Category: Commentary

I like being happy. God knows that I have had enough sorrow and difficulty in my life. I try to see the good in all people and remain optimistic even in the face of unbearable challenges. I have often written of my belief in the innate goodness of people. I truly believe that we humans may falter at times but when things get tough we rise to the occasion. I generally ignore negativity and I’m someone who enjoys children and puppies and flowers. Nonetheless I am not naive. I know that there is an underbelly to society that we sometimes encounter. I do my best to stand up for what I believe to be right but I don’t like the idea of being preachy because I have learned that most folks have their beliefs and opinions from which they are rarely swayed. Still I often wonder when it becomes imperative to speak truths, defend those being abused. One of the biggest questions of my life has been what I would have done if I had lived in Germany when my neighbors were being taken to concentration camps. Would I have been too afraid to speak out? Would I have looked the other way?

I tend to avoid conflict and ignore flaws in people. I prefer calm and a certain ignorance of people’s beliefs. Knowing too much can weaken relationships but then without really understanding a person our connections are actually rather superficial. I do not mind if my opinions differ from someone and I enjoy a good debate that is devoid of personal attack. I am very much a free thinker. In fact I probably spend too much time contemplating the nature of the world around me. It is a habit that can lead to enlightenment but also sorrow because reality sometimes really does bite. 

I decided to tone down my rhetoric about the state of our country and our world beginning with the new year. I realized that I was only talking to the choir and sometimes losing long cherished associations with those whose viewpoints are diametrically opposed to mine. I embarked on a peace-keeping mission attempting to mend fences and keep most of my opinions to myself. I wrote about frivolous things, fun things. 

It worked for a time but events of importance just refused to mirror the calm that I was trying to impose on myself. It was gut wrenching to watch the assault on democracy that took place on January 6, and I wondered if remaining silent would do irreparable harm to the country. I had mixed emotions watching the impeachment proceedings but mostly I was disappointed that few of our elected leaders were willing to consider the facts and follow their own consciences rather than a party line. I longed for another time when both Democrats and Republicans searched for truth and fought for the good of the United States, not Richard Nixon. Nonetheless I decided to mainly keep my peace and say very little even as I wondered if this was a moment when I actually needed to speak. Is this how it was for Germans seeing their country destroyed by a dictator? Is this why so few of them spoke out?

This past month we had an unusual freeze throughout the state of Texas. Most of us lost power for days and it was extremely cold. As with all things I adapted. I wore layers of clothing during the day and slept under mountains of blankets at night. I made do with what had been sent my way but I also know that it should not have happened but for the unwillingness of state leaders to invest in infrastructures and improvements that would have kept the power going. I decided not to complain too much and instead remember what had happened the next time I go to the polls. In spite of my resolve I knew that I was growing quite weary and hoping for some respite from all of the political bickering. 

March had no sooner dawned than the governor of our fine state of Texas decided to unilaterally remove the mask mandate and allow all businesses to open once again at one hundred percent capacity. Suddenly my ire rose to a fever pitch in my chest because I saw no reason to endanger the people of my state with such an irresponsible dictate. I spoke out and announced that I would continue to wear a mask and urged others to do so as well. You would have thought that I had suggested that people lose their right to vote or their freedom of speech. I was lambasted for even suggesting such a thing and told to stay home if I am afraid or, better yet, to move to another state.

Aside from the fact that a more common sense approach to normalcy might have been made in a phased in fashion my main concern at this point is how many angry individuals there are now who would so callously suggest that I am somehow a coward who just needs to hide myself away. It does not seem to occur to them that the simple act of wearing a mask is a loving thing that we do not as much for ourselves as for those that we encounter in our daily wanderings. 

I have actually been vaccinated but it is possible that I might contract COVID and be asymptomatic. If I wear a mask I am protecting others, not myself. If we all wear masks we keep others safe. It is a mutual sacrifice that we do to attempt to insure the health of everyone, especially those not yet fortunate enough to have received the vaccine. What would have been the problem with leaving the mask mandate in force until a more sizable number of citizens had received the shots? Things were going well. We were moving in the direction of recovery and doing it together. Our efforts were a good thing, not a punishment. Now all of the months of sacrifice will be undone and for no really good reason. Mask wearing was not closing down businesses. It was actually helping them to stay open and vibrant. 

I’m as uncomfortable in masks as anyone. I don’t like the way they feel but I enjoy the security that they bring to public situations. I want to know that we are making every possible effort to keep the virus under control until we ultimately reach a level of herd immunity with the vaccine. It is the same kind of effort that the world has made in the past to eradicate polio, measles, mumps, chickenpox, and smallpox. 

I often reiterate a story from my grandfather’s youth. Before the dawn of the twentieth century he as a young man whose father and stepmother were struck with smallpox. The law of the land back then required the whole family to lock down in strict quarantine. They even had to hire an armed guard to insure that nobody came into or left the house. For many weeks Grandpa cared for the household and ordered food and supplies via the guard who would place the parcels inside the perimeter of the property but would not even go to the door of the home. Eventually a vaccine virtually eradicated smallpox from the face of the earth but my grandfather never forgot how horrific it had been nor the measures that people had to take to protect others from contracting it. I never really understood the moral of his story until COVID reared its ugly head last year.

We need to stop our bickering and agree to do whatever may work to get the virus under total control. We must calm down, look around and see who needs our help. We will not get out of this unscathed and our wealth and possessions will mean nothing if we are not willing to share them with those who have little. Our country is troubled whether people want to hear that or not. We can begin to heal it and its people but it will require us to look both inward and outward and demand that we all be responsible. We are in this together whether we like it or not.

My husband is a handsome man. He has a noble face and caring eyes that are mirrors of his soul. His hands are beautiful with the kind of long tapered fingers of an artist or craftsman. Much like his mother and grandmother his hair began to grey when he was still in his twenties and now it is a beautiful white hue as pure as his own guilelessness. He has packed on a few pounds over time but when I met him he was tall and slender and gorgeous in every aspect of his appearance. He has a sonorous and pleasing voice that might have landed him a job as a radio or television broadcaster if he had decided to follow such a career. He is brilliant and well read and wise but none of his physical or mental traits are as wonderful as his soul, which is honest and good and as near perfection as anyone I have ever known.

My husband is a truly good man. From the time we married I have known that I can count on him in any situation. I trust him more than anyone in the world because over the course of more than fifty years he has proven to be faithful and loyal in an almost innocent way. He is highly principled and never deviates from the morals that guide his every moment. He will not even fudge when it comes to following his conscience but he’s not self-righteous in the least and he is open minded and non-judgmental about how people choose to live their lives. He is generous and always willing to sacrifice and give to those less fortunate than himself and best of all he does so quietly. He is not a man who toots his own horn. He does good things for people often without their even knowing he has done so. 

My husband loves people without reservation. He embraces everyone he meets without seeming to notice or care about their flaws. Everyone is beautiful to him unless he learns that they are cruel or dishonest. He will not abide by fakery and has no trouble walking away from people who pretend to be good but are actually villains. He does not dwell on such folks. He simply eliminates them from his life.

My husband does not worry about what others may think of him. He is confident in his own skin and when he makes a decision it is usually after great thought. He does not concern himself with trying to impress others. He is comfortable with just being himself and in turn embraces the people around him just as they are. 

Many years ago he participated in a series of psychological tests as part of his job. The results indicated that he would be happy working in a refrigerator box with a bare light bulb. He does not require external accouterments to enjoy what he is doing. Furthermore the test demonstrated that he is firm in following his principles and quite likely to adhere to his beliefs even under extreme pressure. I find this to be perhaps his most attractive trait in a world where people so often bow to cult like behaviors. 

I know how fortunate I am to have this man in my life. In the beginning I was attracted to his looks, the trendy clothes that he wore. Over time I enjoyed our conversations which he elevated with his incredible knowledge of history and how things work. Eventually it was his innate dedication to truth and honor that made me swoon. Over the course of fifty years he has loved deeply, not just me, but my mother, our daughters, my brothers, my cousins and my friends. He has treated me as his equal and supported all of my crazy ideas and tempestuous moments. He is patient with my idiosyncrasies and encouraging with my dreams. He patiently calms me when my own more combustible and competitive personality goes into overdrive. 

There is a sweetness about my husband but he also enjoys a wicked laugh and he’s not above slinging cuss words when he gets frustrated. He is far from being a prude and sometimes I have to nudge him to curb his earthiness depending on who is around. We have enjoyed some great times with friends who appreciate his wild side which is fun but never hurtful to anyone. He can be a boy scout and altar boy but he also has a down to earth fun loving wild side that keeps him real.

Is my husband a perfect man? Of course not. Nobody is, but he comes close and is the reason that we have such a long standing and strong relationship. He is the anchor who holds down the ship while my creative and sometimes volatile spirit runs wild. 

It might have been difficult to spend a year in isolation with a man whose only claim to fame was good looks. Attractiveness is a fading glory that wrinkles and bends and loses its luster over time. My husband has something even better, a soul that is eternally optimistic and wise and above all kind. He sees the people of the world as his brothers and sisters regardless of how different they may be from him. It is so easy and so wonderful to spend time with him even when we just sit in silence because his true beauty shines through everything he does. This is who he is and it is glorious. 

I was teaching religion to a group of five years olds on Wednesday afternoons. It was a small class filled with very sweet youngsters the same age as my eldest daughter. I was still in my twenties and filled with boundless energy and wild ideas for setting the world on fire, but first I wanted to do something for my church, and so I had volunteered to be an instructor in one of the classes. 

Midway through the school year the director of the program called me to her office and said that she was trying to place another parishioner into one of the classes as an aide. She wondered if I would like to have a bit of assistance with my crew of kindergarteners. She suggested that I might also be a good mentor for the woman who one day hoped to have a class of her own. I was intrigued by the idea of being called upon to help train a future teacher and so I accepted the offer without having any idea of how enormously that decision would impact the rest of my life.

I called my new assistant later that week to get to know her as well as to briefly outline my classroom procedures. I tended to operate in a kind of fly by the seat of my pants, highly flexible method of preparing for each class. I soon learned that the woman who would be helping me wanted a more structured, almost scripted outline of the lesson that she might study before each scheduled meeting. With that in mind she asked me to come to her home for a planning session. 

Her name was Pat and she was about seven years older than I was. In other words she had a maturity that I had yet to master as someone still experimenting with adulthood in my twenties. She lived in a gorgeous upscale home that she had meticulously decorated with carefully chosen furniture and art. I felt a bit overwhelmed upon entering her domain and wondered why I, who lived in a house filled with hand me downs from relatives, had been chosen to guide an obviously far more accomplished woman than I was.

I learned that Pat had been a registered nurse and that she was married to a NASA engineer. She had two young children who were as young as my own but she had not become a mother until she was well established in her career. She did everything with the meticulousness of a charge nurse, taking notes and asking critical questions. I had thought that she would simply show up each week for the class and I would use her skills to corral frisky children and pass out supplies for the crafts. Suddenly I realized that having her as my aide was going to greatly increase the amount of work that I would have to do each week. I was not so certain that this was going to work. Also, I found that I was intimidated by her polish and experience. It felt as though ours was an upside down partnership and that she should have been the person in charge and I the follower. 

Pat seemed blissfully unaware that I was internally struggling and feeling like a bit of a misfit. She worked hard to be more than just a “go for” in my classroom. Together we began to have a great deal of fun each Wednesday when we met with the children and each week when we met to plan the lessons. Before long Pat was generously inviting me and my family to dinners at her home or suggesting at we take our children on outings. Our relationship deepened little by little and when the school year was over we both realized that we had become friends. 

Over the years our husbands became the best of buddies who held such interesting round table conversations about all facets of the world that we joked that they should have their own televised talk show. (I still think that it would have been a hit.) Our children became like siblings and Pat and I became like sisters. Our differing personalities complimented each other and we continually learned about ourselves and the world around us just from hanging together. 

We went on trips together and created and shared traditions with our families. Our doors were always open and dropping in unannounced became a routine. Pat taught me how to keep some kind of goodie in the pantry or freezer to prepare with a pot of coffee or tea whenever she or another friend or relative stopped by my home. She showed me how to do a fifteen minute house cleaning if someone called and said they were coming. It involved swishing the toilet in the bathroom, cleaning the countertops in the kitchen and tossing all of the misplaced shoes and other items into a bedroom with the door closed. She introduced me to places in my own city that I had never before known and she demonstrated how to have a “rainbow day” in a moments notice. 

I always imagined growing old with Pat and her husband Bill and her children. She was the sister that I had never had. Both of us could be ourselves with one another with no filters, no pretense. We were the yin and yang together. Perhaps that Director of Religious Education had possessed a wisdom that I did not realize at the time. Somehow she understood that placing Pat in my classroom out of all the others was the right thing to do. I have always wondered how she could have known that things would work out so well. 

When that same Director of Religious Education moved to another city she submitted my name as her replacement. I enjoyed three years as the first lay person to be in charge of guiding the children of our little Catholic community. Eventually I wanted to be a regular classroom teacher and I had the honor of suggesting that my one time aide, Pat, be given the directorship of the religious program at the church. I would spend the next forty years of my life teaching everything from fourth grade to Algebra II and finally becoming a Dean of Faculty. Pat would retire as the longest running director of the religious education program the church ever had. Our friendship would evolve into the kind of love that sisters have for each other. 

Pat developed cancer and fought a battle with it for years. In the end that dread disease was the only thing capable of dampening her energy and enthusiasm. When she died I felt lost and in some ways I still do. We were confidants, soulmates, the best of friends. I miss being able to drive up to her house and knock on the door anytime I wished. Now, it is her daughter who brings Pat’s light to me. It is as though Pat has become an angel watching over all of us and it all began with a meeting to plan a few lessons.

We all know of many people who left the world a little better than it already was. I suppose that it is natural to want to make a difference in this life. We tend to think that only big achievements like leading a movement for justice or finding a cure for a dreaded disease are the types of accomplishments that really matter, but the truth is that small things are some of the greatest things. Sometimes it is that very quiet person that few notice who is doing the most to improve our human condition. 

When I think about my own life there are tiny moments that left the most impact on me. I remember my mother and her total devotion to me and my brothers throughout our lifetimes. I recall the time when my Aunt Polly visited me at school and saw that I had ants on my food. She not only took care of me that day but made sure that the school permanently ridded itself of the ants. I think of Mrs. Barry helping me when my mother first became so ill with bipolar disorder by driving us to a downtown hospital emergency room. I carry an image of my Uncle William changing my little brother’s wet pants on the day of my father’s death when most of the adults thought we were just oblivious little kids unaware of what had happened. I feel thankful for my friend Cappy who called to see how I was doing after my second vaccine for Covid-19 because she had sensed that I was a bit anxious. I appreciate Carol who phones me whenever she notices that I am becoming a bit overly concerned about something. My list of people who have made the world happier and more compassionate might go on for thousands of pages. It would be difficult to name all of the kind gestures I have experienced like the gift of a plant from Linda and Mickey when they saw that I was confined to my house during the pandemic or a call all the way from India from Zerin just to say hello.

All of the everyday, ordinary acts of courage or honesty or love are what makes the world a better place. Taken together they morph into a movement that quietly overtakes the negativity that so often threatens to drown us in anger and cynicism. There is indeed more than a fair share of ugliness in this world but it is far outpaced by the goodness that is literally everywhere. 

Right now I see a young man on my street playing with his little brother. Surely the joy that they are exchanging with each other will make life better not just for the two of them but for me as well. Watching them bolsters my optimism and chases away the distrust that is far too easy to find these days. 

How many people arise faithfully each morning to travel to work that seems rather ordinary but is crucial to the smooth running of the wheels of commerce and industry? We take what they do for granted until they are suddenly absent and duties pile up, things get left undone. We miss their smiles, their jokes, their stories, their dedication. They may seem like tiny cogs but if even one of them breaks the system does not run as smoothly as we wish it to do.

We have seen how essential each of our workers are during the pandemic. In fact, it seems as though everyone is essential, and they are. We need our doctors and nurses and the crews that keep our medical facilities clean. We need teachers and bankers and truck drivers and plumbers. We now know the importance of each individual. We can see how they indeed leave the world better by their presence and their actions. 

I know that I have made a general difference in this world just from being a mom, a wife, a daughter a friend and a teacher. It would like to think that somehow I have impacted someone in an important way. From time to time I have had people tell me about the meaningful changes I brought to their lives but what I really want to leave behind is compassion, integrity, and example. I try to model the behaviors that I most value. I’m not always the best, but I keep trying.  When I become angry or lose patience I simply start over again. I’m a firm believer in second, third, one hundredth chances. 

We can’t all be as incredible as Mother Teresa or Albert Einstein but we don’t have to be that outstanding to put a mark on the earth. Our influence may appear to wane quickly once we die. One day we may appear only a name on a family tree but if we really think about it each of us is an important link in history.

I often consider my great grandfather who fought for the Union Army during the Civil War. I would never know him personally, but knowing of him taught me about patriotism, loyalty and courage. I saw his impact on his daughter, my grandmother, and hers on my father. I in turn pass down the traditions and the stories from them to my children and grandchildren. I teach my family members who these people whose DNA they share were and how they made a difference in so many lives and ultimately in our own.

I recently saw an amazing photograph of a woman approaching one hundred years old who had spent time in a concentration camp during World War II. She was surrounded by almost a hundred people who were her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and great great grandchildren. That one life that survived terror and went on to demonstrate the glorious resiliency of life will exponentially change the world for decades and hopefully centuries to come. That is how we make a difference. That is how we leave our mark. 

I rarely think about the possibility of my own death. Instead I have become a bit too worried about losing others, my family members and friends. I suppose it is a natural thing to do in a year like we have endured of late. Each week seems to bring news of people near and dear to us leaving this earth either from the virus that stalks us or other causes that often have a link to the upending of normalcy in our current state. At the age of seventy two I have had to more and more often face the prospect of human mortality and I honestly fear the deaths of others far more than the idea of meeting my own end on this earth. 

My doctor recently told me that I neither look nor act like my age which is mostly true but sometimes I find myself having conversations with friends that might have horrified me only a few years ago. We speak of our weak bladders and fragile bones. We discuss whether or not it would be a good idea to install grab bars in the shower and wonder if this may have been the last Christmas when I should climb back and forth into my attic bringing down decorations for my home. We laugh as we realize that we have become the old joke of sounding like our parents as we speak of topics that would have held little interest for us five years ago. We number our peers who have already died and feel a bit rattled when the baby brothers and sisters who annoyed us a children pass away. We understand that our own expiration dates are drawing nearer and that we need to make the most of whatever amount of time we have left. 

I remember my mother-in-law in her very practical and businesslike way tutoring my husband on her will and what needed to be done in the event of her death. It used to annoy me in all honesty that she wanted us to think of such things instead of just enjoying life and worrying about funerals and such whenever the time arose. Still I have dark memories of my own mother at the age of thirty walking through the grounds of a cemetery in a zombie like daze attempting to find a final resting place for my thirty three year old father. She always urged me to take care of such things long before I would need them so that I would not have to endure the pain and confusion of such a dire duty. So when I was only in my twenties I invested in cemetery plots for me and my husband. 

Now so many people prefer the idea of cremation and instead of having funerals they plan memorial gatherings that are upbeat and celebratory. The ones that I have attended are delightful affairs that bring people together to remember a person who was dear to them. I like the idea behind them but still want the final prayers and blessings of my Catholic faith to be part of my send off whenever that may come. As far as the other conventional trappings my theory is to keep them as simple and inexpensive as possible. The cost of burying someone has become almost as ridiculous as the weddings that are more expensive than a college education. I’m all for simplicity as long as people have a moment to grieve and laugh and remember together after someone is gone. 

Wakes are the part of the final send off that are the most meaningful to me. They give people who have never even met one another the opportunity share their memories of the deceased. It is a rare moment in which we get to see the totality of a person’s impact on others, not just the sliver of our own experience. It amazes me how meaningful every single moment of existence can be as a vivid picture of life unfolds in the stories that are told about an individual. It always makes me wish that we had made our pronouncements while that person was still alive and able to learn of all the love and enjoyment that he/she had brought to so many people. I often wonder why we wait until death to open our hearts and share. 

My brothers and daughters and I decided to give my mother a surprise party on her eightieth birthday. We believed that she would surely be one of those people who lasted until well into her nineties so our purpose was not so much to celebrate her life while we were still able to do so, but to give her the gift of knowing how much we appreciated all of the sacrifices she had made for us. For that reason we asked each of the guests to write a letter to her describing how she had impacted them. Happily we received touching responses from mostly everyone which we put together in a lovely binder. It was our way of quietly celebrating the joy that my mother had brought to everyone she encountered. 

We still have that binder with those letters to hand down to our children and grandchildren and great grandchildren so that they will know the glory of the woman from whom they descended. We had little idea that less than four years later our beloved mother would die. We had no thought to what a treasure that party and those letters would ultimately become for all of us. We literally have a written record of our mama’s impact on the world and it is a lovely gift.

My only living aunt is now over one hundred years old. Death is very much on her mind as she spends her final years in a nursing home. Whenever we visit she asks us about heaven and gets a faraway look in her eyes as though she is wondering when her moment of leaving the earth will come. She once told my mother that she worried that she would live so long that there would be nobody left to attend her funeral. She did not think about the legacy of children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and great great grandchildren that she has created. She did not consider the nieces and nephews who so profoundly love her. She will be celebrated most assuredly but perhaps it would be even nicer to let her know right now how important she is to each of us. 

I don’t know what people will say about me when I am gone. I would like to think that they will remember me as someone who was kind and compassionate because I try so hard to be that way. I hope that they will know how much I loved them and how important their well being always was to me. I want to believe that somehow my life had meaning and purpose. Mostly I want everyone to feel happy in knowing that all of the goodness in my life came from knowing and being with them.