had the time or the inclination to learn English or assimilate into a national culture. 

Over time my grandmother’s children, grandchildren and great great grandchildren became indistinguishable from the rest of Americans. Our English is impeccable and most of us are highly educated. The women work as nurses, teachers, doctors, public health administrators, accountants and such. We have adapted rather nicely to American life just as the descendants of most immigrants do. That process begins from the moment that a citizen from a foreign land first steps into our country. It is an inevitable transformation but it need not be forced and it should not include erasing the culture of the past. We may not call ourselves Italian Americans or German Americans but we value the contributions and customs of our ancestors in making us who we are today. Why would we deny that to our newest immigrants who, like my grandmother, do their best to adapt to a whole new world? It is ridiculous for us to fear or disdain individuals or groups attempting to adjust to a way of life unlike the ones from which they have come. 

Our nation is built on the stories of millions of Marys who came here from all over the world to create new lives. Even the Puritans who arrived on the Mayflower were immigrants seeking refuge from religious persecution and laws that forced them to conform to a particular way of life or be exiled or even jailed. How ironic that today there are those among us who insist on imposing their wills on others. 

America has not always welcomed immigrants of any sort. We have often been especially suspicious of those who look different from ourselves. If history has taught us anything it should be that we grow stronger and more vibrant from the mix of cultures that make up our population. We should celebrate our differences, not attempt to eliminate them. 

Perhaps Mary’s life would have been easier if her neighbors had sought to welcome and help her rather than shunning her and whispering about how she and her children had somehow devalued the neighborhood. I much prefer the environment of my own cul-de-sac where whites, Vietnamese, Blacks and even lesbian families live in harmony and cooperation. Everyone should try it. It is a beautiful thing.