Dear Senator Ricketts....hanging by a slender thread....

 

By Marilyn Moore

Dear Senator Ricketts,

This autumn leaf is hanging on by a thread….over choppy water….as storm clouds race in from the horizon.  The metaphor is apt, for Nebraska neighbors who secure health insurance from the ACA Marketplace, and for Nebraska neighbors who rely on SNAP benefits to feed their families.  Hanging on by a thread, with choppy waters below, and rapidly approaching storm clouds.  And they got here not through their own “bad planning,” or because a tragedy (like a serious accident or a major health crisis) struck, or because they don’t work or missed a court date or didn’t complete the paperwork….none of these are the reasons for hanging on by a thread.

No, this is not the fault of low-income, working-class Nebraskans.  This is the fault of a deeply-broken system, yet a system they counted on, because if you can’t count on the full faith and trust of the United States, who can you count on?  

We’re in a shutdown because the Republicans, both House and Senate, passed a bill in July that preserved tax cuts that most benefitted the wealthy, while allowing current subsidies for health insurance for those of far less means to expire at the end of this year.  The bill passed without support of the Democrats, because the Republicans used the budget reconciliation provision that allowed them to do so on a simple majority.  The Continuing Resolution that is before the Senate right now continues what was adopted in July, except that simple majority provision is not allowed in this case.  So, to adopt the Continuing Resolution and keep the government open, the Republicans in the Senate now need the votes of at least eight Democrats.  If the Democrats didn’t vote for the bill in July, I don’t know why anyone would expect they would vote for that bill to continue…but evidently, that is what you and your fellow Republican Senators expect.

The issue is subsidies for health insurance.  It’s been known for months, long before the bill was passed in July, that without the subsidies that have been in place for several years, premiums would increase by hundreds of dollars a month for family health insurance.  A helpful reader informs me that Senators also get their health insurance from a designated division within the ACA Marketplace, with payment toward the premiums as a part of their compensation package, a subsidy, if you will, which I suspect will continue in the new year.  Like you, 24 million Americans, including 136,000 Nebraskans, have health insurance through the ACA Marketplace, and more than 95% of them qualify for the subsidies because of their income. To those families, those increases, caused by the lack of subsidies, are very real….and absolutely unmanageable for most.  The Democrats have been raising this issue, pressing this issue, in the House and in the Senate, for months….and the Republican response, at best, is, “We’ll talk about it when you vote to re-open the government.”  Though recently, Speaker Johnson has indicated he may not be willing to bring it up at all.  Why would any Democrat be convinced that there would be serious attention to health insurance subsidies if they vote to re-open the government?  And when Leader Schumer offered a compromise, of a one-year extension of the subsidies, to include a bipartisan effort to examine long-term sustainability, the response from the Republican leadership was an immediate rejection, labeling the proposal a non-starter.  

It's hard to see a way forward here.  Polls indicate a vast majority of the American public support the subsidies, whether they use them or not.  Would not the Republicans want to be seen as the party that agreed to what Americans want, and need?  This is hardly a foolish frill….health care is a basic need.  And the subsidies have assured insurance for 24 million Americans.

So, we find ourselves on Day 39 of the shutdown, the longest in American history, now longer than the shutdown during President Trump’s first term in office.  And in the midst of the shutdown, we have the unseemly picture of the Republican administration pleading with judges to let them deny SNAP benefits to the 42 million Americans (this includes 155,000 Nebraskans) who depend on them for food.  As I write the, the question is before an Appeals Court, with a 48-hour stay issued by the Supreme Court.  The courts will probably sort it out, in some way, in short order; a huge constitutional question is whether or not the Administration will release the funds if ordered to do so.  

But beyond the Constitutional questions, and there’s not much bigger than a Constitutional question for me, is what this looks like as it plays out across the country.  Benefits would normally be distributed on the first day of the month.  We’re now a week in….and everywhere in the country we see the impact of no SNAP benefits.  In Lincoln, Nebraska, the Food Bank is adding food distributions of its own and to its partner agencies.  The Gathering Place served dinner earlier this week to a record-setting number of people.  You remember the Gathering Place, just a few blocks from the Governor’s Mansion; nearly 300 people came for dinner.  The Salvation Army served twice as many meals on one evening as they usually do.  Local restaurants, like Muchacho’s and Pepe’s, are stepping up with free meals and food distribution shelves.  The community is generous; donations to the Food Bank and other agencies are increasing.  Donated food is in Food Bank barrels around the city, and Little Free Pantries are being filled several times a day.  Patrons who went to the Lincoln’s Symphony Orchestra concert last night brought food donations with them.  I’ll take another bag of groceries for our church’s meal programs when I worship tomorrow.  

This community is generous, as are communities across the country….though the means to support hungry people vary significantly from county to county.  But however generous people are, what’s happening now is not sustainable.  As Scott Young, retired Director of the Lincoln Food Bank, said on many occasions, “This country cannot Food Bank its way out of hunger.”  That’s what SNAP is intended to do, to assure there’s a safety net for seniors, veterans, single moms, persons with disabilities, and families who need food.  

Please do not respond that it’s not clear if the US Government has the authority to continue this program during a government shutdown, nor that the funds are not available.  If the US Government has the authority to give $20 billion to Argentina to prop up its economy so the US President’s friend's party will win the Argentinian mid-term election, there’s a way to distribute funds to hungry families, even if the government is shut down.

I understand the Senate is meeting over the weekend, seeking a way out of this mess.  Good for you; at least you’re on the job, unlike the House, which has been absent for weeks.  I would expect that practical Nebraska officeholders like you and Senator Fischer, who often talk about common sense solutions, would set aside the party priority and instead seek a solution that works for the American people.  You and your colleagues have the opportunity to demonstrate leadership; please do so.

Sincerely,

Marilyn S. Moore

Brother and sister caught in the harsh political divide … with their aunt pondering Thanksgiving dinner

By Mary Kay Roth

My niece, Holly, and my nephew, John – sister and brother – both attend the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and both want to be lawyers someday.

They both went to school at Hill Elementary, Scott Middle and Lincoln Southwest High School.

They are loved by their parents: My brother, Brad, and their mom.

They grew up in the same house in south Lincoln, played in the same backyard, watched the same TV shows, adored their yellow lab, Buckles. They shared vacations and recognized mutual rites of passage. Their parents  are divorced now, nonetheless, everyone got along.  

And yet, perplexingly, the paths of Holly and John have divided.

Dramatically.

Holly sees herself as an extremely liberal young woman, volunteers for Planned Parenthood, is exploring the concept of paganism and says women’s studies have opened her world.

John is a born-again Christian immersed in Young Republicans, believes there is no such thing as white male privilege and supports the president with a vengeance.

I love these two young people so much.  I’ve watched them grow up. 

But alas the dilemma of the American family these days, two relatives with so much common ground - yet see the world so spectacularly differently. How do you bring a country together when you can’t even bring a brother and sister together?  

I’m dumbfounded.

Until recently John and Holly managed to avoid a heady list of potentially volatile topics. John would often argue with his dad, who is more liberal. Holly would joust with her mom. Nonetheless, brother and sister have carefully tap danced around hot button issues.

Then the death of Charlie Kirk shattered the fragile peace. There were Facebook posts, angry responses and promises – from brother and sister – of no more shared holidays, no turkey, no presents.

They’re not alone, of course. In this explosive season of polarization, the political divide has created an epidemic of strained family bonds. Significant ruptures between parents and kids. Spouses. Brothers and sisters.

An estimated one in five Americans now find themselves anguishing over some shape of family estrangement.  

Perhaps the upcoming season of Thanksgiving has made this hurt even more. But I just couldn’t resist. I had this brilliant idea to bring Holly and John together to talk.

I imagined kumbaya and magic.  I didn’t get either.  Yet somehow, perhaps, there are lessons to be gleaned here.

After all, it started so well.  Arriving at my house for fast food and conversation, the two sibs sat far apart with obvious tension – but quickly started laughing over shared memories.  When they were young, they would often stay at my house while their parents went on vacation. We had slumber parties in front of my fireplace, laughed at all my chimes, played games, ate ugly face sandwiches. 

So, taking advantage of the happy mood, I asked what they liked about one another.

Holly: “He’s good to his dog. He gets good grades. He has really nice hair.”

John: “She’s nice to her cats.  She’s fun to party with.” 

I asked if they could name areas they agreed upon and, surprisingly, the list was not short.  They hold similar views on legalizing marijuana, the benefit of vaccinations and the fallacy of Trump’s approach to tariffs.  They’re in the same ballpark over gun control and even secure borders.

Then we ventured into trickier realms: Religion. Women’s rights and health issues. Affirmative action.  Male privilege. Donald Trump.

The atmosphere changed.

John: “Women’s studies are stupid.”

Holly: “The concept of ‘poor men’ is ridiculous.”

So, I borrowed a question someone suggested might ease the tension: “Tell me a story that helps me understand how you came to believe what you believe.”

John explained he was a strong Democrat in his early teens, standing in line for four hours to hear Bernie Sanders.  

But he says he grew increasingly weary of what he called the Democrats’ victim mentality. “Men are more privileged?  That’s nonsense. I think the Democratic party loses a lot of young men because they offer no good perspective of young, healthy masculinity.”

Gradually he was drawn to more libertarian leanings, eventually registered as a Republican and started listening to conservative radio commentators like Ben Shapiro and Steven Crowder.

John says school vouchers can help black people, does not believe in affirmative action and scoffs at any male/female wage gap. 

“Democrats say the system is sexist, racist, unfair, but they end up fear-mongering and blaming instead of offering any accountability or tangible solutions.”

Holly, meanwhile, called herself a Republican in middle school just to annoy her dad, and frankly didn’t pay much attention to politics through high school.

By the time she voted the first time, however, she had landed firmly in the Democrat camp and despised Trump.  

In her college years she has leaned deeper into women’s issues and women’s rights. “I began to realize this was a political system built by men for men … When we studied women’s rights through history, I started realizing how strong women have been consistently punished and torn down by men.”

In these past few years Holly has become fierce about having control over her own body, confused over the subservience she sees in so many conservative women.  These days she’s even exploring the notion of pagan beliefs.  “I’m tired of the way this zealous brand of Christianity has been whitewashing history.” 

Meanwhile, I was the bystander on this fall afternoon, watching two siblings talk through their remarkable differences – trying my best to stay neutral – and, in fact, growing increasingly amazed these two had managed to find any middle ground. 

“What do you need from one another right now?”

Holly: “An apology.”

John: “An apology.”

“I love my brother, but I believe he is being disrespectful and hurtful,” Holly said.

John responded: “Forgiveness is a good thing, but standing on your principles, that’s also a really big thing.”

OK, so this isn't exactly like two brothers who fought on different sides of the Civil War. 

But it still feels awful when such division happens in your own home, in your own family.  And we never found our way back to solid ground that afternoon at my house. 

“Do you miss one another?” I asked.

Holly: “I don’t miss having to defend myself, defend women’s rights.”

John: “I don’t miss attacks on my character.” 

I was left heartbroken.  These are two smart young people who are passionate about what they believe.  They love one another. Once upon a time they leaned on each other, asked for sibling advice. They have celebrated life’s milestones and have supported one another through life’s challenges. 

But on that fateful day at my house, John and Holly finished their sandwiches, hugged me goodbye – and refused to let me take their photo together.   

The photos posted with this blog come from earlier times – and as I looked upon the affection displayed in these lovely images, I was left wondering how in the heck to end my blog.  

I do have one epilogue.

Both sister and brother texted me later to thank me for dinner and say they loved me.

Holly later reported that John had called her.  I’m not sure there were mutual apologies, but I like to believe facing one another, talking to one another, offered at least a glimmer of hope.

Not exactly kumbaya. 

But I adore them both, and I know they love one another.

So, I’ll hang onto that much as I ponder how many people will be sitting around my Thanksgiving table later this month.

Empty Nesting is for the Birds

By Karla Lester

Photos by Christopher Masada

I’m excited to be a new contributor to the mayhem, a place that has served as a connection point and to be honest, where I’ve felt a sense of relief during chaotic times.  I’m Karla Lester, a pediatrician in the community. Most people in Lincoln know me as the visionary behind my nonprofit, Teach a Kid to Fish, I founded with a mission to address the epidemic of childhood obesity. Teach a Kid to Fish has been the love of my career. These days, I have a coaching website and a metabolic telehealth for children & adolescents practice where I treat teens struggling with their weight, health and body image. I spend too much time on TikTok and have a weekly radio show on kzum, 80’s Mixtape with Dr. Karla, where I deconstruct toxic 80’s diet culture, talk about health topics with guests, and play epic 80’s music. 

Nothing compares to the love I have for my family. I get to be married to Darek, a pathologist and avid fantasy sports enthusiast and best Dad around. Our children, who are now adults, Katherine, Audrey and Andrew are my heart. 

 

Darek and I recently became empty nesters. Our youngest, Andrew, went off to college in Colorado and we’re already bored with each other. I will admit the first Monday back in Lincoln, after moving him into his dorm, felt very Zen. To be honest, that first week we were going strong with Goo Goo Dolls and Indigo Girls concerts and local live music. Week 1, empty nesting was great!

 

Logistically, I decided that since I’ve carried the mental load of food all these years, it was time for Darek to step up and plan and cook some meals. Fast forward to one meal later with him putting a weird mix of food together and it was back to me. I was worried I would be unsatisfied and hungry, which is a bad mix for me. That can of baked beans to go with the burgers has a dent in it? He googled it and decided the seam was involved, so according to a YouTube food scientist, we should throw it out. So, just open a can of chickpeas to go with the burgers instead? Um, no thanks.  No one wants to be around a hangry and bored empty nester. So, things went back to him doing the dishes and me doing the planning, the shopping, the preparation, the cooking. Wah! Wah! Wah!

 

We are task-oriented action takers. Parenting has been the perfect job for us. Don’t tell us to organize the junk drawer, the kitchen cabinets, the closets, because, if you follow me on FB, you know he’s already done all that. 

 

We’re both certainly busy enough during the day and we have two Bernedoodles, Buddy and Rudi, who are 21 months old to keep us occupied. There are no excuses for us, other than we are missing our kids. 

 

Motherhood came loaded to me. My own Mom, Barb, was my favorite person, but she was a shade of grey. She was a single Mom, raising three little girls, who struggled after what my little sister called “the vorce”. 

 

When Katherine, Kid #1, was born, I sometimes felt the fear that she was on a raft alone, floating out to sea and I couldn’t swim to her. This came as a recurring scene throughout motherhood for me. It's a loss of control. The antidote was action, and parenthood is full of action. So, years of taking action, having routines, and showing up has saved me. 

 

It turns out being a mom is the thing I’ve been the best at in this life. Not that I’m any better than anyone else or even that great. It’s just in comparison to the other things I’ve done and how I know I feel about my kids in my mind, that has made a recipe for a good mother. I’ve shown up and I keep showing up, except they don’t need me to show up how I used to love to show up. 

 

Becoming an empty nester has allowed us to reflect on our parenting. 

 

What things we’ve done well and other things we’ve bombed at, like when we were potty training our daughter, Audrey, who sat naked, age 2, on the toilet, sucking her thumb and talking around it, telling us, “You don’t control my body. God doesn’t even control my body.” 

 

She’s going to law school. 

 

We were good with food, with sleep, other run of the mill parenting stuff, and bad with potty training.  

 

When Kid #1 went to college, we drove her down to Texas in what felt like a toxic exhaustion. My Mom, her Nana, had died the day before. I was cheek to cheek with her when she died and was running on empty. It didn’t feel like an exciting launch into the world everyone hoped for. Then, during her freshman year, Covid hit the world like a ton of bricks, and everyone moved home, which I enjoyed. My three baby birds were back at home on shore with me. It felt safe. 

 

When Kid #2 went to college, we had to get with the new norm of having one kid at home and we settled into it just fine. The countdown was on for three years until empty nesting. 

Communication is key when you’re an empty nester. That means mindful communication with each other and how we communicate with our adult children. 

 

Darek’s not a syrupy person and is not a nicknamer. That’s what happens when you marry the “nice pathologist” as my mom used to call him. “Now, tell me, have you heard from the nice pathologist,” she would ask. 

 

He decided to give me a nickname, since he doesn’t call me honey, sweetie, babe or any of the typical terms of endearment. I would think he had a quick lobotomy at work if he called me, “Dear”. 

 

Butterscotch is his favorite flavor, so the declaration was made that I would be called Butterscotch. Then, the declaration was that Butterscotch was too long and I would become the character, Butters, from South Park. He doesn’t call me Butters. 

 

My nickname for him is, Remembers Everything He Googles.

 

“Look at this map of Lincoln,” he says. 

 

“First, look at this TikTok of Tiki, the foster dog,” I respond.  

 

He’s obsessed with the topography of every place we’ve ever lived. FYI, St. Louis has an elevation of 600 feet and is the lowest point in elevation we’ve lived, in case you were wondering. 

 

Since nicknames and terms of endearment are out, we are working on our relational health and communication. Staring at each other, reminding each other how bored we are while staring at each other isn’t going to work for much longer.

 

There are things to work on that have become glaringly obvious since becoming empty nesters. Listening is key.  

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear what you said.” 

“How could you not? You’re literally inches away from me and we’re eating dinner.”

 

Phone conversations with young adults can be unfulfilling. 

 

Kid #1: “I can’t talk. I’m studying.” 

Kid #2 has her phone on do not disturb at all times. 

Kid #3: “Why’d you call?”

 

“Sorry, that was a butt dial.”

 

I’ve learned the hard way, don’t call them. Let them call you. 

 

I’m learning to fill up my own bucket by building community with intention. The timing of 5womenmayhem is great for me. It’s a much-needed addition to my life and I am grateful to the 5womenmayhem. They are the GOATs as women and writers and to be honest, it’s intimidating.  But I will rise to the fearless occasion. 

 

Thank you for reading. 

 

Send tips and tricks for successful empty nesting. 

 

Send me your 80’s requests!

 

 

Bridges take us through the mayhem

This week we introduce Karla Lester, a new member of the 5 Women Mayhem bloggers. We're excited about Karla joining us to spread the mayhem. You're gonna love her writing. She'll offer up a full blog next week and introduce herself further at that time. Meanwhile, enjoy a sample in this week's group blog on the bridges that take us through life. And thanks to our loyal readers for following us through this mayhem.   

My sweet farm Grandma

 

By Karla Lester

Growing up, I thought everyone had a sweet farm Grandma with a big farmhouse filled with

wonderful food like my Grandma Mershon made. Every time my mom, Barb, drove my two

sisters and me the twenty minute drive from our house to the farm in the clunky Ford Fairmont,

it was always the same when we got there. Grandma would meet us at the side door. Her face

would light up when she saw us. We’d walk in and wrap our arms around her waist. She smelled

like Estee Lauder and powder and wore a house dress. Hugging her felt like the safest place in

the world. I’ll remember the feeling forever.

Her house was pristine, and her food was the best. She always had the fridge, and the pantry

filled. There may be some leftover meatloaf or her pork chops, the favorite, stored in tin foil.

 

I still know exactly what her hands looked like with her crooked knuckles and how her arms felt

when I used to rub my face on them hoping mine would be as soft as hers someday. She would

waddle on her arthritic knees, never complaining about the pain, except when she got up from

the living room chair, she’d say to herself, “Mercy.” 

 

The best thing she did for me was show me unconditional love. No matter how I acted, or if I was sad or mad, it didn’t matter. She would pat me on the knee and say, “You’re awful sweet and you’re mighty fine.” 

 

She was a bridge to so many things in my life and out of so many things in my life. My Grandma

Mershon was the only person whose face lit up when she saw me. 

 

Every now and then, when I’m feeling down or being hard on myself, I feel a pat on my knee

and hear, “You’re awful sweet and you’re mighty fine.” 

 

(Picture of my Grandparents from 1924)

 

One step at a time … crossing paths on a trail

 

By Mary Kay Roth

I’m not sure how long ago this happened, certainly it’s been three decades or

so. My son was around 12 at the time and now he’s 41.

 

But I remember it with such clarity.

Josh and I were climbing our first mountain together in Rocky Mountain

National Park. We had chosen the Chasm Lake trail. a very tough climb with

countless switchbacks, rock scrambles, pine forest and alpine tundra.

 

Perhaps around halfway up, weary and sweaty, reaching a moment we were

ready to give up, we sat down on a huge rock to chug water.

 

Right then an older couple came strolling along the trail, heading down from

the peak, noticed us and asked if they could sit beside us.

 

They sympathized with the rigor of the hike and offered us apples.

 

The man chuckled and said the combined age of his wife and him was 160

years. They had been climbing mountains forever.

 

“And do you know the secret to climbing mountains, young man,” the

gentleman asked Josh.

 

My tired son shook his head.

 

“Here’s the secret: Don’t think about the mountain and the long trail ahead.

Always take it one step at a time. As long as you keep putting one foot in

front of another – just one foot – then you’re making progress. And I

guarantee you’ll make it to the top.”

 

Eventually the sweet couple wished us good luck and headed down the trail.

Josh and I looked at one another, smiled and started walking.

 

Step by step. One foot in front of another. Glory be, we made it. I danced a

happy dance when we reached that sparkling gorgeous lake at the top, both

of us pumped with a giddy sense of accomplishment.

 

We probably spent 15 minutes with that couple, no more. Yet I’ve never

forgotten them. And to this day I never climb a mountain without thinking

about their words. Step by step. One foot at a time.

 

I wondered if my son remembered their words, so I texted him this week.

 

“Of course, I’ll never forget that hike,” Josh texted back. “Made me want to

hike for the rest of my life.”

 

Of course, both of us did keep hiking, eventually conquering most of the

trails in Rocky Mountain National Park.

 

One step at a time.

Building bridges to possibilities 

By Marilyn Moore 

Mrs. Teter was a most unlikely teacher at Wilsonville High School in 1967. The school, like many small schools in Nebraska, was mostly staffed by new graduates, starting their first teaching jobs, and experienced teachers who were members of the community and had been there for years. Mrs. Teter was a little of both…. She and her husband were farmers in a nearby

community. Like many women her age, she had taught in rural schools when she graduated from high school, then stayed home to be a mom and farm wife after her children were born.

The summer of ’67, she decided to renew her teaching certificate with coursework from what was then Kearney State Teachers College and return to teaching. So, in her late ‘40’s, she did ... and became my high school senior English teacher. 

She was not conventional. She asked interesting questions, she taught us to explore divergent

paths as we read literature. She directed the senior class play, and filled it with sight gags and

one-liners that were genuinely funny. (And she cast the lead, written as an older teenage male,

with a female, the best athlete in the class.) Being the mom of children the age of her students,

she knew all about teenagers, and she liked us anyway.

 

She assigned the usual senior research paper, with what were all the usual steps at the time:

identification of topic, starting outline, research recorded on index cards (remember those?),

second outline, first draft, second draft, final paper. And she read it all at each step of the way.

I do not remember the topic I chose. I do not remember the grade I received. I will always

remember the comment she made on the last page: “Well-researched. Good organizational

structure. You will use these skills when you write your dissertation someday.”

 

That comment planted a seed I had never considered. Me, write a dissertation? I just wanted

to graduate from high school and go to college…not much thought beyond that. But once

again…she made me think.

 

Teachers build bridges in all kinds of ways…from one grade to the next, one reading level to the

next, one discipline to another, one student to another, one reality to one future. The bricks at

the Teachers Fountain are filled with names of teachers who were bridges to their students.

For the 1967-68 school year, Mrs. Teter built that bridge for me…not just to a dissertation, but

to a possibility, to a writer and a scholar. And I am forever grateful.

 

Sometimes you’ve got to just close your eyes and trust 

 

By JoAnne Young

Thirteen months ago, in the Friday dusk of a September evening, I missed a step off an unfamiliar deck, and fell hard onto a concrete slab. The left side of my pelvis sacrificed itself so that my upper body, my head in particular, remained safe and secure and able to process what was happening then and all that was to result when a pelvis cracks into several pieces. 

 

The next day, through a bit of an opioid cocktail fog, I heard a recommendation for a surgeon who had a gift for putting Humpty Dumptys back together. I’ve always been pretty careful about choosing a doctor, and I was unsure about this one ... I’d never heard of him and he was in a solo practice. So I had to take another unfamiliar step, one that was important to get right. I did a little research and with a bit of hesitation said OK. 

 

Dr. David Samini turned out to be the absolute right choice, and the first step onto the bridge that would take me from this foreign land of disconnection, change and at times frustration, to finding my way back to normal. I needed a Golden Gate magnitude span in front of me, and he and his team were there to get things rolling with support, confidence and encouragement. 

 

Bridges provide a path over the obstacles between where we are and that sometimes faraway destination we want to reach. While it would be nice to be able to always rely on our choices of people, places and things that serve as our bridges, we sometimes have to hold our breath, lift our feet, and trust.

 

Dr. Samani started my journey and stuck with me for a good long time, while my husband, children, good friends, and a line of enlightened, problem-solving and compassionate physical therapists and other health professionals accompanied me. I pitched in with a bit of resolve and persistence also needed for the crossings. 

 

I have now pulled up to the destination and am eternally grateful for the sweetness of this year-long passage. 

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Our disappearing rules

By JoAnne Young

We are seeing every day, and everywhere around us, the rules we have lived by for so long are changing, disappearing. And what can happen when we live without rules: People act in their own self-interests. Order breaks down. Conflict occurs, and a general lack of fairness, safety, and predictability results.

 

Consider for a moment ... our laws violated by our leaders, the power of Congress usurped, authoritarian tactics employed, masked men in our streets, dissent challenged, our cost of living climbing. 

 

It’s frightening, this no rules thing, this new disorder. Rules of privacy of our personal information have been changed. Our personal information is in danger. Diversity, Equity and Inclusion programs are ending or at risk. Schools have been restricted from lessons on gender identification, racial issues. An executive order has also tried to end birthright citizenship. Free speech is being challenged. 

 

This is the kind of speech we are hearing from our leaders. 

 

* Secretary of Defense? War? Pete Hegseth, calling generals and military leaders to Washington from across the world to tell them: “Should our enemies choose foolishly to challenge us, they will be crushed by the violence, precision and ferocity of the War Department. In other words, to our enemies, FAFO.” 

 

* Stephen Miller, Trump’s deputy chief of staff for policy and the United States homeland security advisor, speaking at Charlie Kirk’s funeral: “And to those trying to incite violence against us, those trying to foment hatred against us, what do you have? You have nothing. You are nothing. You are wickedness. You are jealousy. You are envy. You are hatred. You are nothing. You can build nothing. You can produce nothing. You can create nothing.” 

 

* Pam Bondi, U.S. Attorney General: “There’s free speech and then there’s hate speech. And there is no place, especially now, especially after what happened to Charlie in our society, we will absolutely target you, go after you, if you are targeting anyone with hate speech, anything.” 

 

It’s hard to listen to what people who lead our federal government are saying these days that sounds violent, sounds hate-filled and illegal, and seems to go against our Constitution. I’m so nostalgic for our former leaders, in that time not too long past, when the people of this country elected heads of state who had their better angels in mind when they addressed the American people, the people of the world. It’s how this country became a world leader. 

 

In a speech last year, Gov. Spencer Cox of Utah talked about his “Disagree Better” campaign. He said, “The good news is that there is a market for something different. Seventy percent of Americans — the exhausted majority — hate what is happening in politics and media today. It’s not too late to find our better angels.” 

 

After Charlie Kirk’s death in September, a New York Times reporter wrote: “It is far from clear whether the country’s better angels can still be reached.” 

 

I’ve been reading a book I bought a couple of years ago at a wonderful Jackson, Mississippi, bookstore, Lemuria Books. It’s a heavy one called “The Book of the Dead,” and contains 320 obituaries of “extraordinary people,” that ran in the New York Times. It includes some of our dead presidents, including President Dwight D. Eisenhower, who I learned a lot about from his obit. 

 

He was an Army general and a World War II hero, said to be in all corners of the world associated with victory in war and a tireless crusader for peace. He had a devotion to duty, and was somewhat of a visionary. He famously said in his 1961 farewell address: “In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.” 

 

I truly respect that, coming especially from a man who rose through the ranks to be a commanding war general. It shows, by comparison, the lack of experience and reason of Hegseth in his speech to generals and military leaders.

 

Another of our former leaders, President Jimmy Carter: “The bond of our common humanity is stronger than the divisiveness of our fears and prejudices. God gives us the capacity for choice. We can choose to work together for peace. We can choose to alleviate suffering. We can make these changes and we must remember that there are many ways to accomplish our goals, together.” 

 

Harry S. Truman (1945-1953) approached his presidency with humility: “There are probably a million people who could have done the job better than I did, but I had the job ...” 

 

And this by Lyndon B. Johnson, who was thrust into the presidency on the death by assassination of John F. Kennedy in 1963, and became the leader of a nation divided by the Vietnam war. 

In a speech in 1965 to Congress, he said: “This is the richest and most powerful country which ever occupied this globe. ... But I do not want to be the president who built empires or sought grandeur or extended dominion. I want to be the president who educated young children to the wonders of their world. I want to be the president who helped to feed the hungry and to prepare them to be taxpayers instead of tax-eaters. I want to be the president who helped the poor to find their own way and who protected the right of every citizen to vote in every election. I want to be the president who helped to end hatred among his fellow men and who promoted love among the people of all races ... .” 

 

And can I speak to at least one former Supreme Court justice. In a 1943 Supreme Court case on compelling school children to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, Justice Robert H. Jackson said: “If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion or force citizens to confess by word or act their faith therein.”

 

We have been confronted this month by the deaths of good people. I can’t leave this writing without mentioning anthropologist Jane Goodall. 

 

“Somehow we must keep hope alive -- a hope that we can find a way to educate all, alleviate poverty, assuage anger, and live in harmony with the environment, with animals, and with each other.” 

 

This member of the exhausted majority misses our past leaders, and longs for the return of our better angels.