To Our Dear Readers

 “The art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” - Havelock Ellis

 

 

The end of 2020 is at hand, and most of us are way beyond ready to welcome 2021, hoping that it will be a much better year, however it is that we define “better.”  The first distribution of
the vaccine to protect against Covid has begun.  At this point, more than two million Americans have been vaccinated, and it is hoped that the vaccine will be available to the general public by late spring or early summer.  It seems possible that life might then resume in some way that seems like “normal,” or “the way it used to be.” 

It’s likely, though, that “the way it used to be” will not be what happens.  We have lived a different life for nearly ten months, and we have developed new behaviors, new practices, new perspectives.  As we Five Women think about the new year, we think about what from 2020 we will hold on to, and what we will release. 

Good-bye Swear Jar, by Mary Kay Roth

My deepest regret is that I did not have the foresight to start a swear jar on Dec. 31, 2019.  I could be a wealthy woman today.  And though there are understandable reasons for profanity this year, I would like to let go of those vicious words – and the underlying rage fueling them.  

Despite that anger, however, I’m startled at how much I want to hang onto from 2020.

I will hold dear the wisdom of Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the songs of John Prine – salvation of front-yard coffee and family Zooms – bonds of a women’s sewing circle creating needed nurse gowns – healing power of sunrise hikes. 

No doubt, this last year was a crapstorm. But in the yin and yang of life, 2020 also imparted unexpected enlightenment: Yes, even a confirmed introvert can get lonely, yet find solace in exploring interior landscapes and less-traveled backroads … but only if she has a good dog beside her, and the open hearts of family and friends.   

I’m safeguarding costly lessons that emerged from the pain. 

- A brutal pandemic honoring true heroism and true science.

 - A disgraced president who exposed the fragility yet hardiness of democracy.  

-  George Floyd and others who helped shine light on our dark, ongoing inequities. 

I’m saving my “I love Dr. Fauci” t-shirt, tie-dye face mask, vanilla cinnamon sanitizer – while cherishing precious moments:

- After months of isolation, hugging Scout, Everlyn, Ace.

- A circle of friends howling for joy as the election was called for Joe Biden.

- My son calling every Sunday – my daughter texting she was vaccinated.

We are a resilient species – and I want to hold onto that. We lost way too many people this year, yet it appears we will survive – flying iguanas, murderous hornets, a global pandemic.

Damn, I’m ready for 2021.  (Oops.)

Finding the balance of holding on and letting go… by Mary Reiman

Balance (noun): stability, equilibrium, steadiness, footing

Balance (verb): level, position, weigh, compare, evaluate, consider

Letting go of isolation of both body and spirit.

Letting go of that anxious, uneasy, pull the covers over my head and wanting to stay in bed all day kind of feeling.

Letting go of procrastinating. Actually, it is a goal every year, but is simply crossed off the list and added to the next year’s resolutions.

Letting go of trepidation or learning how to convert it to gain strength.

Holding on to thankfulness for the awe-inspiring goodness and kindness in people that pours forth in times of crisis.

Holding on to mindfulness. Gaining a better awareness of all the elements that inform my world, focusing on listening, learning, taking action.

Holding on to the belief in the importance of a moral compass in everyone, yes everyone.Holding on to the friends who have sustained, encouraged and inspired me. Holding onto them now more than ever.

Holding on to faith. Holding on to hope. Holding on to love.

…by continually looking beyond any walls or barriers that might seem to exist…finding the balance.

A Fine Mingling, by Marilyn Moore

I will hold on to walks in the neighborhood.  I may return to the gym for strength training and for classes, but I will walk the neighborhood – in all directions, in all weather.  I am physically connected to this space, and I’m holding on to that. 

I will hold on to cooking and baking and eating at home.  We have now had meals at home 293 days in a row, and the vast majority are meals that I, or we, have cooked.  That is a night-and-day change from the way we use to live, which was dinner out nearly every evening.  We are eating healthier meals, I’m remembering what fun it is to find new recipes and new ingredients, and I’m holding on to that.

I have learned to be intentional about staying in touch with friends and family, knowing that the normal course of just seeing people at shared events doesn’t happen.  Phone calls, emails, texts, Zoom calls, driveway and lawn gatherings, keeping up with the everyday-ness of their lives – I’m holding on to that. 

Letting go…I have spent an inordinate amount of time this past year watching cable news
programming.  The combination of the political scene of 2020, the racial and social unrest, and the explosion of the coronavirus has filled the news shows 24/7.  And I’ve watched a lot of it, wanting to be an informed citizen.  What that much news time on screen does to me, however, is make me anxious, and discouraged, and irritated.  I think I can be “informed” in an hour or two a day, beginning with the daily newspapers….the rest, I’ll let it go. 

 

 Bananas and pickles, or divine wrath? by JoAnne Young

 

If there’s anything I’ve learned in this problem child of a year, it’s how to be undecided about change.

 

Hang on to what we had before, or gladly give it away? Keep what’s new, or let it disappear when things alter, mutate, fluctuate. Again. And again.

 

No mercy for what change brings? Or a full-out embrace of it all?

 

I could say I developed my indecision in the halls of the pandemic, but that wouldn’t be true. I learned it young as my family moved every year or two when some or other military orders came floating down from on high, telling my dad to pack up his family and move across the country. Change states, change houses, change schools, change climates, change friends.

 

Letting go became oddly beautiful, holding on frightful.

 

I can’t look back on 2020 and say, “Hey, I think I’ll hold on to these new homemade sandwich combos I’ve come to love: banana and pickle, peanut butter and tomato.” They’ll be gone by March.  

I can’t say I’ll let go of this divine wrath I feel about people who won’t follow either suggested or mandated medical directives to keep others safe from a virus that has killed more than 1,600 Nebraskans and counting. It’ll be there until, like angry birds, it disintegrates. 

So goodbye to 2020’s darkened state. Hello to 2021’s pristine slate … where everything old can be new again. 

In a Word, by Penny Costello

Any of us who are Facebook users have seen these things a thousand times. Those ‘copy and paste this on your wall to show us you care’ kinds of things. I hate them.

When I see these cyber chain letters, I try to figure out who reaps the benefit of me copying and pasting that to my wall. Does Mark Zuckerberg profit in some way? Am I somehow revealing my consumer tastes to advertisers? I’m sure the answer lies in the science behind Clickbait. But generally, I just keep my thoughts to myself and choose not to participate.

Then a friend posted this: “Leave a positive word I can carry for 2021 that starts with the first letter of your name. It can only be one word. Then copy this to your wall so I can leave a word for you.”

Well, the first letter of my name is also the first letter of her dog’s name. And he’s a great dog. And I’m a crazy dog lady, to which anyone who knows me can attest.

So, I bit. I typed “Pip!” (his name) in the comments. Then I did what I never do. I copied and pasted it on my wall. Then the words came flowing into the comments.

Abundance. Simplify. Encourage. Determined. Nimble. Joy. Magnificent. Meditation. Tenderness. Mindful. Spaciousness. Hope. Mirthful. Outgoing. Resilience. Merriment. Jubilant. Newfound. Jolly. Merciful. Kindness. Soulful. Content. Sincere. Bright. Love. Magnanimous. Magical.

Reading these words lifted me in ways I did not expect. I’m grateful to friends and acquaintances who channel positive energy into everything they do. I gained new appreciation for the power of a single word to transmute and transform. And I learned to push past preconceptions and be open to experiences that may, on the surface, seem contrived.

At the heart of it all, I believe, is presence. And what do you know? Presence starts with a “P”. I am well equipped for whatever 2021 has to offer.

 

To our Dear Readers, Happy New Year! Thank you for following our tales and adventures. May you find a little less mayhem in 2021.

 

 

A week to go, an open letter to my journo colleagues

By JoAnne Young

We call it a newsroom. Although the news rarely happens there.

 

In Lincoln, our room is on P Street, where a dozen city desk reporters join editors, photographers, sportswriters, a publisher and others to get the news from where it happens to the pages and screens of those who want to know – need to know – what’s going on. 

 

It’s been my career – that information gathering, researching, observing, writing, editing, posting -- actually one of my major identities, for 36 years. 

 

And while I am ready to get on to other things, it will be hard to walk out those newsroom doors in a week, and out of that life. I am grateful, however, that it is a choice I have been able to make at the time I want to make it. It hasn’t happened that way for some in this newsroom and others across the country. Between 2008 and 2019, U.S. newsrooms lost half of their workers, many of them with no choice in their departure. 

 

The Journal Star lost more than half … good, valuable people.

 

Beloved coworkers all. 

 

In my time here, we have gone through many changes together, changes that make or break relationships. For me, some of those friendships were cemented, some were cracked. But all have remained of constant importance.

 

Also important are the many people I have had the privilege to interview, to learn from and write about over these decades. 

 

I found out pretty quickly that we are more than reporters and writers. We also spend a lot of time listening to complaints about government, to happy endings and to stories about the sadness and worries in people’s lives. We hear about much more than we can write about.

 

I sometimes feel we are the journalist priests who hear our sources’ and our readers’ confessions. Off the record, they’ll say. And so it goes into the vault, never to be spoken about again. 

 

We hear their pleas for help, and it’s with regret that we sometimes have to tell them, “I really can’t do any more. You need to find an attorney, or call your senator, or write a letter to the editor.” Sometimes they just want someone to listen, and we do, and let them get out their unhappiness, regret, frustrations, sometimes rage.

 

In the past four years, after being labeled “enemies of the people,” there’s been an increase in  mean-spirited rhetoric touched off by political and philosophical divides. It’s often aimed at us personally, not just professionally. 

 

One man recently took exception to how I used a word in one of my stories. He wrote to explain to me the correct usage. I cordially told him why I used the word the way I did. He wrote back to continue explaining to me why I was wrong. Since I was in the middle of trying to write other stories, my second response was short. “Mr. _______, you clearly just want to argue. I do not.”

 

That, apparently, made him mad. “Go forth with your arrogant and know-it-all approach,” he wrote back. He said I should have less of an ego. I was rude not to address his legitimate questions about my use of the word. (Um, I thought I did that in the first 150 words I sent him.) He went on to say he would cancel his subscription. That I disgusted him.

 

All of this over the use of one word. 

 

But I digress. 

 

I was lucky enough to have had two offices in the past 14 years, two working groups, one at 926 P St. and one at the state Capitol, the most beautiful building in Nebraska, where a restless writer could get up from her computer, walk down the stairs, visit with interesting people, and watch the sun track across the images created by Hildreth Mieère on the Rotunda’s marble floor.

 

We have been fortunate to be able to offer our perspectives on Lincoln, the state and its people, not opinions but perspectives, in what we choose to cover and how we choose to cover it. 

 

People would like to tell us we should not be setting the agenda for what’s important. I think they are wrong. Yes, we must listen to readers, really listen, but we are in a position to see a sweeping view, through the wide lens and the macro lens, and then report it accurately and deeply … not just tell people what they think they want to hear. 

 

If we don’t use our own good judgment based on informed observations and news gathering, we are in danger, as Omaha Sen. Ernie Chambers puts it, of being that long-legged waterbug that skims across the lake, barely causing a ripple or breaking the surface. 

 

Thank you all, past and present, for honing my personality. They say the brain is ever changing, that with every experience, every conversation, you are altered. You are not the same person today you were at age 20 or 40, or even yesterday. You have contributed to that person in me, with your smart observations, your dark humor, your passion, and your caring. 

 

You have been invaluable, especially, in the time of COVID-19, in the lifting up of the voices of Black Lives Matter, and the hard realities of quarantine and isolation. 

 

I put you somewhere in that line of essential workers. And I will always be one of your biggest supporters. 

Of Matters Celestial

By Marilyn Moore

The sun is slipping toward the horizon this afternoon at 4:30, on the eve of the Winter Solstice.  Each day for the past six months, sunrise comes a minute or two later than the day before, and the sun sets a minute or two earlier than the day before.  Barely noticeable from one day to the next, but obvious over the course of several weeks, and in the past ten days or so, it seems darkness is settling in.  Tomorrow will be shortest day of the year.  Coupled with generally colder temperatures, and the first significant snowfall of the year….winter is here.

 

It must have been truly frightening to people who lived thousands of years ago, as they watched the daylight and the warmth of the sun gradually diminish, and with it, the light and warmth upon which they depended to grow crops, to nourish forests and prairies, and to protect themselves from the cold.  If it kept getting darker and colder, life could not sustain.  Rituals and ceremonies and traditions developed around appeasing the gods who controlled the sun and offering gifts to the gods in supplication for the return of the sun.

 

Those who had lived through many winters knew that the sun would return…the gods would be kind to them, and bring back light and warmth.  Still, even with the wisdom of the elders for assurance, there was great celebration when the shortening days seemed to stop, and gradually, the daylight advanced, and the dark diminished.  Those celebrations occurred in cultures in all parts of the world, except for those on or near the equator, celebrating the return of light and warmth.

 

Today, of course, we know that it is not a pantheon of angry or unpredictable gods who must be appeased to bring back longer days and warmer temperatures.  We know that the tilt of the Earth in its revolution around the sun results in the seasons of the year.  At the time of the winter solstice, the northern hemisphere is in its tilted position farthest from the sun.  As the Earth continues on it journey around the sun, the relative position of the northern hemisphere to the sun changes, and we experience early sunrises and later sunsets.  

 

This year, of course, we have the added wonder of the conjunction of the planets Jupiter and Saturn, which will occur on the night of the winter solstice.  The two planets have been moving closer together, and tomorrow night, it will appear as if they have merged – creating one incredibly bright star.  You can see it in the low southwest sky, an hour or so after sunset.  Some call it the Christmas Star, because of its proximity to Christmas in the calendar.  This last happened nearly 400 years ago, observed by Galileo, and it last happened at night some 800 years ago. 

 

People have always watched the stars – sailors and explorers used them for navigation, storytellers brought the constellations to life with tales of their formations, and philosophers and dreamers looked to the stars for meaning.  What must those early stargazers have wondered, as they watched the two bright stars come closer and closer together?  Did they fear an explosion?  Did they see it as a sign of an impending disaster, or an impending miracle? 

 

Today, of course, we know that it is neither a disaster nor a miracle.  In fact, we know that what appears to be two planets so close they seem to be one is actually a function of the angle from which we view them; the two planets will be 450 million miles apart – and they will look like they have merged.  (Note:  I’m still trying to wrap my mind around 450 million miles!  And how that distance is measured….)

 

So, the winter solstice is not caused by angry gods, nor is the reversing of diminished light caused by appeasing the angry gods.  We know the cause of the shortest day of daylight, and we know that it will reverse.  The conjunction of the planets is not a sign of doom or miracle; it’s caused by the natural movement of planets in the universe.  But the fact that we know the science that explains these phenomena doesn’t make them any less awesome.  What could be more awesome than knowing that the Earth will continue its revolution around the sun, returning light and warmth to our days and our lives?  What could be more awesome than knowing (knowing!) that Jupiter and Saturn will look like they have merged when they’re 450 million miles (450 million miles!) apart? 

 

The fact that we know it is the most awesome of all, that human minds have begun to understand the Mystery of Mysteries in the universe and beyond…and the questions that are raised from what we know causes us to raise our eyes to all that we do not know…and that is truly awesome.

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Goodnight noises everywhere . . .

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Early this morning, just as Saturday dawn was whispering in my ear, I found my way to a favorite trailhead at Wilderness Park, hiked over miles of paths and meandered through a wonderland of snow-frosted trees.

Then stopped.

Listened to the sounds of quiet.  

And felt the silence settling over me like a blanket of bliss.

The promise of winter was in the air. 

Once upon a time, when winter was threatening to arrive, I moaned and groaned about the long stretches of dark and lonesome. Somehow over the years, something changed.

I love the stillness of winter. I love the darkness.  I love the annual sense of hibernation that stirs the embers of renewal and rebirth.

My dad’s favorite song was Silent Night, and he sang it all 12 months of the year.  I was a newborn who arrived in the spring, but my dad still sang me the sounds of “all is calm, all is bright.”  Now my daughter sings Silent Night to her two daughters as she tucks them under the covers each evening. 

There is indeed something sacred, something holy about silence, slowing the cadence of life’s rhythms and giving your weary brain a break from the day-to-day clamor. 

After this morning’s moment of merciful shush, I found myself wanting more.

I wanted a walk in the woods with nobody to meet.  I wanted to sit in my home, just as the afternoon sun starts to fade and the light is low, stillness all around. I wanted to stand in the silence, comfortable in the calm.

For me, quiet brings essential moments of introspection, grace to nourish my spirit and the rare opportunity to listen to my own heartbeat.  Thump, thump. Yep, I’m still alive and kicking. 

Sometimes, I almost lose track. 

Today we live in the noisiest period of human history with pinging cell phones and squawking alarm clocks, car alarms and leaf blowers, loud TV commercials and even louder sports competition.  The stereo sound systems we now have in our cars are much louder than the sound system the Beatles used for their concerts in the sixties. 

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, we had more space to daydream.  We sat quietly at traffic lights, in physician waiting rooms, in line at the grocery store.  We went for walks without earphones and roamed without GPS to guide us in the “right” direction.

Believe it or not, the Internet did not exist 50 years ago – Google was not around, 25 years ago – and the telephone did not exist 150 years ago.  Yet in  2019, the average cell phone user touched their phone more than 2,600 times per day (double that for millennials).  The average American was exposed to 5,000 ads every 24 hours.  

I had high hopes of a possible silver lining in this pandemic, perhaps easing the jangly busyness of our days.  But in some ways the noise escalated, even intensified, with experts calling out ongoing pandemic death counts,  politicians screaming post-election pandemonium, shoppers facing holiday frenzy on steroids – and the New York Times reporting that antacids are the latest shortage facing Americans.  

I’ll pass on the Tums, thank you. My own personal prescription for release from the migraine-pressure of screeching decibel levels is much simpler:  Give me quiet.  

Research confirms that silence allows our prefrontal cortexes — our brains' “attention centers” — to relax and restore.  But honestly, we don’t need experts to recognize we are desperate for a bit of undisturbed sanctuary. 

One of the most soothing reads I know is the child’s book, Good Night Moon, which concludes with these calm, familiar words: “Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.”

When asked about the book’s true meaning, author Margaret Brown said: “Quietness is an essential part of all awareness. In quiet times and sleepy times, a child can dwell in thoughts of his own, and in songs and stories of his own.”

Grownups can and need to dwell in quietness as well. Quiet re-introduces us to ourselves, allows us to settle into ourselves, helps us remember our internal songs and stories.

I find my own stories in that hallowed space of stillness ... 

* Standing on the edge of a frozen lake at sunrise and watching the light turn golden.

* At dusk, bundling up and sitting in my front yard as twilight arrives, leaving my cell phone inside.  

* Relaxing in my favorite easy chair, all devices and gadgets off, a dog lounging nearby. 

* Getting lost in the middle of the woods on a winter morning.

Please understand, I don’t hate noise.  True confession, I am an information junkie who appreciates the avalanche of available podcasts and craves constant updates on vaccines, inauguration plans, CNN, NPR, social media prattle.

But on an achingly beautiful weekend like this one – with a soft blanket of snow and the cool, clean advent of winter – perhaps it is time to reclaim our peace and quiet.

Time to put the world on mute.

Time to soothe our souls and savor the silence.  

Time to get lost in the woods. On the prairie.  Around the lake.  In our own backyard.

Time to stand in a circle of quiet. 

And hush. 

Dear Santa Claus

I hope this letter finds you in good health and excited about your upcoming travels later this month. We both know it has been more than half a century since I’ve written to you. Even so, I want to say a long overdue thank you. Because, in spite of my not asking you for anything specific for Christmas in all that time, you have done amazingly well by me, and I am truly grateful.

Some of my fondest memories of Christmas Eves past are of helping Mom carefully prepare plates of cookies and milk for your arrival, and watching my dad bundle up to go out to the corral to put hay out for Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph. What a thrill it was to see only crumbs left on the plate and a few scattered blades of hay left on the ground on Christmas morning!

My brother, Tom, assures me that he has continued to put that hay out every year at his place. If that is not the case, please leave me a note this year, and I promise to have a talk with him.

I don’t need to tell you, Santa, it’s been a tough year. In the work I do with our local food bank, I see record numbers of people in distribution lines, many of whom would never have imagined finding themselves there. As Christmas approaches, I can only imagine the worry and sadness in their hearts and minds as they look into the faces of their children, parents, friends and loved ones for whom they want to be able to do so much more, but can’t.

But it has also been a beautiful year. I have seen private citizens, nonprofit groups, local businesses and corporations respond with amazing generosity and compassion that truly puts the Human in Humanity.

I know I don’t even need to mention COVID-19 to you, Santa. If it is in your power to put a dose of vaccine in every stocking, or to somehow miraculously eradicate this virus, you will do that without me asking. But for the millions and millions who have lost loved ones, or are still battling the symptoms and impacts of this illness, I will ask you to please do what you can to ease their grief and suffering, even for just one day.

We’re all tired, Santa. Tired in ways we can’t articulate or sometimes even recognize as we keep putting one foot in front of the other and endeavor to be and do our best. So, as wonderful as new sleds, video games, puppies, and warm sweaters are to unwrap and reveal, I think a lot of us would be very happy with a renewed sense of wonder and hope.

You are the Wonder Man, Santa. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you. You can bet there will be a plate of cookies and milk at our house just for you. And I’ll make a trip to the feed store for some cake to put out in the side yard for Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph.

As for me, if you could just give a special jingle by my window when you stop through, I will have everything I could want. Thank you, Santa, from the bottom of my heart. It’s been a long time, and it’s very nice to reconnect. Safe travels. Watch out for those swarms of Murder Hornets.

Love,

Penny

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