Month: November 2023

Summer was truly hellish this year for both humans and nature. June was much hotter than usual portending the weeks long temperatures in the hundreds throughout July and August in Texas. Adding insult to injury was the lack of rain that left lawns and plants struggling to stay green and healthy. Even my hardiest specimens lost their usual luster and some simply gave up and died. Only the weeds seemed to be as hardy as ever as they propagated faster than I had the energy to pluck them from the ground. They choked my roses and flowers much like the hot air choked me whenever I attempted to spend more than a few minutes working outside. 

We were lucky to avoid fires like the horrific devastation in Maui. Most of us have air conditioning which kept up cool, but the threat of losing power was real as reminders to use as little as possible lest the grid collapse under the stress became a regular thing. There were few days when the children were outside playing as they had always done. I missed them but preferred that they not become overheated. It was mostly quiet as though our neighborhood had become a ghost town. The walkers were gone. The congregations of neighbors in their lawn chairs on the driveways did not appear. Everyone was hunkered down inside save for rare moments when the mercury dropped a tiny bit. 

On Labor Day there was great rejoicing when a short rain fell onto our lawns and streets. No big plans for barbecues and final summer flings had been interrupted by the precipitation. Nobody wanted to be outside anyway. Having wet grass on a day when we were prohibited from running our sprinklers was like seeing manna fall from heaven. 

I’ve been around for awhile and have never once seen a summer like the one just that just passed. It was debilitating and should have been a wake up call for all of us. Sadly I suspect that until it becomes the new normal far too many will scoff at the idea that we really do have to change our habits if we are to have a more positive relationship with the planet on which we live. We can ill afford to rely on a return to what we have known as normal. It would be a travesty to simply ignore what we witnessed this summer and pretend that we had nothing to do with why it was so. 

Ironically I began the summer reading about the Dust Bowl era in the southern plains of what had been the breadbasket of America. The farmers there had misused the land, plowing under most of the native grasses, ignoring the needs of the soil, creating a disaster just waiting for an extended drought, naively believing that the rains would come again to save them. 

It took great effort to reclaim the decimated land and some farmers actually learned their lessons, but many of the renewed farms came at the cost of using groundwater from an ancient aquifer that took thousands of years to create. Farmers no longer rely only on nature to irrigate their crops and since the end of World War II they have depleted over fifty percent of the water in the Oglallala Aquifer. Since there is not enough water to quickly regenerate itself there is grave concern that this groundwater source will ultimately be bone dry unless there are major efforts to conserve what remains. If the aquifer dries up there will be a huge swath of places in the center of our country without even a source of drinking water. 

Nature has been screaming at us for decades and we have seemed to ignore the signs. It is as though our hubris has overtaken our good sense. We don’t appear to be willing to sacrifice now for the greater good later. We tear down forests, clear land, disrupt habitats, build on every inch of ground we can find. Unlike our ancestors who stayed away from river bottoms and knew not to inhabit rice fields, we think we can tame nature to suit our whims. Like those poor souls who reaped the windy dust storms in places once known as “No Man’s Land” we scoff at suggestions that maybe there are places that we were not meant to be used. We even take a paradise like Maui and overbuild to the point of making a wildfire almost inevitable. 

I heard that people were able to swim in Lake Superior this summer without wet suits. That may not sound strange at all to anyone living along the Gulf Coast where summer time bathing in the sea is a tradition, but to those who have lived on the shores of that northern lake it is an eerie happening. Along with milder winters in the north, warmer lakes are seemingly an anomaly even as such things are happening more and more often. 

We have been warned again and again by scientists who study the earth. They are not mad or crazed people. They are simply reporting what they have seen. They track the trends in weather. They measure the rainfall and the temperatures. They record the declines of forests and creatures who once lived in them. They are simply observing the facts and determining that an unfortunate trend is occurring before our very eyes. We would do well to listen to what they have to say. If we don’t adopt new ways of interacting with nature, we may one day be forced to relinquish our stubbornness when the wonderful resources of our beautiful earth are depleted. 

We can no longer pretend that our individual actions do not matter. Each of us can do something every single day to change, to learn more about the ways that we can sacrifice now for a better future. The health of the Earth depends on us. An ounce of prevention now may forestall a dire event in the future. We have the power to do what we instinctively know we must do. The question is whether or not we have the will. 

I know that I sound like a nag when I keep bringing up this topic but it is important that we keep reminding ourselves of our duty to squarely face the challenges of climate change that are created by humans. Once every adult that I knew was a smoker. Within less than a decade most of them had heeded the constant warnings of the dangers of cigarettes. I know that with the right mindset we as people are capable of doing great things. Sadly we should not wait until we are forced to change when our neighborhoods burn to the ground or there is no water where we live. It would be wrong to think that we will die before the worst hard times come so that we have no reason to bother sacrificing for a future we will not see. We are at our best when we plan for the future rather than simply reacting to the present. It’s time that we all do some heavy lifting together with our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren in mind. It’s time we repair our mistakes out of love for one another and for our beautiful earth. 

Chaos is anathema to me. I much prefer to have order in my life. I make my bed each morning because I don’t like the feel of going to sleep under tousled sheets and blankets. I have a touch of attention deficit disorder that often causes me to freak out if the things that I use daily are not in their usual places. I don’t like the sight of dishes piling up in my sink or countertops littered with the objects of daily living. For some reason my brain does not work properly in situations where there is nor order and design. All of which does not seem to fit with the joy that I feel in ignoring the clock in performing my daily rituals.

Some mornings I linger in my pajamas for hours even though I have arisen earlier than the sun. I may choose to read and write and sip on my tea well past noon without even realizing that it has become that late. I don’t like following a fixed schedule for eating. In fact there are times when I even forget to feed myself. I love the serendipity of aimlessly taking off on a day trip to the beach or on an unplanned journey. I am often able to do such things because I keep the chores of living in good working order. At any given moment my laundry is clean and folded away. My kitchen is ready for preparing the next meal if and when I decide to do so. My bed awaits my return with smoothed out sheets and blankets. The dust can wait, but the biggest tasks have already been done. 

Of late my life has not been nearly as adventurous as it once was. My father-in-law is a man of strict adherence to routines that never seem to vary. He awakens and immediately dresses for the day complete with tucking his shirt neatly inside his trousers and donning his shoes before walking through the house. He eats breakfast at much the same time each morning then retires to his room where he stretches and lifts weights. He spends several hours gathering the news and taking care of business before pausing for lunch. An hour or so after he has eaten he walks on the treadmill and then finds interesting videos on the Internet to entertain him until five in the afternoon. That is when he exists his room and sits at the kitchen table expecting a glass of wine and perhaps a bit of cheese and crackers. He wants us to sit and talk with him before enjoying dinner that he always follows with dessert and a session of television watching. At nine or nine thirty he goes to bed ready to rest before repeating the process the next day.

My father-in-law tells us that he has had mostly the same habits throughout his lifetime. When he was working he arose from his sleep a bit earlier, but other than that his schedule was as tightly regimented as it is today. His habits are healthy and predictable and no doubt have contributed to his longevity. I suppose that I should admire him and perhaps even emulate him, but I have an itch inside my DNA that compels me to wing it now and again. I spent so many years as a teacher being tied to the ticking of a clock that I long to be free from even noticing what hour it happens to be. I like the feel of adventure that comes with just going and doing without being tied down to sameness. 

I suppose that the time will come when I will leave the confines of my home less and less. I will no doubt revert to a stricter schedule as my body and mind grow older. Nonetheless, I think of my mother when I feel outright rebellion against tracking my activities under the watch of a clock. She rarely did the same thing two days in a row. She was always ready to go in an instant if an invitation to explore came along. I remember the times when she would show up unannounced at my home wanting to leave responsibility behind in search of adventure. The two of us would spend the day randomly going wherever our imaginations led us. It was always so much fun!

I learned from mother how to carefully and methodically take care of my business and responsibilities so that if a case of wanderlust hit me, I would be able to fly away like the wind. I   suppose that the balance of being steadfast and open to change at one and the same time has been a good way of living for me. I am both a reliable worker and a vagabond. A person who keeps my life running smoothly and someone who is ready to be daring on an ordinary day. I am both obsessive compulsive and messy. I suppose that my personality and quirks are in line with the tests that indicate that I use both my left and right brain with almost equal emphasis. I am both rational and emotional depending on the situation. 

I don’t know if my balance in life is a good thing or one that is bad. What I do know is that it works for me as effectively as my father-in-law’s strict adherence to an unchanging routine does for him. I suspect that neither of us would be comfortable in being forced to change our ways. Each of us approach life in ways that we have adapted to our personal needs. 

When I was teaching I learned all too well that everyone faces the world with different coping skills and foibles. Some approach challenges with deadly seriousness. Others need to laugh and poke fun when times get tough. There is no single right way of living and we would all do well to understand that before judging or misjudging the people around us. What works for me may not work at all for someone else. Thankfully most of us are free to make the choices that work best for our needs. I often think of how much harmony there would be if we just followed the dictum to live and let live. Instead of trying to force people to adopt our preferred ways of surviving maybe would should be more tolerant of our differences. The truth is that there are indeed different strokes for different folks.

I used to see old couples celebrating anniversaries well beyond fifty years and think that they were just so cute. I never really thought of what those decades of devotion must have entailed as they shared a lifetime together. Now that I have recently celebrated fifty five years with my husband, Mike, I understand how much more profound a long term relationship actually is. I realize that the word “cute” is a stunningly inaccurate word for describing the lifetime of events that encapsulate the efforts and devotion of two people who have pledged their fealty to one another.

Life is beautiful, but it has a tendency to get messy and difficult for everyone. Surprises are always just around the next corner and they are not always about fun and laughter. Over a span of fifty five years there will be long stretches of mundane routines that involve hard work. Finding joy in the ordinary is often the only respite from the daily grind. The hug shared before leaving for a job in the dark of early morning is a cue to stay the course. Sharing a story or a joke at the end of the day is a reminder of how comfortable it feels to have someone who totally gets you just as you are. 

Things happen that rock your world along the pathway of fifty five years. Babies are born and those babies grow into beautiful young adults with their own journeys to follow. Loved ones become ill and some of them die. New friends become old friends over time. The world at large challenges serenity. Nothing stays exactly the same except for the love that anchors two people during the inevitable storms. In the blink of an eye there are tests of resilience. The road can become rocky and steep. Navigating together strengthens the bonds even as it tests their fortitude. The future often feels uncertain and even frightening. The steady presence and loyalty of the faithful person whose love has endured makes the worst of times bearable.

Since October 4, 1968, Mike has been my stalwart. We grew and evolved together. Our impact on each other has been greater than the influence of our parents. We almost share a brain, completing thoughts and sentences with uncanny similarity. We are two individuals who together comprise a singularly unique entity. We have supported each other in the quest of our dreams. We have enjoyed the melding of our talents and the acceptance of our unique beliefs. We are one while truly being ourselves in ways that few others understand or allow us to be. 

Of course we have our differences, our spats, but those are few and brief. We are comfortable not having to put on airs or force ourselves into round holes when we are feeling square. That is the beauty of fifty five years of companionship. We really do complete each other in the most romantic sense of that phrase. Together is the safest place that we can possibly be. Together we still have the ability to tilt windmills or just sit together in silence. 

I remember the first date that I shared with Mike. We were both naively immature but we thought of ourselves as adults. The backdrop of our world was riddled with war and unrest. We had little idea of what was to come but somehow we both instantly felt the connection that sparked between us. We were able to say things out loud that we had always before kept secreted in our hearts. It was magical and exciting. 

These days we are wiser. We know that our future will be together, but as we age it is impossible to know how long that will be. Friends with whom we shared our youthful beginnings are already gone. Adults on whom we relied for wisdom are no longer here. Our children and grandchildren dote on us as they build their own tomorrows. We in turn dream of futures for them that we hope will be as bright as our lives have been. While we wish that they will never have to face some of the trials that came our way, we know all too well that they will not find shelter from stressful situations that find their way to everyone. 

Fifty five years have passed since nineteen year old me made a pledge to an earnest young man. I sometimes shudder when I think of how young we were and how unaware we were of the challenges that lay ahead. We had to mature quickly or become another casualty of youthful passion. Somehow we knew that it was worth the hard work to persevere. We persisted through it all and as we did we both knew that we had indeed found the perfect partner for playing the game of life.   

Recently I read about the seventy seven year marriage of Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter. I love to think that Mike and I still have twenty two more years ahead of us, but the odds of such longevity are the exception, not the norm. I’ll take whatever was meant to be. I try not to think too far ahead. It’s best just to be happy with each day, each moment as it comes. If I have one wish it would be for everyone to find the kind of special person that I encountered at my cousin’s birthday party in the long ago. All in all the years have been so wonderful that I still feel exactly like that young girl and to me he is still that young man. Somehow we just know that we were meant to be. 

My mother often accused me of being a control freak. I suspect that much of her belief that I wanted to rule the world came from the years of guiding her through medical interventions for her bipolar disorder. At the age of twenty I became her unofficial mental health caretaker. It was not a job that I wanted or ever enjoyed and it endured for well over forty years until I was quite weary of the battles that her periodic psychoses would engender. I often found myself wishing that I might have a more “normal” mother/daughter relationship whatever that may be. I became so accustomed to taking over when she needed help to regain her footing that I indeed became more irritable and bossy than patient and kind. I suspect that I had developed a “take charge” personality that filtered into every aspect of my life. Somehow keeping my world in a steady state seemed to be the main goal of daily life. I needed order and design in my home and in my work. I became the dreaded control freak that my mother claimed me to be even as I denied her accusations. 

I am sad to admit that in my mother’s final months of life I totally lost any semblance of authority over either her life or my own. The school where I worked was in a state of chaos and because I had decided to retire to provide my mom with more of my time and care my influence over events had greatly waned. When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer I refused to believe that it was as bad as the doctor indicated. I thought that I would be able to put all of my efforts into getting her well and everything would eventually work out perfectly. Unfortunately the cancer ended her life only a few days after I had worked my last day in schools. I felt as though I was drowning in failure. 

I have since realized that life does not always bend to our commands the way we wish it to do. Forces beyond my influence had changed the school and so too had lung cancer overruled my determination to keep my mother healthy. In the end she had reasserted herself and become the mother while I became simply her child. She left this earth in full command of her destiny and it was a beautiful thing to witness. At the same time she officially passed the mantle of family matriarch to me, a title that has made me both honored and uncomfortable. 

I still struggle to maintain a sense of order and design in my life, but I have learned that I can’t always plan for ways to keep things running with constant smoothness. The unexpected happens and throws all of my world into disorder. A pandemic changes the course of my life. Aging sends my father-in-law to a long hospital stay and then to my home. A procedure that should have taken a day of recovery almost ends my husband’s life. A beloved cousin who always made me laugh suddenly is overcome with dementia and dies within weeks of being diagnosed. My brothers are plagued with illnesses. Friends have life changing accidents. I feel as though I am Alice tumbling down a deep and dark rabbit hole and all I can do is take a deep breath and hope that my landing will be somewhat soft. My efforts to control go unanswered until I realize that the only thing that I have the power to influence is myself. I have to learn to go with the flow or as a dear friend often says, how to float peacefully on the water. 

It’s not easy for me, but in my heart I hear my loving mother chiding me for attempting to force changes on others as though I always know what is best. Now it is time for me to take control of myself or surely I will be miserable in the knowledge that the mule I have been pushing for most of my life is never going to move. Perhaps I should simply walk away from him and hope that he will follow. 

I’ll be the first to admit that I am struggling mightily with caring for my father-in-law who makes my mother seem like a docile saint in comparison. With forcefulness I was always able to convince her to do the right thing. He, on the other hand, is an immutable force. He knows how he wants to live and there will be no changing him after ninety four years of living on this earth. He decides how he is going to live out the last years of his life and I might make suggestions but he will ultimately be the captain of his own ship. I am beginning to understand as I battle with him for primacy that I am indeed a world class control freak who thinks she has all of the answers, but in truth is just as uncertain as others. For my own sanity I have had to learn how to back away, at least for now. He is still mostly clear minded even though sometimes forgetful and confused. He wants to make his own decisions and I understand that I must honor him by allowing him to do so. Sometimes it’s best just to walk alongside someone rather that always attempting to lead. 

I am an altruistic person who worries and frets over the well being of others. There have been times when I have had to be forceful to help them out of harm’s way. Still it is time that I learned when It is more appropriate to just let them be. Letting go of the reins and handing them over to someone else is scary but often the best thing to do. 

Just as I had to have faith in my daughters when they flew away from the comfort of my nest, I will have to allow my father-in-law to do things his way at least until the if and when time that he is no longer able to make such decisions. I would do well to save my energy and my concerns for now and simply enjoy our time with him. I only wish that it were easier for me to do. A lifetime of being in charge has left me uncertain about just letting go, but I know that I must try. 

There are emotional moments in life that stay with us over time. Something seemingly insignificant, an object, a word, a song will remind us of a person that we loved deeply who is no longer sharing our lives. I suppose I will never forget the scene in a restaurant during the Christmas season when I was having a wonderful time with a group of teachers with whom I worked. We were in a festive mood in the room filled with the sights and sounds of the season. Favorite Christmas carols hummed in the background of our joy and laughter when quite abruptly a member of our group began crying as she rushed from the table. 

I immediately volunteered to follow her to determine what had upset her so. I found her standing outside sobbing while attempting to compose herself. I gave her a hug without prying and she admitted that she was missing her mother who had died in that moment. She spoke of her mother’s love of Christmas and most of all Christmas music. She weakly smiled through her tears and confessed that the scene of joy around the table with her mother’s favorite song playing in the background had suddenly released beautiful memories of times spent with her mom that overcame her. 

I understood what my colleague and friend had been attempting to convey. I, like most of us, am often move by music. There is something so incredibly powerful about the messages that certain songs and symphonies send directly to our hearts. As John Lennon once said in an interview, “Talking is the slowest form of communication.” For him music was a much better way to speak honestly to the world, and he did that so very well. The messages contained in his compositions of melodies and lyrics are not just poetic, they are powerful expressions of his very soul. 

I have taken moments again and again to listen to the latest Beatle song that was released last week. After decades the Fab Four are together again thanks to the marvels of technology with a lyrical song called Now and Then that was recorded by John Lennon on a cassette tape as he sat at his piano in the Dakota apartment that he share with his wife, Yoko Ono. 

According to those who knew him well John was content in the days before he died. He had a young son, Sean, whom he loved as deeply as any father ever has. He and his boyhood friend, Paul McCartney, had made peace with one another after Paul and his wife, Linda, came to visit. As McCartney was leaving John told him to “think of me now and then old friend.” It was as though both men had overcome any difficulties that had caused a rift in both their friendship and their musical collaboration. 

Neither of them knew in that moment of reconciliation that John would soon be dead, a victim of violence. It had to be quite profound for Paul McCartney when Yoko Ono sent him a tape labeled Now and Then on which John Lennon seemed to be expressing his feelings in ways that talking had never worked for him. It was both an apology and an assurance that John had always loved Paul. He had not forgotten his boyhood friend. 

The tape was so poorly done that it seemed almost worthless even as Paul and the three remaining Beatles attempted to make a go of turning it into a recording. It would take decades before artificial intelligence made it possible to separate John’s voice from the dominance of the piano. What evolved is a beautiful song about the endurance of friendship. In many ways it was John Lennon’s last message of how much that connection had always meant to him. It is so beautiful that I cry every time I listen to it.

The world has endured very trying times in the last few years. We pulled together for a time but then our emotions were highjacked by political forces. New alliances were formed, not based on our shared memories, but on making our beliefs seem counter to one another. It suddenly became anathema to have differing views about how to solve problems. We became so divided that families and friendships that had endured through entire lifetimes were sometimes shattered. It was heartbreaking to watch because deep in our hearts we knew how much we still loved one another. Somehow the words we used to mend the hurts seemed only to make things worse. We were left wondering if those whose love we had lost ever thought of us now and then the way we always thought of them. 

The song Now and Then is a masterpiece in my mind. It conveys the kind of longing that we have to convey the depth of our feelings. We miss the people who somehow seem to have misunderstood how much we loved them. Somehow they took hurtful words uttered in a thoughtless moment to heart and did not understand that our feelings for them were so strong and pure that we felt that nothing would ever tear us apart, not even a few sentences spoken without considering the consequences. 

John Lennon was my favorite Beatle. His songs were pure poetry. His words conveyed a thousand emotions. Now his dear friend, Paul, has shared one of his last gifts with all of us. It is a message of love that all of us can understand. 

Go find the video. Listen to the lyrics. You will cry.