Saturday, August 29, 2020

Zuzu and the Pandemic

By Mary Kay Roth
Whenever I come home – whether I’m gone half an hour, or half a day – Zuzu is always waiting just inside the door, her tail wagging so hard her entire body sort of serpentines in eager waves of delight.

Zuzu was a rescue, an unwanted, goofy looking puppy with shorter-than-average legs – who grew into a goofy looking dog who serves as my furry mental health practitioner, confidante and friend. On these lingering, sultry weeks of summer (dare I say dog days), as the time of the pandemic lengthens like the sun’s shadow, I hold onto Zuzu as a shield against the fear and confusion of our time.  She rewards me with unequivocal calm.

I’ve been living solo for the past six months with almost no one coming inside my home. I’m a committed introvert with a loving circle of family and friends. But in all honesty, I get lonely.  So it’s just Zu and me against the world, having conversations over dinner, running errands in the car, tucked into bed at night.  

I recognize others are finding pandemic camaraderie with spouses and kids –cats, fish, geckos. Bravo to all of you. But for me, it’s about a dog.  

Zuzu doesn’t care about the latest coronavirus numbers, nor the debate over masks. She doesn’t judge decisions I make in these pandemic times (no eye rolls when I get a haircut). As my emotions roller coaster – as the world continues to spin frantically: Hurricane Laura and California fires, more senseless death from racially charged shootings, the insanity of the Republican National Convention – through it all, my dog offers a sincere, steady heart.

So, admittedly a little dorky, as a quiet tribute to all the dogs and creatures who remain steadfastly beside us, I offer ten random observations about Zuzu and the pandemic.

Shaggy hair and masks:  Zu does not care if my hair looks like a bird’s nest, or that I wear a mask.  Some “experts” have written lengthy essays about how to make sure your dog knows you while wearing your mask. Silly nonsense. Zuzu knows me no matter what.  In fact, she doesn’t really understand the brouhaha about masks. She thinks everyone should wear one.  

Tail:  Oh, the wonder of Zu’s tail. It whacks down vases of flowers and unsuspecting small children.  But I am so starved for entertainment these days, I love to watch her tail.

Zuzu’s vote: I am absolutely certain Zuzu would cast her ballot for Joe Biden, proud owner of a German Shepherd named Major, while Trump is the first president in more than 100 years who has no dog. George Washington owned a pack of foxhounds named Drunkard, Mopsey, Taster, Tipsy, Sweet Lips, and more – and the White House has been howling with dogs ever since. Abe Lincoln had Jip, FDR spoke of his pooch in the famous Fala speech, Lyndon Johnson adored his beagles (named Him and Her,) and the Obama family adopted Bo and Sunny. (Sure wish dogs could vote.)

Stuff:  As the human world moans and groans over stuff they have been forced to give up, I’m most certain Zu is puzzled. She has never been much of a material dog. Except of course, socks.  For all I know, she’s secretly ordering socks on Amazon Prime.

Sounds of silence:  I don’t mind stillness, but right now it is deadly quiet in my house.  So of course, I talk to the dog.  A lot.  I ask her questions, and she offers opinions. My counselor believes this is fine.  She talks to her dogs, too.

Walk:  One of my favorite pandemic memes features the picture of an exhausted dog who is thinking to himself:  “That’s the sixth walk today. What the heck is a corona?”

Indeed, I’ve been walking more and Zuzu is sleeker than she has ever been.  She does not really understand the big deal about sunrises, but she walks beside me every single morning at the crack of dawn – just because I do.  

Hugs: In these times, as I need to keep my humans at arm’s length, Zu seems to have a sixth sense for knowing when I need her near. Thank goodness she cannot measure six feet.

Zen master Zuzu: Hard as I resist, I continue to fret and awfulize about the coming months ahead. Zuzu has absolutely no concept of fretting.  In a lovely little book called, “Guardians of Being,” Eckhart Tolle writes: “Ask a dog what time it is, and the answer is: Now, now, now … Pet a dog and you live in a space of stillness … Your dog celebrates life continuously.”

Thank you … I write this blog in praise and gratitude to all the four-legged critters who are helping us survive this pandemic … to Idgy and Boone, Max and Buckles, Finn, Kemi, Helio and Zing and Raven, Earl, Dash, Buddy and Cricket and Teddy, Coco, Lakyn, Toby and Sadie, Trudy, Stormy, Leo and Maisie and Mary the Dog, Marge, Samson, Spinelli, Sophie, Dawg, Charley and Frankie, Kaylee – and oh so many more.

Will Rogers wrote: "If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” 

Zuzu and all my beloved dogs from past days – Prince George, Indy, Pumba and Snowball – always reminded me that the glass was indeed half full … until, of course, they drank it. They tutored me in the true nature of unconditional love. And they always got me through the bad times.  Zuzu will get me through this one.

Monday, August 24, 2020

I Don’t Get It… and That’s a Start


By Penny Costello
The family I was raised in has deep roots in Western South Dakota. Agriculture, mining and tourism
have been the dominant economic engines of the region through most of my lifetime. Ranch country. Gold Rush Days. The Wild West. Wild Bill Hickock. Calamity Jane. George Armstrong Custer. Before that, it was Indian Country. (Members of the Oglala and Sicangu Lakota, Lower Brule, Cheyenne River, Standing Rock, Yankton, Crow Creek, and Sisseton-Wahpeton Tribes will tell you it still is.) 

Growing up amidst the mythos and majesty of all of that has been my good fortune. It’s a beautiful, wild, wide-open place to live. Individual freedoms are as sacred to South Dakotans as the Black Hills are to Lakota and Dakota people. And today in 2020, it’s Trump Country. The right to bear arms, and to not wear a mask – these, too are sacred. And if you happen to disagree about politics, you just don’t talk about it. Live and let live and keep your opinions to yourself. Those are the guiding principles with which I was raised.

But these times are different. People on both sides of the political spectrum feel that the soul of America is at stake. We look at people we love whom we’ve known all our lives and wonder how they can support candidates or policies we find extreme, destructive, sometimes absurd and sometimes downright abhorrent. Too often we denigrate the bias of their chosen media sources without exploring potential bias in our own. 

We’re used to the gridlock and obstructionist tactics we see in Congress, where party trumps policy. There it’s no longer about governing and public service. It’s about winning and dominance. And the 24-hour news channels thrive in the regurgitation of rancor. Too much discord and not enough discourse. And on July 3rd, 2020, I know members of my family were as proud and honored to have the President speaking at Mt. Rushmore while the Blue Angels flew overhead as I was flabbergasted to see white South Dakotans yelling at Native protesters to ‘go back where they came from.’

In the face of such discord, when looking at each other across that chasm of perspectives, not wanting to cause resentment or hurt feelings in people we love, and because that’s how we were raised, we just don’t talk about it. We look at them and think to ourselves, ‘I don’t get it.’ And we change the subject. But what would happen if we began the conversation with ‘I don’t get it,’ instead of ending it? Instead of a rush to judgement, how about an exchange of ideas? Instead of a social media snark-fest, how about a shared search for common ground? Weren’t those among the founding ideals of the American experiment?

Need we be reminded that we are the “We” in “We the People”? The same “We the People” who sought to find a more perfect union? Not a perfect union, but a more perfect union in recognition that we’ll never be perfect, but we can always strive to do better?

Public discourse was a cornerstone of the founding ideals of this Republic. The idea that citizens would discuss and exchange ideas with each other, and then with elected representatives who would implement policy that, to the greatest extent possible would be in the interest of justice and a greater good.

In “Democracy as Trust in Public Discourse,” William W. Clohesy, Professor of Philosophy, University of Northern Iowa interpreted the intentions of the authors of the Constitution. In the Federalist Papers, a series of essays crafted in support of the Constitution, James Madison stated that factions were the greatest threat to the greater good and to the Republic.

“By a faction I understand a number of citizens, whether amounting to a majority or minority of the whole, who are united and actuated by some common impulse of passion, or of interest, adverse to the rights of other citizens, or to the permanent and aggregate interests of the community.”

Clohesy wrote, “Factions are dangerous in a republic because factious citizens are not willing to present their views before the public, argue for them as best they can and allow the group to decide whether or not to accept them. A faction seeks only to prevail; there is no interest in persuasion through discussion, no revision to make the view more acceptable. A triumphant faction will take control, whether as a majority or well-organized minority and force its view on all as a vanquished enemy.”  

In today’s United States, depending upon your political party affiliation, one could argue that Clohesy describes Mitch McConnell or Nancy Pelosi, and any number of our elected representatives. Mistrust of the media, of free and fair elections, of each other, has undermined the purity and promise of spirited public discourse as both a citizen's right and responsibility. And the only ones who can change that are We the People.

We need to cast off the comfort and conditioning of ‘just not talking about it.’ We need to go there while remembering we love and respect each other. If we write off people as being just like (fill in the blank with someone you despise) without trying to understand why they ascribe to a belief, we become part of the problem.

On a recent visit with family members in South Dakota, I dipped my toes in those waters. I tried to begin the conversation with ‘I don’t get it,’ rather than ending it there. I admitted when I didn’t know the facts about a subject but had plenty of opinions. I gazed upon people who mean the world to me, and who have very different ideas about how things should be. It was hard. Sometimes it was scary, sometimes exasperating. And when we parted company, we hugged each other, said we love each other, and maybe opened a tiny door through which factionalism could dissolve and a future exchange of ideas could take root. In many ways, I still don’t get it. But it’s a start.

(If you'd like to subscribe to 5 Women Mayhem and be notified of new posts, please enter your email in the "Follow by Email" field above. Thank you for reading and sharing our posts!)

Saturday, August 15, 2020

Zorro


by Mary Reiman

I wasn’t going to write about this. I was just going to keep it to myself because so many others are talking and writing about it every day. Today it was on the front page of The Lincoln Journal Star. But it’s the topic that keeps creeping into my head and I think it won’t let go until I address it. The importance of wearing masks.

Who would have thought wearing a mask to help protect each other would become a political statement. It is almost more than I can comprehend. How inhumane have we become as a nation? To not care about each other enough to not wear a mask to prevent the spread of a pandemic. That is a political statement? Really? Who have we become? 

This week I went to my Iowa hometown to see my mom and I was one of few wearing a mask. I probably should have worn a shirt that said, ‘Yes, I am a martian!’ since I received such questioning looks (because you can see those scrunched up faces and furrowed brows more easily when they are not wearing masks). 

My first introduction to masks was watching Zorro on our black and white television. He was the good guy, the guy who rode in and saved others, not because he knew them, but because he knew the difference between right and wrong and he was willing to stand up for those in need.

If you don’t know anything about Zorro, a short Google search will give you some background. “Zorro (Spanish for 'Fox') is a fictional character first created in 1919. He is typically portrayed as a dashing masked vigilante who defends the commoners and indigenous peoples of California against corrupt and tyrannical officials and other villains.” Did you notice that the character was created in 1919, the time of the last pandemic? Yes, interesting.

Much has been written about the political statement made by the creation of Zorro. Throughout the years, movies and television shows about his heroics have given us reason to cheer. And although I would like to believe there is someone in the world who could swoop in and protect us, I am well aware Zorro is a fictional character. Instead, this is the time for all of us to look within ourselves to find our version of Zorro, without a sword, with a mask.

May we all become Zorro.

Sunday, August 9, 2020

Wait, wait, don’t touch me

By JoAnne Young


Sen. Machaela Cavanaugh was speaking on the floor of the Legislature this week when she digressed for a moment and said: I don’t like people touching me at work, and I certainly don’t like them touching me during a pandemic. So please stop. 

She was referring to certain men at the Capitol, she explained later. It’s a power move on their part, about putting her in her place. She has been trying to create the needed boundaries and space, as women  are often forced to do, and has not been successful. So she was hoping a public message might help. It didn’t. An hour later, she said, it happened again. 

Putting her in her place. Second-class citizen. 

She isn’t the only woman who has had that experience at the Capitol. 

Sen. Sara Howard said this week she has had to firmly lay down the law about those boundaries of physical space and touching. It should be surprising to me that women in the workplace, even in power positions, still have to deal with these things. But it isn’t. 

I have covered sessions of the Legislature for the Lincoln Journal Star for 14 years. Before that I covered school boards and other local boards. Women’s experiences in politics mirror their work and social experiences. 

Right now, there are 14 women who are state lawmakers, contributing to the dialogue on big issues, sometimes life and death issues, certainly things that make a substantial difference in people’s lives. Fourteen are the most who have ever been elected/appointed at one time to sit in Nebraska's representative 49 chamber chairs, even though women are 50.3% of Nebraska’s nearly 2 million population. 

Nevada is the first and only state where women more or less call the shots in the legislature, based on their 52% majority. It has made a difference in the female-interest agendas that have been introduced and passed. 

By comparison, Nebraska’s legislature is 28% female. 

That number could potentially go down after the November election. Three women are leaving due to term limits, and two of them will be replaced by men. 

Given the world we find ourselves in today, Nebraska could be better off if roughly half of our state lawmakers and other elected officials were women. Our Lincoln City Council has three woman, four men, and a mayor who is female. The Omaha City Council is one woman, six men and a female mayor. Our state’s elected officials – governor, lieutenant governor, attorney general, secretary of state, treasurer, auditor – are all men.  

Bright spots: Six women make up the eight-member state Board of Education. And six of nine members of the Omaha Board of Education are women while four of seven Lincoln Board of Education members are women. Education boards have traditionally high female numbers.

But six men and two women make up the University of Nebraska Board of Regents. 

Women are capable leaders. I shouldn’t even have to say that. If the problem in all this is that women aren’t running for elected positions in high enough numbers, I would ask, why not? 

Some women I have talked to have said the wear and tear of an election is just not worth it, for them or their families. There are plenty of jobs open to women now that offer satisfaction and more pay – certainly more than the $12,000 a year the Legislature pays. 

And there are still these worrisome facts:

It took women 50 years longer to get the vote in this country than it took African-American men. (Those men technically got the vote in 1870, but then local barriers and violence inhibited that vote for nearly 100 years after that.) 

And a black man was elected to the U.S. presidency for two terms. A woman has yet to achieve that office. 

Lincoln Sen. Patty Pansing Brooks wore white to her job at the Capitol one day this week because August is women’s suffrage month. 

And on one of her turns at the mic she made her own point about women and second-class citizenry. She's had friends, she said, question what would happen if the vote were up for debate or election or discussion today. After all, the Equal Rights Amendment has yet to be ratified. 

"I really sort of wonder whether the people in this body would actually give women the vote at this point,” she said.

Saturday, August 1, 2020

On Going Back to School

by Marilyn Moore

 

In conversations with moms this summer….

 

“If kids have to wear masks, I’ll keep my kids at home and we’ll do home schooling.”

 

“I want the school board to know that I want everyone in the building to wear masks.”

 

“If masks are what makes it possible for students to be back in classrooms and with their teachers, then we’ll wear masks and not complain.”

 

“I don’t know what they (high school kids) are supposed to do on the days they’re home and not in school.”

 

Snapshots of sincerely held beliefs, overlaid with anxiety and family realities….these statements and variations upon them were most likely said hundreds of thousands of times this summer, with increasing intensity and frequency as we approach the start of another school year, a school year start unlike any other in the past 100 years.  Every one of those moms cares about her children; every one of them is trying to figure out the best plan for her children.  The complexities of families is evident in just these four….and the complexity only deepens and expands as you consider the families of some 50,000 students who are scheduled to begin school in the next couple of weeks in Lincoln’s public and private K-12 schools.

 

For every parent, and every teacher, and every school leader, and every school board member, it’s a tough, tough matter of trying to balance risk – because every school option for this year carries risk.   And for those with the responsibility of making decisions for entire systems, there are no win/win solutions – because every option carries risks.  For parents trying to make the best decision for their own children, every option carries risk.  “If I send my child to school, there’s a health risk.”  “If I keep my child home, there’s a supervision risk, because I have to work, and I can’t work from home.  Can they really learn on their own?  And will they be safe?”  “If I quit my job to stay home with my children, our family income is cut in half…and if my partner loses their job, we lose all income, and health insurance, too.”  "And what about friends?  My kids miss their friends.  Are they better/safer with friends, or without them for a year?"  All of these scenarios are not only possible, they are likely; in fact, they are very real.  For those students with disabilities, and those who are living in very fragile circumstances, and those who are just beginning to learn English, the questions are even more complex, and the stress is greater – on them, and on their families. 

 

These conversations, at the dinner table and at the board table, are playing out in this community, and in communities across the country.  Making data based decisions is hard, because which data are most meaningful (number of cases, number of cases in young people, percent of positive tests, hospital capacity, daily or weekly trends, etc.) varies from person to person.  And, the data change daily.  And for some people, it’s not about the data at all; it’s about emotional and social health and safety, as measured by “how it feels to me.”   All of those are real and legitimate considerations by individual people, making individual decisions. 

 

These conversations bring startling clarity to the role of schools in a community.  Parents and teachers and school board members and school leaders are not the only ones watching the numbers, reading the plans, trying to figure out what’s best.  Public health officials are worried about further outbreaks and escalations, and how to mitigate and manage risks.  Employers are worried about business disruptions, as employees who are parents choose to quit, or take a leave, or ask to work from home.  People who work in human services, especially those that attend to child welfare, are concerned for the well being and safety of unsupervised children during the day.  Grandparents wonder if they’re up for a year of being with their grandchildren all day, every day, if parents can’t stay home, and what does that do their own vulnerability. 

 

And, of course, there are all the other services that support children and families (and the community) that are delivered at schools, including food, mental health services, after school programs, because that’s where the kids are.  When schools close, those collaborative systems come to a halt…or the partners have to find another option.

 

All of which is to say, our society very much depends on schools – on children being in school for most of the day for at least three quarters of the year, from the time they are five, or maybe sooner.  We don’t have alternative childcare arrangements, employment arrangements, or learning arrangements built into the way we do things.  We could, of course…. it would take an immense investment in families, in institutions like schools and public health and child care settings in order to do this differently.  And perhaps an outcome of this school year, which will be rugged no matter what plans are put in place, will be both an increased appreciation for the role that schools play in a society and a commitment to fund them to assure they can safely continue to welcome and educate children, no matter what. 

 

It’s not unusual for someone to ask me if I’m glad I’m retired and don’t have to try to figure this out.  Ducking that question, what I say is that I know that there are good people with good minds and good hearts, in all roles, who are trying to figure out the best possible plan – and that the best possible plan for one family isn’t the best possible plan for another.  To the degree that there are options, that’s a good thing.  To the degree that families have the capability of choosing the best option for their family, that’s a good thing, but for many families, there aren’t many options.  An instant infusion of a lot of funding (like, double what is spent now), could allow for lots more options – smaller classes for students whose parents would choose that and teachers who would choose that, teachers designated exclusively as teachers for children who are learning remotely, and income support for a parent to stay at home.  But that’s not going to happen in time for the 2020-21 school year, and so…districts will make the best plans they can, with the most flexibility they can, knowing that those plans will likely have to be adjusted many times during the year.  And those four moms I quoted at the beginning?  They will make the best decisions they can, too.  Let’s be gentle with one another’s decisions, okay?  Nothing about this is easy….

 

(I realize that nowhere in this blog have I even mentioned student learning…we really don’t have evidence yet about the impact of any of the models being considered on student learning.  That’s a topic for another day.)