Category: Commentary

I come from a long line of adventurous and independent thinking and souls. My great grandfather grew up in the south, but joined the Union Army during the Civil War. One of my grandfathers traveled from a small town in Slovakia to find work and a new life in the United States. Another grandfather grew up as a virtual orphan in a remote area of Virginia and began a trek across the country finding work when he was still a young teenager. My father was a traveler who had lived in or visited most of the states by the time he was thirty. His goal was to see and experience it all, so I have little doubt that once airfare was in the grasp of ordinary souls he would have journeyed to other countries as well. 

All of these men were also voracious readers. Their interests spanned many topics and among their daily routines was time spent leafing through newspapers and books. They were curious souls who wanted to learn about and see as much of the world around them as possible. They were risk takers who found great joy in discovering new horizons and unique ideas. 

I suppose that I caught the family bug that continually leads me in search of the almost infinite variety of the world and its people. I am drawn to travel and learning like a moth to a light. Sadly my risk taking was somehow squelched, so my forays into the world are generally limited to vicarious experiences rather than grand adventures. I suppose that the death of my father at the conclusion of a cross country move dampened the fires that might have sent me on grand journeys around the world. When my mother became ill when I was in my early twenties my rooted fate seemed to be sealed. My risk taking days were done save for opening my mind to ideas and cultures and beliefs that I was able to gather through reading and study. My travel came only in the form of short vacations. 

I lead a conservative lifestyle but my research has cultivated a progressive mind. I suppose that the fire of my curiosity was first lit by my father, but it became a conflagration under the influence of my high school English teacher. My unrelenting determination to become a citizen of the world was further stoked by my college professors and as I encountered more information about the incredible history of humans, I wanted even more. 

My quest has led me to friendships with people from many different countries and cultures. My acquaintances represent a United Nations of backgrounds and stories. I have come to hold the deepest regard for different ways of doing things. While I cherish my freedoms and my own country I realize that it is counterproductive to believe that ours in the only best way of doing things. I have expanded my horizons by opening my mind to possibilities just as those who influenced me taught me to do. 

I have taken down the borders of my mind and pushed myself to consider the many ways that the people on this earth choose to live out their days. It is fascinating to read unedited and honest histories and biographies. It is humbling to learn how much alike we are as humans, but also how many different points of view there are. In trying to understand why things I see patterns in our behaviors and the underlying desires that drive us. Nothing is actually happening in isolation. The theory of the butterfly in Africa influencing the weather in Antarctica is a powerful metaphor for our connections whether we realize those relationships or not. 

Each of us depends on the other in a long thread that stretches around the earth. The trees cut down in a South American rainforest will affect us all. The war in Ukraine is part of a long arc of history, and while we may not see its connection to us in the moment, over time its importance will become quite clear. Diseases and poverty anywhere on the planet affect us even when we are blind to their existence. Whether we like it or not, we are one gigantic family of humankind that has yet to fully understand the importance of working together. 

We tend to resign ourselves to particular ways of thinking and then languish there even when out beliefs somehow feel uncomfortable. Instead I would challenge everyone to consider looking honestly at the many different sides of an idea even when doing so feels uncomfortable. The process allows us to better see our place in the long arc of history and to appreciate the contributions of people very unlike ourselves.

I often think of the revolution that came about at the beginning of what would become the United States of America. According to what I have read, only about thirty percent of the colonists were so unhappy with the status quo that they saw rebellion as the only way forward. I find myself feeling a kind of connection with the rest of the people who must have been horrified by the chaos that ensued. I know that some of them even pulled up stakes and left for Canada for a time. They were caught in the midst of a political disagreement that they did not desire or even support. I suppose that such is the honest truth about any kind of war of ideas. It takes time and sometimes even grave hardship for people to adjust to new ways of seeing things. 

Brave souls in our past have considered means of moving societies forward. It’s a painful process often involving one step forward and two back. Galileo was persecuted for teaching that the earth is not the center of the universe. Rosa Parks was jailed for asserting her right to sit anywhere that she chose on a bus. Jesus was nailed to a cross for suggesting that the only commandment that mattered was love and that some rules were not just. Today across the globe heroes are teaching us where we humans have got it wrong and how we might repair our relations with one another. It’s up to us to at least listen to what they have to say. Whether we like it or not we are all citizens of the same world.

Life is complicated for everyone. Even as children we may be forced to endure situations that might be better left for adulthood. We encounter bad people and horrible situations as we journey through our days. Our innocence is tainted by ugly events. Almost nobody manages to live without hurt no matter how hard they attempt to avoid it for themselves or their children. Simply interacting with the world can lead to disloyalty and disappointments. I doubt that there are many adults on the planet who have not been betrayed at one time or another. Sadly, sometimes such disappointment comes to even the very young. 

I probably seem to be a bit naive to most people. On most days I attempt to keep my optimism at the forefront. I believe that the vast majority of people on this planet are essentially good, even if they are flawed. None of us are perfect and most of us try every single day to be kind and compassionate. How we do that is often influenced by our cultures, our educations, our religious and our political beliefs. We come in many different varieties, but our essence is a striving to be the best versions of ourselves. It is in the moments when we are overcome by fears and anger or tiredness that we end up hurting someone else, often unintentionally. 

I believe in people. I love people and I try not to let my own weaknesses or differences of opinion color the way I interact with them. I understand that I will not always think the same way as everyone that I know. There will be times when their behavior and beliefs mystify me. There will be moments when our ideas and beliefs clash. This should not mean that we can no longer be friends or that I no longer care for them. In a perfect world we should be able to still love each other even when we seem to have little in common. 

Sometimes people do things that fracture our personal relationships with them so badly that we know that it would be unhealthy to continue to be around them. We must divorce ourselves from contact with them or descend into a cycle  self-abuse. Sometimes we even have to punish the most vile among us as a society, lock them away to protect ourselves. That does not mean that we must give up on them. It is truly possible to shield ourselves from hurtfulness while also continuing to hope that those persons will somehow find inner peace and a way of changing their lives. 

While many who hurt us never seem to find a way to mend and heal, it is something that happens, and when it does we should all be cautiously ready to celebrate their victory over the demons that once made them toxic. We each know of someone who managed to change for the better. I believe that it is incumbent on all of us to accept the possibility that each human can do penance and turn their lives around. We must be ready to forgive those who sincerely manage to do so. If we only want to keep punishing those who fell from grace no matter how they have tried to repent, then we may as well give up on a significant proportion of the world population. 

I am determined to never give up on anyone. There have been times when my willingness to forgive those who have hurt me has come to naught. Nonetheless my heart and my mind is open to the possibility that one day even the most horrible among us might genuinely live to regret their actions. While I may not see fit to return them to a normal life, I will encourage them to make peace with those they have harmed and with themselves. To me that is the essence of how we humans should all live.

The history of the world is filled with darkness and inhumanity. It is a fact of life that grave injustices have happened over and over again. We see them happening even now. They are both big and small. There are wars in many parts of the world and everyday hurts and abuse inside homes. We should be able to talk about these things and discuss how we might prevent the kind of anger that causes us to turn on each other. We need to consider how we might teach ourselves to hold our tongues when a sharp comment comes into our minds. We need to learn how to forgive and really forget the small slights that we experience. We must value and embrace people more rather than dividing ourselves into tribes. 

As a teacher I invariably encountered students who fell from grace. They did annoying things and sometimes horrible things. I had to discipline them and even punish them for their infractions, but I never turned on them. I never stopped caring about them. I always hoped and prayed that they would learn from their misadventures and grow in wisdom. I think of them to this very day and hope that they eventually found themselves.

I have been hurt by people that I thought were friends. They abandoned me and threw away our long time relationship over our diverging views. I attempted to explain myself and to apologize, but they gave up on me. They pushed me out of their lives. While it was and still is very hurtful to me, I have never given up on them. If they ever choose to return I will embrace them just as the father invited his prodigal son back to the family without reservations. 

People are too important to give up on them. We all need to have someone who believes in us, someone who thinks there is a chance that we might mend ourselves as long as we are drawing a breath. Some deeply evil and shattered souls may never get there, but if they do it is a glorious thing. We may be wary of their intent and be cautious about letting them back into society, but we should never give up on them. Call me cock-eyed. Call me what you will, but it is who I am and what I believe.

People often ask for the secret behind my more than fifty years of marital bliss. While there are many important factors that have kept our love alive and ticking, I have to say that laughter is the glue that keeps it all together. My husband and I joke with one another all day, everyday. We enjoy humor from lighthearted to incredibly dark. We find something to laugh about everywhere that we go. It is our antidote for the realities of daily life that sometimes have the power to tear relationships apart. Sometimes we laugh so hard that our bellies move and our eyes water. Always we feel energized and ready to cope with whatever happens to be stressing us in the moment after the release of our anxieties into a round of good fun. 

My husband, Mike, “checks” on his ninety-three year old father each day by scanning his email account for the daily jokes that his father sends without fail. When I hear a big guffaw coming from Mike I too am assured that our Papa is okay, at least for now. Sometimes I also run into the next room to find out what was so hilariously funny and the laughter begins again. We only worry if those jewels of humor do not come. It’s always a sign that something is amiss.

There are family jokes that we treasure for decades. Humor runs deep among our relations. One of my brothers is so masterful in his delivery of funny lines that he might well have had a career as a comedian. Much of his commentary is quite original and satirical. He has a gift that has kept all of us holding our sides with glee from the time he was quite young. It appears that his grandson has the same gift of making the ordinary exceptionally hilarious. 

I too have a very funny grandson. On a cross country trip from Texas to California he kept us entertained with his stealth commentaries that made us lose our composure and laugh like hyenas. His gift is an ability to see the funny side of our human natures. Like most of the great comedians he selects his words carefully and uses his face to express just the right twinkle of the eye. He has an impishness that defines the masterful telling of jokes. 

My students invariably uncovered the truth that I am a sucker for humor. They constantly tested my reserve with actions and remarks that caused my lips to quiver and my eyes to give away my delight in the jokes they snuck into my lessons. Ultimately they understood that I would eventually cave and let the truth of my joy emerge from my whole being. I suppose that sharing amusing moments together was the real glue that kept my students engaged in my lessons. It made me human and reachable rather than being some high and mighty mathematics guru armed with sometimes unnerving formulae. 

The one form of humor that I despise is a weak effort to be mean and bully someone. If the official occasion is meant to be a roast of an individual who is in reality revered by the crowd, I have no problem. Those things can be absolutely hilarious as the performers jab at the individual who has willingly agreed to be honored in such a way. There is a long tradition of such humor in my own family with cousins and brothers lovingly and hilariously pointing out each others most joke worthy ways of interacting with the world. My unrelenting chattiness has long been the topic of family jokes as well as the moment when I accepted a dance with my very gallant cousin with the words,”better than nothing.” 

Rather than feeling hurt or slighted by our inside jokes, we laugh with knowing joy. Unfortunately our tendency to roast one another for the purpose of keeping it real has not always been appreciated by folks who have married into the family. We have had to learn when it is safe to joke around and when such things cause hurt and hard feelings. Sadly many of our very best family satirists and comedians have died and we are in the hopes that some of our younger members gifted with humor will carry on the long tradition of laughing at life and its challenges. 

One of the things I loved the most about President Barack Obama was his delight in the funny side of life, even when such moments were directed at him. I identified with his use of jest in sometimes dark and challenging moments. I too have used laughter to accompany through some of my most anxious times. I have been known to have doctors and nurses howling with delight just before I went under the influence of anesthesia before a surgery. Of course I was nervous, but I wanted to lighten my mood and theirs by bringing a bit of merriment into the room. 

I mostly tend to be the audience for humor rather than the creator of jokes. I’d love to be the subject of a roast sometime. I’d ask my brother to be the master of ceremonies and I would invite a couple of my funniest friends as well as a few of my former students who made me laugh every time they entered my classroom. I have no doubt that they would find many ways to roast me alive and that I would be aching from chuckling so hard at their jabs. 

I wish that everyone appreciated the value of really good humor. We grumble and cry and get angry a great deal these days when a bit of good old fashioned joking around would be good for us all. We still have lots of funny people in our midst and they know how to make us laugh only if we are willing to understand that they are commenting on our foibles in the good faith that we will be able to step back and smile at the ironies of life. I hope with all of my heart that we never become so stuffy that we shut down the funny men and women around us. I can’t think of any better way to solve many of our problems than with a good roasting of us all. It’s when we are able to laugh that we are most ready to come together., and we really do need to come together sooner rather than later. 

My grandfather used to laugh at his seemingly bad luck when it came to making money. He once proclaimed that if he had bought and sold all of his real estate investments at just the right time he would have been a millionaire. Instead he tended to purchase high and sell low. At the time of this death his savings were depleted and he lived in a rented room. Nonetheless, he was an exceptionally happy man who had lived a long and very interesting life. 

My husband has a friend who might be counted as a modern day version of my grandfather. This man has had so many inventive ideas that seemed outrageous at the time, that it would be difficult to name and count them all. Sadly he was never able to convince people of the potential of his creative mind and so it was left to others to ultimately bring the innovations he imagined into the world. 

I recall sitting with my husband’s friend attempting to be polite and not roll my eyes in disbelief as he described business ventures that he was certain would be his golden ticket to prosperity. Long before streaming or DVRs he envisioned a machine that would allow households to record their favorite television programs even when they were not home. With great excitement he spoke of how such a machine would revolutionize television viewing. No longer would individuals have to be at home at a certain time to catch their favorite programs. The days of deciding which of two conflicting series to watch would be over. Best of all people would be able to keep and watch their favorite shows over and over again. 

I suppose that I was never meant to be an inventor because I thought that his idea was absurd. I could not imagine the necessity of such a machine under any circumstances. I politely told him that most people like me are not concerned about seeing every single episode of a show and we certainly would never want to watch a program more than one time. I was not able to share his enthusiasm for such an idea and neither was anyone else in his circle of friends, so his concept died on the vine, at least for him. I would regret my lack of foresight as time went on and I realized that he had been at the forefront of innovation in a time long before anyone was talking about such things. 

The same man once asked if we would like to join him in purchasing a machine that would transform plain t-shirts into message boards of sort. He spoke of making the front of a shirt a kind of canvas for images or sayings much like athletic jerseys. Once again I found his idea to be at best a one time rage after which it would undoubtedly go away along with hula hoops and disco. When I now see all of the printed t-shirts on humans from nearly every part of the world, I lower my head in a kind of shame that was I unable to see our friend’s grasp of the future.

T-shirts have become the billboards of the world. They immediately identify nameless people as witty, political, supporters of certain causes or teams. They tell us where someone has traveled or would like to travel. They provide us with a glimpse of how a person thinks and believes. They are the grist of political campaigns and the stage of a quick joke. They celebrate holidays and victories and sometimes even mark personal milestones of life. Who could have possibly predicted the popularity of personalized t-shirts other than our very inventive friend and others like him?

I personally now own a large collection of shirts with messages. Most of them are from universities that I have visited or evidence of my support for sports teams. A few represent my travels and some just have witticisms or quotes that appeal to me. They are made so well that it takes years to wear them out, but I always feel a tinge of sadness when I must let them go. I suppose that if I were so inclined I might turn my favorites into a quilted throw like many have done with their dearest old t-shirts. Some of those creations are not just lovely and useful but serve as sweet memories as well. 

One of my teachers once commented that there are people who create wondrous things and those who simply appreciate their efforts. I suppose that I somehow do not have the capacity to drum up ideas for products that will change the course of the world. I did not invest in Apple stock like my brothers did when it was selling for practically nothing. I saw the company as a flash in the pan that would soon be gone. Still, I can greatly appreciate my bothers’ foresight and I celebrate the success of their small investment.

I create in different ways that bring me joy, but not much fame or monetary gain. I convey information to my many students that will hopefully bring them opportunities to live happy and successful lives. I write my little blogs as a kind of vanity project and delight when I reach someone’s heart or mind. I am a great appreciator of those who take an idea and improve the world with it. I have learned not to be so quick to criticize someone who is thinking out of the box. In fact I now boast a favorite t-shirt that proclaims, “Think Outside (No box required)”

One of the service clubs at a high school where I worked held a bake sale once a week. The students convinced me to volunteer to make something special for the cause each Wednesday. I wasn’t particularly creative and I had very little time, so I usually just purchased a box of brownie mix or a refrigerated roll of chocolate chip cookies and called it day. While none of the cookies were ever left behind, the brownies were definitely the hit and way easier to make than anything else. My contribution was well meaning but never particularly outstanding.

My mother was well known for bringing her chocolate cakes to church bake sales. Hers were always moist and tasty, but what really made them wonderful was the butter cream icing that she made from scratch. I could have eaten a bowl of it without the cake. She usually added whole pecans to the top of the cake and altogether it was a tasty delight. I remember times when someone would grab her cake and purchase it before she even had a chance to set it down. On one occasion the cake she had made got bumped and started falling apart. From the perspective of beauty it was a mess, but a regular customer of her specialty purchased it anyway, insisting that it was going to taste fabulous no matter how it looked. 

My grandmother made strawberry shortcake from scratch. It consisted of very thin layers of yellow cake divided by homemade whipped cream and fresh strawberries from her garden. In all of my life I have never tasted a more delightful dessert. I’m not alone in this regard either. People would come from all around hoping that she would make one of those fabulous cakes for them. She always baked one whenever we came to visit which we still remember with Pavlovian delight. Once in awhile she substituted one of her berry pies. Those were a very close second to the cake. As with the cake everything in the pie was made from scratch including the berries that she grew in her garden. My mouth waters just thinking of how good both of the her signature desserts always were. 

Grandma believed in using everything. She never threw out food. When she made too much dough she would grab some apples or peaches or berries or whatever was available at the moment and create fried pies. Those ruined me for the fried pies at the grocery store or fast food restaurants. Grandma’s were literally gourmet quality with a light and flaky crust encircling a filling that was like nectar from heaven. 

My mother used to make fudge every single Christmas. It was unlike any I have ever encountered. It did not use marshmallow cream. Instead it was more like Mexican candy but very chocolatey. It never lasted long because people always ate more than one piece. We never thought to ask her for the recipe and now we have found than none of the instructions that we find for fudge come even remotely close to hers. Our family has been on a quest for years to discover how she must have made it. We will know when we find it because he taste is so unique. Thus far we have struck out.

Mama also made the best pecans pies ever. Again I never thought to ask her for her recipe, but my brother did and his are as good as hers ever were. I laugh because I found out that she used the directions on the bottle of light Karo syrup but made alterations here and there that were her own ideas. She used twice as many pecans as the recipe called for and made double the number of pies from a single set of instructions. The result was less of the gooey filling and more of the crispy pecan flavor. Trust me when I say that they were spectacular. 

I suppose that I should have taken after my grandmother and mother when it came to baking, but I never had the time to create things from scratch. My cakes come from mixes and my pies come from the freezer section of the grocery store. Once a year I make pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving but I use frozen crust and the recipe on the side of the pumpkin can. I only go all out for Christmas when all of my cookies are created with love from my favorite recipes. I have to admit that they are wonderful, but I try not to make too many because they have added a pound here and pound there to my girth with each passing year.

My Aunt Valeria made the best carrot cake that I have ever experienced. She grated the carrots by hand and when the cake was done she crowned it with an amazing cream cheese based frosting. Those cakes were so time consuming to make that she only prepared them for very special occasions. She made at least three of them just for me and after much cajoling on my part even revealed her secret recipe. It was a treasure that I kept safe like I would have done with a bar of gold. Sadly, it somehow got lost and since she is now gone from the earth I will never again be able to recreate it. I can’t even begin to explain how sad that makes me.

The art of baking is a skill that I have never quite perfected. Perhaps I’m too impatient. I move around like a crazed rabbit and always seem to fill my hours with other things that I must do. I can’t keep still long enough to do proper baking, but I do so appreciate those who have the knack and the willingness to create those stunning desserts. For now I’ll just be happy with my Oreo cookies and a box of quick banana bread. it’s probably the best that I am ever going to be willing or able to do.