No Excuses

no-excuses-300x200A life is touched by what is happening on the worldwide stage and what is happening inside the privacy of a home. Each of us evolve from the basics of our DNA through the millions of great and small interactions that we have with life outside of our own bodies and souls. Whether our existence is isolated or played on a global stage we become unique individuals based on everything that happens to us and the way in which we choose to adapt to our circumstances. Our destinies are driven both by our free wills and our circumstances. How we view life and react to its challenges is influenced by what we have seen and heard but ultimately each of us has the capacity to direct the ways in which we face down difficulties. Nobody is immune to troubles but many learn to deal with them with courage and optimism.

One of the highlights of my career as an educator came when I worked for a KIPP Charter School. Much like humanity it was not a perfect system but it got most things right. The founders liked to use slogans, something that is usually a bit annoying to me. There was one, however, that spoke loudly and clearly to my soul, “No Excuses.” I had based most of my life on that very concept and I had found it to be a saving grace. When I spoke to my students of overcoming difficulties I was not just some middle class maven from the suburbs attempting to sacrifice myself to kids from harsh circumstances. I had walked in their shoes. I understood what it was like to grow up with economic and social challenges. I knew them, not from books and theories but from my own story. What I also understood was that they didn’t have to be trapped in a forever world of poverty and want. I had used my talents to escape from the cycle that had daunted my family for generations and I knew that they had the power to do so as well.

So many of our leaders are kind hearted souls who only imagine what life is like for the have nots in our society. They generously work to improve conditions for people but have never known the feelings that come from want and dysfunction. They went to plush doctors’ offices as children rather than sitting for hours in a public clinic or a hospital emergency room because their parents had insurance and the funds to pay deductibles. They don’t possess any real concept of the fears and the troubles that so many children in our society endure on a daily basis, but I do.

Long ago I went to a movie with my husband when we were still dating. I can’t recall much about the film but there was one scene that has stuck with me forever. The hero of the story was a poor boy from quite sad circumstances. He had earned a scholarship to a renowned university where he managed to pose as someone from a successful family by dent of his intellect. He met a beautiful and well to do young woman and the two of them fell in love. She was anxious for him to meet her family and so in time she arranged for the two of them to spend a weekend at her home. When he saw the luxury in which his girlfriend had lived for all of her life he was suddenly overwhelmed. In one scene he opened the refrigerator to see a cornucopia of plenty. He was mesmerized by the sight of fruits and vegetables and snacks of every variety all there for his taking at any time of day. His girlfriend was unable to understand why the sight of a full larder had so affected him, but I knew exactly what was happening in his mind. I had never seen such a vision of edible riches either. In fact, there were many times toward the end of a month when the inside of the refrigerator in my home was almost bare. I momentarily shifted nervously in my theater seat as I watched the movie unfold because I realized that my date, who would later become my spouse, had experienced a far more comfortable existence than I had. I related far more easily to the poor of all races than with the white middle class.

As a child I was driven by both fear and determination to use my talents to ultimately loosen the grip of poverty and uncertainty that had so often dogged my family after my father died. As an adult I made it my vocation to show young people the way out of economic want. I had learned that excuses about my past only proliferated my problems. I took command of my destiny and worked my way out of the difficulties that had stalked me and my ancestors for generations. I realized that I lived in a time when there were far more opportunities for success than there were excuses for standing still.

I learned much from my mother and my teachers about hard work and diligence. I was often slammed by circumstances but I watched and learned and kept moving forward even when it was painful and I was exhausted. I used my wits and my hard work to achieve a lifestyle that is comfortable and secure. For decades I attempted to teach my students the same skills and attitudes and many of them have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. I suspect that they accepted my advice because they somehow knew that I was real when I told them that I understood.

It is laudable for the wealthier classes to work for the good of the less fortunate but they so often underestimate the gravity of dire situations and the pride of those who endure economic challenges. It is painful to hear someone pontificating about parents who have been unable to provide for their children. It does little good to publicly point to the obvious. Kids in difficult circumstances want to be shown the way to improve their lot without attention being placed on the things that they lack. They also desire a bit of understanding and compromise when they struggle to meet expectations.

I recall a young man who needed to work each summer to add to the family income. The school insisted that he participate in a formal internship program that provided mentoring and experience but no money. He stood his ground and asked that he be given credit for doing his job. The hapless administrator was unable to see that the knowledge and skills that he gained in securing employment, clocking in each day, and saving his funds for a rainy day was in reality as valuable as the internship that she had designed. Sadly she demonstrated to this student and his family that she was clueless about the reality of their lives.

I saw many such situations play out over and over again. Teachers were often ignorant of the juggling acts that students had to endure just to exist. So many of our kids quietly attempted to work at low paying jobs in the evenings and still keep up with the assignments from their teachers. They often existed on fewer than four hours of sleep. Their health declined and so did their grades. They were unwilling to share their stories with adults who seemed unable or unwilling to understand their dilemmas. Instead they became known as slackers who quietly bore the brunt of insults about their character. Adults from a different socio-economic world often were unable to comprehend the challenges that their students faced.

Those who struggle in our society do not require our pity. In fact they rarely want it. Instead they need someone to show them how to escape from the ravages of want and need. It is fine to give them some financial assistance but we can’t just write a check and then leave. Through our schools we can teach the poor how to navigate in a world of plenty. We can show them how hard work and determination are the keys to ending their pain. We must help them to channel their toughness and let them know that the journey will indeed be difficult but well worth the effort. The KIPP schools are making headway but they only reach a small number of students in the grand scheme of things. There are still far too many children who are being sent through their childhoods like widgets on a conveyer belt. The real key to social justice lies inside classrooms across the country. The changes that people need are made one child at a time by adults who are willing to make the effort to build true relationships with our youth. That takes understanding and time. Those things cost very little but will return profound dividends. Of this I am certain because it is the story that I have lived. We have no excuses for ignoring what we must do to begin the process of eliminating poverty.

The Sound and the Fury

160926213408-clinton-trump-debate-hofstra-your-own-reality-sot-one-00012411-large-169I sometimes enjoy fooling people regarding my age. If I’m well rested, wearing the right colors, and my makeup is fresh I am able to masquerade as someone who is a bit younger than I actually am. I am generally able to get by with pretending to be in my fifties rather than my sixties but I give away my deception whenever I begin to speak about the events that I have witnessed in my life. The reality is that I am only a couple of years younger than the two individuals who are running for President of the United States. They are my peers and sadly both of their campaigns remind me far too much of high schoolers hoping to secure my vote by offering goodies and changes that will probably never happen.

One of them is the class blowhard and bully, the same kind of guy who stomped on my photo with his shoe and proclaimed that nobody liked me. The other is the girl with the fake smile on her face who would say anything to get my vote and that of my classmates but in reality only ran to achieve a taste of power. Even as a gangly teenager I understood that politics was often a game and that those speeches that we heard inside the gym were crafted to attract our interest just enough to secure our votes, hot air that most of us would forget once the winner was ensconced in office.

I remember watching the debates between John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon back in the nineteen sixties. I wasn’t old enough to vote but I was curious to learn more about the handsome Catholic who seemed to be a very different kind of politician than the stodgy old men who had traditionally run for office. The discussions between Kennedy and Nixon were intellectual and meaningful and I was so fascinated that I became a political observer forevermore. The camera loved Kennedy and showcased his natural charisma and optimistic sense of humor. Unfortunately for Nixon it revealed all of his physical and emotional flaws, making his arguments secondary to the overall impression that he made. Still, that first debate was not a circus but a serious analysis of the issues and it set the standard for all future televised encounters between candidates.

Over time politicians and their handlers learned how to game the debates. They became more of a spectacle and less of an effort to outline the real differences between candidates. In most cases the members of the electorate rarely changed their votes based on what they heard in those encounters between candidates. We the people realized that one moment in time was not nearly enough to define an individual and so we watched more for the whimsey than to learn anything new.

For the most part the great debates became rather boring production numbers. Only now and again did a candidate do something so egregious that it turned the tide in a tight race. When President George H. W. Bush glanced at his watch during his debate with Bill Clinton it sent a message that he was bored and thought himself above his opponent. It became the last straw in the unraveling of his presidency and a moment that many remembered when they went to the polls. Mostly though the debates have only influenced a small proportion of the voters of late. They serve little purpose other than to reinforce the support of those who have already decided which way to lean. They rarely change minds.

I have to admit that I was rather disappointed in the first debate between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. It felt more like a marital dispute between and a man and woman who had grown to despise one another. I had already heard every soundbite that each of them proclaimed and found their snark and digs to be annoying and cloying. There really was no substance to any of their plans. Each of them dreams big but can’t really explain how to successfully fund the programs that they espouse. Our country is deeply in debt and neither candidate addressed ways to eliminate the growing economic crisis that will surely hit us if we continue to ignore the fact that we can’t afford all of the things that we do. The reality is that lowering taxes and building a wall will not work anymore than raising taxes on the wealthy will pay for college for everyone. The numbers simply don’t balance in our national checkbook. The sad truth is that we need a combination of both austerity and more income from all of the people but in today’s political climate it is far too unpopular to suggest that we might have to make sacrifices to get our house back in order.

At the moment our choices lean toward two extremes when what we really need is a bit of both platforms. Each candidate possesses some ideas of merit and some that are so far out that they will hopefully never come to pass. Sadly it is out of fashion to be moderate, something that Bill Clinton was masterful at doing. Today the outrageous is in fashion. If I were running my plans would incorporate a wide spectrum of ideas designed to move our country forward together, not as splintered as it has become. Therein lies my gravest concerns for our future. Frankly I don’t believe that either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton care as much about the nation as they do about themselves. Neither is up to the standards of the job but hopefully the winner will learn how to really be responsible.

The good news is that we have had some rather nondescript presidents in the past, men who didn’t quite measure up to Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt or Reagan. We’ve seen real crooks like Nixon and misguided policymakers like Hoover. We have made it through assassinations and impeachments. We have endured the good, the bad, and the ugly time and again. I simply don’t believe that any one person will destroy the democracy that we have. We will make it one way or another and somewhere on the horizon a real leader will eventually emerge.

Ours is a complex government in which no one person may become a dictator. As long as the members of Congress uphold their duties and the Supreme Court rules for the good of the nation rather than their personal political leanings we will continue to be strong. Who knows how the eventual winner of this contest will adapt to the office. The weight of presidential responsibilities has certainly changed many men for the better in the past. I would like to believe that I will be pleasantly surprised regardless of the outcome in November.

In the meantime I doubt that I have the patience to tune in to any more debates. They are simply a mashup of sound and fury signifying nothing. There is little point to spending ninety minutes hearing the same talking points over and over again. It is simply time for me to consider all of the pros and cons, vote according to my own conscience and then hope for the best for the country that I so love.

The Ascent of Humankind

ad220478590first-lady-miche-e1474795934923I have always been a creature of habit. When I was still working I had to keep to a hard and fast routine or I would end up feeling overwhelmed. I told myself that when I finally retired I would become more easy going but found it almost impossible to live without daily parameters. I still generally follow a pattern of living not unlike the one that guided me for most of my adult life. I find myself measuring the quality of my day by the number of tasks that I accomplish. I follow the same steps both when I awake and during the waning hours before I retire for the night. There is comfort in the sameness at the beginning and end of each cycle of the sun. The things that I repeat over and over again provide me with a feeling of stability in a world that of late seems to have gone somewhat mad.

One of my morning quirks is to read the news while I eat my breakfast. I want to know what has happened in the world while I was slumbering. I know all too well what might take place in the dark of night. I have lived the nightmare of arising to learn that a loved one has died while I was blissfully dreaming. Waking to very bad news has happened to me and to my friends many times over. Perhaps it is one of the reasons that I have evolved into a restless sleeper, always on alert. I am thankful for each morning that I see the sun but also leery that I might learn of yet another tragic event.

Today I awoke to find that a shooter was firing at passersby at a strip center in my city. I am quite familiar with the area where the incident unfolded even though it is somewhat far from where I actually live. I have shopped and dined there. For many years I dreamed of living in the neighborhood near there. It is an upscale part of town, somewhere that always seemed safe and devoid of the problems that plague much of Houston.

The updates that kept pinging on my phone indicated that six people were transported to the hospital which luckily is only minutes away in one of the best medical centers in the world. The shooter was “neutralized.” The always very busy road where all of this played out was closed and there was a shelter in place for residents of an apartment complex located near the tragedy. In real time I learned all about an event about which I might have been ignorant in times past and I find myself wondering if all of this news to which we are privy is helping or hurting us. Do we actually have better lives because we are now able to be “eyewitnesses” to war and murder or is the continuous barrage of carnage somehow damaging our collective psyche? Are we becoming immune to the violence or is it frightening and inciting us? Is there a connection between the twenty four hour news cycle and the questionable character of the two people that we have nominated as the potential leaders of our nation? Are we indeed backed onto a dangerous precipice or is the continuous reality show to which the newscasters subject us merely hyperbole designed to keep our attention? How much do we really need to know and how much should we simply ignore?

I am as uncertain about such things as most people are these days. I take comfort in knowing that while we do indeed live in a brave new world that is fraught with uniquely modern day problems, mankind’s journey has wound its way through centuries and somehow we have managed time and again to continue moving slowly but surely forward. Time stretches so far back that it is unimaginable. Our history as people is recorded from thousands of years ago. Whether we take the Old Testament of the Bible for granted or view it as a kind of folktale we understand that murder, war and mistreatment have been a part of our natures for as long as we have walked on this earth but hope and promise of a better world have time and again guided us to the realization of our better natures.

I began watching a series on the history of India last night. It told of ancient Greek navigators who risked monsoons to sail to India in search of enchanting spices like pepper and cardamon. The narrator told of the development of the silk road from China and the earliest kingdoms that dominated what we now call the Middle East, Pakistan and India itself. Many of the places that became centers of invention, trade and religious pilgrimages still exist today much as they did thousands of years ago. Most of the progress and learning that prompted such adventures took place during long stretches of peace. When there was no war humans turned their talents and their interests to creativity and inventiveness. Sadly jealousies and hunger for power all too often overtook mankind’s better natures and brought violence that destroyed entire dynasties. Our collective story demonstrates a human pattern of renaissance and destruction that asserts itself over and over again.

We never seem to completely solve all of our problems even with our best intentions to do so. Sometimes events overwhelm us and we become swept up in realities that most of us would rather avoid. We become part of the cycles of both everyday living and history. Our hope is that somehow we will manage not just to survive the difficult times but also to become stronger and better because of our experiences. Our goal is to learn and improve and move forward, a dream that is at times easier to imagine that to execute. It requires the capacity and willingness to accept one another just as we are.

In a world that can seem cruel and unfeeling a breathtaking thing happened this past weekend at the opening of the new Smithsonian museum for African American history. A photographer captured a touching moment when First Lady Michelle Obama gave a big hug to a smiling former President George W. Bush. The photo shows a millisecond of unplanned, unrehearsed innocence and genuine friendship between two people who have often been scorned by the public at large. In that brief encounter lay the seeds of a better future, a time when we might become more capable of seeing each other not as philosophies or religions or nations but simply as the wonderfully beautiful human beings that we are. It is only when we can look past the slogans and posturing and opinion mongering that continually invade our space that we truly harness the potential for greatness that lies in each and every one of us. It is during the times that we grow weary of fighting and instead live and let live that our humanity most shines forth. That is when our most awe inspiring spirits have the room to soar and ascend.

I don’t know where we are in the unfolding our human history. I have seen both good and bad times in my almost seventy decades. In the grand scheme of things I am but an infant and yet I know enough about our human routines to believe like King Lear that we always circle back to peace and goodness even when we appear to be at our worst. No matter how bad things may look, we need to keep the faith. A new day will come. The sun will shine. A Leonardo da Vinci or an Albert Einstein will be born. The future lies somewhere in our midst, somewhere in each one of us, and it is good. 

Kit Cat

kitcatclock-black-white-bgIt was an ordinary night when I walked into my kitchen to find a most disturbing scene. There strewn on the floor were eyeballs, a little black tail, and the broken body of my Kit Cat clock. My little treasure had somehow fallen from its place on the wall. I was so upset that I called for my husband to clean up the debris that lay from one end of the room to another. It was apparent from the number of pieces that my beloved little clock was forever gone. Even though the time piece was only an object made of plastic and a few carefully placed wires I was filled with great sadness.

To be honest I truly understand that there are far graver events unfolding in the world than the destruction of a silly little clock. I see the images of suffering, war and injustice on a daily basis and it most definitely bothers me. I know of family members and friends who are enduring frightening and painful illnesses or even the tragedy of loss of a loved one. A battered clock is hardly in the same league as these very real kinds of problems but that clock represented far more to me than might at first glance be evident.

Around the time that I was four or five years old my father went to Rochester, New York on a business trip. It was a rather lengthy affair and I recall feeling a bit lost without his presence around our home. My mom seemed distracted and lonely while he was gone. Somehow our lives were off kilter without him. Then as suddenly as he had left he reappeared bringing sunshine back to our days, along with a few gifts that he had carefully chosen for us. Among them was a delightful clock that made us laugh. It was one of the original Kit Cat clocks, a humorous black cat with a grin as impish as the one that my daddy so often wore.

My father proudly mounted the smiling creature on the kitchen wall where it kept up with the time and smiled at us with those great big cat eyes scanning one side of the room and then the other. A long black tail swung in unison with the tempo of the tick tock of time, telling us that life was going to continue merrily on now that our dad was back home. It was the perfect gift from our perfect dad and I so loved that cat who was as unique and funny as my father.

Our Kit Cat clock traveled with us wherever we moved. It was part of our family. It went all the way to California and back with us and maintained its vigil on the wall through births and illnesses and seasons. It was ticking away on the morning that I learned of my father’s death. It reminded me so of him that I found comfort in watching it continue with its duties even as I wondered why the whole world didn’t stop to share the pain that I was feeling.

The clock soldiered on with us and as I grew I found it to be less and less enchanting until the time came when I hardly noticed it anymore. At some point it must have finally quit operating properly because it disappeared from the wall. I never thought to ask my mother what had happened to the clock. It was just a silly old thing that could never have lasted forever. Besides, I would always have the memory of my dad grinning like a Cheshire cat as he so proudly presented his find to our family so many long years before. That was really all that I would ever need.

Just as we always do I went on with living, rarely thinking of the clock until one day I walked into a store and there on the wall was a display of Kit Cat clocks being as silly as ever. I think that my husband was a bit mystified at the sheer pleasure that I derived from seeing those happy little timekeepers. When I told him the story of the clock that had once lived in the memories of my childhood he listened with his usual respect for my quirks. Somehow he managed to realize that the clock had been a link to my father in a time when I most needed to remember how much delight my daddy had always brought to our family.

When Christmas came later that year I excitedly opened my gifts to find among them a brand new Kit Cat clock to hang on my wall. I was overjoyed and touched that my sensitive spouse had understood the significance that the little cat held for me. We began a new tradition with our clock that extended through the marriages of my daughters, the births of my grandchildren, and the years of change and growth in our family.

The clock kept perfect time but over the years the eyes and tail only moved sporadically, sometimes standing still for months and other times suddenly swinging back and forth as steadily as a pendulum. It still brought me the kind of joy that I had felt as a child. When I looked at that grinning little face I thought of how lucky I have been to be loved by a father that I hardly had time to know and a husband who has been at my side for over four decades. The clock was part of my history, a treasure that meant more to me than I might ever explain. When I saw it shattered into pieces the other night I felt a genuine sense of devastation. It was as though a part of me had suddenly been destroyed. I had to call my husband to dispose of the debris because I was unable to face that grisly task.

If I have learned anything in my life it’s that distressing things happen and we somehow find ways to carry on with our journeys. After briefly grieving that my clock was gone I came to my senses and logged in to Amazon where I found a replacement to order. My new Kit Cat clock will arrive sometime next week to bring a new generation of joy and laughter into our lives. It will watch over our celebrations and comfort us in times of sorrow. It will stand as a sentinel and a reminder that sometimes all we have to do is smile and be a little silly to get from one moment to the next.

Happy Fall, Ya’ll

first-day-of-autumn-weather-for-all-love-season-3There is a chill inside my home this morning. The air is filled with the aroma of pumpkins and spices. Colors of red, orange, yellow and gold catch my eye wherever I look. It is the first day of autumn, my favorite time of year. But wait! The high today will be ninety two degrees here in Houston. The brisk temperature that I feel has been artificially produced by my trusty air conditioner. The lovely autumnal smell is only the product of a Yankee candle. I see fall colors thanks to the collection of artificial items that I place around my home at this time each season. Were it not for Hobby Lobby and Michael’s fall in Houston would look exactly the same as the middle of July. I have to conjure a great deal of imagination to realize that a change of seasons is actually taking place.

I just returned from a week long stay in the mountains near Rocky Mountain National Park. There I enjoyed the true splendor of autumn produced by Mother Nature at her finest. The landscape was awash with spectacular colors that seemed almost to have been painted on the leaves that fluttered enticingly in the wind. I wore my sweaters during the day and snuggled under a warm blanket at night, all without the aid of mechanical devices designed to keep my environment comfortable. The clean smell of pine overwhelmed my olfactory senses. The world around me seemed to be balanced and as perfect as it ought to be. The cycle of seasons was operating so perfectly that even the animals understood what time of year we were entering. It felt so right.

I love the fall but have had to manufacture it of late because I live in the south near the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. There are actually people who begin a yearly pilgrimage to my part of the country at about this time. They are fleeing the coming ravages of winter which will most surely visit their northern homes. They live like snowbirds who seek warmer climes in which to survive the harshness of the coming days. I see their trailers in the RV parks and their foreign license plates from places like Minnesota, Nebraska and Michigan. They flee from the very weather that I have never really seen and would so love to experience.

Each year as my fall birthday approaches in the middle of November I am just as likely to be wearing shorts and flip flops as one of my sweaters that never wears out. I only replace my winter gear when it becomes hopelessly out of style. I rarely use it enough to tarnish its sheen of newness. Unless I travel to one of the colder places it often seems like overkill to even take my coats from the closet where I store them all year long.

There used to be a sliver of fall and winter here in Houston. When I was a child I recall enjoying seventy degree days in October and as November rolled around we always lit the pilot light on our heater because we were bound to have some cold nights. I suggest that all climate change deniers spend some time where I live to realize that it appears to get warmer and warmer every single year, a fact that worries me intensely. Even my rabidly conservative but science-oriented brother admits that we are indeed experiencing a worldwide warming trend that is having a dramatic effect on our very existence. We humans are changing the rhythm and flow of nature and ultimately the results will be devastating if we don’t agree to take measures to slow the tide of a warming atmosphere that is artificially creating a climate that brings us more and more severe weather patterns and natural disasters. The data doesn’t lie no matter how much we humans choose to ignore the facts.

I just drove through the heart of what had been the dustbowl during the Great Depression of the twentieth century. The drought that overtook parts of Colorado, Oklahoma and Texas would certainly have caused many problems for the farmers who lived there but the situation became even more dire than it needed to be because they had interrupted nature. The people had plowed over the native grasses designed to anchor the soil to the earth. Without those simple little plants the winds carried the dirt high into the sky like great filthy clouds. There were continual storms of dust rather than rain that often made it impossible to see or even to breathe. The desperate people lost their incomes, their lands and sometimes even their lives. It was only when proper planting methods were eventually introduced that the area began to slowly come back to life. Sadly the ravages of that era are still apparent in some small towns where buildings on main streets are empty and populations continue to decline.

There are scientists among us who have studied such things. They understand the soil, the insects, the plants, and the weather. They are able to explain the symbiotic nature of our world. It is time that we listened to their warnings or the day may come when we humans no longer have the ability to create the comforts that we seek. We may simply have to endure the assaults from nature that will most surely come if we choose to ignore the warning signs that are all around us.

I love the natural flow of the life cycle. I enjoy being as one with the earth, a visitor no more important to the way of things than the tiniest bug. I don’t want my footprint to disturb the earth but I instinctively know that it does. I want to do my tiny little part to make my presence a bit less destructive. I suppose that if each of us were to begin just one form of conservation on a daily basis our collective efforts would begin to make a small dent in the problems that are making our earth sick. Instead of ridiculously asserting that climate change is a myth our politicians need to join together in crafting a global plan that will be as painless as possible to people everywhere. We must use our natural human abilities to find acceptable and forward thinking answers without destroying livelihoods. We have done it before and I have little doubt that we might do it again.

So on this first morning of autumn I intend to enjoy my favorite time of year with a bit of gardening if I can manage to endure the heat. At my age there is always an uncertainty that I will see another September 22 so I have to seize the day with all of the gusto that I am able to muster. With all of those fall wreaths showing up on the doors of my neighbor’s homes pumpkin cheesecake can’t be far behind and what is better than that? Happy Fall to those of us north of the equator and Happy Spring to everyone below. The world is still a wonderful place. Let’s keep it that way.