Category: Commentary

When my grandmother was in her late eighties her beautiful blue eyes became cloudy from cataracts that she never bothered to remove. There was no Medicare back then and she and my grandfather lived on a rather small income, so I suppose she just learned to put up with diminished eyesight. Sadly it affected her ability to see when she was doing everyday tasks. We soon learned to be very careful when eating her food because sometimes things turned up in her dishes that were not supposed to be there. A stray bit of this and that found their way into what had before been her five star recipes. My mother showed me and my brothers how to be polite if we encountered something, but it made me sad to see her losing her sight. She was a culinary artist who also created incredible quilts, embroidered dainties and beautiful handmade dresses. Somehow all of that was lost for her in the last years of her life. 

My mother and her siblings never had cataracts but I knew that my chances of getting them might be affected by the fact that I seem to be quite genetically matched to my grandmother. Recently my doctor noted that I had cataracts forming on both eyes and before long one was ready to be removed. 

The process was incredibly quick under the steady hand of my ophthalmologist. It was the aftermath that required a bit more effort. I had to have four different kinds of drops put into my eye four times a day for a week. Then it tapered off until I was down to one medication once a week in the fourth week after the surgery. Additionally, I was not allowed to drive, bend over or pick up any objects heavier than ten pounds for at least two weeks. The doctor suggested that my best bet of a good recovery would be to spend my time reading and watching television. 

I certainly love to read and having an excuse to do so sounded wonderful, but I am also an energetic soul who was soon chomping at the bit to get back to my normal routines. It took a great deal of effort and patience on my part to just slow down and enjoy that fact that I would not be partially blind like my grandmother had been. I also had to learn how to chill and like it. 

I am admittedly concerned about the state of my nation, namely the United States, so I spent a great deal of time reading about the daily happenings. To say that it was depressing would be an understatement. I found myself uploading a great deal of anger as I learned more and more about the chaos that Donald Trump has inflicted on our nation. I began to worry if we will ever be able to stop his destruction and if we will be able to repair the damage he has done if and when his rule ever ends. 

I suspect that we are in for a season of hurt but there are also brave and patriotic souls risking their own safety by pushing back, launching legal actions and revealing truths. Among them is Stephen Colbert who has used his penchant for witty repartee to expose the weaknesses of our president. In the spirit of humorous individuals who have remarked on societies for all of human history, he found ways to unabashedly point out the crudity and hypocrisy of Trump and his minions. I have enjoyed his nightly monologues and admired both his brilliance and bravery. Accordingly I was quite sad to learn that his show will end soon and he will no longer be delighting us with his late night editorials. 

The bedrock of our freedom of speech has always been found in the wit and wisdom of authors, journalists and entertainers. Stephen Colbert is part of a long tradition of using humor to comment on society. Oscar Wilde, Mark Twain, and George Carlin came before him and even in times past were not always given a wide berth to say whatever came to their minds. Nonetheless I had truly hoped that we had progressed enough that someone like Stephen Colbert would not be silenced out of fear of a president like Trump. Sadly, Donald Trump has shown over and over again how thin his skin is. He can’t take a joke or accept any kind of criticism. He hates Barack Obama because of a joke at a roast that made fun of him. He threatens over and over again to shut down people when they speak what is on their minds. He tells Republicans that he will come after them if they do not bow to his demands. He is an authoritarian whose playbook is filled with vengeance. 

I am incredibly disappointed with journalism and media today. Trump’s hold over what is said or published is unhealthy for our freedoms and our democracy. Whether he likes it or not we have the right to disagree openly with him. I would expect newspapers, media giants and individuals to stand up to him like Stephen Colbert has done. The temerity of our press and Republicans is frightening because if we do not all stand up for our rights, our nation is doomed. We cannot let this continue without protest and we should all know that. CBS can make whatever excuse they wish for ridding themselves of Stephen Colbert but we are not stupid. We understand what has really happened.

We’d better voice our disapproval now or regret our loss of freedoms in the future. This is how nations lose their moral compass and fall into an abyss of evil. History has shown us this time and again. Will we do what we can to make sure that it does not happen here or will we cower in fear while the country that we pass on to our children becomes forever changed.? Stephen Colbert showed us what to do. We cannot look away now. 

It’s difficult to describe why those of us who live in Texas treasure the Hill Country in the center of our state. Little wonder that President Lyndon Johnson enjoyed entertaining princes and potentates on his ranch in the area. The Hill Country is a wild and beautiful place that has enchanted those who visit or live there for decades. It has a haunting beauty but those of us who have grown old in Texas remember how rugged life can be there. It has historically been challenged by fires and floods, droughts and hardships. 

Many who live there have been living under a strict burn ban for years even as they understand that if the rains come in quick and heavy bursts flash floods may threaten the serenity that attracts so many visitors and settlers to the area. It is a little heaven on earth that can become hell in the blink of an eye.

A few years back there was a flash flood in a small town called Wimberly along the Blanco River that washed homes away from their foundations, killing multiple souls gathered there for a holiday. At a campground where my husband and I have enjoyed peaceful nights there are signs warning campers to leave immediately if a siren begins to blare. It never occurred to me that the peaceful little river running through the camp might be capable of becoming deadly but the reality is that it has done so more than once. 

I’ve also camped along the Guadelupe River which is usually known for its happy souls tubing on hot summer days. In some years he river is so shallow that there is hardly a trickle of water to move the bathers from one place to another. On July fourth in the middle of the night it became a deadly wall of rushing water that rose to historic heights in only a matter of minutes. The loss of lives and property has somehow put a sickening mark on the whole area that is traditionally a summer retreat. 

I’ll be heading to the Hill County in early August to do some dog sitting. My daughter’s home is located high in the neighborhood but whenever I go there I find myself listening for sirens proclaiming the danger of fire or flood. Both have happened nearby her place and sometimes I worry that one day her little parcel of paradise will feel the wrath of nature and climate change that seems to be getting ever more furious and dangerous with each passing year. 

If there are two things that frighten me more than anything it is being caught in a fire or a raging river. Either way would be terrifying to me and so I get a sick feeling when I think of the people young and old whose last moments were spent in such horror. Sadly climate disasters are becoming ever more commonplace and frightening. Areas that never before experienced devastation are feeling the wrath of storms and wildfires. Most of them are the truly beautiful places that have lured us to come rest for awhile.

I am one of those people who plans for difficult times. I was ready with masks and all kinds of supplies when Covid hit. Because I live in a town frequently plagued by hurricanes and storms I have a ladder that I can use to escape from the upstairs of my home if water inundates the downstairs. I have an axe in my attic in case we have to climb up there and get out by way of the roof. There was a flood in my area many years ago that forced people to sit on their rooftops waiting to be rescued. I learned from their stories that if they had not had something to create a hole in the roof they would have been trapped inside their homes. I got the supplies that I hope I never need after reading about that. 

I suppose that I may sound a bit neurotic worrying about such things especially by those who still seem to believe that climate change is neither real or a problem. I would say to them that we need to begin taking such issues seriously. Events of the present time are warnings for us all. We not only have the opportunity to prepare for massive weather events but we can also begin to do everything possible to stall the march of climate disasters. Our sacrifices might mean the difference between losing precious lives and saving them. 

Each year here in Texas I think of horrific events like hurricane Harvey that left Houston under water after five days of constant rain. I remember the tragedy of the 1900 storm in Galveston. Now the Fourth of July will be bittersweet as I recall the horror of the Guadelupe River’s impact on thousands of innocents. 

I don’t know what it is going to take for all of us to realize that we have to start investing in ways to prevent, predict and warn of the horrors that may come our way. Life is precious. Our land is precious. People don’t have to die unnecessarily if we make the sacrifices of taking precautions. The scarred terrain in what had once been a little Shangri-La should remind us of how fragile our earth and the people on it are. 

Meanwhile my heart is heavy for the good people who lost so much. We owe it to them to work to make certain that we will do everything possible to attempt to prevent a repeat of the horror they have endured. 

“How we look at others is what counts, because it shows what is in our hearts, We can look and walk by, or we can look and be moved with compassion.”  —-Pope Leo

When I was six years old I travelled with my family to Wisconsin. It was quite beautiful there and we were enjoying a drive through stunning scenery when my father spotted a sign in front of a little country store touting the many varieties of cheese that they sold. My one year old brother was sound asleep so my mother insisted that only my father would go inside to select a few varieties to enjoy as we continued our travels. 

Thanks to my first grade teacher I had become a rather advanced reader so I was stunned when I saw a placard above the entryway into the place. It really bothered me to see the announcement that no dogs or Indians were allowed. I registered my shock to my mother who did her best to explain how some people harbor prejudice against native Americans but I wasn’t buying her attempts to console me. Everything that I had learned in my religion class flew in the face of such a grotesque announcement and I felt so sad that my excitement about the cheese devolved into a lack of appetite. 

Of course I had seen the restrictions for Black citizens back in my home town in the south and had drawn the conclusion that such treatment was also wrong. I was only six years old and I had a moral sense of right and wrong, so it bothered me that adults would look at people unlike themselves and have no problem seeing them as inferior and somehow unworthy of the same kind of treatment as white people. I understood even as a child that it was wrong to simply accept the cruelty that seemed to be so rampant in the world. Everything about what I had learned indicated that the adults around me should have felt as outraged as I did but I was a polite child who remained silent without ever forgetting how I felt upon seeing yet more evidence of prejudice.

I suppose that I will never understand how anyone can look at another human who is being mistreated and simply stay silent and walk away. it took me a long time to develop the courage to speak out and I suppose that I am using the talent that my Catholic school teachers helped me to develop to protest with my writing. Still, I feel that there has to be more that I might do. 

I have a long history of protesting and I have continued to use gatherings of like minded individuals to call attention to my frustration and anger in seeing how immigrants to our nation are being treated. What we are doing to them in the name of law is outrageously horrific, so I fail to understand how anyone can find an excuse to condone it. I want badly to take part in the protests that will occur today in cities all across America but my scheduled cataract surgery coincides with the event. All I can do for the moment is express my anger that people whose only so called “crime’ is to want a good life for themselves and their families are being harassed and mistreated with profound evilness.

Most of the people being rounded up have no history of crime. They have jobs, pay taxes and are not eligible for many government services other than schooling for their children. They are doing jobs that are important to our economy that few of us would want to do. There is no reason for masked ICE enforcers with no IDs to be picking them up from schools, workplaces and even hospitals and schools. It reeks of profound ugliness and fascist tactics. 

The places where these individuals are being sent are even worse. They are concentration camps by definition. Those in charge of such installations seem to take great pleasure in flaunting the horrors that the immigrants will face there. The lack of human compassion is stunning and most of us know it to be so and yet we are incredibly frustrated in our efforts to make it stop. It feels just like it did when I was a powerless child. My instincts tell me that we all need to do more. We have to raise our voices and do everything possible to protect these innocent souls. 

The people of Germany looked away when Jews were being packed into trains and sent to camps where most of them would eventually die. We Americans would do well to heed history and not risk one day bearing the stain of our inaction. We have to make it very clear on a daily basis that we will not stand for the inhumane treatment that is unfolding before our eyes. We can look and walk by as Pope Leo says or we can look and be moved with compassion. Stopping with good feelings, however, will not be enough. We must do everything possible to register our contempt for what is happening and for the people who are making it happen. We must do our best to make it stop. There is no excuse for silence or inaction. 

I’ve spent the day reading the current news, cleaning house, and doing exercises for my knees and spine. Somehow along the way I found myself wondering why anyone would want to go back in time. I began to think about how different my experiences would be without the progress that has greatly improved life for me and so many people. I began to contemplate how dangerous it is that that much that we have accomplished is being threatened by folks who seem intent on yearning for an era long past. 

It’s extremely hot outside in Texas in July. I’ve been able to water my yard and my plants with a few commands to my smart phone which plays a huge role in making my days so much easier than they once were. Aside from taking care of my flowers, my phone allowed me to learn about the death of a wonderful woman who had an enormous impact on my life. I was also able to send a quick message to my daughter about my upcoming cataract surgery along with ordering household supplies that will be delivered to my front door. All of theses things took under a minute to achieve but there is so much more that is making my life run more smoothly than ever before. 

I use videos from physical therapists to change up my exercise routines and I must say that they have produced remarkable results. I mostly work on stretching and strengthening the muscles in my legs and my core. The actual regimen can be a bit boring so I usually insert my iPods and listen to podcasts or music while I go through the regimen.. Sometimes I stream a good show to keep monotony from overcoming my desire to keep going. The air conditioning in my home keeps me cool even as I work up a bit of a sweat. 

I have a treadmill and a bicycle to add to the workout and while I’m making myself stronger my two robotic vacuum cleaners are sweeping up my floors. Of course I can’t imagine going back to the days when my only source of respite from the heat was an attic fan which moved around the hot air in our house. As my dishwasher whirs away I remember all of the times I rotated with my mom in cleaning up after meals with a sink full of hot water that dried out my hands. Somehow I found myself thinking about how awful it would be to go back in time. I began to fully understand my grandfather’s mantra that these are the good old days. 

When I began college I had female friends who were being harassed for daring to major in engineering or architecture. I admired their courage greatly and I would hate for young women today to endure the same kind of pushback for daring to aspire to working in what had once been traditionally male careers. When I hear people insisting that women should first take care of the home and and children I cringe. Those days are gone and I see little reason to go back to them. 

I like my computer that allows me to type text without a bottle of white-out close by to mask my mistakes. It once took me hours to put my ideas onto a paper. Now I can whip out a blog in a few minutes time. Why would I want to return to an era when virtually every aspect of life was so much more difficult? Why would I want to repeat the prejudicial impacts of the past? How can anyone think that the backward thinking of those now in charge of our country is a good thing? 

Our goal should be to keep progressing, not longing for a time when so much was missing in our lives. Sure there were a few things that we might try to do like spending more time with family and friends and working fewer hours chasing money and power. We can gain much by interacting with nature, encouraging innovation and progress, making sure that everyone has opportunities to work and thrive. We certainly are not perfect but the idea of looking to the past for answers that were not nearly as wonderful as we sometimes seem to think they were is not the right way to keep everyone feeling safe, secure and happy. 

No matter how much we wish not to be, we are an incredibly diverse group of people living on a planet that has mostly been good to us. What we need is a bigger tent to include everyone, not turning inward and ignoring or even persecuting those who dare to think differently or look differently from ourselves. We were very much that way not so long ago when I was a child. It was ugly and even seven year old me was able to see it. We would do well to pay attention to what is happening to innocents in our midst whose lives are being torn asunder in the name of being “legal.” A much better approach would be to think about what is morally right and just. 

I had a good morning getting things done even as I understand how many people are so much less fortunate. Instead of going backwards, doling goodies to only a select few and wishing for a time that no longer has any reason to exist, let’s instead evolve in a positive direction the way we were slowly doing before a charlatan convinced voters that only some of us are good enough to be given love in America. We can’t look away or pretend anymore. The whole world can see what is happening here and I think we can as well. It’s time to admit that we are walking in the wrong direction into a very dark and ugly way of living. Let’s do what we can to stay in the light of progress, hope and kindness.    

My father’s death was at the epicenter of my childhood. Everything in my life changed on the night that he died. My mother did her best to guide me and my brothers through the stages of our lives that would lead us into adulthood. I sometimes wonder how she was able to hold it together for as long as she did. It must have been incredibly difficult just to keep the roof over our heads and put food on the table each day but somehow she managed. 

When I headed off to college in 1966, I was shy, naive and idealistic. My mother had sheltered me from the dark side of the world. I would soon enough learn that life was not as easy and cheery as she had worked so hard to present to me and my brothers. I had purposely chosen a large public college because I felt that it was time for me to see more of the world than I had experienced in the private school where goodness seemed to reign. I knew that if I was to make it as an adult I would have to learn how to be tough and resilient like my mother who often boasted that she was the child of immigrants and the youngest of eight kids. She was street smart in ways that I had yet to develop. 

I jumped feet first into my college experience, taking part in dances and frat parties, and reading the editorials in The Daily Cougar from a gifted writer named Edith Bell. I soon enough realized that I cared little for loud celebrations and felt more at home with quiet gatherings that prompted interesting discussions about the world. I participated in civil rights marches and protests about all sorts of things including the taking down of old trees on campus. I found my people in earnest souls who saw their educations as stepping stones to making a difference in a world which was on fire. It was a time when the heat would  grow more and more intense. I began to see life as it truly was, not as a perennially cheery time filled with only rainbows and unicorns. 

Along the way I met the young man who would become my future husband. He had spent some time studying at Loyola University in New Orleans. He and I began talking on our first date and the conversation never ended. I had found my soulmate when I was not even looking for him. By 1968, we had decided to get married. 

The world was a powder keg that year, most especially in the United States. Protests were breaking out on campuses across the country. There was a feeling that life was fragile and uncertain and so the idea of seizing the day with a wedding did not seem to be extraordinary. In fact, many of our friends had already tied the knot. It was as though we worried that things were so uncertain that pledging our eternal love to someone was a kind of panacea to the ugliness that was coming to a head all around us. 

Before our wedding date Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. Later that spring Robert Kennedy, Sr. was killed only minutes after celebrating a primary victory in California. In the summer riots outside of the Democrat Convention in Chicago would mesmerize the nation. By the time October came and we were being married at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church the priest was noting that it took a great leap of faith and hope to embark on a life together during the volatile times. What he could not have known is that the times had been a factor in our decision to join forces with each other while we could. 

It would be a very long time before things settled down for us. The pressures of being strong had finally broken down my mother who began a long journey with mental illness only months after our wedding. I would take on the role of caretaker for her and my brothers, thankful that I had the support of my husband during those dark times. I would spend the next forty years making certain that my mom had whatever she needed, learning about mental illness and bipolar disorder on the fly.

In our early twenties my husband would contract a fungal disease that landed him in the hospital getting chemotherapy for months. In the less crazy times we had two beautiful daughters and somehow learned how to balance home life, work, and watching over my mother with raising our little ones into two incredible young women. 

Life has been a bumpy ride for most of my years but I have somehow been able to adapt to each new challenge. I was quite happy when me and my husband were finally able to retire and travel to places that had been only dreams. I assumed that our hardest challenges were behind us but life has a way of laughing at our innocence. Along came Covid and with it the icky feelings of uncertainty that we had experienced so many times before. Then we inherited Mike’s father as the newest member of our household and caring for him became a full time job that curtailed our gypsy-like adventures. Now we spend our days at home following the schedule that keeps him healthy and happy. Somehow we have made it work even as I quietly long for a few more trips before we are too old to stray far from home. We have planned a trip to London in the fall and hopefully all goes well and we get there.

This year has reminded me more of 1968 than any other time in my life. There is a grave chill over the nation that seems to increase with each passing day. I find myself worrying more about my country and its people than at any other time in my personal history. In the backdrop of my story there are health issues that are slowing down me and my husband. My knees hurt more often than not. He has cancer and will spend most of the summer getting daily radiation treatments. I am scheduled for cataract surgery tomorrow. It is all a bit too much and there are days when I worry that I won’t be able to keep up with the demands on me. There have been moments here and there when I felt as though I was going to break. Luckily I learned the importance of self care at an early age and so far I have been able to refresh my energies again and again. 

I hope and pray that this too shall pass without such dramatic changes that I will no longer recognize the Untied States or the new kind of lives that we all may be asked to live. So far I have my partner who has walked with me every step of the way but I also realize that both he and I have expiration dates that may come due at any time. I am determined to keep the faith and be the warrior that I believe I was always destined to be. I know how to survive and I am determined to do it well.