A Hidden Treasure

hr3331407-31I tutor at a school deep in the heart of southeast Houston. To reach my destination I drive down Telephone Road, a street with a somewhat notorious reputation. Just past Hobby Airport I turn into a neighborhood called Garden Villas and get to the campus where I work by crossing a bridge over Sims Bayou. I know these places well for I grew up very nearby and then lived in the area for well over thirty years after I married. There have been many changes since I was a young girl riding my bicycle under the pecan trees to get to Garden Villas Park so that I might visit the mobile library in search of books to read on hot summer afternoons. These days many of the homes that I used to pass have iron bars on the doors and windows and some of them have been severely neglected. Still there is something quite appealing about the neighborhood that makes me wonder why Garden Villas hasn’t become a mecca for gentrification.

The yards in Garden Villas are enormous, so much so that many people have built more than one structure on the land and still have huge green spaces. There are gigantic trees that have been growing since before I was even born. Most of them bear pecans in the fall so it is not unusual at all to see residents combing through the grass on their hands and knees filling huge bags with nature’s bounty. The canopy that reaches over the road shades those of us passing by creating a delightful path that seems far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city. Ironically the location is so close to downtown Houston, the Medical Center, the University of Houston and other major areas that it takes little or no time to be in the thick of business and commerce with little effort.

I have seen so many sights in Garden Villas that make me smile from ear to ear. Only this week I had to slow down to allow a flock of peacocks and peahens cross the street. I’m not sure where they came from or where they were going but the mere sight of them brightened my day. It’s not unusual at all to see families sauntering along the roads hand in hand forcing everyone to proceed a bit more slowly than they otherwise might. I love the leisurely pace that the area engenders. It literally helps me feel quite calm and often fills me with nostalgia as I think of the times when I once traveled along the same streets in search of childhood adventures.

Many of the homes in Garden Villas date back to the twenties, thirties and forties when the area was mostly farm and ranch country far from the city center. By the fifties and sixties new homes and neighborhoods were going up all around the area. None of them had the big yards and homey feel of Garden Villas. It was like a different place in time, unique to the usual ways of building in the Houston area. Many of the people who lived there came and stayed for all of their lives with some even passing down their homes to their children.

Progress changed most of southeast Houston. The neighborhoods that had been modern just after World War II became cramped, outdated and in many cases almost dilapidated. The home where I grew up is a shell of its former self. Its paint is faded and peeling. The roof is worn. The yard is filled with weeds and signs of neglect. It reminds me of the sad little house overtaken by a growing city in a picture book that I used to love. It pains me to even pass by my old homestead. It doesn’t even seem like the same place where I knew so much happiness with my mom and my brothers. Garden Villas on the other hand still has a spark of dignity and possibility. Somehow it seems to be a place with both a history and a future. People there appear to mostly love the hidden jewel that is their neighborhood.

I’ve never really understood why we so often abandon perfectly good areas in favor of new and shiny places. We hear the siren call of the suburbs and too often forget the pleasures of living in places that were built to last for longer than our short attention spans. The Houston Heights area has become one of the most sought after and prestigious addresses in our city. Time was not so long ago that it too had been mostly forgotten. It took the loving interest of people willing to be pioneers of sort to bring it back to its former glory. There are so many other perfectly good neighborhoods in Houston just waiting to be rediscovered and Garden Villas is one of them.

I sometimes drive to my tutoring sessions feeling a bit tired and out of sorts. I want to stay home and work in my yard or make new revisions to the book that I have written. I have to push myself out of the house. As soon as I make the turn from Telephone Road into the shady heaven of Garden Villas I feel instantly revitalized every single time. It would be worth the drive just to enjoy the tranquility that the area exudes.

Garden Villas is just across the road from Glenbrook Valley, a national historic district of elegant mid century homes. Many people predict that Glenbrook will one day be as sought after as it was back in the late fifties and throughout the sixties. Perhaps if that actually happens there will be enough of a renewed interest in the area that the businesses that once flourished will return and there will be a renaissance that will spread to Garden Villas and maybe even to the place where I lived as a child. In the meantime I will just enjoy my little secret and look forward to the surprises that keep coming each time I go there. Maybe it is actually best that not too many people find this treasure because I would hate to see it change too much. Right now it has a special ambiance that brightens my spirit just the way it is.

Truth Is Stranger Than Ficton

authorsI’ve often thought of writing a novel. I have a number of ideas but honestly make believe is not as crazy as real life. Sometimes you just can’t make up stuff that is as good as reality. I’m a big fan of House of Cards but often it feels as though the writers have jumped the shark. I mean, really, the plot seems a bit far fetched but then so does our present political scene. Nobody would believe the story that is unfolding if I were to write a fictional story about it and yet it is the truth.

Imagine my creating a character who never held political office, had been married multiple times and was known as an audacious blowhard. Would anyone truly consider such a person as a potential candidate for President of the United States? What if I further demonstrated his lack of manners by writing a scenario in which he boasted of his predatory sexual conquests? Who in their right mind would be able to accept my premise that he had a rabid following of supporters?

Even more unlikely is the idea that his opponent would be a rather uncharismatic older woman who has a reputation for sometimes bending the truth and a problem with keeping matters of national security safe. Nonetheless like her buffoonish counterpart she has a loyal following who refuses to see her flaws.

Add to the mix accusations of sexual assault by the fledgling politician and a probe by the FBI into the dealings of the more established candidate and you have a freaky story that seems impossible to accept. I would be a fool to even consider writing such a plot. I suspect that I would be laughed out of the ranks of serious authors unless I somehow managed to sell it as humorous satire, which makes the reality of our present election so strange.

I keep thinking that I will wake up one morning only to find that everything has been only a very bad dream. Out of the millions of people who might have thrown their hats into the ring, how is it possible that we are faced with such a dilemma? Has being president become such an onerous job that only a few souls have the courage to even try? After all we tend to try to destroy the reputations of anyone who even considers the possibility of running. Think of the horrid accusations that have been hurled at George W. Bush and Barack Obama. Recall the terrible things said about Mitt Romney and John McCain. Who would want to even put the members of their family through such a wringer? Those ultimately willing to endure the verbal beatings are far stronger than I would ever be.

I’ve often joked that I would make a great President of the United States. Still, I think of the many ways that my sterling character might be defamed. Someone would surely find the photo of me sitting in the big middle of a gathering of the Students for a Democratic Society back when I was a freshman in college. That group went on to have a rather unhealthy reputation. I’m certain that there would be those who would suggest that I am a Communist or rabble rouser at heart.

Then there is the matter of mental illness. Both my mother and my grandmother suffered from mental breakdowns. Would my quirkiness suddenly become a sure sign of my own disorder? There would certainly be whispers that I am unfit to hold such a demanding office even though I have never personally shown any signs of having the same genetic predisposition to nervous diseases as my ancestors.

I have surely made someone angry along the way. That person will suddenly appear with a story of my anger or unfairness or other such complaint. What kind of dirt would anxious reporters find on me or members of my family? Would that quarter that I stole when I was seven become a national scandal? How would I be able to explain that I returned it four fold and confessed to my sin at least seven times?

There would no doubt be infractions that I don’t even remember. Such is the way of modern day campaigns. I doubt that I would last more than a month without withdrawing my name from the contest. I enjoy my privacy far too much. I really don’t want to become an international pin cushion in the blood sport of politics.

I suppose that there has always been a bit of nastiness associated with holding the highest office in the land. Mrs. Lincoln was all but driven insane by a press that never liked her. They had no pity when she lost her children and witnessed the murder of her husband. The public was happy enough to rid themselves of her when she quietly went away to live out her remaining days in poverty and sadness. We have a very bad habit of being rather cruel to those who live or want to live in the White House.

I don’t know where all of this drama will ultimately lead. I suppose we will have a few answers in about a week but I fear that the story will drag on for years regardless of the outcome. I don’t know about everyone else but I am a bit tired of the anger. I much prefer fairytale endings but doubt that we will see one of those for some time. I’d like to think that as people we might choose to be a bit nicer when it comes to our political thinking but that doesn’t make for much of an exciting story and right now everyone who writes is hoping for the big surprise. This election certainly doesn’t disappoint anyone who revels in irony and uncertainty. I truly wonder where it will all lead. At this point nothing seems to be out of the question. My usual ability to predict the way that people will react is out of whack. I’m just as confused as anyone. God help us!

His Story

US_$10_Series_2003_obverse.jpgHe was a small man with a gigantic intellect. Nothing about his background might have indicated the greatness that he would achieve. He was born out of wedlock on an island in the West Indies at a time when illegitimacy was considered a curse. By the age of thirteen he was an orphan who so impressed a local benefactor that he was sent to New York to further his education. He eventually graduated from King’s College and became an up and coming lawyer. Without any wealth or influence he used his genius to be one of the driving forces behind the American Revolution and the development of the Constitution of the United States of America.  He earned the undying respect and trust of George Washington and became his personal aide during the war and the first Secretary of Commerce in the early years of the nation. Certain tragic flaws led to scandal, blackmail and ultimately his death in a duel. He has been the often forgotten Founding Father known best as the face on the ten dollar bill and the man shot and killed by Aaron Burr. In truth he is the person most responsible for creating the economic foundations of the country and in many ways he is perhaps the most quintessential representative of the American citizen. His name is Alexander Hamilton.

A few years back I became fascinated by Alexander Hamilton after reading a biography by Ron Chernow that my husband had given to me for Christmas. I identified with the sheer humanity of his story. He was someone who overcame tremendous deficits through sheer will and talent. He was a man who was unafraid to fight for what he believed to be right and just and yet he was also guilty of harboring resentments and falling prey to dishonest flattery. He was supremely confident in some situations and unsure of himself in others. He was a man filled with contradictions who often allowed his unbridled ego to determine his fate. He reminded me of so many highly gifted individuals who in spite of their multiplicity of talent too often become embroiled in personal battles that destroy them. Ultimately each and everyone of us struggle with inner demons.

It seems that while I was learning about Alexander Hamilton and celebrating his complexity there was someone else coming to the same conclusions as mine. In a stroke of genius Lin-Manuel Miranda created a brilliant musical to introduce the world to this fascinating character. Mixing history with modern day rap Miranda has created a stunning chronicle of the life and times of our nation’s earliest beginnings through the story of one of its most interesting founders. Hamilton represents the nitty gritty of America from his humble birth to his tragic downfall and Miranda has captured the sheer irony of Hamilton’s life in music that brings our forefathers into the modern world with all of their glory and baggage. The play has garnered well earned critical acclaim, honors and nightly packed houses. Best of all it has brought renewed interest in Hamilton and his costars in the unfolding of America’s story.

My dream is to one day see this musical on Broadway but that will have to wait until the tickets become more affordable for an average Josephine like me. Still I would love nothing more than to travel to all of the places that served as a backdrop to Hamilton’s life and then attend a showing of the play as the grand finale to my journey back through time. I think that it would prove to be the perfect vacation. My all time favorite trips have been educational in nature and this one would be beyond incredible. Judging from the ticket calendars for Hamilton that I have studied it will be several years before I will be able to fulfill my fantasy but in the meantime it will be a fun excursion to plan.

There are many aspects of Alexander Hamilton that remind me of my own grandfather. For all intents and purposes he too was an orphan. His mother died when was only three days old and his father gave him away to a woman that he lovingly called his grandmother. No documentation confirms who his relatives actually were. It is as though he simply sprang spontaneously from the earth. When he was only thirteen the woman who had raised him died leaving him on his own. He chose an uncle to oversee his small income and even stayed for a time with his father but it was not long before he was traveling across America alone and in search of work. He used his wits and determination to survive.

Grandpa was a brilliant man who in many ways was self taught. He loved this country and exercised his right to a voice in government by regularly voting well into his one hundredth eighth year of life. Like Alexander Hamilton he refused to allow his humble birth to dictate the direction of his life. He used all available opportunities to keep himself and his family afloat even in the most difficult times. He witnessed more than one economic depression, five different wars, and every presidential race from 1878 until his death in the mid nineteen eighties. Through it all he was an optimist who believed that each passing year of his life was just a bit better than his last.

My grandfather saw our human progress as a sign that the government was working just as it had been intended. He kept the faith in America’s democracy until the very day that he died. One of his last big reads was a biography of Thomas Jefferson which he was able to discuss at length just after he turned one hundred eight. He believed that his longevity and his gifts of freedom were great treasures. He left this world with not a penny to his name but he would have insisted that he was rich. He loved his country as much as he had his family. He had weathered a lifetime of tragedy and yet he was a happy man who thought himself blessed simply for living in a place that seemed to be ever improving. His take on history was that the United States of America was slowly but surely moving forward and that we all benefit from its continual search for justice and freedom.

Right now we are in a kind of valley of fear and criticism with regard to our country. We act as though these are somehow the worst of times and yet our history demonstrates that we have been in similar circumstances before. We find the divisiveness between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton to be deplorable and we are shocked that they won’t even shake hands. We forget that Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr were such political rivals and enemies that they ended up on a field in New Jersey to settle their differences with pistols. Hamilton was mortally wounded and Burr who had been the Vice President of the United States was charged with murder and thought to be a villain for all time. Somehow our country moved beyond such a shocking turn of events just as it always seems to do.

My grandfather was able to use the breadth of his experience to see that we may falter and even lose our momentum but we always find our way back. He realized that great men like Alexander Hamilton understood the nature of humans even when they ignored their own flaws. Together individuals from different backgrounds and alternative points of view developed a government that was capable of sustaining itself and correcting its mistakes. Over two hundred years later it’s still here and not even the bombast and prevarication will tear it down as long as we the people cherish it and continue to work to make things right just as Hamilton did so long ago. He lived and died just as we all do but what a story he left behind.

Live the Dream

independence-hall1d634dd113b0294df8db88c5695005d5Thank God today is the first day of early voting in Texas. I plan to take advantage of my right and my duty as a citizen of the United States by casting my ballot sometime this morning. In spite of the fact that I don’t feel tremendous enthusiasm for the candidates for President I still get quite excited thinking of the power that we the people collectively have. I have faith that each person will vote with sincerity and in accordance with his/her conscience. When we enter the voting booth we are ultimately choosing the person who we feel will best represent the totality of the electorate, not just a certain faction or cause. Choosing our executive is an awesome responsibility and one that none of us should take lightly.

Voting will lift a weight from my back. This election cycle has exhausted me and I sadly fear that even when the final results have been announced the bickering between candidates, parties and citizens will continue. I plan to assert my right to remain silent regarding the choice that I have ultimately made. I am rather certain that nobody will change his/her mind in knowing how or why I decided to cast my vote. My pick is now up to me and God and believe me I have literally prayed over what I should do on this day of reckoning because all of us will continue to need His help long after the inauguration next January.

For now I am hoping for a brief respite from political posts on my Facebook wall. I prefer to see mostly images of kittens, babies and travel scenes. I have grown weary of the divisiveness. When I tweet it will be about my feelings regarding the new season of The Walking Dead or which singer performed the best on The Voice. As far as I am concerned this turkey of an election is done and I just want to stick a fork in it before it becomes as dry and tasteless as the holiday meal in the movie Christmas Vacation.

Luckily I am determined to remain an optimist. In spite of all commentary to the contrary I don’t believe that any of us need to travel to another country nor will our own nation collapse. We may feel some bumps and get some bruises but ultimately we will get it right and settle down. It’s what we do. Our history has demonstrated that we have been imperfect many times and downright brilliant in others. Luckily our Founding Fathers had a fairly clear understanding of human nature when they set up the Constitution and all in all it has worked fairly well for us.

We won our revolution against one of the most powerful governments on earth and then set about the business of running our own country. The bets were all against us and we hadn’t been around for very long when Britain did its best to snatch us back into the fold. They burned the White House and bombarded our ports. Francis Scott key wrote a little ditty about that event which we now call our national anthem. Our leaders spent most of the first seventy five years of our existence arguing over slavery. At first those voices were part of a somewhat muted minority but it didn’t take long for the words of justice to be heard loudly and clearly. When an upstart Republican named Abraham Lincoln pushed the issues related to ending slavery a great schism erupted. Brother was fighting brother in a contest that would scar the nation in ways that we feel up to this very day. When we engaged in a war against each other once again the rest of the world suspected that our little experiment in governing was soon to face a tragic end but, they were wrong. Somehow we found the good sense to come together again even if with an undercurrent of discord and resentment. When the world wars of the twentieth century threatened humanity we became brothers and sisters once again. We argue and bicker like siblings often do but whenever push comes to shove we always seem to find ways to set aside our differences and carry on.

We’ve had our ups and our downs as a country. We took far too long to accept the idea that women should be the equal of men. We so tragically and erroneously held on to the institution of slavery even as it became more and more apparent that it was immoral. We pushed the native Americans aside and stole their land and way of life. We’ve made many mistakes and yet the evolution of our government has been continuous. We have made corrections and done our best to protect the rights of an incredibly diverse populace. Our work is never finished and as we attempt to fix things we often disagree on the proper course of action. We have enough belief in our nation to return to the ballot box again and again to voice our concerns and choose the leaders who will hopefully work for all of us.

One of the most moving moments of my life came when I was standing alone in Independence Hall in Philadelphia. I had lingered after the rest of my tour group had left. I wanted to really feel the spirit of those brave souls who crafted their Declaration of Independence on a hot July day. I stood among the original furnishings, the colonial chairs and tables. I thought of the men who were there. I felt the determination that they must have had. Every single one of them understood that they were risking their own lives in just being present for such an undertaking. Theirs was a treasonous act, punishable by death. Somehow their vision of a new kind of democracy kept them focused on their task. Even then their opinions differed. They found ways to compromise and build solidarity for their cause. They were quite audacious in believing that they might successfully break ties with the powerful far away government that did not appear to understand their needs. What they were suggesting was frightening and almost unbelievable.

We are the recipients of their great gift. We enjoy the benefits of those who continued to fight to create a more and more perfect union. One by one we are allowed to voice our individual opinions. Like our forefathers we must sometimes demonstrate a willingness to compromise and work together. Of late we are having a bit of a problem with that. My hope is that we will become so weary of the divisions that have are presently the standard of politics that we will find a way to join together again. Perhaps there is someone whom we have yet to meet who will see himself or herself as a uniter, someone who understands that the essence of this country lies in its willingness to respect and include its many points of view.

So for now I will dutifully cast my vote and feel the sense of power that my time in the ballot box represents. Then I just want to rest. The journey has been a bit too rough this time around. The cynical side of my nature has been tempted to overtake my psyche far too many times in the last few months. I prefer to remain upbeat as corny as that may seem. I’ll take the earnest efforts of the young people that I know as a sign that we will ultimately be okay. I’ll make my plans for Thanksgiving and once again consider my many blessings rather than dwell on problems. I know in my heart that the American people are mostly good and together we will carry on in hopes of fulfilling the promise that began in that little room in Philadelphia so long ago. Exercise your rights. Vote. Live the dream for which so many have sacrificed.

One Fingertip Away

fingertipsInside each of us is the instinct to flee from frightening events. As children we may attempt to fake an illness to avoid an unpleasant situation. As adults we may take a mental health day when our jobs begin to overwhelm. Sometimes our lives become so stressful or unhappy that we dream of running away. Few of us ever choose the easy way out of a sticky situation but such behavior is not unheard of.

When I was in college I landed an internship at one of the local elementary schools. I had a fancy title of some sort but in essence I was a teachers’ aide. I spent my days doing tasks that the real educators did not have enough time to accomplish. Only once in a blue moon did a teacher realize that I might enjoy working with students. Most of the time I was in the copy room running off worksheets and tests. That’s where I met a young woman who was a bonafide teachers’ aide who worked full time at the school and would likely still be there long after I had returned to the university to study. She was quite sweet but undeniably adrift. Her job was unfulfilling, low paying and at times demeaning. Sadly she saw no way out of her dilemma. She needed the income and saw no other possibilities on the horizon. In her mind she was stuck in a deep rut from which there was never going to be a means of escape. Her unhappiness enveloped her so that she was unable to even consider any of the ideas that I suggested as we ran the mimeograph machine, collated and stapled.

One morning she was nowhere to be found as I made my rounds to determine what kind of work was in store for me. Everyone was asking if I had seen her. I assumed that she was caught in traffic or perhaps she was so sick that she was unable to call the school to explain her absence. By mid-morning rumors were spreading through the school. The secretary had called the young woman’s home and her family insisted that she had left for work at the same time that she always did. We were all worried and wondering what might have happened. It was not until the next day that we learned the shocking truth.

It seems that the girl had indeed intended to go to work just as she always had. The mere thought of repeating the dull and never ending tasks made her stomach churn but she was a dutiful person. As she sat in the wall to wall traffic she just happened to glance at the side of the road where a sign noted the distance from that spot to Dallas. At that very moment something primal overcame her usually rational thinking. She knew in her heart that she could not face her job that day. On an impulse she decided to drive to Dallas instead. She went past the exit for the school and just kept traveling north until she saw the skyscrapers of Big D. She had no plan, no idea of what she intended to do next. She only knew that there was no way that she could go back to the life that she had been living and stay sane. She apologized to the principal and tendered her resignation effective immediately.

All of us were stunned by her actions. I wasn’t sure whether I thought that she was crazy or the bravest person that I had ever known. I understood that she had flaunted protocols and demonstrated a profound lack of responsibility, and maybe even maturity, but I somehow admired her willingness to excise the pain she had been experiencing in one fell swoop. Over the years whenever I found myself in situations that were overwhelming I thought of her and felt the temptation to emulate her actions. I wondered how freeing it must have felt to shoot the bird at obligations and fly away, if only for a day. Of course I never followed through on such thoughts because ultimately it was not in my nature. Still there was something fascinating about the idea of simply walking away from conflicts.

A few days ago I watched an ESPN 30 for 30 film about the incredible University of Houston Phi Slamma Jamma basketball team that made history in the early nineteen eighties. The movie was a story within a story as it traced the meteoric rise of one of the greatest teams in the history of college sports and their tragic inability to grab the ultimate prize of a national championship. In one of the most famous games of all time Houston was literally one fingertip and mere seconds away from the title when a player named Bennie Anders just missed his shot.

Things fell apart for the team and for Bennie after that. The glory days were gone as key players left for the NBA. Bennie who was younger stayed on but seemed to be in continual conflict with his coaches and his teammates. He ultimately became embroiled in an altercation with one of them, went to his car, and came back with a loaded gun. He was arrested and expelled from the university. After that he simply seemed to disappear. A young man who had once been thought to have enough talent to earn a place in the NBA was nowhere to be found. Thirty years later his former teammates located him living an ordinary life in Michigan. Bennie insisted that he was happy because he was free.

I am a promise keeper. Once I commit to a job, an event, a relationship I believe in going all the way. I don’t like the idea of letting other people down but I’m not so ready to fault those who understand that they must sever ties quickly and without warning or be eternally trapped. Sometimes I believe that we really do have to flee certain situations when they break us into a million little pieces. We may need a bit of time away from the fury or we may realize that we can never turn back again. I have not been the victim of abuse nor have I ever felt as though I was going to lose my mind but there are those who quite legitimately realize that they are on the verge of disaster and that their only recourse is to run away from something terrifying.

Those of us witnessing such behavior may be stunned but until we know all of the circumstances it is not up to us to judge. The beautiful thing about the Bernie Anders story is that the only question his old friends asked when they found him was whether or not he was happy. They embraced him just as he was and he felt their love, commenting on the powerful impact that it had on him. He was touched by their concern and the fact that they had never forgotten him. They were heroes but so was he.

We have basic human instincts locked inside our DNA designed to protect us from harm. They signal our brains when we are in danger. All too often we ignore the signs until it is too late or we have to make such dramatic moves that they seem to be extreme. We fail to listen for the tiny voices that tell us when our situation is not what it should be. We hide our fears and fail to reach out for the help that almost always is available. We think that we are alone when our emotions overcome us. We falsely believe that our faltering indicates that we are weak when admitting our concerns is actually the bravest thing that we might do.

Life can be unbelievably cruel at times. We make decisions over and over again as we meet the challenges that befall us. We can take the exit to work or keep heading down the highway. We can miss our shot at fame and fortune or choose to lead a quiet life on our own terms. Whatever we decide to do, it should feel good. When it doesn’t we are likely on the wrong track. Life is never about a single game. It is the sum of all that we do. We always have another chance to make the dunk or just walk away.