The Precious Gift of Public Education: Why We Must Protect It

I’m writing this because it’s time for the citizenry of the United States to mobilize and speak out before our democracy is irreparably damaged. I’ve decided not to let fear stop me. I want to protect our freedoms and my children.

A lot of our rights and securities are on the chopping block. It’s so disturbing. One of the most damaging is the attack on the Department of Education.

Currently, we have the RIGHT to a FREE K-12 education for all people in the United States. That is an amazing gift that we cannot take for granted. It’s not perfect by any means. There is a lack of equity. Teachers are underpaid. And schools have to fight for limited funding to keep the heat on. But we can make it better.

What happens if it’s taken away from us?

Imagine a society where only the wealthy can afford to learn to read and write. Where knowledge is a privilege, not a right. Where a child’s potential is determined not by their talents and ambitions but by their family’s bank account. This is not a dystopian fantasy—it was once reality. And without vigilance, it could be again.

Public education is one of the most precious gifts a democratic society can offer its people. It is a promise that every child, regardless of background, has the right to learn, grow, and contribute to the world. It is the great equalizer, providing opportunities for social mobility, innovation, and civic participation. It is the foundation upon which our democracy stands.

Here are some of the Benefits of a Free Public Education System

1. Empowering Individuals – Education gives people the skills they need to navigate life, pursue careers, and make informed decisions. A well-educated society is a society that thrives.

2. Strengthening Democracy – Informed citizens are the backbone of a functioning democracy. Public education teaches critical thinking, history, and civic responsibility, equipping people to engage in society meaningfully.

3. Economic Growth & Stability – An educated workforce drives innovation, entrepreneurship, and economic success. Without access to education, economic disparity grows, and opportunities shrink.

4. Social Cohesion – Schools are places where children from different backgrounds come together, learn from one another, and build the social bonds necessary for a united society.

5. Reducing Inequality – Free education ensures that no child is denied the chance to succeed based on their family's income. It breaks cycles of poverty and creates pathways to success.

What Happens When Public Education is Undermined?

When access to education is eroded, we all suffer. The gap between rich and poor widens. Misinformation and ignorance spread. Democracy weakens as fewer people understand their rights and responsibilities. The workforce shrinks, innovation declines, and economic instability grows. History has shown that societies that neglect education risk falling into social and political chaos.

Public education is not just about schools and textbooks—it is about the future of our nation. It is about ensuring that every child, regardless of where they come from, has a fair shot at success. It is about maintaining the strength of our democracy and the prosperity of our people.

Protecting and investing in public education is not a political issue—it is a moral one. If we want a society where opportunity is real for everyone, where progress continues, and where democracy thrives, we must stand up for public education. It is too precious to lose.

Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash

What can you do? Support policies and candidates who prioritize education. Speak out against efforts to defund or privatize public schools. Encourage community involvement in local school boards. Because when we fight for public education, we fight for our future.

Photo by note thanun on Unsplash

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Sciata Shmiatica!

It’s dark in the house. The rain is a steady patter outside. The cat, restless, has settled on my arms, pestering me to scratch him under the chin. I love the purring and the softness of his company, but not the weight on my typing arms that pulls on my already sore neck and activates the worsening carpal tunnel in my forearm. After nibbling on my knuckles with no results, he relents and settles beside me on the couch.

I’ve got sciatica and can no longer lie in bed. It completely blows. I’ve never had sciatica before or any acute back issues for that matter, and now it’s been nearly three weeks of continual pain that lifts only when I’m walking. Certain stretches alleviate it a bit but not completely.

Actually, when I got up the pain wasn’t as acute as it has been. I tried to stay in bed and sleep but found that I couldn’t loosen up at all, not even with deep breathing and mindful messaging to the different parts of my body to relax. Just relax. Relax, damn it!

The chronic pain makes creative thought harder. It makes doing everything harder, except walking. I’m angry and tired.

A chiropractic adjustment offered some relief this week, along with the hope that, with some stretching and further treatments, it could go away. But it’s still bad at night, my lower back a moaning, needling pain, my right leg a permanent cramp, and my entire body tensed in fight or flight mode.

In the past, I’ve had bouts of sickness and injuries that gave me a window into the experience of people living with chronic pain, a gray fog hovering over life. But this, this IS chronic back pain. And now I realize my empathy only offered me an inkling of understanding. It’s not just a foggy existence. It’s a realm of exasperation and about-to-explode rage. It’s a plague of discomfort. It just completely sucks!

It’s hard to be fully loving of one’s self when you are experiencing chronic pain. I’m so mad at my body. It can bleed into self-loathing without awareness that it’s even happening. All you know is that something’s off. Besides your friggin’ back.

And don’t get me started on the expense of treating it given the state of our medical care these days. Most of what helps sciatica, acupuncture, massage, chiropractic care, are not covered at all by what is already an expensive system. Dude, I love western medicine and what we’ve learned to do: the surgeries, antibiotics, vaccinations. It’s awesome! But you have to pay out-of-pocket for preventative care. And who does that affect most? The poor and working class. Thanks goodness for YouTubers posting stretches and exercises and information about sciatica! And that—at least for now—is still free. (I HEART YouTube!)

And all this helps me put an end to this little pity party. It’s a strain on our budget, but I can pay for the additional care I need. And mid-sentence, I stopped to make an appointment with my physician at Kaiser, the gate keeper to physical therapy, to which I’m going to insist he refers me, if he doesn’t suggest it himself. So maybe I can enjoy sleeping again!

If you are living in chronic pain, whether physical or emotional, man, I am thinking of you! I send love and encouragement. Life can be hard enough without it! I’d like to wave a magic wand to alleviate your pain! But hopefully you’re managing it better than me!

Photo by Joyce McCown on Unsplash

I Want to Be a Reliable Person—Like Penny Marshall

In her 2012 memoir, My Mother Was Nuts, Penny Marshall describes herself as “a reliable person.” I was listening to the book on a road trip when I heard this self-description. The line struck me. I found myself saying aloud over the steering wheel, “I want to be a reliable person.”

But what does it mean to be a reliable person? Why am I even thinking that I’m not? I guess I feel mostly reliable. But obviously something is keeping me from feeling fully reliable. What?

What made Penny Marshall see herself as reliable? Most people my age know her as Laverne DeFazio of the Laverne and Shirley television show, the popular sitcom of the 1980s. She was also the director of the movies Jumpin’ Jack Flash (1986), Big (1988), Awakenings (1990), and A League of Their Own (1992) and more. With Big, she was the first female director to make a movie that grossed over $100 million. She also knew—and was loved by—almost everyone in Hollywood and half of the NBA.

Penny Marshall as Laverne, 1976

Her strong Bronx accent—from which she could never deviate and was fine with that—is very entertaining to listen to. I love it. “I don’t do accents,” she says. She tells incredible stories about hanging out with her brother, Garry Marshall, and the most prolific comedy writers and comedians of the 1970s and 1980s. She was married to Rob Reiner for ten years and dated Art Garfunkel for many. She did drugs with Belushi and Aykroyd before there was a Saturday Night Live. She could call Loren Michaels anytime and say, “Put me on the show,” and he did. She and her best friend, Carrie Fisher, had joint birthday parties for 20 years, and all the big names in movies, television and the music industry in the 1990s through the 2000s showed up, sometimes even crashing the party. David Bowie was one such party-crasher. After seeing him rap, she offered Marky Mark a part in her film Renaissance Man, launching Wahlberg’s acting career. She loved sports. "No celebrity went to more Clippers games than Penny Marshall," wrote ESPN anchor Michael Eaves. She made several documentaries of sports stars, including her wacky and hardworking friend, Dennis Rodman.

Early on, her brother helped open doors for her, but told her, “You’re the one that has to walk through them.” And she did. In one of her first gigs, a Head and Shoulders commercial, she was cast as “the homely girl” alongside a young Farrah Fawcett, “the attractive girl.” That label hurt. And she laid around depressed for several days afterwards before getting on with more auditions.

It was later on during her directing days when she said, “They knew I was a reliable person.”

Being “reliable” certainly didn’t mean doing everything “right,” whatever that means. Like anybody else, Penny made mistakes and got into plenty of pickles. She could get really cranky. She was stubborn. She divorced twice. Her daughter Tracy was born out of wedlock when Penny was 19 years old—not that such things matter anymore, but we’re talking 1964. She swore like a sailor. She was a heavy smoker, checking herself into a facility every few years to try to get clean. It never stuck. She ended up with lung cancer and a brain tumor and was about to light up a cigarette in the hospital after surgery when a friend stopped her, pointing out that the multiple oxygen tanks behind her bed that could explode the entire hospital. She did manage to quit smoking after that.

When she directed, she told her actors, “Do what you’re going to do. All I ask is that you tell me, be honest with me. I won’t judge you. I just need to know what I’m working with.”

That is getting closer to what made her reliable.

Penny Marshall at the Emmys, 1988

Penny Marshall was adept at being direct and straight-forward. She would tell it like it is and apologize if she was wrong. She worked hard and concentrated on her projects. When directing, she worked 20-hour days and referred to it as a dog’s life. It didn’t mean she did it how the studio wanted her to all the time. She could argue. She could compromise. But she worked hard to stick with what she thought would work the best.

I work hard. I’m not always without judgment, but I’m not bad. It’s something that means a lot to me. I feel like a better person when I don’t judge others or myself. There’s something in that that makes you reliable.

Being straight with people and straight with yourself, now that, it seems to me, is the crux of reliability. Not everybody’s going to like you for it. But it makes a person genuine and honest. I think that’s an area where I have fallen short of reliability. I haven’t always said no when I wanted to say no. I’ve agreed when I didn’t agree. For the sake of not hurting feelings, I’ve kept opinions to myself or sugar-coated responses. And I’ve smiled when I don’t feel like smiling.

The main person for whom I’ve lacked reliability is myself. Why is a long story touched upon in other blogs and partly due to an upbringing that highly-valued being agreeable, especially as a female. That has kept me in certain situations—quite a lot of them—from being myself, from even knowing myself in the first place.

But at this point in my life, I’m sick and tired of such internal compromise. (It’s another thing all together to make compromises with other people!) And that’s Where Penny Marshall made herself the most reliable. Said John Podhoretz in the New York Post, “She was, in every particular, herself.”

“Identity was never an issue for me,” she once wrote. “I embraced being from The Bronx.”

Podhoretz said of her work, “As an actress and a director and a memoirist, [she] was able to capture and personify something very, very real.”

Like Penny, I would like to present myself as I am, unapologetically to the world. Consistently. Show up in my pajamas and not care. Let people see me grouchy when I’m grouchy. I’m working on it, but people still make me nervous, even those I know and love well. It’s so drilled into me to smile, to bend to others, to acquiesce. Sometimes, I still feel like I’m hiding in plain sight. But I’m practicing trying not to hide.

I’m also practicing writing for myself, creating for myself, which is the first step in making stories real. And understanding that not everyone is going to like me or my work. And that’s okay. That’s life. It doesn’t make me or my creations lesser. There are seven billion human perspectives in this world. I don’t need everyone to get me. And there will always be a certain amount of contrariness, just because. (The only thing I can’t abide is when people think they are superior to others. But that’s another story!)

I’m practicing being honest with myself about what I want and don’t want, about what I know to be true, to move through doubts and fears because they’re always tagging along for the ride. They just don’t have to be so loud!

And along the way, it’s okay to ask people to open doors for me. That’s tough too, being trained not to “burden” people. And I still have to be the one to walk on through. I need to rely on myself to put one foot in front of the other, whether at a shuffle or a run, or even tripping through the doorframe on my way!

And keep it real.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Social Dilemma: And How We're More Like The Matrix than We Think

My son and I watched the documentary Social Dilemma (2020) last night. This was followed by a long discussion about the state of our world, about our own usage of social media, about our fears for our nation and humanity, about what it means to be human, and about the complexities of the issues addressed in Social Dilemma and what can be done.

It was a somber but awesome conversation.

If you haven’t seen the documentary, watch it. It’s important.

After seeing it, I have a much better understanding of how our country and our world has gotten so polorized. My previous theories just didn’t completely add up.

The documentary shows that if social media is your predominant source of information and entertainment, you are a PRODUCT. Not a customer. Algorithms track our movements on social media and the internet and on entertainment networks and spit out to us more of the same. The more clicks the better. They send us tailored advertising, as many of us are aware. The goal is profit. 

It’s not only people that are the products, it is our perceptions which, little by little, can be manipulated by the information and entertainment—and the beliefs behind them—that we absorb. 

We are funneled towards the same type of media and information—often disinformation—and the videos of like-minded people over and over again. 

Every expert interviewed in the documentary agreed that when innovators created and developed Google, Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram, Pinterest, Twitter, YouTube and the like, they didn’t set out to be evil or malicious. They truly wanted to connect us or entertain us, and they had financial goals to achieve, a knowledge of human psychology more than ever before, and pretty astounding technology. 

Photo by Caspian Dahlström on Unsplash

But they all agree, however, that the AI created has grown into a destructive influence for humanity. It’s WAY too Matrix-like. But that’s the current world we’re living in.

As it says on the Social Dilemma website:

The technology that connects us also divides us, controls us, manipulates us, polarizes us, monetizes us and distracts us.

The tools on our cellphones are amazing! If used as tools. But once we become the products, the users, those applications become addictive and can actually change the way we think. 

“There are only two industries which refer to their customers as users, [illegal] drugs and computers [software].” - Edward Tufte, Computer Literacy Bookshops Interview, 1994-1997

What’s intentional for online corporations and applications is using AI surveillance-based algorithms to steer us in a way that leads to profit for their companies and shareholders. 

But the unintended and really frightening consequence is the divide of people, the normalization of extreme points-of-view. So much so, we don’t trust one another. We don’t want to listen to each other. We are threatened by each other. Kindness, understanding, compassion are threatened when we just think: “Those other people are crazy!” 

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

It has become unintentional propaganda. On a HUGE scale. For billions of people.

It has also opened the door to extreme, power-seeking demagogues followed by masses of scared people. 

It also makes us feel in less control of our own lives. More doubtful perhaps of ourselves as we do what we naturally do as human being—compare ourselves to others. Because we want to belong. To fit in—somewhere. Anywhere. Depression, anxiety and suicide have all increased substantially since around 2010.

Regulation is the key, to begin with. Social Media and on-screen and on-line entertainment corporatioins need to be accountable for their influence. They need restrictions. NOW!

This may sound extreme, but if not, I fear war is imminent. 

The hard part is that these governmental restrictions need to be supported and upheld by our executive branch, congress and the Supreme Court. And what we need them to do is, in some ways, unprecedented. 

I think we can all help change how technology is designed, regulated and used.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

1. Become aware of our own media habits and those of our family. Really be honest about our addictions. (Do you HAVE to play that app before bedtime? Do you HAVE to check Instagram as soon as you wake up? Could you use your phone as JUST a phone, calendar, contact book and camera for a week? A day?

2. Create your own personal restrictions. This—for every member of the family—will take more than will power (which just doesn’t last and never works when facing addiction). It requires support and accountability. It won’t help to berate your teenager for being online too much. Give yourself and each other GOALS to achieve: an hour without phones, a day without social media. Boundaries. Talk about it. If your son can’t go an hour without his phone on the first day, be compassionate and encouraging. Try again. We’re talking about breaking habits. It takes practice, repetition, and outside help to do this.

3. Try a Social Media Reboot, as suggested on the Social Dilemma site.

   1. Create a scroll-free space in my life

      I won’t use my mobile device 30 minutes before bed or 30 minutes after waking up.

   2. Reclaim my screen time for connection

      I will turn off unnecessary notifications or disable them on apps that use surveillance-based algorithms to decide what information I see.

   3. Free myself of the manipulation engines

      I will disable autoplay features where possible and never watch a video recommended to me to break free from rabbit holes.

   4. Take care before I share

      To combat social media’s propensity to spread misinformation and play into my biases, I will pause before sharing content to check the source and question my motives for posting.

4. Write to our politicians insisting on regulations, telling your cautionary tales.

5. Write to them again.

6. Start conversations with family and friends. Recommend the documentary to others. Here are a few ways to take action.

7. Create a petition insisting on government restrictions on the use of surveillance-based algorithms. What else can you do to elicit the help of leaders? At any level?

8. Give money or time to organizations like The Center for Humane Technology.

9. Seek out more information about how social media works. Educate yourself.

10. Seek out more reliable and different sources of news and information. Understand opinions and projections versus real evidence. Make sure your kids understand the same.

11. Practice compassion and kindness.

Humans are fascinating. As individuals, we’re so clever and adaptable and strong. But humanity is also so frail. We need love, identity, community, reassurance. We are driven by our emotions more than logic. Our emotional lives are beautiful. But we tend to sit in judgment of our emotions, of ourselves. Self-judgment attacks our self-esteem, resulting in the judgment of others. 

We can solve our Social Dilemma. We can stop this wave of polarization, stop software corporations from using people as products. But it’s going to take all of us. And yes, small moves make a difference!

100 Day Challenge #100: The End and the Beginning

This is it. The 100th post in my 100 Day Challenge. It took me several days to post this, because I didn’t want it to end. Also, I wanted to write something terribly important and profound on my last day. 

Well, forget that. 

It’s more important to just do it. And that’s one of the things I’ve learned in completing this Challenge.

I learned a few things.

This Challenge—with a few self-imposed boundaries—had to be by my rules, not anyone else’s. It took me 156 days to do 100 posts. That was unexpected. But, overall, I’m okay with it. I got there! Yeah, I’m also working full-time, raising a family, dealing with menopause, have the pandemic in the background (and sometimes the foreground). And there’s also just who I am. I like flexible consistency, another oxymoron that makes sense if you think about it. 

By making my own rules, and deciding that some flexibility was absolutely an okay part of that, man, that was satisfying. I truly worked for myself, as my own boss, my own way, and without regard for others’ “best practices” or advice. It was so freeing! And it worked for me.

The same is true about choosing what I wanted to write. That made this challenge like Christmas every day, so friggin’ enjoyable. That’s worth paying attention to!

As always, I had to allow myself imperfection. Masterpieces don’t get written. Readers decide what is a masterpiece. Such a title is merely a judgment in retrospect and has no place in the creative process. 

Writing for myself primarily was awesome. I had to remind myself of this goal several times. When I did, I had more fun, expectations flaked away, judgments too. 

I did love having the goal of 100 posts. I like working towards a concrete goal. 

I didn’t want to write my 100th Day Challenge and come to the end, like when you’re racing through a great book and so sad when you know that in a few pages, it will be over. 

So, what is my next goal, I ask myself? Because I want to keep doing this. Having a goal created “permission” to do this thing I love. I didn’t have to make money at it. I didn’t have to please anyone with it. I’d really like to break through that glass ceiling of permission I seem to still require to do what I love. I definitely have to reflect on that more.

What else have I learned? 

Photo by Marcel Eberle on Unsplash

Yes, I work better with goals and deadlines. But in my enthusiasm, I sometimes have difficulty being realistic about how long certain things take. Perhaps to realistically make a deadline, I calculate how long I think it will take and times it by 1.5. 

I LOVE the freedom to write in a number of genres and styles. Limiting myself to one genre or one style would be, frankly, boring and repetitive. I love research! Love, love, love. 

The more vulnerable my posts, the more messages I received from readers with gratitude. Wow. That’s cool.

Photo by Luis Morera on Unsplash

Non-fiction is way easier for me than fiction, but I also really want to write and publish more fiction. I love making up stories, especially characters. I’m not as confident about my fiction as my non-fiction. But I write non-fiction every day. So maybe it’s time to give myself permission to write fictional schlock, whatever I want, experiment, play, and share to become more acquainted with MY fiction, build my confidence, my ease with the genre, pour in some of that same vulnerability. 

Imperfection will have to be a goal if I take on a 100-Day Challenge with more fiction. Hmmm. I still love my non-fiction, so maybe it’s a ratio thing. I have to think about that. 

Instead of dwelling on the sadness of this challenge ending, I think I’ll be sad for a short time and focus on the next beginning, an opportunity to work towards the next goal.

In the meantime, here are some quotes that speak to me, related to my reflections on this Challenge. I love quotes!

It’s been a great ride! 

Stay tuned for the next one…

As Confucius said: “When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached, don’t adjust the goals, adjust the action steps.”

“It always seems impossible until it’s done.” – Nelson Mandela

 “Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.” – Winston Churchill

Working for what you want is important. If you do not you will be working for what you don’t want. 

“If you don’t make the time to work on creating the life you want, you’re eventually going to be forced to spend a lot of time dealing with a life you don’t want.” Kevin Ngo

“If you want something you’ve never had, then you’ve got to do something you’ve never done.” Anonymous

Nothing is really work unless you would rather be doing something else. — James M. Barrie

Forget about the fast lane. If you really want to fly, harness your power to your passion. Honor your calling. Everybody has one. Trust your heart, and success will come to you. — Oprah Winfrey

Any human being is really good at certain things. The problem is that the things you’re good at come naturally. And since most people are pretty modest instead of an arrogant S.O.B. like me, what comes naturally, you don’t see as a special skill. It’s just you. It’s what you’ve always done. 
— Stephen Jay Gould

If you don’t love what you do, you won’t do it with much conviction or passion. — Mia Hamm

There is no passion to be found playing small–in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. — Nelson Mandela

The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. — Mark Twain

I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been ‘No’ for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something. — Steve Jobs

Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears. — Les Brown

Whatever you make, base it upon that which is most important to you. Only then will it have depth and meaning, and only then will it resonate with others. ― Christopher Paolini

Hard work is painful when life is devoid of purpose. But when you live for something greater than yourself and the gratification of your own ego, then hard work becomes a labor of love. — Steve Pavlina

Yes, I’ve made a great deal of dough from my fiction, but I never set a single word down on paper with the thought of being paid for it … I have written because it fulfilled me … I did it for the buzz. I did it for the pure joy of the thing. And if you can do it for joy, you can do it forever. — Stephen King

Hide not your talents, they for use were made, what’s a sundial in the shade? ― Benjamin Franklin

Just don’t give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there’s love and inspiration, I don’t think you can go wrong. — Ella Fitzgerald 

Do what you love; you’ll be better at it. It sounds pretty simple, but you’d be surprised how many people don’t get this one right away. — LL Cool J

Never continue in a job you don’t enjoy. If you’re happy in what you’re doing, you’ll like yourself, you’ll have inner peace. And if you have that, along with physical health, you will have had more success than you could possibly have imagined. — Johnny Carson

Photo by Ian Schneider on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #99: The Pandemic Effect

I suspect that a lot of people, like me, are moving through life carrying a scratchy backpack of low-level anxiety. Or high anxiety, more like a boulder on the back. The Pandemic effect. I wouldn’t be surprised if anti-anxiety meds prescriptions in the US are at an all-time high. (Indeed, there was a 34% increase in these prescriptions in May 2020.)

With all the questions, uncertainty and fear around Covid with its mutations and people in denial, its effect on the workforce and supply chain, the logistics with kids in school, navigating testing and masks with mass shortages and less effective knockoffs, I mean, it’s disturbing. 

And yet, almost two years into this, I sometimes forget about this external force and the toll it takes as I move through the tasks of my day. It’s like the monster in the corner of your eye, the shadows in the background. So, I’ve found myself at times thinking recently, “What’s wrong with me?” Not thinking to factor in “Oh yeah, we’re currently facing the most contagious virus in human history. Yeah that might have an effect on my mood and energy.”

For example, a few weeks ago, for the first time in my life, I had almost a full week when I didn’t want to do ANYTHING. At all. I’m usually like a kid in a candy store about life, excited to write the next story, take the next adventure, perform the next gig. Or if not excited, I just have a lot on my plate. I have a daily list of tasks for work and home. As the keeper of the calendar for my family, I’m constantly adding events, checking dates, making plans. I have many interests pulling me in multiple directions at once. Even before the Pandemic, it was too much at times. 

I find myself reminiscing heavily these days on the times in my life when I was focused almost completely on just one thing and how joyful that was: the first months of new motherhood, the first few months after I quit teaching and started my writing career, my first writer’s artist-in-residency. And included in this list is the Shelter-In of 2020. 

I know it was miserable for many people. And, of course, outside of our home was this mysterious killer virus and an unstable government. But inside the house, for my husband and me, it was bonus time with our teenage boys that we wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. We played board games, went for hikes, and took turns cooking meals, seeking out new recipes on line. We all cleaned house together. The boys had their pods of friends right from the start, since it was clear to us that this could be a long-term situation.

My husband and I grew closer. We had more time to talk and connect. He was unemployed for six months and took on home improvement projects, something he normally didn’t have time for. We spent more time in our own backyard than we had in years. He and the boys built retaining walls and flattened out an area for a trampoline, which we all bounced on. 

I had to up my game in my work to earn for the family, so some pressure was on, but my hubby was available to pick up the slack. Without carpools to school, social events and band rehearsals, the days were longer. The pace was slower. Though I missed the time spent on my own creative pursuits, a young adult novel, a children’s book series, gigs with our bands—all still waiting in the wings—it was very clear what the focus was: income, home and, primarily, family. 

Life—if we didn’t watch the news—was simpler and way more manageable.

But now, trying to live an active life again with Covid, it’s freakin’ stressful. I’m constantly thinking about the safety of my family and the risks in travel and activities and events. A friend just shared a New York Times article that warns against knockoff N-95s that provide false security. Great! My kids need tests to go back to school, but no test appointments are available. Rapid tests may or may not work. I spend my time researching walk-in sites and where rapid tests might be available. Then there’s supply shortages making certain items hard to get or more expensive and a workforce shortage, causing businesses to shut down.

Photo by Anastasiia Chepinska on Unsplash

It’s all a bit too much at times.

Even writing about this is stressing me out!

So, like many others, I’m watching more television and other forms of passive entertainment than pre-Covid. I take lots of deep breaths and breaks in my work day. I’m learning a bit about meditation. I practice daily gratitude. I listen to a lot of audiobooks to keep the anxious thoughts at bay. My daily exercise (for me, dancing and regular walks with friends) has become even more important for my sanity. My dog has become my support animal. Seriously. I have occasional escape fantasies about living in the countryside or the mountains, places where there are fewer people and where the pace is slower. I continue to have hours or days when I don’t want to do much at all. And I decided to try a low dose of anti-anxiety meds. I’ve always been reluctant. But right now, it’s helping.

Most importantly, instead of being hard on myself for feeling “lax or lazy,” berating myself for being less productive and easily distracted, I’m giving myself a break, recognizing the impact of the Pandemic Effect.

Because it’s true, although it depends on how you measure it, that Omicron is the most contagious virus (or one of the most) in history. The other disease comparable is the measles.

Physician Roby Bhattacharyya, an infectious disease expert at Massachusetts General Hospital did a calculation to imagine who would win in a race between omicron and measles, another of the world’s most-contagious viruses. 

“One person with measles infects 15 others on average if none are vaccinated, compared to the six people infected by omicron. But the key lies in the so-called ‘generation time’: i.e. the number of days that elapse between when the first person is infectious and when those they infect also become infectious. With measles, that takes about 12 days. In the case of omicron, this only takes four to five days. ‘One case of measles would cause 15 cases within 12 days. One case of omicron would give rise to another six at four days, 36 cases at eight days and 216 after 12 days,’ explained Bhattacharyya.”

So, I’m living life with precautions, getting my work done but realizing the logistics of the Pandemic just take time. I’m doing my best to take care of myself and my family, but also doing a little less and expecting less of myself. And it helps to repeat my new mantra to myself all day long. I think we all have to choose our own, but this sure helps me, reminds me:

Be loving;

Be kind;

And what you feel is fine.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #98: Being Seen as Other

I realize I am highly privileged, being light skinned in America, fitting into the mainstream, growing up in a limited Democracy with relative peace within our borders, always expecting to get a college degree, having certain lifestyle entitlements, and in other ways too. I try to never take any of it for granted.

As a woman, I have had my freedom threatened and have known fear, objectification and emotional and sexual abuse. But even with these things, I know I will never fully understand what my friends with darker skin than mine have experienced all their lives. I can empathize, and I do, but I can never completely know their realities. Nor those of any of my friends who, simply because of their appearance, experience prejudice often.

I desperately want their experiences to improve, for there to be equity and inclusion for all. For example, it’s time to see skin color for what it is, variations in the pigment melanin. That’s it. Every single one of us on this planet have variations that make us each unique, even among 7 billion people. And melanin is just one of our many variations, like body type, hair color, speaking voice, and so much more. 

We all have our own unique cultures too. We certainly identify with various “categories” or groups of people. That’s one of the ways we make sense of our world, categorizing. The key is staying aware of this and reexamining often to avoid stereotyping, pigeonholing, generalizing, and discriminating.

It’s hard on a person when they think they should belong to one culture or another and have to change who they are to try to do so. I suspect most people have twisted themselves into a pretzel at one time or another to “fit in.” I know I have.

We have so many influences, among them our local cultures, neighborhood, schools, work environments, the friends we choose, the people we meet, iconic experiences. The strong influence of family culture is usually most dominant. Ultimately, this all meshes together to become our individual culture. That’s what defines us. That’s what creates our character and how we see ourselves. 

And individual culture is not stagnant. We redefine ourselves throughout our lives. We can change our character. We have new influences all the time.

Because of the judgments of society, however, some of us are much more limited when expanding or changing our culture, spreading our wings. When our outward appearance is judged negatively, repeatedly, or continually stereotyped, it’s easy to internalize that judgment. Especially without family or community support, without the ability to move out of a confining situation. Outside influences take their toll: poverty, lack of resources, lack of lifestyle models and possibilities, the lack of education, others’ perceptions of our faces and bodies, being told we’re stupid or ugly or no good, especially by people you trust, like family. It doesn’t always take much for that judgment to become internal, bringing along self-doubt and low esteem, self-disgust, and, ultimately, shame. 

Shame sucks. (understatement)

For people that are privileged enough to look like and be identified by others as part of mainstream society, I think it’s essential to our education to experience what it’s like to be the “different” one. Visiting somewhere or living somewhere where we are not the mainstream is one way to do this. 

One small but meaningful moment meant a lot to me in this regard. Back in the 1990s, I was out for a motorcycle ride with my friend Erik. I stayed seated on the back of his black Goldwing, a huge bike, while he was taking cash out of an ATM. We were both wearing black leather jackets and black helmets. An older woman pulled into the parking lot and slammed on her breaks when she saw us, stopping her car even before parking. She stared at me on that bike. Very slowly, with a look of distrust and mild fear on her face, she pulled into a parking spot at a short distance from us. She sat in her car, continuing to glance my way nervously, her doors locked, her hands gripping the steering wheel, waiting for us to leave before she got out of her car to go to the ATM machine. To her, we looked like a potential threat. 

I was teaching high school at the time. I remember wanting to call out to her and say, “Look Lady, I’m a teacher! I’m a good person.”

Being judged as a threat was something entirely new for me. 

It was only one moment—not a lifetime of it—but nonetheless, it gave me some insight. It awoke me more to that experience.

Prior to that, I studied in London for my junior year in college. I’ve written about this in another post. Unexpectedly, I experienced a great deal of negative stereotyping as an American. It happened as soon as anyone heard my dialect or learned where I was from. More than once I heard things like, “Oh, you’re a Yank,” in a dismissive tone and even “Bloody Yank” and “Go Home Yank.” A couple times strangers in shops mocked my accent. Several times, I could feel and hear myself being judged as inferior in different ways to Brits, less cultured, less intelligent. Even my temporary British boyfriend seemed to judge me as less smart. Yeah, of course I could barely decipher a clue in the Sunday London Times crossword! I didn’t grow up in that culture. I didn’t know a lot of the references. 

As a defense, I developed, somewhat consciously, somewhat unconsciously, a British accent about half way through the year. I obviously wasn’t native or at least couldn’t be placed geographically anywhere specific in the country. I wasn’t a Brummie, a Geordie, a Scouse. I wasn’t from Yorkshire or the West Country. I didn’t even sound exactly like a native Londoner. People would ask, “Are you Spanish?”

But I never again heard a derogatory comment for being a “Yank.”

It has always bothered me a great deal when people are dismissive of others based on their occupation too, treating the custodian, the gardener, the barista, the bus driver, anyone as inferior or just disregarding their humanity or not seeing them at all. It happens way too often. I try to never be on my phone or dismissive with other people in general. And man, this kind of status play happens all the time! I had a fellow writer, a short story and novel writer once ask, “What are you writing?” And when I told him a young adult novel, he said something to the effect of, “Oh, no literary fiction then?” 

I learned a lot about status play between people when I was studying acting in college. You can physically give yourself more status by standing taller, looking a certain way, body positioning, expression, as well as rhetoric. I became painfully aware of how I habitually assumed a smaller status back then. It helped a lot to start to change it. Although it took a while.

The short of it is that we all have to work at staying open-minded. It is my sincere belief that no one is inferior or superior to one another. No one. To say they are is to cast judgment based on certain criteria like money, beauty, occupation, style of dress or melanin, surface things. 

We’re all human.

Photo by Noorulabdeen Ahmad on Unsplash

Photo by Maria Thalassinou on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #97: Can You Tell Lichen from Moss?

Be a nature detective. On your next hike, see if you can identify lichen versus moss. 

This can be tricky. Some types of lichen and moss look similar. They can even grow on the same rock or tree. To confuse matters further, some lichens are called mosses, like reindeer moss and caribou moss. Spanish moss is neither a lichen nor a moss but a flowering plant called a bromeliad. 

Use these simple clues to solve the mystery: Is it lichen or is it moss?

Moss or lichen?

Lichen-Photo by Jacob Copus on Unsplash

Moss or lichen?

Tionesta, Allegheny National Forest-by IvoShandor (CC-wikimedia)

• Lichens are not a plant, while mosses are. Lichen is a fungi and algae sisterhood. Thus, mosses will have leaves and stems (sometimes very tiny ones). Lichens will not.

• Mosses only grow in wet or moist, dark habitats, like on a rock in a stream or a tree in a damp forest. Lichen can survive in a variety of habitats, in full sunlight and damp places and even in the frozen tundra. It can also grow on manmade structures like metal poles and fences.

• Lichen has a lot of different looks but is usually a dull, flat, leafy, crusty growth or, sometimes on trees, grows like dry shrub. 

• Moss is typically soft and looks like a green mat that you might place on your porch.

• Lichen tends to appear on unhealthy or dying trees. It’s rarely seen on healthy, fast-growing trees.

Lichen is actually quite amazing! Here are some fun facts about lichen that I lichen a lot.

This photo actually shows both moss and lichen. Which is which?

Photo by Pascal Meier on Unsplash

•  The fungi and algae in lichens live in a mutualistic symbiotic relationship. That means they live together and benefit from each other. Algae provides a food source for the fungi. Fungi provide algae with some water and nutrients and a sturdy, protected home. A match made in heaven!

•  Many people think Lichen kills trees, but it doesn’t hurt them at all. Lichen is self-sustaining, taking what it needs from air and rain.

• Over 6% of the earth’s surface is estimated to be covered by lichens. There are over 20,000 different kinds in a variety of colors and shapes. They are found on every continent.

• Lichen is usually the first type of organism to appear after a natural disaster, such as a fire. It can survive when plants can’t.

• Scientists use lichen as a natural air quality indicator. It only thrives when the air quality is clean, because it absorbs everything in the environment around it. It actually helps clean our air by converting carbon dioxide to oxygen and absorbing any pollutants in the area.

• Lichen has many uses! Very colorful lichen can be used for dyes for clothing. It can be used for antibiotic uses. You might even find it as an ingredient in your deodorant or toothpaste. Smooth rock tripe lichen can be boiled, cleaned and roasted as a nutritious potato-chip-like food. Several Native American tribes eat hanging tree lichens as a traditional food.

• Lots of animals like lichen. Deer use it as a food source, frogs enjoy it as a snack, and birds like hummingbirds use it in their nests. 

• The oldest lichen on the planet, the map lichen (Rhizocarpus geographicum) in the artic, is 8,600 years old, by far the oldest living organisms on the planet. 

• Lichen first appeared on the earth 250 million years ago.

 Hiking can be more than just exercise in a lovely environment. It can also be a chance to explore, increase your powers of observation, exercise your senses, use your imagination, and renew your your sense of wonder. I’m happy to share more ways if people would like.

Spanish Moss. Not Moss or lichen.

Photo by Jaël Vallée on Unsplash

But for now, a couple Dad jokes about moss and lichen!

Q: Where do Russian cows go to gather moss?

A: Moscow.

I made a video about the symbiotic relationships between fungus and algae

Don't forget to lichen subscribe!

Happy hiking and nature detective work!

Lichen can be very colorful.

Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #96: Nature Fun Facts!

Since I’m working on a new edition of my book Camping Activity Book for Families: The Kid-Tested Guide to Fun in the Outdoors, that’s where my head is. So, I thought I’d share a few fun facts about elements of nature. 

I LOVE these kinds of facts and factoids!

Did you know that you can use a pine cone to forecast the weather?

Set up a few on a windowsill to create your own pine cone weather station. Pine cones open and close depending on the humidity to help seed dispersal. When the weather is dry a pine cone opens up to let the wind catch the seeds and send them further away where they have room to sprout and grow. 

Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash

If it’s humid and rain is likely, a pine cone closes up so the light seeds won’t become water logged, limiting their travel. If seedlings start to grow too close to the parent tree, they’ll have to fight for resources and might be shaded. 

What causes leaves on trees to change color in the fall?

Photo by Yoksel 🌿 Zok on Unsplash

Some leaves contain other pigments besides green (chlorophyll). They may also contain yellow, orange, and red pigments. In most of the life of a leaf, you don’t see these pigments, because the green color of chlorophyll is so strong it masks any other pigment. 

But those colors shyly play a role in the health of the tree. Yellow, orange and red can transfer the sunlight energy they capture to chlorophyll. They’re kind of like photosynthesis’ faithful sidekicks. 

When a leaf gets old, the tree reabsorbs the chlorophyll from its leaves. It can reuse the nitrogen in the chlorophyll molecule. With the absence of green, the other colors show through. 

The fall colors, red, orange and yellow, are called carotenoids. You can also find them in corn (xanthophylls are yellow), carrots (carotenes are orange) and blueberries and cherries (anthocyanins are reddish).

Anthocyanin pigments are ONLY produced in the fall when it is bright and cold. The trapped sugar in the leaves’ veins promotes the formation of anthocyanins, which are used for plant defense.

Cool, huh?

The Guys in the Cricket Band

Photo by Ivan Ivanovič on Unsplash

Only male crickets make song. They have comblike structures on their wings that produce a chirping sound when they rub them together. They sing mostly to attract females but sometimes to ward off other male crickets. There are over 900 species around the world, and in some places, crickets are a symbol of good luck.

The Lowdown on Lizards!

Photo by verdian chua on Unsplash

Lizards first appeared on Earth over 200 million years ago. There are over 4,600 lizard species, with new types still being discovered. Many lizards have extremely good color vision and smell with their tongues. They don’t have earflaps like mammals do. Instead, they have ear openings to catch sound, and their eardrums are just below the surface of their skin. Lizards can’t hear as well as people, but their hearing is better than that of snakes. When young lizards grow, their scaly skin doesn’t. That’s why they have to shed or molt old skin, usually in large flakes. (The alligator lizard sheds its skin in one piece like a snake.) Male lizards do push-­ups to try to attract a female’s attention.

The largest lizard in the world is the Komodo dragon, which can grow up to 10 feet long and weigh 150 pounds. This giant reptile can only be found on a few Indonesian islands, including Komodo. The smallest lizards in the world are also island lizards: the Jaragua lizard, a dwarf gecko found in the Dominican Republic, and tiny leaf chameleons from Madagascar. The smallest measures 0.064 inch (15 mm) from the tip of the snout to the base of the tail.

Bug versus Insect

What is the difference between a bug and an insect, or do the two words mean the same?

We tend to use the word “bug” loosely for any very small creature with legs. However, a true bug is one type of insect. True bugs, such as beetles, usually have tough forewings and lack teeth. True bugs have a stylet (a mouth shaped like a straw) that they use to suck juices from plants. 

Insects, like bees and mosquitoes, have three—part bodies, usually two pairs of wings, and three pairs of legs. Arthropods (spiders, ticks, centipedes, and the like) are in a separate category from bugs and insects.

But you can still call them all bugs! It has become a common term for all these little critters.

The Scoop on Seeds

The biggest seed in the world is the coco de mer (Lodoicea maldivica), also known as the double coconut or love nut. It grows only in the Seychelles, a group of islands in the Indian Ocean. It weighs up to 38 pounds and is the shape of a human bottom!

The smallest seeds in the world are those of epiphytic orchids (family Orchidaceae) in the tropical rain forest. Some seeds are only 1/300th of an inch and weigh only 1/35,000,000th of an ounce. They are too small to be seen by the naked eye.

The record for the oldest seed ever grown is a 2,000-year-­old date palm recovered near the Dead Sea, bordering Jordan and Israel. When botanists (plant scientists) germinated them, one of the seeds grew.

Three seeds feed most of the world: rice, wheat, and maize (corn).

Seed Engineering. Seeds that can fly, like those of the sycamore tree and dandelion, may have given people the idea for helicopters and parachutes. The idea for Velcro came from a burdock seed. Swiss engineer Georges de Mestral returned with his dog from a hunting trip in the Swiss Alps and saw that his pant legs and his dog’s hair were covered in burrs from the burdock plant. As an engineer, he naturally began to wonder how exactly the seeds stuck so effectively to his pants and his dog. He examined the burrs under a microscope and discovered that they had very tiny hooks, which allowed the seeds to catch onto fabrics, which have tiny loops. The word Velcro is a portmanteau of the two French words velours (“velvet”) and crochet (“hook”).

Photo by Gabriel Kidegho on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #95: Look Up Don't Look Up

Everybody has different tastes in movies, and so I recommend the ones I love with a grain of salt. But I loved Don’t Look Up. 

Available on Netflix, Don’t Look Up is classic satire. I haven’t seen one like it in years, and I found it smart and compelling. After I watched it the first time, I almost immediately watched it again. 

Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence star as two astronomers attempting to warn humanity about an approaching comet that will destroy human civilization. The movie’s talented cast includes Meryl Streep, Cate Blanchett, Tyler Perry and Jonah Hill. 

Looking online just now, I discovered it’s been getting mixed reviews. It surprised me a bit since this film hit home for me, dealing with very serious topics about humanity and our climate crisis. 

And I love a good satire. I get to laugh at things in our society that actually scare the pants off me!

The movie resonates with me in terms of the absurdity of our recent politics and the power of Machiavellian leaders and corporate conglomerates. It parodies some of the real-life figures that have power in our world today and possess those characteristics that have long corrupted people in power: greed, the desire to stay in power at all costs, a loss of perspective and morals, and a sense of superiority. And when it comes to the climate crisis, duplicitousness and self-serving stand in the way of real action. 

I found it refreshing to see them represented on screen in a way that allows you to marvel at the absurdity of it all. I’ll admit that through comedy is sometimes the only way I can handle the news these days!

Don’t Look Up was written, produced, and directed by Adam McKay. He wrote the script before the pandemic, and the cast filmed in isolation in 2020 before the vaccination was available, which sounds fairly challenging for the film’s production and post-production. 

The movie reminds me a bit of another classic satire, Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, the 1964 black comedy film that satirizes the Cold War fears of a nuclear conflict between the Soviet Union and the United States. 

Some critics have called the movie uneven. I side with a review I read in the Sydney Times. Writer Garry Maddox says, “I’m siding with the minority of critics who have stepped away from judging Don’t Look Up for falling short of being a cinematic masterpiece and loved the ambition, ideas and anarchic energy. It deserves respect as a provocative movie about our inability to confront the threat of climate change.”

Peter Kalmus, a climate scientist at NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab, wrote in The Guardian “Speaking as a climate scientist doing everything I can to wake people up and avoid planetary destruction, it’s the most accurate film about society’s terrifying non-response to climate breakdown I’ve seen. The scientists [in the movie] are essentially alone with this knowledge, ignored and gaslighted by society. The panic and desperation they feel mirror the panic and desperation that many climate scientists feel.”

Kalmus goes on to details the grim political response in the US: “We live in a society in which, despite extraordinarily clear, present and worsening climate danger, more than half of Republican members of Congress still say climate change is a hoax and many more wish to block action, and in which the official Democratic party platform still enshrines massive subsidies to the fossil fuel industry.”

For me, with the denial of both a climate crisis and a health crisis, this satire feels very close to reality. In some ways, our recent reality has felt more absurd than fiction.

Kalmus says, “After 15 years of working to raise climate urgency, I’ve concluded that the public in general, and world leaders in particular, underestimate how rapid, serious and permanent climate and ecological breakdown will be if humanity fails to mobilize. There may only be five years left before humanity expends the remaining “carbon budget” to stay under 1.5C of global heating at today’s emissions rates – a level of heating I am not confident will be compatible with civilization as we know it. And there may only be five years before the Amazon rainforest and a large Antarctic ice sheet pass irreversible tipping points.”

Anyway, if you watch Don’t Look Up and don’t like it, that’s okay. To each their own. But maybe the movie will make more people talk about the issues addressed, think about them, elect officials and support companies that will do something to address climate change.

Life informs art, but art also informs life. It’s always been that way. Just like the potential global nuclear destruction addressed in Dr. Strangelove, this comedy is about a serious situation that we’re all facing, like it or not. We just need to “Look up.”

100 Day Challenge #94: Examining the Calendar & Why Today Starts a New Year

Did you know that the dates October 5 to October 14, 1582 don’t exist? They never happened.

I’ll explain in a minute. 

Since we are starting a new year, I got curious about our Gregorian Calendar, what we use around the world to label the dates of each day, what makes today New Year’s Day. 

There are other calendars. Chinese New Year occurs on a completely different date than the Gregorian one. There’s the Jewish or Hebrew Calendar. The old Julian Calendar too. How do these various calendars work? Why do we agree that today, January 1, is the beginning of a new year? 

Here’s what I discovered.

Some 86 calendars have existed over time, some still in use. They fall into four categories:  lunisolar, solar (or tropical), lunar, and seasonal. They’re defined as their Latin roots imply. Lunisolar dates consider both the Moon phase and the position of the Sun in the Earth's sky (or the time of the solar year). A seasonal calendar is a visual method of showing the distribution of seasonally varying phenomena (for example, economic activities, production activities, problems such as debt, illness/disease, migration, and natural events/phenomena, plant growth, etc.) over time. 

In the time of Homer in ancient Greece, each city-state had its own calendar that was based on the cycle of the moon (Lunar), but also the various religious festivals that occurred throughout the year (seasonal). It was divided into twelve months and was 354 days long. The months had completely different names than ours.

The Athenian months were named Hekatombion, Metageitnion, Boedromion, Pyanepsion, Maimakterion, Poseidon, Gamelion, Anthesterion, Elaphebolion, Munychion, Thargelion, and Skirophorion. That’s a mouthful!

Romulus, the legendary first ruler of Rome, is supposed to have introduced the next calendar that predates our own in the 700s BC: The Republic calendar. It consisted of ten months and 355 days, a shortfall over four years of (10+1⁄4 × 4) = 41 days.

The ten months were named Martius, Aprilis, Maius, Junius, Quintilis, Sextilis, September, October, November, and December. Most of these sound familiar! The last six names were taken from the words for five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. 

That calendar was replaced by the Julian Calendar in 46 BC, named for Julius Caesar. Designed with the aid of Greek mathematicians and astronomers it was much more accurate with moon and sun cycles. January and February were added and the year was 365.25 days. 

And January 1 became New Year’s Day.

The Julian calendar lasted for over 1,500 years. But there was a problem.

It assumed incorrectly that the average solar year (the time that the Sun takes to complete a full cycle of seasons) is exactly 365.25 days long, an overestimate of a little under one day per century. 

Photo by Renáta-Adrienn on Unsplash

Thus, in October 1582, the Gregorian Calendar came into existence. It contains an average of 365.2425 days per year. When Pope Gregory XIII introduced it, he skipped from October 4 to October 15 so all phases of the moon and sun fell in the right place. It remains the calendar that most of the world uses now.

January 1 remained the first day of the new year.

However, New Year’s Day is not celebrated today everywhere. Chinese New Year, the Islamic New Year, Tamil New Year (Puthandu), and the Jewish New Year are all on different dates, according to their own calendars. India, Nepal, and other countries also celebrate New Year on dates according to their own calendars that are movable in the Gregorian calendar.

The Chinese New Year is lunar and falls any time between our Gregorian January 21 and February 21. 

The Islamic lunar year is eleven or twelve days shorter than the Gregorian solar year, so the date changes every year. In 2022, Islamic New Year will be celebrated on July 30.

The Tamil New Year is celebrated in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu, on the first of Chithrai (சித்திரை) (April 13, 14, or 15).

We know the Jewish New Year as Rosh HaShanah. It will take place in 2022 on September 25 to the 27th. The average Hebrew calendar year is longer by about 6 minutes and 40 seconds than the current mean solar year, so that every 216 years the Hebrew calendar will fall a day behind the current mean solar year. The current Hebrew year is 5782. A day in the rabbinic Hebrew calendar runs from sunset to the next sunset.

The Iranian (or Persian) New Year, called Nowruz, happens on the spring equinox, usually March 20 or 21.

The New Year of the Zulu people occurs on the full moon of July.

And there’s a bunch of others.

I think this is cool. Our calendar is an invention of humankind, based—as best we can—on the natural cycles of our earth. But we take it for granted that this is just the way it is when we name each day. 

We assume without questioning that today is the start of a new year, when really, the new year could start on any day if we say it does. It could go from spring to spring or fall to fall. The Babylonians celebrated New Year’s Day in late March on the first new moon following the vernal equinox, the day with an equal amount of sunlight and darkness. 

So, why January 1? 

According to History.com, Caesar instituted January 1 as the first day of the year, partly to honor the month’s namesake: Janus, the Roman god of beginnings, whose two faces allowed him to look back into the past and forward into the future. Romans offered sacrifices to Janus, exchanged gifts with one another, decorated their homes with laurel branches and attended raucous parties. 

For a while in medieval Europe, New Year’s Day changed. Christian leaders replaced January 1 with days carrying more religious significance, such as December 25 (the anniversary of Jesus’ birth) and March 25 (the Feast of the Annunciation).

Pope Gregory XIII reestablished January 1 as New Year’s Day in 1582.

Right now, the math of the Gregorian Calendar works for us. It corresponds with our rotation around the sun and Earth’s spin. Who’s to say if this will still be the case a thousand or two thousand years from now? Maybe we’ll have a different calendar. Maybe we’ll declare it a new year in an entirely different time of year. 

But for now, today’s the day! 

So, happy New Year and, despite the current Omicron spread (stay safe!), a happy 2022!

Photo by Eyestetix Studio on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #93: Judgment and the Joy of Letting It Go

I find, very consistently, that the less judgment I carry around, the happier I am. Judgment of others and judgment of myself, both. I’ve found that one breeds more of the other. 

In terms of self-judgment, I’ve always been pretty tough on myself. I’ve mentioned my “not enough” syndrome in other posts. My brother and I had a running joke when I was just a little girl. He would say, “Lindy, you have a guilt complex.”

And I’d reply, “I’m sorry.”

It was a pretty horrible joke.

I found this on eBay. It made me a little nauseous seeing it again.

I got in the habit of saying “I’m sorry” at a very young age. A lot. I said it so often that a boyfriend in high school gave me as a birthday gift one year a little award-statue of Snoopy—who I loved—with a tear in his eyes and the words on the base, “I’m Sorry.” He told me he thought it was cute how I said it all the time. That certainly was a red flag, although I had a hard time recognizing them back then. And for a long time to come.

I realize I started this blog talking about judgment, and now I’ve segued to guilt and shame. They’re all related. They all live in the same house, along with fear and other things like insecurity and self-doubt and hate, lots of annoying visitors and cruel cousins. 

I guess the opposite of judgment is acceptance. But with boundaries and self-care, a.k.a. LOVE. That’s important! 

We’re not talking just blind acceptance.

When it comes to self-judgment, I have come a long way with acceptance and love when it comes to body image. I had a very poor body image for a long time. I was termed a “big girl” by my mother when I was little. She is blonde, blue-eyed and small-boned. I always thought of her as petite. I have brown hair and thicker limbs, a bit like my Russian grandmother. I bought into the image. Other terms I heard were “a little overweight,” “pleasantly plump,” “a little chubby.” 

Also, she never called me pretty or beautiful. I was told I had a cute face and smile, but felt my body and coloring to her were a disappointment. 

And what happens when you frequently hear such labels is self-fulfilling prophecy. I was often 10 or 20 pounds “overweight.” I developed my own personal eating disorder, emotional snacking and grazing. And I smiled compulsively until I was 41 years old. If she said anything more flattering to me in my youth or adulthood, which she might have, I wasn’t able to hear it. My inner voice and judgment were too loud and mean and stubborn.

I’ll never forget when I shed pounds in early adulthood, and my mother was going through her closet getting rid of clothes she never wore. Among them were these awesome, authentic early 1970s mini-skirts. She gave them to me, and they all fit. I couldn’t believe it! It was like an awakening. I thought of myself as so much bigger than her, but we were the same size. Exactly the same size. And I was an inch taller than her. 

It was crazy what I did to myself as a result of that early labeling! I loved to dance. I still do. I dance every day, usually to hip hop dance videos on YouTube. My favorite is Hip Hop Fit with Mike Peele. A shout out to Mike! A great instructor. So much fun. My first dance recital was at five or six years old. I had taken a hula dance class and performed to Tiny Bubbles by Don Ho in a grass skirt and what I remember as a coconut bikini top. I was thankfully too little to feel any shame. I loved it!

Photo by Bernard on Unsplash

But by the time I was eight years old, body shame had squarely set in. I was taking tap dancing and modern jazz classes. The dancing was great, and I was pretty good at it. We had a culminating recital, however, and I still feel the utter shame of being the “biggest girl” in leotards and tights. I may not have been, but that was my self-perception.

I may expound on the poor body image theme in another blog. So many people suffer from it. These days—thanks to over a decade of therapy and self-work—I feel beautiful a lot of the time, consistently for the first time in my life. 

We can grow and change, which gives me hope for humanity. 

The problem, of course, is that fear makes us resistant to change. Which contradicts reality, if you think about it. Because life is constantly changing (a wonderful oxymoron, but true!). We get older, situations change, the earth around us shifts and grows and decays and sprouts. People are born and die. Nothing stays the same. You can count on change. I actually find that comforting.

But back to judgment…

When it comes to the judgment of others, I have found it very freeing to stop judging and expecting so much of others, which I’ve been able to free myself from only by freeing myself from self-judgment and self-expectations.

Think about driving without judgment of others. It’s great! It’s much more peaceful on the road when you don’t get mad at other people’s minor errors, at their irritated honking and road rage, tailgating, line-skipping or hazardous driving. The boundaries and self-care come into play in this scenario with lots of awareness of what’s around you, communication of your own actions (I’m big on turn signals!), not having to be the fastest car on the road, and giving yourself extra time to get somewhere so you can wait patiently for slow pedestrians and older drivers.

As I’ve learned to shed judgment, I discovered I was expecting too much of my husband without knowing I was. It was like I wanted him to make up for my shortfalls, like I expected him to be this knight in shining armor or something. I was easily irritated by small errors he made. When I realized this and was able to let it go, our relationship immediately improved. Of course, there was more work to it than that on both our parts, but letting go of the knight was a definite factor. And I love him being human and being himself. It’s much, much better than having this ideal he could never live up to. Just like I had an ideal for myself that I could never live up to.

I’m sure I can come up with a dozen more examples of judgment turned to self-acceptance, forgiveness and love, and of shedding the judgment of others. But suffice it to say, I’m not completely without judgment. It rears its head. I imagine—without researching it for once (though it makes me nervous not to) that being completely free of judgment is approaching Nirvana. 

I just know it takes ongoing practice to let go of judgment. It’s the work of awareness that doesn’t stop. Of reminding one’s self that there’s a lot to love. Every day. Even on the worst days. 

And, boy, it’s worth the work!

Worthy of Love, Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash copy

100 Day Challenge #92: The Attraction of the Small and Cute

My imagination as always been sparked by real life stuff in miniature: realistic dollhouse furniture, small porcelain or plastic animals, and miniature trains, for example. 

Whenever we took our kids to see miniature train exhibits I couldn’t tell who enjoyed them more, me or the kids. I love the recreations of entire worlds, scenes from life in a scale where you can see it all, shape the scene. I love the idea that you can build a world. It has a feeling of magic for me.

A Scene from the Golden State Model Railroad Museum

The best one near me is the Golden State Model Railroad Museum in Richmond, California. 

As a child, I had an attraction to children’s books that featured miniature worlds: Horton Hears a Who, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, Miss Suzy (which I recently rediscovered and realized it is terribly sexist), Fantastic Voyage, Andrew Henry’s Meadow (one of my very favorites), the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels. I love hobbits too!

I absolutely loved my stuffed animal collection as a child and still love stuffed animals, to be honest.

I’m just drawn to the idea of small. 

I used to imagine what it would be like to shrink and walk among grasses that suddenly looked as tall as trees, take shelter under a mushroom, ride a ladybug.

Pixar’s Toy Story has an element of the miniature come to life. A Bug’s Life zooms in on a world of small creatures.

When I practiced different kinds of handwriting as a kid, which I did a lot, I tried to write legibly as small as I could. 

Little Leather Library Books

I treasure my Little Leather Library Books, passed down to me from my grandmother. 

What’s this all about? Control over small worlds? What makes miniature so darn cute? Why does Tiny Hamster Eating Tiny Burritos have almost 13 million views on YouTube? Why is there an entire cute culture in Japan: Kawaii?

One theory by Nobel laureate Austrian ethologist Konrad Lorenz is that we are natural nurturers. When animals and things are small, we instinctively want to protect and take care of them, like our human babies. He calls it “Baby Schema.” He says this hard-wired response helps our species survive. It’s why we like puppies with big eyes too. It makes sense to me. I’ve always had a strong nurturing streak.

There’s actually evidence that cute things help us concentrate and perform tasks better. Because cuteness motivates us to protect the object of our affection, it turns us into focused, gentle caretakers. 

Another theory is that we like things that can’t hurt us, and little, cute things don’t tend to threaten us. Anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss suggests in The Savage Mind that “we derive satisfaction from minuscule objects because we can see and comprehend them in their entirety, which makes them less threatening.” (Popsci.com)

It has also been suggested that we connect tiny, cute things with toys and play. They trigger a childlike response that encourages fun. As children, we socialized and learned through play. And we’re never too old to want to play. We remember that feeling of play.

In miniature houses and trains chugging through miniature mountains and trees, we can escape into worlds vastly different than our own.

They also provide us with a feeling of control. Miniature scenes can make us feel powerful.

Finally, when things are made in miniature, it usually takes great skill. It’s clever. And we are drawn to all the fine details. They attract our sensory-seeking brains, provide satisfying stimulation.

It turns out that the origin of the word cute means shrewd, keen or clever. It was a shortened form of acute (First appearing in English in 1731).

I would add that the feeling of play, the cleverness of miniature construction, and the otherworldliness of miniatures inspire the imagination. That’s exciting to me.

So, it’s no wonder I’m drawn to miniatures! They evidently make me feel powerful, nurturing, protective, safe, satisfied, playful, focused, fascinated, imaginative, childlike and happy. That’s all good stuff in my book.

That’s the power of the small and cute!

Photo by Gary Bendig on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #91: Recurring Childhood Dreams & Nightmares

I thought it might be fun to talk dreams. I suspect others like me had one or two recurring dreams when they were a child. And recurring nightmares. 

In my favorite childhood dream, I was Super Girl. When I pounded two wide bracelets on my wrists together, I could whirl around in a circle Tasmanian Devil-like and when I stopped, be dressed in cowboy gear from head to foot, including lots of fringe and even leather chaps. There were two variations of the Super Girl dream. In one, I could fly. 

That was another amazing recurring dream I had as a child, of flying, soaring through the sky as just me, dressed in regular clothes doing loops around freeway overpasses. 

In the more common Super Girl dreams, I summoned a beautiful white horse with wings. It always arrived with its companion black horse with wings. Someday, the love of my life would appear and ride that black horse. 

But in the meantime, it was just me and the two horses rising up into the sky until we reached headquarters, a camp up in the clouds that had a line of different sized Army tents. Out of each came a different animal. A goofy brown horse was the comic relief character. 

I had the ability to talk to all the various animals, who were my helpers, my sidekicks and partners in fighting crime. Together, we could fly around and save the day. 

The recurring nightmare I had as a kid terrified me, with the same frightening scenario happening in two different settings. One happened on the elementary school grounds. Fellow students and friends entered the cafeteria on one end. Unsuspectingly. When they emerged out the other end, their personalities were removed. They marched single-file, stepping in unison with empty looks in their eyes, like zombies. Each held the fingers of his or her right hand against his temples, arm bent at the elbow. The other hand held the elbow, forming an open triangle with their arms. As the kids walked past in a slow, unified shuffle, they repeated only one word rhythmically, “Two. Two. Two. Two.”

I made the mistake of telling my older brother about the dream and, of course, he would imitate the zombies I described, marching towards me with a vacant face and his arms just so saying, “Two. Two. Two,” while I yelled, “Stop it, Davey!”

My husband even teased me about it at first when I told him. But he stopped when I told him it actually still freaked me out.

The other version of the dream took place at a birthday party in which kids were petting ponies and horses over a fence in front of a picturesque red barn. Then all the birthday attendees went into the barn and came out as that single-file line of mindless, collective zombies. 

By the way, I don’t think I’d ever seen a zombie movie when I started having this dream, back in something like 1972. I can’t watch horror movies. I avoid them. One horrific scene can flash in my mind for years after. I can still see a particularly grotesque Hannibal scene from Red Dragon almost 20 years later and the self-inflicted abortion scene from The Other Side of Midnight that my parents took me and a friend to see when it was in the theatres in 1977. I was twelve. (I don’t know what they were thinking!)  

In interpreting my nightmare, I figured when I was younger that I was just scared of conformity, scared of losing my individuality. Now looking back, it seems even more complex, more than symbolism. It was actually happening to me in a way. In my family, I tempered my personality, hid and minimized who I was and my emotions in order to be accepted and loved. It’s what I thought I had to do. And looking back, that is terrifying. It caused me to lack full autonomy until I was much, much older.

On the flipside, I remember how free and light I felt in my flying dreams and how great it felt to be in charge of my own life as Super Girl—except for that damn black horse awaiting a male counterpart. I remember wishing that horse wasn’t there in my older youth.

This “Prince Charming” never materialized in my dreams, and after looking longingly at the bare back of the stallion, I didn’t give it much more thought once I reached headquarters and all the wonderful animals there and I had a job to do. 

I don’t know how old I was when I stopped having those recurring dreams and nightmares. But I can still imagine them. Vividly. 

Photo by Olesya Yemets on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #90: Mistletoe: Why a Parasite Makes Us Smooch

We bought a sprig of mistletoe from a fundraising boy scout this holiday season and hung it in the kitchen doorway. This morning, wiped out from Christmas cooking and socializing, I was staring at it wondering how in the heck did this parasitic plant turn into a kissing apparatus?

First off, you probably know that mistletoe is a parasite. There are several varieties, the most common being the European, which likes to feast on apple trees, poplars, willows, lindens, and hawthorns. In the U.S., we mostly see the Eastern or oak mistletoe (Phoradendron serotinum), which parasitizes many deciduous trees, including oaks. (By the way, I didn’t know “parasitizes” was a verb and I’m very excited about that!)

So basically, this romanticized plant is considered a pest by most arborists. 

Oak-oak-tree-mistletoe-plants-Eastern (Britannica.com)

If you’ve looked up into the branches of an oak tree and seen a big cluster of mistletoe that resembles a wind-tangled rat’s nest of hair, you’re looking at what’s called a “witches’ broom.” Perhaps mistletoe would be better symbolic of a different and more sinister holiday. Witches’ brooms deform branches and decrease the reproductive ability of the host. While that mistletoe may be sexy for us, it’s a total buzzkill for the trees.

Mistletoes are slow-growing but persistent and the only way they die is if the host tree dies. The only other solution is the complete removal of the parasite from the host. So, that fundraising boy scout was actually helping his environment while selling a parasite for $5 a baggie.

It gets even better!

Those pretty white berries you see in your friendly mistletoe, when ripe they are filled with a sticky semitransparent pulp that contains toxic compounds poisonous to many animals and to humans. 

However, we as humans have a long tradition of taking controlled amounts of poisons for medicine or pleasure (like alcohol). The Ancient Greeks used mistletoe as a cure for everything from menstrual cramps to spleen disorders. The Roman naturalist Pliny the Elder (Great name! Do you think the other kids called him Pliny the whiney on the playground?), he noted it could be used as a balm against epilepsy, ulcers and poisons. Poison against poison. Cool.

However, it appears that the kiss under the mistletoe has fuzzy origins with the Druids around the first century B.C. Love those Druids! They saw green leaves and berries blooming in the frozen winter on otherwise barren trees and said, “Holy moly, that stuff is magic!”

So, they fed this sacred symbol of vivacity to humans and animals alike in hope of restoring fertility. There are no records of the results of this ancient Viagra. And it certainly wasn’t administered with the surgeon general’s warning.

But, nonetheless, this myth (or belief) persisted. In Norse mythology, when the god Odin’s son Baldur—god of peace and love—was prophesied to die, his mother Frigga (or Frigg), the goddess of motherhood, fertility and LOVE—now we’re getting somewhere!—was beside herself worried and spoke to all the animals and plants on the earth making them promise that they would not harm her precious baby boy. 

“Okay, okay, geez,” they all said, “you have our word. Don’t be a helicopter mom!”

Frigg was overjoyed. Her son would be safe after all. But it was a prophesy, and you know how pesky and persistent those are in stories. Frigga overlooked one very unassuming little plant. You guessed it. Mistletoe. I guess it just didn’t make it onto her spreadsheet. 

The scheming god Loki saw this as a golden opportunity. He made an arrow from mistletoe and let it fly at the otherwise invincible Baldur and killed him. 

I’m not sure I’ve seen the mistletoe plotline in a Marvel movie, but it would make a great Christmas special! Could work on Valentine’s Day too.

This story was passed down and, I don’t know, maybe it scared a whole bunch of Viking kids way too much. A sunnier version of the myth emerged in which the gods were able to resurrect Baldur from the dead. His mother was so thrilled she declared mistletoe a symbol of love and vowed to plant a kiss on anyone who passed beneath it.

People like a happy ending.

Photo by Clement BB on Unsplash

In yet another rendition, Baldur died and Frigga's tears of grief fell onto the mistletoe and that’s what formed the white berries. She declared that forever after everyone would have to make peace and have a kiss when under the mistletoe, even if it is with your enemies. I like the peace-making element of that.

Into the Middle Ages, mistletoe was still associated with fertility and vitality. 

Rene Rousseau as Frigga in the Marvel Thor and Endgame movies

How it ended up being incorporated into Christmas celebrations by the 18th century is a hotly debated parasitic mystery. But according to History.com, the kissing tradition first caught on among servants. Then it spread into the middle classes. At that time the custom was that men were allowed to “steal a kiss” from any woman standing under the mistletoe, and if she refused, it was bad luck. #MeToo! I think mistletoe should be for consensual kisses only, thank you very much.

Besides kisses, it turns out that European mistletoe is still used as a medicine. It is one of the most widely studied complementary and alternative medicine therapies for people with cancer. In Europe, mistletoe extracts are among the most prescribed drugs for cancer patients, and few side effects are reported. Austrian philosopher Rudolph Steiner first recommended mistletoe extract as a potential cancer treatment in 1920. Dutch physician Ita Wegman was the first to use it in a person with cancer shortly after.

Ita Wegman, 1899

You can even purchase mistletoe extract on Amazon! 

It is not approved by the U.S. FDA, but we’ll see what future research reveals. I hate to say it, but we may only see it approved in the U.S. if it also has a good pharmaceutical profit margin. Pessimistic or realistic?

On the other hand, who knows, maybe those Druids knew what they were doing after all! A kiss with a loved one might be just one of the health benefits of mistletoe, parasite or not. 

Kiss kiss! And happy new year!

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #89: Reflecting on Childhood Holiday Traditions

I love the wonder and magic of Christmas. And the traditions. Some are passed down. Some derive from necessity. Or imagination. Or in the combining of cultures in marriage. For me as a child, it was a season of stories and giving, of songs and warmth, of lights and cookies and toys and colorful decorations, nothing like the rest of the year.

The house and tree were decorated ahead of time. We got to help a little. And go together to pick out a Christmas tree. It was always a better tree when the attendant selling it was nice.

The manger my grandfather built, as it appeared in 1960 in my parents’ first house, five years before I was born.

Once the tree was up, I had my favorite ornaments that sometimes I snuck off the tree and played with like dolls. Too fragile to handle were the little diorama worlds my grandmother created out of eggshells with realistic glass animals inside on snow, in front of wintery Christmas scenes. 

We had this giant picture window poster of Santa that went up in the living room every year. I donned the felt holiday dress my grandmother had made for me. 

Among the decorations was a wooden manger that my granddaddy had built. I always got to put the characters inside to create the scene. I like the donkey the best. 

I loved all the Christmas decorations, especially the fat, clear-bellied Santa jar full of chocolate kisses and the metal carousel of angels that was powered by candles, turning in circles and ringing little bells. And it was fun to make the Nutcracker talk.

I stopped crying after the first two years.

My brother and I were always required to take our picture with Santa in some department store or in the mall in the week or so before Christmas. I didn’t care for that, waiting in line and sitting on this stranger’s lap, except that I liked the big gingerbread man cookie we each received when it was done.

During December, my mother baked a lot. It was the only time of year she baked generally, except for birthday cakes. She made sugar cookies, Russian teacakes, peanut blossoms, fudge, caramel and penuche nuts. To this day, I like to bake. 

Our tradition was to open our gifts on Christmas eve. My grandfather worked for the phone company his entire working life and often had to report for duty on Christmas Day, so it became a tradition for my mother while she grew up, and she continued that ritual, even though it was no longer a necessity. My father didn’t have any Christmas traditions to pass along, being Jewish.

On the afternoon of the 24th, my mother cooked away in her holiday apron, usually a little harried and anxious. The grandparents came over, bearing bags of gifts that we helped distribute under the tree, looking for our names on the labels as we did, pondering what could be inside the boxes. I believe the Christmas Eve dinner menu varied year-to-year. It was usually a casserole of some sort and my mother’s cranberry jello salad on the side. 

Along with Grandma and Grandpa’s gifts, there were perhaps one or two wrapped presents under the tree. The rest would come from Santa. Of course, I became an excellent spy and could always find the hidden presents once I was old enough to know they were somewhere in the house. The key was to look but leave them undisturbed and feign surprise when unwrapping them.

Dinner always seemed unbearably long, especially the clearing up afterwards. Then we had to wait for my mom to put together a cookie plate and prepare the fixings to go with our traditional chocolate fondue. I have no idea how that became a tradition!

This was probably a Christmas Day dinner. For several years, my grandma, aunt and mom rotated hosting the various holidays.

Once I read the book Christmas Mouse, I always placed a glass of milk, a plate of cookies and a chunk of cheese by the fireplace.

Finally, it would be time to go for a walk around the neighborhood. My father, brother and I put on our winter coats and headed out. I always scoured the night sky looking for Rudolph’s nose leading Santa’s sleigh and reindeers. I always saw it. (Thank goodness we had sight of the flight path of commercial jets on their way to the Oakland and San Francisco airports!)

We chatted and walked, sometimes sang carols, looked at the neighbor’s Christmas lights, and made our way around the block and back home. We could only go inside if the front light was on, Dad’s signal of the all clear.

Inside, the presents poured out from under the tree. Looking back, it was a bit over the top, but I treasured the abundance as a child. There was a lot to unwrap. Every year in our stockings, along with other goodies and small items, was a Lifesaver Storybook. 

We tore open our gifts, passed out ones to the rest of the family, and dipped apple slices and Pepperidge Farm pound cake cubes into the chocolate fondue while Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters crooned on the stereo  Santa Claus Is Coming to Town and Mele Kalikimaka. At some point, my mother would sit down at the upright piano and play Christmas carols, and we sang along to Deck the Halls, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, Silver Bells and Silent Night.  

Christmas Day wasn’t nearly as exciting. We usually had to dress up again and drive two hours to my Uncle’s house in Rough n’ Ready. My cousins were all older, all boys, except for one girl who didn’t really give me the time of day. Football was on the TV. My parents were often running late to get us there, making my aunt grumpy. We had a traditional turkey dinner, and afterwards my uncle and oldest cousin always got into a fight over politics. 

Boxing day was great though! That was the day to play with all the new toys and games and eat candy from the stockings.

I remember being so excited around the holidays that I jumped up and down involuntarily. For days. Most of the time, our household seemed to revolve around my parents more than us children. That may not be entirely true, but it’s how it felt, and so Christmas was extra special. We checked the TV Guide so we could watch the Christmas specials, usually as a family, the Peanuts, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the Drummer Boy. I sat in my dad’s lap while he read me the Twelve Days of Christmas pop-up book. Much of the attention during the season and especially on the 24th—when not focused on meal prep—was on us. Looking back, I think that was the best part of the holiday for me.

I loved the Christmas season. And still do!

100 Day Challenge #88: Something to Chew On: A Snappy Little History of Gum!

I love invention, and the month of December celebrates many unique innovations over time. This blog will focus on one, that teeth-smackin’ and bubble makin’ non-food—chewing gum! 

William Finely Semple filed a patent for chewing gum in December 1869.

That doesn’t mean there wasn’t gum chewing prior to 1869. As long as humans have been masticating, we’ve looked for something to gnaw on between meals. Chewing gum in some form or other has existed since the Neolithic period. Scientists found 5,000-year-old chewing gum made from birch bark tar, WITH TOOTH IMPRINTS, in Kierikki, Finland. Think about that fossilization next time you stick gum under a desk or bus stop! (Just say no.)

The Mayans and Aztecs chewed chicle, a natural tree gum, and, adding some practicality, used it to stick objects together. The word chicle comes from the Aztec Nahuatl word "chictli/tzictli," meaning "sticky stuff"

A chiclero bleeding a tree for chicle, Belize 1917 - Wikipedia

When you hear “chicle” you might think of good old Chicklet gum, the candy-coated rounded squares of gum. The brand was introduced in 1900 by the American Chicle Company, a company founded by Thomas Adams. Edward Beeman (Beeman gum) was one of his partners. 

By the way, the American Chicle Company was acquired by a pharmaceutical company in 1962, which was acquired by a larger pharmaceutical company in 2000 that you might have heard of lately. Pfizer. But Pfizer didn’t stay in the candy business for long, selling all their candy brands to Cadbury in 2003. 

Anyway, back to chicle. 

Wrigley used chicle in its gum until land reform law passed in Guatemala in 1952 which ended feudal work relations and expropriated unused lands and sold them to the indigenous and peasants.

By the 1960s, most chewing gum companies had switched from using chicle to butadiene-based synthetic rubber. Sounds yummy, huh? It was definitely cheaper. 

Today, Glee Gum, Simply Gum, and Tree Hugger Gum still use chicle.

What else has been the main ingredient of gum over the years?

In ancient Greece, the gum of choice was mastic, also known as Tears of Chios, which sounds like a gum of mythology, a food of the gods, doesn’t it? It is a resin obtained from the mastic tree (Pistacia lentiscus) produced on the island Chios. It’s somewhat hard and bitter at first, but when softened in the mouth releases a refreshing pine and cedar-like flavor. Mmmmm.

Lots of other substances were used to exercise the old jaws around the world:

The Chinese chewed Ginseng plant roots. 

Eskimos chewed on blubber. 

Native Americans enjoyed sugar pine and spruce sap. 

South Americans masticate on the old Coca leaves (which also help with altitude sickness when climbing in the Andes and the highest part of the Inca Trail). 

In India, the chewing substance of choice was Betel nuts. 

In Tropical West Africa it was Kola nuts. 

And early settlers in the US chewed on Tobacco leaves. This of course is still the case for some Americans, only nicotine has been added to tins of chewing Tobacco like Copenhagen to make it highly addictive.

Also found in today’s chewing tobacco are 

• Polonium 210 (nuclear waste)

• Formaldehyde (embalming fluid)

• Cadmium (used in car batteries)

• Lead (nerve poison)

• Nitrosamines (cancer causing substances)

• Arsenic

• Cyanide

Most brands contain some 3,000 chemicals, including 28 that are known to cause cancer. Much better to stick to gum, if you ask me!

Get it? Stick to…

One of the first commercial gums was developed and sold starting in 1848 by John B. Curtis, a businessman from Maine. He called it The State of Maine Pure Spruce Gum. It used natural products and flavorings. He got the idea when he saw loggers chew spruce resin. When he changed it to flavored paraffin wax gum, it picked up in popularity. Paraffin is a petroleum product. Chewers sometimes dipped it repeatedly in a plate of powdered sugar to maintain its sweetness.

Curtis eventually built a factory in Maine that employed some 200 employees and produced several brands of chewing gum. He became very wealthy.

Dr. William Semple, a dentist, created his 1869 gum (patent # 98,304) by dissolving vegetable gums in naphtha and alcohol until they reached the consistency of jelly. Then he mixed in powdered chalk, powdered licorice root, and other materials to provide texture and flavor. Those included sugar, orris root, and myrrh. Finally, he evaporated the solvents until the material dried and hardened. 

Semple thought that people would buy the gum not just to chew for fun, but to help keep their teeth clean and breath fresh. The chalk would have a scouring effect in rubbing away food particles and dental plaque, the sticky film that forms on teeth and causes tooth decay and gum disease. Dentistry wasn’t what it is today in the late 1800s. Folks needed all the help they could get.

Dr. Semple created a selling point for gum that lives on to this day!

Mr. Edward E. Beeman took the health benefits of gum to another level by adding pepsin powder to improve digestion. Pepsin is an enzyme found naturally in the stomach that breaks down proteins. He originally sold the gum in a wrapper that showed the picture of a pig and carried the slogan, "With Pepsin, You Can Eat Like A Pig." 

But perhaps the most well known name in the world associated with gum is Wrigley.

William Wrigley Jr., born in 1862 Philadelphia, was the son of a soap manufacturer. A prankster, he was expelled from school. At 13, he began selling Wrigley’s Scouring Soap on the streets. He dreamed of running his own business though. First, he sold soap, offering a free can of baking powder with every sale. Trouble was, baking powder outstripped demand for soap, so Wrigley went into the baking powder business. To spur sales, he again offered an incentive — chewing gum. The chewing gum proved more popular than the product he was selling. Wrigley saw an opportunity. In 1893, he introduced two now-iconic brands — Wrigley’s Spearmint® and Juicy Fruit®. 

What set him apart from other gum makers at the time was his use of advertising. He branded his gum before branding was a verb for anything but cattle. He put pictures of his gum everywhere, in newspaper and magazine ads, and on highway billboards. Wrigley became a household name, equivalent with gum.

By 1908, sales of Wrigley’s Spearmint topped $1 million a year and profits just grew from there. In 1921, Wrigley became the majority owner of the Chicago Cubs. When he retired in 1925, Wrigley’s was the top chewing gum manufacturer in the world. 

One of Wrigley’s first advertising icons was “Spearman,” introduced in 1915

“Anyone can make gum,” he once said. “The trick is to sell it.”

Wrigley is still the largest manufacturer and marketer of chewing gum in the world today.

This is a trip. In 2006, Wrigley helped establish the Wrigley Science Institute (WSI) to study the oral health benefits of gum chewing. The WSI investigates the effects of gum chewing on weight management, stress relief, concentration, and oral health. That seems pretty self-serving to me. 

In 2009, scientists working for WSI found that Chewing gum could have a positive effect on the academic performance of teenagers. They are only the number one consumer group of gum chewers in America. Hmmm…

So, what is your favorite type of gum—if you chew it? Hubba Bubba? Bubblicious? Big League Chew? Mine as a kid was those 1970s footlong sticks of Bub’s Daddy green apple-flavored gum that we’d buy at little league snack shacks. Nowadays, it’s Ice Breakers Arctic Grape Ice Cubes. But I don’t chew it as much as I used to. AND when I do, I don’t want to look too carefully at the list of unpronounceable ingredients, starting with Xylitol—the most common gum ingredient today—a chemical compound sugar substitute. I don’t know, maybe tree resin would be better!

Photo by Piero Regnante on Unsplash

100 Day Challenge #87: On the Track on an Iron Horse

The most focused I’ve ever been in my entire life was on a motorcycle racing on Sears Point Raceway (now called Sonoma Raceway). 

As a mother of two and a woman in her 50s, it’s pretty fun to tell people when it comes up that I used to race motorcycles. Actually, I only raced for one full season, though I rode for a number of years. Still, it’s a point of pride that I did it. And I had a great experience.

My first official AFM (American Federation of Motorcyclists) race, I was near the back of the pack awaiting the green flag, where rookies go, revving the motorcycle along with the riders around me, staring ahead intently. I was the only woman in a sea of some 50 motorcycles in the 600 production class. 

I looked the part in my one-piece black and white custom-made leathers that cost me an entire month’s teaching paycheck. Who needs to eat? Yeah, it was a little irresponsible. But it was also an experience of a lifetime.

I got a good deal on my race bike, buying it from a guy who was getting a divorce. After the purchase, I had two Kawasaki EX500s, one for the street and this one for the track. Friends, who were into motorcycles and racing supervised me (and did most of the work!) as we changed the fork oil, added discs to the exhaust, changed out the tires for some sticky race tires, and generally prepped the bike for the track. I learned just enough about engines that today I can ask my son questions about his cars. I don’t know what I’m talking about half the time, but it opens up great conversations, and I get to see his enthusiasm and hear about the newest modification he’s making to his Miata.

Prior to the race, I had passed New Racer School, paid my fee, and…

It was really happening.

With the wave of the flag, the bikes all took off up the hill into turn one. Sonoma Raceway is mostly right-hand turns, with some memorable features. Looking back, I especially remember turn eight and nine that created a sweet S-curve. Turn ten behind the grand stand was fast as hell, throttle wide open. Following that was turn eleven, a gnarly hairpin that took you into the straightaway that was slowed down by a chicane made of hay bales.

I had always loved motorcycles, probably originating from reading the children’s book The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary, which I loved. Once, when I was still a kid, an uncle of mine took me for a ride on his Goldwing. It was thrilling. And then when I was seventeen, I had a summer romance in the mountains with a nineteen-year old named Mikey who had a motorcycle. One evening, I rode on the back with him to Tahoe from our cabin at Kit Carson Lodge and didn’t tell my parents. It was terribly romantic with my arms around his waist riding through the pines. 

Before racing, I had recently moved back to the East Bay after college to start a high school teaching job. Some friends from high school had gotten into motorcycles and racing, and hanging out with them, I bought my first bike, a little Honda 450. I soon replaced it with a brand new EX, the first brand new vehicle I ever owned. On both bikes, I joined my friends for Sunday morning rides on Grizzly Peak Road and up Mount Hamilton and riding other curvy roads in the area. I had to “keep up with the big dogs,” so I learned to ride pretty quickly.

But the experience on the track was magical. I’m a dreamer by nature, easily distracted, in my head a lot. But riding on the track, I was absolutely focused on the race, on seeing my break markers before the turns and taking a good line through them, leaning as hard as I could. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I was absolutely present. I’ve never been that focused before or since. 

The race was going well. I was riding okay for a rookie. I wasn’t the slowest bike out there. Then on one of the last laps, I took a slightly off line through the chicane, and a much faster bike clipped my front tire as he passed me. My bike went into a wobble and low-sided, sliding onto the pavement and into the hay. I went flying off the bike, landing near it on the track. Thank goodness for helmets, back protectors and leather!

Stunned, I stood up and looked around for a moment. 

“Get off the track!” yelled a turn worker. That’s when I realized I was ON the track!

I righted my bike, rolled it off and got outside the hay bales. Then I started rolling my bike to the pits. My friend Erik came and met me. My body was so pumped full of adrenaline that I didn’t feel my bruised ribs until nearly four hours later.

I had to prove to AFM officials that the accident wasn’t my fault. Luckily, Erik videotaped it. For years, I showed that crash video to my students at the high school. I thought they’d get a kick out of seeing their teacher flying in the air off of a motorcycle. Especially after I gave them a test or a long project to complete. It’s still on VHS, and I look forward to having it transferred to digital, so I can show it to my kids.

AFM accepted my defense. I was allowed back on the track for the next race. It was better than the first time. I improved my lap time and even passed a couple guys in the corners. Seeing that checkered flag—even though most of the racers crossed the finish line in front of me—was elating as hell. You feel like a hero during a cool-down lap with all the volunteer turn-workers waving at you. 

It was so intoxicating and intense that I started dreaming the track at night, seeing each corner, where to break on the approach, the best line through the curves. I rode the entire circuit in my sleep. It was freakin’ cool!

But back on the street after the track, I became more aware than ever of all the dangers and obstacles while street riding, patches of gravel, slick oil, animals, cars. It was much more fun to be on the track in that controlled situation going super fast.

I gave up riding a few years later when I was dating my husband-to-be, and it was clear that we were headed for a long-term relationship, which included starting a family. My mortality loomed large when thinking about having kids. As the saying goes: “There are only two kinds of riders: those who have gone down, and those that will.”

But I did love riding.

I have more stories about my “motorcycle days.” But for now, I have to say I’m so grateful to have experienced the absolute focus of racing on the track, the feeling of the lean through the turns, the exhilaration of the speed, the satisfaction of the cool-down lap at the end, the thrill and adventure of it all. It reminds me to this day that just about anything is possible, of how much I treasure new experiences and learning, and that at moments when I might be feeling fearful, damn girl, you raced motorcycles! Just remember that!

On the track at Sonoma Raceway

Just bought a race bike!

100 Day Challenge #86: Sexy Spock!

If you watch Star Trek, what character(s) do you relate to the most? What character attracts you the most? 

I’d have to say Mr. Data on Star Trek Next Generation. On the original series, it’s a toss-up between Scotty (the Scottish dialect) and Spock. 

That Spock…

When it comes to Spock, I guess I’m attracted to “the strong silent type.” 

This expression was used by Leslie Charteris in the movie The Saint and Templar  in 1978: “I’ve always fancied myself as the strong silent type.” Although Gary Cooper is often seen as the original strong silent type. And he’s dreamy.

The idiom “strong silent type” is defined as “A man of few words but effective action; one who masks his feelings.”

This phrase was extremely popular with women novelists of the early 1900s who used it to depict a very romantic figure.

Yeah, I fell hard for Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.

Mike Nesmith, guitarist for the Monkees

My favorite Monkee: Wool Hat or Mike, played by Michael Nesmith, who sadly just passed away. Definitely strong and silent, a little brooding, the intellectual of the musical group, appearing thoughtful and observant, like Spock.

My teenage idol, Pete Townsend, also shares these qualities. Roger Daltry is like Pete Townsend’s Captain Kirk.

Mr. Spock and Mr. Data are both curious about the world. They are scientists, which I love. And they are different, trying to fit in, something I can relate to. And though both are non-human on the surface—a Vulcan and an AI creation—they are utterly human. They are loyal and loving. And though logical, both are sensitive and sensuous at times.

What’s not to love?!

I think part of my attraction to Spock and Data is also in wanting to be like them. Sometimes I feel like almost the polar opposite of “strong and silent,” being emotional, vocal and sometimes shying away from big, direct action and conflict, the last being a trait I’m constantly trying to override.

I was watching For the Love of Spock on Netflix, a documentary about Leonard Nimoy directed by his son, Adam Nimoy. In it, women and men talk about the attractiveness of his character. Apparently I am not alone!

“Leonard Nimoy was…an unlikely sex symbol,” says reporter  Asawin Suebsaeng on thedailybeast.com in an article entitled “Spock Was the Sexiest Being in the Universe.”

In a 1977 article by the Pittsburgh Press ( “Women Spaced Out Over Leonard Nimoy”), Nimoy explains the attraction himself:

“Down the road comes a stranger—tall, dark, thoughtful, alien, and exotic,” he said. “Somewhat devilish in appearance. He has a brilliant mind, the wisdom of a patriarch and is oh, so cool. With one raised eyebrow, he suggests he is above game-playing and role-playing—which are just hangovers from Earth’s Victorian age—that he and he alone understands the deepest needs and longings of the Earth female.”

Oh yeah, Baby!

People magazine reported that same year that “the sacks of Spock mail reached 10,000 letters a month, mostly from women, much of it torridly erotic.”

Many Trekkie fantasies were realized in the 2009 Star Trek movie remake with Spock and Uhuru having a very hot love affair.

I’d say the only blemish in sexy Spock for me is a YouTube video a friend recently sent us of a performance on a short-lived television show called Malibu U of Leonard Nimoy singing The Ballad of Bilboa Baggins. It’s the campiest thing you’ve ever seen with Nimoy lip-synching the song from his second album, Two Sides of Leonard Nimoy. It seems like a gag, but it isn’t. The song was written by Charles Randolph Grean who most notably was arranger of Nat King Cole’s The Christmas Song (“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire; Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”). The song’s got to be seen to be believed! Keep in mind that it was the late 1960s. 

But that’s Leonard Nimoy. He was a creative through and through, an actor on screen and stage, a director, writer, producer, talented photographer, and he put out several musical albums.

But it’s the characters of Spock—and Data too—whom I loved, both now icons and archetypes in popular culture that will continue to resonate in our society, I imagine, for some time to come.

Strong and quiet-natured, even keeled, thoughtful, loving and human. 

Live long and prosper!

Leonard Nimoy demonstrating the Vulcan salutation at the Las Vegas Star Trek Convention in 2011

100 Day Challenge #85: On Being a Vessel for Another Human

The greatest moment for me as a first-time expectant mother was when I was sick. Yeah, sounds strange, I know. It may have been a stomach bug or nasty cold symptoms, I can’t remember, but I do remember aches and pain. 

With concern, I went to see my Obgyn. “Though I think I know the answer,” I asked her, kneading my hands, “Does the fetus feel what I’m feeling?”

“No,” she smiled, “He gets your blood and your nutrients. He does not feel anything you’re feeling.”

I relaxed. But more than that. As I left the office, I felt elated as well as relieved. That declaration made it crystal clear that the person growing inside of me, that I had become a mere vessel for, was NOT me. Sure, he might share some random bits of my genetic code, but he was a separate individual with separate feelings and desires and personality and interests. I loved it and couldn’t wait to meet him. 

That was the first of many great lessons I’ve learned about parenting—which ain’t for sissies!—and remains one of the greatest. It meant that I knew nothing about this child I was soon to meet. That I just needed to pay attention and get to know him so I could help facilitate him into becoming a confident version of himself. 

There were many other related lessons along the way to remind me not to assume and pigeonhole my children as being this way or that, being good or bad at this or that. For example, my older son was naturally a little quiet. He didn’t like being in controlled group settings. During story time at the local library, we had to stand in the adjacent room and not sit among the other kids and parents. And yet when we got home, he could recite the story to me in detail. At Music Together class, he wanted no part of that circle of kids. However, at home, he could sing every lyric of every song. I called him my little Lert, because he was so alert, taking in experiences like a sponge. But I started to think of him as shy. 

Then one day, I was on the school campus with him. Every kid that passed us in the hallway said hi to him. And I realized quiet isn’t the same as shy. AND don’t pigeonhole your kids, Linda! Don’t assume.

Part of paying attention to kids is to listen to them. And children are smart. They may not have experience, but they’re observant and imaginative. 

The first day of kindergarten for your eldest child is a day of tears…for the parent. It’s a big deal, that separation, that pull on the invisible but ever-present umbilical cord. We got through day one okay. 

Day two was hell.

My son ran to the other side of the playground yelling, refusing to go inside. I tried soothing, stern and direct, asking questions, bribing, waiting, all the usual tactics. The bell rang, and all the other kids followed the teacher into the building. Parents were still clustered around chatting on the blacktop. I recognized another mom from orientation and knew she had older kids. 

“Excuse me,” I said to her in desperation, “I can’t get my son to go inside. Could you just talk to him?”

She asked him about his backpack. He told her about it and as he did, he calmed down. I’ve been grateful to that mom ever since, and she’s still a friend. 

Finally, I just asked my son. (Duh!) 

“What would help you to be able to go inside?”

His answer was sheer brilliance. He suggested we go to the main office to check out a stuffed otter. That was the school mascot, and there were at least a half a dozen different plush otters on the bench in the office for kids needing some soothing. 

He picked one out that he liked. When I asked the administrative assistant if we could check it out, she paused and looked at my son and me.

“Nobody’s ever asked that before.”

Nonetheless, she took out a piece of paper, and I told her his teacher’s name and his name. 

Hugging the Otter to his chest, we made our way to his classroom where his teacher ushered him in gently with a smile. 

My son had come up with such a clever solution, one I would never have thought of.

It’s so important to listen to our children. And for so many reasons. To better understand them and their needs (and to avoid pigeonholing), to let them know they are heard, to help them become accustom to sharing their opinions and talking about their lives, to validate their feelings. Because feelings are never wrong. They might just make us uncomfortable. We might feel differently. But they’re just feelings.

The best parenting book I ever bought was How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. It helps parents do just that, listen and validate kids’ feelings. 

I’m still learning about my children. That same son will be going off to college next year. He has several interests but isn’t sure what he’s going to do yet, what profession or vocation he might work towards. And that’s okay with me. He’ll find his way. And I can’t wait to see what his choices are.