Category: Commentary

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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.

I enjoy cooking but not so much for myself. You would never believe it to look at me, but I don’t really care that much about food. I would be quite content eating the same things over and over again. My staple would be one of those big fat roasted chickens from Costco that would last for a week once I surrounded it with simply steamed vegetables and fresh salads. When I cook it is mainly for my husband who enjoys food and trying new recipes as much as I like writing, reading, traveling. So I have a number of cookbooks and I search magazines and the Internet for new ideas include in my cooking repertoire. 

I don’t think that I have ever actually purchased more than a handful of cookbooks for myself and yet my shelf is filled with a great variety of culinary guidance. I enjoy searching the pages for ideas when guests are coming to my home but I’m not that enthusiastic when it comes to preparing my daily offerings. I’d rather spend my time puttering in my garden or walking around my neighborhood. Much like my father-in-law I mostly eat to stay alive and if left alone I sometimes forget to feed myself altogether. 

I find preparation for special occasions to be delightful in spite of my lack of normal lack of interest. I flip through the pages of my various volumes to find a main dish around which I then build a bounty of side dishes. I cook up a storm using all of my pots and pans and kitchen gear. I turn on music that fits the theme of my menu and I fairly dance while ingredients bubble and boil on my stove and inside my oven. I create a kind of bacchanal of delights from soup to dessert. Then I watch with great joy as my guests devour my creations. 

Of late it has become more and more difficult to prepare food for such occasions. There are so many different dietary trends now that I struggle to create fare that will make everyone happy. Invariably I see someone eating more salad than anything, a sign that his/her diet is more restrictive than what I have prepared. These days I have to plan for the vegetarians, those going full on Keto, the Weight Watchers and the low carb sugar free crowd. Then there are the older folks who no longer want salt in their food. 

At the same time there are the folks who still enjoy a roasted beast of some variety and search for my macaroni and cheese as though it is the holy grail of dining. If I remove desserts from the menu I see my guests searching for something to satisfy the sweet tooth. If I over estimate how many final courses I need I am stuck with them for weeks after the event. The balancing act of satisfying everyone is becoming more and more like walking a tightrope two hundred feet in the air with no safety net below. I am never quite sure how much or how little of any item to prepare. My roasted Brussel sprouts may go begging one time and be the object of a fight the next. Finding the universal sweet spot is not as easy as it once was. 

I certainly have enough cookbooks to satisfy the demands of many different appetites. I have heart healthy and diabetics texts along with the culinary secrets of famous dishes from Brennan’s of New Orleans. The cookbook that I inherited from my mother was printed during World War II when there was a shortage of many common ingredients so it includes recipes that eschew things like sugar and eggs. Perhaps my biggest challenge these days is finding something substantial for the vegetarians. While I myself would be quite content eating nothing but plant based food for the remainder of my life I am not really familiar with things like “burgers” made without meat. I have tried tofu and its consistency makes me queasy so I really do not wish to include it in my cooking but I want to provide a nice source of protein from my anti-animal feasting friends and family members. I suppose my next purchases must be a really good vegetarian cookbook.

One of my brothers has solved the mysteries of dieting. At one time he was morbidly obese and we worried that he might keel over at any minute. He decided to take charge of his situation and began with surgery designed to curb his appetite. His was a model experience and soon he began shedding the pounds. He lost his desires to eat twenty four seven and followed a food journey of moderation without eliminating any particular kinds of ingredients. When he coupled his efforts with daily high intensity exercise he hit an ideal weight and every aspect of his health and appearance improved. He manages this while still using salt and sugar and eating whatever he wants in small quantities. Like me food is no longer the focus of his thoughts and desires but he is still able to enjoy a few luxurious feasts now and again without guilt. 

The United States is a nation of food plenty and cooking shows that have also made our citizens some the heaviest country in the world. At the same time much of our population has an obsession with being healthy that drives them to a point of thinking about little else. Somehow we often miss the mark when it comes to moderation in all things and yet we tend to understand that if we are to be fit for a lifetime the middle road is most probably the best way to go. 

I once watched an interview with Julia Child who was notorious for her use of rich ingredients in her cooking. She did not hold back from better and cream and fat but she insisted that for most people such dishes were not harmful if consumed in reasonable amounts. Portion size is the key and too often our glutinous tendencies lead us to placing heaping mounds. When something is truly delicious we tend to go back for seconds or eat until we almost feel sick like the Romans of old who gorged on feasts until they were vomiting. 

My brother has successfully found the right ways of eating and exercising. It took him decades of yo yo dieting and on again off again binging followed by deprivation to realize that he had to get a grip on his habits. Food addiction is real but with the proper help it can be curbed without giving up every treat that we have ever savored. More and more we are learning that it is about getting in touch with the reasons why we eat the way we do and adjusting our habits to a level of moderation. It’s not easy but there are wonderful cookbooks that help with the process. I should know. I have dozens that are filled with delights depending on an individual’s needs. I suppose that cooking in the name of health is enough of a worthy project to inspire my altruistic instincts. It’s time to relearn the joy of cooking for health and see how it goes.  

I may be seventy two years old but I do my best to stay current with trends. I use a smartphone, hold Zoom classes with my laptop, make use of services from Alexa and Siri, read news from across the globe, use my hotspot to post blogs when I am traveling, try to stay familiar with the evolving parlances of our language, watch the popular shows and even listen to modern day music rather than just sticking with the oldies. Still, I cling to many of the old ways. A stranger walking through my home would be able to guess that it belongs to an older person. One of the biggest give aways would be my cherished collectables and the books that occupy every room in my house. 

I do have a Kindle that I enjoy when I am traveling but whenever I am stationary I prefer the feel of an actual book. I have a tendency to fold down the corners of pages that I want to revisit and I am not above underlining passages or placing thoughts or annotations in the margins. Sometimes I even use post it notes as tabs to lead me back to sections of the book that I find remarkable. I learn best by seeing and doing so I need to be able to feel a book in my hands to get the most from the words on the pages. The book itself becomes an extension of my brain.

Now and again I attempt to narrow down the number of volumes that I own. Otherwise I would soon run out of room for all of the titles that crowd shelves and tables and even drawers. Sadly I often find myself searching for a volume that I too readily gave away and wishing that I had kept it rather than being so eager to cull it from my collection. Like shoes and candles I can’t seem to get enough books and my titles are as eclectic as the decorating style of my rooms. 

I have novels, histories, biographies, technical texts, cookbooks, travel volumes, memoirs, children’s books, coffee table books, old textbooks from school. Each represents a treasured time for me, moments when I left the confines of my living room and traveled into the world of the past or the future or the imagination. They are like friends to me and even though I may put them away for a time I somehow find my way back to them again and again only to realize how much I love them. 

I once watched a home improvement show with horror as the interior designer chose books for a room according to the color of their spines. They were little more than meaningless decorations. Somehow it felt like using a book as a doorstop or as a coaster for a sweaty glass. As a lover of books I cannot imagine having to go to a thrift store just to find the right shade of a text to match my drapes and pillows. 

My bookshelves are like a biography of me and my husband. An observant individual would know much about us just from glancing at the titles and studying the objects that surround them. I have photos of family and friends that gather with my books. My shelves house precious artifacts that I brought home from travels like rocks and pine cones and blown glass. Among my many volumes there are also antiques from my great grandmother, mother, mother-in-law. I hide away whimsical creatures that make me smile like the little pigs that I add to my collection each New Year’s Day to bring me luck for the remainder of the year. Everything there is linked to a precious memory rather than an artful intention. 

I suppose that it is now somewhat passé to create such collectors of dust. The trend is toward clean and uncluttered lines throughout the home. Young people would consider much of my accumulation to be junk that should be donated or even thrown away. I, on the other hand, think of my bookshelves and their contents as the heart and soul of my home, a haven of joy. 

While I truly enjoy each book that I own there are two that I treasure over all of the rest. One is a collection of short biographies of great men and women whose lives and deeds changed the world for the better. My Grandpa gave me that volume as a gift when I graduated from junior high. Inside the front cover he signed it with an admonition to learn from the great men and women of history. If my home were on fire or in danger of flooding I would rescue that book before concerning myself with anything else as I ran to safety. 

The second book that is a treasure to me is an anthology of poetry from which my father often read to me when I was a child. He taught me the incredible power of words and the loveliness of our language in brief those dramatizations when his voice would utter aloud the cadence of the poems. Somehow that little text is the embodiment of who he was and whenever I see it and read from it I feel his presence and understand exactly who he was as a man even though he died when I was only eight years old. 

I sometimes think that I am the person that I am today because of the influence of my books. Each time I read a new tract or revisit an old one I grow as a person. My books make me better, more interesting, more compassionate, more wise. I’ll keep them near me and hopefully when I am gone someone will understand and want to also keep them near just as I have always done. My bookshelves are a living testament of memories and joy, a history of me and my husband. Why would I want to ever toss away anything associated with them?

One of my brothers loves to solve puzzles, especially if they have mathematical or engineering components. He will quietly sit for long stretches of time poring over possible solutions. I have cousins and friends who devote tables in their homes to putting together jigsaw puzzles. In fact my mother-in-law often did the same thing. Somehow none of these kinds of mental gymnastics have ever appealed to me. I am willing to work with them for only a limited amount of time. What I enjoy are word puzzles of any kind and I am so addicted to them that I have to be careful not to spend an entire day working on them. I become so immersed that I don’t even seem to notice that it’s time for lunch or that the sun is going down. I suppose that there is some kind of curiosity gene in our DNA that prompts us to stretch our brains in pursuit of solutions to problems. 

Solving puzzles of any kind invariably involves the art of observation, the foundation of both the arts and the sciences. If we watch, we learn as my mother always liked to say. For my brother the interplay of numbers and their effect on the universe and how things work is fascinating. For the jigsaw puzzle enthusiasts the features of individual pieces lead to discoveries of how things fit together. For me people are the source of interest, how they talk, what they say, how they behave. I am a people watcher and always have been. I become so engrossed in noting and analyzing the actions and words of those around me that my mother used to chide me for staring. 

I like being in the corner of a room just enjoying the interplay of people. I don’t need to be part of their interactions to have a good time. I actually prefer just being an observer. I tend to be so good at chronicling what I see in the files of my mind that I have actually predicted serious illnesses and deaths before they happened. I have been able to see subtle changes in the behavior of an individual indicating some kind of health problem before the major symptoms even occurred. People have thought of me as some kind of psychic but instead I think it is just my ability to detect even the slightest differences in an individual’s aspect. 

I am usually able to tell when someone is dealing with a serious situation that they are trying to hide from everyone else. I pick up on cues that alert me to anxiety and sorrow. Sometimes the only clue is a distant look in someone’s eyes that betrays their sadness or a sudden inability to concentrate that is out of character. I am often known as an amazingly empathetic person because of my skill. I suppose that it grew from years of watching over my mother and looking for signs that her mental illness was quietly evolving into a new psychotic episode. 

My maternal grandmother never spoke English with me and my cousins. I have learned that there was a time when she worked in the public and even had enough command of the language to converse but by the time I came along she had lost whatever ability she may have had. The extent of her comments to us was to refer to each of us as “pretty boy” or “pretty girl.” I had little idea what my grandmother was thinking so I simply watched her and tried to imagine what was going on inside her mind at any given moment. I learned how to interpret her hand motions and nods of the head. I looked into her eyes to determine her moods. I suppose that she was my first foray into attempts to understand human behaviors. 

I suspect that becoming a teacher was a natural fit for my profound interest in people. I might have taken my same skill into a career as a lawyer or doctor or psychologist or social worker but teaching seemed more personal and purposeful to me. I have always believed that many individual’s difficulties with learning stem from a lack of understanding of who they are and how much family history and environment affects them. Conveying knowledge takes way more than simply presenting information. A teacher must know and understand each pupil on a very deep level and care enough to take the time to help unravel the problems that are preventing them from learning. There is a science to teaching but also an art. Simply knowing content and having a few best practices and management skills is not enough. The best educators reach into the hearts and souls of their students. 

Sometimes I think that it would be easier if I had focused my analytical puzzle solving skills on crosswords or Rubic’s cubes rather than being so engrossed in the unraveling of the human psyche. It can be exhausting to see the hurt and the pain that people are enduring and not be able to do much to help them. I marvel at those who do not even appear to notice the internal struggles of their fellow humans. They are able to simply enjoy life in their little bubbles delightfully unaware of all of the pain in the world.

We each have our talents and are able to solve different kinds of puzzles. I suppose that is what keeps the world moving as it does. Don’t ask me how to build something with my hands. In that regard I am inept, but if you need someone who can see and hear cries for help even when there is no sight or sound indicating trouble I am the person who will know what to do. It is a gift to be able to peer into the souls of the people around me and even when it becomes almost unbearable I know it is what I am supposed to do.