Month: March 2022

In most circumstances I am a planner. I have rarely completed tasks at the last minute. For all of my life I have carefully crafted schedules and calendars designed to ensure that all of my duties and assignments are completed with great order and design. I do so because life has taught me to prepare for the unexpected, to be ready for roadblocks and interruptions that blowup my best intentions. If I am ahead of the game, such incidents do not deter me from meeting my obligations on time. I am always ready with plans A, B and C. 

In reality life is not so kind as to defer to my intentions. My best laid plans have often gone awry. The unexpected throws a bomb into my best efforts to be reliable. Someone gets sick. Someone dies. The weather grows angry and dangerous. My car won’t start. A hot water heater floods my home. A pandemic changes everything. The blues settle over me like an unremitting dark cloud. Any number of things change me from a long term planner to a minute by minute reactor who walks through the muck of living minute to minute, day to day. 

Each of us has experienced life changing events that give us pause, upend all of our careful plans. In those moments it’s difficult to decide what to do in the next hour much less days and weeks ahead. If we are honest we want little more than to curl up into a fetal position and just shut out the world and all responsibilities for a time. Keeping ourselves moving forward becomes a step by step process, a minute by minute exercise in distracting our minds from the sorrows of traumas that inevitably enter every human’s life. 

I’ve blessedly never been so overwhelmed by sorrow that it totally immobilized me, but there have indeed been times when thoughts of stopping the world so that I might get off were certainly appealing. I’ve spent a day locked away from all of my responsibilities contemplating my sorrows. I’ve thought of chucking it all, running away. Somehow I always regain my momentum and soldier on as my mother often said we must do. I find a tiny reserve of motivation and energy and push myself inch by inch past whatever grief has come my way. I have learned that sometimes it is actually a good thing to take one day at a time until the fog of tragedy lifts and allows me to be my forward looking self. 

We humans dislike the mix of feelings that come from any kind of loss. We have a tendency to most admire those who seem able to carry on with great courage never seeming to miss a beat. In truth it is really okay to give ourselves time to adapt to life changing events that take us by surprise. The feelings that overwhelm us are quite natural and simply ignoring them is hazardous to our health and well-being. The sapping of our energy and lack of focus is a physical reminder that sometimes we cannot, and probably should not, push ourselves to dismiss the panoply of emotions that we are experiencing. At the same time we have certain responsibilities to ourselves and perhaps others that cannot be abandoned. Learning how to find a balance while we are healing often becomes a day to day challenge that is more than enough to do. 

Ours is a very competitive society that begins even when we are very young. We leave the safety of childhood to attend school where we become one of many. We have to keep up with a sequence of learning and assignments in spite of any traumas that may be taking place in our lives. There is often little patience for anyone who can’t keep pace with the scope of one size fits all planning. We learn as little ones how to simply march along day by day even when things are amiss in our private worlds. If we are lucky we encounter insightful and compassionate adults who give us room to deviate from the pressures of learning on a preconceived schedule. 

Eventually we become adults and the expectations imposed on us become even greater. We juggle multiple responsibilities that require careful planning, attention to long range goals. One monkey wrench suddenly upending our schedules can cause incredible damage to our futures if we totally shut down. People give us a brief respite to recover and then expect us to return to our normal routines as quickly as possible even though we know that we are no longer the same as we once were. The world moves forward with or without us, so we have to find ways to cope. That often means putting one foot in front of the other over and over again until we have made it through one more day. 

It’s up to each of us to be aware of those impacted by trauma and to understand compassionately how difficult it may be for them to perform the most mundane tasks until their minds have had enough time to begin to heal. We can help them by being present for them, lightening their loads, suspending judgements of their reactions., allowing them time to grieve. 

When my mother lost her husband and subsequently became afflicted with mental illness there were angels in her midst who did everything possible to help her through the toughest of times. Her neighbors lovingly sat with her listening to her sadness and even her paranoia. They alerted me and my brothers when she was slipping again. Her boss and coworkers allowed her to take time off from work as long as she needed so that she might recover from her cycles of depression or mania. Her sisters lovingly called her each day and encouraged her to slowly get back into her normal routines. They were all loving souls who did not abandon her like so many others had. They stood with her from one day to the next, never forgetting how wonderful she was. We would all do well to be like them for surely there are suffering souls among us who need our patience and our love as they slowly recover one day at a time.

When I was a child I felt loved and secure. I don’t remember ever worrying about anything until the third grade when my world was upended. It began with an unexpected move to California that rocked my quiet and content little world. I did not want to leave my friends or my extended family in search of adventure. I was quite unhappy with the prospect of going to an unknown place to start over again in building relationships. Sadly the next many months of my life would be filled with tumult and, ultimately, one of the greatest traumas of my life. 

In the third grade we moved four times and I attended five different schools. That alone had been enough to shatter my sense of complacency, but when my father died at the end of the rambling school year I was crushed in a way that I was never able to voice until long after I had become an adult. My mental well-being was rocked to its very core, but people did not think to provide therapy for children back then. I suppose they believed that kids were mostly ignorant of the pain of loss and that I was resilient enough to adapt quickly to my new circumstances. Instead I spent the next decade dealing with my grief and attempting to rebuild the confidence and sense of security that had been destroyed upon my father’s death. 

It might be said that I became tough, a stoic who simply accepted that life was difficult. I learned to submerge my emotions by mostly ignoring them. I found that I had power over dark feelings by throwing myself into work. It was a deceptive technique that kept me going even when my mother became severely mentally ill and the responsibility for her care fell to me when I was twenty years old. By that time I had accepted that mine would be an unusual life interrupted intermittently by tragedies that I did not want, but knew how to overcome. I was saved from total desolation by having the good fortune of being in a life long relationship with a very good man who has relentlessly stood by my side in the most difficult hours. 

My students taught me that I was not alone in my suffering and that there were many individuals who had to endure even worse challenges, often without the love that I always found even in my darkest hours. My heart grew from working with them. My compassion expanded and allowed me to once again accept my feelings, even those that hurt. In many ways working with my students became the best therapy for my own traumas that I might ever have found. I saw their problems and understood their sorrows in ways that ran deep into my heart. I became known as “Mama B’ to my kids, the person who would truly understand their trials and their sorrows. In turn, helping them led me to being honest with myself about my own emotions.

I speak openly of my journey these days, not for the sake of finding sympathy, but because I want to encourage others to speak of the demons that have haunted them. Talking about uncomfortable feelings and owning them is a first step to overcoming them. I suppose I understood this best from an incident that occurred during one of the multiple times that my mother was in the throes of her bipolar disorder. Her illness coincided with an annual wellness appointment that I had with my doctor. During the visit he remarked that I was so healthy that he had little to say to me, but suggested that I might want to discuss something that was bothering me. Uncharacteristically I told him every detail of my life and the pain that I was feeling. I cried as I unpacked decades of sorrow and he listened intently. 

At the end of my rant he spoke with total understanding about my situation. It was as though he had somehow found a window to my mind, my thinking. He even perfectly described what he thought my emotions might be. He congratulated me for my bravery and told me to never again bottle up my feelings the way I had been doing. It was as though he had lanced a poisonous sore on my heart. As the infection drained away, I felt as that a miracle had just occurred. 

I now know that tragedies come and go in our lives. Some are almost unbearable and others bring a short interlude of sadness. By being honest with myself and knowing whom I can trust with my thoughts I am now able to heal after each battle with the vagaries of life. I have many scars and some of them flare up from time to time. There are triggers that bring tears and even worry. Mostly though I have learned that the pain of loss, betrayal, illness eventually lessens even if it never goes completely away. I am still strong, and even stoic, but I no longer push my true feelings aside nor do I attempt to go it alone. 

We are in a time of protracted uncertainty and sorrow. Unlike my own forays with such moments, this one is affecting the entire world. As humans we are worried and exhausted. It should be okay to express our concerns without judgement. In turn we should be ready to listen with intent to really hear what the people around us are saying just like my doctor did for me. We all need understanding, and while a stiff upper lip can be admirable under certain circumstances, it can also be an iron mask trapping our pain in a toxic way. 

This is a moment of great importance when we must set our differences aside and minister to those who are in grave need of kindness and compassion. Our world is in turmoil not because of a single individual or one way of believing, but because we have forgotten how to truly care for one another, starting with healing ourselves. 

When I think of unadulterated beauty I think of a small child. Nothing compares to the innocence and generous spirit that comes from our tiniest humans. They are still filled with wonder and lacking in the prejudices and hatefulness that far too many people develop over time. They see the world through the most accepting and compassionate eyes. If life were perfect their purity of mind and heart would never be polluted with with evil. We would all live in a peaceful paradise as Adam and Eve once did before their fall from grace. 

Perhaps the saddest aspect of life is the knowledge that many of our children endure abuse, want, cruelties that lead them to change from the innocents that they once were. To survive they become tough, sometimes even mean and vengeful. Their once pure minds grow dark and angry. Some even turn into monsters who hurt and others for their own pleasure or gain or to sate their hatefulness. 

Another beautiful group are the courageous souls who stand up to the bullies of this world, those who are willing to put everything on the line for justice regardless of the consequences. The men and women who marched for the civil rights of all people in the United States were such magnificent souls. The stunning protestors of Tiananmen Square in China who braved almost certain imprisonment for the cause of freedom were stunning examples of the best of our human courage. More recently we witness the citizens of Ukraine fighting one of the most powerful armies in the world in a determined effort to save their democracy. At the same time groups of Russian citizens have demonstrated their solidarity with their neighbors by blatantly breaking the law in protests that will surely bring them big trouble. 

It is often difficult under any circumstances to stand up to monsters and bullies whether they be individuals or governments. It is risky to push back on those determined to hurt others and yet history is replete with such magnificent heroes and each of us has no doubt witnessed some incredible soul who is unafraid to speak out against wrongs. In my writing I have many times extolled such individuals, my neighbor who saved frightened children from the murderous rage of their father, politicians who have taken a stance against their own parties to defend democracy like Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger, teachers who risked their jobs to protect their students. I am in awe of such amazing courage in the face of silence from those who are afraid to cross their peers.

As a very young child and early reader I often chose books from my Catholic school library that extolled the lives of saints. The stories that were most impactful to me were those about souls who became martyrs, individuals who died defending justice, truth, goodness. I read of their courage with a sense of wonder and admiration. It was later that I witnessed real people in my own country who died fighting for the equal rights of all people. When Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed I knew that he was both a martyr and a saint. Like the others that I had learned about when I was quite young, I realized that each of us is imperfect, but if we rise to the occasion of defending our fellow humans and then die doing so we have become the most beautiful versions of ourselves. We have followed the example of Jesus Himself by giving our very lives for what is most surely right. 

Not every situation that we encounter is life or death, but standing up against evil is almost always wrought with uncertainty. We may indeed be punished for being good rather than being praised for our bravery. Nonetheless, it is important that we honor ourselves and those around us by never turning away when we witness wrongs. Joining a throng intent on bad intentions to save our own skins is not only detestable, but also soul crushing. We lose a bit of ourselves each time we ignore injustice. We don’t have to directly intervene in a dangerous situation, but we must surely make our refutations known. 

Such resolute behavior often means speaking out against the very people who mean the most to us. There is perhaps nothing more difficult than letting someone know that their behavior and thinking is hurting others. Often people do not even realize the extent of their actions in bringing harm. Correcting an essentially good person is often more difficult than chastising an obvious villain. It takes finesse and love to discuss difficult topics and there is always a danger that doing so will rupture the relationship. Nonetheless if we really care about others there are situations that are so impactful that we must speak truths. Not doing so would lead to unnecessary hurt and suffering. 

Moral example is beautiful. The person who lives a life of honesty and courage may not win over everyone and may even be shunned for the efforts. The persons who quietly and continuously lives in service to justice, compassion and truth are ultimately the most beautiful among us. Such individuals somehow find ways to maintain the incredible purity of soul with which they were born and whether we agree with them or not, we know that they are beautiful. 

Does anyone really know exactly what is in those regular tacos from Jack in the Box? I recognize the lettuce, the hot sauce, the cheese and even the fried corn tortilla that holds it all together, but what is that mashed meat-like substance in the middle? It’s a conundrum that has haunted me for years. In spite of my misgivings I have been an avid fan of those darn things for as long as I can remember. If it’s lunchtime and I am in a pinch I love seeing a Jack in the Box drive through where I can order two regular tacos and a medium diet coke for around five dollars. it’s a perfect meal that tastes good and fills me up, but niggle in the back of my mind worries me. I really do believe that I am eating something that maybe should not got into my body. Luckily I have never had a bad reaction to that combination and so it has become by go to order on those now rare occasions when I actually imbibe in fast food.

A few years back we took two of our grandchildren to California. On the way there we stopped by the Grand Canyon and watched the sunset in that magnificent place. As we were driving back to our campground later in the evening we all suddenly felt hungry, but had a difficult time finding somewhere to stop for a bit of nourishment. The only place that appeared to be open was a McDonald’s much to my chagrin. While I have never become ill from consuming my Jack in the Box tacos, I almost always have a very bad reaction to McDonald’s food unless I order a Happy Meal or an Egg McMuffin. I did not think that it was a particularly good idea to eat something that might have bad consequences for the long drive that lay ahead of us the next day, so I was in a quandary as to how to sate my hunger. I decided that my best bet was to order an Egg McMuffin which just happened to be available twenty four hours a day at that time. It was a blessing not to have to consume anything else.

I’m generally not a fan of fast food restaurants. I don’t even particularly like Chic-Fil-A which seems to place me in the minority when it comes to my family. If I want chicken I much prefer going to Popeye’s, but it’s not always easy to find one of them and as I grow older like fried foods less and less. If I had the power to choose only one place that would be available anywhere that I went, it would be Whataburger. I like the Whataburger Junior meal with a small diet Coke and the spicy ketchup for my fries. It has the perfect taste and comes in just the right size, and not once has it made me sick. For me it is the essence of perfection if I have to grab something quickly and be certain that the quality will always be there. Sadly it’s difficult to find Whataburger in most places in the United States which we found out on that same road trip to California when my grandchildren were craving Whataburgers rather than In-N- Out.  

The absolute best drive thru that I ever encountered was a Portillo’s in the Chicago area. Their menu is divine and caters to meat lovers like my husband and those who prefer an excellent and fresh salad like me. He always wants a polish sausage with onions on a big bun while I prefer the chopped salad which is to die for. For desert lovers there are huge slices of cake that are more like your mama used to make than something one would expect to find in a fast food place. 

Portillo’s knows to expect large crowds at lunchtime so they have perfected a system for lining up the cars and taking the orders that is so quick that customers almost never stop moving. I don’t know how they do it given the enormous menu and the quality of the food. If a Portillo’s ever came to the Houston area it would be an instant hit and I for one would become a regular customer. 

I’ve enjoyed traveling with my trailer behind our truck these days. When we’re hungry we can go inside and prepare our own food. I know what the ingredients are and everything is fresh. I don’t have to worry that I will get caught having to eat something that disagrees with me. These days I enjoy vegetables and fruit much more than meat, and for some reason I only like sandwiches if I have prepared them myself. I suppose that I have become much too finicky and far less adventurous with my eating than I once was. I’d rather so inside a grocery store to choose the things that sit well with me than to take my chances at a Taco Bell. 

Fast food has become a way of life in America. Back when I was young we had Prince’s Hamburger drive ins where we ordered food from a waitress who came out to the car. The food was actually quite good but the company was locally owned and eventually mostly went out of business. As a kid I loved going to James’ Coney Island for hot dogs but in downtown Houston where you had to go inside and snake through a long line to get the best hot dogs I have ever eaten. We also had a local hamburger joint called Chuck Wagon that was fast, but we still had to walk up to order our food. Those places were the absolute best and I don’t think that the fact that I was just a kid when I craved their food diminishes the quality of what we got back then. 

I can hardly recall the last time I stopped at a fast food restaurant or even ate out. I’ve become an old fuddy duddy who would literally rather be a bit hungry than eat just anything. To look at me you would think that I munch on fried foods and junk all of the time, but I’ve all but given up those things. Give me an apple and a few slices of really good cheese and I am content until the next meal. The only fast food I now crave is Whataburger and if Portillo’s ever comes to town I’ll be the first in line for a yummy chopped salad. Of course I’m still willing to get my two regular tacos at Jack in the Box as well. It’s funny how I still don’t mind that mystery meat.

It is true that our world is still uncomfortably dependent on fossil fuels. It is also true that this dependence is having a negative effect on our environment. Truths abound when it comes to our relationship with oil and gas. We know that it would be wise to set our sights on improving alternative forms of energy, but the truth is that we are years away from reaching the goals needed to wean ourselves away from the black gold flowing throughout our economy. In truth we have to keep the engines of our industry roaring, and at this moment in time the demand for oil worldwide is causing a spike in prices that burdens our already stretched budgets. With the added tension of a boycott of Russian oil by most western nations, including ours, our resolve to support the cause of justice for Ukraine is truthfully being stretched to the breaking point. So with all of these truths how should we choose to react to the current crisis? 

First, it would be wise to go back to March of 2020, a moment when the whole world was bowing under the weight of Covid 19 illnesses and deaths. Even the worldwide medical community was still learning about how to deal with the deadly virus as nursing homes and hospitals were being overwhelmed. Businesses were tanking as customers no longer came and workers stayed home sick. We shut down for a time hoping to flatten the curve and learn more about how to save lives. The virus took us on a global roller coaster ride and our uncertainties about how to react began to fray our patience and our willingness to work together not just as a nation, but as a worldwide community to overcome the vagaries of Covid-19. 

Just before all of this began the world of oil and its commerce was not doing well. Former students of mine who had earned college degrees in difficult fields like petroleum and mechanical engineering found that there were no jobs waiting for them. In fact, the major players in the oil business and its related subsidiaries had begun to encourage older workers to take early retirement while not filling their positions with new employees. With remote working and learning becoming the norm for a time, the lack of demand for oil only exacerbated the problem. The cost of a barrel of oil fell to record lows and the layoffs of workers began in earnest in April of 2020, smack dab in the middle of the early days of the pandemic. I was acutely aware of these problems because I live in the Houston area which has at times been known as the oil capital of the United States. The energy corridor of the city was as decimated by the low price of oil as hospitals were by Covid deaths. It was a dark time when many people that I knew suddenly found themselves unemployed when there was not an abundance of alternative jobs for them to take, but gas prices were delightfully low. 

January of 2021, brought vaccines and a lull in cases of Covid that created a demand for just about everything. Suddenly everyone was feeling optimistic and filling the roads and stores and spending money. Demand for goods and services outstripped supply causing shortages and long waits, but the good news was that the economy was beginning to hum again. It would need to adjust, but the signs were looking better as those who had endured most of the pandemic without incomes suddenly found opportunities for work. This great rush of activity and movement was a boon for oil companies and their investors. The price of a barrel of oil continuously rose as did the sticker at the gas pump. By the end of 2021, oil stocks and oil profits had achieved historical records. Despite inflation life seemed to be moving in the right direction. 

Then Vladimir Putin decided to invade the democratic country of Ukraine and the western world aligned in a determination to punish Putin by doing major damage to his economy. One of the boycotts involved in the plan was to refuse to purchase Russian oil. Thus after two weeks of hell for the Ukrainian people as their nation has been torn apart by the invading Russians, the price of oil in the United States jumped dramatically, testing our national resolve to hold firm to the plan to topple Putin by way of the Russian economy. Instead of feeling proud to bite a bullet and sacrifice for the cause, many among us are whining about the cost of fuel while also falsely claiming that our predicament is totally the fault of President Biden and the Democrats, a ridiculous and false argument when faced with the facts. 

Oil is part of a global market. The price is never determined by a single country or person. It is a complex process that often seems to have a life of its own. It is a system entangled with a hierarchy of investors, governing boards, administrators and workers all intent on making profits. Right now our country produces most of the oil used in the United States. Less than ten percent comes from Russia. The production comes from a variety of players including the big companies and small independent owners who are free to decide when and how much they are willing to produce for the market. As of this moment over 4400 wells with permits to drill are sitting dormant. They could come alive at any moment but for now the owners do not wish to spend the money needed to hire workers to get the oil in them moving again. Since coming into office President Biden has given permits to more sites on government land than his predecessor. Around sixty percent of oil leases are not being used. The oil is there as are the permits to use it, but the companies do not feel that it is in their best interests to drill at this time. 

About eighteen years ago my husband inherited some oil and gas leases from his mother who had obtained them from her mother. For almost two decades nothing has happened on them. We often get no payments or checks that are so minuscule that they would hardly buy a cup of coffee from Starbucks. This is not because of government policies, but a choice made by the actual owners of the wells. They have determined that it is not financially rewarding to bring the sites to life once again. So we hold on to our tiny investment and joke about how little everyone understands how the industry actually works. 

The truth is that we can do a few things to weather the storm that is upon us, but mostly the behemoth known as the oil industry is bigger than any one person or political party. To insinuate that Joe Biden is responsible for our present dilemma is a false oversimplification of a complex problem. If we are to blame a single person for the sudden spike in the price of gasoline we should be pointing the finger at Putin. We should also ask ourselves if we really do care about Ukraine, because if we do then it will be up to us to have more patience than we seem capable of embracing. Our own pain at the pump will be the price we pay, but it seems minuscule when we witness the suffering of the Ukrainian people. 

We should not continue to tear each other apart the way we have been doing for the last two years. When we do that Putin smiles. We should understand that our President is doing all that he can to support the Ukrainian people while also easing our economic woes. The ball is in the hands of Putin as well as the oil producers in our country. They can do the right thing, or not. Their choices will determine how much misery the world must endure. We can choose also. We have to decide if we are willing to go the distance together or if we no longer feel any sense of responsibility to each other and to our fellow humans in the world. It’s time that we all faced truths, including the need for a future without a dependence on fossil fuels. Denying reality will get us nowhere but deeper into turmoil. I for one am ready to do my part for a worthy humanitarian cause.