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June 9, 2025  Write it down

Who would have thought writing would be part of my next chapter? 

I certainly didn't, although I have used the gift of words on many occasions.

I have been lucky to have had parents with a deep love of reading and in turn vocabularies that elevated our everyday life. That's not to say there weren't any simple words used that might have served the same purpose. It's just that when your mother invites you to Sunday dinner, she did so by saying she had an edict of Nantes. (Not that I really knew what that was, but felt certain it had something to do with a roast and potatoes.)

My sister, Mary, now a retired English teacher, was another family member with whom no sibling ever wanted to be in a battle. Without lifting a finger, she wielded words that stopped and stunned her opponents. (Like what are you even saying? Or are those words real?)

While I can't be as proficient (not even close), I feel the love of using a good vocab word or at least having a partial understanding of word roots of giant words meant for more studious individuals.

So, currently I have found my escape in writing.

It seems to have come from an early age.

I ran across a diary in a drawer. It is perhaps from my younger 4th or 5th grade self. 

I remember it as my special friend. I confided in it. Even gave her a name. 

Letter writing back and forth with my great grandmother and aunt while in college was particularly enjoyable. They always interjected a warm piece of home, mostly writing about food, restaurants, or car trips to area lakes.

With the arrival of the internet and email, I felt like my gift of the written word was on steroids. When my fingers flew across the keyboard, I was jazzed up on so much adrenaline that what I said was palpable.

Sadly, it was not a talent that emboldened me to post bon mots of intelligence. Quite embarrassing, in fact. The heartfelt facts but probably belonged in my diary. I found out later, I should have led with that.

Journaling became a much better capture for my words and feelings. I must have filled dozens of spiral notebooks during the tougher times in my life. There were some dark letters then too. But once you start you sometimes have trouble reigning it in.

I think my family will remember me most for my forceful letters to businesses or people who I feel have wronged me. Who knows how many times I have received new appliances or replacement parts for things that didn't work to begin with.

In some cases, I wish I knew the 24-hour wait rule before firing something off.

It's difficult not to be impetuous when you are wanting to be heard in the moment.

I won't apologize for those words, however strongly placed. 

I am what I am.

Today, I am softer. 

I find that my story characters and plot twists help me to achieve the same kind of satisfaction. 

I am almost finished with my 6th novel. By almost, I mean I don't really know what will happen or how it will end. But that's the way my process goes. I am definitely not one to teach a class on how to write a book. Usually, a book evolves with a glimpse, picture, even eavesdropping in the checkout line silently bearing witness to someone else's pain. 

The power words have on a written page is staggering whether you are sharing them with the world or just personally in your diary. 

I invite any reading this to try the journal thing.

Start today.

Write down what's happening in your present life. Even if things are going well.

Later, when you reread what you have written you will find an insight into yourself that you didn't know you had.

Thanks for listening.

(My Diary? Her name was Mia)

June 4, 2025

June is busting out all over!

This song comes to mind each year, when early in the month, my outdoor vistas have metamorphosized into verdant lush green landscapes. 

I can't help singing its praises. It is my favorite month of all.

It is one of new beginnings.

Fresh flowers. New summer classes. Small bunnies in the yard. Birds back at the feeders. Coffee outdoors. Grabbing an al fresco lunch. Barefoot walks on the beach or in the yard.

I don't even mind the rain today. I am aware of the natural cycle.

June just makes me feel lighter. 

I am almost giddy when I open the curtains in the morning, thankful that it didn't all disappear overnight.

This is the time of year when I am actually happy to live here in the Mitten.

It is why I tell newcomers to 'wait for it' when they complain it will never get warm.

I was reading an article in the South Haven chat on Facebook. People had taken pictures of a man going door to door selling something or whatever. I really don't know what it was about because I was lost in the magic of those who posted pictures. Their ring cameras capturing an almost fairy world landscape where flowers and new hostas rise tall and lush. How lucky you all are to have the beautiful grounds that living next to Lake Michigan promote. South Haven is arguably one of the most special places in which to celebrate the season.

I saw a mailbox in Kalamazoo yesterday that make me pause to enjoy the most robust clematis plants I have ever seen. They vined in an arc over the mailbox. Huge pink and white blossoms by the hundreds. Breathtaking, really.

Just stunning.

Here's the thing.

Our time in summer goes so quickly. We barely have had a chance to get outside this spring.  

The temperature went from 53° to 91° in a mere day or two. 

Yes, our early summer is unpredictable.

But am I telling you anything new?

The leaves are on the trees and already have changed from a light baby green to a dark emerald hue. 

As soon as the pollen, dust, and Canadian wildfire smoke settles down, my walks will also involve deep breathing. The iris and peonies that have popped open in front of my deck make the air so fragrant, it is almost overpowering. 

But it isn't. 

Decades can go by, but the feeling is still the same.

I love it.

I guess I am saying that after a winter of gray skies and cold temperatures, too much streaming, and yes, a general malaise,

it's time.

Time to say: "Whoa. It's still light out at 9:30 or let's go down to the beach to view the Northern Lights."

Be spontaneous. Soak it in. Eat watermelon. 

Celebrate the next three months.

Thanks for listening.

May 20, 2025

"Have you enjoyed the 2 days of summer we've had, Lisa?" My neighbor asked as I was pulling my knit cap down over my ears to give Lulu a walk. 

 "This is really something, isn't it?" I said as I tried not to grumble. "When do you think we will see decent weather?"

On a typical year in late May, summer teases us with warm sunny days and soft sweet-smelling air. The heat increases on a continuum. 

I guess this is going to be one of those years when I keep reaching for my winter clothes while looking longingly at my new summer ones. 

The boat is in the water, but we only have taken it on the river. The lake is much too rough and cool. 

One warmer evening last week, I wanted to walk over toward the beach bluff. A wall of fog was rolling in and the lake was obliterated by it. It was disappointing.

And yesterday? I said forget it; I am going on a beach walk. 

Of course, the wind punched me in the face as I bravely slid down the dune. 

The water pushed up and over the shoreline and I found my shoes sticky with water and sand.

You guys, it's disheartening. 

It was as if the weather had a personality and was telling me I have no control over it.

Seasons have begun to imitate life. 

I am sorry to be grousing about it, but I need a reminder of what it's supposed to be like.

Let's face it.

Things we wish we could change are out of our control.

It reminds us of how very small we are in the mix of things.

But some humans are not letting it get them down. I watched prom couples the other day who were bravely bearing the elements sans coats or appropriate wraps. Phones in one hand while the other held dress seams together, the girls seemed oblivious to the horizontal force of air that whipped at the up-do they had paid so much money for earlier that day.

Oh, to be young again. 

Look, I know I am older now, but doesn't it seem that proms bring out the warrior in the girls that wear the dresses anyway?

Especially the girls that live in Michigan. 

I guess we have that going for us.

On this 48° day, with rain is sprayed on my windows as if from a hose. The sky is gray.

My flowers, which I waited patiently until Mother's Day to plant, look as if they have gone 10 rounds with Muhammad Ali.

People, please. 

 I am asking you to pull me out of this funk.

Let's commiserate.

Thanks for listening.

May 7. 2025

With Mother's Day approaching, I feel something needs to be said for all the people we have looked to be a "mother" in a sense.

Be it the librarian, the janitor or the older woman next door, a teacher.

These women help fill a primary need for us.

Safety I guess you would call it.

My mother was a young multi-tasker with 5 kids to watch, feed, bathe, and discipline. She was at home often and didn't even drive when we were small. It was chasing wild cats, I think.

While mom made time when she could for us, we were lucky to have a woman in our lives that took the overflow. 

Her name was Cilista Murphy.

Sis was my mother's aunt who was unable to have children of her own.

She was always a port in the storm for my family.

Her house was filled with aromas of freshly ground coffee and Dove soap. She bought Surefine Grape soda which was always available chilled in her basement refrigerator.

Her story is one of strength, but I am afraid she is receiving this accolade posthumously.

The relationship she had with my sibs and me was one of unconditional love. Our port in the storm.

When she turned 50, my great aunt went to college. She traveled back and forth from South Haven to Kalamazoo in all kinds of weather and earned both a bachelor's and master's degree. 

She went on to teach at Lincoln School until she was 70.

The gift she had for loving kids was in evidence in the Bridging Room which allowed for children not yet ready for first grade to spend some more formative time in her classroom. I was certain the love and attention given to those young kids made a significant difference in their progress not only in academics but in human growth with the love freely given by this childless woman.

There are many Cilistas out there.

You know, the women who many young kids consider their safety net.

Loving your mother is a given for most.

Having a 'Sis" to love is a bonus.

If you know someone like my great aunt, please take the time to wish them a Happy Mother's Day. 

Thanks for listening. 

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April 18, 2025

I would like to address a very sensitive topic.

Easter baskets.

My early life, with my family of origin, often involved traveling for most holidays.

We were home for Christmas but usually went out of town for the other major holidays.

In Spring, we left for visits with cousins and family reunions in another state. The Easter holiday lasted an entire weekend beginning Good Friday, and after attending services in our church.

Good Friday was meatless and fasting. 

Many of us had given up favorite foods for the entirety of Lent. 

That's a long 40 days.

The time was bleak as we went through the Stations of the Cross on those Fridays. 

All beauty inside the church was veiled in black, waiting for Jesus to rise again.

But while we dyed hard boiled eggs prior to visiting, the eggs were placed in a bowl in the refrigerator. We never had an Easter Egg Hunt or baskets as we were traveling.

When I returned to school on Monday, it was puzzling that the Easter Bunny had delivered baskets full of candy and toys to my friends. 

Did the animal not know our address?

Fast forward to trying to make memories for my own kids. 

Again, we traveled to relatives for the holiday.

While there were treats and ethnic traditions, my girls often returned home to find that E. Bunny had hidden some baskets in the oven or a place in the house. It wasn't an Easter egg hunt, but it was an attempt to give them what I thought I had missed in my youth.

And that leads me to the dilemma.

All these years I felt I had shorted my kids somehow. They received basic candy in these baskets but was that what mattered...really?

If you asked me to remember something about the Easter baskets, I probably could remember the stranger ones.

Like the time Abby and I were with our kids in Florida visiting my parents. 

The store was out of the ready-made baskets, so we made them out of coffee filters and a needle and thread. 

Did you think my girls remember that one? 

Or another time Easter fell during Spring Break and again we were late to the store. 

We bought several floppy sunhats and filled them with candy. 

Another stroke of brilliance to make sure my kids had the baskets they deserved and didn't feel left out.

As the years went by the quality of the baskets devolved. 

When it came to the shower caddies with the snap top, I think that's when E. Bunny saw the writing on the wall. 

He knew Easter really wasn't about his lame baskets.

Instead, although none of us really remember Easter baskets, we do remember the family gatherings. 

The angel hair pasta my Auntie Lorraine made that looked like a bird's nest. Or when she put rubber curlers in my hair for Easter Sunday Mass.

My children would remember the butter lamb that their Polish grandma Gigi always had at the table, with the peppercorn eye, served alongside the blessed food she had taken to church the day before.

The comfort of sinking into family celebrations. 

The stability of tradition.

Better than any basket full of candy.

Enjoy your holiday.

April 8, 2025

I really missed the boat on becoming a billionaire. 

You see, it all happened a bit too quickly for me.

First, I never dreamed I would have to think ahead when my mom was attending her own 50th high school reunion in South Haven that it would seem like a blink of an eye before I was receiving information on mine.

Then POOF! The day was here.

The hair? 

My stylist explained to me that my white hairs were so strong they defied the dye she was using. 

What?

The body? 

O come on. Really, this?

I used to be able to jump up onto the counter unassisted to get something off a high shelf.

Now, my jumps don't lift me more than 2 inches and one knee won't let me bear weight.

What is up with that?

The mind?

I can't help if I can't remember words or where I put things. 

But let's get back to the gist of this rant.

What was it, again? 

O yeah...billionaire.

I was cleaning out my bathroom cabinets the other day. I came across so many snake oil Hail-Mary products that I was ashamed.

Wrinkle cream, wrinkle serum, wrinkle rollers, wrinkle masks, and skin tighteners.

Face shiners, dark circle hiders, eye bag tighteners ...

You feel me?

This stuff obviously was purchased with a hope and a prayer that I could dodge the fact that time had settled into my joints, my feet, my back, my neck...

Again, I digress.

My point is that if I hadn't invested too much dough on stuff to make me look younger, I could have piled the money in a box under my bed, or invested in gold, or some such thing, instead of buying the dream I wanted with the results I regretted.

Lots of money>No result>Lisa is poor again and still old.

Instead, I worked for the good of my fellow humans, with no regard for the company I might have created that bought back this stuff at a reduced rate and then resold it at a profit. 

~Sigh~

Getting old is not for the faint of heart, I recently read. 

Ah well.

A life well lived might be the better place to reflect on a legacy than a mountain of money.

But man ... 

I really missed the boat on this one.

Thanks for listening.

March 25, 2025

You can almost taste the feeling of spring break in the air.

Teachers, parents, kids need a break. 

Many schools are wrapping up parent-teacher conferences. These meetings are necessary and so important for parents and teachers to touch base.

I remember one year, we were teaching during the day. The kids left at 3:42 pm and the first of 8 conferences was due to begin at 4:00pm. I was brushing my teeth when the first people peeked their heads in and asked if I minded if we started early.

Two nights on one week, and one night on the final week after teaching all day.

Sometimes parents didn't show up.

Sometimes there was more to talk about, so a double slot of time was needed. 

PTO make sure the staff at our school was fed dinner during those long evenings. 

Arriving home at 9:30 PM, there were still some things I needed to do at home and unwinding was not possible. On more than one occasion, my in laws arrived early to help with Thanksgiving, there car was in the driveway as I pulled in. 

One year, while busy with a particularly memorable set of grueling conferences, both my girls were sick at home. I was a basket case worrying about my daughter's 103 degree fever and if a doctor was warranted when I arrived home.

It was like having a split personality. I cared for my school kids, but my real kids were suffering without me. 

I recall waiting for the doctor to call me at school after the girls were seen. Apparently, my husband had taken them both to the doctor since I was freaking out about taking them to Florida to see their grandparents in an airplane the following day. 

The secretary put the call through to the teacher's lounge (Can you imagine no phones in the classrooms?) and I was told the diagnosis was strep throat. She'd already started my daughters on antibiotics, and they should be able to make the trip.

Relieved, I lay my head down on the table and wept. You know the ugly crying when the dam seems to break free, and emotions cannot be held at bay. 

My friend, Annette, came into the room and put her hand on my shoulder. In a soothing way, she let me know that it was okay to let it out. She empathized with the long hours at home and at school. She had four daughters, after all, and three came at the same time.

I will never forget that desperate feeling and loss of control. No one can do it all, but teachers seem to be in the top five to make it work.

Be safe and have a great break.

Thanks for listening. 

March 7, 2025

Let's Talk School

My chosen profession was to be an Elementary School Gym Teacher (Sorry TK).

I didn't realize the curriculum would be so intense.

Sure, there were all the one credit hour activity classes that ate up a schedule and left you with 8 classes for 16-hour load,

but the science classes that were required had us sitting next to pre-med students in biology, physiology, anatomy, and theory.

When I graduated and went looking for a job in the early 80's, I had a new respect for teachers in general.

I told myself I could never be a classroom teacher. 

I was being paid to run, do aerobics, dance, hop, and skip with the kids that told me every half hour I was their favorite teacher. 

There was nothing to complain about.

Until the school faced a wave of budget cuts, and the first thing whittled back was physical education.

I was told I would be placed in a second-grade classroom.

I had so much anguish thinking about teaching subject areas I didn't feel qualified to teach, I would up at night wringing my hands. 

Finishing the required 18 hours of continuing education made me a prime candidate to go into a classroom.

I had worked in the building for 5 years and knew all the ins and outs of the teachers that worked there.

I. Wanted. Nothing. Of. A. Classroom.

But, as luck would have it, my friend Lynette observed my feelings of inadequacy and offered to switch grade levels with me so I could be with the older kids. 

Older, yeah. 

They were ten.

Those first few months I pored over teacher's editions of the subjects I was to teach. 

A whole new world opened up for me.

I found I really loved being in the classroom.

For the next 30 years, I entered the school every day with gratitude for allowing me to have discovered my real love.

During my tenure as an educator, I shared a common bond with millions of teachers around the world. 

Our stories ran along the same thread. 

We could relate.

We paid union dues for some really great health benefits.

Our pensions were front loaded in a shared way with our district.

The profession was sought after for the benefits and not the salary, but honestly, that health care was second to none.

As expenses began to chip away at the entire package teachers were granted, there was a shift in the quality of people applying to the profession.

Signing bonuses, corporate ladders, and instant income of the business world claimed many who might have been great at teaching.

By the time I retired, the Michigan Education Association had taken hit after hit in supporting their constituency. 

The governor had allowed for open shop and not everyone was required to pay union dues.

The benefits packages were not front loaded any longer and plans received direct withdrawals from paychecks that hadn't grown incrementally and were no longer sustaining the employees or their families.

Today, teachers pay into a 403b account for the pension they fund themselves.
The majority of them rely on benefit packages in which their copay and deductible are higher than ever before.

Yet, the salary scales have not increased.

Why do I write this?

I just really want people to understand that those people in the classrooms every day are not there for an easy ride.

They are mandated reporters. They give life bolstering hugs. They assist with the future track of their students, whether in college advising, course suggestion, or trade school possibilities. They are with someone's child 8 hours a day and must be held to a standard that does not reflect judgment, philosophy, freedom of speech, religion of any kind, or non-inclusion. 

It is a big bite to take to be a teacher.

Honestly, I have seen some of the greats.

And I have also seen some of the not-so-greats.

As the Trump administration begins to do away with the Department of Education, I ask parents and teachers alike to be diligent in the evaluation of what's happening to public schools. 

There are certainly places to cut funding, but maybe after a thorough examination of what and how.

This takes time.

The Constitution seems to be challenged at every turn.

Public education is a right and should not be reduced to be less than desirable.

Governor Whitmer, if you need an advocate for the schools, look no further.

Thanks for listening. 

February 13, 2025

Wish you were here, but do you really?

Well, folks, here we are in the armpit of Winter. 

No longer captivated by the quiet solitude of a soft and silent dark evening, I turn to my computer to see what is going on.

I scroll pass the political posts until my fingers get sore.

Kendrick Lamar has them beat as one of the top posts on all the feeds, but I want something different.

Then finally, I come across people who are posting about their tropical winter escapes. 

 You know the ones with them wearing shorts or swimsuits.

Big straw hats. 

Cabanas. 

Palm trees swaying. 

Drool ... Sigh ...

I want to be angry but I'm not.

Instead, I close my eyes and dream of putting myself inside the frame. 

To just feel the warmth for a moment or two.

Yes. Many of you travelers are entitled.

I don't mean that in a negative way, either.

You have worked hard and lived plenty a Michigan winter.

Now, you can show what your years have gotten you?

I love to ride along in my imagination.

Social media has pretty much upended the traveling post cards. 

Oftentimes pictures taken with our cell phones are clearer ... and even better ...we're in them!

But I don't believe for a minute you post those pictures with the idea that you wish we were there. 

That's okay, really. I have done the same.

I just got in from a walk around the block with my dog Lulu.

I prepared both of us to endure the elements as we did the routine morning stroll. 

On went her harness and hooded sweater (No boots today, they won't stay on). I put on my boots, hat, scarf, gloves and snapped the metal trax onto my boots for footing. I counted out three collection bags, pre-opened them so I wouldn't have to stand there and freeze trying to pry the plastic ends (think plastic bags at the produce aisle are bad .... ?)

I opened the door to the winter wonderland that is Michigan.

Immediately, I gasped to breathe. 

The wind off the lake was like a brass knuckled punch. 

Lulu, on the other hand, began to gallop like a horse, dragging me to her favorite rest area a few blocks away,

The priest in the rectory glanced out the window as we passed. 

I wonder if he notices this place on the other side of the bushes is a favorite of all the neighborhood dogs.

We were there but a second and soon were flying back to the warmth of home.

This is why you post pictures of your vacations. 

Because for a few beautiful moments your skin, your face, even your mood is transformed, maybe for a day or week, maybe even longer.

I, for one, say good for you!! 

Bravo and thanks for sharing.

But there might be a teeny tiny shred of me, way back in the deepest part of my brain, that feels a green-eyed monster lurking.

For all you posting your winter escapes, please keep giving us a vacation place to shoot for.

We know that although you might not wishing we were with you, we thank you for giving us a smile and a peek at the sun and warmer times.

Thanks for listening.

February 9, 2025 

 What's the Agenda

  A good teacher knows that in order to alleviate feelings of anxiety in students, a posted agenda often solves the problem.

  As I watch things going down around me these days, as an adult, I figure a timeline to be not only necessary, but more important now. 

   It provides a type of ordinary, a sense of normal.

  Questions like:

  -What time does the plane arrive?

  -What steps to take to keep one safe.

  -What do I do in an emergency?

  -Is there a protocol for...?

  -What came first, the chicken or the egg?

  Inquiring minds not only want to know but need to know to stay alive.

  Until recently, we have had a sense of control over everyday things. We get data from sources that have been giving out that information for decades. With weather and NOAA, you can track the progress of a storm and develop your steps to prepare. If you are living in the frozen north, you can plan to travel when the pavement will be dry.  If you plan a budget on money you receive from retirement income sources, you can visit a website and know the date of the payment to you. If you are having cataract surgery, you have faith the doctor knows the steps in order. 

  Life is about getting from A to B predictably. 

  It is a source of soothing poultice when events get out of control. 

  Don't get me wrong, sometimes the most thrilling experiences come from unexpected places. But too many unexpected events can derail you.

  Have you ever come home from a crazy vacation to crave the normalcy of a schedule? Or did a silly thing and ate ice cream for all three meals only to know your body is giving out signals that enough is enough, you need a real meal?

  We need dependable. 

  We need things we can trust.

  As a person who has had the rug pulled out from under me a few times, I can tell you chaos breeds the kind of anxiety I wouldn't wish on my enemies. 

  The kind that causes you to lose your appetite to even chew and swallow food.

  The kind that holes one up in a house for days fearing to go out in public. 

  The kind that wastes fruitful time and occupies every lobe of the brain with red alerts, flags, and thoughts.

  I don't know about you, but I am feeling more and more people are in my boat right now. 

  And we need to get a stinking grip on what is happening to us. And we need to do it TOGETHER.

  We can't allow ourselves to be minimized or taken out of consideration.

  As human beings who rely on an established source for our very livelihoods, I think we deserve a right to be informed; to know when the paycheck arrives, that the job is secure, or we are kept safe. 

  Go ahead and take care of the swamp. 

  But save the species that has had to live in its foul water.

  Let us in on the timeline, the pace. 

  And by all means, tell us how we will all benefit from cutting the fat, as we are the ones on the diet.

  We aren't enemies.

  We are the American people.

  All of us. 

  We are the people who are the by the people in our nation's constitution.

  We are the people who volunteer and train to protect the freedoms upon which our country has thrived.

  We are the people.

  US.

  There is room in my boat for all of us to join together.

  Thanks for listening.

January 25, 2025

The Measure of Love

You can learn a lot from dogs. 

Patience, yes. But so much more.

My puppy is starting to gray. She's approaching 6 years old and has become a part of me.

The amount of compassion she has taught me cannot be measured by time, money, influencers, or gaslighting.

(Ok. Maybe treats do play a role, but she is a dog.)

There is no second guessing how she feels about us when we come home, with her face at the window beside the front door. Each time it's the same measure of welcoming love, whether we have been gone for minutes or hours. We are her humans. Her job is to love us. 

I wish everyone could spend a few weeks with a pet as their only companion. 

They have so many lessons to share.

Like sitting patiently and not talking. So still as to interpret mood. Or laying a chin on the knee or hand, confirming the soulful solidarity we share. Even when they get curious about what is in the waste basket in the bathroom, they signify the overreach of the act with eye contact (or lack thereof). Most dogs know right from wrong.

It doesn't make me wonder why so many people leave their estate and legacy to pet shelters when they die. 

Shelter dogs aren't greedy. The only thing they want is a home.

I believe pets are a gift from the Universe to provide human beings with the example of selfless love.

And yes, it is excruciating that we lose them so quickly to short life spans when we mourn them more than any human; for sometimes their lessons are far from embedded.

But they are LOVE. 

We are allowed to receive it UNCONDITIONALLY, if we choose.

Mistreated pets are unfriendly. They have been ostracized because of their pedigree, the harshness of their bark, the uncontrollable urge to destroy things, or when the label of untrainable has been assigned to them.

But LOVE breeds LOVE, no?

It can ebb and it can grow. Once it is passed to someone else, the issuer is rewarded. Oh, if only the human race were onto the pleasure giving love, they would understand it would come back to them tenfold. 

What would you say your measure of love is today? 

Do you really catch more flies with honey?

On January 20, I spent the afternoon binge watching "What Would You Do?". It is an ABC series that puts actors in fictional situations where they must either take a moral stand or walk away. I kept the tissues nearby as episode after episode depicted ordinary 'joe's and jane's" stepping up to advocate for one another. In real life. Right here.  It IS possible.

Yet, when I watch situations unravel lately, I wonder why everything is so oppositional. Social media makes people bolder. Bullies hop onto any news feed and comment their heads off, fueled by rants so ugly, they are simply disgraceful. I thought I was sick of it before, but now? It almost feels like I am too helpless or exhausted to join the battle. I don't mean for one side or the other, either. Just the fundamental one. 

The LOVE one. 

I am not ready to give up on my fellow human beings who were born with hearts and brains, just like me. Who somewhere along the line were made to feel less than. 

You are not less than.

People are inherently good.

We will see this season through.

Get a puppy and a new way of thinking?

• Love is patient and kind.

• It does not envy, boast, or act rudely.

• It is not self-seeking or easily angered.

• Love keeps no record of wrongs.

In the silence, in the patience, there you will find peace.

Thanks for listening.

Blog 6 Hand Wringing 

My daughter moved to LA about 4 years ago. She actually lives two blocks from the beach.

She's always been a water lover, and the draw of the Pacific Ocean captured her and caused her to move from her beloved Denver mountains to the long slow sunsets over the Ocean.

If you know me, you know I fret about all things.

Big or Small.

I don't discriminate.

I should have known that 2025 was coming in hot when events around me were becoming more and more unbelievable.

Like 'you've got to be kidding me, that sucks' unbelievable.

But last week, Chelsea sent me a photo of a single plume of smoke, she could see from a perfectly placid morning walking the beach. 

"Caught the smoke from a fire this morning" 

The caption was innocent even though my response was tongue in cheek. Too Close. 

The following morning, I began to receive several texts from friends and family about her safety in these fires. 

I am not watching the news these days so I had no idea that the single plume of smoke would be the beginning of a monstrous series of fires that are still burning as I write this.

Of course, I contacted her right away.

I am fine so far. Don't watch television and get off of social media.

But the lack of control and those stinking Santa Ana winds had me poring over any new source or hot spot.

By day two, the air quality in her home was rough.

She holed up in her apartment with her dog but was considering leaving for a while because the air she was breathing was getting worse.

Meanwhile, I am in Michigan and coming unglued. 

She lives about 15 miles south of Santa Monica and my nephew and his wife live closer.

This morning, she is driving out of there and will eventually get to her sister, Alyssa's, place in Denver.

As a mother of a daughter/son of any age, we stay vigilant through their ups and downs. We are supposed to be the strong ones when things get difficult.

I'm trying and it takes a real deep reach for me when I can't do anything to help her.

I am devastated for all the people who have lost everything in the homes that they loved.

I am also grateful for the lesson in humanity that we all need to take away from this catastrophe. 

It seems the trend of humans in present day America is to think their divisive comments and attitudes matter and thus start spouting off right away. 

No one cares what you think right now.

It's how you ACT.

These weren't all movie stars, you know. 

The fires are still a threat.

Do something for your fellow humans. 

Thanks for listening.