All It Takes Is A Little Love

My brother was born on January 6, Three King’s Day. In many parts of the world Christmas celebrations continue all the way through this date, but in the United States all thoughts of the holiday season have generally been relegated to the past. By a few days into January it’s time to look forward and move on from partying. We Yanks tend to get serious about the work at hand by diving full force into jobs and school work. Nonetheless, since it was a special day for my brother, our household always continued with the revelry in spite of a lack of participation from most of the rest of the folks around us.

I remember my dear mother struggling to find gifts for my brother in stores that looked as though they had been visited by looters. She would encounter empty shelves and even when products were still available they were all too often defective in some way. I suppose that she might have planned ahead by purchasing gifts before Christmas and setting them aside until January 6, but her budget and her personality forced her to prepare for each occasion one step at a time. Thus, she created unique traditions for my brother to make do with whatever she might find. One of her yearly offerings to him was a bag of his favorite cookies, fig Newtons, that he could enjoy without having to share with the rest of us. Somehow with a bit of imagination Mama always managed to make his day as special as he was. 

I have never cared much for the dark and often dreary days of January. I find myself missing the decorations and lights of Christmas. By January they are more often drooping and looking out of place, so most folks rush to take them down as soon as possible. After all the work and rushing around to prepare for Christmas we celebrate in one enormous burst and then return quickly to our work and resolutions. January is almost an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Birthdays and anniversaries in that month are all too often forgotten as people set out on the long journey around the sun one more time. 

From the time I was a child I have harbored a love/hate relationship with January because of its association with a return to school and work. I have a sense of dread about going back to the grind after all of the enjoyment of the holidays. It’s a feeling akin to returning to a routine after an especially wonderful vacation. On the one hand I want to stay suspended in an unending fairytale of fun and on the other hand I’m more than ready to return to the day to day realities of living. Even now when I am retired, I find myself feeling a kind of pull and tug of emotions when January rolls around. I am anxious to enjoy the possibilities of what lies ahead, but also cautious about the kind of events that might bring sorrow into my life.  

No other month of the year elicits both joy and dread like January which I know is actually rather silly. There is nothing particularly unique about the month. It’s place in the year is simply a random creation from a long ago attempt to organize life with a calendar that marks the passing of seasons. It is simply a demarcation of time that allows us to keep track of how many times our earth has revolved around the sun. That countdown might just as well have begun in the spring or summer or fall. Our reaction to January is nothing more than a learned response to the invented traditions to which we adhere, and yet it has always held the same blend of optimism and anxiety for me. 

As a teacher my colleagues and I always looked ahead to the long semester during which we knew that our students would lose their focus and begin to drift away into spasms of spring fever. January began the long haul of the school year, the time when the pencils and book bags and shoes were no longer shiny and new. It took lots of energy and creativity to maintain the interest of our students and sometimes even to motivate ourselves. Once we got back into the groove everything was fine, but summertime and sunshine always seemed to be so far away. 

I still cling to my brother’s birthday as the last hurrah of the holiday season. In some ways I have always enjoyed his birthday more than my own, because it has been a way to keep the holiday fires burning a bit longer. I keep my Christmas decorations shining brightly in his honor every year even though he is not at my home. I’ve never fail to attend his birthday party with the exception of last year during the before vaccination times of Covid. His special day is one last opportunity to laugh and feel the warmth of a family gathering before we all put our heads down to the tasks that lie before us. This year we get the added bonus of a baby shower for my nephew and his wife. That will add a bright spot to January that should bring lots of smiles. It will be March before we have another birthday to celebrate but if all goes according to plan the new baby will create another reason to celebrate in February. Then it will be almost spring and we will be looking forward to the times when the sun will shine most of the day, a situation that my body and mind seems to crave. Who knows it may also be the moment when we can finally say goodbye to Covid and begin to rebuild the more normal aspects of our lives with hugs and kisses and love all around.

 

My husband Mike and I had a good friend who had come to our town from Germany. He ended up here because his uncle was a professor at the University of Houston and the family decided that this provided him with a great opportunity to earn a college degree from an American university without the expense of room and board. For much of his time as a student he lived with his uncle’s family in the suburbs of Houston, giving him access to a crash course in the American way of life. With a particular talent for mastering different languages he was soon speaking like a native citizen and soaking up the culture of Texas. Unlike many international students he chose to hang with the locals with whom he took classes. Among them was my Mike with whom he became fast friends from the start. 

The two of them were dreaming of earning PhDs and becoming college professors. A stint as teaching assistants convinced both of them that working with students for a lifetime was not one of their best ideas. Besides, as is rather typical of students at the University of Houston they had landed jobs that were proving to be more promising for the future than the dreams that they once had. They both earned their degrees while concurrently building resumes in the real world and then launched their divergent careers and cemented their friendship. 

Our friend was the only child of a German father and a Norwegian mother. It was somewhat heartbreaking to his parents that he decided to stay in Houston, Texas rather than returning to his hometown in Bremen. His decision was cemented when he married a gal from Chicago who had also fallen in love with my city. He would never become a citizen of the United States because he believed that doing so would have broken his mother’s heart. To her it would have meant that she might never see him again. Of course such an idea on was hyperbolic because our friend saved his money and vacation time so that he might regularly travel home to visit his parents with his bride.  

While he was there he often took advantage of the fact that he was still a citizen to get some dental work done for free. He used to joke that the cost of airfare was often zeroed out by the medical care that he received as part of the German national healthcare plan. He liked to talk about the differences in the ways of life between his birth country and his new home in the United States. While he was a salesman in his daily life he always sounded like the college professor that he had trained to be whenever he spoke of the sociological pros and cons of living in Germany versus the United States.

From his own experiences he was able to compare and contrast the systems and he had come to the conclusion that there were actually good and bad things about each, and that judging the merit really depended on individual points of view. He noted that his parents’ lifestyle was definitely less extravagant than that of the average American, but they were quite comfortable and content with the way things were for them. 

They had moved into a small apartment after World War II and had secured jobs at the local telephone company. They walked or used mass transit systems to get around town but eventually saved enough money to purchase a car that allowed them to travel to the German countryside and to take trips to other European countries. They had the same neighbors in their apartment building for years and their comfortable routine included traveling once each year to Norway to visit with relatives at a family retreat fondly known as Hovden. Theirs was a predictable life that was marked with very few anxieties, a situation that suited them after the chaos of the war that had affected them both. 

They would visit our friend a few times. When they came they were in awe of the huge home that he owned complete with a swimming pool and two cars in the garage. They marveled at the long distances that he and his wife drove to work. Trips into other parts of Texas stunned them with the miles and miles of wide open spaces. The huge malls with stores offering virtually anything they might desire sometimes overwhelmed them. They were genuinely impressed with the success that their son had found in the USA, but a part of them wished that he had come back home. The vastness of America was breathtaking but they had come to prefer their more routine way of life, so they were always more than ready to return to what they knew best. 

We often contrasted our friends parents with my mother who struggled more and more as she grew older. Her life was wrought with so many economic nightmares. Even though she had worked continuously for most of her adult life, she had never earned an income equal to my father’s. When he died suddenly leaving her to care for three small children her life became a constant struggle, and there were few safety nets in place to help her. Luckily we were a rather healthy brood so she rarely had to take us to visit our family doctor. With the help of my uncles she kept her cars running far longer than normal so that she was able to navigate around town. The cost of living without mass transit systems and healthcare programs were a constant source of anxiety for her. 

These uncertainties would magnify themselves as she grew older and was no longer able to treat her maladies herself. As she needed more and more professional care she often chose to ignore the suggestions of her doctors because she simply did not have enough money to follow their advice. She tended to have some of her teeth pulled rather than spending more to have them repaired. She eventually became unable to get around our vast metropolis because the care of feeding of an automobile was way too expensive. Nonetheless, she owned a large home on a big lot with trees and gardens that our friend’s parents in Germany did not have. 

We often spoke of which system was better for our parents. I had to admit that I found a bit more comfort in the social services that my friend’s mom and dad enjoyed when I compared it to my mother’s worrisome situation. She literally spent her golden years fretting over concerns that she might not be able to pay for the most basic necessities. In her efforts to cut back on spending she paid taxes on her home rather than turning on the heat in the winter or the air conditioning in the summer. She stopped making repairs so that she might eat, so her home became rundown.

My brothers and I did our best to fill the gaps that our mom’s meager income left gaping. We gifted her with work parties for all of the special occasions. We sent our repair people to her home with orders to bill her for minimal amounts while sending us invoices for the real cost. We drove her around town when she needed to get places and boosted her food budget by inviting her to dinners many times a week. Still, her medical issues nearly broke her spirit even with Medicare. There were still copays that often destroyed the small income that was the basis of her survival. Eventually we took her into our homes so that she might finally relax in the knowledge that there would be a comfortable place for her to sleep each night. 

I often think of our friend’s parents contentedly living out their lives in small but familiar surroundings. I imagine them moving about their city with ease and enjoying the comfort of knowing that when they eventually became very sick they did not have to worry about paying the bills for their care. They always appeared to be a happy lot, as was my mother as well, but the difference is that they were better able to enjoy life free from the concerns that haunted my mother from the moment my father died. Perhaps it’s time that we think a bit more about what life is like for those less fortunate than ourselves. I suspect that we have some work to do. I’d like to think that I might play a small part in making life less worrisome for those who struggle in spite of their efforts. Surely there must be a better way. 

I love dependable service people. I have been especially supportive of them during the pandemic. When the rest of us were staying home and working virtually, they had to be out in the thick of things, often ending up sick with Covid and bordering on financial ruin as they lost work either from being ill or not having materials with which to work. They’ve taken abuse for having long wait times which were out of their control as they waited for materials. Somehow they still managed to get jobs done by hook or crook. I applaud them for being the backbone of our society.

I called a company out to install a new fence. They did an exceptional job and did not charge us a dime more than they had contracted to do even though the cost of lumber had soared and unexpected problems required more time to complete the job. I would recommend them to anyone without reservation. I appreciated their attention to detail and their willingness to work extra hours to speed along the process. 

Our chimney was falling apart and three different contractors made appointments to inspect the damage but never showed up. We finally took the advice of neighbors and called a local fellow who responded immediately and came to inspect the damage after a long day at work. He was honest, fair and did exactly what he said he would do. I now gaze at the chimney with a sense of relief and a belief that it will be sturdy for a very long time. 

We also had a major drainage problem. The side of our house was a swamp seven days a week no matter whether or not it had rained. We got some outrageous estimates of what it would take to solve the problem until our old handyman told us about a guy named Nat whom he believed would give us outstanding work for a good price. 

Nat came to the house right away and gave us three different solutions and their respective costs. We decide to go all out and still paid less than half of what the others had estimated it would take. It became apparent right away that Nat was a perfectionist who was not going to stop his work until it was perfect. Much as with the fence, getting the landscape back into good shape took an inordinate amount of time, but Nat and his crew were undaunted. Like artistic engineers they installed drains and catch basins and regraded the land until the water drained precisely out into the street and to the gutter. They laid a beautiful walkway and even seeded the bare soil with grass. It was a pleasure to watch them toiling until everything was just right. I did not mind paying them for a job that exceeded expectations. 

We also had to replace our back door because it was rotting and water came into our kitchen every time it rained. The man who installed the new door spent hours making certain that it fit just right and that it had a perfect seal when it was closed. Watching him work was like taking a master class in carpentry.

Then there was the repair of our trailer that was damaged at the end of our trip last July. Our insurance adjustor wanted to do the bare minimum. They suggested that we drive our trailer to someone that we did not know in Katy who would quickly seal a few cracks and install a new air conditioner. Instead we stuck with a guy who had serviced our trailer many times. He was known as an honest man who did things right. We were willing to pay him more for ensuring that our home away from home would not leak. We trusted him.

Months went by while our trailer that had always been stored under a cover sat in the blistering sun. We patiently understood supply chain problems. We had already guessed that it might take a bit of time for the materials needed to repair the roof to arrive. We did not complain. We were model customers. Finally we got the call for which we had been waiting for five months. Our trailer was supposedly as good as new. It was our unexpected Christmas gift. 

The first thing we noticed is that pieces of the new air conditioner were hanging from the ceiling. The trim on the exhaust fan in the bathroom was not secured. Part of the floor had come unglued and was curling up because of being unprotected from the heat for five months. After a few embarrassed excuses the so called “cosmetic” features were quickly set right. We took our trailer to its home in a storage facility and left it there until after the holidays when we planned to give it a thorough cleaning and maybe even take it out for a spin to a state park. 

It was then that we turned on the supposedly brand new air conditioner. It sounded like an old washing machine run by a pack of gerbils on a treadmill. It was not cooling either. Suddenly our patience was gone. The shoddy lack of concern for doing things properly was too much to bear after our willingness to overlook the fact that nobody had ever bothered to give us an update during our long wait or to apologize for the lousy quality of the work that left things obviously undone. We realized that whoever installed the air conditioner probably had never tested it to see if it was working. 

We have referred many people to our fence builders, our chimney repairer and our drainage artisan. They have been as happy with the craftsmanship of these workers as we have. They too have gladly recommended them to friends and family. A job well done with a sense of pride always results in even more business. Being lax and uncaring, on the other hand says something negative about a person’s honesty and abilities. 

We tend to be loyal customers. We kept the same plumber, air conditioning repairman, mechanic, barbers, hair dressers, manicurists, exterminators, carpet cleaners, painters, electricians and handymen for years. We send them more business and value them as the incredible workers that they are. A sloppy job loses our good will. No matter what you may be doing for others, do it with pride. It only takes one lousy job to tarnish your reputation and right now I’m not feeling so good about a trailer repair company that did not seem to care about making our trailer feel like home again. It really does not take that much to do right by people and the benefits that you gain by doing so are immeasurable.

I woke up a bit earlier than everyone else who was in my house on the day after Christmas. I did not want to interrupt anyone’s slumber because we had all experienced a very busy two days of celebrating. I sat quietly in my front room reading various articles and opinion pieces from the BBC, The New York Times, and The Washington Post. There was a common theme of self analysis in each of them, an attempt to understand the feelings of disconnect and chaos that currently define so many of our interactions. Each author attempted to explain why he/she thought that we appeared to be moving farther and farther apart from each other in the very time that a modicum of unity would be most helpful. While they bandied about many different ideas about causes and effects, problems and solutions, the consensus was that we have separated ourselves into groups that isolate us from the feelings and thoughts of those who disagree with us. In other words, we purposely avoid quieting our minds and opinions long enough to hear why someone from the “other side” thinks so differently. 

None of the articles suggested that we should abandon honest debate about solutions to our common problems, but they all contended that we must first begin by knowing exactly why each side congealed into a particular way of thinking. In other words, we have to understand the points of view and why they are so important to each group if we are ever going to be able to concede to a bit of compromise. We must realize what motivates behaviors and ideas that we do not generally understand. This kind of analysis and willingness to hear the other person has to be a two way street or we will ultimately accomplish nothing. 

Obviously learning how to accomplish the difficult feat of hearing ideas that seem to defy logic to us is highly charged with possibilities of moving even farther apart. It may lead to hurts and misunderstandings and even unwillingness to change even a tiny bit. On the other hand, such an exercise if done with good intentions might actually lead us to a realization of the logic and good intentions that drive each other’s choices. We don’t have to agree with them, but our discourse will become more about attempting to work together than about arguing over who is right and who is wrong.

I learned a bit of wisdom from my reading but also from considering conversations and comments that I heard during the two days of intense revelry in which I imbibed over the span of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I keenly felt the frustrations of people that I deeply love who differ on so many issues. There was a quiet divide within our family with both sides feeling misunderstood, but still desperately wanting to continue loving each other. There was an unspoken wish that we might turn back the clock and just be blissfully unaware of our divide. It was so much easier when we did not know that we would react so differently to a virus or to the current political issues. 

What I noticed as I listened to conversations is that every single person, regardless of where they fell on the various spectrums of current topics, genuinely believed that he or she was on the right side of history. Each person only wanted the best for everyone, but their ideas for solving societal problems often differed. Sadly, there was also a certain level of condescending belief that the other side’s logic was somehow faulty or even toxic. There was more of a tendency to defend positions than to genuinely strive to know the reasons for another’s differing ways of viewing the world. Often the older people lectured the younger persons rather than just listening to their ways of thinking, a tendency that has plagued humanity throughout history. 

It is a human desire to be heard. When we think that nobody is paying attention to us or that they are misjudging us we feel isolated and even hurt. We search for people who embrace us for who we are. Thus many groups are formed. We avoid the outsiders who make us feel small in their estimation that our ideas are somehow ignorant. This is nothing new in the long arc of history and sadly it often leads to great strife, a moment when it feels as though the center will not hold as things fall apart. 

Time and again after protests and movements that inspire violence we humans end up engaged in wars that we do not want. Evil actors take advantage of our divisions and push all reason and compromise aside. We fight with one another even as we know in our hearts that our situations should not have come to such dire extremes. We end the battles with treaties of peace that more often than not mask the facts that we have not yet truly found a way to work together. 

I heard the rumblings of discontent and disconnect in the conversations of those that I most love. The differing philosophies within my extended family are but a microcosm of the world at large. We actually love each other deeply, so the fissures that come to the surface tend to be temporary, but the hurt still lurks below the surface. Such a situation is being echoed in virtually every family across the globe and across time. Somehow even with those we know best, we insist on arguing our points rather than politely listening to each individual’s rationale for his or her ways of thinking. We are more inclined to to try to change minds than to understand them. Therein lies the universal problem that we all face. 

I intend to try to silence my mind and simply listen more from here forward. I know it is not always easy. I put my foot into my mouth all too often. I hurt feelings when that is something I never intended to do. I plan to think a bit more before rendering my opinions or reacting to things that bother me. This is my goal for 2022. I know I will falter, but hopefully I will do better and widen my horizons to gaze through the eyes of those who appear to see things differently than I do.  

I always thought that my Uncle Paul was the inspiration for Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham. Once every year he made a disgusting looking concoction of eggs, ham and who knows what else baked into a rubbery feast that he swore would bring good luck if consumed. For years I simply stared at the foul green creation that appeared to be more like a spongy sea creature than something worthy of placing in my mouth. It mattered not if luck would elude me because I did not have the inclination to risk eating something so strange. 

One year I decided to screw up my courage and ingest just enough of it to form a more reliable opinion of its worth. To my utter surprise it was actually rather delicious despite its lime green hue and strange consistency. I eagerly sliced a bit more of the egg casserole hoping to increase my chances of having a very lucky year and learned that my long held fears of the dish had been as silly as one of Dr. Seuss’ rhymes. 

My did prosperity did not seem to improve in spite of my willingness to be more adventurous in my eating habits, but I found myself looking forward to enjoying a slice of my uncle’s recipe for good luck in each new year. If nothing else it was one of the most unique renditions of what might have been a bit of good fortune that I have ever encountered. 

My mother always served the tried and true southern tradition of black-eyed peas on New Years Day. Sadly I never really formed an attraction to that particular legume even though I am often called “The Bean Queen” due to my ability to transform virtually any variety of bean into a delicious feast. It was not until I spent my first New Years Day with my mother-in-law that I learned of a different member of the pea family that supposedly also had the power of bringing luck into any household that consumed it on the first day of the year. 

It was the yellow split pea that transformed my world. I stood behind my mother-in-law each January 1, for many years learning the secrets of the alchemy that would change the tiny yellow bits into a smooth and delicious soup. Under her watchful care this traditional British dish became a delight for me and all of the members of my family. After she died I relied on the tutelage that she had so wisely given me to recreate the smooth golden soup that warms the body and the spirit. 

On a visit to Austria during the New Years holiday a few years back, I learned that there are many iconic items that might be used to insure a happy and prosperous year. Of course there was the four leaf clover but also the lady bug and golden coins of chocolate. My favorite, however, was the pig. From that vacation forward I have collected a “lucky” pig to adorn my home each New Years Day. They are whimsical and joyful and easy to find in my travels. Who knew that there were so many different ways to attract luck into one’s life?

I’m not particularly superstitious. I’ve yet to find a food or trinket that ensures me that my life will be somehow better than it might otherwise have been. Not even a rabbit’s foot has any power over the unfolding of life’s events. It’s simply a fun thing to pretend that we can somehow change the unfolding of fate with a simple wish or the ingestion of some iconic food. 

I often laugh at a memory that I have of attending the funeral of the mother of one of my Asian friends. The deceased woman was a Christian so the service included lots of prayers and readings from the Bible. At the conclusion of the memorial a few Buddhist traditions were also inserted into the mix. The deceased woman’s daughter commented that her mother had asked for both customs “just in case one was actually better than the other. “ She had not wanted to take any chances on choosing wrong in the her final goodbye to the world.

So as the old year fades away and the New Year beckons I have readied the little pink pig that I purchased in Santa Fe last summer along with a big pot of yellow split pea soup and some black-eyed peas “just in case.” We can all seriously use some better luck than what has come our way in the last two years. I’ll be most happy for a change in the right direction no matter from where it comes. 

Wishing everyone a very Happy and Blessed New Year! May 2022, bring us together in love and good health.