Guest Blogger

A few weeks ago Mike Befeler let me be a guest blogger on his blog, so this week I am returning the favor. Mike is a mystery writer with a fascinating central character who is a "geezer." Interesting concept and well worth checking out his books.


One of the things I’ve enjoyed since becoming a mystery writer is attending mystery conferences. Next week the Left Coast Crime 2008 conference takes place in Denver, Colorado. Over four hundred mystery fans and writers will congregate for panels, discussions, awards and general schmoozing. I attended this conference last year when it was held in Seattle. One of the highlights was a night tour of the Seattle underground, the old street level of Seattle that has now been covered over. At this year’s conference I have the pleasure of introducing twenty new mystery authors at the New Authors’ Breakfast on Friday, March 7. I’ll also be moderating a panel titled, “What’s Age Got To Do With It?” If any of you are attending, stop me to say hello. I’m the geezer-in-training who will be wearing a straw hat with “Geezer-lit Mysteries” on it.


Mike Befeler
Author of Retirement Homes Are Murder
mikebef@aol.com
Blog: http://mikebefeler.blogspot.com
Web site: www.mikebefeler.com

We Don't Need no Stinkin' Superdelegates

With the presidential candidates from the Democratic party in a race that may not be decided by the primaries and caucuses, the 800 super-delegates might get to pick the nominee for that party. And one newscaster recently commented that, "they can vote on a whim."

A whim? One of the most important political decisions in this country can be decided on a whim?

Does anyone else find this beyond believable?

We have gone so far from "representation of the people" that it is no wonder we have such poor showings at the polls. Too many people think that government no longer responds to the voters so why bother.

Well, we do need to bother, and maybe that way government will start listening. But that is a topic for another blog.

The other day I had lunch with a friend, whose intelligence I highly respect, and we discussed this whole mess of a political system. She agreed with me that there needs to be some changes, but didn't agree that significant change was possible. Her comment was that the system is way too big and interdependent to be able to simplify.

We did agree that in an ideal world, all leaders would be benevolent and truly work for the people, but we don't live in an ideal world. Governments are run by people and people are flawed creatures. They don't always do the right thing.

But I don't think that fact leaves us at the mercy of the status quo. There is still room for political reform, and I think the first thing to go should be the super-delegates. Then maybe do away with delegates all together. Let the nominee be picked by the popular vote, and maybe save the millions that are spent on the conventions.

Just a thought.... Anyone else?

Candidates' Qualifications

A recent Non Sequitur cartoon showed a man in an interview saying, “My qualifications are that I’m not nearly as unqualified for the job as the other applicants are…, who are all members of a satanic cult, buy the way.” He is carrying a sign that reads: Hire me or the terrorists win. The interviewer is looking over the applicants resume and says, “Oh, nice list of celebrity endorsements.”

In the bottom right of the panel Wiley Miller, the creative genius behind the strip wrote, “If we hired people the same way we elect them.”

I laughed when I read it, then I cheered. And I wished it could be a wake-up call for the voting public. If only enough people could see the truth behind the humor of this cartoon and start calling for change in the political process, I would be a happy camper.

In following the presidential campaigns, I have seen little being discussed that has anything to do with how a candidate would do the job. And the debates, especially the most recent ones, disgust me. There is no respect shown, candidates don’t answer the questions, and there is a lot of name calling.

Gee, remind you of Kindergarten anybody?

I’m tired of the candidates sniping at each other. I’m tired of the media telling us who is likely to win because he or she has the most money. I’m tired of the candidates avoiding a direct answer to a direct question. And I’m tired of everyone focusing on things that have nothing to do with a candidates ability to serve the office he or she is campaigning for.

Is it possible to change this political system, or are we forever tied to this huge machine that keeps clanking away and leaving the people in the dust?

HILLARY CRIED

I couldn’t believe it when I turned on the Today Show this morning and there was an interview with a woman who was explaining what Hillary Clinton’s tears meant on the eve of the New Hampshire primary. I couldn’t believe it. Another story about the emotional display. I thought we’d pretty well exhausted that topic yesterday.

And speaking of exhaustion. That’s what probably caused the chink in Hillary’s armor in the first place. This campaign stuff is grueling and it is bound to take its toll. I could see the exhaustion in the faces of other candidates, too, but the men are just better at swallowing their tears than women are.

It is ludicrous to me that the media is making such a big deal of this. Come on fellow journalists; is there nothing better to write about than Hillary’s tears?

I turned off the TV, hoping that would be the end of it, but later today I was reading the Dallas Morning News and a columnist actually wondered on paper whether Hillary had planted the woman in the audience who had asked the question that prompted the emotional response.

I shook my head. Have we sunk this low that we have to suspect every move a politician makes?

Then I realized how silly I was to ask. Of course we have. The last twenty years has seen such deterioration in how people behave in Washington, on Wall Street, and any other street in America, that it is hard for folks to know what truth is anymore.

When I start getting this cynical about the political process, I watch “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” and pretend for a little while that there is one person of character and integrity who can truly bring change to the government.

Merry Christmas

I know the politically correct thing to say at this time is Happy Holidays, lest we offend someone who doesn't celebrate Christmas, but I feel like being a rebel today. Besides that, I don't get the least bit offended when someone says Happy Hanukka or Happy Kwanzaa.

Those wishes mean something special to the folks who celebrate those holidays, the same way Merry Christmas means something special to me, and it doesn't take anything away from me for people to express their good wishes the way they want to.

If we all spent more time living up to the inherent meaning in all these holidays and expressions of good will, there could be no offense taken at how people express them. There wouldn't be a "we" and "them" mentality that makes us more protective of our rights.

So my hope for all of us is to have a season of peace and a sense of inclusion instead of exclusion.

Remembering Pearl Harbor

I recent years I have noticed that people don't seem to make such a big deal out of the bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. It used to be practically a national holiday and news sources would be full of stories about the tragic day, stories that would lead in the news.

Today, while looking at a few online news sources, I did not see lead stories about Pearl Harbor. The tragic mall shooting in Omaha, Nebraska, still leads, and I found that disquieting. Here was a young man who killed a lot of people because he was troubled, but also because he thought it would bring him fame. And it has.

But measure the worthiness of that story as compared to the worthiness of remembering what men and women suffered on Dec. 7, 1941.

It would have been fitting for the story about Everett Hyland, who was aboard the USS Pennsylvania on December 7, 1941, to be the top story in publications today. The Pennsylvania was dry-docked that day, so it did not suffer as much damage as some other ships, but Hyland clearly remembers shipmates dying and being injured. Not for fame, but just because they were doing their duty.

He will join some 50 survivors and hundreds more family members and officials at a Pearl Harbor pier overlooking the USS Arizona Memorial to honor the attack's victims.This year, survivors and their family members are dedicating a new memorial for the USS Oklahoma, which lost 429 sailors and Marines -- the second greatest loss of life among any of the battleships in Pearl Harbor.

The Simple Way

Living and loving in a totally committed relationship is a rare commodity in this era ruled largely by a throw-away mentality. To see two people who sustain each other in a marriage through many years of good and bad is fairly significant in itself, but to see two people who actually grow in kindness and love is awesome.

A long time ago when I needed a refuge from a turbulent adolescence, my girlfriend, Jeanette, asked if I would like to live with her family for a while. I always loved going to her house. It was so alive with laughter and had a warmth less connected to the ever-active oven than to something going on between her mom and dad. That something overflowed to the whole family.

To be a part of that was an incredible opportunity.

Mam and Sir, who are both gone now, were simple country folk of Scandinavian background and devoted to their family. Sir worked hard to provide food and shelter and Mam worked hard to provide heart. She loved to play, and I can remember dancing in the living room with her and Jeanette while Sir looked on and shook his head. "You girls," he would say. "What am I going to do with you?"

I can also remember with great clarity how kind everyone was to each other in that family, doing things without being asked and without keeping score. There was a real generosity of spirit that made it okay if dinner was late on my day to cook because I spent the day at the horse barn. It was also okay for Jeanette to skip dishes if she had a big date. And if Mam came home from work tired, she knew someone would tell her to put her feet up and rest a while. Someone else would always pick up the slack in the kitchen.

After I married and started my own family, I often pulled from those memories to form a blueprint for relationship. The Sunday afternoon 'naps' that weren't really naps at all. The complete awareness of each other that was reflected in a glance, a touch, a smile. The devotion that never wavered in the face of human weakness. And most of all, the pure joy of being together. It was so tangible I often thought I could reach out and touch it.

Over the years I stayed connected to this family, and we visited as often as possible even though we were separated by many miles and several states. During one visit I picked up on a subtle change in Mam's child-like behavior. It wasn't like she was playing anymore. I also noticed that she was asking me the same questions over and over again.

Afraid, yet needing to know, I looked at Sir.

He nodded.

That horrible reality of Alzheimer's hit me like a physical blow, yet I couldn't help but find some sweetness in the bitter moment. The response from the heart of this tough old farmer was beauty to behold. It was particularly poignant to see him reach out with a gnarled hand to let her know with a gentle touch that it was okay that she forgot again. It was a gesture so intimate and so filled with love I was almost embarrassed to have seen it.

Some years later, when Mam had progressed into a totally alien world and Sir was then facing his imminent death from cancer, I asked him to tell me the secret of their long and happy marriage. How did they stick together through so much? I didn't need the information for myself. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it in his own words for an article I was writing about fidelity in marriage.

He pondered a bit, as all great farmer/philosophers do, then he shrugged. "It's not so special," he said. "No magic. No tricks. I guess it's like when you get in a rowboat and set out across the lake. If you want to get to the other side, you both better be pulling on the oars."

Focus on Chaplaincy

For many years I have been involved in Hospital Ministry, first as a trained volunteer, then as a trained Hospital Chaplain. Not everyone can do this type of work. Certainly not my husband who is an ordained minister but freezes at the thought of going to visit people in the hospital.

But for some reason, I have always enjoyed this ministry and always come home feeling very blessed. One of the other chaplains I worked with in Nebraska told me she felt the same way and sometimes thought we shouldn’t even get paid for what we do. Although, she didn’t tell that to our boss or payroll.

I started doing this type of ministry over twenty-five years ago, and over the years I’ve learned a thing or two about loss and grief and the complicated human reaction to it all. That knowledge and experience was beneficial when I was writing my latest book, One Small Victory. The central character loses a son to a car accident, and her grief is an important element of the story. As is the grief of her other children.

There are as many faces to grief as there are people, and as I continue this blog I will share some of the stories that I was privileged to be a part of during my work.

One thing to keep in mind as you read my ramblings is that hospital chaplains, like military and prison chaplains, are cut from a different cloth than other holy people of God and/or ministers. We are not preachers. We don’t visit the sick and dying with the intent of “saving their soul.” Somebody already did that 2000 years ago. We are not trying to FIX anything. Boy did my CPE instructor have a time drilling that into my head.

What we do when we visit the sick and dying is give them an opportunity to talk about things that perhaps they cannot say to family members or friends. We listen to their stories, validate their feelings, and sometimes help them to accept death. Religion and prayer are only a part of the equation if religion and prayer are important to the patient.

And why am I telling you all this? Well, I thought it might be interesting to focus the blog on a topic instead of what I’ve been doing, which is write about anything that irks me at the moment. And maybe having a focus will prompt me to at least write something once a week. So starting next week, I will share stories from my experiences and hopefully we can connect on some emotional level.

Until next time….

Spare Me The Celebrities

If I see another picture of Brittany Spears and her semi-bald head I think I’ll puke. Is this really newsworthy considering all that is happening in Mid-East and Sudan and other places in the world where people are experiencing unimaginable suffering and other people are dodging the dangers to try to help?

The other day on the Today Show – I really need to find something else to watch while I’m exercising – there were two segments devoted to Brittany and her latest escapade. One psychologist explained that by shaving her head, Brittany was saying, “Here, I want to be real. This is who I am.”

Give me a break.

Another psychologist said that Brittany simply didn’t know what to do because Anna Nicole Smith had dominated the news for over a week. “Celebrities simply can’t handle it when they are not the hottest thing in the news.”

Give me another break. And it almost did when I whapped my leg with the hand weight.

First of all, people like that are only celebrities because the media has made them celebrities. Would the world have come to a screeching halt had the story of Brittany and the clippers been relegated to a brief footnote in the Entertainment section of newspapers and only reported on Entertainment Tonight?

Sometimes I’m ashamed to admit I’m a journalist.

Secondly, they are troubled women – oops, was for Ms. Smith – who are surrounded by people who enable their addictions and dysfunction because it’s fun living in the fast lane with lots of money and party-time all the time. Nobody wants to risk losing all that by really caring about them and maybe doing something to help.

I can feel sorry for them on that level. Nobody deserves to be used and abused by people who profess to be friends. But I don’t feel sorry for them for all the bad choices they have made and their inability to admit they have a problem.

We can all make excuses and rationalize our behaviors, but the bottom line is that we know when we are screwing up. We can lie to our family, our friends, the media, the general public, but we cannot lie to ourselves. I mean, we can try. We can say the words, but they don’t ring true when we are looking at our reflection in the mirror.

We've Sunk to a New Low

Here I was the other morning doing my exercises with the TV on to keep me company. Usually it’s just there for background noise and I only pay attention to the weather and a story that might really be of relevance, but that morning I had to stop halfway through a sit-up in disbelief. They were featuring a story about busty mannequins. I mean really Dolly-Parton-type busty mannequins that are all the rage in Miami, New York, LA, and apparently coming to a mall near us all soon.

My first thought was how stupid to consider this a newsworthy story. Who cares about busty mannequins? Then the reporter did a “man on the street” segment. He interviewed a woman who was commenting about how unrealistic the mannequins are and questioning what kind of message that sends to women. While she spoke, a man with her ogled the mannequin in the window, so I thought, okay. Some people do care, but for all the wrong reasons.

Throughout the rest of the story the camera showed these mannequins in various store windows and they were all posed like they were ready for Playboy shots, only with clothes on. Although some barely had clothes on.

Retailers were interviewed and commented about how sales have risen since they started featuring these buxom beauties in store windows.

Throughout the whole segment, there was only one brief mention of this perhaps not being in the best interest of social mores. The rest of the story had an air of “isn’t this just too cute,” and I wanted to puke.

Where was the outrage? Was I a solitary protester as I contemplated throwing the hand-weight at the television?

I watched the papers for the next couple of days, hoping for a scathing commentary by one of the nation’s columnist. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

So I hereby go on record with a scathing commentary.

The woman who designed this new approach to retail display ought to be drawn and quartered.

The people who think it is all just so funny should also suffer some terrible punishment.

Folks who don’t think this type of sexually explicit material is not harmful to young people need to get their heads out of whatever cloud they are in.

And women everywhere should be outraged that our bodies have been used to sell merchandise for years.

Does any one else hate Victoria’s Secret?

Free Speech

A couple of weeks ago, Steve Blow, a columnist for the Dallas Morning News, wrote about how attitudes have changed toward war protestors since right after 9/11. In that first year after the tragedy anyone who questioned the president and the war in Iraq was considered unpatriotic, and as Steve put it, “Back then, dissent was scarce.”

He went on to write, “I think most experts were as reluctant as journalists to appear unpatriotic by challenging the president’s plans too sharply.”

When I read that, I had to stop and read it again. Then again. Since when is it unpatriotic to exercise our right to freedom of speech? That is one of the great strengths of our country. That people can say what they think without censorship. Granted, sometimes that freedom is abused. Okay, maybe it’s abused a lot. But it is still a basic right that some people don’t enjoy in their countries.

Now that the war effort is floundering and President Bush’s approval rating is sinking lower and lower, suddenly it is okay to criticize him and the war in Iraq. But why wasn’t it okay last year or the year before?

I can remember the few brave souls back then who wrote letters to the editor in the Dallas Morning News and the New York Times questioning the invasion of Iraq. They stirred a barrage of letters from reactionaries who questioned their loyalty to America and their support of the troops. Somehow questioning the war was equated with not caring about the men and women in uniform.

But recent criticism of the war has not stirred the same response, and I can’t quite figure out why not. Unless it is because of the “tide of popular opinion.”

Some people seem more willing to ride that tide than others. And that’s too bad. Because we should really think for ourselves and not become sheep following the most vocal shepherd.

Happy, Happy New Year

Unlike my previous posts, this one is a real blog as it is something I'm writing off the cuff, so to speak. I decided that it was time to step out of the security of using some older articles to fill this space.

So here goes....

This was an unusual Christmas for the Miller family as we were not together with all our kids on Christmas Day. Some of us live 100 miles apart, with two others about 300 miles from us. One of our sons from Austin came to our place with his wife and two young girls. Then we all went to the Dallas area on Christmas Eve to share a meal with the other sibs and their families, then came back to have Santa with the girls here.

That was a high point of the Holiday for me. Christmas morning is made for little children who eagerly look forward to Santa coming. Of course, I was the first one up on Christmas and had to wait for the girls to wake up. I told them I was up early to feed the animals before we started and they actually believed me. I also told them that Santa took some hay out of my barn for his reindeer and they believed that, too. I love little children.

The rest of this week has been a blur. In addition to some lovely gifts, my husband and I got a cold for Christmas, so we have been sipping tea and sniffling and coughing together. Luckily, one of us has always managed to feel good enough to take care of the animals, although one day I just threw a half a bale of hay over the fence for the horse and goats and told them to have a ball until tomorrow.

I think we are finally on the mend. At least I am. But it doesn't look hopeful that we will be ringing in the New Year with any great fivolity here at the Miller house.

I will however, take some time to remember the many blessings we have received in the past year and be thankful for that.

This is probably the point where I should be writing something profound or philosophical, but the old brain is shutting down. So I'll just close with a sincere wish that everyone has a very good New Year.

Holiday Magic

Whether you celebrate Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanza, or any of the other Winter Solstice holidays, the magic of the time transcends religious bounds, so I share with you one of my favorite Christmas articles. I wrote this when my children were young and chaos reigned at the Miller house.
Enjoy!


Christmas is a time like no other in the lives of most people. From the wistful old lady who sits alone remembering Christmases past, to the starry-eyed kid who bounces around the house singing his own rendition of Silent Night, there is a place for each of us.

Sometimes for me, Christmas is the desperate race to get everything done in time. Every year I tell myself to start early. Make use of those lazy summer days to at least do the shopping, but somehow I don't often find my summer days all that lazy. Not to mention how hard it is to think "Christmas" when it's a hundred and five in the shade.

So invariably, I'll be running around the week before Christmas, trying to find something for Aunt Lucy and trying to balance the number of packages each of our kids will receive. (They will count them no matter how old they are.)
What bothers me most about last minute shopping isn't the mile long walk to get to the store from the parking lot. It isn't the lady who runs over my foot with her shopping cart. It isn't the clerk who can't possibly tell me where to find the ‘must have’ toy for this year. What bothers me most is wondering whether I'll make it through the check-out line before the kid I bought the tricycle for is ready for a car.

Sometimes I'd like to forget all about the Christmas Season and just spend two weeks in a rest home. Especially when the excitement starts to build in my kids, and I wish they'd just sit still and be quiet so I'd be more in the mood to be nice to them. It's hard to think kindly of a kid who's followed you around the house for a week reading his Christmas list.

Sometimes Christmas is the frustration of cookie crumbs mashed in the carpeting, candy canes stuck on the sofa cushions and the eighteen truckloads of trash strewn around the living room on Christmas morning. Sometimes it is a sense of futility as I wonder if we'll ever overcome our kids' basic selfishness and teach them the concept of giving as well as receiving. And sometimes it is a feeling of anxiety over whether we've maintained the proper balance between Santa Claus and Bethlehem.
But that's only sometimes.

Other times Christmas is a warm feeling of closeness when I share my daughter's wide-eyed wonder at the concept of Santa and all his magic. Or when I share my son's pride in the surprise he created for his dad out of a chaos of construction paper and glitter. Or when I share my daughter's satisfaction when she transforms our living room into a wonderland of tinsel and holly. Or when my other son asks me for the umpteenth time to get my guitar and play the Little Drummer Boy, and it reminds me mistily of another time, another place.

Somehow my dad could never refuse either.

And other times I think my heart will burst when I watch one of my kids spend their last dollar on a present for the brother I was sure they hated. Or when I find something totally impractical under the tree for me, and I look up to see my husband smiling in delight.

And other times I have a sense of awe when one of the kids wants to bake Jesus a Birthday cake and sing Happy Birthday. Other times I'm filled with an incredible sense of tenderness and love when I watch my oldest daughter set up the nativity scene and explain to the younger kids what happened that magical night two thousand years ago.

Yes indeed, CHRISTMAS IS a time like no other in my life!

Absurdities

Since we’re getting so close to Christmas – only two more weeks for those of you like me who have barely started preparing – I was going to write something sweet and nostalgic for the Holiday. With all I have left to do, I may not get to blog again before December 25. But I just couldn’t let the absurdities in recent news pass without comment.

First there’s the New York law to ban trans fat in all restaurants. I suppose it’s commendable that the legislators care that much for the health of their constituents, but do we really want government to be telling us what to eat? My husband commented that pretty soon fat people will get arrested. And if you’re really obese, you get a life sentence. A joke? Maybe not.

Then there’s the flap over the Minnesota Democrat, Keith Ellison, who was elected to Congress. The flap isn’t over him being elected. Or even the fact that he’s the first Muslim to be elected to the U.S. Congress. It’s because he would like to take his oath of office on the Koran instead of the Christian Bible. Dennis Prager, a conservative talk-show host in California said, “American is interested in only one book, the Bible. If you are incapable of taking an oath on that book, don’t serve in Congress.”

Um, excuse me, Mr. Prager, but I am an American and I totally support Mr. Ellison’s desire to use the holy book that has the most meaning for him. And I don’t think I am one voice crying alone in the wilderness on this topic.

Mr. Prager also needs to study his history. He said having a Bible present at every installation of a public official is an unbroken tradition since George Washington.

Oops, in 1825, John Quincy Adams took the oath on a law book.

Another absurdity that probably has less social impact, to me falls into the category of superfluous. Sherry Jacobson, a Dallas Morning News columnist nominated Tony Romo for Texan of the year. The annual contest run by the News was established to honor someone who has made a significant contribution to the state and humanity.

I’m sorry, Tony. While it has been fun to watch you play and bring the Cowboys to so many recent wins, I really don’t think that puts you in the league with State District Court Judge Carole Clark of Tyler, who is trying to develop a new child welfare program for Texas that will not let so many kids fall through cracks.

And finally, there was a little blurb in the Dallas Morning News about Governor Rick Perry speaking out against the proposal to build a wall along the border between Texas and Mexico.

Was that the same Rick Perry who had that political ad a couple of months ago? The one that talked about how tough he was going to be on illegal immigration and how he supports the plan to beef up border protection by erecting a wall?

Most politicians who are going to renege on their campaign promises at least wait long enough for the general public to forget what they said.

Turkey Time

I know it's almost a week away, but I want to share this special Thanksgiving piece I wrote a few years ago. Those of us who wax nostalgic over holidays can't get enough of this stuff. :-)

There's an old Thanksgiving song that starts out, "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go..."

When I was a child, my Dad would break into that song as we crossed the Pennsylvania border into West Virginia on our annual pilgrimage to celebrate the Holiday with his family. "The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh, through the white and drifting snow..."

The closer we got to his childhood home, the heavier his foot rested on the gas pedal as our Chevy station wagon climbed the hills on twisting roads and flew on the downside. His rich baritone voice belted the song, and in my imagination we were on that sleigh behind dapple grays in their rhythmic trot. I could hear the clump of their hooves and feel the blowing snow bite my cheeks as we were carried along.

It was magic, pure and simple. A magic that continued for the few days that we stayed in that 'otherworld.'

Today as those memories float pleasantly through my mind, I can almost smell the wonderful aromas of sage dressing, pumpkin pie, and mulled cider that permeated my grandmother's house. And I can hear the bustle of activity accompanied by short bursts of conversation among the women in the kitchen. The front bedroom is where the men gathered and brought out instruments. Their music became another soundtrack.

My brothers, sisters, and I would join other cousins in the back bedroom in between our numerous trips outside. Our biggest challenge was to see who could roll down the hill and retain the most amount of snow, turning ourselves into living snowpeople. The second biggest challenge was to see who would have the honor of receiving the drumsticks. They were doled out on a 'merit' system based loosely on which of us waited the most patiently for the great announcement, "Dinner's Ready."

In the early years of married life I found it a formidable task to create Thanksgiving Days that would live in a similar glory for my children.

We were living in Texas, so mountains and snow were out of the question, and my signing never could quite match my father's. I didn't possess even a tenth of the culinary skills of my grandmother and my aunts, so the meal would probably be lacking. And we were more than a thousand miles away from cousins to help distract my children from their impatience.

But despite those limits, we managed to muddle through. I did manage a passable dinner and my husband actually raved about the German dressing. The pies were a major hit, all ten of them, and everyone was willing to eat the broccoli for the promise of a second piece of pie. And after cheering the Dallas Cowboys to another victory, most years, we would all tumble outside for a family game of touch-football.

In sifting through all these random memories now, I realize that the memory itself is not what is important. What is, is the fact that we have memories and they don't happen by accident. No matter what we do to 'mark' these important occasions, it is vital that we do 'mark' them. Even if our process doesn't live up to a Martha Stewart image or our own fond remembrances of childhood.

So here's to our memories, no matter how we create them.

Shall we Vote

Don’t you just love elections and campaigns and politicians? Someone must think we do because the media is blasting us with news reports, opinions, and paid advertising that is somehow supposed to help us make a decision come next Tuesday. The problem is there is so much spin in politics these days it’s hard for the average voter to sift through and find the truth. Or anything even resembling the truth.

Here in Texas we have a jokester, a grandma, the incumbent Republican, a Democrat with high hopes, and a Libertarian who hasn’t a snowball’s chance of winning, vying for the top state office. When the campaign first started I decided I would vote for the candidate who refrained from making the election about how bad the other guy is and make it about what the people of Texas need in a state leader.

Oh, but I forgot. Politics is all about power and making sure your party has control of said power. Oops! I guess that leaves the people somewhere out in the cold. Hello. Here we are. Can you hear us?

Partisan politics is so entrenched in government that I don’t even remember all the good reasons the two-party system was developed. I remember I learned that in Civics a hundred years ago, but the last twenty years of campaigns has obscured all the positives and highlighted the negatives.

So here I am less than a week from Election Day, and I have no idea who is going to get a nod from me for governor of this great state of Texas. (Oops, those political ads just imprint on the brain sometimes.)

If I go by my original plan, I’d have to vote for the Libertarian. I don’t think he has said anything nasty about the other candidates. Actually, I don’t know what he has said because the man gets next to zero media coverage. Which is too bad, really. He might actually have something worth hearing.

My husband doesn’t vote. Hasn’t for years from when he got fed up with the status quo of political behavior. It’s awful tempting to follow his lead. Just leave the mess alone. But then I’ll be loosing sight of another lesson I learned in Civics lo those many years ago. We have a responsibility to vote, even when we are disillusioned and think the whole system is in the crapper. What would happen if we all decided not to vote?

Growing Older

Yikes. I did it. I applied for Social Security. Wasn’t it just last year that I helped my mother do that? Where have the last twenty years gone?

Getting older has never really bothered me. Some people obsess about turning forty, or fifty, or even sixty, and I can laugh at the “mourning” parties with black frosting on a cake and R.I.P. balloons, but it never really hit me in the gut until I stood in line at the SS administration office amidst all the white-haired ladies and realized I was one of them.

Not that my hair is white – just nicely streaked – and for the record, I am taking early retirement, so I’m not as old as you might be thinking.

I can remember my mother telling me some time ago that she will often pass a mirror and do a double take. “Who is that old lady in my house?” Now I know what she meant, and I’m sure you do, too. Inside we are still young and wrinkle free. In our minds we can still do a full day’s work and run a marathon in the evening. It’s the body that’s on the wrong page.

Last week I was talking to a friend who also has a horse and likes to ride. We were telling stories about our youthful adventures on horses. The wild ones we rode. The thrill of riding bareback at a full gallop. The satisfaction of staying on that one horse that liked to buck for the first five minutes under saddle. Now we both get nervous if our horse does a little jiggy dance and threatens to rear. Old bones are much more brittle than young bones.

Which brings up an interesting question. Should we stop activities that could be dangerous as we age? I know some people willingly take on a more sedentary lifestyle by choice. Others bow to the wishes of adult children who are rightfully concerned for safety.

However, I’d like to think we can find some balance between caution and staying active, even if some of the activities make our kids say, “You did what?”

School Violence

Last week most of us probably watched the news, stunned at the horrible tragedy in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania where Carl Charles Roberts IV entered the Amish schoolhouse and shot 10 girls on October second. I know I couldn’t believe it, and the first thought I had was, “When is it ever going to end?”

When I first wrote my book about school violence in 1993, the research depressed me and I hoped that things would improve. Things had to improve. Children were killing each other, and certainly we could find ways to make the violence stop.

Unfortunately, not much changed, and instead of instances of one child being shot because he or she dissed another child, we had Columbine. The day that news broke, I cried. So many young innocent lives cut short. And I just couldn’t imagine what madness drove Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold into their school in Littleton, Colorado with an arsenal of guns and knives and compelled them to start shooting, killing twelve students and one teacher before turning the guns on themselves.

That tragedy spawned others and when it was time for more research for the third printing of my book, the statistics and stories were even more troubling. It was like some of the worst video games had stepped into reality and kids were playing with real lives.

People can argue all day long that they are just games and have no bearing on school violence, and I say that is a bunch of crap. People aren’t dreaming up these horrible acts of violence. The ideas have to come from somewhere. I’m not saying that a kid plays the game and says, “Wow, this is so much fun, I think I’ll go whack someone.” What I’m saying is the images of the games are planted in the brain and acted on later. A premise, by the way, that is shared by a lot of social scientists.

Of course the video games are not the only cause of violent behavior and probably had little to do with the recent school shootings that have been perpetrated by older men. And I certainly can’t begin to explain why that man in Pennsylvania decided shooting Amish girls was the solution to his emotional problems. Those social scientists are still trying to come up with an explanation for that.

Out of that latest tragedy, however, has come one bright ray of hope for mankind. The day after the shootings, the family members of the girls who were shot forgave Carl Charles Roberts IV. What a powerful testimonial, and one does not have to be Christian to get it.

One of the elements of forgiveness is not to wish evil on the person who wronged us. We don’t have to love that person or embrace that person, simply step back and let go of the need for revenge. That’s a pretty good lesson for all of us, and I sure wish those radical Muslims would get it.

Women Rule

In a recent column that appeared in the Dallas Morning News, Georgie Anne Geyer proposed that women take over the leadership of the United Nations. She was writing in response to the exchange at the U.N. between the Iranian and American presidents who were “playing like spiteful boys in the great hall of the United Nations. They said everything to each other but, ‘Yeah, so’s your old lady!’”

She went on to say that having a woman at the helm of the United Nations just might bring it back to purpose and issue. When I read that, I had a weird sense of déjà vu. A friend and I had just been saying that women need to take over government and get us out of this mess we’re in. Could it be that we are all three on to something?

Not that this is a new thought for me. For years I have said that a mother who has taken care of a family and household for any length of time has acquired skills that would serve her well in tackling the issues that concern us.

A mother’s response to the enmity between the Pope and the Muslims – “The Pope apologized, so get over it already. I am so tired of listening to this bickering.”

A mother’s response to the government spending. – “Okay, here’s the deal. No more spending what we don’t have. I don’t care how much you think you need another bomber. You’re just going to have to wait until we have the money. And all you who just gave yourself a big fat raise. Well, give it back. You didn’t ask if there was enough in the budget for that, and you have no right to take it away from the rest of the family.”

A mother’s response to the immigration issue – “First of all, stop all the name-calling, or I swear you will spend the next year in your room. Secondly, this is not a political issue so stop trying to make it one. Now that everyone has taken a deep breath, let’s look at this rationally. We’re worried about the bullies coming over and wrecking havoc, yet we need some help so certain agricultural businesses don’t go belly-up. So why don’t we let Pedro come over to work legally and pay taxes and pay social security and then go back when the work is finished?”

A mother’s response to the ACLU – “Stop whining. Life is not fair, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t change that basic fact. So chill and stop wasting so much money on lawsuits.”

A mother’s response to government entitlements – “Entitlements? Who said you were entitled to anything? You earn what you get by hard work, and don’t even get me started about congressional retirement packages.”

A mother’s response to partisan politics – “Hello up there. You’re representing us, the people. Remember? When was the last time you voted for something because it was good for the country or good for the people, and not just because it was proposed by your party? And heaven forbid you should support a proposal from the other guy. Why, that might lead to cooperation. Down the road he might even have to consider one of your good ideas.”

By now I’m sure there are a few readers who are screaming through cyberspace, “Are you nuts?”

No. Naïve maybe. Idealistic maybe. But not nuts.

Effects of 9.11

Monday marked the 5th anniversary of the tragic events of 9.11. That day had such a profound effect on all of us; we don’t even need to specify the events. We remember it all simply as 9.11.

Many commentators have ventured that the world has not been the same, since 9.11, and that is true in many ways. That tragedy spawned new wars, greater security concerns for travelers, border issues between Mexico and the United States, and a new American political battleground for arguing which political party can keep the country safer.

But in many ways, nothing has changed.

We are still people driven by bigotry, emotions, and ignorance.

In Monday’s Dallas Morning News, a columnist who is a senior at a Plano high school shared what the “Defining Moment” of 9.11 meant to her. Alaa Al-Barghuthi recalled what it was like five years ago when she heard about the planes hitting the towers and her seventh grade class made patriotic bracelets. She wears the bracelet every year on the anniversary so she can remember, but she said she has no trouble remembering. The pain is still as raw today as it was five years ago. “And five years later, the ignorance is still there.”

She went on to say how a fellow journalist asked her if she celebrates September 11 as a holiday. He didn’t ask the question five years ago. He asked her the other day.

She wrote how she experienced a myriad of feelings … anger…hurt…disgust… and couldn’t even respond to the question. Then she ended up feeling sorry for him and feeling sorry for all the people who can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.

She also wrote that she hopes that not all Americans believe that all Muslims celebrate 9.11 because, “…it is telling all terrorists, all evildoers, all extremists that they have won.”

In conclusion, Alaa defined the enemy not as people but as the evils of hatred, extremism, blame, indifference and ignorance.

I’ll admit that right after 9.11 I lumped all folks who looked like Arabs together in one big pool marked “the enemy.” And I still don’t know how we are supposed to sift out the enemy from the thousands of peaceful Muslims. That is a question that plagues the people who are trying to keep us safe around the world. So maybe we still should be wary of the stranger in the airport, but couldn’t we be a little more open to finding out about the guy next door with the dark skin before we slap a label on him?