Taking care of each other

 

My amaryllis twenty-four hours later
It gives me a lot of hope

If we merge mercy

With might, and

Might with right, then love

Becomes legendary.

  Amanda Gorman

Dumbstruck, still and forever, by the amount of hate in this world. Hate for people who are different--race, sexual orientation, religion, politics. The counter to hate, to me, is empathy. Instead of railing about illegal immigrants (someone once said no human being should ever be called illegal—call them undocumented if you must), why not think about that woman who walked three thousand miles carrying her possessions—and her young child—on her back? What had happened to her, her family? What made her so desperate? What did she hope to find? My mom was fond of the old saying, “Never judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.” (Only she used a Native American version that substituted moccasins for shoes.)

I read recently of a man who had been a participant in some capacity at the Nuremburg trials of the Nazi war criminals. He said that after careful study he had concluded that the greatest definition of evil was lack of empathy. Makes sense to me, and I am sad that I see that trait all around us these days.

Here’s the dictionary definition: empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. Synonyms are: sympathy, pity, feeling, concern, considerateness, consideration, tenderness, tender-heartedness, kindness, kind-heartedness, sensitivity, insight, fellow feeling, brotherly love, neighborliness, decency · humanity · . Gentle words, aren’t they?

Practicing empathy is not easy. I am the first to admit that I too often jump the gun, figuring I know the situation. Not only that, but I am usually quite sure my point of view is the right one. I am trying to teach myself to slow down, find out everything about the situation, listen to the other point of view. Yesterday I talked to ATT five times, three of them to the mechanized voice; Today the Wi-Fi stopped working again, and I called. But I know the ropes now and how to get a real person, and when I did I made it a point to be as nice as I could. Yes, I told him my frustration, but not in accusatory tones. And I asked where he lived, thanked him for his attention. I got what I want: a new router is one the way.

Far too many times, when I try to post what I hope is reason about some of what’s going on in Texas—book banning, voter suppression, that damn wall—I get responses that tell me to go somewhere else, get out of Texas. I want to shout, “I may not be native, but I’ve been here fifty-five years, my family, my career, and my life are here. I’m not leaving.” But the angry voices on Facebook don’t care. They have no empathy.

Right now I think the elected officials who run our country—and most definitely our state—could practice a lot of empathy instead of extreme partisan politics. I think of Tip O’Neill who was Speaker of the House in the late Seventies and early Eighties. He was known for reaching across the aisle, and there was a spirit of collegiality in the House. President Biden, when he was a senator, was also known for collegiality. There is none of that today. Votes are almost strictly along partisan lines, with it seems to me, little thought about their effect on our citizens, and a lot of though about the politicians’ careers.

Take Gov. Abbott’s deployment of troops to “secure” the border. They have had their lives disrupted—businesses closed, educations interrupted, families torn apart, while they sit in poorly equipped camps, bored, never seeing a migrant. But Gov. Abbott is making the former guy and their base happy. What’s a few discontent soldiers? What they are is human beings with lives and hopes and families and fears, not pawns in a game.

If I got a little preachy, I apologize, but empathy—the lack of it, the need for it, has been on my mind for a while. And it’s a hard subject to write about. Years ago, I titled my first novel, “A Year with no Summer,” but the New York publisher changed it to “After Pa Was Shot” because year and summer are intangibles. So is empathy, but we can make it real in our daily lives.

Sunday, oh Sunday!

Went to church (euphemism for watching an online service) by myself this morning, since the family had gone to celebrate with friends who joined our church today—a momentous occasion for them, and Jordan made sure that it was well celebrated. I stayed home, made chicken salad for supper, and did a bit of writing. Leftovers for lunch.

This evening our neighbors down the block, Greg and Jaimie Smith, came for happy hour, and the man behind the screen (Jay) and his wife (Susan) joined us. Greg used to do my lawn, and Sophie adores him, so she was in heaven—and he paid her lots of attention. We were all sorry they didn’t bring Levon, their new English shepherd/doodle pup. It was good to see these neighbors we simply don’t see enough of.

Sophie has a sad story. After her morning of joyous and carefree abandon, she began to limp in the evening—Friday, this was. By Saturday morning, she was moving tentatively, like an old lady. Quite a contrast to the happy abandonment twenty-four hours earlier. I called the vet in a panic, but they were totally booked for the morning. I was distraught because I thought perhaps she got a sliver of glass from a broken wine glass, though we worked hard to clean up ever little bit, and also because she was clearly in such misery. I couldn’t bear the thought of her in pain all weekend. To my relief, the vet on duty volunteered to stay late to see her, and Jordan and Jacob whisked her up to the clinic.

Seems Sophie has been tearing up the pads on her paws for some time—she had old, healed cuts, and fresh new ones. Hearing this, I realized that ground cover is probably really hard on her paws, something I’d never thought of. She had a shot and came home with two kinds of medicine. Tonight she is almost back to her old self but sticking close to me, staying in the cottage, and not interested at all in running outside.

After our company left, we had chicken salad for supper, disguised for Christian’s benefit as a chicken casserole. It’s a cold salad that you top with cheese and crushed potato chips and run under the broiler briefly at the last moment. To my relief, he went back for a second helping. So I start the week with plentiful leftovers—a bit of tuna salad, some salmon, a small serving of potato casserole, and a generous helping of chicken salad. So good to have such delicious things to look forward to. I’m told chicken piccata is on the menu for supper one night, at Jacob’s request.

So, high ho, here we go—into what for us is the thirteenth week of quarantine. Yes, we’ve relaxed a bit but not much, and each little bit of relaxation, each new face we introduce makes me a bit nervous. I am still content, though watching the protests and the government response with tenacious—and sometimes indignant interest. For me, the week holds more writing—a short project, which wrote itself in my mind today and I must get on paper, and the novel, which is nearing the end and is more of a puzzle to me. I look forward to all of it. Sometimes I pinch myself about how blessed I am.

The sermon this morning was about hope, and I admit I have abundant hope for the future—for my family, for Texas, and for the country. For the long slow slog out of racial discrimination to begin finally, truly. The protestors will not be ignored—and good for them. As someone else said, “Hold on, folks. It’s gonna’ be a rough ride.” But a good one. I have faith in the American form of government and in the American people (most of them).

Have a good week, everyone. Stay well and stay safe.

Protests in America

This is who we are

Not a land of violence and hate

I don’t think any of us can tiptoe around the topic of the protests, what they are doing to disrupt America, and what they mean. So here are a few of my scattered thoughts.

This past week has been a dramatic and intense learning lesson for Jacob. Perhaps because he’s scared (he wouldn’t admit that but then, we all are), perhaps because he never imagined anything like this, he wants to talk about it, explore it. Last night, Fort Worth saw a peaceful protest on the Seventh Street bridge into downtown go violent, and police used tear gas for the first time in this city in decades. Christian and Jacob drove down there on the road safely under the bridge, but Jacob later came and showed me pictures they had taken—what I could principally see was clouds of tear gas floating in the air.

Tonight, Jacob and a buddy wanted to go to Old Neighborhood Grill, just down the street, for burgers. They left a few minutes after seven, with our warnings to be home by eight ringing in their ears. But the grill closed at seven, so that people would be sure to get home. These are the stories those kids will tell their grandkids, but what will their interpretation be? They have no precedent in their memory: I on the other hand remember the night Martin Luther King, Jr., was shot and the riots that followed, and the beating of Rodney King and the burning of Watts. My memory is too full of these things, and I am afraid to hope that this time will be different. Yet it seems different to me, the violence longer lasting and more widespread.

We talked about it last night, and when I said I thought the looting went beyond simple acquisitiveness by poor blacks and was an attempt to create social discord by organized groups, Jacob said tentatively, “I agree with Juju.” Perhaps he’ll see that it is a racial issue, one that’s been simmering too long, but it is also a civil issue, a statement on democracy.

The sitting president spoke briefly on TV tonight. If you know me, you know it’s hard for me to listen to him with an open mind and unbiased ear, but I tried. I really did. I agree with the need to restore order and protect individuals and small businesses, with the lip-service he paid to the genuine protestors and the slight sympathy he showed for George Floyd’s family—he got the name wrong and called him Floyd George. Ah, well.

But when he talks about activating military troops, my hackles go up. And when he blames it all an antifa, I can barely keep from shouting. It’s clearly accepted that outside organized groups are causing much of the continuing disruption, but he has no proof that it’s antifa, a generic name for anti-fascists. He announced he was declaring that a terrorist group—but antifa is the name for a general resistance, not an organized group, so good luck with that. And local leaders, with their feet on the ground and not hiding in a bunker, indicate that much of the trouble comes from white supremacists and from several highly organized groups within that movement. We may never know the truth, but my hunch is that there is some antifa action and a whole lot more neo-Nazi, and at the base, now overshadowed, are the peaceful protestors who simply want to march and chant for  equal justice for all—long overdue in this country.

Will this end racism in this country? Probably not, but perhaps, finally, it is the wake-up call we needed. There is a long road ahead, and true equality won’t happen in my lifetime, but perhaps in Jacob’s.

Is this the end of the trump presidency, as many have suggested. I can only hope. But if it is, it’s a terrible price to pay to free us from an incompetent man who would be a dictator, who fosters hate and incites violence, and to whom 100,000 deaths from COVID-19 apparently mean nothing.

America tonight is in shambles—a pandemic, millions out of work, the economy on the brink of faltering, and riots from coast to coast. No, I don’t believe trump’s prediction that we are on the road to greatness. If we are to move ahead, it will be a long and difficult journey. But I believe, with new leadership, we can do it. I am hopeful.

Wearing my Pollyanna shoes

I asked my daughter this morning what came to her mind if I said Pollyanna, and she said nothing. So I hope some of you know that Pollyanna was an 1814 novel that featured a young girl with an eternally optimistic outlook on life. Boring in literature but not, I find, a bad way to look at life. I am Pollyanna.

And as I follow Facebook and other sources on the internet, I am encouraged about the world. We hear so much gloom and doom, and admittedly there is much dark to worry and moan over. The separation of children from their parents and now the word that it would be too much trouble to reunite them—I hope that ends up in Nuremburg someday, with the orange squatting president as the lead defendant. The ongoing foolishness of a wall that nobody wants that will do no good, cost a fortune, and destroy the environment. And the destruction of our environment on so many fronts. The greed and corruption that seems pervasive throughout the current administration—why in heaven’s name, I wonder, would anyone want to attach themselves to that? And why, oh why, do so many still seem to fawn over this man who is without a doubt corrupt and most likely a trator?

But the tide is changing. I see encouraging signs. Republican officials are pulling away from trump—a Senate amendment, which seems likely to pass if it hasn’t already, will condemn his withdrawal from Syria; several Senate Republicans have come out against the prospect of declaring the southern border wall a national emergency. The worst racist members of Congress have been ostracized and relegated to the sidelines, where they have no voice in government. The southern district of New York has demanded documents from trump’s inaugural committee, and it seems likely that his tax returns will also be unlocked.

Yes, we have miles to go, but these are encouraging signs, things we didn’t see a year ago It seems the universe that he thought he controlled is caving in on trump, and he’s fairly helpless. Karma is beginning its long slow climb to right the universe again.

A friend said to me tonight it’s amazing how rapidly trump was able to undo what it took years to put in place, and that is unfortunately true. But the American people are speaking, and I have faith in their collective voice. Today the buzz is about how many trump supporters are gobsmacked by their higher income tax bills and/or reduced refunds. The so-called president’s popularity is at a historic low. The tangled mess is unwinding.

I’m encouraged on another front. Across the world, people, communities, and countries are taking extraordinary measures to stop climate change and save the environment. They are planting trees—not just a few trees but whole forests, developing alternatives to single-use plastics, finding new methods of filtering water and growing crops in desert countries, developing non-toxic fuel alternatives. The numbers of countries who are partially or wholly dependent on solar power is astounding. I wish I’d kept a list of the projects that impressed me, for they are numerous and innovative. So while we hear all those prophets about the doomsday clock ticking, I am encouraged by the global effort to stop that clock. I only wish my country could do more, but I look to a hopeful future.

Be of good cheer, my friends. I really do think the future can be bright.

A blessed Christmas Eve

Today was everything Christmas Eve should be. Baking smells filled the kitchen as Lisa made two quiches, an apple pie, and a chocolate meringue pie. She was ably assisted by Colin and Kegan who cut up apples for the pie. I got to enjoy the Christmas spirit while editing my manuscript. The recording of A Celtic Christmas played all morning—those sweet, clear voices singing not only carols but familiar winter songs. Between the smells and the music, Christmas filled the air.

Made my way through the introduction and two chapters. Editing is always intensive, but this time particularly so because I wrote the framework of the story through and then went back, plugging in bits and pieces as I came across them in boxes and boxes of research material. The result is a lot of duplication, some confusing contradictory versions of events, and

what any good English teacher would call awkward transitions. Plus the inevitable typos, But I’m pleased with what I accomplished today.

Got in my afternoon nap, cozy in Morgan’s bed with what feels like a down comforter. The bed is quite high—a bit of a trick for me to get into it. At home, Sophie jumps up on the bed when she thinks it’s time for me to get up, but I was sure she couldn’t do that here. Call me too trusting. She woke me up at 7:30 this morning by landing on top of me, and when I got out of the bed this afternoon, she quickly got in my spot. She has adjusted well to being here. She’s visited several times before, but this is the first time she has the run of the house. I am afraid Morgan will try to kidnap her when it’s time for me to go home.

This evening, Colin, Lisa, and Kegan went to be helpers at the six o’clock service at their church. Morgan stayed behind, and I half wonder if she wasn’t assigned to babysit me. But I won’t complain about that. She fed Sophie and will take her out shortly, and she poured me a glass of wine—the kitchen is up a step from the family room and bedrooms, which pretty much rules out my being self-sufficient about food and drink.

While they were at the church, I went to the five o’clock children’s service at my church in Fort Worth, thanks to Facebook. Earlier I saw pictures on Facebook of a sheep and a burro “getting ready” for the service, so I was curious to see how their role was handled. Calling it a cameo appearance is generous—they were paraded down the long center aisle and at the chancel, diverted to the side aisle and led right out of the sanctuary—no time to poop. Highlight was hearing all the familiar carols. I seem to remember singing carols in church all during December, but not this year. I heard somewhere that in some traditions carols are reserved to be sung only from Christmas Eve until Twelfth Night. So tonight, I got my fill for the first time.

For years I have struggled unsuccessfully to establish a traditional supper for Christmas Eve—sometimes when we’re all together, Brandon cooks his chili. I have tried roast beef, smorgasbord and who knows what else, but nothing sticks. I thought tonight Lisa might start her own tradition with chicken tamale stew. But it turned out they were so long at church, we had tomato basil soup and Mac’s Salad—the original from Mac’s House all those years ago. Colin bussed tables at Mac’s when he was fourteen, and the salad is a special memory for him, so it was part of my Christmas gift. I even brought the good grated Parmesan and sesame seeds to finish it.

Closing the children’s service tonight, Dr. Russ Peterman reminded that the good news of Christmas doesn’t always come when things are going smoothly. It often catches us in the darkest of times and brings us hope. I think that’s where we are as a country tonight, and I pray that those of us who celebrate the Birth of Christ and other who celebrate in their own faith can  our hearts and minds to receive the good news and feel the hope of love.

Blessings, loved ones.

Hope in dark times

Is it just me or are more people aware of the Easter message this year. Perhaps it is me, with my world often consisting of church folk. But I thought they were more messages of hope on Facebook today too. It seems to me in these troubled and often scary times people are turning to the hope of the holidays—in my case, the risen Lord. At church this morning, for his benediction, the minister threw open his arms and proclaimed loudly, “Christ is Risen.” The congregation spontaneously and loudly replied, “Christ is Risen indeed!”

We had a memorable service with majestic music, ending with Handel’s “Messiah,” an Easter tradition in my church. We made it to the nine o’clock service with time to spare, in itself a minor miracle. Friends joined us, and we exchanged greetings with many In the congregation, including most of our happy hour guests from last night.

Then home for brunch. Kudos to Jordan, who set a lovely table and served a terrific brunch—meatballs, potato casserole, corn dip. Thanks to Amy for the great deviled eggs—what is Easter without deviled eggs? And to Marj for fruit in appropriate dishes that looked like little Easter baskets. Conversation around the table was lively and occasionally descended into gossip. At one point, I looked at Marj’s husband and said, “It’s time for you to repeat, ‘Christ is Risen!’” He did, and the table echoed the response. It wasn’t sacrilegious—it was a way of drawing us back to the reason we were all gathered.

Give me a glass of wine at noon, and I’m done for the afternoon. Had a lovely nap, except that some kid—wonder who?—was practicing pitches. He’d occasionally miss the target and the ball would whack into my bedroom wall with a resounding “Thwack!”

Now I’ve been trying to straighten up—not easy to do from a walker. I cannot reach the upper hanging level in my closet, so I couldn’t get everything hung up. Looks like an evening for reading to me.

Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed!

Spring blessings

For Christians, Easter marks a season of hope and renewal. For many other faiths, holiday or holy day celebrations round the spring equinox provide the same kind of hope. So for all my friends, I wish you hope, joy, renewal and all the wonders of the season.

Blessings on each and every one of you.

Taking baby steps

Sunroom awash

Wet books

My neighbor mopping the sunroom

Pleased to report progress today. The restoration company has taken up the wood floor and half the tile floor underneath it. The tile floor is really difficult and stubborn. About three this afternoon I asked if they would like to quit at four and they said yes—result was I got a nice nap. Tomorrow they will take up the other half of the floor and take out the ceiling—they tell me the latter won’t take long. Meanwhile they have put up all their de-humidifying equipment, which makes an awful roar. It won’t bother me tonight because I can take my hearing aids out.

But I worry about my daughter-in-law who is sensitive to noise when she sleeps. Colin and his family and their friends-eight people total counting children—are due any minute (it’s ten o’clock) to spend the night on their way back from skiing in Colorado. There’s precious little room at the inn, but it will work out.

The restoration people have also taken away cartons and cartons of wet books and have more to come get tomorrow. They were sending a driver this afternoon—which would have cut right into the time I had carved out for a nap, so I asked them to wait until tomorrow. Also my Oriental rug guy picked up the wet rugs. Tomorrow I hope to put the house back in some semblance of order, including washing all the towels used in the cleanup.

Both last night and tonight we ended these dreary, frustrating days on a happy note. Last night we had brinner (breakfast for dinner) with our neighborhood group to celebrate Jordan’s birthday and that of Jay, later in the month—a warm, wonderful gathering. Tonight, Jordan and Christian hosted a happy hour at the Wine Haus down the street—lovely space, good wine, lots of hugs from Jordan’s friends. Afterward some of the same group from last night went next door to a Lebanese/Italian restaurant. I could hear much better and enjoyed the fellowship. Brought home enough spaghetti for at least two meals.

Mom was right—God works in mysterious ways. Since all that work has to be done back there anyway, Jordan is using the opportunity to paint the walls a warmer color than the stark white there now and to take out a couple of shelves so she can put stackable washer and dryer in.

Jacob and his parents went to the Apple store today, and he is busy sending his first emails. Such fun to watch his excitement. Yes, life goes on and we will get over this hail-induced hiccup.

This crazy poliitical year

“And now these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. And of these the greatest is love.” I am not a person who quotes the Bible often. Sad truth is that, although a lifelong Christian, I don’t know enough Bible to quote besides the 23 Psalm, the ten commandments, and maybe the Beatitudes. And if I did, I would not push my religion on anyone else. But these lines from 1^st Corinthians 13:13 keep coming back to me, especially when I survey the political world we live in.

Believing as I do that love is the most important value, I am appalled by the hate and vitriol around us. Both Trump and Cruz are promising to bomb the you-know-what out of Isis and the Middle East. Civilian casualties? No matter. And Paul Ryan recently said that the poor are like feral cats—as long as we keep feeding them they’ll be with us forever. Where is the compassion for our fellow human beings?

And the hate for President Obama is appalling. I read someone’s opinion tonight that he has led us down the road to destruction. In my opinion, many of his accomplishments have led us toward love for our fellow Americans—the ACA act, for instance. I am struck by the man who came forward and said he’s always voted Republican but now he thanks President Obama—and the ACA—for saving his life. I truly cannot see a reason to hate Obama unless it’s the color of his skin—and we should be so far beyond that.

Donald Trump is to me the scariest though many say Ted Cruz is more frightening. But Trump’s spectacular brand of hate for everyone from overweight and disabled people to Muslims has attracted the most attention. One can only hope he’s like a carnival barker who sheds his flamboyant ways the minute he’s out of the spotlight. What worries me is the anger he’s aroused in so many Americans—how long has that anger been simmering. And why?

That the anger exists is a great argument for Bernie Sanders campaign. He advocates for change of things that I think make many Americans angry—they feel powerless, they work hard and follow the rules but never get ahead, they feel insignificant as individuals. This is not a campaign speech for the Bern—I love his ideas but will probably vote for Hillary.

Bernie Sanders says we have to educate our young people because they are our future leaders, our doctors, our teachers, the ones who will keep American moving forward. Donald Trump loves the uneducated. Without sounding like a snob, I think that’s significant—the uneducated are angry because they don’t understand how to empower themselves, they haven’t been taught to think critically. Republicans have even been known to say they don’t want people to think critically. We’ll be Neanderthals in a couple of generations if that thinking prevails.

After all is said and done, we’ll be left with a nation of angry people, no matter who is elected president. What do we do then? We reach out with love as our guiding principle. They are our people. We do not need a divided society—we need unity, and that comes with love, not anger and hate.

I’ve lived a wonderful, comfortable life—sometimes I ask the Lord why I have been so blessed.  But I have seven grandchildren, and I want to leave them a world in which they have every opportunity for the same kind of life I’ve lived. So far, they’re all on the right track, but I don’t want them to have to deal with an out-of-control world.

Lord, give us peace and teach us to love one another, regardless of faith, skin color, sexual orientation, and disabilities. And PS Lord, deliver us from Donald Trump.