Month: July 2025

I should be feeling on top of the world right now. I just came home from a wonderful trip to New York City that I shared with a lovely group of women that included my daughters, granddaughter and a long time friend who is like a daughter to me. We enjoyed the sights and food and kinship over the Fourth of July weekend. We spent days together being open and honest about our feelings and opinions. It was incredible to feel so comfortable just being ourselves without having to filter how we acted or what we said. Just realizing that it was okay to do and say whatever came to mind knowing that we would still deeply love each other was the best aspect of our adventures. 

We dined at a posh Israeli restaurant and imbibed at a bar near NYU. We were floored by a performance of Cabaret and cried openly and frequently at the 9/11 museum. We met cab and Uber drivers from around the world who were excited about being in the United States. We enjoyed the food and the people watching in a Russian restaurant and piano bar. We walked through St. Patricks Cathedral where we said our private prayers then hoofed it to Bergdorf Goodman to drool at fashions that none of us will ever be able to afford. We marveled at the Metropolitan Museum and sang along with the tunes at a showing of Chicago. We rode on the subway from one end of New York City to the other, trying Taylor’s Swift’s favorite lipstick and munching on food from India, China, Italy and a local deli. All the while everyone we encountered was friendly and helpful, not at all like the stereotypes that are too often hurled at the fabulous city and its people. 

I might describe each aspect of our brief tour in great detail but what stood out the most to me was how much we humans have in common no matter where our origins began or how we look or speak. Everyone everywhere enjoys kindness. It takes so little to produce smiles on people’s faces and we saw so many wherever we went. Even the initially grouchy woman working all day selling art in the hot sun on a street corner relaxed and grinned when I chatted with her. 

All of the ugly myths that I heard about New York City and its people were simply false in my view. I never had to stand on the subway, which was very clean by the way, because some nice young person always gave me a seat. Nobody pushed me aside because my aching knees slowed my gait. Everyone was eager to help and every place was inviting, even those not on the usual visitor’s list. We never felt afraid or insulted, in fact it was just the opposite. I have rarely been so respected just for being an older woman. I was accorded so much consideration even from the TSA agent who remained patient while I fumbled and bumbled.

My return to my own city stole away some of the joy that I was feeling. Perhaps it was the long delay of my flight which got me home at two thirty in the morning when I was supposed to arrive at around six the evening before. Mostly, I was deeply saddened by the floods in the Texas Hill Country in places that are so dear to my heart. I’ve been there so many times that I can easily envision how lovely and peaceful they were before tragedy wreaked its havoc. I have cried for those affected by so much loss. I have felt helpless in wondering what I might do for them. I was stunned by the horror of how the last moments of life had been for those who died. Somehow all of the joy that I felt on my trip seemed trivial and maybe even a bit inappropriate given what had happened. 

Still, all of it made me focus on what was most important about my trip, namely the wonder of my relationship with the incredible women who shared those days with me. It made me more deeply appreciate that we were able to set aside our worries and just be present in the moments with each other. For those many hours we were in a wonderful world filled with love and laughter that can’t be bought at any price. Perhaps others saw that and thus responded to us in kind. What we had was a memory that will always be a blessing no matter what our futures may be. 

I’ve come back home to bad news in the political world and irritations at home, but my mind keeps being reminded of the glorious feelings that we had just knowing that we are loved. It is a story repeated over and over again and it is the way that we will overcome any troubles in the future. We are assured that we have each other and with that knowledge nothing else matters much. Still, my heart weeps for those who are suffering and my joy is tempered even as I know that they are remembering their own joyous times with loved ones who are now gone. We must be kind to them. The days ahead will be difficult.

Life often piles up on us to a point where we are weary and even a bit unworthy of praise. We begin to feel fake whenever anyone compliments our energy or even our efforts to be kind because we know that in truth we are tired and angry about the weight of the challenges that we face. That’s when we reach for solace in tiny moments that bring us a sense of balance and joy. 

It doesn’t take much for me to feel recentered. I learned the technique of relying on small moments of peace and happiness from my mother. I suppose that given the many challenges of her life she had to find a way to adapt that cost nothing but paid great dividends. Sometimes that meant sharing her nightly hugs. Other times it included the extravagance of licking on an ice cream cone. 

I have a photo of me, one of my daughters and a few of my grandchildren sitting on a bench in Estes Park, Colorado enjoying the small luxury of ice cream in the middle of a warm day. The picture is a treasure because it encapsulates my mother’s simple method for turning the small moments into the most memorable ones. She had a way of being totally present and aware of the beauty of the world that made her rich in what she most valued in life which was her love of people. I’ve tried to emulate the kind of zen that focusing on the most basic times in our lives can bring. 

I have traveled to many places and enjoyed some concerts that I will never forget but when I remember such things I always seem to associate the happiness that I felt with single moments that warmed my heart. It was in sharing with the people that I love that those times etched pure joy in my soul. It was great seeing the Rolling Stones but the smile on my husband’s face as he sang along and played his air guitar with Keith Richards was priceless. Getting goosebumps at a Hans Zimmer extravaganza was made even better when I saw that my grandson was as moved by the music as I was. Having Luciano Pavarotti turn and smile at my mother is a memory that I will take with me to my very last day. 

I will always be grateful that my Mama showed me how to navigate even the most unimaginable tragedies with seemingly tiny indulgences that took the edge off of the anxiety for a brief moment. When my father died it meant gathering together with my little brothers in her bed and knowing that it was a safe place to reveal my worries and to cry. Eating a special dessert on Saturday nights or piling into our car with a paper bag filled with popcorn to watch a double feature at the drive in theater was a treat beyond measure. She had a way of making our lives feel special and safe without grand expenditures of money. She taught me to even treasure the weak sugary cup of coffee that my grandmother always prepared for us with so much love. 

Once you learn how to notice those small moments that take your breath away you begin to realize how many of them there are in a single day. Just seeing the coming and going of the people in your neighborhood becomes a delightful adventure. Watching the birds gathering at the feeders in the backyard is entertainment of the highest value. Savoring a juicy read strawberry on a hot summer day is a delight that brings back the most pleasant memories. Laughing in unison with a loved one is a treasure. 

I have sometimes wondered how individuals are able to navigate through the horrific moments that seem unbearable. In speaking with them I realize that in addition to describing the tragedies that have befallen them they almost always add stories of love and great joy associated with their memories. They recall the times when their lives were routine and one moment felt almost the same as another and yet there was always something quite special about the sameness of it all. 

We are living in tumultuous times of uncertainty. Many of our fellow humans are enduring challenges that would stymy the most stalwart among us and yet we also see flashes of hope in the tiniest moments that somehow keep them going. It may be a comforting story, an unexpected smile, a joke that breaks the tension, a reason to hope for better days. Maybe it is only a warm hug and a well deserved cry that break the tension if only for a second. 

Any sign of love or hope etches itself into our memories. We can call upon it and learn from it. In remembering those small moments we begin to realize we will be okay even if we lose the accoutrements that are so often associated with success. When all is said and done the most valuable things in our lives are not things at all, but the times that we share with others. 

I have almost zero tolerance for alcohol. I can enjoy a single margarita or a nice glass of read wine but beyond that I literally turn into a pumpkin, a smashed one at that. My husband laughingly calls me a cheap drunk but he knows that I can only deal with one nice beverage that I sip for hours and I will be fine. The few times that I have gone past that limit have not gone well. In fact there was one occasion in New Orleans when i took chances on imbibing an entire hurricane within less than an hour. Things got quite out of hand. I got so dizzy that I had to return to my hotel room where I proceeded to fall into to a fit of laughter that I could not control. It may have been the jumping up and down on the bed that started my gigging. Eventually I just felt very sleepy and dozed until morning, vowing to never again reach such a silly state of mind. 

We live in a society that is filled with drinking as a kind of social obligation. it’s difficult to be with a group that is tossing back the cocktails and feel the pressure to be part of the party. I’m not against drinking. I simply know that it does not work for me. I also know that it does not work for many people for one reason or another. Some have religious beliefs that tell them not to drink at all. Some are diabetics who have learned how horrific their reaction to alcohol can be. Others are alcoholics who cannot even begin drinking lest they fall back into old habits that they are trying to abandon. 

Sadly there are people who seem to be clueless about just accepting people where they are on the drinking spectrum. Those types like to poke fun at me and pressure me into taking chances that I know will not work out well. They somehow feel that drinking is not fun unless everyone is doing it at the same level as they are. It’s how young people all too often get themselves into situations that they cannot handle. The peer pressure to drink along with others becomes too much for them and they keep going even when it no longer feels good. 

I have a dear friend whose parents were both alcoholics. Her childhood was difficult and as a result she has never put a drop of booze near her lips. When she goes to parties and the host asks what she wants to drink she requests coffee. Sometimes if there is a great deal of pressure she takes a wine class and fills it with water. She sips on it all night long and most people think she is drinking with them. It’s terrible that she has to justify her decision to do so, but years of attending therapy sessions to talk about her traumas as a young girl have made her strong and determined to be herself.

I have known people who had to entertain clients as part of their jobs and invariably drinking was involved. They learned the hard way that once they started they were not able to stop. Some of them admitted to their addictions and learned how to control them but others ended up losing their jobs and their families and hitting rock bottom. I suppose this is why I stop when I do. I am not a party pooper. I simply know my limits and that one drink is it. Sometimes I feel that no drink is what is just right and on those times I emulate my friend by sticking with a glass of water or tea.

I like a nice red Merlot or a Malbec from Argentina. I have to have something to eat with my drink and I have to consume the alcohol slowly. If I do those things I avoid headaches and horrific heartburn. I enjoy the experience and keep my head clear. I know that others are better able to tolerate drinking than I am but I always become a bit unnerved when I see someone going beyond what they can handle well.

I never met my maternal grandfather but my understanding is that he liked to come home from work each evening and have a single glass of wine or port or maybe some brandy. He made it his habit to have only that one drink to relax after a long day of working in a meat packing plant. A family story recounts a time when a young man asked for Grandpa’s blessing in marrying one of his daughters. Grandpa poured the suitor a bit of brandy to enjoy while they discussed things. They spoke of the man’s work and his plans for the future while sipping on their drinks. When the man’s glass was empty Grandpa offered him a refill which the man politely refused. Grandpa immediately gave his blessing for the marriage and later told the family that he would have said, “No” if the man had accepted a second helping.

I suppose that I enjoy the feeling of relaxation that comes with a good drink but also respect those who have learned when enough is enough. I know exactly how awful I feel any time that I go beyond my single glass and so I have learned how to nurse my drink like my friend nurses her coffee or water. I also admire anyone who keeps it within the realm of still being able to walk a straight line. Like my grandfather I worry about those who get sloppy drunk. I’ve witnessed the consequences far too many times among people that I have loved. I think we would all do well to know our limits and then refuse to stray from them. Lives are changed forever when we lose control. 

I’m an old lady by any standard. I’m barreling toward my seventy seventh birthday and scheduled for cataract surgery. My knees are shot but I exercise every day to keep them going for a bit longer. I have aches in so many parts of my body that I mostly just ignore the twinges and twitches that attempt to keep me down. In spite of the reality that I am not getting any younger I am determined to refrain from being a stick in the mud “fuddy duddy.”

They say that the mind is a terrible thing to waste and mine is still working rather well. I use it to keep learning and growing. I find that I often feel closer to the opinions and thinking of young people than those my own age. I’d like to think that I am still growing and willing to see things from differing perspectives. My past was quite nice but I was also taught that my goal should always be to look to the future. I don’t want to get so bogged down in memories that I miss the joy of innovation and forward thinking. I have tuned my ear to the voices of the young because I find great wisdom in what they have to say.

I was reading a very unscientific opinion piece that asserted without evidence that eighth graders of today are way behind the educational level where we once were. As someone who excelled in school and continues to teach and tutor students I can say without hesitation that such a comment is absurd. If anything today’s young people are way ahead of where we once were. Few my age tackled Algebra I in the eighth grade but today there are advanced seventh graders tackling Algebra I and prepping for a mathematics education that takes them past Calculus B before they graduate from high school. Even the less advanced students are learning more math than the average person did not so long ago. Everyone gets as least as far as Pre Calculus which features topics that most parents have never before seen. 

I have grown weary of the insults hurled on our youngest adults. By far most of them are better educated than previous generations. They are not lazy like they are often portrayed to be either. They work hard and have dreams for their futures just as humans that age have always had. The biggest difference is in their acceptance of diversity as a powerful societal force. They seem to understand the potential of all people far better than many from past generations have. They realize the greatness of young women and minorities that was all too often overlooked in past eras. 

I believe that today’s youngest adults are capable of greatness and we should always listen to what they have to say and provide them with opportunities to use their skills and ideas for the betterment of society. I listen to to them and hear brilliance. I get excited being around them. They make me feel so much younger than I actually am. I would like to think that we all want to invest in them because whether or not we like the idea of surrendering our hold on all the levers of power, sooner or later we will all be too weak and outdated to stay in charge. We have talent waiting in the wings that we need to begin using. It is a gift that we really need to bestow sooner rather than later.

I’d like to believe that I am still thoroughly modern and in step with progress but my generation and I will best serve the world by stepping aside and funding the hopes and dreams of the future. Our focus should be on making every effort to focus on supporting and developing the twenty and thirty somethings among us. No extra vacation home will satisfy our vanity or be as powerful an investment as putting our trust in the young adults among us and doing everything possible to boost them up on the ladder of success. 

I suspect that I still have much to offer the world around me but my days are going to become increasingly more limited. I already find myself surrendering to lethargy earlier in each day. I can’t work all day and then be active at night. That kind of schedule is for the young. I can spend the morning marching through the streets of my city in protest of the way that our nation is moving but I will come home with tired feet and a longing to hit my bed earlier. We need the gung ho initiative of our youth  For all of history the very best ideas have emanated not from the old folks but from those just entering the adult world. 

The time I have left should be dedicated to encouraging and boosting the younger generations. I know that my brain feels younger than my body but even that may change as the years keep passing. I’d like to think that I might end my time on this earth by mentoring the future. Lately people my age are doing far too much yearning for times that were far less great than we remember. We’ve had our shot at being in the room where the big things happen. Now its well past time to enjoy watching the tides move forward while floating happily along with them. There is a time and a season for everything. I’m ready to use mine to encourage those who are just beginning to express their ideas.

Only a few weeks ago my backyard was glorious. I enjoyed spending hours outside working to keep my flowerbeds free of weeds. I was tending my roses with great joy and care. It was a lovely time of year when being outdoors was my favorite pastime. Now only a few weeks into June it is so hot that I can barely spend a few minutes under the blazing sun before turning into a ball of sweat and feeling as though I am going to pass out from the heat and humidity. 

Even my plants are suffering. The roses that had been blooming with glorious colors are saving their energy just to maintain life. Few flowers are bursting forth. Instead even nature is in protection mode. It is as though the flora understands that this is not the time for attempting to show off. Instead survival demands taking a break from the labors of creating a floral extravaganza. My plants have decided to rest until the temperatures drop in the early fall. 

There are indeed some plants designed to thrive in the extreme temperatures of summer in Texas. The plumeria shine forth unless I allow them to dry out and begin to droop. The hibiscus are much the same. Everything else goes into a kind of summertime hibernation that even I can understand. 

I have learned how to limit my time in the sun lest I become dehydrated and lightheaded. No longer does it seem possible to spend hours under the scorching rays. Instead I do my chores in the early morning hours or in the evening just before dusk. I have learned that “night gardening” is far more effective than fighting the temperatures in the light of midday. 

I sometimes feel a sense of loss now that I have to pamper myself with fans and silly hats just to stay outside doing absolutely nothing. There was a time when I was able to endure the summer heat without even noticing that it was overly warm. I was tough and I have the brown patches on my face to prove my mettle.

 It actually irritates me to feel so wimpy. I wonder what happened to the tough young woman who never even had air conditioning until I was in my twenties. I was totally acclimated to the warmth of Texas summers. I don’t remember breaking a sweat even in ninety degree weather. I wonder if it is my body that has changed or if it is climate change that throws me into lightheaded nausea when I get too hot. Have i actually become spoiled by sitting in air conditioned comfort? Have I lost my ability to meld with nature? Is it really all that different from when I was young or is it my imagination that things are much worse than ever before?

I suppose I know the answers. I see the high temperatures coming earlier and more often than in days of yore. I have watched parts of Texas become so dry that it has been years since the landscape was green. I know of places where ground wells are dangerously close to being dry. I see hurricanes coming sooner than ever and often more powerfully damaging than storms of the past. It feels as though nature is warning me and everyone else and we still are not listening as closely as we should.

In the past few years I have found myself becoming ever more concerned by the extremes of natural disasters. Fires are more deadly. Floods are more lethal. Hurricanes affect larger and larger areas of land. Only a few days ago there was flash flooding in some parts of Houston even as my area did not see even a drop of precipitation. I worry that early summer inundations will trigger greater damage if and when we endure a hurricane. 

I am on full alert these days, especially knowing that the people who should be in place to help us didn’t even know that this is hurricane season until they were told. I sense that unprecedented chaos will ensue if storms come our way. It is as though we have been left to our own resources in the event of a tragedy at the very time when my body is not coping as well as I would like it to do. 

I suppose that I will be on full alert until November arrives and the season of uncertainty is behind us. My roses will tell me when I can relax. They will bloom again along with my lilies and amaryllis plants, signaling that the temperatures are now low enough to make it safe to be outside in the noonday sun. In the meantime I suppose that I will just do my best to keep the weeds at bay and hope and pray that we escape the horrors of hurricanes. I’ll be cheering for all of the places in dangerous zones and hoping that we all make it through one more season with as little harm as possible. Then I will dream of cooler times. 

Note: I wrote this weeks before the horrific floods in Central Texas. Climate change is real and we much face that fact and prepare.