A Tribute to the Antarctic

In 1999 my husband and I travelled to the Antarctic on a small 100 passenger cruise ship. Each day we climbed into Zodiacs and went to shore to explore this magical continent. There are no cities in the Antarctic, no roads or highways, and no humans save for the few research scientists in their bare encampments. There are no 4 legged animals, all the creatures of this land can either swim or fly. 

I want to share with you the icebergs, glaciers and the magnificent landscape, as well as the many varieties of penguins, seals and birds. I hope this short 3 minute video will offer you some Covid relief, as the creation of it provided for me. For my husband and I, this trip, and what we learned, forever changed our view of the world, our respect for the great diversity in life and our sense of responsibility to our planet we call home. 

Strong W.I.L.L.

Four years ago, I was having coffee with a new acquaintance. We were introduced because we both had consulting careers in education, as well as philanthropy. As we talked, we touched on the idea that there were many women like us who were successful but were working on their own, or the only ones in their particular role. We agreed that successful, independent women are often lonely and have few connections with others like themselves. We decided on the spot that we would form a group in Austin and surround ourselves with like-minded women. Women in Legacy Leadership, or WILL, was born on that day.

We each chose 6 members, had our first few meetings, and then my co-founder, Jenn Beck, took a new job and moved out of state. Most of her selections stayed on, as did mine and we continued to meet monthly, first at Blue Dahlia restaurant, then at the UT Club, and then we settled on 4-6 PM the last Thursday of each month at Juliet Italian Ristorante in Austin. During COVID, we have continued our meetings through ZOOM calls.

Over time, we added a few more select members and came up with guidelines for meetings and leadership based on that first vision. One is that each member have a unique professional role. Our members are authors, consultants, coaches, advisors, team leaders and more. Areas of expertise include education and philanthropy as well as communications, branding and marketing, strategic planning, development, research, media, team training and real estate—to name a few. 

Each month the meeting is led and the discussion topic chosen by a different WILL member. Our meetings include ‘check in’, a time for each of us to share what’s going on in our lives and receive support or direction if needed. Then we address the topic for the meeting, the best part. Every month we share our honest experiences in the safest environment imaginable. Each of us considers WILL to be a primary source, not only of friendship, but advice, guidance and wisdom. Our diverse topics have included: Life Altering Childhood Experiences, Your Best and Worst Decision, Inspiring Women Leaders, Intuition, Managing Change, Most Influential Books, Family Traditions, The Meaning of Grace and Faith Journeys, as well as taking and discussing the Enneagram and Strengths Finders assessments. And so much more.  

We’re about to enter our 5th year of convening, advising, sharing and caring. And I think we would agree, unanimously, that WILL is one of the best experiences of all of our lives. Women in Legacy Leadership indeed!

A Drizzle of Falling Leaves

This week I took my dog on a walk along a wooded trail. There was a slight breeze in the air and Live Oak leaves began to drift down all around me. It was a magical moment and I felt as if I was walking through a light drizzle, but only of leaves. Fall is coming, with hopeful change, some still time and perhaps peace and resolution and the end of a long, long year.

We live in an apartment on the edge of the Balcones Preserve. Off our porch balcony there is a gigantic multi-trunked tree that we had never seen before. After some research we learned it is a Chinese Parasol Tree, not native to Austin, but common in China, Japan and Southeast Asia. Its leaves grow a foot wide and its trunks are a soft, bamboo green. It got its name because in late summer it sprouts fragrant flowers that grow into pods, that then split into four sections and look like parasols. In the fall its leaves turn yellow and drift to the ground like giant hankies.

When we moved into our home seven years ago, we had no idea of the continuous entertainment this one unusual tree would offer us. I’d like to do a time lapse photography depicting its remarkable transformations through the seasons. A musical accompaniment would be nice as well. Its differentness is refreshing.

 We are having a change of season in America that is as big and unusual as our Parasol tree, but it is not so beautiful or healthy. It is my hope that when these leaves finally drop to the ground, there will be a period of quiet and contemplation. Silence would be a luxury in these times. And then I hope we, as a nation, can come back anew, budding into spring, eager to grow as one from our many trunks. And I hope our differentness can be cause for wonder and interest, rather than a reason to turn away in anger.

Church Going

When I was in my early adolescence, my mother began a spiritual search. She went off in many directions over the years, trying to find something to replace the abuse and vitriol of her father, a failed Southern Baptist preacher. I went along with her on this diverse journey, experiences counter-balanced by the steady Episcopal faith of my father and the church we regularly attended. I don’t think many children have the privilege of growing up with such freedom in thought and faith, anchored by a steady, constant one, and I am grateful for it.  

I learned young there are many, many ways to demonstrate your faith and your beliefs. I was especially moved by the glorious singing of the Black church we attended, where the hymns literally lifted me up and out of myself. I had my aura read at another service, and was told I had dancing feet, which was true, and that someone on the other side wanted me to keep dancing. Which I did. There was a healing service in a big auditorium where wheelchairs and crutches were left behind on the stage after the laying on of hands. And at a tent revival, the sinners were called to the altar to give their lives to the lord and be saved, nearly knocked to the ground by the force of it. There was even a healing pool, with warm, spritzy, sulfur smelling water where my mother and I swam quietly.

As a young adult, I continued looking on my own. I attended an Evangelical church where the congregation spoke in tongues, and found it not so difficult. My Jewish boyfriend introduced me to his family’s faith, and how it calmed their grief when his sister passed unexpectedly. Another boyfriend led me through the history and complexities of Mormonism, just before he went on his mission. In college, I took courses on The Man Jesus and Religions of the World.

Now, all these years later, my own faith is quiet and very private. While on travels, I am greatly moved by the sacred places where thousands have worshipped over hundreds of years, but I don’t attend a church myself. I have settled on a belief that there is a spirit far greater than I am, and this is both accessible and provides guidance to me. During this difficult year, and time in our history, my hope is that all have a similar source of peace and comfort. My best to you in your own journey. 

Sir Terence

The world lost a legend on September 12, 2020. Sir Terence Conran, the British icon who was a trailblazer in affordable modern design among dozens of other accomplishments, died at the age of 88. This was the man who taught us that good design is not just an activity, it is the product of that activity. He opened the first Habitat store in the 1960’s and brought the chain to New York as Conran’s Shop in 1977. He was knighted by the queen, in part, for bringing both fine and regional dining to England. At the heart of everything he did was the belief that good design improves the quality of people’s lives. Appropriately, he is credited with coining the expression ‘lifestyle’.

I came across his work as a young adult, frustrated with what little was available to decorate my home in the 70’s. I wanted a clean modern look, but the stores only had mass produced, traditional furniture. I wanted affordable good design, but in order to even see good design one had to hire a decorator and be taken as a guest to a design center stocked with furniture that was far from affordable. Then in 1980, I went to New York for a month to train as a stockbroker. Walking the streets of the city, I stumbled on the Conran Shop, a 40,000 square foot retail store offering everything I ever dreamed of. Modern, knock down furniture that could be shipped and then re-assembled, and all the decorative accessories that you could ever want to go with it. There was cookware, service ware, towels, bed linens, draperies and wall art, all with contemporary color schemes. And the prices were reasonable. Later I decorated an entire bedroom for one of my children, furniture, bed linens and window coverings, by mail order from Conran’s. I devoured his books—The House Book, The New House Book, On Design, The Kitchen Book—there are over 30.

Terence Conran also repurposed unused properties into popular shopping and dining areas. One of his earliest was the old Michelin Building in London, now home to popular retail and dining spaces with a Conran’s Habitat shop and his restaurant Bibendum in the mix. The Orrery Restaurant was born from an old 19th century stable. A later project was Butler’s Wharf on the Thames near the Tower Bridge. This once decrepit property is now a string of popular shops and restaurants, each having a regional theme, with apartments above. He lived in one of them for a time. The first Design Museum was also located at the wharf, but one of his last projects was the opening of a new Design Museum on Kensington High Street in London. 

Here’s the best part, when my daughter went off to college at New York University in 1989, a brother and sister from England came to visit and stayed a few weeks. One day Sage was walking down the street with her new friend, Ned, when he pointed and said, “That’s my father’s shop.” Sage looked at him and asked, “What is your last name?” to which Ned replied, “Conran.” Sage exclaimed, “Your father is my mother’s favorite person!” The next year Sage took a semester abroad in London, and she and Ned fell in love. A few years after that the two married. Following at least partly in father’s footsteps, they now own El Camion, a popular Mexican food restaurant in the Soho theatre district of London. They have been married 23 years and have five wonderful children, my grandchildren—Finbar, Sapphire, Cosimo, Bear and Woodrow and great grand, Tallulah. The creative genes run strong. 

We will, all of us, miss Sir Terence.

Pivot

Here is my nominee for the 2020 word of the year—Pivot.

Pivot is often used to describe a strategy employed to address a difficult challenge. Rather than fight the challenge, you turn away from it and seek a new direction. In some ways we are all experiencing this with Covid 19. The patterns of our lives, how and whether we can stay in business, our finances, our interactions with friends and family—all of this has been upended due to this fiercely contagious virus and we have had to ‘pivot’ into a new reality. A far more quiet and restricted reality, unless you are a parent with school age children, and please know, my heart goes out to all of you. 

We have had to pivot to stay-at-home work, or no work at all. We have pivoted to ZOOM calls. We have pivoted to ordering everything online and rarely entering stores. We have pivoted by cancelling trips and gatherings with friends. And many thousands have pivoted into the challenge of fighting a dangerous virus, of hospitalizations and ventilators, of only seeing family through a window and the tragic loss of loved ones.

I wish we could go back to the time when pivot was what you did in a basketball game, right after you grabbed the ball and right before you nailed the shot. I hope pivot will soon be that hard to remember word in a crossword puzzle. Or a way to describe how a sprinkler works. I don’t want it to forever represent how dramatically all of our lives have changed. 

I hope for all of us that we can pivot away from this time, soon.

CEEGEE’S GIFT HAS BEEN RECOGNIZED IN SIX NATIONAL FICTION COMPETITIONS SINCE PUBLICATION.

IN AUGUST, THE AMERICAN BOOK AWARDS NAMED CEEGEE’S GIFT A   FINALIST IN THE 2020 YOUNG ADULT CATEGORY.

The Other Side of the Coin

When my mother was 73 and recently widowed, she decided she would write a book. The Other Side of the Coin takes common observations in life and looks at them through a different lens, one that is more meaningful and often more spiritual. She asked me to add a simple illustration for the common examples on the left side page and used a 1944 dime coin as the graphic for the deeper meaning on the right. She wrote in the introduction, “The 1944 dime symbolizes the time that I began to open my spiritual eyes.” She would have been 23. 

The year she wrote the book, 1994, was the same year my mother decided to change the spelling of her name from Ann to An, with one N. This, she said, was to ‘get rid of some excess baggage’ she had been carrying throughout her life. A year later she was diagnosed with leukemia and a year after that she passed over to the other side of our earthly coin and thereafter carried no more of that excess baggage. I share a few of her wise observations below.

    *  My parents planted a fast growing tallow tree in their front yard, while the neighbors planted a slow growing oak. After a storm came the limbs and branches of the tallow fell to the ground, while the oak remained sturdy and whole. *** Sometimes slow and steady leads to stronger outcomes and is the better path to growth.

     * One day my mother got up early enough to see the sunrise. She observed that at this same time, on the other side of the planet, people were watching the sunset. *** On any given day, and at any time, we can declare a sunset and be done with that day or time—or declare a sunrise and see that same moment as a new beginning.

     * When my brothers were old enough to take their first road trip, my dad taught them to read a roadmap and explained the meaning of all the markings and symbols. *** Our journey on earth is a road trip of its own and the signposts and warnings are our feelings. When we have a gut feeling that tells us Caution, Slow, Wrong Way or Do Not Enter, we should trust these warning signs and act on them.

    *  While driving past a cornfield, my mother noticed that throughout the field some of the stalks were tall, and others were much shorter. *** This is true of humans also. Some are leaders and others are followers, but neither is better or less than the other. We need to find our own place for each of the changing seasons of our lives.

    *  When people check into a flight at the airport they are often charged for excess baggage and are none too happy about it. *** We all pay a price for excess baggage, when things own us, rather than us owning them. When we realize we are prisoners to ‘things’, we should consider letting them go…like that extra N in the name Ann.

Now is the Time

So here we are, fists raised in unity, demanding a better future for all. 

If a door should open to a better future for one of us, we must take our fist down, enter that door and then turn back to hold the door open to the one behind. The one for whom that door was not yet open.

Then we must mentor, guide and support until that new one has a place and can reach back and open the door for the next and the next.                                

Someday all our hands can be open, and all our colors blended in unity.                 

THIS IS HOW WE MAKE A BETTER AMERICA

Empty Spaces

How long has it been since you were part of an audience, in person, alongside others? How long will it be before we once again witness live theatre, opera, symphony and ballet? While this time is hard on everyone, my heart goes out most of all to those who work in these venues. Not only is this their career and income—from set design, to production, to performers and musicians—it is their lifeblood. It is their calling. I can feel the pain and emptiness that must come from enduring these months and months of empty spaces—spaces that are normally alive with talent and passion.

When I lived on San Juan Island, in Washington, I was choreographer for the production of The Music Man in our community theater. One night, after the show, I was standing on the stage with an actor, a young teen. As we gazed out over the empty seats she said, “I am too afraid, I can barely talk when the audience is here. I don’t know how to get over my stage fright.” 

I said, “But, it’s not about you, it’s about the story we have to tell, it’s about sharing it so everyone in the audience can be lifted up.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” she said again.

“Look out there, see the empty space above the seats, the air?”

“I do.”

“Your job is to fill that space, that air, with your voice. From the front row to the last, up to the ceiling. You will feel it when the lines you are honored to say fills that entire space. If you can do that, it won’t be about you or your fear anymore; it will be a gift from you into that empty air.”

She stood staring at the big void, and then opened her mouth and, without a hint of struggle filled that space. “Oh, my dear little librarian,” she quoted. “You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you are left with nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays. I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering.”*

She looked up at me in awe, as I smiled and also quoted, “Oh, so would I.”*

* From The Music Man, by Meredith Wilson

Perhaps

I’ve been trying to sit down and write this blog for a while. But my way is to be optimistic and positive. I always look for the silver lining. Right now, my way feels trite. I am safe and well, as is my husband and family. We are largely retired, so our financial situation is stable. And we live quietly, so our today is not so different than the days before. But so many are living in fear and desperation. So many are putting their lives at risk in the event someone like me needs their help. So many are seeing their businesses sink, perhaps never to recover. So many do not know if they will eat today. How do I dare to look for the bright side in all of this?

It is said that each generation is defined by a singular event. My grandparents were defined by the Great Depression, my parents World War Two, my generation by the Vietnam War and my adult children by the 9/11 attacks. My grandchildren, and perhaps even the next generation, will be forever defined by this pandemic, Covid 19. 

I had the honor to visit Hiroshima many years ago. As we walked through the museum that told the horrific story of the World War Two bombing, I was filled with shame. I could not believe the guests and workers nearby could be so kind and polite to a couple of visiting Americans. But they were. Further, we learned the mayor of Hiroshima sends a letter to the leader of any country about to test an atom bomb asking for restraint, pleading that what happened in Hiroshima would never happen again. Outside in Peace Memorial Park, school children in tidy uniforms stood passing out notes of peace and love to all visitors. 

Perhaps we have a chance to do as they did, to take this time of horror and use it for the good. I see a glimpse of it happening now, with the front line workers risking their lives to save others, with all of us wearing our masks and respecting the space of those around us. With the doctors and scientists working so hard to find a way to bring health back to humanity. With photographs like the one above of India, showing us what clean air looks like for the first time in decades. This generation will inherit these positive examples also. Perhaps, rather than being defined by a pandemic they will see a chance to do right by our planet and its humanity. And perhaps given this frightening, tragic time they will do better with this chance than those of us who came before them. Perhaps.

The Legacy of Collaboration

In the late 90’s my husband, Dan, and I were founders of a Community Foundation on San Juan Island, WA. With seed funding from a generous donor with a long view, and guidance from the Seattle Community Foundation, we established the foundation in part because in a community of 8,000 citizens, we had 80 nonprofits—1 for every 100 residents. There was a lot of redundancy, with multiple nonprofits serving overlapping needs and all competing for limited funds. The effect was to make the island tribal, rather than collective. We started the foundation to strive to look at the island as a whole and to use our resources to meet all our needs. 

Then we took another step. To encourage nonprofit collaboration, we announced that grant requests submitted by organizations in partnership would get preferential consideration. Very quickly the University of Washington Oceanic Labs and the Elementary School came together and requested funding to build a saltwater aquarium for the school lobby, which would be stocked with live specimens and allow the scientists to come to the school to teach these young students about ocean life. The benefits of working together began to take hold and soon we had more collaborative grants, as well as nonprofit mergers and partnerships island wide.

In 2001, Dan and I moved to Austin, but a few years later we went back to the island for a visit and attended the Community Foundation’s ‘Breakfast of Champions’, an annual event. Invitees were the grant funders and recipients from the previous year and stories were shared about all that had been accomplished. It was clear that collaboration and unity had taken root and the whole island was represented in that room. In closing, the Foundation Chair made a surprise announcement. A single, childless and reclusive donor had left as his legacy an endowment fund that would make it possible for island high school graduates to go on to college, debt free. 

On our last visit to the island, we took a tour of the new Peace Hospital, a much needed addition to island life. It had been built with a successful capital campaign by the Foundation, coupled with a bond election. Taking it further, every artist on the island had donated a piece of original work to the hospital. The grounds had gardens with hand-crafted benches. There were fountains, inside and out. And each patient room had a piece of original art on the wall. We stood in the lobby art gallery in tears, overcome by the realization that we had been part of the very first steps that led to this wonderful place. Our beloved island was a more collaborative, and now safer, place to live. And this was, in a small part, our legacy.

Music in the Air

I love the way that music, especially live classical music, can transport me to another place, up into the air and outside of my everyday self. I was fortunate to attend a performance by the Austin Symphony recently, and after I finished counting all the string instruments and checking what was set up on the stage in the percussion section, and marveling over conductor Peter Bay’s continued success in taking this orchestra to greater and greater heights every year, I settled in to the music. After intermission, the orchestra played Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #3 in D Minor and it soared. I soared with it.

I was lucky to have classical music in my life from childhood. In my elementary school, Alamo Heights in San Antonio, Music Appreciation was required curriculum. We listened, learned and had to name the music of the masters. I remember repeatedly singing the cue of ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King was written by Greig,’ in preparation for a test. I studied ballet from the age of 5 and later danced with the ballet company in San Antonio. We performed to some of the greats; I especially loved Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf, a collaborative holiday production by the symphony and ballet for San Antonio school children. My parents had season tickets to the symphony and included me from a young age. I soared into the heavens even more easily then. After the concert, walking back to the car, my dad would tuck me under his overcoat to keep me warm, and perhaps bring me back down to earth.

There aren’t many things that can do this for us. Take us out of our everyday lives, our small concerns and big worries, and let us loose into a space filled only with music. In these moments I am often reminded of the repetitive dream I had as a child—I could fly. My wings were the pink blanket my mother made for me, stretched across my shoulders like a cape. I didn’t go very high, swooping in and out of treetops, gazing down at the ground below. I could fly just high enough to see things from another angle, to change my perspective and awaken refreshed. This is the gift that music gives us. 

Happy Anniversary CeeGee's Gift

In the photo above I am in Lake Charles, LA accepting the 2019 Pencraft Award for Literary Excellence for CeeGee’s Gift, named Best Young Adult-Coming of Age Fiction. In my remarks to the audience that night, I said that during the many years I spent writing the novel, Celia Gene Williamson and old Mr. Tindale became very real to me and were a meaningful part of my life almost every day. Once the book was published it was as if they went off on their own somewhere and seemed more distant and less real. But that night, while accepting the award on their behalf, I could just see them, sitting side by side, grinning, with CeeGee elbowing Mr. Tindale in the ribs as he reached over and squeezed her shoulder. It was good to have them back.

This month marks the One Year Anniversary of the publication of CeeGee’s Gift, and what a year it has been. The Pencraft Award was the 4th honor the novel has received in this category. It was also the Winner for Many Books, April 2019, a Finalist for the TX Indie Author Awards and a Semi-Finalist for the Publisher’s Weekly BookLife Award. In addition, the book site on Amazon has a 5 star rating, with 4 very positive editorial reviews and 22 reviews from readers of all ages. 

There is also increasing demand for me to share this story of generosity with others. Since I am a philanthropic advisor as well as the author of two books, it is exceptionally meaningful to see that these passions of mine are relevant to such diverse audiences, including middle grade students, a group of professional advisors, and a spiritual retreat center. In April, I will travel to Phoenix as Keynote Speaker for a national chronic illness conference. I spoke to this same group in 2011, after the publication of You Don’t LOOK Sick! Living Well with Invisible Chronic Illness. I am honored they will have me back again, and overjoyed that I have an even more positive, blended message to share with an audience facing hard realities. 

How often does it happen that every piece of one’s life merges together into a meaningful whole, and that whole is centered on generosity and kindness? I want to thank you, all of you, who have accompanied me on this journey. My life has been shaped by the people in it, both real and imagined. 

Coats on Trees

I am fortunate to be part of an outstanding group of women. We call ourselves WILL, which is an acronym for Women in Legacy Leadership. I like to call us Strong WILL because this posse of 12 dynamic women is serving, leading and innovating across our community. One member, Judy Knotts, photo above, has been an advocate for the homeless in Austin for many years. Recently she published a wonderful book on the subject, You Are My Brother,  a collection of true stories about what she has learned from people on the streets. 

I first met Judy when she was Head of School at St. Gabriel’s in Austin. The school had a tradition where students took a pair of socks, put one inside the other, then added anything that a homeless person might find useful, like a protein bar, toothbrush and toothpaste, lotion, a bottle of water, a packet of tissues and a kind note. They kept these in their family cars, so they had something of value to give to the homeless people along our roads. We met at Judy’s office to talk about how we could organize more broadly to help children learn to be more generous, a conversation which led to a collaboration with other community leaders and the founding of a citywide youth philanthropy nonprofit, A Legacy of Giving. 

Last Christmas season Judy invited members of WILL to bring unused coats to our meeting at Juliet’s Italian Ristorante. She said we would hang the coats on the trees outside the restaurant on Barton Springs Road. Anyone who saw them and needed a coat could simply take one. We did the same again this year. The coats are gone by morning. The effort reminds me of the values my mother taught me. If I was no longer using a toy, a doll, or clothing she would take it from me and say, ‘There are a lot of children out there who do not have these things. You should not keep anything you no longer use but pass it on to someone who needs it and will use it.’

I am grateful to have the wisdom, kindness and support of my WILL women, as well as the lessons my mother left with me. My hope for you this holiday season is that you also have people in your life who lift you up, inspire you, offer wise advice and bring comfort during the hard times. 

You Don't LOOK Sick!

Have you ever heard this? “Why, you don’t look Sick!” If you have an invisible chronic illness, you’ve likely had this or something similar said to you. There are other common comments. “My sister has ----, and she went on this ---- diet that really helped her, have you tried that diet?” Or, “I think illness is God’s way of teaching us a lesson, but he never gives us more than we can handle.” Or, “Maybe your illness is really a psychological problem, how’s your marriage?” Rather than offering compassion, sometimes people offer a fix, a judgement or just keep their distance.

In simple language a chronic illness has an uncertain cause, no known cure, has lasted over 3 months, may last a lifetime and will not necessarily cause premature death. The symptoms often include pain, fatigue and memory loss or ‘brain fog’, all of which are invisible symptoms. Understandably, anxiety and depression are also common among these patients. More than 125 million Americans are diagnosed with these disorders and 40 million are limited in their daily activities. With so many Americans living with illness, why is there such resistance and insensitivity to this population’s reality?

I liken it to the way people react when a person is getting divorced. Often, they move away from someone who was their friend. Or they lay blame or make it all black and white. They become very uncomfortable and don’t know what to say, so offer nothing. When I was going through a divorce, I felt some people acted as if I was contagious. As if what was happening to me could also happen to them if they got too close. I had similar reactions when I was diagnosed with multiple, overlapping and invisible chronic illnesses.

After my physician, Dr. Steve Overman, and I published our book You Don’t LOOK Sick! we travelled the country speaking to patient organizations representing a variety of invisible illnesses, some of which I’d never even heard of. We tried to offer these audiences a hopeful pathway to building a meaningful life, even if it contained illness and shared ways to make peace with their illness, rather than exhausting themselves fighting it. I heard many similar stories from these patients—of not being believed, of being dismissed, marginalized, criticized and judged—by friends, family and physicians. So, I have a suggestion. 

I recently got an email from Carmen Jacob, the Editor in Chief of UpJourney, a web site that encourages each of us to be our best self and offers many resources to support this, including articles, books, gifts, quotes, and web links on many topics. She wanted me to know that You Don’t LOOK Sick! had been included in an article citing The 11 Best Books for Living with Chronic Illness or Chronic Pain, by Amy Orr, another author writing on this subject. I am familiar with most of these books and know they can help. Might I suggest you take a moment today, copy this link, and send it to a person you know may benefit. In addition to providing practical and informed resources, you will be acknowledging their reality and offering your support. 

“Thinking of you and thought you might find these books helpful. I hope you have a good day!”

Here's to All the Good Men

Our country is going through an awakening. Women have found their voices, and the courage to speak. Story by story, we are learning the indignities women have suffered at the hands of powerful men. Some of these events occurred decades ago but now, in this time, women can support one another in at last telling their truth. Like most women, I have my own stories, and appreciate that our voices are being heard and action is being taken.

However, as I play back my own history and the events that shaped me, I can’t help but remember all the Good Men. There were many, starting with my dad, and I want to honor them. When I said to my father, ‘I want dive off the 5 meter board’, or ‘I’d like to go to graduate school’, or ‘I’ve decided to become a stockbroker’, he cocked his head, got a spark in his eye and replied, “That sounds good, you can do that.” Every single time. There was no keeping me in my lane, or a warning my aspirations were not appropriate for a girl.

My male professors in college led me to doorways I did not know existed. I thought college was about taking classes, passing tests and then taking the next class. I had no idea there was so much more I could learn and become during those years. But they did and went out of their way to put me on a path and guide me through one door after another. They took the time and interest to say:

            “I think with a little work, you could get this paper published in a journal.”

“This newsletter needs a new editor; shall I tell them you’re interested?”

            “There’s a vacancy on this board, want to throw your hat into the ring?”

            “I heard about a consulting opportunity; shall I recommend you for it?”

The best man of all came into my life after I became an investment advisor. We met through a colleague and soon knew we had a future together. He was first my sweetheart, then my boss, then my husband, my co-parent and during illness, my caregiver. Through it all he remained steadfastly supportive, fair, and trustworthy. I was never diminished or silenced or categorized. This still holds true today, 35 years later. 

I think there are many women like me, with stories about men like these. And so, as we lift up our voices and let our stories be told, let’s don’t forget to raise a glass to All the Good Men.

Fostering a Future

I invited a friend and colleague from ZACH Theatre to lunch because I wanted to hear more of her story. Renelle Bedell, ZACH’s Associate Managing Director, is bright, conscientious and hard working. She has also endured more challenges than any young woman should have to. A few years ago, she was diagnosed with a rare and fast growing tumor on her back. During treatment I saw her grow pale, exhausted and yet forge on with a will as strong as I’ve ever seen. It seemed endless, the chemotherapy, surgery, tests and travel, but she endured and was ultimately pronounced cancer free. Then, as she and her husband Adam could at last contemplate starting a family, she was told that pregnancy would greatly increase the risk of her cancer returning. 

They decided to become foster parents. It wasn’t a hard decision, as Renelle had a role model for an expanded view of family. When she was growing up, a young teen in her community became pregnant and Renelle’s parents encouraged the teen to carry the pregnancy to term, promising they would adopt the baby, which they did. Renelle has no label for her brother, other than brother.

Renelle and Adam first fostered a young, beautiful boy and hoped to adopt him, only to have his parents regain custody a few months later. After a brief period, they have now fostered another young toddler, and are working to adopt him soon. What struck me as Renelle told her story was not just the challenges she has faced, but how she and Adam have faced them. They have made major decisions about their lives from a place that is both informed and honest, compassionate and strategic, caring and cautious. This young boy is about to inherit role models that will serve him well, whatever his future holds.

I want to pass on what Renelle told me about foster care because it may inform decisions for others. While both pregnancy and adoption are expensive, foster care is encouraged by the system and offers many benefits once foster parents become licensed. The licensing agency remains connected throughout the process, and birth parents are also supported for a period of time if they attempt to regain parental rights. Once parental rights are formally revoked, foster children are eligible for permanent adoption. Addiction runs in many birth families and there is often more than one sibling seeking a safe home, so the need is great.

Foster parents receive a monthly stipend to support the children in their care and an allowance for clothes and shoes four times a year. The children receive free health care and insurance through Medicaid. All foster families are also eligible for the Women Infants and Children Program (WIC) and receive free formula and baby food up until age one, which is a big help as formula is so costly. After that there is a continued allotment for basic food items each month such as milk, eggs and cereal. Foster children raised in Texas also receive free tuition to any state college or university. In addition, there are engaged nonprofits like Austin Angels that host birthday programs and collect Christmas gifts for foster children. Many social media platforms create community for these families. 

Renelle closed our conversation by balancing head and heart. “People place so much importance on their child being genetically related to them and spend thousands of dollars on things like fertility treatment,” she said. “But there are so many children who need a loving home and so much support for the families willing to care for them. Why spend all that money trying to make a difficult pregnancy happen when you can just offer a home and family to a child who already needs one?” 

Grace

Sometimes it is the experience of hardship that fuels a desire to make life less hard for others. Take, for example, Gary Cooper. I have long known Gary as a fine man and community activist, but when we had lunch one day, I learned a much deeper story.

Gary had a hardscrabble youth. He had multiple stepfathers, earned his own way from an early age, was forced to leave home while still in high school and endured a mistaken arrest and near imprisonment in his late teens. But other experiences shaped him as well: a generous Hispanic family made room for him to come live in their already crowded home, a businessman in his hometown saw something in him and guided him to a private foundation that covered his college tuition. He had a stint as a VISTA volunteer with farmworkers in California and gave his service and leadership during the early years of the AIDS crisis, after being diagnosed HIV positive. When Gary told me what he learned from these life challenges, he said, “It is in the act of giving that we find grace.” Grace—that deeply mysterious word that explains how we are able to endure in the face of the unendurable. 

Gary knew he should carry forward the generosity that had changed the trajectory of his life. When the time came, he chose David Reyna, a young man who had immigrated to the US when he was 5 years old, and whose mother worked for Gary and his husband, Richard Hartgrove. Gary began by funding David’s dental care when he was 14.  When he saw David beaming at the world with a bright, new smile, Gary kept on going. Now he pays college tuition, housing and transportation as David pursues his dream of graduating with a degree in psychology. Gary is also introducing this young man to Austin professionals and community cultural events to expand his vision and encourage his aspirations. 

Gary didn’t stop there. He went on to challenge his former classmates at North Dallas High with a matching grant to provide services to help current students have rich extracurricular experiences in spite of the burden of poverty and in some cases, homelessness. Now in its 3rdyear, the effort has exceeded its $5,000 annual goal by bringing in $14,000 last year. 

Gary gave me a perfect and personal example of grace when he said, “I believe we find our own courage in the act of encouraging and helping others. People tell this story like I am so good, so generous. That’s not it. The truth is that through this experience I am having the best time of my life.”

The Pause Button

Summer is the time when many of us hope, beg, plead, for the chance to hit the Pause Button. When you are my age and the days of driving the children to summer swim lesson and sports events have passed, it should be possible. Still, even with the kids all grown up, and at the age when most of my peers have retired, I find it hard to pause. It seems to take getting out of my everyday life, going someplace where no one knows me, having no scheduled appointments, or deadlines, before I realize I can just stop and breathe and look around me. The truth is, I could do it at home, if I chose to.

This week, I read a big novel in 5 days. A second in 2. I walked on 7 different beaches. I had lazy meals and daytime wine with my best friend—my husband. I wandered through a few tropical stores and bought nothing. I had my toenails painted a pale pink. I woke up, and went to bed, whenever I felt like it. I wondered how I could find this calm center in my everyday life, and why I hadn’t. 

Of course, there are my wonderful clients and their needs, and the son who has gone through a difficult transition, and the damn WiFi that keeps going down. And then there’s that next book I’m prepping to write. But still, shouldn’t I have learned by now how to put some blank space in my life and just be for a moment? It doesn’t seem so.

I can’t just rack it up to ambition, although I plead guilty to the trait. And it’s not a lack of control, I do have that as well. It is, I must admit, an unconscious choice. So now, as I stroll in the soft sands of Hawaii, I am going to try to make another choice, one I can drape around me like a lei and take back home with me. I’m going to try to pause, each day, just look around, sniff the air, see the scenery and just be. Who knows what that pause may teach me? How to take more pauses, I hope.