Month: July 2024

Last week Evan Gershkovich was sentenced to sixteen years in a Russian prison. Evan is a journalist for The Wall Street Journal who in the process of doing his job was accused of being a spy and held for over a year awaiting his trial. His conviction and sentencing was ultimately held in secrecy. His trumped up fate speak volumes about the corrupt nature of Russia where freedom of speech and press are restricted to the point of being nonexistent. 

Evan attended Bowdoin College in Maine, a highly rated “little ivy” where his professors regarded him as a brilliant and gifted writer. Because his parents were immigrants from Russia he grew up hearing and speaking the language of that country. After landing a job writing for The Wall Street Journal it was only fitting that they would ask him to write about the country from which his ancestors had hailed. 

Initially Evan did remote reporting from London where he would reach out to contacts who kept him informed. Eventually he decided to enhance is articles by reporting on the scene. He moved to Russia hoping to get a better view of the people and what was happening there. In the process of gathering information for a story he was accused of spying and ended up in jail. 

I have been following Evan’s journey with bated breath. Since I believe that all of the charges against him were faked up by the KGB I doubted that he would be found innocent but I hope against all odds that I was wrong. My worries that there was no way that he might get a fair trial were confirmed last week. I have suspected that his capture and conviction were predicated on the idea that he might be used in a prisoner swap. I see him as a pawn in Vladimir Putin’s unscrupulous world. 

Seeing Evan standing all alone in a class cage swaying back and forth as the verdict and sentencing were read was heartbreaking and reduced me to tears. I have taken a particular interest in Evan because he is about the same age as the young men and women who were the last of my students in the public school where I worked before I retired. Most of them are now enjoying success in their chosen careers and settling into family life with spouses and babies. This is where Evan should be right now. He was engaged at the time of his arrest. He no doubt would now be married and thinking of starting a family. Instead his future is so uncertain. 

My granddaughter attends Bowdoin College. She will be a junior next year. She has so many plans for her future. She wants to attend law school and explore the world. The thought of something like this happening to her or anyone that I know is dreadful. I would beg our politicians here not to use Evan’s situation as a ploy to sway voters. If they know of a way to get Evan released, then please share what needs to happen right now. This is a young man’s life and it should not be trifled with for any reason whatsoever. 

I’ve been watching a multiple episode documentary on the Cold War that traces the path of our difficulties from Russia and what was once the Soviet Union from the very end of World War II when Germany was partitioned between the victorious nations and the Soviet Union took over the eastern sector of that country. I have lived through the fear of nuclear attacks and red scares. I thought I knew most of what had been happening for the decades of my life but I learned so much more than I had ever imagined. The one thing that is certain is that Russia, and in particular Putin, is not our friend. We trust him to our peril. 

I am hopeful that Evan’s stay in a Russian prison will come quickly to a close. I think of him often and wish him well. I understand that he has many friends who keep him supplied with letters and hope. I hear that he even plays long distance chess with his father. I want him to know that I will not forget him. 

I saddens me that the Russian people are still under the thumb of a repressive government run by people who have enriched themselves on the backs of others. Putin is now the richest man in the world because he has taken the country’s treasure and freedoms for himself. Now he is intent on resurrecting the Russian Empire with his first prize being Ukraine, something that I cannot bear to think will ever happen. 

I am united with Evan Gershkovich just as I believe all Americans should be. I am united with Ukraine just as I believe all Americans should be. Let freedom ring for all who are imprisoned under Russia’s thumb. I await Evan’s return to us with bated breath.

The last many years have been incredibly emotional for me. The Covid 19 pandemic took family members of my friends and some of my former students. I mostly isolated with my husband for two years to protect him, my brother and my father-in-law and his wife who all had serious health issues. I was appalled by the cavalier and often ignorant attitude of President Trump who seemed more concerned about impressing his followers than saving lives. I was determined to vote him out of office and happily he did not win the election of 2020. 

President Joe Biden took over a nation in disarray. As soon as he was declared the winner Donald Trump began a campaign of lies hoping to overthrow the election results. On January 6, 2021, Donald Trump encouraged his followers to rally in Washington D.C. where he continued his ridiculous assertions and suggested that Vice President Mike Pence should discount the real electoral votes and give the election to him with fake electors. He incited the anger of the people who had believed his untruths on that day just as he had been doing for months and when they stormed the Capitol threatening Mike Pence and Nancy Pelosi in particular, Trump only sat idly and watched things devolve. Only hours later after the Capitol building was trashed and people had been severely injured and killed did he finally tell his people to go home. 

For the past four years Donald Trump has done little aside from playing golf and continuing to tell lies while he insults good honest people over and over again. During that same time President Joe Biden managed the country with kindness, compassion and an eye for getting us past the pandemic and into the future. Our nation now has its lowest unemployment rate in decades. While other countries are still struggling with runaway inflation ours has slowly but surely continued in a downward trend. Our cities are recording the lowest crime rates in years. An infrastructure program championed by Joe Biden has rebuilt roads, bridges, and drainage systems. He has served as a font of wisdom among our European allies, generously offering aid to Ukraine as they fight to preserve their democracy from an invading Russia. 

The last four years might have felt more peaceful and healing were it not for the constant complaining and lying of Donald Trump, as well as the court rulings that have thwarted efforts to hold him accountable for the many egregious and illegal acts he has performed. Somehow in spite of a mountain of evidence that Trump is unfit to be President of the United States he is now the official nominee of a Republican party that seems intent on bowing to him rather than doing what is right and just for the United States and its people. 

Sadly as the political scene began to heat up this summer the press and even many Democrats pounded more on President Biden’s age and fitness for office than the lies and offenses that define Trump as someone who is not to be trusted. The relentless attacks on Joe Biden, while overlooking Trumps many flaws have resulted in the resignation of President Biden from the race. The irony and ugliness of what has happened is stunning and I for one have spent time sobbing about the way a great man has been treated while a criminal while a weak and banal man has been canonized and lionized. It says something quite disappointing about who we Americans are. 

We live in a nation where there are more guns than people. We are all too easily egged on to fight and bicker and destroy reputations without evidence. With great regularity we end up reading about disturbed young men taking out their anger on other people with guns that should not be in our midst. Thus a twenty year old attempted to kill Donald Trump for seemingly no other reason than showing that he could. At the same time the press took down an honest man because he is not as energetic as he once was and he sometimes mixes up names. We have become a cruel place indeed. 

Once again as he has done so many times in his decades long career, Joe Biden has heroically risen to the moment and taken himself out of the race. Perhaps he is too old to continue the job for four more years, but the same can be said of Donald Trump who is seventy eight and prone to the same kind of word salad mix ups as well as falling asleep during trials and speeches at his convention. Perhaps we should rethink the open ended rules of who is eligible for the presidency. We live much longer now than people did when the age requirements became part of the Constitution. What is true for Joe Biden is most likely true for anyone, including Donald Trump. As we age we just don’t have the spring in our steps or the quickness in our minds that we once had. 

I will remember President Joe Biden with great respect and gratitude. For four years he has taken the heat from the MAGAs for all of us in this country. He is a truly good man who loves God, his family and this nation. He is an imperfect man like every human who has walked on this planet but he has always been willing to admit to his limitations rather than falsely boasting. He has always been honest and caring much like a good father would be. I am certain that his historic legacy will place him among the greatest leaders we have ever had. I wish him well in the final days of his presidency and I hope more than anything that he knows how much so many Americans like me love and admire him. 

Now we must turn to a new race for the office of President of the United States with younger people representing the party of the Democrats. I will work to get them elected because I believe with all my heart that the future of our democracy is at stake and only they can save us from the corruption that has infiltrated the once Grand Old Party. Whoever is on the ticket will get my vote in November. I want to keep our country safe for my children and my grandchildren. They represent a much better future than the one that Donald Trump describes.

But enough of that…For today I’m saying goodbye to President Joe Biden’s run for reelection through tears and thankfulness. God bless America and God bless President Joe Biden. Our nation is grateful for all you have done.

I recently celebrated the birth of my eldest daughter. She turned fifty four years old in her rlatest journey around the sun. I remember the day of her birth as vividly as if it had been only yesterday. It’s funny how clearly we recall exact details of such important events. 

She was a true child of the seventies. I was twenty one years old on the day of her birth and as naive as they come but I had grown up quickly the year before when my mother was first diagnosed with mental illness. I had to convince Mama to go to the hospital and get treatment from a psychiatrist who had been recommended to me. That event went south very quickly and set the stage for my mother to push back anytime I needed to get her medical help. 

By the time my daughter was born almost exactly a year later after my introduction to the world of mental illness I felt like an old soul. On the day I went to the hospital to give birth I did not know whether I would be a mother of a girl or a boy. The baby was already overdue and when I finally went into labor it would take eighteen hours for her to come. Back then I stood five feet six and a half inches tall and weighed all of eighty eight pounds before I became pregnant so everyone was in awe that such a tiny woman gave birth to a nine pound two and half ounce precious girl who looked as though she was a month old. 

After my girl’s birth I settled into a homey routine with my new little family that included settling down in front of our television in the evenings to watch the sitcoms that flooded the airwaves. That’s when I first saw Bob Newhart perform his sweet fumbling rendition of a psychologist happily married to a woman who seemed to have to guide him safely through each day. I so loved his character and somehow identified with his gentle nature that seemed to be so true of who he actually was. He became one of my favorite comedians and I would watch him in different roles over the years as my own life would be influenced by him in a most incredible way.

About five years after my mother had first shown symptoms of mental illness she had another frightening bout with the depression and mania that would follow her for over forty years. It was a blow to both her and me because we had somehow thought that she was cured after her first episode. Unfortunately her experience with the initial psychiatrist had been so frightening to her that she refused to go see another doctor. I was desperate to find someone who would help her in a more gentle manner. 

By then I had also had my second child, also a daughter. The only doctor I was seeing at the time was my OBGYN. I contacted him for advice on who might be a good fit for my mother, explaining how the first doctor had treated both her and me as though we were lab rats in his experiments. My doctor immediately gave me a name, Dr. Thomas Brandon, and assured me that our family would love his methods and his style. 

I called Dr. Brandon’s office and he was actually willing to talk extensively with me about my mother, what had gone wrong before, and what kind of treatment I was expecting from him. We spoke for almost an hour after which I felt confident that he would be just the person my mother needed to see. I made an appointment for a few days later and convinced my mother to go after relating how informative and compassionate her new doctor had been when I spoke with him.

We both nervously arrived at the appointed time where the receptionist handed us a sheath of paperwork to complete. My mother was not doing well so concentrating on answering all of the questions was difficult for her. Before long the doctor himself came to the waiting room and sat down  quietly with us. To our utter surprise we noticed immediately that he resembled Bob Newhart so much that he might well have been his twin brother. My mother smiled for the first time in days. 

Dr. Brandon watched her quietly for a time and then sweetly suggested that she might complete the paperwork later. He asked her if she would like to go with him to his office and the two of them disappeared for more than an hour. Later the receptionist asked me to join my mother and the doctor. He explained the medications that he had prescribed for Mama and suggested that she stay in my home for a time. He wanted her to have healthy meals and time with family. He outlined a program in which she would slowly begin to help with household chores as she began to feel better and then he set up an appointment to see her in a week. He gave me a phone number where I might reach him if an emergency arose. Oddly enough Dr. Bandon did not just look like Bob Newhart but seemed to be a clone of him in how he spoke and acted. Somehow it was reassuring beyond belief. 

My mother would be Dr. Brandon’s patient for years to come. At first I would accompany her to the appointments but eventually she went willingly on her own. He quickly had her working again at her job and monitored her progress continually, all without making her feel afraid that he was going to treat her in a way that was uncomfortable for her. 

With the passing of Bob Newhart I remembered how much our family loved his many characters who were so human, so loving, so wonderful. I sometimes think that without him my mother would never have accepted her new doctor. Somehow Dr. Brandon was so much like Bob Newhart that Mama sensed that she would be safe with him and she was. 

My mother had many recurring episodes of severe depression and mania over her lifetime. Because of her wonderful doctor she was able to work until she was old enough to retire. I would always have such gratitude and respect for the doctor who had served her so well. At the same time I felt that somehow I also needed to be thankful for Bob Newhart for being the man who brought so much joy into our home that we knew that we could trust him and anyone whose personality resembled his.  

I enjoyed and loved Bob Newhart in every role that he performed. I could tell that he was a genuinely good man. The world was truly a better place with him in it. Little did he know that he also inadvertently kept an equally wonderful woman from being cancelled by her illness. His work on this earth was all so good. May he rest in peace and maybe if he has a chance look up my mother who was one of his biggest fans.  

My mother had a difficult and tragic life and yet she was one the the happiest and most content people I have ever known. In truth I have never quite figured out how she managed to be so upbeat about life, so loving even toward people who avoided her. In spite of all of her numerous trials she somehow managed to be happy. 

It can be trite and unsympathetic to ask those who are suffering to cheer up and find something wonderful to feel good about their in their lives. There are truly times and situations that are so profoundly difficult that to suggest that they look on the brights side would be uncaring and maybe even cruel. I always marveled at the way my mother found happiness in the smallest of things and how she managed to pop back so blissfully from her long bouts with mental illness. I think the key to her joy came from thinking more about other people than herself. 

One might suggest that my mother’s happiness was artificially created by the psychotropic drugs that she took to control her bipolar disorder, but the truth is that she was never fully compliant in taking her medication. Furthermore, when she did agree to take various prescriptions they tended to mute her emotions rather than send her into a state of euphoria. It was my mother’s generosity and unconditional love of the people around her that made her so delightful. She was like an innocent child in her embrace of people and her satisfaction with life as it was. If she had her radio and an Astros baseball game was on the air she was in her own little heaven. 

My mother spent her days spreading joy. She saw greatness in even the most forgettable person. Those who knew her well loved her because of her almost innocent way of making people feel special. Her generosity is legendary to this very day. She gave of herself to the very end of her life in spite of the limitations imposed on her by illness and a very meager income. What she offered to people was respect and compassion, immeasurable memories of someone who really understood and cared. Her devotion to people outside of herself distracted her from the many problems that beset her and kept her optimism blooming again and again. 

That is not to say that my mother was eternally bright and cheery. The chemicals roiling in her head had the power to send her into uncharacteristic depressions that were so deep that they temporarily paralyzed her and left her sitting in the dark inside herself. Such moments would be followed by a mania that was not so much a joyful time as an inability to turn off a torrent of thoughts that kept her awake and incoherent. 

At such times my brothers and I went into action getting her the help that she needed, returning her to a state of mind that was familiar and reassuring. We knew she was well again when the angelic smiles returned to her face and her thoughts focused on doing things for the people that she knew and loved. She understood pain and sorrow like few people. She listened to those who were in the clutches of sorrow without saying a word. She simply loved them and hugged them and helped them to heal enough to carry on. 

For many of us happiness is indeed a choice but others are embroiled in situations that are almost impossible to overlook. Sadness is not something that we humans can turn off as easily as simply deciding to do so. Horrific events take over thoughts and push people into a kind of darkness that they can only escape over time. We would do well to be patient with them, just be available for them without judgement or commentary. My mother understood this. She understood people and never had expectations for how she thought they should behave. She was simply there for them. 

I learned from my mother. She showed me how to look into the hearts of people who are hurting. I suppose she helped me to develop a kind of sixth sense for discerning when someone is in trouble emotionally. It has served me well in working with young people for decades. I learned how to see inside people’s hearts and how to hear what they were not saying out loud. I realized that souls can be broken so violently by tragedies that being happy again does not seem to be an option. The road to smiling again lies in having someone around who allows them to grieve properly for whatever they have lost. It happens when they finally realize that some pain is so intense that it will never totally leave, but admitting it is a step toward smiling once again. 

We should always be aware that happiness is not in fact something we choose or force on others. It comes from within and often takes time to revive. We must be patient with ourselves and with others whenever life deals its blows. Sometimes the profound sorrow has to be acknowledged before the smiles return. Only a healed heart is able to choose to be happy. 

I stumbled upon a video of Patrick Swayze dancing with his wife. It was an incredibly beautiful and moving performance that lead me to a video of Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Suddenly I found myself thinking of my dear friend, Pat Weimer and the fun that we had in the seventies, eighties and nineties. I suppose that I took it for granted that the two of us would grow old together, laughing our way through one adventure after another. She became the big sister that I never had, a role model who introduced me to aspects of the world that I had never known. She was the best buddy than anyone might ever hope to have and when she died I was heartbroken. 

I first met Pat at my church. I was teaching a class of kindergarteners in our religious education program. Pat wanted to work as an assistant and so the nuns who managed the classes asked if I would be willing to invite Pat to help me with the children who were my students. It was already the second semester of the school year and I had been doing fine by myself but I saw no reason not to accept a little extra help, so I agreed to have Pat join our little group. 

I immediately learned how orderly Pat was. Instead of just showing up on the day of the class and quietly following my lead she insisted that I come to her home so that she might become familiar with the lesson that I had planned. As she took copious notes and asked questions I realized that she was going to be way more than just an extra set of hands. She even made suggestions for improving the presentation and requested that we meet each week before the scheduled class time to review what the children would be learning. 

I honestly wondered what I had gotten myself into as I drove home from our first meeting. I had a very hectic schedule of my own and did not have much spare time to set aside a couple of hours each week just so someone might “help” me to have an interesting presentation for my students. Nonetheless, Pat was warm and earnest and so I went along with the arrangement without complaining. Over time we expanded our time together with play dates for our children and informal dinners with our spouses. Soon we were meeting up not just out of habit but because we enjoyed each others’ company. 

Pat was a spark of fun in my mostly serious life. I tended to always be too busy for frivolous ventures but Pat insisted that I tag along with her to movies that I would never have chosen on my own and trips that were very different from the rugged tent camping that I so enjoyed. Soon I was discovering a different side to my own personality and a world that I had not before imagined. She took me from my little neighborhood to places far across town about which I had heard but had never experienced. 

Sometimes Pat and I did girl time, just the two of us. Most of the time we took our daughters with us and they began to view each other as sisters. On Friday nights we often enjoyed Rom Com movies and the greats of the eighties. Pat kept up with all of the trends so we sat in the dark together for Footloose, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Blues Brothers,  and Dirty Dancing. These were films that my husband has not seen to this very day but because of Pat I delighted in them and grew to love her more and more. 

Speaking of husbands, our spouses became the best of friends as well. They were both intellectual men who loved to read mysteries and histories. They could talk about world events for hours on end. Pat would invite us over to her house where we sat around her table with cookies and ice cream and coffee and solved all of the problems of the era. Sometimes the conversations were so lively that we would stay until the wee hours of the morning, unwilling to stop the flow of wisdom that seemed to be never ending.

Pat seemed to be the most energetic and heathy person I knew. She was a nurse who understood how to maintain an optimal lifestyle. It came as a shock when she announced that she had been diagnosed with cancer. I hardly reacted because in my heart I had little doubt that she would survive the treatments and we would resume our antics. I believe that she thought the same thing and for a time it seemed as though she had beaten the odds until the cancer returned with a vengeance. 

I could hardly believe what was happening. I convinced myself that it would be far too cruel for Pat to never have a chance to grow old with me. I just knew that she needed to be the best grandmother ever to her grandsons. I was in a state of denial even as she tried to make me accept the truth. Even when she was gone I walked around in a kind of haze as though I might wake up at any moment to find that I had only experienced a terrible nightmare. Pat would be on the phone telling me to put on my shoes because we were going to have some fun. Surely she was not really gone!

It has been almost twenty years since Pat died and I have not yet come to terms with the loss of her. That may seem a bit neurotic on my part to still be grieving, but her death left a gaping hole in my heart. Watching Patrick Swayze the other day reminded me of how important she had been in making me the person that I am today. I will always cherish the moments I had with her. They remind me to never ever take any relationship for granted. The joy that Pat gave me was gone in an instant but it also blooms regularly in my heart. I am so glad that she came to help me those many years ago. She made me a better person than I otherwise would have been and gave me the sister that I had always wanted.