Month: November 2024

Dreams are lovely, but they are just dreams, fleeting ephemeral, pretty. Dreams do not come true just because you dream them. It’s hard work that makes things happen. It’s hard work that creates change. —-Shonda Rhimes

I had so many dreams as a young girl. I used playtime to pretend that I had actually reached the many goals that rattled around in my head. It took a bit of time for me to make any of them come true, but I have to admit that it was fun thinking about possibilities. 

For a time I played with my Madame Alexander doll along with my neighborhood friend, Candy. We used boxes and scraps of cloth to create what we called the New York City apartment for our miniature women. She was a bit more modern than I was because she actually had a Barbie doll which she insisted had been named after her older sister. Indeed her sibling was beautiful like Barbie so I had no difficulty believing that her story was quite true. Anyway our dolls, Suzette and Barbie, lived in the world that we created and it was lovely. They were airline stewardesses who travelled the world when they were not enjoying the scene in the Big Apple. 

I suppose that there were moments when I actually imagined myself wearing one of the cute uniforms of the hostesses of the day. It sounded like an exciting lifestyle even though I had not once flown in the sky myself. Like so many fantasies it was fleeting and soon I saw myself as a teacher instead. 

I often had a difficult time enticing other kids to become my students. After all we already went to school five days a week from September to the end of May. Doing pretend homework wasn’t exactly the fun time for them that I believed it was. Still, I always managed to find takers on whom I would use the books and already prepared quizzes and tests that I kept in a cardboard box filled with school supplies. I even had report cards that I thought very much resembled the real thing. At the time I played at being an educator I never totally imagined that one day I would indeed fulfill that goal. 

I suppose at the top of my list of potentials careers was working as a writer for a newspaper. I often gathered my cousins or the neighborhood children and interviewed them. I had a little spiral notebook in which I took notes of things happening on my street. Because I did not have access to a camera I illustrated the pages of my paper with drawings of the events or people who seemed to be the most important. I used blank typing paper for each page and put stories in columns with eye catching headlines. I included opinion pieces and comic strips and even advice on how to do certain things. There was a sports page featuring the locals who played football or baseball or who ran up and down the street. I believed that my little creation was wonderful and even duplicated each issue so that I might sell my news for a dime. I imagined that one day people across the the world would read my stories and that surely there would be some prizes for my efforts. 

As my interests waxed and waned there would be so many lifestyles that I imagined for myself. Perhaps I would be a renowned actress or a model whose face would appear on billboards. Maybe I would become a nurse or maybe a detective like Nancy Drew. I occurred to me that being an architect like my neighbor, Mrs.Wright, might be fun although I did not totally understand what she did. I only knew how happy she appeared to be doing her work. There was always the possibility that I might find a Prince Charming just like in the fairytales and live happily ever after being a wife and a mother. I didn’t know any women back then who were lawyers or doctors or engineers, so somehow such professions never occurred to me. Besides, I’ve always had a distinctly creative bent that is more artsy than scientific. 

When It finally came time to go to college and declare a major I was baffled as to what I actually wanted to be. The dreams of my youth were fuzzy and undefined. I must have changed my major five or six times before I finally settled on earning a degree in education with a major in English and a minor in mathematics. I suppose I wanted to be much like my favorite English teacher who was so inspirational that he remains my all time favorite teacher to this very day. Still, in the back of my mind I had a secret longing to be like the editor of The Daily Cougar, Edith Bell, who wrote so magnificently about student life. By then I had become rather practical, thinking that I probably wasn’t as good at stringing words together as I needed to be to make a career in writing a reality. 

As things worked out I was asked to use my knowledge of mathematics on my very first teaching assignment and from that moment forward that is what I taught. The idea of writing faded but never went away. My schedule was so busy that I did little of it, but I always grabbed the opportunity of writing a school newsletter or sponsoring students who wanted to create a newspaper. I devoted my life to my family and to my job, working hard on each thing I did and hoping that somehow I was making a difference. 

It all went by so quickly. One day I woke up and knew that it was time to retire from my full time work as an educator. My daughters were grown and gone. All of the things that had demanded my time once again seemed only like a dream I had no idea what to do with myself, so I began writing again and feeling wonderful that I finally had to time to put my stories and thoughts into words. I’ve been joyfully blogging for around twelve years now. I have written a book that I still don’t quite know how to launch. I teach math a few times each week and have a new generation of students. My heart is full because I seem to be making things happen and creating change. I suppose that is what each of long to do with our time here on this earth. My work was hard but always fulfilling. Who knows. Maybe one day I’ll write something that is so profound that it will launch a new chapter of my existence. That would surely be a dream come true.

I woke up on my seventy sixth birthday feeling pensive. There is a great deal on my mind these days, a kind of heaviness that I don’t usually encounter on the days surrounding my entrance into this world. For most of my life November 18, has been a day of great celebration as I realize that most of my worries are silly and of my own making. I am a ninety-ninth percentile introvert which means that I spend a great deal of time in my head creating “what if” scenarios that rarely become as dire as I have sometimes imagined. At this moment I can’t help thinking that much of what I cherish most about my long life may in fact be in danger. The only other time I recall feeling this way on my birthday was in the same year that my father died when I turned nine years old. 

My life and that of my family was literally turned upside down by my father’s death. Suddenly we were catapulted into a world so very different from what I had ever expected. Nobody ever predicts the sudden death of a man in his early thirties and yet there we were living in a constant state of uncertainty that sent me more inside my thoughts and worries than I have ever been. On top of a total lifestyle change I had to endure the cruelties of a teacher who lacked compassion and understanding for me and my classmates. All in all I remember feeling nothing as my birthday approached beyond a sense of doom. 

That is the moment when my dear mother came to my rescue just as she would always tend to do. She somehow managed to purchase and hide a brand new Schwinn bicycle for me that helped me feel joyful, free and independent from the worries that had built up in my mind. Somehow she knew what I needed to restore just a bit of joy and normalcy in my life. That bike became symbolic of the control and steadiness that had been missing in the months since my father’s death. He had after all been the one who patiently taught me how to keep my balance when the training wheels had been removed from the smaller bike that I had outgrown. Advancing to a full sized bicycle not only reminded me of the many things that my father had taught me, but also showed me that my mother understood the importance of helping me move forward in my life. It was indeed the perfect gift in a moment when I was beginning to lose hope.

I rode that bike into my teen years. it conveyed me to parks, libraries, homes of friends. it gave me freedom to be myself and to celebrate just being alive. It helped me to realize the  joy and confidence that was always there inside me. 

On birthday seventy-six the bulk of my life is behind me. Now both my father and mother are gone. I think of the lessons that they taught me and I suppose that in my musings I find that the world is in a very dangerous place.

My father showed me the power of reading and learning. My mother taught me to importance of kindness and compassion for my fellow humans. These things taken together warn me that we are embarking on a very dangerous time in history. A man who seems unlikely to think rather than to vengefully react will soon be our president. He has vowed to expel millions of immigrants and to punish those who have voiced opposition to his ideas and actions. It feels like a very dark and uncertain time once again. I have known such dire feelings and they make me anxious for my daughters and my grandchildren and all of the beautiful students whom I have taught. I worry that the wonderful world that I have known will change in the most terrible of ways. I sense that I must do something but I do not yet know what that might be. 

I long to feel the gentleness of my mother and the wisdom of my father in unravelling my fears. I want to ride my blue bike with into the wind somehow fixing everything that now seems so unfixable. I want to see that I have been silly in being afraid of the man leading us who reminds me so much of that horrific teacher who seemed only to care about herself. I wonder if seventy six year old me can be part of setting things right again for surely this is not a time to wallow in fear and sadness. 

The signs point to trouble for the United States and for the world. An immoral man has been chosen to lead us. He is selecting immoral people to loyally helped him to upend our democratic traditions. He wants to rule with an iron fist, get even with anyone who has ever opposed him, break rules, attack the foundations of our Constitution. 

This time I am not just in my own head. Good and wise men and women are as worried as I am. Mine are not the imaginings of a nine year old child. I have a lifetime of experiences on which to rely. I will blow out the candles on my birthday cake and make a wish that we will be able to stop this man from taking down our security and our freedom simply because he is angry. Then I will do whatever it takes to make my wish come true. I have learned that we each have to take charge of even the most horrific situations. I am ready!

As a career math teacher I know a bit about variables and constants. There are actually of lot of them in the real world. We often vary quite a bit in our political beliefs. I suppose that each of our viewpoints have been affected by a lifetime of experiences. One thing that is a solid constant for me is my genuine affection and love for my family and friends. That never changes even when we are at extreme odds in how we vote in elections. A single individual or moment in time will never be enough for me to turn my back on the people who have walked with me throughout my life. 

For most of the many decades that I have been on this planet I have kept my voting habits to myself. When I was about seven years old I remember riding on my bicycle with my best friend, Lynda, next to me shouting, “I like Ike!” I knew little about him aside from the fact that he had done a great job as a general in World War II and he looked like a nice man. I really had little reason to worry one way or another about who would become president. I took it for granted that whomever the American people chose would probably be an okay guy. 

I high school I participated in a debate during the election when Lyndon Johnson and Barry Goldwater were running for the highest office in the land. I advocated for Johnson mostly because he was from Texas. I wasn’t old enough to vote at that time and the argument for or against each candidate felt theoretical rather than gravely important. I can’t even remember who among my classmates were on which side. I was just glad that I got a good grade for my efforts. 

After that I mostly kept my political leanings close to my chest, especially when I became a teacher. Contrary to popular belief most of us in classrooms were quite careful not to attempt to influence our students one way or another about either elections or religion. Sometimes other teachers or some of my students would ask whom I favored and I never was willing to speak about that. I did not think that it was my place to discuss such things in my classroom. I kept to the variables and constants of Algebra rather than politics. 

It has been recent years when somehow we all began to visibly and vocally choose a side. It was the first time that I actually knew how each of my friends and family members allied themselves politically. It was the first time we actually talked with each other about such things. There were a number of surprises as the revelations presented themselves. As far as I was concerned it did not matter whether or not we were unified in our thinking. My attitude was “to each his own,” but surprisingly people began to question and even make fun of my personal beliefs. The whole process of choosing and voting became a volatile topic. There were far too many things that must not be said. Sadly there were even times when long time relationships fell apart simply because we disagreed. 

I refuse to accept that. While my ideals are important to me the constancy of my love and concern for the people who have shared my journey with me will never vary. They can call me out and even choose to ignore me, but I will continue to love them nonetheless. I suppose that they just do not understand how much more important they are to me than choosing a particular person to govern us. Politicians come and go, friends and family are forever. 

We may never completely understand each other, but hasn’t that been the way of things from the beginning of time? The best aspect of living in a democracy is that we don’t have to tow a particular line. We can be different and it is okay. I have my reasons for believing what I do and others have theirs. Each experience that I have had and each person whom I have met has influenced my perspective. I have my reasons for advocating the ways in which I do. They are deeply personal just as I know that everyone’s leanings are. 

My dream is a big one given the way things now stand. I would like to think that we will get past the bickering and one day evolve into a society in which our main goal is to work together, make sacrifices together. Our world is begging us to be civil because if we are only capable of demanding and arguing we will surely descend into a hell of our own making. We have to stop the talk of civil wars and determine how we might find reasonable compromises that fairly include everyone. We may all have to admit that our extravagances and wasteful ways will surely destroy our planet. We should strive to be the adults in the room whose desire is to make the world a better place for all of our children, not by being afraid of each other but by getting to know and understand and love each other. We are not school yard kids choosing sides and throwing rocks. Our time here and now demands that we be the kind of caretakers who will leave things better than they were when we arrived. We can do that without driving each other apart. 

I have big dreams in my heart that we can be very different and still be friends and still make progress. I think of the infinite possibilities because I know a bit about that as well. The time to make that happen is today. As Emily Dickinson so poetically said, “Forever Is Composed of Nows!” Let’s seize the moment!

If the wind will not serve, take to the oars. —-Latin proverb

I tend to be a determined person. I try not to let any situation overtake me. My instinct is to keep trying even when my efforts seem to be in vain. At times it can be daunting to be that way but I have a good cry or maybe even a fit of anger. Then I take a deep breath and resume my efforts once again.

I remember a summer when I was attempting to learn how to do a twirling routine that involved throwing my baton into the air, spinning around and catching it behind my back just as it floated down to earth. I must have felt the pain of the baton hitting me on the head so many times that I am still in wonder that I did not sustain some kind of brain injury. My brothers would probably maintain that I actually did some damage to myself because only a crazy person would have kept doing the same action over and over again without much change. While it did in fact seem bizarre, I eventually perfected my technique so that I was able to perform that trick with grace. 

That was perhaps a small and somewhat insignificant example of my resolve. Since those days of my youth my can do attitude has allowed me to learn and understand difficult concepts in school that at first were like gibberish to me. I have overcome my innate shyness so that I might speak naturally in front of a crowded audience. I’ve managed to do things that were so frightening to me that I thought I would surely faint as I pushed myself to overcome my lack of courage. Nevertheless I still struggle to face death and suffering head on. Tragedies crush me to the point of wanting to hide away in my home with the blinds and curtains drawn, pretending that such sorrows do not exist. What I know for certain, however, is that most times there is no looking the other way. 

This month has placed me squarely in the cross hairs of my most dreaded challenges. Every single week I have learned of someone that I have known who has died or who is dealing with a scary illness or a personal situation that is daunting. On a wider level it is so difficult to read the news of death by wars, violence by sick individuals, poverty and starvation of innocents. I have to remind myself that I have a certain duty to do what I can to comfort them. I have to view their difficulties as graver than my own reluctance to let go of the feelings that tempt me to run away from sorrow. I have to remember the special people who have made themselves available for me when I needed them. I have to take a deep breath, wipe my own tears away and keep working to bring a bit of solace to the world around me. 

I have been so fortunate in almost every aspect of my life. I learned from my mother that sharing good fortune is something we must always do. I have been the recipient of cupcakes from a neighbor after I had surgery, soup from a friend when I was sick, flowers from a coworker when my mother died, a sweet card from an acquaintance for no reason other than to make me feel good. I know what great empathy and compassion are. I have witnessed kind acts from the very best people at such things. Sometimes I have to push myself to set aside my own tears and frustrations at what I witness and become the person who brings a moment of succor to the people whose tragedies are bringing me down. It is not a time to selfishly wallow in an emotional state, but rather to keep practicing the good works that have been shown to me. Even if I feel like I am being hit over the head with an object hurling erratically toward me, I have to keep going, keep trying to be unselfish and caring. 

Death is an inevitable visitor to all of us. Sickness comes our way whether we try our best to avoid it or not. Tragedies are happening even when we sleep. They are a part of life but not to be ignored because whatever is happening makes us feel uncomfortable. We often have to find courage that we do not believe that we have when things get tough for others.

We innately know that no man is an island. We live in a family, a community, a society, the world. We owe it to others to demonstrate our concern for them other even when that is difficult and requires sacrifices that we don’t want to have to make. It takes practice to know how to be. It takes determination to set aside our fears.

I have a wonderful cousin named Leonard who has spent his entire life doing unto others as he would have them do unto him. We always knew that Leonard would show up for every graduation, wedding, birth, funeral. No RSVP was needed. He was going to be wherever any phase of life was taking place among his acquaintances, friends and family. These days he does it with a walker since breaking a hip has left him hobbling along. He’s always present whether the life event is pleasant or difficult. He brings with a great big loving smile a lots of encouragement wherever he goes. 

I suppose that I need to practice being more like Leonard. I must learn how to set aside my personal aversion of being in a sorrowful place. I must remind myself that such times are never about me. If I truly love, then I cannot run away. I know I have it in me to practice until I get it right every single time. All those people who are experiencing difficulties are counting on someone like me to help them through the worst moments of their lives. I have to be determined to do what is right. I have to take to the oars! I suppose that it is something that we all must do.  

There is anger in our land. It is loud and upsetting. Many are frightened by those that they do not know. They want to cast them out from their midst. It is difficult for them to trust people whose ways of speaking or living or believing seem so different from their own. They wonder if they or their loved ones will be safe around them. They ask why they should sacrifice for people who seem to be so strange. 

They have chosen someone to rid the land of those who do not seem to belong. He is an angry spiteful man who lies to them, but he echoes their fears so surely he will do the work that they dread. He will cast out the unfamiliar souls that they do not care to get to know. They think that he will be their protector even as they can see that he may be only protecting and enriching himself. 

They balk at being called xenophobic. They are not even sure what that word means. It sounds like something a haughty person who does not understand them might say. They are not aware that xenia is from an ancient Greek word that means friendship with a guest who is a stranger. It expresses the idea that each of us has an obligation to offer kindness even to those that we do not know. It is the foundation of the message of Jesus who was born in a manger in a strange land. It offers the idea that the person that we do not know among us may be Ulysses returning home changed and alien after twenty years of wandering. It may be a baby who has been sent by God to be our savior. Xenia tells us that we would do well to welcome the refugee, the trans woman, the poor and homeless, the people who are looking for refuge in our midst.

But we call the angry people xenophobic because instead of attempting to befriend those who are different from them they want to cast them out, to shame them and accuse them of being evil before even knowing them. Phobia is also from a Greek word that means fear or dislike of people or things or ideas that appear to be different or strange . It is the opposite of the idea of xenia. 

From the beginning of time humans have been taunted by power seekers playing on their fears. Even the ancient Greeks new of such tendencies. They wrote about it and fought over it. We are not unlike the ancestors from long ago. That baby in the manger came to be known as Jesus and his one and only commandment was filled with compassion and xenia. His words were direct and should be easy to understand, we must love one another even as we love ourselves. He listed no exceptions, named no group or person that we should spurn or hate and yet we become fearful and turn on our fellow humans again and again making excuses for our unwillingness to always be loving and welcoming even to strangers. 

The angry man who has been elected to soothe our fears is wrong. He is not sent from God to save us. He wants to do bad things. He wants vengeance, He wants us to turn on each other. We must not let him tear us apart. We must understand that it is in our natures to be fearful but it is also in our natures to learn and change and share our love and our good fortune. We can be our best together if only we try. We must stop the hateful man from ruining what is best about us. 

I went to a poetry reading. A gifted writer named Ryan Wilson offered the following words for us. These words spoke to me. They relate to our present condition. They suggest the struggles that we have to embrace xenia but show us what we must do. Think of what xenia means as you read this. Find the beautiful message. Be inspired. Then challenge yourself to do the right thing.

Xenia

One day a silent man arrives

At your door in an outdated suit,

Threadbare and black, like a lost mourner

Or a Bible salesman who’s been robbed.

Penniless, he needs a place to stay.

And you, magnanimous you, soon find

This stranger reading in your chair,

Eating your cereal, drinking your tea,

Or standing in your clothes at the window

Awash in afternoon’s alien light.

You tire of his constant company.

Your floorboards creak with his shuffling footfalls,

Haunting dark rooms deep in the night.

You lie awake in blackness, listening,

Cursing the charity or pride

That opened up the door for him

And wonder how to explain yourself.He smells like durian and smoke

But it’s mostly his presence, irksome, fogging

The mind up like breath on a mirror . . .

You practice cruelty in a mirror,

Then practice sympathetic faces.

You ghoul.

Your cunning can’t deceive you.

You are afraid to call your friends

For help, knowing what they would say.

It’s just you two.

You throw a fit when

He sneaks water into the whisky bottle,

Then make amends.

You have no choice

Except to learn humility,

To love this stranger as yourself,

Who won’t love you, or ever leave.

——Ryan Wilson