All It Takes Is A Little Love

I remember a time when my single parent mother was a dynamo of energy, working as a teacher, attending classes at a local college, keeping our home in perfect order, getting me and my brothers to our many practices and events, caring for her aging mother and sometimes finding time for herself with friends on Saturday evenings. Somehow she seemed to need less sleep than the rest of us as she balanced a thousand different tasks while on her tiptoes. It was not until I was in my twenties and that she first showed frightening signs of mental illness that manifested as extreme depression and fear. Somehow she adjusted to a new attitude about life after that, often allowing dust to settle noticeably on her furniture or dishes to languish in her sink overnight while she slumbered longer than she had ever before done. She accepted her doctor’s advice to spend more time smelling the roses and less obsessing over how much she had to accomplished in a single day. 

I remember being stunned at her ability to focus on the things that made her feel happy and comfortable rather than attempting to be all and do all with perfection. With a big grin on her face she would boast about a typical day born of her new way of viewing life. She retired from working outside her home as soon as it was possible. Then she became the master of her days, often sleeping into the later hours of the morning. She would arise and linger over her first cup of coffee while reading her Bible, a daily ritual that brought her joy and focus. There was no hurry in her schedule, no task so dire that she had to tackle it immediately. She had learned that everything gets done sooner or later and that a few crumbs on the floor do not constitute an emergency. 

With retirement came freedom to design her days serendipitously. She might decide to take an unplanned trip to Galveston just to sit on the seawall and breathe the salty air of the Gulf of Mexico. On other days she would set out in search of sales where she might discover gifts for the many occasions that she celebrated with her children and grandchildren. She would talk to her sisters every day and often visited the one who lived in a nursing home armed with Snickers bars or barbecue sandwiches that they both would share. She tended her garden or lay on her bed listening to an Astros game on the radio. She found great joy in each moment even if nothing much was actually happening. 

As a child under my mother’s tutelage I had adopted a work ethic worthy of a perfectionist. Her lackadaisical ways did not appear until after I was gone from home. Sometimes it baffled me to see her messy house when she had instructed me in the proper ways of maintaining order and design. I still recall our spring and fall deep cleaning rallies when every slat on the blinds were carefully washed and all of the baseboards gleamed from our deep cleaning efforts. I remember the days before dishwashers when she and I took turns at the sink making our dishes and pots and pans spotless as soon as the meal was over. I often think of the nightly ritual of the four of us scanning the rooms for our personal items which we returned to proper places before going to bed. I still do those things as a matter of habit without really thinking that taking care of such tasks is inconvenient. I won’t even leave for an outing without making certain that everything is tidy. Such compulsions feel as though they are baked into my DNA when they are actually learned traits that I perfected in the before times when my mother was a neat freak. 

I suppose that I might benefit from relaxing a bit more now that I am older but I have yet to feel the urge to do so. It is only in the early morning hours that I linger as I sip on tea and listen to my neighborhood coming alive. I enjoy the changing cadence of the different seasons and find something quite special about each of them. The sound of children chatting at the bus stop is perhaps my favorite, but the arrival of the doves that coo on my roof is a wonderful rival for my affection. Every task waits for me while I revel in the joy of not having to rush around in the dark preparing to drive in heavy traffic to work. The mornings are my mini rebellion against the to do lists and routines that instruct me the rest of my day. 

I am still responsible for the mathematical education of ten students. My lessons vary from beginner multiplication and division to functions and matrices. I time the classes so that I never have to leave home until almost nine in the morning and my drive is a leisurely one of less than fifteen minutes. I can arrive in my jeans and t-shirts without a drop of makeup on my face. I suppose that this is the extent of allowing myself to fudge a bit on perfectionist goals. 

Once in awhile nonetheless the wind whispers to me and I know that I am longing to go on adventures without worrying about what I may leave behind. The mountains whisper to me and I must go. I hear the siren call of New Orleans or the Texas Hill Country and nothing stops me from filling a bag with changes of clothing and heading out my door without even noticing laundry bins spilling over or dishes sitting in the sink. It is as though the natural me, the person I would be if devoid of training, comes out to play. I feel the freedom from my own demands and it is glorious. 

I suppose that I am still evolving even as I stick with most of the routines that I learned long ago. People tell me to hire someone to perform the tasks that rotate through my calendar but I still enjoy doing them and so far I am still able to do them. My leisurely mornings grow longer, leaving me with less and less time for the mundane jobs that I once accomplished with regularity. Perhaps I am beginning to more and more realize what is most important like my mother finally did. Little by little I am letting go and just following my heart. I’m listening to the call of the doves and thinking that maybe today I don’t have to follow the dictates that I have scheduled on my calendar. Perhaps the time has come to just do nothing at all. .  

At the end of the day each of us is simply human regardless of our status in life. We all bleed when cut. We all need air to breathe. We all eventually grow old and die in spite of our efforts to cling to life just a bit longer. People that you have never met and never will meet have dreams just like you do. While we have always had a tendency to rank people based on wealth, intelligence, power, beauty and other superficial aspects when all is said and done we humans are more alike than different. 

We are born with incredible potential to become the best versions of ourselves. Whether or not that happens is often related to circumstance. In some places it is easier to become self actualized than in others where simply satisfying most basic needs can be a lifelong struggle. Those of us who live in highly advanced countries are more likely to enjoy perks than many fellow humans in the world will never see. The most fortunate and privileged among us were often simply in the right place at the right time to demonstrate their talents and enrich themselves. We too often take our way of life for granted and judge people from other countries and cultures to be somehow lesser than ourselves. 

From the beginning of human time people roamed the earth hunting and gathering in order to survive. Over time they learned how to cultivate the land and build communities but of course all did not always go well. The history of humanity is replete with struggles for land and well being. The tendencies to create communities and pecking orders often resulted in friction between differing groups. All the while civilizations attempted to find ways of living with one another that have never been perfect. As the earth itself changed so too did the needs of humankind and along with that change came a kind of survival of the fittest mentality that exists to this very day in one way or another. 

In today’s world entire countries compete with one another and within those countries different factions war with one another over how best to live. Such seems to be the nature of the human experience. Still I find myself wondering if we have yet to discover what might work best. So far all attempts to create a more perfect union of cooperation among millions of people simply trying to live together peacefully and happily have been wrought with problems. Somehow no matter how hard we try to equalize our situations we end up with winners and losers often due to little more than the luck where they are born and who their parents are. Even with our myriad problems in the United States it would be a mistake not to realize how much better our individual situations are than those in countries beset by poverty and endless wars or violence. 

I often think back to the conversations that I shared with my mother-in-law on Sunday afternoons over cups of tea. We would talk about history, philosophy, religion and politics as they related to how we should behave toward our fellow humans. My mother-in-law was a very spiritual woman and deep thinker who challenged herself to think critically about the world. She once told me that she believed that the suffering of most of the people on earth was so great that if we did not voluntarily share our bounty with them, they would one day unite and force us to see them and to understand their suffering. She believed that we were not doing enough to consider that our way of life was not the only way to do things. She felt that we would have to learn how to evolve in our thinking if we were to survive as citizens of the world. 

When I look at the problems that we face today I think of those Sunday chats with my mother-in-law. I try to imagine what she would think of building walls and creating barriers with concertina wire along our borders. I try to imagine her reaction to the murder and taking of hostages in Israel overlayed with the genocidal decimation of the population in Gaza. I would like to hear her thoughts on Putin’s murderous invasion of Ukraine and the feeble excuses he uses for making war. Somehow I know that she would remind me of her warning that we cannot look away when people are suffering and not expect them to lose patience with the way things have always been. Unfairness and dominance lead to desperation which leads to breaking the law and sometimes to making war. 

My mother-in-law taught me that we cannot see people in stereotyped groups. Instead we must think of them as individuals. We have to ask ourselves why someone is willing to risk his or her life to cross our borders and invoke our ire. What is so terrible in their lives that embracing uncertainty is their only hope? These are real people who may seem different from each of us, but in reality they only want an opportunity to change the direction of their lives. Why are we so hateful about them? Why are we so unwilling to hear what they have to say and to treat them with respect rather than reducing them to preconceived notions of who they are?

It is doubtful that we will solve all of the world’s problems but we can begin by at least admitting that but for the luck of the draw we might be the people struggling for dignity and freedom. Once we begin to think differently about our place in the world maybe we will be able to craft plans that limit our tribal instincts to close the gates and bring out the weapons to keep those who appear different from ourselves at bay. We would do well to remember that unless we have descended from Native Americans  many of us have ancestors who came across the ocean in search of hope and some sadly came in bondage. Who are we to judge those who want the same opportunities that we now take for granted? It’s time we all learned to really see our fellow humans as our equals who are more like us than we may think.

This morning I find myself staring at a picture hanging on the wall in our study. It shows a ship at sea struggling with a violent storm. It is a gorgeous work of art that we found on a long ago trip to Chatham on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Gazing at the ship in distress elicits so many emotions in my present day mind. My head is filled with a mixed bag of emotions each vying for ascendancy when what I really want is calm.

Our trip to Chatham was glorious in every possible way. Our eldest grandson, Andrew, who was just advancing from childhood to adolescence at the time accompanied us on our journey to Boston and parts nearby. We had been reveling in the history of that part of the United States and its many connections to my husband Mike’s ancestry. We had already visited Plymouth where Stephen Hopkins, a member of the family tree, had first landed in America along with Puritans running from religious persecution in Europe. We had also visited Salem where another ancestor, Roger Conant, had founded a settlement in 1626. Now it was time to visit a place filled with members of the Nickerson family, yet another branch on our family tree.

The town of Chatham was awash with tourists and hydrangea bushes blooming with stunning blue flowers. We drove through the quaint village toward the beach where the hot sand burned our feet when we removed our shoes and the water was so cold that we were only able to stay in it for brief moments before feeling a chill run through our bodies. We chose instead to simply walk along the shoreline in our shoes talking about the deep topics that were swirling through Andrew’s head as he attempted to navigate the changes occurring in his young life. It was then that I understood the depth of his character and the earnestness of his desire to live a good and meaningful life. 

After a time we felt the pangs of hunger and set out in search of seafood. The location we found was delightful and we filled our bellies with fish so fresh that it seemed to have been caught that very day. We laughed and continued our deep dive into the nature of humans and the conundrum of how we interact with one another. We spoke of history both generally and personally and of the mistakes and progress that people make during a lifetime. It was quite a philosophical and meaningful talk that I shall never forget. 

A stroll through the town led us to a little shop where we found the work of art that now hangs in our study. At first we thought that perhaps the piece was a bit more expensive than we had thought. Then while Andrew and Mike were distracted with other places I returned to the shop and asked for a business card where I wrote down the title of the picture. Once I returned home from the trip my thoughts returned to the ship in dangerous seas again and again. Finally I called the shop and ordered if for Mike’s birthday. The lovely piece has hung on the wall ever since, reminding us of the good times we shared with Andrew but also of the dangers that come like storms into every life. 

We have navigated through the sunny days and the storms since that time. We never quite know what each day, each week, each month, each year will bring. We guide our ship as best we can knowing full well that deadly waves may come to rob us of our security. We stay on alert while doing our best to enjoy the good times when the world seems to be perfect. 

Andrew is a grown man now, managing the engineering of constructing schools, medical centers and hospitals. He graduated from college during the height of the pandemic so there were no graduation ceremonies or parties for him. He spent his first months on his job working remotely from an apartment that he rarely left. He was one of those young people marked by the devastation of the virus but somehow he managed to stay healthy and keep moving forward while still wondering and worrying about the ways that we humans mistreat each other. He has carried on stoically while also diving deeply into questions about justice, climate, human rights. He has kept his ship floating even through some devastating storms. 

I suppose that Andrew has a personality like mine. Neither of us are capable of just ignoring all of the hubbub of the world as though it has nothing to do with us. We see ourselves as citizens of a global community with duties to stand up for those fighting for justice. It does not seem to be enough to simply observe happenings without becoming actively involved. We both carefully monitor the pulse of the world and ask ourselves what we might do to keep the ship of state aright. It can be a difficult way to live because being always happy go lucky is not an option for us. 

The storms in my life come in the form of witnessing the suffering of others. i cannot turn away or simply walk by without making an effort to help. Sometimes that simply means listening to what people have to say, learning new points of view, advocating for the underserved and voiceless. I see the world through many eyes and often find myself at odds with people that I love who believe that the world has always been filled with problems about which there is little we might do. They advise me to stay in my own backyard and take care of myself before venturing into problems that do not directly affect me. 

Perhaps they are right, but empathy and the urge to set things right seems to be baked into my DNA. I don’t have the right constitution to party on the deck of my ship when I see storm clouds ahead. Lately the sky seems quite dark indeed. I sense that storms are brewing all over the world and I want to be prepared. 

Yesterday was Mother’s Day and I found myself thinking about my mother and grandmothers as I often do. All three women led unbelievably difficult lives but they were strong and resourceful and loving in spite of the the many tragedies and difficulties that beset them. I count them among the saints and angels in heaven. They were good women devoted to family who asked for little for themselves. They were the kind of ladies who would skip a meal to feed a family member, stay awake all night to nurse a sick child. They had few possessions but they never complained. Instead they celebrated what they saw as their good fortune. 

You have often read the stories about the three women who most impacted my life but today it is time to move forward not just to the present but to the future. I want to talk about my two daughters, Maryellen and Catherine, who are consummate mothers in the modern sense of that word. Both of them are college educated, well read, and attuned to today’s technology and political environment. Much like my mother and grandmother’s they have focused their time and talents on their children, my seven grandchildren. From the time that those young men and one woman were babies Maryellen and Catherine went full throttle nurture, reading to them, taking them to museums, musical events, and watching them learn to swim, play soccer, run track and cultivate their artistic and acting talents.

My daughters’ mothering days began early and their nights went late. They encouraged their young ones to develop their talents and their personal identities. They served as tutors when the kids were little and hired tutors when they grew older. They were always teaching their children something new, explaining how things work, how we humans act and create. Their little ones were naming the planets and their moons before they had even entered kindergarten They travelled to exciting places where they learned to cherish nature and how to live frugally. They all grew strong and bright and filled with kindness and compassion because they knew that they were valued and loved by their mothers. They worked hard and excelled because their mothers helped them to develop themselves and fulfill their dreams. 

Now all of my grandchildren are adults, each a bit different than the other. Two have graduated from college with engineering degrees. Four are moving into their junior and senior years of college with majors in political science, communications, aerospace engineering, and accounting. The young one will embark on his college journey in the fall majoring in computer science. They are a sweet and loving bunch who care deeply about the political issues of the day. They revere nature and understand that we humans must change if we are to continue to thrive and survive. They are thinkers and activists who live according to their deepest beliefs. Their mothers have taught them to be good citizens who take time to speak out for those who are underserved. They represent the very best kind of hope for the future of this fragile planet on which we live. 

Sometimes I look and my daughters and wonder how they became so strong, so thoughtful, so willing to sacrifice like my mother and grandmothers did. I marvel at the many hours that they have devoted to their children, the hard work that they have done to provide them with a place to call home no matter how old they may become. I watched them giving of themselves over and over again not with things but with experiences. All seven of my grandchildren have always known unconditional love. 

Every human knows in our hearts how important mothers are and yet all too often we underestimate the influence of mothers on their children. It is in the simplest of moments that they shine the most. It’s when they sit in the hot sun tallying scores at a swim meet or spend an evening mending a broken heart. It is when they drive two thousand miles to minister to a child in need or check texts every morning to be sure that everything is okay. It is ib mostly listening without offering unwanted advice, giving better hugs than it seems possible to exist. 

I learned how to be a mother from three special women. I never felt that I filled their shoes. Perhaps this is the way all mothers are. We wonder if we have given enough or if our efforts were too much. We analyze every interaction and think of ways that we might have said or done things better. All we can really do is hope that somehow the message that we most want our children to know is as clear as it needs to be. We love them with all our souls. We think of them every hour of the day and night. We help them fly away from our nest but they are never far from our hearts. Being a mother is at once the most difficult and the most rewarding role we women ever have the honor to fill. 

I hope everyone had a happy Mother’s Day! I know some of you without children are nonetheless like mothers to people that you have encountered. Know that each of you is cherished by someone who knows that he or she owes so much to you. Smile in knowing how important you are and enjoy a special moment. You have earned the joy! Each of you have awed me.

I live in a great city with one of the best medical centers in the country. People come from all over the world seeking care from some of the same doctors and hospitals that are only minutes away from my home. My husband’s life has no doubt been extended by brilliant cardiologists and advanced medical procedures. My father-in-law is alive today because of the genius of doctors who understood his need for emergency surgery and then weeks later interceded when he came down with Covid and was unable to breathe. I cannot complain about the remarkable people who always appear at the right time to bring better health to the people of the Houston metropolitan area. Sadly our medical system is not so kind and efficient in every situation. 

When I was fifteen years old I landed a summer job as a receptionist at the clinic of our family physician. I routed phone calls, welcomed patients, took payments for services and even made appointments for visits. The doctors advised me to keep slots open each day to accommodate patients with emergency issues. Nary a day went by without someone rushing into the office needing help immediately. In every situation one of the doctors would volunteer to see the patient. Only the most serious medical crises warranted a call to an ambulance which would take the patient to a hospital. Sometimes the doctor would even ride along inside the ambulance ministering to the person in crisis. 

Such scenarios are a thing of the past. Phone numbers for most doctors go to a central location only for the purpose of scheduling future appointments. Emergencies are directed to 911 or nearby emergency centers. Nobody shows up at a doctor’s office without an appointment that has been secured weeks or months in advance unless the individual has paid big bucks for concierge care from a doctor with a private practice that often excludes patients with Medicare or Medicaid. 

We like to think that we have the best medical care in the world, but that feeling is only present for those of us with enough insurance to secure a long term relationship with a great doctor. Even then we have to plan ahead for services by making our appointments well in advance of the times when we need them. Doctors are so overwhelmed with patients that they have to prioritize the needs of patients, leaving some to wait for months before ever seeing a doctor face to face. 

At Christmastime I injured my ankle on a Sunday evening. After an hour or so I was unable to put weight on the foot without excruciating pain. I knew that I needed to see someone immediately. Since I had sustained the injury in the upstairs of my home I had to shinny down the stairs on my backside and then hop to the car with the assistance of my husband. He drove me to an emergency center affiliated with Methodist Hospital where the doctor on call took x-rays to find that I did not have a broken bone but my ankle bone was severely bruised and I had a traumatic contusion of the soft tissue in that area. He stabilized the ankle with a boot and told me to rest and ice that area for the next forty eight hours. He also instructed me to inform my primary care physician about the incident. 

I was able to reach my doctor the next morning quite easily via a messaging system. He looked at the x-rays and the comments from the attending physician at the emergency center and recommended that I contact a particular specialist in orthopedics who focuses on injuries to the feet. Her curriculum vitae was outstanding and even better was the realization that her office is only a few miles from my home. Unfortunately she was booked until February 15, more than two months after my injury. The helpful woman making appointments for her looked for other doctors who might have earlier opening but was unable to find anyone who was not booked solidly. She registered me for a February 15 appointment and flagged my request by putting me on a wait list in case someone canceled before that faraway date. 

I mention these things because many Americans are wary of establishing a national healthcare system because they have heard horror stories about such systems in other countries that force patients to wait for months to receive services. Sadly I sense that we are not that far away from the same kind of experiences here in our country. In fact I have been hearing horror stories from younger people with private insurance who are waiting as long as six months to see doctors for concerns that they have. In my own case I have learned to schedule checkups with my doctors a year in advance. In November I signed up for cataract surgery that will take place in June. I sense that our own medical crisis is rapidly encroaching and will no doubt get worse as more of us in the huge Baby Boomer demographic grow older and more prone to developing problems. 

I fully appreciate the medical care that is available to me but I worry that there are more and more people who are being locked out of the system either due to cost or because of long waits for care that does not come as soon as needed. It seems to be true that those with enough money are always going to be fine and even those who are older like me tend to be taken seriously. Somewhere in the middle are the are working people of the United States whose health insurance premiums are rising at the same time that the provided services are shrinking. There are even medical deserts in many parts of the country where finding a doctor can be almost impossible. It’s time to take a very hard look at how we might improve the functioning of our medical system before it is too late and too expensive to do so. 

I’m not complaining. I tend to be quite healthy and my doctors have never once let me down. When I hear about younger people reeling under the cost of medical care and then paying incredible copays while waiting for months for services, I truly wonder if we are doing the right things. We have to insure that every citizen gets the care they need when they need it. It’s time to straighten things out before we have a true crisis.