Peace

When I was seventeen, and just graduated from high school, my grandmother took me on a trip to see family that was stationed in Iran (during the Shah’s tenure) and England. On the way we toured the Holy Land in the days when the city of Jerusalem was divided between Israel and Jordan.  We went through a refugee camp that was inhabited mostly by Palestinians who had been displaced by the creation of Israel. My seventeen-year-old self fell in love with this nativity scene with the characters portrayed in Palestinian dress.  On the bottom of each character are the words World YMCA Center, Aqabat Jabar Refugee Camp, Jericho, Jordan --- a place that does not even exist anymore. 

I have treasured this nativity scene, as it has been displayed over the years in our many different homes. This year I treasure it more than ever, as the suffering in Gaza has been on our TV screens for months.

 I often wonder where the creators of these figures are and in doing so wish fervently for the continual human craving for “And on earth, peace good-will towards men.”

The Signs of Aging

The Signs of Aging

I am not necessarily put off by the signs of aging that I see in myself. I do not mind the gray hair, or the more careful way I approach stairs. I do not mind having current cultural references sweep uncomprehendingly by me. I do not mind taking a moment to reach around in my mind for a name or an event that might have popped up with no trouble a few years ago. I do not mind that I am driven rather than being behind the wheel on occasion. I do not mind being called Grammy.

Technology

Technology

I went off to college almost 60 years ago with a brand new Olivetti typewriter grandly in its case.  This was a gift from a loving grandmother who wanted me to have the latest in technology for my entrance into the world of academia.  Even with this happily received item, research papers were a production nightmare. 

Preconceptions

Preconceptions

I have found over the years that changing our preconceptions is a necessary part of growing up. This seems even more important as we age, and the world around us becomes less and less like the world we grew up in. We are all born into families and societies that form our thoughts about the world. Some of these thoughts are worthwhile and others need to change.

The Past

The Past

Once we reach the eighties, we begin to realize that we have more past than we have future.

 

And there is nothing wrong with that as memories of the past can be wonderful: the joy of accomplishments, the new baby’s first cry, the ideal job that dropped out of the sky, the family we love.

 

Peanut Butter and Jelly

Peanut Butter and Jelly

We heard them when we were young, and we probably rolled our eyes just as the younger generation does now at what I call the you-have-it-so-good-because-in-my-day stories.  You know the ones I mean: I walked seven miles to school in the snow, I studied my lessons by candlelight, I had one pair of shoes I shared with three siblings, etc. 

The Olympics

The Olympics

I have been watching the Olympics with a great deal of interest as have, according to news reports, more Americans than ever.  I, of course, loved watching Simone Biles compete, and Katie Ledecky win decisively in her long-distance races.  But what struck me most was the men’s gymnastic team from Ukraine. 

How Old is Old?

How Old is Old?

We have been consumed with age lately from the presidential election to the Olympics.  We replaced a presidential candidate we thought too old in his eighties and rejoiced over a first time Olympic medalist swimming at 31, the oldest in 120 years.  And we still look forward to a gymnast who is competitive at the ripe old age of 27.

Being an American

Being an American

I recently watched a documentary that interviewed the few elderly remnants of Hitler’s domination over Germany before and during the Second World War. Their memories were as different as they were and ranged from a full declaration of support for the regime and the man, to a denial that they knew anything of the racial hatred that spawned gas chambers, to a deep sadness over what their silence had meant.