Month: January 2025

There are times when God has a way of reminding of what is good in our world. Somehow the contrast between the compassionate and generous life of Jimmy Carter and the hate spewing invective of president elect Donald Trump is a reminder for all of us to seek the good in the world. In the grand scheme of things we learned more about how to live a truly meaningful life from Jimmy Carter than we will ever garner from all of Trump’s wealth and power. 

From a religious point of view Jimmy Carter was the ultimate example for us all. He lived a seemingly quiet modest life but he was never afraid to speak out for justice for the underserved among us. He might have spent his years after the White House increasing his wealth, maintaining his power, and keeping his political influence alive. Instead he turned his attention to causes that enriched the lives of individuals who were struggling from poverty and disease. 

Jimmy Carter was a loving and loyal husband who remained faithful to his wife for decades. He was a pioneer in the struggle against climate change. He was a man of peace who brokered one of the most long lasting peace treaties of the twentieth century. He was a loving and responsible son and father. There is no doubting that he was a godly man who embraced his faith in every aspect of his life. 

It worries me that we now have leaders who seem to be following a kind of fake Christianity that is vindictive and cruel. In the name of religion they shun people that they do not understand. They judge and punish, actions that Jimmy Carter never accepted. Perhaps there is a message in the death of Carter just before the inauguration of Trump that is meant to help us all remember what is best about the commands that Jesus left for us to follow. After all he ultimately told us to love and few people who have lived on this planet have been better at doing that than Jimmy Carter. 

I won’t say much more than this. I am moved and  mourning at this moment and words are evading me. Instead I will simply hope that we humans will be inspired by the life of Jimmy Carter to set aside the ugliness that has challenged our ability to see every human as a miracle worthy of our compassion and acceptance. If we can follow Jimmy Carter’s way of life the world will indeed be a much more beautiful place to be. 

May Jimmy Carter rest in peace with God and the angels. May his memory be a blessing to us all.  

I cannot recall how old I was when a house caught on fire in my neighborhood but it had to be around five years old or perhaps even younger. I was not yet in school and my youngest brother had not yet been born when I heard the sound of a fire truck rushing down my street. My mother heard the alarm as well and rushed into our front yard with me following behind her. 

The smoke and flames appeared to be coming from the home of an elderly man who lived alone just down the way from us. It was not a huge fire and therefore was easy to extinguish but then the firefighters went inside to see if anyone was hurt. Their search ended when they discovered the body of the old man who had died most probably from inhaling the smoke. 

I still have a vivid memory of seeing our neighbor wheeled out of the house on a stretcher inside a body bag. I remember my mother attempting to explain to me what had happened with as few gory details as possible. She did her best to assure me that this was an unusual situation and that I need not worry about what I had seen. 

I suppose that my inner response was far darker then my mother ever imagined it would have been. I instinctively developed a hyped up fear of fire that would follow me to this very day. As a result of this childhood trauma I would worry constantly about the possibility of a fire in my home. As an adult I purchased fire extinguishers and fire blankets and rehearsed escape routes and routines with my two daughters. I took fire drills at school more seriously than most. The image of the charred home I had seen in my childhood have stayed with me to this very day. 

A few years ago I heard about a fire in a home that occurred a few days after Christmas. Members of a family were staying together when a Christmas tree burst into flames in the middle of the night. By the time the fire alarms began to sound the people upstairs were trapped by the fire that was already moving rapidly along the only way out. When I read that all of them died I immediately purchased a flexible ladder that attaches to the window sill so that in the event of a fire anyone in the second story will have a means of escaping. 

Ironically the brother who had not yet been born when my mother and I witnessed the tragedy of the fire on our street became a firefighter. He plied me with even more useful information regarding how to stay calm and find ways to escape from flames. He taught me to search for the closest exits from hotel rooms and seats in theaters even before I settle down to enjoy my vacations and entertainment. To this day I find myself observing the lay of the land wherever I go and thinking about what I will do in case of an emergency.

I suppose that my mind is urging me to review the safety measures that I have set in place due to the fires that seem to be breaking out more and more often raging through entire neighborhoods so quickly that people sometimes have no means of escape other than running on foot. Climate change has limited rain in many areas turning homes into kindling when a fire breaks out. We have seen it happen in Maui and at this moment in Los Angeles. Dryness coupled with strong winds wreaks havoc that not even fire extinguishers and fire blankets can handle. People literally have to flee for their lives. 

All of this has made me consider outlining escape routes on the roads near my home ahead of time in the event that something terrible happens where I live. While floods seem more likely to occur in my vicinity I know that last summer my brothers’ cabin in Colorado was threatened by an out of control fire and the area where one of my daughter lives has seen little or no rain for years. I have trained her well enough that she has already practiced evacuating. 

It is a shame that we are constantly fighting battles with nature but in most cases we have also ignored all of the danger signals coming from our changing climate. Our society does not want to think about the possibilities and so we simply react once a natural disaster has occurred. We do not consider such things in the construction of neighborhoods and roads. We react rather than planning ahead. We just keep building with abandon in areas where wells are going dry or places just waiting to be destroyed by hurricanes and storms. It is as though we do not want to face the possible consequences of our folly. 

I suppose that many would roll their eyes at the very mention of my obsession with fire safety. They would no doubt think that I would do better getting some help for my anxiety than stewing over things that are unlikely to ever happen but life has taught me that the unbelievable sometimes occurs. Huge buildings do indeed collapse after being hit by planes. Quaint towns are destroyed by hurricanes that began hundreds of miles away. A tropical paradise can turn into a hellscape. People die when they do not properly prepare or when they ignore the evidence that we must spend far more time considering the consequences of our actions. The earth is having its way with us and telling us that we need to make some changes. We ignore the warnings at our own peril. 

As I have grown older I experience life in two diametrically opposite ways. Sometimes when a new year begins the days seem to fly by so quickly that I want to catch them, hold on to them and make them slow down. Other times I feel as though I am plodding through the last phases of life in slow motion. The pains in my knees keep me from being active all the day long. I have to pace my self and in the course of taking time to rest and revitalize I have a sense of losing the energy that once defined my life. 

My husband and I have been moving our tropical plants into the garage before a potential freeze hits our area. There was a time when we would have completed the job of protecting our flora in a matter of a few hours. Now we have to pace ourselves by moving two or three of the largest specimens and then resting for an hour. What once took part of a single day now takes many days to accomplish. While I am happy that we are still able to do anything this strenuous regardless of how long it takes, part of me longs for the vitality of my youth that I did not fully appreciate until now. 

I am grateful for being able to still maintain the routines of my life regardless of how long it takes me to complete them, but somehow the weakening of my stamina makes me all too aware that I am entering a new phase of life in which it is doubtful that I will get stronger and more likely that my abilities will slowly become more and more reduced. Because of this I am filled with an urge to grab the wind while I still can and spend my days doing all of the things that I have loved or dreamed of enjoying. I hear the ticking of my biological clock and it is telling me to seize each day.

I have been following the travels of a friend who is also retired from teaching mathematics. She seems to be determined to be adventurous while she is able. During this holiday season she fulfilled one of her bucket list dreams of traveling to Antarctica. She did so alone to the concern of her family. Somehow she knew that not only would she be fine, but that her journey would be a triumph. Her photographic journal presented gloriously incredible views of what she saw, but more than anything they revealed the unmitigated joy that she was feeling. Her emotions were so palatable that I somehow felt that I was with her when she saw the wonders of that frozen landscape. Her trip was exhilarating and it reminded me that I too have heard the call of faraway places.

I am now of an age that virtually everyone considers to be old. I am often cautioned by younger folks to slow down and be more careful. They want me to hire someone to decorate my home for holidays or to move heavy plants from my backyard into my garage. They caution me not to travel too far away from home lest I become ill or injured and need medical care. They worry about me with kind hearts but do not seem to understand that I am still quite able to undertake most tasks. The only thing that has changed is that I must do all of them more slowly, more deliberately, more patiently. 

When I go for walks I maintain a slower pace. Sometimes I stop when I see a bench to rest for a time before continuing. What might have taken me thirty minutes in the past now requires an hour but I still achieve the same distance, the same feeling of exhilaration. I am fully aware of my limitations but I have learned how to be patient with them.

I have a friend who has MS and it has not made her a homebound hermit. She still travels from Georgia to Texas with many stops in between to smell the roses and fortify her body. She travels regularly with groups. When the activities require heavy duty hiking she finds a spot to sit and simply admire the panoramic views. She assures me that the guides adjust to her needs and that her outlook is always quite positively transformed by her journeys. 

A year ago my sister-in-law fell while on a cruise. She injured one of her eyes and still has not completely regained her sight. She has endured much trauma associated with her health during the past year and now must walk with a patch on her injured eye and with a cane to keep her balance. Nonetheless she is ready to travel again and anxious to see as much as she is able until the day comes when she will have to retire from her adventures. She and my friend inspire me to get back on the road again and to keep moving until my body tells me that it is time to stop.

I want to plan a journey this year. I’m not sure where it will be or how I will be able to make it happen but that is my resolution for the future. I know that I won’t be backpacking in the mountains or hiking for hours without rest but I am sure that with pacing I can go anywhere that I wish and I should do so. I have to find  someone to look after my father-in-law while I am gone but that should be doable if I begin planning now. My only difficulty will be deciding where in the world I most want to be. 

Wish me luck in creating a dream trip for a seventy six year old whose knees and hips like to scream that I am doing too much. I think it can be done just as easily as hauling those huge plumeria trees to my garage. I will just need to plan with patience for myself. The world is waiting for me. 

I often wonder why adults seem to believe that they have to shelter children from truth. I suppose that I feel this way because I was confronted with great tragedies when I was five and then again at the age of eight. Each of these experiences was a bit different but both of them impacted my personality and sense of trust and safety. 

The first incident involved my Uncle Bob, my father’s best friend. I was in awe of my uncle. He was stunningly handsome and just as interesting and brilliant as my father was. The two men had attended high school together in Corpus Christi, Texas and then began studies at what was then called Texas A&M College. 

Uncle Bob majored in Geology, played on the tennis team, and climbed mountains searching for samples of rocks. My father focused on Mechanical Engineering and preferred hobbies like fishing, reading, and listening to music. When they were together they almost completed each other’s sentences the way only the best of friends are able to do. Our home was at its happiest when they were laughing and enjoying each other’s company. 

Bob became my uncle after my parents contrived to play matchmaker between him and my mother’s sister Claudia. Together they were a stunningly beautiful couple. In fact a friend of mine once mistook them for movie stars when they came to visit. 

Neither my father nor Uncle Bob treated me like a clueless child. They taught me about adult topics by explaining concepts with examples that made sense to my childlike wonder. They introduced me to many topics and I adored both of them because of that. 

My memories of Uncle Bob are vivid but still those of a very young child. Because I loved him so I looked forward to his visits to our home when he and my aunt spent the night and then always took me on special outings. On one occasion I was so anxious for the promises of the day that I walked into their room as they were dressing for our planned adventure. I should not have been so bold but I felt incredibly comfortable with both of them. To my surprise I encountered Uncle Bob attaching a wooden leg to his upper thigh. It was such a stunning sight that I immediately gasped and turned to run out of the room. 

Uncle Bob gently called me back and asked me if I wanted to know why he needed a wooden leg. Of course I was curious, so I asked a flood of questions, each of which Uncle Bob calmly and honestly answered. By the end of the encounter I knew that he had a serious disease called cancer and that his leg was taken in an attempt to stop the cancer from moving to other parts of his body. He assured me that he was okay and feeling good about the future but he informed me that the cancer might return and if it did he and the doctors would work to defeat it again. He urged me not to worry but rather to do as he was doing, enjoying each day to the fullest. 

Uncle Bob did not make it. The return of his cancer was part of the reason that my mother and father sent me to the first grade when I was five. Our household was turned upside down by Uncle Bob’s situation. My parents whispered with my aunt and said little about what was really happening. They did not know that Uncle Bob had prepared me for this. I understood the consequences, so when he died I was able to grieve and remember the truths he had told me. I have never forgotten how wonderfully safe I felt because he had not tried to shelter me. To this very day I feel the comfort of his loving honesty. 

Three years later my father was killed suddenly in a car accident. That time none of the adults spoke to me about what had happened except for my Aunt Valeria who broke the news to me with grace and compassion. Much like Uncle Bob had done she honored me with truth. While I was crushed with sadness I needed to know what had happened. It would have done me no good to pretend that I was too young to grasp the enormity of how different my life was going to be. Somehow I reverted back to the discussion of death and how unafraid of it my Uncle Bob had been as my Aunt Valeria consoled me. 

I see so many adults attempting to keep children ignorant of difficulties. They assume that little ones can’t handle the truth. They don’t want anyone discussing slavery or mistreatment of Native Americans lest the youngster might feel a bit of guilt. They try to paint rosy pictures of life that do not include tragedies or any of the realities that we all will face at some point in our lives. I find such sheltering to be misplaced because I know that I would have been confused and distrustful if not for the truthfulness of both Uncle Bob and Aunt Valeria when I lost two of the most cherished and important people in my life. Theirs was a compassionate and truthful way of teaching me that tragedies are part of every person’s journey and it is okay to have difficult emotions but there will be better times ahead.

Children need to know these things. Done properly it will make them stronger and more secure. Give your children shelter by your honesty, not by pretending. They can see what is true and if nobody has explained what is going on they will be afraid. 

I was three years old when my brother, Michael, was born. I don’t know how it is possible but I do indeed have a vague memory of him as an infant. My family was living in a house on Kingsbury Street where my best friend was a beautiful dark haired girl named Merrily. I have a shadowy image of him coming home from the hospital with my mother and being frisked to the back room where he would stay until he was old enough to move to the third bedroom in the house that had been lovingly prepared for him.

The birth of my brother changed my world and I found myself spending more and more time with my father while my mother cared for the infant who seemed to come from nowhere into our midst. Mama spent a great deal of time behind the closed door of her bedroom where my new brother slept in a bassinet next to her bed. He was a quiet baby who hardly ever seemed to cry or make noise but I quickly surmised that he was somehow sick because the family doctor made house calls to our home now and again. I would later learn that he suffered from asthma and often had difficulty breathing. 

I suppose that I did not really pay much attention to Micheal during that time. He was a quiet little soul and mostly fell into the background of my life. His unobtrusive and steady demeanor would identify him for the rest of his life. I never felt any kind of sibling rivalry with him because he was simply a very pleasant little soul who sweetly went with the flow of our family in whatever direction we were going. 

Michael was a curious child who always seemed to be exploring the world around him to find out how things worked. Once he sat down right on top of an ant bed when he was no more than two years old later explaining that he wanted to see the critters in their home. The insects instantly attacked him and their stings must have intensely painful but he barely complained.

On another occasion he found a screw somewhere in the house and I witnessed him placing it up his nose. I ran hysterically to my mother who calmly inspected his nostrils and surmised that he was going to be fine, and he was. Still I worried that somehow the foreign object was lodged in his brain while my mother and our family doctor both assured me that he was going to be just fine.

Michael was the perfect person to anchor the family dynamics. As the middle child he was so complacent that there was no evidence of sibling rivalry even after my younger brother, Pat, came along. Michael was the calming force in our trio who was so loving that we rarely had any squabbles. He was logical and peace loving even as a child. 

My mother was quite intuitive, predicting when Michael was a toddler that he was brilliant. Three years old Michael walked around the house toting one of my father’s books written by Wernher von Braun who described a futuristic journey to the moon with illustrations that delighted my brother. He was always counting things and taking things apart to see how they were made. Lucky for him we had parents who encouraged his curiosity when he explored the world around him. I remember feeling quite proud of the little guy who was always deep in his thoughts. 

Michael would prove to be as brilliant as our mother and father had thought he was. Sadly he was only five when our Daddy died so he did not get the full understanding of how remarkable our father was in his own right. He relied on the books that Daddy left behind and had only vague memories of the man who read the comic strips to him from the daily newspaper. 

Michael graduated at the top of his Jones High School class and then attended Rice University where he earned a Master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. He was courted by several companies but excitedly gravitated toward working with NASA, fulfilling a childhood dream. He would spend his entire career writing programs for space travel, ending with computer innovations for the International Space Station. 

Along the way Micheal would prove to be a great partner in the care of our mother. He seemed to have a way of loving and communicating with her that was so special that the two of them were on a different spiritual plain than the rest of us. Even when Mama was in the throes of a terrible bipolar episode he remained the main influence in getting her the help that she needed. 

Michael is celebrating his birthday today. For seven decades he has unobtrusively impacted so many lives with his serene, composed and always loving personality. While I am the oldest child, he has always been the glue that keeps our team functioning without rancor. His goodness binds us together in love without bounds. To this very day he brings calm to me and our younger brother. 

There was a time when we were all three still children with a single parent mom. January was usually quite cold and somewhat dreary back then. Christmas was over and most people were weary of celebrating. Michael’s birthday was always a simple affair but he was satisfied with even the smallest efforts to wish him well. One of his favorite treats was to receive a gift of Fig Newton cookies. Somehow that was more than enough for him, proving once again just how easy and wonderful it has always been to be around him. Now I get excited on his birthday with the realization of how blessed we all have been to have him in our lives. He is a most extraordinary middle child.