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. 

Women voting: Is that the problem?

By JoAnne Young

I am one of those women who took on the name of my husband when I got married. Young seemed like an easier name to spell than my maiden name, for all the times I would have to spell it at my job, in making reservations and giving my name to someone who doesn’t know me. It happens daily. It might also make it less complicated, I figured, for my last name to match the last names of our kids. 

 

Then along comes the Save America Act, that unneeded bill that Republicans believe will somehow make sure they stay in power, by making it difficult for women who changed their names when they married, for older citizens, students and lower income people to register to vote. 

 

Women are registered to vote and have actually voted at higher rates than men for decades. Is that the problem?

 

Gloria Steinem says: “The voting booth is still the only place that a pauper equals a billionaire and any woman equals any man.” Is that the problem?

 

The Save America bill would require proof of citizenship to register to vote and a photo ID to cast a ballot. Opponents of the bill argue it could make millions of American citizens ineligible to vote in federal elections.

 

The House has already passed the bill. The Senate will vote on it this coming week. So far, we are hearing that the bill doesn’t have enough votes to pass, unless some rules are changed that would require a simple 50-vote majority. But any number of alterations could be applied to the bill or the process to give it an opportunity to pass. In the past few years, it has become all to clear that you have to expect the unexpected. 

 

The Save America act is a version of last year’s Safeguard American Voter Eligibility (SAVE) Act, which passed the U.S. House but was not voted on in the Senate. The new version passed the House of Representatives in February. Here’s what is in it: 

 

-- A person registering to vote or changing any element of their voter registration, name, address, party affiliation, would have to do it in person and provide a hard copy of a birth certificate or passport. Drivers licenses, military or tribal IDs, or Social Security numbers, would not be enough. It is unknown what the process would include if, for example, the last name on a woman’s birth certificate or passport does not match her current name. It is believed that voter registration drives would be all but eliminated.

-- The act would demand that states conduct ongoing purges of voter rolls, even though opponents believe the processes to do so are faulty and insufficient, and registrations of eligible voters could be wrongfully cancelled. States would not be required to notify voters before they are removed from these rolls. 

 

Last year, anticipating this bill had a chance of passing, despite people assuring me it wouldn’t, I renewed my passport, making sure my maiden name was as prominently displayed as my married name. I hope that will be enough. 

 

My fear if this passes is that some women and young voters and people of color will be discouraged enough with the hassle of it all and just won’t bother, won’t vote. It’s hard enough to get some people to vote, even without this. I plan to make myself available to get people registered and to the polls, if Republicans who are supporting this don’t make it nearly impossible. It is believed that many eligible voters don’t have access to the documents that prove citizenship. 

 

I don’t understand why so many women in the House said yes to what I have come to believe is a voter suppression act. Thirty-two women, all Republicans, voted yes on the bill. Some of them said they believe voter ID is necessary to ensure only American citizens can vote, even though states have strong voting protection processes in place; many have voter ID requirements. This, of course, is more than a voter ID bill. It was an opportunity for one representative, Nancy Mace of South Carolina, to falsely accuse Democrats in the House of depending “on illegal votes from non-citizens to hold onto power and are willing to compromise election integrity to do it.” She can’t really believe that, can she? 

 

Civic Nebraska testified on a bill in the Nebraska Legislature in February, that would put stricter processes in place to verify voter registration, saying that The Heritage Foundation, a conservative think tank, analyzed elections from 1982 to 2025 in each state looking for instances of fraud committed by non-citizens and found zero instances in Nebraska. 

 

The Save America Act could impact so many eligible voters: rural voters, older Nebraskans, students, naturalized citizens and those who have changed their names. Civic Nebraska recommends that everyone update their voter registration in case this passes and before it would go into effect. Locate these documents: passports, certified birth records, naturalization records, and any paperwork that indicates a name change and connects your current legal name to your citizenship documents. 

 

Then of course, when the time comes, please vote. 

 

In Celebration of Women

By Marilyn Moore

Today is International Women’s Day, celebrated around the world.  Well, “celebrated” may be too optimistic a word.  While recognized as an official holiday and recognition date in many countries, it is not in the United States.  That is because its roots spring from socialist and labor unions advocating for women’s suffrage and workers’ rights, ideals seen as counter to American ideology during the Cold War.  The United Nations established it as an international holiday in 1977.  In 1994, Rep. Maxine Waters introduced a bill in the House of Representatives to make this a federal holiday; the bill failed to pass.

And so, much like the Equal Rights Amendment, our nation can’t quite take the step of asserting that women and women’s rights are truly equal.  While discrimination on the basis of sex has been outlawed in federal legislation like Title IX, the very real lives of women continue to be threatened by legislators at the state and federal level who “just don’t see what the problem is.”  Reductions in funding for responding to domestic violence, for example, affect women far more than men.  Reductions in funding for food and nutrition programs, and childcare support, affect women far more than men.  The law doesn’t say that….but that’s the way it plays out in real women’s real lives.  The proposed SAVE act, which purports to address a problem that is non-existent, persons who are not citizens voting in US elections, will impact women far more severely than men, because most married women have a current photo ID, which will be required, that does not match the name on their birth certificate, which proves citizenship.  

In times of war, and there are always times of war, women are exploited and assaulted by invading troops, and they are left to pick up the pieces after the war. Today, in Gaza and in Afghanistan, women are standing in line for water, they’re standing in line for food, they’re trying to figure out how to keep their children alive.  I suspect that’s true in Iran, also; we just don’t have the photographs yet.  We do know, however, that a school with 175 people, most of them children, was struck by a missile, most likely a US missile, killing all.  

My friend Mary Beth sent an article to me this morning in celebration of International Women’s Day.  It was a report done by writers of the "New York Times," who examined obituaries of women.  They noted what was reported, and what was not reported, about women at the time of their death, an indication of what was perceived to be important at the time.  For example, Hedy Lamarr, well known as a beautiful Hollywood star, who had fled Europe just before the start of WWII.  What is not well-known, and what received only a reluctant mention in her obituary, is that she was a scientist, an inventor whose ideas laid the groundwork for underwater detection of submarines and wireless communication.  Her beauty, her career as an actor was reported in detail in the obituary.  Her contributions as a scientist?  Not so much....

Remember the women, the African American women, from “Hidden Figures?”  The original computers, who calculated by hand the formulas that became the flight paths for the first American space craft.  A story basically untold until the movie was released…women doing significant, important work in what was seen as a man’s world…and their stories untold.  For the women featured in the movie, of course, they faced the added (perhaps the first) reality of discrimination based on race.  

While there are many more opportunities for women today than there were two generations ago, and certainly more than two hundred years ago, some things haven’t changed much.  I just finished reading Caleb’s Crossing by Geraldine Brooks (for the second time, I REALYY like this book), and I was struck, again, by the constraints placed on Bethia, a young woman in the 1600’s on the island of what is now Martha’s Vineyard, off the coast of Massachusetts.  She was allowed to learn, to a certain level, but not beyond.  While she could learn, it was not appropriate for her to show that she had learned; “showing off” was not what marriage-ready young women did.  She could not argue, she could not debate.  Silence was always her best and safest choice.  Her mind was not seen as worthy of development.

That is fresh in my mind as I think about comments I heard this week as I attended two conferences for women leaders.  Smart, accomplished, responsible women, willing to share their experiences, their failures and successes, in a wide variety of fields.  And way too often I heard them talk about sexual harassment, bullying, ideas which they proposed being ignored until stated again by a male colleague, having to prove, again and again, that they could survive in traditional male fields, like manufacturing, and succeed at the job they had been hired to do.  

And yet, and yet, with all that said from her own story, one speaker burst forth with, “It’s so great to be a woman!”  And she’s right, it is…for all the other experiences and life lessons that were shared.  The reality that women live longer than men, that we retire better than men, is due to women’s strength in developing friendships, strong friendships, with other women.  A social connection is as much a determinant of health and longevity as diet and exercise.  And women do that well.  We do that well in how we do our work and how we live our lives.  Another participant in one of the conferences cited a study in which she had been a part, a study of CEO’s.  One of the findings was that women CEO’s consistently used inclusive pronouns, such as “we” and “our,” more than men, who tended to use “I” and “my.”  Inclusive language is an indicator of inclusive practices, and people on a team are much more likely to give their all and do their best work when they are valued and included.  

As for our personal lives, the former surgeon general of the United States, Dr. Vivek Murthy, has identified “loneliness” as a public health crisis in this country, affecting our mental, physical, and societal health. The Harvard Nurses’ Health Study confirmed that women with strong social ties have lower blood pressure, reduced inflammation, and better overall health outcomes.  It’s why there’s that question on the Medicare wellness check:  Have you had a phone call, a visit, a connection, with a friend or family member this week?  If Medicare is asking about it, it matters.  And women invest well in friendships, in gatherings, in connections, in time spent with friends.  It’s a healthy choice to make.

Further strengthening our understanding of the health of social connections is another article I read this week, asserting that women who travel together live longer and healthier lives.  As the heart of that assertion is the observation by psychologist Dr. Shelley Taylor that when faced with something unfamiliar or challenging, women don’t just fight or flee; they reach for each other.  Let me say that again...we reach for each other.  That’s caused by the hormone oxytocin, which promotes bonding and calms the nervous system.  More than comfort, this can build courage.  

The article goes on to extol the advantages of adventure travel with groups of women.  I do not need an article to convince me of this.  I know that time and travel with friends is one of the healthiest, most life-sustaining activities that I do.  Whether climbing mountains, kayaking rivers, riding a hot air balloon over the Serengeti, or exploring rural Nebraska, I’m better, and stronger, and more resilient, and less stressed, because I do this with friends.  And I affirm, “It’s great to be a woman.”

Finally, and I know you thought I’d never get to “finally,” the first article that caught my eye this week about being a woman is the article about Mitochondrial Eve, the female ancestor from whom all humans are believed to have descended.  She likely lived in the Kalahari Desert in southern Africa some 200,000 years ago.  Every human on the planet caries the Eve gene.  It is passed from women to both female and male offspring, but males cannot pass on the gene. Another critical responsibility, assumed by women.  Another reason to celebrate International Women’s Day.  Even if the United States government doesn’t recognize it.  There are some things that are way too important to be left to a congressional determination, and this is one of them.  

 

‘I come into the peace of wild things,’ I come into the peace of sandhill cranes

 By Mary Kay Roth

Each year I come back.

I come back for the beauty and clarity of a ritual that is millions of years old.  

I come back for the gorgeous lifts at dawn and dusk when something almost mystical happens – when the rhythms of our lives throb with the pulse of spring.

I come back for that earthy evocative primal cry that reaches deep down and tugs at my soul.

It’s early Saturday morning and we are bundled under blankets, sitting beside the riverbank, the gilded dawn making sparkling ripples on the Platte. 

Our eyes are closed as we listen for the first waves of that telltale cry, a rich, bawdy chorus of rolling, twilling birdsong weaving an intimate spell over the land. 

We have come here for the migration of the sandhill cranes, one of the most remarkable wildlife spectacles on earth and the largest gathering of cranes in the world.  Throughout the next six weeks, a million or so of these geeky yet elegant birds will travel through the central Platte River Valley.

Each year I come see them. 

This year I really need them. I need to imagine a time beyond the boundaries and confines of politics and weariness. Somehow, somewhere, despite these troubled times, I need the promise of something certain and true.

As Wendell Berry so perfectly understood, “When despair for the world grows in me 

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be … I come into the peace of wild things.” 

I come into the peace of the sandhill cranes.

For decades these beloved creatures have served as my personal compass, my solace, my clarity.  Like watching the inevitable tide of the ocean or the stars overhead, light years away, cranes seem eternal and everlasting.  Existing alongside prehistoric megafauna like saber-toothed cats and woolly mammoths, they have remained largely unchanged for millions of years.

On this particular brisk morning, just at daybreak, thousands and thousands of cranes rise from the river before us in stunning liftoff – amidst a familiar, noisy flurry of feather and sound.

As they circle and. dive above, we raise our eyes to their flight path, these glorious creatures soaring on the breezes in constant chatter. Eventually, swooping down into the nearby winter rubble of cornfields, they dine.  

And they dance, oh they dance, gently and gracefully hopping and prancing with joy among the stalks and stubble of their mid-migration feast.

In his 1937 essay "Marshland Elegy" Aldo Leopold wrote of the sandhill crane: “When we hear his call we hear no mere bird. We hear the trumpet in the orchestra of evolution. He is the symbol of our untamable past, of that incredible sweep of millennia which underlies and conditions the daily affairs of birds and men.”

Each spring, for almost 50 years now, I’ve been coming to see the cranes here at the Alda bridge just west of Grand Island. Once upon a time there was only a battered picnic table sitting beside the river shore. These days you’ll find an official viewing stand, parking lots and informational plaques.

But through those decades, whether I came alone, or alongside friends, my kids, grandkids – every single year, they still surprised me.

Sandhill cranes are among the oldest living birds on the planet, a ticking of the geological clock, their ancient lineage telling a storied history with fossil records placing them in Nebraska more than nine million years ago. 

The cranes we meet this Saturday morning have likely come from a winter vacation in Texas, New Mexico or Mexico – and will soon head north toward Alaska, Canada, even Siberia. Some fly shorter distances, some migrate as many as 10,000 miles.

They linger along the Platte as a stopover, feeding in cornfields and wet meadows by day and, by night, roosting in the safe and shallow reaches of the Platte.  

After fattening up with an extra pound of weight during their stay here, they’ll be on their way – flying up to 400 miles a day, 500 with a good tailwind.   

In my travels I’ve witnessed the Taj Mahal and the Parthenon, migrations of polar bears and wildebeests. Above all these sights, I’ll take the Platte River migration, most assuredly one of the wonders of the natural world.  

Despite the darkest of dark days, yes indeed, light and life do come around again.  The cranes come back.

And they offer us wise counsel, navigating their journey with resilience as they rest in the grace of the world, always finding a soft place to land.

In this most sacred season of dreamers and imaginers, right on the cusp of spring when there are those of us who still believe in silly wonder and those of us who still believe in hope – we have been given a precious gift. 

So, I’m sending out a call to action today: Sometime in the coming weeks, please take a few hours and go see the sandhill cranes.

Watch them lift with a whoosh at sunup – or languidly slip into the river at sundown.  Roam the country roads to see their flocks feed in the fields. Pause to watch them dance.

On my visit to the Platte River this past Saturday morning, ultimately the cold started nipping at my fingers and toes, and I had to fold up my chair, taking one last inhale of earthen breath – and heading for the warmth of the car.

But not without one last glance over my shoulder, one last quiet smile.

Until next year.

~ Gratitude to my friend, Tom White, for letting me share his magnificent photographs of sandhill cranes.