Month: March 2021

Would you rather be happy or successful? It’s an oft asked question which appears to assume that life is a choice between one or the other. I believe that it is absolutely possible to be both happy and successful without having to compromise. In fact I have often believed that the happiest and most successful people are those who define their own lives rather than adhering to some general definition of what constitutes the best of everything. 

Growing up I was a bright hard working student. By the end of my high school years I had earned the title of valedictorian of my graduating class. It was an honor but what meant more to me was knowing that I had but forth great effort and had learned new ideas and skills that would serve me well for the rest of my life. The joy in being valedictorian was not in being number one but rather in taking full advantage of the educational opportunities that I had been lucky enough to have. 

I sometimes wonder if I would have done so well had it not been for the death of my father who had always challenged me to read and think and push myself to be my best. Somehow after he was gone I wanted to prove to him that I had heard his message and so I embarked on a journey geared to gaining as much knowledge as possible. I was successful in that endeavor and in the process I just happened to end up ranked high in my class, but that had never been my goal. My happiness upon graduation came from all of the books I had read, the mathematics that I had learned and the habits that I had developed. I would use every one of the skills from those years throughout my life just as my father had so often told me I would. 

Many people in my family had ideas about how I might turn my academic achievements into a success story. They urged me to become a doctor or a lawyer or a business woman. They spoke of the prestige and earning power of such endeavors. They reminded me that I had the abilities to achieve remarkable goals and that I should never settle for being ordinary. Because I wanted to please them as much as I believed that I had posthumously satisfied by father’s dreams for me I floundered in my early years at the university. I earnestly attempted to consider the more lofty kinds of majors that our society so admires but whenever I entered such departments and took the courses I made high grades but left feeling empty and unfulfilled. I felt no joy in the school of business. Sciences for medicine bored me. I only felt the giddiness of happiness when I was studying the subjects that would train me to be a teacher. 

Because so many who knew me kept insisting that I should do more than train for a job that they thought anybody might do, I went back and forth between considerations for my future. I took unrelated classes and changed majors while getting stalled in my progress toward earning a degree. It was only when I decided that finding happiness and purpose was my definition of success that I stopped listening to the naysayers and forged full steam ahead toward becoming a certified teacher. After that I never looked back and I learned how to tune out the negativity from those who seemed saddened that I would never achieve as much as they had hoped I would. 

I loved my work and even though I made a pittance of what I might have if I had followed the advice of the well meaning people in my life I felt happy and successful every single day that I worked. There were times when my personal life became stressful due to my mother’s mental illness or health challenges that my husband or children endured. Teaching was my anchor, my place of calm. My classroom was a second home for me. Just as schooling had always distracted me from the sorrows of losing my father so early, teaching kept my mind busy and provided me with a sense of accomplishing something so much more important than filling my bank account.

I think that if someone is as lucky as I have been he or she will discover what is exciting and meaningful and in the process both happiness and success will follow. For some that will mean securing careers in the kinds of areas that did not work for me. The beauty of work life is that there are so many possibilities from which to choose. The key is to find the link between our abilities and our passions and our jobs. I was able to do that and even in my retirement and role as a grandmother I am still teaching on a regular basis. Being able to help young people feel more confident with mathematics and themselves has been such a joyful experience that I have continued to teach and tutor during our dreaded COVID 19 pandemic. 

Our society is more and more often discouraging young people who want to study history or literature or languages or philosophy in favor of science, technology, engineering, mathematics, business. Parents send their young adults to college urging them to major in something that will ensure them a high paying job. They cringe at the thought of psychology or sociology classes which they view as worthless and yet if they were to glance at a listing of the classical educations of old they would be surprised to see that the emphasis was on thinking and learning about a variety of topics rather than training for specific jobs. We have begun to chase money rather than ideas and ideals. In doing so I wonder how many young people will one day find themselves feeling both unhappy and unsuccessful. 

I would like nothing more than for everyone to feel as satisfied with their lives as I do. I have thousands of memories of glorious days when I reached the hearts and minds of my students. I  never reached a six figure salary but the riches of living a purposeful life have meant far more to me. I have enough to live well and more than a good share of happiness. If that is not success then I do not know what is. 

I both love and hate those poorly written articles that pop up on Facebook and Twitter pronouncing “the biggest home decorating mistakes.” They usually end up being a collage of stock photos of different color combinations and personal decor choices that aren’t that offensive at all. It soon becomes apparent that the purpose of the piece is to encourage readers to toss their current home designs and spend a fortune on totally redoing everything. Such features would have us all turning our rooms into look alike clones of one another just to be in sync with the so called current styles. 

While I admit to reading my monthly copies of magazines that show me the latest trends I much prefer putting my home together using items that have meaning and evoke memories. I love my books and can’t bear to part with them so I have shelves of them all over my house, a feature that is supposedly passé. I own furniture from multiple generations of our family. Each piece has a history, a story and I choose not to paint any of it because somehow that seems to detract from the feeling that all of it connects me to the journey of our family. Mine is an eclectic style popping with colors that calm me and make me smile. I feature artwork that has been passed down for generations along with finds from my travels and originals from my daughter and a favorite cousin. I am literally able to recite a pleasant memory about anything one might find in my house. My decorating style is quite personal.

I love visiting my friends and family members and viewing the ways that they have chosen to set up their households. The styles to which they are drawn say so much about who they are as individuals and that is the way decorating should be. There is nothing colder than a room designed by someone who never met the person who resides there. It looks like the lobby of a hotel rather than the domain of someone real. 

I’ve seen homes decorated in ways that I would never want but that delight me nonetheless with their daring, seeming to match the personality of the owner to perfection. My current mother-in-law has a living room swathed in a deep purple eggplant color with tables of guided wood and hot pink pillows on the lilac sofa. It bespeaks of her, a strikingly beautiful and flamboyant woman who lights up a room upon entry. Her predecessor in that house, my husband’s mother, was more of a deep thinker, someone who was constantly learning and reading. She used light sunny colors that reflected her optimism and generosity. Her interior design made me long to tarry for a time over a cup of tea and conversation. It was elegant and sophisticated just as she was.

My friend Pat was a devotee to the color blue. Varying hues of that tint throughout her home created a feeling of floating through a heavenly sky. She liked fun accent pieces that always brought a smile to my face. She was someone who enjoyed “rainbow” days and in many ways she had created her own decorative arch of colors on a canvas of blue in her domicile.

My eldest daughter stays more abreast of current trends by using her color sense to reinvent what she already has. A new pillow here, an accent wall there, a different rug transforms her old style into magazine cover worthy spaces without great expense. I never quite know what I will find when I go to visit her but one quirky thing remains constant and speaks to her organizational nature as an accountant. She has her books arranged according to color. It is both a unique and lovely way to display the texts that date back to her childhood. She has turned her prized volumes into a work of art. 

My youngest daughter likes comfort and her home shows it. The central feature of her decorating style is the view of the Texas hill country from her living room. She likes soft throws and pillows and sweet paintings of cute little birds. It is easy to see the childlike joy and idealism that drives her personality. She is a minimalist, someone who only wants enough to create a relaxing environment for her family and her dogs. She does not mind a bit of dog hair on the couch because it speaks to snuggling with her pets and keeping her priorities focused on the people she loves. Hers is a home where time stands still and there is no sense of hurry or need to rush from a cushy chair in front of the fireplace.

I suppose the favorite home of all that I visit belongs to one of my cousins. It is literally a riot of color, lipstick reds, deep navy blues, bright yellows. It takes a bold and confident person to design such a home and it works. Nothing as far as the eyes can see is dull or ordinary which is in keeping with its owner’s bigger than life personality. From the collection of red plates hanging on the dining room wall to the blue mosaic countertops in the kitchen it is a feast for the eyes and the imagination. The house is as unique and unapologetic as she is. 

I hope we never reach a point when everyone chooses a one size fits all way of decorating. How we each design our homes is what makes life interesting. Our houses should be representations of who we are and what is important to us, not meaningless imitations of some interior decorator’s ideas. If we are fortunate enough to even have a home or be able to fill it with amenities that should be cause for celebration. It’s fun to observe the way we each decorate and feels a bit like snooping into the essence of each individual’s soul.

I like being happy. God knows that I have had enough sorrow and difficulty in my life. I try to see the good in all people and remain optimistic even in the face of unbearable challenges. I have often written of my belief in the innate goodness of people. I truly believe that we humans may falter at times but when things get tough we rise to the occasion. I generally ignore negativity and I’m someone who enjoys children and puppies and flowers. Nonetheless I am not naive. I know that there is an underbelly to society that we sometimes encounter. I do my best to stand up for what I believe to be right but I don’t like the idea of being preachy because I have learned that most folks have their beliefs and opinions from which they are rarely swayed. Still I often wonder when it becomes imperative to speak truths, defend those being abused. One of the biggest questions of my life has been what I would have done if I had lived in Germany when my neighbors were being taken to concentration camps. Would I have been too afraid to speak out? Would I have looked the other way?

I tend to avoid conflict and ignore flaws in people. I prefer calm and a certain ignorance of people’s beliefs. Knowing too much can weaken relationships but then without really understanding a person our connections are actually rather superficial. I do not mind if my opinions differ from someone and I enjoy a good debate that is devoid of personal attack. I am very much a free thinker. In fact I probably spend too much time contemplating the nature of the world around me. It is a habit that can lead to enlightenment but also sorrow because reality sometimes really does bite. 

I decided to tone down my rhetoric about the state of our country and our world beginning with the new year. I realized that I was only talking to the choir and sometimes losing long cherished associations with those whose viewpoints are diametrically opposed to mine. I embarked on a peace-keeping mission attempting to mend fences and keep most of my opinions to myself. I wrote about frivolous things, fun things. 

It worked for a time but events of importance just refused to mirror the calm that I was trying to impose on myself. It was gut wrenching to watch the assault on democracy that took place on January 6, and I wondered if remaining silent would do irreparable harm to the country. I had mixed emotions watching the impeachment proceedings but mostly I was disappointed that few of our elected leaders were willing to consider the facts and follow their own consciences rather than a party line. I longed for another time when both Democrats and Republicans searched for truth and fought for the good of the United States, not Richard Nixon. Nonetheless I decided to mainly keep my peace and say very little even as I wondered if this was a moment when I actually needed to speak. Is this how it was for Germans seeing their country destroyed by a dictator? Is this why so few of them spoke out?

This past month we had an unusual freeze throughout the state of Texas. Most of us lost power for days and it was extremely cold. As with all things I adapted. I wore layers of clothing during the day and slept under mountains of blankets at night. I made do with what had been sent my way but I also know that it should not have happened but for the unwillingness of state leaders to invest in infrastructures and improvements that would have kept the power going. I decided not to complain too much and instead remember what had happened the next time I go to the polls. In spite of my resolve I knew that I was growing quite weary and hoping for some respite from all of the political bickering. 

March had no sooner dawned than the governor of our fine state of Texas decided to unilaterally remove the mask mandate and allow all businesses to open once again at one hundred percent capacity. Suddenly my ire rose to a fever pitch in my chest because I saw no reason to endanger the people of my state with such an irresponsible dictate. I spoke out and announced that I would continue to wear a mask and urged others to do so as well. You would have thought that I had suggested that people lose their right to vote or their freedom of speech. I was lambasted for even suggesting such a thing and told to stay home if I am afraid or, better yet, to move to another state.

Aside from the fact that a more common sense approach to normalcy might have been made in a phased in fashion my main concern at this point is how many angry individuals there are now who would so callously suggest that I am somehow a coward who just needs to hide myself away. It does not seem to occur to them that the simple act of wearing a mask is a loving thing that we do not as much for ourselves as for those that we encounter in our daily wanderings. 

I have actually been vaccinated but it is possible that I might contract COVID and be asymptomatic. If I wear a mask I am protecting others, not myself. If we all wear masks we keep others safe. It is a mutual sacrifice that we do to attempt to insure the health of everyone, especially those not yet fortunate enough to have received the vaccine. What would have been the problem with leaving the mask mandate in force until a more sizable number of citizens had received the shots? Things were going well. We were moving in the direction of recovery and doing it together. Our efforts were a good thing, not a punishment. Now all of the months of sacrifice will be undone and for no really good reason. Mask wearing was not closing down businesses. It was actually helping them to stay open and vibrant. 

I’m as uncomfortable in masks as anyone. I don’t like the way they feel but I enjoy the security that they bring to public situations. I want to know that we are making every possible effort to keep the virus under control until we ultimately reach a level of herd immunity with the vaccine. It is the same kind of effort that the world has made in the past to eradicate polio, measles, mumps, chickenpox, and smallpox. 

I often reiterate a story from my grandfather’s youth. Before the dawn of the twentieth century he as a young man whose father and stepmother were struck with smallpox. The law of the land back then required the whole family to lock down in strict quarantine. They even had to hire an armed guard to insure that nobody came into or left the house. For many weeks Grandpa cared for the household and ordered food and supplies via the guard who would place the parcels inside the perimeter of the property but would not even go to the door of the home. Eventually a vaccine virtually eradicated smallpox from the face of the earth but my grandfather never forgot how horrific it had been nor the measures that people had to take to protect others from contracting it. I never really understood the moral of his story until COVID reared its ugly head last year.

We need to stop our bickering and agree to do whatever may work to get the virus under total control. We must calm down, look around and see who needs our help. We will not get out of this unscathed and our wealth and possessions will mean nothing if we are not willing to share them with those who have little. Our country is troubled whether people want to hear that or not. We can begin to heal it and its people but it will require us to look both inward and outward and demand that we all be responsible. We are in this together whether we like it or not.

My husband is a handsome man. He has a noble face and caring eyes that are mirrors of his soul. His hands are beautiful with the kind of long tapered fingers of an artist or craftsman. Much like his mother and grandmother his hair began to grey when he was still in his twenties and now it is a beautiful white hue as pure as his own guilelessness. He has packed on a few pounds over time but when I met him he was tall and slender and gorgeous in every aspect of his appearance. He has a sonorous and pleasing voice that might have landed him a job as a radio or television broadcaster if he had decided to follow such a career. He is brilliant and well read and wise but none of his physical or mental traits are as wonderful as his soul, which is honest and good and as near perfection as anyone I have ever known.

My husband is a truly good man. From the time we married I have known that I can count on him in any situation. I trust him more than anyone in the world because over the course of more than fifty years he has proven to be faithful and loyal in an almost innocent way. He is highly principled and never deviates from the morals that guide his every moment. He will not even fudge when it comes to following his conscience but he’s not self-righteous in the least and he is open minded and non-judgmental about how people choose to live their lives. He is generous and always willing to sacrifice and give to those less fortunate than himself and best of all he does so quietly. He is not a man who toots his own horn. He does good things for people often without their even knowing he has done so. 

My husband loves people without reservation. He embraces everyone he meets without seeming to notice or care about their flaws. Everyone is beautiful to him unless he learns that they are cruel or dishonest. He will not abide by fakery and has no trouble walking away from people who pretend to be good but are actually villains. He does not dwell on such folks. He simply eliminates them from his life.

My husband does not worry about what others may think of him. He is confident in his own skin and when he makes a decision it is usually after great thought. He does not concern himself with trying to impress others. He is comfortable with just being himself and in turn embraces the people around him just as they are. 

Many years ago he participated in a series of psychological tests as part of his job. The results indicated that he would be happy working in a refrigerator box with a bare light bulb. He does not require external accouterments to enjoy what he is doing. Furthermore the test demonstrated that he is firm in following his principles and quite likely to adhere to his beliefs even under extreme pressure. I find this to be perhaps his most attractive trait in a world where people so often bow to cult like behaviors. 

I know how fortunate I am to have this man in my life. In the beginning I was attracted to his looks, the trendy clothes that he wore. Over time I enjoyed our conversations which he elevated with his incredible knowledge of history and how things work. Eventually it was his innate dedication to truth and honor that made me swoon. Over the course of fifty years he has loved deeply, not just me, but my mother, our daughters, my brothers, my cousins and my friends. He has treated me as his equal and supported all of my crazy ideas and tempestuous moments. He is patient with my idiosyncrasies and encouraging with my dreams. He patiently calms me when my own more combustible and competitive personality goes into overdrive. 

There is a sweetness about my husband but he also enjoys a wicked laugh and he’s not above slinging cuss words when he gets frustrated. He is far from being a prude and sometimes I have to nudge him to curb his earthiness depending on who is around. We have enjoyed some great times with friends who appreciate his wild side which is fun but never hurtful to anyone. He can be a boy scout and altar boy but he also has a down to earth fun loving wild side that keeps him real.

Is my husband a perfect man? Of course not. Nobody is, but he comes close and is the reason that we have such a long standing and strong relationship. He is the anchor who holds down the ship while my creative and sometimes volatile spirit runs wild. 

It might have been difficult to spend a year in isolation with a man whose only claim to fame was good looks. Attractiveness is a fading glory that wrinkles and bends and loses its luster over time. My husband has something even better, a soul that is eternally optimistic and wise and above all kind. He sees the people of the world as his brothers and sisters regardless of how different they may be from him. It is so easy and so wonderful to spend time with him even when we just sit in silence because his true beauty shines through everything he does. This is who he is and it is glorious. 

I was teaching religion to a group of five years olds on Wednesday afternoons. It was a small class filled with very sweet youngsters the same age as my eldest daughter. I was still in my twenties and filled with boundless energy and wild ideas for setting the world on fire, but first I wanted to do something for my church, and so I had volunteered to be an instructor in one of the classes. 

Midway through the school year the director of the program called me to her office and said that she was trying to place another parishioner into one of the classes as an aide. She wondered if I would like to have a bit of assistance with my crew of kindergarteners. She suggested that I might also be a good mentor for the woman who one day hoped to have a class of her own. I was intrigued by the idea of being called upon to help train a future teacher and so I accepted the offer without having any idea of how enormously that decision would impact the rest of my life.

I called my new assistant later that week to get to know her as well as to briefly outline my classroom procedures. I tended to operate in a kind of fly by the seat of my pants, highly flexible method of preparing for each class. I soon learned that the woman who would be helping me wanted a more structured, almost scripted outline of the lesson that she might study before each scheduled meeting. With that in mind she asked me to come to her home for a planning session. 

Her name was Pat and she was about seven years older than I was. In other words she had a maturity that I had yet to master as someone still experimenting with adulthood in my twenties. She lived in a gorgeous upscale home that she had meticulously decorated with carefully chosen furniture and art. I felt a bit overwhelmed upon entering her domain and wondered why I, who lived in a house filled with hand me downs from relatives, had been chosen to guide an obviously far more accomplished woman than I was.

I learned that Pat had been a registered nurse and that she was married to a NASA engineer. She had two young children who were as young as my own but she had not become a mother until she was well established in her career. She did everything with the meticulousness of a charge nurse, taking notes and asking critical questions. I had thought that she would simply show up each week for the class and I would use her skills to corral frisky children and pass out supplies for the crafts. Suddenly I realized that having her as my aide was going to greatly increase the amount of work that I would have to do each week. I was not so certain that this was going to work. Also, I found that I was intimidated by her polish and experience. It felt as though ours was an upside down partnership and that she should have been the person in charge and I the follower. 

Pat seemed blissfully unaware that I was internally struggling and feeling like a bit of a misfit. She worked hard to be more than just a “go for” in my classroom. Together we began to have a great deal of fun each Wednesday when we met with the children and each week when we met to plan the lessons. Before long Pat was generously inviting me and my family to dinners at her home or suggesting at we take our children on outings. Our relationship deepened little by little and when the school year was over we both realized that we had become friends. 

Over the years our husbands became the best of buddies who held such interesting round table conversations about all facets of the world that we joked that they should have their own televised talk show. (I still think that it would have been a hit.) Our children became like siblings and Pat and I became like sisters. Our differing personalities complimented each other and we continually learned about ourselves and the world around us just from hanging together. 

We went on trips together and created and shared traditions with our families. Our doors were always open and dropping in unannounced became a routine. Pat taught me how to keep some kind of goodie in the pantry or freezer to prepare with a pot of coffee or tea whenever she or another friend or relative stopped by my home. She showed me how to do a fifteen minute house cleaning if someone called and said they were coming. It involved swishing the toilet in the bathroom, cleaning the countertops in the kitchen and tossing all of the misplaced shoes and other items into a bedroom with the door closed. She introduced me to places in my own city that I had never before known and she demonstrated how to have a “rainbow day” in a moments notice. 

I always imagined growing old with Pat and her husband Bill and her children. She was the sister that I had never had. Both of us could be ourselves with one another with no filters, no pretense. We were the yin and yang together. Perhaps that Director of Religious Education had possessed a wisdom that I did not realize at the time. Somehow she understood that placing Pat in my classroom out of all the others was the right thing to do. I have always wondered how she could have known that things would work out so well. 

When that same Director of Religious Education moved to another city she submitted my name as her replacement. I enjoyed three years as the first lay person to be in charge of guiding the children of our little Catholic community. Eventually I wanted to be a regular classroom teacher and I had the honor of suggesting that my one time aide, Pat, be given the directorship of the religious program at the church. I would spend the next forty years of my life teaching everything from fourth grade to Algebra II and finally becoming a Dean of Faculty. Pat would retire as the longest running director of the religious education program the church ever had. Our friendship would evolve into the kind of love that sisters have for each other. 

Pat developed cancer and fought a battle with it for years. In the end that dread disease was the only thing capable of dampening her energy and enthusiasm. When she died I felt lost and in some ways I still do. We were confidants, soulmates, the best of friends. I miss being able to drive up to her house and knock on the door anytime I wished. Now, it is her daughter who brings Pat’s light to me. It is as though Pat has become an angel watching over all of us and it all began with a meeting to plan a few lessons.