Month: January 2023

We humans are social creatures. We need contact with other people as much as we require food and water to stay healthy. While we vary in just how much interaction with others is ideal, no person does particularly well in total isolation. Hermits are the exception, not the rule for humankind. Without social stimulation we whither away. Our brains starve for contact with people and when there is none, it does not perform well and may even become sick. 

Relationships are an essential element of existence. As far back as history records humans have joined together with others to work together in the common goal of surviving. Unlike most herds or flocks of animals, people also develop complex feelings for those with whom they interact. While people cannot exist without supplying their physiological needs or their sense of safety, having a sense of belonging and love is possibly even more important to them. It is in finding others with whom to develop mutual relationships of caring that people increase their self esteem and find the confidence to become better versions of themselves. 

In the past three years we have all witnessed the devastating effects of isolation caused by the worldwide pandemic that upended our normal routines. Most of us personally knew people who died during the long stretch of time during Covid. Our rituals of celebrating lives together were often limited to the most immediate members of the family. Our traditional gatherings at certain times of the year were smaller and more restricted than they had once been. We simply coped with the realities of our individual situations with even the most introverted souls among us feeling lonely and off kilter. We realized just how much we longed for hugs and seeing smiles instead of having to interpret how people were feeling behind masks that covered their faces.

The recent holiday season brought most of us back together again with great joy and celebration, but for some the rollicking times were reminders of people they had lost. Our outpouring of joy was a double edged sword for the lonely and forgotten souls, those not quite able or ready to join in the crowds. There is still much sadness in our midst that we sometimes forget to address. We seek happiness and often turn away from people or situations that remind us that for some among us all is still not well. it is important that we do not forget them no matter how difficult it may be to see their suffering. 

My friend Shirley had a stroke before Covid was even a word in our lexicon. She had been a delightfully talkative soul who brought smiles wherever she went. She loved to cook and she was quite good at creating delicious recipes and entertaining friends and family. The stroke left her unable to talk or move around on her own. The pandemic only emphasized the loneliness that she must have felt after losing her wonderful abilities to socialize. I suspect that had it not been for her daughter Chrystal’s unending devotion to visiting her on an almost daily basis she might have lost her mind or even or will to live. Instead Chrystal brought her so much joy with milkshakes, stuffed animals, movies, and even goofy hats that created an almost imperceptible glimmer to Shirley’s eyes.

Last weekend I spent over four hours with a group of very special friends who are more like sisters to me than mere acquaintances. We sat around a table under blue skies and balmy weather eating and drinking and telling our stories. We enjoyed a mix of emotions from tears to laughter. We opened our hearts to each other without feeling that we needed any filters to protect us what we might say or hear. We hugged and held hands  exchanging our devotion to each other. It was therapy for the soul, an infusion of emotional antibodies that chased away any doldrums that we might have been feeling. Each of us walked away stronger and more confident then might otherwise have been the case. Such is the power of loving relationships. 

We will get busy in the coming days and weeks. We may think that it’s time to concentrate on work and getting back to normal routines, but in the process we would do well to make connections with the people around us on a daily basis. Talk with the clerk in a store. Take the time to ask how your colleagues at work are feeling and allow them to understand that you really care. Step across the street to visit with your neighbor. Take time to smile at the people you meet. Contact someone who has been silent to make sure that all is well with them. Write or speak the words that tell someone how much you mean to them. Make those connections. Open your heart with gratitude and gladness. 

There is too much anger and war in the world today. It is making us anxious and sick. If we are to heal the way we should it will be in the quiet moments with our friends that peace begins.     

It’s that time of year when film critics award their favorite movies, actors and directors. Those that get nominated or actually win the awards usually get a bump in interest from fans who become curious about why they were chosen. Nonetheless, those winners are not always the ones that become favorites for all time. Taste in movies is quite personal. One person’s list of the best of the best might be totally different from that of another individual. Critics may rave over a particular flick that has no interest for the vast majority of people. 

Just as with books, we each choose different types of movies based on our experiences and interests. We are touched by particular stories or performances because they somehow speak to us. Often there is no telling how the general public will respond to a film until it has seasoned over time. Sometimes a movie becomes more significant and beloved as it develops a relevant message or demonstrates its capacity to makes us think or smile or cry. A good production speaks to some part of our minds or hearts in ways that only become better and more meaningful with time. 

I remember reading a review of A Christmas Story when it premiered years ago. The critics savaged it, asking why anyone would want to submit their children to a viewing of fighting, bullying, foul language, guns and a creepy Santa Claus. I purposely avoided going to see the film because it sounded like a third rate production that would eventually end up on the dung heap of failed efforts to entertain. It was years after it premiered when I just happened to watch it and instantly fell in love with its wonderful impressions of Christmas from the eyes of a young boy of another time. It was almost poetic in taking me back to my own youth and reminding me of my own Christmases of long ago. Apparently many others found a connection to Ralphie and his family as well because it is a classic shown in homes alongside It’s A Wonderful Life every Christmas season. Evan Hallmark designs ornaments inspired by the leg lamp and Ralphie’s house. 

Whenever someone asks people to name their favorite movies it becomes apparent that award winning films do not always remain picks over time. I don’t think that I have ever seen a single vote for Shakespeare In Love and yet it won the best picture nod years ago. In fact, I always get a kick out of noting how beloved many films that did not win or were not even nominated become national treasures. 

The Wizard of Oz is a mainstay in American film and yet it did not win a best picture award along with brilliant movies like Pulp Fiction and even the another Christmas classic, It’s a Wonder Life. On the other hand there have been highly touted films that most of us think of as clunkers like Birdman or The Artist. Who among us would choose American Beauty over Sixth Sense, and yet that is exactly what happened at the Academy Awards in 1999.

I much prefer hearing what ordinary people like to watch. Friends and family members have guided me to some of my favorite films ever. The list of great ones is long and worthy of repeat viewings over the years. Surprisingly one of the most oft mentioned favorites is The Princess Bride, a classic from the eighties that seems to age like a fine wine. Likewise The Shawshank Redemption is often named as a perfect movie by viewers, but even with a number of nominations it went home empty handed on Oscar night. 

My own picks are quite eclectic. My favorite film from last year was Belfast which only won honors for best original screenplay. I’ve generally differed from the critics in my votes for the best in most years, but now and again I’ve seen something or someone in a movie that was a breakout for everyone. I still find Denzel Washington’s acting in Glory to be one of the most extraordinary efforts in movie history. For his talent he won the best supporting actor Oscar and only grew in his craft over time. 

The movie Philadelphia was a game changer for me. It not only demonstrated Tom Hanks’ versatility as an actor, but it also awakened me to the struggles of the LGBTQ community. Other films have stuck in my mind for decades after viewing them like Judgement at Nuremberg and Schindler’s List. On the lighter side I love all of the Harry Potter movies and could watch Under the Tuscan Sun over and over again. 

So, in no particular order these are movies that I often recommend. They touched my heart or my mind and stayed with me long after I viewed them. Perhaps you may enjoy them as well:

Philadelphia, Zulu, Good Will Hunting, Under the Tuscan Sun, Rear Window, The Hundred Foot Journey, North by Northwest, Glory, Terms of Endearment, Belfast, Inception, the Harry Potter movies, Interstellar, The Lord of the Rings movies, American History X, all of The Godfather movies, The Usual Suspects, Apocalypse Now, Alien, The Shawshank Redemption, The Shining, Field of Dreams, Inglorious Bastards, To Kill a Mockingbird, Amadeus, The Princess Bride, Full Metal Jacket, Schindler’s List ,The Elephant Man, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Dial M for Murder, Lawrence of Arabia, Gandhi, Judgement at Nuremberg, The Wizard of Oz, Vertigo, Psycho, The Dark Knight, 2001 A Space Odyssey, Gosford Park, Chinatown, The Crucible, Silence of the Lambs, Unforgiven, Singin In the Rain, Misery, Dr. Strangelove, Pulp Fiction, A Streetcar Named Desire ,The Rainmaker, Gangs of New York ,A River Runs Through It, Platoon, O Brother Where Art Thou, High Noon, Fargo, The Pianist, Glengarry Glen Ross.

If you’ve missed any of these you might want to check them out. I’d love to hear of favorites of your as well.

We think of ourselves as very modern souls devoid of superstitions and yet some of us still enjoy playing silly games online that claim to give us insights into ourselves. Thus it was that I took the bait and tapped a few keys to supposedly find out what my bywords for 2023 will be. I had to gaze at a hodgepodge of letters and quickly find the first four words that became apparent. With my slight dyslexia and difficulty seeing well on a computer screen it took me more time than it should have to finally notice the words, strength, alignment, lessons and money, in that order. 

Of course the list of possible words encased in the randomly placed letters were undoubtedly so generic that they might apply to anyone who managed to find them, so it was not surprising to me that they somehow resonated with me. It was no doubt pure luck rather than some incredible dive into my mind that led my eyes to the four words that I eventually found. Looking at them I also realized that each of us might interpret their personal meaning in different ways. 

Like most people my life has been a serious of ups and downs, victories and challenges, happy times and sorrowful ones. I learned how to take each day one step at a time long ago. That is not to imply that I’m always optimistic, determined and calm, but that I eventually find my way back to a resigned determination to simply keep moving forward in spite of the roadblocks that have come my way. The truth is that it is rare for success and happiness to come easily for any of us. 

If I have learned one lesson it is that every single one of us struggles at some times in our lives. It is quite rare to sail through a day, a week, a month, a year without difficulties taunting us, making things difficult for us. From small annoyances to life changing tragedies we are constantly challenged to find the strength to use our talents, our skills, or beliefs to be our better selves. It is virtually impossible to avoid difficulties in our lives even if we try to isolate ourselves from realities that threaten our happiness. 

Life is hard work and as adults we would do well to teach this important lesson to our children. We may see individuals who appear to have had an easy time learning, succeeding, finding the key to happiness and bounty, but if we take the time to study them we almost always find that they have quietly put forth great effort while others only dreamed and talked about improving their situations. 

I’ve often said that happiness is not a mirage or an attempt to run away from sorrow. It is a state of mind that comes from facing our problems head on and understanding how to find joy in small things. If our optimism depends on extravagances outside of our hearts and minds we will struggle to love ourselves and the people around us. Happiness is simple and yet we make it so complex. 

I have found a kind of alignment to guide me for most of my life. I would be a liar if I were to claim that I am always beholden to the advice that I give others. Like anyone I sometimes fall apart from the pressures of life. I feel sorry for myself, worry incessantly, complain that I am somehow more beset upon than others. I allow myself to wallow in self pity for a time, but then I face my difficulties and step by step get back in the game. I force myself to do small tasks, then bigger ones, to use my mind to consider solutions to my dilemmas and then to try them. I try to be open and honest with myself and with people that I trust. I arrange to be around people, outside of myself, attempting to focus more on helping others than obsessing about my own woes. It’s not as noble as it may sound, but it is a way for pulling myself out of the doldrums that plague me now and again. 

Who would not enjoy having more money? It would seemingly erase many of the worries that we have. I try to think of money with perspective. When I’m worried I try to remember that I am more fortunate than most of the population of the world. I think of how delighted the people starving for food and freedom would be if they had all of the luxuries that I take for granted. I realize that with only a few small sacrifices I might live much more frugally than I presently do. I really do not require more so I should be wishing that someone less fortunate might fine the gift of money this year, not me.

The lessons I have learned have helped me to align the trajectory of my life and have made me strong. I have enough money to be comfortable and free from hunger. Somehow the words strength, alignment, lessons and money are less important to me than the word gratitude. I don’t have to play a game to understand that being thankful for what I have should be my byword for 2023. I have been fortunate through all of my life. I do not need more. 

I grew up as one of a baker’s dozen of cousins. They were my go to family when I was growing up and for the most part we stayed incredibly close to one another even after we moved out into the world and began our own families. Sometimes months or even years would pass before we actually saw each other in person but our bond was so strong that we were able to pick up conversations as though we had talked with one another the day before. I never once recall feeling distant or uncomfortable with any of my cousins. We have always been one great big happy and sometimes crazy group. 

Laughter and mischievousness tend to mark our gatherings which have centered around special birthdays, anniversaries and deaths of family members in recent times. In the beginning we were the second generation of an immigrant family. All of our parents were born in the United States over a period of thirteen years after our grandparents arrived from the area of Europe now known as Slovakia around 1913. The first generation American siblings stuck together like glue both as children and adults so my most faithful and long lasting playmates were my cousins. In many ways I always felt more like I had ten brothers and two sisters instead of just the two boys born to my mother and father. 

Leonard is the eldest of the cousins and the undisputed leader of our clan. He is more than a decade older than I am so when I was a little girl he was mysterious to me with his teenage ways. He seemed to be more akin to my mother who was the youngest among my seven aunts and uncles. I vividly recall attending his wedding when I was no more than seven or eight years old. I thought he was stunningly handsome and that his bride was a princess. As I matured over time the gap between our ages seemed to narrow and I learned that Leonard was as fun loving and likely to play jokes as the younger cousins had always been. 

Leonard’s brother, Delbert, was also considerably older than I was. I remember spying him being a typical teenager when I visited my aunt’s house with my mother.  He was rather handsome and I often bragged about him to my friends. I would later have serious and intellectual conversations with him in which he would tell me what my grandfather was like and how my father had influenced him. 

Alan, Ingrid and Paul were the next cousins who were all born in the same year which was only one year before I came into the world. Jack was born a few months after I was. These cousins were always part of my life. My mother took photos of them sitting near me in their strollers, scampering about as toddlers, learning how to ride bicycles and attending our first days of school. I could talk with them about anything. I always felt safe and loved with them even when our jokes poked fun at each other. 

Andy, my brother Mike and Rick came next. They were the little brothers who joined our games and made us older ones become a bit more responsible as we looked after them. In short order my brother, Pat, and Sandra the only other female cousin, came along to almost complete our close knit group. In a late surprise we were joined by Bill whom we fondly called “Little Bill” to differentiate him from his father and mark him as the youngest of our group. 

I cannot imagine growing up without my cousins. They saved me from falling into the depths of depression when my father died. I saw them virtually every week of my young life mostly at my grandmothers’ but sometimes at family gatherings at the beach on Sundays. I can’t watch certain television shows without thinking of them because they were so often present when I viewed those programs. I laugh when I think of the games we invented together and the family newspapers that we created when it was too cold to play outside. Our shenanigans were legendary. Not even Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn had more fun than we did.

Eventually our family became more and more extended as we set out on our own, married and had children who then had more children. Leonard hosted several reunions and we celebrated the milestones of our aging parents. The old Christmas and Easter traditions that brought us together in my grandmother’s tiny home died with her. We went our separate ways but always found time to check on each other and gather again in both difficult and celebratory times. Then the funerals for our generation began. The first to go was Sandra, then Jack followed by Delbert. Just this past week Paul died as well. 

It’s difficult to watch our baker’s dozen become smaller bit by bit, but with each passing we remember how close we all have been through every single phase of our lives. The love we have had for one another has been palatable even when we did not always think alike. I am who I am because of them. A bit of each of them defines me. We will always be a baker’s dozen somewhat alike but a tiny bit different and always with a deep love for each other that is never to be denied.    

I was perusing newspapers and social media sites in the early morning much as I do each day. I saw an ad for a t-shirt emblazoned with the message “I have no shelf control.” Of course, the play on words had to do with buying excessive numbers of books, a habit that I have yet to learn how to curb. I’m a book junkie and have been for most of my life. 

I suspect my love of reading started with my father who had accumulated quite a collection of volumes of his own. His daily habits included listening to music and reading as soon as he came home from work each day. The nightly ritual included scanning the newspaper and sharing the funny papers with me and my brothers. After dinner or on weekends he might immerse himself in a new book or read the latest edition of National Geographic magazine from cover to cover. His taste in reading material was amazingly eclectic and might cover anything from classic fiction to volumes on future travels to the moon in a time before NASA even existed. 

I can’t recall ever passing a bookstore without going inside with my father. Trips to the library were weekend adventures. People still laugh when I tell them that our family’s exploration of Hollywood focused on spending hours in a multi-story shop filled with volumes of every kind. Our souvenirs were texts on how to tie knots and beautifully illustrated fairy tales. 

My father’s father was an avid reader as well, so I suppose that my own addiction to collecting and enjoying books comes naturally. It may not be in my DNA, but it was certainly influenced by my environment. Reading is comforting to me. I can lose myself inside the pages of a good story or recitation of history even when my world is turned upside down. It is a kind of therapy that focuses my mind and lowers my level of anxiety. it keeps me company and reminds me of the feelings and experiences that all humans share. 

My most prized possessions are books that my father and grandfather gave me when I was a young girl. I even have one that belonged to my daddy when he was only a boy. Its pages are brittle, yellowed, tattered and torn. The cover fell off even before my grandmother gave it to me after my father died. She proudly proclaimed that he never stopped reading once he had mastered the art of the process. He even made several failed attempts to teach her how to decipher the combinations of written letters that formed words. She was proud that he had worked to give her the gift of literacy even though the essentials of reading eluded her. 

I often told my students that there was no greater freedom or sign of privilege than knowing how to read. In the long history of the world literacy and education was often denied to all but very wealthy men and a small number of lucky women. Education makes us think and ask questions, a dangerous mix for those who want to stay in power and control certain members of the population. I warned them to beware of anyone who attempted to censor what they might read or even to limit how much education they might receive. 

It saddens me to realize that there are still places in the world were ignorance is forced upon certain members of society. Denying women the right to learn is an abomination. Neglecting to support public education is elitism. Unfortunately such situations are still happening even in our modern world. 

My father encouraged me to be curious. He showed me how fun reading actually is. He wanted me to push myself to be able to comprehend more and more complex ideas. Not long before he died he counseled me to challenge myself more than I had been doing. He explained that the great ideas of history came from tearing down the boundaries of our minds. He encouraged me to never stop reading and learning and to be grateful that I had the skills to become ever more knowledgeable about all facets of the world. 

I suppose that his influence has bolstered me throughout life. I have six large bookshelves scattered through my home. There are books sitting on tables and nightstands. I have volumes stored in drawers and trunks. There are many more texts stored on electronic devices and large baskets under my coffee table. I’ve culled my collection now and again just to make space and each time I have regretted letting any of my books go. I comfort myself in knowing that I have shared my wealth of books with someone else.

I am my father’s daughter. I purchase books for newborn babies. I respond to teachers’ requests for book donations to their classrooms. I buy books on virtually every trip that I take. I have to pay extra fees for the weight added to my suitcase by volumes that I was unable to leave behind. I get a warm feeling sitting in a bookstore or walking around a library. My father’s legacy has brought me much knowledge and contentment. I suppose that I will never have shelf control.