All It Takes Is A Little Love

When I was young I had many dreams. Looking back I realize they were all rather simple. I wanted to find someone to marry. I hoped to have children. I thought that buying my own car would be wonderful and I wanted to park it in front of my own house. I thought it would be nice to do a bit of traveling and to have books and music to entertain me. I seemed to always be saving for something like a semester of college tuition, a dress that I saw in a store window or my high school class ring. My imagination was not developed enough to consider really big ideas. Mostly I just wanted to be happy, survive and quietly live what I thought was a normal life. 

I got lucky in finding the love of my life when I was only eighteen years old. Looking back I realize that we were a couple of silly kids who had no real plans for navigating the future. We just went wherever the winds took us and muddled our way through becoming adults. I suppose we were fortunate that things turned out as well as they did because we were grossly unprepared for the real life issues that very quickly came our way and upended our savings and our goals. When I was twenty and my husband was twenty one we grew up exponentially when my mother had her first mental breakdown. We no longer had the luxury of being silly and immature as we took on the responsibility of her care. A year later we were blessed with our first child and we understood that she would become our new priority as well. 

We might have fallen apart under the pressure of redefining our lives to accommodate my mother and our daughter into our lives. We were so young, inexperienced and wanting in wisdom. Somehow we learned on the fly and none of the multitude of mistakes that we made were lethal. While we fought battles to keep my mother well and to care for a child who spent most of her early years being sick, we saw many of our peers enduring horrors on the battlefields of Vietnam. We felt blessed that our trials were far less consequential that what they had to experience. 

Eventually we added another little girl to our family. Fortunately she was rarely sick and had an easy going personality that was never demanding. We began our lifelong roller coaster ride in earnest, always saving for something special and usually spending it on an emergency. Up and down we went and even through all of the serious illnesses and unexpected issues that arose as we fumbled through our twenties we were exceedingly happy. It did not seem to matter that we were continually scaling back our spending and our dreams just to pay for all the rainy day situations that seemed to pound at us. What did not break us really did make us stronger and ever closer. 

I don’t have formal portraits of my children growing up. Most of the furniture that was in my home was some kind of hand me down. Going out to eat meant buying burgers or visiting the local Mexican food restaurant. The girl’s birthday parties were simple sleepovers or gatherings in the backyard. Our vacations all centered on camping in our big canvas tent. We purchased an older wooden home that had only slightly more than a thousand square feet. What it did have was a huge yard shaded by big trees where our children played with all of the other neighborhood kids. It was glorious! We lived in a wonderful little bubble albeit constantly worried about whether our car might need a repair or the air conditioners in the windows might finally wear out. Miraculously we always got by. 

Over time and with persistence we became more comfortable monetarily. We paid for our children to go to college. We bought a trailer instead of a tent for our vacations. We moved to a bigger house. We flew to far away destinations. We saved for our retirement. We planned ahead for repairs on our home and our car. We purchased new furniture and gave away some of our hand me downs. We looked back our our lives and smiled because we knew that even with all of the challenges it had been wonderful. 

Now I want very little. I am content and my wishes are no longer material. I hope that the people I love will find the kind of happiness that I have known. I enjoy time with people more than grand adventures. I don’t need much of anything. The basics do just fine. I am wise enough to know that I might dream of world peace, but it is unlikely to happen in my lifetime. I wonder if there might be ways to reduce racism and hate. I would like to see equality and justice being meted out in every instance. I am weary of abusive and ugly systems that make life difficult for so many of my fellow human beings. If it takes money to decrease the suffering in the world, I am happy to sacrifice some of mine. 

I know we can’t take our material goods with us when we die so I am enjoying the days I have and worrying less about money and things. I seem to appreciate the small things about living more and more. Right now I’m all about saving memories and love. When all is said and done these are what matter most.

I suppose that each of us has a fascination with people able to do things that are beyond our own abilities. In particular I am in awe of those who are musical. There is probably little in this life that gives me as much joy as listening to music and I am totally eclectic in my taste. My playlist would include classical, jazz, blues, rock, pop, country, hip hop, rap, soundtracks, Broadway, you name it. Of course I have my favorite pieces and and artists in every category, but mostly I find myself in awe of anyone with the talent to create or perform great music. While I am able to catch on to mathematical processes quickly, I feel totally devoid of any ability to make beautiful music. Even my voice is lacking in discernible potential. 

I was thinking about simple songs just the other day. I am somewhat able to string words together to form a cohesive idea, but if I had to make them work within the confines of a particular tune I’m not so sure that my abilities would hold up. Sometimes the difference between a one hit wonder and a forever song lies in a seamless combination of musical notes and words. I often think of the teamwork of John Lennon and Paul McCartney when they were both members of the Beatles. Paul’s music was often the more satisfying than John’s, but John found words to go with the tunes that elevated them to high art. When the two broke up and went out on their own they still found success, but only once in awhile did their music find the ultimate combination of both wonderful lyrics and magnificent melodies. John Lennon’s Imagine comes to mind as a perfect work of art, but many of his other solo efforts were quite forgettable. 

I’ve been following some heralded musicians and song writers of late out of curiosity to learn if their talents are inborn or the product of hard work. The answer in most cases seems to be that it is a combination of both. Most great artists began their journeys in the world of music as children. It was something that interested them, and so they kept at it, experimenting and practicing until they found a sweet spot in their work. When we witness someone who appears to be a naturally creative genius we often forget the hours and hours of practice and revision behind the scenes that pushed them to greatness. 

One of my all time favorite movies is Amadeus, a glimpse into the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I had heard stories of young Mozart playing his music for kings and queens when he was little more than a toddler. He definitely possessed instantly notable talent in music from an early age, but it might never have come to light but for his father’s deliberate attempts to nurture and push Wolfgang to develop his skills. Mozart’s is a story of a man driven sometimes to madness in his efforts to both please his father and demonstrate his genius to the world. He did not simply show up one day with a collection of beautiful music. He worked hard to create some of the best loved pieces the world has ever known. Sometimes he found perfection and others he was devoid of ideas. Always music was an obsession that dominated life. 

I suppose my fascination with music and those who create and perform it comes from a sense of wonderment that anyone would be willing to spend so much time perfecting a single note, an intonation, a word. It is a kind of devotion and drive that few of us have. When they perform they make their talent seem easy but when we follow the arc of their fame we begin to see just how much of their lives have been spent pushing for ever better ever more wonderful sounds. While we are sleeping, they may be practicing and creating. While we are with our families they are holed away in a room repeating the same phrase or stanza over and over and over until it is just right. 

I once saw a cellist perform and she was incredible. She seemed to be as one with her instrument. She created sweet sounds the likes of which I had never heard. When the conductor spoke of her rise to notice in the music world, he noted that she had regularly practiced twelve hours a day from the time she was a young child. I remember thinking that she was so good that there seemed to be no need for her to spend that much time rehearsing each movement of her fingers and her bow. I was in awe that anyone would be willing to literally spend so much time finding perfection. Then I considered that when I was working as a teacher I regularly spent twelve to fourteen hours a day working on my craft. I suppose that the only difference is in where we choose to center our focus. 

Maybe if I had made music all day, everyday for years I too would be masterful. Then again it is doubtful because I never really had a desire to spend that much time learning music rather than enjoying it. Instead I studied all day long, pretended to create newspapers and books as a kind of game when I was a child, played school with my brothers and my friends. Somehow I was always moving in the direction of my talents and my interests. I ended up in a career that brought me happiness and purpose and for which I was willing to give most of my waking hours each day. 

I never became a rock star in my profession, but I found great joy in it. Hopefully I even brought some pleasure to some of my students just as musicians bring happiness to me. I suppose that if we are really lucky each of us finds a niche that feels just right. When we have to work, we don’t mind the time or the effort because it’s something that we love. We’ll have glorious moments when it feels as though we have created the perfect fusion of all of our talents and skills. Then there are times when nothing seems to come together right. I suppose that is the definition of work and life. For each of us a place in the world is somewhere out there waiting for us to find it and work hard enough to reach it. There is music in all that we do to get there.

Bonita means “beautiful” in Spanish and Portuguese. It is also a name often given out of love and delight for a baby girl. I don’t know exactly why Bonita Brocco Maglitto Doss’ parents called her by that name, but I do know that it was the perfect appellation for a youngster who would grow up to be lovely both inside and out. 

Bonita attended Mt. Carmel High School when I was there. She was in the class behind me, so I did not know her very well. We did little more than exchange smiles in the hallway. She was always so pleasant with lovely blue eyes that twinkled with a welcoming kindness each time she saw me. She was a very pretty girl who seemed unaware of how lovely she actually was. I knew that she was a member of the Carmel Cadettes drill team, but little more than that. I simply instinctively understood the way we humans do that she was a sweet and caring person. 

It would be almost fifty years before I saw Bonita again. I attended a memorial celebration of the life of one of my classmates and when i arrived Bonita motioned for me to share a spot at her table. You would have thought that we had been the best for friends by observing the warmth of her welcome. I knew who she as immediately because I recognized that smile of hers. We settled into a long and comfortable conversation about how much we loved, Cindy, the woman who had died. We shared stories about our children and the general tenor of our lives. We spent almost two hours chatting in the most comfortable way.

I could not help but notice how incredibly beautiful Bonita still was. In fact, she seemed to have grown even more striking as she had aged. Her beautiful eyes were like windows to her soul and through them I saw her compassion and knew that I liked her so very much. When she turned her head just right it felt as though I was conversing with Elizabeth Taylor and I would almost gulp at the realization that Bonita was still so humble about her appearance. What seemed to matter most to her was making people fell comfortable and important. She certainly did that for me.

I did not get to see Bonita in person again after that meeting, but we became friends on Facebook. I enjoyed the optimism of her uplifting posts. I saw that she was always positive and supportive of everyone, even when their views differed from hers. It also became apparent that many many people loved her very dearly, no doubt because of her innate goodness and loving nature. I was happy to be among those who had earned a place among her friends. 

Bonita struggled with health issues in her final days, but she never seemed to lose her positivity even when she had to have one of her legs amputated. She had a fighting spirit that showed in the determination etched on her face. She was not willing to give in to sadness or self pity. Instead she dressed up in her finery and went to parties with her dearest friends and family sitting tall and bravely in her wheelchair. She was determined to be a shining light for the world to the very end and she accomplished that with aplomb. 

Bonita was quite special. She must have been so even when she was born. Her parents saw her beauty and throughout her lifetime the rest of us would see it as well. Her face was lit up by her extraordinary soul. She gave of herself with all of her heart and that openness will be missed by everyone who knew her. The world has suffered a great loss with her passing.  

Bonita’s closest friends from high school are no doubt devastated by her death. It’s not too often that any of us are lucky enough to have an encounter with someone as exceptional as she was. I will always remember our silent passings in the hallways of our school. Every single time our paths crossed felt her genuineness. I knew that I was quite fortunate when fate put us together once again when we were grown and had experienced life in the fullness of trials and tribulations.

Bonita is with God and the angels now. Those of us left behind smile at the thought that she is reunited with her loved ones and that all of her pain and suffering is gone. We hope that one day we will see her again in her heavenly home. Until then we will have memories of a woman who seemed to always know exactly how to make the people around her feel happy and safe and loved, a woman who lived up to her name in every way.

May God comfort Bonita Brocco Maglitto Doss’ family and her many many friends. Hers was a beautiful heart in our lives. 

My childhood was quiet and predictable. Weekdays were devoted to school. Weekends meant that I visited with my grandparents and went to church. In between I would help my mom clean the house, fold laundry and accompany her on errands. When summertime game the big deal was sleeping late, swimming in one of the city pools and engaging in games with neighborhood friends. By the age of fifteen I varied the routine by working on weekends and in the summer. Once in a while the family would go out to eat or to visit one of my aunts or uncles. Mostly I lived in a comfortable little bubble filled with loving and caring people, so I never really felt that I needed more excitement in my life. Moving five times during third grade and then losing my father in a car accident at the end of the school year provided me with enough adventure to last a lifetime. 

My years as a newly wed and then a mother and working woman followed a similar pattern. I carved out my life to a routine that allowed me to take care of all of the people in my life and find contentment for myself. Excitement consisted mostly of spending wonderful evenings with good friends or going to movies, with a summer camping trip thrown into the yearly mix. Life centered around family, close friends, work. Those really were the best of times.

I’ve had my share of extravagant trips, glorious dining experiences, and live performances from my favorite entertainers, but mostly I have tended to prefer small gatherings with interesting people rather than raucous affairs. I like long conversations and challenging discussions around my dining table or in the comfort of my great room. I’ve been more than blessed to have partaken in such memorable moments during my lifetime while sipping on a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Sitting around Pat and Bill’s kitchen table or lounging in lawn chairs by Egon and Marita’s pool are some of the happiest memories that I have. Munching on Monica’s homemade goodies while Franz stoked a campfire is a joy in the repository of my mind. Laughing with Linda and Bill while our children ran wild kept me going whenever the going got tough. 

Such gatherings brought me the greatest joy, so I have often imagined what it might be like to share an intimate conversation with a celebrity. I always thought that I would most probably just listen to whatever that person had to say, soaking in the wisdom and knowledge that he or she had to offer. Little did I suspect that my grandson Andrew’s Christmas gift for me and my husband would turn into such a remarkable version of my fondest wish. 

Andrew told us on Christmas day that he wanted to take us to one of the performances of the Houston Symphony at Jones Hall. He instructed us to look at the spring calendar and find the event that most intrigued us. He would then purchase tickets for all of us to attend. 

It was a delightful idea made even better by the fact that we have gone out very little in the past two years, so we were eager to scan the list of concerts remaining in their season. To our great joy we saw that Ihtzak Perlman was one of the guests who would be coming to our town. We immediately contacted Andrew and told him that we had made our choice. He purchased tickets and we waited for the day to come. 

We had fun dressing better than we have in months. We were almost giddy as we readied ourselves for the occasion. Going downtown was an adventure because we had mostly been staying at home. Our planned lunch before the event went a bit south because so many workers at the restaurant had called in sick that the only offering they had was a buffet that looked as though it had been prepared from boxes of frozen leftovers. Nonetheless, we did not care about the food or the fact that the live jazz ended up being “Larry the Lounge Lizard” playing on a small keyboard because we were overjoyed to spend time with Andrew just talking. 

We finally sauntered over to Jones Hall and found our seats only to realize that the sole items on the stage were a grand piano, a small table and a huge screen. It was a remarkable and unexpected sight until the screen lit up with an image of Ed Sullivan who announced, “Ladies and gentlemen welcome Ihtzak Perlman.” Then out came Mr. Perlamn on his scooter to resounding applause and a standing ovation. 

Ihtzak proceeded to tell us the story of his life and his rise to fame as one of the great violinists of our time. He began with the tale of his parents leaving Poland in the early 1930s, and of their life in Israel before he was born. He laughed at how his mother and father had always believed he was a genius, and so they began music lessons for him when he was still a toddler. He peppered his story with performances of music that he had played during his lifetime as he became more and more adept at making his violin sing like the sound of angels. 

Ihtzak Perlman was funny, self deprecating, honest and sincere. He spoke with a soft voice that had the lilt of someone who was happy with the way his life had been. He told us about contracting polio and how life changing that illness had been, but he did so without pitying himself. He showed us how full his journey had been and how love and music had made it wonderful. His face was kind and seemingly more interested in making us all feel comfortable and happy than impressing us. I found myself liking him as a person and admiring him as an artist. The time was so intimate that it felt like he was in my great room and that he was a dear friend. 

By the end of the performance I felt that I deeply knew the man and his music. Of course I wanted more, but as with all such encounters the end had come. He played his solo from the soundtrack for Schindler’s List and tears rolled down my cheeks as my emotions overtook me. The sound of his violin spoke to my heart and I knew that that it was because the strings were being guided by an man who was a gift for us all.

It was a quiet afternoon sitting between my husband and my eldest grandson listening to a great man share his story and his art. I could not think of any place on the earth that I would have rather been. It was a gift that I will forever hold in my heart. 

I think that we too often forget that our place here on earth is communal. There are too many of us to simply ignore our impact on each other and on nature. As the world’s population grows it becomes more and more apparent that each of our individual actions have a multiplying effect on the general condition of the environment in which we live. While there may have been a time in the long ago when the rugged individualist did not have to worry about how his/her actions created change, it is rare for anyone to be so isolated now that actions do not produce a ripple effect. How we act and react brings about inevitably influences the general welfare of our planet and its people and living creatures. The butterfly flapping its wings in our backyard ultimately has far reaching implications. 

Today marks the two year anniversary of the moment when I became fully aware of the worldwide Covid pandemic. The day before I had joyfully spent the afternoon with my brothers and sister-in-laws enjoying a delightful lunch and a competitive game of strategy. During our sojourn we spoke of upcoming adventures to Turkey, Greece and Scotland that we had planned. We laughed unaware of how much our world would soon change while munching on a delightful dessert that my sister-in-law had baked for us. 

Later that evening my husband and I attended the Houston Rodeo Barbecue competition that is a raucous affair of locals vying for recognition as the best roasters of all forms of meat. A dear friend and her family have been staples of the affair for decades and she always invites us to join in the festivities that launch the huge rodeo extravaganza that is the highlight of the Houston entertainment scene. 

As usual there were thousands of people flocking to tents filled with the aroma of brisket, sausage, chicken, potato salad, beans and lots of alcoholic beverages. Music blared from every corner of the vast landscape and everyone was in a jovial mood. We met up with old friends and enjoyed a sojourn filled with delightful food and lots of laughter. The future seemed bright and filled with so many possibilities for all of us. 

The very next day my sister-in-law sent me a text to inform me that some people that she knew had returned from a trip to China feeling sick. They had one by one come down with some disturbing symptoms and were worried about what they might have caught during their travels. She suggested that I be alert to any news about a virus with the potential to invade our city. 

I immediately began researching the topic and learned that indeed there was a strange illness that was slowly moving into different countries by way of people who had recently travelled. I found out that nursing homes and cruise ships in the western United States were reporting outbreaks of a new kind of virus that seemed to be highly contagious and often quite lethal. Heeding advice from the information I had gathered I invested in a few N-95 face masks and stocked up on supplies in case my husband and I got sick. Then there were announcements on the local news about the people that my sister-in-law had described. They were very sick with a novel coronavirus and some had been hospitalized.

As a mathematics teacher I know the dramatic effects of exponential growth. Within days after the first cases were found in Houston the numbers of people getting sick had grown to alarming numbers. Soon the whole country was reporting signs of being affected by the virus that we would come to know as Covid-19. It was brutally attacking older people and those with weak immune systems. In Italy the stories of the sick and dying were grim. Hospitals began to be overwhelmed and the cases and deaths mounted as I checked the Johns Hopkins website that was tracking the spread of the virus. 

My husband and I went into a kind of self imposed lockdown because we are older and he has heart disease. We lived inside the cocoon of our homes for weeks and then months. We took rides in our car and planned trips that allowed us to keep our distance from potential infection by using our trailer. It was a sad time but we made the best of it, adapting with each new turn of the disease. We met outside and from a distance with members of our family and held frequent Zoom meetings to stay in touch with one another. We managed to have an outdoor Thanksgiving with two of our grandsons and celebrated Christmas around a campfire at my youngest daughter’s house. We stayed well but another daughter’s family came down with Covid and my daughter became particularly and frighteningly ill. Her son would appear to have a mild case but the long term lingering effects would haunt him for well over a year. Still we felt proud that we had done our part not just to keep each other well, but also those around us. We agreed that it was wonderful to see all of the people on earth seeming to sacrifice for the welfare of everyone else. 

When the vaccines became available I fought hard to get me and my husband inoculated as soon as possible. I cried tears of joy on the February day when we both had our second dose of the Moderna shot. It had been almost exactly one year since that lovely day when we had been with our family and friends. Somehow we thought that everyone would volunteer to take the jab just as they had done back in the fifties when society waged a war on polio. That’s when the fissures between us began to become more and more dramatic. 

Suddenly doctors and nurses were no longer being celebrated as heroes. Large numbers of the population shunned the vaccine for various and sundry reasons, some of which were political, religious, or out of fear that the shot might be worse than the virus.  A tension built between those of us who were fully vaccinated, still wearing masks, and taking general precautions by avoiding crowds and distancing ourselves indoors. A kind of battle ensued with one side insisting on personal liberties and another arguing that that we have responsibilities for the health of each other that should eclipse our individual desires. The ire between the two ways of thinking grew and grew as the virus mutated and claimed more and more lives. 

The pull and tug and rancor has only grown with governments and even private businesses losing control over the situation. We have learned that the virus is not willing to defer to our personal wishes and that it is determined to survive. Many question our medical community and the efficacy of the vaccines and the treatments for those who become ill with Covid. The divisions have often times become ugly as we each attempt to survive the moment in our various ways. 

The last many months have been very sad for me. I had always believed that we were a generous and flexible country that would happily join together to fight the pandemic together, and we did for a time. Unfortunately we lost our patience and our will to compromise, be flexible, attempt to understand our various needs, and show compassion for those among us who are the most vulnerable. We have surely lost our way when we cheer efforts to waylay the economy or make demands on our medical communities and schools that are dangerous and unfair. Still I remain the eternal optimist. I want to believe that we will overcome our worldwide tantrums and begin to work together again for the good of all. It is what I pray for on the two year anniversary of my life in a world dominated by Covid 19.