Month: July 2022

The heat has been relentless this summer. I find it more difficult to endure as I grow older. I can’t believe that I spent the first twenty years of my life in a home without air conditioning. Somehow the hot days of summer in Texas barely registered with me back then. Now I’ve become like a fragile southern belle who wilts upon emerging into the relentless sun. 

This year has been especially brutal with record setting temperatures in the high nineties before it was even July. Some parts of my state are experiencing highs of one hundred four and rain has been elusive. I’ve had to do my gardening in the early morning hours or just before sunset when a slight breeze finds its way into my yard. Even the neighborhood swimming pools are mostly empty during the hottest hours of the day. 

Where I live having constantly high temperatures is a reason for concern. It means that the ocean and gulf waters are becoming perfect breeding grounds for massive hurricanes. Around here we won’t breathe a sigh of relief until the end of October when the season has passed and we have once again been spared from nature’s fury. This year has a number of us very worried we seen this pattern before and it rarely turns out well.

I think the whole world is exhausted and even a bit crazy right now. We have witnessed a lifetime’s worth of tragedies in a very short span of time. Covid-19 is still claiming victims, thankfully at a much slower rater, but vulnerable people that I know continue to catch it and experience harsh symptoms and extended recovery time. I hate to think of what might have happened to them without their vaccines and boosters because they have been very sick. So it would be nice if Mother Nature gave us a bit of a reprieve this hurricane season. We are so weary and the thought of a furious storm is a bit more discomfiting than usual.

i watch the war in Ukraine from afar but my hearts is so heavy for the people there. It’s tempting to look away, but I know that doing so would be wrong. I want to support the efforts of the citizens there, but feel as though my offerings are so small. I worry about China hinting that they want to regain Taiwan and rumblings that China may assist Russia in taking Ukraine. I feel a bit overwhelmed by the fact that such things are happening at the very time when it would be nice for the whole world to take a bit of a breather from the tragedy of the pandemic. in a perfect universe we would all be getting along, but instead our human natures are trending toward hurting and taking advantage. A big hurricane during a time like this will just be a poison cherry on top of the insanity that is our reality. 

I have literally lost count of the mass shootings. I find myself being more vigilant than ever when I go out. I’m not avoiding interactions with my fellow humans but I’m being cautious like I was when I was growing up with a single mom. I had become much more relaxed and naive about what might happen as I went about my daily routines but recent events have reminded me to always be aware of my surroundings. I find myself searching the lay of the land and considering what I might do if disaster were to strike. It’s the kind of thing my mother taught me so that we would be able to live normal lives without a father. I’ve had to resurrect my skills. It saddens me that we can’t agree on how to change this trend, but that seems to be part of the problems we face as well. Sadly the heat that we are experiencing is yet one more problem that we have ignored for far too long.

We have so many difficulties that we must address but we keep getting distracted by our differences. We somehow can’t agree on solutions, so we tend to just keep quibbling rather than studying the issues and making progress toward finding solutions that actually work. In all honestly it both saddens and angers me. It worries me as well. There is great danger in always be at odds.

On a small level life is good. I enjoyed a fabulous Fourth of July celebration with my neighbors. We convened in the cooler hours of the evening and munched on barbecue, grilled vegetables and desserts. We danced on the driveway while children were frolicking in the grass. We enjoyed an amazing fireworks display on our very diverse cul-de-sac. Nobody worried about politics, religion, ethnicity or sexual orientation. We were just happy neighbors enjoying each other and our freedoms. If a hurricane comes we will surely band together once again to help each other during the storm and its aftermath. I just wish our little United Nation of people on our street might be an example for everyone in all corners of the globe. That would certainly make for a better more peaceful world and maybe we would finally get serious about dealing with the climate that worsens with each passing year.

I suspect that most people feel a bit like me. It’s way too hot for comfort and the world itself is all too often on fire. We could surely use a respite, a bit of rain without flooding, an end to wars and shootings. We still need to heal and that will take some time. Maybe the first step lies in checking on our neighbors and really caring about them even when they are very different from ourselves. Even when it is hot we have the power to cool things down one person at a time. 

Someone was asking if I ever find beauty in chaos. I guess the answer to that is a full stop “No!” I’ve had enough chaotic moments to last a lifetime. I am one of those people who not only prefers order, I actually require it. Blame it on a bit of dyslexia or attention deficit disorder or obsessive compulsive tendencies or perhaps all three things. My brain literally stops working correctly when unpredictable disorder ensues.

As a teacher I planned every moment of every day down to the smallest detail. Because I understood that things rarely go exactly as hoped, I prepared lists of alternatives from A to Z in case something did not work or the unusual occurred. I walked up and down the aisles of my classroom considering how well students would be able to see and whether or not I would in turn be able to keep an eye on them. I attempted to predict all of the possible unintended consequences of having almost thirty souls confined to a small space and prepared accordingly. 

I stocked my classroom with extra paper, pencils, markers, pens, tissues, paper towels, paper clips, staples, bandaids, anything that someone might have occasion to need. My lesson plans included extra work in case my students wizzed through a lesson. I had alternative learning activities in the chance that my original instructions bombed. I kept books for students to read if they finished tests early, puzzles they might do for enrichment if they seemed bored. Mine was an orderly world on paper, but all too often everything changed in an instant.

I’ve experienced the gamut of unexpected occurrences. I’ve had a nine year old student bring powdered chlorine to school which he sold to other students as cocaine. I’ve seen the usual vomiting and unnerving epileptic seizure. I’ve had to leave my classroom in the care of another teacher while I coaxed one of my students from jamming a pair of scissors into his jugular. I’ve had to break up fights and pass out tissues to girls who had just lost their boyfriends. I’ve had projects that were fun but ended up making messes in the classroom that I had not anticipated. In spite of my best laid plans my students surprised me again and again. 

Life has a way of being chaotic at times no matter how much we try to keep things going smoothly. We don’t expect to have an accident or for someone to get sick enough to need hospitalization. We rock along and then someone dies without warning. If we are really unfortunate we find ourselves in some very dangerous situations. We can only be so safe, take so many precautions. It is impossible to isolate ourselves from chaos, even if we decide to become hermits. 

My maternal grandmother reached a point in life after which she never left her home. Two of her unmarried sons lived with her and cared for her. They paid the bills, purchased groceries, made repairs on the house. She happily tended her garden and cooked and cleaned. She seemed not to miss interacting with society at all. Her children and grandchildren visited regularly so she was never alone. She was content with the slow pace of of final years and the only time she left the comfort of her isolation was when she had medical emergencies. 

Most of us would not want such a lifestyle nor would we be able to have it. As we go about our business we never know what might happen to us. We accept that there will be times when we completely lose control of our situations for the joy of interacting with our fellow humans. Chaos in small doses once in awhile is not so bad. I can take being part of a massive crowd at a ball game or a concert because I know that it is only temporary. If I had to endure that kind of thing frequently I would become unbearably anxious.

I often think of people who live in war zones, the ultimate in chaos. i really don’t know how they keep their minds intact. For me that would be the worst case scenario which is why I never understand those who openly advocate for things like civil war. I suspect that such folks have not really thought through the horrors of such a situation, the deaths, the damaged buildings, the homelessness. War is one of the most unreasonable and unbearable sins against humanity. 

Even animals have an order and design to their existences. Bees have a chain of command and a hive that is as organized as it gets. Watching ants build a mound is fascinating. There are rules, instincts that only fall apart if other species arrive to throw the system into disarray. Chaos is unnatural. A virus follows natural rules even as humans reek chaos dealing with it. 

I am a planner, a quiet thinker. I’ll stick to as much routine as possible. Soon enough chaos will come my way. Hopefully I will ready to adjust to it, but I am rather certain that I may get overwhelmed by it and I won’t enjoy that feeling. 

I suppose that I have always been one of those people who asks a lot of questions and I don’t always have a filter when it comes to my queries. I remember my mother shushing me on a city bus when I observed the black people huddled in the back and wondered out loud why they all looked so tired and sad. I must have been only about five years old, but I somehow sensed that there was something wrong with the picture that I saw. My confusion only mounted when I later encountered the water fountains and bathrooms labeled “Colored” and “White” in the department stores. I wanted to know who had come up with these strange ideas and why they thought they it was okay. My mom nervously put a stop to my chattering with her response that,”It’s just the way it is.”

One of my favorite tales was the one about the boy who saw that the Emperor was parading naked down the street while the people cheered as though there was nothing strange about the scene. I understood the frustration of the little kid who kept shouting that the Emperor had no clothes and wondered why the adults ignored him. I often felt that those protecting me from difficult topics did not understand that I was not fooled by trite answers.

We just celebrated the Fourth of July, Independence Day about a week ago. We sometimes seem to forget that while our founding fathers were imperfect men, their greatest quality was a willingness to question the way things were done. They created a form of government that they hoped would give power to the people to see problems and then create solutions to maintain freedom. Of course we all know that there were many people left out of the rights and liberties defined in the first laws, but over time our government evolved to include black citizens and women. Eventually those people in the back of the bus who had to use separate facilities when I was a little girl earned the same rights as the rest of us, but still struggled to be fully accepted and respected in our society. So I, along with others, find myself still asking many questions about issues that seem to be out of sync with how our nation should be. 

Does that mean that I am not patriotic, or could it be that I am actually concerned with making our freedoms stronger and ever more inclusive? Should we just place our hands over our hearts and ignore the naked problems in our country or would it show more love and respect for our nation to call out things that are unjust? Did our founders intend for us to have blind allegiance or would they have applauded those courageous enough to insist that no single way of believing should be the law of the land? 

Over the history of our country we have found the best versions of ourselves when women marched through the streets demanding the right to vote or when crowds joined hands to insist  that segregation and voting suppression was morally wrong. The real beauty and strength of the United States is on display whenever people are unafraid to ask why something is happening. We need the voices of people who point out the problems. 

I remember when I was a teenager growing up in Houston, Texas we joked that there were two dominant groups of kids, surfers and cowboys. It was a silly way of classifying each other because few actually had surf boards are rode horses. It was our way of delineating progressives and conservatives. When I was in college the labels changed from anti-war to supporters of the war in Vietnam. Society tended to see those who donned uniforms as the real patriots and defenders of freedom, but those who protested what they saw as an unjust war were just as dedicated to saving our country. There were simply two different ways of defining and solving a problem that our country faced.

I’ve read that when the American revolution began only about a third of the colonists wanted to break away from the British Empire. Another third were staunch Loyalists and the remaining people just wanted to be left alone. I suspect that this has been mostly true throughout the history of our country. Perhaps it is true of the world in general. Some people are fervent about holding on to the way things have always been done, others are determined to make changes that they believe are needed, and another group just wants things to settle down again. It is part of our human natures that all too often leads to literal and figurative wars. 

There is a push of late to protect children from uncomfortable truths. I laugh at such an idea because my experience has shown me that young people are much more open to honesty. They observe the world with unfettered curiosity. They see things that adults have chosen to ignore. They are overjoyed when their questions are taken seriously and when the answers are truthful. 

Our country was fought for and founded by men who were product of an era of enlightenment. They saw that the old ways were no longer working and they risked their lives to create a new way of living that promised more freedoms. They did not create a perfect union. Humans rarely achieve such perfection, but they did set up a system that would allow future generations to adjust to the evolution of the world. They were the original inquisitors who had the audacity to question the king. They wanted a government that would allow different factions and beliefs to coexist. They wanted to guard against monarchical one size fits all decisions about privacy, religion, and the way we decide to live and think. They made a good start, but we won’t keep our republic if we do not exercise our rights to vote and we refuse to learn how to listen to and address important questions.

I suppose that I am a bit spoiled. When I was growing up I enjoyed a great big extended family. They were my lifesavers after my father died. It was never just me, my mother and my brothers surviving alone. There were grandparents, aunts, uncles and dozens of cousins who filled my life with support and joy. We constantly celebrated together on birthdays, at Christmas and even on summer weekends. We spent every Friday and Sunday with them. My social calendar was filled with so many events that I never felt alone. My relatives would stop by to check on us and even to bring us food when we were sick. It was a beautiful relationship that made me believe that I would never be alone. 

As usually happens, things changed over the years. The family grew to a point that made it difficult for everyone to continue meeting together as they once did. My grandparents died and my aunts and uncles began to follow them to the great beyond. It became more likely that my family would gather most often for funerals than parties. Still, I continued to enjoy lots of fun times with my brothers and their wives and children. We almost religiously celebrated all of the birthdays together and special occasions like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, the Fourth of July, baptisms, first communions, graduations, weddings. I always knew that I would be surrounded by loving people multiple times each year with special dinners and meet ups in between. 

Then came Covid and it all fell apart. The annual dinner to celebrate my mother’s heavenly birthday was not even mentioned this year. Not a single person has enjoyed a raucous great big family birthday party for almost three years now. We did manage to get together for a graduation and a baby shower but mostly the glue that kept us together has dried out and cracked just as it has with friends as well. It is as though we all became accustomed to being alone and we don’t quite know how to restart the gatherings once again. Maybe some have even realized that they don’t really want to do so anymore. 

I know that few families have enjoyed the rock solid commerarderie that has defined my life and that I took for granted.  We certainly still love each other, but we have become busy and we are moving in many different directions. Perhaps it was always inevitable that our unwavering dependence on each other might one day have to change. Even if we succeeded in getting every single person in the family to attend some event, we would practically have to rent a hall to accommodate them. Still, I do miss the way we never forgot the birthdays even if we were far away or sick. 

There are lots of discussions about what constitutes a healthy family. I don’t think a really good family has much to do with its make up or how often it gets together, but rather how often the members check to see how everyone is doing. When I was a child I never once doubted that someone would always care for me and my brothers. Even when a schoolmate suggested that I would have to go to an orphanage if my mother also died I was able to assert without reservation that my aunts and uncles would take care of me. I had every confidence that I was never alone. That knowledge kept me strong. Those constant interactions with my big crazy family helped me more than anyone might measure. I worry that young people today, even in my own family, do not have nearly enough of that sort of reassurance. 

I’m not a party girl by nature. Nonetheless I see invitations to parties or parties held in my honor as a kind of confirmation that somebody really cares. It takes a person acting as glue to get those things started and I think that most of us are just out of practice and some are even still a bit worried about Covid. I know that I used to be the supreme hostess but I haven’t scheduled anything since 2019. Perhaps it’s time for me to attempt to glue things back together, rather than simply lamenting that nothing is happening. 

I like that one of my neighbors constantly brings our cul de sac together with little gatherings on his driveway or in his backyard. We all think of him as the force that pulls us out of our homes and into relationships that go beyond waving as we drive off to work. I need to take a page from him and do better. I’ve let my introverted tendencies get a bit too comfortable of late. It’s long past time to bring the family back to life. I have to step up and be the glue.

My Grandpa William Mack Little is a cipher. He listed his mother as Marion Rourke in the family bible, but try as I may I have never been able to find any sign of her on Ancestry.com. or anywhere else. The same goes for his father James Mack. It is as though my grandfather just popped up in a cabbage patch one day. Nonetheless he had a story of family that included being raised by his grandmother after his mother died shortly after he was born. I can’t find a thing on her either. For that matter I don’t find any proof of Grandpa’s existence until he is well over forty years old. 

Grandpa told me all about his grandmother and wove stories of living with her in the backwoods of Virginia near a coal mine that his she ran. He was quite the teller of tales about his childhood and his early teen years. He even had a wonderful story about the time his father and stepmother had smallpox and he was fetched to take care of them. When his grandmother died he was only thirteen and had to help a judge choose a guardian for him. He didn’t think his father would be a good choice since he had never supported him before that time. Grandpa suspected that his old man would just squander the small inheritance from his grandmother, so he chose a man named John Little, This was supposedly his uncle, although I can’t find a connection to Mr. Little’s family and my grandfather anywhere. John Little was actually Captain John Little, a graduate of the United States Military Academy. Sadly Captain Little died from typhus after being sent to help with hurricane relief in Cuba in 1900. By that time my grandfather was twenty one years old so he had already set off on his own doing mostly construction work but he missed having the guidance from his uncle. 

Grandpa traveled all over the United States finding jobs wherever they were to be had and staying in rented rooms. Perhaps his vagabond lifestyle is the reason that he was never registered in a federal census until he was a middle aged man. He never really settled down, not even when he met and married my grandmother. He took the family here and there looking for work just as when when he was single. Most of his jobs ended up being in Oklahoma and Texas so that’s how he ended up in Houston with my father in tow. 

Most of Grandpa’s adult life took place before the introduction of Social Security and because he had been without work during the Great Depression he never managed to save a great deal of money. Nor did he have a very large pension from his union. My grandmother’s cancer and the hospitalizations it required wiped him out financially. He ended up living in a rented room from the time he was eighty eight until he died at the age of one hundred eight. 

Grandpa had lots of grandchildren and great grandchildren so I was shocked when I learned that nobody was willing to join together to pay his funeral expenses. I was just shy of being forty years old at the time and my brothers were still in their thirties. We weren’t swimming in cash but we were able to put enough together to have our grandfather buried next to my grandmother. We remarked that we would install a grave marker later because we had already stretched our budget on caskets, flowers, cars, police escorts and all the rituals associated with laying a great man to rest. 

We would visit the cemetery often and I rarely mentioned how much it bothered me that my grandmother had a headstone, but Grandpa did not. On one of my birthdays my husband suggested that we visit the cemetery, since my grandfather and I shared a birth month. It seemed like a wonderful way of remembering him and not just focusing on myself. 

When we got there I was surprised to see that my grandfather had a marker of his own that was styled the same ways that Grandma’s was. I was overjoyed when I saw it because if ever there was someone who deserved to be remembered for all time, it was William Mack Little. It seems that my sweet husband had purchased the stone as one of my birthday gifts. 

While I have received many wonderful gifts over the years I have to admit that nothing has quite topped that incredible surprise. My grandfather had been like a second father to me and I had gained so much wisdom from him. He was the person that I always wanted to see whenever I was feeling anxious. Just sitting with him and listening to his never ending stories always set me at ease and reminded me how lucky I was. I don’t think I ever adequately conveyed to him how much I loved him or how much he had meant to me. My thoughtful husband had understood my feelings and honored both me and my grandfather with his gift. 

It’s funny how we humans like to give things to each other. Sometimes our gifts are expansive and sometimes they are tokens. Presents are an indication that somebody cares about us. When they say the old phrase that “it is the thought that counts” it rings true with me because on that wonderful birthday I received a gift that topped them all.