Month: July 2021

I’ve reached a point if life where indulging in too much of anything leaves me feeling subpar. My days of working for twelve hours in the hot sun in my yard are long gone. If I eat or drink excessively I feel sick for days. Spending too much money on frivolities leaves me feeling guilt ridden. Staying up late makes me listless and cranky. My days of overdoing are long gone, if I want to feel my best. I’ve turned into a stodgy version of my old unfettered self. I have learned the value of moderation in all things and the joys of a regular routine of healthy living. Still, there are some things of which I can’t seem to get enough, and traveling is one of them.

If I had no limits on my time or my income I think that I would spend half a year or more exploring the world around me. There are so many places that I have yet to see, and the clock is ticking on my shelf life and abilities to spend long days walking through unknown terrain. Covid-19 has made it more difficult than ever to enjoy the freedom and joy of journeying from one place to another. I sometimes worry that by the time that things return to normal, the window on traveling will have somehow closed or become more limited for me. 

For now, I’ve decided just to take a closer look at my own country because there is so much that I have yet to see. Sometimes moving slowly down the road pulling the trailer behind our truck provides the best possible view of the people and places that are within easy reach. Choosing a road less traveled is an eye opening experience. There is a world of interesting sites right in my own backyard, and I intend to indulge my longing to hit the open road by visiting as many of them as I am able. 

I’ve got my rolling hotel, a full larder of food, and I’m fully vaccinated which makes me ready to go. Besides, I travel more like a fly on the wall than a party girl. I most enjoy simply observing the flow of life rather than engaging in raucous entertainment. I am in my element in areas that feel far from the beaten path. Nature and the mountains and the wind are calling me. I long to view the birds and walk in the majesty of a forest. I want to spend time learning about the history and the many cultures of my country. 

If I somehow had the charisma to lead a movement, it would be to bring us all to a place of mutual respect. We would turn off our televisions, and the twenty four hour manipulation of our thinking. We would limit our exposure to social media that allowed us to keep in touch with friends and family, rather than creating political platforms and alliances. We would all take a deep breath and travel through the countryside to witness the goodness of humanity and the glory of nature. Then we might realize that our wants and our needs, our hopes and our dreams, are not really so different from one another. Perhaps then we might agree that our best hope for the future survival of our humanity and our planet lies in working together.

Travel is an eye opening experience if we really take the time to see and understand the people that we encounter along the way. We learn about cultures and histories, and realize that never in any time or place has warring with one another advanced us as people. Virtually every conflict has only caused pain and suffering that need not have ever occurred had people agreed to work things out, to see one another’s concerns and points of view. Selfishness and unwillingness to explore difficult truths is at the heart of so much of the conflict in the world. 

Travels reveal the heart and soul of people without the filters of politics or propaganda. We learn truths from taking the time to see and learn about places with our own eyes. When we take ourselves far from the madding crowd, and turn off the noise there is a change in how we view the world and all of its history. Suddenly we realize how vital it is that we find a way to embrace and celebrate our diversity, knowing that at the end of the day we all want to satisfy the most basic of human needs. 

Everyone, everywhere wants to be safe. We need to eat and protect ourselves from the cold, the heat, the rain. We enjoy having friends and celebrating after working hard. We are creative. I just wish that more of us might see beyond our own little bubbles to realize the hardships that far too many endure. Traveling, not only takes us to lovely places, but also has the power of showing us where there is want and need. It sometimes more clearly reveals the two sides of disagreements if we open our eyes and minds to the possibility that we do not yet know all of the answers.

I have seen the battlefields at Shilo and felt the absurdity of brother fighting against brother. I have visited a slave plantation and heard stories of the horrors of enslavement. I have stood on the green at Lexington and attempted to imagine the feelings of both the revolutionary colonists and the British soldiers in the moment when history changing shots were fired. I’ve seen the poverty and felt the sense of shame and hopelessness on a native American reservation where a tribe once roamed free. I’ve visited a replica of the Plymouth Plantation and wondered at the harshness of life that the people fleeing religious intolerance had to endure. I’ve stood in the room where men long ago signed the Declaration of Independence, and I considered how they might have done things differently if they had been able to see the future. I’ve sat in the dilapidated living room of a woman in Caddo Gap, Arkansas who seemed to have little of worth other than her own dignity and pride. I realized as I heard her talk that the only difference between her and me was a matter of money.

My travels have shown me that fighting with one another, as we seem so intent on doing now, is of little use. One side wins temporarily, but the other side seethes and plots for a way to find justice. Only when we are willing to admit to our need to compromise and change have we humans ever moved forward. It is when we take care of one another in a spirit of our shared humanity that we find the peace and security that we all desire. The proof is out there. Take the time to go witness it for yourself. Get in your car and travel the roads, learn about the people. Research the history. It will open your eyes.  

During the sixties there was a local program called Weird that aired in the late hours of a weekend night. It featured all sorts of science fiction movies, including plenty of features about aliens and unidentified flying objects. I loved watching the black and white B grade movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Day the Earth Stood Still. I grew up in the era of the cold war when wealthy folk were building bomb shelters and every Friday there was an air drill at school. The loud horns would announce the time to get down on the floor underneath our desks in practice for what everyone hoped would never come, an invasion by the Russians. Those movies on Weird suggested that there was an even greater threat from creatures from outside of our solar system. 

I’ve always been fascinated by the possibility of intelligent life in a faraway galaxy. It stands to reason that such a civilization might exist somewhere, but only our imaginations tell us what such beings might be like. Of course in the movies they rarely look like us. The sometimes have bigger heads than ours and skin of various tents. Star Trek introduced us to a universe of different beings with various spectacular abilities. As with much of humanity some of the aliens were kind and others were violent. It seemed that even far into the future we may still be fighting wars. 

I suppose that humankind has always looked to the heavens with awe. Sometimes when we gaze upon the stars we see incredible things that we cannot explain. The idea of unidentified flying objects has often dominated our thinking in the times after World War II. Recently such ideas made the news in a lengthy report from the Pentagon that seemed to lean toward the possibility of some unexplainable events happening in the skies over our world. In particular, there was a great deal of data in which sightings replicated themselves often enough to create questions about what had actually been in the heavens about us. Decades of reports from navy pilots point to many unexplained events. So I doubt that we humans will give up on the idea that there may be someone or something out there that we are yet to understand. 

We are certainly searching for life beyond our planet. Who might be doing the same thing? Is is possible or probable that a more advanced society might have discovered those of us on plant earth? Are there amazing discoveries about physics and astronomy that lie in some distant future? Will this knowledge save our planet, or improve life in ways that we are incapable of imagining?

These are questions that have intrigued humans for centuries, no doubt. I know that they have fascinated me as much as the lead character in Close Encounters of a Third Kind. Still, I doubt that I would have the courage to travel with beings from another kind of world to learn their secrets. My youthful sessions watching alien abductions put a bit too much fear into my system. I’ll leave such journeys to more adventurous souls.

I am fascinated by places like Roswell, New Mexico that is steeped in mysterious stories of unidentified flying objects and rumors of aliens. The tales began in 1947, on a July evening when a thunderstorm seemed different from anything the locals had ever seen. Soon enough there were whispers of flying saucers or at least something definitely strange. A rancher found debris on his land that appeared to be an object from out of this world. When the military denied the story, insisting that the rancher had simply found a weather balloon, rumors of a coverup only increased the intrigue. Since that time a debate over what actually happened at Roswell has raged as eyewitnesses insisted that there was something unearthly about the incident. At the very least, it has made Roswell a tourist destination for people from around the world even as there are more questions than answers about the truth.

I tend not to believe that we have been visited by beings from faraway places in the universe. I am, however, open to the idea that such civilizations exist. I don’t know what it would be proper to call them. Are they people in the same sense that we are. Have they evolved differently depending on the environments in which they live? Is it wrong to call them aliens just because they may be different? Is it possible that there is some civilization that is a mirror image of our own? Are there beings who have learned how to live together more justly and peacefully than we do? Would they have important concepts to teach us, and would we believe them if we shared? These are the kinds of things that fascinate me. 

I believe that we have only barely begun to understand and use the full extent of our minds. I think that the future will bring developments that we are still unable to conceive. It would be fun to hang around to see what happens, but I suspect that it will be hundreds of years before such things become reality. Until then I really enjoy the world of science fiction, and wonder how much of it will eventually become nonfiction. Perhaps as with Leonardo da Vinci and Jules Verne many of the writers and dreamers of science fiction have already provided us with a glimpse into to the world of the distant future. I hope that we humans embrace the change. It sounds rather exciting!

I often see memes touting the rules that were prevalent for my Baby Boomer generation. They all speak of a more authoritarian way of parenting than I never actually experienced. I’m not sure why, but I don’t recall many spankings or punishments happening inside our home. By brothers and I were certainly not perfect, but my mom, who raised us alone after my father died, seemed to have a different way of keeping us grounded than creating a system of stern rules and consequences. 

My mother always said that Dr. Spock was her guru when it came to child rearing, and that may be. I’ve never read any of his ideas, nor do I recall seeing a copy of his book in our home. Nonetheless she often referred to the venerable old theories that supposedly came from his best selling prescription for bringing up children. This included daily naps and a routine time for almost everything during the day, concluding with a regular bed time. We could almost set our watches based on whatever we happened to be doing at any given time. This foundation of set activities became particularly valuable after my father died when we were all still very young. It provided with a sense of profound security that we certainly needed to navigate our new normal without Daddy.

My mother created a healthy environment inside our home. She provided us with a daily regimen of nutritious foods for breakfast, lunch, dinner and an afternoon snack. The food that she purchased was part of a plan, so we never helped ourselves to anything without her permission lest she fall short in the meals that she had envisioned. She did not like us to waste precious food, so she taught us to take a small amount at first, and only go back for seconds if we were sure that we would be able to eat what we had taken. Nonetheless, she never made any of us eat anything that we did not want, even if we had accidentally taken too much. Food was associated with love, good conversations and lots of laughter. 

I literally only recall being spanked one time, and that came from my father. Even at the time I understood that I had crossed a line of defiance. I knew that I was more than deserving of the thump on my backside that didn’t even hurt. After that I never again received any form of corporal punishment, and I don’t recall my brothers facing the hand, or switch or belt either. Mama’s favorite form of rehabilitation was a calm lecture explaining why a particular action was not acceptable. She’d guide us with a soothing voice and lots of reasoning, and then hug us to remind us that her love for us endured even when we had crossed a line. 

I suppose that some people would see my mother’s child rearing practices as a bit too lax, but the proof was in the pudding. My brothers and I responded positively to her ways, and mostly acted responsibly. Somehow she made it easier and more preferable to be good. We wanted to please the loving angel that she was, and so we mostly turned our backs on temptations. We would have felt guilty taking advantage of her goodness and trust in us. 

Things changed after my mother became afflicted with bipolar disorder. The disease overtook her mind, making her fearful and confused. She began to use guilt as a tool for controlling us in ways that were foreign to the very essence of how things had been. I was old enough to realize that her illness was speaking, not the person she actually was. I suspect that it was more difficult for my youngest brother who was still in his pre-teen years to deal with the sudden shift in her personality. At that point she became far more likely to use words as a weapon, and often uttered devastating criticisms that cut to the bone. It felt as though her entire being had been captured by some alien force that we did not recognize. 

Luckily our good Mama always returned after a cycle of depression and mania. She seemed blessedly unaware of how she had been during her illness, and we happily embraced her just as she had always been. We reveled in the generosity of her heart and thrived in her love until the next time when we had to endure the horror of that came from her psychotic and manic moments. She had given us so much over the years, that somehow we always knew that we had to just muddle through the hard times because the good times would prove to be so wonderful. 

I don’t know if I should give credit to my mother or to Dr. Spock or both for the wondrous job that she did parenting me and my brothers. She made every single day of our childhood seem safe and wondrous and filled with unconditional love. As a parent I would learn how difficult it is to maintain such a steadiness from day to day, but she always seemed to simply delight in the privilege of being our mom. The sacrifices she made were boundless. We never went to bed without seeing her gentle smile and hearing her voice assuring us of her love in spite of the mistakes we had made during the day. The rules of my childhood were actually quite simple and might be summed up in a very simple meme, “Be kind.” 

Because my mother practiced what she preached, my brothers and I turned out fine. I’ve realized over time that our children are always watching, and they will either consciously or unconsciously follow the example of what we do, not what we say. We have to be what we want them to be. That’s the best rule of all.

I’m a big fan of programs like Dateline and 48 Hours. I really enjoy the podcasts about murder mysteries as well. Before all of the true crime series on television and streaming services, I voraciously read stories of real life intrigue. Even as a young girl my first crush on books came from the Nancy Drew series of detective work. I eventually graduated to Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple. My mother often said that I should have joined the FBI or been a private investigator. I revel in a good who done it, mostly because I am fascinated by the kind of human nature that would send someone to the point of murder. It is impossible for me to understand the depth of evil that would push an individual to plot the death of another human being, and yet such things indeed happen too often. 

I once decided to try my own hand at writing a murder mystery. My killer was a sadistic psychopath who had eluded justice and thus become more and more bloodthirsty. At first I was quite proud of my efforts, but as time went by I became increasingly uncomfortable with describing the actions and thinking of the killer. I did not like him nor myself when I had to portray his sick thoughts. Before long I had to set aside my writing, take a break so to speak. I never went back, because I got an sick icky feeling each time that I even thought of resurrecting the evil of my killer. 

I’ve never actually known anyone who murdered another human being, and for that I am so grateful. The closest I ever came was living near a neighbor who had been abusing his wife both physically and mentally. One evening his anger went too far and he shot and killed her. I did not really know him or anyone else in his family, but his wife had begun pouring out her story to my mom on multiple occasions. I would hear the desperate woman weeping and my mom advising her to find a way out of the situation. Even though I was quite young, it did not surprise me when she died so tragically, but it filled me with fear. I refused to even walk in front of the house where the murder had occurred even years after the husband had been sentenced to prison, and the children had moved away. Murder is indeed most foul and somehow that home felt infected and dangerous after that.

We’ve had a rash of crime all over the world of late. Everyone has ideas about what to do to curb the violence, but I suspect that the issue is way more complex than any of us imagine. I doubt that there is a simple fix, but rather we have to look at all aspects of what might be driving the pattern. I first wonder why there is so much anger and desperation Then I find myself thinking that there are just too many guns so readily available. I consider the possibility that our justice system is too lenient, but also worry that our media almost glamorizes violence. Our relationships with one another are strained as well. It is as though something is seriously broken, and taking a hard line law and order approach will only mask the real reasons why such horrors are occurring. 

As a teacher I only encountered a couple of students who almost seemed to be made of pure evil. I did not know if they were simply mentally ill, or had encountered so much hate in their environment that they did not know how to respond in any other way than crime. Most of the troubled students seemed salvageable, but often not enough time and effort was spent on saving them from a future of hurting others. I always believed that if we caught potential evil doers early enough and really made great effort to help them, that we might bring down the crime rate in a very humane way. Sadly, too many young people simply fall through the cracks and then end up being lifelong criminals. 

I’ve been watching a four part series on mental illness that is fascinating, but extremely difficult to watch. One of the assertions in the program is that there is a serious deficit of doctors and treatment facilities for those with mental disorders. As a result, the largest distributor of mental health care is actually prison, a fact that one of my mother’s psychiatrists once told me, but that I found difficult to believe. The program noted that a gathering in virtually any prison in the country demonstrates that the vast majority of inmates have a history of mental illnesses like depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, PTSD, and a host of other issues. It is not to say that all mentally ill persons are dangerous, but when left untreated for many years their symptoms sometimes lead to violent outbursts and crimes. Many of the prisoners actually become healthy while in prison, but because there are no follow ups of their care, they are soon sick again. 

I like the idea of being creative, but I think I’ll stick with memoirs and character stories. I just don’t have it in my heart to write about murder, but I’ll still be doing some sleuthing with true crime and fictional books. I’ll just let someone else create the villains. I’d rather spend my time finding ways to keep people from ever becoming so sick that they perpetuate evil. There is a great deal of work to be done to achieve that.

When I was a teacher of younger students I always had a desk filled with stickers of all kinds, even those that the little ones might scratch to reveal a delightful scent. I was always amazed by the power of those little images to motivate my pupils. When I awarded good behavior, effort or achievement with the portrayal of a little puppy or kitten or superhero, it seemed as though everyone worked just a bit harder. If I added a personal comment of encouragement or praise to the mix, the results were wondrous. The Skinnerian power of stickers always amazed me. 

I sometimes wish that there were some similar little sticker routine that would help to make adults feel better about themselves. Of course, when a person has bills to pay, problems to solve and concerns about serious issues, a little sticker of a smiling Santa Claus does little to soothe anxiety. Still, I wonder how many people have evidence of genuine compliments about their efforts on a regular basis. Positive reinforcement is something that we all crave, and sometimes lack. 

I once worked for a very well-meaning administrator who worked hard to guide all of the teachers to continually improve their craft. She spent a great deal of time observing us at work in the classroom and then holding conferences to share what she had seen. The trouble was that her entire focus was on all of the things that we had done wrong. Week after week she suggested ways not to do certain things. It became incredibly discouraging, because no matter how hard we tried, we only heard that we were not quite up to the job. 

One week, when she asked me to respond to her criticisms, I asked her if she ever saw anything good about my performance. She was stunned by my question, and insisted that most of my teaching was excellent. She explained that her goal was to find the little things that I might improve, so that I would become a master teacher. She was surprised that instead I had taken her negative litany as an indication that I was never going to be good enough. 

I suggested that she tweak her tactic by beginning with a recitation of the positive things she had seen and then asking if we had any concerns about our teaching that we wanted to improve. I believed that such a discussion would almost always lead to a productive way of building on strengths while also being aware of weaknesses. It would be a growth experience rather than a feeling of constant failure. That little change would be like a happy sticker of encouragement at the top of our paper. 

She did change, and with that little difference came improvement in morale and productivity. People, whether young children or adults, really do respond to positive reinforcement. We all want that little pat on the back, and when we get it, we tend to work harder to keep those compliments coming. Since most of us are already our own worst critics, it stands to reason that negativity comes across as punishment. We feel defeated if someone only seems to notice what we have not done, rather than showing appreciation for what we have achieved. 

I worked for many years as a kind of facilitator for my fellow teachers. I had various titles including Dean of Faculty, but I viewed my duties as being the person who would bring out the best qualities of each individual. I did my best to find the unique skills that gave each teacher the potential to become a rockstar. Sometimes a person was so naturally gifted and talented that my work was easy, in other instances the educator was struggling to find a sweet spot in the classroom. Unless the teacher had given up entirely, I found that the first step to success was in finding the things he/she did best, and then building on those skills. 

Essentially we all want to be appreciated. We don’t want a trophy just for showing up or even for just participating, but it’s nice when someone notices how we are trying. The vast majority of people will work hard if their efforts are understood and appreciated. None of us master skills at the same time and in the same manner. It can be discouraging to be that person who only receives criticism. The natural inclination in such a situation is to eventually give up on the challenge and on ourselves. It’s one of the reasons why so many grown adults speak of hating mathematics. They struggled at some point, and nobody bothered to help pull them out of the abyss of failure. It became easier to believe that they were incapable of understanding math. 

Keep a pile of virtual stickers ready for the people around you. Use them liberally. You won’t have to make up compliments because everyone does something wonderful on a regular basis. Put a sticker on their efforts, accomplishments, goodness. Life is difficult and sometimes cruel. Be the positive reinforcement that we all desire. You’ll be surprised at the smiles that will result, and the efforts to become even better that follow.