The Ozempic Beauty Standard

By Karla Lester

At the Grand Palais in Paris, the Matisse exhibit was sold out, so my husband and I bought tickets for Mickalene Thomas: an ode to love and beauty. She is the first African American artist to be honored with a major solo exhibition at the Grand Palais. All About Love celebrates Black Beauty. I was struck by how the exhibit showed Black women who were not occupying the spaces created and controlled by men, but rather their own beautiful spaces. It was such a moving exhibit and the first time viewing art that I felt like I was a true observer, floating, looking in. I felt like what it must have been like to be on Artemis II and look back at the Earth in wonder. The pictures of the paintings I've highlighted in this blog took up whole walls in huge rooms of the Grand Palais in Paris.  

In America, we’ve entered dangerous territory. Has the work of the body positivity movement been undone by the onslaught of Glucagon Like Peptide (GLP) medications, like Ozempic? Are celebrities and social media influencers to blame? 

America’s obsession with thinness is not based on health. In fact, thinness in America has nothing to do with health. Because we haven’t deconstructed the thin equals health myth and still have a lot of confusion and misinformation about what health is, in some ways it feels like we are stuck in the 80’s and 90’s and early 2000’s.

Oprah’s weight has been the topic of discussion, almost an obsession, since she got on the air. It’s not a surprise that she feels a relief to have found a medication that will treat a chronic condition that she has dealt with so publicly. She invested and divested in weight watchers. She gets to do what she wants and I’m tired of thinking about Oprah and her weight. Most likely not as tired as she is. Serena Williams is the GOAT athlete. She started taking a GLP medication when she retired and has had some amazing results. It seems like she immediately invested in a company that sells GLP medications and she started advertising. Serena is always the GOAT and gets to do what she wants. The ethics are fuzzy though. 

Celebrities, like Demi Moore, who was strong in her role and physically as GI Jane, recently showed up on the red carpet looking gaunt with collar bones and ribs and like all the other celebs with their frozen filler and botox injected faces. They’re all looking the same and they look like they are weak and ready to pass out. But, if the harms are called out of what seems like a scary trend which will be harmful for teens and young women and boys too, then you get called out and told not to comment on women’s bodies. Eating disorders are glorified everywhere. Have we backtracked and lost all momentum? 

Kate Winslet, Lizzo, and Hillary Duff are working to show up in the middle lane of health and stay out of the harms of restrictive diet culture. They are their own beauty standard, but they are rare and it is a very difficult road in Hollywood, in the music industry and on the internet. The Kardashians who set the Instagram photoshopped beauty standard with their plastic surgery are now having their BBL’s removed. 

Social media influencers who built huge platforms as body positive creators are now taking Ozempic and have flipped the script and turned into “health” influencers peddling supplements or compounded versions of Ozempic. Many of their followers feel betrayed and are questioning whether they should try Ozempic. Many have a history of restrictive eating behaviors and weight controlling behaviors and have worked very hard to heal. It makes it difficult to find safe spaces online that won’t trigger internalized bias and body shame, not to mention eating disorders. 

Body positivity has been co-opted by thin white women on social media. Trad wife culture means rich women are cosplaying pioneers selling protein powder and raw milk, while wasting away and getting silent. It’s all a grift. It’s all about adhering to the patriarchy and keeping the male gaze and the patriarchal capitalism fires burning. Check out Ballerina Farms, but don't buy anything.

Body positive creators on TikTok who I follow, many are artists, PhD graduate students, content creators, musicians, are accused of promoting obesity by merely existing in a large body. It makes sense that they would want to seek safety from cyberbullying attacks. Defending your existence becomes exhausting in their comment section filled with gym bro trolls who think they know everything about your health from a video.

Ozempic and other GLP medications seem like miracle drugs to thousands, if not millions of Americans who are dealing with diseases like chronic obesity, cardiovascular disease, and type 2 diabetes. But, due to the high cost, access to medications is a real problem and the right patients aren’t always able to get the medication. 

Medications like Ozempic are extremely helpful metabolic health tools. I know because I prescribe them for my patients. At the same time, layering Ozempic onto America’s diet culture has resulted in a dangerous and unhealthy standard that makes it more difficult for patients to focus on health. Anyone can get their hands on a compounded version and there are many bad companies out there capitalizing on our obsession with thinness.

The beauty standard is patriarchal socially constructed and is not about health or even beauty. It’s about silencing and obedience. Smallness is weakness of body and voice. It’s the pursuit of thin privilege and the social capital of thinness and not health. It has to do more with patriarchy, Christian Nationalism and white supremacy. 

In “Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia”, which should be required reading for everyone, author Sabrina Strings, details the history of anti-fat and pro-thin bias in America and the complex intersections of gender, race, class and morality. Dr. Strings named the birth of the new ‘ascetic aesthetic’ when in Great Britain, philosophers, physicians and religious leaders began to define a new etiquette, what scholars call “standards of taste”, for how women and men should behave. They should show restraint of oral appetite. The new ways of judging beauty required the superior and rational mind, specifically of men. “English men were seen as the arbiters of taste, or those capable of creating the guidelines for judging beauty. English women were seen as its representatives.” The 'ascetic aesthetic' made its way to America. Ascetic means austere or self-disciplined.

There isn’t a woman who hasn’t experienced the pressure or bias of the ‘ascetic aesthetic', all while the most unhealthiest of Presidents, Spray Tan Bitcoin Donny, comments on women' s bodies and says, “Quiet Quiet, Piggy,” as he posts AI pics of himself on Truth Social looking like a gym bro. What a dangerous joke.

America's beauty standard is socially constructed and based on marginalization, peripheralization and silencing voices that don’t perpetuate white supremacy. Eugenics has been perpetuated by Body Mass Index (BMI), championed for decades by the medical community. 

Aubrey Gordon, an activist, co-host of the Maintenance Phase podcast, in her book, “You Just Need to Lose Weight and 19 other myths about fat people", writes about how BMI has caused harm and isn’t a direct correlate to health. Sonya Renee Taylor writes in “My Body is Not an Apology” about the tools for radical self-love in a culture that creates constant body shame. 

The body positive movement was created by Black Queer women. All About Love was created by a Black Queer woman and her paintings took up whole walls of the Grand Palais. There's much more at stake than the size of our bodies. Voting rights, reproductive rights and healthcare are being stripped away.

Do the work to deconstruct the toxicity. Read the books I referenced here. The most important and intentional work I have done is through social justice workshops through the Body Positive Institute. I have made the commitment to never contribute to further harm, silencing or peripheralizing voices. I encourage you to do the work too. Check out All About Love by Mickalene Thomas if you are able to. Your whole world will change forever. I am so very grateful the Matisse exhibit was sold out.

You are your own beauty standard. Art changes the world for the better. Take up space. Roar your glorious roar!

Childless Cat Ladies Make The World Go 'Round

By Chelsea Klinkebiel

“We are effectively run…. by a bunch of childless cat ladies who are miserable at their own lives and the choices that they've made and so they want to make the rest of the country miserable too". This very stupid statement by J.D. Vance in 2021 implicated Kamala Harris, Pete Buttigieg, and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez as examples of childless people who did not have a stake in the future of our country because they did not have biological children (even though Kamala Harris is a stepmother and Pete Buttigieg and his husband added children to their family very shortly after these comments). Ever since these comments resurfaced a few years later and became echoed by other GOP mouthpieces (e.g, the “diabolical lie” speech by Harrison Butker at a college graduation), I have felt deeply unsettled by a message that I see reflected in political discourse, in social media, and in my students’ discussions about their futures. It is not a new message. It is patriarchy that has been repackaged into a shiny, 2020s-modern shell. Tradwife influencers and plenty of mediocre men are trying to sell the idea that for women to truly find their meaning and purpose in life, they need to birth babies, and a lot of them.

While growing up, I was fortunate to have many amazing women in my life who happened to not have children. Many of my colleagues and friends fit the description of a “childless cat (or dog) lady.”  These women are phenomenal educators, mentors, advocates, and volunteers. They are aunts who provide their wisdom, perspective, and unconditional love to nieces and nephews. These women care for other children in the community as if they were their own children or grandchildren, providing resources, respite to parents, enrichment, and safety. We could discuss for hours the incredible women throughout history who happened to not have biological children and who have impacted millions and led deeply fulfilling lives. They have been scientists, artists, activists, business moguls, public servants, and on and on.

Of course, this is not a suggestion of the exact opposite: that for women to find their true purpose, they
should not have children. I chose to be a mother and decided that one child was enough. My life felt complete and fulfilled in the role of a mother who is also a psychologist, professor, advisor, mentor, wife, aunt, daughter, niece, friend, volunteer, traveler, etc. Yet, I have received countless messages (some implicit and some very explicit) from strangers, acquaintances, friends, and family members that somehow, one child is not enough - that perhaps, I am not “enough” of a mother if I have only one child. Why the obsession with the number of children someone has birthed?

I don’t know if the women who happen not to have biological children need to be told just how amazing they are. They likely know, but we should still remind them. And perhaps society needs a reminder, particularly as dangerous messages are being sent to the next generation of women who will decide how they want to form their biological or chosen families. The insinuation that women who do not have multiple biological children are not enough is another example of the dehumanization of those who do not fit the conservative aesthetic of what makes a person worthy of love, worthy of protection, worthy of human rights.

Of course, the GOP will attempt to veil this dehumanization thinly enough to push an agenda of traditional gender roles, stay-at home mothers, and homesteading by way of a carefully manicured, artificial aesthetic that influencers create.  For example, the “More babies, less burnout” message delivered to young women was part of a speech at a Turning Point USA conference this last year. As if burnout magically disappears once you are following the societal norms that the GOP is trying to set. However, parents and non-parents alike are very aware that:

• U.S. healthcare and childcare systems are shamefully inadequate compared to those in other countries, and families continue to rely on crowdfunding to pay their medical bills.
• Pregnant women’s lives are at risk, and women are dying as reproductive healthcare rights are being actively eroded.
• Unless you have large amounts of privilege, it is virtually impossible to thrive on one income in this economy.
• Women who leave the workforce in the U.S. and who are financially dependent on a partner face innumerable risks to their well-being, safety, and security.
• Women who are stay-at-home parents AND women who work as many hours as their partners are burdened with the bulk of the mental and physical load related to caring for children and a household. 

So, loving and cherishing women and children is not at the heart of the pressure for more babies. And very obviously, if you want to reduce burnout, there are a lot of other great places to start (you know, maybe by having our tax dollars go to programs and infrastructure that support families rather than those that rip families apart and bomb innocent civilians, including women and children).

I hope that the next generation of women can see through the obvious lies and distractions that are being perpetuated. And I hope they will see the amazing women who lead rich, fulfilling lives as models of who they can aspire to be, regardless of whether they decide to have children. Because these women truly make the world go ‘round.

In letters we reveal, we confess, we atone, we vent

By JoAnne Young

I learned some things this month as a finished up this month’s book club book, The Correspondent. I learned that I need to get back to writing letters. It’s fine to post a comment on social media, or jot a quick email to a friend or coworker or politician. But it seems not the same as a letter, in your own handwriting that is, at once, old school and next level, in an envelope. 

 

We reveal in letters. We commit self-therapy. We confess. We encourage. We let others know how we feel about them, rather than keep those feelings to ourselves. Sometimes we vent. We learn about ourselves, the normal and the quirky. (Mostly I like the quirky.)

 

Virginia Evans, author of The Correspondent, writes through her character Sybil: “If all this amounts to you as nothing more than drivel, then you might also consider a simpler value of the written letter, which is, namely, that reaching out in correspondence is really one of the original forms of civility in the world, the preservation of which has to be of some value we cannot yet see. ... The written word in black and white. It is letters. It is books. It is law. It’s all the same.”

 

Recently, I found an envelope of individual letters written to me many years ago from a class of elementary students I had talked to about my job and a recent trip. The teacher had assigned the letter writing, and I thought many of them were thoughtful. But one stood out. So I was moved to find an address for this young person, who is in her early 40s by now, and send her the letter and wish her well in the important job she has taken on. I have no idea if the address was correct and if she got the letter. But I really liked writing and sending it to her.  

 

Here are a few others I need to write. 

 

* “Dear Sen. Megan Hunt, 

     I saw in you from your first day in the Nebraska Legislature, that you would be, as sports and entertainment writers say, ‘one to watch.’ You proved my instincts to be right. Now after eight years, term limits mean you must leave and take with you your candor, conviction, honesty, intelligence and thoughtful approach to bills. 

     In your farewell speech this past week, you left us all with much to think about. You recognized that the responsibility of our elected lawmakers and governors is to bring the future into being. It can’t be designed on fear and anger, you said, but on opportunities for equality and freedom and an affordable lifestyle. On strengthening our culture.

    To do that, we must change the message for young people that they deserve to make at least a minimum wage for their work. For immigrants that they and their contributions are welcome in Nebraska. That women know best what decisions to make for their health and childbearing. That those who identify as LGBTQ belong in Nebraska as who they are. That the work of educators, researchers, scientists are valued and worthy of investment. 

     Thank you for your words, for the bills you fought for and for your caring for us all.”

 

* To the health care providers and all workers in the emergency department of the Bryan West Medical Center, where I volunteer: 

 

“Dear all ... Thank you for your caring for the people of Lincoln who find themselves on any given day hurting or scared, feverish or weak, nauseous, or broken in some way. You greet them in the kindest of ways ... those who clearly don’t want to be there, those who are filled with fear, are in tears, or for whom you are a target of their frustration or anger. Thank you for choosing hospital-based care. You are needed.” 

 

* A short note of appreciation to whoever thought up this meme: “You are the result of 3.8 billion years of evolutionary success. Act like it.” 

 

* An apology to the young versions of my children for any physical injuries I caused. 

 

     “Dearests: I tried so hard to be the guardian of your adorable little bodies, to live by that oath: first, do no harm.  But it happens. To my firstborn, I say, ‘Eighteen months into your babyhood, you toddled out of your bedroom as I told you, “Hurry, Carson, we have to go pick up Daddy at work.” My mind on getting out of the house, I moved quickly to get you into the hallway to leave, not noticing that you had put four little fingers between the door jamb and the open bedroom door. I tried to shut the door behind you, but it wouldn’t close tightly. I pulled on it again to hear it click, hearing instead your screech, and then wail, piercing the hallway air. I am so sorry. When I got you untangled from the doorway, I saw I had flattened three of your beautiful, until that moment perfect, fingers. 

 

     It wasn’t the only time I made such a mistake, kids. A few years later I pulled shut a Plymouth Voyager side door, smashing four little Elizabeth fingers between the metals of the sliding door and the minivan frame. Did I say how sorry I am enough times? You may have gotten over the pain in a short time. I did not.”

 

* I wrote a partial letter to a friend from work a few years ago as she was retiring. And here I will confess a terrible shortcoming: I write but sometimes never send the letter. I think it is incomplete and I need to write more. But then I get busy with life and forget, and it sits there waiting for me. 

 

So I share it here, today and in part, to Cindy Lange Kubick with apologies that it is several years late. 

 

“Cindy: 

     You came to the Journal Star about 10 years after me. I remember thinking, this woman is a bold writer, a woman who can take on subject matter I just hadn’t considered. You wrote about hair in your nose and hair on your chin. And strippers. And sex. I thought: I could learn from this woman about bold writing and taking risks. I never did it as well as you, but you helped me to keep pushing to improve, all the way to today. 

     When the papers merged and tension was high, you wrote: “Who wants to write birthday cards when she can tap dance with words across the page of a daily paper?” You stayed a while, and so did I, and we both loved that dance up to the minute we took off the tap shoes.

     I’m a big fan, not only of your writing, but of you, the woman who feels free to eat her cookie while waiting for her entrée. Thank you. And please keep me on your Valentine cards list. I love watching your grandchildren grow.” 

 

One last thought.

 

* As Sybil in The Correspondent did, I would like to write to all those people whose books, poems, essays and photographs I so enjoy and learn from. It would be a full-time job. Here’s a thank you to one who is more than a thousand years gone. Maybe the vibration of his name being written will penetrate the temporal continuum. 

 

     “Dear Rumi, 

     I take encouragement from your poem “The Guest House,” in which you compare being human to a guest house with its new arrivals each morning, be they joys, or dark thoughts, some momentary awareness, or sorrows that sweep your house empty, but may be clearing you out for some new delight. Meet them at the door laughing, you wrote, and be grateful, ‘because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.’ 

     I, we all, need this more than ever. Thank you for the reach through time with it.” 

 

 And thank you to Virginia Evans for the letter writing nudge. 

Follow 5 Women Mayhem on Facebook. And thank you for sharing our words. 

The Week That Was....

 By Marilyn Moore

It’s been a week….more adjectives and nouns come to mind than can be set down on this page.  You can silently, or loudly, fill in the blanks as you choose….Throughout the week, I was struck by the sharp contrast of what was happening on planet Earth, particularly in the US foreign policy decisions and actions related to the war with Iran, and what was happening way above and beyond planet Earth, as Artemis II made its way to and around the moon, and home again.  

It started on Easter Sunday morning, a Christian day of celebration, the resurrection story that captures the very heart of Christian faith and belief.  In its more non-religious sense, Easter is celebrated as a time of new birth, fresh beginnings, the return of spring with its longer days, milder temperatures, and soft colors after a dark and dreary winter.  Some Christians are offended by the non-religious celebrations; I am not among them.  I think any celebration of life and birth and spring is a good thing.  

Easter is not a US holiday.  It does not mark any particular civic event.  It literally doesn’t take an Act of Congress, nor a court ruling, nor an executive order, to bring it about.  And I’m very grateful for that.  Most US presidents comment on the day, noting it as a time to reaffirm hope and kindness.  

That was not the message that President Trump shared on Easter Sunday.  Instead, he posted an obscenity-laced threat, directed toward the Iranian government, noting that they would be in hell if they did not accede to his demands.  

On that same Easter Sunday, Victor Glover, pilot of the Orion spacecraft, said this.  “In all of this emptiness…you have this oasis, this beautiful place that we get to exist together.  I think as we go into Easter Sunday, thinking about all the cultures all around the world – whether you celebrate it or not, whether you believe in God or not – this is an opportunity for us to remember where we are, who we are, and that we are the same thing and that we’ve got to get through this together.”  

While receiving a fair amount of pushback for his Easter Day obscenities, President Trump did not change his message, nor his behavior.  At the traditional White House Easter Egg Roll on the day after Easter, he spoke to the children and their families who were present…and diverged from whatever planned remarks were intended to a rant against the Iranian government, which had not opened the Strait of Hormuz, in spite of his demands.  And he implied that the children there could someday grow up and join the Army and kill Iranians…not exactly the Easter Egg Roll message their parents had expected.

This was the day that Orion was to circle the moon, losing all radio connection with Earth during its 40-minute path on the back side of the moon.  That lack connection happened, as planned, and it seemed that for a few moments, the Earth took a collective breath, and held it, until connection was re-established as Orion emerged.  And then we learned the loving, kind, tear-inducing request from the crew, that a crater which straddles the light and dark sides of the moon and can occasionally be seen from Earth, be named Carroll, in memory of Commander Wiseman’s wife, who had died in 2020.  Jeremy Hansen said, “It’s a bright spot on the moon, and we would like to call it Carroll.”

On Tuesday, we awoke to another post from President Trump, threatening to obliterate the Iranian people, an entire civilization, if the Strait of Hormuz were not opened by that night at 8:00 p.m.  When pressed by reporters, he said he hoped it wouldn’t happen, but it probably would.  A day of watching, and waiting, a day of anxiety and trepidation, for most of the everyday folk, like you and me.  A day of pushback to that message from members of both parties and from leaders of nations around the world.  And a day of fervent and frantic behind-the-scenes negotiations, with Pakistan emerging as the country that appeared to be able to take messages between the US and Iran.  Who knew Pakistan would be the mediator….  And, reminiscent of some other threats, earning the sobriquet of TACO, President Trump announced  with 90 minutes remaining before his imposed deadline, Iran had agreed to a deal…or at least, had put forth a 10-point negotiation proposal, that would buy two weeks of a cease fire.  

And in space, Orion was heading home, returning from its journey of more than a quarter of a million miles, and sending stunning photographs seemingly every hour of planet Earth, which clearly has no national boundaries.  Commander Wiseman said it well, “What we really hoped in our soul is that we could, for just a moment, have the world pause and remember that this is a beautiful planet in a very special place in our universe, and we should all cherish what we have, what we have been gifted.”

For the next three days, the messiness of trying to negotiate an end to a war, with Pakistan again playing the mediator among Iran, Israel, and the US, dominated the headlines.  There was a cease fire, until there wasn’t.  The Strait of Hormuz was open, but not really.  Israel’s bombing of Lebanon was covered by the cease fire, or it wasn’t…depended on who was asked.  (Regardless, Israel continued to bomb Lebanon.) Ships were passing through the Strait, or they weren’t….or they were, but they were being charged a $2million toll, with proceeds going to Iran.  The President described this as a reset, noting that the US armed forces are using this time to re-stock, re-supply, and re-arm for continued warfare if needed, “stronger than ever before.”  

And Orion continued on its way home.  The astronauts conducted a variety of tests, gathered data, stayed in shape in a no-gravity environment, and conveyed the sense of wonder and awe that comes from a perspective only a handful of people have ever experienced.  Christina Koch, flight engineer, wrote about all that was yet before us as humans in understanding the universe in which we live.  “We will explore, we will build ships, we will visit again.  We will construct science outposts, we will drive rovers, we will do radio astronomy, we will found companies, we will bolster industry, we will inspire, but – ultimately – we will always choose Earth.  We will always choose each other.”

On Friday, VP Vance headed off to Islamabad to lead the US negotiations team.  When asked what his plan was if negotiations failed, President Trump said he didn’t have one, he’d have to wait and see.  And noted that he didn’t much care, because Iran’s military had been destroyed, and the US military was stronger.  Hardly a position of strength for the US team, if the boss doesn’t much care if you’re successful or not….

In space, the astronauts made final steps for re-entry to Earth, readying Integrity for separation and exposure of the heat shield, in preparation for the 5000 degree temperatures the descent would produce.  They had their last meal of space food, they checked off dozens of check points, and they continued to broadcast.  I think of the feeling on the last day of a long and adventuresome vacation…fulfilled beyond words at the adventure itself, excited to be home, and aware that in some way, life is forever changed.  I suspect that was true for them, a hundred times over.  And at 7:07 pm CDT, they splashed down in the Pacific Ocean, just off the coast of San Diego, with a whole world watching as the parachutes deployed against that bright blue sky and the water splashed over the capsule.  A perfect landing, as planned, and executed.  

Today, cease fire negotiations have come to an end for the day, with VP Vance saying the US has given Iran its final and best offer.  Doesn’t sound to me like there’s a negotiated settlement there.  

The astronauts are in Houston, undergoing all the assessments of those who return to Earth from space.  In their comments today, they talked about the joy of being a crew, the purpose, the sacrifice, the grace, the accountability that they shared.  

And so, the week comes to an end.  The Artemis II mission is complete, a success by any and every measure.  The Middle East is still embroiled in war and turmoil, and nothing about it gives any indication of that changing any time soon.  

I recognize that planning and executing a scientific mission, even one as complex as a lunar flyby, is not as challenging as resolving human tensions that include clashes of culture, history, power, land, and nuclear capabilities.  The laws of physics can be known….and relentless, persistent, creative applications of physics to engineering, aerodynamics, astronomy, and all related fields can reveal solutions that are likely to work.  Testing, revising, re-testing…honoring and respecting expertise and talent with discipline and focus, taking the time and investing the resources to do it right, and results happen.  

The laws of human behavior are not as well known or understood, nor agreed upon.  But even those that are, and those that have been agreed to for the past eighty years, seem especially stretched right now.  The best of the scientific expertise was brought to the table as Artemis II was dreamed, designed, and built.  I wish I had confidence that the best of international diplomacy was at the table in Pakistan right now.  I do not….

I keep returning to Christina Koch’s words, “We will always choose each other.”  That is aspirational language…I so hope it is true.  And today she said, as she talked about the astronaut crew, “I know I haven’t learned everything that this journey has yet to teach me.  Bu there’s one new thing I know, and that is planet Earth:  You are a crew.”  That is a challenge….I so hope we live into it. 

The week that was….a huge scientific accomplishment, filled with points of pride and a lift for the human spirit.  And a festering war, perhaps at a tipping point…leading to the next week.   

“Trust us, you look amazing, you look beautiful.  You also look like one thing.  Homo sapiens is all of us, no matter where you’re from or what you look like.  We’re all one people.”  Victor Glover, Orion pilot

Moonstruck, finding cosmic renewal in a shared wonder of our universe

 By Mary Kay Roth

I had just hugged Snow White when my parents suddenly ushered my brother and me into a huge indoor arena at Disneyland, a vast warehouse with crowds of people stuffed together – all staring up at television sets scattered wall to wall.  

The room was completely still. Mickey Mouse was nowhere in sight.

Eyes glued to TV screens. 

The first human was walking on the moon.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

And the room erupted in an explosion of gleeful applause, way beyond anything reserved for the Magic Kingdom. 

Today, decades later, that childhood magic is a bit tarnished. But the mystique of outer space stays with me.

Black holes, stardust and meteor showers. The origins of life. Star Trek and Star Wars. Moongazing at that big, beautiful globe shining down.

Last week, more than half a century from when I visited Disneyland, I watched the launch of Artemis II, heading to the moon, and I felt an even greater sense of awe, reverence and perhaps urgency.

“The first thing I would say is, trust us, you look amazing. You look beautiful,” said NASA astronaut Victor Glover. “And from up here, you also look like one thing. Homo sapiens is all of us, no matter where you’re from or what you look like. We’re all one people.”

I’ve always loved those photos of our planet Earth taken from spaceships – taken from the moon – where earth looks like a delicate even fragile blue oasis, beautiful and in dire need of protection. Trite but true, from space there are no boundaries, no walls or even countries.

Artemis astronaut Christina Koch, after liftoff: “You don’t see borders, you don’t see religious lines, you don’t see political boundaries.  All you see is Earth and you see that we are way more alike than we are different.” 

My heart sings a little at the cosmic renewal I take away from that thought, a transcendence of earthly limitations and silly resentments in exchange for a celebration of the diversity and commonality of human experience.

So, as four astronauts took off last week I tried to imagine – at a time when our world seems fractured and weary – if there are other remaining moments that give us a such a shared sense of humanity.

On a 10-day mission, this is the first crewed lunar flyby in more than 50 years.

Traveling in a craft dwarfed by the vastness of space. A craft that will likely soar a record 250,000 miles away from Earth. A craft with a crew of four remarkable explorers that includes a black man, a woman and, good grief, even Canadian Jeremy Hansen, who noted: "Humanity has once again shown what we are capable of, and it's your hopes for the future that carry us now on this journey around the moon.”

In fact, in a few days those astronauts will reach and circle Earth’s closest neighbor, up close and personal, going incommunicado while they view perspectives on the dark side never observed by human eyes – paving the way for a crewed mission that might once again land on the moon.

And we watch.  

Together.

The guy who just sacked my groceries and my dentist. The families I met in South America and Africa. My cousins in Nebraska and in California. Birthright citizens, immigrants, refugees. The neighbor who brought me cookies and the neighbor who is upset with me. Folks on cruise ships and in fishing boats.   

Each night, people around the world still gaze up at celestial wonders, the stars, lunar and solar eclipses, northern lights, unexpected gifts that continue to give us a sense of curiosity, incredulity and togetherness. 

In Project Hail Mary, a grand movie that has just hit the theaters, a science teacher named Ryland Grace (played by Ryan Gosling) has been sent into outer space on a mission to save the earth from a dying sun.  Spoiler alert, Gosling meets up and joins forces with an alien named Rocky – from planet Erid, 16 light years from Earth – so they can rescue, not just our planet, but the entire universe.

“The universe is so vast, yet our connection to each other is what ultimately matters,” the science teacher says in the movie.  “We are all connected. We are all part of something greater than ourselves.”

Imagine, saved by heroics and inter-alien camaraderie.

“Do you believe in God?” asks Andy Weir, the author of Project Hail Mary.  “I know it’s a personal question. I do. And I think he was pretty awesome to make relativity a thing, don’t you? The faster you go, the less time you experience. It’s like he’s inviting us to explore the universe, you know?  We are all astronauts navigating the vast unknown.  It is our duty to leave a lasting legacy.”

Sometimes that’s tough to remember.

When your daffodils freeze – and you can’t figure out how to open your garage door opener (to replace batteries) – and three keys on your laptop keep sticking – and you’re the “next caller in line” for more than half an hour – and our wise historian Heather Cox Richardson says Donald Trump is “cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

Despite such nonsense, life continues to beckon us to embrace the shared wonder of our cosmos.

And, yes, space travel provides profound scientific discovery.

But I prefer the breathtaking wonder of it all, the relentless human desire to go beyond. 

Poet Mary Oliver, urges us to “Keep some room in our heart for the unimaginable,” describing outer space as a vast tapestry of unknowns, each thread woven with threads of mystery and adventure.

Somehow, I can’t imagine a greater vision on this beautiful spring Easter weekend, because I cannot look up at a full moon without pausing, reflecting, taking stock of who I am and how fortunate I am to be alive. 

Long, long ago, Apollo 9 astronaut Rusty Schweickart looked down upon Earth and reminded us: 

“You realize that on that small spot, that little blue and white thing, is everything that means anything to you. All of history and music and poetry and art and war and death and birth and love, tears, joy, games — all of it on that little spot out there that you can cover with your thumb. And you realize that that perspective has — that you’ve changed. That there’s something new there. That relationship is no longer what it was.”

“Je ne parle pas Francais” (I don’t speak French)

 by Karla Lester

When middle kid Audrey graduated from college a semester early, she announced she would be heading to France to be an au pair. Quickly, she had to go to Chicago for her French work visa and get everything in order. She was excited to go to Saintes, France, a five hour drive from Paris to live with the sweetest family with two adorable and energetic children, Juliette and Charles (pronounced Sharl in French).

My husband and I decided to visit Audrey in Saintes and spend the last three days in Paris. It seems like a strange time to travel to France. To say au revoir to all the troubles in the world and visit Europe. I was counting on a great visit to France to see parts of the country I hadn’t seen and a great visit with Audrey. What I wasn’t counting on was the opportunity to get to know the French family she’s staying with and see what their lives are like.

Juliette is seven and Charles is four. Audrey adores their little French voices, exuberance, and the funny things they say and do. She’s taught them “catch me if you can” and “close the door” and tries to teach them English when they are interested, which isn’t often, since they are busy with school, which is four days a week along with their music and dance classes.  

Saintes, France is the town their parents, Nico and Alice, moved to from Paris when Juliette was a baby to have a more family friendly lifestyle. Just like a lot of American families, they moved to a more family friendly place compared to raising a family in a big city. Audrey loves picking them up from school and walking them home, often riding the city bus. Charles calls Audrey “babysitter” and sneaks up to her room. When asked if it’s Charles outside the door, he responds, “Oui, c’est moi.” Yes, it is me in his adorable little French voice. Juliette and Charles are learning English, but speak mainly French with Audrey. When she first got there, Charles kept repeating himself to her and when she finally understood what he was saying, he exclaimed, in French, “Finally, she comprehends!” 

We were expecting to have a nice visit with Audrey, but not the hospitality that their busy family showed to us. They have a lovely home they built in Saintes on the hill above Le fleuve Charente, the Charente river, which flooded when Audrey got to town. The flood had dissipated by the time we arrived, but had impacted the town greatly. We visited the sites in Saintes, including the Roman amphitheater. Audrey laughed zooming in on a picture of me in the middle of the amphitheater in all my Mom bod glory. She titled the pic, A true gladiator. This is what it’s like having young adult children. 

Just like American families navigating the busy hustle of everyday life. Both parents are busy working and taking care of their family, getting kids to their activities. Just like American families, they are working to keep screen time to a minimum and struggle to negotiate and get their kids off screens. Juliette and Charles love Bluey just like American kids. Nico is a doctor and Alice is a lawyer. As busy professionals, watching them took me back to raising young kids which are days I miss and also make me tired thinking of them. 

Regard! Regard! Look! Look! Charles and Juliette showed us their toys and their rooms and their books. Encore! Encore! Again! Again! Charles and Juliette laughed hysterically at Darek, my husband, who was pretending to lift a balloon leftover from Juliette’s birthday party, acting like it weighed a ton. Then, they tried and showed their parents their new trick. Audrey knew the kids would laugh at her funny Dad and won’t even notice that we don’t speak French. Charles especially didn’t care. He just loved running around the house, yelling, “Catch me if you can.” 

Alice and Nico talked about not being political. When raising young children, there’s no time to be political. They did share that the U.S. has always been a protector, but now that isn’t the case and Russia is very close. It’s a worry. They pay a lot in taxes, just like we do in America and wonder where it’s going. Their economy is also struggling and they worry about housing, jobs, healthcare and education. They are thinking about the people in France and not just themselves or their own interests. They are open minded and surprised that we are too. 

We talked about where to go in Paris and about France. They asked what Americans think of French people. Do they think the streets of Paris are dirty? I said no that Americans think the French don’t like us. They said that’s the English after Brexit. 

They love Yellowstone, the show and would love to visit the National Park, but their favorite show is The Office. Alice and Nico have both been to the United States and want to take Juliette and Charles and want them to learn English. Alice loves cowboys and wants to see real live cowboys in America. Nico would rather visit New York City. They worry about guns in America if they visit. I didn’t know what to say other than we are very worried too. 

There’s nothing intuitive about French. Je ne parle pas Francais is what Audrey taught me as we were heading to Paris without her for the last leg of our trip. During the stay in Saintes, I kept thinking I was able to intuitively figure out what people were saying and I kept coming up wrong. Audrey basically said, even though it’s obvious to any French person you try to talk to, you need this simple statement, Mom. Je ne parle pas Francais. It made me think of how many things I get lost in translation in English. 

Most people don’t speak English in the area of Saintes, France. The lady cutting up a quiche in a bakery in Cognac, where we visited and toured the Cognac distillery, asking if my husband wanted it cut in half, I thought was asking if he wanted a box for his quiche. She’s asking if you want a box. “No, she’s not, Mom," Audrey chuckled. “She’s asking if he wants the quiche cut in half.” 

The woman at the train station asking if we needed two or three tickets, I could have sworn, was asking for our driver’s license which you do have to show to buy a train ticket in France. Even on the rare occasion a person spoke English, I would call Audrey over to translate. Darek needed some antacids after too many cups of strong French coffee while visiting La Rochelle, a beautiful port city where we made 7 food and drink stops. I didn’t know the pharmacist could speak English and so called Audrey over a bit too loudly, “Audrey, we need you over here. Je ne parley vous Francais? I can’t remember how you say I don’t speak French, but my daughter does speak French.” “You need antacids,” the pharmacist asked clear as a bell. At that moment, in France, I had turned into my Mom, Barb, who used to embarrass the heck out of me in stores. “I’m embarrassing my daughter because I have this sweat mustache. But, just you wait, when you go through menopause and get hot flashes yourself. You can’t help it. It’s no fun.” New Barbism unlocked, this time in France. 

Audrey’s about to the level of a 3 to 4 year old with her French, thanks to Lincoln Public Schools, Macalester College, Juliette and Charles and mostly her host Alice, who is always teaching Audrey French. I was so proud to see how Audrey is leaning into her immersion experience. It’s easy for her because she loves Juliette and Charles and their parents are the sweetest people. She’s always working to teach Juliette and Charles English. 

The high speed train to Paris was a great experience. As No Kings protests erupted across America and the globe, I was experiencing angst that I wasn’t there, but also enjoying the cognitive dissonance of a last day of sightseeing in Paris. I watched videos pop up on TikTok of The Boss singing his protest song in Minneapolis. Protests happen all the time in France, the last time we were in Paris strikes were happening. It was very calm this visit and I almost felt an eeriness about being an American in France. It seemed like people were quiet and almost distrusting and more nervous around us this visit. All the walls came down when we got to meet with Audrey’s host family. Their country is beautiful like their language, especially when little kids are speaking it. We had lovely meals at their home and played with their kids and learned about their beautiful lives and left with gratitude. 

au revoir bonne journée

The Class of 2033 heads to middle school

By Elizabeth Flater 

 

I’m a Gen Xer raising a Gen Alpha 5th grader, who is heading to middle school next year. I was raised in the Lincoln Public Schools, and now work and am raising kids in the Denver Public Schools. The school choice landscape is radically different from the 80s in Lincoln, where you simply attended the closest school to your house. 

 

These days, there are charter schools, all girls, sports focused schools, gifted and talented schools, STEM schools, dual language schools and more. You can certainly attend your home school, but most people tour at least a few to assess the situation. 

 

Junior High in the 90s at Lefler conjures up a lot of memories for me. Memories of feeling so out of place in my tall body, making questionable choices, increasing independence and never fully understanding algebra, float right to the surface. If I had to guess, regardless of how long ago you attended middle school, you have strong memories from that time, too. I remember teachers that made an impact on me, and teachers that were clocking it in and doing the bare minimum. I viscerally remember navigating tween and teen relationships that shifted almost daily, and sometimes left me unsure of where I belonged on any given day.

 

Some of that hasn’t changed, but it was striking to me on our school tours this winter that some things actually have. Instead of the sink or swim, free ranging mindset of the 90s, schools are striving to take on a more proactive, supportive role. At Ellie’s school of choice, they have a daily homeroom where kids have time set aside for social/emotional learning. They work on service projects, and have time to complete homework so they have little to none at home.

They can meet with teachers in a class they are struggling with. Incoming 6th graders have the built-in safety net of mandatory homeroom lunch for the first several weeks of school so no one has to wonder if they will sit alone. They attend 6th grade academy, where for two full school days, they learn how to be middle schoolers. Perhaps most importantly, they practice how to get in and out of their lockers without 7th and 8th graders looking on, ready to give them a swirly. 

 

Rather than the wild west, it’s more controlled chaos, with the ever special teachers who LOVE teaching middle schoolers. They focus on the whole child and appear to be striving to tend to their developmental needs in those impressionable years.

 

I recently got to attend an overnight outdoor education event with the 5th graders we are preparing to launch from my school, and their emotional intelligence really impressed me. While preparing them for the traditional solo night walk in the Rockies, a teacher asked them how leaving their comfort zone and leaning into self-trust might serve them.

 

Hands went up: “because life is only going to get harder from here.”

 

“To prepare us for even more challenging things in life down the road.”

 

“So we can be stronger in the future when we face other problems.”

 

Cusp Gen Xers and Millenials have a reputation of helicopter parenting. In many cases, that reputation is earned. In defense of my generation, we are much more open with our kids, and help them put language to what they are going through. Many of my Gen X friends were not given a head’s up about menstrual cycles before theirs arrived, for goodness sake. I love how much more open and honest my generation is with our kids about the ways of the world, and navigating this human life in a flesh suit. 

 

Ellie is a kind, grounded, super smart kid. I’m certain I’m more worried about her transition to middle school than she is. She’s a good friend, loves to read and learn, and is a very academic kid. When discussing where she would go to middle school, she made her choice and said, “Even if I don’t make a single friend, I’m going to have so much fun at school.” My work here is to take her lead, let her fly and do my best to not let my worries become hers. It’ll be a ride, no doubt, but she’s got what she needs to navigate it. 

 

A wild thing about being in my mid 40s is that some of my peers have babies, and some are grandparents. While some of my friends are preparing to send their kids to college, others still have the terrible twos at their feet. I get the feeling it’s going to be harder on us parents to launch our kids into the next thing, whether it’s college or preschool. But the kids? The kids are alright. And who knows, maybe those safety nets the middle schools have in place are just as much for us Gen X and Millennial parents, as it is for the kids.