Author: Sharron Burnett

I met Shirley Hines in the early nineteen eighties. She was like the big sister that I never had but always wanted. It’s funny how we instantly clicked, but that would have been because of Shirley’s bigger than life personality and generosity. I knew that I had encountered an extraordinary women from the first time that we were brought together. We had been selected to be the first ever lay women to head the religious education program at St. Frances Cabrini Catholic Church and I had little idea how fun that would be with Shirley by my side.

Shirley was born in Missouri eleven years before I was and she possessed a Midwest charm that I would eventually come to know and love. She was an energetic woman, what most would call “a real go-getter.” She seemed unafraid of any challenges that life threw her way and she was on the forefront of independent women who knew how to make their own way in life. Thus she was an iconic role model for me and I reveled in all that I would learn from her in the forty odd years that we would be friends. 

Shirley had worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and travelled the world before I met her. She exuded confidence and knowledge but also a kind of openness that I admired and wanted to emulate. Through her travels she had learned how to cook exotic dishes that she enjoyed sharing with others. She also excelled at creating homespun goodies like strawberry jam and home baked banana bread. She was the Martha Stewart of my world who often invited me to family celebrations where I was treated royally to her hospitality and joy.

I like to talk and sometimes I have been accused of being a bit competitive in conversations, but when I was around Shirley I only wanted to listen. Her knowledge and wisdom and wit always left me almost breathless with admiration. She was a woman who overcame the difficult challenges that life throws at each of us with courage and ingenuity. She never seemed to falter and while she was dealing with issues that might have crushed mere mortals she never lost her giving nature. She was the kind of person who would offer her last dime to someone in need and then figure out how to take care of herself later. 

Shirley dubbed our working partnership at the church as “The Laverne and Shirley Show” and together we were indeed filled with laughter and closeness. I was difficult to leave my working relationship with Shirley to become a full time teacher. We pledged to keep our friendship alive and somehow we managed to do just that.

Over the years Shirley and I made it a habit of meeting during the Christmas season without fail. We gathered with a group of women with whom we had worked at the church in the long ago. Each woman was quite amazing but in many ways Shirley was our north star, the woman who demonstrated all of the best qualities that each of us hoped to cultivate in ourselves. She was fearless, funny, optimistic, determined, creative, kind, loving and always ready to tell a story about life that enchanted us and brought smiles to our faces. 

In the wake of the pandemic that so changed the world Shirley had a stroke that left her unable to talk, an unimaginable tragedy given how outgoing she was. She ended up spending the last many years in a nursing home where she received the daily care that she needed. Her devoted daughter, Cristel, visited as often as she was allowed and kept us updated on Shirley’s progress by way of posts on Facebook. It was apparent that Shirley’s stroke had stolen her vitality but we also saw the love and gratitude that she had for Cristel in the many photos that chronicled her journey in the final years of her life. 

Recently Shirley experienced a fall that led to a rapid decline in her health. Rather quickly she went to hospice care and died. For those of us who knew and loved her it was like a punch in the gut to know that the world the delightful sprite who never failed to put smiles on our faces. It was as though a bright light had suddenly away. 

Shirley was a faith filled woman who no doubt has an exalted place among the angels and saints. Her entire life was one of giving, helping, loving with all of her heart. Her pain is gone now. She overcame all of the tragedies and challenges that befell her with wisdom and grace. Shirley Hines is home and no doubt making everyone who is already there feel just a bit better than they were before they encountered her. 

I will miss Shirley. Her memory is truly a blessing to me. I have cried tears of loss but also tears of happiness that she has found her reward for a life well lived. She is still my icon, a role model who demonstrated through every day of her life an unselfish love and acceptance of every person she met. One of the best moments of my own life was the day when I was lucky enough to become Shirley’s friend. I will forever treasure our moments together and hope that I can be the kind of person that she showed me how to be. May Shirley Hines rest in peace and may her family feel the comfort of knowing that she is now resting in the arms of heaven. She was the best among us.

I saw a post on X that spoke to me so viscerally that I have not been able to think of much else.  It was from a woman who simply asked those of us who are older to “be the ancestors your descendants need you to be.” I suppose that this simple phrase in many ways encapsulates the kind of life that I have always attempted to follow. I learned a long time ago how important the good influences from my ancestors have been in guiding my own life. Somehow I learned from the best of them even when I never had the pleasure of actually meeting some of them. 

My great grandfather John William Seth Smith was long dead even before I was born. My grandmother, his daughter, never spoke of him so it was not until i joined ancestry.com and began to build my family tree that I was able to put together pieces of a puzzle to form an image of what kind of man he may have been. My efforts painted a portrait of a man who was unafraid to follow his own conscience, to be the person he wanted to be, not a follower. A citizen of the south, he nonetheless enlisted in the union army and served as a lieutenant in battles at Shiloh among others. It was a bold and patriotic move for someone who lived his entire life south of the Mason Dixon line. I have come to admire him for his courage in following his heart, something that has also been important to me. 

My paternal grandfather was a survivor and an optimist who never served in the military but fought many battles of his own. His mother died in childbirth and his father gave him up to a grandmother who seems to have been the source of his unwillingness to give in to self pity even in the face of countless tragedies. He was a man who looked to the future rather than focusing on the past. He believed in moving forward, adapting, enjoying life however it came to him. He learned from his many challenges and believed in the resourcefulness and kindness of humans. He looked forward to the possibilities of tomorrow which probably played a key role in his living a full life for one hundred eight years. 

My paternal grandmother was a bit of a worrier but that was only because people were more important to her than things, riches or power. She was devoted to making people comfortable and happy. She was resourceful in making do with whatever she had. She had little or no formal schooling but she nonetheless had skills that were astounding. She was always learning from observations and experiences. She was able to identify birds by the sounds they made. She understood how to grow things even in rocky soil. She had hundreds of recipes stored in her head because she was unable to read. Still, she was an independent woman with ideas of her own and an incredibly creative mind. 

My maternal grandfather, whom I also never met, grew weary of being under the thumb of the Austro-Hungarian empire where his country of birth was little more than a source of labor and food for the wealthy of Austria and Hungary. He braved a trip across the ocean to an unknown place called Galveston, Texas hoping to build a life of freedom and opportunity for himself and his children. He was a dedicated employee who never missed a day of work. He bought and read a book each week. He purchased land and built a home one room at a time. When the Great Depression came he owned his house, a garden, a cow and some chickens. He provided for his many children even in the most difficult times. Most of all he taught them to love this country and to always appreciate its many blessings. 

My maternal grandmother was a bit of an enigma to me. She spoke no English but she welcomed anyone who came into her home with a greeting and a warm cup of coffee. She openly loved her eight living children and they in turn adored her. They often spoke lovingly of her devotion to them and in return they would shower her with their attention, providing her with anything that she might need as she grew old. She must have been an exceptional mother to have earned the total admiration of her wildly diverse offspring.

My father was a Renaissance man who was an expert at anything he tried to do. He was a mathematician, scientist, engineer, poet, artist, architect, builder, sports enthusiast, historian, traveler. He seized life and rejoiced in the inventiveness of humans. He was able to converse with anyone on virtually any topic. The world was his wheelhouse and he challenged me to seize it just as he had done

Then there was my precious mother whose life was so filled with one tragedy after another that she might have become bitter and nobody would have blamed her. Instead she focused on the needs of other people rather than her own. She found joy in every single day even when the depression of her bipolar disorder tried to overtake her. She found comfort in her Bible and her prayers. She listened to the Astros games on her radio and celebrated their victories in spite of her own darkness. She pushed outside of herself and got well again and again by giving succur to others. 

I suppose that the common theme that I have garnered from studying all of my ancestors is that they found joy in living authentic lives that were not so much measured by titles or possessions or money but by truly being themselves, using the talents that came so naturally to them. Each of them looked forward into the future rather than focusing on on past grievances. Each honored the dignity of their fellow humans and taught their children to do the same. Each focused on hope rather than doom. It is a path that they built for me and my brothers. It is now my turn to do the same for my children and grandchildren and all of the others yet to come. I try each day to joyfully be the ancestor that I believe my descendants need me to be. This life was never just about me. It was always about them. This I learned from the wonderful people who came before me. 

When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace. 

—Jimi Hendrix

I’ve been accused of being naive a time or two because I continue to hope that love will mostly be our answer to the world’s problems rather that power or force. I am not silly enough to think that we are even remotely close to such a worldwide state of mind, but I refuse to give up hope that most of humankind will choose love over power in everyday situations. If we get even a modicum of people thinking that way we will indeed see the kind of changes that are more likely to lead to peace than using force.

I once spoke with a man who believed that there is never a good reason for war. His arguments were sincere and well conceived but we all know that sometimes in spite of all of our efforts to be neutral we have to take a stand and engage in war. I would not expect the people of Ukraine to simply sit back and lovingly embrace the Russians who have invaded their country with plans to lay claim to their lands. It is right and just that they are fighting to win their freedom from tyrants and we should help with our support.

As I explained to the man so intent on being a pacifist sometimes the loving thing to do is to defend ourselves and the people around us. We learned that in World War II. it became impossible not to take sides in that conflict. The Japanese made our decision to join forces with our European allies when they attacked Pearl Harbor and when Hitler declared war on the United States as well. It was a terrible time filled with so much death. I can’t imagine why it did not become the perfect example for avoiding war at all costs and yet here we are almost a hundred years later with conflicts all over the globe and even some of our own citizens advocating for civil war in the United States if they don’t get their political wishes fulfilled. There seems to be some bizarre trait in the human psyche that keeps fueling warlike attitudes.

We are in a dangerous place right now because we have lots of people stirring an already bubbling pot. Some would say that our efforts to go high when some have gone low have been totally unsuccessful. Somehow the divisions between people both here and abroad are as serious as they have ever been. Some even almost gleefully predict that we are on the verge of all out war across the globe. The war to end all wars that ended in 1918, obviously did little to quell the quest for power that seems to linger in the darkest souls among us. Too often we overlook the power of love and align with those who would turn us against each other, people who take joy in riling us up. 

I think that Jimi Hendrix understood that we don’t have to rally around strongmen seeking to overcome those that they despise. We can accomplish so much more with love if enough of us are willing to rebuff the ideas that we are somehow enemies of one another simply because we have differing ideas about how to make the world a better place. 

I have reached a point in my life where I have had so many wonderful experiences. I found a loving husband and have a beautiful family. I had the privilege of earning two college degrees and working at a job that provided me with joy and a nice income. I was able to purchase a nice home in a secure neighborhood. I have traveled and had the care of outstanding doctors. I have many friends and an extended family that have always supported me in reaching all of my goals and dreams. I will turn seventy six in November and I have a different outlook on the importance of my votes than I did when I was young and just beginning my journey. 

The focus of the world should no longer be on me and people like me. The future belongs to my children and grandchildren, not me. I am ready to assume the role of someone who votes for the future, not a return to the past. I am not interested in power. I am only concerned about insuring the kind of opportunities that have been mine will be passed down to the next generations. I am willing to sacrifice and compromise to provide them with peace. My love for them supersedes my possessions and my power. I want to vote for what they need because long after I am gone they will still be dealing with the world that I and those in my generation have left them. It is time for me to share the power with them. It is time for me to share the wealth with them. It is time for me to help them to secure a peaceful future, not one marred by wars in which they will have to be the foot soldiers

I am not naive at all. I know that what I describe will not come easily. I understand that in spite of all the loving efforts peace will be elusive. What I also know is that if we don’t even try our world will be an ugly place. That does not work for me, so I will keep trying to spread love and generosity one person at a time with the hope that we will one day turn away from those who only seek power in favor of those who seek love. So be it if that makes me naive.

Way back when I went to see the movie “Chocolat” with my good friend, Pat, on one of the many Friday nights that we ran away from all sense of responsibility and just had fun in a a way that Pat had perfected. The movie became one of my all time favorites with it’s fairytale like story of a woman who was prone to follow the wind whenever the feeling that it was time to move on overwhelmed her. I somehow identified with her because I too have a tinge of the wanderlust that was so strong in my father. While I never considered packing up and leaving the steadiness and routine of my life there have been moments when a strange whisper seemed to tell me that it was time to put aside my driven Type A personality and be uncharacteristically aimless if only for a few hours or a day. 

I suppose that my mother had a bit of that kind of thing in her soul as well because she often showed up without warning on my driveway in her car. She would honk her horn to announce her arrival, unwilling to even walk the few steps to knock on my front door. Whenever that happened I knew that she was revved up and ready to embark on some kind of adventure that she was serendipitously inviting me to enjoy with her. 

Sometimes i threw caution out the door, put on my shoes, and joined her without hesitation. I too was feeling the pull of abandoning the checklists of things to do in favor of just going with no plan at all. Other times I was too involved with my normal ways of doing things to leave my duties behind. Often I ended up regretting that I did not join her, especially after she grew older and no longer had the energy to be so spontaneous. Oh, how I miss those crazy times that we had together, just as I miss Pat insisting that I follow her into the promise of a rainbow day. 

I woke up this morning full of all the best intentions of making a trip to the grocery store for a few essentials. Then I was going to change the linens on the beds, clean the bathrooms, make preparations for my math classes, pull some weeds in the garden. I soon felt a wave of procrastination enveloping me. The sun was shining and it was taunting me to forget about the dust on the furniture. I began to think that nothing on my list of tasks was all that important. While I had no one to push me into shirking my pre-planned duties somehow I knew that I had to follow the feeling that this was a day to have no plan at all. 

Even as a child I remember waking up now and again thinking that I needed to play hooky from school. I would feign a cough and make myself look miserable as I lingered in bed until my mother came to see what was wrong. I should have earned an Oscar for my acting in those moments because I always convinced her that I was far too ill to rise from my sick bed. Perhaps she always knew when I was pulling a caper and simply agreed that I would was in need of a lazy day at home rather than pushing to get up and keep going in the race that would define most of my life. Mama was quite insightful like that!

I never once earned a perfect attendance medal either in school or at work. While I rarely got sick and only faked it once in a blue moon, the the whispers that are calling me today came often enough to break through my obsession with grading myself on the number of tasks that I accomplished each day. I must say that those were glorious ways of healing whatever was vexing me. They always made me even stronger when I whenever back to work. 

During the summer Olympics I found myself being in awe of Simone Biles mostly because of her honesty in discussing mental health. I got the feeling that she had experienced the “twisties” at the 2020 Olympics mostly because something in her mind was trying to tell her that it was time to rest. Thankfully she heeded the call when she seemed to so randomly drop out of the competition. She came back a stronger person because of her wisdom in acknowledging her feelings.

As a society we revere high energy, dedication, hard work, perfect attendance. I’ve been awarded many times for my determination and willingness to work till I am about to drop. In truth, while there are indeed human dynamos, most of us inevitably reach a point of exhaustion when we push too hard. If we do not heed a friend or parent or inner voice telling us that it is time to stop we are bound to become very ill. Listening to the wind, or the honking of a horn, or just a feeling that today is not the day to push push push can be the difference in being strong enough to keep pressing in the journey of life. It really is okay to leave everything undone for a time and just heal.

I miss my Thelma and Louise act with Pat and my impish mother tempting me to set my seriousness aside. I have to take charge of letting go all on my own now. I listen to my heart when the mountains are calling or the sea is luring me. I have learned how to walk away just long enough to come back refreshed and ready to compete for the gold medals that I seek. It always feels good to just wander with no map, no list, no plan.   

I will be the first to admit that I am in a state of anxiety. You may ask what is bothering me and I will be more than happy to reveal the source of my concerns. I learned long ago that bottling up my feelings only led to sleepless nights and feeling so tightly wound that I wanted to scream. When I finally had enough of containing my feelings like a grand stoic I was actually greeted with kindness and understanding that changed my world views. 

For much of my life I have been concerned with the welfare of my children, my students and my mother. My sweet Mama is gone and I comfort myself in knowing that I did everything possible to keep her well and safe. My students are mostly grown and doing well, but I still worry about those who sometimes seem to be languishing, so I keep in touch and offer my support. My children are adults with families of their own but a mother never ceases to think about her offspring from the day that they are born. My girls are on my mind day in and day out. I have a sixth sense that alerts me when they are feeling troubled or overwhelmed. I stay in touch with them constantly knowing that life has a way of dealing unexpected blows. I am ever ready to walk with them through any troubles that arise.

These days my real worries center on my father-in-law who appears to be a vibrant and incredibly healthy ninety five year old, but who is slowly but surely becoming more and more fragile. I see the lapses in his memory, the inability to step up to a curb, his medical issues. He has outlived everyone other than his son, grandchildren and great grandchildren. His is living the last chapter of his life and I suppose that I am dreading the inevitability of what lies ahead. I worry more about possibilities than he and my husband do. I know that the day may come when we will no longer be able to care for him in our home but he is unwilling to speak of what we should do if that happens. Being a planner, I would like to be prepared but I suppose that instead we will just fly by the seat of our pants as things progress.

I also think constantly about the state of the United States. I had hoped that by now the specter of Donald Trump would be a thing of the past. It appalls me that he is still whining and ranting about the unfairness of his loss to Joe Biden in 2020. That should be water under the bridge but instead it has grown into a dangerous storm of falsehoods and grievances. I fret that Trump will do grave damage to our beautiful democratic republic whether he wins or loses. He is setting the stage for rancor either way and I suspect that his horrific influence will hurt the smooth transition of power for years to come. My grandchildren will still be cleaning up the messes he has made long after I am no longer alive. 

I feel like the boy who saw the emperor parading in his altogether and questioned why nobody else seemed to notice. There are times when I feel like a victim of gaslighting. Suddenly common sense seems to be in short supply. I wonder what it is that attracts so many bright and wonderful people to a conman like Trump. How can they be so fooled by his nonsensical bluster? Why would anyone think that an amoral man like him was sent by God? What am I missing? Why do they attack me for my views as though I am the one who is intent on destroying our way of life? Why do they lecture me as if I am incapable of reason when I have done constant research that has informed my political views? Why do they consider me to be naive when they are the ones hiding their heads in the sand?

I see the red thread that connects my thoughts just as Dr. Monsen once taught his students of sociology. I am first and foremost all about people and the idea of honoring them without automatically classifying them one way or another. I saw the potential and greatness in my very diverse students when I took the time to understand their backgrounds and their cultures. I realized the importance of allowing my daughters to spread their wings and become the independent women that they are. I realized that my mother’s mental illness was something that happened to her, not who she was. Her true essence came in the times when she was healthy. I saw her and all people with a clarity that has allowed me to separate the goodness from the flaws. 

When I listen to Donald Trump I hear a tortured and weak man who is always trying to impress, always begging for attention and love. He is so broken that he is incapable of caring for anyone but himself. He lost his way long ago. As a kind person I may feel sorry for him, but I also understand that such a damaged man should not be trusted with responsibility for the wellbeing of the United States of America. His sole purpose in running is to convince himself and those who follow him that he is okay. He is too old, too self centered and too dangerous for the job. 

So, yes, I worry constantly about what lies ahead. I see the future and I fear that the wrong person will be given the power to steer us into safety. This is a more consequential election than any in my lifetime and I worry that far too many are not see the naked truth. Donald J. Trump is unfit to lead us. Let him find adoration somewhere else.