All It Takes Is A Little Love

I approach the arrest of Maduro in Venezuela with caution and mixed feelings. I am definitely pleased that the people there are freed from this dictator who ruled them with an iron fist. I have heard stories from older people who fled from Venezuela about how lovely the country once was. There are sadly generations of people who live there who have never known such a time. If things go well perhaps they will be able to rebuild their nation and move forward toward the kind of democracy and freedom that so many of the people long to enjoy. 

Sadly I feel a bit uneasy about how difficult it may end up being for the people. Our nation has tried to be the good guy many times over with very little success. My father-in-law still speaks of the horror of the Korean War and the loss of so many people that ended in a stalemate in spite of the seemingly good intentions of the United States. As a teen and young woman I remember how Vietnam became a disastrous quagmire and I sob each time I see the names of the the American soldiers who lost their lives there only to result in the Communist regime of North Vietnam winning the day. I remember when we helped the Iranian people to rid themselves of the corrupt Shah of Iran and ultimately things became worse than ever. I hoped that we might restore the people of Afghanistan to the kind of culture and lives that they once enjoyed but we left there in defeat as well. So too it was in Iraq where the people at first danced in the streets with joy in our decision to militarily oust Saddam Hussein. Little progress was made there in spite of years of spending treasure in lives and money. 

There seems to be no real plan as to what to do next other than Trump’s boast that the United States will be in charge of Venezuela which is not our right. It will be up the Venezuelan people to decide who they want and what type of government best suits them. We might agree to support them but we should not be in charge. We should also not be so eager to get our hands on their oil. Somehow the flimsy plan that Trump is suggesting seems to benefit the United States more than the people of Venezuela. If I were a citizen of Venezuela I would be leery of his ultimate intentions. 

Then there is the question of whether or not Trump’s action was even legal. Is it any more moral that Putin claiming that the leaders of Ukraine are nazis and then invading that country and taking land and natural resources that do not belong to him? If we are really a nation determined to help people around the world who are under the thumb of dictators there are many other leaders to choose. What would we think if some country kidnapped our president in the name of making Americans freer? We need to consider such things as well as the ultimate complications that may arise and only make life worse both for Venezuelans and Americans. That is why such moves have always been determined by a vote from Congress. The Constitution states very clearly that the president does not have the power to invade another country without first conferring with Congress. The reasons for this should be very clear. We do not want one person making such a consequential decision.

I have family members who are refugees from Venezuela and I have felt their pain in being so far removed from their homeland. They have grieved for friends and family that they had to leave behind. They have prayed for a miracle that might free their land. Of course they feel great hope now that Maduro is no longer there but such a thing needed to be done properly and with great consideration of what the repercussions might be for everyone. 

As I write this the son of a friend is stuck in Puerto Rico because the Venezuelan air space has been deemed too dangerous for American airlines. This means that the Puerto Rican people many of whom are also my relatives are no doubt feeling a nervous sense of danger. How many American soldiers will be sent to Venezuela? Will any of them lose their lives? Why are we getting involved there but leaving the people of Ukraine stranded? There are so many questions and very few answers. I can only hope that all works out well but I fear that the turmoil in South America will spread before calm resumes. 

I want to be wrong about my concerns on every level. I don’t want to kill the joy of the Venezuelan people. Still, something does not feel right to me just as it did not feel right when we went to Iraq. I want nothing more than to be able to admit that I my anxiety is silly. I’ll be the first to admit that I am wrong it if all turns out well. In the meantime I have so many questions and concerns.  

Twenty twenty five was a difficult year for me and my family. Somehow it seemed to be in keeping with our tendency to encounter bad luck in odd numbered years. My father died in 1957, my mother had her first breakdown in 1969, my husband, Mike, had a frightening experience with his heart in 2023 and a bout with cancer in 2025. My father-in-law had a fall that left him seriously injured at the end of this year. 

I have to also admit that 2025 has been difficult for me politically. I have been stunned again and again by Trump’s dismantling of our government and his vengeful actions toward those who disagree with him. I have worried about his egregious use of the National Guard and ill trained ICE agents seemingly indiscriminately arresting anyone who appears to be an immigrant. I have cringed at his ugly late night posts about groups that he disdains. I have become increasingly saddened by the gun violence in our nation that seems almost impossible to stem at this point in time. I feel sorrow over the friendships and relationships that have been strained or ended only because people voiced their beliefs and some were unwilling to continue the friendships. 

On the other hand, even in the darkest hours in the worst odd numbered years there was always a ray of hope and such is true of the most recent year that is now relegated to history. I had two grandsons graduate from college and had the good fortune to watch them walk across the stage to receive the diplomas they had earned. In July I limped my way through a fun weekend in New York City with my daughters, granddaughter and a friend who may as well be my daughter. Thanks to the miracle of physical therapy and a dash of cortisone I managed to enjoy the wonders of the Metropolitan Art Museum, two Broadway musicals. the 911 Museum, and stores up and down Fifth Avenue. 

By August my husband rang the bell and was declared cancer free so we quickly planned an October trip to London, Scotland and Paris that created enough memories to last for the rest of my life. Once again a shot of cortisone and a suggestion to consider replacement of my knees in the future kept me walking enough to fully appreciate all that the cities of my journey had to offer. There were no cobblestones or soaring stairs that defeated my efforts at walking with an inflamed knee. I did it all and felt as though I was living the dream of a lifetime. 

My brothers continued to struggle with Parkinson’s Disease but they worked like crazy to keep themselves mobile in spite of setbacks along the way. My worries for them are ever present but at least by Christmas time they were both doing well after some very scary moments during the year. We converged on a Christmas Eve party with our children and their spouses and cour grandchildren with more joy than ever just knowing that somehow we had all made it one more times. The love in the room was like a warm blanket cuddling us with hope for better times ahead. 

My father-in-law somehow lived to pronounce another miracle recovery in his long life. It won’t be many weeks before he is ninety seven years old and living longer than anyone in his family has ever done. He has challenges ahead of him but I know few people who are as persistent as he is when it comes to exercising and eating right and following doctors’ orders. 

There are signs of hopefulness everywhere. I am a classic survivor, an expert at overcoming even the most horrific situations. I have confidence in myself and in the people who have always loved and supported me no mater what was happening. I see the good that is all around us and have little doubt that it will find a way to overcome the evils that always seem to try to pull us down. Winter may be coming in the next few weeks but spring always has a way of coming back around and the days become filled with more and more light. 

I have two more grandchildren who will graduate from college this year. One has already secured a job in New York City and the other is planning to pursue a PhD. in aerospace engineering. Yet another grandson will earn a Masters degree in Accounting and begin testing for his designation as a Certified Public Accountant. My other grandchildren will hopefully find joy and peace and success in their endeavors as well. 

I am happy to welcome 2026, when I will get a brand new knee to replace the one that makes me limp. My wish for everyone is that life will be filled with health, opportunities, fun adventures and most of all love. Isn’t it wonderful how we get a clean start over and over again?

As the new year begins I am weary. The last year was difficult to endure as our president devolved into a self centered ranting lunatic and our most trusted agencies fell into disarray. So much damage has been inflicted on our government and our reputation in the world that I wonder if it will ever be repaired during my lifetime. At the age of seventy seven my expiration date becomes more and more uncertain from day to day, so I do not worry as much about myself as I do about my children and grandchildren who will bear the burdens that Trump and his cabinet have placed on us. 

I have done my best during the past year to protest the cold hearted policies of our president and just when I think that those of us who truly love our country and our Constitution are making headway something more and more audacious brings uncalled for damage to our government. I see the suffering and sometimes feel unmitigated frustration that the trend of destruction seems only to get worse. 

How can anyone watch what is happening and believe that it is alright? Why am I constantly accused of being hateful when all I am attempting to do is warn people of the dangers of what is happening? How is it possible that so many Americans have been mezmerised by a malignant fool?

I find solace in the fact that I am not alone. I have watched the numbers of protestors increase even as we realize that our efforts sometimes seem to be in vain. I have found good people whose devotion to our democracy makes them targets of the president’s foul insults. I have watched them continuing their determination to save our nation even as they become sick and weary. 

I have come to admire brave souls like Joe Walsh a former Reagan Republican who realized that his party had gone astray. I cling to the daily reports from historian Heather Cox Richardson. I tip my hat to Jennifer Rubin and Jim Acosta who had the courage to leave their well paying jobs as journalists when they were being silenced only to rise again as independent broadcasters delivering the truth. I admire Aaron Parnas, a young man with a family who works so hard attempting to bring us the news without editorial commentary that sometimes I worry about him as he looks so tired. I smile at the unfettered truths told by Jo Jo from Jerz and Mary Trump. I tip my hat to the members of the House and the Senate who keep trying to hold the line against the ridiculous policies that the neutered Republicans keep pushing to please their leader. I applaud Mark Hamill and Stephen King for their love of our nation and their willingness to speak truth without fear. I follow the advice of Dr. Peter Hotez who has devoted his life to insuring the health of our nation. All of these people and more keep me sane in a time when it feels as though insanity is calling all of the shots. 

I don’t hate anyone. That is not in my nature but I surely hate what some people are doing in what sometimes appears to be a concerted effort to destroy the core of our democracy. My instinct has always been to protect people. I rise up when I see individuals and groups being unfairly abused. I will always speak my mind whether in my family circle or at work or as a citizen of my beloved Untied State if I believe that wrongs are being carried out if only to burnish the self centered desires of the mad man who demands that we adore him as though he is somehow a king chosen by God Himself to lead us. 

I fear that this new year will be long and dangerous for all of us. I wonder if those of us attempting to right the ship of state will have the energy and endurance to keep trying. We all have personal lives that demand our attention. Some simply carry on as usual and take care of home rather than expending efforts on the broader issues. I wonder of their attitude that this too shall pass is indeed the best way of thinking and then I remember that those who broke away from the king of England two hundred fifty years ago were relentless even as eight years passed before the Revolutionary War was over. I know that I must be patient and vigilant and unwilling to just comply in the hopes that right will one day win the battle.

My wish list for this year is that the war in Ukraine will end without the country having to give up land that is theirs to a madman in Russia who began the conflict to begin with. I pray that we will once again be led by men and women of honor whose goal is to take care of all Americans, not just those that they favor. I want the violence that stalks us to somehow get under control and for our three branches of government to once again work without prejudice or false loyalty to a single person. I want the craven golden fixtures gone from the People’s House and respect for differing ideas to be honored. I long to have compassionate leaders who help us through difficult times. 

I am older and more weary than I have ever been but my will is strong. I will do my utmost to work to protect our beloved democracy for everyone. I will continue to love the people of this nation regardless of their personal beliefs. I will not lose hope. I see the goodness underneath the slime. I am hopeful that it will prevail. 

I have been a movie fan for all of my life. I’m not sure when I attended my first flick but I have a memory of watching a huge reptilian monster destroying the world when I had not yet begun school because I was only four years old. I have a vague image and a sudden feeling of fear that only lasted a moment because I was sitting by my father who appeared to be amused by the whole thing. Later he and my mother would have a small discussion as to whether or not it was appropriate to bring me to view a frightening story. Daddy won with his usual wit as I seemed to be clueless about whatever the story might have been, but in reality I do remember feeling quite terrorized for a moment. 

My next memories focus on the movie Shane which premiered in nineteen fifty three when I was around five and a half years old. I remember that story as though I had read it word for word in a book. I loved Alan Ladd as much as my father did. I remember thinking that I had seen something amazing which was probably supported by my father’s animated discussion of how great he believed the film to be. It was much like the film High Noon that was another of my father’s favorites and which I only partially recall watching with him and my mother. I only knew that there was a gunfight at the conclusion of that story and that the hero was brave and willing to stand up for what he believed was right. Such characters always reminded me of my mother and father.

Only months before my father died he took the family to see The Mountain with Spencer Tracy. Daddy boasted that Mr. Tracy was perhaps the greatest actor of all time. His favorite movie was The Old Man and The Sea which I also vividly remember.  If a movie came out starring Spencer Tracy we were certain to attend a viewing. So it was with The Mountain, a story of two brothers making a treacherous climb in search of a crashed plane. It was an intense tale that I was able to follow because by then I was eight years old and my father had told me many stories that were probably somewhat adult for a child. I felt as though he was part of a secret world that only grownups enjoyed because of my father’s honesty.

For a time after Daddy died we mostly watched old black and white films that came on the local television channels late on Friday and Saturday nights. My mother made a big deal out of those times with popcorn that she made in her iron skillet and snacks that were not allowed during the week. We gathered on the floor of our living room in our pajamas bundled in blankets while the stories unfolded in the darkened room. I finally got to see a few romantic offerings since my mother enjoyed that kind of entertainment much more so than my father had. I learned from her who the heart throbs of her day and been and listened with great interest as she described going to movies in downtown Houston with only twenty five cents needed to cover the bus fare, the cost of the ticket and a small snack. She made those days sound wonderful in the gilded theaters where the stars jumped off of the big screens. 

Eventually a local movie theater featured a Saturday Fun Club that allowed my mother to have some free time to run her errands without three children tagging along. She would drop us off with fifty cents which is all that we needed to enter the theater, buy some snacks and settle into four hours of games and double feature movies. It was a glorious time!

Later my Aunt Polly took a second job as the cashier at the Trail Drive In. She would wave our car through at no cost and since my mother prepared all of our food and snacks for the evening we never had to spend a dime. Of course we took advantage of that perk and spent many many evenings in the humid weather of Houston viewing one great movie after another. Mama would pack the car with pillow for anyone who grew wear and wanted to sleep but I always stayed awake with her to the very end. We ate sandwiches and munched on a grocery bag full of popcorn. We sipped on sodas that came from our ice chest and sometimes even enjoyed candy or cookies in the mix. 

Now and again Mama let me bring my friend Linda Barry along. She and I were like sisters back then but eventually she went to public school while I stayed at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Catholic School. We developed new friendships and interests and drifted farther and farther away from each other. Much later when we were adults we got back together and laughed at our antics at the drive in and reconnected through our mutual memories. 

My love of movies continued with my friend Pat who suggested movies that neither my husband or hers would have attended. We hauled our children along and became frequent flyers at nearby theaters. After a flick we often went to the Fifty Nine Diner for a late night snack. She became like a sister to me and a fabulous aunt to my daughters. Those were truly glorious times.

Once our children were grown Pat began searching for movies that the men would also like and so we became a foursome laughing and crying and thinking about the stories that the features told. When we were not in the mood to go out Pat often rented videos to watch while we munched on homemade snacks that brought me back full circle to those nights of my childhood with my mother and brothers. 

I don’t go to movie theaters as often as I once did. It can be a very expensive kind of entertainment. A quarter or fifty cents would no longer get us in the door. We can wait to view the films that we want to see on our big screen television with speakers that make us feel that we are in a luxurious theater. Only once in awhile do we treat ourselves to a night out where we lounge in comfortable seats and have that glorious feeling that always runs through my mind when the lights are dimmed and the feature begins. 

I suppose that I will always love movies and the creativity that makes them. They form a link from my earliest memories to the present that I have so enjoyed. I hope that they will remain an important part of my life. It is so wonderful to escape into other worlds for a time and to feel as though nothing matters but the story being told.   

My mother was well known for her chocolate cakes. They were always so moist and flavorful with a butter cream frosting that seemed to be the work of angels. She liked to top off her creation with pecan halves that she placed on the confection with the greatest care. Her cakes always sold quickly at church bake sales. There was even a time when her chocolate delight fell apart while traveling in her car but still sold for a very good price.

She almost went inside empty handed but decided to let the women in charge of the sale decide what to do with the accidental demolition of her masterpiece. As she was sheepishly entering the church hall a man spotted her and announced that he wanted to purchase her cake before it even hit the table with all of the other goodies. At that moment my mother admitted with great embarrassment that the cake was not up to her usual standards because it had shifted on the car seat while she drove from her home. To her surprise the man insisted that he wanted her cake regardless of how it looked. “I have eaten your chocolate cake before and once I cut into it I no longer cared whether or not it looked beautiful. I knew that the taste would be out of this world I don’t want your cake as a decoration. I want it because I know that it will be yummy.” 

I’ve always remembered that moment as a kind of fable with a lesson about life. It’s not so much how something looks that makes it valuable. it’s always about how wonderful it is inside its core. Such can be said about people as well. The superficialities that drive the cosmetic world might create attractive folks but the true worth of an individual lies in the beauty of the heart. 

I’ve written before about a student of mine who had been so grossly disfigured by a fire that she might have been viewed as a monster. I myself cringed when I saw her walking down the hallway on the first day of school and silently hoped that she would not be assigned to my class. I feared that I would not be able to look at her without showing my horror at what had become of her. Of course, she headed straight for me and innocently smiled with an announcement that she was going to be one of my students. 

In that brief moment everything changed. She was confident and self assured which took me by surprise. I would have imagined that someone so disfigured would be timid but she had an air of confidence that immediately changed the way that I had been feeling about her. In fact, she turned out to be one of my all time favorite students mostly because she never seemed to be thinking about herself. She was so kind and loving that none of the students poked fun at her or seemed to be reviled by her appearance. Over the course of the school year I began to see her as beautiful. Somehow what was inside her soul transformed the physical horror that had deformed her. In the process I know that she also transformed me and her fellow students. 

We live in a world that can be very superficial. All too often we let our first impressions of people determine how we think of them. Studies have shown that we humans often choose pleasant looking people over those who are not as lovely to view. We can be quite judgmental of someone who is awkward or somehow unattractive. It is only after getting to know the personality of a person that we begin to see the real presence of the soul who is before us. It is in the moment when we see the content their hearts that we are better able to judge what kind of person they really are. 

Stereotypes abound around us. It is far too easy to assume the character of an individual by appearance alone. We all know someone who is gorgeous who has a selfish heart. At the same time we encounter homely souls who radiate beauty when we get to know them. As the content of their character becomes apparent they seem to become more and more attractive. At least that is how it mostly goes if we are willing to know them beyond the obvious aspects of how they look.

My husband has beautiful hands while mine are stubby and seem to have always been wrinkled like an old person. I laughingly call them my grandma’s hands and tend to keep them by my side rather than drawing attention to them. I am not ashamed of them but I know that they are not my most striking feature and yet there was a moment when a friend grabbed one of my hands and proclaimed that it was beautiful. As I gazed back at her in disbelief she explained that my hands looked like they had done many jobs that nobody else might have wanted to do. She proclaimed that they were the hands of someone unafraid to dig in the dirt or scrub a floor. She felt that all of the wrinkles were like badges attesting to my willingness to labor for others on this earth. 

I am thankful that there are still many people who see beyond first impressions. There is nothing wrong with being a truly beautiful person both inside and outside. I have met many such souls but at the same time I have witnessed the true attractiveness of kindness and generosity that comes from the heart of a soul. Such a person needs no surgery or makeup to be gorgeous. They are as delicious as my mother’s chocolate cakes and fabulous to be around. True beauty resonates from the inside out. We would do well to get to know someone before making judgements about what kind of person they are.