Month: January 2026

My father in law is moving toward his ninety-seventh birthday. Just before Christmas he fell and spent almost two weeks in the Trauma ICU at Memorial Hermann Hospital in Houston, Texas. His injuries and subsequent difficulties seemed almost unreal given the fact that all he had done is fall down in his bathroom. 

He broke his nose and his hand and had tiny fractures in a couple of ribs. The extent of the damage indicated that he was much more frail than he had seemed to be. As the son of a doctor he had taken good care of himself over the years. He exercised each day and took a regimen of eighteen pills recommended and prescribed by his doctors. He was always thin and wiry and never seemed to gain weight like most people so that was also in his favor but he has many different ailments including a slow moving cancer, heart disease, diabetes and essential tremors, as well as a tendency to develop gastrointestinal problems. To keep going well into his nineties he follows the dictates of his doctors like a man obsessed. He does not vary from his regular medical appointments nor does he question the advice that they give him. 

When he was in the hospital with his injuries his body began to react in very scary ways. He developed a thoracic bleed, his kidneys were not fully operating, he was unable to eat and he had difficulty breathing. The doctors in the ICU attacked each of his symptoms quickly and with my father in laws full permission. What initially seemed like the potential end of his days slowly but surely demonstrated the brilliance of the medical community to which he has always been a faithful believer. Ultimately he overcame each and every challenge with the help of the doctors and nurses who doted over him. Now he is working to regain his strength and ability to walk and be independent once again.

I mention all of this not because I believe that he is somehow more blessed with health than others but because the doctors in our country are so advanced in what they are able to do. I have little doubt that if they had only relied on faux medicines and wacky beliefs he would surely have died. Instead they applied their knowledge, skills and medical machinery to bringing him back to a stable state of health. It was science and inventiveness that saved my father in law, not silly ideas that he was a chosen one who got to stay alive rather than someone’s brother or child or neighbor who died in the same moment. 

We have a society in which all of the advances in medicine are being challenged by an untrained man who seems to believe that the very things that kept my father in law alive are actually hurting us. Vaccines are on the chopping block even as we forget how devastating polio was before children regularly received immunizations to prevent this dreadful disease. Few people have heard stories of smallpox like I did from my grandfather who nursed his father and stepmother when they became so ill that “their noses seemed to be in danger of falling off of their faces.” Few people have had measles of late like I did before there was a shot to prevent me from being ill with high fevers for over a week. I could go on and on and on because when I grew up most inoculations were only beginning to become commonplace in reducing the spread of foul diseases. 

Our present government has unfunded many research programs that were designed to save lives. My oncologist niece has told me that advances from such programs have saved lives of cancer patients who might have died only ten years ago. It is shortsighted to attempt to save money by discontinuing the kind of programs that led to the procedures that kept my father in law alive in his recent visit to the hospital. 

On top of all of that most of his doctors and even some of his nurses had come to the United States with special visas which are now being threatened. It is estimated that forty percent of Primary Care Physicians and Oncologists working in the United States have come here with such visas. Now many of them are considering leaving and the new supply of doctors will not make up the deficit. There will be rural areas without doctors as all.

My grandfather always called the present the good old days. He remembered his grandmother trying to help sick people get well with homemade poultices and tonics. While he was proud that they called her Doc Reynolds he also understood how important our advances in medicine had been in saving lives. He never knew his mother because she had died in childbirth. He mourned for an uncle who was his guardian who died from an infection before penicillin had been invented. He believed that the progress being made in science and the way we treated people was glorious because he had witnessed the tragedies the occurred because of ignorance. 

I am lucky to live in a city with one of the biggest centers of medicine in the United States. I have wonderful doctors and know that if I need emergency treatment help will be available. I hope with all of my heart that we do not go backwards in the remarkable progress that we have made in saving lives. It would be foolish to attempt to save money by risking the health of the nation when these should still be the good old days.

I approach the arrest of Maduro in Venezuela with caution and mixed feelings. I am definitely pleased that the people there are freed from this dictator who ruled them with an iron fist. I have heard stories from older people who fled from Venezuela about how lovely the country once was. There are sadly generations of people who live there who have never known such a time. If things go well perhaps they will be able to rebuild their nation and move forward toward the kind of democracy and freedom that so many of the people long to enjoy. 

Sadly I feel a bit uneasy about how difficult it may end up being for the people. Our nation has tried to be the good guy many times over with very little success. My father-in-law still speaks of the horror of the Korean War and the loss of so many people that ended in a stalemate in spite of the seemingly good intentions of the United States. As a teen and young woman I remember how Vietnam became a disastrous quagmire and I sob each time I see the names of the the American soldiers who lost their lives there only to result in the Communist regime of North Vietnam winning the day. I remember when we helped the Iranian people to rid themselves of the corrupt Shah of Iran and ultimately things became worse than ever. I hoped that we might restore the people of Afghanistan to the kind of culture and lives that they once enjoyed but we left there in defeat as well. So too it was in Iraq where the people at first danced in the streets with joy in our decision to militarily oust Saddam Hussein. Little progress was made there in spite of years of spending treasure in lives and money. 

There seems to be no real plan as to what to do next other than Trump’s boast that the United States will be in charge of Venezuela which is not our right. It will be up the Venezuelan people to decide who they want and what type of government best suits them. We might agree to support them but we should not be in charge. We should also not be so eager to get our hands on their oil. Somehow the flimsy plan that Trump is suggesting seems to benefit the United States more than the people of Venezuela. If I were a citizen of Venezuela I would be leery of his ultimate intentions. 

Then there is the question of whether or not Trump’s action was even legal. Is it any more moral that Putin claiming that the leaders of Ukraine are nazis and then invading that country and taking land and natural resources that do not belong to him? If we are really a nation determined to help people around the world who are under the thumb of dictators there are many other leaders to choose. What would we think if some country kidnapped our president in the name of making Americans freer? We need to consider such things as well as the ultimate complications that may arise and only make life worse both for Venezuelans and Americans. That is why such moves have always been determined by a vote from Congress. The Constitution states very clearly that the president does not have the power to invade another country without first conferring with Congress. The reasons for this should be very clear. We do not want one person making such a consequential decision.

I have family members who are refugees from Venezuela and I have felt their pain in being so far removed from their homeland. They have grieved for friends and family that they had to leave behind. They have prayed for a miracle that might free their land. Of course they feel great hope now that Maduro is no longer there but such a thing needed to be done properly and with great consideration of what the repercussions might be for everyone. 

As I write this the son of a friend is stuck in Puerto Rico because the Venezuelan air space has been deemed too dangerous for American airlines. This means that the Puerto Rican people many of whom are also my relatives are no doubt feeling a nervous sense of danger. How many American soldiers will be sent to Venezuela? Will any of them lose their lives? Why are we getting involved there but leaving the people of Ukraine stranded? There are so many questions and very few answers. I can only hope that all works out well but I fear that the turmoil in South America will spread before calm resumes. 

I want to be wrong about my concerns on every level. I don’t want to kill the joy of the Venezuelan people. Still, something does not feel right to me just as it did not feel right when we went to Iraq. I want nothing more than to be able to admit that I my anxiety is silly. I’ll be the first to admit that I am wrong it if all turns out well. In the meantime I have so many questions and concerns.  

Twenty twenty five was a difficult year for me and my family. Somehow it seemed to be in keeping with our tendency to encounter bad luck in odd numbered years. My father died in 1957, my mother had her first breakdown in 1969, my husband, Mike, had a frightening experience with his heart in 2023 and a bout with cancer in 2025. My father-in-law had a fall that left him seriously injured at the end of this year. 

I have to also admit that 2025 has been difficult for me politically. I have been stunned again and again by Trump’s dismantling of our government and his vengeful actions toward those who disagree with him. I have worried about his egregious use of the National Guard and ill trained ICE agents seemingly indiscriminately arresting anyone who appears to be an immigrant. I have cringed at his ugly late night posts about groups that he disdains. I have become increasingly saddened by the gun violence in our nation that seems almost impossible to stem at this point in time. I feel sorrow over the friendships and relationships that have been strained or ended only because people voiced their beliefs and some were unwilling to continue the friendships. 

On the other hand, even in the darkest hours in the worst odd numbered years there was always a ray of hope and such is true of the most recent year that is now relegated to history. I had two grandsons graduate from college and had the good fortune to watch them walk across the stage to receive the diplomas they had earned. In July I limped my way through a fun weekend in New York City with my daughters, granddaughter and a friend who may as well be my daughter. Thanks to the miracle of physical therapy and a dash of cortisone I managed to enjoy the wonders of the Metropolitan Art Museum, two Broadway musicals. the 911 Museum, and stores up and down Fifth Avenue. 

By August my husband rang the bell and was declared cancer free so we quickly planned an October trip to London, Scotland and Paris that created enough memories to last for the rest of my life. Once again a shot of cortisone and a suggestion to consider replacement of my knees in the future kept me walking enough to fully appreciate all that the cities of my journey had to offer. There were no cobblestones or soaring stairs that defeated my efforts at walking with an inflamed knee. I did it all and felt as though I was living the dream of a lifetime. 

My brothers continued to struggle with Parkinson’s Disease but they worked like crazy to keep themselves mobile in spite of setbacks along the way. My worries for them are ever present but at least by Christmas time they were both doing well after some very scary moments during the year. We converged on a Christmas Eve party with our children and their spouses and cour grandchildren with more joy than ever just knowing that somehow we had all made it one more times. The love in the room was like a warm blanket cuddling us with hope for better times ahead. 

My father-in-law somehow lived to pronounce another miracle recovery in his long life. It won’t be many weeks before he is ninety seven years old and living longer than anyone in his family has ever done. He has challenges ahead of him but I know few people who are as persistent as he is when it comes to exercising and eating right and following doctors’ orders. 

There are signs of hopefulness everywhere. I am a classic survivor, an expert at overcoming even the most horrific situations. I have confidence in myself and in the people who have always loved and supported me no mater what was happening. I see the good that is all around us and have little doubt that it will find a way to overcome the evils that always seem to try to pull us down. Winter may be coming in the next few weeks but spring always has a way of coming back around and the days become filled with more and more light. 

I have two more grandchildren who will graduate from college this year. One has already secured a job in New York City and the other is planning to pursue a PhD. in aerospace engineering. Yet another grandson will earn a Masters degree in Accounting and begin testing for his designation as a Certified Public Accountant. My other grandchildren will hopefully find joy and peace and success in their endeavors as well. 

I am happy to welcome 2026, when I will get a brand new knee to replace the one that makes me limp. My wish for everyone is that life will be filled with health, opportunities, fun adventures and most of all love. Isn’t it wonderful how we get a clean start over and over again?

As the new year begins I am weary. The last year was difficult to endure as our president devolved into a self centered ranting lunatic and our most trusted agencies fell into disarray. So much damage has been inflicted on our government and our reputation in the world that I wonder if it will ever be repaired during my lifetime. At the age of seventy seven my expiration date becomes more and more uncertain from day to day, so I do not worry as much about myself as I do about my children and grandchildren who will bear the burdens that Trump and his cabinet have placed on us. 

I have done my best during the past year to protest the cold hearted policies of our president and just when I think that those of us who truly love our country and our Constitution are making headway something more and more audacious brings uncalled for damage to our government. I see the suffering and sometimes feel unmitigated frustration that the trend of destruction seems only to get worse. 

How can anyone watch what is happening and believe that it is alright? Why am I constantly accused of being hateful when all I am attempting to do is warn people of the dangers of what is happening? How is it possible that so many Americans have been mezmerised by a malignant fool?

I find solace in the fact that I am not alone. I have watched the numbers of protestors increase even as we realize that our efforts sometimes seem to be in vain. I have found good people whose devotion to our democracy makes them targets of the president’s foul insults. I have watched them continuing their determination to save our nation even as they become sick and weary. 

I have come to admire brave souls like Joe Walsh a former Reagan Republican who realized that his party had gone astray. I cling to the daily reports from historian Heather Cox Richardson. I tip my hat to Jennifer Rubin and Jim Acosta who had the courage to leave their well paying jobs as journalists when they were being silenced only to rise again as independent broadcasters delivering the truth. I admire Aaron Parnas, a young man with a family who works so hard attempting to bring us the news without editorial commentary that sometimes I worry about him as he looks so tired. I smile at the unfettered truths told by Jo Jo from Jerz and Mary Trump. I tip my hat to the members of the House and the Senate who keep trying to hold the line against the ridiculous policies that the neutered Republicans keep pushing to please their leader. I applaud Mark Hamill and Stephen King for their love of our nation and their willingness to speak truth without fear. I follow the advice of Dr. Peter Hotez who has devoted his life to insuring the health of our nation. All of these people and more keep me sane in a time when it feels as though insanity is calling all of the shots. 

I don’t hate anyone. That is not in my nature but I surely hate what some people are doing in what sometimes appears to be a concerted effort to destroy the core of our democracy. My instinct has always been to protect people. I rise up when I see individuals and groups being unfairly abused. I will always speak my mind whether in my family circle or at work or as a citizen of my beloved Untied State if I believe that wrongs are being carried out if only to burnish the self centered desires of the mad man who demands that we adore him as though he is somehow a king chosen by God Himself to lead us. 

I fear that this new year will be long and dangerous for all of us. I wonder if those of us attempting to right the ship of state will have the energy and endurance to keep trying. We all have personal lives that demand our attention. Some simply carry on as usual and take care of home rather than expending efforts on the broader issues. I wonder of their attitude that this too shall pass is indeed the best way of thinking and then I remember that those who broke away from the king of England two hundred fifty years ago were relentless even as eight years passed before the Revolutionary War was over. I know that I must be patient and vigilant and unwilling to just comply in the hopes that right will one day win the battle.

My wish list for this year is that the war in Ukraine will end without the country having to give up land that is theirs to a madman in Russia who began the conflict to begin with. I pray that we will once again be led by men and women of honor whose goal is to take care of all Americans, not just those that they favor. I want the violence that stalks us to somehow get under control and for our three branches of government to once again work without prejudice or false loyalty to a single person. I want the craven golden fixtures gone from the People’s House and respect for differing ideas to be honored. I long to have compassionate leaders who help us through difficult times. 

I am older and more weary than I have ever been but my will is strong. I will do my utmost to work to protect our beloved democracy for everyone. I will continue to love the people of this nation regardless of their personal beliefs. I will not lose hope. I see the goodness underneath the slime. I am hopeful that it will prevail. 

I have been a movie fan for all of my life. I’m not sure when I attended my first flick but I have a memory of watching a huge reptilian monster destroying the world when I had not yet begun school because I was only four years old. I have a vague image and a sudden feeling of fear that only lasted a moment because I was sitting by my father who appeared to be amused by the whole thing. Later he and my mother would have a small discussion as to whether or not it was appropriate to bring me to view a frightening story. Daddy won with his usual wit as I seemed to be clueless about whatever the story might have been, but in reality I do remember feeling quite terrorized for a moment. 

My next memories focus on the movie Shane which premiered in nineteen fifty three when I was around five and a half years old. I remember that story as though I had read it word for word in a book. I loved Alan Ladd as much as my father did. I remember thinking that I had seen something amazing which was probably supported by my father’s animated discussion of how great he believed the film to be. It was much like the film High Noon that was another of my father’s favorites and which I only partially recall watching with him and my mother. I only knew that there was a gunfight at the conclusion of that story and that the hero was brave and willing to stand up for what he believed was right. Such characters always reminded me of my mother and father.

Only months before my father died he took the family to see The Mountain with Spencer Tracy. Daddy boasted that Mr. Tracy was perhaps the greatest actor of all time. His favorite movie was The Old Man and The Sea which I also vividly remember.  If a movie came out starring Spencer Tracy we were certain to attend a viewing. So it was with The Mountain, a story of two brothers making a treacherous climb in search of a crashed plane. It was an intense tale that I was able to follow because by then I was eight years old and my father had told me many stories that were probably somewhat adult for a child. I felt as though he was part of a secret world that only grownups enjoyed because of my father’s honesty.

For a time after Daddy died we mostly watched old black and white films that came on the local television channels late on Friday and Saturday nights. My mother made a big deal out of those times with popcorn that she made in her iron skillet and snacks that were not allowed during the week. We gathered on the floor of our living room in our pajamas bundled in blankets while the stories unfolded in the darkened room. I finally got to see a few romantic offerings since my mother enjoyed that kind of entertainment much more so than my father had. I learned from her who the heart throbs of her day and been and listened with great interest as she described going to movies in downtown Houston with only twenty five cents needed to cover the bus fare, the cost of the ticket and a small snack. She made those days sound wonderful in the gilded theaters where the stars jumped off of the big screens. 

Eventually a local movie theater featured a Saturday Fun Club that allowed my mother to have some free time to run her errands without three children tagging along. She would drop us off with fifty cents which is all that we needed to enter the theater, buy some snacks and settle into four hours of games and double feature movies. It was a glorious time!

Later my Aunt Polly took a second job as the cashier at the Trail Drive In. She would wave our car through at no cost and since my mother prepared all of our food and snacks for the evening we never had to spend a dime. Of course we took advantage of that perk and spent many many evenings in the humid weather of Houston viewing one great movie after another. Mama would pack the car with pillow for anyone who grew wear and wanted to sleep but I always stayed awake with her to the very end. We ate sandwiches and munched on a grocery bag full of popcorn. We sipped on sodas that came from our ice chest and sometimes even enjoyed candy or cookies in the mix. 

Now and again Mama let me bring my friend Linda Barry along. She and I were like sisters back then but eventually she went to public school while I stayed at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Catholic School. We developed new friendships and interests and drifted farther and farther away from each other. Much later when we were adults we got back together and laughed at our antics at the drive in and reconnected through our mutual memories. 

My love of movies continued with my friend Pat who suggested movies that neither my husband or hers would have attended. We hauled our children along and became frequent flyers at nearby theaters. After a flick we often went to the Fifty Nine Diner for a late night snack. She became like a sister to me and a fabulous aunt to my daughters. Those were truly glorious times.

Once our children were grown Pat began searching for movies that the men would also like and so we became a foursome laughing and crying and thinking about the stories that the features told. When we were not in the mood to go out Pat often rented videos to watch while we munched on homemade snacks that brought me back full circle to those nights of my childhood with my mother and brothers. 

I don’t go to movie theaters as often as I once did. It can be a very expensive kind of entertainment. A quarter or fifty cents would no longer get us in the door. We can wait to view the films that we want to see on our big screen television with speakers that make us feel that we are in a luxurious theater. Only once in awhile do we treat ourselves to a night out where we lounge in comfortable seats and have that glorious feeling that always runs through my mind when the lights are dimmed and the feature begins. 

I suppose that I will always love movies and the creativity that makes them. They form a link from my earliest memories to the present that I have so enjoyed. I hope that they will remain an important part of my life. It is so wonderful to escape into other worlds for a time and to feel as though nothing matters but the story being told.