Category: Musings

Categories
Musings Politics

Grannies, Unite!

What America needs right now, more than anything else, is a grandma! We’ve always had our Uncle Sam, but today we need Grandma Samantha to wrap her arms around us, dry our tears, bind our wounds, and tell us we’re going to get through whatever lies ahead.

Remember your grandma? She was the one who had the time to sit and listen to you when you were sad or to laugh with you when you were happy. You knew your parents loved you, but they were often distracted by work schedules and financial pressures and all the million responsibilities of raising a family. Grandma gave you the gift of her time. When you talked to her, she made you feel you were the only thing in her life that mattered at that moment.

When you screwed up, your grandma could wrap you in her warm, soft, flabby arms and shed a few tears with you, knowing she was not the one who would have to mete out whatever discipline might be required. She could just be there and feel your pain.

When you had a falling out with a sibling or a cousin, your grandma didn’t take sides; she loved you equally and used the power of her love to arbitrate, draw you back together, and help you resolve your differences.

Grandmas have presence, dignity, gravitas. Your grandma can tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear, and you’ll listen and respect her words. Grandma can bind up your wounds, let you cry on her shoulder, and share the wisdom she’s gained from six or seven decades of life experiences. She’ll show you her scars and tell you when you might be headed down a similar risky path.

You also saw your grandma wrap her arms around your mom and dad a few times when they were overwhelmed by life and tell them it would be okay and she would be by their side throughout any trial life might throw at them. She seemed so much bigger than life, it was hard to imagine that she had her own private pain.

A dear friend wrote to me this week,

Barb, we are at the beginning of the end of our natural lives. We have women friends who are kindred spirits, we have children and grandchildren, goddaughters and students whom we instilled with democratic values. It’s up to us to use our remaining time to work for our loved ones. They need our wisdom, our years of living through hard times, and our “we are over 60 and we don’t give a shit what you think of us” attitude to move them and us to a better place, and to win back what we have lost to the people who ultimately don’t care about us.

Thank you, Bevi, and amen, especially to the “We are over 60 and we don’t give a shit what you think of us” part.

So to all of the women who are in that “We are over 60 and we don’t give a shit what you think of us” group, it’s time for us to unite. You don’t have to be a biological grandma; you just have to possess a grandma’s heart for the needy, suffering people of the world and for those who will be most affected by the dark prospects that lie ahead of us in the next four years. In fact, you don’t even have to be a woman and you don’t have to be over 60. If you have time and energy to spare, join us grannies to shine some light into the coming darkness.

I read an article this morning by Neal Gabler (http://billmoyers.com/story/farewell-america/) about the devastation of what has happened this week. We all feel powerless against large, menacing forces; and it’s easy to give in to that helplessness and do nothing. But fellow Grannies, we don’t have that luxury. We have to spend whatever years remain to us living as if the world depends on us, because it does. We have to be the source of what Neal Gabler calls “trickle-up decency.” We couldn’t prevent the election of a demagogue, we can’t stop him and his evil minions from doing whatever they’re going to do, but—dammit!—we can be decent. And we can show others how it’s done, and we can shed light into darkness.

Decency begins with respect, and respect requires us to look inward before we can look outward. We have to examine ourselves for any shred of prejudice or intolerance and eliminate those ugly attitudes from our lives. And don’t be too quick to say, “Oh, I don’t have any prejudices.” We all have some if we’re honest. Right now, I’m prejudiced against every person who voted to elect Donald Trump as our president. I don’t care about their reasons or what good they thought they were doing for the world. I’m angry, and I don’t want to speak to any of them ever again. Obviously, our country can’t survive if we’re all angry at each other. We must forgive and, like a good grandma, listen to what they have to say. We won’t get anywhere by shutting off communication with any of our fellow citizens, so I for one have some work to do.

Not everyone who voted for him is an ignorant, bigoted, chanting redneck. My neighbors across the street are in their eighties and some of the sweetest, kindest, most helpful people I know; yet they’ve had one of those signs in their yard for a couple of months now. I’d like to talk to them sometime about why they’d have done such a thing; but to be able to have these conversations, we all have to get over our fear of talking about “politics” with each other. Maybe that’s part of the reason we’re in this mess. At a meeting I attended one evening this week, one person expressed that he had been in a funk since the election, and a couple of others commiserated; then one person firmly demanded that we move on to another subject. Perhaps he was right and that meeting was not the time or place, but we need to find a time and place where we can listen to each other with respect.

We can’t trickle anything up if we’re not doing anything ourselves. We no longer have the luxury of trusting the process to those who are “political”; we all have to get political, and we have to begin when there’s no election going on. Tensions run high during a campaign; the time to gain ground is when heads are a little clearer. I’ve seen several lists on social media this week of ways to get involved and places that can use everyone’s skills and passions to keep our country great. Our country has always been great; we don’t have to make it great again, we just have to help keep it great.

I’m going to be in contact with one of my canvassing volunteers who was touched by some people she met in one of the poorest communities in Fort Myers. They didn’t know when to vote or how to vote or where to vote, and they had limited ability to get to the polls. It’s doubtful that any of them were able to vote on November 8. This volunteer and I are retired teachers, so we’re thinking of going to their community center and teaching them how to exercise their rights as citizens. Look around you. Whom do you see? What are their needs? What can you do to fulfill those needs?

Being involved requires being informed. This, too, is no longer an option; and we have to do our homework at all times, not just the night before a test or during the heat of a campaign. Since we live in an age when we’re inundated with information, we must be smart enough to sort through it all and know the difference between what’s true and what is published just to validate one side’s prejudices. I’ve read a lot lately about fake news sites. Come on, we can all be smarter than that!

As an educator, I lament the failures of a system that for the last couple of decades has focused more on high-stakes standardized tests than on teaching students to read the news and to think critically. Figuring difficult math problems and knowing when to use “who” and when to use “whom” are essential skills, but anyone who can do those things yet does not have the ability to understand concepts and apply reasoning to a situation is not an educated person. My grandmas told me, “There are three sides to every situation: my side, your side, and the right side.” The problem now is that we’re too busy defending our own points of view to care about finding the truth.

Like Grandma, we need to be bipartisan. We need to love our neighbors of all persuasions and make unity more important than winning. When we’re united, we all win; when we’re divided, we all lose. Recently, my daughter and I had a long conversation about what makes our relationship work so well; and we concluded that it’s because both of us care more about our relationship than we care about our own egos. We don’t always agree, but neither of us is going to burn the house down just to prove we’re right. As citizens, we’re Americans first; we’re family, and we need to start acting like it.

We also have to include some trickle-up spirituality. If praying is part of your belief, this would be an excellent time to do as much praying as you can. If praying’s not your thing, then teach younger people that we’re all connected in spirit; that’s my definition of spirituality. What hurts one hurts us all; what helps one helps us all. We’re in this together. Part of spirituality, to me, is empathy; and sadly, I haven’t seen a lot of that lately. We have to model the ability to get inside another person’s head and see the world through their eyes.

If we all did that, we wouldn’t have the absurd debates about whether black lives matter or all lives matter. We’d know that all lives matter but that some folks have never been shown how much they matter. I’m an old white woman, and I’ve never been part of the privileged class, but I’ve never doubted that my life matters. I worried about many things when my two sons were teenagers and out exploring the world on their own, but one thing I never had to worry about is whether one of them would be shot by a nervous policeman or armed citizen because of his skin color. Come on, this is not really difficult. You don’t lose anything by giving affirmation and assurance to another human being; you gain. Let your new motto be “What would Granny do?”

Grannies, forget whatever plans you had for that rocking chair! Let Hillary Clinton’s victory be that she has launched an entire army of grandmas who will do all the good we can, by all the means we can, in all the ways we can, in all the places we can, at all the times we can, to all the people we can, as long as ever we can. We’re going to set all that good in motion and let it trickle up to hurting people everywhere!

Now, go find someone who needs a hug, someone who needs to be heard, someone who needs a kind word, someone who needs to know that their life matters. Find a place where your gifts can help to give encouragement and hope to those who need it. Do it like the world depends on it, because it DOES! Let your goodness and decency trickle up through the layers of pain and hopelessness so that the generations who will be here after we’re gone will be better for our having lived and will know we cared. “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love” (I Cor. 13:13). Go find someone who needs your love!

 

Categories
Musings Politics

Facts Are Facts, and That’s the Truth!

Andy Borowitz, the Jonathan Swift of the Internet, wrote this about how contemporary humans often respond when confronted with facts:

Scientists have discovered a powerful new strain of fact-resistant humans who are threatening the ability of Earth to sustain life, a sobering new study reports.

The research, conducted by the University of Minnesota, identifies a virulent strain of humans who are virtually immune to any form of verifiable knowledge, leaving scientists at a loss as to how to combat them.

“These humans appear to have all the faculties necessary to receive and process information,” Davis Logsdon, one of the scientists who contributed to the study, said. “And yet, somehow, they have developed defenses that, for all intents and purposes, have rendered those faculties totally inactive.” (12 May 2015)

For the full post: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/borowitz-report/scientists-earth-endangered-by-new-strain-of-fact-resistant-humans

Satire is amusing, but anyone who has attempted to make a fact-based argument for or against any political candidate or issue has quickly learned the futility of such an exercise, and it’s not funny. I recently read a post on social media written by an avid Trump supporter. The writer declared that Trump supporters know he’s crass, he swears from the podium, he’s been married three times, he’s cheated on his wives, he’s an egomaniac, he frequently changes his positions, he’s picked public fights with multiple people, he’s filed four bankruptcies—in other words, just a few of the facts his fans have been confronted with for over a year. And the supporter’s response to this list of facts? “We don’t care.” In their minds, the truth is Trump can fix what they see as the problems with our country and the mainstream Republican Party; and their personal “truth”—however baseless it may be—trumps fact.

On the other hand, the “truth” about Hillary Clinton is that she’s a liar and a criminal, and no amount of fact will change that “truth” in the hearts of the true believers. Her humanitarian work on behalf of women, children, military families, and the 9/11 first responders–none of these facts can pierce the thick shell of hatred surrounding her enemies. “Lock her up!” they chant.

Even though PolitiFact, the Pulitzer-Prize winning organization that fact-checks candidates’ speeches, has rated Hillary Clinton (who told the truth or mostly the truth in 53% of 120 claims) among the most honest politicians they’ve checked and Donald Trump (who outright lied in over 60% of 158 claims) among the most dishonest, current polls show voters trust him more than they trust her. A classic case of “Don’t bother us with the facts! We’ll make up our own minds, thank you!”

I won’t even attempt to explain why or how we’ve reached this stage, but the truth is folks don’t care much about facts these days; and that’s a fact. How people feel about someone or something carries far more weight in swaying their decisions than hard fact does.

What is the relationship between truth and fact? Here’s a good way to remember it: All facts are true, but not all truths are facts.

Facts can be proven. They’re not arguable. They’re not affected by opinion. They’re more permanent than truth. Here’s a definition I found on Philosophy Stack Exchange, “a question-and-answer site for those interested in logical reasoning”:

A fact is a reality that cannot be logically disputed or rejected. If I say “fire is hot,” I don’t care how great your reasoning skills are, if you touch fire your skin will burn. . . . Now when I say this, I am not speaking a truth, I am speaking a fact. If you say “fire is not hot,” you are lying, you are incorrect. Facts are concrete realities that no amount of reasoning will change. When one acknowledges a fact, they are doing just that. Facts are not discovered, facts are not created, facts are simply acknowledged.

According to Diana Hacker,

A fact is something that is known with certainty because it has been objectively verified: The capital of Wyoming is Cheyenne. Carbon has an atomic weight of 12. John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963. (A Writer’s Reference, 5th edition)

Truth, on the other hand, has to be discovered. Some people devote their entire lives to the “search for truth.” To those who believe in the existence of God, God’s existence is truth; to those who do not believe in the existence of God, God’s non-existence is truth. Each group can point to facts upon which they base their truth, but the facts alone don’t prove their claims. Truth is subjective; it’s subject to interpretation. Facts are objective; they can support an arguable premise, but they themselves can’t be interpreted.

Facts answer the “where,” “when,” and “how” questions; truth answers the “why” question.

Whether God exists or whether there’s life beyond the grave or whether there is life in other parts of the universe are all valid questions and warrant our most diligent and sincere efforts to search out the truth. Whether 2+2=4, whether fire will burn, or whether the Civil War actually happened are not open for debate. These are facts; they need only to be acknowledged, not sought out or proved.

Facts have, of course, been disproved. Look at a science or medical textbook from a hundred years ago. Everything in those books was fact at the time it was written, but much of it is laughably false in the light of new research and development. Yet even disproved facts are different from truth. The possibility of saying conclusively that something is false is part of what makes it fact-based.

You can choose your truth, but you can’t choose your facts. Climate change is fact; it’s backed by a plethora of scientific research. President Obama is a citizen; that’s a fact based on the same documentation the rest of us use to prove our citizenship. President Obama has repeatedly made clear profession of his Christian faith; to call him a Muslim denies fact.

Claims that the president and the Democratic presidential candidate are “coming to get your guns” and to repeal the Second Amendment have not a shred of fact to back them up, yet I can’t count the number of people who have posted such claims on social media as if they were indisputable truth.

I heard an interview on the news last night in which the reporter was stating facts about Donald Trump to one of his steadfast supporters. The supporter didn’t contradict any of the reporter’s statements, since they were clearly fact; but she said those facts don’t matter to her. In conclusion, she said with conviction, “I trust that man.”

I saw a meme attacking Hillary Clinton, the last line of which mentions her accomplishments, then says, “She doesn’t have any.” That statement is neither true nor factual. The fact is she has a long list of accomplishments, going all the way back to her college days. I doubt many of her critics could come close to her list of credits, yet their “truth” is that she’s a failure as a person and as a leader.

I think we’re headed down a dark path when we collectively make decisions which ignore fact and base our truth on feelings or outright lies. The more we ignore facts the further divorced we become from the truth, and that leaves us in a moral wasteland. Truth is not fact, but it must be married to fact. Truth divorced from fact is fantasy.

The Wizard of Oz, which contains many truths but few facts, is wonderful entertainment. Through the willing suspension of disbelief, viewers can enter the world somewhere over the rainbow, enjoy a delightful fantasy adventure on the Yellow Brick Road with Dorothy and her traveling companions, and end it with affirmation of the truth that there’s no place like home.

That’s great, but the evening news should not require us to suspend our disbelief while grown-up smart people sit around tables trying to make sense of the latest nonsense syllables spoken by the self-professed wizard who is going to save us all from the mess we’re in. It’s surreal! They may as well be discussing whether Dorothy will be victorious over the Wicked Witch or whether the wizard is real or a phony or what the wizard meant when he said “That’s a horse of a different color.”

Fareed Zakaria became my new hero last night when he said to the panel on which he was participating, “There are no flying monkeys!” Actually, it was more like Trump doesn’t know what he’s talking about! We’re sitting here talking about what he meant, and he doesn’t even know what he meant. He’s ignorant, and when asked a question, he has to pull out an answer. We’re trying to analyze nonsense! But it meant the same thing: Let’s stop treating fantasy as if it’s real! “There are no flying monkeys!” or “This emperor is naked; so let’s stop discussing the color, texture, and fit of his clothes!” Bravo, Mr. Zakaria!

The dumbing down of America has reached a frightening stage. Fantasy land is a fun place to visit but a dangerous place to live. We need to make America smart again!

 

 

 

Categories
Musings

Did You Just Call Me a Senior Citizen?!

Now don’t get me wrong. I think growing old is a beautiful thing. It means I’ve been blessed with many years of life and experience, it means I’m a survivor, it means I’ve endured whatever life has thrown at me, it means I’ve dodged a few bullets, and it generally means I’ve been very lucky. It also means I’ve reached a point where I no longer have to give a s*%t about a lot of things. It means I can sit at my computer half the day in my pajamas writing blog posts and not feel I owe anyone an explanation or apology. It means having the freedom to say what I really think and getting a pass from a lot of people because, you know, “She’s a little senile these days.”

Growing old, or as I like to call it growing up, also means I’ve had the inexpressible privilege of meeting the adults who have grown from the children I raised and knowing what beautiful people they are. It means I’ve had the greatest of all life’s gifts: meeting my children’s children, being part of their lives, and holding the exalted title of “Mimi.”

Now with all of that having been said, let’s talk about the other parts of getting old. I have now reached that “certain age” at which it’s no longer possible to pass as just one of the people in the group. I’m now the old person in the group. I recall being a very young teacher and asking my students about a folk hero of my youth, Davy Crockett. I said, “You know Davy Crockett . . .” As I continued setting up the brilliant point I was about to make, I saw a roomful of blank stares. I was shaken. Come on! Everyone in the world has heard of Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier! Then the startling realization washed over me: I am so much older than these people (only about ten years at that time) that we have not shared the same cultural experiences.

That was a pivotal moment. As time went on, I realized it was actually possible for someone to be old enough to be a college student without having been alive when President Kennedy was assassinated. They knew only what they had read in their history books, whereas I still remember where I was and how I heard the news on November 22, 1963. Then there was the time when I was teaching Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” to a college class. I was discussing the section where Dr. King talks about the Jim Crow era racial signs, all of which I saw when they were hanging and being enforced. One student excitedly waved his hand and announced, “Oh, oh, oh, I saw some of those once in a museum!” Just shut-up.

Okay, I’ve sort of come to terms with all of those things. Being older than a lot of people just means I have wisdom and perspective, right? These are good things, right?

But then there are a few other reminders of aging which I am still struggling with. Except when I look in the mirror, I feel like the same person I was at 18 or 20, mostly. Then things happen, like a couple of interactions this week.

During a phone conversation with a young man (I never met him in person, but these days everyone is young) from my bank, I mentioned that I could handle the thing we were discussing through the online banking site. Pleasantly surprised, the nice young man responded, “Oh, great. Yes, you can do that. Most of our senior citizens are not that familiar with technology.” WHAT did you just call me? Did you call me a senior citizen? Several more times in the course of the next few minutes, he again called me a senior citizen, in each case making comparisons that were favorable to me. But senior citizen? I know you have my age right there in front of you and that I am forced to repeat it each time we begin a conversation to confirm my identity, but how dare you call me a senior citizen?

Then just yesterday I reported for my first day of volunteer duty for the Florida Democratic Party, and I met two lovely young men—who couldn’t possibly be old enough to vote—who represent the state party and who gave me my instructions. As I was preparing to return to my car and drive to my assigned spot, one of our Florida afternoon monsoons began. Real Floridians take these things in stride, knowing they’ll pass within a short time. However, I didn’t want to get soaked, especially since I’d just done my hair; and all four of my umbrellas were in the car. Brilliant. I know! So I asked if there were an umbrella I could borrow to retrieve my own and then return the borrowed one. There wasn’t, but one of the nice young men leapt to his feet and offered to retrieve mine from my car for me. I hesitated (very briefly), so he said, “Oh, it’s no problem at all! We’re young!” Dammit, they noticed that I’m not young! My pride wanted to say, “I can do it myself! I’m just as spry as you are, you little smart ass!” But my hair said, “Oh, thank you soooooo much!”

But back to the subject of what to call people of that certain age, we have to do better than senior citizen! I know, I know, this was the politically correct term that replaced old fart, old codger, etc. But seriously? Could it be any more generic? It sounds like day-old bread, things past their expiration date, the class next in line to graduate.

I’d rather be called an old broad. Yes, that is indelicate and doesn’t sound very flattering and is certainly not something you want to teach your children to call older folks. But it has per-son-al-i-ty! It suggests this is not just someone who’s advanced to the last stage before the big chill. This is someone who has lived and is still living: someone who might actually surprise some young folks with her stories.

Or how about an old biddy? I know, these keep departing further from the line of non-discriminatory language and would not have been approved in the lecture my young self gave on that subject, but this one too has some spunk. “Biddy,” according to my trusty online dictionary, means “a woman, usually an elderly one, regarded as annoying or interfering.” Yes! This lady is no milk toast, hair-in-a-bun, sweetly smiling, softly speaking pushover. This is a real woman, not afraid to use her years and authority to push other people around. She has guts, gumption! She is not a generic out-of-date article relegated to the back of the shelf.

Old bag and old bat fit the same description as old biddy: women of spunk and boldness, not afraid to throw their weight around with those foolish enough to mess with them. They have authority, and they’re not afraid to use it!

“Crone” is an interesting word, defined as “a withered witch-like old woman.” Now bear with me on this one. Don’t just reject it without giving it a fair hearing. I know the “witch-like” part is a little off putting, but think about it. A witch is someone with power, magical power. She, too, is no milk-toast, cookie-baking grandma. She has character! She’s interesting! And she’s a little intimidating, just enough to keep those young know-it-alls in line.

Years ago, when the professor-rating websites began, the first rating I ever received ended with the words “She’s a classy dame.” Yeah! You can keep your senior citizen; I’ll take “classy dame”! Back to the ole online dictionary, a dame is defined as an official title of certain women of royalty; also, “(formerly) a form of address to any woman of rank or authority; a matronly woman of advanced age; matron.” This description evokes images of a well-heeled, well-coifed, elegant woman in full command of herself and her life; and she’s probably also in command of all those young people around her, so smug about their limber, cellulite-free bodies! Yes, I want to be a dame!

One of my all-time favorite movies is Fried Green Tomatoes, and one of my all-time favorite movie scenes is one from this film in which Kathy Bates’s character has been driving around a crowded parking lot for ten minutes or more and finally spots someone leaving their parking space. Elated, Evelyn (Kathy Bates) starts to pull into the space when a small car carrying two young women zips into it ahead of her. The girls exit their car and giddily brush off Evelyn’s rage with “Face it, lady! We’re just younger and faster!” Irate at their impudence, Evelyn pauses for a moment, then backs up, gleefully shouts “Towanda!” and rams the girls’ car. Intoxicated with her freedom and power, she backs up again and again and rams the car five more times. When the girls hear the crash and return in disbelief, Evelyn smugly announces, “Face it, girls! I’m older and have more insurance!” Towanda is my hero!

When reporting her rampage to her friend Mrs. Threadgoode at the nursing home, Evelyn says:

I never get mad, Mrs. Threadgoode. Never. The way I was raised it was bad manners. Well, I got mad and it felt terrific. I felt like I could beat the shit out of all those punks. Excuse my language; just beat them to a pulp. Beat them until they begged for mercy. Towanda, the Avenger! And after I wipe out all the punks of this world I’ll take on the wife beaters, like Frank Bennett, and machine gun their genitals. Towanda on the rampage! I’ll put tiny little bombs in Penthouse and Playboy, so they’ll explode when you open them. And I’ll ban all fashion models who weigh less than 130 pounds. I’ll give half the military budget to people over 65 and declare wrinkles sexually desirable. Towanda: Righter of Wrongs, Queen Beyond Compare!

Now there’s a dame! There’s a woman I can respect. No one’s going to call Towanda a senior citizen. She has personality; she has character! She’s going to make wrinkles sexually desirable. I’m with her! Queen beyond compare! Towanda rules!

 

In case you’ve never seen the parking lot scene, here’s the YouTube link:

Categories
Musings

To My Granddaughter with Love

Tonight we witnessed history being made. We were in the front row. Personalities and political preferences aside, this is as exciting as it gets for all of us who love this nation! One of our major political parties nominated a woman to be President of the United States and leader of the free world. Never mind that it took us 227 years of electing presidents to finally reach this milestone. We did it! I couldn’t help thinking of my mother all evening as I watched the convention. I’m not sure I ever appreciated during my mom’s lifetime that beneath her ultra-conservative surface lived the spirit of a progressive which never fully revealed itself. There were glimmers, however, such as her love for President Bill Clinton and her enthusiastic desire to see Hillary also become president. Hillary will never know what a fan she had in my mom, and I only wish Mom could have been here tonight to see her wish become a possibility.

In only five generations of women in my own family, life has just made a 180-degree change. My grandmother was born in 1887; she was 33 years old before she was even allowed to vote. My mother was born in 1922, just two years after women won voting rights, so she was among the first generations of women to exercise that privilege. I was born in 19–, and I grew up taking for granted the right to vote, but it wasn’t until 1984 when Walter Mondale picked Geraldine Ferraro as his vice presidential running mate that the possibility of actually voting for a female vice president or someday president became a reality.

By the time my daughter was born in 1982, the right to vote was a given, and she grew up knowing that girls could think about running for president but that it would probably be a while before she’d actually see that happen. As it turns out, she waited 34 years to witness this event. My granddaughter was born in 2011, and July 26, 2016, is one of the dates which will define her generation. Tonight the first woman nominated to be president of the United States spoke to my granddaughter and every other little girl when she said, “I may become the first woman president, but one of you will be next.”

When I was growing up, people proclaimed proudly and often, “This is the country where any little boy can grow up to be president.” Those people were bragging about our democracy and the fact that our country doesn’t have a king or a dictator, that our rulers are not chosen from an elite family or class. Any boy from any family can dream of becoming president and can aspire to achieve his dream if he’s willing to do the work. In 2008, we witnessed another historic moment when we elected the first African-American to be our president, because of course, implicit in “any little boy can be president” was the caveat “any white boy.”

Tonight we’ve told our daughters and our granddaughters, “Any little girl can grow up to be president.” And since the color barrier has already been broken, that means any little girl—regardless of skin color or ethnicity. I’m proud to pass on this dream to my daughter and my granddaughter, and especially to be able to assure Kayla as she grows that she truly can be anything her heart can dream of. She’s only four now, so she won’t know that things were ever different. When she reads in her high school history books that the first woman was nominated to be president on July 26, 2016, she’ll be surprised when she realizes how recently she earned the right to dream that dream. Maybe she won’t want to be president, but she can be if she wants. Tonight we enlarged the world for all of our little girls.

Kayla, you were born into a world with lots of problems. I’m sorry you will go through school having to practice what to do if a crazy person starts shooting in your classroom. I’m sorry you can’t have the freedom to roam and play as I did when I was a child. I’m sorry my generation has depleted the world’s resources and damaged its ecosystems because of our greed and irresponsibility. I’m sorry we’re not leaving you the world we hoped to leave you. But as of July 26, 2016, I’m proud to leave you a world in which you are empowered to be one of the leaders and problem solvers. You have the power and the opportunity. Dream big, darling girl, because you can!

Categories
Musings

My God’s Better than Your God!

In the beautiful poetry of the King James version of Genesis, verse 27 of the first chapter says, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.” And ever since then, humans have been returning the favor by creating God or gods in their own images. I recently heard a quotation from Anne Lamott: “You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” As you know, the fifty-nine-cent word for creating our own gods is “anthropomorphism”; and it’s been going on for centuries.

The ancient Greeks and Romans created a whole heaven full of gods and goddesses. It certainly could not have taken long for even our most ancient ancestors to discover that they were not quite alone in the world—that there were forces and powers which, though unseen, had very visible effects on their lives. The Greeks—marvelous for their sense of order—seem to have been the first people to take an intellectual approach to these phenomena. Perhaps to earlier humans, it was sufficient that they had developed “sense enough to come in out of the rain.” The Greeks, however, needed to know what caused the rain, why there was sometimes lightning, sometimes thunder, sometimes destruction. They began, as H. D. F. Kitto says, to see “. . . that there is unity in things, that events have their causes and their results, that certain moral laws exist. This is the framework into which the particular action is seen to fit. The divine background . . . means ultimately that particular actions are at the same time unique and universal.”

Of course, many other questions also needed answers. Why, for instance, when two people planted a field, did one reap bountiful crops and the other only weeds? What caused various human emotions? How did wars come about, with all of their suffering and injustice? This tendency to search for the meaning behind events, to get to the root or essence of life, led—in a rather backward theology—to the creation of a whole set of deities and, in turn, to a whole new attitude toward life.

They—these gods and goddesses—formed a sort of super-society, existing above human society, with interaction between the two being necessary to explain certain mysterious events. Some of the most notable characteristics of the ancient Greeks are their desire for order, their respect for human dignity, and their passion for extracting the very best out of life. Out of the conflict between these desires and the frequent inability to fully achieve them grew a sense of tragedy, which became the hallmark of their literature. The need to make sense of forces over which they had no power but which did have power over them left them no choice but to find a way to make peace with the entire world—both the visible and the invisible parts of it. So, in their completely earth-bound frame of reference, humans created personifications of supernatural elements as the only means whereby they could attempt to understand and make peace with them.

The Greek deities—as products of the human imagination—could never be more rational, logical, or consistent than were the human minds which created them. And since human philosophy changes frequently, so did the gods’ personalities; the gods did, however, seem to represent the very best of human thought at any given time. And they provided the necessary extra pieces for putting together a complete picture of human values. Since the gods’ words and deeds were supposed to be above question or reproach, those ideas and motives which humans wished to make sacred or inviolable, they simply attributed to the gods. And when humans did question the judgment of the gods, they were really only questioning their own values, morals, and institutions—asking themselves if perhaps it was time to re-evaluate certain portions of their philosophy and to make changes in their institutions. The gods’ role in human destiny was always clearly an integral part of the process of establishment and reaffirmation of values.

Centuries later, much of this description still sounds familiar. In the twenty-first century, we have science, history, philosophy, psychology, and well-developed systems of theology to explain natural phenomena and human behavior. And we have Google! The major world religions are monotheistic rather than polytheistic, and people of the Christian faith affirm their belief in “the one true God.” However, there seems to be a great deal of variation in what that “one true God” looks like and acts like. Can it be that we’re still attributing what we consider the highest ideals and values to our God? Can it be that we still attempt to make certain values sacred or inviolable by putting them into the mouth of God? Can it be that we’re still creating God in our own image? I think so.

I used to have a stalker. Oh, it wasn’t the usual jilted lover, and I never feared for my life, although I did fear whether my sanity would withstand the constant onslaught of this person who claimed to speak on behalf of God. She spoke with great certainty and authority about what God thinks on all sorts of topics: what God loves and especially what God hates. Most people don’t have stalkers who have to be taken to court and kept at bay by means of a restraining order, but I think lots of people probably have that person who purports to speak on behalf of God and who judges their actions and beliefs as if they had a direct phone line to the Almighty.

In every public conversation, someone claims to speak on God’s behalf, asserting with the utmost authority what God thinks on the subject and what God hates and what God may do to us as a culture if we fail to heed this person’s dire warnings of God’s wrath. God hates homosexuality; therefore, God smiles on the baker who refuses to supply a cake for a same-sex wedding, and that baker finds affirmation in God’s approval. Some seem to suggest that God decreed men and women should have separate bathrooms and therefore is greatly disturbed by any mention of humans changing that sacred tradition. And from some arguments, one could easily infer that God is a card-carrying member of the NRA and personally wrote the second amendment; therefore, God wants to protect our right to own any kind of weapon in any quantity we choose. And I guess that also means God doesn’t give a damn about all the people who are dying in mass shootings, because we rarely hear anyone say what God thinks about those. And that may explain the mystery of Donald Trump’s teary-eyed expression of gratitude in his acceptance “speech” for the support of the evangelical voters. I’ve struggled to understand what seems like a contradiction: evangelical Christians enthusiastically supporting a candidate whose values are so diametrically opposed to theirs; but since Trump has the support of the NRA and Vladimir Putin, and since his bigotry matches much of the bigotry which some evangelicals attribute to their God, perhaps it’s starting to make a little sense.

The world is a confusing place, and uncertainty is difficult to embrace. As twenty-first century humans, we’re not all that different from the ancient Greeks. We’re still struggling to understand things which defy all of our attempts to make sense of them and to put them into a neat, orderly system. No one has ever physically met God, and the social issues which some people try to drag God into today are issues about which we have no conclusive information on which to make definitive statements of God’s opinions. But we have a deep-seated need for order and certainty, so we often create our own order. Whatever we individually believe are the highest values and ideals, those are the characteristics we attribute to our God. We also have a strong need to be right; so when we need to justify our positions on issues and shut down disagreement and argument, we put our words into the mouth of God. As a result, that “one true God” has become a pretty confusing conglomerate of contradictory characteristics.

I’d like to end this article with some really profound solution or philosophy, but I’ve got nothin’. I can only go back to where I started: “You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” (Anne Lamott) Think about it!

 

Categories
Musings

I’m Entitled to My Opinion

I for one am weary of hearing the stale line “I’m entitled to my opinion” as justification for every random, irrational string of words spoken without thought, without logical foundation, and without reasonable supporting evidence. So let’s talk about what constitutes an opinion and then to what extent we’re all entitled to have one.

First, opinions fall into several categories. At the lowest level, there are personal preferences. Coke tastes better than Pepsi (although I used to think Pepsi tasted better than Coke). Chocolate is the food of the gods. Dark chocolate is much better than milk chocolate. Wine is better than beer. Red wine is better than white wine. Tattoos are ugly. All of them. Pants worn around the hips or knees look stupid. (There’s a reason that narrow piece of fabric sewn onto the top of a pair of trousers is called a waistband, not a hipband or a kneeband. There was your first clue!) Blue is not a pleasing color on the walls. Cats are better pets than dogs. Oldies rock is better than modern rock. Nordstrom is the awesomest department store. Florida’s gulf-coast beaches are better than our east-coast ocean beaches. Large, jet-black eyebrows on gray-haired women look scary. Bikinis on older, wrinkly women look a little scary. These are my opinions, and I would say I’m entitled to these opinions because they’re matters of personal taste—or you may say lack thereof. Whatever. We all have such opinions, and I’d argue that we’re all entitled to them.

There are caveats, however, on these opinions. I am entitled to have them, but I’m not entitled to speak them whenever the mood strikes. I am not entitled to judge others according to my personal tastes and preferences. Although I find tattoos unattractive, I have no right to lobby for closing tattoo parlors or to search for trumped-up “evidence” that tattoos are bad or ungodly; I have no right to harass people who have tattoos by making mean comments; and I certainly have no right to discriminate against people who have tattoos. Other people are as entitled to find tattoos attractive and meaningful as I am to find them unattractive. I also have no right to make snide comments to people wearing low-riding trousers, to deny them service if I were a business owner, or to categorize everyone who wears such trousers in a judgmental way. And I have no right to see my tastes as superior to anyone else’s or to think of myself as more sophisticated or intelligent because ob-viously people who prefer dark chocolate are far more savvy than those unrefined people who like milk chocolate. OB-viously!

Another category of opinion is our personal religious and philosophical beliefs. This is a delicate area, needless to say. Many of our beliefs can’t really be justified by logical, tangible evidence; yet we accept them at the very core of our being. We live and die by them. They are true in our minds and souls at a level which transcends logic and scientific data. And I would argue that we are entitled to these beliefs so long as they do not involve inflicting harm on another living being.

Now here’s what I think we are not entitled to when it comes to personal beliefs. I don’t believe I am entitled to ridicule another person’s belief system, even though I disagree with it. There’s a huge difference between disagreeing and judging or ridiculing. The fact that I am a Christian and a Presbyterian means I obviously don’t see things the same way a Muslim, Catholic, atheist, or agnostic does.  That’s okay. They don’t see things the same way I do. That does not, however, give any of us the right to ridicule or discriminate against the others. And in the debate regarding the existence of God, both sides are guilty of judgment and intolerance. I would argue that although both sides are entitled to their opinions, neither side is entitled to judgment or intolerance against the other.

Here are two definitions of “opinion” from online dictionaries:

“A view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge”;

“A belief or conclusion held with confidence but not substantiated by positive knowledge or proof.”

The second definition is also the one offered by my American Heritage College Dictionary.

According to these definitions, opinions do not have to be based on fact, knowledge, or proof. However, argument—the art of persuasion and the core of public discourse—does require fact, knowledge, and proof. So yes, you can make statements which you simply pulled out of your dark space—and probably all of us have from time to time—but if you want to argue those statements, you’re going to need something to back them up. Effective, responsible public discourse requires argument.

Conspiracy theories are not responsible or honest, should not be stated as fact, and have no place in public discourse. Claims that our president was born in Kenya (promoted, as everyone recalls, by the person who is now presenting himself as the American messiah), when he has a birth certificate issued in Hawaii, are irresponsible, dishonest, and dumb. Claims that our president is of the Muslim faith, when he has repeatedly given clear statement of his Christian beliefs, are hateful, dishonest, and irresponsible in the extreme. No one is entitled to judge another person’s faith. It may be fair to say you don’t think a certain person lives by what you’ve been taught are Christian values, but you have no right to state as fact that another person is not a Christian.

Claims that the Holocaust never occurred or that the moon landing was staged are equally ridiculous and indefensible. These are examples of “opinions” to which no one is entitled and which also have no place in public discourse. No one is entitled to an opinion which contradicts historical or scientific fact. I’m baffled by those who deny and scoff at the fact that climate change is occurring when they have no evidence or basis for their denial and when there is strong scientific evidence that it is occurring.  Although there may be room for opinion on some of the specifics, denying clear scientific evidence is not an intelligent or responsible position. Where there may be some room for argument is the question of what causes climate change: to what extent is it being caused by human activity and to what extent is it simply part of ongoing natural processes? There may also be room for argument about what needs to be done to slow down or reverse the process. But there’s no room for denial of scientific evidence unless the deniers can present other scientific evidence to support their position.

Claims that one of our presidential candidates has been responsible for a string of murders and should be imprisoned are reprehensible, and anyone repeating such claims is dishonest and irresponsible—especially when that person is her political opponent or one of his rabid supporters. No one is entitled to opinions which are outright lies, and it’s our individual responsibility to verify the accuracy of information before we repeat it as fact or opinion. Everyone who’s spent any time on the Internet, and that’s pretty much everyone these days, knows it’s possible to “prove” just about anything. No matter what you believe, you’ll find someone who agrees with you and who has published “evidence” to support your claim. But as Abraham Lincoln said, “The problem with quotes on the Internet is that you can’t always be sure of their authenticity.”

Freedom of speech is one of our most cherished rights, and rational public discourse is one of our most sacred responsibilities as citizens. We are entitled to like dark chocolate more than milk chocolate and to believe as we choose regarding questions of faith, but we are not entitled to make sensational claims which contradict fact or to undermine our political process with irresponsible rhetoric. A lie is not an opinion. It’s just a lie.

 

 

Categories
Musings

Teach Me!

“Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.” Bill Nye

I used to encourage my students to participate in class discussions by reminding them of what each of their individual experiences would bring to the conversation. Yes, we all are going to read the same piece, but each of you is going to see it differently because of the life experiences through which you filter this new information. And, I’d tell them, if we all talk to each other and listen to each other, we’ll all broaden our perspectives and walk out with a new and fuller understanding. As you can imagine, I had varying degrees of success with that line; but when it worked, it was a beautiful thing! I especially loved it when I learned from the students because their experiences added to my own perceptions.

I’ll never forget the time when a student’s input made me understand a part of a short story that had me totally confused. The story was “The Lesson” by Toni Cade Bambara. In the opening paragraphs, the protagonist, Sylvia, describes the living environment, big-city slums, of herself and her friends. Among other things, she says this group of children find themselves spending much of their time during the day with a woman she calls Miss Moore, “while [their] mothers were in a la-de-da apartment up the block having a good ole time.” La-de-da apartment? Hmmmmm. I’m from Troy, Ohio. The only thing “la-de-da” ever meant to me was something fancy, upscale; but in this context, that definition made no sense at all. I was picturing these fine ladies sitting around eating watercress sandwiches and playing bridge, but that image didn’t jive at all with her other descriptions of winos along the streets and children’s play areas reeking of urine so strongly it would make them gag. So my first couple of times teaching the story I tried to skip over that part. Finally, I had a delightful young man in a class who turned the lens for me and brought that sentence into perfect focus. He was from New York City and knew immediately that a la-de-da house or apartment is the local drug users’ hangout. OH! Now THAT makes sense! Thank you for teaching me!

Real conversation is increasingly rare, especially as more and more of our interactions take place by means of electronic gadgets. Far from seeking to learn what others can add to our own perceptions and how they can broaden and deepen our understanding, we cling tenaciously to our own polarized views and have no desire to hear anything that contradicts or challenges those views. What passes for “conversation” today more closely resembles groups hunkered down behind their own bunkers, lobbing talking points like bullets back and forth—never listening to what’s being lobbed at them, just waiting for a long enough pause to lob their own talking point back. What a tragic state this is! How much smarter could I be if I assumed “Everyone [I] will ever meet knows something [I] don’t” and then eagerly sought to find out what I can learn from each person with whom I’m fortunate enough to cross paths?

Another favorite quote of mine is from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A sect or party is an elegant incognito devised to save a man from the vexation of thinking.” SO true! Many of us join sects (religious organizations) and parties (political organizations) to have someone else do our thinking for us and all we have to do is parrot the words of our esteemed leaders. It is possible to esteem and learn from our leaders and still think for ourselves. This is one of the things I love about being Presbyterian: we’re actually encouraged to think for ourselves and not simply repeat the company line, but I digress. More on that perhaps in another post. Back to Emerson, if all anyone does in a conversation is repeat the same old tired lines, without ever absorbing and processing any new information, it’s no wonder we don’t really talk to each other any more.

Add to that our need to be “right” and our utter disdain for anyone who sees the world differently and there’s a disaster waiting! We could name plenty of reasons to explain how we’ve arrived at this point: polarized religious and political views, blind following of certain leaders and opinion makers, unwillingness to read and think, laziness, failing education system, prejudice, intolerance—the list is endless.

We can’t even be polite in our disagreement any more. As our communication increasingly takes place from remote locations via the Internet, we don’t have to look our opponent in the eye; so we feel the liberty to say things I can’t even imagine saying to anyone’s face. I was in a Facebook conversation one day when a friend of a friend called me an idiot and suggested I pull my head out of my ass. Even though our standards of courtesy and respect are not what they used to be, I still can’t see someone looking at a total stranger face to face and being that rude and crass. And this attitude is yet another block to our finding out what that other person can teach us. I could have taught that young man some manners, just for starters, along with a few other things. And I could see he had ideas from which I could have learned a different perspective also, if he had been willing to speak calmly and to listen. Instead, I quickly deleted my comments and exited the discussion, since I learned long ago you can’t reason with unreasonable people.

But what a loss for everyone when our default view of human encounters is that anyone who doesn’t belong to my sect, my party, my tribe is fundamentally wrong and I (and my sect, my party, my tribe) are right. And it’s therefore my purpose in life to defend the views of my people against the onslaught of those other people’s lies. But really, what do I have to lose—what do you have to lose—by simply listening? At worst, you’ve spent a few minutes connecting with another human and granting that person the human dignity of being acknowledged and heard. At best, you’ve learned something. Learning is good.

Categories
Musings

Welcome to A Granny’s View of the World!

Hi! I’m Barb, and I’m a proud grandma who has been privileged to enjoy many decades of life and to witness much of the evolution in culture that has led to where we are today. It’s been a wild ride, and I think we grannies have a lot to share about what we’ve learned on the roller coaster of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

I recently had a conversation with my 30-something daughter about the fact that the world in which we live today and in which she is living her adult life and raising her children is so different from the world into which I was born, in which I grew up and received my education, and in which I made many of the choices that have shaped my life that I may as well have been transported to another planet. Think about it. If you, too, have been lucky enough to have made it to the Upper Decades (my name for the era of life age 60 and beyond), you know things have changed, and they’re still a-changin’! And even if you haven’t yet reached middle age (that’s the highest category to which I’ll admit), you also have seen a lot of change and felt its effects.

I was born into a world of early Baby Boomers. The moon was still made of cheese, and there was a kindly man up there—whose identity was the subject of many legends—who smiled benevolently upon us each night. Obviously these things were a charming mythology, but I was an adult when people actually visited and began to map the moon and returned with rocks, not hunks of cheese. I lived in a world of screen doors and no air conditioning, of families struggling to put themselves back together after being torn apart by World War II. I participated in the Cold War drills that required us to crouch under our desks in case of attack. I was raised by a single mom before single moms were common; I can’t recall knowing another divorced woman besides my mother. Our first washing machine had a wringer. My first job in high school was at the local “five-and-dime” store where we rang up sales on cash registers which you might see in museums today. They were not even electric! I learned to type and went all the way through college and graduate school using a manual typewriter. Personal computers were mythical machines which began making their appearance just as I graduated from my Master’s program. In my early teaching years, I typed tests on carbon and mimeograph masters and duplicated them painstakingly on machines that were messy and difficult. I had three children before I owned my first microwave—much less many of the other time- and labor-saving devices that fill my kitchen today.

As for social issues, during my youth no one talked about abortion or homosexuality. We barely even mentioned divorce, adoption, or babies born to unwed mothers. Oh, those things were always there, of course. We just didn’t talk about them. When one girl in my class got pregnant, her parents sent her to live with a relative until after the baby was born. Another girl stayed in town but had to complete high school “after hours” when all other students had left the building, and she was not allowed to march with us at graduation. And these penalties were not reserved only for pregnant girls; I remember a boy who got a Mohawk haircut and was kept in isolation at school until his hair had grown out to “normal.”

There were two women in my small Ohio town who were constantly seen together, and neither was ever seen with a man; so we whispered that maybe they were a couple, but we kept our speculation among ourselves. As for children who at that time were labeled “illegitimate” (What a cruel term!), the common story was that their parents were married but their fathers had died in the war. I remember the day my mom called my sister and me into our bedroom to tell us that the two boys across the street were not really war orphans but actually had living fathers (one apiece!) neither of whom had ever been married to their mother, who was raising them with the help of her parents. What?! And I remember my complete shock the first time I met a couple who I knew was “shacking up.” I was a young adult at the time. In the house where we lived during my last year of high school, the single woman who had the upstairs apartment had a frequent male visitor, but cohabitation was not yet a common practice.

I knew people who had guns, but they didn’t brag about them or tote them down Main Street or crow about their Second Amendment right. Our doors remained unlocked during the day, as did our car doors; and we slept with the windows open on summer nights. I recall a couple of locker inspections during my last year or two of high school to ferret out possible drug possession, but pre-1960, many of us were not quite sure what exactly all of that was about. The cool kids were still the ones sneaking cigarettes, alcohol, and sex. Long before mass murders became a weekly event, the 1959 gruesome farmhouse murder of four family members (later the subject of Truman Capote’s nonfiction novel “In Cold Blood”) was as shocking as it got.

I also witnessed the Civil Rights revolution of the 60s. I’ve seen the cruel “Whites Only” signs, the signs demanding passengers of color to take the seats at the back of the bus. I’ve seen the separate water fountains, the separate entrances, the places where people of color were refused admission by any entrance. A student once told me he’d seen some of these signs in a museum (ouch!). I saw them when they were hanging and being enforced. I know what Martin Luther King is talking about in those paragraphs of his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” Oh, not in the same way he knew them, to be sure; but I saw the results when the signs were defied. When I was 17 years old, I was visiting my Alabama relatives, and a black woman who did some light housework for one of my aunts needed to be driven home; being a newly licensed driver, I jumped at any chance to exercise my new privilege, so I quickly volunteered. I was shocked when she refused to sit in the front passenger’s seat because she was riding with a white girl. No amount of persuasion on my part (and believe me, I tried!) would convince her to move to the front seat. My heart still aches for that woman every time I recall the incident. To think that a capable, intelligent woman was subjected to the indignity of believing herself unworthy to sit beside a 17-year-old is heartbreaking!

My grandmothers were wonderful women—strong, loving, and wise—who lived in a world even more remote from today’s than I did. They were adults and mothers several times over before they even had the right to vote. To many, 1920 sounds like ancient history; but to put it into perspective, my mother was born in 1922, a mere two years after women were included in the electorate. Her mother, my grandmother, was 33 in 1920; and since 1920 was a presidential election year, that means my grandmother was 33 years old when she cast her first ballot to elect the President of the United States. My father’s mother was 23 in 1920, so she was among the youngest women ever to cast a vote in a presidential election. My grandmothers, the women who changed my diapers and taught me to use a spoon, were contemporaries of the women whose courage and persistence won women this precious right which we have always simply assumed.

I could go on and on: party-line telephones, rabbit-ear 13-channel TVs, poodle skirts, saddle shoes, bobby socks, Elvis, “I Love Lucy,” “Ed Sullivan Show,” “Gunsmoke,” “The Lone Ranger,” duck tails, cars with large “fins,” country roads, dresses only for girls at school, drive-in restaurants and movies. But you get the picture. My question is how does one survive in an ever-changing world? And that question applies to people of every age. Change is confusing and frustrating sometimes; but change also presents amazing opportunities for learning, expansion, self-examination, and growth. We are constantly challenged to remain relevant and productive in a world where the landscape can be altered by a single event. It’s pretty overwhelming sometimes. How do we find truth, relevance, and influence in an evolving world? And how can we pass on something of value to our children and grandchildren who’ve never known any other world or any other values than the ones they see today?

Grandmas today are in pretty much uncharted territory. We’re being told “60 is the new 40,” “70 is the new 50,” and “80 is the new 60.” And I believe it! But with the hope of 20 bonus years comes the question of what to do with that valuable gift. My grandmothers expended most of their energy simply keeping up with life’s chores. I recall my Mississippi grandma often telling me about making 60 to 100 biscuits every morning to feed her husband and twelve children. And I’m not talking about the whack-‘em and rack-‘em variety from the grocer’s cooler. These were made from scratch without so much as a food processor to speed the work. After their children were grown, they spent most of their time continuing to care for their families and help out with the grandchildren. My sister and I spent a few months living with our Ohio grandma when we were young and our parents were still trying to get on their feet after our dad’s discharge from the army. She raised three of our cousins, and her house was pretty much a summer camp for grandchildren and great grandchildren until she died. And grandmas are still invested in their children’s and grandchildren’s lives; but they also have the time, energy, and hopefully good health to pursue other dreams and to remain active influences in our society.

As grannies, we’ve reached a mountaintop of sorts, and we have a panoramic view of the world that, sadly, has been denied to many. So some of us start blogs to share ideas and start conversations about politics, religion, cooking, crafts and art, relating to grown-up kids, having a positive influence on grandkids, surviving losses. I hope you’ll take this journey with me and join the conversation!

Thanks for stopping by,

Barb Griffith