Recipes for Calm Amidst the Mayhem

By Mary Reiman

I feel the need to write about goodness and kindness this week. I’ve not forgotten the angst. I’m well aware of the mayhem. I write letters, make phone calls and attended the rally. Trying to make sense of all the angles of every piece of news. But in the midst of all the chaos, I sometimes need to sit back and simply focus on the good, especially in my own sphere. To me, that comes in the form of thinking about my family.

I was 19 when she arrived. My sister’s first child. My first opportunity to be Aunt Mary. She would later be joined by a sister and a brother.  Worry not, I’ll write about them later. This is the first of a three-part series! 

Within a few years, Angela’s bright red, curly hair drew the attention of every clerk in every store. As did her effervescent personality. Her smile was infectious. It was then. It is now. 

That darling little girl became a beautiful woman, both inside and out. If one believes in the birth order theory, as the first-born child she came into this world with a sense of responsibility, conscientiousness and reliability. I believe she carries all of those characteristics. 

I don’t see her often enough. But I always know that if I needed her, she would be here. Quickly. She would get in her car, drive much too fast, and be here with her warm and loving arms wrapped around me.

Last month, I texted her, asking her to name a woman in history who has most inspired her. Within seconds I had a reply. Ina Garten.

I went directly to the library and found Be Ready When the Luck Happens, Ina Garten’s memoir published in 2024. It was available in audio, with the author telling her own story. I loved her voice describing her journey, moments of joy contentment and moments of stress and sorrow. How she became the great success she is today, told with humor and realism and charm. Offering some of her very favorite recipes along the way. 

I didn’t know very much of Ina Garten’s life, other than the fact she is the Barefoot Contessa. I now understand that she is indeed a cultural icon.

Angela has most, if not all, of the Barefoot Contessa's cookbooks...and follows them exactly when preparing family dinners. She says that’s the key. 

Angela also inherited so many of my mom’s culinary skills. She definitely channels her grandma. However, for many recipes, Grandma June never measured anything. A pinch or a bit was described as a measurement in many of the handwritten recipes we inherited. 

One of Ina Garten’s remarkable talents is to make everything look easy. Angela does that also. Every dish/plate/menu created with class and grace. Meal planning and preparation, cooking, baking and presentation is an art form. 

Angela loves being in the kitchen, or maybe I just think that because she looks so comfortable putting together a meal. A dinner is an event, especially when she sends the menu to her guests ahead of time. From outrageous brownies to an elegant charcuterie board, the plating is an artistic creation. 

Lucky is the family or friend group with whom she shares her skills. I’ve never lived close enough to gain access to a seat at her table on a regular basis. I wish I did. Some of the family favorites are Ina’s biscuits and gravy, lasagna, mac & cheese, and of course, the desserts.  Oh, the desserts. German chocolate two-layer cake, white two-layer cake with lemon filling, cheesecake, and dark chocolate cupcakes. Hungry? Doesn’t it make you want to drive to her house, knock on the door and see what’s on the table?

And speaking of their home. It is calm. Not calm because their children have grown and moved on to their brilliant lives. Calm because it is tastefully designed with the beauty and simplicity that creates an aura of peace and tranquility. And...it emanates love and happiness.

As Angela says, “The impact of my cooking & homemaking grounds me.”

Angela, if you are reading this, know that you could be related to Ina Garten. You share so many characteristics and qualities. However, I’m the lucky one. The goodness and kindness you bring to this world is a 5-star recipe for success. I love being your aunt!

Do what you love because if you love it, you’ll be really good at it; 

swing for the fence; and always be ready when the luck happens.

                                             -Ina Garten

Hiding Who We Are

 

By Marilyn Moore

It was a hard conversation.  At a meeting of one of Lincoln’s many fine nonprofit boards, we talked about the new reality for organizations that seek or rely on federal funds…the reality that such funding is in jeopardy.  In particular, the reality that such funding is no longer available to any organization that has even a hint of DEI about it.  You know, DEI…diversity, equity, inclusion.  Words that our board members, and our staff, regard as important, because of what those words mean.  Words that describe an important part of who we are.  Words that, if found on our website or in any public documents, will most assuredly mean the immediate cancellation of federal funds, with no warning and no appeal.

So we talked about it.  Do we proceed as we are, an organization that publicly affirms the values of diversity, equity, and inclusion?  Do we tone it down a little, and hope for the best?  Do we delete all references to workplace and organizational values from the website and from any piece of paper that might be seen by anyone?  What became clear in the course of the conversation is that nearly every person around the table works for an organization, private or public, nonprofit or for-profit, that is asking the same questions.  

This is a funding question.  It’s also a strategy question.  It’s a short-term vs. long-term question.  It’s a means/ends question.  It’s a cost/benefit question.  And it’s an identity question.  If we can’t say, up front and with pride, who we are, are we really who we are?  And the counter to that question is, if we stop talking about who we are, but act in accordance with who we are, does it give us the chance to be who we are in the future?  What’s the cost of public speech?  And what’s the cost of not speaking?  

These are not easy questions.  I’ll not disclose our decision, as it’s not mine to disclose.  We  committed to continue to live our core values.  We will not abandon those values, and those values will guide us as we navigate this new political reality.  

And as I drove home from that meeting, in despair that we were having to consider hiding who we are to assure our survival, I realized that persons living as a minority have done this their entire lives.  Across the ages, around the world, persons who were of a minority faith just kept quiet about it; they prayed and worshipped and practiced the rituals of their faith behind closed doors.  Jewish persons in fifteenth century Spain were forced to convert to Christianity to save their lives.  Jewish persons and gays and Communists were imprisoned and executed in Nazi Germany.  (The Nazis also burned books, and arrested and imprisoned persons who wrote, read, and owned “banned” books.) For most of human history, gays and lesbians just kept their sexual orientation to themselves, because it wasn’t safe to be out.  

And lest we think that such atrocities were somewhere else, or a long time ago, we have our own stories of forcing people to hide in the United States. Women who were healers and mystics in Massachusetts in the 1600’s kept quiet, lest they be deemed witches and put to death.  Immigrants from Germany, right here in Nebraska, stopped speaking the German language and preparing traditional German foods during WWI, lest they be thought to be German sympathizers.  Indigenous parents hid their children, so they would not be snatched by government officials and sent to Indian Boarding Schools, where the goal was to take the Indian out of the child.  And today, trans teens and adults are receiving the message, from a presidential executive order and from legislation proposed or enacted in so many states, including Nebraska, that to be safe, they must hide who they are…harsher yet, they must not be who they are.  With an attempted suicide rate higher than any other subgroup, trans teens and trans adults are told they must not be who they are….

I don’t know where all this will end.  I suspect most organizations will figure out a way to play by the new rules…with some angst, with some defiance, with some not able to live out their mission if they are required to deny diversity, equity, and inclusion.  I suspect the harm to individual people, who find themselves in a situation where they must hide who they are, will be much more significant.  Most mental health practitioners I know would say that mentally healthy people are people who know who they are, who act in accordance with that, who do not try to be someone they are not.  A person forced for too long to hide who they are will result in either an explosion or an implosion…and I think the same is true of an organization, and a community.

Denial of diversity, all of life in its grand diversity; denial of equity, the hoped-for outcome of all persons living into their potential; denial of inclusion, that sense that we all belong…hiding all of this is not good for anyone.  In the long run, it is damaging to the body, mind, and soul, of an individual, and of a nation.

I have a new perspective on the lines Emily Dickinson wrote about hope: “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul; and sings the tune, without the words, and never stops, at all.”  Sometimes it’s not safe to sing the words, so you sing the tune….to remind yourself of who you are….

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One audaciously, foolishly happy blog

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Tenaciously poking her purple head out of the ground, this lone stubborn crocus seems undaunted by the week’s crazy-fierce winter storm.  A little beat up, yes, but she’s not giving up. 

After all, the spring equinox has arrived.

A good friend’s first grandchild was born on the very first day of spring this week, a beautiful boy who was delivered alongside cotton sheets and open windows and seed catalogs.

Forget about the stork, this lad arrived on the wings of thousands of cranes soaring above the Platte River – to a soundtrack playing the chorus of dawn’s rowdy birdsong.

He entered this world with fresh air and fresh hope – greeted with bouquets of daffodils popping like the color of butter.

I’ve been whining and bemoaning the fact that this is my blog week, woe is me, the world is coming to an end.

Then I gave myself a challenge.

Against all odds, I would outrageously, foolishly write a completely happy blog.

I would write about cocky robins scouring through my front yard as tiny grass sprouts have started sneaking into my dreary lawn of gray-brown.  About teachers still teaching and nurses still healing and electric workers restoring power.  About flower stands cropping up across the parking lots of Lincoln and nurseries bursting at the seams – timid buds lining still-bare tree branches – woodpeckers drumming somewhere in the distance – the splash of sunlight making us delightfully tipsy.

And the scent, oh the scent.

My granddaughter, Scout, just finished her school science project, choosing to study the smells of the four seasons – trapping each one in a jar for her classmates to sniff.  

Summer, fall, winter.   

Then spring, a jar practically dripping with the earthy, evocative smell of soil, wet leaves, rain … and, of course, something strangely musky and completely mystical.

A friend of mine had sinus surgery this week and today I imagine her stepping outdoors – finally remembering – finally inhaling huge, mighty intoxicating breaths of spring.

And I’m guessing my dog, Pip, has her nose in the air – experiencing spring fever like I’ve never quite witnessed, a lunatic mutt zigzagging around the back yard with an insane, giddy fervor, leaping into the air as if she truly believes she can nab March madness. 

Long ago, I lived in Florida for three years, surrounded by people migrating from up north, drawn to those warm, mellow and predictable days.

I grew weary of the monotony, as the cycle of seasons has always been one of the most glorious miracles I know, embracing the flow of Mother Nature’s impetuous moods. 

On March 20 this year, the earth’s axis was not tilted toward or away from the sun. It was in perfect balance. Equal parts light and dark.

Certainly, we know about the dark these days, a continual onslaught of confusing, terrifying dread delivered each and every day. 

But something about spring pulls me back toward the light, renews my faith in first love and new babies, beckons me to look up all the happy adjectives in my Thesaurus.

In fact, something about spring makes me downright belligerent as I refuse to let today’s doom take away my joy.

Today I will feel warmth on my skin.  Wear a t-shirt. Walk barefoot. 

Hear those geese overhead, honking in gleeful mischief. 

Taste a spoonful of lemon ice cream.

Buy a couple new sets of chimes to replace those battered by winter’s winds.

And gaze up at that sky of blue, an audacious hue that Sherwin-Williams chemists will never manage to recreate.

Somehow, somewhere, despite these troubled times, tomorrow still brings the promise of apple trees in full blossom, hammocks, the potent aroma of lilacs, chickadees hopping about, showy tulips in their startling splendor – and the bliss of digging deep into the warm earth to sow our first bean seeds.   

As for now, I’ll likely pause at dusk this evening on the shores of Holmes Lake, surrounded by sunset groupies who have flocked outside again to worship this season of wonder. 

I’ll splash through muddy puddles along the park trail, listen closely for meadowlark song and perhaps the faint whisper of the first spring peepers – then roll down my car windows on the way home. 

Our struggles in the mayhem … you’re not alone

 One big black hole 

By Mary Kay Roth

 

As the clouds rolled into Lincoln Friday and a weird gloom settled over the March afternoon, I started thinking about the topic of our group blog. 

 

Because there’s a darkness in this Trumpian world that fails to brighten even my brightest spring pansies and daffodils. An unpredictable, disoriented sense of drowning in a sea of mean and cruel.   

 

I write to legislators, call congress folk, attend a rally or two. But I get the distinct feeling my protestations are falling into one big black hole. 

 

So, when I consider my greatest struggles right now, it’s not very complicated. I have absolutely no clue what to do.

 

Some of my neighbors and friends recently formed a group called The Collab, attempting to identify local responses to the national mayhem – a way to tackle advocacy and action in our own community. We’ve only had one meeting so far, not yet grounded in exactly where we’re headed. But curiously, it’s already growing. Practically everyone I tell about the group – wants to be part of it.

 

We all want to be part of something right now.  We don’t want to be powerless.  But we can’t find a direction. Any direction.

 

Anne LaMott , a columnist I love, believes people all around us are looking for their North Star. “We have never lived in a country where men behave like this … My friends and I are looking around for hope, answers and maybe a prophet or two. We peek around like worried children. The author Barry Lopez wrote: ‘We’re all searching for the boats we forget to build.’”

 

She suggests we savor all that still works, the beauty all around us, small moments.  “We are hitting bottom, where there’s nothing left to do but to give in to what you can’t control. It’s time for trust and surrender. The clenched muscles let go since there’s nothing left to clutch. The letting go gives a taste of peace, long overdue, and that’s when the shift occurs, maybe not at first in the scary situation, but internally.”

 

I felt that shift, ever so slightly, when I attended a funeral last week for a very good man.  He didn’t just believe in compassion, he acted upon it.  Responded.  Followed through.  His family, friends, recounted how – even in the throes of cancer – time after time, he paid attention to the actions he could take.  No matter how small.

 

Ever since, I’ve been thinking about compassion at a time when it’s the most difficult, at a time our country’s leaders have none.

 

I’m wondering if you start small, very small, even if it feels inadequate in this lost cosmos of helpless and hopeless.  

 

Frankly, I don’t know where else to begin. 

Seeking Rest….

 

By Marilyn Moore 

 

I’m in a spiritual formation group that is meeting weekly during Lent.  In our first meeting last week, we were asked the question, “What does your soul long for?”  

 

My response…rest.  I am so tired.  In every way, I’m tired.  

 

I’m physically exhausted.  My husband was hospitalized and then in rehab for 30 days in December.  Since then, he’s had a steady stream of medical appointments and home health care providers.  It’s all good; he’s stable, getting stronger, and soon the medical calendar will be back to normal.  But the process has been tiring for both of us.  So much to manage, so many details to attend to, so much to learn, and all in the dreariest time of year.  I am worn out.

 

And I’m not sleeping well, at least, not every night.  I fall asleep easily, but the dreaded “wide awake at 2 a.m.” has returned, when my brain won’t stop considering every possible question from the day/week/month/year before, or the day/week/month/year yet to come.  Or I sleep past that 2 a.m. time, but awaken early, and can’t fall back asleep…those pesky questions just waited a few hours.  So many questions, most around the political turmoil in which we find ourselves.  And my brain…doesn’t know what to do.  It ping pongs among a dozen or more possibilities, skeptical of all, confident of none, and landing on a plan not at all.  

 

That’s a new reality for me.  When the “2 a.m.’s” would awaken me when I was working, I could usually figure out a next step, what I could do first thing in the morning.  I knew it might not work, it might not be complete, it might need further thought…but I could figure out a next step, and fall back asleep. That escapes me now.  My brain simply cannot grasp the immensity of the confusion in which we’re living, and grabbing at anything, anything at all, seems like a futile gesture.  So the neurons in my brain just keep pinging, and my brain doesn’t stop. It needs rest.

 

Most troubling, though, is that my soul needs rest.  I’ve written before about the thin places, the times or experiences or places where it seems the veil between earth and heaven is so thin that one can touch the other.  That’s a soul at peace…and it’s not mine.  Not now.  That veil feels absolutely impenetrable.  The assaults on the dignity and human needs of those who live on the margins.  The utter disregard for contracts already made with farmers, researchers, patients, nonprofits.  The insults hurled at federal workers.  The casual and intentional cruelty shown to immigrants.  The disdain for the values and words of the Constitution.  All are a body slam to my soul.  My soul, bristling, quivering, on edge…needs rest.

 

I often say that I write to figure out what I think, and putting this in writing has helped bring clarity to why I need rest.  I’m not going to conclude, however, with a statement of what next, what I’ll do…because I don’t know.  All the usual responses – time in nature, time with friends, doing what good I can where I can, speaking out and speaking up, baking bread – seem remarkably weak.  I just know that I long for rest.  And I suspect I am not alone.

 

Scary people, scary ideas 

 

By JoAnne Young

 

What am I struggling with? Pick one? How about two out a of sea of darkness: Stephen Miller. The SAVE Act.

 

Stephen Miller seems to have avoided the national media’s frenzied reporting on

Donald Trump and Elon Musk. I believe the more attention we give to these people, the more light we shine, exposes them. What is the old Washington Post motto? Democracy dies in darkness.  

 

Miller needs more exposure. He is said to be one of Trump’s most influential

Loyalists. He is deputy chief of staff for policy and Homeland Security advisor, which puts him in in a powerful position, He is known for his fervent anti-immigration beliefs and policies that target children and adults who are undocumented, as well as those with legal status.

 

He was behind the use of the 1798 Alien Enemies Act to target immigrants

for deportation, and in Trump’s last term, the family separation policy. Look him up if you’re not familiar. The most recent profile I can find was in “The

Atlantic” in 2018, Stephen Miller, Trump’s Right-Hand Troll, and a book review

this month in “The Nation,” The Loyalist, The cruel world according to Stephen

Miller.

 

I would like to see more frequent reporting in the national media on who he is and

what he is up to.

 

I’m also struggling with the very idea of the SAVE Act, the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility Act, which is up again for consideration by the House and Senate. I acted this past week to shore up my ability to vote if the SAVE Act passes Congress this year. It was described by NPR as one that would dramatically depress voter participation by requiring proof-of-citizenship documents that millions of Americans either don’t have or to which they don’t have easy access.

 

We need more voter participation. Not less. 

 

The bill also would require that your documentation, for example a birth

certificate, match your current ID. That could cause problems for up to an

estimated 69 million women who changed their names after they married. I

went to the UNL Passport Office last week to renew my expired passport,

including putting my maiden name as my middle name. I’m taking no chances, and

hoping this effort is enough.

 

While the introducer of the bill says states could come up with processes to accept

additional documentation when voters have discrepancies on their documents, a 

Brennan Center for Justice spokesman said: “Every incentive (of the bill) is for officials to not interpret this law broadly and favorably for voters.”

 

Why do I worry? A female speaker at the 2020 Republican National Convention,

Abby Johnson, advocated for head-of-household voting that would permit only the

head of a household to cast a ballot. She believes that in a “Godly household the

husband would get the final say ... would be the de facto decision maker.”

 

I’ve talked to other married women who changed their names at marriage and

know I am not alone in my concerns and anger at a bill that could suppress

women’s and other American’s votes.

 

Shining lights on this mayhem gives us opportunity to act. 

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A season of loss

By JoAnne Young

 

Some of us have spent a lot of hours since January 20, and more than a few between November 5 and the January inauguration lost in worry, bewilderment, fear and even sadness. But accompanying that has been something that has given me perspective. 

 

In December, January, February and March, my husband and I have lost some good friends, good people who deserved to be around longer than they were allowed to be. 

 

When you get to a certain age, deaths seem to multiply, to come in waves. It can happen when you’re younger – the loss of siblings, parents, sometimes friends. But as you get older the departing seems to pick up speed and volume. 

 

I’m thinking today, especially, about Scott’s radio partner for 19 years, Cathy Blythe, who died Saturday morning. A few hours after we heard about that, we had attended the funeral of my long-time editor at the Journal Star, Dave Bundy. 

 

Cathy’s death followed within two weeks of her husband, Wayne Oberg, who died unexpectedly of a heart attack. She had been ill for several months. As a result, their only child lost her mother and father within a very short time. Dave Bundy died at a young age, 57, leaving behind a wife and four adult children who would have loved to have had him stick around to see them, if they chose to get married, give him grandchildren, have adventures to share. 

 

Two other of Scott's former co-workers at KFOR left us in this season of loss. In December, former station manager and good friend Brad Hartman died. In January, the KFOR sports director and dear friend that Scott worked with for 19 years, Chuck Stevens, died. 

A good woman, Pat Lopez, who died in early March, had guided those of us who live in Lancaster County through two harrowing years of the Covid pandemic with grace and thoughtfulness and care. 

 

I will also mention that in December and then in February, Nebraska lost two men who had a deep knowledge of state government and the unicameral Legislature, something sorely needed at this time. Walt Radcliffe, who I was able to consult for background information when I covered the Legislature as a journalist, had what has been described as a “razor sharp wit and searing sense of humor." That knowledge and humor will be missed. Another lobbyist, Herb Schimek, who was a former history teacher and represented Nebraska’s state education association for decades at the Legislature, was known as a friend to teachers. 

 

These were all good, talented people who cared about and added to the lives of their families, friends and workplaces. In many cases that goodness, their inspiring actions and thoughtfulness, extended to people in their communities. They touched lives and left people and places better than when they first encountered them. 

 

So I can’t help but wonder why I think and worry so much these days about the actions of people in Washington, and even a few in our own state, who are constantly up to no good, who think only of themselves and what they want, not the good of the whole. I worry because of the wide-ranging effects they are going to have on so many people who could suffer because of the decisions they make. Ultimately, we are talking about millions of good people. 

 

I have spent a lot of time in these months thinking about the goodness of not only the people who have left us, but those who are still with us, doing good deeds every day,  helping us to move forward through this time, no matter whether their influence is broad or narrow. 

 

Instead of listening to all that is going wrong, my first thoughts every morning should be inspired by those friends we have lost, considering how to help my community, my city, my state and beyond. A worthy goal these days would be to – as Margaret Mead said – add to the sum of accurate information in the world. To push through hard times just as our friends before us did. To let go of any old conflicts that I remember, wipe the slate clean and start over with people. To be understanding and accepting and open-hearted about all of that.

 

One of the most important things is to not wait until our friends, and even those we don’t know as well, are gone to realize all the good they are quietly doing around us.

 

I’m not unplugging from what’s going on. I’m watching and doing what I can to take action. But I’m ready to quiet some of that noise and be inspired by the good, to follow that lead. 

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Moving Forward Together

By Mary Reiman

If I asked you to name an influential woman from history, who would you name?  And why? 

March is Women’s History Month. 

Celebrating Women's History has its origins in 1980, after “a consortium of women’s groups and historians – led by the National Women’s History Project (now the National Women’s History Alliance) – successfully lobbied for national recognition." President Jimmy Carter issued a Presidential Statement asking for Americans to recognize National Women’s History Week, March 2-8, 1980."President Jimmy Carter’s proclamation of women’s history week shown the light on women, on the importance as well as the accomplishments of women, their roles in the building of the United States. who had and were making a difference in United States history. It was a major accomplishment to obtain that declaration. Women were being recognized for their work, their strength, their voices." 

For some (many?) of us, our high school American History textbooks might have had a page about Harriet Tubman or Florence Nightingale or Clara Barton. More likely a paragraph. In 1980, I truly believed that would soon change.

Finally, acknowledging women. Their stories. Their tenacity. Their roles in building our nation. I thought we had arrived. After marching, protesting, raising our voices. Believing equality was coming, I had hope.

More background from the Library of Congress: In 1987, after being petitioned by the National Women’s History Project, Congress passed Pub. L. 100-9, which designated the month of March 1987 as "Women's History Month." This law requested the President to issue a proclamation calling upon the people of the United States to observe this month with appropriate activities and ceremonies. President Reagan then proclaimed March 1987 as "Women's History Month" and calling upon all Americans to mark the month with observances to honor the achievements of American women. Between 1988 and 1994, Congress passed additional resolutions requesting and authorizing the President to proclaim March of each year as Women's History Month.

The theme for Women’s History Month this year is: Moving Forward Together. It is meant to highlight and support women who have dedicated their lives to education, mentorship and leadership to shape the minds and futures of all generations.

I recently asked friends and family, all strong women I greatly admire, to name a woman from American history who made an impact on their world view. Here are a variety of the responses. Some acknowledged why they were inspired, favorite quotes from their selection are in italics. Note the diversity of these women. Fascinating.

Gloria Steinem, “I never wanted to be a politician or elected person myself, so I loved to work for other women who did—and hope that more girls will do that. The problem is the feeling that we’re divided from politics, that our vote doesn’t count or what we do doesn’t count. In fact, everything we do counts.”

Nettie Honeyball persuaded about 30 young women to join the British Ladies Football Club in 1894, to prove that women could play soccer. The beginning of the women’s soccer movement. "I founded the association late last year, with the fixed resolve of proving to the world that women are not the ‘ornamental and useless’ creatures men have pictured...and I look forward to the time when ladies may sit in Parliament and have a voice in the direction of affairs, especially those which concern them most."

Often called “The Most Beautiful Woman in Film,” In the 1930s and 40s, actress Hedy Lamarr was also an inventor who pioneered the technology that would one day form the basis for today’s WiFi, GPS, and Bluetooth communication systems. She was inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame for the development of her frequency hopping technology in 2014.

Rachel Carson, marine biologist, writer, and environmentalist who is credited with launching the modern environmental movement. Her research led to a nationwide ban on DDT and other pesticides, and her environmental movement is considered to have contributed to the creation of the more-important-than-ever Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). 

In 1949 Margaret Chase Smith began a 30-year congressional career becoming the first woman to serve in both houses of Congress. A woman of intelligence with ‘unflappable’ courage, she famously denounced McCarthyism with her “Declaration of Conscience,” something few senators had dared to do. “Freedom of speech is not what it used to be in America...It has been so abused by some that it is not exercised by others.”

In 1993, Julia Child was the first woman inducted into the Culinary Institute of American’s Hall of Fame. Her plan after college was to become a famous woman novelist. Instead, she worked for the Office of Strategic Services (precursor to the CIA) in WWII, and while in France, enrolled in the famous Le Cordon Bleu cooking school. The rest is history.

Bessie Smith, born in 1895, orphaned, living in poverty, began singing as a street performer on Ninth Street, Chattanooga’s center of music and dance, with her guitar-playing brother Andrew when she was only 14 years old. “She incorporated the hardships of being Black working class in her lyrics by singing about poverty, racism, and sexism while singing about love and female sexuality. Despite the prejudices of the 1920s, her voice rose above the hate.” She was killed in a car accident at age 42. 

Rosalyn Carter “Do what you can to show you care about others, and you will make our world a better place.”

Suzette La Flesche grew up on the Omaha reservation. She became a champion for Native American rights as a speaker, activist, interpreter and writer. “The legislation of the government has been directed rather to the protection of the rights of money and property than to the best good of the citizen.”

Ruth Bader Ginsberg is the name most often mentioned. She faced gender discrimination and became well known for wielding her pen in writing, for giving voice to decisions or the lack of decisions. In 1993, she became the second woman, and first Jewish woman, to serve on the Supreme Court. During her tenure as a justice, Ginsburg has fiercely advocated for gender equality and women’s rights. She paved the way for Supreme Court Associate Justices Sonia Sotomayor, Elena Kagan, Ketanji Brown Jackson to continue to fight the good fight. 

Nellie Bly “Early female journalist. Got herself committed to an asylum and is well known for writing about horrific conditions in mental institutions.” 

Abigail Adams was one of the first advocates of women’s equal education and women’s property rights. In a letter to her husband John, March 1776, while he was in Philadelphia, Adams wrote, “Remember the Ladies, and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands. Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no voice or Representation.”

Ida B. Wells “Teacher and civil rights leader and journalist. She wrote about rights for the black community and especially women, exposed lynchings and other horrors, and helped found the NAACP.” She was a powerful force.

“The first woman I admired was Annie Oakley. It began when I was a kid and played Wild West crazy 8 card game.  She held her own with other famous cowboys, could ride horses, shoot and lived her life as she wanted (including wearing pants). She showed me that you did not have to be a stereotypical girl and could do what men did.”

Frances Perkins served as the 4th U.S. Secretary of Labor from 1933 to 1945. “First woman ever to serve in a presidential cabinet. Worked for humane working conditions in factories.” She also advocated for the rights for refugees seeking to immigrate to the United States during World War II.  

“I admire Judy Chicago's feminist artistic piece 'The Dinner Party'. A 48' triangular art installation, it had place settings honoring 39 historical and mythic women. The table is set on a porcelain tile that includes the names of 999 additional women. There were so many women honored, whom I'd never heard of before.”

Eleanor Roosevelt “A woman among men who did not always respect her, but never the less, she did her thing. She lived in an era where women like her were not the norm. She was a civil rights activist before it was cool and when she could have easily just gone home after her time in the White House, she went on to be a humanitarian activist. She didn’t let other define her, and I admire that.”

Willa Cather “There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”

Madeleine Albright  “It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent.”

Perhaps this month we should make it a point to read something by and/or about women. I started with The Book of Gutsy Women: Favorite Stories of Courage and Resilience by Chelsea Clinton and her mother, Hillary. I learned about Sally Yates (Assistant Attorney General at the Justice Department. She was fired.), Rosa May Billinghurst (one of the many suffragettes of the early 1900’s who endured abuse), Ester Martinez (In spite of so much hatred toward her, the Native American Language Preservation Act was established because of her perseverance), and learned more about Katharine Graham (CEO of the Washington Post...what would she say today...), astronaut Mae Jamison, Maya Lin (Vietnam Memorial and environmentalism), Maya Angelou, Jane Goodall, Margaret Mead, Mary McLeod Bethune, Ann Richards, Oprah Winfrey, and on and on and on.

I realize how few women have been named. Our lives have been enriched by the activism and advocacy of so many. 

Let this be the year of amending our American History textbooks to include pages and pages, chapters and chapters of the stories of women who have shaped, impacted and enhanced our lives. 

Magnanimous, magnificent, marvelous women. Gutsy women indeed. 

We are in this together. Join us in celebrating Women’s History Month, honoring those who came before us by moving forward. Let's make them proud.

The reason I made women's issues central to American foreign policy, was not because I was a feminist, but because we know that societies are more stable if women are politically and economically empowered.

Madeleine Albright

Seeking Patterns in a World of Chaos

By Marilyn Moore

It’s been not quite five weeks since Donald Trump was inaugurated as the 47th President of the United States.  He promised executive orders that would shock and awe the American people.  That’s a campaign promise on which he has delivered, a thousand-fold or more. Eggs are still expensive, the price of gasoline has not come down, but those executive orders are indeed worthy of the label “shock and awe.”  

The result, five weeks in, is sheer chaos.  Federal aid to developing countries, a program in place for more than sixty years, has been halted.  As a result, food is rotting on docks and in trucks, because it can’t be delivered.  Medical clinics, treating people with highly communicable diseases, which could make their way through air and water to the US, have closed, leaving people untreated and diseases spreading.  Medical research on those same diseases is suspended.  And then, a court issued a temporary restraining order, restoring the status quo, except it may not be happening.  

That was just the first shot across the bow, labeled as seeking out waste and fraud and finding government efficiencies.  Since then, research grants to universities across the country have been halted…right in the midst of research projects that can’t just stop and then start up again.  Another temporary restraining order, restoring the status quo, except it may not be happening.  Thousands of federal employees were notified they were fired, including those who guard our nuclear weapons and those who are keeping track of bird flu.  Oops, didn’t mean those people, so they’re called back to work, except they couldn’t all be found, as their government email accounts had been disabled.  Thousands more layoffs, including park rangers, just as national parks are gearing up for summer travel, and firefighters, just as the worst forest and grassland fire season approaches.  IRS workers fired, just as taxpayers will be calling help lines for assistance, and then waiting for tax refunds, tasks that take workers, tasks that won’t get done, or will take much longer.  

And so it goes, with swaths through the Department of Agriculture, Department of Education, the Department of Energy, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, and next up, the Department of Defense.  Not only are rank-and-file employees, the civil service employees, being terminated, so are leaders, supervisors, and heads of departments.  The Chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  The Secretary of the Navy.  A thread through every action, get rid of any reference to diversity, equity, and inclusion.  Tariffs, imposed, then withdrawn, then imposed again, or threatened.  All of it haphazard, all of it designed to throw the federal government into chaos.

And that’s the purpose.  To create chaos, to create so much chaos people (read, citizens, reporters, political watchers, elected officials, federal employees, those who hold federal contracts) can’t keep track of it all, or any of it, and give up on their own government to do what the Constitution says it’s supposed to do, “provide for the common defense,” and “promote the general welfare.”  

I’m drawn back to my learning about chaos science.  Leadership and the New Science, by Margaret Wheatley, is one of the most significant books I’ve ever read.  Who knew that there was a whole science about chaos?  Margaret Wheatley did, and she explained it, and its implications, and its power.  

One of the lessons from chaos science is that in the midst of chaos, there are always patterns.  Sometimes they’re hard to see; well, almost always they’re hard to see, because when you’re living in chaos, everything is in-your-face up close and personal, and it’s changing by the day, sometimes by the hour and the minute.  And that’s a tough environment in which to notice patterns.  But if you can step back a bit, either in distance or in time, patterns emerge.  The photo at the beginning of this blog is a fractal, computer generated from a gigantic string of random numbers…a giant step back from the most random of events, a random number table. 

Stepping back from the recent headlines, and the barrage is constant and hard to ignore, I notice some patterns. First, expertise is discounted.  That seems evident from the characteristics of the persons nominated, and confirmed, for Cabinet positions.  Expertise in the content of the position was not essential, nor is it present.  Nor is experience running a multi-billion dollar organization, employing thousands of workers.  The major criterion appears to be loyalty to the President, and a willingness to obey an unconstitutional order if given.

A second pattern is willingness to break existing laws.  The positions of Inspectors General are governed by a federal law that says the president cannot terminate their employment without giving 30 days notice to Congress, specifying the reason for the termination.  With total disregard for this law, the IGs were notified they were fired overnight.  No explanation has been given to Congress.  There are laws governing the termination of other federal employees; those laws have also been disregarded.  

A third pattern is disregard for those persons directly and immediately harmed by these chaos-producing actions.  Students who learn their scholarships have been canceled, as of the moment of the email.  Patients whose care will be disrupted because of cessation of medical research.  Uncertainty about continuation of programs such as Head Start, which provides services to our youngest, poorest children, and their families.  

A fourth pattern is the seeming ineptness of Congress stepping in at all.  Every member of the Senate and the House is hearing from their constituents, who are not happy with loss of services and with the seemingly total control an unelected special advisor has on the President.  What could Congress do?  They could speak out, they could hold hearings, they could assert their Constitutional power of the purse…but they are not.

A fifth pattern is the judicial system, stepping up.  Judges have placed many temporary restraining orders on actions taken so far, including the big one of saying that the president may not invalidate the 14th Amendment, birthright citizenship, through executive order.  None of the suits that have been filed have made it through hearings, decisions, appeals, and next level appeals, but so far, the judges have been a guardrail.  

A sixth pattern, which I suspect underlies all of this, is the remaking of the federal government to favor the very wealthy, including eliminating regulations that protect employees and consumers and revising the tax structure that gives even more tax breaks to the richest among us.  

And I haven’t even touched on foreign relations, where America’s word will be questioned for a long time by our traditional allies, as we seem to align ourselves more with the dictators of the world than the leaders of countries that are democracies.  

This is what chaos looks like, and this is not a normal transition from one administration to the next.  This is deliberate, intentional disruption.  And while patterns may be evident, they don’t answer the big question so many are asking:  what can I do?

There’s the sticking point, isn’t it.  Theory may describe what’s happening, it may predict what will happen next, but it’s left to citizens to figure out what to do.  I’ve read lots of opinions from many writers about what to do…and I suspect you have, too.  

There’s way too much to keep track of, way too much to respond to every outrage, so here’s where I’ve landed.  From my perspective, the only way out of this mess is through the ballot box, so I’m paying attention to any efforts to restrict voting rights.  And there are many of them.  I’ll contact my Senators and Representatives most about this.  Related to that, if you’re not already doing so, pay attention the SAVE act….an innocuous sounding bill that would have an outsized negative impact on women, women whose name as an adult doesn’t match the name on their birth certificate.  And that’s millions of us.  Watch for it; more on this in another blog.

I’m trying to stay informed, but I’m also trying to not immerse myself in the news for hours a day.  I read news sources and writers whose work I find to be accurate and helpful.  Some will read more than I do, and some will read less. I think it’s important to be an informed citizen, but I don’t have to live in the chaos 24/7.   That’s just me; you’ll find the right balance for you.

I’m trying to do those things that create positive energy, like walking outdoors and spending time with friends and reading for pleasure.  That offsets some of the very real negative energy that chaos creates.

I’m paying attention to issues on the state and local level; that’s the beginning of many ideas and candidates that will surface in the future at the federal level.  I’m writing checks to organizations that lobby and that file lawsuits on issues that align with my values.  I can’t argue at the Supreme Court, but I can support those organizations that do.

And in light of the efforts to eliminate all attention to the richness of our diversity, I’m not giving up on Black History Month or Pride Month or the other days/events of special recognition.  Black History Month may no longer be on the calendar, but I can remind myself of the courage of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Harriet Tubman.  I can delight in the music of Robert Rey and Andre Thomas.  I can read Langston Hughes’ poetry.  And I can remember the magnificent closing line from Amanda Gorman’s poem, “The Hill We Climb,” “for there is always light if only we’re brave enough to see it, if only we’re brave enough to be it.”  Good words for living in chaos.

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Long and abiding friendships … help us make it through the night …

 

By Mary Kay Roth

We piled into Pam’s SUV one early wintry morning several weeks ago, ready for a road trip, three of us hauling suitcases, laptops and memories.

I swear I couldn’t see anyone’s wrinkles – but instead, a trio of young, giggling girls sitting cross legged upon Yvonne’s shag-covered basement floor with our turntable and 45’s, singing along as The Monkees crooned “I’m a Believer.” 

We had all lived within a block of one another, growing up in south Lincoln, with real roller skates and skinned knees, tether balls and Twister, tassel-bedecked bicycle handlebars and high-heeled Barbies, ridiculous duck-and-cover drills for possible nuclear war – Dick and Jane.

Coming together in fifth grade, our glossy class photograph displays eager little girls dressed in jumpers, pinafores and head bands, standing primly with hands folded before us.

Now, more than half a century later, forever finished with pinafores and headbands, we are a rowdy bunch, rolling down the highway and headed for five days at Pam’s Colorado condo.  

Our first ever trip together: Pam. Yvonne. Mary Kay.

Strangely enough, we are all single now, some widowed, others divorced. Two of us have children, grandchildren.  One of us flies solo. 

These days, between us, we sport hearing aids, hip replacements and wonky backs.  Two of us are cancer survivors. But we are generally healthy, darned lucky.  

And man alive, we can still laugh, smiling over who we once were – and who we have become.

In Colorado we cooked meals and danced to bubblegum oldies, hiked trails and lit fires, lost our cellphones so many times we got giddy over calling one another to find them.  Pam was amidst a major move, constantly answering calls from contractors. Yvonne faced the daunting task of clearing out her childhood home. 

Meanwhile, I was simply a bit distracted and muddled, looking for balance in this topsy turvy world, accidentally locking myself out of Pam’s condo one cold and early morning – then waking up everyone so I could get back inside. We made coffee and sat together in dawn’s light.

You know, I am blessed with so many dear and precious family and friends who fill my life with love and wisdom.

But those deep and everlasting friendships are as deliciously exquisite as the last page in your favorite book.

Serving as connection and comfort, they offer rare insight into recollections that stretch back for decades.  Old friends hold up a mirror so we can see the reflection of who we are and where we came from.

Pam, Yvonne and I know one another in a way no other three woman can.  And what’s even more amazing, we like each other anyway.

We know about first crushes, first dates, first sex.

We have puzzled out pink diaries with flimsy, delicate padlocks – fumbled over our choices in acne cream, eventually in birth control.   

We have clung to one another through a childhood and adolescence filled with race riots and assassinations, Watergate and a wildly unpopular war, the birth of rock-and-roll and first walks on the moon.

We all made some questionable choices in our teens. When we were 21, one of us lost a mother, another lost a brother.  We all made some questionable choices as we aged.

Yet we survived, somehow safe in our middle-class cocoon of comfort.  We grew up in a world where white bread and white milk were delivered to our doors, moms collected green stamps and dads earned the living.

On summer nights, we squeezed as many teens as possible into a Volkswagen bug – and cruised past cute boys’ houses playing “Knock Three Times…”  On beautiful fall evenings, we dressed up in dreadful pep club outfits to cheer for the football team.  Otherwise, our preferred uniforms were bell bottoms and, oh my god, platform shoes.

Inevitably, of course, we went our separate ways, parted by changing geography, career choices and spouse choices, life’s predictable distractions.

Yet …  here we were in Colorado, connected by and brought together by slender but powerful threads of hometown and collective experience.   

I think we were somewhat surprised at how much we didn’t know about one another’s journeys.  But perhaps we were just as surprised by how many ways our paths had intersected.

We had traded in our Princess phones for cell phones. We all took typing class and almost immediately were tossed into a dazzling, sometimes overwhelming world of ever-changing technology.  

We attended school with almost no black students in our class, shocked into reality decades later with George Floyd and “Caste.” 

And, yes, we voted for the same woman in the last Presidential election, but feel a bit lost in a country we no longer recognize – but perhaps a country we really never fully knew.

On the last night of vacation, we went out to dinner and talked of dreams we had lost track of – dreams we had simply lost.  Friends we had lost track of – friends we had simply lost.

We wondered how the three of us had ever come together … whether childhood friendships happen randomly, by choice.

Then we drank more wine and decided we just didn’t care.

Today we are three very different women who have made very different life choices – with surprising blessings never imagined as young girls.

And thank goodness we still have one another, forever connected by saddle shoes and The Monkees – by shared tears and shared joy. 

Thanks to Pam and Yvonne, I have an abiding friendship with roots that run deep, a solid point of reference to face the coming years … with perhaps a few more promised slumber parties in our future to help us make it through the night.