Our Promise

 1976. I remember our bi-centenial year as a festive one.  Len and I spent a few days in Boston which was all geared up for a great celebration.  On the Fourth, Kathy, Gerry and I hosted a glorious party in their spacious yard. The theme was:  Do Something You Would Only Do Once Every 200 Years.

Gertrude gave a rousing political speech.  Phyllis played the kazoo.  Annette, who had ESP, served as a fortune teller. 

There's a sad memory attached to that day too.  Very upset, Annette approached me in the kitchen.  "I "saw" that Mitzi's husband is going to die soon," she whispered.  She was right.

Now, as we approach our 250 birthday, I think of joy and sadness.  Would Annette whisper of the death of our democracy?  Or will a new generation of leaders keep America's promise alive?

The Most Pope-ular Team

 

The White Sox scored 22 runs last night.  Let that sink in for a minute.  22!  The last time it happened was in 1970 and those are the only two times.  The White Sox are in first place in the American League Central.  Yes.  This is the team that lost more games than any in all of baseball history just a few seasons ago.

It is a miracle.  Which makes me think of our Chicago (suburb) Pope.  He is following and cheering for his team!  There has to be a connection.  Or, it’s fun to write about there being a connection.

My favorite Christian, John Fugelsang, admires our White Sox Pope. He sees him as a symbol of progressive religions values in contrast to Christian Nationalism.  He highlights the Pope’s message of charity and empathy over greed.

So, we won’t get greedy about wishing for more runs, will we.  Just enough to keep winning,

My Father's Day

 The sun woke me up.  It was a school day.  Why weren't we all getting ready?

Why was everything so quiet?  I found my mother sitting up in her bed.  Aunt Doris was there. Why?

Very softly, mother said: “I have something sad to tell you Joanie.  Your father died in the hospital last night,”  I was eight years old.  None of this made any sense.

 I’m old now and, looking back, I see that moment as a preview of a life in which things are not expected to make much sense. And, I suspect we all live with one moment or another that keeps tapping us on the shoulder. Grabbing our attention. 

I’ve missed him every day. 

A Cross Appears

 

This cross is important to me.  It showed up on the front seat of my car shortly after I left the hospital after having a heart attack.  I never questioned how it got there as I preferred to    and accept it as a sign from the universe of recovery and hope. I kept it in the car.

Now that I have let go of the car, I’ve been thinking of what place I should make for the cross, or even, should I pass it on.  I haven’t decided yet.

The cross story is my personal way of feeling comfortable with the ideas about consciousness discussed and explained in the book “A World Appears” by Michael Pollen. The cross signalled that the material and non material world are united despite never being able to  "observe"  consciousness.  There is no "outside" spot.

Consciousness is what makes us human.  It binds us together in the ultimate community.  In me, its mystery evokes the beautiful feelings I had when I discovered the cross.

Secrets

 

Secrets.  Can you keep one?  Is there something you're itching to tell? ? Do you have some that remain, and will remain just with you?  I just finished reading "The Things We Never Say" by Elizabeth Strout.  (She is the creator of my favorite character in literature: Olive Kitteridge. ) Strout writes in a conversational tone.  Like the two of us are having lunch and she has a friend with an interesting story.  Is part of the joy of being a writer being able to tell as many secrets as you want about your characters.  Hmmm.

I've been deeply affected by what has gone unnoticed by me, or deliberately kept away.  And, I have a few stories I won't put down on paper and one I'll make room for in my grave.

I'll leave it at that.

Message to the Universe

 

Greetings from the planet Earth.

We have human beings here who are smart enough to have invented a

device which has just now broken free of our solar system. But, even though

we possess so much intelligence, we are in deep trouble. We have not been

able to figure out how to live peacefully with each other. Our existence

has been one of including killing and destruction.

We also have not been wise enough to respect our natural habitat. Our

lifestyle is destroying our planet to the point where we can actually envision

our own extinction. Yet, no one has the will to turn things around. 

If you are more advanced, we could surely use your help.

Sincerely,

All of us.

This is from my book, Joan Chandler Today. I thought it was a good message to repeat on Memorial Day.

Remembering

 

My Uncle was stationed in the Pacific when Pearl Harbor was attacked.  He survived years in a Japanese prison camp.  The post war years were a struggle and he died "too soon."  As a child, he was my handsome soldier.  As an adult, I continue to salute him.

My thoughts are also with my friend Julia's brother.  The closest I ever came to him was seeing his name on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington.  He lived to 19.

Because there is no draft, the armed forces are like some exotic population.  Interesting, but apart,  We are happy to say, "Thank you for your service." and be on our way.

I will never accept why any of this has to be true.

Fire

 As I entered my lobby this morning with my donut and coffee, I noticed my neighbors everywhere, sitting and standing.  "There's a fire, or smoke, on eight.  The elevators are closed down."  Moments later the sirens announced the arrival of the firemen in their formidable uniforms and gear.  (There's nothing quite like them, is there?)  It took a short while to get things back to normal.

Of course, I remembered being in another high rise fire.  Belmont.  Twentieth floor.  1970's. This time I was upstairs and told to stay, by bullhorn from the street below.  By the time I heard the "all clear", my head was at the window gulping in the air.

The smell of smoke does not go away. And it penetrates everything. Being even on the far, far edge of danger makes me appreciate once again the essential, yet devastating, force of fire.

The Gift of Choice

 How much "choice" do I have?  If I am white, have enough to eat and a roof, am educated, then I have a lot of "choice."  I have time in my daily life to think about what I believe and what I want to do.  Or not.

I've come to realize what a huge gift this is and how few of us humans have it available where we can realize its existence.  How did it happen to me?  Fate?  Genes?  A universal lottery?

See? Here I am pondering the origin of my being.  The indulgence of the most fortunate.

Choice is not to be squandered.  Oh, alright.  Grab the chocolate cake and leave the cheesecake behind.

My Mother

When my father died,  my mother convinced my father’s bosses to give her his job as a furniture salesman.  It was in 1941!  No question, she managed her own big break.  Thus,  she became a woman in a man’s world.  The war years were slow, but she was in place to profit from the post war boom.

She had little education but had what we now call “street smarts.”  Maybe she profited from her customers and colleagues seeing her as “the young widow” but she knew how to handle them and many became her friends.  She invested wisely in stock and knew about IBM early on.

My mother enjoyed all of the trappings of success.  She paid close attention to her hair, makeup and wardrobe.  Her purchases were always top of the line. She loved it that she could afford a new Cadillac whenever she decided it was time.

There were many dark days ahead for her in her very long life but she had her wits about her until the very end.

I wrote this a few years ago in a series of stories about my family.  

Living Small

 Last week I was feeling lonely thinking of my friends who had died or disappeared behind the wall of dementia.  I actually made a list of the people who I still have here.  It made me feel better.   I noticed that there was no one on the list that I had to "put up with".  No bosses, trouble makers, or even no one of a different political persuasion.  Yes.  The big decisions and the high stakes lie in the past. And, along with them lies  drama and excitement. Is that depressing or comforting?  I think both.

For me, keeping attached to the newness of today involves living "small." A new job, a new love affair, or new home becomes a new book, new class, new restaurant. Or even, unwrapping a new bar of soap. 

Boring?

Remember, we can put danger, guilt and regret in the rear view mirror

too.

A Beautiful Soul

Baseball Hall of Fame

 I love this story.

I was sitting the in stands with Buck.  As a fly ball came close, a fan jumped up and caught it.  There was a kid nearby who looked longingly at the man and the ball in his hand.  The man smiled, put the ball in his pocket and sat down.

“What a jerk,” I said.  “It would have meant so much to the kid to have the ball.” Buck thought  for a moment, “Maybe the man has a kid at home.”  “Well, he’s still a jerk then for not bringing his kid to the game.”  “Maybe the kid is home sick and the ball will be even more special.”

Buck is Buck O”Neil.  The star of the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro American League.  He’s 94 when he’s in the stands with the writer Joe Posnanski.

The book about Buck is The Soul of Baseball.  Buck is the perfect person for this.

Two Old Shows

 I recently became obsessed with the TV show Homeland.  It’s 10 years old, but because it’s about the middle east and the CIA, it could be today.  The writing and the acting are so superb, and the plot twists are so dense, I was reeled in.

The stories revolve around two CIA agents:  an obsessed woman, and a more reflective man. Things get interesting when a POW returns home from captivity.

The dark, dark truths revealed in Homeland are familiar ones.  People can do terrible deeds when they are blinded by beliefs we hold dear: The Noble Cause. Patriotism. Love.

The show gives us one character with whom to identify.  She is a teenager who must survive a suicide attempt, change her name, and leave her family in order to find the space to refuse. 

I quit watching Homeland after three seasons.  But I was intrigued enough to look for what others had said about the program.  One of the stars, Mandy Patinkin, quit acting after his years playing Saul.  He said it was “bad for my mental health.”

As an antidote,  my friends urged me to watch West Wing. I’m really enjoying it.

A Farewell Letter

 Ifennyi and Joan

Dear Acura:

You came into my life unexpectedly.  When I took my other Acura into the dealer for repairs, a good looking, fast talking young man convinced me that I should go for a trade-in.  It turned out to be a winning move.

You missed the most turbulent stops on that long and winding road that is my life. So yes, it’s been the two of us day by day.  You’re my dining room, my snack bar, my waiting place, my delivery system.  We listened to the news and the sports talk and, of course, the music.  Remember that time we pulled over to hear the end of Rhapsody in Blue?

Here’s some good news.  I’ve put you into the hands of Ifennyi Ifebueme.  He is a good man.  The kind of person that, when you know you are going to see him and spend a few minutes together, it makes you smile.  You already know him because he works in our garage.   

 Ifennyi is from Nigeria. I remember the day when he was bursting with joy.  “I am now an American Citizen!”, he beamed.  “And now I can plan to bring my wife and son to join me here!”

                                                                               

“Ifennyi,” I said today,  “Did you say you are going to ship the car to Africa?”  “Yes. I know now that I will never be able to bring my family here.   My future now is in Nigeria and I will return.”  He saw my look of shame and sadness. He put his arm around my shoulder.  “I still have big plans, I will be a farmer in Nigeria,” he smiled.  How could we be so stupid as to lose him, I thought.  

So, Ifennyi has big plans for you.  A continuation of your global existence.  From Japan and now on  to Africa.                         

When you leave me standing here, it will be a very fond farewell.  Ifennyi’s spirit will never be crushed.  You will be with him —as you were with me — for many more miles to come.                   

April 15

 

On Tax Day, Len and I would drive downtown to the main Post Office.  Our aim was to get there a few minutes before midnight as a symbolic gesture.  We weren't the only ones with that idea. We joined a stream of cars driving slowly and passing our tax returns to the police who were stationed along the route to receive the deliveries.  We honked our horns in solidarity with the Vietnam War protestors on the sidewalk because we all knew where are our tax dollars were going.

Now, I take advantage of the AARP program that provides free service to seniors for uncomplicated tax preparation.  Thank you to the friendly volunteers.  

Bernie Sanders is forcing a vote in the Senate today about arms shipments to Israel.  We're always going to protest on April 15, aren't we?

Happiness

 The founding fathers had it right.  They promised the pursuit of happiness.  The opportunity for happiness to be included in the human experience.   The achievement was always up to us. 

 Such revolutionary ideas deserve their weight. I agree with those who bristle at the notion that happiness is a choice. No.  Choice is about deciding what to wear or eat. Bringing happiness into life’s territory, so long assumed to be only occupied by pain, is a noble effort requiring insight, discipline and action. 

Obviously, one of the things that makes me happy is writing and sharing my thoughts.  I didn’t land here by accident.  Dear friends helped me see that  “I’m a good communicator and have ideas that can be useful.” Learning what makes us happy can often involve getting out of our own way. Stay tuned.

 

An Inside Job

 What is life’s purpose?  I’m not sure if lives have a purpose, at least not one determined by Karma, a God, or any other external power.  But I, and everyone I’ve talked with about this, seem to want to give our lives some meaning.  It satisfies a need to imagine a purpose.  And we want the purpose to be a noble one, not something mean, or trivial.  Ultimately, I think I decide my purpose.  It’s an inside job. 

I realize that I’m one of the fortunate ones to even have the time and energy to contemplate these things.  I’m not constantly searching for food, shelter or safety. Why I landed here in the lottery of circumstances is a question — and a mystery — for another day.  Stay tuned.

A Good Goodbye (I hope)

 

Selling my car has been easier than I thought.  I mean the actual selling of it.  I haven't actually turned over the keys, so that trauma has yet to occur.  Two guys in my garage made offers and a third is waiting in case the deal falls through.  Pretty popular for the oldster, I'd say. And well deserved.

 I broke the news to my donut lady this morning. We took a moment together as she completely understood.  I noticed the gal behind me in line waiting to be served and I apologized for keeping her waiting.  "That's ok," she said.  "I love it when people take time to be friendly."

Happy Brithday

 Sixty Seven year ago today I embarked upon what could still be thought of as an unusual method of childbirth.  I put my faith in a doctor who offered hypnosis and deep breathing instead of drugs.  My son Bill cooperated spectacularly!  His trip into this world took only a few hours from arrival at the hospital to resting with him in my arms.

So Happy Birthday Bill.  There’s so much to celebrate is this crooked trip with hopefully more to explore.

In The Family

  

Jim and Joan

My nephew Jim went to MIT and on to a career in the field of medical devices.  Now that my heart needs a little help, as does the heart of my favorites Bill and Phyllis, I asked Jim if he was literally going to have "a piece of my heart" as he does sentimentally.

"I've worked on a lot of stuff, not specific to heart, and have had a few inventions," he said.

That's close enough for me.  Bravo to Jim and his clever colleagues!

He Was Somebody

 

Here in Chicago, we were used to seeing Jesse Jackson these last years in his diminished state.  Still out and about, but yet…

So when he died last week, I was so glad to know he is still a national story. I liked spending time again with his presidential campaigns and his influence in the Democratic party and on the country.

But best of all was the clip of his time with the children reciting :  “I am somebody,” 

Thanks Jessie.  It’s tough — but important right now — to “Keep Hope Alive.”

Run for Something

 Kevin Ryan

This upcoming election presents a rare opportunity.  Because Jan Schakowsky and Dick Durbin have (finally) decided to leave, the ballot (finally) has some fresh faces.  I’m not talking about the ones who desire a better place on the chess board. The ones who know the game is to raise the money for TV and hope the spots are clever enough to do the job.  The ones who never knock on your door or show up at the corner coffeeshop or tavern. 

AOC and Mamdani made it all the way.  It’s so exciting when it happens.  And so rare.  I’m not expecting it to happen in Illinois, but I’m going to enjoy my vote.  If you haven't heard of Kevin Ryan for Senate, I urge you to take a look.  He’s for the “good things” we say we want and know we deserve and lament that we never seem to get.  I haven’t looked that closely into Kat Abughazaleh for Congress, but I applaud her willingness to “run for something” like Michelle Obama urged us all to do.

And these two did.

Bird on the Balcony

 My friend Naomi is a bird watcher. As we chatted about her interest, I remembered a time when I felt that a bird was watching me.  My condo in Oak Lawn had a balcony. At some point I began to notice a bird that just seemed to be there when I was sitting outside or when I looked out the window in the morning.

It wasn’t a fancy bird, the kind that probably captures Naomi’s eye.  Probably a sparrow. I began to feel “visited” by this little creature.  That, in turn, allowed me to fashion this story: The bird held the spirit of my father who had died when I was a child.  He had found me and come to keep me company.  

I’ve taken the opportunity to create these stories a few times. When an incident or oddity ignites a spark.  We all need something…