A prairie prayer

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Tallgrasses shimmer and shiver on this crisp-clear February afternoon, only a tickle of a breeze whispering and rustling over the land.  An absolutely perfect, sky-blue sky hovers above. And I breathe in one of the most serene sanctuaries I know, Spring Creek Prairie, a tallgrass prairie preserve found only 20 miles southwest of town.

There is simply something mystical about a prairie. 

The land here holds me close.  Embraces, cradles me in its arms. Keeps me safe and steady.

I’ve always said the outdoors is where I find my spirituality. The prairie is one beloved church where I pray.

Looking back, one of the best things I believe I did for my children was to immerse them in the great outdoors.  However, I may have failed in my mission to honor their own native horizons. 

Josh prefers the majesty and wonder of the mountains.  Anna would choose the hypnotic, turquoise waves of an ocean.

I will always be a prairie girl.

Glowing ever so quietly with nuanced beauty, the prairie offers a solid certainty that life is large and wide and somehow everything will be ok.  A prairie reaches deep into my soul and smooths out my crazy. 

And it seems almost everyone has their share of crazy these days.  I’ve had my own.  

Someone rear-ended and totaled my beloved car. Verizon folks are puzzled why my data refuses to transfer onto a new phone and Saturday’s Wordle took me six guesses. This week one of the fiercest, most fearless activists died in a Russian prison and a shooting in Kansas City came far too close to some of the dearest people in my life.  Meantime, the dog trainer says my puppy barks at people because she’s afraid of the world.  

At this point in life, many might turn to counselors. Medication. Meditation.  Chanting.

I go to the prairie.  

Strangely it doesn’t really solve my problems, it simply reminds me there is something bigger – greater.  No matter what happens in life, the raw and uncluttered beauty of a prairie vista will go on and on, as far as the eye can see. And the tallgrasses will continue rustling in the wind.

Other folks have said it better.

• Willa Cather: “As I looked about me, I felt that the grass was the country, as the water is the sea. The red of the grass made all the great prairie the colour of winestains, or of certain seaweeds when they are first washed up. And there was so much motion in it; the whole country seemed, somehow, to be running.”  
• Walt Whitman: “While I know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara Falls, the Upper Yellowstone and the like afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so sure but the prairies and plains, while less stunning at first sight, last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and make North America’s characteristic landscape.”

Yet we must tread cautiously on this precious ground.  Once upon a time, tallgrass prairie covered 142 million acres. Today about one percent of North American prairies still exist, only 30 million acres, making prairies one of the rarest, most endangered ecosystems in the world. 

Yet if you live in Lincoln, prairies linger close.  

A wonderful patch of prairie grows on the far side of Pioneers Park.  Nine-Mile Prairie perches on the northwest edge of Lincoln.

And Spring Creek Prairie Audubon Center is an easy drive away. Now at 1,160 acres – they added 310 more acres in a recent purchase – I can wander three miles of walking trails here, through native grasslands, wetlands and ponds.

Scientists tell us prairies require little maintenance – no need for fertilizers or pesticides – build soil, capture carbon, trap sediment, provide rare native habitat for birds, butterflies, insects, reptiles and many small critters. 

But to be completely honest, I love prairies for more than their ecology.

I love them for their powerful connection to something more. I love them for their gentle heart.  For their restrained announcement of spring in subtle shades of emerald and olive green – for their summery tallgrasses reaching high, sunflowers towering above and birds practically screaming with joy – for their autumn landscape of burnished russet, ruby red and deep shadow.  

Even on this wintry afternoon, with acres and acres of brittle browns and austere grays, there’s something cozy and comforting at Spring Creek.

So, this afternoon I take time to lie down and disappear into the grasses, looking up into an endless sky, the silence around me, almost unbelievable.

I can hear my own heartbeat, feel the pulse of the land, practically feel the earth turning, as I nestle down and burrow even deeper into the prairie, lingering here for just a little while longer.     

*Spring Creek Prairie: https://springcreek.audubon.org/

These Are A Few of Our Favorite Things

For Valentine’s week, we thought it would be fun to reflect upon a few of our favorite things. We hope you enjoy this week’s Meeting of the Mayhem Minds, and that you can celebrate Valentine’s Day immersed in and enjoying a few of your favorite things. Thank you for reading, sharing and commenting. We love hearing from you.

Places for the Heart
By JoAnne Young

Years ago, my husband gave me a lighted paper heart, framed in three dimensions and decorated with
white splatters and smiling suns, bought at a long-gone head shop in downtown Lincoln. It’s been a prominent fixture in our living room for decades, kindling my love of anything heart shaped.

 I see no fewer than nine hearts today in this room – a copper heart ornament, a metal wind-blown heart enhanced with a crescent moon, a small heart-shaped wooden box with a tiny silver heart inside. I love them all, but the heart light is my favorite.

 My love of hearts carries over from art and décor to nature. The ultimate natural heart is our own, the original shape of love and utility that sustains us. I was privileged in 1988 to watch a team of surgeons and nurses at Bryan Memorial Hospital transplant a heart into a Nebraska man and then bring his story to Lincoln Star readers. I won’t forget peering into his chest after doctors had removed a more imperfect heart, before slipping in a stronger, healthier one. That place in our chests is a most beautiful fist-sized container of shiny white and red tissue, a jewel box for our heart.

 On a walk on a favorite Florida beach in December, I came across a red heart shape buried partially in the sand. I dug it out and learned it was a sea heart, a seed pod from a liana vine that grows in Central America and Caribbean islands. They can travel long distances, bobbing on the ocean surface. A true gift that endured who knows what mayhem to end up in the hands of a truly grateful heart lover.

***

Roundabouts
by Marilyn Moore

Roundabouts….I love them.  I’ll go out of my way to drive a street with a roundabout.  Not everyone agrees with me.  My friend Barbara Jo will go out of her way to avoid a street with a roundabout.  That’s okay…each to her own.  But I love them.

Lincoln’s first roundabout, built more than 20 years ago, is at 33^rd and Sheridan.  Just like the city traffic engineers predicted, the number of accidents decreased, and the dollar value of damage when an accident did occur decreased, also.  That’s because people have to drive more slowly, and since there’s no yellow light changing to red, there’s no incentive to speed up to beat the light.  So, they work. That’s a reason to like them.  And yes, I like the natural landscaping and works of art in the center of many of them…and I know there are those who don’t.  Each to her own….

Now there are dozens in the city, from big ones (think 14^th and Superior) to little ones, like those in neighborhoods such as at the intersection of 11^th and D.  Our roundabouts don’t hold a candle to the really big ones, like those in London, where six (!) lanes of traffic maneuver a roundabout.  We’re good here managing two lanes.

Fewer traffic lights, fewer stop signs, and safer intersections….I just like them.  It seems to me that drivers are more careful, they watch out for other drivers, there’s collaboration and just a moment of community as we yield to one another.  A good metaphor for how we might live with one another in ways other than behind the wheel. 

***

Zen and a Paper Mate Flair …
by Mary Kay Roth

I love lists.  Lists of groceries, errands, good books, potential gifts, dream destinations.

But perhaps the true secret weapon for writing a perfect list … one of my very favorite things … is the perfect blend of paper and pen.

For me, that’s a Docket Gold legal pad and a Paper Mate Flair Felt Tip Pen (medium point, never thin tip – and, god forbid, never scented).

I’m crazy weird about this combo.

Admittedly these days I use my laptop for most of my major writing projects.  But when it comes to doodling, scribbling random notes, personal writing and, yes, making lists, I want the real deal. 

I want paper and pen. 

And I’m downright obsessive about the right ones. I want a pen that feels just right in my hand. I want smear-resistant ink that won’t bleed through the page. I want paper that absorbs the ink, effortlessly.

I’ve tested out countless legal pads in my life.  For some mysterious reason I landed on a Docket Gold. 

But I didn’t need to test out pens, because I loved the Paper Mate Flair the very first moment I held it.  With a classic 60’s vibe, this writing instrument is a thing of beauty – meditative – serene – zen-like.

When I buy yet another box of them, my kids shake their heads wondering why I need more – as there are piles of Flair pens scattered around my house.  But come on, you never know when they will discontinue your favorite color.

Because, yep, I’m just as quirky about the hue.  Black and red are forbidden, they are boring. Lime greens and neons are hard to read.  But when I pick up a mocha, scuba-blue, cranberry, magenta – be still my beating heart.

So, if you want to make me happy, if you want to be my Valentine, forget raindrops on roses. Just give me a Flair pen.

***

Making Rolls
By Mary Reiman

I love making rolls. I love the process as much as the product. Maybe more. 

The recipe was given to me long ago, in my first year of teaching. It was a perfect Saturday activity because it includes a beginning and an end, with a final product. In teaching, we finish a semester, or a year, and send students on their way, often wondering how they are doing, or where they have landed in life. In baking, I see the result of my work. 

There is no mixer or bread machine involved in this recipe. I use my hands to get the right consistency before punching the dough (OK...maybe there’s a bit of aggression alleviated at that point). The stickier the dough, the better. Watching it rise, getting out the rolling pin, cutting and shaping, and then brushing with butter (because everything really is better with butter). There’s nothing quite like the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting through the house. 

As important as the baking, is sharing with others. Packaging them and rushing off to deliver while they are still warm. It’s my way of letting friends know they are important to me. 

Sharing the love and joy of something made by the hand, and from the heart.

***

Riding in Cars with Dogs
by Penny Costello

Boone

I am blessed to live with two sweet, silly, and scrappy dogs named Boone and Idgy. When we go for rides in the car, Idgy likes to stand with her hind legs in my lap as I’m driving and hang her head and front legs out the window, looking down the street, ears flapping in the wind. She also really loves to roll the windows down. Boone likes to sit in the back seat on the driver’s side, and he appreciates it when Idgy opens his window so he can hang his head out, too.

My favorite thing about car rides with my dogs is seeing other drivers’ reactions when we pull up beside them at stop lights. Invariably they smile at the dogs, and conversations ensue.

Idgy

Often I hear “Oh, your dog is so cute!” when they see Idgy hanging out, smiling at them. I respond with a smile, “She knows.”

She has this way of looking at these folks with what looks to me like anticipation, as if she’d like to say, “How cute do YOU think I am?” When the light turns green after those encounters, as we continue down the street, I praise her and tell her she’s doing a public service putting smiles on peoples’ faces and making their day a little brighter. And it makes my day brighter when I have those sweet exchanges with complete strangers at traffic lights.

The same thing happens when we go to restaurants for curbside pick-ups. They brighten the days of wait staff who come to the car with our food, as well as drive-through bank tellers, pharmacists, and baristas at coffee shops. Boone and Idgy LOVE drive-throughs, because they very often score a dog treat of some kind. And it does my heart so much good to see peoples’ faces light up and know we provided a moment of brightness in the midst of their daily routine.

Boone and Idgy are not certified service animals, but in their own wonderful ways, they’re providing a service just the same. And I’m blessed to be their delivery driver.

***

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Squall Alert

 

By Mary Reiman

Note to self… 

Never leave Lincoln without my pink bag – the ‘go-to’ bag. The pink bag should always contain a phone charger, a toothbrush, and a device with a book just waiting to be read. 

Because you never know when a squall will pass through so you can’t get home. What was to be an hour visit to family on January 18th turned into an unplanned stay without my pink bag. 

Squall: a sudden violent gust of wind or a localized storm, especially one bringing rain, snow, or sleet. A snow squall warning is issued for short duration. These warnings will be used to warn about whiteout conditions with intense bursts of snow and wind.

Are squalls only about weather? 

Think about that definition for a moment. We got through that afternoon and evening of swirling snow. But doesn’t it seem like we are still surrounded by squalls? Localized storms take many forms. Are low clouds hanging over Lincoln? 

Some of last week’s news stories: 

• Melting snow in Lincoln causes damage to a building, causing businesses to close temporarily. That was problematic for those employees on Monday morning.

• Raising sales taxes so property taxes can be lowered. How is this most beneficial?

• The need in our state for more skilled workers in spite of low population growth. A dilemma.

• Potholes (potholes=squalls)

Or national news:

* Amelia Earhart’s plane may have been located. A female adventurer in a time when female adventurers did not receive a lot of acknowledgement.  Interesting to think that all these years later they are still trying to locate her airplane. Was it a squall that sent her plane into the ocean in 1937?

* Loss of taste and smell from COVID. For most, those senses come back within a few weeks after testing negative. However, for those who still can’t taste or smell after eight weeks, there’s a major concern, more than a squall.

Is a squall simply a blip in time when everything seems to go awry?  

Well, in our political world, it seems that squalls are becoming more long term, turning into gale force winds, especially throughout the plains of Nebraska. I fear this turbulent weather pattern will be hanging over our heads at least until after the election. It is only February and already our nationally elected officials are not passing needed legislation, even though they support it, because it would look like they were supporting the other party’s candidates. Really...is that what is best for their constituents? Is that the first question they ask themselves when voting for any legislation?

And then there is the headline from today's Lincoln Journal Star. The proposal to ban books from school libraries across the state of Nebraska. Much turbulence ahead.

Let's use The Color Purple by Alice Walker as an example. It is on a list of books created by a national group, being circulated state by state, to be banned from school librarians. The Color Purple is a classic, has won a Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award, and was made into a movie in 1985 and recently released again in 2023. Within the story line about the power of family, resilience, hope and bravery, is also the acknowledgement of sexual abuse by a family member. 

IF a child who has also been sexually assaulted reads The Color Purple and realizes she/he is not alone in the world, then that book needs to be available for that child to read. The same can be said for children contemplating suicide, or with feelings of being isolated or bullied. It does not mean that every child or young adult in that school should read every book, but diverse literature, sometimes dealing with difficult topics, is what they are searching for to give them solace in the storm of emotions they are feeling. What purpose does it serve to ban those books? 

If we truly want to address the mental health issues caused by childhood trauma, allow children the opportunity to read and reflect and know they are not alone in this world. 

I believe there is power in words. The power to heal. 

Parents may look at the online card catalog to see the titles of the books in their child's school library. There are selection policies in the school libraries. There are processes in place if a parent is concerned about a book their child has chosen to check out from the library. 

Mr. Penner's quest to ban books is a story worth following. You may want to submit your thoughts/concerns/comments to your representative on the State Board of Education. I attended Friday's meeting. I know they read the letters from their constituents. They referred to several of them. The board will meet again to discuss the possible rule changes on March 8th and your letter will probably need to be submitted by the 6th. Their agenda, with the link for public comments, will be posted:  https://www.education.ne.gov/stateboard/ 

If you would like to talk about this storm brewing, please let me know. I think fondly of the days when I had great conversations with parents who called to ask about a book in the library. Discussions, learning from each other. Civil discourse. Perhaps this would still be a better way to calm the stormy weather that seems to have settled over us.

FOR MORE URGENT ACTION: From the Nebraska Legislature: LB1399 - Change provisions relating to the involvement of parents, guardians, and educational decision makers in the education of their children.

Read page 5 of Section 6:   https://nebraskalegislature.gov/FloorDocs/108/PDF/Intro/LB1399.pdf 

Comments regarding this bill need to be made by 8:00 a.m., Monday, February 5th https://nebraskalegislature.gov/bills/view_bill.php?DocumentID=55180 

You may notice that some of the language about the school library resources in LB1399 sounds familiar. Some of our state legislators are finding very subtle, some might say subversive, ways to ban books.

Yes, storm clouds are looming overhead.

I think I will definitely make 'squall' my word of the year...hoping I don't have to change it to 'gale-force winds.' 

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Mayhem postscript

By JoAnne Young

A note on restaurants to accompany this week's blog.

I have walked by a little restaurant near a popular coffee shop fairly often and wondered about its name, otherwise not giving it much of a second thought … until this week. It’s called the Naughty Buddha Burger Bar, and since I don’t eat burgers, I figured it wasn’t for me.

 

This week, however, after our Wednesday Food Bank deliveries, my husband suggested we have lunch there. He had been there the week before with a vegan friend, and he thought I should try it. I skeptically agreed. Turns out, the burgers and wraps are plant based. And they, as well as the salads that accompany them, are amazing. 

 

I’ve never said that about a plant-based burger, and only occasionally say that about restaurant food. I live in a state where most residents, and so most restaurants, eat and serve a majority of  meat-based meals. It’s been multiple decades since I stopped eating meat. I tried being  vegetarian-only for a while, completely plant based for a few of those years. In the end, if I wanted to go out for a meal with family or friends, without having to order only sides or salad, I had to add fish to my diet, become a pescatarian. 

 

I’m honestly not sure why I started down this no-meat road, except I think it’s healthier. But I did, and I became stubborn about it. No turkey at Thanksgiving. No prime rib on Christmas Eve. No succulent roast pork at Easter, or chicken noodle soup during winter cold season. 

 

It probably didn’t help when, as a young girl, I watched my grandmother walk to her back yard, grab a hen – one minute leisurely pecking for morsels in the warm Louisiana sun, the next spinning in her hand ‘til she popped its neck and head clean off – then seeing and smelling the feather plucking and the chopping of it into pieces that fit nicely into her caste-iron skillet. 

 

All this to say, I appreciate a restaurant that serves good vegetarian and vegan food. We have only a few in Lincoln that focus their menu in that direction. Grateful Bread/Freakbeat Vegetarian and Pepe’s Bistro does that, but Freakbeat’s hours are sporadic and they take long breaks. Pepe’s menu is limited. 

 

Things are improving at bigger restaurants that have wider menus. I am thankful for that and for Surf and Turf in south Lincoln that sells a good variety of fresh fish, soups and other items I can cook at home and serve with salads, rice, pasta, potatoes and veggies. 

 

Have a great week, Mayhem readers. We appreciate you! 

Eating our way through an election year

By JoAnne Young 

 

This is going to be a tumultuous year. 

 

Can we calm our nerves, perhaps, with food? With cioppino or Hungarian tomato soup? Havarti dill scones or lavender shortcake? Fully loaded baked potato soup or deviled eggs? Rye bread toast and chamomile tea? Or perhaps Empower Mint ice cream? 

 

Instead of letting the angst of 2024 and its issues get to us, let’s think about a spoonful or two of comfort. 

 

I don’t mean to state the obvious, but food is a big deal. For all creatures great and small. 

 

I’ve been watching the birds gather around our feeders in the past couple of weeks, happy that we could provide them sustenance in the deep snow and below-zero temperatures. I have seen the appreciation on the faces of folks who need supplemental food, which we deliver to their homes once a week, courtesy of the Food Bank of Lincoln. 

 

I’ve read with interest, via NPR, how sushi restaurants are thriving in Ukraine, through air raid sirens and missile strikes. 

 

I’ve cringed at the idea that food and starvation have become weapons of war in Gaza, and that a decision to reject a summer food program for kids in Nebraska was made in the name of conservative politics. It’s also scary to see the cost of food go up and up and up at our local grocery stores, knowing it won’t likely come down. 

 

Food is about more than keeping us alive. It nourishes memories of pan-fried chicken served up at Sunday dinners with buttery mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas. It soothes us with  cheesy pepperoni pizza we had with coworkers on election nights that stretched into late hours, or eased us through curious birthday parties with strawberry Jello birthday cake. 

 

It triggers that great idea of feeding Mom’s not-so-tender round steak to the cocker spaniel waiting eagerly under the table. And Santa slipping a coconut into your Christmas stocking, one he no doubt picked up on landings in the Philippines earlier that night. 

 

As famed food writer M.F.K Fisher tells us: “It seems to me our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others.” 

 

Though my childhood associations with food involved a family of women, and one girl making fudgy brownies on a Sunday afternoon, I am proud to say the associations I have as an adult involve men, specifically sons who season and grill delicious main courses or pasta and plant-based entrees, a son-in-law who makes the best of the best pizza from scratch and darned good pancakes and egg dishes, and a fellow journalist (I’m looking at you Andrew Ozaki) who serves a yummy smoked salmon to his wife’s book club, of which I am happy to say I’m a member. 

 

As I said, food is a big deal. 

 

Not only does it get a dedicated room in the house, it takes up whole stores. It spreads out on acres and acres of land and claims sections of shelves in libraries and bookstores, and online. On those literal and digital shelves are hundreds of cookbooks, anything you might imagine, including:   

 

-- Heroes Feast Flavors of the Multiverse with the tastes of Dungeons and Dragons, including Kender Stumblenoodles;

-- The Unofficial Bridgerton Cookbook, which instructs on how to dine like lords and ladies;

-- Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas, official baking and cookbook with Dr. Finkelstein Charlotte Royale Brain Cake.

-- The Art of Eating Through the Zombie Apocalypse: A Cookbook and Culinary Survival Guide. Just because the undead's taste buds are atrophying doesn't mean yours have to, Amazon explains. 

So here’s to the tastes of home, and all you brilliant cooks and bakers out there, and the restaurants and bakeries we love that are providing a respite from the election rhetoric that only promises to get worse.

 

And salud to the interesting vegetables we can distract ourselves with next summer from 2024’s The Whole Seed Catalog.

 

Berkeley Tie-Dye Green Tomatoes, Red Dragon Arugula or Magnolia Blossom Tendril Peas anyone?  

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Taking Care of Nebraska's Kids

 By Marilyn Moore

Gov. Pillen concludes nearly every speech with a reference to his goals: grow Nebraska, cut taxes, make things good for agriculture and business, and “take care of Nebraska’s kids.”  I agree with taking care of Nebraska’s kids. I suspect most educators do.  I’m pretty sure most parents and grandparents do.  In fact, I would wager that nearly every thinking person in the state would agree with that goal; “after all, kids are our future,” is a common sentiment. There’s not likely an urban/rural divide on this one, nor on any of the other demographics that so frequently polarize conversation about social and political issues.  “Taking care of Nebraska’s kids” might be just about as popular as Nebraska volleyball, and that’s saying a lot.

Where we might have some differences of opinions would be in how we go about achieving that goal…just how do we (that’s the State of Nebraska “we”) take care of our kids?  Government has been described as coming together to do that collectively which we cannot do alone.  Things like build highways, fight wars, enforce laws, and, in the words of the US Constitution, “promote  the general welfare.”  I think taking care of kids falls in that provision…a recognition that government has a role to play in making lives good for the people who live here.  

When I think of taking care of Nebraska kids, I think first of the absolutely basic necessities that children need to live, including adequate nutrition, safe water, secure homes.  Most times, most parents can and do provide these basic necessities for most children.  But not always.  For decades, governmental assistance has been available to fill in the gaps.  Not perfectly, not consistently, not without arguments about cost and benefit, but in the end, most folks agree that children should have food, and safe water, and a safe place to live.  

If we’re going to take care of Nebraska kids, it would seem to me that we would want to grab every resource that helps meet these needs for kids.  Resources like federal dollars that provide funds for low-income families to purchase additional food when their children are home during the summer, when the children don’t have access to school breakfasts and school lunches, meals that for many children are their most reliable and most consistent source of nutrition during the school year.  But Nebraska, along with a handful of other states, has declined to participate in this program, a program that would help about 150,000 children, Nebraska kids.  Sen. Day has proposed a bill that would commit Nebraska to participation in this program in 2025, as we’ve missed our opportunity for 2024.  Supporting this legislation would be a real and visible commitment to taking care of Nebraska kids.

Safe water.  Water is a big deal in Nebraska.  It’s one of our most treasured resources.  It makes an agricultural industry possible.  We’re trying to get more of it from Colorado, to assure that a contract signed in the 1930’s that assures us of our fair share from the South Platte River crosses the state line to Nebraska.  Lincoln is beginning the staggering task of developing a second source of water for our growing city.  We pay attention to drought maps, because we know it matters.  There is concern that large, out-of-state people and companies and countries might buy Nebraska land in order to get Nebraska water.  All evidence of our understanding of how important water is.  And, we know that quantity is not the only concern; water safety ranks right up there, too.  Except when it doesn’t….when large scale corporate practices result in run-off that pollutes the water, resulting in dangerously high levels of nitrates and other chemicals.  Remember the AltEn disaster outside of Mead?  Or recent reports of high nitrate levels from runoff from hog farms?  We know from experiences elsewhere, such as the contaminated water from lead pipes in Flint, Michigan, that unsafe water results in life-long damage to growing children.  If we’re going to take care of Nebraska’s kids, we need to assure that the water they drink is safe.  

In addition to the need for food and water to support physical growth (which of course affects cognitive and social growth), Nebraska kids need safe and nurturing childcare during their first five years.  Our governor recognizes that childcare is a need in the state, because businesses have made it known that childcare is related to their ability to hire workers.  With 900 children on a waitlist for childcare in Lincoln, it’s pretty easy to guess that the number statewide is in the tens of thousands.  To eliminate that waitlist will take space, it will take staff (who are among the lowest-paid workers), and it will likely take a complex public/private partnership to meet the need.  My own suggestion would be universal pre-school for four-year-olds, and in many communities with declining school enrollments, the space is already there.  Not an easy implementation, statewide, but worth it, because it would be another step in taking care of Nebraska kids.

Another need for Nebraska kids?  Public schools with all the supports and opportunities for children to reach their promise and potential. In Nebraska, 90% of students are in public schools. The local school is the lifeblood of many rural communities and of many neighborhoods in urban settings.  It’s a place to belong, a place to be safe.  It’s the place where every day, adult eyes are on kids, noticing who may need a helping hand.  About public schools, our governor is proposing hard spending caps, with a goal of reducing property taxes.  Hard spending caps will result in fewer opportunities for Nebraska kids…classes that won’t be offered because the enrollment is too small, or increased fees for activities that make participation prohibitive for many families, or elimination of early intervention programs that serve a small number of students, but the students who most need them.  These are not practices that take care of Nebraska kids…but they are the inevitable result of hard spending caps.  Doing more with less is a popular slogan, but the fact of the matter is, in any business that is people-dependent, having less generally means being able to do less.  

In post-pandemic years, there are nationwide reports of increased mental health needs in every segment of the population.  That is true in Nebraska, and that is true with Nebraska kids.  We need more counselors, more psychologists, more mental health providers, in schools and in private practice and in public agencies.  A hard cap on local governments, e.g., schools, and searching for “efficiencies” (like increasing the case load of providers and caseworkers) in state and county agencies, will not result in more mental health services.  And that’s not taking care of Nebraska’s kids.

And one other area…taking care of Nebraska LGBTQ kids.  They’re feeling particularly singled out and diminished right now, partly because of last year’s contentious legislative debate.  Trans kids, especially.  Some are now forced to leave the state to receive the medical care that is necessary for their physical and mental health, a health plan that was decided upon by the kid, the parents, and the health care providers.  Let’s help these Nebraska kids by leaving them and their families alone and staying out of their health care decisions. 

I recognize that in every organization, just as in every family, there are times that there are competing goals, and hard decisions and trade-offs must be made.  Of all the state’s goals, “taking care of Nebraska kids” ranks number one on my list, and I intend to lend my voice in support of that goal when legislation that affects Nebraska kids is being considered.  I hope you will do the same.  

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Barreling into 2024 with the roar and rumble of a pickup truck

 

By Mary Kay Roth   

Most of my life I have self-righteously chanted the call for small cars, practical, energy efficient and commonsensical.  Little guys like Toyota Corollas, Honda Civics and Honda Fits.

I never understood the appeal of trucks, those nasty behemoths that hog the road.

Last year the world changed. My daughter and I bought a pickup. 

Not just any pickup. An almost vintage 1986 Ford F150.  Extended cab.  Long bed.

Mind you, a year ago I had no clue about this kind of trucker lingo.   But now I know the Ford F-series has been the best-selling truck in America for nearly half a decade – with the 1986 version representing the final hurrah of the F-series’ seventh generation.

My own 1986 model goes by many names. My granddaughters call it the Chocolate Truck, my neighbors, Count Chocula.  I call her the Rusty Beast.

A square-body Bullnose Ford, she’s tarnished and corroded, and bellows upon starting. Yet driving high above the throngs of pedestrian sedans, I am master of the road when I get behind the wheel. 

I am one bad ass. 

When you drive a pickup – apparently, especially a 1986 Ford F150, extended cab, long bed – folks wave at you. Drivers roll down their window to ask about the vintage. At gas stations, people circle around the truck to marvel.

Truly, there is an entire underground world of pickups out there with websites and Facebook pages dedicated specifically to Ford trucks of the ‘80s.

I now know the Ford F-150 of 1986 could carry a payload of about 1,500 pounds – featured a Windsor V-8 with either a 5L or 6L electronic fuel injector – had a six- or eight-cylinder engine that produced from 115 to 150 horsepower.

OK, I actually have no clue what that previous paragraph means. It just sounded cool. 

But when I was reading through a website of testimonials from other owners of 1986 Ford pickups, I did come across this fellow’s delightful gem: “Mine doesn't have all the bells and whistles but we can leave that to the luxury vehicles and sedans for old women. Mine tows and hauls, handles ice/snow.”

Whoa. 

Admittedly, this is a new and curious time in my life, no longer able to cling to any farfetched notion of middle age.  I am getting old.  I am an old woman.

I know some females avoid those words like the plague, but perhaps the words are not the true issue. Perhaps it’s time to redefine … old woman. 

Aside from the unexpected and mysterious body creaks, my health is solid – and I’m pretty sure I love getting older.  Somehow age offers an acute awareness that life is precious, should be lived with dignity and ferocity rather than resignation.

Old age is truly a fine time to run for office, run a marathon, ice skate.  To howl at the politics of the land, collect signatures for important petition drives, wear whatever you like. 

And drive a truck, dang it.  The Rusty Beast – with nary a luxury bell or whistle – pulls my daughter’s ski boat.  Hauls my beloved kayak. Helps out many a friend and neighbor. 

Granted, the gas mileage sucks. And there are underlying and surprising implications for gender and politics with a pickup truck.  My daughter and I have purposely plastered feminist bumper stickers on the Rusty Beast to counter country song stereotypes.

In fact, it took some time for the truck and me to get acquainted.

Initially, since the Rusty Beast groaned and moaned when we started her, we installed a push-button ignition. Then came the dilemma of the back tailgate. 

One summer afternoon, after taking my kayak for a spin at Holmes Lake, upon returning home I discovered the truck tailgate was down and my kayak had vanished. (She was rescued by retracing my path to find the helpful guys who had watched the kayak slide off my pickup, had retrieved it and were wondering if and when I would return.)  

Robust bungee cords now crisscross my tailgate.

And I have learned so much truck lore.  FYI, Henry Ford produced what is considered the first American pickup truck in 1917, the Ford Model TT. Fast forward to 1948, when Ford released the now famous F-Series, which would end up becoming not only the best-selling truck in America but also the top-selling vehicle overall. 

Today only about 16 percent of F-series owners are women.  My daughter and I belong in that prestigious minority.

Perhaps that’s why I was thinking of the Rusty Beast this year as – per tradition – I contemplated a guiding quote for my New Year … and borrowed these words from Dylan Thomas: 

“Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

You see, I don’t feel like tiptoeing into this new year. I feel like barreling into 2024 with the roar and rumble of a pickup truck.   

No, I’m not giving up my Honda Fit.  She’s still my main squeeze.  I will always believe in energy-efficiency and common sense.  I will recycle and conserve.

But there will be days this year when I’ll climb into my pickup truck, crank up the rock ‘n’ roll and drive off into the sunset – as this old woman is gonna burn and rave at close of day.