Category: Commentary

As I have grown older I experience life in two diametrically opposite ways. Sometimes when a new year begins the days seem to fly by so quickly that I want to catch them, hold on to them and make them slow down. Other times I feel as though I am plodding through the last phases of life in slow motion. The pains in my knees keep me from being active all the day long. I have to pace my self and in the course of taking time to rest and revitalize I have a sense of losing the energy that once defined my life. 

My husband and I have been moving our tropical plants into the garage before a potential freeze hits our area. There was a time when we would have completed the job of protecting our flora in a matter of a few hours. Now we have to pace ourselves by moving two or three of the largest specimens and then resting for an hour. What once took part of a single day now takes many days to accomplish. While I am happy that we are still able to do anything this strenuous regardless of how long it takes, part of me longs for the vitality of my youth that I did not fully appreciate until now. 

I am grateful for being able to still maintain the routines of my life regardless of how long it takes me to complete them, but somehow the weakening of my stamina makes me all too aware that I am entering a new phase of life in which it is doubtful that I will get stronger and more likely that my abilities will slowly become more and more reduced. Because of this I am filled with an urge to grab the wind while I still can and spend my days doing all of the things that I have loved or dreamed of enjoying. I hear the ticking of my biological clock and it is telling me to seize each day.

I have been following the travels of a friend who is also retired from teaching mathematics. She seems to be determined to be adventurous while she is able. During this holiday season she fulfilled one of her bucket list dreams of traveling to Antarctica. She did so alone to the concern of her family. Somehow she knew that not only would she be fine, but that her journey would be a triumph. Her photographic journal presented gloriously incredible views of what she saw, but more than anything they revealed the unmitigated joy that she was feeling. Her emotions were so palatable that I somehow felt that I was with her when she saw the wonders of that frozen landscape. Her trip was exhilarating and it reminded me that I too have heard the call of faraway places.

I am now of an age that virtually everyone considers to be old. I am often cautioned by younger folks to slow down and be more careful. They want me to hire someone to decorate my home for holidays or to move heavy plants from my backyard into my garage. They caution me not to travel too far away from home lest I become ill or injured and need medical care. They worry about me with kind hearts but do not seem to understand that I am still quite able to undertake most tasks. The only thing that has changed is that I must do all of them more slowly, more deliberately, more patiently. 

When I go for walks I maintain a slower pace. Sometimes I stop when I see a bench to rest for a time before continuing. What might have taken me thirty minutes in the past now requires an hour but I still achieve the same distance, the same feeling of exhilaration. I am fully aware of my limitations but I have learned how to be patient with them.

I have a friend who has MS and it has not made her a homebound hermit. She still travels from Georgia to Texas with many stops in between to smell the roses and fortify her body. She travels regularly with groups. When the activities require heavy duty hiking she finds a spot to sit and simply admire the panoramic views. She assures me that the guides adjust to her needs and that her outlook is always quite positively transformed by her journeys. 

A year ago my sister-in-law fell while on a cruise. She injured one of her eyes and still has not completely regained her sight. She has endured much trauma associated with her health during the past year and now must walk with a patch on her injured eye and with a cane to keep her balance. Nonetheless she is ready to travel again and anxious to see as much as she is able until the day comes when she will have to retire from her adventures. She and my friend inspire me to get back on the road again and to keep moving until my body tells me that it is time to stop.

I want to plan a journey this year. I’m not sure where it will be or how I will be able to make it happen but that is my resolution for the future. I know that I won’t be backpacking in the mountains or hiking for hours without rest but I am sure that with pacing I can go anywhere that I wish and I should do so. I have to find  someone to look after my father-in-law while I am gone but that should be doable if I begin planning now. My only difficulty will be deciding where in the world I most want to be. 

Wish me luck in creating a dream trip for a seventy six year old whose knees and hips like to scream that I am doing too much. I think it can be done just as easily as hauling those huge plumeria trees to my garage. I will just need to plan with patience for myself. The world is waiting for me. 

I often wonder why adults seem to believe that they have to shelter children from truth. I suppose that I feel this way because I was confronted with great tragedies when I was five and then again at the age of eight. Each of these experiences was a bit different but both of them impacted my personality and sense of trust and safety. 

The first incident involved my Uncle Bob, my father’s best friend. I was in awe of my uncle. He was stunningly handsome and just as interesting and brilliant as my father was. The two men had attended high school together in Corpus Christi, Texas and then began studies at what was then called Texas A&M College. 

Uncle Bob majored in Geology, played on the tennis team, and climbed mountains searching for samples of rocks. My father focused on Mechanical Engineering and preferred hobbies like fishing, reading, and listening to music. When they were together they almost completed each other’s sentences the way only the best of friends are able to do. Our home was at its happiest when they were laughing and enjoying each other’s company. 

Bob became my uncle after my parents contrived to play matchmaker between him and my mother’s sister Claudia. Together they were a stunningly beautiful couple. In fact a friend of mine once mistook them for movie stars when they came to visit. 

Neither my father nor Uncle Bob treated me like a clueless child. They taught me about adult topics by explaining concepts with examples that made sense to my childlike wonder. They introduced me to many topics and I adored both of them because of that. 

My memories of Uncle Bob are vivid but still those of a very young child. Because I loved him so I looked forward to his visits to our home when he and my aunt spent the night and then always took me on special outings. On one occasion I was so anxious for the promises of the day that I walked into their room as they were dressing for our planned adventure. I should not have been so bold but I felt incredibly comfortable with both of them. To my surprise I encountered Uncle Bob attaching a wooden leg to his upper thigh. It was such a stunning sight that I immediately gasped and turned to run out of the room. 

Uncle Bob gently called me back and asked me if I wanted to know why he needed a wooden leg. Of course I was curious, so I asked a flood of questions, each of which Uncle Bob calmly and honestly answered. By the end of the encounter I knew that he had a serious disease called cancer and that his leg was taken in an attempt to stop the cancer from moving to other parts of his body. He assured me that he was okay and feeling good about the future but he informed me that the cancer might return and if it did he and the doctors would work to defeat it again. He urged me not to worry but rather to do as he was doing, enjoying each day to the fullest. 

Uncle Bob did not make it. The return of his cancer was part of the reason that my mother and father sent me to the first grade when I was five. Our household was turned upside down by Uncle Bob’s situation. My parents whispered with my aunt and said little about what was really happening. They did not know that Uncle Bob had prepared me for this. I understood the consequences, so when he died I was able to grieve and remember the truths he had told me. I have never forgotten how wonderfully safe I felt because he had not tried to shelter me. To this very day I feel the comfort of his loving honesty. 

Three years later my father was killed suddenly in a car accident. That time none of the adults spoke to me about what had happened except for my Aunt Valeria who broke the news to me with grace and compassion. Much like Uncle Bob had done she honored me with truth. While I was crushed with sadness I needed to know what had happened. It would have done me no good to pretend that I was too young to grasp the enormity of how different my life was going to be. Somehow I reverted back to the discussion of death and how unafraid of it my Uncle Bob had been as my Aunt Valeria consoled me. 

I see so many adults attempting to keep children ignorant of difficulties. They assume that little ones can’t handle the truth. They don’t want anyone discussing slavery or mistreatment of Native Americans lest the youngster might feel a bit of guilt. They try to paint rosy pictures of life that do not include tragedies or any of the realities that we all will face at some point in our lives. I find such sheltering to be misplaced because I know that I would have been confused and distrustful if not for the truthfulness of both Uncle Bob and Aunt Valeria when I lost two of the most cherished and important people in my life. Theirs was a compassionate and truthful way of teaching me that tragedies are part of every person’s journey and it is okay to have difficult emotions but there will be better times ahead.

Children need to know these things. Done properly it will make them stronger and more secure. Give your children shelter by your honesty, not by pretending. They can see what is true and if nobody has explained what is going on they will be afraid. 

I was three years old when my brother, Michael, was born. I don’t know how it is possible but I do indeed have a vague memory of him as an infant. My family was living in a house on Kingsbury Street where my best friend was a beautiful dark haired girl named Merrily. I have a shadowy image of him coming home from the hospital with my mother and being frisked to the back room where he would stay until he was old enough to move to the third bedroom in the house that had been lovingly prepared for him.

The birth of my brother changed my world and I found myself spending more and more time with my father while my mother cared for the infant who seemed to come from nowhere into our midst. Mama spent a great deal of time behind the closed door of her bedroom where my new brother slept in a bassinet next to her bed. He was a quiet baby who hardly ever seemed to cry or make noise but I quickly surmised that he was somehow sick because the family doctor made house calls to our home now and again. I would later learn that he suffered from asthma and often had difficulty breathing. 

I suppose that I did not really pay much attention to Micheal during that time. He was a quiet little soul and mostly fell into the background of my life. His unobtrusive and steady demeanor would identify him for the rest of his life. I never felt any kind of sibling rivalry with him because he was simply a very pleasant little soul who sweetly went with the flow of our family in whatever direction we were going. 

Michael was a curious child who always seemed to be exploring the world around him to find out how things worked. Once he sat down right on top of an ant bed when he was no more than two years old later explaining that he wanted to see the critters in their home. The insects instantly attacked him and their stings must have intensely painful but he barely complained.

On another occasion he found a screw somewhere in the house and I witnessed him placing it up his nose. I ran hysterically to my mother who calmly inspected his nostrils and surmised that he was going to be fine, and he was. Still I worried that somehow the foreign object was lodged in his brain while my mother and our family doctor both assured me that he was going to be just fine.

Michael was the perfect person to anchor the family dynamics. As the middle child he was so complacent that there was no evidence of sibling rivalry even after my younger brother, Pat, came along. Michael was the calming force in our trio who was so loving that we rarely had any squabbles. He was logical and peace loving even as a child. 

My mother was quite intuitive, predicting when Michael was a toddler that he was brilliant. Three years old Michael walked around the house toting one of my father’s books written by Wernher von Braun who described a futuristic journey to the moon with illustrations that delighted my brother. He was always counting things and taking things apart to see how they were made. Lucky for him we had parents who encouraged his curiosity when he explored the world around him. I remember feeling quite proud of the little guy who was always deep in his thoughts. 

Michael would prove to be as brilliant as our mother and father had thought he was. Sadly he was only five when our Daddy died so he did not get the full understanding of how remarkable our father was in his own right. He relied on the books that Daddy left behind and had only vague memories of the man who read the comic strips to him from the daily newspaper. 

Michael graduated at the top of his Jones High School class and then attended Rice University where he earned a Master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. He was courted by several companies but excitedly gravitated toward working with NASA, fulfilling a childhood dream. He would spend his entire career writing programs for space travel, ending with computer innovations for the International Space Station. 

Along the way Micheal would prove to be a great partner in the care of our mother. He seemed to have a way of loving and communicating with her that was so special that the two of them were on a different spiritual plain than the rest of us. Even when Mama was in the throes of a terrible bipolar episode he remained the main influence in getting her the help that she needed. 

Michael is celebrating his birthday today. For seven decades he has unobtrusively impacted so many lives with his serene, composed and always loving personality. While I am the oldest child, he has always been the glue that keeps our team functioning without rancor. His goodness binds us together in love without bounds. To this very day he brings calm to me and our younger brother. 

There was a time when we were all three still children with a single parent mom. January was usually quite cold and somewhat dreary back then. Christmas was over and most people were weary of celebrating. Michael’s birthday was always a simple affair but he was satisfied with even the smallest efforts to wish him well. One of his favorite treats was to receive a gift of Fig Newton cookies. Somehow that was more than enough for him, proving once again just how easy and wonderful it has always been to be around him. Now I get excited on his birthday with the realization of how blessed we all have been to have him in our lives. He is a most extraordinary middle child.

There are times when the words I seek are so much less than words that already exist. Today was one of those days. I stumbled upon this poem by Maya Angelou and kept thinking about how to incorporate it into one of my blogs. Somehow attempting to overlay my ideas with her brilliance seemed to be a desecration, so herewith is the poem alone for you to ponder. I hope it enriches your day the way it did for me.

“Continue” a poem by Maya Angelou

My wish for you

Is that you continue

Continue

To be who and how you are

To astonish a mean world

With your acts of kindness

Continue

To allow humor to lighten the burden

Of your tender hear

Continue

In a society dark with cruelty

To let the people hear the grandeur

Of God in the peals of your laughter

Continue

To let your eloquence

Elevate the people to heights

They had only imagined

Continue

To remind the people that

Each is as good as the other

And that no one is beneath

Nor above you

Continue

To remember your own young years

And look with favor upon the lost

And the least and the lonely

Continue

To put the mantle of your protection

Around the bodies of

The young and defenseless

Continue

To take the hand of the despised

And diseased and walk proudly with them

In the high street

Some might see you and

Be encouraged to do likewise

Continue

To plant a public kiss of concern

On the cheek of the sick

And the aged and infirm

And count that as a

Natural action to be expected

Continue

To let gratitude be the pillow

Upon which you kneel to

Say your nightly prayer

And let faith be the bridge

You build to overcome evil

And welcome good

Continue

To ignore no vision

Which comes to enlarge your range

And increase your spirit

Continue

To dare to love deeply

And risk everything

For the good thing

Continue

To float

Happily in the sea of infinite substance

Which set aside riches for you

Before you had a name

Continue

And by doing so

You and your work

Will be able to continue

As we begin a new year I often think back on my life which now numbers more decades than I ever imagined. I do not engage in “what ifs” because all in all I have enjoyed my journey. As with anyone my biography has had its ups and downs, struggles and victories. There have been times so wonderful that I found myself wishing that time might be made to stand still. Other moments were so difficult that I wanted to escape from them as soon as possible. All in all mine has been a series of events much like those that most human beings encounter. I have learned that small pleasures are the most valuable and that people are mostly good. I have found myself finding strengths that I never knew I had. 

While my life is mostly good I have seen that others have been challenged with immeasurable suffering. I think of how horrific it must be for people who have been shunned by society and treated without the kind of respect and kindness that should be the due of everyone, not just those who are the same as I am. As a child I saw Black people sitting at the back of buses and being humiliated by segregation. My mother told me of the prejudices hurled against immigrants like herself. From my mother I also realized how isolated and despised and misunderstood those afflicted with mental illness so often are. I came to know members of the LGBTQ community and learned about the tragedies of hatred that they endure even to this very day. I comforted women who had been abused by brutal men. 

Somehow I have been thinking about one of my mother’s repeated quotes discussing “man’s inhumanity to man.” Historically we humans have a dark track record of being cruel and sometimes even deadly in our relationships with one another. We humans even managed to put a good and gentle man to death on a cross for no legitimate reason other than misunderstanding his message of love. 

At this time of year I look at the Christmas cards that I received from friends and family members. There always seems to be one that stands out more than the others. In the long ago in the year of my youngest daughter’s birth one of my dearest friends gave me a greeting that simply said, “Love was born at Christmastime.” 

I was so taken by that message that I framed the card and kept it on a wall in my home until it became yellowed with age. Somehow the essence of the Christmas story and the life of Jesus was synthesized in those five words. It all seemed so simple to me. The reason for the season is that we learned from that baby born to Mary and Joseph how we are supposed to love. The words of Jesus, the adult, were so very clear when he told us to love our neighbors just as we love ourselves. A whole religion called Christianity grew up around his message and example and yet we have forgotten or maybe ignored the heart of what he told us to do. 

Slaveholders read the Bible. People who hung Black men from trees read the Bible. Some who abuse each other read the Bible. Men who put Jews in concentration camps read the Bible. Even today the Bible is being used as a weapon to hurt others. It’s an age old hypocrisy of humans to use religion as an excuse for hate or greed or power. 

I recall a time when many people walked around with shirts and lanyards emblazoned with the letters and question mark WWJD? Of course they asked, “What would Jesus do?” and they were a kind of reminder to us to consider how this great teacher would expect us to behave in any situation. Somehow I don’t recall any account of his life including fire and brimstone rages about people. What I do recall is his willingness to perform miracles in defiance of silly rules prohibiting such things on certain days of the week. I remember him touching people with leprosy when others ostracized them for being unclean. I think of the time that he praised the Samaritan who was considered to be an outsider in his community. I know of his love of Mary Magdalene who was thought to be a fallen woman. Over and over again he demonstrated his unfettered love and concern for people who were generally ostracized and hated. 

I think if Jesus were to return today he would be saddened with some of the interpretations of his message. We’ve muddled the simplicity of what he told us to do with exception after exception. We drive immigrants seeking refuge from our midst then go to church proclaiming our piety. We judge people even as we know that Jesus chided us for judging lest we also be judged. We spew hatred for people that we do not understand and pretend that our intentions are grounded in the rules of religion, forgetting that there is one basic rule that will allow us to always do the right thing. 

If we truly love one another we will not steal or harm or spread lies about each other. We will honor everyone just as Jesus told us to do. We will not cheat or scheme or neglect each other. Jesus took complicated rules and boiled them down to a few words that said all that we need to do and he told us exactly how we all should strive to be. If we truly want to praise God and live properly in this season of celebration we will take a deep breath and offer kindness in all things. We don’t have to understand someone to love him or her. I feel certain that is what Jesus wanted us to know. In the final analysis it’s all about love.