Author: Sharron Burnett

I suppose that I’m not the first person to sit in her arm chair and consider the possibility of running for President of the United States to save the country. It’s fairly easy to lounge on the sidelines and point out all of the flaws of those who accept the mantle of leadership and responsibility for our great big crazy democratic republic. It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it. Why not me? 

Of course getting to the White House requires running through a gauntlet of campaigning and extreme vetting by the media and the opposition. It’s unlikely that anyone will make it all the way without some real or imagined scandal being disclosed. The sport of politics is vicious these days to say the least, and throwing one’s hat in the ring takes a certain level of courage and hubris, but I’ve thought about it now and again nonetheless.

Last night I had a recurring dream of totally rearranging the furniture in my home. I was moving heavy pieces from one room to another and shuffling objects around to create a more pleasing arrangement, an update or modernization of what I have. I encountered one problem and interruption after another in spite of my careful planning. I had a vision that looked great on paper but didn’t quite come together in reality. Unexpected disasters took my focus in unanticipated directions and so even after an entire dream cycle of working very hard I still had a mess on my hands when the morning came. I awoke feeling exhausted and somehow defeated. Sometimes I imagine that is what it must be like to be President. 

Still, from a far away perspective it feels as though I can see the problems and solutions for our country better than those who have inhabited the Executive Office. Maybe the fact that I even think that I have the answers is a good sign that I possess enough audacity to throw my hat in the ring. I’m not so sure, however, that I am willing to put myself and my family through the wringer of inspection and criticism that will surely follow even though my life is truly an open book. I can say without hesitation that what you see with me is what you get, and yet I feel certain that an enterprising journalist or pundit will somehow interpret my past in ways that make me out to be someone that I am not. At least that appears to be the way things work in the world of politics. 

So I will begin my political ambitions with full disclosure of the aspects of my biography that may cause some ripples and tongue clucking. I admit that in my youthful fervor I was opposed to the war in Vietnam. My friend Claudia and I eagerly joined groups that spoke out against the escalation that sent more and more troops into the jungles for a cause that increasingly seemed to be fruitless. In truth my participation in anti-war events was entirely limited to agreeing that I did not want to lose another American in battles that seemed ultimately hopeless. When the marching and protesting began I left the ranks because I was not keen on becoming involved in potential violence. I was a rather wishy washy proponent of pacifism that had more to do with being around cute young men than real fervor. 

What will no doubt become public in a campaign is a photo from a University of Houston yearbook from the nineteen sixties that shows me as a member of the Students for a Democratic Society. I sit beaming front and center with my friend Claudia, not realizing at all that some considered the group to be communist and verging on terrorist. Ultimately I would come to learn that many though of the SDS as a very unAmerican group, but I was just a dumb eighteen year old kid who thought she was saving the world by joining, taking the photo, and then promptly backing out of any commitments. I mean I was also good buddies with cute guys from the young Republican Club as well.

I have always been open about my mother’s mental illness. I suppose that given the tragic state of her mind it might be argued that I am a bit genetically predisposed to a bit more quirkiness of personality than some. I do sometimes become overly emotional about things and I overthink all of the time, but those traits also make me enormously compassionate and logical as well. I’ve made it a long way without succumbing to mental illness and I actually believe that my familiarity with it is a plus. I understand quite well the incredible need for reforms in how we help those whose minds are ravaged by chemical imbalance.

The one thing that even I can’t seem to defend is my age. In truth I agree that I am too old for the job. Ironically I am actually younger than the two fellows who most recently ran for the highest office in the land. I am of the mind that we’ve now given five Baby Boomers a chance to set things right in our country and it’s time to turn over the reigns to Generation X. I’m not like Queen Elizabeth who clings to her title until her heir is too old to even matter. I truly believe that there is a season for every generation, and now we must look to younger souls. The world will soon belong to them and their children. They should have more of a say in how that world should look. 

So after briefly announcing my candidacy I am compelled to withdraw on the grounds that deferring to the next generation is most certainly the wisest path. I’ll be happy to consult with anyone willing to take the reins, but for now I’m content to keep my privacy and my good name and return to my arm chair to kibitz.

I got to spend some time with Mother Nature yesterday. She seemed tired, worried, careworn. We’ve had a long relationship. She knows that I love her, but somehow I did not know what to say to her when I saw her looking so ragged. It’s been a tough year for her. In fact she’s been abused by us for quite some time now. She doesn’t like to complain, but I can tell that she has reached a breaking point. She is, after all, so generous to the whole world and yet we too often ignore her. Surely we’ve all seen the signs that she is having a very difficult time. So why are we so reluctant to take the steps to care for her, to help her heal?

I actually cried as she told me how dehydrated she often is. There are fires in her belly that she knows are slowly destroying her. Sometimes she is overwhelmed by terrible storms that wash over her, drowning her so that she can hardly breathe. She suffers from the heat of burning fevers and then has chills from a coldness than runs through her body. She’s tried to ignore these symptoms and just carry on as she always has, but lately she has been unable to deny that something is terribly wrong. She is worried. She needs help.

She did not say how she got this way. She is kind like that. Nonetheless I knew that we have collectively done this to her. We have taken her for granted. Ignored the signs that she was ill. Used her. Stolen from her. Chipped away at her. 

I took her hands in mine and cried as I apologized for my own part in her destruction. She hugged me with her warmth and for a moment there was so much strength and beauty in her face. She was not able to keep up the pretense for very long. Her shoulders sagged. Her breathing was labored from inhaling the pollution of our neglect. I asked her what she needed, what we all might do to make her well again. 

She told me that her recovery will be difficult for all of us because we have waited so long to deal with her injuries, but it is not impossible to help her heal. We simply need the will to make some changes in how we treat her. We will have to undergo a kind of group therapy together so that we might learn to live in harmony with her. She worries that if she breaks we may all suffer with her, so she wants more than anything that we will understand how much she needs us and we need her. 

I hugged her and made a promise that I would do my best to help her. I thanked her for all of the joy that she has brought me from day to day. I spoke of sacrifices that I am willing to make and insisted that I would rally others to stand by her side as well. I became animated with ideas for what we might all do to guarantee that her health improves. I was sincere, eager to please her, to let her know how much I love her. 

She smiled weakly at my enthusiasm. It pleased her to know that I truly want to help, but she warned me in her motherly way that the road ahead will not be easy. she insisted that there will be tough times when I simply want to give up the fight for her. She wanted me to understand that much like killing a cancer inside a human body, the journey ahead will seem to get worse before it gets better. Still, if we do nothing, she will surely begin to die. 

Hers was a stark truth that I did not want to hear. Mothers are like that sometime. Their honesty ruffles us, makes us want to put our hands over our ears so that we might pretend that everything is better than it really is. She gently put her hands on my face and turned my gaze so that I was looking into her loving eyes. She quietly explained that she would never become well all by herself. She described the way parts of her might become so diseased that they would cease to exist unless we provide her with the medicine and therapy that she needs. She urged me to understand that her time was running out. She pleaded with me to walk with her on the difficult journey ahead, knowing that it might be one of the most difficult things that I have ever done.

I earnestly promised her that I was ready to do what I must do for her. I reminded her of the ways that I have cared for my mother, my children, my husband, myself. I assured her that I knew how to endure and overcome tough times. I have the will to set things right. I also understand that I will not be able to save her alone, so I must find others to join me in the effort. 

We changed the subject for a time. Mother Nature did not want to leave me feeling sad or defeated. She is protective of me and all of my fellow humans. Her birds came to greet the two of us. The sunshine of her smile radiated around me. She pointed to the flowers that bloom all around us, the creatures great and small that live with us, the magnificent forests and mountains and rivers and oceans. I thanked her for those gifts and parted with a profound promise that I will do my best to make her well because I love her and I know she loves me.

I love movies and I’ve watched more than my fair share of them from the time that Blockbuster was a big thing to the present era of streaming. From the beginning of the pandemic I’ve viewed quite a number of films, particularly during the weeks of mandated lockdown. I haven’t been inside a movie theater in quite some time, and while I can get a quality screening in the comfort of my home, I find myself longing to return to the experience of sitting in one of those luxury loungers with a tub of popcorn and an icy cold drink. Somehow the experience of being surrounded by sound that leaves a tingle on my skin while viewing the action on a gigantic screen simply can’t be replicated at home. 

Going to the movies has been a staple in my life. My mom used to drop me and my brothers off at the Santa Rosa theater on Saturday mornings for the Fun Club while she did errands around town. For twenty-five cents we got several hours of entertainment. With ten or fifteen cents more our adventure included a snack. I can still recall the feelings of excitement and pure joy of those glorious days. 

Mama often took us to the drive-in movie locations that were in abundance back then. Since we did not have air conditioning in our home we never seemed to notice the heat of the summer nights. The only thing that bothered us were the mosquitos, and we combated them with a coil of repellant that we lit and placed on our dashboard. I don’t have a recollection that our efforts actually worked but after a time we would become so enthralled with the features films that we hardly noticed the bites of those obnoxious critters.

Going to downtown Houston back then was a big occasion. Most of the time we did all of our shopping in malls near our home, but once in awhile my mother would announce that we were going to drive into the heart of the city to spend the day. We’d walk up and down Main Street visiting the different stores and even splurge for lunch somewhere. We always knew that a trip downtown would include an afternoon matinee viewing of one of the latest films at one of the luxurious movie houses. They were so beautiful that it felt as though we were sitting in a palace. 

My mom often told us about her own youthful experiences of going to the movies. She made her excursions sound enchanting. She and her siblings would sometimes visit a neighborhood bakery before setting out for the theater. They would purchase bags of broken cookies for a nickel and hide them in their purses to munch on during the film. Then they jumped on a city bus and rode the short distance to Main Street. For around twenty-five cents they paid for both their movie ticket and a round trip ride. 

Mama described the movie experience back then as the golden age of film. As a teenager she had fallen in love with several leading men and made it point to go to their latest films. Her favorites seemed like odd choices to me, but who was I to question the tastes of her times? Later my mother-in-law would also tell of those exciting moments traveling downtown to see the very latest movie. They both made the experience should enchanting. 

I suppose that I have the heart of a true romantic. I still get excited about going to see a movie at a theater, but it has been a very long time since I have been willing to venture into one of those enclosed rooms. The virus has chased me away, and made me cautious of doing such things. I don’t know who will be in the area with me nor what their health status might be. I worry that being confined for a couple of hours with strangers might somehow result in my becoming infected with Covid, and so I avoid such places like the plague.

I would love for a movie theater to offer a different kind of viewing experience for careful people like myself. I would actually be willing to pay a premium price if they were to institute my idea. I would purchase a ticket in a heartbeat if I were assured that certain measures were taken to ensure that any level of exposure to the virus would be minimal. I’d feel far more comfortable if they allowed us to sit in reserved pods far apart from one another. I’d like to see them checking our temperatures and creating a vaccinated viewers only screening. I’d even prefer that we forego the snacks and wear masks the whole time. Of course I would be willing to pay for such privileges just to feel the thrill of movie watching again.

I understand that my idea sounds both bizarre and undoable. The cost of such a thing would have to take into account the fact that most of the money made at theaters comes from the concessions. Having so many vacant seats would have to be considered as well. I also realize that not everyone is as concerned about the spread of virus ridden droplets as I am, so the whole concept might end up being a bust, but it would be great for someone to try the experiment just to see how many takers there would be. I suspect that I am not the only person in town who determines my shopping and entertainment habits by observing safety measures these days. Surely there are others would would appreciate such a situation. Afterall, most Broadway theaters are only selling tickets to patrons who can prove that they are fully vaccinated.

Perhaps what I propose is overkill, but if it were to happen I would be first in line to purchase a ticket. I long for that expectant feeling when the lights dim and the images appear on the giant screen. Being lost in a cinematic world for a few hours does wonderful things for the soul. I miss that and hope every single day that one day I will be able to experience it again.

Surely it was twenty minutes ago when we watched in horror as the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City tumbled into a cloud of dust and debris. Then again how could it have been only twenty years ago? The grief that came from our loss of innocence weighs on us to this very day. Such deep feelings never really leave us, we simply push them aside because we know that we must continue to live in spite of the hurt that nibbles at our hearts. We change and adjust, but each September 11, it feels as though someone has reopened a wound that we had believed to be healed. Horrific events are like that. They never really go away and we remember the dates on which they occurred as surely as we do birthdays and wedding anniversaries. 

I wasn’t around when Pearl Harbor occurred but my mother was, and she never once forgot to speak of how horrific that December 7, was. Every single year she remembered as though a piece of her heart had been forever scarred. I am the same way with November, 22, the day that John Kennedy was assassinated. I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news of his death. The feelings that I had on that dark day rise up as vividly as they did when I was just a teenager. 

As we mark the twentieth anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers I find myself thinking less about the evil of the act itself, and mostly about the humanity of the thousands of people who worked in those buildings and the brave firefighters and police officers and citizens who tried to save them. I wonder at the horror of the people on those planes and the last moments that they experienced just before they hit the buildings. I remember the attack on the Pentagon and the plane that went down in a Pennsylvania field. I cry again for all of them and for their families. I realize that even those lucky enough to survive were battered forever. I know that our entire nation was shaken to its very core, and that somehow the seed of all of the rancor and division that we now feel was planted on that day. 

From death and loss great goodness often bursts forth. We saw the worst and then the best of humanity in that event. For a time we stood together in defiance of those who would take our safety away from us. Our allies from across the globe comforted us and supported us, but we were hurt more deeply than we thought possible. The terror had done is job, served its purpose. Deep down inside we were afraid, even as we boasted that we would rise again. As with anything human we had different ideas about how to address the evil that had polluted our way of life. Our initial unity began to fray. We forgot about the patience that it took to clear the rubble of those towers one bucket at a time. We walked away from the teamwork that was so clearly on display in the aftermath of the tragedy. We quibbled and argued and accused each other rather than focusing on the commonalities that we all share. 

On this twentieth anniversary we each remember where we were, what we were doing, how we felt. We have stories of relatives who often visited the Twin Towers for business, stayed in the Marriott Hotel. We thank God that they were not there on that day. We have friends who were late for work in one of the Towers, and we are grateful that they only arrived in time to see the first plane hitting the building. We recall the terror of a friend whose parents worked there and the long day of sitting with him until he finally learned that they were safe. We watched him drop to his knees and sob tears of relief while we cried with him. We think of how quiet the skies were when the planes that usually flew over our heads were grounded. Our visceral feelings rise up and we relive a moment that will never go away no matter how much we want it to do. 

Perhaps it is time that we also resurrect the kindness that we saw on that day when nothing mattered but helping each other.. Maybe it is time that we find unity again as well. The strength of our country does not lie in one political party or another. It is in the joining of many voices into one nation. That requires us as citizens to strive for equality, justice, understanding, compassion. This is a moment when we need to remove the debris of our disagreements one bucket at a time so that we might rebuild the foundation of our democracy and erect a shining new tower to demonstrate our strength. We have to once again reach across the aisle and rebuild our nation together. That is how we will overcome evil. 

There are forces who would bring us down and they are rejoicing that we have turned on one another. What would be a more perfect way of honoring those who died twenty years ago than demonstrating that the United States of America are still one nation under God with liberty and justice for all? This is how we heal. This is how we rebuild. This is how we remember. 

I have great admiration for business people because it is an arena where I always feel inept. During my early college days I was one of those students who had absolutely no idea how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. I found it impossible to choose a major, and so I settled on a declaring that I was studying unspecified arts and sciences. Not even that worked for me because it actually precluded majors in the sciences, engineering and business. As a result I registered for courses from different areas in hopes of finding a good fit. By the time I graduated I had completed around twenty-four more hours of work than I needed. 

One semester I decided to take a couple of generic business courses just to see how they felt. I remember feeling like a fish flopping around on a pier after accidentally leaping out of the water. Nothing about that experience felt right, not even the people who were gung ho about following careers in the world of finance and accounting and marketing. The best aspect of that time was that I finally felt certain that I had no interest in business whatsoever.

I greatly admire people who keep the engines of commerce roaring throughout the world. I am in awe of those who have an idea for being their own bosses by creating a business. I understand the level of creativity and hard work that it takes to be successful in doing such things. I’m not one who begrudges those who make it, because I am totally aware that I simply do not have it in my nature to invest the time and energy and resources into such an undertaking. 

We need our business people. They are as important and as creative as our teachers, medical workers, engineers, scientists. They may sometimes appear to be less altruistic than ministers and counselors, but a really talented business person has the capability of changing many lives for the betterment of society when they build fair and just work environments and reliable products that we need. Those who know how to do such things are as gifted and talented as a virtuoso musician.

I’m really good at a number of things but I can’t sell a hot meal to someone who is starving. I was once chided at a garage sale for discouraging the buyers. A customer actually told me that my best bet for making a deal would be to say absolutely nothing because the more I spoke, the less appealing an item became. Some people have a knack for the art of the deal, but not me. So I generally leave such things to others. 

When I do business it is always on a small scale. In some ways it might be said that my tutoring and homeschool teaching is a kind of business, but I keep it running for pleasure rather than profit. I use my teaching skills and knowledge of mathematics to work with students of many different ages and abilities. If I really wanted to make money I suppose that I could turn those abilities into a prolific business, but instead I generally sell myself short because making a bundle of cash is not where I find joy. In some ways I am the bargain basement maven of tutoring and teaching because I don’t want to lose the students that I love in a hassle over fees. 

I know that I would not enjoy the process of actually running a bonafide business. I do well to keep track of my small earnings, my expenses, and the taxes I must pay. Anything more complex than that would drive me insane. I have no desire whatsoever to become involved in all of the hassle that I know is required for running a successful business. My mind and my desires just don’t do well under such circumstances. 

I once worked for the KIPP Charter Schools. I remember a time when a group of school administrators like myself took a personality test along with one of the founders of the schools. Ironically all of us who were working on the front lines inside the schools ranked highest in altruism while the founder’s top trait was business acumen. It made sense. He needed people like me who revel in doing good works while he grew the business so that we all might have a place to showcase our talents. 

If have a friend whose father is a minister. He said that his very devout and religious dad once told him that everything is a business, including a church. I initially found that thought to be disturbing, but then I realized that if an organization is unable to raise the funds to keep the lights glowing we all lose a place where we might have gone. That idea is reinforced by a family member who has a medical practice. She insists that her business manager is perhaps the most critical member of her staff. Everything that she does falls apart without the skills of the person who keeps the finances in order. 

As a society we all too often create stereotypes of the various professions. We equate success with titles and financial gain. We view altruistic persons as being more compassionate than those who analyze financial data. In truth each person in the chain is critical. When even a tiny part breaks down we all suffer. We have seen that happening all too often in the months of pandemic. I appreciate the businesses both small and large that provide me with goods and services that make my life better. Those who run them have special skills just as I have mine. Each of us is essential and luckily we have a variety of talents to offer to keep our world working the way it should.