Two more pet peeves. (I really dislike calling something a pet peeve because it sounds too fluffy… pet conjures up soft, curly fur, big brown eyes… you get the idea.) These two PPs are more hot buttons, blazing hot buttons, Hypocrisy and Hubris. To me, they fall under the Lie umbrella. I cannot abide being lied to. Like anyone else, I can be fooled by a lie. However, if I know what the truth is and you lie to me, the lie is inconsequential but the fact you believe I’m too stupid to know you’re lying, well, that is just insulting.

     I put hypocrisy and hubris under the same umbrella with lying because I feel they are essentially the same. I’ll start with hypocrisy: a pretense of having a virtuous character, moral or religious beliefs or principles, etc., that one does not really possess, a pretense of having some desirable or publicly approved attitude. An example would be, publicly decrying the unfair treatment of certain persons but privately not really caring. At worst, being secretly involved in the inexcusable treatment. I see hypocrisy a lot these days, especially when I turn my eyes toward Washington and corporate America. There are many voices raised about the insensitivity of separating immigrating families, even going so far as to shed public tears. Privately, they don’t want “these people” coming here to take Our jobs. Railing against abuses in prescription pricing by pharmaceutical companies, demanding change but quietly giving huge tax advantages to executives of those pharmaceutical companies. Preaching religious tolerance but excluding any religion that doesn’t conform with your spiritual ideals. Washington is chock full of hypocrites. It’s SOP – Standard Operating Procedure. Say one thing but do another.

     Hubris is excessive pride or self-confidence; arrogance. Lying is integral to hubris because of the lies you tell yourself. The lie that the laws and rules don’t apply to you because you’re rich or famous or above the consequences. Consequences are for other people, not for you because you are somehow better than… Hubris is believing you can lie, cheat, behave immorally, swindle, defraud, hurt others and be excluded from punishment because you are better than… That you can act recklessly and without any regard for safety, for yourself or others, because nothing bad will ever happen as you’re better than… However, others do get hurt and there are consequences to what we do, though consequences are not always equally meted out. Hubris is also believing you won’t get caught and if you do, how could that have happened? That’s what happens when you believe your own press. Or when you keep meticulous track of your followers and “likes” believing those people who follow and like you are more than just virtual friends. They don’t really know you.

     Scott – “What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” 

     Shakespeare – “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”

Lying doesn’t solve any problem, make any situation easier, advance any cause, help anyone do anything, make you happier. We excuse a lie by saying we don’t want to hurt someone or their feelings by lying but when the truth comes out it is much more harmful. And, we don’t hesitate to “tell the truth, the whole truth” on Twitter, Snapchat, et al because it’s anonymous. The hurt still hurts though buffered through anonymity. Better? Nah! Being truthful is honorable. Being truthful is less complicated. Being truthful is the right thing to do, so do the right thing.

     Me too!  Enough!  It’s a great place to start to make the changes we should never have allowed in the first place. I support the movements 100%. My heart breaks for every victim of sexual assault, unwanted flirting or being put in any uncomfortable situation. Don’t get me started on pay  inequity. When I got my first real job back in1969, I made $1.85 An Hour. Read that again, $1.85 An Hour! When I stopped getting a regular pay check, in 1994 – 26 years later, I was making $8.25 an hour, an annual raise of  $.26 an hour. Granted, I don’t have a college degree and always held support or administrative positions but $.26 an hour over 26 years definitely seems unequal.

     When I started this blog I kinda promised to steer clear of political stuff. My Dad always said not to discuss religion or politics and I believe it’s a good rule to follow. But I’m growing weary of the accusations that  target older men of inappropriate behavior that happened forty or more years ago. I don’t believe anyone, man or woman or child, should ever be mauled or worse. It’s not acceptable, ever! However…

     I recently watched a television show popular during the ‘50s. Okay, it was an old Perry Mason and my guilty pleasure, I watch them all the time. Raymond Burr, Barbara Hale, William Hopper were just the best. But I digress. There were a lot of shows and movies back in the 40s and 50s where a male slapped or punched a woman or forced himself on her. There were only a couple of episodes of Perry Mason where anyone showed any disgust of such behavior. It was considered normal, Normal. That was over 60 years ago. Times were very different, men and women were raised much differently than they are now.

     My sweet, funny father banked at the same bank where I worked. (I made $2.85/hour in that job, Woohoo!) He knew all the tellers and they loved him. He was a nice, gentleman in his mid-60s who treated them like people instead of merely clerks. All of us girls of a certain age who worked in the bank socialized, we were all friends. The tellers (all women) often told me he was quite a flirt. A popular song at the time was “If I said you had a beautiful body” by the Bellamy Brothers. The lyrics are “If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me.” My Dad loved the lyric because it was funny. Funny 😁 ! The tellers told me my Dad would always say it to them while they took care of his transactions. He laughed, they laughed, they knew IT WAS A JOKE! They were not offended, they liked my Dad. They didn’t think he meant anything by it because HE DIDN’T. It was a different time.

     There are those who pursue powerful, famous, rich people and if you don’t believe that, well, I think you are naive. Not every couple that makes that trip down the aisle are passionately and deeply in love.❤️🥰 People marry for the money, prestige or position all the time. Call me cynical but I see examples every day. It’s more a business partnership than a marriage. So here’s a question: you see someone in power or who is famous or rich and you want to Be with that person. You make (no holds barred) a play for that person. Say your play is rebuffed and you get angry (maybe a little embarrassed). To get even, you accuse inappropriate behavior, maybe  years later, when other things in your life haven’t worked out like you wanted. Does that seem fair? Should those tellers, who were working at the bank back then, come out now and accuse my Dad of inappropriate behavior 45 – 50 years later? Will they feel better besmirching my Dad who died 30 years ago? Would it have been better if he hadn’t kidded around that way? Maybe, but he knew, and they knew, he meant nothing by it. He was just a friendly older man. He would be completely confused if someone accused him of improper behavior. Confused and hurt.

     My parent’s generation weren’t very demonstrative. They learned to be more affectionate in the 60s. More demonstrative, more hugging; less hand-shaking and shoulder patting. So now we’re blaming them for being too touchy-feely. Back in the 50s, men were criticized for not participating in the birth or raising of their children. Now they are much more involved but are accused of being too touchy – too feely. Solution? Teach the young boys you are raising today. Teach the young girls you are raising today. Teach them to respect each other, to respect themselves. That No means No! Not to take advantage of anyone, under any circumstance, ever. Teach them to think before acting. But, do not go back into ancient history and try to fix something that happened years ago. It won’t solve anything, won’t be satisfying, won’t change things, won’t make you feel any better.

     I watched the Dr. Ford assault testimony against Brett Kavanaugh when he was being vetted for Supreme Court Justice. I wept. I know she was telling the truth. When it happened to her it was a different time. When she said she couldn’t tell her parents, or anyone else what happened, I knew she was telling the truth. In those days, a girl would be too afraid to tell because most of us believed we would somehow be blamed. I was very angry she had to endure the horrifying experience in the first place. But then years later, when she was only trying to do the right thing, she had to endured the humiliation yet again. What angered me even more were the women on the committee who didn’t believe her. I guess they never had to endure something that horrendous in their lives. Lucky them. I had a similar thing happen when I was in college. I was on a date, in his car with no where to go and my date made me perform oral sex. I didn’t even know what it was. I remember being repulsed and scared. But I agreed to go on the date so it was my fault I was in that position, right? I didn’t tell anyone, who was I gonna tell? No alcohol was consumed so that wasn’t a factor. I suppose I could hold my date accountable, it was definitely sexual assault, but instead I made the only choice I had, to move forward and live my life. The episode affected me for a long time but I came to terms with it. I’m great and don’t feel the need to seek “revenge” now. It won’t change anything and certainly won’t serve any purpose.  We might all be better served to move forward and make the best present for ourselves and everyone else we can. Teach your children well, that will be the best way to change things. Don’t seek to call out the past, let it be over. I know there will be those who disagree with me, please put your thumbs away. This is my viewpoint based on my life experiences. I just think there are some good men being vilified for uneducated and insensitive things they did when they weren’t as aware as they should have been. Maybe they weren’t taught very well.

  

     

     My husband of 25 years signed up for Medicare today and early next week will turn in his paperwork for Social Security. I didn’t expect it to affect me the way it did. I didn’t experience feelings like this when I signed up five years ago. For some reason it made me realize he is getting old, we are getting old. On Sunday I will be the same age my father was when he died forty years ago. I remembered the last time I saw him before he died and recall thinking he seemed so much older than the last time I’d seen him.

     Time definitely goes faster as we age. A year seems to whiz by now whereas when I was turning 16 and wanted to get my driver’s license, time  seemed to crawl along. Same thing when I was going to turn 21 and could Legally consume alcohol, in a bar. (Instead of sneaking the occasional cocktail 😉.) Snail’s pace slow. But then I turned forty and time definitely began to speed up. One day it’s New Years, then suddenly it is three months later and I don’t know where the time has gone.

     Time goes by in a flash. Unfortunately, there are people who won’t be reading this blog who would benefit from the message. It’s easy to put things or people off thinking you always have tomorrow. I learned the lesson “tomorrow is never promised” the year my Dad died. Father’s Day was coming and I really meant to get at least a card but I was busy so I just called. After all, I could make up for it next year, right? But instead, my father had a massive heart attack and died. No next year. I know my Dad knew how much I loved him, appreciated having him as my Dad. But missing that last Father’s Day has haunted me and probably always will.

     My Mom used to call me every Sunday and sometimes there really was nothing much to talk about. Those calls were often too short. There have been plenty of Sunday’s since she died when I’ve wanted to talk to her about something or ask her about life or her views on current events but there are no more calls. We didn’t always agree but I respected her so much and truly miss her wisdom. She really helped form the woman I am and I’m grateful for that.

     I don’t know how much time my husband and I have left together. It may be several years or only a few. Selfishly, I hope I go first as I can’t imagine spending even one day without him. We’ve been together continuously, every day (except when my husband’s mother died and he went to Texas for her funeral) for twenty five years. We work out of our home so we’re together all day, every day. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I never get tired of being together, never get bored or wish my life was different. It is the life I always wanted and I know how blessed I am.

    So, if you love someone or even if you just care for someone, tell them. We are never promised tomorrow. Enjoy each day, don’t live in some dream of how great tomorrow will be. Don’t live in a fantasy world. Live in today, be here now and if you know how to slow down time, let me know 🥴.

     I like things orderly and ship-shape. I pre-plan. I’m organized and like organization. I am uncomfortable around clutter. However, I am not compulsive. The only time I’ve had to compulsively clean was when my husband had clients come to our home for appointments. What might have made me a bit overly passionate about cleaning when there were comments about cleanliness or the perceived lack thereof made by some clients. One client “suggested” our guest bathroom (in our fully finished basement) might need cleaning because there was a spider carcass on the floor when they used the facilities. (I don’t know a basement that doesn’t have spiders and other crawly critters who die occasionally. I didn’t check every day 😩.)  One complimented the impressive cleanliness, which seemed so sweet, then stated they could never keep up that level of ‘clean’ day in and day out, week in and week out… so it really felt more like a criticism. 

     I just prefer being organized, knowing what comes next, planning for all contingencies. I believe if I plan, I’m prepared for whatever may happen. I’m better able to deal with problems and either handle them or adjust the plan. Can’t stand last minute pressure to get something done in an artificially created timeframe.   I’m not a big fan of deadlines or having to rush through a project. ‘Haste makes waste…  the hurrier I go, the behinder I get.’

     I’ve taken to making little lists of things I need to get done. I make a list at the beginning of each day. As I do a chore, I scratch it off the list. If I don’t get to everything, I transfer it to the next day’s list. I realized that I’m not overwhelmed by what needs to be done when I make a list. Even so, breaking “To Dos” into smaller portions helps make it easier to actually accomplish something. I don’t feel as if I have a barrel of projects hanging over my head that Must be finished. At the end of the week, instead of looking back over the week and feeling as if I didn’t do anything, I can feel good about what I did get done. Little by little I chip away at all the projects. I don’t feel pressured or rushed or end up spending two days recovering from a day spent over-doing trying to get everything done.

     I plan ahead, as well. There’s nothing worse than planning a certain menu or activity only to find at the last minute an ingredient isn’t available or there is no place to do the activity. If I bake or cook as much as I can ahead of time then I don’t feel rushed the day of the event and can enjoy the party or dinner with everyone else. My kitchen is pretty small so having everyone gather in the kitchen while I cook doesn’t work very well. I feel less stressed pre-planning and it’s a great way to get to enjoy a holiday party or family dinner with your friends and family instead of being stuck in the kitchen.

     I do laundry and clean my house before going on vacation. I don’t like coming home to mounds of laundry or a dirty house I have to clean after being relaxed and rested on vacation. While my husband and I haven’t taken a vacation for several years, I remember what it was like getting back from a vacation on a Sunday and having to do laundry so I’d have something to wear to work on Monday morning. Vacation is supposed be a break away from work and the routines of daily life. It’s nice to keep that vacation feeling as long as you can after the vacation itself actually ends.

     I used to feel as if I needed to justify being organized. Have often felt judged because I preferred to be prepared, preferred to plan. I’m not very spontaneous. I’ve had friends who would go on vacation with no plans, no hotel reservations, not much “ spending cash”. That’s not me. One summer a friend took off and went to San Francisco with nowhere to stay and no job. It was the Summer of Love, after all. That would never have been me. I got fired once and absolutely panicked. I am not that girl who hitch-hiked through Europe alone after high school. I prefer to plan and share travel with someone so we can both get double the enjoyment, double the memories.

     I don’t apologize, explain, justify anymore nor will I stop pre-planning and organizing. A lower stress level is more important to me than anyone else’s need to “hurry me along”. If I consider everything that might happen so I can be prepared, ridiculing me won’t change the way I do things. Life will always be capable of throwing me curves and surprising me but I still like being as prepared as I can be. It makes life much more enjoyable.

     Do you remember when product quality meant something? When your word was your bond? When a contract was sealed with a hand-shake And was always honored? I can hear you say, “Those days are long gone. Get over it, already!” Listen to me scream back, “Why?” What happened to taking pride in what you produce/manufacture/sell/do? Did mass-production eliminate the incredible satisfaction in a job well-done? Have we eliminated completely the feeling of accomplishment and pride? Obviously, mass production allows the manufacturer to sell more to realize larger profits. Who doesn’t want more profit? But what is sacrificed toward that end?

     Let me tell you a story about an old school experience my husband and I had soon after we bought our home. As with most of us who buy a new home, we had a lot of projects; painting, redecorating, organizing, making it our home. We had some landscaping projects we wanted to do and asked friends for referrals. One friend suggested a gentleman who had done work for him and gave him a great recommendation. We had no idea what to expect. The landscaper had a small business and did jobs mostly in his own neighborhood. He agreed to talk to us based on his relationship with the friend who referred him. His name was Scott Spaulding. He was in his early 70s and looked like someone who spent a lifetime working with plants in the warm summer sun. He was adorable. He reviewed the work we wanted done and gave us an estimate. We hired him on the spot; his price was more than reasonable, timeframe fit our schedule and we really liked him-more than anyone else who gave us an estimate for the job. My husband asked him if he needed us to sign a contract and give him a down payment. Scott smiled and asked if a handshake would be all right. We shook on it. The job was done on time, perfectly and we didn’t have to go into debt to do it. We continued to use Scott several times over the next few years. Each time all that was needed was a handshake. Mr. Spaulding was a man of honor, his word was his contract, his bond.

     We have had occasion to hire other handy persons, installers, painters over the years. Some have been good, most have been adequate, at best. Some have been down right con artists. We discovered the Honey Do businesses are not the best option. Sometimes the workers they hire are unqualified. The service usually has a set half day fee and the job you need done takes longer than half a day. Or… or… your list is several small jobs that have to be whittled down to only one or two things. If you want to  complete the original list, you have to sign up for another half day. The work gets done well enough or it’s only partially completed. We had a guy come back (free of further charge) three additional times to sand the drywall mud on a patch he put over a hole in the basement bath ceiling. I finally told him it was fine as I envisioned even more trips to get it finished. He left plaster dust Everywhere. It took me two days to clean it up.

     A company we called for an estimate on some tree trimming sent a guy who actually wrote his estimate on a piece of paper, folded it and handed it to my husband. We got so we could tell how serious someone was about doing the work by how high the estimate was. If it was totally outrageous, instead of saying “I’m not interested in your project”, they would give an estimate three times higher than they figured we would ever pay. One guy told me he deserved to make a profit after he offered an estimate of $1,600 for a half day job to clean up a flower bed, put in a small border and add fill dirt. The materials cost less than $75 and we did the manual work ourselves – for free. Wish someone had been paying us. We would have made $1,500, at least.

     I’m sitting in a recliner right now. My husband had a problem with a statin he was taking a few years ago. He had horrible side-effects that caused immense pain necessitating the need to get his legs elevated during the day. We went to a  local store for a very high end furniture maker. We made the decision to each get motorized recliners mainly because of ease of operation. We didn’t have to “kick” them to lock the leg rests into place, something my husband absolutely could not do at the time. Big name, big bucks, big reputation. Fast forward. My recliner is more chair than recliner as it doesn’t recline anymore. The leg rest is completely broken so no legs up. We unplugged it to see what was wrong so no lumbar or neck support and the upholstery looks downright shabby. We figured big name, big reputation, quick fix, right? They’ll fix it, all right, for a minimum of  $200. I have a real problem putting any more money in this chair. It was too expensive in the first place. We had to replace the controller almost immediately because it stopped working. My husband had problems with his chair as well and they made a house call to fix it. I could use a good recliner to help ease the arthritis in my knees, neck, back and hands. Right now, I’m using two wedge pillows, one for my back and another one to rest my feet on, get them kind of elevated. There seems to be no pride in workmanship or the company’s reputation. My husband was told there really is nothing they can do, even after he explained our situation. I guess it’s just easier to replace the chair than make something that lasts. I’m left trying to decide what to do; get a new, less expensive, recliner or get this one fixed for a minimum of $200 and be without a chair for as long as it takes to fix.

    Bring back integrity! Bring back character! Stop accepting mediocrity! When I was in the business world I had a plaque on my desk that said “Any job worth doing is worth doing well.” What we do in life matters. How we present ourselves in the world matters. If your name (brand) is on a product or service, stand behind it. Stand up for it! My husband and I never thought of using any other landscaper because Scott Spaulding had integrity. Just because the world seems to be moving faster and is more crowded it doesn’t mean how you interact isn’t important. Don’t believe if you lose a client because of your inefficiency or poor workmanship there will always be another one. Perhaps someday there won’t be.

 

     The past is just that, past. Dragging it into the present, or worse, projecting it onto the future puts a halt to forward momentum. Not to mention negating whatever you did to overcome those things in the past that caused the problem(s) or hurt. I’m not advocating for or against forgiveness, of yourself or others. (Although, I believe forgiving yourself is necessary if you are to truly love yourself.) Forgiveness is a personal decision based in your own belief system. I have, thankfully, never been tested. I’ve never had to face someone who killed someone I love or stolen from me. I’m not sure if I’m good enough to grant forgiveness to someone who wronged me or that I would have the strength necessary to do so.

     The past cannot be changed. It’s over. The only way to change things that happened in the past is to time travel, which isn’t possible right now. Trust me, if it ever is possible and I’m still alive, I’ll be in line for the first time travel trip. Doesn’t it sound fascinating?! But it is the only way to change past events or their outcome.

      In my life, I’ve had my share of Lemony-Snicket unfortunate events. None of those events were easy nor pleasant. I had to put on my “big girl panties”, pick myself up by my boot-straps and move forward. I’ve never had time to dwell on anything for very long. For me, it was a good thing because otherwise I’d be much further behind in my development. Plus carrying around extra baggage is super unappealing.

     I will never know what it’s like to be you. Conversely, you will never know what it’s like to be me. For instance, I will never know what it’s like to be a man or another ethnicity or race, gay or a genius. I don’t know what it feels like to be blind or deaf or an amputee. Someday I might know. None of us know what the future has in store for us. The list of experiences I have never had is endless; places I’ve never been, people I will never get to meet or know are endless lost possibilities.

     So, here’s my question: why do our differences engender so much fear in us that they sometimes transform into bigotry and hatred? It all seems crazy because I’ve known us to come together, no matter what our differences, in times of turmoil and chaos. After the 9/11 attacks, the Sandy Hook massacre, after Katrina or the fires in California, floods, tornadoes and blizzards everyone pitches in to help. We donate clothing, supplies and money. We have a kind word, thought or prayer; we work tirelessly to rebuild the lives of those affected by the disasters. We open our homes and places of business to offer whatever assistance is needed. We don’t ask if the victims are black, Hispanic, gay or straight, rich or poor, democrat or republican. We just see a need and try to fill it.

     I don’t look like you, you don’t look like me (and probably wouldn’t want to). I’m not concerned that we don’t look alike or haven’t many shared experiences. I’m not so worried about our differences that it would  prevent us from ever getting along. I don’t believe we will be unable to reach some level of commonality and understanding. I’ll probably never understand what life experiences motivate your thoughts and actions. I suspect you might never understand mine. I can only hope that before you pass judgement or form an opinion about me (and I about you), that we stop and consider how much more alike we are than different. The things that seem to divide us, someday, won’t mean anything at all. Carrying past baggage around for years and years only serves to hold us back and keep us from moving forward. It could keep us from living our lives to the fullest, from enjoying great experiences and from knowing terrific people. I can’t walk a mile in your shoes but I can try to perceive what it’s like for you to make that journey. Those perceptions might, just might, lead to a broader understanding of what each of us may be going through. If we were all to do this, it could help us all be nicer to each other.  And in a world where you can be anything, it is always important to be kind.

 

 

 

     Everybody’s love story is different. Some people know the minute they meet. Sometimes it takes a really long time to write. As human beings, we carry around a lot of emotional baggage. We accumulate all kinds of scars as we navigate life; they can’t be avoided. The stories are different because men and women are different. The influences in our lives are different, our life experiences are different. How we define romance is different. It’s a wonder we get together at all considering all those differences but thank  goodness we do.

     It took three tries before I found my perfect fit. I learned a lot along the way.  A relationship should be the icing on your cupcake, not the cake. The icing enhances the taste of the cupcake but the dessert would be out of balance with only one or the other. When I finally stopped looking for a relationship to make my life meaningful and realized I was happy, up popped my husband. My life was humming along. I had an okay job, owned a little condo, had friends and activities I enjoyed. I liked my own company. Being alone was seldom lonely. I had a puppy, Gracie, who was a wonderful companion. If that was how my life had continued, I would have been fine with it.

     But, as I said, my husband popped into my life and everything changed. In the beginning, he was a friend, better than any friend I’d ever had. The fact we were friends first, and still are, is what makes our relationship so special. We are very close. Neither of us wants to lose the friendship of the other so we cherish and nurture it. I know my husband is always on my side; I trust him completely. He supports whatever crazy plans I have and vice versa. We laugh together and cry together; we sometimes agree to disagree. We know life’s struggles but we never worry we won’t make it through whatever life throws at us because we have each other. We finish each other’s sentences and have a kind of mental short-hand that enhances our communication skills. There’s a lot to be said for having an abiding relationship to count on.

     When we first got married, we made Valentine’s cards for each other. We did it primarily because the cards in the stores are so cookie-cutter, one sentiment does not fit all. The constant pushing by florists, card companies and jewelers only served to aggravate. Both of us are creative and making something seemed more personal and fun. Eventually we stopped because it got to be more of a competition than an expression of love. At the beginning of this piece are our last efforts before we forgot why we were doing it… to express our love, not who did it better!  My husband’s is lassoing the moon for me and mine is a Valentine box filled with all the Valentines I would have given him every year since grade school.

     So here’s what I’ve learned to have a successful, living relationship. It’s important to love yourself, completely and unconditionally before you can give your heart to someone else. You have to honestly enjoy your own company. You should never expect another person to make you happy, be responsible for your own happiness. Be aware your relationship will take work every day. Don’t lose yourself, your identity, in the other person. The romantic myth that people somehow become “one” person seems more confining than healthy. Respect each other, your differences and concordances. Most importantly, laugh. At yourself and with each other.  Love should be proclaimed or demonstrated every day, not just February 14th. If each person could love themselves first before seeking someone else to share their life, then finding the perfect fit would be inevitable. 

     There was a spot that was so special to me when I was a child. It was our front porch. It wasn’t very big, although as a child it seemed big, as most things do when you’re small. It was a concrete rectangle in front of our front door. Three steps lead to the walk that made a curvy path to the sidewalk and parking in front of our house. (Parking is a strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb next to the street. Most new neighborhoods don’t have parking anymore.) Our porch had no handrail. I could sit and dangle my leg(s) over the side. The porch faced west so in the morning the concrete was cool. In the afternoon, it was warm. My mother planted flowers that created beautiful curb appeal.

     I spent a lot of my childhood on that porch. Just sitting with friends, talking. Waiting alone, on a warm summer evening, for friends to finish eating dinner so we could play Kick the Can or Hide and Seek or Swing the Statue or Mother May I or Red Light/Green Light or Simon Says. Sometimes we’d jump rope or draw a hopscotch pattern with chalk on the front sidewalk and play hopscotch for hours. We roller-skated, rode bikes or went up to the elementary school and played on the swings or monkey bars.

     One of my favorite memories was getting a new book of paper dolls. I’d play with paper dolls on the front porch for days. A book consisted of a paper doll, sometimes two, that were printed on card stock. They had perforated edges so you could punch or cut the dolls out. There was usually another piece that would allow the doll to “stand” alone. The pieces fit together and formed an X configuration. Also in the book were several pages of high fashion clothes for the dolls; dresses and swimsuits and pant outfits, fur coats and hats and jackets. All the clothes had to be cut out with scissors and there were usually tabs, that when folded down, held the clothes to the paper doll. It was so much fun to dress up your doll and play-pretend she was going to a party or on a romantic date with her best boyfriend.

     When the dresses got torn accidentally (they were just paper, after all), scotch tape came to the rescue. We made different outfits by placing  the doll on a piece of blank paper and drawing around her body. Then you could create a new dress that would “fit” beautifully. We decorated the dresses with crayons. If you preferred a different effect, you could put your creation between two pieces of waxed paper, then using a low-temperature iron, melt the crayon to the paper. The effect was fantastic, at least I thought it was.

     We listened to the radio a lot back then. We’d plug it in and stretch the cord hoping to put the radio as close to the front door as possible so we could hear it through the screen door. There were soap operas and variety shows and game shows to listen to. And, of course, programs that played popular music we would sing along with. The front porch was like having an outdoor room to play in. The radio provided the soundtrack to the stories we created for our paper doll’s lives. At the end of the day, we’d pack up and put everything in an old shoebox, ready for the next days’ play.

     In the fall, when the days started getting shorter, we switched to playing jacks. The best jacks were heavy and thicker, they had weight. At times I played with a golf ball, other times a solid rubber ball. We had tournaments both on that front porch and at school. And though there was no prize, no trophy for winning, just the knowledge that you beat all challengers was propitious. The concrete was perfect! It was an amazing place to practice. Smooth, cool and just the right size to sit and dangle one leg over the side as we played. 

     That porch was a great place to watch the world go by. Neighbors out for an evening walk would stop to chat. Our neighborhood friends would gather and sit and talk for hours. It was a place to hang out, to play, to dream. Once friends and I wrote a neighborhood newspaper on that porch, complete with funny papers. I learned to trace, then draw, Snoopy and Little Lulu, Archie and Jughead on the porch. I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drank Kool-aid picnic-style on that porch. I cooled off eating popsicles and fudgesicles on hot summer days on that porch. It was just a perfect place to be.

     I can say with almost certainty, there have been times, in most people’s lives, when they have wished they could be rich. When they fantasize about winning the lottery or Publishers Clearinghouse or a huge jackpot in Vegas. Wealth seems to be an answer to all the ills of the world, an end to a lot of problems and at least a partial answer to many prayers. Wealth is central to many, many daydreams of a new car, boat, house, vacation, jewelry or wardrobe that seem just beyond your fingertips. Believe me when I tell you if my husband and I had more money I might indulge my daydreams to help with home maintenance; maintenance like repair/replace 35+ year old sewer and water lines before the maple tree roots crush them. That would end the periodic basement flooding or maybe we could add to the 35+ year old insulation that has proved to be woefully inadequate or perhaps all new kitchen appliances which, at 20 years old, are starting to lose their effectiveness. (Sigh, it would be nice.)

     Don’t get me wrong, I enter sweepstakes daily; the HGTV Dream Home Giveaway, faithfully. I don’t think we’d actually keep the Dream Home. We could sell it and the cash from the sale would let my husband and I have a much nicer fade into the sunset of our life. However, I’m not foolish enough to believe that money will solve our problems. Money, after all, is just money. It makes some nice things possible but if power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, (and it does) then wealth must make one completely unsympathetic and unlimited wealth must make one completely out of touch with any sense of humanity.

     This government shut-down affects more than just 800,000 federal workers. It affects (or should affect) each and every one of us. This economy is losing Millions of dollars – Daily!  The lack of any empathy coming from so many in the top levels of the government regarding the struggles of these persons is astonishing. I’ve heard so many people express disgust for a president who had to use cheat sheets containing words of condolence when he met with the students of Parkland HS, passed on going to the Armistice Day parade in France due to rain and spent five minutes at the Martin Luther King Memorial on January 21st. I think what we all need to keep in mind is this president has NEVER known a day of deprivation. NEVER had to struggle. NEVER had to suffer at the whim of another person. In other words, he has no experience in what it means to be a human being. To show genuine kindness.

     If being wealthy means you stop caring about your fellow human beings and stop wanting to help whenever or wherever you can, count me out. I’m happy to struggle, to help whoever I can when I can (and sometimes when I can’t), stand up for those who need a partner to stand with them who is able to understand what they are going through. Turning a blind eye doesn’t absolve anyone of responsibility for what is happening to good, honest, hard-working persons. We are one of the richest nations on this planet, there shouldn’t be bread lines in 2019, people shouldn’t have to “ration” necessary medications. Families shouldn’t have to worry about losing their homes. This is just dumb. This is just stupid. All over a childish temper tantrum by an under-qualified reality star who is trying to play the leader of what used to be the greatest nation on earth. Screw the wall!

     When I was in elementary school in the 1950s, (yes, I’m that old) we did Duck and Cover drills. These drills were designed to keep us safe in case a foreign enemy dropped a nuclear bomb on the United States. The drills were silly, really. We were told to drop to the floor and hunker under our desks, as if somehow that desk could keep us from becoming an ash outline on the floor. I guess the important part was we believed it would work. It was only later when I saw pictures of Nagasaki and Hiroshima that I realized nothing short of a bomb shelter might keep you alive. But I do remember being afraid of this danger from the sky. I was scared to walk the block home to and from school. I didn’t feel safe.

     There were other times too. When I moved to Colorado in 1972. I worked in downtown Denver and there was a huge problem with transients. That’s what the homeless were called back then, transients, bums. I had to walk several blocks to my car from the bank where I worked, at night, alone. I’d never seen drunk (mostly men) people lying around on sidewalks, passed out. Or sometimes they would accost me to beg for money. I learned to walk very fast. I didn’t breathe until I was inside my car headed for my apartment. I even started riding the bus but even the bus stopped several blocks away from my apartment building. So, I had to walk, at night, in the dark, several blocks, past dark alleys when Denver had one of the highest incidents of rape in the country. Again, I walked very fast. I didn’t feel safe.

     Another time I remember a trip back to Denver from home. It was snowing lightly when I left to come back but not enough to make me stay an extra day. I figured I could outrun the storm. Half way to Denver the roads started getting very icy. My car began to fishtail and I slid off the road into a ditch. Just as I was trying to figure out what I was going to do, a very, very nice guy and his girlfriend, who saw me go off the road, stopped. (No cellphone.) While his girlfriend drove their car, he got me out of the ditch then drove my car to Cheyenne. They both suggested I stay in Cheyenne until the storm died down but because I was afraid of losing my job, I drove the rest of the way to Denver in a blinding snow storm. By the time I got to (what was then) Mile High Stadium I had about a 4 inch swipe of clear windshield to see through. I pulled off and cleared the rest of the windshield so I could see to drive to my apartment. I’d left home at 10:00 a.m. and got back to my apartment in Denver at 11:00 p.m. Aside from my slide into the ditch and a quick refueling stop, I was on the highway for about 10 hours. The trip usually took 5 hours. I didn’t feel safe.

     I’ve been through the shootings at Columbine High School, the Aurora theater shootings, 9/11 and everything since. Shootings at malls, nightclubs, more schools than I can count, places where we pray and where ordinary people conduct business. I live in a state where three police officers were shot and killed in the line of duty within a two month period of time.  I don’t feel safe.

     I’m not comfortable being out after dark or in shopping malls. I’m distressed over allowing mentally unstable individuals the ability to buy a gun. I worry about stuff that wouldn’t have garnered two minutes of my time ten years ago; global warming, identity theft, opioid addiction, sink-holes, losing my social security and Medicare. I have nightmares about another 9/11 type attack, getting a major illness and losing my home trying to pay the medical bills. I’m not unique. There are hundreds of thousands, millions, just like me. Struggling every day, just trying to find a way to feel safe.