The summer I turned thirteen years old, I met some friends at the movie theatre to see “To Kill A Mockingbird”. I cried the entire car ride home. I don’t know whether my Mom and I discussed the movie or the reason for my tears. We must not have gotten into any meaningful kind of conversation or I think I’d remember it. I only know the movie shook me to my core.

     Child psychologists have done studies that show an individual’s  personality, who you are, is almost completely formed by the time you are between the ages of eleven and thirteen. So I was almost completely formed   into the kind of person I was going to be that summer. But three things happened to me that day. I fell in love with Gregory Peck (still am). I learned about prejudice, inequality and injustice. And finally, that everyone has a story. Most people aren’t vicious monsters living quietly just waiting for their chance. Today, Boo Radley might be diagnosed as autistic. Not necessarily dangerous but someone who most certainly lives a lonely, isolated life.

     The movie came out in 1962 and was set in the south in the 1930s. The book was published in 1960. My world, at least, was starting to change. The country was on the verge of a civil revolution. To Kill a Mockingbird had a profound affect on me. It changed what I thought about so many things. How I felt about life and people and my place in the world going forward. Who did I want to be? How did I want to be?

     Until then, I was mostly surrounded by people just like me. While there is no justifiable defense, all I can say is that as a child I had very little control over with whom my family socialized. And where I grew up, it wasn’t very diverse. When I moved to Colorado in 1972, I learned, matured and felt free to be honest with and about myself. For the first time standing up for what I felt about things and not just the views of my parents. I was exposed to a blended population. Initially I was a bit fearful.  Later on curious; finally  grateful for the chance to know and love people different from me. They brought me new experiences, broader viewpoints and beneficial knowledge.

     There’s a scene in the movie where Atticus says to Scout, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb in his skin and walk around in it.” He is explaining how the things that went wrong on her first day of school (Scout’s teacher calling her impertinent, criticizing her reading skills and offering lunch money to Walter Cunningham) could have been avoided or at least made better. Scout doesn’t understand what her father is trying to tell her but I did. Scout finally does seem to understand it in the end when she walks Boo Radley home. She realizes, “Atticus was right. One time he said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.” That precept took root in my head and heart and has stayed there for 57 years and will continue to for however much time I have left to me.

     There have been many, many times over the years when people have irritated me or angered me for some behavior or other. I’m human so I got irritated or annoyed or simply pissed off. Then I stopped and realized each person has their own story, their own reasons for their actions, their own “bad days” and I re-evaluated my reactions. I try to at least see the other points of view, give the benefit of a doubt but, most importantly, not judge. After all, I know I’m not qualified to tell anyone how to live their life nor do I want someone telling me how I could live mine better. I can’t begin to know what it’s like to be you so I’m guessing you don’t know what it’s like to be me. You don’t live in my house, I don’t live in yours. I barely understand and can solve my own problems. I can’t take on yours as well.

     We learn about life by living it. The bad times and the good; the successes and the failures. I have learned the most from my bad experiences, the times I fell flat on my face. The good things have always taken care of themselves. I’ve never wished I could go back and change anything, no matter how painfully bone crushing those moments might have been. Those times have formed who I am today. I’m proud that I have learned to be empathetic from my own life experiences. 

     We all wear public masks as a protection against hurt or judgement. Everyone has bad days—or weeks or months. I know I do. I imagine you do too. Coming from that mindset helps me to see people (hopefully) in a more compassionate way. Because when I don’t, it takes away from my soul and who I want to be. We should all at least try to walk in someone else’s shoes. Your view might change, in a good way.

     I had the great fortune this week to have part of my family here for a visit. We laughed, caught up and enjoyed each other’s company over a lovely dinner. At one point I made the statement I thought men needed to wise up before women came to feel they didn’t really Need men. What I  realized later, too late to do anything about it, was I sounded like a rabid feminist (which I’m not, really). I believe we need marriage and the commitment it demonstrates to spouses and children. We are stronger as families. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t also say I believe families come in all forms; two dads or two moms or single parents. Naturally conceived children, IVF babies, adopted kids, even foster children; families that don’t have any children at all. But we must accept those family groups, no matter what form they take.

     The idea I was trying to get across was this; I feel women in this country, and across the world, have been treated as second class from the beginning of time. Women don’t get equal pay, equal job consideration, equal promotion. Women in the military are finally getting promoted up the ranks but at what cost? Females in the military have been assaulted for decades, often without any consequences for the perpetrator. Actually, it’s a story that’s repeated in every profession, especially by men in power. My husband read me a story in the news that something like 1 out of 13 girl’s first sexual experience is rape. Many of these experiences aren’t reported or even spoken of to anyone else. Why? Because historically, the boy is rarely charged or worse, the girl is blamed.

     Women, certainly the ones I know, are intelligent, capable, strong, compassionate, hard-working, nurturing, loving and thoughtful. Women are inventive problem-solvers. They multi-task, are organized and conscientious. They raise families, run businesses and keep their lives (and their families lives) organized and interesting. Yet they still don’t get commensurate pay for the work they do. They are Not the weaker sex, not by a long shot. An eight hour work day is just as long and just as complex and difficult whether a man or a woman does it.

     When I went to high school (over 50 years ago), the fields acceptable for a woman were teacher, nurse, secretary, wife and mother. That’s what many of my peers pursued. Gratefully that isn’t true anymore. Women can absolutely be whatever they want; doctors, lawyers, CEOs, scientists, politicians, ambassadors, even Prime Ministers. But they are still woefully under-paid, harassed and often discounted or disrespected while doing the same job as their male counterpart.

     When I hear about cases of sex-trafficking, harassment, or sexual imprisonment, I wonder how any man can do those things to any one, let alone women or girls. Surely they have grandmothers, mothers, sisters, aunts, daughters or wives. Doesn’t the hypocrisy occur to them? Or are the strings of misogyny too strong? Does exerting “superiority” mean more than being decent and respectful? Do their own feeling of inadequacy compel them to treat woman as inferior or sub-human so they can feel better about themselves?

     The young girls and women I hear about today don’t seem to be plagued by a lack of self-esteem or self-confidence. They are strong and they know it. They can compete and win, and they know it. They don’t seek validation from others. They look for solutions, create opportunities and don’t look for permission. What I was trying, very badly, to say was all men need to respect women and their abilities. Stop being intimidated by them, see them for the assets they are. Accept them as equal partners in all things. I believe when male attitudes change, things will change. When fathers teach their sons to respect women, thing will change. When women know they deserve what they work hard to achieve but do not deserve to be belittled or dishonored, thing assuredly will change. All our lives will be better for it. We do need each other, we are stronger together, respecting and appreciating our differences instead of holding on to ancient notions.

     While Fall hasn’t hit the air just yet, school’s already back in session. Kids are trudging the familiar pathways through the neighborhood to catch the bus. I watch them, bent forward at the waist under the weight of their heavy backpacks full of schoolbooks and supplies. I don’t remember school starting this early when I was a kid. September was our magic month. We started shortly before Labor Day, had Labor Day weekend off, then back on Monday. It was weird, actually. Three month summer vacation, a few days of school, then another short vacation and back in class until Thanksgiving break. (It was before global warming, the days were cool and crisp. Today’s kids are roasting in 90+ degree heat, fans oscillating rapidly trying to provide even a little bit of cooler air. Still summer-type weather, must be hard to get motivated.)

     At lunch today, my husband told me he read teachers have to come up with an average of $450 to pay for school supplies out of their own pockets each year. I knew teachers had to pay for supplies, I just didn’t realize it was so much money. And that doesn’t include money spent setting  up their rooms or money they freely spend to help their under-privileged students. Or extra money they spend for special projects for the classroom. So not only are they underpaid in the first place but they then need to provide additional funds to make the learning experience the best it can be for their students.

     I have a difficult time understanding why this is happening. Walmart’s net worth is $386.3 Billion, Target – $62.6 Billion, Office Depot – $6 Billion, Staples – $6.9 Billion (give or take). These are Billions of dollars, with a B, all of them. Grocery stores, drug stores and so many other stores sell school supplies, as well. I don’t understanding why no one makes the obvious connections or conclusions. Why don’t these Billion dollar companies donate supplies to either schools or, at the very least, teachers? I think with a massive net worth, one pallet of supplies donated to local schools can’t possibly bankrupt a corporation that measures their assets in the Billions of dollars. As a consumer, if I knew a store was donating supplies, I would be more inclined to shop at those stores. I want to believe I’m not the only person who would do so either. Is it just possible the amount in dollars  these companies donate would be compensated for through increased sales because of that generosity? I believe we should all help whenever and wherever we can.

     And while I’m on the subject; Walmart, Safeway, Kroger/King Soopers, Albertsons, Vons, Cub, Foodland, Homeland, Meijer, Natural Grocers, Sprouts and Whole Foods, et al, are worth millions, if not Billions of dollars as well. Why don’t they donate a pallet of non-perishable food to local food banks every month or even every other month? If they did, maybe children would’t be going to school hungry. They’d be better prepared to learn and thrive in school. Every child deserves a chance. Deserves to become the best person they can be. Children shouldn’t be the focus of judgement about their worthiness because their parents struggle with life. Struggle to keep a job(s), struggle with sobriety, struggle to have a place to live. If I’ve learned nothing in 70 years, I have learned you never know what someone’s story is, how life has or hasn’t worked out. The difficulties a person has had to face is as unique as they are. No one knows if or whether they even know where to go for help. Everyone is entitled to have their dignity, no matter what their circumstances.

     I know my husband and I may be only one major illness away from becoming homeless. We are smart people but there are things that can’t be controlled, managed or fixed. I hope we would find compassionate help if we found ourselves in a difficult situation. My experience lately is judgement and divisiveness, not compassion or benevolence. “There but for the grace of God go I.” A Proverb meaning, our fate is not entirely in our own hands. While I subscribe to “God helps those who help themselves”, not everyone is equipped to do so. There have been times in my own life when a helping hand has meant everything to me. I try to “pay it forward” whenever I am able. Maybe it is because I know how grateful I was to get that help, without judgement or condemnation. I believe we should all strive to help, whenever we can. Perhaps God put me on this planet to provide the help that someone needs. At least, I like to think it’s part of why I’m here.

 

    And if any or all of the companies I’ve mentioned above do donate, do help however they can, I humbly apologize for calling them out. Maybe they should make their compassionate acts more publicly known.

I’ve had occasion to see several movies or television shows lately that took place before the advent of email or social media. In each, someone (usually a female character) has saved letters received from a cherished loved one; husband, wife, fiancée, child, parent or friend. The content of the letters may be a beautiful expression of feelings or remorse over a transgression or a confession of an ancient wrong-doing.

     Some of the letters were tied with exquisite ribbons, others secured with twine while others were simply jammed into an old shoebox. Each bundle was important to the owner. Each held personal significance, a road map to a particular time in the life of the keeper. Keepsakes. Treasures. Reminders. Messages about separation, condolence, family news, joyous missives and renewed connection. A glimpse of a shared history.

     I learned to write cursive in either second or third grade, I don’t remember which. I couldn’t wait to learn how to write long hand. The swirls and curlicues, the forward slanting letters connecting to each other to form words. My mother had beautiful handwriting. I loved getting cards and letters from her.  To me, learning cursive felt like a kind of passage toward growing up.

     I learned cursive as everyone in those days did using tablets with lined paper. There were two solid lines, top and bottom, and a middle line that – – – -, well you get the picture. I learned capital letters and letters with a tall “tail” (b d f h t…) reached the top line while all lower case letters touched the middle line and the lower case with “tails” fell below the bottom line. We practiced A B C d e f until we developed different muscle memory in our fingers and hands. Then we got to try writing our own names. What a feeling! Seeing my name the first time in cursive is a memory I’ll never forget. My handwriting style has certainly  changed over the years. I still value my ability to write in long hand. I’m saddened teaching penmanship isn’t as important as it once was. We’ve lost something special.

     Over the years I’ve given my husband cards but we have never exchanged love letters or notes. I’m sorry for that because having a bundle of letters to reread in my senior years would be nice. Although I’ve saved every card he’s given me, it isn’t the same as a letter. I think we sometimes feel freer to express in writing what we are reticent to express in person. So, the rest of this blog piece is a love letter to one of the few people who reads my blog every time a new one is published. And while he doesn’t always agree with what I write, he is ever supportive. So…

 

 

My dearest love,

     I never thought I’d find someone like you. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to actually have someone like you in my life. Yet here I am. Living with my best friend, getting to spend every day with you. Sharing the up times and supporting each other through the difficult ones. You have always been there for me. When I’m my best self and, more importantly, when I’m not. You remember my family; their stories, their trials and tribulations and genuinely care about them. You remember the names of friends and stories from my past that even I have trouble recalling.

     You go to every doctor’s appointment and eye appointment, hearing what I might not hear or remember. You went to each haircut/pedicure appointment (when I used to go) and sat reading a book patiently while you waited for me. You remember what flavor ice cream is my favorite even though you are lactose intolerant. You watch reruns of Perry Mason because you know it’s my most favorite television show of all time. You never mind going to get lunch or dinner or a treat when I am hurting too much to go along.

     You loved my dog, Gracie, as much as I did when we met. You took good care of her as she aged and could no longer get around without help. You cried as much as I when she just couldn’t be asked to go on any longer. And our golden, Libby, who you carried down the steps to go potty when she had to stay off her knee after her surgery for a torn ACL was so amazing. You kept her off that leg for six weeks until she was healed enough to be on her own. She had a wonderful life because we loved her so and it’s your comforting that got me through when she too had to go. Now we have our Trudie and if she doesn’t feel how loved she is, especially by her very smitten Dad, then she just doesn’t get it.

     I know every day how fortunate I am. I love you more each and every day. You are my rock. You are my compassionate friend. Thank you for all you do, for me, for Trudie, for your children and grandchildren. For our friends, family and neighbors. Thanks for your humanity toward those we encounter in our day to day life; waitpersons, clerks, and service people. You treat everyone with respect and dignity. I’m always so proud to be your wife and I will be for the rest of my life.

     I love you, so very, very much. You are my life, my light and my happiness. Thank you for just being you. 🤟🏼

     We’re Fucked! I apologize if this word offends you but the bar we previously set to measure civility and decency has been dropped into the gutter, stepped on and smashed. We are accepting as normal the repugnant, offensive, distasteful.

     I love this country. I’ve always felt lucky to live here. My rock to cling to. Morals, values, support for the common good, caring for All people-every man, woman and child-regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, who you love or your financial status. Like my father, I find myself tearing up when the national anthem is played. I’m proud my father, my uncles and most of my parent’s friends served in the military, either in WWII or the Korean War. What this administration has done to this country, to our government, is demoralizing and disheartening, at best.

     I’m saddened by what has happened and what is happening. I’m discouraged by how quickly people I believed didn’t have a prejudice bone in their bodies seem to accept the horrendous treatment of those seeking asylum and may even agree with the horrific conditions those persons, especially children, find themselves in. Disappointed by those who can’t see the reasons behind “taking a knee”, instead choosing to accept other self-serving explanations it is disrespect of our country, our military.  Grownups (?) who accept bullying, name calling, belittling and inciting violence by turning their backs on it. If you turn your back on actions or rhetoric that upsets you, you aren’t seeing the truth in front of you. Next time you make an excuse for obvious bullying by governmental personnel, stop and ask yourself how you would feel if someone was saying equally mean things to your child or children. Does your child’s school have a “No Bullying” policy? Can students be suspended or expelled for bullying? Most of the school shootings happened because someone who was a victim of  bullying couldn’t take the hurt anymore and decided to put an end to their oppressor. Or worse, a child can’t take the name calling anymore and takes their own life. How can anyone look the other way? It shouldn’t only be “See something, say something.” It should also be “Hear something, speak out, speak up.”

     We were all glad when Bernie Madoff was arrested and imprisoned for fraud. We found ourselves stunned by how many people he defrauded. We were unnerved by the victimization of  so many women by men of power, wealth and fame. We called for the heads of many of those men before we knew if they were even guilty. As a woman who was assaulted and who was married to someone who cheated, the behavior won’t stop unless those who perpetrate the behavior are held to a higher morality. There shouldn’t be a “pass” for ANYONE. Wrong is wrong, no matter who they are. Think how you would feel if it happened to any woman in your life. Would it be acceptable to you if people just looked the other way? Made excuses for the bad doers? When someone commits a crime of any kind, moral people want them caught, tried and imprisoned, if applicable. To look the other way implies you condone what is happening. Is that what you want people to think about you? That you don’t care? That depending on who it is, it’s all right or at the very least, understandable in certain circumstances. And if that isn’t what you believe, stop making excuses for those who do terrible things because you need something  from them. Don’t turn a blind eye or look the other way.

     We should all be appalled by what is happening in government. None of us should have to make excuses for bad decisions, lies, shocking and disturbing behavior. Decisions that only benefit the wealthy. Alienation from long time allies. Ignorance of history. Denial of scientific fact to enrich those in the top 1%. A lack of compassion in all circumstances. Temper tantrums when things aren’t going your way. I feel if you are making excuses, you are putting party before everything. Neither party is completely right nor completely wrong. Neither party has either the worst ideas or best ideas. But when you stick to ideas or ideals you don’t agree with in the name of a political ideology to the detriment of the many in favor of the few, that is a problem. I believe we’re struggling through this time in our country’s history because we have become lazy, uninvolved and undereducated. We took the path of least resistance and elected a reality show personality. Now, we’re surprised at the outcome. It’s hard to have egg on your face. For me to believe otherwise means I have to believe people in our country have abandoned decency and virtue, dignity and honesty.

     You cannot make America great again if you don’t know the  history of this country, what made it great in the first place. It’s struggles, it’s growing pains, the diversity that continues to enrich our culture. Diversities that broaden our vision of who we can be, enhances our society, augments the progress we make. If I didn’t believe there is more than binds than divides us, I would give up ever believing there is a way out of the nightmare we find ourselves in. America has been down before and come back stronger than ever. I will continue to pray it will do so again before more  irreparable damage has been done.

     Do you remember when you realized your parents were people, too? When you figured out they had faults and foibles; they weren’t perfect and didn’t always have the right answers. Can you think of a time when your parents had a problem or problems they were struggling with and you might have gone to them with a problem but they couldn’t help? Remember the first time they acted in a way that either shocked or upset you? It probably changed the way you felt about them or, at least, perceived them.

     It is hard to see your parents as vulnerable, sad, weak or imperfect. After all, these are the people you go to when you have a problem, injury or question and they are always there and know what’s best. Suddenly, they’re just ordinary people like the ones you work with or your teachers or people you encounter every day: the mailman, UPS driver, hairdresser or construction worker, etc.

     If you’re lucky, that realization is the doorway to a different relationship with the most influential people in your life. The ones you learn from, watch and emulate your whole life. Now you can relate to each other differently, more maturely. Some find mutual respect that didn’t exist before, a kind of peer acceptance of each other. It can be a good thing.

     And sometimes, you may have to be a caregiver. It’s never easy to have your roles reversed with a parent. Maybe disease, either a physical or mental one, finds you having to take care of the daily routines for your parent, all the things they used to do for you. A lot of emotions surface; resentment, guilt, anger, confusion, frustration but more importantly, grief. You weren’t prepared for this. Not ready for the added responsibilities. You have your own stuff to deal with, how can you take on more?

     Suddenly you are confronted with the truth that one day, maybe sooner than you anticipated, your parent(s) will die. They will be gone from your life. All the things you wish you’d asked them, the times you could have spent together, gone. None of us are promised tomorrow. Unfortunately, most of us won’t realize what we’ve lost until it’s too late.

     My father died too young, too suddenly. I miss him. My love of country, my patriotism comes from him. I’ve been without him for forty years, more than half my life. My mother has been gone about twelve years. She taught me perseverance and self-reliance and so much more. I wish we could still talk  every day. She lived alone for the last several years of her life. Toward the end, she needed help and my wonderful sister became her caregiver. She made Mom’s last couple of years easy, safe and happy. I will be forever grateful to her for that.

     We make sure, as we age, that we have life insurance, a funeral planned; we instruct our relatives of our wishes with regard to a lingering illness or incapacitation. As parents, what we can’t prepare our children for is the day they lose us. The day they become orphans. We don’t want them to have to confront a time when they may very well become a caregiver. My Dad’s mother necessitated being put in a nursing home because she just couldn’t take care of herself anymore. It was a difficult decision but it had to be made. I believe my mother moved herself into an assisted living facility because her home became too much to care for, maybe she didn’t feel safe anymore. It was the right thing for her to do.

     Not wanting to face the inevitable isn’t an excuse for not doing something. No parent wants to be a burden. You can help start that  by seeing your parents as they are. Accept they won’t always be around. Find out what you need to do if the worst case scenario happens and you find yourself a caretaker. Get  instructions, directives, plans in place. You won’t be overwhelmed if things have already been planned. Figuring things out during a time of extreme stress isn’t the best time to start trying to see them more realistically.

     I looked out my front window this evening and saw my neighbors outside enjoying the cooler temps of the day. Many were walking dogs. The earlier rain dropped the temperature to almost perfect for an early summer evening. A lot of people had on shorts, sleeveless tops and t-shirts. I don’t remember people walking their dogs when I was a little kid. They just let their pets out and called them back in after their potty breaks. Too many people I saw today had their heads bent to their cell screens, missing all the beauty.

     As a teen, summer evenings meant driving around with my friends. If it was very hot, we might have gone to a movie theater for a mindless summer comedy or a weird sci-fi or a tense spy thriller. (My Dad took me to my first James Bond movie as we both loved to read the books. Really fun!) As a teen, going to a drive-in movie theater was a date activity. But when I was a child, the drive-in was a family activity. I don’t think kids today get to have the Real drive-in theater experience. I think most are closed now which is too bad. Drive-ins were fun!

     It was special to go to the drive-in movies. First of all, it meant I got to stay up after bedtime (do kids even have bedtimes anymore?). Of course, I usually only lasted about half an hour after dark. I got to wear my Pjs, easier than changing into pjs when we got home. The family car, a station wagon, became my bed away from my bed. My Dad would fold the seats down so the back was a flat surface up to the front seat where my parents sat. Then we put multiple blankets down to make it soft and comfortable, like a door to door bed. I brought  my pillow and had a blanket to pull up if it got too cool. It was kind of  like camping in the car.

     So after dinner we’d drive to the drive-in, buy our tickets and begin the hunt for the best viewing spot. For those who don’t know, drive-ins have rows and rows of little hills so you can pull up, park and your view is slanted up so you can see the gigantic screen. Each little “hill” has a speaker pole. Once you pick your row and position in that row, you pull the speaker into the car. It was a square box with a part to latch over your car window then the window was rolled back up so the speaker hung inside the car. Maybe not so great for the person who had the speaker right next to their ear. 🥴

     Then it was just a matter of waiting for it to get dark enough for the movie to start. If the movie didn’t start when people thought it should, horns would honk or people would turn their headlights on the screen. However there was always time for one last trip (before the movie actually started) to the concession stand with that wonderful jingle enticing you to ice cream bars, popsicles, popcorn, sodas, even, later on, hotdogs from one of those rolling bar cooker thing-ys. No nachos, no burgers but lots and lots of candy: Milk Duds, Junior Mints, Slo-pokes, Sugar Daddy’s, Good ‘n Plenty, Dots, well, fill in your favorite. I think we probably took our own popcorn and any drinks meant a long walk to the restroom, in the dark, so no drinks.

     As the movie theme music would begin, I remember being very excited. But then I’d get tired of trying to see, maybe bored with the movie, so I’d lay down and be asleep about 15 to 30 minutes in. I honestly don’t think I ever saw one complete movie. But it was all right because the experience was amazing for a little kid. It was exciting. It was special. It was a wonderful treat. I feel bad for kids today who don’t get to experience the joy of seeing a movie at a drive-in. Doing something out of the ordinary, staying up later than they usually do and going somewhere, in public, in your Pjs. Does it get any better? You can get an idea of (kind of) what it was like by watching movies that take place in the 1950s-60s; Grease, American Graffiti, even the comedy, Blazing Saddles. Just remember, they’re just movies. Nothing can match the actual experience. A warm summer night, a station wagon with the backseats folded down and Pjs.

     

    Hypocrisy – a pretense of having some desirable or publicly approved attitude. Pretense of having a virtuous character, moral or religious beliefs of principles, that one does not really possess.

        “People who are pro-life believe that all humans, including the unborn, have a right to life. For this reason, they believe abortion is wrong and that it is murder.”

     It is time to pick a lane! It is time to take a stand. Or better, it’s time to stand up for your assertions. As a fellow human being, I will always defend your right to hold whatever beliefs you have and won’t argue with you over them. What I will argue with you about, however, is if you proclaim that you are pro-life but are keeping silent about the treatment of the “detainees” at our southern border. In particular the children who are being forced to endure appalling conditions.

     This isn’t a political talking point and shouldn’t be. It’s a human issue, a humanitarian issue. Hearing the next head of the department in charge of handling the “issues” that have arisen at the border detention centers say he “looked in the eyes of three and five year olds and older children and discerned they were all future Mexican gang members and should be kept right where they are” is terrifying when you consider he holds the key to their future care and well-being. They’re children. We all should care about their well-being, their health, their living conditions. 

     Being pro-life means all life, all humans, not just the unborn. Allowing anyone to be mistreated, abused, and neglected is wrong. And it’s wrong not to speak out, not to speak up, not to make your voice heard.

     To turn and look the other way because you believe the garbage the media churns out about illegals taking jobs, using up resources meant for tax paying Americans, exhausting benefits only people born in this country have the right to, is wrong. You cannot take in a pro-life stand but only in certain circumstances, or when it serves you. Pro-life is pro-life, all life, not only the unborn.

     Reuniting these children with family should be the highest priority. Giving them proper care with qualified care-givers should be a high priority.  Housing them temporarily while they wait to be reunited with family in clean, appropriate quarters is essential. We feed our pets better and with more consideration than we do these child detainees.

     Americans spend Billion$ (with a B) on food, treats, toys, medical treatment and clothes for our pets. Yet we turn a blind eye to what is happening on the border choosing to believe instead these “aliens” are somehow a threat and don’t deserve humane treatment.

     Pick a lane. Make a decision, even if it isn’t popular, even if it diverges from what your family or friends may think and feel. We cry when we see ads on TV for more humane treatment of animals chained outside without food or water; dirty, sick and frightened. With tears blurring our vision, we pledge money to help care for these vulnerable beings’ rescue and care. We adopt rescued animals to give them a warm, safe home and the love they deserve. Can’t we extend that compassion to children only seeking safety and a better life than they left behind? We can’t allow this inhumane treatment to continue. Not in the United States that I grew up in. Make your voice heard.

     My abhorrence for the president isn’t exactly a secret. I think he’s a misogynist, a sociopath, a liar, a cheat, a bully and woefully under-educated about our government, our history and his position on the world stage. I pray every night the damage he is doing to our relationships with our allies and to our country’s reputation is not irreparable. To say I am depressed would be a gross understatement of my emotional health. That said, I hope you will read this anyway. Don’t let your political beliefs stop you from hearing a viewpoint that perhaps differs from your own. After all, the more you know…  🌈 

     My husband and I watch Sunday Morning on CBS every Sunday, unless it’s a rerun and even then we often still watch. This morning there was a segment about groups who refurbished World War II war planes then flew them to England for D-Day remembrance events. The piece included an interview with a gentleman who flew over Normandy Beach, in such a plane, on D-Day, he is 92. Another gentlemen was with the landing forces, also in his 90s. An observation was made that THIS year will probably be the LAST year any member of the WWII armed services will be at these ceremonies because there are so few living members left and those that are are in their 90s. The journey is far and difficult on someone in their 90s. And yet, they still want to go even though they know it is ill-advised. No one can doubt their loyalty to their country. 

     Those of us who weren’t there will never understand what those men and women, families and friends, sacrificed to keep this country free and safe for future generations. We owe them a debt we can never repay. The last scene in the D-Day piece was a overview of the Normandy Beach American Cemetery in France. The rows and rows of stark white crosses against the vibrant green grass stretch far into the distance. It’s a sobering landscape. As are Arlington National Cemetery and the Punchbowl in Hawaii. If you’ve never seen them, Google them. They are worth viewing. As you look at the pictures, remember what each cross represents. Remember each man or woman commemorated there; the dedication, love of country and willingness to give their life for a cause believing it more important than themselves. The sacrifices of their families, waiting hopefully at home. The sacrifices of the whole country for a war effort that surely never felt like deprivation but a partnership with those fighting far from home. Their part to ensure their loved ones safe return. These men and women left their homes and families; frightened of the unknown but bravely going because it was a job that had to be done.

     The president couldn’t be bothered last year to go to the cemetery in France during D-Day remembrance ceremonies because it was RAINING. This year, he placed three flags at three grave sites at Arlington the Thursday before Memorial Day. He didn’t place the wreath at Arlington because he was meeting with the Japanese. At a joint press conference, he chose to publicly criticize a former Vice President (and possible future political opponent), siding with comments made by Korea’s maniacal foreign dictator. Maybe he is unaware WWII was also fought because of Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, the reason my father enlisted. The timing could have been better. During the same trip, the president’s staff requested a Navy destroyer, the U.S.S. John McCain stationed in Japan, be moved or disguised because of continuing animosity with Senator McCain for whom the ship was named. The senator died over 10 months ago; a war hero even though he was “captured”.

     It’s been explained the president went to military school, as if that somehow exculpates his lack of service in any branch of the military. He is only two years older than I. I knew several guys who “went” to military school in those days. Without exception, they were sent (involuntarily) and mainly because they were causing problems for their families. I don’t know of one who wanted a future career in the armed services. They came back home just as troubled as when they left.

     Military service requires selfless dedication, single-minded determination, a willingness to sacrifice whatever is necessary for the common good. This president exhibits none of those traits. He doesn’t understand those traits. He may not even know the value of those traits.

The president thumbs his nose at this country and it’s people, daily. He wouldn’t understand sacrifice, any sacrifice, if it jumped on his head.     

     I haven’t seen this country as divided since the Civil War and I grew up during the 60s ✌🏼. While I don’t claim to have first-hand knowledge of the Civil War, I did just turn 70. Maybe it is just that I’m more politically invested than I have been before because of the inequities and unfairness rampant in the country. Inequality we’ve had forever, long before it was an issue that was allowed to be mentioned in “polite society”. But these days I hear more people using the terms “them” and “us”.

     So who are them and who are us? Them can be All Men and Us can be All Women. Them can be Any person of color, Any religious belief, Any sexual identity and Us is anybody else. Them can be the police and Us can be anyone who fits a stereotypical profile. Maybe Them is just anyone who isn’t You. The divisions seem to have no clear definition, or at the very least, supportable reasons that make sense. When I describe myself I say (in no real particular order), I am a woman, a senior citizen, an American, a wife, a dog mom, a stepmother/step grandmother, a hobbyist, a blogger, a reader, et blah, blah, blah. My first inclination is not to denote my political affiliation.

     Currently, whenever I see politicians on television, they all seem more interested in putting party first; before constituents, before country, before everything. Not everything is political. If you live anywhere in this country, infrastructure is a real problem! Not a Republican issue or a Democratic issue. It’s a people issue, a safety issue. Gun violence shouldn’t be a political controversy, it’s a human tragedy that other countries get solved within 30 days of a mass shooting while it has taken 20 years here because it’s been made a political hot topic that gets donor dollars into re-election pockets. Affordable healthcare is critical, women’s health and reproductive rights shouldn’t be political. Men’s health and reproductive rights certainly aren’t the subject of any political discussions. We don’t need just a Republican plan or Democratic solution. Anyone will tell you all jobs are easier when many people take them on. A lot of different ideas coming together to find an answer is easier.

     If anyone who reads this blog (and so far very, very few persons are) can explain why one person can lie repeatedly and have others swear to the lie just because of party affiliation, I’d love to hear it. I’m willing, anxious and eager to listen. I genuinely want to understand. I want to know how someone can abandon their principles, values and morals because party affiliation trumps being principled, moral or understanding the difference between right and wrong. Really, I want to know because any time I’ve done something I knew wasn’t the right thing to do, my conscience kicked in and I felt horrible. Fortunately those times usually affected only me. I can’t imagine doing something I know could or would negatively affect thousands of people and justify that by saying my political views take precedent to make it the right course of action.