Unexpected gifts in the dark

 By Mary Kay Roth

One early morning this past week, as usual, I let my dog, Pip, dash into the fenced-in backyard while I got ready for my sunrise walk.  But on this particular morning a fox was lingering close by and apparently Pip took chase, somehow getting over or through our fence.   

When I realized my pup was gone I rushed outside into the cold dark and started jogging through our neighborhood, up and down blocks, chasing down leads from walkers who all described seeing “the blur of a white dog.” After an hour or so, I ran out of leads, lost the trail and plodded the mile back home, discouraged, hoarse and sobbing.

But there was Pip, one tired and happy mutt, waiting for me on my front porch. And I gathered that big silly naughty rescue dog into my arms with love.

It was a simple moment in time. Nothing had gone wrong.  Yet I started thinking about the gift I’d been given that morning. Pip had not headed for any of the busy arterials in our area.  She hadn’t vanished.  She had found her way back home.

One of those unexpected gifts offered up by the universe.

A perfect cup of coffee. Getting Wordle in two guesses. Untangling strings of Christmas lights and all the lights – light up. Those live concerts this summer when musicians actually sang the three songs I really wanted to hear.

Indeed, I’m not talking about packages tied up in bows or the stuff on long holiday wish lists or items purchased on shopping trips to the mall (or even on Amazon Prime).

I’m talking about both trivial and profound blessings when life takes notice and takes you by surprise.

A lovely first snowfall that’s not too heavy to shovel. My car sliding on the ice after that latest snowstorm, the little Subaru whirling around and stopping – when no other car is coming. Walking around the lake at dawn after a difficult night and pausing to breathe in a simple sunrise.  

I’m talking about painting my new garage door in four different shades of color and loving my artwork (despite dire warnings of losing my warranty).  Dropping my cell phone on a recent hike – and within minutes having another walker shout out that he’d found it.  A bartender overhearing me say I’d always wanted to mix drinks, then asking me to come around the bar for a lesson in stirring up a whiskey sour.

I’m talking about one ordinary evening earlier this fall when I noticed a simple message on the neighborhood text chain – about magic in the sky –  then heading up to Woods Park to marvel over the most wondrous and surprise display of Northern Lights ever.  Glory, glory.

This coming week I will have my three-year cancer checkup, perhaps a strange topic for unexpected gifts.  I get crazy nervous at every one of these examinations, though I have every reason to expect good news. But the appointment does remind me about the lessons I found in that experience.

Yes, cancer sucks. But amidst the inevitable sadness I discovered an unexpected promise of transformation, the truly profound understanding that life is a gift. 

Somehow, lately I’ve lost that groove.

Over the past months I’d fallen into a miserable rut of whining and wailing.  Rest assured there is plenty to whine about: The horror of our country committing war crimes, the atrocities of what’s happening to our immigrant and refugee families, the endless saga of the Epstein files, a maniac giving insane advice on vaccinations.

Yet sometimes even I get tired of my own moaning and groaning.

I haven’t been paying attention.

To the brightest cardinal suddenly perched upon my living room windowsill – and the heron perched on the Holmes Lake bridge while I stood beside him. Or the magic of twilight on absolutely any evening of the week.

To new jeans that actually fit.  A fall election offering up a thin slice of hope and – good grief – even Marjorie Taylor Greene flipflopping her allegiance.

And, oh my gosh, to the bewildering and shocking good fortune of friendship, an unexpected gift that gobsmacks me every single day. 

Friends who go back to my childhood. Friends who provide wine and whiskey and deliveries of free firewood.  Friends who hold me when I cry.  Or who suggest we dance in the rain and place red roses on snowy graves at Wyuka.

When one of my friends asked about the topic of my blog today, they smiled and said that sounded “right on brand.”

Once upon a time I felt like a dork for seeking out silver linings and I’d point out how I write plenty of grumpy rantings. I can be grim. I can be dark. 

As I’ve grown older, however, I’m fine to be the nerd still looking for the light.

Because even when the pickings seem slim …

I gaze upon grandchildren, snuggled up in front of the fireplace. Discover my daughter has planned a surprise carriage ride. Find a Door Dash delivery of yellow curry on my doorstep, sent by my son … just because.

Admittedly, I have no clue what Trump will do tomorrow.  My cancer check awaits.

But Thanksgiving arrived this year with a house full of family, including both my niece and nephew, two young people sharply divided by politics – in case you didn’t read my last blog – who had vowed never again to spend holidays together.

Nonetheless, miraculously, an unexpected gift, they sat around the dinner table together.  

There was peace on earth.  

And a reinforced, fortified fence in my backyard.

The ABCDismantling of children’s health by MAHA

By Karla Lester, M.D.  

Airway

Breathing

Circulation 

 

 

It was the last hour of my shift covering the ER in residency as a senior resident in pediatrics. I was called down to see a 6 year-old with difficulty breathing and fever with a history of asthma. The adult doctors seeing her thought they were doing a good job by giving her a nebulizer treatment until I got there.

 

When I pulled back the curtain to see Josie, a sweet 6 year-old in what was clearly respiratory distress, I saw that they neglected to tell me she was covered in petechiae (tiny red spots) and purpura (bruise-like rash) from head to toe that looked to be spreading. She appeared cyanotic and was working hard to breathe. She was clearly in respiratory distress. Her “rash” appeared to be a classic rash of meningococcemia.  A glance up to the monitors tracing her vital signs showed all the ominous signs of distress and that she would likely code any minute. 

 

The nebulizer was doing nothing. This clearly wasn’t an asthma exacerbation, but rather looked like a case of meningococcemia, a fast-moving infectious disease caused by the bacteria, Neisseria meningitidis, that is oftentimes fatal or if the patient survives, leaves them with debilitating amputations. My heart sank as my heartbeat spiked. I paged the PICU attending, who happened to be The Attending, I called her. She was the most no-nonsense brilliant doctor. She only cared about the patients. Not your feelings. 

 

The Attending rushed down to the ER and pulled the curtain back, looked at me and said, “ABC,” and called for the crash cart and proceeded to start a rapid sequence intubation on a patient who was clearly in shock and getting ready to code. Josie was sedated, paralyzed and intubated. The Attending ordered high dose Rocephin (antibiotic) and drips of pressors to keep Josie’s blood pressure up as she was clearly in septic shock. She was moved to the PICU, where it was very tenuous and then, when she stabilized, it was clear that Josie would be left with marked disabilities. The Attending stayed by Josie’s bedside that night and the coming tenuous days. 

 

ABC which stands for Airway, Breathing, Circulation are the steps in the sequence for assessing and treating a patient with life-threatening conditions. Children can get sick and die. Children have disabilities from diseases that aren’t always preventable. Trump, RFK Jr. and Republicans under their marketing gimmick, MAHA are pulling back the curtain and watching children who are critically ill like Josie and instead of Airway Breathing Circulation, they are, 

 

Attack pediatricians

Berate science

Cut Medicaid

 

They have created preventable real emergencies in children’s health. Vaccine misinformation spread by RKF Jr. is causing severe illness and preventable deaths in babies and children who aren’t getting their pertussis and measles vaccines. There seems to be no end to the lies and misinformation about children’s health by the Trump administration, specifically RFK Jr. under the banner, MAHA. Republican leaders sit by and watch it happen. 

 

Attacks on pediatricians in this country are nothing new. Pediatricians are being accused of making it big from vaccines and big pharma, which is a complete joke. I’m a social media doc and believe me, their followers believe this lie. I never dreamed it would come to this. Pediatricians have more and more parents refusing Vitamin K, erythromycin ointment and Hepatitis B vaccine at birth. 

 

And we haven’t seen anything yet. The One Big Ugly Child Health Harming Bill is cutting Medicaid $880 Billion dollars, putting work requirements on Medicaid, and putting caps on federal graduate loans, meaning less primary care doctors to care for children. 

 

I never dreamed the Republicans would sit by and let this harm happen to children across the U.S. But it’s nothing new. When it comes to gun deaths in children, they sit by and watch it happen and collect money from the gun lobby. Even though there is bipartisan support for universal background checks, they cannot step up. It is a very complex issue, but to sit by and do nothing while collecting gun lobby money is morally unconscious. 

 

The problem for MAHA is that pediatricians are the only group of physicians who advocate for our patients ahead of ourselves. It has always been this way and always will be. Children are first and with that vision, mission and expertise and collective voice, as MAHA fades, we will not. But photo op advocacy is not the way forward. 

 

I’ve played the game. No more. 

 

I saw a video of Senator Fischer visiting a nursing school and watching a simulated training. As she walked out, she told the reporter, “It’s not the role of the federal government to fund these programs.” Nebraska has a nursing shortage and the dismantling of the Department of Education under Trump drops nursing as a professional degree and puts caps on federal loans. Senator Fischer does not care.

 

I asked to meet with Congressman Flood, who does not care, before he voted on the confirmation of RFK Jr., before he voted yes on Trump’s OBBB and spouted talking points at his Town Halls. I offered to fly to D.C. to meet with him and to hold a town hall of pediatricians at my home so he could learn about the harms of RFK Jr. and Trump's Bill. He only reached out to meet with me after he voted yes. No, you do not get a photo op with me, while you, 

 

Avoid the needs of children

Belittle experts

Confuse parents

 

Self-declared expertise is dangerous in medicine, especially when it comes to the life and death of children. Controlling the children’s health narrative is the name of their game. 

 

Cutting the CDC, putting out misinformation about the causes of autism. Putting shame on mothers who take safe medication during pregnancy as the cause of autism and blaming vaccines while cutting autism research. Their claims have been refuted, as their ABC is,

 

Autism misinformation

Big, horrible bill 

Control the narrative

 

But, what I’m here to tell you is they do not care about children’s health. They never have. Leaning into child health advocacy, I’ve spent time at the U.S. Capitol with the American Academy of Pediatrics advocating for gun violence prevention and I got to meet Katie Beckett’s Mom, Julie, a hero of mine. It was 2018 when I did the photo op tour in D.C. 

 

Julie had worked with her Iowa Congressman and President Reagan to put in place the Katie Beckett Medicaid Waiver so her daughter who had developed meningitis as a toddler and had ongoing medical needs could be cared for at home. Julie Beckett taught us how to talk with legislators when we went to Capitol Hill the next day to advocate for gun violence prevention and funding for CDC research. 

 

Our group of Nebraska pediatricians met with Deb Fischer, very briefly with Ben Sasse as he was rushing to another meeting and didn’t want to be bothered, and Don Bacon’s aides. We left our one pager with data, next steps, request to support funding for gun research and then got our photo ops in. That was when I thought the little morsels of photo ops and little wins were how we did things and the best we child health advocates could hope for. 

 

During the beginning of the first Trump Presidency, CHIP, the Children’s Health Insurance Program, was up for reauthorization. CHIP had always been a bipartisan program and had support from both parties and the reauthorization was approved after a lot of advocacy. Senator John McCain gave his famous thumbs down to the dismantling of the ACA, but now Republicans want to officially end it, and they don’t care about the millions of Americans who will lose their health insurance. 

 

The gloves are off during the second Trump term. Old school advocacy isn’t going to work in MAHA’s Merica. It’s a different world with social media and the ability to follow their harms at an exhausting pace. They are planning on child health advocates getting exhausted. 

 

I never would have imagined that things would be this bad. That their ABC, would be,

 

Abolish agencies

Block data

Create health misinformation

 

There isn’t a parent on the planet who wouldn’t choose The Attending to be the one to take care of their child at that ABC moment. Trump, RFK Jr., Fischer, Ricketts, Flood, won’t have a clue what to do. All they can do is peddle their MAHA cult of supplements, raw milk, beef tallow, TrumpRx prescriptions and lies. 

 

Real time advocacy calls for a continuous quality improvement lens. We can use social media and all outlets possible to share the stories of the harms of the OBBB. There will be self-inflicted fallout for Republicans at the voting booth. They own this. Children like Josie with complex medical needs and disabilities are going to lose out under Trump and the Republicans’ bill. 

 

If they don’t start listening. If they don’t start caring, our only response must be show up for children at the ballot box, and VTO,

Vote 

Them 

Out!

Those food failures ... beware!

A Group blog by 5 Women Mayhem 

 

Ooops, puppy 

 

By JoAnne Young

 

As Thanksgiving approaches, a holiday focused around food, family and guests gathered around our tables, we couldn’t help but remember the mayhem that can occur when baking mishaps or trying to recreate a beloved mother’s recipe, or mindful consumption or pets intersect in the kitchen. 

 

Food calamities happen ... not just on the holidays but year round. Like the time my daughter Elizabeth and her then boyfriend, later husband, Adam, were preparing a meal for another couple centered around a pork tenderloin. They wrapped it in prosciutto and left the kitchen for a few minutes to work on another project for a friend. When they returned, the pork tenderloin had disappeared and their wheaten terrier Bueller was skulking away, guilty-faced but likely smiling with content on the inside. 

Not a great day for them, but "we still refer to that as the  best day of Bueller's life," my daughter told me.

We've all had them, those kitchen calamities. Here are a few of ours. 

Pecan pie bars -- an epic failure 

By Marilyn Moore

 

Three of us were planning a morning brunch to introduce friends to a candidate whose election

we’re supporting. One friend specializes in scones. The second specializes in muffins. I chimed

in that I would bring bars, 7-layer and pecan pie bars. Their eyes lit up at “pecan pie bars,” so I

knew it was a good idea. Not that I’ve baked pecan pie bars, but I’ve made pecan pies for

years, and I have my mom’s recipe for bars, so what could go wrong?

 

My mom was an excellent cook, and an excellent baker. She tired of both in her later years, a

reality I now understand up close and personal, but I have many of her recipes, and they’re

time-tested and always good. I found the recipe…there it is, in her own handwriting, such a

treasure…and I remember eating these bars when she made desserts for family gatherings and

church dinners. Easy to read, easy to prepare, all familiar ingredients, home free.

 

I’d looked at several pecan pie bar recipes, and they’re all basically the same. Make a bottom

layer of some combination of flour, sugar, and shortening, and bake it. Mix the top layer, some

combination of sugar, eggs, butter, pecans, syrup, and pour it over the baked bottom layer.

Bake some more.

 

So I did. Following Mom’s recipe, I baked the bottom layer for 10 minutes. I poured the top layer over, put it back in the oven, and set the timer for 50 minutes, at which time the center should be “set.” At 50 minutes, the center was not only not set, it was still sloshing around in the pan. After another 40 minutes, a thin crust was beginning to form, so I took the pan out of

the oven, hoping it would continue to thicken and set as it cooled.

 

It was not to be. The next morning, spooning out one bite from the corner of the pan was like

dipping into maple syrup with floating pieces of pecans. Maybe a topping for ice cream, but

this was never going to be a pan of pecan pie bars.

 

I dumped it all and made a second pan of 7-layer bars. My biggest regret is not the epic baking failure, but the realization (again) that I can no longer give Mom a call and ask for her advice.

 

A memorial to Larry the Lobster

 

By Mary Kay Roth

 

Our mistake was giving him a name. I’m sure that’s when the real trouble started.

 

But of course we need to start from the very beginning, a simple job assignment when I was a features reporter at the Journal Star.

 

In those days we took turns writing various kinds of stories, and this was my turn on the food rotation. I was to buy a live lobster, prep it, boil it and serve it, something I had never done before.

 

Now, for those who don’t know me well, you need to understand I have a kind heart and a tender soul – for pretty much all creatures (except maybe cockroaches). So, the agony commenced immediately when my two young kids and I went to purchase a live lobster – knowing the poor guy would be doomed. 

 

We forged on, nonetheless, choosing a lobster, bringing him home and naming him Larry – as I recall, borrowed from a character in SpongeBob SquarePants.

Per recipe instructions, I started a huge pot of boiling water and took the ill-fated fellow out of the fridge – still thriving and waving his claws.

 

I was heartbroken.

 

But feeling the diligence of a good reporter, I dropped Larry into the steaming water and literally sobbed as the poor fellow bubbled and boiled.

 

Eventually he was cooked to perfection, but alas we knew Larry too well. In fact, these days there is growing research that boiling live lobsters is inhumane and the process is banned in several countries.

 

So, on that fateful day we said a quiet prayer, refused to eat Larry and promised we’d never forget him. We never have.

 

The Smoking Cake

 

By Karla Lester 

 

Especially during the holidays, food drama is a broad category because it’s often enmeshed with

family drama. Most of the holiday food drama I’ve experienced in my life is due to differing

beliefs, even gender stereotypes around food. Food, the menu planning, preparation, even for

straightforward holidays like Thanksgiving, can get weaponized. Now, wait a second. I may be

slow on the uptake, but after a few decades of navigating holidays with the same people, the light

bulb is going off. 

 

This drama may not be about the food.

 

There’s a lot of differing beliefs about food waste. Some of the family wants to make sure

everyone has plenty and can have leftovers ad infinitum. Better love turkey in that house. Others

challenge themselves to rise to a Goldilocks occasion and make just the right amount. 

 

Food is tricky and yes, dramatic at times, especially when you have the drama of a food flop like

the case of the ex-boyfriend and The Smoking Cake.

 

Let me preface this true crime. You should know, in my defense, I’m a good cook because it’s

something I love to do. I’m not a good baker. I have specific items I can do like cookies and

quick bread and Ooey Gooey Butter Cake about once a year. But never and I repeat never ask me

to make you a pie or a cake. That would be at your peril. 

 

Back to the case of the ex-boyfriend and The Smoking Cake. Saying I have an ex-boyfriend

implies that I have a current one.  I do not. 

 

So, I decided to make my ex a cake for his birthday. It had been going on our sixth or seventh

year of no commitment. I lost count. I got the recipe for from scratch chocolate cake and

marshmallow frosting. Yum! Hopes are up at this point. My ex couldn’t commit to giving me a

ring, but I could commit to serving him this cake, no matter what.

 

Too many microbiology classes in medical school meant I cook the s**t out of most items. You

won’t get salmonella, but you may need an extra glass of water to choke that turkey down your

gullet. 

 

Making the batter went swimmingly. I had to improvise because I lived in a studio apartment and

didn’t have a lot of kitchen paraphernalia. I realized I had only one cake pan. No problem. I

baked the first layer and took it out of the oven to cool. Still no problem. I dumped the layer onto

a plate to continue cooling and went on to bake the second layer in the cake pan. I didn’t realize

that I put the plate near the electric burner that I had been cooking on. 

“This cake is on fire.” 

 

I looked over to see that the plate had cracked, and flames were coming up out of the cake. I was

able to get the flames out calmly with a tea towel. I was in medical school. Perhaps trauma

surgery would be a good fit. But, now what? I decided to let the cake cool off after it had been on

fire. Then, I could reassess. There was no internet and certainly no YouTube for how to salvage a

burnt cake back in the 90’s. I needed to improvise. How bad could it be? I decided to let the ex

be the judge of that. 

 

I carefully cut off ⅓ of the bottom of the cake layer, believing I had removed all the burned bits.

 

I put the top layer on and then after cooling, I frosted the cake with you guessed it, overcooked

marshmallow frosting. It turned out to be a crunchy shell you could knock on. 

 

When the ex came over, we had a nice dinner and then it was time for The Smoking Cake. I

didn’t say a word to him because I didn’t want to spoil his birthday and thought he most likely

wouldn’t notice the cake had been on fire. The ex couldn’t catch a hint to buy me a big old

diamond ring. I was sure he wouldn’t catch onto the cake drama.

 

Boy, was I ever wrong. I watched his face with a mix of anticipation and dread as he bit into the

cake. He dramatically, which I really feel was over the top, spit out the whole bite and

exclaimed, “This tastes like smoke!”

 

“That’s because it was on fire. Sorry.” 

 

It’s too late for me, but you may be able to save your burnt cake. 

 

According to the AI overview:

To fix a burnt cake, carefully trim the burnt edges with a knife or grater, then use frosting or

syrup to cover any remaining imperfections. Prevent future burnt cakes by ensuring the oven

temperature is accurate, placing the cake on the center rack, using the correct pan, and not

overfilling the pan.  

Here's a pic of me in my Girlboss Birthday era with the from scratch chocolate cake and marshmallow frosting, how it was supposed to turn out. 

A little mayhem in the kitchen. We'd love to hear about yours. -- 5 Women Mayhem 

 

So many times, help comes too late

By JoAnne Young

Last month, Lincoln recorded the fourth death of a woman at the hands of a man they considered an intimate partner or boyfriend. I wish I could write about how we could solve this dire problem in our city, state, country, world ... but all I can do at this moment is say their names. 

 

Tracy Henman, who was 43, was found dead in her home on October 23. A boyfriend who police found in the house was charged with her murder.  Tracy was mother to four children, said to love her job at Hy-Vee, and described as compassionate, adventurous and one who could find humor in the everyday. In the many pictures on her death announcement, you could see people she loved and who loved her. 

 

Jennifer McCarther, 51, a mother of three, and grandmother to five, was shot to death October 1, by an intimate partner, who also killed himself. Her daughter, Deja Plater, said of her mother in a media report: “I want her to know that she mattered even when she didn’t feel like she did.”

 

Bu Gay, 40, was killed in March and her 13-year-old son critically injured, by the mother’s boyfriend, who killed himself. Bu Gay’s 15-year-old daughter and the boyfriend’s 8-year-old son were also in the apartment at the time of the shooting, but were unharmed. 

 

Michelle Gonzalez, 21, died in February 26 about two hours after she had filed a protection order against her boyfriend, who then killed himself. He had assaulted her earlier that morning, beating her with a pistol while intoxicated. In the later assault, he hit her with a car before she was picked up by two good Samaritans driving by. He followed them down a neighborhood street and rammed into the vehicle, eventually getting out of the car to shoot Michelle. He’d had two previous protection orders filed against him by two separate women. He also served time in both prison and jail for domestic violence charges. When he killed Michelle he was out on parole from a previous domestic violence case. 

People on social media are rightfully questioning the value of a protection order in Nebraska and why the justice system’s response to domestic violence against women seems to be so inadequate until a woman is critically injured or killed. The system, they said, fails women over and over.  

One woman posted a suggestion that a national data registry, such as the sex offender registry for anyone who has ever committed violence against another person. That’s worth at least a look. Anything is worth a look. 

If these deaths were not excessive enough, Lincoln Police rescued two other women in October who were headed for the same fate. One of those was Jesserae Beck, 42, who went public with her story to help others. She was beaten by a boyfriend that left her with a severe brain bleed, head trauma, broken ribs and a punctured lung. She has post-traumatic stress disorder and has to use a walker for balance. 

Lincoln has seen an almost 25% increase in violent crimes flagged as domestic in 2025. Leah Droge, director of the Friendship Home in Lincoln, which serves victims of domestic violence, said in media reports she has been hearing about "really intense levels of violence," more victims  reporting strangulation and being struck by weapons. 

 

Nearly half of those committing these crimes are said to have a known history of domestic violence. 

 

These women are more than statistics, but it is notable that three-fourths of those who are killed by intimate partners are women. And most of that happens when the woman is leaving or has left the relationship. It’s no wonder they are afraid to leave. 

 

While I understand there are multiple levels of blame for this violence against women, there’s also a lot of bad behavior by leaders in this country that could be making it worse. 

 

Leslie Morgan Steiner, a victim of violence by a man she thought was her soulmate and author of “Crazy Love,” said we are living in a time when someone with credible evidence of sexual violence against him was confirmed to the United States Supreme Court ... again. When a U.S. president who has bragged about grabbing women’s body parts whenever and however he wants can call a survivor of sexual violence a liar at one of his rallies and the crowd will roar its approval. 

 

The president who was elected a year ago, has repeatedly called out prominent women in our country -- smart, energetic, important and productive women who dare to challenge him or who he just decides he doesn’t like -- as weak, foolish, slow, lethargic, dumb, mentally impaired, pathetic, not just bad but f**king bad, dirty, disgusting, out of their minds and crazy. 

 

To a friend accused of wrong doing against women, Trump advised: "You've got to deny, deny, deny and push back on these women. If you admit to anything and any culpability, then you're dead. … You've got to be strong. You've got to be aggressive. You've got to push back hard. You've got to deny anything that's said about you. Never admit." ("Fear: Trump in the White House," by Bob Woodward)

He has recently suggested that violence committed against a woman by an intimate partner in the privacy of the home should not be considered a crime. He has also moved to cut federal grants to domestic violence nonprofit agencies. 

 

His vice president, JD Vance, has said that professional women “choose a path to misery” when they prioritize careers over having children, that when women like his classmates at Yale Law School pursue racial or gender equity like it’s a value system that gives their life meaning, they all find that value system leads to misery. He has referred to some female Democratic leaders as “childless cat ladies.” He has inferred he believes the cornerstone of happiness is fulfilling traditional gender roles.  

 

As I am wrapping up this writing, I see a post on Facebook by the Omaha Police Officers Association about a woman several days ago that hid in a small room in her home while an armed intimate partner searched for her. He found her and blocked her escape. She managed to break away long enough to call 911, and was rescued by police. 

 

Thank you to the people in Lincoln who tried to rescue Michelle Gonzalez. They put their lives at risk, too. Thank you to law enforcement who also put their lives in danger in answering domestic violence calls. 

 

We should all know the warning signs that carry a high risk of serious harm or homicide by intimate partners, according to a recent report by the Nebraska Domestic Abuse Death Review Team: Recent or attempted strangulation; escalating threats or use of weapons; stalking or obsessive jealousy; controlling behavior and isolation; recent separation or attempts to leave the relationship; prior threats to kill the victim, children, or self; history of forced sex or extreme violence.

If warning signs occur, it is important to seek help immediately. Early intervention is critical. 

Other sources of help in Lincoln include:

* Voices of Hope: Trained staff and volunteers offer 24-hour crisis intervention services. Through their telephone hotline at 402-475-7273 and through in-person, walk-in services, they provide assistance with safety planning, protection orders, financial resources, legal advocacy, and more. https://www.voicesofhopelincoln.org

* Friendship Home: Provides 24-hour support through its crisis line at 402-437-9302 and offers safe, confidential shelter and advocacy for survivors and their children. https://friendshiphome.org

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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.