All It Takes Is A Little Love

Back at the end of the nineteen seventies my husband brought home a TRS 80 computer from Radio Shack. I thought he had lost his mind when I heard what he had payed for the thing but I composed myself when I saw the look in his eyes as he described what he believed was the future of technology. That machine worked with a tape deck and did very little but he made it sing, spending hours guiding it do things that seemed a tiny bit amazing. 

It wasn’t long before he became an Apple groupie bringing one of their computers into our home with as much optimism as he had shown for what we jokingly called the “Trash 80.” I was actually impressed with the Apple II e with its two floppy disc drives. I was able to do a great deal more with his increased capabilities and larger memory. By then our daughter was learning to do some simple programming to create a game and my husband was making the computer do all kinds of useful things. He created a wonderful electronic system for storing and averaging grades that I got permission to use instead of the old fashioned handwritten and calculated grade book. Our family was on its way to a technological world and I was not at all angry that we were running ahead of the curve. 

Of course we’ve updated and upgraded consistently since those times. The laptop that I use to compose my blogs has more capabilities than the huge machines used at NASA to put men on the moon. I almost take the convenience of my phone and my watch and all of the other advances for granted these days. I get to places I have never before been without a paper map. My phone provides wonderful directions. I constantly look up information on my computer. I have multiple digital subscriptions to newspapers and magazines. I easily stream movies and television programs. I can remotely teach with Zoom. I marvel every single day at how much easier it is to live than it was way back when so many things had to be done by hand. I even have a little robot that vacuums my home leaving me with more time to do other things.

My husband continues to look ahead at the inventiveness of humans. He plans to get a new phone that will monitor many of his health issues. He is excited about trying AirPods that will supposedly act as hearing aids. Mostly he is fascinated by the promises of Artificial Intelligence. Thus we found ourselves watching a special program about the future of AI hosted by Oprah Winfree. 

Oprah looked at the good the bad and the ugly of AI. There are things that it may one day do that will change the way we educate our children and diagnose diseases and health issues. At the same time we are already seeing the capability of AI to create untrue situations that appear to be quite valid. All of the experts were both excited and wary of what the next ten years of AI may bring to society. If we are measured and sensitive to the needs of humanity in using AI it may create a wondrous world. In the wrong hands it has the potential to wreak havoc.

All of the experts who spoke insisted that the very sensitivity and creativity of humans will be the key in using AI properly. For example, teachers can use the diagnostic abilities of AI to quickly learn the individual needs of each and every student, but their personal touch will still be key in helping students to overcome deficiencies. Machines can’t build confidence or know the best way to work with someone. So there is a consensus that teacher will always be necessary. Sadly there is great concern that some jobs may become extinct with AI so society will have to be certain that everyone still has meaningful work to do. 

We have already heard about AI mimicking voices so well that different scams have been successful. People have been bullied and even black mailed with AI photo and video creations that make them appear to be deviant or criminal. The FBI has confirmed such instances that pushed individuals to commit suicide. We humans will have to become much more careful about jumping to conclusions based on evidence that may in fact have been altered or just made up from someone’s sick imagination. 

Nonetheless less the most avid fans of AI including my husband seem to think that overall the rapidly improving technology will rock the world even more than computers have done. They imagine elderly individuals being able to live in their homes with incredible machines that cook, clean and care for them. They see knowledge being conveyed at the fingertips of everyone. They predict a world in which much of the drudgery of labor will be performed by machines leaving us to use the more creative and inventive sides of our natures. 

I’m not so sure that I am totally convinced that this will be a good thing. I envision all kinds of problems. It is part and parcel of my training as an educator to anticipate hiccups before they happen. I see many things that might go wrong, especially since the process is moving so quickly that we may not have time to adapt and notice the kinks before they do great damage. I find myself being a bit unenthusiastic like I was when the TRS 80 came into my home. I’m hoping that my worries about AI will be just as unlikely as they were with technology back then. I like the idea of progress but will hold my opinion until I see what happens. 

I like my food and my people to be salty. I prefer chips and crackers and people who are willing to express themselves just as they are. My mother was salty and I loved that aspect of her behavior. Most of the time she was refined and sweetly kind but she knew exactly when and how to let her frisky side rein free. I love women like that who manage to maintain control of every situation even in a world traditionally dominated by men. When my father died she skillfully used her saltiness to raise my brothers and me in a secure yet adventurous environment. It was only when she became ill that she seemed to lose herself and I truly missed the feisty woman that I knew she was.

I’ve had cats and loved them but once my little girl proved to be allergic to them I became totally enamored with team dog. I found out how truly faithful and protective those critters are. Living with a dog is like having an instant true friend every hour of every day. Dogs sidle up and hug with their entire bodies and we all know that nothing beats a good hug. I am petless now because I have an elderly man living in our home. He takes up a great deal of my extra time. Having a dog would only complicate our situation and besides my ninety five year old father-in-law might trip over a pet who is just trying to be friendly. 

Perhaps I’ll get a furry companion later in my life when all I really have to do is read and pen stories and blogs while sipping on tea. I think perhaps a Golden Retriever will be my choice because I have found them to be such a loving breed. We will cuddle together on the couch while I enjoy fiction books or she will be by my side when I sit on my back porch gazing at the stars on a cool night. Whatever I choose to do will be just fine for that dog. She will adapt to me and I to her. Our silent friendship will be strong because that’s just the nature of a good dog. 

I’m not much of a game player. I prefer Scrabble or crossword puzzles to checkers or chess. I enjoy some card games and remember a time when my mother held Canasta tournaments in our kitchen on hot summer days before we had air conditioning. Neighbors would gather to play hotly competitive games while cooling themselves with Mama’s homemade lemonade. Those lazy days were so much fun and sometimes I think that it would be fun to gather people for game days now and again. 

Of course I really love to spend my free time watching movies. When I was teaching and my daughters were young we often had movie days in July when the temperatures made being outside almost impossible. I’d gather our favorite foods and snacks and we would wile away the hours in our pajamas watching movies that we rented from Blockbuster. Of course there is no Blockbuster anymore and my daughters are long gone with families of their own. Somehow it’s not as much fun to set aside a day of streaming one show after the next but there are times when I would love to watch an entire series uninterrupted if I could find a day with nothing else to do.

These days my time is structured almost as much as it was when I was a working mom. I have to keep things in order so that my father-in-law won’t become confused by the constant changes that I actually prefer. I’m an early bird who rises before the sun peeks over the horizon. I like getting a jump on the day. I give myself time to clear the fuzziness in my brain and luckily I don’t have to do that on the fly to join the daily commutes on the road. as was once my fate. Instead I play a number of word games, acquaint myself with the morning news, make lists of tasks I need to complete or items I must soon purchase at the store.

 It is my creative time of day as well as when I meditate and write my blogs. Sometimes I picture myself in peaceful faraway places like the mountains that I so love. My imagination quickly takes me there and I feel a kind of contentment that flows throughout my body and my mind. Then the house and the neighborhood begin to come alive. I hear children laughing, workers driving to their jobs, my father-in-law shuffling to the kitchen. I know it’s time to get serious about the day. My golden moments of being silent will come again tomorrow. I have to muster my enthusiasm for more practical endeavors. 

The rapid firing of duties begins and I have always been a GOAT when it comes to getting things done. I confer with my calendar and lay out plans for the week and the month. I am ready for a smooth reckoning of the day’s demands even if a surprise comes way. That book about vampires that I purchased at the bookstore will have to wait. I am on the clock ticking off the tasks that keep things moving just as they should do. Somehow it feels good to be in control. I think of how maybe my salty mom was right in suggesting that I actually take delight in being a control freak. I guess it’s just the way that I am.

it has taken decades for me to reach this point and I actually like who I am. I know I am still imperfect, but who isn’t? I try to keep a growth mindset and hope that I will continue to evolve. Maybe one day I might actually achieve my secret goal of being salty. 

Lead by example with hope, never fear. —-Michelle Obama

I am a huge fan of Michelle Obama. I found myself identifying with her when I read her autobiography. I certainly cannot totally understand what it is like to be a Black person, but I do know a thing or two about the roadblocks associated with being a woman. Like Mrs. Obama I often found myself wondering if I truly had what it takes to be successful in a world that often convinced me to underestimate my own abilities. Even as I succeeded academically there was a part of me that felt as though I was not really being taken seriously. All too often I heard comments from teachers about my hard work being the source of my good grades rather than intelligence. They would remark that I fooled them into thinking that I was actually rather dull given my quiet demeanor and reluctance to assert myself. Their attempts to explain their surprise when I did well in their classes only fortified my own fears that perhaps I was somehow lacking and unworthy. 

Perhaps it was being thrown into the unexpected role of caretaker for my mother before I was even twenty one years old that provided me with the courage and conviction that I eventually developed. I became unafraid and unconcerned with other people’s opinions of me. I realized that I had what I needed to find navigate through life and it didn’t matter whether it was because of my determination or my I.Q. Like Michelle Obama I ultimately found myself and my destiny. 

I proudly became a teacher determined to help my students overcome the fears that they had. My goal was to increase their knowledge but also their understanding of their own capabilities. I wanted to give them hope, so I tried to push through the fears that they had. I especially wanted to do this for all of the students in my classroom because I knew what barriers they might one day face. While society has certainly advanced with regard to opportunities for everyone we have all seen and encountered people with old school prejudices. 

I remember having a discussion with a young girl who was doing poorly in all of her classes. She smiled and told me that she did not need schooling because her goal in life was to marry and become a mother. While I regard that as a noble vocation I worried about what might happen to her if for some reason her husband were to die or become abusive. I knew that she would be better off if she had skills that would make her strong and independent.

She argued that she would just go back home to her parents if things went awry with her marriage. I countered by pointing out that her parents might ultimately grow old and die leaving her without a plan to take care of herself and her children. Her response was that she would depend on her brother if that happened. When I asked her what she would do if her brother was unable to provide her with aid she suddenly paused as though she was thinking things through for the first time.

Eventually I convinced her that she was smart and able to take care of herself. I urged her to take advantage of building a foundation of education that would assure that she would always have backup goals for any emergency that might arise. She shook her head in agreement as though a light had just become illuminated in her mind. From that moment she went on to become one of my top students. She believed in herself and began to glow with confidence.

Teaching was almost a religious experience for me. I so often found children whose souls had been severely damaged. They were afraid of being found to be inadequate most especially in mathematics and so they adopted a false bravado or they disappeared into a protective shell. I knew that helping them to see their worth and how to use their abilities was just as important as demonstrating how to solve an equation. I was open to them about my own self doubts and spoke of how I discovered how to find the conviction that I needed. I tried to be patient with them as they tentatively made efforts to attempt to master concepts that were difficult. I urged then to enjoy the journey of learning rather than be afraid of it. We worked together. Everything I did was geared to make them stronger, not to tear them down. I never knew for certain if they had understood what I was attempting to accomplish with them until a few mornings ago. 

I went through my early in the day routines of playing all the word games in The New York Times then I went to Facebook to wish happy birthdays to anyone born on that day. After that I posted my blog for the day and began to scan the posts that showed up on my wall. Imagine my surprise when I saw that one of my former students had named me as the best math teacher that she ever had. Her reason for doing so was that I had patiently helped her to realize how competent she was as a student. Honestly I had thought of her as a brilliant young woman from the start. I literally cried upon realizing that I had change her feelings about herself because that it what I had always hoped to do for anyone wondering if they had the ability to grow in knowledge. When other students joined in on the post with stories of their own I realized that my students had reciprocated in helping me to understand that I had somehow accomplished my life’s goal. it was a moment of mutual admiration. I knew that my example had been positive for them and they in turn had bolstered my hopes that I had made a difference. 

I can never begin to express how much love I have for each and every one of my students. They are all my children and I love nothing more than hearing that they are doing well. I dream of them and worry about them, I hope that in every case I have been an example for them. I pray that they are as proud of themselves as I am of them.  

My grandmother, Minnie Bell, used to make lovely quilts for the family out of scraps of cloth. She did not own a sewing machine but instead made all of her stitches by hand. She worked on her projects when she was not working in her gardens or cooking meals and canning the fruit and vegetables that she had grown. Her quilts were lovely pieces that kept us warm in the wintertime and washed quite well in our machine. We used them until the fabric became frayed and holes began to appear leaving batting material to peak out. Eventually we traded them for manufactured blankets that were never the same as the colorful creations that our grandmother had made with love. 

Of course I wish that we had taken more care is using the old quilts from Grandma Minnie. It never occurred to us that her fingers would become so afflicted with arthritis that she would not longer be able to work with a needle for long periods of time. We never predicted that cataracts would cover her pupils making it almost impossible to see well enough to create designs. Somehow we imagined that both she and her quilts would be an eternal part of our lives, not understanding that the gift of having her was only temporary and not for all of our lives.

I now only have a very small block that my grandmother pieced together in the final years before her body failed her. It shows the downturn in her health with the imperfections that were never present in her best work. My mother lovingly did her best to create a tiny quilt for my dolls as a remembrance of Grandma’s handiwork. I was old enough and wise enough by then to handle it with care and keep it stored in a tiny trunk that I have carried from one place to another with some of my other treasures. 

I didn’t think much about quilting and the artistry that it requires until my friend, Pat Weimer, suggested that the two of attend the annual the Houston International Quilt Show a couple of decades ago. We joined thousands of quilting enthusiasts at the George Brown Convention Center on a November day to view the creative artwork of quilters from nations around the world. We walked through the aisles gazing in awe at quilts that looked more like paintings than bits of cloth cut and sewn together in ways that made them seem vibrant and alive. 

Pat and I went many times to the annual event but once she became sick and died I never again returned until this year. I had told my husband, Mike, several times that I wanted to go to the annual event, but did not want to go alone. While he showed an interest in accompanying me, something always seemed to collide with our plans and so the years and then the decades passed without a visit to that glorious celebration of artistry. Nonetheless, I put a notation on our calendar each year in the hopes that one day we might find the time to go. 

On November 2, of this year Mike saw my reminder and suggested that we go. It was a blustery rainy day spo a part of me wanted to just stay warm and cozy in the house. Still, I knew that if I turned him down such an opportunity might never again happen. I applied a bit of makeup to my face, fluffed my hair, put on my shoes and we drove through a downpour. We found covered parking in a garage with a direct route to the convention center without braving the wrath of the storm. It felt wonderful to be back once again and I immediately smiled as I thought of how Pat would have approved of the serendipity of the moment that had brought us there. She was always ready for a spontaneous adventure and surely this was one.

We took or time viewing the hundreds of quilts that were awesome in their complexity. We learned from one of the exhibitors just how exacting it is to create a pattern using pieces cut precisely at angles measured in a mathematical rendering that make seams disappear. She spoke of the art of determining the colors and the skills of keeping the projects from puckering so that they will lie flat while giving a three dimensional appearance. The messages of each piece told stories of both the creators and their ideas. 

I was gazing at one of the winning quilts when a woman came up behind me and admitted that she had kept coming back to it over and over again.. “It tears me apart,” she confessed and I understood what she meant. It was a quilt done in black white and gray. It showed the changing face of Volodymyr Zelenskyy from the time that he was a smiling comedian starring in a Ukrainian in television series through his transition from the early times of his Presidency to the present times of war. It was a study in contrasts that represented the man in the most moving ways. I too found myself shedding tears as I studied it. 

Mike boasted that the people watching was almost as fun as viewing the exquisite quilts. There were women wearing beautiful hats and long flowing dresses. There were ladies boldly sporting Kamala Harris for President shirts. There were older ladies getting around on rented scooters or limping with walkers and canes. Everyone was happy and friendly and I thought of my Grandmother Minnie and my dear friend Pat. Then a stranger looked at me and said, “Isn’t it nice to be here with our sisters?” I nodded. Yes, it was! We were all part of the artistry of life. Even Mike saw it and understood. I knew that Grandma Minnie and Pat would have agreed as well.

I do not like to argue. I generally find that if a discussion devolves into an a disagreement there is little chance that any points I may be attempting to make will change a person’s mind. In fact it is more likely that such situations will switch from logical debate to an emotional word salad. Nobody is actually listening anymore when that happens so attempting to clarify my position is fruitless. 

The few times when I have attempted to hold my ground with someone while expressing my views have generally gone badly. Unless the airing of differences is controlled by agreed protocols the results can often be devastating to a relationship with little progress made in reaching an agreement or at the very least some kind of compromise. Maintaining cool heads in which each person is respectful and honest is the only way to reach a common voice. Particularly of late we humans appear to be struggling with the concept of allowing differing points of view to give voice without being ridiculed or derided. We seem to be more inclined to quickly choose sides and stand firm while making so much noise that common ground is unlikely to be found. 

Emotions and insults all too often become the stuff of disagreements which sadly lead to ruptures in relationships. Those kind of breaks end friendships, divide families, and sometimes lead to all out war. When we turn each other into enemies simply because we choose differing ways of living in the world, everyone suffers.  There may be winners and losers for the moment but the enemies that we make will be around long after the dust settles. How wonderful would it be if we might find a way to talk about our differences without hurting each other or being implacable?

We all have moments, however, when we must plant our feet and become at least somewhat immovable. For years I had to insist, with the aid of my brothers, that my mother see her doctors and take her psychotropic medications. Simply allowing her to devolve into a state of extreme mental illness was out of the question. We worked as a team to keep her healthy even when she raged against us. We do similar things with children or teens who are heading for trouble. We push long and hard to keep them from harming themselves or others. Doing such things requires love and patience and determination. The issues are so serious that turning away is not a viable choice. 

I totally understand the sorrow and difficulty of having a child who is acting out in frustrating and dangerous ways, especially if they are threatening to do something violent. Such instances are not always amenable to simple persuasion. Nonetheless we have surely seen enough tragedy as a society to know that we have to find ways to get those young people aggressive care and monitoring. I can’t imagine thinking that providing such a person with access to guns might help them to get past their anger or depression. 

We should be able to enlist the help of counselors, doctors and intensive therapies with every ounce of our concern. Instead I know that our system is littered with roadblocks that make it undeniably difficult to get the care and support that our loved ones need. It is as though we are incredibly naive about mental health and the needs of those who suffer. When we see them calling for help with frightening words and actions we seem to have no idea what to do. We back away, look the other way, make excuses for their behavior, choose all the wrong ways of handling the escalating illness.

If someone we know bleeds, we not only immediately clean and administer to the wound but we also want to know what caused the hemorrhaging in the first place. We notice the physical aspects of the people in our families and get them to medical care as soon as possible. We are far more reticent when the ailment is mental. We shy from dealing with it and many times there is no help to be had even if we were to put our hearts and souls into the effort of getting them well. 

I often sat on the phone for days attempting to find someone willing to take my mother as a patient. She was too old or she had the wrong kind of insurance or not enough money. She would have to wait for weeks or sit for hours in an emergency room only to be told that there was nothing anyone might do for her. Hospitals were full. Budgets for psychiatrists were slashed. While hearts and cancers garner public interest and funding, mental illness is the stepchild of our medical communities. Nonetheless every time there is a mass shooting we find out that efforts were made by people who were concerned with an individual but they somehow came to little or nothing. In other words we can say that we need better mental health for such people but we have yet to take our resolve seriously. 

I don’t like to argue in situations that have little hope of changing minds, but I do believe that somehow inside each of us there is a nagging feeling that we must do better when it comes to helping those whose mental states have become unravelled. This should be a societal issue that everyone rallies behind. When we look away or walk away children at school are killed, an assassination is successful, innocents lose their lives at ordinary events. Surely we can agree to quit shouting at each other and focus on building a serious mental health system that will not require anyone to wait unnecessarily or be so expensive that people have to walk away. Our safety demands that we humanely use all our resources to help quickly and with firm determination. Surely we can agree on that!