Month: June 2024

In what feels like a time of long ago I used to arise early in the morning to drive across town for a meet up with my friend, Cappy. We’d share a quick cup of coffee or tea and then hit the road in search of treasures in thrift stores. Cappy was quite professional in her knowledge of the best places to find bargains. She had done much study of antiques, quality brands and methods for determining the true worth of objects languishing almost forgotten in bins. Her tools included a magnifying glass for reading small print. She had reference books in the back of her car. She kept blankets in her trunk for padding delicate items. She knew the value of things that might have been overlooked by the average shopper. She also kept track of days when things went on sale to make room for new inventory. She was a serious thrifter on a mission to decorate her home tastefully, find unusual gifts for friends, and keep her closet filled with couture clothing. 

I never knew where we would end up shopping. It was always a grand adventure that took us to the outskirts of River Oaks, the most exclusive neighborhood in Houston, or along Harrisburg Blvd. where we walked around homeless people languishing on the sidewalk. Once inside it always took a while to focus beyond the seeming piles of junk. I learned from Cappy how to concentrate like an archeologist at a dg so that I would be able to see a treasure hiding in plain view among a mountain of used items hardly worthy of notice. Nothing was too daunting for Cappy as she moved things around until she uncovered a classic high end purse hiding underneath plastic ones that were worn and torn. A quick look at the lining inside told her that she had indeed found something remarkable. So it was as we spent hours examining every aisle with the observations and patience of miners panning for gold. 

As we performed the deep examination of every inch of the store we would talk and laugh and feel as though the exercise of friendship alone was worth the trip even if we came up empty handed. There would be other places to visit and more time to search. It was in our friendship that we found our greatest joy. The objects that we lugged out to her car were lagniappe, the gravy on our time together. 

Cappy always insisted that we sanitize our hands after digging through the dust of orphaned dishes, clothing, books and furniture. She seemed able to gauge when our enthusiasm was lagging and it was time to get some lunch. She always had coupons for deals on food that determined where we would eat. Even that was part of the fun. We might enjoy two for one burgers or plates of hummus depending on what modes of saving were tucked away in her purse. 

I can’t even begin to describe the joy that I felt on those excursions when we would spend twelve hour days searching for things without any real plan. I remember one time when I purchased a very nice oversized shirt that I thought would be fun to wear with leggings. It was in almost brand new condition and best of all it was soft and comfortable. I think I paid two or three dollars for what had no doubt cost more than fifty dollars when it was brand new. I was so happy with my purchase that I took it out of the bag to inspect it one more time as soon as we got back into the car. Suddenly I noticed a bulge in one of the side pockets. When I reached inside I found a pair of lovely earrings that the previous owner might have slipped off one day and placed inside the lining of the pocket. I wondered if she had thought that her lovely earrings were lost because they had snuggled so deeply near the seam that they were hardly noticeable. The earrings were even nicer than the shirt but I felt guilty that they had become lost inside the deep hiding place. Cappy only laughed and remarked that every thrifter knows that sometimes the best part of a purchase comes as a surprise. 

Cappy moved away some time ago and I have nobody who likes to tour thrift shops with me. I’ve tried going alone but it is not nearly as much fun as having my friend by my side. I realize that it was never about the finds for me. It was always about spending time with someone who allowed me to laugh or cry or just be silent if I so desired. Special people like Cappy are difficult to find. 

We talk on the phone as often as we can. Cappy is still an inveterate thrift shopper. She finds little stores selling used items on all of her trips and reports her successes to me with commentaries and photos. She has an eye for color that allows her to put together rooms with objects from disparate places. They blend as though she had planned for them before she ever saw them. She uses and reuses things in ways that few of us would ever think of doing. She finds beauty in the discarded just as she always remains a loving and faithful friend. 

One day I hope to go visit Cappy in her new home in Florida. She tells me that she has found some wonderful thrift stores there and urges me to come explore them with her. I definitely have to find the time to travel there just be with her again. She has the most beautiful way of finding worth in people and things that others have discarded. I want to feel that love that she so generously offers in person once again. Maybe we will even find an unexpected treasure that I was not even aware that I needed. 

There are all kinds of stories these days about an of epidemic of depression and anxiety creeping into every corner of the world. For various reasons more and more people are feeling isolated and lonely, leading to feelings of alienation from the rest of society. Mental health experts tell us that relationships outside of the home are critical for our wellbeing. Sadly polls indicate that more and more people have a sense that nobody really cares about them, leading to hopelessness, anger, thoughts of suicide or violence. 

While most of us have a sense that something is going very wrong in the world of today, we have been unable to agree on how to address the mounting suffering of individuals who feel broken and unnoticed. Because most of us are untrained in the science of counseling and treating people with chronic mental health problems we all too often only offer platitudes and prayers for those suffering from an overwhelming sense of darkness. We push them to get out of the house or make suggestions that only touch the surface of their feelings. They need professional help and for the most part it is not easy to find. 

As a society we celebrate constantly on social media and in public giving the impression that life really is a bowl of cherries and cheerfulness. For someone whose mental state is deteriorating it can feel as though the whole world is happy while they only feel a sense of darkness and sorrow. To a certain extent the very modern resources that bring information into our homes can wind up being a purveyor of doom for a person who is not the recipient of the magnificent lifestyles that we boast about in our photos and commentaries. All those happy faces and descriptions of trips and celebrations can bear down on those whose lives are complicated by mental difficulties. Their loneliness punctuates their anxiety and a dangerous cycle of distorted feelings cycles over and over in their heads. 

Complicating the issues of depression is the reality that it is difficult to be around someone in that state of mind. Depressed individuals are often avoided, left alone because we don’t know how to react to the darkness that seems to follow them. It is hard to sit in a room with someone who has gone so deeply inward that they can’t see joy or light and yet the very act of avoiding them only lends credence to their feelings of loneliness and sorrow. 

As a general rule we humans tend to push away people who steal our joy. We often avoid confronting problems in favor of artificially creating good times. When someone confesses to being depressed we really don’t know how to act when most of the time all we need to do is allow that person to talk about the very real feelings that are bringing them down without attempting to persuade them to stay calm and carry on. We might do better if we help them to legitimize their feelings of the moment. We all have times when we are so grief stricken that we want to curse the universe. When people suggest that we push those feelings away and count our blessing we feel deficient and even crazy. The cycle of darkness increases as others try to talk us out of the pain that grips us. 

Someone I know recently spoke of how depressed she is. She has been experiencing an illness that has drastically limited what she is able to do. She is normally an energetic soul who spends her days completing many tasks that she enjoys. She doesn’t like crowds of people but nonetheless has fun being part of the world as an appreciative spectator. Because she has been sick she is now mostly confined to her home. She is unable to do most of the things that make her the happiest. Her doctors tell her that she may or may not return to her healthy self once again. She is in the process of attempting to adjust to her new reality and she is frightened and angry which makes her sad most of the time. She does not want pity and she is determined to get better but right now she just desires that people will understand how and why she is feeling so despondent. Unwanted advice only makes her situation worse. 

I sat with her and listened. I hugged her and held her hand. I did not try to argue her out of her doldrums. I gave her a moment to justify her feelings because I saw that she was wrestling mentally with herself. It was difficult to see her in such a state but I knew that she needed an ally, a person who would help her to see that her feelings were a normal reaction to the illness that is stealing so much from her. She did not want to be told how to make things better. She only needed to describe the horror of how she was feeling. I in turn needed to really hear what she had to say and to decide how important it will be for me to stay in touch with her no matter how difficult it will be to hear about her unhappiness. 

We often adopt what I call the Disneyland way of living. When troubles arise we move into a pretend kind of world. We ratchet up the fun and escape mechanism that keep us from facing reality. We avoid any form of unpleasantness to convince ourselves that all is well when it really is not. We leave people to be isolated and alienated. 

We all know someone who is having a difficult time. We know how hard it will be to embrace them in their moment of darkness, but we have to try. They may need deeper professional help but our attention to what they have to say might be just the beginning they need to end the suffering from isolation and alienation that stalks them.  All we need do is to be present in their lives.

“Writing is thinking on paper. Thoughts grow into words, sentences and pictures. Memories become stories. Ideas are transformed into projects. Notes inspire insight. We write and understand, learn, see and think.”

I found these words written on the packaging of a ruled notebook that my husband purchased at a Barnes and Noble bookstore, a place we often frequent just to unwind. I was instantly enchanted by the message that seemed to encapsulate the essence of who I am and how important thoughts, words, understanding, learning and thinking are to me. I find great comfort in the simple act of using words to express the many ideas that exist in my mind. The beauty of words fascinates me. 

When I am feeling anxious I resort to words. I solve word puzzles or list new ways of using words. I play with differing patterns of words and read the brilliant combinations of words from great authors whose stories, poems and sentences are akin to symphonies. I write to calm my spirit which is always alert and thinking. I see possibilities everywhere that I go and I record them with words. 

I recall the vocabulary lessons of my youth. They were generally a kind of hated drudgery for me because they consisted of rewriting definitions of words nakedly out of context. It was only when I began to discover words used in oratory, novels and great tracts of history that I became insatiably interested in them. Strung together words are so powerful. Choosing the right one or wrong one in a sentence or a moment can change the world, end a friendship, or inspire others forevermore. There is a grandeur in perfectly connected words that elevate humans to a higher state. There is also danger in words that feed on fear and frenzy. Words once spoken or written down can be a gift or a curse. 

I am a person who uses words to reflect on my past, present and future. It is a selfish act in many ways because it makes me feel so good, but what I have to say is sometimes disarming to others. My attempts to help them understand me only prove to confuse them. I all too often think out of the box of society and such a thing feels dangerous to more cautious people. I make myself vulnerable with my words. I show my scars and worries rather than pretending to be always upbeat. Such ideas are anathema to those who keep their thoughts inside for nobody to see. To me they are a release that makes me gloriously and happily human. 

Just as I am unafraid to use my words to tell my truths, I am also unafraid to hear new or even shocking insights from others. Gifted philosophers and writers give ideas, stories, memories that may be shocking but tell us that our own flaws and dreams and questions are part of the grand human experience. Just as words may have a variety of meanings, so too humans come in many different modes of belief. It is exciting and sometimes mind blowing to parse the words of others who offer experiences and thought provoking inspirations without holding back. Their words stay with me and lead me to discoveries I might never have otherwise imagined. 

I am a creature who surrounds myself with books. I write down words and ideas to consider in future attempts at writing. I find solace in learning when I am feeling anxious. I look for words that calm me and help me to realize that even in ancient times people have been much like me. While we certainly use words to explain how to build and how to heal and how to invent, the words of poetry lift us up beyond the constraints of gravity. 

Life’s questions rattle inside my mind. I attempt to answer them with the written word. I am a feeble amateur. Compared to the greats I am an artist painting by the numbers, but still doing my best to create something worthy and beautiful. This is what writing means to me. It is so much more than just babbling. It is my hopeful journey into a proper reckoning with all that is good and all that is bad about living. It is my way of dealing with the ups and downs that we all encounter. It is a tribute to my father who taught me to love the written word and to my mother who showed me the emotional power of words. It is a nod to the teachers who opened the world to me with books and magazines and newspapers. It is a tiny gift that I wrap for anyone who chooses to read whatever I have to say. It is my daily hope that I might spark something wonderful in even one person. If any of my words manage to do that then I have succeeded. If that never happens I still feel quite good because words written down make me feel alive. 

Words blow me away every single day whether they are mine or those of others. I reflect on them, embrace them, store them in my mind with wonder. I observe and I record with words, words, words. It is my passion.  

I suppose that Americans have always had a number of different ideas about how things should run. In fact, I’m fairly sure that humans everywhere in the world have encountered contrasting points of view. People look at the world around them differently which can actually be a very good way of keeping a society vital and interesting. It would be a dull and dangerous development indeed if we all walked around like programmed robots. Our best moments as humans have always been those in which we actually encourage and cherish a multitude of differing voices. 

Even as people have sometimes disagreed with each other they have mostly managed to get along. Now and then the issues seem so incompatible that we descend into wars, but most of the time we manage to at least stay civil with one another when our disagreements loom large. People with extremely different political views have been known to be friends. It’s generally been considered the American way for friends and family to respect differences, but in the last few years voicing one’s beliefs has become a risky thing to do. People take politics so seriously in today’s polarized environment that there seems to be little room or acceptance for disagreement. There is a tribal feel to the politics of the moment.  

I vividly remember my father and grandfather discussing political issues with fiery arguments and then embracing each other and laughing about their differences. My brothers have launched into endless debates with one another that always ended with the certainty that they still loved and accepted each other. I grew up believing that deep discussions from differing points of view were the spice of life. I have always believed that expressing pros and cons and launching rebuttals was a worthy undertaking among friends, a kind of Socratic exercise that leads to clearer thoughts rather than bruised feelings. 

My husband and I used to sit around on Saturday nights with our friends Bill and Pat or Egon and Marita challenging one another. We would talk for hours and never end up angry. Instead we enjoyed hearing our differing insights of life. We learned from those gatherings and become closer, not estranged. I used to joke that if someone had filmed our discourse it would have made for quite entertaining and enlightening television programming.

Sadly the wonderful friends with whom we had such amazing conversations have all died and we honestly feel that there is a big hole in our lives that is impossible to repair. In an effort to find the kind of intellectual dialogue that we once enjoyed we have been taking continuing studies classes in which all of the participants freely express themselves without growing tense or worrying that whatever they say will be wrongly interpreted. We have good healthy interchanges with one another just as my father and grandfather once did, just as my brothers still do. True freedom is not so much about what we may or may not do as it is a guarantee that each person be entitled to personal beliefs without fear. A healthy democracy allows for discussions and compromises. It operates in an environment in which everyone feels safe to express themselves. 

I can’t put my finger on the exact moment when our political climate changed so dramatically but I know that it is one wrought with a very real fear that saying the wrong thing will result in damaging family relationships and friendships and reputations. Publicly asserting one’s opinions can often feel as dangerous as walking across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope. One misstep, one choice of the wrong words can be so misunderstood that it provides the impetus for the death of a friendship or family relationship. It did not used to be that way. 

I grew up in the Cold War days. We Boomers were the kids who heard about the Iron Curtain that was tightly drawn around Russia and much of Central and Eastern Europe. We learned about the oppression of thoughts in countries controlled by dictators. We tried to imagine what it would be like to be subjected to propaganda only to learn that efforts to influence people’s thinking have been a reality in virtually every society throughout history.

The difference in modern times has been the ability to instantly spread ideas through mass media using all of the tricks in the propaganda book. Because of this, we should all be alert and willing to actively discuss what we are seeing and hearing to determine the validity or dishonesty of appeals for our support. It is only when we take the time to differentiate between truth and lies that we can accurately assess any situation. That’s why good old fashioned friendly debates among friends are actually quite healthy and necessary as long as there is an understood agreement that the relationships will remain intact even as the people disagree. 

I actually believe that it is possible to think very differently about many things and still manage to get along. I have done so with a number of friends and family members. In the end I always circle back to the one truth that we are all attempting to navigate through the world in the ways that make the most sense to us. I love my country of the United States of America because it has allowed me to be me. I am as patriotic as the person who shows their colors everyday even though mine is a more circumspect and quiet way of honoring my nation. I do not feel a need to force others to think or be or act like me, but I ask that they at least allow me to make my own choices without insulting or restricting me. 

I am deeply religious, but do not proselytize or think that my faith is necessarily better than that of others. I like the idea of keeping my church away from state issues. How I view God is very private and important for me but I am perfectly willing to learn about other people’s spirituality. It does not damage my faith when I hear from them. In fact, it may even enhance my relationship with my God. 

I suspect that we have all grown weary of the rifts that grow wider each day. I love the die hard classmate from my youth in spite of his ideas that confound me. I would like to think that my affection for him will be reciprocated without efforts to change me. I fear that if we keep removing ourselves from people with ideas that we do not share our circle of friends and family will become an echo chamber that leaves us ignorant and boring. I don’t want to be a member of a cult. I like feeling safe to ask, “Why?”  I am longing for honest discourse among friends.  

I think of the courageous women that I have known over and over again. I think of a neighbor who bravely rescued children from their father who had just murdered their mother. That same woman raised her family alone after her husband died unexpectedly. She talked her way out of a carjacking incident that left her with a broken arm but still alive. She was and always will be a hero to me. I loved her courage to say and be whatever she thought was right. 

I do my best to honor the women who have been steadfast in standing up for themselves and others. I think of a former student who confronted her peers when they were hiding the misdeeds of a student who had stolen a test and distributed it thinking that he would be protected by a wall of silence. The brave young woman who begged her classmates to be honest was diminutive, quiet and usually shy, but on one glorious day she proved to be stronger than anyone in her class. 

I remember a brash woman from upstate New York who had startled me with her colorful language and her bravado. When the need arouse she was the one who rescued little ones from a father who was mercilessly beating his wife. I witnessed her charging up the stairs to their apartment like a woman possessed. She was a Joan of Arc in her ferociousness and lack of concern for her own safety. 

I think of an older woman who defied the silliness of a boss consumed with himself. She calmly did so in front of the entire organization, voicing opinions and complaints that we all had been stealthily whispering while on breaks. With truth on her side she was unafraid to tell him how we were all feeling and her confidence won the day. 

Women have come a very long way from the times when my grandmother was pulled out of school before she even learned how to read and write so that she might help her mother care for her younger siblings. Back then women had few ways of controlling the number of pregnancies they might have and so my great grandmother had a very large family that she could not handle alone. So it was that my grandmother fulfilled one of the most common roles of women in that time, helping to keep the household running smoothly rather than learning in school. 

In spite of her illiteracy my grandmother developed a folksy knowledge of animals and agriculture that was quite amazing. She kept her family afloat during the hardest of times with her willingness to cook and sew and cultivate crops to keep food on the table and generate extra funds for my father’s education. She was yet another hero of mine.

I think of a young woman who has traveled to an island in Alaska, into a kind of wild place in order to provide better medical care to those living in a medical desert. She is a trailblazer who does what she tells others they should think of doing. I admire her with every fiber of my being and follow her new adventure with great interest. 

I could go on and on and on about remarkable women who overcame the limitations that were placed upon them by a society that seemed to think that they knew what women really need. I was thrilled when the subjugation of women began to change dramatically. I was the recipient of a world in which I got to decide how to live my life. I was able to choose how many children to have. I earned two college degrees. I worked at a job that I loved. It was glorious to be able to be free to be me and I did my best to help my own daughters to understand that they need not be inhibited in following whatever dreams they desired for themselves. 

Now I have a granddaughter who seems to be a culmination of all of the courage of so many women before her. She is brave and strong and willing to assert herself to build a better future for others. She is unafraid to talk with strangers and move across the country to learn about other places and opportunities. She knows what she wants and what she believes and is willing to try to understand and steadfastly fight for those who have few allies. 

There are at this moment attempts to co opt the freedoms that woman have received over time. No longer does a woman have to wish that she could earn a college degree without making her spouse feel badly for not having one. We are past the days when women cried because they were exhausted and ill from having children year after year. Our world has seen the magnificent contributions that women bring to the table. Like me, we have all seen the courage of women fighting for a person or a cause. We can’t go back!