All It Takes Is A Little Love

“How we look at others is what counts, because it shows what is in our hearts, We can look and walk by, or we can look and be moved with compassion.”  —-Pope Leo

When I was six years old I travelled with my family to Wisconsin. It was quite beautiful there and we were enjoying a drive through stunning scenery when my father spotted a sign in front of a little country store touting the many varieties of cheese that they sold. My one year old brother was sound asleep so my mother insisted that only my father would go inside to select a few varieties to enjoy as we continued our travels. 

Thanks to my first grade teacher I had become a rather advanced reader so I was stunned when I saw a placard above the entryway into the place. It really bothered me to see the announcement that no dogs or Indians were allowed. I registered my shock to my mother who did her best to explain how some people harbor prejudice against native Americans but I wasn’t buying her attempts to console me. Everything that I had learned in my religion class flew in the face of such a grotesque announcement and I felt so sad that my excitement about the cheese devolved into a lack of appetite. 

Of course I had seen the restrictions for Black citizens back in my home town in the south and had drawn the conclusion that such treatment was also wrong. I was only six years old and I had a moral sense of right and wrong, so it bothered me that adults would look at people unlike themselves and have no problem seeing them as inferior and somehow unworthy of the same kind of treatment as white people. I understood even as a child that it was wrong to simply accept the cruelty that seemed to be so rampant in the world. Everything about what I had learned indicated that the adults around me should have felt as outraged as I did but I was a polite child who remained silent without ever forgetting how I felt upon seeing yet more evidence of prejudice.

I suppose that I will never understand how anyone can look at another human who is being mistreated and simply stay silent and walk away. it took me a long time to develop the courage to speak out and I suppose that I am using the talent that my Catholic school teachers helped me to develop to protest with my writing. Still, I feel that there has to be more that I might do. 

I have a long history of protesting and I have continued to use gatherings of like minded individuals to call attention to my frustration and anger in seeing how immigrants to our nation are being treated. What we are doing to them in the name of law is outrageously horrific, so I fail to understand how anyone can find an excuse to condone it. I want badly to take part in the protests that will occur today in cities all across America but my scheduled cataract surgery coincides with the event. All I can do for the moment is express my anger that people whose only so called “crime’ is to want a good life for themselves and their families are being harassed and mistreated with profound evilness.

Most of the people being rounded up have no history of crime. They have jobs, pay taxes and are not eligible for many government services other than schooling for their children. They are doing jobs that are important to our economy that few of us would want to do. There is no reason for masked ICE enforcers with no IDs to be picking them up from schools, workplaces and even hospitals and schools. It reeks of profound ugliness and fascist tactics. 

The places where these individuals are being sent are even worse. They are concentration camps by definition. Those in charge of such installations seem to take great pleasure in flaunting the horrors that the immigrants will face there. The lack of human compassion is stunning and most of us know it to be so and yet we are incredibly frustrated in our efforts to make it stop. It feels just like it did when I was a powerless child. My instincts tell me that we all need to do more. We have to raise our voices and do everything possible to protect these innocent souls. 

The people of Germany looked away when Jews were being packed into trains and sent to camps where most of them would eventually die. We Americans would do well to heed history and not risk one day bearing the stain of our inaction. We have to make it very clear on a daily basis that we will not stand for the inhumane treatment that is unfolding before our eyes. We can look and walk by as Pope Leo says or we can look and be moved with compassion. Stopping with good feelings, however, will not be enough. We must do everything possible to register our contempt for what is happening and for the people who are making it happen. We must do our best to make it stop. There is no excuse for silence or inaction. 

I’ve spent the day reading the current news, cleaning house, and doing exercises for my knees and spine. Somehow along the way I found myself wondering why anyone would want to go back in time. I began to think about how different my experiences would be without the progress that has greatly improved life for me and so many people. I began to contemplate how dangerous it is that that much that we have accomplished is being threatened by folks who seem intent on yearning for an era long past. 

It’s extremely hot outside in Texas in July. I’ve been able to water my yard and my plants with a few commands to my smart phone which plays a huge role in making my days so much easier than they once were. Aside from taking care of my flowers, my phone allowed me to learn about the death of a wonderful woman who had an enormous impact on my life. I was also able to send a quick message to my daughter about my upcoming cataract surgery along with ordering household supplies that will be delivered to my front door. All of theses things took under a minute to achieve but there is so much more that is making my life run more smoothly than ever before. 

I use videos from physical therapists to change up my exercise routines and I must say that they have produced remarkable results. I mostly work on stretching and strengthening the muscles in my legs and my core. The actual regimen can be a bit boring so I usually insert my iPods and listen to podcasts or music while I go through the regimen.. Sometimes I stream a good show to keep monotony from overcoming my desire to keep going. The air conditioning in my home keeps me cool even as I work up a bit of a sweat. 

I have a treadmill and a bicycle to add to the workout and while I’m making myself stronger my two robotic vacuum cleaners are sweeping up my floors. Of course I can’t imagine going back to the days when my only source of respite from the heat was an attic fan which moved around the hot air in our house. As my dishwasher whirs away I remember all of the times I rotated with my mom in cleaning up after meals with a sink full of hot water that dried out my hands. Somehow I found myself thinking about how awful it would be to go back in time. I began to fully understand my grandfather’s mantra that these are the good old days. 

When I began college I had female friends who were being harassed for daring to major in engineering or architecture. I admired their courage greatly and I would hate for young women today to endure the same kind of pushback for daring to aspire to working in what had once been traditionally male careers. When I hear people insisting that women should first take care of the home and and children I cringe. Those days are gone and I see little reason to go back to them. 

I like my computer that allows me to type text without a bottle of white-out close by to mask my mistakes. It once took me hours to put my ideas onto a paper. Now I can whip out a blog in a few minutes time. Why would I want to return to an era when virtually every aspect of life was so much more difficult? Why would I want to repeat the prejudicial impacts of the past? How can anyone think that the backward thinking of those now in charge of our country is a good thing? 

Our goal should be to keep progressing, not longing for a time when so much was missing in our lives. Sure there were a few things that we might try to do like spending more time with family and friends and working fewer hours chasing money and power. We can gain much by interacting with nature, encouraging innovation and progress, making sure that everyone has opportunities to work and thrive. We certainly are not perfect but the idea of looking to the past for answers that were not nearly as wonderful as we sometimes seem to think they were is not the right way to keep everyone feeling safe, secure and happy. 

No matter how much we wish not to be, we are an incredibly diverse group of people living on a planet that has mostly been good to us. What we need is a bigger tent to include everyone, not turning inward and ignoring or even persecuting those who dare to think differently or look differently from ourselves. We were very much that way not so long ago when I was a child. It was ugly and even seven year old me was able to see it. We would do well to pay attention to what is happening to innocents in our midst whose lives are being torn asunder in the name of being “legal.” A much better approach would be to think about what is morally right and just. 

I had a good morning getting things done even as I understand how many people are so much less fortunate. Instead of going backwards, doling goodies to only a select few and wishing for a time that no longer has any reason to exist, let’s instead evolve in a positive direction the way we were slowly doing before a charlatan convinced voters that only some of us are good enough to be given love in America. We can’t look away or pretend anymore. The whole world can see what is happening here and I think we can as well. It’s time to admit that we are walking in the wrong direction into a very dark and ugly way of living. Let’s do what we can to stay in the light of progress, hope and kindness.    

My father’s death was at the epicenter of my childhood. Everything in my life changed on the night that he died. My mother did her best to guide me and my brothers through the stages of our lives that would lead us into adulthood. I sometimes wonder how she was able to hold it together for as long as she did. It must have been incredibly difficult just to keep the roof over our heads and put food on the table each day but somehow she managed. 

When I headed off to college in 1966, I was shy, naive and idealistic. My mother had sheltered me from the dark side of the world. I would soon enough learn that life was not as easy and cheery as she had worked so hard to present to me and my brothers. I had purposely chosen a large public college because I felt that it was time for me to see more of the world than I had experienced in the private school where goodness seemed to reign. I knew that if I was to make it as an adult I would have to learn how to be tough and resilient like my mother who often boasted that she was the child of immigrants and the youngest of eight kids. She was street smart in ways that I had yet to develop. 

I jumped feet first into my college experience, taking part in dances and frat parties, and reading the editorials in The Daily Cougar from a gifted writer named Edith Bell. I soon enough realized that I cared little for loud celebrations and felt more at home with quiet gatherings that prompted interesting discussions about the world. I participated in civil rights marches and protests about all sorts of things including the taking down of old trees on campus. I found my people in earnest souls who saw their educations as stepping stones to making a difference in a world which was on fire. It was a time when the heat would  grow more and more intense. I began to see life as it truly was, not as a perennially cheery time filled with only rainbows and unicorns. 

Along the way I met the young man who would become my future husband. He had spent some time studying at Loyola University in New Orleans. He and I began talking on our first date and the conversation never ended. I had found my soulmate when I was not even looking for him. By 1968, we had decided to get married. 

The world was a powder keg that year, most especially in the United States. Protests were breaking out on campuses across the country. There was a feeling that life was fragile and uncertain and so the idea of seizing the day with a wedding did not seem to be extraordinary. In fact, many of our friends had already tied the knot. It was as though we worried that things were so uncertain that pledging our eternal love to someone was a kind of panacea to the ugliness that was coming to a head all around us. 

Before our wedding date Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. Later that spring Robert Kennedy, Sr. was killed only minutes after celebrating a primary victory in California. In the summer riots outside of the Democrat Convention in Chicago would mesmerize the nation. By the time October came and we were being married at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church the priest was noting that it took a great leap of faith and hope to embark on a life together during the volatile times. What he could not have known is that the times had been a factor in our decision to join forces with each other while we could. 

It would be a very long time before things settled down for us. The pressures of being strong had finally broken down my mother who began a long journey with mental illness only months after our wedding. I would take on the role of caretaker for her and my brothers, thankful that I had the support of my husband during those dark times. I would spend the next forty years making certain that my mom had whatever she needed, learning about mental illness and bipolar disorder on the fly.

In our early twenties my husband would contract a fungal disease that landed him in the hospital getting chemotherapy for months. In the less crazy times we had two beautiful daughters and somehow learned how to balance home life, work, and watching over my mother with raising our little ones into two incredible young women. 

Life has been a bumpy ride for most of my years but I have somehow been able to adapt to each new challenge. I was quite happy when me and my husband were finally able to retire and travel to places that had been only dreams. I assumed that our hardest challenges were behind us but life has a way of laughing at our innocence. Along came Covid and with it the icky feelings of uncertainty that we had experienced so many times before. Then we inherited Mike’s father as the newest member of our household and caring for him became a full time job that curtailed our gypsy-like adventures. Now we spend our days at home following the schedule that keeps him healthy and happy. Somehow we have made it work even as I quietly long for a few more trips before we are too old to stray far from home. We have planned a trip to London in the fall and hopefully all goes well and we get there.

This year has reminded me more of 1968 than any other time in my life. There is a grave chill over the nation that seems to increase with each passing day. I find myself worrying more about my country and its people than at any other time in my personal history. In the backdrop of my story there are health issues that are slowing down me and my husband. My knees hurt more often than not. He has cancer and will spend most of the summer getting daily radiation treatments. I am scheduled for cataract surgery tomorrow. It is all a bit too much and there are days when I worry that I won’t be able to keep up with the demands on me. There have been moments here and there when I felt as though I was going to break. Luckily I learned the importance of self care at an early age and so far I have been able to refresh my energies again and again. 

I hope and pray that this too shall pass without such dramatic changes that I will no longer recognize the Untied States or the new kind of lives that we all may be asked to live. So far I have my partner who has walked with me every step of the way but I also realize that both he and I have expiration dates that may come due at any time. I am determined to keep the faith and be the warrior that I believe I was always destined to be. I know how to survive and I am determined to do it well. 

“Sometimes carrying on, just carrying on, is a superhuman achievement” 

I don’t know who said this but it really hit me between the eyes. When anyone has been around for as long as I have it’s more than likely that they have seen people enduring such difficult situations that they indeed think such folks are made of steel. Somehow we wonder how such individuals have been able to get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other. We talk about superheroes all the time but rarely think to put those who overcome common everyday challenges in that category.

I have a cousin who is battling a ferocious cancer that has metastasized to many parts of her body. She is a single mom with two very young children and in spite of the uncertainty of her prognosis or perhaps because of it, she is focusing on her little ones every single day. Somehow she summons the energy to appear to have super powers that none of the rest of us have. While getting chemotherapy she found the energy and wherewithal to continue doing all of the things that good mothers do. She made jokes about losing her hair and smiled at her children even when she was worried about the future. Not even the bravest soldier in combat has exhibited more courage that she musters to make sure that her babies will feel safe and secure. 

She is getting stem cell treatments that will hopefully be the miracle that she needs to chase her cancer into remission and keep it there long enough for her to enjoy a normal life with her children. Somehow her focus on them has been the driving force that pushes her out of any doldrums that might attempt to bring her down. She remains optimistic even in the realization that there are so many unknowns that lie ahead.

When I think of my cousin’s situation I applaud her great faith in God but I also consider the doctors and researchers who have quietly created treatments for illnesses like hers that were not available even ten years ago. They are quiet and often unheralded heroes whose names we never know. They work in their labs using all of the scientific methodologies available in pursuit of cures for the many diseases that stalk humans. Were it not for them people like my cousin would be hearing messages without hope. Instead there is a good chance that she will live on to be the fantastic mother that she is to her daughter and son. 

Of late many people not only question our medical and scientific community but even go so for as to suggest that they are somehow nefarious and intent on hurting us. While there have been rare cases of incompetent or nefarious doctors, the overwhelming majority are dedicated to using their knowledge and skills to keep the rest of us as healthy as is possible. They work long hours caring for others, often to their own detriment. 

One of my husband’s uncles was a renowned cardiologist. He sometimes existed on four hours of sleep at night. He often had to miss family gatherings and leave in the middle of the evening to tend to an ailing patient. Even when he got to be at home among family and friends it was not unusual at all to see him falling asleep for a few moments to catch up with his need for rest. He often commented that doctors put so much stress on their bodies with the brutal workloads that they carry that they often die earlier than other groups of people. He himself left this earth much sooner than we expected, no doubt because he had put so much stress on his body by dedicating his life to his patients. 

It is popular these days to question our medical community and to imply that most of them are experimenting on us for fun and profit. Ordinary souls with little or no education claim that there is a powerful complex of greedy men and women getting rich from the suffering of those who are sick. Some even insist that the doctors and scientists are causing the illnesses. They do not take into account the years of study and experience that lead to incredible discoveries designed to save people, not hurt them.

I am rooting for my super cousin. I pray that her doctors will beat her cancer. I hope for a miracle for her while also understanding that if one happens it will be because some brilliant souls were able to discover a way to deal with her illness because of their diligence and genius. They worked hard to find a treatment that may keep her mothering her children for many more years to come. Superhumans do not always wear cloaks. 

I should be feeling on top of the world right now. I just came home from a wonderful trip to New York City that I shared with a lovely group of women that included my daughters, granddaughter and a long time friend who is like a daughter to me. We enjoyed the sights and food and kinship over the Fourth of July weekend. We spent days together being open and honest about our feelings and opinions. It was incredible to feel so comfortable just being ourselves without having to filter how we acted or what we said. Just realizing that it was okay to do and say whatever came to mind knowing that we would still deeply love each other was the best aspect of our adventures. 

We dined at a posh Israeli restaurant and imbibed at a bar near NYU. We were floored by a performance of Cabaret and cried openly and frequently at the 9/11 museum. We met cab and Uber drivers from around the world who were excited about being in the United States. We enjoyed the food and the people watching in a Russian restaurant and piano bar. We walked through St. Patricks Cathedral where we said our private prayers then hoofed it to Bergdorf Goodman to drool at fashions that none of us will ever be able to afford. We marveled at the Metropolitan Museum and sang along with the tunes at a showing of Chicago. We rode on the subway from one end of New York City to the other, trying Taylor’s Swift’s favorite lipstick and munching on food from India, China, Italy and a local deli. All the while everyone we encountered was friendly and helpful, not at all like the stereotypes that are too often hurled at the fabulous city and its people. 

I might describe each aspect of our brief tour in great detail but what stood out the most to me was how much we humans have in common no matter where our origins began or how we look or speak. Everyone everywhere enjoys kindness. It takes so little to produce smiles on people’s faces and we saw so many wherever we went. Even the initially grouchy woman working all day selling art in the hot sun on a street corner relaxed and grinned when I chatted with her. 

All of the ugly myths that I heard about New York City and its people were simply false in my view. I never had to stand on the subway, which was very clean by the way, because some nice young person always gave me a seat. Nobody pushed me aside because my aching knees slowed my gait. Everyone was eager to help and every place was inviting, even those not on the usual visitor’s list. We never felt afraid or insulted, in fact it was just the opposite. I have rarely been so respected just for being an older woman. I was accorded so much consideration even from the TSA agent who remained patient while I fumbled and bumbled.

My return to my own city stole away some of the joy that I was feeling. Perhaps it was the long delay of my flight which got me home at two thirty in the morning when I was supposed to arrive at around six the evening before. Mostly, I was deeply saddened by the floods in the Texas Hill Country in places that are so dear to my heart. I’ve been there so many times that I can easily envision how lovely and peaceful they were before tragedy wreaked its havoc. I have cried for those affected by so much loss. I have felt helpless in wondering what I might do for them. I was stunned by the horror of how the last moments of life had been for those who died. Somehow all of the joy that I felt on my trip seemed trivial and maybe even a bit inappropriate given what had happened. 

Still, all of it made me focus on what was most important about my trip, namely the wonder of my relationship with the incredible women who shared those days with me. It made me more deeply appreciate that we were able to set aside our worries and just be present in the moments with each other. For those many hours we were in a wonderful world filled with love and laughter that can’t be bought at any price. Perhaps others saw that and thus responded to us in kind. What we had was a memory that will always be a blessing no matter what our futures may be. 

I’ve come back home to bad news in the political world and irritations at home, but my mind keeps being reminded of the glorious feelings that we had just knowing that we are loved. It is a story repeated over and over again and it is the way that we will overcome any troubles in the future. We are assured that we have each other and with that knowledge nothing else matters much. Still, my heart weeps for those who are suffering and my joy is tempered even as I know that they are remembering their own joyous times with loved ones who are now gone. We must be kind to them. The days ahead will be difficult.