April 1, 2026
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No Kings! No Kidding!

Citizen protests, some quiet and peaceful and some not so much, have a long history in this country beginning in the 18th century. As you may remember from school days, the Stamp Act Rebellion (1765), the Boston Tea Party (1773), and the effective boycott of British goods among New England merchants and customers were all effective catalysts leading up to the American Revolution of 1776. 

     The 19th century saw the rise of labor unions and  strikes against authoritarianism in the 1830s in the North, and overt and covert acts of defiant rebellion by enslaved people in the pre-Civil War South. The early 20th century brought land occupations by indigenous people in protest of treaty violations and the illegal acquisition of their territories, while the Suffrage Movement of 1913 had hundreds of women taking to city streets marching for the right to vote.

     Obviously, these events were well before my time, but being a child of the 1960s, how could I not have my own history with protests of all kinds large and small? From sit-ins to walk-outs to teach-ins to boycotts to sign-wielding marches, my protests started quietly one-on-one with the school principal in a girls’ Catholic high school about the length of our skirts, continued on into college with small student rebellions against dorm curfews and co-ed dress codes (again). And then I graduated and moved to New York City where I enrolled in graduate school and encountered big-time protests to almost everything.

     What I didn’t experience first-hand, I witnessed while watching television. There were all the protests and marches for Civil Rights, from Rosa Parks to the Freedom Riders to Dr. King and the March on Washington to John Lewis crossing the Edmund Pettus Bridge. Concurrently, the Vietnam War was raging and young men of my generation who were not wealthy, connected, or academically able to stay in college for advanced degrees, were being drafted in huge numbers. 

     Our large cohort of Baby-Boomers mostly fueled the explosion of anti-war demonstrations on campuses, in the streets, and at public events; these demonstrations were generally not peaceful, with clashes between young people and the police often violent and sometimes tragic: at the Pentagon (1967), at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago (1968), on campus at Kent State University (1970). The 1970s also saw the rise of the Chicano movement and the formation of the United Farm Workers.

     All in all, the second half of the 20th century was a chaotic time with many issues and causes at stake and citizen activism on both local and national levels taking a variety of forms. Issues were serious, intentions were earnest, and many were sad. Who can forget the images of those so-called “tree-huggers” holding on to save the natural environment. 

     Now here we are in the early quarter of the 21st century finding ourselves once again in a period of chaos and division over many of the same basic issues, although the issues are presenting themselves in slightly different ways: civil liberties and government overreach, immigration and discrimination, freedom of the press and political persecution, affordability and economic disparities. And another war. For all our on-going disagreements and societal problems, it is worth celebrating as we arrive at the 250th anniversary of our nation this year, that we have largely preserved where we were as a country in 1776: we still live in a democracy and we still have no king! 

     The current No Kings protests began in June of 2025 as a nationwide, peaceful demonstration organized by a coalition of progressive groups to raise awareness about the growing threats to our democracy by an autocratic leader with a proclivity toward dictatorship and a “billionaire first” administration. The No Kings movement, which grew substantially by the second rally in October, 2025, emphasized that America is managed by laws, not by absolute rulers governing by fiat with Sharpie pens on executive orders.    

     Saturday, March 28 was the third and latest No Kings rally across the Country. This one was notable for several reasons, not the least of which was its size. Organized by Indivisible, Move On, and the 50501 Movement, it included more than 3,300 protest events across the nation in all fifty states plus American Samoa and Puerto Rico, and drew an estimated eight to nine million protesters making it the largest single-day protest in American history. (There were also protests of solidarity in Australia, Canada, Costa Rica, Japan, and Europe.)

     Beyond the crowd sizes, however, this third No Kings rally was remarkable for some other important reasons: first, the marches no longer focus on just one issue, but now include opposition to any and all of a growing number of egregious actions and policies of the Trump administration. Secondly, the geographic reach of the movement, which was originally concentrated in major, mostly blue cities, now extends out from urban centers into small towns and rural areas, well into the solidly red states and counties that Trump won in 2024. There were 80 different protest sites in Texas alone on Saturday, and well over half of them were held in the suburbs. 

     I attended one of them near where I live and it was the best, most-inspiring and hopeful couple hours I have spent in a long, long time. There wasn’t a huge crowd — maybe only 400-500 people — and we didn’t march, rather we laid claim to a large intersection and stood with signs and flags around the four corners. It was peaceful, almost joyful, serious, but also humorous with funny costumes and creative signage: “No crowns for clowns,” “Clean-up on aisle 47 — please!” “Ikea has better cabinets,” “Freedom neat, no ICE.” 

     It was a cool, cloudy day and and easily accessible even for those with walkers and wheelchairs, since a nearby Walmart Super Center conveniently let us park in their huge lot. And it was encouraging to see a collection of so many different people (of many races and ethnicities, retired and  working, old and young, members of both political parties and none), from so many different walks of life (military, teachers, artists, farmers, business owners, mothers with kids in tow), and other areas of the country (since so many local residents have moved here from somewhere else). In short, it was a welcome reminder that not all Americans are “ugly Americans,” even these days.

     There were no altercations at Saturday’s rally, though there was one MAGA nut on a motorcycle who kept racing up and down and around the corners spewing obscenities and playing loud music, but a sheriff soon started “escorting” him back and forth at a distance while curbside protesters smiled and laughed and some yelled “God bless you.” I had discussions with veteran protesters about precautions they always take no matter where they go, things like being careful with signs on posts that could be considered a weapon if a kerfuffle developed, or wearing a scarf and having water to wet it should tear gas be exploded, but gratefully, those warnings seemed more in line for the protests in the 1960s than here in 2026 where  organizers were giving out free donuts and American flags.

     So here’s the bottom line: Protests alone, no matter how big or loud or civil, cannot change situations overnight, but they can build the power of public opinion by exposing the issues, garnering attention and galvanizing support. Then it is up to each citizen to find other ways to get involved to effect meaningful change. There was a booth set up for voter registration at Saturday’s rally and I was pleased to see young people taking advantage of that opportunity.  Voting, especially this year, is the most immediate way to show disapproval with the status quo and with the politicians who support it. 

     I was discussing my plan to attend the rally beforehand with a friend and she said that, while she had thought about going, she felt afraid of what might happen. That did it for me. I realized then that intimidation is the primary tool being wielded by this administration (and dictators everywhere) to control everyone and everything not only in the country, but in the world. And since I have never been intimidated by anyone or anything in my entire life, I’m sure not about to shrivel up and start now. So it felt good to show up on Saturday; it sort of reminded me of who I am.

     The next nationally planned event is scheduled for Friday, May 1 and will emphasize workers over billionaires mostly through inaction this time: No work, No school, No shopping. Look for details on indivisible.org or mobilize.us 

March 9, 2026
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Wait!

 I have been screaming “Wait!” for almost as many years as I have known my husband. I tell him that one day I will have WAIT engraved on his tombstone (and I will mean it). He is a died-in-the-wool New Yorker, who walks fast, talks fast, and hurries on to the next block, event, task — no matter where we are or what we are about. Initially, in our early marriage (56 years ago), I used to get very upset about the fact that he was always ahead of me, striding along Fifth Avenue in New York, or abandoning me in stores and malls, or even sweeping up the dinner dishes at home while I was still on my last fork full of food. But now, I have gotten used to this hyper sweep. I still scream “Wait,” but I also maintain my own pace, figuring that eventually he will meet up with me again. And if not, I know I can find my own way home. 

     Waiting. It is a national curse. Estimates are that Americans spend 37 billion hours a year just waiting. Can you believe it?!  Actually, if you are one of those who commute, or sit in office waiting rooms, or hold on line for customer service, or stand in security at the airport, or wait in check-outs at the supermarket, you won’t be surprised by that figure. Waiting is a waste of life and an annoying reality for all of us. Waiting; what a waste.

     There are actually studies on waiting, including those on Waitwhile (an on-line appointment scheduling platform) and from queuing theory experts at MIT. (Who knew there were such people?) Anyway, based on average longevity, a person spends approximately five years waiting in lines and queues over a lifetime. In normal daily life, individuals spend roughly 13 hours annually waiting on hold for customer service. Sound familiar? According to the 2025 Urban Mobility Report, the average driver lost 63 hours of road time to traffic congestion in 2024. 

     Personally, I believe that is a conservative figure, considering the amount of traffic congestion I experience here in San Antonio where the entire city, including right where I live, seems to be under construction. The current project to widen a two-lane street to four lanes along the main entrance to my own neighborhood has created a monumental neighborhood back-up every time I want to go out. Some days, the line to get out of my own neighborhood is so bad that I ask myself, “Do I really need to go to this store/shop/appointment today after all?” Even when the answer is yes, I often turn around and come back home.

     I’m not alone in my low threshold of patience. Again, studies show that 70 percent of consumers are only willing to wait a maximum of 18 minutes in a physical line before feeling frustrated; 73 percent of shoppers will abandon a purchase if they have to wait longer than five minutes. I can vouch for that; not long ago, having actually waited more than 20 minutes, I walked away from a cart full of purchases at Target, left it right there in the check-out line. Again, “Do I really need this stuff?” No. Outta’ here.

     Over the years I have been frustrated by long waits at medical offices, particularly when waiting for appointments with my aged mother. Who says a retired person’s time is worth any less than anyone else’s? I’m retired myself now, but even when I wasn’t, I ultimately decided that my time and my schedule was worth as much as any provider’s. So, I established a wait limit for an appointment made in advance at 30 minutes;  after that, I announce, politely, that I am leaving. I still do this though, obviously, if I am being accommodated in an emergency, then that is another story. And I am grateful for the wait.

     To be sure, there are times when waiting is an act of care and compassion: when you accompany someone and wait with them for an appointment or a procedure, for chemo infusion or surgery, for a legal procedure in court or a professional appointment they cannot handle on their own. There are times when you might just choose to sit and wait with a friend or family member who is ill, or frightened, or in need of your presence for consolation. And there are times when waiting is patriotic, such as in the recent political primaries, when you are willing to wait in line to vote because you want your voice to be heard. 

     These are all waiting by choice and hardly a waste of time because you are doing it for a good reason, for someone or something you care about. In such situations, I am reminded of the famous line from a sonnet, “When I Consider How My Life Is Spent,” by 17th century poet John Milton: “They also serve who only stand [sit] and wait.”  In other words, Milton meant that you can serve God and others through patience and acceptance.

     But you don’t serve anyone too well if you lose all your patience, and your self, waiting for stupid stuff — which begs the greater, more important question of what exactly is “stupid stuff?”

Think about it…

February 18, 2026
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Ash Wednesday

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… Ashes in the form of a cross on the forehead identifies penitential believers and marks the beginning of the forty day period of prayer, fasting, and sacrifice Catholics and other Christian denominations know as Lent. The ashes are a visible reminder of our human mortality: “Dust you are and to dust you will return.” (Genesis 3:19) 

     I went to Mass today, but I didn’t stay for the distribution of ashes.  At my age and, unfortunately after my many experiences with the death and loss of loved ones that started when I was very young (along with a few close calls of my own), I don’t need any reminders about mortality. Nevertheless, while Lent is a somber season mostly spent in somber, mid-winter months, I will admit that personal reflection and a focus on spiritual life seem particularly well-suited to this time of year.

     As is the case with so many religious days, Lent was established by the Council of Nicea way back in 325 AD as a sort of Christian Passover to prepare for the celebration of Easter, (which itself has roots in ancient rites of spring). The prevailing themes of mourning and repentance trace their origins to the donning of “sackcloth and ashes” among figures in the Old Testament. See Mordecai (Esther 4:1), Job (Job 42:6), Daniel (Daniel 9:3), and Jonah (Jonah 3:6). 

     In 601 A D, Pope Gregory built on the recorded stories in the Bible of 40 days being integral to self reflection and spiritual renewal: Noah spent 40 days in the floods, Elijah walked 40 days in the wilderness, and of course, Jesus spent 40 days in the desert before his passion and death on the cross. Thus Lent was established as 40 days before Easter of prayer and fasting, plus six Sundays when fasting does not apply. 

     We Catholics still fast (eat fewer smaller meals) and abstain (from eating meat) on certain days, but in general, those rules have relaxed considerably over the decades. Older people who remember the old traditions still “give up” something they especially like for Lent such as ice cream or chocolate, and then allow themselves to enjoy that treat on Sundays. These days, though, the emphasis for practicing Catholics is more on participating in Lenten devotions and trying to be charitable in word and deed.

     Personally, the idea of Lent as a time spent in the barrenness of the desert appeals to me, maybe because I just naturally love deserts. They are quiet and pure, vast and wondrous, totally without distractions. Whether it’s the towering rocks of the 7 Pillars of Wisdom in Jordan, or the red rock vortex canyons of Sedona, or the dynamic shades of sifting sands from orange to red to beige to black in the Sahara, a desert is conducive to peace and reflection — to prayer, if you will. You don’t have to look hard to find humility in a desert and you don’t have to dig deep to come face to face with the realities of your own existence..

     Coincidentally, I recently read a small piece written by a priest in a local church bulletin suggesting ways to create a a “personal desert” without traveling to one. The first suggestion was to try to limit distractions and reduce the incessant noise of daily life — the news bulletins and demands of social media, the beeps and burps of the cell phone, the web surfing and the rabbit holes that draw us in, even the chatter of friends and neighbors. Another idea was to deliberately slow the pace of daily living by paying attention to the present moment and not racing from one thing, one task, one place to another. Only by creating some quiet time for reading and reflection, even simply for some rest, can we hope to find the desert silence required to truly be in touch with ourselves and achieve any sort of spiritual rejuvenation.

     And just today, Pope Leo XIV used the Ash Wednesday Mass and homily to reflect on the meaning of ashes on the heads of the faithful, not so much as a reminder of our own individual mortality, but as a reminder of the current death in our world, “…in the ashes imposed on us by the weight of a world that is ablaze, of entire cities destroyed by war.” He went on to bemoan “the ashes of international law and justice …the ashes of entire ecosystems and harmony among people…the ashes of that sense of the sacred that dwells in every creature.” (National Catholic Register, 2/18/26)  At last, a world leader who is an American that makes me proud. 

     As I struggle particularly these days with the chaos in the world and the fears and challenges in my own life, I return once again as I so often do, to my favorite poet, T.S. Eliot and my favorite poem, “Ash Wednesday.” It was written in 1930 when conditions in the world were brewing very much as they are now and when Eliot was struggling to find his own place in literature, in politics, and in religion. Realizing that only a loss of hope can come from relying on what is only earthly and human, he knows he has to turn from the world in an attempt to leap to faith. And my favorite poet pens one of my favorite lines, a prayer line really, from my favorite poem. It is a prayer I have been been repeating for most of my life, but one perhaps especially  relevant this year:

                     “Teach us to care and not to care; Teach us to sit still.”

February 6, 2026
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Sweet Hearts

 Growing up, I went to a Catholic girls’ school K through 12. The whole school was housed in one giant brick building with a huge playground on a full city block. The first floor housed the elementary school and extended out into a large gymnasium; the entire second floor was the high school including science labs and special facilities, as well as administrative offices. A cafeteria that could seat the entire student body if necessary was in the basement with walkouts to the playground. Now there are all sorts of stories to be related about this primary educational experience in a small town in Texas, but for now, we will talk about Valentine’s Day.

     Every holiday and every holyday at Nazareth Academy was an event. The good nuns (yes, we had nuns as teachers then, and they lived in a convent across the street from the school) helped us mark our days throughout the year, teaching us as we went about the historic, secular, or religious significance of the special ones. Bulletin boards were always decorated in celebration of whatever occasion was at hand, and often we students helped to create those decorations. Visitors actually came from other schools and other towns to see the lavish Christmas decorations fashioned by talented teachers and students at NA. (No doubt all this was the genesis of my life-long determination to decorate my own home and my own classrooms for every event, however obscure.)

     But back to elementary school. When Valentine’s Day was on the horizon, the good nuns started creating hearts and flowers in pink and red and, of course, delivering information about St. Valentine and the origin of the day. That history contains several different legends, but interestingly, almost everywhere in the world that Valentine’s Day is celebrated, the date is always February 14. The nuns, of course, attributed that to St. Valentine. 

     As is so often the case with religious holidays, however, the significance of February 14 had some pagan roots well before the advent of Christianity. One tradition claims it was a holiday in ancient Rome called Lupercalia, which marked the beginnings of spring. Another attributes it to a Roman festival called Juno February during which young people chose their future spouses by picking a name out of a paper box (an important historic detail here to keep in mind.) 

     We don’t actually meet St. Valentine until the third century in Rome, just as Christianity was beginning to spread. Legend has it that Emperor Claudius II (268-270 AD) issued a law forbidding young men to marry, ostensibly so they would not have family ties when being conscripted for the army. The real reason, though, was to prevent the spread of Christian marriages. A young physician-turned-priest named Valentinus thought this unjust and so began secretly performing marriages among Christian couples. When the Emperor found out, Valentinus was arrested and stoned to death on February 14, 269. In 496, Pope Gelasius decreed that February 14 be celebrated as St. Valentine’s Day.

     There are variations on the particular story of St. Valentine, and even indications that there might have been more than one Valentine, but the February 14 date of celebration has endured down through the centuries. And wherever Valentine’s Day is celebrated, it is always associated with love, marriage, and friendship. In the United States, Valentine’s is a huge commercial holiday, with spending on flowers, candy, jewelry, clothing, cards, and dining projected to exceed $29 billion in 2026 (according to the National Retail Federation). Over half of all adults celebrate the holiday and, according to the National Restaurant Association, Valentine’s is second only to Mother’s Day for dining out. Affordability be damned.

     So, okay, back to elementary school. There was always a Valentine’s Day party planned each year for the class.  We (our moms) would bring in cupcakes and cookies, and we (students) would bring in our decorated shoebox “mailboxes” to receive all the little Valentine cards from our classmates. We set out our boxes on the wide sill beneath the tall windows on one side of the classroom. There was always an unspoken competition among us for the best, most elaborate, most unusual “mailbox,” but never over the number of Valentines received. In true Christian fashion, we were instructed to deposit a signed Valentine in every classmate’s box, whether we were personal friends or not. No one was to be left out (and those who didn’t have a shoebox at home were somehow always provided with one to decorate). 

     Now that I’ve discovered  the history of Juno February, I see where the idea of those little mailboxes might have originated. And now that I have gone out looking for packages of those inexpensive Valentine’s cards for children in preparation for this post, I’ve found that not only are the cards still sold, but already decorated “mailboxes” with slits in the top are on supermarket shelves as well. (Photo above.) Hallmark even sells Valentine classroom kits with a box, stickers, and 32 cards, including a special one for the teacher (for around $10). Guess busy parents, and even the kids themselves, no longer have the time to shop, think and create.

     Funny how a brief glimpse into the remote past can further inform the present so many years later. For example, in writing this, I realize that the fact that I went to school for 12 years with essentially the same group of 59 girls (the number in our graduating class) explains why, even at this age, I still have a number of childhood friends of over 70 years duration. Making Valentines and mailboxes explains why I still make some Valentine’s cards and send out quite a few each year; and thinking about those cupcakes at the parties explains why I have made, and continue to make, heart-shaped cupcakes with pink icing every year since our son was a little boy. Most of all, I am reminded that thoughts of the people I love and the friends I cherish make Valentine’s Day a warm, sunny day in an otherwise cold, grey and depressing month.

January 21, 2026
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A New Year in “Nots”

  I have a t-shirt that reads, “Sorry I’m late, but I didn’t want to come.” Every time I wear this shirt out in public, I get two or three people who come up to me with some version of, “OMG. Your shirt. That’s my life.!” 

     Usually, the comments come from women, but recently a young man saw me walking toward him as he hopped out of the pick-up he had just pulled in next to my car. “Oh man,” he said, leaning back against his truck door like James Dean. “I reaaaally like that shirt; that is my story to a T. I hate my job, I don’t like where I live, and I don’t like any of the things my friends want me to do.” 

     “Well,” I said, “sounds like you need to be more than late. Maybe you need to rethink showing up at all!” He laughed and nodded with resignation. (I see the potential for a pop-up therapy truck in my future.)

     The truth is that we all spend time doing things we don’t want to do. We attend  funerals, we go to doctors and dentists, we show up at big events and eat rubber chicken, we sit through boring meetings and performances, we work on committees, we indulge the pontifications of relatives, the list goes on and on and on … Sometimes, we really have no choice: our presence is a matter of respect, obligation, or plain necessity (such as for those jobs we hate or the medical tests we need). 

     But sometimes we just “keep on keeping on,” doing things we don’t want to do out of sheer habit, because we have always hosted Christmas Eve supper, or we have always chaired the community fundraiser, or we have always stifled our opinions in an effort to be congenial. And come January every year, we make New Year’s resolutions for positive self-improvement, not because we actually believe that we will accomplish those goals, but because we have always made resolutions in January.

     In a recent letter to the editor that appeared on the opinion page of our local newspaper, writer Charles Lincoln, IV claims that the failure of our resolutions is not an accident, but the whole point. “The resolution allows us to enjoy, in advance, the fantasy of having changed without enduring the discomfort of actually doing so.” (“Do a resolution revamp,” San Antonio Express News, 1/12/26)  Hmmm… I see the potential for a pop-up therapy truck in Mr. Lincoln’s future too.

     He goes on to suggest that maybe we would all be better off to stop promising self-improvement altogether — “Not to aim lower, but to aim differently.” With that thought in mind, I have taken a different approach to my own resolutions this year by pursuing self-preservation instead. Here then is a short, but important list of things I am determined NOT to do again.

      1. I will NOT say yes when I really mean no. This has been a perennial challenge for me, as it is for a lot of women. I’ve made incremental progress by shortening the list of excuses I offer when I say no, but still … After overhearing a rambling phone conversation one day, my husband said to me, “Why don’t you just say NO and leave it at that? You can be polite and add a ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ if that makes you feel better, but honestly… pull a Nancy Reagan.”

     2.  I will NOT attend a big event, any kind of event, in a huge outdoor or indoor arena designed to hold thousands of people. (Yes, that means concerts, sporting events, conventions, even rodeos!) The traffic, long lines to park in assigned lots, the long lines to enter and go through security, a mighty climb up into the stands and over other people to get to your seat, not to mention the noise, the food smells, the discomfort, and the expense of it all — well, I guess I’m just finally too old for all that.

      3.  I will NOT take anymore long-haul flights (10, 12, 18 hours or more) or even domestic flights with multiple legs and layovers. I’d say that if I can’t go non-stop, I won’t go at all, but even a non-stop on one of the world’s best airlines can be too long. (A non-stop from Houston to Dubai on Emirates is 15 hours, which I know because I’ve done it). I love to travel, but getting there is no longer even half the fun.

     4. I will NOT complacently allow anyone or anything to waste my time anymore, not with idle chitchat or requests for small favors or unexpected interruptions or anything else. No matter how rude or dismissive I might seem  when I say “no” or excuse myself, I will protect my time because time is life itself.  There is simply nothing more precious we can give someone else, and nothing more valuable that can be robbed from us.

     As I re-read this list of NOTS, I realize that they reflect my age more than my desire for self-preservation. The truth is I’m getting older, I’m tired, and I’m out of patience with any and all rigamarole. Time has always been “of the essence” for me, but now I’m at the stage of life when that essence is imminent.

January 8, 2026
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It’s About Time…

(Photo Credit: Jon Tyson)

  Time: in good time, big time, time-out, just in time, terrible time, waste of time, the time is now, pastime, no time, too much time, take the time, buy some time, time and time again, timing is everything…

     Linguists will tell you that much can be learned about a people’s values and occupations by the vocabulary of their language and common word usage. For example: indigenous Arctic people (Inuit, Yupik, Sámi) have languages rich with vocabulary words to describe specific conditions of ice and snow. Some dialects are cited as having dozens (even hundreds) of words reflecting the most minute particulars of the Arctic environment, not because the people are so linguistically persnickety, but because their lives depend on exact descriptions of their environment in order to hunt, to fish, to survive.

     Actually, the same sort of linguistic indicators can be observed among almost any cohesive culture or group. Employees in a particular company share a sort of “corporate speak” that indicates not only their actual work, but also the products and services they provide. Lawyers are famous for their “legalese,” medical professionals for their “medicalese,” and engineers for their technical jargon — all meant to clarify specific, often complex, concepts and procedures, but generally best understood only by others in their same circles of endeavor. (As a matter of fact, every language is best understood by others who share the same one; the difficulty of finding word-to-word equivalencies among different dialects is what makes the art of translation truly such an art.)

     In America, we are all about work and efficiency, speed and progress, and our numerous, almost constant references to time indicate just how preoccupied with it most of us are: get it done, 24/7, in the nick of time, because time is money!!! Not surprisingly, it was another extremely industrious and progressive civilization, the ancient Egyptians, who first used daylight shadow clocks to divide the day into 12 segments and star movements to divide the night into 12 periods. Eventually, this is how the 24 hour day originated (though mechanical clocks to track it did not appear until the 14th century).

     Whether you believe it or not, time as simply a unit of measurement is a totally neutral concept. We try to manage it, but it feels different depending on whether we perceive it as helpful, hindering, or downright harassing. Regardless, time passes in life no matter how much we try to control it, so making peace with its flow by embracing the moments (good or bad) or acting with purpose (successfully or not) is about the only way to make it work on your behalf.

     Too often we only think about time in a negative way, as a sort of oppressive overlord, but it has so many practical, indispensable uses. For one thing, where would our sense of history be without the broad period calendar designations in years: BC/AD or BCE/CE referring to the timelines of history or Circa for approximate dates, or decades and centuries (15th, 20th, etc.) Then there is the matter of telling time, the a.m/p.m. suffixes to distinguish the morning (ante-meridien) from the afternoon/evening (post Meridien). The uniformity of these designations eliminates ambiguity for international/military/business coordination. Likewise, geographical and universal designations based on longitude (time zones) standardizes regions out of coordinated Universal Time for commercial and social uniformity (with adjustments for daylight savings time).

     Think about it: time is how we structure events so as to better understand when things happened and how they relate to each other; time coordinates meetings, travel and schedules; time places the cycles and eras of mankind in context allowing us to gain a long-view perspective; and time provides clarity between local time and a universal standard so that everyone, no matter where they are, can act and communicate “in real time.” Without a clock to track the day, nothing would run, nothing would work—time itself would not stand still, but certainly everything and everyone else would.

     Time measured in days and hours is the framework of our lives. As writer Annie Dillard so famously stated, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” A long life in terms of years is not necessarily a fruitful or valuable one when measured by contributions to society, nor is a life cut short necessarily wasted.  Just look at the famous contributions made by Joan of Arc (executed at 19), Louis Braille who developed the tactile writing system for the blind at 15 (died at 43), Mozart who wrote his first symphony at 8 (dead at 35), Martin Luther King who led the Civil Rights Movement (assassinated at 39), or Hollywood legend James Dean who only made three films before dying at 24. 

     None of these examples is to imply that one’s contributions have to be of major national, global, or historical importance in order to BE important. The worth of a life is not measured by grand gestures, world-wide fame or massive fortunes, but rather by the positive effects of love, influence and inspiration on others, be they family members, co-workers, neighbors, friends or sometimes even strangers. 

     Time does, in fact, have something in common with money, in that it is not how much you have, but how you spend it that ultimately matters. To ensure the value of our lives, we need to get on with it, because “time waits for no man.”

December 28, 2025
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Ho Ho Hum…

 Ahhhh, Christmas is over. Cards have been sent, gifts have been given, meals have been eaten, and all that remains are the leftovers and the trash to be put out in the next collection. Unless you have big plans for New Year’s Eve, this period between Christmas and New Year’s should be a reprieve of sorts, a time-out from all the hustle of the holidays and a chance to catch our collective breaths in anticipation of the year to come.

     Ideally, that’s what this period should be, but I’ll admit it: some of us have a hard time with time-outs. Having whirled myself into a dervish getting ready for a holiday or big event, I find it almost impossible to just sit and relax knowing that all the work of cleaning up and putting everything away lies ahead. That is particularly true at Christmas, when holiday decorations have appeared in stores before Halloween, carols have been playing on the radio before Thanksgiving, and retailers have been counting the shopping days ‘till Christmas for months already.  I’m so tired of it all by the time it actually arrives that I can hardly wait for it to be over.  And I’m ready for the decorations to go too.

     If I were having a New Year’s Eve fete, which I did have for many, many years, I wouldn’t mind leaving the tree and the outdoor lighting in place. It’s a festive backdrop, after all. But I’m not having New Year’s Eve parties anymore; heck, I’m not even able to stay up past 10 o’clock to watch the ball drop in Time’s Square on television! Anyway, the last thing I ever needed after those late-night parties was to get up in the morning and face dirty dishes, full ashtrays, and stepped-on streamers. These days, why would I want to face leftover Christmas decorations all over the house?

      Somewhere along the way, someone said to me, “Why put off ‘till tomorrow what you can do today?“ I took that advice to heart, and it solidified into a life-long mantra. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had an active “to-do” list, generally written down on paper, but also ever-present in my head. To-do lists are the hallmarks of a compulsive personality (or of someone afraid of losing her grip). Either way, the list describes a driven woman. Yep. That’s me.

     Relating that advice to Christmas, or any other big event within a specific time frame, there are only so many tomorrows onto which you can reasonably postpone the after-chores. For example, wedding etiquette “suggests” that you have six months post-ceremony in which to write and send your thank-you notes for gifts. Common etiquette also “suggests” prompt thank-you notes for any gifts for any occasion, as well as a prompt RSVP to any invitations to a special event. Of course, to the chagrin of party hosts, and the disappointment of grandparents everywhere, far too many people these days are either careless or clueless about any such social niceties. 

     Of course there are sometimes valid reasons for delayed responses. It’s not uncommon, for example, for Christmas decorations in churches and homes to be left up until at least January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany, even sometimes a bit longer. There are also serious reasons, such as a family illness or sudden calamity, that necessitate suspending the urgency of a to-do list. And then there are those who, after years of doing what they are “supposed” to do, just say “Who cares?”  I have one friend who has so often left her Christmas tree up for months into the New Year that she ultimately decides in the fall that she just as well leave it there for a couple more months until December! 

     All I know is that the whole holiday season seems to have become one giant party leaving a giant holiday hangover in its wake. Even if you don’t host or attend actual parties, there are still all the leftovers of a party at home to be taken care of, not only seasonal decorations, but also dishes, serving pieces, and linens, gift boxes, wrapping paper and salvaged bows, phone calls, text messages, and e-mails to be answered, and yes, those actual leftovers in the fridge. The holiday dismantling and storing away takes almost as long as unpacking and setting up everything in the first place. 

     To be sure, lest I sound like a real Scrooge-ette, I am grateful that I have a home to decorate, a family for whom to cook and with whom to celebrate, and friends who care enough to get in touch, send cards or otherwise show that they are thinking of me. And I actually look forward to December 26th, not because I am eager to begin tackling the work of major clean-up, but because I really do enjoy some of the quieter, more contemplative activities such as journaling in my annual Christmas book, reviewing all my holiday photographs, and even writing a few thank-you notes. I make no big plans for the day after Christmas (which is also my Feast Day) other than to sleep late, enjoy examining some of my gifts, and maybe starting this year-end blog post. 

     So, I wish you all some peace and calm during these intermezzo days before the New Year. Certainly, we can all use the time to catch our collective breaths before the advent of 2026, which by all indications promises to be anything but peaceful and calm.

December 9, 2025
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Christmas Comes …

 So here we are less than three weeks before Christmas, and I am still ordering on line. Not that I am giving a lot of gifts to people, since our family and friends have long since decided we don’t need any more stuff and don’t need to be packing up and standing in line to mail packages. Nevertheless, I do need some last-minute items for cooking and decorating and some small gifts for those whose services I value in my life.  Amazon Prime beats going out to stores, even local ones, considering the traffic and construction all around us here in San Antonio.

     Our little family just returned from spending the Thanksgiving holidays on Cape Cod, thereby revisiting an annual tradition we established years ago while living in Connecticut. It was wonderful; the gods of weather, air travel, and good health smiled on us and we enjoyed what really became a perfect trip. It was our Christmas gift to ourselves, which is a good thing since the shopping days ‘till Christmas this year are considerably abbreviated. But I do have to admit to some holiday rush since I have spent the last week putting away fall decorations before even starting to think about Christmas.

     Part of the challenge is that for a couple years now I have been conscientiously eliminating roughly half of all my seasonal decoration (for each season) as I take them out. Just too much stuff, and too much to arrange, to take care of,  and to put away and store for another year. Honestly, a lot of the decorating for Christmas has become really arduous as we age. This year, for example, the huge four-foot lighted wreath we’ve always mounted high over the garage was put out to the curb for free on a neighborhood marketplace site, first come first serve. Gone in minutes. Gone also are the lighted small trees in the front yard and a big fancy wreath on the front door. Instead, I ordered a lighted wreath from Balsam Hill to match the garland we have over the doors, and a lighted deer to stand sentry on our front entry way. Pretty, but simple.

     But then there is still the matter of the huge, 9 foot artificial tree, ordered two years ago to replace the really, really arduous task of going out and finding a 10-12 foot Noble Fir at a local nursery. We had always had a real tree, and a tall one, our whole lives, but a couple years ago we got the tree stuck in the doorway and had to ask a neighbor to help us get it unstuck and into the house. Once inside, I won’t even talk about the difficulty of getting a tree that size upright and into a sturdy stand. So we gave in to the limitations of age and ordered a lighted artificial Vermont White Spruce from Balsam Hill. It’s beautiful and realistic, but it is not exactly easy to get assembled and upright either. (And by the way, no, I am not being paid to promote Balsam Hill.)

     Now I’m trying to get the indoors decorated bit by bit, dragging out a few storage bins at a time and sorting out the give-aways from the sell-aways. But that effort, too, takes time, as you have to photograph, post and write a description on whatever site, and then be available to either pack and ship to the buyer or to meet and exchange in person. My church is also having a silent auction to raise money and so gathering those items, researching their valuations, and delivering them for the event next month has become yet another little holiday chore, albeit one with good intentions. Later this week, I hope to be done with all the carting and sorting and ready to make my final trip to Goodwill. And then I can start my Christmas baking.

     Though I don’t host dinner parties or huge open houses anymore, I still make some time-honored recipes every year for our little family. The Christmas cookies are a must. I have used a Pillsbury “Make-Ahead Cookie Mix” recipe for over 50 years (from a 1970s booklet). With just a couple additional ingredients to the basic mix, this recipe can be turned into eight dozen of ten  different favorite holiday cookies including decorated sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, and those famous peanut blossoms with the Hershey kisses on top. I also make my Mother’s fudge recipe, which again is an easy one using Eagle Brand Sweetened Condensed milk and chocolate chips. And then there is always the cherry trifle for Christmas Day. 

     Usually during the holidays, I also make pistachio biscotti and even brioche rolls for Christmas dinner, depending on the entrée. It’s a lot of food for a small family, but tradition is tradition — sort of like midnight Mass and gifts on Christmas Eve. As I do with decorating, I spread all this cooking and baking out over several days too, but this year the days are few — and I’m tired already. 

    And when I get tired, my ho-ho-hos turn bah-humbuggy, so let me get this finished and posted before that happens.

November 15, 2025
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Gratitude

So, here we are at Thanksgiving, a time when everyone is supposed to count their blessings around the dinner table.  The attitude of the season is gratitude and, in truth, while the search for reasons to give thanks might be difficult when times are tough, the effort to find them and express them is worthwhile and even empowering.

     Certainly, this has not been an easy year for many, myself and my family included. Whether the struggles were strictly personal or brought on by broader national policies and global events, the fear, stress and worry over so many issues is enough to make all of us mentally, emotionally and physically ill. Gratitude? Really? How do you muster gratitude while feeling so overwhelmed by multiple, conflicting concerns?

      Call me a cold-eyed realist, but I think these days gratitude can only be found by digging deep down inside and recognizing the realities and limitations of your own existence. Only then can you determine what you might rightfully be grateful for. Keep it simple — which is not easy when life is anything but. 

     To that end, I offer my own expression of gratitudes and wish you some moments of quiet reflection over this Thanksgiving. 

    Grant Me The Grace

In a climate of chaos
Of hate and division,
When war is called peace
And history’s revision,
     Grant me the grace to be grateful…
          For what I know.

When people are suffering
And many are needy,
When fairness has failed them
Because of the greedy,
     Grant me the grace to be grateful …
          For what I have.

In a season of loss
A time of despair,
A period of mourning
For those who aren’t there,
     Grant me the grace to be grateful …
          For those I love.

When others moan and groan
And constantly complain,
About every inconvenience
And every ache and pain,
     Grant me the grace to be grateful …
          For simply being alive.

November 7, 2025
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That Time of Year

 It’s what I have come to call “That time of year” again — the late fall days in November between holidays when daylight savings time ends and the twinkle of Christmas lights begin to  illuminate the darkness. The year is winding down, the New Year is rapidly approaching, and already everyone is asking where the time (and money) went. But for me, these November days bring a mood of ennui. People ask me, “What is wrong? You don’t seem like yourself.” 

     “It’s just that time of year,” I say. 

     Back when I was in the thick of my career and had numerous family members, friends and colleagues nearby, my social calendar for the whole holiday season would start filling in by mid-November and the stress of planning, baking, shopping, mailing gifts and addressing cards would reach a fevered pitch by Thanksgiving. Of course, while living in the Northeast, weather was  always an ever-present threat to those eagerly anticipated holiday plans. 

     But all this worry and anxiety now  — not so much. We aren’t very social anymore, haven’t  many family or friends in the area, don’t attend work-related events, and aren’t heavily involved in clubs and organizations any longer. My closest friends and family called a moratorium on gift giving ages ago (nobody needs more stuff and nobody needs to stand in long lines at the post office to mail packages that probably won’t arrive on time anyway!)  I’ve been culling my holiday decorations as I unpack them for several years now, finally gave in and bought an artificial tree, and have long since sold all my china, crystal and silver with place settings for twelve. At my age, who needs to take care of all this stuff, much less store it.

     Now I don’t mean to sound like a South Texas Scrooge, but you know what?  Shedding all that merry-making effort is freeing. I may feel a bit at loose ends during this “time of year,” but I’m not as stressed and certainly not as frantic about meeting all the expectations of others with those family dinners, wrapping gifts, writing cards, making calls, etc. I’ll admit it: I can relax a little, and even chuckle while watching everyone else race to the “doorbuster specials.” Been there, done that — all of it and then some.

     Thankfully, some “fallish” weather has finally arrived here, albeit in wild, almost daily swings of 50 degree temperatures. I sometimes have to bundle up for my morning walk in 40° and then don a light-weight T-shirt in a 90° afternoon outing. We are constantly adjusting our thermostat from air to heat to off, but hey! This is Texas, and temperatures aren’t the only weather story. 

     November days here are generally crisp and clear without a single cloud in the pure blue sky above; sudden dust-ups of wind swirl leaves and sway trees and the sun is somehow lower and less intense overhead.  Now that the clocks have changed and the sun sets earlier, my husband and I have started to sit out on our patio in the dusk of a late afternoon and enjoy a glass of wine among the arrangement of pumpkins and mums around the fireplace. Now that we’ve finally found outdoor furniture cushions that the squirrels won’t tear apart, we can even enjoy them and their antics as they scamper about the yard. It’s a calm, civilized way to end the day.

     Now that I’ve slowed down enough to “smell the roses” (and we do grow roses in our garden), I find time to pay more attention to Mother Nature and find her signs of each season to be both a comfort and an education. The one great thing Texas has is the vast open sky, and it was the one thing I always missed when we didn’t live here. Even in urban areas and neighborhoods where I live now, views of the night sky are broad and accessible. 

     At the moment, we are experiencing another full moon, this year also a supermoon, called the Beaver Moon (its high was Nov. 5). It was given that name by early Native Americans because beavers were most actively preparing for winter in November by stockpiling their food caches and fortifying their underwater lodges and dams. Thus, they were out and about and more plentiful, which meant that hunters were also out and about after them. Beaver fur thickens in the fall and so their pelts are warm and waterproof, and therefore desirable for human protection in winter. Not surprisingly, the Beaver Moon also came to represent an astrological and spiritual period of  preparation and reflection for the darkness of winter to come. 

     Regardless of today’s push to rewrite history and eliminate “wokeness,” there is no doubt that much of our own American history and spiritual values emanate from early Native American practices and beliefs such as all those about the harvest and preparations for winter. I’m sure many remember those pictures in history books of newly-arrived pilgrims alongside Native Americans celebrating the first Thanksgiving with corn and foul. (Wonder if such pictures have been purged from elementary-school books by now?)  Today, November means Thanksgiving to almost everybody, even though it took until 1941 for the 4th Thursday of November to become a nationwide federal holiday of celebration.

     The great thing about Thanksgiving is that it is a truly American,  non-secterian designation honored by all faiths and all ethnic groups, each in their own way, as a collective expression of gratitude for the bounty and the beauty of the American experience. While it may aptly be considered as “the calm before the storm” of the holiday shopping season, Thanksgiving has managed to resist the crass commercialism of other major holidays and to retain a clarity of values and purpose. Our families — large or small, blended or intact, old or young,  religious or nones, multi-ethnic or monocultural — as messy and contentious as they might be, are who we are. And we willingly come together to share a meal and spend time with each other.  

     The meal matters, of course. Many of us have vague recollections of  those Norman Rockwell images of the perfect family (that don’t look anything like us) gathered around the holiday table, but spending time with those we love IS what matters most. As I reflect on “that time of year” that is November, I realize that time itself is the greatest gift of all.