In years past, American companies that sell items such as cars, military weapons, food, gasoline, airplanes, baking supplies, and items for personal use found that using Native American words in their product names was good for business. Now, however, some of these companies are taking a second look at their choices. In the current age of cultural awareness, appropriating words from Native American languages is deemed “unseemly,” and in some cases just plain bad for the bottom line.
The vast majority of Republicans believe Trump’s Big Lie about last year’s election. They support the “alternative fact” that the election was “stolen” and “fraudulent” and that Trump indeed “won.” They cling to this belief despite the mountains of evidence and reams of data to the contrary. There are thoroughly fact-checked, credible reports about the 61 courts, including the Supreme Court, that struck down lawsuits claiming election malfeasance. This means nothing to the “True Believers” who consider themselves “real Americans” and “patriots.”
“Trump won.” That’s their belief and they’re sticking to it.
As I sit down to write this article, the Russian army is waging war on its neighbor, Ukraine. This is of enormous concern in Europe and around the world. But there is a different kind of war in our own midst that threatens to undermine the very foundations of our country’s success as a nation.
Until recently, education of our children and young adults was something that we valued – something in which we took pride and strove to provide for them. We thought it was important that our children were learning math and history and music. We used to admire young people who chose to go to our colleges and universities. Now we also recognize that higher education is not the only path to financial and personal success.
A mortified and remorseful priest who served the Diocese of Phoenix in Arizona for more than two decades resigned from his duties this month. No, he was not embroiled in a sexual abuse case. He had not pilfered any proceeds from contributions to the church. He was not accused of having a flagrant affair with a female parishioner. He was a good man who made an honest mistake. But in the eyes of the Bishop of Phoenix, that error carried huge implications that will reverberate through the congregation for years. The shock waves are no less unsettling than those of a convulsive earthquake.
During his tenure as pastor at St. Gregory Parish, Father Andrés Arango performed thousands of baptisms. However, in all those baptisms, he had replaced one itsy-bitsy but crucial word with another. The formulaic “I baptize you in the name of the Father, etc.” became “We baptize you….”
David, this is your older self writing a letter to you from nearly 70 years in the future. I have a perspective that people acquire only after having lived through several decades, watching their own children and grandchildren navigate the rivers that are their lives.
At your five years of age, you are living in relatively prosperous times. The world is ten years down the road from the end of World War II, and people are still rejoicing as they build back their lives in a booming economy. The adults around you are creating their families, and that Baby Boom bulge will travel down time like a rodent travels down the gullet of a python. Take full advantage of the opportunities that are going to be laid at your feet. As you become older, you will see that the young people won’t have what your generation takes for granted.
Several years ago, I was shopping for sliced bread at my favorite local supermarket. I headed over to the aisle where a cornucopia of breads, cookies, crackers, jams, and nut butters burst into view. The innumerable choices at American grocery markets are legend throughout the world.
And before I digress too far, let’s return to my quest for bread. I almost never buy the same kind of bread twice in a row because I enjoy experiencing the flavors, textures, and the very essence of “our daily bread.” Bread, after all, is an ancient food representing the life force. It possesses deep religious—even sacramental—connotations.
Millions of Americans have come to depend on credentialed online pharmacies outside the U.S. for their prescription medications. These pharmacies have strict guidelines. They will sell only to adults who are able to produce a legitimate doctor’s prescription for a particular drug or medication. Quality control of their products is of utmost importance. Quantity limits are imposed.
For the struggling masses of Americans who would normally be unable to afford highly inflated prices for these vital pharmaceuticals, these online vendors based in Canada and other countries are a godsend. They offer a legitimate service that allows untold numbers of people to purchase lawful, medically prescribed drugs for a considerably discounted price. People shouldn’t be forced to decide which they can afford to pay in a particular month: food, rent, heat, or prescription medications.
Last week, the new mayor of New York City, Eric Adams, quickly found himself embroiled in a self-inflicted controversy. At a press conference, he casually referred to cooks, dishwashers, messengers, shoe shiners and fast-food workers as “low-skill workers.” That got the attention of some powerful and influential people.
Liberal U.S. State Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez fired back via Twitter. She claimed that calling workers “low-skilled” plays into a “myth perpetuated by wealthy interests to justify inhumane working conditions, little/no healthcare, and low wages.”
But looking past the outcry over the mayor’s remarks, we might want to pause and consider the implications of the issues at hand.
We are all traversing this time that will remain in our memories the rest of our lives. If we are old enough, not only we but also our children and grandchildren are experiencing the disorientation, stress, and anguish of the COVID-19 pandemic. Someday, these children and grandchildren will be telling stories of the Great Pandemic of 2019 – 2022 (hopefully not longer than that) to their descendants, possibly including our great-great-grandchildren. We cannot begin to guess what technology will be used to record those stories for posterity. Some of us may even have venerable photographs of immediate ancestors who suffered and died during the Spanish Flu of 1918 – 1920.
I never forgot a story I read in a college English Literature class about wealth, privilege, and compassion. The title of the story, The Garden Party, is simple and plain. Nonetheless, this narrative, written by Katherine Mansfield, encompasses a range of emotions ranging from the indifference of the wealthy to the suffering endured by the less fortunate. As seen in this story, the two groups often live side by side, hardly aware of each other’s existence. This is happening more frequently here in California as the state seeks to build more affordable housing, even if it happens to be adjacent to moneyed neighborhoods.
“I’m not going to see a doctor. Why should I? I feel fine!”
I’m willing to bet that we’ve all heard this line, or variations of it, from people we know. Or perhaps we ourselves have this belief that if we are feeling well, then visits to doctors’ offices are futile, a waste of precious time, and a fool’s errand. Admittedly, for many people, visits to their doctor could also very well feel like a waste of their money if the test results indicate, over and over, that “all is normal.”
As one example of the cost of ignoring routine medical tests, let’s consider one “silent disease” that often goes undetected: glaucoma. According to the Glaucoma Research Foundation, over three million Americans have glaucoma, a disease that seriously affects vision over time, but only half of them are aware of their condition. However, early detection can prevent the otherwise inevitable loss of vision.
Unbeknownst to most people some 20 years ago, a great war was being waged in our country. Only a small slice of the population, consisting mostly of educators, was actually involved in the battles, but the outcome of that war determined the academic fate of millions of students in our classrooms.
The Great Math Wars of the 1990s pitted the “reform advocates” against the “traditionalists.” It wasn’t until 2008 that a form of “cease-fire” was called, and cooler heads prevailed as compromise between the more extreme positions was hammered out.
Which brings us to today. A recent article on the front page of the Ventura County Star published on November 23, 2021, exposed the “shot across the bow” announcing the stirring of a new conflict. Unfortunately, that clash could merge effortlessly into the broad river we know as the “culture wars” that are shredding the fabric of our society and the very basis of our democracy.
Much of the world regards the United States with either admiration, envy, jealousy, anger, mistrust, or outright hostility.
I have a cousin in Mexico who frequently mentioned the U.S. with rancor and a hint of animosity. She disdainfully described her own country as “Third World.”
However, I’ve come to understand that the term “Third World” is now considered derogatory. It’s no longer “politically correct” to refer to a country as “Third World.” The term is a relic of the Cold War. It was originally meant to designate countries that were not aligned with either NATO or the communist bloc. At the time, Mexico fit that description, and the term stuck.
Last week I wrote about the importance of being informed. But as I mentioned in the article, it is even more important that we be properly informed and not misled by heavily biased news sources with ulterior motives.
So then the question we could ask ourselves is, “How can I stay adequately informed about news that matters?” What matters to us could be, for example, subjects such as politics, health, legal decisions, science, religion, family issues. We could also have a particular interest in specific regions of the world such as Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Africa, or the Americas. It would be best for us to be aware of local issues, especially when they have a direct impact on our lives.
Let’s look at a list of twelve things we can—or should or shouldn’t—do:
For me, keeping abreast of the news is a lifelong habit. For some reason, I tend to think that everyone keeps up with the news at least as much as I do. But then not everyone is as obsessed with the news as I am! And there are others who are far more diligent than I am about analyzing the affairs of the world.
I often talk with people I know about something in the news on the national, state, or local level. I mistakenly assume that “everyone” knows what I’m talking about, but I’m often faced with a blank stare. They may be interested but not aware of the circumstances that make something newsworthy. They may be embarrassed that they don’t know what I’m referring to. Or they flat-out may not care.
And then again, sometimes I’m the one with the blank stare.
In a few days, on November 2, we of Mexican heritage will be celebrating one of our most cherished traditions: honoring the departed souls of our family members on “Día de los Muertos”—the Day of the Dead.
This day is one of our cultural treasures. Our observance on this day is the culmination of the blending of three powerful influences: 1) the Aztec obsession with natural cycles, including life and death; 2) the medieval Spanish practice, brought by the conquerors of Mexico, of honoring the dead; 3) the Roman Catholic belief in the everlasting life of the dearly departed. The Aztec final resting place, Mictlán, was transmuted into the Christian heaven.
Last week I wrote about the demise of Chávez Ravine, originally a neighborhood of primarily Mexican American families and its metamorphosis into the world-famous Dodger Stadium. But initially this transformation came at a cost to the Dodgers.
Mexican Americans resented the disrespectful treatment that the inhabitants of the early Chávez Ravine had received at the hands of government. They had been on the land for generations, yet the City of Los Angeles appeared to dismiss their concerns, rights, and sense of dignity when the land was earmarked for “redevelopment.” The families were told that they had to move, but they were promised “first choice” of the new units in the proposed housing project.
During the current National Hispanic Heritage Month, we might note that the discussions regarding the proper label to be affixed to “Latinos” are often animated, if not contentious.
This cherished “month” extends from September 15 (the anniversary of several Central American countries’ declaration of independence from Spain) to October 12 (“Columbus Day,” which has morphed into “Indigenous Peoples Day”). That this special month was instituted in 1989 by a Republican president, George H.W. Bush, makes it all the more significant.
I used to read story books to my grandson. I would entertain him with action heroes, wooden cars and board games. Suddenly (or so it seems), he is asking me questions about colleges and career choices. My grandson is, after all, a high school senior. So he should be asking those kinds of questions and seeking guidance, and I am grateful that he is doing so.
His growing awareness of the urgency to make some of his life’s most impactful decisions is welcome. I would like to see him avoid the scenario in which so many other college students find themselves. Too many students have no clue whatsoever regarding their choice of career or even area of interest, which of course determines their program of study in college. My grandson still has not nailed down any clear choices, but we have narrowed down the list to two or three possible pursuits.
A number of years ago, I was pursuing a college degree in liberal arts at Oxnard College (OC). I wanted to soften the sharp edges of the decades of technical education that I had acquired up to that point. The classes that I took at OC imparted to me a vision of the world that no physics, math, or engineering class could ever have given me.
Some of my most cherished classes in the liberal arts program taught me to appreciate poetry. Those classes in poetry were taught by one of my colleagues, English professor Shelley Savren.
One of the poems that deeply impressed and mesmerized me was Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. It conveys sheer, unvarnished truths—the ones that are not easy to confront and that we don’t want to admit are relevant to our lives.
I have a family member who works at a fast-food restaurant. Several in my extended family work at medical offices and retail stores. Several others who were from the “old country” (Mexico) worked in agriculture. Some in the family drive trucks for a living. My brother worked at a warehouse, manually tracking inventory. A sister’s entire career was dedicated to serving as a grocery cashier. My father was a linotype machine operator. In her first working years, my daughter was a bank teller (relatively few people work as bank tellers anymore). I myself worked in the college classroom as an educator.
What do all these jobs have in common?
Answer: they have either disappeared, are being judged as less essential, or are about to exit stage left.
Sometimes we reach for an artifact, a bauble, a seashell, or a book because something—we don’t know what—attracts us to the object. It’s almost as if the object chooses us.
I’ve often randomly reached for books or watched a movie or documentary. For reasons unknown to me, they caught my attention and ended up giving me a new perspective that helped me understand more about the world around me. These sources of information have pulled my life into different orbits, and at times even changed the course of my existence completely and irrevocably. One of my latest book choices certainly had me reconsidering some of the things that I had observed and learned throughout my life.
There has always been a certain degree of distrust toward science in this country—sometimes justifiably so. But over the past year and a half, that distrust has been amplified to literally dangerous levels, mostly via social media (many people’s only source for “news”) and extreme right-wing hysteria on the news channels.
The severe lack of science education in this country has fomented the massive paranoia that brings many of our fellow citizens to misunderstand, misinterpret, despise, and deny scientific information. National and state leadership that plays into the hands of an insidious disinformation campaign are decimating conservative bastions throughout the country with completely preventable illness and death.
Several months ago, I was sitting in a doctor’s office waiting to be called in. Facial masks are required. After all, this is a medical building. Given our circumstances over this past year and a half, medical staff is intensely focused on maintaining an atmosphere in which patients can feel relatively safe.
I was reading a book as I waited. I didn’t notice that my mask had fallen below my nose. The receptionist kindly reminded me to lift the mask up so that it covered my face properly. I apologized and immediately took care of the problem.
The infrastructure bill passed by the United States Senate last week has been hailed as a bipartisan victory. It was passed in the face of fierce opposition from a considerable number of Senate Republicans, regardless of how much the bill stands to benefit their constituents. After all, why make President Biden look good when you can make him look bad?
But enough Republican senators saw an opportunity to make things better for the country despite the usual threats from a certain former president. The bill is not yet signed into law, but it is expected to end up on President Biden’s desk for his signature after further discussions.
I was calmly reading an article in my favorite newspaper one morning when I came across the term “pregnant people.” I nearly choked on my coffee. Words get my attention, and I had never in my life seen those two words together.
I started to mumble about “liberals” (although I am one, with conservative leanings). I wondered if this was some far-left conspiracy to ignore womanhood or reduce it to “peoplehood.” Before I went off writing letters to the editor and state representatives or clamoring to appear on talk shows to rant about liberalism gone amok, I thought I had better investigate. I needed to find out what this nomenclature was all about.
At the time, it was hard to imagine that patiently spitting into a plastic tube would unlock some of the secrets of my ancestry. But such is the process that allows 23andMe, a “genetic service” that provides DNA testing, to provide ancestral information to their customers.
The results of such genetic inquiries can range from shocking to embarrassing to simply confirming what we may already know—or at least suspect—about our family background.
I thought I would try something new and different this week. I’m pretending that I don’t have a car. I have had a car ever since I graduated from high school, so I knew this was going to feel “different.”
Several weeks ago I started studying the bus routes in Oxnard and saw that, except for the harbor area, I could take a bus just about anywhere I want to go within the city of Oxnard from my home in Port Hueneme, provided I was willing to walk a bit. But I walk or run just about every day of my life, so that’s not an issue for me.
Once upon a time, there was a little Black girl who used to compose music in her head as she read stories about Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. She “heard” music as she gazed upon the lyrics of Peter’s morning song. She thought that everyone could compose music in their head like she did.
Last year, Emily Wilson interviewed the gifted African American composer Nkeiru Okoye (click on the link to read the interview and for YouTube videos of her work), who as a girl did not recognize her formidable gift. Her story, in more than one sense of the word “classic,” is a classic American story that spans a full range of human experiences: giftedness, discouragement, prejudice, encouragement, recognition, and ultimately triumph. As a young adult, she studied at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music and earned a doctorate in music theory and composition at Rutgers University, one of only nine “colonial colleges.” These colleges have deep roots, as they were chartered before the American War of Independence.
The news media and the health establishment continually preach to us about the importance of eating a healthy diet (substantial portions of fresh, seasonal, raw fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and limited red meat intake). A healthy diet, in turn, enhances our lives, allowing us to be more active and productive.
This is all well and good for those who have access to foods that are rich in nutrients and low in fat and calories. But many of us living in this part of California amid agricultural abundance may take for granted the food that is available to us. We may not be fully aware of the “food deserts” [NOTE: not “food desserts”!] scattered throughout many of our neighborhoods. “Food deserts” condemn many of those living in impoverished communities to poor health, sinking them even further into poverty.
In 1949, George Orwell’s novel, “1984,” was published. What was predicted to happen in “1984” in a fictionalized Britain came about for us in the U.S. quite recently. “Orwellisms” seem to be guiding our country into a dark forest from which we seem unable to emerge, and possibly never will. Just as in “1984,” truth at this time appears to be amorphous, fluid, and often inverted.
Politicians of the rightist persuasion often attack their Democratic opponents with round condemnations of their “socialist” platforms. The word “socialist” drives hard-right conservative voters into paroxysms of rage and disgust. Its impact is much the same as the label “commie” was in the 1950s when “Communists” were being pursued under every rock and wooden plank. There are aspects of socialism that should be of concern to us, but it is not an ideology to be feared without understanding what it is and what it is not.
I can recall evenings sitting around the new television in the home I shared with my parents and siblings in the 1950s. The TV with a small screen that displayed black-and-white images was a new and wondrous phenomenon for Americans, who were just beginning to experience it. My father seemed enthralled by the magic of images beamed from across Los Angeles to the antenna mounted on our roof and into the television—that mysterious apparatus that was powered by glowing red vacuum tubes and voltages that could kill a horse.
I have never owned a dog. I don’t plan on ever owning a dog. I am (obviously) not a “dog person.” Some mornings on my walks along the water at the marina (dogless, of course), I feel that I am in the minority. I must look like the “odd person,”—the outlier—without a dog.
But for a brief period yesterday evening, when my daughter invited me to go for a walk with her at the marina, I was able to experience the joys of the “dog person” life.
People in our lives who can “do no wrong,” such as doctors, teachers, religious leaders—and, yes, even some lawyers and politicians—are said to “walk on water.” This is in reference to the biblical story about the time that the disciples of Jesus were crossing the Sea of Galilee. Jesus was not with them. The water was turbulent, and they feared for their lives. According to the narration, they suddenly saw Jesus walking toward them on the water. One of the disciples, Peter, armed with the faith that moves mountains, got out of the boat and likewise started walking on the water toward Jesus. That is, until his faith wavered, at which point he began sinking like a rock, just as any of the rest of us would.
John Cox, a businessman and political activist, has been a perennial candidate for political office. He has not quite yet achieved his goal. He has run for Congress, a county office in Illinois, and even president of the United States. More recently, he ran for governor of California, but lost to Gavin Newsom, a former mayor of San Francisco, in the 2018 election. Now he is one of the current Republican candidates vying for the governorship of California in the effort to recall Mr. Newsom this year. Cox has his eye on being the incumbent in California’s gubernatorial election in 2022.
As young as I was in the latter part of the 1950s, I was acutely aware of the Space Race between the United States and the Soviet Union. I recall that we were hell-bent on “beating those Communists.” Except that we didn’t. Twice.
Both the United States and the Soviet Union were planning to launch the world’s first satellite. Whoever accomplished this would be recognized as the world’s technological leader. The Soviets beat us to the punch in 1957 when they launched into orbit their Sputnik I satellite. In comparison with modern satellites, it was nothing sophisticated. But its impact on the American psyche was profound.
As I was coming of age in the 1960s, the United States economy was galloping along after the end of World War II and still heading for its peak. By then, we had established ourselves as the wealthiest and most powerful country in the world.
In the 1950s and ‘60s, college was the indisputable ticket to the middle class, which at the time was an indicator of affluence. Young people were acquiring college educations to graduate and fuel the engines of prosperity. Single-income families were the norm. Except for the scourge of racial discrimination, it was by some measures almost an idyllic society compared to today’s problem-ridden existence for far too many Americans.
But now, even some wealthier families are questioning the intrinsic, assumed value of a college education.
Former senator from Pennsylvania Rick Santorum echoed last week what many of us learned in school about the history of early America: that the original white “settlers” who arrived from distant shores had planted the seeds of American culture. In fact, he said that there was “nothing here” when the colonizers arrived. He flatly declared that “there isn’t much Native American culture in American culture.”
Mr. Santorum’s baseless claims about the absence of Native American influence on our national character is a continuation of white nationalist propaganda that ignores, or at least gravely understates, the vast impact of Native American culture upon ours. To say, as he did, that the first settlers to arrive on our eastern shores “birthed a nation from nothing” is to erase the wisdom and knowledge that was already present and predated the birth of the United States by several millennia.
A Gallup news item from last month describes the precipitous drop in religious affiliation in the United States since the turn of the century—not that long ago. In just over 20 years, the number of those who declare themselves members of a church, mosque, or synagogue has decreased more than 20%. In fact, according to the Gallup poll cited in the report, less than half of Americans claim to belong to a religious organization.
I grew up with a father, a typesetter by trade, who was obsessed with the rules of grammar, spelling and punctuation. Starting in my school years, informally proofreading everything that was printed on paper was as natural as breathing air. I hardly realized I was doing it. Now, fast-forwarding several decades, I am a recent graduate of an online proofreading course. I have become like my father, obsessed with the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation.
Lately, I have become acutely aware of several troubling trends in writing among the general public.
This past week I had an appointment with a friend, a shop owner I’ve known for several years. Like so many other shop owners this past year, her business has been closed more than it’s been open. Our encounter felt a bit eerie as we took those first tentative steps up from the depths of the Great Pandemic Lockdown.
As I was setting up some equipment for a video I wanted to make, I realized that I had lost a small mounting screw that I needed. I started looking for it all over the house until it dawned on me that this search could take hours, if not days. I could have spent precious time wandering around hardware stores searching for a replacement. In any case, without that piece, I was “dead in the water,” not able to proceed with my project.
Parents of young children need not panic. “No more boys’ and girls’ toys” does not imply the prospect of a world without toys.
What it does mean is that a California Assembly bill, AB 2826(19R), is proposing that large retail department stores have toy departments that are gender-neutral; i.e., no more division between the boys’ and girls’ toy sections.
Last week I saw an article in Yahoo News condemning a more liberal approach to teaching mathematics in Oregon, that bastion of liberal thinking (rivaling that of neighboring California!). Don’t get me wrong. I’m a political moderate with strong leftist leanings. But the way “liberal mathematics” was described in the article left me gobsmacked—not to mention incredulous. The article’s characterization of modern mathematics education was outrageous. But then I considered the news source and understood why the facts were being distorted.
The state of Oregon was encouraging teachers to receive training in “ethnomathematics.” This branch of mathematics, which never appeared in my college catalog back in the 1970s when I was a student, explores relationships between mathematics and culture. Fair enough. Understanding how Native Americans and the ancient Chinese, for example, viewed and used mathematics can be fascinating and enlightening.
Some of us Ventura County residents may be in high school or recently graduated, trying to find a path forward as we wrestle with a daunting number of higher education and career choices. Some of us may be middle-aged and “drifting,” or restless in our current careers.
Then there are those of us who are retired and looking for something new to challenge us. Perhaps we have a new interest—and the time to pursue it. Retirees may even be seeking a career that is either an extension of their life’s work, or possibly something quite different from what they had done for decades.
In a matter of weeks or months, if all goes well, the world will begin to transition into a new era: the Post-Pandemic Age. When we emerge and behold the new world order, a different work landscape will present itself—for better and for worse.
Upon the death of a parent, we children find ourselves scrambling about, muddling through the logistics: finding a mortuary, arranging religious and/or memorial services, choosing a cemetery and possibly meeting with family and friends for that last goodbye at the burial grounds. Of course, much of this can be pre-arranged.
“Ok, fine, but I go wherever I want and don’t worry about anything. In fact, I don’t believe what the scientists say about the coronavirus.”
This was more or less the response I got from a family relative who wanted me to go into Los Angeles, the global epicenter of COVID-19 at the time, to meet with her. She had arrived from out of town. We hadn’t seen each other in years. This would have been our big chance to reconnect, but I couldn’t bring myself to contravene the health guidelines that the health authorities have been pounding into our heads for the past year—guidelines, by the way, that have made perfect sense to me.
Why Personalized Nutrition Is Important
By necessity, the standard nutritional support recommendations tend to be generic; there’s nothing “personalized” in your nutrition plans, given your uniqueness even within a particular demographic. It’s true: there’s only one you. You may have a friend of about the same age, the same body type. Maybe you exercise about the same and eat about the same kinds of foods. But you have your own routines, stressors and family history that set you apart and play a role in how healthy you are and how you feel.
Amanda Gorman, our country’s first Youth Poet Laureate, stood proudly, if not nervously, before the country and the world during President Biden’s inauguration as she delivered her poem, aptly entitled “The Hill We Climb.” It was a formidable image, reminiscent of watching Barack Obama delivering his inaugural address to the nation as our first African American president.
The past few days in our country have been exhausting, frightening, sickening, traumatic, dispiriting. The attack on the Capitol, with threats of even more violence in the coming weeks and months, starkly demonstrated the power of words.
An impeached and diminished president stands accused of incitement to riot. He may well believe that his words were “appropriate,” but then he believes many things that are not true. Even several of his supporters in Congress have admitted that his words carried the weight that crushed any remaining sense of stability we might have had.
Many of us consider ourselves to be “healthy eaters,” possibly to the dismay of others around us who chide us for our discipline and call us “fanatical.” We’re conscious of our health and proud of our food choices.
Even so, we might well have one or two little “weaknesses” that food companies like to exploit, not unlike the coronavirus seeking to exploit any weakness it detects in our behavior and circumstances. Our alimentary lapses may occur with others, or in secret. In their extreme form, these deviations from our better judgment might be more accurately classified as eating disorders. But generally, our occasional missteps do us no harm and can be attributed to us “being human.”
We’ve just bid adieu to The Terrible Year. Yes, 2020 was the year that many of us simply want to forget and make believe it never happened. But it did happen. And we are not going to snap back to normal in the very near future, at least, just because a vaccine on a white horse is about to ride into town. Maybe we’re “done” with the pandemic and believe that we should “take our chances” because we’re so tired of the lockdowns and restrictions that robbed us of life as we knew it.
When Latinos in this country think of indigenous music originating in Mexico, our thoughts and hearts turn wistfully to the Aztec dancers we see performing at our cultural festivals, political protests and religious celebrations. The music consists of unfiltered rhythms from the sacred beating heart of Aztec ritual that celebrated life and death as both sides of the same mystical coin. Copal incense wafts past us, reminding us of the frankincense and myrrh that is cast into the air along with our prayers at Catholic rites such as the exposition of the Eucharist and funerals.
Classical music composers throughout history have taken cues from their own cultural roots. They wove the fabric of their ancient and folk heritages into their music to produce masterful works that resonate with listeners. The composers were influenced by music that stirred their spirits by dint of its power. These compositions are melded together by forces that we dare not try to understand. As we listen to them, we discern the echoes of something that accompanied our ancestors as they danced, prayed, or celebrated. Our DNA is imprinted onto the soul of these classic works.
For the past half-dozen years or so, there have been two warring governments in Libya. The resulting disorganization and chaos had led to a power vacuum that terrorists were only too happy to fill.
Venezuela’s presidential elections in 2018 resulted in two presidents claiming victory. The United States was quick to condemn the strongman who refused to concede, despite a vote count that was deeply flawed. …Could these scenarios presage our fate here in the United States, where only months ago we’d said, “Oh, that could never happen here”?
So there you are standing by yourself at a party, or at a dance, and you wander over to someone you’d like to get to know. Maybe you’re just curious about the person, or you find him or her attractive. Or perhaps you’ve been attending those webinars or listened to podcasts that instruct you in the art of determining whether someone is or isn’t a prospect for your business.
Maybe you’re an introvert and you feel clumsy in social milieus. But you just read a book with a title similar to, “How to Make Friends,” and you want to practice your new skills, as unpolished as they might be. So you approach someone. Now the hard part: what do you say? After all, “small talk” is a social minefield. One misstep could blow up a chance to make a good first impression.
We often hear about having to hire, refer to, or consult an “expert.” But what exactly is an “expert”?
Technically, an expert is someone with either substantial knowledge or skill in a particular endeavor. A data analyst might be consulted for his expertise in statistical studies, whereas a professional musician might be hired for her adroit skill with a particular musical instrument that she has practiced playing throughout her entire life.
What if a man is overheard calling his sister “skinny”? Or, worse yet, suppose a wife is seen in public calling her husband “fatty.” Can you imagine the firestorm if a father were to be caught calling his daughter “my little dark girl,” or if a light-skinned woman were to refer to herself as a “little black girl”?
A Twitter flare-up, the likes of which hell hath never known, is exactly what happened when the song “Lonely,” in which Jennifer Lopez, describing herself as a “negrita from the Bronx,” was released a little over a month ago.
In 1945, my father returned home from World War II after taking part in the Normandy Invasion, fighting the Nazis in France and Germany, and surviving the Battle of the Bulge against the German army. Having entered the U.S. Army as a Mexican kid from the streets of Los Angeles, he came out on the other side of the war as an American citizen, battle-hardened and fully expecting to live the American Dream.
Olvera Street in Los Angeles is where history, culture, multicultural livelihoods, and now a pandemic all intersect. This street is the cornerstone of the very character and identity of Los Angeles. But now this iconic testament to Mexican culture in one of the nation’s oldest metropolises just south of us here in Ventura County is suddenly having incredulous visions of its demise.
I have many of my mother’s paintings in my home. She was an artist specializing in portraiture and images depicting religion and Mexican culture (which are hard to separate): the Virgin of Guadalupe, biblical scenes, vaqueros (Mexican cowboys) on the “rancho,” heroic Mexican legendary figures.
My mother never went to art school. In fact, one highly-regarded art school in Los Angeles refused her application for admission when she graduated from high school because they regarded her as “too advanced” for their level of instruction. As a girl and later a teenager, she had learned by watching her father, professional Mexican artist Candelario Rivas, as he painted masterfully in his home studio.
A “crisis” most often refers to intense difficulty or danger that is temporary. A “mid-life crisis” will eventually burn itself out. A “crisis of conscience” will work itself out over time. A “political crisis” will normally resolve itself, ideally without the loss of life or cherished institutions.
There once was a time when we Americans didn’t seek shelter in our echo chambers where we soak in the news that corresponds to our world view and ideology. We weren’t a nation of Fox News vs. CNN viewers, scorning each other and inhabiting very different but parallel universes. We didn’t accuse each other of subscribing to conspiracy theories. We didn’t have leaders at the very top rungs of government actively promoting some of the vilest, most unimaginably preposterous and downright quirky fabrications that we hear today, every day, everywhere and all the time.
