Category: Commentary

By nature I am a quiet person, someone who generally goes with the flow of life without making  waves. I go about the routines of my life intent on doing so without drawing attention to myself. I doubt that I would ever be noticed in a crowd, which is exactly the way I like it to be. I have the personality of a diplomat, always doing my best to hear all sides of a disagreement and bring people together. Much of my career was spent being a peacemaker between disparate groups. Attempting to be fair, can be a difficult task. There have been times when my efforts to arbitrate not only failed, but also brought the ire of both sides down on me. I’ve had to remind myself that some of the most courageous brokers of peace, like Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., were assassinated. Walking the line of attempting to unify people can be wrought with difficulties, and yet it is what I have spent a lifetime attempting to do. 

What is a teacher if not someone who shows people how to think and assess without preconceived notions? I have considered it my duty to show my students how to ask questions, do research, consider conflicting arguments and search for truth. Because I was a mathematics teacher much of what I conveyed to my pupils was grounded in long accepted rules and algorithms, but my duties often required me to go beyond the confines of my carefully planned lessons. Every classroom is brimming with the good and bad aspects of humanity that are impossible to simply ignore. 

Over the span of my work life I have had to explain the drills for an active shooter situation or stop in the middle of my lessons to calm fears in the aftermath of a terrorist attack. My students have been distracted by the Challenger blowing apart before their eyes or the fear of being deported because they are Dreamers brought illegally to our country as children. Sometimes the issues that I had to address were far more personal like the death of a favorite teacher or classmate. On more than one occasion race became an issue for my pupils and I had to pause my rendering of quadrilaterals and exponents to listen to the raw feelings that poured forth from them. Most recently some of my kids have whispered their worries about Covid 19.

I have never believed that I should be afraid of confronting the concerns of my students or those of the members of my faculty. Sadly in today’s heated political environment there seems to be a trend that discourages honest dialogue. People want teachers to ignore the sincere concerns of students and stick with a canned version of reality that is glossed over without acknowledging the mistakes that we humans have made over time. 

If we are ever to become better versions of ourselves we have to confront the truth without fear. We do so not to make anyone feel ashamed, but to demonstrate that we are willing to accept that there have been and still are situations in which one group takes unfair advantage of another. We have to be willing to look at the entire history of the world with an open mind that is intent on learning from the injustices and cruelties of the past that have been perpetrated unfairly on particular people. 

I remember a time when there was great tension between rival groups in a school where I worked. I decided to provide my students with a lesson in critical thinking. We read differing accounts of the first shots of the American Revolution. Some were from eye witnesses of the event from both the British and American point of view. Others were from the era but came from hearsay. Finally there were descriptions from historians writing centuries later. My students read each article and we spoke of the possible biases that each contained. We talked about the differences between primary and secondary sources. Finally we had a long discussion of how their thoughts had been changed by looking at the event from differing points of view. 

Next we made a big circle and everyone who wanted to speak about the more current troubles within the school had an opportunity to talk, The rule was that we each had to listen and not just be ready to refute the real feelings that would be revealed. By the end of the session the students were admitting to a new understanding of why certain groups felt angry and misunderstood. 

We humans are all too often afraid of honesty. We want to look away when we see a problem or point a finger at someone other than ourselves. We boast about being fair and just and then show disdain for anyone who has ideas different from our own. We shout across our divides rather than making a circle and quietly coming to grips with our differing feelings and beliefs. We fear the truth and gloss over the horrors of our past rather than reconciling our ancestral mistakes. We muzzle those who cry, “Wolf!” in an attempt to pretend that all is well. None of us like controversy but if we are ever to reach a level of self-actualization in our world, we will have to be unafraid to follow a vision of truth telling in all things.

My life is an amusement park. Some of my experiences have been quiet, tame and routine like a merry-go-round. I know what to expect from day to day, and even though there are a few ups and downs they aren’t so bad that I don’t enjoy the ride. Sometimes I feel as though I am on a ferris wheel where I get a bird’s eye view of the world below me. I feel a little butterfly in my stomach when I’m going down, but the ride to the top is thrilling and quite enjoyable. The roller coaster days throw me. I’m whipped around and I become wary and concerned when the car carrying me goes almost vertical as it rises higher and higher. I know that I am in for a big drop. I feel the danger coming and it is uncomfortable, foreboding. Nonetheless, I have somehow managed to survive all of those terrifying downward motions each time they have come. I’ve been able to eventually laugh and count myself lucky time and again. I’d have to say that all and all my journey from ride to ride has been fun.

I’d also say my life has been a mountain climb. The pathways are ever changing from almost level and smooth to steep inclines filled with rocks and even boulders in my way. The trip has never been straight, but rather comprised of a series of switchbacks that test my stamina and determination. The rewards have been breathtaking when I arrive at a lake hidden in a valley or look out from on high at a vista that is like nothing I have ever before seen. I have not yet reached the summit, but I see it up ahead and I keep marching ever higher, sometimes panting for air and more often just steadily overcoming all of the hazards along in my way. It is a glorious experience and even when I am so exhausted that I think I cannot go any farther, I know that I have it in me to push just a bit more. Up ahead there is surely something remarkable.

My life has been a tour of weather. Around where I live that means that within the same month I might feel the heat of the sun bearing down on me or storms blustering with high winds and destructive floods. A cold spell might show up at any time leaving me hungering for warmth. Just when I am reveling in the contentment of blue skies and perfect temperatures it all changes into a frightening situation. On the whole, however, the rain is soft and nourishing for my plants and my soul. The variety of hot and cold makes life interesting. I have learned how to hunker down when I need to do so. I’ve seen that the loss of things is not as big a deal as a disruption of relationships. I adapt and go with the flow of the winds.

I always say that I am not very good at putting together jigsaw puzzles, but that is not really the truth, because my life has been one gigantic puzzle. Sometimes it looks jumbled and I feel as though I am a misfit. Then in a burst of discovery pieces begin to fly together without much effort at all. I’ve had times when someone knocked over the completed sections of my puzzle and everything fell apart. I had to begin again. I had to deal with my anger and disappointment. I had to develop patience and persistence. I had to back far enough away to realize that I was actually making progress in becoming the person I want to be. 

Life is truly a metaphor or is a metaphor life? How does one ever really know other than to embrace the experiences even when they are not what we had hoped they would be. Every single one of us will endure challenges that seem unbearable. We will have heartbreaking losses. Happily, there always seems to be a balance. We will enjoy times that are glorious, unforgettable. Most of our days will feel ordinary, routine, and yet those may in fact be the best of our lives.

I suppose that I am about average when it comes to life. I’ve had my share of hardship, but when my life has been good, which is most of the time, it has been very very good. I have been lucky to be surrounded by lovely and compassionate people for all of my days. They have been there to comfort me and to celebrate my joys. I can’t say that I have ever been abused or betrayed. I have a gift of intelligence, and I say that not to brag, but in the humility of gratitude. My ability to learn has helped me to overcome even my darkest days. The support of the people in my life has assured me that I will never be stuck alone in a horrible situation. My life has been bountiful even when I had little money. I know how to survive and that pushes me up the mountain, helps me to repair the damage of the weather, keeps me working on the puzzle that sometimes frustrates me. 

I don’t believe that life is a bowl of cherries nor was it meant to be. There has never been any miracle or magic that keeps us from encountering sorrow. Instead, if we are lucky, we learn how to find joy wherever we are and whatever our circumstances may be. 

Fifty-three years ago I traveled with my new husband to New Orleans for our honeymoon. We stayed in the Monteleone Hotel in the French Quarter and spent the next many days touring the historic city. Eventually we found our way to the Cabildo, a museum located on Jackson Square near St. Louis Cathedral. As we were strolling through the displays I had the oddest feeling of deja vu. I kept telling my husband that I remembered being there before, even though I knew for certain that I had never once in my life journeyed to New Orleans. Still, I had an almost creepy sense of recall inside that building that made our visit there a source of anxiety. 

Once we were back in the fall sunshine and walking along the shops on Royal Street, I forget about the sense of deja vu that had overtaken me inside the Cabildo. We continued our trip joyfully and returned home to a whole new life together that would prove to be grand. I set aside the anxious feeling that I had experienced in the Cabildo and launched my adult life.

Years later my mother gave me a box of photographs and albums from the years when my father was still alive. The two of them had set out on a goal of seeing all of the United States and then eventually traveling the world. My mother had religiously recorded their wanderings with her Kodak Brownie camera. Before long I had been born and they were taking me along on their travels. There were photos of my mother holding me in front of the Statue of Liberty. Other pictures featured my father proudly hoisting me on his shoulder near the White House. It seems that I had been to more locales than I realized. 

As I continued gazing at the black and white images of my very young parents and me, I came upon an picture that surprised me. I was sitting in a stroller staring at the antique submarine that is housed in the Cabildo in New Orleans. I could not have been more than eighteen months old at that time, but I was gazing with great interest at the iron object in front of me. Somehow it must have fascinated me so much that I never quite forgot that I had seen it, even though I may not have understood what it was or where it was. I would not view it again until my honeymoon. 

Deja vu is that strange feeling that one has done something before even though it seems unlikely to be true. I suppose we’ve all experienced one or more such episodes in our lifetimes. Some very famous people like General Patton actually believed that he had lived on this earth in a prior time as a great warrior. For him, the sense of deja vu was simply evidence of another life that he had lived. Others believe that we get these sensations from images stored in our brains that may have come from movies, photos, or even dreams. They are not always real, but our minds are unable to unravel why they seem so familiar. 

There have been other times when I’ve had a vague sense that I have been somewhere before without being able to recall when that might have been. None of them have been as intense as that visit to the Cabildo on my honeymoon. Little wonder that it made me feel so uncomfortable. Something sparked in my brain and since I was unable to explain it, I felt strange and even anxious. 

I have always contended that we only use a small fraction of the power of our brains. I’ve often wondered if we will ever be able to unlock the full extent of the abilities that lie within our minds. We witness unique individuals who appear to have superseded the limits of thinking and creating. They are the gifted among us, those we call geniuses. Often even the families of such people have a difficult time explaining where the loved one’s abilities began. It is as though they have been born with the power of using aspects of their brains that the rest of us don’t even know exist. Maybe deja vu is simply a link to memories that are real, but most of us do not possess the awareness to understand where and how this information is stored. 

I have always been an observant person, a quality that can be both a blessing and a curse. I see small changes of expression in a person’s face that tell me when something is amiss in their lives. I notice the tiniest of details and somehow remember them as well. If the information that I am storing away seems important I know how to find it again when I need it. If it is insignificant it is left to languish in my mind forever or until something sparks my sense of recall. I suspect that those are my deja vu moments.

I find our brains to be fascinating. We have so much more to learn about them. I literally dream of the day when we will be able to repair them in much the same way as we mend a broken bone or fix a heart. I imagine a process that will reverse learning disabilities, cure addictions, wipe out mental illnesses. We just have to follow that thread of evidence found in sensations like deja vu and then locate the sectors of the brain that are responsible for the way we think and feel and remember. Unlocking the universe of our minds is a frontier that we need to further explore. 

These days it feels as though the heavens have dumped truckloads of lemons all over the world. I somehow think that we are well beyond the concept of making lemonade from the preponderance of tangy citrus that has rained down on our lives. I’d like to propose a different take on the old saw that when life gives us lemons we ought to make lemonade. My idea is to use every single part of those yellow orbs, not just the juice, to make the world a better place. 

I would begin by saving the seeds, planting them and growing new little plants that will hopefully thrive and one day bear fruit. I’d use the juice for supplying that little bit of tang that changes food from ordinary to delicious. Finally I’d save the peel to give zest to baked good or to bring a clean aroma into my home. A lemon provides so much more than lemonade. We can clean with it, cook with it, use it to bring highlights into our hair.

So it is with every challenge that we face in life. At first our difficulties feel overwhelming, as though we have been bombarded by troubles that we cannot possibly overcome. It’s perfectly normal and even good to allow ourselves time to grieve, be angry, withdraw into ourselves, rest. At some point, though, we have to reenter society, carry on, but not necessarily the way we once did. Hardships often convince us to make changes in our lives, to ponder how best to move forward perhaps in different ways. Sometimes from the worst of times, we evolve as stronger, better versions of ourselves. 

It’s important that we learn to adjust to the trials we must all face. We don’t have to pretend that we are content with loss or hurt, but we ultimately have to find ways to channel our emotions into constructive ways of continuing to be part of the world. At first we may only have the energy to set aside the lemons that have rained on us. Later we may be able to make a glass of lemonade to quench our thirst for a return to normalcy, happiness. At that moment it is important to be good to ourselves, but we cannot simply move on as though nothing has happened. We should never try to ignore the trauma we have endured. Faking joy can be destructive. We can’t just pretend and hope that we will feel better.

After a time the world itself will call on us to return to a semblance of productivity. It will be difficult. It will feel as though everyone around us is a mirage and we are caught in a place of horror from which we may never escape. That is when we need to plant those lemon seeds and have as much patience with them as we should have with ourselves. With the proper care one day they will sprout just as we will feel as though we have finally emerged from the fog and been reborn into life. 

Some of those seeds will make new plants and others may never propagate. The same will be true of our feelings. There will be days when we feels as though we are back to our old selves and ready to conquer anything. There will be times when we slip back into sorrow and wonder if we ever again will be quite the same. Such is the nature of overcoming the troubles that have befallen us. 

Eventually we will notice the delightful aroma of the lemon peel just as we will begin to enjoy the pleasures around us. We will genuinely laugh and feel the zest of happiness. Life tastes good once again. We know that those lemons have changed us and somehow even made us better, stronger, perhaps more compassionate toward others who have their own load of lemons falling from the sky. 

These are trying times. We humans have been bombarded by illness, death, attacks from nature, violence, political unrest, uncertainty at every turn. We seem to be literally tripping over lemons. We want to smash them, sweep them from our paths, throw them away, ban them from existence. Instead we have to find healthy, constructive ways of dealing with them, using them to make ourselves and others better. 

The best of times are those when we are kind to ourselves and then share that kindness with others. We can use those lemons to quench the thirst and enhance the joy of ourselves and those around us. We can turn the lemon challenge into inventive ways of living that benefit the world around us. The alternative is to allow our troubles to waste and rot into a toxic stew.

Take time with the lemons that befall you. Don’t try to rush the process of dealing with them. You don’t need to make lemonade right away. Have patience and be willing to try different things and one day you will finally feel better. 

October is coming and with it are ghosts and goblins and witches and scary skeletons. Not that any of those things cause me to be frightened. I don’t believe in the first three and when I see a skeleton I think of doctors, hospitals, science. It’s fascinating to see the structure of our bones that protect our organs and allow us to move about when joined with muscles and ligaments. I’ll never quite understand why the bones of human anatomy are part of the lore of monsters and horror. 

I am always in awe of the human body. It is amazing how all of the parts work together when they are healthy and in alignment. I have a particular affinity to bones because mine are afflicted with the disease of osteoporosis which makes them weaker and more likely to break. I’ve been fighting for decades to keep them from deteriorating and my success has been limited. It is within the construction of my bones that my greatest fear lies. I worry that one day they will force me into a state of immobility. I dread the idea of being wheelchair bound like three of my aunts ultimately became. 

I am jealous of those who stand tall and whose skeletons are rock solid. Mine is thin and riddled with holes. Now there is a noticeable bow on my back and I worry that I may break a hip or fracture my spine, things that happened to my aunts over time. LIke me they were active incredibly healthy women save for the silent disease eating away at their bones, making them thin and weak. They did not have the knowledge of osteoporosis that I have. Nor did they have the kind of medications that I have used to both grow bones and slow down their process of deterioration. In that regard I know that I am quite fortunate, but still my imagination sometimes runs wild and it is like being in a horror movie to watch my spine becoming disfigured. 

I suppose that we all enjoy being independent, able to live as though we are forever young. I like to walk and used to like to run. I have no fear of climbing ladders or hiking up a mountain, and yet over time I have had to forego so many of the activities of my youth. I suppose that this is the inevitable march of time for each of us. Still, I suspect that many are like me in still being able to vividly recall dressing up for Halloween as a little witch or perhaps tossing a sheet over the head to be a ghost. Somehow in spite of the decades that pass we have moments when we feel as though we are still eight or nine years old. We close our eyes and suddenly we are kids again running joyfully and innocently from house to house with paper bags filled with candy treats. Oh, how nice it was to be so innocent and unaware of the the many challenges that we would one day face!

When I see a skeleton that is supposed to belong in a house of horrors I can only smile. It is almost a happy object for me. I have visions of a chorus line of skeletons dancing in unison. Their ghoulish grins delight me. They are fun, not frightening. Best of all they are whole and healthy and interesting. Each part serves a very specific purpose that allows us to perform tasks that make us unique among living things, particularly our hands. 

Those phalanges are glorious. With them we create and we build. They help us make music and draw. We write with them and set our words and our stories in stone. We join them together in embraces and prayer. There is a magnificence in the simplicity and potential of our hands. To me they are the most beautiful aspect of our bodies even when they are wrinkled and careworn. Obviously they are more complex than just a collection of bones, but it is from that foundational structure that some of our most creative abilities flow. The hands along with our minds allow us to demonstrate the compassion of our hearts. What could be less scary?

Halloween comes the night before All Souls Day. While it seems to be a creepy celebration of the dead to me it is really about life. Done right it is fun and a way of acknowledging that none of us are immortal but all of us delight in having fun. On Halloween we laugh at our fear of death and turn that worry into a true focus on living our best lives. We face our mortality squarely in the eyes and decide to make it a matter of joy. We seize the day, enjoy the moment, thumb our noses at the seeming shortness of life. That makes those skeletons interesting, not scary at all.