Category: Commentary

I am into my sixth decade of romance with my husband. He and are at the point of having the same thoughts at the same time. Both of us look like the grandparents that we are. Our hair is graying and thinning and our faces are showing all of the signs of age. We could use some sessions at a gym as our mid-sections grow a bit more flabby each year, but we are still madly in love with one another. When we gaze at each other we see someone who is incredibly beautiful. We’d rather be with each other than anyone else. We have shared a lifetime of experiences and it has been remarkable. 

These days our “dates” are rather subdued. We don’t need much to have a very good time. we regularly take continuing education classes at Rice University and those afternoons out remind us of the joy that learning has brought into our lives. We make each Tuesdays a special day, often indulging in our favorite Turkish food or enjoying a po-boy sandwich after the lecture. We have discussions about what we have learned and how the long thread of history has an impact on the present. Those conversations are incredibly romantic to me because from the beginning of our relationship my man has treated me as an intellectual equal. We are a perfectly balanced team with the greatest respect for one another. 

We like to travel together as well. We take our trailer along these days and have so much fun in that twenty one foot space. It’s so cozy that we would have to like each other very much or we would soon be fighting. We’ve have had grand adventures in summer and winter, fall and spring. Soon we will be heading out for some camping in a swampy area filled with gators and I can hardly wait. Somehow just being together in that home away from home brings us even closer together than we already are. 

Some of my friends are now single and their dates are filled with fine dinners, evenings at musicals, and deliveries of flowers for no special reason. This is of course at it should be in a courtship, but my husband and I don’t seem to need those kind of things anymore. A trip to a plant nursery to purchase a new rose bush is much more fun. Setting it into the ground and watching it grow is what we enjoy. We sit in our backyard with the butterflies and doves skittering about enjoying the handiwork we have done in the yard. Just relaxing, sipping on a nice glass of wine and laughing at the same jokes is where we are now. 

There is nothing that says love like being able to spend all day without makeup, padding around in my bare feet and still having my husband walk up and tell me how beautiful I am. It’s lucky that we are so comfortable with who we are together because otherwise we might have driven each other crazy in the past couple of years. Instead we’ve cooked together, watched movies that we both enjoyed and just sat reading and writing without a word. We listen to music and sometimes get in our truck just drive around talking for no reason at all. 

I suppose that my husband learned how to be the perfect partner from his father. My father-in-law is in his nineties and he is incredibly thoughtful with his wife. She has been quite ill for most of the past year. She has to use oxygen all day long and walking to the bathroom is an effort. He patiently and lovingly cares for her without a single complaint. He buys foods that she likes and can still eat. He awakens in the night when she needs assistance. He has become mostly homebound unless some of us come to relieve him of his duties and give him an opportunity to get out for a bit. I seriously find his behavior to be the ultimate form of romance. There is nothing quite as beautiful as continuing to love someone in sickness. 

I suppose that most people would watch me and my husband and think that perhaps the romance has gone out of our relationship because we have grown as comfortable with each other as with an old pair of shoes. We have a set routine but never once have we taken each other for granted. Every minute of every day we know how fortunate we are to have found each other and built our entire lives around each other. All we really need is to be together. 

We have learned how to forgive each other for mistakes and how to laugh at our troubles. We have no doubt that we will make it through anything that comes our way. I can’t think of a greater gift than being able to be totally myself with every one of my flaws exposed and still be loved. I suppose that is why I don’t really need all of the trappings of romance to feel happy and secure.

My one wish would be for everyone to find a relationship like I have. I can’t say that I have done anything special to deserve it. Somehow it just happened and I knew it from our very first date. I remember telling my friends that I had met the guy I was going to marry and I never looked back. We literally grew up together, doing all kinds of stupid things along the way, but always supporting each other no matter what was happening. I’ve been on a romantic journey for decades and it has been bliss.

I’ve become such a fan of Julian Fellows’ The Guilded Age that I even belong to a group that discusses each episode. One thing that I have noticed in the comments is the tendency to dissect the characters with our modern day ways of thinking. Fortunately Fellows has instead studied the era and carefully crafts his characters to behave according to the customs of the time. 

We might wish that the ingenue, Marion, were less naive and more forceful, but she is a product of beliefs about young women that were prevalent back then. She is expected to behave according to a particular code. Deviating from the accepted ways would be a clear pathway to a difficult life, especially for a woman or anyone who is different. 

Thus we may cringe at the seeming deviousness of Aunt Agnes’ son, but we have to remember that he is a gay man living in an age when being so endangered his freedoms. The total lack of understanding and acceptance of who he is forces him to live a lie every single day. Pretense has been forced on him by a society that would make him an outcast and judge him to be a deviant if they learned his truths. 

So it is with every character in the series, people caught in a highly constricting and judgmental time of history when aggressive women were viewed as pariahs and even educated Black citizens were confined to the downstairs. It was a time before an awakening to the value of every person regardless of who they are and where they began their journeys. 

The Guilded Age was just that, a time society was judged and ranked on artificial characteristics over which they often had no control. Women were pretty little adornments for their powerful husbands. Race was segregated from view. Sexual preferences were considered an abomination. The right to vote was confined mostly to white men. For all of the mansions and fashions from France it was in truth a difficult time for most people, even the most wealthy who were never completely free to be themselves. 

As I watch this program and research its authenticity I marvel at how far we have come in our acceptance of one another. Women hold powerful positions in families, industry and the government. Our LGBTQ community is becoming more and more open about who they are and how they feel. All races are demanding the equality that should have been theirs all along. We speak out, tear down social barriers, and advocate for freedoms that once were impossible to achieve for a vast swathe of the population.  

We all have a sense that there is more to do and that our present day ways are imperfect, but few of us would want to return to an age that was so stifling to so many people. In all likelihood few of us would have been members of the wealthiest class that dominated and hoarded the prizes of the era. Most of us would have instead lived rather dreary existences working sixteen hour days at the mercy of barons of industry whose only goals were to make more and more money. 

We might complain about the cost of gasoline today, but we actually have cars to drive. We get stressed over the schools that our children attend, but they get to stay in them for a full twelve years at no cost to us other than the taxes we pay. Many of us have homes that would have been unattainable for ordinary people in earlier times. We dine out at restaurants regularly and attend plays, concerts, ballgames and other events that were unreachable for most people in the nineteenth century. We have an openly gay man holding an important cabinet position in the government and a Black woman serving as Vice President of the United States. We indeed live in a time when opportunities are almost endless for anyone with imagination who is willing to work hard, and yet we spend a great deal of time complaining and longing for an earlier time that we have wrongly imagined was better than the present. 

Life can be tough regardless of advances. We may live in ways that our ancestors would not have been able to imagine, but there are prices to pay, sacrifices to made just to maintain the lifestyles that we have come to take for granted. We want our big screen televisions with hundreds of channels and our fancy phones and laptops without having to give up something else. We are finding out that we may have reached a moment in time that calls for each of us to be willing to give a little and to adapt. 

The world is always changing and asking us to be flexible enough to keep up with it. One day we were riding in buggies pulled by horses and the next we had gasoline powered cars. There was a time when darkness made it difficult to see but soon electricity lit up the world making it possible to be productive twenty four hours a day. Our grandparents were lucky to reach the eighth grade before joining the workforce and now we take high school diplomas for granted. Instead of complaining about where we are now, we should be celebrating that we have come this far. We should be working to make certain that everyone has better opportunities for living a good life. 

Frankly I don’t want to be constricted by the heavy corsets and restricting societal practices of the Guilded Age. I feel fortunate to be living in the present time. Even with all of its problems it is generally a better place for the vast majority of us. I’ll adapt to the rough spots and work toward spreading the freedoms even more. Now that we have broken away there is no turning back. I can be me and you can be you. We have unguilded the times to be freer than ever before. Let’s keep up the work of moving forward. There is still much to do.

When I was in high school I had the same English teacher, Father Shane, for four years. It might have been a disaster had he not been such an incredible educator. In fact, he easily became my all time favorite teacher and the favorite of countless other students as well. I think the secret to his popularity lay in the fact that he introduced us to aspects of life that few of us had ever before known. One of his favorite sayings was that he was going to show us how to be citizens of the world. 

I had never heard of the The New Yorker magazine before he posted cartoons from that periodical with regularity. The satire and artistry in those illustrations were remarkable. They introduced me to the Addams Family before everyone else met them on television and later in movies. To this day I have an online subscription to the magazine and now and again I collect copies of some of the most historic and iconic covers. 

Father Shane also brought reproductions of works of art into the classroom. He took us on field trips to the Museum of Fine Arts to see the sculptures of Alexander Calder. He told funny stories about Matisse and other artists. He showed us how to assess the colors, techniques and subjects of art. He made us aware of the wondrous centers of art across the globe. 

Long after I had graduated from high school and he had died I visited the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. I was stunned by how much of the collection I had learned about from Father Shane. I literally stood in front of some of the pieces thinking, “Hey, Father Shane, here I am looking at some of the greatest art of the century and you helped me to understand and appreciated it.” I even had an emotional moment when I felt so enormously grateful that he had indeed made me a citizen of the world. 

When I visited the Globe Theater in London my thoughts went to Father Shane as well. It was as though I had arrived as a well rounded person as I sat on those hard benches and watched Shakespeare being performed in much the way that it might have been done back in the Elizabethan era. I was proud to be able to explain the story and the language to the rest of the group just as Father Shane had done for me when I was just a teenager wondering why we should have to pore over language filled with cadences and words that were so unfamiliar. 

On a visit to the Tate Museum I knew the story of the Lady of Shalott, a painting that is part of their permanent collection. I would later purchase a lovely English rose named for that character of art and poetry. On every occasion such as these I would marvel at how much Father Shane had taught me in four short years. He was the person who opened my once blind eyes to the beauty of music, art, literature, theater, and even the way we speak and write our language. His gift has been a treasure that keeps me open-minded about the ideas, creations, and talents of my fellow humans both from the past and in the present. 

There is a great deal of concern these days about the influence of teachers on students. Most of that worry centers on unscrupulous teachers attempting to brainwash students. While this does happen sometimes, it is much more likely that students will find that one extraordinary teacher who changes their lives and enlightens their minds.

When I first entered Father Shane’s classroom I was a backward and ignorant little girl. I left with an enlightened mind, ready to learn for a lifetime. I became a great appreciator of the arts just as he predicted I would. I deeply understood the tremendous talent and hard work it takes to create something that endures through the ages. He taught us to look for the nuances of a particular word, a comma, a color, an empty space. When I read or gaze at a work of art I see more than just its superficialities. I can almost feel the soul of the person who made it. 

Upon visiting the British Museum I was walking down a long hall when I saw a tiny painting in a far away room. It beckoned to me and I walked quickly past lovely portraits and landscapes in pursuit of the face of a woman that seemed to be calling me. When I finally stood in front of the striking piece I saw that it had been painted by Leonardo da Vinci. It took my breath away because Father Shane had taught me how to honor the genius of such a treasure. I stood silently for a very long time and tried to imagine what Father Shane would have said about the portrait. I also thought of how remarkable it was that I was looking at a work of art created so long ago by one of the masters of painting. I wondered if I would have even been in that spot at that time if it had not been for Father Shane. 

Perhaps we would do well in today’s atmosphere to applaud our teachers a bit more rather than insinuating that they are ruining our children’s minds. I hate to think that we are damping the spirits of gifted teachers with all of the outrage that surrounds our schools. Who will grow weary and leave the profession? Who will become afraid to discuss certain books or plays or works of art out of fear that someone will complain? There are many Father Shane’s out there who have made a huge difference in the lives of countless students. Find them and remind them of how wonderful they are. Support them in the great work they are doing. Congratulate them for mastering the art of teaching.

I was among the leading group of children who came of age in the era of television. I still remember when my father brought the first t.v. into our home. It had a very small screen encased in a mahogany cabinet that blended with the rest of our furniture. Daddy ceremoniously placed it in the center of our living room, plugged it into the electrical outlet, and turned on the power knob. It took a few minutes for the screen to come to life and the first thing we saw was a fuzzy collage of black, white and gray flickering lights. After adjusting the rabbit ear antenna that sat on top and searching for a channel, a picture emerged. It was an incredible moment. 

Back then the shows only ran for a portion of each day and there were only a few stations offering programming. The shows tended to be short, mostly around thirty minutes. Mornings featured entertainment for children and news. Soap operas and game shows were the kings of daytime. After the evening news the most cherished shows came to life. There were variety shows, westerns, detective programs and lots of comedies. 

If our family went to visit one of my uncles I got to watch the westerns, but at home comedy ruled. My father liked to laugh and he enjoyed the likes of Sid Caesar, Red Skelton, Bob Hope, Jack Benny and Jackie Gleason. I can still hear him roaring with delight at the one liners and the skits. Sometimes I sat by him giggling as well even though I did not always understand what was actually so funny. 

My father collected books of humor as well. I don’t know what became of them after he died, but among them were political cartoons and funny stories from World War II. He also ready the funnies in the newspaper every single day, often hoisting me onto the couch to share the joy. For the most part Daddy was a rather serious man, but he had a mischievous side to his personality that I loved. He told jokes all of the time, even at the dinner table. He’d get a gleam in his eyes that told me that he was about to throw some humor at us and I would wait in expectation of a jolly good time. 

I suppose that I learned how delightful comedy can be from my father. I still enjoy laughing at gifted performances from talented humorists more than anything else. Like my dad, my tastes run the gamut from slapstick to dark satire. I’m that person who laughs hysterically at Quentin Tarantino movies and the physical antics of Robin Williams. I like to listen to the late night hosts and watch the stars like Dave Chappelle. I have always had a special affinity for the celebrity roasts and the brilliance of the comments in those moments. I even have a special place in my heart for the jokesters who brightened my classroom with their smiles and their delightful antics. I was the teacher who applauded their skills in bringing chuckles to my lessons. 

Comedians know how to control their faces, their bodies, their words, the timing of their speech. Sometimes a pause or a facial expression is the funniest aspect of a joke. Watching the greats over time has given me great respect for the work that they do. A joke done wrong can lay an egg. A joke done wrong can backfire and wreak havoc.

I know that I have no talent for being funny and yet I unwisely keep trying to make people laugh. I can’t tell a joke worth beans. What sounded hilarious from the lips of someone else often dies on the vine with my rendition. I’ve also gotten into dire trouble when my humor comes off more as vindictive than the satire it was supposed to be. I don’t have that special spark that tells people that I am poking fun, not insulting. 

My father was a stealth comedian. He was an engineer by profession but a Renaissance man by nature. He was an historian, an architect, an artist, a writer, and someone who knew all of the past and current sports statistics. He read voraciously and was a connoisseur of music and art and food. He liked to invent things in his mind and then build them. Best of all he entertained everyone he knew with a flood of humor that he carried in his back pocket. He brought out the laughs wherever he went, which is funny in itself because he was generally a very quiet man.

I sometimes think that many of the problems of the world today exist because there is not enough humor and many among us have lost the ability to laugh at themselves. People take things too darn seriously resulting in outrageous and angry behaviors. The truth is that we humans make some incredibly ridiculous mistakes. Comedians provide us with a lighthearted way of owning up to them. Stopping long enough to just laugh at ourselves is often better than hours of therapy.

We’ve witnessed some shocking incidents with comedians of late. Their satire has riled up individuals or groups to the point of wreaking violence. As with books, there are concerted efforts to curb the freedoms of comics or even to ban them from the public square. Doing so would be a huge mistake. Comedians are purveyors of humorous takes on society as they see it. They are often funny editorialists. Theirs is a folksy take on politics and our social interactions. We either laugh or groan when they ply their trade. What we should never do is attempt to shut them down. We need them to be the fun house mirrors that keep us from becoming too serious. We need more laughter in the world, not less.   

It’s that time of year when high schools host proms for the students. I’ve been asked many times what my prom was like and who I went with to the event. The truth is that I did not go because nobody invited me to be his date and I could not imagine going alone. Instead I allowed my teenage angst to overtake me and I held a mega pity party for myself. By happenstance there was a tragic romance movie on television that night and I had an amazing cry for several hours. When everyone was talking about how much fun the event had been the following Monday at school I walked away. I was certain that I was the only person ever left out of attending such an event. My hyperbole reigned supreme.

In fact, there were others who did not attend the big dance for one reason or another. Over time I moved on and rarely looked back to what had been at the time a low point in my life. I was only reminded of how silly I had been whenever I got those questions about what prom had been like for me. I realized that if I had been even the least bit creative I had a number of options for attending. I might have been brave enough to ask someone if he would be willing to accompany me. I also had a treasure trove of sweet and handsome male cousins who would have been more than willing to escort me, and I’m quite certain that I would have had a very good time with any one of them. Instead I chose to wallowing in misery of my own making, thinking that would forever spend my life unloved and alone. 

I am quite happy to note that proms are much more democratic these days. Lots of students arrive by themselves and then join a group of like minded souls. Even the dancing tends toward freelancing. Anybody can come and have a very good time. In fact, I almost seems that the ones who come unattached have a better time than those with a date. There is no pressure to look or act a certain way among friends. There are fewer disappointments when magical expectations are absent. 

I’m not sure who came up with the idea of proms. Perhaps it was a way for ordinary souls to partake in a kind of debutante ball like the aristocrats. There was a time when the wealthiest families had a coming of age ball for their seventeen or eighteen year old daughters. The event announced that the girl was an adult ready to move into the world of a woman rather than a child. The idea may have been to provide young people with a transition into the next level of their development. As with many traditions sometimes such events have gone over the top.

Dresses, shoes, tuxedos. make-up, hair stying, manicures, pedicures, flowers, limousines, dinners, after prom parties have become key elements of today’s proms. The expenses for a couple can run into the thousands of dollars. It almost feels a bit like a money making scam for the adults who cater to such events. It seems that when we create customs we have a tendency to make them more and more complex and expensive over time. Proms really are big business.

When I think back to my prom night I feel rather silly. I took a single event and imagined that I would lead a totally tragic life. I wondered what was so wrong with me that nobody thought to ask me to be his date. I worried that I would never marry or have children. One silly idea led to another until I was an emotional wreck. Luckily my Aunt Polly came to my rescue. She came to visit our home and noticed that my eyes were red from crying. She sat down next to me and asked what was wrong. When I told her that I was just upset that I had not been asked to the prom her response was perfect. She hugged me and said, “Oh, honey!” Then she just sat silently with me for a time while I leaned on her. Just knowing that someone understood how I was feeling set me on the path to recovery of my usual happy spirit. 

I wonder how many young hearts have been disappointed or broken at prom time. No doubt there have been a few. I hope that those young souls were put back together by someone as wonderful as my aunt. A bit of empathy without lecture or advice goes a very long way. Sometimes just a big hug is all anyone ever needs.

I’m glad to have grown up from the seventeen year old me. I’ve become quite resilient over time. Very little steals my joy. I have developed patience and enough confidence to feel rather good about myself. I’ve had opportunities to just sit quietly next to someone having a very difficult time like my aunt did for me. I learned more about how to be a caring person from that experience than I might have if I had gone to the prom. Things really did work out.