December 15, 2024
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Puppy Love

 Fifty years ago this Christmas we got our first “show” puppy (meaning a pure bred canine with all the lineage and breeder certifications behind it to qualify for American Kennel Club shows). He was a surprise gift from my husband, probably a subtle incentive intended toward prompting me to want to start a family. (It worked; our son was born the next year.) At any rate, I consider that Christmas to actually be the beginning of “our traditional family,” one of enduring puppy love.

     That first puppy, Nero, was a Rottweiler. He had been flown to us from a reputable breeder in Montgomery, Alabama, with whom we ultimately became good friends. He was such a darling thing, a cute little black-and-tan wriggly with big paws that indicated his growth to come. It was love at first sight, of course. But then, we noticed some problems: he couldn’t walk well, he couldn’t stand, eventually he could hardly move. We took him down to Auburn University in Alabama, one of the premier veterinary schools in the country, where they determined that our darling puppy had been dropped or mishandled in transport and had arrived with a fractured vertebrae. And so that became the sad ending to that first Christmas beginning.

     From that experience, we vowed never to ship a dog again, but we did  promptly drive down and pick up another show puppy named Pharo. He, too, was a Rottweiler, and he was a show stopper! He easily became a champion of this and that and everything. He was super smart, pranced and preened and did all the right things in the show ring, but he was a brat and not easy to live with. Gradually we had two more Rottweilers along with Pharo,  one of whom was his mother, also a champion, that we retired from our breeder friend.

     We and our Rottweilers became bonafide  “doggie people” on the show circuit for ten years or more and even our young son handled Pharo in the show ring. My husband especially became very, very involved in the Medallion Rottweiler Club (of which he is still a member) and we regularly traveled to shows and specialties. Most people who simply have family pets or adopt (bless them) from a rescue site don’t realize what a huge “doggie subculture” exists in pure-bred show dogs and breed clubs. Nor do they realize that these breed clubs don’t exist to be snobbish, but to preserve and perpetuate the character, the strengths, and the reputations of breeds that they cherish. 

     Sadly, the reputation and the quality of the Rottweiler breed had begun to suffer in the late-80’s due to back-yard breeders and adverse publicity about the breed’s more aggressive tendencies. Meanwhile, we had earlier encountered our first Greater Swiss Mountain Dog, owned by August Busch III, in St. Louis at Grant’s Farm, which is the home of the famous Clydesdale horses. That Swissy, named Casar vom Neuhof, was much larger than a Rottweiler, but a gentle giant who acted as a good-will ambassador welcoming all visitors. His big-hearted temperament was impressive as his size.

     We never forgot that first encounter with Casar, which prompted my husband to research this  rare breed and to become obsessed with photographing them at dog shows. Through the Greater Swiss Mountain Dog Club of America (GSMDCA),  we acquired our own Swiss Mountain Dog, Baron of High Ridge in 1989. Baron soon won Winner’s Dog and Best of Breed in a Specialty Show right out of the puppy class; from there he was “discovered” by advertising talent agents and ultimately, became the corporate mascot called “Network” featured on ads and in appearances for Sun MicroSystems. Baron was magnificent, to say the least. He was so well-trained that he could walk the streets of New York City with no leash and could sit at photo shoots under tables laden with food and never even sneak a snack. He was a true professional, and a photographer’s joy.  (Not to mention that his royalties from print ads and personal appearances with the CEO of Sun MicroSystems paid for two semesters of our son’s education at a private university.) 

     Next in line was Ike (Derby’s Eisenhower), Baron’s son. Ike had Baron’s good looks, but even more of a dedicated competitive show and obedience spirit. He was incredibly smart and easy to train, even if a bit more high-strung than his father. “Mom, you finally have a dog that is you,” my son said. With his compulsive energy and drive, Ike ended up with more championships, drafting titles, and obedience degrees than most people we know. And through training him, my husband became a judge and a trainer himself, an active member of the GSMDCA and their first delegate to the American Kennel Club. Between the dog shows, the demonstrations, the drafting clinics, and the active promotion of the breed for recognition by the AKC in 1995, my husband’s lifelong passion for canines became his dominating interest.

     Over the years we have had three more Swissys, often overlapping, all out of Baron’s bloodline: Duke, then Kaas, and then Mac. Sadly, the larger the breed, the shorter the lifespan, so most of these magnificient companions only lived to be 8 or 9 years old. Mac, our last Swissy (pictured) enjoyed exceptional health his whole life and made it to the ripe old age of 11, which was quite something. But arthritis finally got the better of him as he lost muscle strength, so we had to put him to sleep right before Thanksgiving this year. It was incredibly sad, not only because it is truly a loss of a comforting and beloved family member, but also because we knew that as we ourselves were getting older, Mac would have to be our last large-breed companion. Moreover, his passing also marks the end of our active “doggie years,” particularly for my husband who has devoted so much of his life and love of animals to the cause of their protection.

     Roughly 66% of American households have some sort of pet, more today than ever before. Much of this growth is rightly attributed to the loneliness and stress ignited by the Covid epidemic, and the apparent remaining stress of a chaotic world situation. The family dog population has increased from 52.9 million in 1996 to 87.7 million in 2024. (FYI: The cat population has remained fairly stable during the same period.)  It doesn’t matter whether the family pet is a pure-bred dog or one rescued from a shelter. What matters most is that “Fido” lives with you in your home and is given the love and opportunity through care and training to become an active member of the family. 

     The average IQ of most people is somewhere between 85 and 115; the average house dog has been shown to have an IQ of about 100, and a developed vocabulary of about 250 words, which is roughly equal to that of a small child between 2 and 3 years old. With the right training, some exceptionally intelligent breeds can develop a human vocabulary of about 1,000 words.  In other words, your family dog is probably smarter than most of your friends and relatives!

     God knows that they are more loving, more devoted, more forgiving and more understanding. They intuitively know when you are sad or lonely or depressed or even just sick with a cold;  they will sit by your bed, look into your eyes and nurse you with their wet noses. There is a reason that canines are the first choice for comfort and service animals; they really are a man’s — and a woman’s — best friend.

      Saying good-bye to our Mac is equal parts profound gratitude for his life with us and profound grief for his loss. And saying good-bye to 50 years of being devoted “doggie people” is now the sad ending of puppy love this Christmas season.

November 16, 2024
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Glad Tidings

Okay, so here we are in the middle of November with Thanksgiving around the corner and the Christmas holidays in our sights. I don’t know about you, but so far, the month of November has been a real bummer for me. Between Thanksgiving being the anniversary of my Mother’s death, my art quilt “Fire In The Sky” not getting juried into the international show, various health issues among friends and family, bothersome little catastrophes around the house, and of course, all the noise over the election, things are not, as they say, “going swimmingly.”

     But I grasp for the good news which is: the election is over!!! We now have two full months before the new administration becomes official. That means that there are NO campaigns, NO solicitations for money, NO robo calls, NO ads on television, and NO coverage of rallies or conventions. No rah-ha or blah-ha, no noise. Blessed peace. We need to enjoy it while we can. There is plenty of time after January 20 to tune back in to all the chaos and mishegas if you must, but for now, let it rest.

     Since the election was apparently clean and decisive, we are also spared the accusations, the lawsuits, and the endless drama over a contested election which could have gone on and on for months. Granted, only 63% of registered voters turned out this year, and yes many are already trying to assign blame for who did or didn’t do what, but really we all share the blame for every election result whether we like it or not. In a democracy, the people choose their leaders, so this is who we are and what we’ve chosen in 2024. It’s done. Get over it.

     I for one have already begun looking for small ways to be glad this holiday season. First of all, I have put a strict limit on I-phone news updates, social media, podcasts, cable news and political pundits. I have returned to my one, reasonable mainstream evening news program (NBC Nightly News) that covers the nation and the world, and that’s it for media. Too much chatter, too much noise. I refuse to let all these people live in my head throughout the holidays; it’s already too crowded in there anyway. 

     Contrary to popular opinion, talking about and hearing about and worrying about what-ifs only reinforces all those fears and worries and what-ifs (unless you’re talking to a therapist, of course). I don’t want to talk about it or hear about it either, even with people who might agree with me. This year especially I’m trying to create a quiet place in which to find reasons to be glad and to plan a lovely, calm, un-fussy holiday season at home beginning with Thanksgiving. 

     Though dinner will be just us, I’m setting the table in the dining room and using my best china and crystal. Why not the best for those I love the best? I’ve already put out some seasonal decorations, already made my traditional brioche and put it in the freezer, already stocked special wines to accompany the meal, and already ordered an entire turkey dinner, complete with pies, from a gourmet market here in town. We will watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, nibble on baked brie, and laugh about our shared memories of Thanksgiving dinners past (the good, the bad, and the ugly).  And we will be thankful that our little family is here together right now.

     Finally, in a month, and in a year actually, that hasn’t been too great, I should be glad that not only am I not the Thanksgiving turkey, but that I don’t even have to cook it!

November 4, 2024
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Election Malaise

A malaise is defined as a general discomfort or illness that is, ironically, difficult to define — but not always. The word comes from the French root mal, meaning bad, and aise, meaning ease. Bad ease — you’d better believe it. Couldn’t be a better description for the tenor of the country now in the midst of this 2024 election cycle. As always, the French have been prophetic.

     I’ve sensed the malaise for a while now even here in Texas. In previous presidential elections Trump signs and flags and banners blanketed the general landscape and every residential street, but this time there is a dearth of signage altogether. On our own cul-de-sac, there are only five political yard signs, two for Tump and three for Harris. Driving around the City, I also notice that there are few bumper stickers on cars at all, not even for any local candidates. I take this as both a good sign and a bad one, thinking that perhaps people are still deciding on whom to support, or that they are afraid to advertise their affiliations, which is concerning and sad.

     I’ve also sensed a general cultural malaise in terms of enthusiasm for the seasons, the holidays, and any autumn community activities. Granted, it’s hard to celebrate fall when we remain in a drought, when daytime highs still hoover around 90º and when the only leaf color on any trees is a dead brown. In our neighborhood, few houses this year had any Halloween decorations at all, and fewer still were open and lighted to welcome trick-or-treaters. In years past, many residents set up tables in their front yards displaying their treats or even grilled hot dogs to give out along with chips and sodas inviting neighborly conversations. This year there was none of that.

     All there is this year, all there has been for too long, is an absolutely incessant barrage of political robo calls, text messages, and television ads. I was under the impression that once you had voted, all these solicitations stopped. Obviously, I was wrong. Actually, the closer we’ve gotten to election day, the more insistent and urgent the messages have become. I’ve been getting five or more text messages a day, some from down-ballot candidates whom I’ve never heard of in other states, but most from opposition candidates in the party in which I am not registered! Note to self: never donate to either national party committee again because they all obviously share their donor list with everyone else. 

     I just read that the total amount of money spent on the 2024 elections has reached 16 billion dollars — yes, BILLION; the presidential race alone accounts for two billion of that. Here in Texas, the Cruz vs. Allred senate race is not only the most expensive in Texas history, but the most expensive senate race in the country running now just shy of $200 million dollars. It’s obscene. Think of all the good that could be done with that amount of money, all the people who could be fed, all the suffering that could be alleviated, all the disasters that could be relieved. It makes me sick.

     We can thank the Supreme Court ruling in Citizens United vs.the Federal Election Commission (Jan. 21, 2010) which undid campaign finance rules that had existed for more than 100 years. Enter the free-wheeling era of Super Pacs and Dark Money spent by the biggest corporations and organizations and the millionaires and billionaires who wield political power through them all. The argument in the ruling was that Citizens United (a conservative non-profit group) had the same “free-speech” right to support and donate to political campaigns as an individual person does. The result of granting “personhood” to corporations and groups, however, meant an almost immediate expansion in political spending, thereby increasing the already outsized influence of wealthy donors, big business and special interests. At a time of growing wealth inequality in the US, this decision served to reinforced the idea that democracy serves the interests of the wealthy few while the power of the ordinary citizen is almost negligible. And we are surprised that so many potential voters today are cynical, unaffiliated and/or totally disengaged?

     According to the U.S. Census Bureau 2020 Report on Presidential Election Voting, more people turned out to vote in 2020 (154.6 million) than in 2016 (137.5 million). It was the largest single increase between consecutive presidential elections since records of voting and registration began being recorded in 1964. The 154.6 million voters in 2020 constituted roughly 66% of those eligible to vote. The Bipartisan Policy Center reports that roughly 244 million Americans are eligible to vote in the 2024 election; in order to equal 2020’s turnout, 162 million ballots need to be cast by end of day tomorrow. Let’s hope it’s more; please god let’s hope it is an absolute  landslide! 

     Whatever way the election goes, my greatest hope is that it’s decisive. Otherwise, we are in for more of the same chaos, confusion, and court challenges that have dragged on for years already. I don’t know about you, but I am just so sick of all of it. The campaigns are too long and too expensive, not to mention too ugly and too violent. Even Donald Trump recently admitted that he’s been campaigning for nine years. Insiders say he is exhausted. I guess so —aren’t we all? 

     There is a famous quote from Joseph de Maistre, a French philosopher, writer and lawyer who lived in the period right after the French Revolution: “In a democracy, people get the leaders they deserve.” That quote has been reiterated many times and attributed to many different leaders — not always accurately — including Thomas Jefferson who amended it to “The government you elect is the government you deserve.” I don’t think any of these leaders/philosophers were being sarcastic about democracy. You see, in a democracy, especially one here in the United States where we are a nation of proud individualists, people tend to vote for those whose policies will benefit them personally, not necessarily for those who prioritize the interest of the common good or society as a whole.

     This is where we are now in this election, I think. The main issue, on several levels, is  “looking out for number one.” If my fellow Americans are unable to move beyond themselves, to look to the lessons of history and to take the long view of what is before us, then so be it. We are a nation of short-sighted, gullible, selfish people. No doubt our election malaise will continue long past November 5. I hope a generalized malaise is the only thing we suffer.

October 18, 2024
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Trick or Treat?

If you’ve been reading this web post regularly, you know that I am really into Halloween. At one point, I actually had more storage bins full of Halloween decorations than I did for Christmas (though I have been trying bit-by-bit to scale back on all seasonal decorations and housewares). For most of my life, as soon as September 21 announces the start of fall, I’m all in with a base layer of pumpkins and leaves into which the darker, spookier elements of Halloween can easily be integrated come October 1.

     No doubt this enthusiasm for Halloween comes from my fondest childhood memories, especially my Halloween-themed birthday parties. Since my birthday is October 9 and my parties were always held on the Saturday nearest to that date, my Mother and I would start planning the big event well in advance. That meant that the house, and everything else, had to be decorated by the party deadline. Halloween was a big deal when I was growing up. All us kids went trick-or-treating, never fearing the dark and always welcoming homemade treats such as candied apples, chocolate fudge or frosted sugar cookies. The threats of food allergies, implanted razor blades, and lurking pedophiles had thankfully not yet arrived, nor had the need for hovering parents.

     As teenagers, we went out to dances or to see horror movies or gathered to eat and talk and show off at our favorite drive-ins (not theatres, but the curb-service kind). Of course, there were always parties where we bobbed for apples or endured some version of a haunted house by sticking our hands into eyeballs (peeled grapes) or having worms (spaghetti) slithered on our arms. Most of our costumes were homemade and the more creative and crazier they were, the more we screeched and laughed. Yes, there were tricks during those teenage years, but they were as non-threatening as the childhood treats; if a boy papered trees at your house or jumped out of a bush to scare you, that only meant he had a crush on you. Everyone, even the adults, went out and about town in costume, not only to parties, but to school, to work or to shop. What an idyllic, innocent time. Seemed like Halloween lasted almost the whole month of October, which is probably why I have always continued to get an early start on the holiday.

     But not this year. I only just began sorting through the holiday bins a couple days ago to finally put up some outdoor decorations. This year I have scaled back considerably both inside and out, taking a carload of witches and goblins, ravens and owls, tablecloths, napkins and faux floral arrangements over to Goodwill in time, I hope, for someone else to enjoy them. I don’t know … maybe the birthday blahs have gotten hold of me this year, now that I’ve gotten close to that age when I should be considered “too old to run for President.” 

     Or maybe it’s just that I’ve lived long enough to recognize that scary costumes, haunted houses or superstitious sightings of ghosts and vampires cannot possibly match the real-world nightmares we are all having right now. With the help of William Shakespeare’s Macbeth, I ask: How could “Eye of newt, and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog” possibly be as fatal as the poison potion of lies and deception being fed to us everyday? How could “For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble” possibly be as damming as the future implementation of a Project 2025 agenda?  How could “Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble” be any worse than the seeds of deceit, division, and hatred thrown into the fiery caldron of our national conversation over the last eight long years of what has become  an interminable, and obscenely costly political campaign? How could a Frankenstein or a Dracula or a Mummy be as much of a monster as any of those living human monsters we have on our local, regional, and national stage threatening revenge and retribution on their very own people? If hell is chaos and hopelessness, then we’re there. No wonder Americans are all exhausted and depressed. No wonder I have lost my sense of fun about my favorite holiday of the year. Halloween no longer offers any innocent horrors born of the popular imagination; these days, the horrors are very real and they are here.

     Trick or treat? Truth or lie? Good or evil? Threat or promise? Us or them? Fear or freedom? Democracy or autocracy? Can you decipher the difference, and will you vote accordingly? 

     “Trick or treat!” Children aren’t the only ones who need to shout that out this Halloween.

September 16, 2024
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Who Cares?

     Amazing how as you get older, less and less matters. Of course, for a writer, when less and less matters, there is less and less to write about. I’ve been in this state of ennui for a while now, which is why I think it took me so long to finally get that art quilt done and then the story of it posted. But now, here I am again in this general mood of carelessness groping for a topic.

     Okay, lest I mislead you into thinking that I am totally disengaged and completely apathetic about current events, allow me some distinctions. Yes, I care about the elections, yes I care about climate change, and yes, I care about the rise of bigotry and discrimination and the erosion of civil rights and war and all the other ills and grievances and injustices that fill the nightly newscasts. But ranting and raving and talking back to the television is not going to change what I, as one individual, can do about the bigger issues beyond my reach. Such passion will only increase my anxiety and make my blood pressure rise. Ultimately, as any politician knows, or should know, issues people care about ultimately become a matter of immediate priorities, and my dance card is rather full of those these days.

        So what do I care about? First of all, I care about my health and the health of my immediate family, including my 11 year old dog, since all of us are getting older and problems we never thought we’d have are suddenly appearing. In terms of a national issue, I might identify this concern as part of the larger topic of universal healthcare and insurance coverage: the “corporatization “of private medical practice, the rise in routine referrals to specialists, and the incredible cost and confusion of medical insurance.  For example, on a recent visit to our primary-care physician, my husband and I were informed that our doctor is retiring at the end of this month. How about a lot of notice! And then we were informed that other doctors in the practice that we have been part of  for 16 years, will not accept “transfer patients,” meaning us. So here we are, at this age and stage, without a primary-care physician. It is not a happy place to be.

     Next, even though I don’t commute to work anymore, I find that I am forced to care about the local traffic patterns each and every day: the closed-off roadways and the massive, pervasive construction all over the entire city and state where I live. Call this part of the larger national concerns about infrastructure and the demands of urban population growth, especially in Texas. As just reported in the San Antonio Express News (9/13/24),San Antonio led the nation with the single largest population growth of 22,000 new residents last year; the greater metropolitan area experienced a 2% growth rate with almost 50,000 new residents from 2022 to 2023. (I might add that these migrants are not foreign but “domestic,” that is people moving here from other areas of the country.) 

     Once again, there is nothing I can really do about any of this except to pack my patience and try to cope whenever I go out. Case in point: the main road right outside of my residential neighborhood is being expanded from two lanes into four with a center turn lane. This is the ONLY access into or out of our small neighborhood, and so some days, when the traffic is at a complete standstill, I simply decide to turn around and come back home rather than cope. Few destinations in my life right now are worth the bother anyway. This particular road project is supposed to extend into 2027. I think I’m about to become agoraphobic. 

    Actually, aside from the immediate well-being of my loved ones, what I have come to care about most these days is dinner. I am an accomplished home cook and this is something I DO have control over (except when the traffic prevents me from getting to the market). My husband keeps us provided with fresh herbs growing right outside my kitchen door, and does his best to keep me cheerful with fresh flowers and seasonal vegetables from his larger garden when the weather cooperates. My son and I have just published the fourth edition of Savvy Chef, our own 107 page compilation of favorite family recipes over the years. Unlike so many other people, I not only plan and cook dinner at home almost every night, but I also still indulge in those quaint old-time activities like canning and preserving, baking bread, and making holiday cookies and cakes. There is nothing like the comfort of a full larder and a treasure trove of favorite recipes. In a foodie family, caring about “what’s for dinner” brings me way more satisfaction than worry. 

      In truth, I think it is simply harder and harder for me to care about much of anything with any passion anymore because I’m older, I’m tired, and I’ve heard it all before. My priority list has grown shorter and shorter as my more immediate, day-to-day cares have taken precedence. However mundane those cares may seem to others, they matter to me — and even “me” is sometimes more than I can control. 

    To echo the words of that famous “sartorial wit” of the past on her way to a migrant children’s detention center here in Texas, “I really don’t care, do U?” Yes, I do still care, especially about children as victims in war and migration, but I just can’t afford to care as much as I used to.

August 28, 2024
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Fire In The Sky

Those of you who follow my posts probably wonder where I’ve been all month long. Well, I’ve been “under fire,” under the “Fire In The Sky “(above), an art quilt that I finally completed for submission to an international exhibition being sponsored by the Studio Art Quilt Associates (SAQA). The deadline for entry was set for the end of this month which, given everything else that has been going on in my life lately, became yet another major source of stress and anxiety.

     As a fabric artist and active member of SAQA, I am not new to the rigors of exhibiting art and entering juried competitions. Since 2017 when I started submitting my work, I have had eight of my art quilts exhibited in 17 different venues, and have even had solo representation in a small gallery show. I am especially proud that my most favorite work, “A Texas Oasis” depicting a Texas Dairy Queen, was acquired by and is now part of the permanent art collection of Incarnate Word University here is San Antonio. (See journal post “A Texas Oasis” dated May 20, 2020.)

     I recount this history not to brag, because my small successes pale in comparison to those of most of my fellow SAQA members, but to illustrate that competitions and deadlines are not new to me. Nor is rejection. (Remember, I’ve been a freelance writer for years.) But so far, my art quilts have only been juried into regional and national shows; I have not yet had any piece accepted into a “global” exhibition. “Fire In The Sky” will be my third try. This particular art quilt is the third iteration of my original design featuring a pump jack, and this final work is the third re-do of that third design. Maybe good luck comes in threes?

     This whole pump jack idea began early last year when I saw a photo of a working well in a North Texas oil field owned by someone I know. I asked for permission to have the photo blown up and then created a full scale pattern from that. And then it sat, while I recuperated from Covid, while we did some house repairs, while we had company, while we fought to save our lawn and garden in a severe drought … As they say, “life gets in the way.” I wandered in and out of my studio, picked up the pattern now and then, made some changes, and thought about it all while I cooked and cleaned and worried about other things. 

     Late last year I saw the call for entries for this SAQA global exhibition called “Fire.” That’s when I decided to ditch all the pick-up trucks and drilling details of the oil field photo design and “relocate” the pump jack to a prettier landscape in front of a brilliant Texas sunset. I started to redraw and resize and research those fiery skies. I began digging through my fabric stash thinking about how to do justice to a magnificent sunset in cloth. But then, due to some unexpected, and unwelcome, events, I got sidetracked again. Art cannot be created without full concentration and uninterrupted blocks of time, and I had neither. 

     By early this year, I had adapted to a new set of circumstances with different demands on my time. Once again, I would drift into the studio when I could and tweak my design and experiment with a technique I wanted to use.  I had taken a class years ago from Karen Eckmeier ( “Layered Landscapes” www.quilted-lizard.com) that I hoped would give texture to the overall background of earth and sky. I started with the foreground and, while it was unwieldy and difficult at first (because my landscape was much larger than the ones usually done with Eckmeier’s basic technique), it did eventually work. Okay. But once I started working from the horizon up into the sky, I got stymied again; I just couldn’t figure it out and it became a frustrating disaster. 

     As luck would have it (if “luck” is the appropriate word), I drove down to Victoria in late June to attend a Mass for my Mother and to visit the cemetery. On the way down on U.S 87, I drove through fracking country, as I have a hundred times. The once oil-boom capital of South Texas, a mere outpost in the middle of nowhere, was now a fully functioning, fully established oil field with storage tanks and transfer stations and flare stacks burning off the gas from working wells. Ah ha!  And there it was  — the fire! And that’s how the flares, not the sunset, became the focus of the “Fire In The Sky.” This is the way creative work goes, up and down often from unexpected inspirations.

     Now we were into July. Again, I ripped apart the sky that I had configured and started over. My third re-do. But this time, it was clear; my connection to the fire theme of the exhibition would be the fire of the flares and the environmental message of that. And this time I realized that I needed to simplify my design, to make it more abstract and modern and not try to replicate an exact photograph. Still, I worked in fits and starts, getting more and more stressed and more discouraged about my ability to meet the August 31 deadline. I had sleepless nights about it, anxiety attacks about it, conversations with my therapist about it. And then one day, in late July just a precious four weeks or so before the deadline, a dear friend happened to call and catch me in the middle of a complete meltdown.

     “Why do you do this to yourself?” she asked. “With all you have on your plate, why do you impose these deadlines and put this additional stress on yourself?” And it was that question, in the middle of that meltdown, in the middle of my ranting and raving and anger and frustration with the moment, that I heard myself say, “Because this is who I am.”

     It is so easy to lose yourself in the details and demands of everyday life, most especially when you hit a period of rough going. Out of both necessity and survival, we default to our roles — mother, sister, daughter, spouse, friend, even our professional titles. But those roles, however important and loving and sustaining they might be, are not who we are intrinsically. Rather, they are a reflection of what we do and how we care for others, our roles reinforced by others, but alas only lasting as long as those significant others are around to reflect them. (This is why people suffer from empty-nest syndrome or have trouble finding themselves after retirement.) 

      At my core, I have always been a writer and a creative and I always will be. That identity doesn’t depend on anyone but me, so it’s important that I protect and preserve that in order to hold on to myself. It is often a struggle to create, and it is often even more of a struggle to stay strong and true to who you are, especially in the face of headwinds.

     So there, I’ve done it; I’ve completed “Fire In The Sky” and submitted the entry this week. It took about three weeks of intensive work, six-to-seven hours a day, and I am proud of myself.  Yes, I hope to get accepted into the exhibition, but more importantly, I accomplished my goal and met a deadline with work I can be proud of.  I did it because this is who I am and I don’t need anyone else to tell me that.

July 26, 2024
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Let the Games Begin — Please!

There are sooo many reasons I am anxious for the XXXIII Olympic Games beginning this week.  

     First of all, I love Paris. It is my most favorite city in the world (well, almost, maybe just a tad behind New York) and the last Paris Olympics was a 100 years ago in 1924 when I wasn’t around, so this is my first vision of those remarkable venues. Secondly, the 1900 Paris Olympics were the first to feature female athletes, many of whom became Olympic champions. Fittingly, this year the Paris Games claims yet another first: the first to achieve full gender parity, both in the Olympics and the Paralympics. Equal numbers of women and men are represented among the 10,500 athletes, with 5,200 of each gender competing.  

     Oh, and did I forget to mention that I just love Paris and all things French (food, wine, fashion, and of course, the indomitable people.)

     I am soooo tired of all the political drama and ugliness, violence and wars, climate disasters and dire economic predictions on television and in the media that I long for something that is true and real and based on actual achievement. I need to be reminded of the universal indomitability of the human spirit, of the virtues of resilience and the strength of character that propel people to persevere even in the face of possible defeat.  Most of all, I need the inspiration of those who work so hard for so long and risk their whole athletic futures on one shining moment; even those who fail in their quest manage to do so with grace and dignity. To me, these mostly young people are champions before they have even competed in the Olympics. That’s inspiring. These days, god knows we all need to be reminded of what that kind of character looks like. 

     The other night, I watched a documentary, Le Grande Seine (mostly in French with subtitles), on the preparations and planning for the opening ceremonies being staged on the Seine. In another first for Paris, this will be the first opening ceremony not held in an Olympic stadium. Bien sûr, of course. Leave it to the French to be stylish and original. The work, the planning, the incredible organization and execution of this extravaganza — everything from writing the music to designing the costumes to choreographing the dance performances (on rooftops, no less)  and coordinating the movement of boats and barges transporting 10,500 international athletes from 206 countries down the River Seine in the Parade of Nations — will culminate with the lighting of the Olympic torch and a spectacular fireworks and drone-light display behind the Eiffel Tower.

     The Parade of Nations route, which begins at the Pont d’ Austerlitz bridge at the Jardin des Plantes and travels four miles downriver to the Jardins du Trocadéro across from the Eiffel Tower, recalls one of those Seine River barge sightseeing cruises as it passes some of the most iconic landmarks in Paris: the Louvre, Notre-Dame Cathedral, Les Invalides, and the Place de la Concorde. An expected 320,000 spectators will be lining the River route (notwithstanding the recent coordinated arson attacks on the high-speed train network and, hopefully, without any additional worldly ugliness thwarting the joy of the Games). Another billion people from around the world are expected to be watching all this as it’s happening. Now that’s a lot of people on a river-barge cruise!!

     It’s all so exciting, so uplifting, and so much needed right now. The Olympic torch represents the light of spirit, knowledge and life, and its passing from one carrier, one country to the next symbolizes the passing of the torch from one generation to the next. What could be more welcome, and more timely.

     But that’s enough from this armchair Olympic tour guide. I have to go now. The Opening Ceremonies are just about to begin!

July 12, 2024
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This Is Your Life!

     In what might be considered the very first reality show,  This Is Your Life aired on NBC television from 1952 to 1961. I’m giving away my age by confessing that I remember the TV show. It actually began as a radio show in 1948 (before my listening time) and both were created and hosted by the producer Ralph Edwards. The show originated as a homage to WWII veterans at VA hospitals, but then soon morphed into presenting the biographies of better-known people on the air. 

   The format was simple. Host Edwards would surprise the celebrity at some event or at some routine family dinner in a restaurant and, surprise!!! “This Is Your Life.” From there, significant persons from the subject’s past, both personal and professional, made surprise appearances and told stories about the highs and the lows of the celebrant’s history. But always, the ultimate story of the life ended up to be positive and the message for viewers always emphasized perseverance and resilience. This Is Your Life was nominated for three Emmy awards and, while it fared well enough in the TV ratings to be broadcast for a number of years, in 1960  Time Magazine called it “…the most sickening sentimental show on the air.”

     But then, aren’t lifetime tributes always somewhat sentimental — and what’s wrong with that? Sentiment is emotion, after all, and a life is more than just an accumulation of facts. Unless we win some major award or achieve an incredible accomplishment, most of us famous or not don’t get lifetime tributes until our deaths when they come in the form of obituaries or eulogies (which unfortunately are all too often only a recitation of basic facts and clichéd emotion.) Nevertheless, by the time the funeral comes, it’s too late for the deceased to hear how his/her legacy is regarded by others or to benefit from personal hindsight.

     Every life is its own story and everyone experiences similar twists and turns in the plot — similar but not the same.  The patterns that emerge and the lessons that are learned (or not) are unique to each individual. The long view that is afforded by a longer life is a blessing indeed, though you don’t have to be pushing 90 to experience it.  “The long view” is simply a way of evaluating your life so far, a sort of personal, private version of This Is Your Life.

     Now I’m not just talking about developing habits of mindfulness or gratitude journals or even daily prayer or meditation to enhance awareness and make us stop and think. Certainly, these techniques are helpful antidotes to our collective anxiety attacks and all of them are rooted in the notion of awareness and living fully in the moment. Makes sense, because in spite of all our planning and rushing head-long into the future, the present is really all any of us has. Nevertheless, at the risk of sounding like a would-be shrink, I suggest that taking a This-Is-Your-Life long view might help evaluate where you are right now as it dares to ask whether or not you want to stay there going forward. The good news is that no matter how old you are or whether you are rich and famous or not, you don’t have to do any of this soul searching in front of a studio audience!

     What you do have to do is pretty much what Ralph Edwards did as a producer of the TV show: you have to review your life sequentially from childhood to the present and try to identify the pivotal events and most important characters in your own story. Speaking as a writer now rather than a would-be shrink, you must be as objective as possible to see “the narrative” from the outside. You are looking for recurring patterns, for the events and people who have changed your life for better or worse, and for a clear-eyed assessment of their influence on your own actions and choices. Think of this as creating an outline for your biography. Do you see a dominant theme emerging in this narrative? Can you draw a through line in the plot from then to now, to the person you are today?  

     People often make a similar kind of lifetime inventory in times of serious crisis or loss with the intentions of atoning for past sins, reconciling with others, reviewing past accomplishments and accepting one’s mortality. Psychologists call this  a “life review,” a foundational technique of psychotherapy that guides mental and spiritual healing in times of distress. However, a life review differs significantly from the kind of long view that I’m talking about. A life review becomes an edited version of a life complete with excuses, explanations, and rationalizations, in other words a fully authorized biography rather than simply an objective outline.

     So let’s call the long view more of a map for course correction from wherever you are right now than a journey of nostalgia and reminiscence into the past. Are you living on a treadmill at the moment, going faster and faster and getting nowhere? Don’t complain, don’t explain, just change it. Are you bogged down in a bad job or a toxic relationship? Don’t say “I have no choice” because relinquishing your choice is in itself a choice; look for a way out.  Are you in situation that is beyond your control, in the middle of a financial, family, environmental or health crisis? Then find some sources of help to manage it.  

     “Take time to smell the roses” is great advice when your garden is flourishing, but when weeds have invaded — as they do for all of us sometimes — don’t waste the here and now by fretting and flailing and worrying about “what if” or “what might have been.” Rather, take the long view. Look back over your life, recognize those patterns, people and events that have shaped you, and use the strengths and abilities you have developed over the years to navigate even a difficult present.  After all, This Is Your Life and the present is all anyone has.

June 25, 2024
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What Does Success Look Like?

It’s June, the season of awards and accolades, of graduations and weddings, of summer relaxation and new beginnings come fall. It is the apex of the season of success, celebrating both real achievements of the past and anticipated accomplishments in the future. June means hope in America, in a culture that firmly believes in success.

     I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately as I have been listening to all those inspiring college graduation speeches on television and watching all the “kiss and cry” responses of Olympic-trial athletes and performing-artist award winners. In one way or another, all address various aspects of success: the secrets to success, the road to success, the overnight (or not) success, the sweet revenge of success, even how to dress for success. If success were a song, it would be our national anthem! 

     So what is success anyway, and what does it look like? The most common definition brings to mind a person who has risen to fame or fortune through outstanding achievement, most particularly in terms of wealth, power or respect. Of course, that definition flirts with the notion of infamy, which might also, in some circles, mean success. But never mind…  Success in business or politics or the arts implies a dedicated work ethic, a plan of setting goals and the determination to achieve them, along with the qualities of resilience and self-confidence to take risks and work outside of convention. A person is deemed successful if he/she achieves wealth, fame, or notoriety among his/her professional cohorts through hard work and determination.. 

     Many many books,  plays and movies have been written about the pursuit of career success and the fallacies of the ultimate reward.  A classic 1957 movie explored this in a satirical comedy called “Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?” The main character (played by Tony Randall) was a low-level advertising executive who happened onto an unexpected connection with a famous actress (played by Jane Mansfield); from there, the two arranged a mutually beneficial romantic charade, which enhanced her career and catapulted him to the CEO of his company. But in the end, both were left disappointed, unhappy and unfulfilled. Once Rock Hunter realized that being at the top wasn’t all that he thought it would be, he renounced his success and went off with his original girlfriend to raise chickens on a farm.

     Obviously, as so many such stories do, this film begs the question of whether career success gained through deceit and manipulation is ever really worth it. Doesn’t such a perch at the top if not gained through honest work and dedication always end up empty and lonely? Is not the solitary pursuit of worldly success a fool’s errand that can never be fully realized; for that matter, is the setting aside of one’s honor and integrity for the hot flash of momentary fame and glory ever worth the complete loss of self-respect? Many of today’s prominent and powerful political figures present excellent case studies of such Faustian bargains.

     We hear the clarion call of success all the time as we wish a newlywed couple a successful marriage, but what does that mean? Does it mean a partnership that lasts for years and years, whether it is a good match or not? Does it mean an alliance that preserves wealth and property, one that produces progeny who ensure a legacy for the future as in royal traditions?  And are those children themselves only successful if they grow up to make good grades, go to the right schools, enter the proper professions, make a lot of money and — oh yes, marry “well”  themselves?

     Actually, I think the whole question of “what does success look like” really gets to the essence of the issue. In America, we are more about appearance over reality, about what success “looks like” than we are about what it truly means: image, brand, status symbols, fortune 500 lists, and media coverage are the benchmarks. For example, aging successfully means not looking your age, with however many nips and tucks and botox injections it takes, rather than living with patience and acceptance into your 90s, like actress June Squibb, who at 93, finally has a leading role in the newly released film Thelma, or the 105 year old Virginia Hislop who finally got her Masters degree in Education from Stanford University this month. Neither woman, though, would make the cover of a fashion magazine, or hardly any other magazine except maybe The Magazine of AARP.

     Everyone talks these days about the national mental health crisis in America. True, and it’s no surprise given the barrage of national and international crises we constantly hear about: wars, climate change, cultural divisions, political threats, poverty, ethnic persecutions — the list of ills and violence goes on and on. Of course we are all worn out, stressed out, disillusioned, and discontent, but maybe, just maybe, some of that mental distress is our own fault. When we fail to maintain our own moral center and stay true to who we know we are rather than give in to the pervasive social-media standards of what society tells us success looks like, we are bound to  come up empty and hopeless in the end (unless, of course, we have literally “died trying” before coming to the final realization of the futility of it all). 

     Young people, particularly, are susceptible to the mixed messages of mass culture, but even those among us who are a bit older often support the promise of the golden calf and applaud those who promote that false promise. One good thing about years of experience is that we learn, albeit sometimes the hard way, that more is not necessarily better and that good enough is often quite good enough. After all, nothing is ever perfect, and nothing is ever as it seems. And neither is success.

Photo above: Sculpture (Arms) Los Brazos de Dali, 1965, by Salvador Dali; in the Museo Soumaya,  Mexico City

June 14, 2024
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The “Meanwhiles”

 In the early days of silent movies, story lines were pretty simple. They always offered adventure and romance, always employed stock characters (good guys, bad guys, and damsels in distress), and were often told as familiar Westerns. Stories set in the wild west were popular with the public, set construction was easy and inexpensive, and costume designers could provide ready sartorial clues for character recognition (white hats, black hats, flounce or frilly dresses). Most of all, familiar, recognizable stories were simple to script in one-line subtitles called inter-titles.

     Train robberies and lost treasures were common narratives; one of the classics, The Great Train Robbery (1903), is still studied and shown as a major example of the genre. One big innovation of the early years was a film technique called “crosscuts,” which presented two different events happening simultaneously. The silent movie era was also just the beginning of the studio system that endured for decades and the creation of major Hollywood movie stars such as Tom Mix, William S. Hart, and Lillian Gish. I remember my grandmother talking about Tom Mix as one of her favorites when I was a little girl, though of course I had never seen these silent screen actors, at least not until much later when I was studying the history of film. (I will, however, date myself by saying that my own favorite movie star when I was little was also an actor featured in Westerns, Randolph Scott.) 

     “Meanwhile, back at the ranch…” had its origin in the inter-titles of these early silent movie Westerns; later, the phrase morphed in to “meanwhile back at the farm” or “meanwhile back at home.”  Even in Country & Western music today we can hear popular tunes such as “Meanwhile Back at Mama’s” by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. The legacy continues, though now most commonly in the simple use of the word “meanwhile.” Perhaps that’s because every story, even in the reality of everyday life, has a “meanwhile.” There is always something else going on in the background while the obvious action is going on. 

     In classic literature, Horace, a Roman poet, advised epic poets to get straight to the heart of the story by jumping right into the action. This narrative technique is called “in medias res,” meaning in the middle. A favored technique of the Greek dramatists, it is still commonly used today. In film noir, for example, a PI enters a plot already in progress; in the much-beloved film Forrest Gump, the story begins in the middle, but then is told through a series of flashbacks. 

     Along the same line as “meanwhile” is the concept of  backstory, which generally applies to the characters more than the plot. Backstory is what comes before the main story, the forerunner of current events, but more in terms of the how and why of character development. Backstory helps us understand the underlying motivations of the characters’ actions and, thus, allows us to better appreciate the unfolding of story events. There is always a backstory, for everything and everyone. The key to gaining an understanding of other people and the events in which they are actors, whether on stage or in real life, is having access to a full and accurate backstory that precedes their actions. (This explains why most people distrust politicians, because you rarely know enough to distinguish between the truth and the lie.)

     So, where am I going with this?  You probably aren’t going to be happy with the answer, but here it goes. What I’m saying is that you can never really, truly, thoroughly know someone.  You meet a person on a plane or at a party and you start talking and you seem to be instantly “simpatico.” Basically, you are only seeing how they present themselves and hearing whatever they tell you, which usually isn’t much. Nevertheless, you go forward in a relationship based on gut reactions, emotional impulses, or perceived commonalities (same interests, hobbies, hometown, needs, etc.). Friendships, partnerships, and business collaborations are made of such encounters, even marriage proposals!  But what about those “meanwhiles”? 

     Not to sound cynical (though I usually am), but people lie, even to themselves. They deny their own backstories or try to recreate them. Digging into the past and trying to unearth the truth about one’s self is the great business of therapy, but not everyone really wants to know the truth. And unless you have personally known someone for most of his/her life and been a witness to some of the events that shaped them early on, it is virtually impossible to fully understand and authenticate another adult’s backstory, the “meanwhiles” of what’s really going on with them at any present time. Considering that new encounters made in adulthood are basically occurring “in medias res,” it’s amazing that as many relationships, be they marriage or friendship, last as long as they do.

     The longer I live, the more I am dismayed and surprised, for better or worse, by how many people either don’t know the truth of who they are or just aren’t self-reflective enough to find out. These are the people who confuse their family roles or their professional positions with their true identity; these are the people who have a really hard time in later life when those roles and positions no longer exist to support them. We all have our failures and foibles, of course, and understanding and accepting ourselves and others is a life-long task. In the end, however, we love someone else not because we think they are perfect, but because we can see the good in them and accept their shortcomings. 

     Call it what you will  — past or present, context or backstory — we all have our own stories with all the “meanwhiles” of our lives.