Category: Commentary

With streaming there is now a cornucopia of British programming from which to choose. I particularly enjoy the mysteries and detective shows but I’m open to romance and history as well. I’ve virtually gone through the streets of London to follow the antics of Sherlock and looked back in history at theories about who Jack the Ripper actually was. I follow several different guides who design walks through different areas of the English countryside. I’ve become familiar with terms like “bent cops” and even learned how to unravel Scottish and Welsh accents with the help of closed captioning. I smile whenever a character asks, “Would you like a cuppa?” knowing immediately that they are offering my favorite beverage to still the beast in any situation.

A cuppa seems to be the panacea for virtually any difficulty. It soothes the anxious or terrified soul and brings friends together in peacetime and war. It’s the national drink of Englan and my all time favorite beverage as well. I never have a day without a nice brew of hot tea. Sometimes I cheat and just pop a pod in my Keurig or push the button for hot water to use one of my many different varieties of the elegant brew born in the east but I know that taking more time brings far superior results.

When I am really invested in the moment I bring out one of the many teapots that I have collected or received as gifts over the years. I take time to heat the water in a kettle and warm the pot before pouring water over the aromatic leaves. I bring out special china cups and cookies or biscuits to accompany the ceremony. 

Over the years I have had teatimes with my grandchildren and my nieces as well as some of my students. We make a grand show out of the experience with lovely linens and tea towels. I have people asking me all of the time to invite them over for a cuppa along with some serious conversation. It never fails to make us all feel better.

One of my students always has a cuppa ready for me when I arrive at his home to teach him Algebra. There I have learned about new blends like Lady Gray and Biscuit to go along with my favorites at home. I think the Earl Grey is one of the best flavors ever and a twist on that idea is Cream Earl Grey. Of course English Breakfast tea is a staple around here and Irish Breakfast tea isn’t so bad either. I have tea from the Empress Hotel in Victoria BC that is to die for and I brought back tea from Yorkshire that was supposedly a favorite of Queen Elizabeth. I enjoy a chai tea latte now and again after being introduced to it by a dear friend from India. I have a ginger green tea that is nice for the evening without the caffeine that might keep me awake. It is also an anti-inflammatory that makes my tummy feel calm and ready to settle down for a long night’s sleep. 

Most of the people that I know prefer coffee over tea. It’s not always easy to find someone who wants to sit with me sipping on a cuppa. I often dream of living in England where my daily pleasure is seemingly appreciated by most of the people there. There is something quite special about the process of making the tea in lovely porcelain pots with a leisurely manner that invites calmness even in the face of murder. (At least that is what is intimated in the programs that I watch.)

My husband’s granny, Mary Isabella, was an immigrant from Newcastle. I never had the pleasure of meeting her but she handed down her tea time techniques to my mother-in-law. She showed me how to brew a perfect pot of tea and she and I consumed many a cuppa together on Sunday afternoons. I have to admit that I was a wee bit disappointed when she told me that her mother’s favorite blend was ordinary Lipton tea. Nonetheless I love to imagine the beautiful woman that I have only seen in photos meticulously following the process for the most perfect cup of tea.

I used to have regular tea times before Covid when all such things came to a screeching halt. The youngsters who used to come seem too grown up to want to revive that tradition but recently I had a request from one of them to recreate our ceremony one more time before he leaves for a job in Austin, Texas. I think it would be a fun way to send him off with good memories and a warm belly.

I laugh when I think of the many times a cuppa tea has save the day on those shows that I watch. I recall one World War II film where a military man was coming unglued because every possible thing was going wrong. He felt as though he was surrounded by lunatics while his men were dying. All the while his equipment had not arrived and chaos was ruling the day when his aide came in with a pot of tea. When the soldier asked what good a cuppa might possibly do, his aide replied, “It couldn’t hurt.” So it is! A cuppa may be just what the doctor ordered in any situation. I urge you to try it out. 

I joined a Facebook group called Southeast Houston in the 50s, 60s and 70s. It’s fun to be reminded of what life was like during my childhood, teen years and twenties. I was young then and a whole lifetime lay ahead of me. Houston was far from being the fourth largest city in the country, in fact I actually recall the moment when the population here hit a million people. I watched the city grow and change into a metropolitan area with more than four million people and growing. In fact, some believe that there are many folks who have never even been counted. As more and more folks moved here so much of what I enjoyed as a child is gone forever. On the other hand so much that I never dreamed of seeing has come to pass.

I have to admit to having a grand childhood with the exception of losing my father which made me much more serious at an early age than I might otherwise have been. Nonetheless I was mostly a free range kid who explored the world around me on my bicycle without a care in the world. I played in wooded areas that are long gone. I watched freeways sprout up making it easier to get from one place to another. I saw the flight to farther and farther away suburbs leaving my old neighborhood behind and dampening the economic growth that had always been so vibrant there.

I actually stayed in southeast Houston until 2005, albeit not in my childhood digs. I moved to a house in a neighborhood that stayed fairly stable until the turn of the century. I frequented all of the wonderful places that defined my little section of Houston. One day I looked around and realized that so much had changed. My neighbors were moving away or dying. The stores that I liked were closing. Nothing felt the same and so I pulled up stakes and moved even farther out into the suburbs leaving behind incredibly wonderful times that were no longer what they had once been. 

I love the memories that I made in my childhood and throughout my working years but I am not one who looks backward and dreams of a return to times past. I have learned that most progress takes place for many reasons, to fill gaps that made life unequal and unfair for others. Change is an inevitable part of life and we can’t go back and probably would not want to do so. I suppose that sometimes we recall our childhood with such fond memories because our parents were shouldering all of the responsibilities that left us free to play and explore. Like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn we romanticize our youth when there were actually terrible things happening to people not so far from us as well as in other parts of the world. 

I still wonder how I was able to endure Houston summers in a home without air conditioning. I can’t imagine not having a phone at my fingertips wherever I go and even remember when I once had to walk several miles to find a phone after my car broke down. My laptop has made writing so simple whereas having to type everything back in the day was an onerous task. I recall spending hours combing through a card catalog at the library only to find that the references I wanted were checked out to someone else. I could go on and on about things that now seem essential that I had not even dreamed of having in the long ago.

I would not trade the diversity of my city today for the segregated racism of the past. There were things that I was not allowed to do as a woman back then that we take for granted today like getting credit or working at certain jobs. I was not able to attend Texas A&M University when I graduated from high school because women were still not welcome there. I remember female friends being harassed in engineering classes at the University of Houston in the mid nineteen sixties. We ladies were often told that our choices for life lay between being a housewife and mother or working as nurses, teachers and secretaries. Now girls can dream of being whatever they wish to be with no holds barred. 

I would not give up my memories for anything. They speak of the simple times when I formed friendships and enjoyed roller skating on a Friday night. They tell the story of days spent at the local swimming pool and adventures riding under the shade of trees in Garden Villas. I remember nineteen cent tacos at Jack in the Box but also a salary of eighty dollars a month on a forty four hour a week summer job. Things surely changed just as they were meant to be. If they had not my granddaughter would not be as independent and self assured as she is. She knows that she is capable of doing whatever her heart leads her to do. 

There was indeed a time when things moved more slowly in Houston and the southeast section was as homey as a small town. I still have many lifelong friends from that era and all of us have answered the siren call of the world. We look back and smile as we push ever forward, happy to live in an era that is exciting and capable of shrinking the world down to a size that we can visit and explore. I’m betting that the future will be even better for me and for southeast Houston as well. 

Those who regularly read my blogs may have noticed a staleness about them. I’ve been groping a bit to find good topics. Much of my lack of fresh ideas has resulted from four years of massive changes in lifestyle that have left me spending more time taking loved ones back and forth to doctor’s appointments than traveling to interesting places the way I have done in the past. I’ve had a few health bumps myself that have finally resolved themselves, but I have to admit that I miss my former life before Covid and January 6, 2021, and friends and family members dividing into political camps with little patience for differences. I often feel quite sad about the state of the world with wars in Ukraine and more fighting between Israel and Palestine. I long for calm and a moment when we can all just take a breath and love each other without rancor. Nonetheless I do understand that everyone across the world has been just as affected by the difficulties of the past four years as I have on a personal level. That is why I saw the summer Olympics as an opportunity to bask momentarily in an island of joy. 

The last time the worlds’ athletes were able to convene Covid was still taking thousands of lives each day. Everything about the event seemed to only highlight the sadness the we shared the world over. Spectators were not allowed. Athletes wore masks. Watching the pared down events was a reminder of the seriousness of what we humans were enduring. The prospect of seeing a more normal version of the Olympics was exciting given that my days of late have a kind of sameness of tempo and duties. I eagerly tuned in to the opening ceremonies last Friday with a the kind of childlike glee that is usually reserved for Christmas or a Birthday party. 

I found the extravaganza and creativity of the very different way of introducing the games to be refreshing and inspiring. I loved seeing the excited athletes from around the world in colorful boats sailing along the Seine River as thousands of onlookers cheered along the route. I liked the brilliance of the colors and the variety of the the musical acts. The fact that there was so much visible happiness even in a pouring rain made me smile more than I have for some time now. 

Lady Gaga was glorious as usual and so were the many people who were featured in vignettes that showcased the culture and history of France. I felt that I was on a grand tour of Paris, a place that I have often dreamed of visiting. The many hours of the program went by so quickly as I marveled at the inclusiveness of the talent and the themes of brotherhood and freedom that echoed the storied flow of the journey of humans aspiring to be better and better versions of themselves. I was so moved by it all that I posted a simple comment on Facebook to express my delight, “The opening ceremony of the Olympics is beyond fabulous!”

Later when the programming ended with Celine Dion singing her heart out once again I cried in big heaves. The miracle of her presence with her voice as strong and beautiful as ever seemed to me to be a metaphor for a good turn in the destiny of the world. Somehow as she sang and I sobbed I knew that we were all on the right track and that ultimately we humans would move past the death and rancor that has plagued us for far too long. Little did I realize that my post on Facebook would dust up a controversy that shocked and ultimately confused me and made me anxious. 

In the first psychology class that I ever took I learned the importance of perception. We each see the world around us in differing ways depending on our personal beliefs and upbringings. Perception is more influential in determining how we react to any event than actual truth. Even witnesses to the exact same happening will often walk away with dramatically different interpretations of what they saw. It is a fact of our humanity that we are constantly interpreting the input of our senses in unique ways because of our beliefs and experiences. Knowing and understanding the role of perception nonetheless did not prepare me for the volcanic eruption of differing viewpoints that my simple post inspired. 

I was almost immediately chastised by a long time friend for enjoying a ceremony that had supposedly attacked Christianity with an insulting reenactment of the Last Supper with Jesus and His apostles. In all honesty to this very moment I don’t even recall seeing that. I had to look it up in the hopes of jogging my memory but nothing worked. I suppose that it was one of the least memorable aspects of the outstanding entertainment for me. Why would I give much attention to a quick parody when I was treated to a rousing number by Lady Gaga and a tear jerking rendition of the French national anthem by a magnificent mezzo soprano? Somehow that little blip got past me and even if I had seen it I probably would have either laughed or rolled my eyes just a bit. Instead my friend was upset that I was not as incensed as he was. 

Other comments followed in quick succession from friends and former students choosing sides in arguments that seemed only to tell me that we are not yet as healed as I had naively hoped. In our hurt and loneliness of the past four years we have tended to choose sides and envelop ourselves in tribal behaviors which are generally unhealthy for us all. I wanted to be amused by the dust up, but instead the old sadness threatened to encircle me once again. I felt badly for my friends who so earnestly presented their personal points of view. I found myself thinking of the song Imagine by John Lennon and wondering if it is even possible for the world to be as one. As much as I want to be the grand diplomat who loves people regardless of how they choose to live their lives, I wonder if I am chasing a unicorn when I simply want us to try harder to do nothing more that just love each other. 

When all is said and done I have to think of the miracle of Celine Dion’s return to the moment that she has worked so long and hard to achieve. I have to consider the pure joy of the USA’s men’s gymnastic team as they worked together as a real and loving group determined to win a bronze medal. Perhaps it is in such moments that I see the key to bringing us all together. 

I am not angry at my friend for chastising me. I know him and so I understand that he truly wants to help me. I love my friends who so quickly jumped to defend me. I would tell them that all that I am okay. My perception has been fine tuned by years of caring for my mother, teaching students of every possible type, working with teachers striving to make a difference, enjoying incredibly diverse friendships, once again assuming the role of caretaker for my father-in-law. I have seen the hopes and dreams of many people, most of whom were different from myself. The one thing we all have in common is wanting to be valued and loved. That is what I saw in the opening ceremony of the Olympic games in Paris. I witnessed people from the world over celebrating life. That is why I loved it and did not take the time to pick it apart with little critiques. For me the beauty of it all really was beyond fabulous! 

I’m writing this blog on the last Saturday of July. I am a self pronounced lover of rain but this month has been utterly ridiculous with everything from a hurricane that took direct aim at my town to weeks of afternoon rain showers. It has certainly been a cooler than usual July which my plants seem to be greatly enjoying and the wet stuff falling from the sky is going to make my water bill more palatable than most summers Still, I am not much for excesses of any kind and as I write this I find myself dreaming of the sun more than I might normally do.

I suspect that when the rainless days and high temperatures return I will find myself longing for the long month of dreary skies and regular sprinkles from the sky. I know that one of my daughters would gladly trade places as she experiences a sixth year of drought and water restrictions that have essentially killed her grass. Now she carefully tends her few remaining plants with water that she recycles after washing dishes or taking showers.

With my own wet routine I am beginning to imagine swarms of mosquitoes growing exponentially in the moist areas of my yard. I wonder if I will one day be greeted by snakes or gators leaving the ditches around the area to explore the neighborhoods. Alas it is beginning to feel more like a tropical jungle around here than a residential area. I even worry that another hurricane will decide to come our way leaving more rain than our lakes and rivers and bayous can hold. The result will be flooded homes and so much loss. We simply need to dry out for a time to keep a balance.

I generally find rainy days to be incredibly calming but I suspect that there is a fine line between enjoying a certain type of weather and growing weary of the sameness of it. I like that we have seasons so that we do not have to be either hot or cold all the time. The variety of weather is what makes each kind seem so wonderful. Of late it seems that there are too many places that are either too wet or too dry. I prefer the Goldilocks way of preferring that things to be just right. 

The weather report promises a week of typical hot dry days to usher August into our area. I may enjoy the change for a time but if it too becomes too repetitive I suspect that I will be grinching once again. It seems that I can’t always get what I want, but I definitely don’t believe that any of us need feast or famine. 

We humans are sometimes a cranky bunch. We take simple things for granted until they are no longer with us. We do much the same with people. We rush around thinking that we will have plenty of time to tell that person who always makes us smile how much we appreciate him. Then he is suddenly gone and it is too late to deliver that message to him. We get so busy with the mundane aspects of life that opportunities to let someone know how much he or she means to us evaporate. Much like a preference for rain or sunshine we get too busy to just stop and smell the dewy grass or the feel of the sand under our feet at the ocean. We tell ourselves that we will think about those things tomorrow and rush about doing tasks that we might well leave for another day.

Here in the United States we are all filled with political angst these days. Each of us believes that we have the answers to what we need to do to improve our world. We engage in a lot of judging without actually listening to what is prompting the people around us to seemingly think so much differently than we do. I suspect that if we were able to take a breath and actually hear them without thinking of what our next argument will be, we might find that we are all more aligned with each other than we once thought. These days just as with the rain or the drought everything political seems to point to excesses one way or another. We even seem to apply our thinking to religious beliefs, chastising each other for having differing ideas about spirituality rather than understanding how deeply personal such things are. 

We know that our plants and our attitudes do best with both a bit of rain and a bit of sunshine. So too it is with the way we manage our relationships and our countries and our laws. Too much a anything for too long can make a mess of things. It seems to me that it is balance that we need in our lives and also the right mixture for each situation. If we want to grow rice muddy fields of standing water may be just the ticket but succulents tend to rot without a bit of drying out. We need to remember that If we refuse to hear the concerns of all we do not grow and prosper as people anymore than our plants do in the wrong environment. 

I do not know what lies ahead with either the weather or the political scene but I feel rather certain that too much of anything is generally harmful. I also know that we are totally dependent on each other and would do well to try to understand that some of us like rain, some of us like deserts, some love mountains, others prefer the ocean. We can be different and still get along. The trick is to find just the right balance.  

There are people in my world who bring me incredible joy without ever knowing how much they mean to me. They are not members of my family without whom I would be bereft. They are not influential individuals who create important ideas. They are simple folk who probably go about their days rarely being noticed, but to me they are the salt of the earth. 

One is the man who grooms my yard throughout the year. His name is Jose and he is one of the most conscientious and reliable people that I have ever known. There was a time when I did all of the mowing and edging and sweeping to keep my lawn looking presentable. Then came a moment when my lawnmower would no longer start and I was faced with replacing it with a new one. Somehow I shuddered at the thought of bringing a new machine to my garage and instead checked around to see if someone might recommend a good landscaper who would do that job for me. With a rave review from our school secretary I called Jose and he has been coming to my home since two thousand five. 

Jose works at a full time job during the week but when the days grow longer in the spring and summer he labors at people’s homes doing all kinds of work for them. He is an artist with a string trimmer and a perfectionist in creating a pleasing lawn. He keeps most of my cul-de-sac looking wonderful. I know that he will drive up with his trailer and with his assistant Angel even when I am out of town to maintain the look of my property and keep the members of the HOA from sending me letters complaining about weeds or overgrown flower beds. 

Jose is a pleasant fellow who does his best to do his work quickly and without bothering anyone. Years ago he began working for my father-in-law as well. He is reluctant to raise his prices even as inflation eats away at his profits. He apologizes for asking for a bit more when gasoline prices rise or if mulch is selling at a premium. If we ask him to do so he’s willing to hang Christmas lights or move heavy furniture from one room to another. I try to let him know how much I appreciate the work that he does. I can’t imagine not hearing his truck arrive each Saturday to so quietly and humbly ply his trade. He always makes me feel quite blessed.

Another person who has come to mean a great deal to me is a lovely woman named Kimberly who gives me a pedicure and manicure every five or six weeks. She helps me feel so relaxed and carefree. When I am with her my worries and troubles seem to melt away. We talk like two girlfriends catching up on stories about our families and the things that we have done since our last meeting. We laugh and solve the problems of the world.

Kimberly is a brilliant woman who came here from South Korea. She has a son who is in advanced classes in middle school. When she is not working she provides him with books and travel and experiences to enrich his mind. She speaks so lovingly of him as she recounts taking him to the library or watching him give a presentation in one of his classes. 

Kimberly works hard washing and massaging and beautifying people’s hands and feet. Her care and gentle touch is almost spiritual. It reminds me of Mary Magdalene washing the feet of Jesus and then drying them with her hair. It is a loving gesture that makes people feel good. In my case, it is worthy of two hours with a gifted counselor. I always feel somehow mended after spending time with this wonderful woman.

Kimberly is reading books written by Dale Carnegie. She learns from his wisdom and passes on her discoveries to me and other people she meets. She smiles and remembers names and conversations. She knows how to make everyone feel special and important. She has a special gift that not everyone masters. Perhaps it lies in her naturally loving and kind nature. 

There have been times when I have come to Kimberly in pain from an injury to my leg or feeling low because of challenges in my life. She listens to me attentively and almost always gifts me with a wise observation that seems to set everything right again. I look forward to being with her and hope that she understands how much I admire her hard work and her optimism. Somehow an extra nice tip does not seem to be enough to let her know how important her joy is to me and the people that she encounters in her work. 

There are people in our world who do not have impressive degrees or fancy titles who nonetheless become indispensable to us. They toil without demands and do work that we do not know how to do as well as they do. I suspect that we all know someone like that. It may be the janitor who cleans our office or classroom in the middle of the night. Perhaps it is the friendly waiter who makes us feel as though we are royalty. Maybe it is the crew that carries away our trash or the worker who restores the electricity when a storm makes our homes go dark. They are the heroes who keep the world operating the way it should and they do it with a smile and determination. I salute them all, but especially Jose and Kimberly. Words don’t seem sufficient to express my gratitude for them. They rock my world.