Month: October 2021

When I first heard of the cheating scandal of the Houston Astros I did not believe it. The Astros were the good guys of baseball in my mind. They were also such a strong team that everyone knew that they did not have to resort to malfeasance to win. After all, they had just as many victories on the road as they did at home. When confessions came forth proving the accusations I was heartbroken, mostly because it tarnished the reputations of good people and also because it did not need to happen. I will always believe that the Astros would have won the World Series in 2017 without that ridiculous camera and trash can banging. I will forever be angry with the people who came up with such a ridiculous idea. 

It’s been four years now and the Astros have a new and honest coach, a good man with a sterling reputation. Many of the players from the 2017 team are gone. True to my beliefs they are still one of the strongest teams in baseball. They have not needed any extra advantages to dominate year after year. Therefore I think it’s time for everyone, especially the naysayers, to move on from dogging on the team as though they are the villains of baseball. There is such a thing in this world as contrition and reconciliation and I believe that the Astros have paid their dues and moved forward. The rest of the baseball world should do the same. 

I hear ugly comments about the Astros that include the entire city of Houston, as though every citizen in our city is guilty of some heinous crime. In truth ours is a town that few people will ever understand. We are an outlier in Texas and even the rest of the United States. We are the most diverse city in the country and we live together in harmony. We represent the future in a very good way. 

Houston is a town of hard working individuals who have always had to deal with insults from even the rest of our own state. We are often regarded as being the ugly city, the less refined city, the less cool city. That is, of course, untrue. We are in fact a very open and inviting city. We tend to embrace anyone who comes here and we have some of the most remarkable institutions in the country. 

There are four major universities in Houston each of which is doing incredible research and educational advances for our young. Our medical center is world class. We have outstanding art galleries, a wonderful symphony and a stunning ballet troupe. There are entertainment venues in multiple areas of town that attract artists from around the globe, not to mention the Alley Theater which is highly regarded for its live performances. In other words, Houston is home to renowned venuse of art and culture. 

The heart of Houston, however, is always revealed in times of disaster. We care for each other deeply in this city. People just naturally respond to the needs of those in danger or who need help fending for themselves. For years the people of Houston have been some of the most generous donors in the country for causes of all kinds like the Muscular Dystrophy Society. We are some of the first to open our pocketbooks to causes of every kind and our efforts for others are often unparalleled. 

When members of the media attack our teams and our fans as though Houston is a city of thugs and cheaters it is a gross misrepresentation of who we are and who the Astros are. It really is time that such ugly accusations stop. It may make for good television to create controversy but it also puts an entire city of good individuals into an inaccurate stereotype. 

Houston is not perfect and those of us who live there will admit that we have work to do. The traffic is horrific, but really no worse than in Dallas, Chicago or Los Angeles. We would do well to work more on renovating our infrastructures and beautifying all areas of town. We can’t do much about the heat and humidity but our seasons of fall and spring are generally spectacular. 

We have every sort of person that there is in the United States and still manage to get along. We are a hard working town that loves its children. We often mystify our state government with our voting patterns that do not always conform with their beliefs. We get by with a strong determination to allow people to be who they are. 

So let’s please get over the malicious attacks on our Astros and our city and its people. Let our team play ball and demonstrate that they really are champions. Be happy for us. We’ve had some hard luck but we keep coming back. If that’s not an all American story, then I don’t know what is. We are teaching the world what repentance is all about. That must surely be worth cheering for. It’s time to let the hate go away.

Of late I have had the strangest dreams that are filled with images of family members and friends who have died. They seem to occur just before dawn, and while they make absolutely no sense, they are somehow disconcerting. I have an injured arm and I take a prescribed pill before retiring that may be the culprit in creating my nighttime dramas, or perhaps I am simply thinking about some of the people who meant so much to me in life. Sadly, I doubt that they ever knew the extent to which I was incredibly grateful to them. Somehow I never seemed to take the time to adequately express my feelings. I remember trying to do so in a generic letter on one occasion and I ended up receiving a flood of phone calls from people who were concerned that something was wrong with me. I suppose that we humans are a bit unaccustomed to being showered with thanks for simply being ourselves. We become a bit embarrassed, uncomfortable with public announcements about the positive contributions that we make to society. Most people just quietly do their good works without any expectation of gratitude. Some of those folks have been showing up in the nightly dramas that are creeping into my mind of late. 

I have been quite fortunate to be surrounded by incredibly generous people for all of my life. My parents were always kind and loving. While I only had a brief time with my father it was enough to observe and understand his thoughtfulness and loyalty to family and friends. My mother was a true saint. Literally every thought and action she made was for others. In spite of a life so difficult that it would have broken most souls, she remained optimistic and happy save for the times when the chemicals in her brain created chaos in her mind. She literally sacrificed her entire life for my brothers and me and for her mother and her siblings. She was the very definition of unconditional love. 

I have countless stories of unselfishness from my grandparents and aunts and uncles. My grandmother Minnie is still the angel who watches over me. My grandfather William taught me how to tell a good story and gave me a most excellent male role model after my father died. He watched over me and I delighted in just being in his presence. It was my Aunt Valeria who was there for me on the day my father died and every single day thereafter. My Uncle William was the sweet man who most understood my grief on that horrible day. My Aunt Polly seemed to know exactly what I needed to hear at frightening times in my life. My Uncle Jack was my hero. My Uncle Paul was a silent hero who demonstrated his love for my family without fanfare or recognition. My Uncle Louie and Aunt Maryann introduced me to the young man who would become my forever companion. My Uncle Andrew awkwardly seemed to think that I was eternally a little girl that he needed to spoil. My Aunt Claudia, aka Aunt Speedy, was my idol, an icon of beauty and intellect who seemed in many ways to be my kindred spirit. 

During the years after my father’s death my cousins brought me unimaginable joy. The Friday evenings and Christmas Eve celebrations that I spent with them saved me from the depths of despair that lurked inside my heart. Our games and laughter and silliness together created a montage of beautiful memories that still make me smile. While I no longer see them as often as I once did, my love for them is profound. They are part of the foundation of my very soul. They are like extra brothers and sisters who complete my great big extended family.

I have had the most wonderful friends, beginning with my time in school. I remember meeting Judy, my forever idol, in the second grade. In that same year Lynda, became my best friend and to this very day we can talk for hours like two little girls excited about the world around us. I encountered Monica in that time and she became like the sister I never had. Carol and her twin Cindy showed me how to be confident and caring. Susan and Karen and Kathy were neighbors with whom I played and then grew into a woman. I was in awe of guys in my class like Jack and Terry and Tommy and Larry and Paul. Later I would find soulmates like Nancy and Linda with whom I could bare my soul and never feel embarrassed or judged. 

I entered the adult world and during the journey that seemed so long at the time, but now feels like the flicker of a single moment, I found more wondrous people who filled my life with joy. Some are still with me. Others are gone. Egon, Marita, Pat and Bill became like family to me. Adriana, Jenny, Maggie, Chrystal, Tricia, Aimee, Sharon, Angie were new sisters that I never expected to have. I found joy with Dee and Glenda and Stephanie that was such a delightful surprise. 

Then there are the members of my family starting with my very best friend, Mike, my beloved husband, and beautifully complimented with my precious daughters, Maryellen and Catherine. Of course my mother-in-law, Mary, and father-in-law, Julio showed me a world that I had never before known and then when Mary died, sweet Janell came into my life as well. My sons-in-law, Scott and Jeremy, are good kind men and with my daughters they have given me the most fabulous grandchildren anyone might ever wish to have. Andrew, Jack, Ben, Eli, Ian, Abigail and William are my pride and my joy. I even got two wonderful new sisters, Becky and Allison, along with nieces and nephews, Kim, Daniel, David, Shawn, Ryan, Scott, Nathan, Julie, Katie, and Maria plus Lorelai, Birdie, Lex, Penny, Logan, Cody and Tyler.

Life was very difficult for me at many times but there were always people who came to my rescue just when I needed them. I know that I have left off many names. My students are not listed here, but they were and still are the loves of my life. Many of my work colleagues are not mentioned but they have appeared in the dreams of which I spoke. They inspired me and made me the person I am today. My teachers helped to educate and form me. The people at my church like Shirley and Judy embraced me. If I attempted to list every single person for whom I am thankful I would have a list many pages long. Still, I remember each and every moment when a person in my life touched my heart and saved me from despair, often at times when they had no idea what they had done for me. 

How do I possibly or adequately thank the countless souls who have played such important roles in keeping me happy, centered, certain that the world is a good place? There are no words, no gestures, no tributes that come even close to conveying my gratitude. Simply know that if at any time or in any place our lives have intersected you no doubt touched my heart and left me better than I might otherwise have been. I thank you for my beautiful life and want you to know that my love for you is unending.    

I never cared much for science in school. Biology involved way too much memorizing of terms and Physics was impossible for my brain to actually visualize. I enjoyed Chemistry because it was like a beautiful puzzle where all the pieces seemed to fit nicely together. Only once did I have a teacher who made me feel excited about science and that was in what we called Junior High back in my day. That’s when I encountered an educator named Mrs. Colby, a delightful woman with so much passion about all things related to science that her fervor was contagious, and I caught the bug. 

I was in Mrs. Colby’s class during the early days of space travel when flights lasted only minutes and technology was still rather crude. NASA was being built in Houston and the original astronauts were buying homes down in the Clear Lake area while being feted around town as heroes. For a time there was a temporary NASA facility not far from the school where I listened to Mrs. Colby rapturously explaining how the rockets that would carry them into space actually worked. It was the first time in my life that I actually cared about such things. 

We learned about our own atmosphere and what it meant to travel fast enough to break through our protective covering of oxygen into the weightlessness of space where there is no air. Mrs. Colby made all of those facts sound incredibly fascinating like science fiction that had somehow become real. I remember feeling a sense of history and great importance in her lessons, so I clung to her every word. 

One day she rolled a television into the classroom and prepared us to watch John Glenn become the first American to orbit the earth. She so giddy with excitement that I realized we were about to witness something quite extraordinary. I watched with the greatest anticipation and wonder that such a feat was even possible. I believed in that moment that Mrs. Colby was giving me a great gift of being part of something that I would remember for the remainder of my life. In that moment I thought that she was magnificent with her explanations of what was happening and her joy in humankind’s ingenuity. 

Mrs. Colby was a very rational woman who taught us to think. Perhaps that is what I remember most about her. She showed us the value of the scientific method and demanded proof for our hypotheses and statements. She spoke to us of the painstaking processes that led to great discoveries. She helped me to understand how very complex all systems are and how unraveling truth is critical to our existence. Somehow I don’t recall all of the facts that she taught us, but I do remember her admonishing us to be willing to look beyond the seemingly obvious by taking the time to do our research and apply logic to every situation. 

I never saw much of Mrs. Colby once I moved on to high school. I had classes with one of her sons, but never thought to ask him how she was doing even though I often felt so much gratitude for what she had taught me. The years passed and I lost track of her and her son. I often spoke of her and her influence on me and my memories of her were always so warm. At my fiftieth high school reunion I learned from her son that she was still alive and as passionate about the world as ever. It made me smile to think of her advancing into her nineties with her brilliant mind still observing the world around her. 

Last week Mrs. Colby left this earth for the great unknown. I’d like to think that she experienced some grand feeling of floating weightlessly into space toward new adventures in her next life. I imagine her analyzing her situation and wondering what made her transition possible. Like a true scientist I believe she would have been fascinated and delighted by the process and wishing that she had a way to tell us all about it. 

Some teachers leave a lasting impression on us. Mrs. Colby was one of those people for me. Junior High was a horrid time in my adolescent life. I felt awkward and lost in rather typical ways. For the most part seventh and eighth grade are enshrouded in a kind of fog in my mind. My math teacher in eighth grade terrorized me even though she was probably a nice lady. I can’t even remember anything about most of my other teachers. I waded through the gawkiness of those days with a kind of dread with the exception of the hours spent with Mrs. Colby. She broke through my self absorption and presented a way of viewing the world around me that was filled with optimism and possibilities. She focused my mind on the joys of learning and exploring and creating. She was in a word quite wonderful. 

I wish that I had been able to convey my deep appreciation to Mrs. Colby while she was alive. I suspect that few of us take the time to actually thank the educators who have meant the most to us. Mrs. Colby was that rare teacher who changed the trajectory of my life. For that I have always been grateful. I will never forget her and I hope with all of my heart that she is now resting in blissful peace. I’d like to believe that she is now on a grand adventure and finding answers to the many questions that she so often posed. Godspeed, Mrs. Colby. You were one of the best.  

Some days we wake up with so many plans and then something unexpected happens and our minds go into a tailspin. Nothing that we had thought to do seems as important as it did when we first awoke. We get a new perspective about everything. Such it was on the morning that I wrote this blog. I had many ideas for my topic for the day when I suddenly learned that Colin Powell had died. The news was so shocking that I literally was unable to remember my previous thoughts. I only knew that I was overwhelmed with a great sadness and sense of the highest respect for this great man. 

It seems that General Powell died from complications of COVID-19, which somehow seems so incredibly ironic given his amazing and often dangerous military career and the fact that much of the country is acting as though the pandemic is over. The realization that he was fully vaccinated makes it even more difficult to accept. He was such a strong and powerful man of impeccable character that he seemed almost invincible, and yet a tiny virus was his ultimate undoing. 

Colin Powell was one of my heroes. He personified the qualities that I most value like integrity, honor, loyalty, courage, intelligence, kindness. I had once hoped that he would one day be President of the United States because I believe that he was a very good man of the kind that we truly need in order to bring our country out of the divisiveness and anger that seems to only grow worse as forces deny truth, foster lies, support our worst human traits. Colin Powell not only loved this country, but he was also willing to understand, note and attempt to correct its flaws. 

The death of Colin Powell feels like a kick in the gut. It’s one of those moments when I falter just a bit and ask questions that might better be left unspoken. Why is someone so good, so principled taken from us while we are plagued by others who do nothing but attempt to rile us up and turn us against one another? Why can’t we all see that Colin Powell’s is the example that we should follow, not the rowdy, self-centered power hungry individuals who dominate so much time in the media these days. Colin Powell’s death is a reminder to us all that even the powerful are not immune to the most mundane aspects of humanity. In remembering his remarkable life we should all pause to take stock of how we have been acting of late. We must ask ourselves if we are truly working as he always did for the good of all of the people in our country, not just those who appear to share our views. 

The time has truly come for all of the posturing and political power playing to cease. The truth is that each and every one of us might lose our lives or the lives of loved ones in this battle with COVID-19 and its effects. This is not a time for selfishness, but rather a moment when we have the opportunity to make sacrifices for the good of humankind. COVID-19 does not care what country we inhabit, what color our skin may be or what language we speak. It does not respect borders or religions or any of the categories that we humans have invented for dividing ourselves into tribes. It is simply waiting to attack and in our fury with one another we are allowing it to continue to win. 

From the beginning this has been a world war against a tiny virus that we should have been able to control but for our hubris and self-righteous indignation. We have worried more about whether or not we will be able to get the exact cuts of meat that we want at the grocery store than how to share our knowledge and tools for fighting the disease. We are more focused on an election that is still a year away than on human suffering that is happening today. Many of our leaders care more about power than bringing us back together. We are pandering to the lowest common denominator of our human traits rather than having the courage to admit that we will continue to lose great men like Colin Powell every single day until we are able to join hands and work together to fight for what we know deep down in our hearts is right. How many more must go before we cease and desist with our carping?

I realize that Colin Powell was eighty four and therefore more vulnerable to COVID-19. I know that he had multiple myeloma which no doubt made him less likely to maintain the antibodies that he needed to fight the virus. Some might say that it was simply his time to go and the fact that COVID-19 accelerated his demise is neither here nor there. Nonetheless, to me his death should be a reminder to us all of how far we have deviated from the very best characteristics of our American democracy. Our fall from grace has created a fertile breeding ground for hate and chaos and the virus. None of this needed to happen, nor should it have happened, and yet here we are. 

I would like to think that we might come together in mourning for Colin Powell. There would be no more fitting tribute for him than to be inspired by his character and willingness to give so much of his life to protect us all. He was a true American hero. Let us honor him by returning dignity and respect to our nation. We might start by naming one of those military bases with Confederate names after General Powell. He most certainly earned that small tribute. Let’s go even farther by ceasing our internal civil war and reuniting in a spirit of doing whatever it takes, not matter how long it takes to help pull our country and our world from the brink of destruction. We can do it. We have done so before. The time for coming together is now.

Some mornings I arise and have no idea what to write about in my blog. On those days I search for inspiration in many different places. This morning my mind seems to be in a state of overload. I have so many thoughts of fabulous topics that I am hardly able to focus. If I had the time I would literally spend the entire day creating one essay after another. Instead I must choose only one idea, and that is as difficult as attempting to pick one flavor of ice cream in a store with a multitude of varieties. I suppose that in such a situation I would ultimately default to butter pecan, my all time favorite. Thus it shall be with today’s offering, a bow to a story of our humanity, the topic that seems to have driven my entire life. 

One of my former bosses has endured the most horrific tragedy imaginable. This past summer his eldest son was shot and killed in a road rage incident. He and his two boys had enjoyed a wonderful evening of attending a Houston Astros’ baseball game. The trip home should have been a joyous one, but instead turned into a nightmare that seems more fitting for a movie than real experience. 

The traffic around the baseball stadium can be dreadful after a game. People are jockeying to get out of parking lots and into the proper lanes for merging onto freeways and roadways as quickly as possible. It can be a maddening experience even in the best of circumstances. On this particular evening it was as frustrating as usual. My friend nonetheless allowed several cars to move in front of him in an effort to be gentlemanly. He ultimately decided that he had done his share of being kind and moved forward. This angered a man who was out on parole from a previous conviction for violence. There was a quick exchange of some well known hand signals and my former boss drove on toward his home thinking nothing of what had just occurred, just another night in heavy Houston traffic.

It soon became apparent that the felon was following my friend, moving at speeds of up to eighty miles an hour. He was not going to let his anger subside. He was determined to seek revenge for the slight of being cut off from the flow of traffic and the insult of that hand signal. In a state of panic my friend tried to lose his pursuer and then the unthinkable happened. The sound of a gun shot rang out inside the car, then another. My friend’s eldest son had been shot in the head. 

I don’t know how my former boss had the presence of mind to speed his way to a hospital emergency room, especially given that the crazed shooter was still chasing him. In the chaos of the moment he managed to call 911, but much of what happened later became a blur. His beautiful son died that night, and his world has been upside down ever since. His tragedy is one that none of us will truly understand, but he has attempted to record the evolution of his feelings in daily posts that are so brutally honest that they are often difficult to read. Nonetheless, they are some the most inspiring thoughts that I have ever read.

My friend wants good to come from his son’s death. He urges all of us to perform random act of kindness to counteract the evil that exists in the world. His hope is that we can overwhelm ugliness and violence with goodness. Still, it is incredibly difficult for him to control his anger, especially given that the perpetrator of this horrific crime is out on bond until his trial which may not come for two or three years. The unfairness of this flaw in our justice system haunts and taunts him. He wonders how it is possible that an admitted murderer can be roaming freely while his beloved son is gone forever. 

There is nothing that any of us can say that will help my friend. His agony is so real and only he can learn to deal with it. All we can do is listen and offer our support. His honesty is courageous and inspiring. His journey through hell is gut wrenching. I search for his posts each morning and cry over the hell that he is enduring. I want to be able to give him more than inadequate words that sound so hollow and trite because he is allowing all of us to learn from him in the most extraordinary ways. 

My former boss is an exceptional educator. His entire life has been about teaching generations of young people. He has dedicated himself to preparing his students for life. He is very good at what he does, but now his motivation is stronger than ever. He understands that the future lies in the young men and women in his school and in schools across the world. He wants to impart the wisdom and the determination that they will need to face even the most unimaginable horrors. He desires to keep them optimistic even as it is almost impossible for him to see past the ugliness that lurks in so many corners of his reality. Each day for him is a balancing act of maintaining optimism and surrendering to his rage. 

In situations like this, words all seem banal. Advice seems to be patronizing. What do any of us know of how it feels to have a beloved family member murdered? All we can do is learn how to really hear the voices of victims of violence and injustice. We can do our own best to take a deep breath and be kind wherever we go as my friend requests we do. We can make special efforts to do something nice for someone every single day in honor of the young man whose beautiful life was so unfairly and brutally ended. We can love and appreciate what we have rather than being continually dissatisfied. We can learn how to be more honest and compassionate with one another. These are the things that my friend hopes that we will all learn from his tragedy. Let him be our teacher. His lessons are real and important. Taking them to heart may be the most wonderful thing that we may do for him in memory of his beautiful son.