Hope Chests

art_61133_0-1a1a1achesthopettleadWhen I graduated from high school fifty years ago I received a coupon entitling me to a miniature Lane cedar chest. The idea behind the promotion was to get young ladies and their parents into the store where they would see the full sized models and consider purchasing one as a special gift. Back then coming of age for many girls meant owning a “hope chest” that they would begin to fill with special items that they might later use in a future home once they were married. In a sense it was a way of creating a kind of dowry.

I only took the freebie chest which I turned into a container for trinkets like campaign buttons and old pins but I dreamed of one day having one of the beautiful full sized wooden boxes with its enchanting interior cedar aroma. My dear sweet husband eventually bought me one when I graduated from college and to this day I use it to store blankets and seasonal items. It sits in one of my extra bedrooms looking as shiny and new as the day we brought it home and I hope that it will one day become an heirloom for one of my children or grandchildren. 

Most girls today would scratch their heads in confusion if someone were to ask them if they have a “hope chest.” The idea of storing away linens in anticipation of getting married soon after high school would sound quaint and outdated to them. Instead they dream of careers and putting first things first like getting an education and building a resume. Marriage is a distant goal that is way down on their checklist of things to accomplish. Besides, a registry at Bed Bath and Beyond will be sure to bring in all of the needed items when its time to think of settling down. At least in this country the “hope chest” has mostly gone the way of the buggy whip and arranged marriages. With a woman in contention for president it is doubtful that we will ever again see teenage girls lovingly accumulating linens for a future homey nest.

So much has changed over the decades. Raising girls is far different from the past. My granddaughter is as comfortable on a robotics team as she is getting a pedicure. When she speaks of the future the idea of husbands and babies is rarely mentioned. Instead she dreams of producing films or doing scientific research. She has enough confidence in herself that she would even consider running for political office. She has little idea that such goals were once thought to be beyond the grasp of women. She senses that the only barriers to fulfillment of her dreams might lie within her own heart but she is determined to stay strong and compete with her male counterparts on equal footing. She pushes herself to go well beyond expectations and proves time and again that she is made of steely stuff. Amazingly she is far from being alone. Women everywhere are accomplishing feats that might have been unimaginable back when I was her age.

There are now more women graduating from universities today than men. They are represented in virtually every field of endeavor. Women from the USA dominated the summer Olympics. They head multi-billion dollar corporations and hold the highest political offices in countries across the world. They have evolved quickly into movers and shakers. They are housewives if they choose or stock analysts if they prefer. There seems to be little territory that they are unable or unwilling to conquer and yet there are still vast swaths of the world where they are thought to be the inferior half of the human race. It is an enigma that their domination continues in some corners even as they rise above the forces that have traditionally held them down in others.

I can only hope that the evolution of women will continue in the places where their plight seems the most hopeless. There have always been pioneers among us who dared to go where no women had gone before. They were unwilling to accept the norms that were so irrationally used to define them. Marie Curie engaged in scientific research in a time when female thoughts and opinions were rarely considered. Amelia Earhart strode into a traditionally man’s world and demonstrated the potential of the future. Abigail Adams dared to engage her husband in political dialogue on an equal footing. Such women and the many others whose names we may never know pushed past barriers to create paths that today’s young girls take for granted. Hopefully there are people like them working to overcome prejudices in places where their rights are sorely limited.

As women chart new courses and eschew the old ways of doing things new questions and problems arise. Any woman who works understands how difficult it is to take care of business and a family. Time, resources and energy are stretched thin in a balancing act that is far more difficult than it may appear. With a generous income a woman has the option of employing nannies, maids, landscapers and other helpers to ease the load of responsibilities but most jobs don’t provide enough money to afford such luxuries. It falls on the women and their partners to shoulder the tasks together and studies demonstrate that the ladies are still doing much of the heavy lifting at home, especially when it comes to the children. It is up to us as a society to begin to educate both our girls and our boys in the new ways of doing things. 

I still believe that family is at the heart of society. Ultimately we need children to forge the future. In our enthusiasm for freeing women to develop all of their talents we also need to remember to honor their efforts to raise the next generation. As a society we cannot be guilty of underestimating the value of a happy and loving home. While the modern family may not look exactly like the one that grandma knew the basic needs and foundations are still the same. Today’s parents are quite busy juggling hundreds of objects in the air  and we need to consider innovative ways to make their struggles less difficult while supporting their choices as well.

Traditions come and go. Our daughters are still romantic and dream of finding true love just as in fairytales but they no longer see themselves as extensions of their soulmate’s dreams. They have become equal partners who support one another in reaching personal goals. If they were to have something as old fashioned as a “hope chest” today it would be filled with roadmaps to grand possibilities and adventures.   

Our Glorious Cause

colin-kaepernick-football-headshot-photoI’m a quiet person who doesn’t generally like to make waves. I prefer having a routine but enjoy an occasional adventure. I shy away from conflict but sometimes throw caution to the wind and take a stand. Like most people my days are mostly devoid of drama and I prefer it that way. In spite of my efforts to walk the middle road and keep the peace there have been times when I have felt compelled to speak my mind. Life has a way of placing us in situations that demand our attention whether we desire to become involved or not.

When I was nineteen years old my mother had the first of many psychotic breakdowns. I had never seen anything like her frightening behavior in all of my life. With no father and younger brothers still incapable of navigating the rough seas of caring for someone with a mental illness I was on my own. I still was not of legal age but I had to quickly learn how to make decisions on behalf of my mother and my family. The biggest mistake that I made on the first occasion of her illness was maintaining total respect for and deference to the doctor who treated my mom. I agreed to whatever he suggested even when my heart and soul told me that he was wrong. I had been raised to be polite and my gentle demeanor resulted in a series of decisions that I would always regret.

I’m a fast learner and when my mother’s next psychiatric episode occurred I was ready to take on the devil himself if need be. I was assertive with her new doctor and everyone else involved in her care. I became an outspoken advocate for her and her cause. My life and my personality changed forever. I finally understood that we may not wish to do so but sometimes we are forced to speak out for what we strongly believe is right and just. For each of us the causes that we embrace are highly personal, derived from life experiences that somehow made an indelible mark on our hearts. While others may believe that they understand our motivations the reality is that nobody else will ever completely know exactly how we feel.

I was judged for the way I handled my mother’s mental illness by people who had not walked in my shoes and who had turned away when I asked them to help me. Some people see me as a saint and others quietly whisper that I did more harm to my mom than good in the choices that I made. It is difficult for people to understand that even when I made mistakes or did things differently than they would have my motives were pure. My mother now rests with the angels in heaven but to this very day I speak of her life changing illness and the way I tried to help her without apology. I want the world to be aware of mental illness. I feel the need to open people’s eyes even when doing so makes them intensely uncomfortable. Honesty and a willingness to speak of the horror that my mother and my family endured is the only way that I may help to one day bring about a cure or at least a better way of dealing with this very real problem.

Mental illness is my cause along with education. These are the topics that I hold dear and I am thankful that I live in a time and place that allows me to voice my thoughts and opinions. My audience is small so my ideas are not nearly as impactful as I would like for them to be. I am one of many nameless faces in the world shouting in the wilderness. I would love to have a status so recognizable that my ideas would become news. Then perhaps my words might actually make a difference but for now I must be content with changing one mind at a time in a very tiny circle.

There are famous people with causes who have the power to move larger audiences. Glenn Close has become a beacon of hope for those of us who know the tragedy of mental illness. George Clooney is an outspoken advocate for human rights. Gary Sinise has devoted time and treasure to the Wounded Warrior Project. We usually applaud such efforts because they fall within the boundaries of our comfort zones. It is only when one of our heroes chooses to make us aware of something that we would rather ignore that we begin to make judgements about them that are not always fair.

Until recently I had no idea who Colin Kaepernick was. I don’t live in San Francisco and I don’t care that much about football. In all likelihood I would have gone my entire life without ever even hearing his name were it not for a moment when he chose to shine a light on something that bothers him as much as mental illness bothers me. His method for drawing attention to his cause was to remain seated during the playing of the national anthem. Some of those who witnessed his protest have gone ballistic in criticizing him both for that action and for the reasons that he has given for them.

The reality is that he has managed to do something remarkable. He has started a conversation about our rights as citizens of this country. Regardless of which side people espouse they are chattering away which is exactly what he hoped to accomplish. The problems that worried him are out in the open. He has shed a bright light on an uncomfortable topic and has done so with the possibility of damaging his reputation and his livelihood. That takes great courage, the kind that few of us, myself included, possess.

Mr. Kaepernick wants us to notice that a significant portion of our populace lives in fear of law enforcement. He wants us to understand that even a young black man raised by white parents is not immune to the forces of racism that still exist in some quarters of our country. He insists that in spite of education and success he and other black men and women endure the sting of hate simply because of the color of their skin. Whether we totally agree with him or not we have to admit that we have never walked in his world. We will never be able to know his reality. We must take him at his word and then begin to consider how we might begin to exchange honest dialogue about the situation that he has described.

Whether or not Colin Kaepernick stands for our national anthem is irrelevant. Our Constitution provides him with the right to rebel just as our forefathers did when they believed that they were living under a yoke of tyranny. Their actions were seemingly outrageous but they were cries for liberty. Theirs was a noble cause that sadly ended without assurances for a considerable portion of the citizenry. Over time we have slowly but surely attempted to correct their omissions. Traditions should never be so sacred that we allow them to stand when they are so obviously flawed. We had to outlaw slavery and give the vote to blacks and women. We had to find ways to include everyone in this great democratic experiment. Even to this day it is incumbent on all of us to correct the mistakes of the past. If so many who live among us are feeling so left out of our national pride then we need to take the time to hear them and to accept that they may know something that we don’t

I believe that we the people need to suspend our moral outrage each time someone alerts us to a festering problem. If King George had taken the time to listen to the protests of the colonists we might still be part of Great Britain. We need to stop the name calling and the madness. It does absolutely nothing to help in dealing with the issues. It is a diversion, a distraction that keeps us from hearing all sides of the discussions that we need to have. Perhaps what we really should do is simply listen to Mr. Kaepernick and celebrate that we are a country where freedom allows each of us to have an opinion. We have the opportunity to be part of the ongoing solution of mankind’s deepest problems. If we truly want to honor our country we will lower our voices and join in an effort to understand our disparate needs. It is our glorious cause.

The Best Gift Ever

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There are moments in life that are forever etched in memory, so vivid that even thirty years later they evoke powerful emotions. I have many such recollections. Among them is an evening on Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was late spring, a time when days grow warm and new life is sprouting here in my Houston home. My husband was attending a conference in Denver and he invited me to come along. The hotel room after all was already secured. I only needed to purchase a plane ticket, find someone to watch our daughters in our absence and take a couple of days off from work. It seemed an audaciously frivolous thing to do which made me reluctant. I not only had children who relied on me at home but also at the school where I worked. Additionally I was taking a class and it was nearing the end of the semester. Papers were due; tests were coming. Nonetheless some force inside my soul told me that the brief retreat might be fun.

While Mike was attending the seminars and functions associated with his work I stayed in my hotel room reading from my textbooks, writing essays and studying for an exam that was coming within days. The quiet atmosphere complete with room service was perfect for the work that I had to do. I seemed to accomplish five times as much as I would have at home but it still felt silly to have flown hundreds of miles just to hole up inside four walls. I had to wonder what I had been thinking when I agreed to Mike’s plan.

When Mike’s business day ended much earlier than he had anticipated he appeared in our room with a mischievous grin. He announced that we were going to take a drive to Estes Park to see the mountains up close. I quickly gathered my purse and put on my shoes and we were soon heading toward an adventure that would make my trip worthwhile. The mountains loomed ever larger in our view as we drove out of Denver and through Boulder. Soon we were on a highway cut through a national forest which was dotted with mountain streams and incredible vistas at each curve in the road. Before long we were navigating the streets of Estes Park with its quaint shops and restaurants on our quest to ride along Trail Ridge Road inside Rocky Mountain National Park. 

The ranger who greeted us at the entrance of the park told us that we were fortunate because the road had only recently opened but he urged us to be careful because it was growing dark and the weather report indicated that it would be foggy on our trail. We were not dissuaded by his warnings. The mountains beckoned us with a primal urge and we preceded with a growing excitement.

The path was easy at first. We drove along the side of a mountain sheltered by groves of trees that obscured the view. It grew unseasonably cold and we had come dressed for Houston, not the wintry temperatures that surrounded us, so we turned on the heater in our rented car. Here and there were gaps in the pines that showed us that we were indeed going higher and higher. The valley below receded and the air grew thinner. Before long we were driving above the tree line observing ancient glaciers on the tundra. Just as the ranger had predicted a wall of fog and clouds darkened our view. There were no signs of life, just a white blanket of snow and ice on the majestic peaks.

We spoke very little. Somehow chatter seemed to defame the glorious sight that lay all around us. We were alone in God’s country, viewing His majestic architecture, the cathedrals born from His hand. When we reached a point that overlooked the massive peaks through which we were traveling Mike parked the car and we exited so that we might stand in silence observing the breathtaking scene before us. The wind was howling, the temperature was freezing and neither of us had thought to bring coats but we cared little at that moment. Somehow we felt immune to the punishing weather. We were sharing a timeless vision. It felt as though we were the only human beings on the planet, an Adam and Eve discovering the world for the very first time. I wondered at that moment how many intrepid individuals had trekked into the mountains before there were roads or trails only to reach such a place and gaze into infinity just as we were doing. Did they feel close to God and to the core of their souls as I did?

Our faces had grown red from the harshness of the wind. Our fingers were becoming numb from the cold. Shivering we saw our own grins reflected in each other’s expressions. We needed no words to share what we were experiencing. We hesitated to leave but our more rational natures told us that it would soon be dark and a light snow was beginning to fall. We had seen something so spiritual that it would forever bind us with a love for Rocky Mountain National Park and each other. 

We would return to that spot many more times over the years. We would never tire of seeing the wonders of the mountains in different seasons. We would bring our daughters and they would become as spellbound as we were. We would travel to the park with my brothers and their families. We celebrated our fortieth anniversary in those very same mountains along with good friends. We came back with our grandchildren. The lure of Rocky Mountain National Park never seems to grow old and we plan to return once again in a few weeks.

A hundred years ago the idea of preserving our national wonders in a system of parks and monuments that might be shared by all Americans came to be. Today our National Park System cares for our nation’s treasures from north to south, the Atlantic to the Pacific. Over the years Mike and I have marveled at Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier, Zion, Mesa Verde, the Grand Canyon, Carlsbad Caverns, the Smokey Mountains, the Missions in San Antonio, Shilo, The Washington and Lincoln Memorials and so many others that it would take pages to list and describe them. We now have a senior pass that allows us to enter any of them without even paying a fee. It would be impossible to justly describe the joy that visiting these places has brought to us again and again.

Our national parks represent the best of our country and who we are as people. They belong to all of us. The idea of preserving them forever was inspired. It came at a time when the entire world was weary from a war that had ultimately seemed so useless. We had paid a heavy price for peace and little knew the horrors that still lay ahead. Our national parks would become havens for even the common man as we grappled with the uglier sides of humanity during the decades that followed.

Our nation’s problems seem to persist but we the people mostly agree the we got it right when we chose to protect our glorious heritage through the national parks. They are a gift to everyone of us and inside their borders we are reminded again and again of what really matters.

Happy Birthday to our National Park System! May the next hundred years be even more glorious. 

Monsters Under the Bed

MTE5NDg0MDU0OTk3MjcyMDc5We’ve all heard of Heinrich Himmler. We’ve seen his images, a weak rather nondescript looking man. He had one of those faces that just blended into a crowd. In most circumstances he would have been the quiet, frustrated and angry man who never quite accomplished much who seethed at imagined enemies. He might have simply been an unhappy crank or perhaps he would have one day become unhinged, perpetrating a one time shocking, violent deed. That is, however, not what happened to Heinrich Himmler. He lived during a time when his decidedly sick views were shared by people in power. His adherence to racist theories and unyielding allegiance to Adolf Hitler provided him with a prominent place among the dangerous rogues who held sway over Germany. He became one of the major architects of a profane attempt to purify the world by exterminating Jews, homosexuals, gypsies, Communists and anyone deemed to be infirm in body or mind. He was a cold calculating killer, an evil individual with psychopathic tendencies.

Heinrich Himmler appeared to be a sweet little boy but even in his earliest days there were signs that something was not quite right in his temperament. He struggled in school claiming that he was simply bored and lazy. He was sickly. He penned journal entries speaking of his strong desire to return to a time of “Germanic glory.” He was sad that he was not old enough to go to war for his country and longed for the time when he might fight. He wrote of his many grievances and tended to blame everyone but himself for the troubles that seemed to dog him. His hatred for the Jews was particularly vile but he railed against homosexuals as well. He somehow believed that his country would be a better place without such people.

Heinrich eventually fell in love with an older woman. His correspondence with her was as strange as his diary entries. He wanted her to be both pure and naughty at the same time. He demanded her subservience to him. She demurred and eventually they wed at a time when he was ascending the ranks of the Nationalist Party. Much of the couple’s time together would be brief. He was busy building a new Germany and a house for his family. He believed it to be the duty of all good Aryan citizens to populate the world with their strong and racially perfect children. Sadly his wife was only able to have one baby, a girl. The couple adopted a boy to be an example for their fellow German citizens. He then proceeded to have a secret affair with a younger woman who gave him yet another child.

Himmler was cold and evil and yet he doted on his little girl, sending her loving letters and extravagant gifts. He showed her a side of himself that was incongruous with the horrific deeds that he sanctioned. He thought of his ability to view the bodies of the individuals who had been murdered in the concentration camps as a sign of courage. He spoke of being able to do what he believed to be right and necessary for the good of the country as though he were a great hero. He celebrated the callous research of doctors intent on sterilizing the unwanted. He felt great accomplishment when methods of extermination became more effective. He spoke of the importance and difficulty of his work, patting himself on the back for being so devoted to making the fatherland a better place.

In the end he left his wife and children to fend for themselves, committing suicide when he was ultimately captured. He was a coward with visions of grandeur. A megalomaniac who insisted that he and his fellow savages were really decent men who did what they did out of love of country. He hoped that one day the world would realize the necessity of their actions and judge them in a favorable way.

What force of nature or environmental mistake creates such individuals? How does hate become so embedded in a person’s soul that he or she becomes blinded to the need for human decency? Why do we continue to see such dark souls living in our midst? Are such people cursed with a genetic flaw or does their upbringing play into their evil? These are questions that have daunted civilized society for centuries. We would desperately like to be able to fix those with broken deviated minds but we neither have the means to accurately identify them before they stalk us nor the knowhow to help them change. Their very existence remains a mystery to us and we generally only stop them once they have committed their horrific deeds.

As an educator I have once in a great while seen youngsters who seemed destined for grave trouble. It is difficult to be the person to identify such children. It hardly seems right to label them when they are so young and yet they do stand out from the rest of the little ones. I once had a student who was a twin. He was only ten but he had already demonstrated tendencies that were frightening. He regularly beat and berated his sibling. His mother was afraid to sleep at night lest he murder her while she slumbered. He tortured younger students and seemed to greatly enjoy his conquests. His father almost celebrated his deeds as evidence that he was strong. He was the classic bully but he also attempted to hide his evil. He cooperated fully in class, even appearing to be polite and quite intelligent. His were classic signs of a sociopath and yet the hands of those of us who worried about him were mostly tied. His father was unwilling to allow him to undergo counseling. His mother eventually ran away, leaving a note outlining her fears and her inability to cope with what she saw as a threatening storm inside her family. Years later this boy would commit crimes that sealed his fate. He became a resident of the state prison population. Thankfully he was incarcerated before he did too much harm. Still, I wonder to this very day if there might have been some form of intervention that might have helped him when we observed his tendencies so long ago.

Psychologists define sociopaths as having certain characteristics. They possess intelligence and a charm which they use to manipulate those with whom they interact. Their thinking is not psychotic or delusional but they are able to lie without signs of guilt. They show little remorse or shame for misdeeds, often attempting to cover themselves by parsing the truth. Their judgement is faulty and they appear to make similar mistakes over and over again which they often blame on outside forces. Their personal relationships are shallow and they often trivialize others. I have read that there is little that can be done for them. At least we have yet to unlock the key to helping them. Sometimes society manages to channel their tendencies into successful careers in politics or business. They seek power in acceptable ways. Some even manage to do good in order to achieve the notice that they desire. They appear to be truly decent people who tirelessly pursue laudable goals but their relationships with others are superficial and unreal. They operate out of selfishness, not a true concern for others. If only society were able to redirect those who show the tendencies that often lead to psychotic behaviors of grandiosity and violence. Sadly there is a very thin line between actually helping such people and performing heinous acts on them much as Heinrich Himmler and his henchmen did. We always have to be very careful when we embark down a road of changing minds.

Most of the world is indeed peopled by decent men and women but we all realize that we must be wary. There are those among us who would charm us into thinking that we are safe with them but whose ideas are dark and filled with great danger. We must be careful that we do not mistake them for heroes and then provide them with the power to do horrible things. Perhaps we should remember Heinrich Himmler just as he hoped we would, not as a decent man but as the frightening madman that he was. He among others has taught us that there are monsters under the bed that we must challenge before they have the power to overtake us. The trick is in knowing who and where they are. 

Not So Strange

66.0.0Watching television in the summertime can be a dreary affair. The hundreds of available channels tend to pack their schedules with reruns or replacement programs of dubious value. Most of us are too busy enjoying travels and the long hours of daylight to really care about the dearth of decent options but when rain is dampening plans we sometimes reach for our remotes hoping to find something interesting and worthy to view. Sadly our options aren’t always promising.

The summer Olympics in Rio have been fun but somehow NBC manages to go into overkill with certain events and completely ignore others that might be interesting. I have found myself tuning out every time that they showcased yet another beach volleyball game. Don’t get me wrong. Those competitions are fast paced and even have the potential to be exciting but when they seem to be part of the programming every single day they soon get old. On the other hand we never get to see much related to soccer or rugby or basketball. I thoroughly appreciate the finals in swimming and track but don’t really need to see every event leading up to those matches. I’d much prefer a montage of the many different sports and not just those that NBC has selected for my viewing pleasure. I suspect that I am not alone in my thinking because ratings for the Olympics are down.

Luckily there is a bright spot in the vacuous desert of summer programming. Stranger Things is yet another Netflix original limited series that demonstrates how a great story, taut writing, a perfect cast and stunning production can elevate a simple idea into a winner. Stranger Things is so nineteen eighties and that is a very good thing. The tale weaves a tapestry of mystery with characters right out of the movies that we so loved in that era. Subtle but powerful touches include a soundtrack of eighties favorites that illicit memories of MTV with starring roles for once young actors and actresses who have settled into middle age. The formulaic themes so common in the golden age of the eighties are all there but with twists and turns that keep us on the edges of our seats. Stranger Things is a romp through the past that seems to have elements of Goonies, E.T., Sixteen Candles and Alien. In other words, it is great fun, especially for those of us who so enjoyed that glorious time.

When I think of the eighties I get a huge smile on my face. It was a decade when everything in my world was going well. I loved my job and had few worries. I lived in a great neighborhood and enjoyed adventures with so many wonderful friends. My two girls kept me busy but I loved every moment with them. I was still in my thirties, a time when I was confident, energetic and still rather nice looking. We traveled all across the United States as a family and created memories that are vividly exciting even to this day. The world itself seemed safer and less complex. We lived contentedly at the end of a cul-de-sac thinking that life would always be as perfect as it appeared to be back then. We were so busy enjoying our little slice of heaven that we hardly noticed the changes that were brewing just as they inevitably do.

We would all grow older. Family members and dear friends would die. Our children became adults who left our little nest to begin their own sagas. The world seemed to evolve into a more dangerous place. Our nostalgia for the good old days increased and yet if truth be told these are good times as well.

The reality of life is that it is in constant motion. As the Bible so beautifully tells us there is a season for everything. How we react to each stage of our existence will color the way that we view our past, present and future. With the right attitude we are able to accept and enjoy our status even with the many changes that alter the way we live. True joy comes in embracing the moment and finding the blessings that most surely are right in front of us.

My mother was masterful at enjoying the simplest of things. She had very little money but she never complained. She received as much joy from a McDonald’s sausage biscuit as she might have had from breakfast at Brennan’s. The simple act of waking up each morning was a grand miracle in her mind. Each day was precious to her and she packed her hours with generosity and love. Whether she looked backward or forward at her life she was filled with optimism. She loved the eighties like me but she appreciated all of the other decades as well and they spanned from the twenties of the twentieth century to the teens of the twenty first. She had a way of finding the silver lining even on the darkest of days and constantly assured us that every problem has a way of working itself out if we are willing to be patient.

Watching Stranger Things reminded me of one of my favorite times but it also made me think of just how wonderfully far I have come. I now have seven grandchildren who weren’t even part of my imagination back then. I have met so many remarkable people in the days since dresses had more padding than a football uniform. The inventiveness of humankind in the last thirty years has made virtually every aspect of my existence far easier than it has ever been. I can tutor my granddaughter or visit with my grandson without any of us leaving our homes thanks to technology. I am daily reminded of how lucky I am and of the goodness of most of the world. It is with a sense of anticipation that I think of what may lie ahead. I suspect that wondrous things are on the horizon and that’s a good thing.

The best thing about life is how creative we humans are again and again. We adapt and thrive and carry on because it is in our natures to build rather than destroy. We laugh and enjoy the adventure of a good challenge. The bonds that tie us all together weather the test of time and there is nothing strange about that.