Author: Sharron Burnett

Our back door was rotting and allowing rain to enter our home during heavy rains which are commonplace here in Houston, Texas. We decided to replace it with a new one during our springtime cleaning and repairing routine. The man who came to install the door looked as though he had endured many hardships. He was a silent type who did his work without much commentary. It was apparent that he knew exactly what he was doing as he tore out and rebuilt the decaying structures that framed the entryway. Watching him at work was almost magical because he was indeed a craftsman who slowly but surely made every part of the door and its locking system fit like a glove. The seal was air tight with no sign of leaks that might allow water to come inside. The mechanisms were smooth and perfectly fitting. His work was artful, beautiful if one is inclined to get excited over such a seemingly simple thing. 

Humans are designers, builders. The world is filled with the efforts of skilled craftsmen who elevated structures that have lasted for centuries. We revel in the medieval cathedrals whose vaults and buttresses seem to be reaching into heaven. We are stunned by castles that have weathered the ages. Architecture imagines and engineering brings dreams to life. It is in the way our society builds that we see the marvels of human intelligence and skill. 

My grandfather was a finishing carpenter. With his huge, strong hands he made certain that the buildings on which he worked were as perfect as possible. He searched for flaws and repaired them with a kind of love for quality and perfection. All of his work had the mark of an artist who was proud of his craft. 

Not long ago one of my former students who does home construction projects including everything from roofing to pouring concrete driveways was bemoaning the fact that many people would rather pay less and get an inferior product than do a job with longevity in mind. He spoke of losing bids to contractors who cut corners and use subpar materials but offer low prices. His work is designed to last and it is frustrating to him to see people doing sloppy work that will end up creating problems in the future. Pride in one’s craft is the key to long lasting results.

I have always been fascinated by architecture and its many styles. I am in awe of builders who take the time to produce structures that are literally works of art. One of my favorite pastimes is traveling to view the great buildings in the world, including old native American villages like Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon. I marvel at places like Chichen Itza that have survived centuries of weathering and human abuse. I think of how basic the tools were for constructing the Parthenon and wonder at the difficulty in creating and building such an incredible place. 

I tend to fancy all great works of architecture rather than those of a certain style. One of my most favorite Saturdays was spent on the Chicago River viewing the marvelous architecture of that city. Later I visited homes in Oak Park that were designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. From art deco to Shaker to Romanesque to Greek revival to mid-century modern I love the ideas that spring from the human mind. 

My father-in-law lives in a Sears kit home that was built in the early twentieth century. Back then Sears offered plans for several different types of home along with the materials to build them. The home that my father-in-law owns is one of the Victorian styles with a a wrap around porch and a huge attic suitable for renovating into more living space if desired. It is a home that was built to last and indeed it has for over one hundred years. 

My husband and I stayed with my father-in-law during hurricane Ike and even at the height of the storm the windows in his home barely rattled as winds tore through the city downing huge trees and breaking most of the glass in downtown buildings. I stood with my faither-in-law marveling at the strength of the walls and feeling as though I was watching the storm pass over us in a movie rather than real time. 

Later when I spoke with others who had weathered the storm I heard stories of windows seeming to be on the verge of buckling and roofs that tore from the tops of their homes leaving leaks that brought down ceilings and flooded rooms. Not so with that Sears kit house which was as sturdy as the day on which it was first built. A big bad wolf might huff and puff but never be able to bring that house down. 

There are stories in our buildings. Their styles suggest personalities and dreams. The Kings College chapel at Cambridge University was a breakthrough in design and build with its soaring glass windows that light the interior in ways that make it heavenly. It is more than just a structure. It seems to be alive. Its designers created a glorious and triumphant work of art that has also withstood the ravages of time. Their spirit lives inside every stone, every vault, every piece of glass. 

I am barely able to nail two boards together so I am awestruck by the great builders and even the man who installed my backdoor and my former student who insists on performing high quality work. The pride and the glory of building well done lives forever and tells the story of humankind. It is our way of reaching for the heavens.

My father introduced me to a world of fairytales and lovely poetry that wove word pictures in my childlike mind. I imagined life in the times of King Arthur and Guinevere. His stories of Atlantis spoke of near perfection in the human spirit only to be destroyed. Fantasy exposed me to unicorns and dragons that somehow both seemed exciting and possible in my childlike reasoning. To this day I am fascinated by such tales and even the history of times when much of this is said to have actually unfolded. Instead I know that there are no such things as described in legend but a different sort of unicorns and dragons live in our midst nonetheless. They are not mythical creatures but very real indeed and just as beautiful and frightening as we imagine those creatures to be. 

Today’s dragons are humans who have cold hearts and feed on others to wield their power and ability to frighten and confuse. Like all such creatures they are more interested in themselves than in others and they thrive on intimidation. Their brains are fixated on feeding their own egos and appetites rather than learning how to share and adapt to a peaceful community. History has seen many horrifying dragons and even today we know they exist. They are the spawn of selfishness and hatred. They eliminate anyone and any group that threatens their ascendancy over others. It takes a village and more often a unicorn to expose and defeat them. 

Unicorns are rare, lovely, gentle creatures in our midst who are unafraid to fight for justice. They are heroes like Abraham Lincoln and Rosa Parks who are willing to face incarceration and even death to defend the abused and suffering among us. Sometimes they never become famous beyond the confines of their own tiny worlds but those who encounter them recognize them for their unique beauty and courage. They are the voices that shout sometimes unpopular and inconvenient truths to the world. They are glorious in their righteousness and unswerving allegiance to all that is good. Sometimes we call them angels among us or saints after they have left this earth. 

St. George was supposed to have slayed a dragon. The legend tells us that the dragon dominated the people of a village, demanding tribute of livestock to feed its ever growing appetite. When he had devoured all of the food that there was he decreed that the citizens must send him a human sacrifice each year. When the creature eventually selected a beloved princess St. George freed her and killed the dragon as well, saving the people form the horrific cycle of servitude that had so devastated their lives.

Dragons vary in their fame. Some dragons are quietly cruel inside the confines of a home. Children and spouses have endured the fate of living with a dragon. Dragons may be bosses or teachers or police officers who use their power to demean and hurt under the guise of being helpers. Some dragons kill with words while others are actually murderous and lusting for blood. They are the stuff of nightmares and are so cagey that we sometimes do not know they are even among us until we are bowing under their threats of evil. 

I have personally known many unicorns. They are beautiful souls who do not hesitate to run into the lurch to save the people around them. The earliest unicorn I ever witnessed in action was a neighbor named Kathleen who saved a group of children whose dragon father had just murdered their mother. Two decades later I witnessed another unicorn facing down another dragon who was beating the members of his family in view of the entire neighborhood. I watched a fellow teacher unicorn stand before the faculty and defiantly boast of his homosexuality in a time when doing such a thing was dangerous for him. He not only survived but was revered for his courage. I had the pleasure of being a friend to a unicorn named Bren who dedicated her entire life to educating us about equality and justice. 

I suppose that the world will never be entirely free of dragons. Of late it feels as though they are coming from their lairs in greater and greater numbers. It is like an invasion not unlike the unleashing of hordes of cicadas that happens every seventeen years. Dragons are all around us and some of them are tiny viruses that invade our bodies. Others are despots who invade our minds. We sense that we need unicorns more than ever because there is danger all around. 

Who will our unicorns be? From whence will they come? Surely they are not extinct but rather simply waiting for the moment when they know they must appear. There are rustlings telling us that they are on their way. As far back as mankind has recorded history they have joined our frays and been victorious in beating back the dragons. I have every confidence that they will not abandon us now. 

I usually find the words to celebrate the life of someone who has departed this world. I draw great inspiration in their stories and love sharing them with the world. Today I find myself struggling to even accept that my beloved Aunt Valeria has died at the age of one hundred two. She has been a constant presence in my life for all of my seventy two years and a source of comfort and joy that has sustained me through the most difficult times of my life. While I celebrate her release from the pain that has been her companion for many years now I will miss knowing that she is just down the road from me with her impish giggle and her sweet smile. 

Aunt Valeria was the oldest daughter in a family of eight children who very early in life happily accepted the responsibilities of helping her mother with the care of all of her siblings. In particular she always looked after my mother even after they were both grown. The two of them talked on the phone every single day, sometimes for hours at a time, especially when my mama was afflicted with the rollercoaster of emotions associated with her mental illness. 

I always loved going to my Aunt Valeria’s home when I was a child. She welcomed us with open arms and offered us old fashioned cookies made with raisins that I only learned to appreciate when I became an adult. She had married when she was only sixteen years old and she and her husband moved to the home where she would live until she had to move to a nursing facility because of the fractures in her bones caused by osteoporosis. She unexplainably had a twin bed in her dining room and as a child I always believed it was there in case I ever needed a place to live. I had no doubt that she would take me in a heartbeat and so I never worried about being orphaned.

On the day my father died when I was eight Aunt Valeria was the first person to arrive to care for my mother and me and my brothers. She had the horrible task of telling me that my father had died. Somehow it was right that it was her and I have always loved her for being the one who was with me in my moment of unbounded grief. There was always something so gentle and stalwart about her that made me feel as loved and secure as with my mother. 

Aunt Valeria enjoyed following Bishop Fulton Sheen’s television program and if we happened to arrive at her home when she was watching we had to sit quietly while she solemnly took in his guidance. She was a very spiritual woman without making a big show of her faith and I liked that about her. She also had a playful side to her that I saw in the copies of Confidential magazine that often lay on her coffee table. I knew better than to openly browse through the stories of stars and the rich and famous but I surely snuck a peek when nobody was looking. 

Aunt Valeria was a woman of simple and frugal tastes who seemed to need very few luxuries. Instead she was devoted to her husband, Dale, her three children and her faith. When my Uncle Dale became critically ill with emphysema she spent her days caring for him without complaint for many years. My mother always said that her sister had earned a place in heaven with all of her good works and I do believe that is so.

As a child we did so many things with my Aunt Valeria. I fondly remember going to see the movie Oklahoma with her and my cousin Ingrid. We were all dressed up for the occasion and together we delighted in the music. Of course Aunt Valeria had some stories about the actors and actresses from her magazine reading that made me enjoy the occasion even more. 

After Aunt Valeria went to St. Dominic’s Nursing Home my mother and I often visited her. She always made me feel so good about myself, telling me how young and pretty I looked. She also kept my mother relaxed and centered even when Mama was suffering from her bipolar disorder. Aunt Valeria had a calming effect on her that nobody else was able to duplicate. 

After my mother died my husband and I continued to visit Aunt Valeria. Her hearing began to go so we took a little whiteboard with us to “talk” with her. She always asked if I thought I would go to heaven when I died and I assured her that I felt pretty good about that happening. Then she would joke and say that she was too mean to get there. Of course I knew that nothing was further from the truth and I insisted that if she could not get into heaven then nobody could. We would have a good laugh over that. She had a delightful sense of humor.

When the pandemic isolated her from us I missed seeing her and bringing her Snickers bars and Hershey’s Kisses. The staff told us that it did not matter what she ate because other than her inability to walk and hear she was in perfect health. I sometimes stopped to get her potato salad and barbecue because she had once mentioned that the food where she lived was so bland. She would gobble those delicacies down with a gusto that belied her age while fending off the other residents who wanted to share her goodies. She would explain to them that they did not have permission for such things in their diet.

On our last visit I told her that one of the nurses thought that I was her daughter and had commented that she and I looked just alike. With her usual jocularity she laughed and said,”Poor girl!” We giggled together and I felt as though I just wanted to be with her forever like the little girl that she had always loved. I could not imagine a world without her. 

The pandemic came and everything changed. During the outbreak she actually contracted the dreaded Covid-19 virus and became so ill that doctors told the family that her death was imminent. We all prayed that she would make it and as we expected she rallied with the same kind of strength that she has exhibited for all of her life. I cried to think of her being so alone and maybe not even able to understand why nobody was coming to visit her. I missed her every single day. 

My Aunt Valeria died last week. Her passing was quiet and peaceful. She was one hundred two years old. She had finally been able to visit in person with her son and daughter for her birthday in May. I suppose that she had been steeling herself for that moment for a year and half and once it occurred she knew that it was okay to let herself go. I have not seen her since 2019, but her goodness and love are tucked away forever in my heart. I know that she is finally in heaven and freed from the confines of her wheelchair and rolling bed. I can hear her delighted giggle as she is reunited with her husband, her parents and her siblings. I know that they are happy to see her as well. I really think she is the newest saint and nobody will ever convince me otherwise.

Until we meet again, Aunt Valeria, enjoy your time in heaven. You earned that crown in every act of kindness and sacrifice that you so generously gave us all. 

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I’ll never forget the day when my daughter called me to announce that she was pregnant with twins. Her voice wavered and she burst into tears prompted by both joy and fear of how she would manage to care for two babies at once. She already had a five year old and a three year old and doubling the size of the family overnight sounded daunting to her. She is a strong woman however and so she did her best to take the news in stride and prepare for the changes that her life would undergo. After a difficult pregnancy and delivery her beautiful baby boys, Benjamin Fisk and Eli Loren Greene, were born with a gift for bringing unadulterated joy into the world. 

The Greene boys were quite a pair, identical twins with big blue eyes and smiles that never left their faces. Their relaxed and easy going personalities made them easy to blend into the family and all of my daughter’s fears of being overwhelmed faded as they became more and more delightful with each passing day. They looked so alike that she dressed Benjamin in blue so that we might more easily tell them apart. Eventually their unique personalities emerged and it was easy to know who was who.

Benjamin is older by a few minutes. He has a charismatic personality guided by his genuine interest in people and his inviting smile. He is a risk taker who is unafraid to accept challenges both academically and athletically. He stands out in a crowd and seems to have been born to be a leader.

Many years ago we took Ben along with his cousin Abby on a vacation to Washington D.C. and New York City. He met people wherever we went and was so taken by historical exhibits in the Capitol and the Smithsonian Museums. He earnestly became enthralled with learning about people and scientific discoveries. Then he embraced the vitality of New York City as though he had been born to be there. He was breathless over seeing The Phantom of the Opera and he stole the show from a group of street performers when they chose him to do some acrobatics with them. Even they said that he was an exceptional young man and told us that they believed he would do amazing things one day.

Since then Ben has become a championship swimmer, leading his school’s rely team as its captain to school records and a trip to the state meet. He worked hard to become the Drum Major of the school band and once again demonstrated his skills in understanding and working with people. Recently the band awarded his efforts with their highest scholarship that he will take to college where he plans to major in business beginning in the fall. 

Until then Ben will serve as a coach for the Greatwood Gators swim team while also working as a warehouse assistant for IES. He is also landscaping his family home after the destruction of many of the plants during the February freeze in Texas. His energy, enthusiasm and optimism seems boundless.

Eli is quieter, more introspective, observant, cautious. He notices things that other people do not see. He too is a people person but in a different kind of way. He possesses a profound sort of empathy that allows him to realize when someone is hurt or suffering. As a child he was able to find things that nobody else observed. We used to laugh at his ability to see things that were seemingly invisible and joke that he should be a detective or a research scientist. 

Eli is a championship swimmer and a runner but without a doubt it is track and cross country that he most loves. In a race he looks like a gazelle, a beautiful figure with a style and a kick that is beyond amazing. In the solitude of a race he competes with himself, always hoping to shave a second here and there from his time. He quietly works on perfecting his skills with a kind of introspection that allows him to notice the smallest variation in his stride or even the way he breathes. 

We took Eli on a trip with his cousin Ian just as we had done with Ben and Abby. The two boys were a perfect pair. They complimented one another in every possible way and filled our days with laughter and their joy of discovery. Eli insisted that no day was a vacation day without ice cream and that diets and frugality had little place on a trip. He showed us all how to relax and enjoy the moment with stories and jokes that made us continually laugh. It felt so easy being with him.

Eli is also academically excellent. He learns quickly and is filled with deep thoughts that sometimes confound us with their wisdom and brilliance. He easily became a member of the National Honor Society, adding academic gold to his many accomplishments. While he is still a bit uncertain about what to study at Trinity University where he will study next fall while continuing to run with the cross country team, he is leaning toward psychology because of his fascination with people and the human mind. His introspection and intellect will serve him well in whatever direction he decides to go. Like his brother he too won a coveted scholarship from the athletic department of his high school that he will use in tandem with the academic scholarship that the university had already given him. 

During the summer Eli will continue to work as a caddy at Sugar Creek Golf Club as well working as a warehouse assistant for IES just like Ben. He continues to serve as a kind of monitor for our family with his uncanny ability to notice when any of us need a bit more attention or help. He is quiet but intensely strong.

Both Ben and Eli worked hard to obtain the rank of Eagle Scout. They built an archery range at a local park that will delight visitors for years to come. More than that though they demonstrated their dedication to hard work, challenging routines and long days in pursuit of goals.

Benjamin and Eli will graduate from George Ranch High School tomorrow evening. They have been quite a pair growing up in the Greatwood neighborhood and standing out for both their uniqueness and their acumen in so many areas. Sometimes known as “those Greene boys” or “The Mean Greene Machine” because of their athletic prowess they have both followed their own paths using talents and hard work to express who each of them really is. As they move apart for the first time in their lives their futures look so bright and I wish them all the very best. 

Congratulations, Ben and Eli, you are such fine young men and I am one very proud Gammy who will continue to cheer you on for the rest of your lives. 

When I was eight years old I lived for a time in a most interesting neighborhood, at least the people who lived around us were unique for the times. One woman was a lawyer who worked outside of her home each day, a rare concept in the mid nineteen fifties. She often invited me to join her for tea and cookies in her beautifully appointed home. It was a special treat reserved for me because she thought that I was well behaved enough to appreciate such a thing. Another neighbor had children that almost exactly matched me and my brothers in both sex and age. While my mother kept a tidy home hers was a study in chaos and fun beyond imagination. Then there was the family across the street that kept a monkey in their backyard. 

I was fascinated by the very idea that an exotic creature lived nearby my home. I learned that the little guy was kept in place by a long tether that allowed him to climb high into the branches of the trees and run around the yard without escaping. As a child it never occurred to me that such a situation may have been a bit cruel and maybe even illegal. All I knew was that a cute little animal unlike any other on the street was so close to my home. I longed to get a closer look at him and maybe even pet and feed him. I thought of him so often that my curiosity got the better of me and so one day when the owners were not home I was lured into the mysterious confines of their backyard by other children who were as intrigued by the monkey as I was.

We were so young and wiry that it was an easy feat to climb the fence while ignoring the warning sign that urged us to stay out of the compound out of regard for little creature. A quick climb and a little jump easily landed us in the jungle like domain. It was so quiet that we began to wonder if the family had taken their pet with them when they left or maybe even given him away. Just when we were about to leave the premises in a state of disappointment the attack began. The monkey jumped from one of the trees directly onto my back while screeching in fear. 

He scratched my neck and my head in his desperation to defend himself all the while screaming as though he was the one in pain. Meanwhile I was confused and terrified as I fought to get him off of my back. I attempted to push him away to no avail. I tried running hoping that he would abandon his perch on my body. I became convinced that I was going to killed by the frightened animal and I cried out for help from my friends. They swatted at the monkey and even attempted to pull him off but he only dug his paws deeper into my back. 

I suppose that we made enough of a ruckus to arouse the dead because soon some of the adults had jumped over the fence to rescue all of us. A man grabbed a broom that leaned against a wall of the house and hit the now crazed animal with the bristles until he finally loosened his grip and ran to the highest branches of one of the trees to hide while we took the opportunity to escape from the horror of the moment. I had never been so glad to see a group grownups in my life even as my heroes chided me and the others for disobeying the command to stay clear of the area we had invaded. 

I’d take hours of being lectured about right and wrong over that incident with the frightened creature. Whenever I hear the phrase that someone “has a monkey on his back” I understand its meaning more completely than most people ever will. My childlike imagination had convinced me as I was fighting to be free from the creature that I was going to die. No doubt that is what the poor monkey was thinking as well. The worst aspect was that I could not see what was happening to me, I could only feel it. 

I suppose that life is often like my encounter with that monkey. We all too often place ourselves in situations that we knew we should avoid. We may spend more money than we should or maintain a toxic relationship that all of the signs tell us to avoid. Whatever the case we find ourselves feeling under attack and all of our efforts to extricate ourselves seem fruitless. The helplessness and hopelessness that overcomes us literally feels lethal but if we are as lucky as I was on that day some kind soul comes to our rescue. Hopefully we turn our mishap into a positive and learn from the mistakes we have made. 

There are valid reasons why we respect the wishes of others. It makes sense to think before we impulsively act. Jumping feet first into dangerous territory not only endangers us but also often creates a dilemma for others. That little monkey taught me these things at a very young age. Both of us reacted irrationally out of fear which is what most living beings do whenever they feel trapped.

I have always been grateful that cooler heads prevailed. The adults seemed to quickly forget the infractions that me and my comrades committed. From that day forward we gave that mysterious backyard a wide berth. The owners of the monkey never said a word but I always felt ashamed whenever I saw them. We moved away not long after that. I was glad to rid myself of the daily reminder of my transgression and embarrassing experience but somehow I never forgot how it had felt. It was a lesson that I would have preferred to have never learned but one that kept me on the straight and narrow forevermore. 

I often wondered how that monkey was doing. It eventually became illegal for anyone in the city to own such a creature much less allow it to run wild in the trees. I suppose that was actually a kind thing to do. That monkey needed to be free just as we all do. I hope that he got such an opportunity before the end of his days. As for me there have been other figurative monkeys on my back from time to time. I understood by then that I was not going to extricate myself from such attacks alone. I had learned how to seek help and oh what a difference that has made.