I Resolve

The Honorable                                       The Honorable                                     The Honorable   

Bill Nelson                                            Marco Rubio                                         David Jolly                  

U.S. Senate                                            U.S. Senate                                          U.S. House

716 Hart Senate O. B     .                       284 Russell Senate O.B.                     1728 Longworth O.B.

Washington, DC  20510                       Washington, DC 20510                         Washington, DC 20515

The Honorable                                       The Honorable                                      

Jack Latvala                                          James W. Grant                                   

Florida Senate                                       Florida House                                      

26133 US Hwy 19 N, #201                  12972 North Dale Mabry

Clearwater, FL  33763                         Tampa, FL  33618-2806

The Honorable                                      The Honorable

Rick Scott                                             Pam Bondi

Governor of Florida                              Attorney General of Florida

The Capitol                                           The Capitol

400 S. Monroe Street                             PL-01

Tallahassee, FL  32399-0001               Tallahassee, FL  32399-1050

Dear Sirs and Madam:

Please forgive any awkwardness, this is my first time writing to one of my elected officials so I am a bit unsure of the proper protocol. What I am sure of is that I, and many like me, must acknowledge our share of the responsibility for the recent slaughter in Orlando.  I make this assertion because when faced with violence like this in the past, we did not stand up strongly enough or for long enough to get you and your colleagues to listen to our concerns.  Or maybe we did not voice those concerns loudly enough or stridently enough to be heard over the special-interest lobbies.  Whatever the reason, rather than changing anything, we all learned the steps to the gun-tragedy waltz and no matter how much we protested that we wanted things to change, when the music came up we danced the steps: fear, shock, horror, anger, prayer, moments of silence, mourning and acceptance. And then, still and quiet, we waited for our cue for the next tragedy so we could repeat the steps that had become so ingrained in us. Well, I am done with that dance.  This time, when I got to anger, I pivoted and stepped to resolved.  And that is where I am standing my ground.  Resolved to push for reasonable gun controls.  Resolved to retire bigotry.

Let’s tackle the first one, shall we?    In order to assure you that I am not against all gun ownership, you need to know a bit about me and my background.  I grew up in a Florida Cracker household where guns and hunting were an integral part of our food delivery system.  My father killed his first wild turkey when he was ten years old.  At that point, Daddy took over the feeding of the family (his father was injured in the WWI and died a few years after).  If Daddy didn’t grow it, shoot it or catch it, his family didn’t eat it.   My childhood was not quite so hardscrabble but we still had far more meat on our table from hunting than we did from a butcher shop.  Daddy taught numerous young people how to hunt and included in those lessons was the difference between hunting and killing.  And those traditions carried forward.  My oldest son felled a deer with his first shot on his first hunt.  That son is now using those skills as a member of the 82^nd Airborne. 

The point:  I get it.  I get that guns have a use and a place.   But not all guns should be used in all places or by all people.  Growing up, I spent a lot of time in the woods with hunters of all ages and backgrounds.  Never once did I see one of them carrying an assault weapon as they walked behind their bird dog.  And while assault weapons may have a place outside of hunting, I think their use should be strictly regulated.  Maybe people who have an irresistible urge to possess and fire one should be encouraged to explore a career in the armed services.  That way they can receive proper training and the weapon can be used in a way that helps to protect rather than to endanger the rest of us. 

And I think there are some people who should not own a gun at all.  If you have a mental illness, if you don’t have proper training, if you have anger-management issues, if you have been convicted of a violent crime, if you are dangerous enough to be on the no-fly list, you should not be able to legally purchase a gun.  Why it is harder to buy Freon or cold medicine than it is to buy a gun?  Why is driving, marriage, air travel and my uterus more strictly regulated than the possession of a deadly weapon?  Just to be clear: these are not rhetorical questions, I really would like answers. 

In short: I do not advocate gun absolutism but rather reasonable gun controls and regulations.

And now, the second resolution:  the retirement of bigotry.   Every time we stand quietly by and watch as a group of people are marginalized because of their race, gender, religion, nationality, sexual orientation or whatever the offense du jour is, we delay the retirement of bigotry.  And let’s all agree that its retirement is long overdue.  After all, bigotry has been around for generations breeding hate and the violence than inevitably follows.  As a vertically-challenged, chubby, middle-aged, heterosexual, white woman, I don’t know what it is like to have people who hate me without knowing me.  Know me and hate me, yes; but not hate me just because I fall into a specific group.   I am resolved that other people should have that same protection. 

In short: enough arguing over restrooms already– just accept that everyone should be allowed to pee (or marry, or pursue an education, or worship, or legally immigrate to this country to build a better life) in peace. 

So what’s the next step? What comes after the pivot from anger to resolution?  Action.  As you can tell by this letter, I am in the process of reaching out to my elected officials.  In addition, this week I joined and donated to Equality Florida, MoveOn.Org and Americans for Responsible Solutions.   And I will be supporting these groups with whatever talent, skill and energy I have.  And of course, there is voting. Something I have been doing since the first election after my 18^th birthday (which was shortly after the dinosaurs’ untimely demise).  While I am a registered Democrat, I have never voted a strict party ticket. Rather I try to analyze the candidates and find the best overall fit for what I think is the right direction for our country.  And from this point forward, I will be looking closely at a candidate’s position on gun control and their willingness (or lack thereof) to provide full, complete protection to all our of people.

It is time to take our country back from the NRA and the hate groups that masquerade as concerned citizens trying to protect the rest of us from immigrants, Muslims, gays, lesbians, etc.,  etc., ad nauseam. 

And then? Then I’ll be dancing my happy dance and I hope you’ll join me.

Maybe It's Just the Bangs

So let's get this out of the way first -- yes, I am related to people who raise chickens (and proud of it).  One of those people recently had a chicken-related scare that got me thinking about how to view life's challenges.

It seems that Phyllis (the chicken) suddenly developed problems walking.  Her owner was quite concerned that maybe Phyllis had been accidentally injured by the resident goat. (Yes, related to goat-raising people as well.)  Anyway, Phyllis was stumbling about and there was concern that catastrophic injuries may have occurred.  

But then the owner noticed that Phyllis' bangs had become a bit unruly. After a quick trim, Phyllis was as good as new.  (No, I do not have video of the chicken bang-trimming episode and will lament that fact to the end of my days.)

So in this case, Phyllis had suffered no catastrophic injury; there was no tough end-of-life decision to be made. Phyllis just needed a friend to notice she wasn't seeing straight and to lend her a hand.   And maybe that's what most of us need when we are stumbling about (whether actually or metaphorically): a friend who will notice our distress and who will help us determine if we have been injured by a goat or if we just need to have our bangs trimmed.    

Is It Just Me? When Did We Start Looking at Blessings as Burdens?

Okay, that's rhetorical, I know I'm not the only one that complains about my blessings as if they are burdens.  For example, a woman I was hanging out with (and by hanging out, I mean sitting close to and overhearing), complained that she had to drive the Mercedes again because the Jag was in the shop again. Oh, the horror of it all.

I don't have such high-class complaints and yet . . . 

This weekend, I found myself dreading washing the cars and complaining about having to clean youngest son's room and bathroom again (he somehow manages to visit just long enough to trash the place).  Complaining rather than being grateful for having multiple cars that have transported us many inexpensive and carefree miles. (Full disclosure -- the Jeep and Honda have provided us with inexpensive and carefree miles.  The other car not so much but it is pretty and fast so there's that.)  Complaining rather than being grateful that our son came to visit.  Complaining rather than being grateful for having multiple bathrooms. Complaining because that has become the default setting for the multiple conversations that take place in my head.  

But I believe it is possible to change default settings. To learn to ride the ups and downs of life and recognize which is which.  To understand that I can't always control the direction but can appreciate the highs when they occur and learn from the lows when they come around.  To learn to differentiate between blessings and burdens.

Footnote:  My parents raised five children in a house with one small bathroom.  How small was it?  This bathroom was so small that it was an incentive for  weight control -- if you gained too much weight, you couldn't fit into the area with the toilet.  Now that's something to complain about.

Believing in Ladybugs

Optimism is not my default setting.  If there is a glass and there is water in the glass, I not only see the glass as half empty but believe there is a crack developing and that it is only a matter of time until catastrophe strikes.

But, I am trying to train myself to look for notes of grace rather than impeding disasters.  And I recently found grace in the guise of a ladybug.  In case you don't know, finding a ladybug in your garden is considered good luck.  I have been gardening at our present home for over ten years and last week was the first time I saw one in my garden.  It was also just after I transplanted Daddy's rose bushes.

Granted it was a small sign but I chose to believe that it was a message from Daddy heralding happier, more peaceful times ahead. To some the passing of Mother yesterday might lead to loss of faith in the promise of the ladybug.  However, I know that Mother's suffering is over.  I also know that weathering a year that could best be described as the title of a country western song -- Daddy and Mama Died and We had to Put the Dog Down -- has given us strength.  

Recently, someone asked about me about my religious beliefs.  I told them (with a straight face) that I am a devout agnostic.  I may have questions about God but I am going to maintain my faith in the ladybug and trust that, like Daddy's roses, we will grow new roots, bloom and thrive again.

Growing Up

Part of growing up is discovering that there are few absolutes in life.  It's learning that the hard choices you make today based on the information you have available, can be the choices that with changing circumstances turn out to be horribly wrong.  It's learning that the promises made yesterday with the best of intentions and deepest of love might have to be broken tomorrow.  Not because the intentions or love have changed but because breaking those promises is now the best way to honor the intentions and love. 

And so it has been with caring for Mother. Promises were made to Daddy regarding her care that now must be broken.  The last few weeks have made it obvious that there is no way to keep her safe without putting her in a nursing facility.  Goodness knows Bobbi and Jack (my sister and her husband) have tried.  Jack has spent so many hours tending wounds from Mother's multiple falls that Bobbi noted he would have made a good doctor.  I don't know about that, but I do know that he makes a great role model.  

Choices now have to be made that are not based on what Mother wants or what was promised to Daddy, but rather on what needs to be done to keep Mother as safe and healthy as possible. And while I know what needs to be done and I understand that adults make the hard choices, a part of me really doesn't want to be an adult right now. 

There Will Be Pie

Earlier this week marked what would have been my father's 89th birthday.  Unfortunately, he died a few months ago after a long and well-lived life.  We will celebrate it this weekend with lemon meringue pie.

As I think about celebrating his life, I consider what makes a life well lived.  If it is amassing a large fortune, he missed that mark.  My inheritance literally consists of two boat propellers, a bass fishing trophy, one of his fishing shirts, an unnamed item my cousin is holding for me that is too large to ship, and a dove stool.  If you don't know what a dove stool is, please let me know.  Not so that I can enlighten you but so I can revel in my superior education -- it is not often I get a chance to do that. No, Daddy never made a fortune.  But, he made a living and supported his family.  We didn't live lavishly but we never went without any of the necessities.

If it is devoting yourself to a religious or charitable cause, he missed that mark as well.  Don't get me wrong, he attended and supported a church but he certainly didn't preach religion to anyone.  And I never knew him to fund raise or support a charity.  What I did know him to do was to be generous as he went about the business of living.  He gave away enough fish, quail and vegetables to to feed the whole county.  And he always gave a hand up to people. Whether it was teaching someone to hunt or fish or finding work for someone to do so they could earn a few dollars to tide them over a rough spot, you could always count on Daddy to be generous with his time and resources.

If it is spending your time thinking deep thoughts and marking important moments, he missed that mark too.  Instead, he appreciated the small moments.  He could turn a day spent traveling to the dock, the tackle shop, the hardware store and the oyster bar into a grand adventure.  My mother believes that people expect too much happiness -- she says you are lucky if you get ten minutes a day.  More than once Daddy told me he had used up a year's worth of happiness in one day.  And he didn't do it with big occasions but rather by being present and thoroughly enjoying the small ones.

If it is by knowing important people, I could make the argument that he hit this mark.  However, the argument would be dependent upon the fact that Daddy didn't judge people's importance by the same scale most of us use.  He didn't care about your money, political connections or education.  He cared about what he knew about your character through his own personal dealings with you.  He had more respect for some of the homeless people he knew in town than for some of the local politicians.   And regardless of how much he respected you or judged you as important, he wasn't going to hold dinner for you so you had best be on time.

No, I think it was a well-lived life because he truly relished living it.  He took chances;  cared deeply about friends, family and bird dogs (not necessarily in that order); was passionate about fishing and hunting and shared those passions with others; he laughed deeply and long when something amused him which was often.  Even in despair, he set the bar high.  He buried two children and his adored sister but when life knocked him down, he never failed to get back up.  It was a well-lived life because it left a blueprint for us to follow in the wake of his death. 

We will celebrate it this weekend.  There will be laughter, tears and pie.  Just as Daddy would have wanted.  

We Were Not Prepared

We were not prepared when we inherited the hound dog puppy, Johnny Cash, in a round-about-way in the spring. The extra work, expense, dirt tracked into the house. 

His insistence that the couch wasn't actually off limits. 

The laughter, joy, companionship, and happiness he added to our lives. 

The sheer cuteness.  We were not prepared.

And then the seizures started.  We sought treatment and tried to hold onto him as long as possible.  In the end, there was no way to prepare for the loss of a piece of our hearts. Johnny you will be missed.