Author: Sharron Burnett

I was an eighteen year old college freshman when Star Trek first came to television. It took no time for me to become an instant fan of the show in spite of the sometimes maudlin acting and rather amateurish production techniques. The stories were what mattered to me, along with the development of the characters, all of whom I adored. Later in the early years of motherhood, my husband would attend graduate classes at the university during the day and then work an evening shift at one of the downtown banks. I’d wait for him to come home, usually at around ten thirty just after the local nightly new program. Sometimes he came bearing hot dogs from the original downtown James Coney Island location and we would joyfully munch on those delightful sandwiches while watching reruns of Star Trek. To this very day I count those simple times as some of the best moments of my entire life. What could possibly be better than munching on the best hot dogs in America while viewing the adventures of Captain Kirk, Spock, Bones and the rest of the Enterprise crew?

Some pleasures never get old and watching the original Star Trek episodes is one of those things. Unfortunately, I have grown old along with the cast of that iconic program. Spock played by Leonard Nimoy is no longer with us. William Shatner who was once the dashing Captain Kirk is ninety years old. Nonetheless, he managed to bring that old familiar feeling of innocent joy to my face with his recent quick journey into space. In these intensely difficult times it seemed so right for “Captain Kirk” to be providing us all with a reason to smile once again. 

Star Trek premiered in September of 1966. By 1968, the country would seem to be slowly devolving into a pit of violence and despair. War, protests, assassinations had become the stuff of the nightly news. When I married in October of 1968, the priest who spoke at my wedding marveled at how much faith it took to plan a future in the world of that moment. Fifty three years later, we are still here and ironically facing even more daunting challenges. In the midst of all the furor and uncertainty it was delightful to dream again of a future in which humankind overcomes the difficulties that hold us down on this earth. There was an older, less athletic, William Shatner bravely going forth into the unknown. Somehow his momentary visit to space reminded so many of us that we do indeed have the capability of overcoming the problems on this earth if only we use the many tools that we have as people. 

The key to the success of the crew of the Enterprise was in their relationships. They complimented one another with their talents. Sometimes they disagreed on how things should be done, but always they respected their differences. That crew was way ahead of the rest of us in those days back in the sixties of the twentieth century. They relied on the expertise of a woman in a manner unheard of back then. Uhura was an officer of astounding abilities in linguistics and communication. She was the first Black female character to be portrayed in a leadership role for a national audience. The crew valued her in ways that few women experienced in the work world of 1966. 

Sulu, an Asian, was the chief helmsman of the Enterprise. Spock was a man of mixed heritage, part human and part Vulcan. Such diversity was a radical concept when the series first aired and yet we all grew to love the characters and to understand the value of each person on board the ship. Mostly we saw how dependent and loyal the characters were with one another. While they sometimes had clashes of opinion, they ultimately understood when to be more rational like Spock or when to accept the sometimes emotional medical advice of Bones. 

William Shatner’s recent adventure resurrected the hopefulness that was the ever present in those episodes of Star Trek. In his own words, he went “where no old man has gone before.” Shatner also noted that he hopes he never forgets the incredible feeling that overcame his emotions as his rocket barreled through the blue skies and beyond earth’s atmosphere into space. He wished that each of us might one day have the opportunity to experience such a remarkable journey. 

It’s unlikely that I will ever venture into space, but perhaps one of my grandchildren or great grandchildren will one day travel beyond the planet into faraway realms. Maybe we will find answers to the many problems that we now face in the kind of innovation that has freed us from the bonds of gravity. With a bit of luck and determination we may one day learn to become more universally accepting of diversity, for it is in our prejudices that most of our problems lie. We also need to realize that being stuck in a certain way of thinking or believing or acting is deadly. To be truly alive we must be willing to really live and change and try new ideas. It’s never too late to learn something new. Even a ninety year old man can leave the pull of gravity and travel to new worlds. How wonderful is that!

I suppose that it is a very human survival technique to to set aside memories of past tragedies and instead place the best times we had front and center in our minds. As the years go by we often long for what we call “the good old days.” If we were lucky enough to enjoy life with a loving family in a safe and secure environment we often idealize our histories and think of times past as being somehow so much better than the current world of uncertainty. We get stuck in a kind of fantasy desire to hark back to a time when things felt more stable and hopeful. Instead of looking forward, changing for the future, we cling to old ways that no longer work like they once did. 

The young are generally risk takers. They see a future ahead that is filled with possibilities. The old often just feel tired. They have traveled through decades of hard work and they don’t really want to have to learn new ways of doing things. They sometimes fear the march of progress and dream of an earlier time when everything seemed to make more sense. 

I adored my grandfather, William Mack Little, because he was a forward thinking man even as he reached an age beyond one hundred years. He viewed his life with a joyful lens that celebrated the wonder of progress and innovation. While he had delightful stories of his youth, he always remarked that those times were really difficult and that he would never want anyone to have to return to the hardships that everyone endured back then. Instead he marveled at the innovations that he had witnessed from one decade to another and urged me and my brothers to never become so fossilized in our thinking that we would be unable to appreciate the inventiveness of humankind. 

Grandpa was in awe of advances whether they be in science, medicine, or politics and societal mores. He celebrated vaccines and medicines because he had grown up in a time when smallpox, measles, polio, tuberculosis and other dreaded diseases regularly took the lives of people across the globe. He recalled bitter winters when the only heat came from a wood fire and hot summers that bred mosquitoes and sweat. He spoke of the first time that he saw a city lit up by electricity and the first plane that he saw flying in the sky. He marveled at new laws that provided social security, Medicare and equality, often wondering why it took so long for our country to provide such safety nets for all people. 

Grandpa had witnessed extreme poverty and want as a young man. Coxey’s Army of desperately hungry and poor citizens had marched through his town on their way to protest their fate in Washington D.C. He had watched white men taking advantage of Native Americans in Oklahoma to gain deeds to oil rich land. He had lost every dime of his savings when my grandmother became ill with cancer before the government protected the elderly with medical plans that ensured access to care. He rejoiced that our government had been courageous enough to right wrongs time and again. Always he proclaimed that the good old days are in the present, not the past. 

My grandfather died back in the nineteen eighties at the age of one hundred eight. He was a joyful man who was sentimental about his love for my grandmother, but little else. He felt that what is best about life is a willingness to keep moving forward, keep improving on the past. He never was stuck in some personal vision of an idyllic past. Instead he was realist who understood that times have always been changing and always will. He embraced the future. 

The acceleration of knowledge and understanding of the world is incredible. We have boundless information available to us at our fingertips. Our laptops and tablets are provide us with instant gratification of our curiosity. We have the ability to research virtually any topic, but all too often we rely on opinions rather than facts. We don’t take the time to really learn about issues on which our futures hinge. 

My grandfather studied the world. He searched for truth. In that regard he learned to become flexible and open and willing to change his ways of thinking and doing things. He was the polar opposite of someone stuck in the past. If he were still here I am certain he would be quite excited about alternative energy, electric cars, the Internet, smart phones, and all of the innovations that have happened since his death. He would urge us all to keep our minds open and to take advantage of the remarkable progress that we have made since he was a boy. 

I suspect that my grandfather would have been vaccinated against COVID-19. He would have been confused by those who turn their backs on such a miraculous way of managing a deadly virus. He would be cheering the times and be astounded at how well we have managed in spite of a worldwide pandemic. He would find the sacrifices we are making to be ridiculously easy compared to what he saw in the almost eleven decades of his life. He would smile. Tell us to celebrate our good fortune and to embrace those attempting to plan for an even better future. Grandpa Little was never ever stuck in the past. We should all follow his lead.

Halloween Eve was not fun this year. We awoke to a fall chill inside our home and the sound of a bird chirping nearby. At first I thought that I was dreaming, but when the shrill cry continued and my husband Mike heard it as well, I knew that something was amiss. A quick search of the house revealed other birds slamming against our windows as though they were attempting to find a way to enter. It was all rather bizarre and Hitchcock-like. 

At first we wondered if we were just imagining things because the sound of the bird suddenly ceased and we were unable to see any signs of the creature. Then we spotted him shivering with fear in a corner of our bedroom. Since I had experienced a similar incident when I was a child I knew what we needed to do to guide the little guy to our back door and out of the house. 

First we closed every door that led to another room. Then we pulled the back door wide open. With a bit of patience we managed to lure the creature out of our bedroom but in his fear he chose to fly upstairs rather than in the direction of freedom. Our next goal was to keep him downstairs and hope that we would be able to help him understand that there was a way out. Once we got him back into the lower part of the house I stood guard on the upstairs landing like a living scarecrow, which was not too difficult to do since my I was still in my jammies with a shock of tousled bed hair making me look rather frightful to man or beast. 

In the meantime Mike was downstairs slowly but surely leading the bird to the kitchen where we hoped he would feel the breeze from the outdoors and follow his instincts back to his home in the trees. It took a bit longer than we expected, but no doubt sheer terror had overtaken his limited ability to think. We laughed ecstatically as soon as he flew onto the back patio and immediately slammed the door shut lest he become disoriented and come back inside. 

A tour of the house provided evidence of what must have been a horrific night for him. He had left droppings on window sills, the floor and sections of the carpet in many different areas as he searched for an escape from his terror. I felt terrible that we did not notice him sooner. I had heard some strange sounds in the night, but I laid them off to the usual things that go bump in the night. He was so tiny that he hardly created a stir even when he was in full flight.

I have no idea how he got inside. Mike had been doing some work in the garage and he has a bad habit of leaving the garage door and the door to the house wide open when he is busy puttering at his work bench. I suspect that the little guy erroneously flew inside and then got confused and finally trapped. I can’t think of any other possibility, but then who knows?

Luckily the bird was so tiny. When I was a child we had a fully grown crackle get inside through an open window without a screen. My brother had removed the covering on a very hot summer day thinking that he might get a bit more air without an obstruction. What he got instead was a large bird that became hysterical in its fight for freedom. As he flitted from one perch to another he knocked over lamps and broke bric-a-brac including my collection of ceramic animals that I had gathered from friends and vacations over the years. I literally cried watching the creature destroying my things like a real life bull in a china shop. 

We finally realized that our only recourse was to seal off all other rooms and open my brother’s bedroom window as much as possible. It seemed like time stood still as the poor animal dive bombed toward us in defensive posture. We were running and screaming in chaos like crazed cats. Little wonder that the poor bird was behaving like a star in The Birds. I can’t say who was more frightened as the battle to rid ourselves of the intruder ensued.

With sheer luck that old crackle finally dove toward the open window and into infinity and beyond. We cheered and sealed the opening as quickly as possible, then found the screen and replaced it on the window. Once we all felt safe we laughed at our adventure and put it in our book of exciting childhood memories. I never thought that I would relive that moment again, but the day before Halloween 2021, there it was. We had our real live version of horror with a little harmless bird. 

I must admit that I worried for a bit that we would not be able to get the creature back outside. I had boasted to Mike that I knew what to do without telling him about the mass confusion that had ensued in my childhood under a similar circumstance. I only hope that we would be successful but wondered in the back of my mind if we would have to call an animal removal service. Mostly I feared that the poor creature might actually die inside the house, a situation that I could not bear to even imagine. My heart took wings when he made it back into nature.

We never quite know what to expect when we arise each morning. I’ve learned over time to be ready for almost anything, even having a bird trapped inside my home. We live with the creatures of the earth. We build on their land, overtake their habitats and think little about how we have invaded them. I wonder if they are happy when we leave their space. I think that may be the case. Perhaps we should consider them just a bit more.

For fifty-five years Linus has waited faithfully each October 31 in a pumpkin patch in hopes of finally seeing the Great Pumpkin rise into the air to deliver gifts to all the boys and girls. Since 1966, he has missed trick or treating with his friend, Charlie Brown and sister Lucy. He has not been able to attend Violet’s annual Halloween party. He has endured the taunts of the Peanuts crew for his insistence that the Great Pumpkin does exist and that one day he will she him come if only Linus can find the “most sincere” pumpkin patch in which to wait.

I have followed Linus’ exploits for all of those fifty-five years, first as a young girl living in my mother’s home. Then as a newlywed watching with my husband, I cheered for Linus. Later as a mother excitedly introducing Linus to my own little girls, I hoped that he would finally witness the miracle that he believed to be true. Eventually as a grandmother, I reminded my daughters to tune in to the annual showing of this traditional Halloween film. Finally, as someone who has grown old I still believe that Linus’ dream will one day come to fruition. 

I am a lover of fairytales. A cockeyed optimist who never gives up. I like the idea of someone so dedicated to a lovely idea that he or she is unwilling to suspend belief in possibilities. I am one of the persons who would love for resolutions to materialize quickly, but who understands that most problems are solved incrementally. Like Linus I possess infinite amounts of patience and determination. 

As an educator I learned that some processes take more time than others. I might have an eager, exceedingly brilliant student sitting at the front of the classroom who is capable of learning a year’s worth of Algebra in only weeks. Another seemingly uninterested soul languishing in the back may take three or four times longer to grasp concepts and gain enough confidence to believe that learning mathematics is possible. I always remained patient and hopeful for all of my students because I knew that with time each of them was capable of rising up and embracing the gift of knowledge. 

I look around today and I think that we would all do well to have some patience. We need to be willing to believe in one another and to wait for the gratification of our needs. The pandemic has stressed the normal supply chain all across the globe and our usually rapid “on time” ways of operating have slowed to a snail’s pace. The only fault of this situation lies in the impact of Covid-19 on all of humanity, not on any single person or entity. It is time for us to be patient and allow the system to get past the kinks and heal just as so many of us have had to do. Instead there seems to be a great deal of whining and wailing because we suddenly can’t get exactly what we want, when we want it, at the price we prefer to pay. We might instead think of Linus and chill just a bit in the belief that with time we will work this out.

Last March my husband and I ordered an item that is produced in Wisconsin. It is assembled with parts mostly produced in the United States, but a few of the key elements come from other places in the world. It usually takes about four to six weeks to create this machine and ship it to a particular area. Because of slowdowns when workers were becoming ill with Covid-19, we were told in March that it would more likely involve double that amount of time. Then came the message that so many people were finally spending money again and ordering things that we would need to add another month to the estimated time of delivery. Each time we have inquired, the ETA has been pushed farther and farther ahead on the calendar. It is now almost the end of October and there is no end in sight. 

This situation has nothing to do with lazy workers or strange trucking laws or the President of the United States. It is simply a result of two years of uncertainty as workers across the world dealt with Covid-19, often on a very personal level. All we can do is be patient. The company is doing its best build the machines as quickly as possible. The truck drivers are working hard. Everyone wants things to settle down and most certainly they will. Eventually we will catch up. We just all need to be flexible and adjust because all the finger pointing and whining in the world will not repair the damage that a tiny virus has inflicted on every aspect of lives across the globe. 

The way I see it is that I am still alive and doing well. I don’t need fine cuts of meat or fancy Christmas gifts or immediate gratification of my wishes to feel grateful. I appreciate those who are sacrificing time away from their families to service our desires. I know that they risk their own health in the work that they do. I am thankful that they are doing the very best to keep us supplied with as many of the items we use as possible. If something is missing or unavailable, my part in helping shall be to do without or find a substitute. Most of all I want to be Linus. I intend to  be patient.   

We had a bit of a storm last night. I awoke in the wee hours before dawn to flashes of lightning and the sound of thunder. For some silly reason as I lay on my pillow attempting to resume my slumbers, I thought about an old science lesson from my earliest school days. I remember following my teacher’s instructions to draw a couple of clouds on my paper and fill them with pluses and minuses to represent electrical charges. Then I drew a tree on the ground with a man standing next to it. The positive charges were at the tops of the clouds and the negative ones sunk to the bottom. The objects on the ground were positive. The teacher explained that lightning occurred when there was a need to create balance between the charges either within a single cloud, between two clouds or from a cloud to the ground. She warned us of the dangers of being the highest point on the ground during a thunderstorm, and then read us a story about Benjamin Franklin’s experiment with a set of keys tied to a kite that created a strike of lightning. It was all so fascinating back then and still is for me today. 

I’ve always like mathematics and processes that are logical, so the balancing of positive and negative charges that make the static electricity of lightning made perfect sense to me. I have forever been in awe of lightning storms but also wary of being outside while they are taking place. I don’t grinch whenever I’m told to leave a swimming pool or if a sport is temporarily halted until the danger of lightning is gone. I even started hikes to the tops of mountains well before the first signs of daylight so that I would arrive before the regular afternoon rainstorms that threatened those standing proudly on summits. 

When I was still a child a man named Johnny built a wonderful neighborhood grocery store at the corner of my street. I loved running down there with a dollar in my hands and a short list of items that my mother needed to create one of her yummy dinners. Johnny was a very nice man who knew everyone by name and watched over all of us as though he was our uncle. One day he was standing under a tree in his front yard when a stray bit of lightning came from nowhere and struck him to the ground. It was big story that made the front page of one of the local newspapers. Houston was still more small town than city back then, so the tale of a citizen’s brush with an electrical shock was big news. Johnny became even more of a celebrity in my little girl eyes. 

We often use lightning as a writing tool. It is a metaphor for something unlikely to happen. It can represent both good and bad luck. It sets a dark and foreboding mood. It is a kind of omen of evil. We attribute properties to lightning that are mystical and sometimes even satanic, when in reality it is nothing more than a very natural occurrence. It is a way of keeping balance in the atmosphere. We should respect its power but with the right precautions it is unlikely to harm us the way that we may fear. 

It seems as though we all too often ignore the actual science of the natural world around us and attempt to force our own beliefs and concerns onto a situation, particularly when we don’t like the inconvenient truths of reality. We humans have cast some very strange ideas onto the workings of the world throughout history resulting in stories of witches and the condemnation of a brilliant man who understood that the earth is not at the center of the universe. We gazed across the horizon and thought that our earth was flat. Even as humans began to sail around the oceans without dropping off into an abyss we still had those who would not accept that maybe our planet was actually round. To this very day we have people in our midst who are unwilling to believe many of the discoveries of science. They cling to their own limited and misguided beliefs in spite of mounting evidence that they are wrong. 

I marvel at those with minds so great that they determine how things work. Chemistry is like music to me. Biology is miraculous. Physics takes my breath away. I think of trailblazers in science and medicine like Leonardo da Vinci and Galileo. I remember how inventive Benjamin Franklin actually was, so when I visited a museum dedicated to his remarkable life I was enthralled by his inventiveness and both his physical and mental prowess. Little wonder that he was a world renowned personality who was a favorite in the French court. He was an incredibly accomplished man. 

Science is at the forefront of new frontiers in living. We don’t have to accept every single finding that comes from that world but the scientific method along with the scientific community have rules in place that ultimately determine the veracity of discoveries and claims. Science is built on evidence, proof, not just hopeful beliefs. Good theories grow from slow, deliberate processes. There is a beautiful diplomacy that exists between researchers of the world who share information and expose hoaxes. Science is honest and rational, and we would all do well to learn more about it rather than blindly accepting the word of charlatans who pass rumors over the backyard fence. 

Benjamin Franklin was one of our Founding Fathers, but he was so much more. His little kite experiment should demonstrate our own need to learn the truth of how things really work. A bit of time reading about climate change, vaccines, alternative energies, worlds of the future might be the best way to understand how our own behaviors are impacting the world. Conspiracy theories have littered the pages of history all to no avail while pioneers like Ben Franklin have brought us the kind of knowledge that is the true mark of freedom. Listen and learn about science. Know that lightning occurs for a reason that is devoid of ill intent. See the world for what it really is.