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by Jeff Minick “A society that loses its sense of outrage is doomed to extinction.” So stated New York State Supreme Court Justice Edwin Torres over 30 years ago in a private communication. From the bench, Judge Torres added this lament: “The slaughter of the innocent marches unabated: subway riders, bodega owners, cab drivers, babies; in laundromats, at cash machines, on elevators, in hallways.” We find the judge’s remarks, which read like today’s headlines, cited in Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s 1993 article “Defining Deviancy Down.” By normalizing what was once abnormal, Moynihan argues, we eventually ensure “the manifest decline of the American civic order.” He uses as his data points soaring rates of crime and gun violence, disintegrating families, a chaos of ideas about sexual practices and marriage, failing schools, and the closure of facilities for the mentally ill. Moynihan outlines his argument in this way: Now, flash forward 31 years. Those of us old enough to remember the 1990s may recollect that time as idyllic when compared to our present troubles. The Soviet Union had collapsed; the national debt in 1993 was around $5 trillion compared to today’s more than $34 trillion; our southern border was relatively secure. San Francisco was famed for its beauty rather than for its homeless population, crime rates in New York City were declining and would continue to do so over the next decade, and drug overdose deaths in 1993 were less than 10 percent of what they are today. Fortunately for the future of our country, some Americans of all ages are in fact outraged by today’s cultural radicalism and deviant behaviors. In “Culture Shock with Lindsay Wigo,” for instance, the young, eye-rolling Ms. Wigo brings us a man who claims deep suntans are racist, a woman who boasts about being a stalker, and another woman who identifies as a pig. In the 1990s, our society would have looked on this trio as oddballs at best and, at worst, as suffering from mental illness. Another negative take on our decline into deviancy —and there are countless others, both online and in conversations with our families and friends—can be found in Naomi Wolf’s “Broken in What Way?” Here, Wolf recounts at length a recent visit to New York, a city she loves but which now seems to be in ruins. “I think if one lives here day to day,” she writes, “the shocking decline of the city is not so obvious. But to me, the change in the city was like seeing a beloved friend, who had formerly been beautiful and enchanting and witty, in a hospital bed, on an IV drip, half-unconscious.” Here Wolf puts a finger on another reason for our demise: the gradualism that moves society from condemnation of an idea or a practice first to tolerance and then to acceptance. So, where do we turn if we wish to reverse this decline into deviancy? In 1993, Senator Moynihan recommended several political solutions, yet given the federal government’s increasingly dismal performance in the 21st century—the massive debt, the lost wars, the broken border, the malfunctioning domestic programs—that rutted roadway promises only more failures. No—if we are to reverse our present decline, we are the ones who must take action. In some instances, such as reducing the deviant federal deficit, most of us have only a vote as our weapon. In other cases, however, such as combating neighborhood crime, seeking the best possible education for our children, or opposing society’s attacks on marriage and the traditional family, our power to effect change vastly improves. Here we must begin by reviving the old-fashioned concept of decency, which one online dictionary defines as “behavior that conforms to accepted standards of morality or respectability.” Those standards derive from our Greco-Roman, Judeo-Christian heritage, but they have been shoved aside in the last 50 years in favor of relativism, which is no standard at all. We find one glaring example of this sea change in the recent phenomenon of drag queen story hours in our public libraries. Billed as family-friendly events promoting diversity and foisted off on communities by the American Library Association, these performances for children aim at subverting the family, normalizing deviancy, and confusing preschoolers about gender and sex. At the same time, we must recognize that accepting deviancy as a norm comes with a tremendous cost. In many of our large cities, for example, crime and murder are now accepted as everyday events. The weekend casualty counts, assaults, and robberies out of places like Chicago and New York receive due notice in some media, but little if any effort is put into reducing these tallies of murder, rape, and theft. Once we understand that the deviant behavior found across the board in today’s culture is neither normal nor desirable, and we have the heart and the spirit to do something about it, we can take action. The field of education more easily demonstrates this power of the individual or a group of citizens to make a difference. More families are homeschooling now than ever before, and private academies of all sorts are springing up around the country. Parents are voting with their feet and leaving government schools. The Dylan Mulvaney Bud Light ad and the subsequent backlash that caused Anheuser-Busch InBev to take a major hit in sales was yet another demonstration of our power to make change. The lesson there was to stop supporting companies that are intent on radical cultural transformation. Public libraries have also become battlegrounds in the culture wars. From Prattville, Alabama, Lori Herring writes “How to Save Your Local Library From Cultural Marxists.” Pratt and a group of concerned parents spent nearly a year working to divest their public library’s children’s section of pornographic material, but they finally succeeded. Courageous people like them are making a difference. To take charge of our lives rather than looking to government is a tradition as old as America itself, and it can be applied to everything from cleaning up our city streets of trash to crime prevention. Participating in local elections, voting, becoming candidates ourselves, volunteering, staying engaged in local affairs—in these ways and more, citizens can have a direct effect on culture and community. Stout hearts, willing hands, and a sense of common decency can heal any number of the wounds inflicted on our society. Enough, then, of defining deviancy down. Let’s start defining decency up. Jeff Minick lives in Front Royal, Virginia, and may be found online at jeffminick.com. He is the author of two novels, Amanda Bell and Dust on Their Wings, and two works of non-fiction, Learning as I Go and Movies Make the Man. This article appeared on IntellectualTakeout.org and is shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Easter parades are over; a total solar eclipse before us. Birds are returning. I heard, in late February, that a friend had seen two bears, locally, and another friend mentioned the return of her bluebirds. The bluebirds were a welcome sign, but we hoped the bears would stay away until May. However, one or two have already come by, briefly, and so we will soon be moving the big seed cans into our storage shed. This means some inconvenience for me --- up our hilly lawn and around to the back of the out-building. But the exercise is probably a good thing and certainly better than allowing an ursine sunflower seed orgy on our sidewalk. Hopefully, those early bluebirds will find enough buggy food to satisfy their spring optimism. Do you know what a vernal pool is? In the woods on our farm, there were little pools that held water only for the spring season. By mid-summer they had dried up. But for a little while, they glimmered and rippled like tiny lakes, surrounded by mossy stones, and inhabited,just briefly, by tiny frogs, darting water insects and,maybe,possibly, wood faeries. They reflected carpets of violets and starry bloodroot blossoms. And on a nearby slope, in slightly drier terrain, there was a hillside of white trilliums. These 3-lobed trumpets must line the path leading to Heaven, they are so beautiful. In a slightly different terrain,the sandy soil in my brother’s woods (only 3 miles away) we used to find creeping arbutus, a delicate pink flower with a lovely fragrance. Vernal pools, opening wild flowers and a variety of mosses, all greening my little portion of earth. As lawns lose their winter brown, and the trees show the beginnings of leaves, it is good to just get outside. Andy Morris,* a regional poet, says this about the spring of the year in an aging world: “Kneeling down to feel the fresh green grass, I found, lying just beneath it, white as bone, a ghost of grass from a summer past, long since mown I held in my hand like so much paper, or even less than that, a milky vapor. And I thought of how age gives way to youth. And how truth is but the mulch for further truth. And I thought of how my life is but ashes, little more than a fading blade of grass. But when I looked again upon the scene, and remembered what I felt when at first, I knelt, and took the time to celebrate the green.” Celebrating the small bits of new life brightens my day. The seasons of fall and winter, and realization of aging may dim our spirits briefly, but we are restored by the whole, panoramic view of increasing “green”. “Green” is now what we all try to be in an attempt to be environmentally wise. We try to use products that do not pollute land, sea or air. Traditionally, spring cleaning has its own season. This endeavor, in the 1800s and early 1900s, involved rug-beating, scrubbing brushes, pails and pails of water, sometimes lye and white wash (and no latex gloves!). It was a labor-intensive series of tasks that truly was an actual “season”. Little House on the Prairie books give a couple of vivid house-cleaning scenarios. For them, it involved taking the old straw out of mattresses and replacing it with new straw, dragging the rugs outside to be beaten, and washing (with home-made soap) anything washable in the house. My only memory of anything resembling this, was when the inside of our dairy barn was swept down, hosed down and whitewashed, in the spring, after the cows had been let out to pasture. Today, vacuum cleaners, rug-shampooers, Swiffers and a whole array of cleaning products make house-cleaning all year ‘round a much easier process (though often quite polluting), and there is little need anymore, to tear up the entire residence. I think home-makers today may well wish to lift a glass of whatever to the new robotic cleaners, power washers and wipeable paints that make life so much easier --- and, if we are alert, safer too. As I thought about the tradition of spring cleaning, I was also reminded of other traditions with which I grew up. Sitting around a table for daily meals or for tea time is one custom that seems to be dwindling. TV trays, frozen dinners, and conflicting schedules have made meals less of a gathering-together event and more of a fast-food way of survival. We may be feeding our bodies, but are doing less in the way of nourishing our souls and connecting ourselves with family and friends. We did fairly well with sitting at table while our boys were home and in school but then college and summer jobs saw us sitting together less and less often. Now, Kerm and I do eat together but while watching the nightly news. Talk about inviting indigestion!! I have good memories of sitting around several tables. When we went home to visit, our first activity, after dropping our suitcases near the stairs,was to sit around my mother’s kitchen table for a cup of tea and molasses cookies. The table was placed before a large window with a bird feeder attached to the sill, looking out on a flower garden and a pond. So, there were plenty of beautiful things to watch and to encourage conversation. It was like taking a deep breath and relaxing for the allotted time of our visit. Then, at my brother’s house, the front door opened straight into the dining room. We shed shoes, and claimed a chair around the large dining table. We had cups of our favorite tea accompanied by considerable conversation and laughter as the stories flowed with who was doing what. There was a merry tale of a salad that was the “last straw” for Bob (not one for creative or odd foods) when he found a plastic curtain ring therein. There was the time I requested a wonderful potato soup recipe --- discovering that it was originally mine, but totally forgotten. Other family members often dropped in. As we talked, hands were busily doing bead work, blankets were being knitted, and one patient person was creating a needlepoint pillow cover. Coming home and being around a table was a mini-vacation from daily reality and created a sense of forever belonging. When we visited at Kerm’s home it was much the same feeling. I have old photographs of family sitting around the table at holiday time. The round table, pulled out, with leaves added, was laden with good food and filled the small dining room. Smiling faces indicated that we were in good company. Besides meals at that table, there were also riotous times of playing Monopoly or triple-deck pinochle, instigated by Kerm’s grandmother. Then the kitchen table was where we had delectable pancakes for breakfast and where we caught up with Kerm’s mother and what was going on in her life and the neighborhood. What we prideful, independent humans do not always realize is how much we need each other. Some of us mingle more reluctantly than others; we are introverts who find our peace in solitude and quiet. But even introverts need the company of others for healthy living. Good company, that is. I used to give my sister grief about not participating; about staying by herself (with a good book, of course) so much. In recent years, I’ve found myself behaving in a similar way. Given a choice, I’d usually rather stay home and read than go out and socialize, unless the people are near and dear. But when I do make the effort, I have felt completed and renewed by participating. Especially do I find this fellowship and encouragement in our small groups whether they be pinochle nights, Bible study or Spencer Singers. Small groups create a space where we feel safe and affirmed. So many people boast that they don’t need other people. But, of course, we all do. Every single one of us! Families, whether blood relatives or those we’ve built from friends, keep us connected to people who care about us and keep our ability to love, polished. There are two quotations that speak to the value of companionship. “Life is full of opportunities for learning love….the world is not a playground but a schoolroom. Life is not a holiday but an education. And the one eternal lesson for us all is how better we can love.** And, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed…….three are even better for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”*** We need good people in our lives for support, for mirrors, and for inspiration. In April, besides finding companionship with people who make life better, the usual spring work is waiting to be done. As the buds on the lilacs and trees swell, so do the numbers of tasks on the “to-do” lists. We’ve had some rainy days this week, the upside of which is giving us a brief respite from the outside jobs. It is good to cross off some of the inside tasks ---- like taking down the glass snowflakes still decorating my porch and picture window, and sorting the immense pile of catalogs, letters and notes to myself. Whether inside or out, may your April bring you just enough showers to refresh, and may you rejoice in every bit of sunshine that comes your way. Be sure you notice the increasing, wonderful greening all around even as you carefully, with special glasses, watch the solar eclipse. Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Andy Morris ---from “Quiet Moments; Lessons In Life And Love” **Henry Drummond ---Scottish evangelist, biologist, and writer. 1851-1887. ***Ecclesiastes 4: 9 and 12b.

by Cadence McManimon It doesn’t take a fashion designer’s sense to notice the decline of American clothing in the last few decades. The neat suits and dresses of yesteryear have been replaced with stretchy athleisure, the hats and coats vanished in favor of sweatshirts and leggings. Quite honestly, I don’t think fashion and clothing is all that important. Sure, we’ve lost some aesthetics and have nearly erased any sense of modesty. But in the end, clothes are still just clothes, right? And yet, even the humblest elements of history have something to teach us in this regard. For example, I have been a skinny jeans girl all my life. I literally used to sleep in jeans as a teenager! I prioritize comfort, as do most of my generation. I would be the last person anyone would expect to promote a return to wearing dresses. And yet, here I am, writing this while wearing an ankle-length skirt. What happened to me, a lover of comfortable modern clothes? I got pregnant. How very ordinary, right? I am currently expecting my third child with my husband, and since during my pregnancies I tend to get extremely sick, clothing choices rank at the absolute bottom of the priority list. That is, until this third time around, when I have some new symptoms. Let’s just say I am dealing with some inflammation in very sensitive areas! Tight clothes, legging seams, and denim fabric only worsen the discomfort. So, I’ve had to put away my beloved jeans in favor of soft skirts and dresses. And that’s when I realized why skirts have been so very practical throughout most of history. Most women, up until recent decades, did a lot more childbearing in their lives. It was common to have at least three children, if not seven or eight or more. Of course skirts would be more comfortable than pants as women carried, delivered, and nursed many consecutive babies! It’s only in recent decades that birth rates and motherhood have drastically decreased. On top of that, skirts and dresses are also far more adjustable for changing figures and weight fluctuations, which are a natural part of childbearing. I’ve been surprised these days that the garments that fit me the longest through my pregnancies are different dresses I’ve had since I was a teenager. Historically speaking, this type of adjustability was imperative during centuries when women could only afford two or three dresses. They needed clothes that would fit many seasons of life—it was simply impossible to buy different clothes for different body changes, as we have the option to do today. Along with that, historical—that is, non-synthetic—fabrics are far more durable. In the last couple of decades, we have had the luxury of clothing made of elastic fabrics. Clothes made of nylon blends, spandex, and jersey can stretch and accommodate pregnancies easily, as well as being affordable. So why am I nevertheless turning to skirts these days? Simple. Those elastic fabrics don’t hold up. They function like a rubber band and can only be stretched so often before losing their ability to “snap back.” The stretchy clothes I do have remain functional for only a year or so. The longest-lasting fabrics—coincidentally, those my dresses are made of, are woven from natural fibers such as cotton, linen, and wool. These fibers are simply more durable, and because they don’t stretch, they last for years and don’t wear out with laundering. It’s easy to see how this greatly benefited mothers throughout history. Along with these unexpected practicalities, I’ve also come face to face with dresses being gendered clothing. Our culture has distinctly pursued androgyny and unisex fashion, where men can wear women’s clothing or vice versa. Wearing traditional clothing is not in itself going to fix the gender confusion in our culture. But it does make an often subliminal visual statement. I recently came across this post by the Modest Mom from way back in 2012. I was impressed that her primary reasoning for dressing traditionally was not Biblical modesty, as I expected of her, stereotypically. Instead, she wrote about the stark visual difference skirts give to denote the female versus the male form. She said this is a very easy way to show her children the beauty and differences between the sexes. It reminded me of an experiment I took part in back in college. I, my sister, and a good friend were all in the depths of our coursework, and we had a lot of male classmates. We were discussing one day the popularity of androgynous athleisure fashion on our respective campuses. One of us had the bright idea to try a little social experiment just to see what would happen if we dressed completely femininely. So, on a normal day of classes, we each wore a pink dress all day long—and, yes, we agreed it had to be pink. We were shocked at the results. Yes, female students would comment “I like that outfit!” or “You look cute.” But the more drastic change came from our male classmates. My friend was in organic chemistry with almost exclusively male students; in her group project, she’d been pulling most of the weight in writing a hefty paper. But during the pink dress day, every member of her group offered to do double the amount he’d previously contributed! My sister experienced chivalry in the streets—every car driven by a man stopped to let her cross the road that day. I was offered multiple better seats in lecture halls, and every single time, men I barely even knew opened the door to let me pass. Without exception, we saw a huge increase in the amount of positive attention and deference from men in every setting. What was the lesson we learned? Men respond positively to women who look like women! Far from being preyed upon, as modern culture claims, looking feminine offered us three college girls more respect and kindness than wearing androgynous clothes ever did. And of course, I’m not the only writer to have noticed the difference dressing well can make in our lives. “What does our own sloppy dress tell us about ourselves?” asks Jeff Minick. “Are we rebelling against the idea of beauty and culture? Or are we just too lazy to pull on a pair of slacks instead of wearing the sweats we slept in?” As Maida Korte previously wrote on Intellectual Takeout, “Getting dressed in something more than flannel-patterned pants and a somewhat stale T-shirt signals that we are part of life and living it on purpose.” In our modern culture, have we too quickly thrown out skirts? What have we lost by rejecting the classic gendered dress of yesteryear? I don’t think we need to burn our jeans or swear off leggings forever, but we could certainly consider the benefits of returning to clothing that reflects our traditional values. What might dressing traditionally look like in our modern culture? It can start very simply: Recognize the value and visual signals of a classically gendered appearance. Apply good hygiene in our daily habits. Take five minutes to do something extra for our appearance, like curling or braiding our hair or having a fresh shave. Choose our clothing pieces thoughtfully. Practice frugality by maintaining the clothing we already have. There are so many small things like this we can practice, things that were commonplace mere decades ago. We don’t need to burn our newer wardrobes, or try to look like sock hop attendees, or start completely from scratch. A few small changes like this go a long way toward making our outward appearance reflect our values. Let’s rediscover the wisdom traditional culture can offer our modern closets. Cadence McManimon is a published author, former special education teacher, and now a wife and mother. She has too many houseplants, plenty of artsy projects, and not enough pens that work! (Doesn't everyone?) Her novels Name Unspoken and The Lily Girl are available at her website cadencemcmanimon.com. Her favorite things include crayons, sarcasm, Sherlock Holmes, and hearing from readers! This content originally appeared on InetellectualTakeout.org and is is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License Image credit: Pexels

February is sort of a transition month. We may still get snow, sleet, and freezing rain but, there is some snow melt, and daylight becomes darkness, later and later. Somewhere out in the snowy woods, high up in a tree, a mama owl is sitting on eggs, warming them with her fluffy self. And squirrels, having found mates, are aggressively defending their territories. Hal Borland*, renowned naturalist, said: “In February, snow will actually melt in very cold weather; evaporating without going through the water stage, and is absorbed by the dry air passing over it. I’ve seen a snow drift shrink six inches in four days, without the temperature getting above 30 degrees. ……the sun is warmer, the day is longer, nights are shorter.” No wonder our skin suffers in winter; dry air = dry skin. Lather on the moisturizers! Today would be my sister’s birthday were she still with us. Betty (Elizabeth Selenda) was 12 years older than I, and we had three older brothers. She took me to school at least once that I remember --- sort of a senior high show and tell, baby sat me a few times on the rare occasions my parents were away ----- and I babysat her first child when I was in my early teens. We were sort of like ships passing in the night while I was in college, seeing each other mostly on holidays; she was busy with family and later, after college, I was occupied in the same way. We also lived hours apart. But in our later years, saw each other more often and found much to share. She was fond of gardening, bird-watching, and reading. She was also fascinated by the big locks on the St. Lawrence River and collected Cape Cod light house replicas. She and Ray, my brother-in-law, had four fine sons, losing one baby in between. And she gallantly put up with motorcycles, big shoes, and more people in and out of her house than she might have preferred. We were different in many ways----- but quite similar in others ---- and I miss her. I always think of Betty when I see this poem by William Butler Yeats**, the Irish poet: I will arise and go to Innisfree, and a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made, none bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade. ….I will arise a go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore…...” She would have liked the peace and simplicity. We are less than a week away from Valentine’s Day. Some call this a Hallmark Holiday since it creates considerable income for retailers selling greeting cards, lingerie, chocolates, and flowers. Perhaps you remember, as a kid, making valentines --- and the valentine box at school? Our big table, when the boys were small, was covered with tiny red paper cuttings, glue, glitter and those small, humorous valentines that came in a package of 25.; a rather messy collage of creativity. I loved it! I still have a small stash of red construction paper, lacy doilies, and appropriate verses, in case, some fine February, I am taken over by a valentine-making mood. And of course, we always try to stock up on those little candy hearts with the terse sayings. The day, itself, is named after a pastor and physician. Valentine, was a Christian Bishop of Rome, when Rome was focused on conquering much of the world. He fell afoul of Emperor Claudius II Gothicus. Claudius was fighting wars and needed soldiers --- preferably young men with no romantic attachments to distract them from warlike duties. So, there was a ban on marriages for people of a certain age. Bishop Valentine, in direct disobedience of the no-marriage edict, continued to marry hundreds of young couples. His defiant behavior came to Claudius’s attention, and Valentine was thrown into prison where he was beaten and finally beheaded on February 14th, 270 AD, thus becoming a Christian martyr. While he was in prison, he sent notes to his friends, signing them “Te Amo ---, Your Valentine”. So, we mix history and romance (and a bit of Latin with English) and get our Valentine’s Day. The world today surely needs more love -----all kinds of love –-- romantic (eros) -- the love of friends (Phileo), without whom, life would be savorless, and selfless love (Agape), which emits grace and appreciation/care for all ----- lacking which, our world has become a mess! Lack of respect/ compassion, and far too much apathy, greed, and actual evil are all reasons our world seems to be falling apart quite regularly. Another, possibly more fixable reason, could be lack of communication. People don’t listen well even when the conversation is agreeable; we are busy framing replies in our minds instead of hearing what is being said. We frequently fail to “hear” (or even contemplate) viewpoints that differ greatly from our own and --- in addition --- we are often inept at sharing our own opinions in a way that doesn’t put others down. A few years ago, a local foundation sponsored a seminar in listening skills. It was excellent three hours; learning how to clearly speak our thoughts, and how to immerse ourselves in another person’s thinking. This does not mean that in our new understanding, we agreed. But we were able to grasp what someone else saying, and often, why. We also discovered, in this process, that expressing intense feelings without being patronizing or insulting takes thoughtfulness and finesse. Tolstoy said: “Everybody thinks of changing humanity and nobody thinks of changing himself!”* If you or I feel very strongly about something, we may find that 1) discussion is uncomfortably threatening to that inner belief and 2) attempts to be understanding may fly out the window if someone disagrees with what we feel is a universal given. Surely if a concept is set in stone for me, it should be for everyone! Tolstoy is right about how we humans think, but perhaps, if understanding is our purpose, we could remember this thought from Henry Drummond**: “Life is full of opportunities for learning love…...The world is not a playground; it is a school room. Life is not a holiday but an education. And the one eternal lesson for all of us is how better we can love.” And no one said the lessons would be easy! (It would probably also be useful to not bristle like a porcupine, metaphorically covering our ears going: La -La La- La! I can’t hear you!”) Loving February can be almost as hard as hugging a porcupine. Most of us are unhappy when Punxsutawney Phil predicts six more weeks of winter; we are ready for SPSRING! There may be fewer days in February (Yes, even in Leap Year), but it seems like a too-long month. If there is a thaw and mild breezes (as this week), I cut forsythia branches, forcing them into early bloom inside. Forsythia tries to take over the world, so pruning it is a good deed. If one has access, a mixed bouquet of forsythia and pussy willows is lovely, but our pussy willow trees, unpruned by their lethargic owners, have grown far beyond our reach. Later in the spring, the fuzzy little gray nubbins will flare against the sky about 25 feet up. So, my early bouquet will feature only forsythia. There was a pussy willow tree on my brother’s farm, grown sturdy and tall, between a stone smoke house and a shed used as a play house. His children and I would climb that many-branched tree, sitting up amid the branches, viewing our “kingdom” o’er. At my home, I had two trees for my personal scaling. One was the cherry tree that met the roof outside my west bedroom window; perfect for up and down. Our cat thought so too; he would climb up to my window and meow to be let in. The other was an ironwood tree growing in a hedgerow in our back pasture. It had a horizontal limb, creating a seat, about five feet up, among the leaves. (And it was nicely far enough away from the house, that I couldn’t hear if anyone called.) Every child ought to have at least one tree to climb; a sylvan sanctuary! A few years ago, the larch trees in our front yard were at the right height for our granddaughters. Now they have shed lower branches, as larches do, so climbing them wouldn’t be safe but the girls have probably mostly out-grown the desire anyway. Jungle gyms may be good on a playground, but there’s nothing like an actual tree for pure, tactile satisfaction. February is still winter, but that vase of golden forsythia will remind us that spring isn’t far off. My seed and plant orders will be in this week ---- early for me. Last year I missed some plants I really wanted because I was so late in ordering, so this year, I have pushed myself to order 2 months earlier. I also am trying to restrain my overly-optimistic view of what I can do in the garden. SIGH! Plant catalogs are SO convincing and so tempting with their marvelous photographs. My imagination immediately envisions beds of roses backed by clouds of delphinium, rows of peonies, and lilies. We are supposed to be cutting back, so, expanding my gardens is not acceptable. However ------ fine-tuning what we have is surely a good idea ----- right? I remember (and repeat to my husband and children) this truism: “Gardening is cheaper than therapy ---- and you get tomatoes!” Whatever the weather outside your window, try to have a little love for February. Right now, at this very moment, it is all we have. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Leo Tolstoy – Russian novelist; considered one of the greatest classic writers. 1828-1910 **Henry Drummond ---Scottish writer, lecturer and evangelist. 1851-1897.

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; When it is summer in the light and winter in the shade….” Charles Dickens TA-Da!!! It is just past the Vernal Equinox and in my part of the world, Spring is here -- on the calendar as well as in reality! Spring, in Zones 4 and 5 can be quite liberally seasoned with big snowflakes, and chilly March winds, as has happened this week. We have, in some years, even experienced a blizzard in mid-April and wet snow flurries in May. But there is always the surety that these slight discomforts will not linger very long; spring, with its many moods, is here. Snowdrops and winter aconite have been in bloom for two weeks now, and the crocuses are an amazing patch of purple by the front steps. Day Lily leaves are 4-6 inches above the ground. While we were gone last weekend, a bear came through and pulled a bird feeder apart. He must have been a fast-moving young bear, because he apparently didn’t remember where the bird seed cans were, and didn’t do any other damage. It is no wonder, with such mild weather, that bears have awakened and are traveling earlier than usual ---- and are hungry!! Who doesn’t know the familiar old song “Easter Parade”: “In your Easter bonnet with all the frills upon it, you’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter Parade””? There are no parades around here, but we are a week away from Easter bonnets and spring clothes, which, depending on temperatures and precipitation, may not be just the thing to wear. Easter’s date is determined by the lunar calendar, not our monthly one, and it is quite early this year. Fortunately, Easter bunnies are like the U.S. postal system’s “neither rain, sleet nor snow will keep them from their tasks” motto; rabbits don’t mind a fresh snowfall or brisk winds, and come hopping by (candy-filled baskets in paws,?) as scheduled. Garden flowers, however, can be iffy. Daffodils usually recover from a spring snow. But tulips are less hardy and often sulkily wilt, just to exhibit their resentment. There will be pots and pots of flowers for Easter Sunday’s service, so that no matter what the skies are doing outside, the sanctuary will be full of fragrance and color, and a few sneezes from those sensitive to lilies and hyacinths. The week between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, is called, by many, Holy Week. In our community, for the past six weeks, there have been Lenten services on Wednesdays. This week, in addition, there is, a Maundy Thursday service, and three options for Good Friday. Then, early on Easter morn, there will be a sunrise service at an old Finnish church up in the hills, where the winds blow and mornings are a bit chilly due to altitude. Later, there are the usual Easter Day services in all the churches and then, perhaps, family dinners. It is a very “church-y” week for those who go. This quotation may not speak of Lent in a totally traditional way, but I would suggest it is one to consider, whether or not church is part of your life: “In case no one has told you lately, this is a reminder that you belong here. There is a you-shaped spot in the world that can only be filled by you. Don’t worry about why. Just know that it is there and it’s yours.” ** When we start thinking about this and what it means, we may find ourselves dwelling in our own 40 days of wilderness. And that time can be holy! It is nearly time for the snowbirds to return north, those humans who prefer to not use their shovels and plows, but who sit out winter where it is a gentler climate than NYS tends to be. Some come home for Easter, some wait until every possibility of snow is past (mid-May) and some meander about the country a bit; traveling before alighting. One couple I know plans to take a cruise to Amsterdam before heading back north. I hope it is tulip season there. I have never been a seasoned/enthusiastic traveler, though we have covered a bit of ground over the years. I find that I am even less open to traveling now, in my later years. Some of that is due to increased traffic and abysmally careless/stupid drivers on interstates, not to mention the hassles of flying. But much of it is that I really appreciate being at home with my just-fits-me chair, my own bed and my cup of good tea in the morning. I like greeting the same cardinals, blue jays and finches coming to the feeder., I like filling the cat’s water bowl, accompanied by his meows of what happened during the night (“just look at my dish; skunk footprints all around it!”). And I hate missing events in our own community. But, staying at home all the time can lead to being stuck-in-a-rut, and closed-minded, so a nice mix is probably good. Travel tends to banish prejudice and change perspective, as we actually meet and find common ground with people outside our usual sphere. We did just get back from a short trip to Vermont. One of our sons lives there, with his family, and it had been a while since we visited their home. Both the trip to Vermont and the trip home fell on nice days. We had clear roads and could enjoy the lovely scenery. During our time in Vermont, there was one day and night of snow. Depending on the altitude, the snow ranged from an inch to five or more. It turned the mountains into frosty snow-globes. Since we didn’t need to go anywhere in particular, we just enjoyed watching the snowfall while we were warm and cozy inside. Before the snow, we journeyed over “Terrible Mountain” to one of our favorite places – the Weston Priory. This is a Benedictine facility, and one of their ministries is choral and instrumental music. They also carve beautiful wooden crosses, throw pottery, and make wall hangings. We acquired a few more of their CDs (Yes, we still use CDs) and a couple of books by authors I enjoy. While we were in Weston, we also stopped by the Weston Country Store, and the more well-known Vermont Country Store, which is based there. After the snow, we went to Rutland, where we found some fine and fun shops, including a used-book store that took our breath away. So traveling, this time, made a very nice break from our daily routine here in Spencer, and it was a pleasure to spend some good times with family. Traveling anywhere else, though, must be put on hold for a bit, for the gardens already need our attention. This year, we are putting some beds into buckwheat, which will fertilize the soil and give it a rest from producing tomatoes and other crops. The rail fence needs a new post with which to hold the dropped rails, some shrubs and trees desperately need pruning, stone blocks around our vegetable garden beds need re-stacking due to winter heaving and,of course, there are the emerging weeds. And we probably should take down our “winter lights” that line the driveway and go across the front of our lawn. Usually, we have more of a breather in March. But with the unusually mild weather, chickweed is already growing profusely amid the flowers, undeterred by frosty nights. I know that chickweed can be used medicinally, but right now, I just want to give the little clumps of snowdrops, the buttery-yellow blossoms of winter aconite, room to breathe. So, when I can summon the determination to ignore my reluctant bones, I’ll be attacking those little green mats of flora, and removing them to the compost pile. This is such an exuberant, expectant time of the year. Green is emerging everywhere. Birds are singing in the morning. Peepers are making an increasingly loud clamor in the swamps across the road and in the stream behind the church. When the sky manages to be blue instead of Finger Lakes gray, it is the color of morning glories. Spring is a box of pastels, a sense of awakening and hope of the blossoms to come. And, according to Hal Borland***, an American naturalist, “March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.” Whatever these last days of March bring, I wish you a blessed Palm Sunday, a Joyous Easter, an inspiring spring and pleasure in each day. As one song says, “Every morning is Easter morning from now on….”!**** Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. *Quotation is from Great Expectations. Charles Dickens was a British novelist and critic. Some of his characters are the best-known in the world. 1812-1870. **Sweatpants & Coffee LLC ***Hal Borland – American naturalist, writer, journalist from Connecticut. 1900-1978. ****Words and music by Donald Marsh & Richard Avery.

We take so many things for granted when it comes to first-world problems. Case in point – we’ve never been so thrilled to do laundry as we are this week, since we finally replaced our broken washer with a new one. It’s been nearly four months of either running hampers across the street to my Dad’s house – thanks for being such a good sport, Dad – or the laundromat. And with three dogs and a boy prone to the occasional accident, the laundromat became a fairly regular part of our routine. My first trip after the washer broke, while we waited for a repairman that never materialized, really helped me gain some perspective on how pampered we can be and how little we appreciate those things that many people don’t enjoy. I dragged two hampers through the doors, set them down and almost immediately had very helpful advice from kind folks who were obviously regulars thee, on everything from which size washer I should use to the merits of bringing your own quarters vs. getting them from the change machine. Wiser now to the ways of the laundromat, I returned to collect my wash and haul it back home to the dryer (note to self: factor in how much heavier a hamper of wet stuff is), I saw a guy in his mid-20s with his son, probably five, standing in front while dad smoked and his son bounced a ball on the sidewalk. For some reason, I decided to explain to a total stranger that I was there because of a broken washer, bitched about how expensive it is to wash two loads, and joked, “Welcome to Saturday morning.” He looked at me with a smile and said, “This is my reality,” politely sharing that he does this every weekend – washing and drying – and adds cab fare on top. The $15 I spent that one morning pales next to what has to run three times that much for him. That’s money he could be using to buy his son McDonald’s, or any one of a million other purposes. While still hating the weekly laundromat run, I approached it with some empathy. There are so many older folks there, whether they don’t have laundry where they live or can’t afford machines. So many young people as well, families with little kids … it’s a cross-section of people who don’t have some of the advantages that the lucky among us can enjoy. I’m thankful for a functioning washer, but more thankful for the chance to look at things through the eyes of others. New appliances or not, it’s good for us to share a different perspective and remember that what we consider tragic is just another every day for so many others.

by Lawana Morse Recently there was a vote for the legislature regarding giving the arena $500,000 of ARP funds. Back in December 2022, this line item was already voted on by the then legislature. The latest vote was to release the funds after the conditions of how the money was to be used were ironed out. There was some surprise by my ‘yes’ vote, which I knew there would be. I had been approached earlier in the year and was asked my feelings of the County taking on the arena as a county facility. I emphatically said no. I would not vote for such an acquisition. I strongly believe the arena needs to be a privately owned building. At current, the arena is owned by the IDA (not the county) and the hope is (and has been for quite a while) to find a private company to buy the arena and take over the management. There are talks in the works – as there have been in the past – so, we’ll see. In the meantime, one of the purposes of ARP funds has been to put money back into the businesses and tourism of the county to “recover” after the Covid shutdowns. I recognize that this is taxpayer funds that have been provided from the very broke Federal coffers. I also know, if we don’t use the money in our county, it will go back to the Federal coffers to be given to some other areas that our hard-earned money keeps getting thrown at, some good-some bad. I would rather see the funds put into something in the community that has the potential of increasing the value of life here. For so long the focus of the arena has been primarily on hockey. This town is not a hockey town from what I have seen. When the focus of a huge facility is solely on one revenue stream and the fan base just is not there to support it, the facility can’t operate. When the management is concerned with putting funds into their pockets because they have no incentive to maintain structure, the facility can’t succeed. Moving the focus from a hockey facility managed by a hockey team to a community center with multiple revenue streams being managed by a board of directors that has a desire to see the facility succeed gives me hope. I don’t want to see the arena fail. I have had conversations with many in the community and while it is frustrating to see time after time “under new management” and the seemingly failing of the building, I see some light currently. There is vision. I’ve seen ideas thrown out of how to utilize the facility. I have seen those ideas coming to light. I have heard of the conversations being had by organizations looking for a place to call home for their events. I have heard the collaboration of area businesses looking to come together and give life to the facility. I want to have hope that something good can happen by shifting the focus to a more usable community center. Opening the doors to a wider variety of events will bring a wider demographic of the surrounding area to the arena. That hope of success, that optimism, is why I voted to release the funds to the arena for much needed infrastructure repairs. The facility can’t succeed if it is falling apart. That hope of bettering the community through tourism is at the heart of why most of us have voted to give ARP funds to the different organizations that have presented a strong case and solid plans for their projects. But rest assured, the realist side of me was at work too. With every purchase, there must be accountability. If accountability is not forthcoming, I will be at the head of the line demanding the transparency of what progress is being made and how the funds are being spent. I will be asking for updates continually. I fully recognize that there are members of the community that are simply against putting any funds into a building that wasn’t wanted from the beginning. I get it. I truly do. If there had not been a strong case made for potential success and a vision given that I can support, I would be right there too. I was willing – this one time on my watch – to vote yes. I would rather see this effort made now, than to either see the building fall to ruin becoming a bigger blight in the city or have to put much more into seeing it torn down with no real plan for the area. Lawana Morse represents Chemung County’s First Legislative District. “Guest View” is a column written by readers from the Southern Tier. For information on how to submit something for a Guest View column, email us at elmiratelegram@gmail.com

For a while now I’ve been thinking about a concept which compares our lives to the changing of the seasons. To be honest, I don’t know if it’s an original thought and I haven’t bothered to look. If someone has done this already, no plagiarism is intended. Think of it as one of those, “great minds think alike moments.” The idea is, assuming an average human lifespan of eighty years ( statistics say it’s 77.28 for the average American, so ever the optimist, I’m rounding up ) you can divide those years into four “seasons”, each lasting twenty years. Spring would be birth until age twenty. We’re born and grow into adulthood, our bodies and minds developing into adulthood. Summer, from age twenty to forty when we’re in our prime and our lives are robust. The blood runs hot in more ways than one. Some days are calm and breezy and others raging with storms. All of these must be not only weathered, but excepted as well. It’s not so easy at first, but with each passing year, we gain wisdom and experience. Around age forty, things begin to slow down and as tends to happen on a late September day, there’s a certain feeling of comfort that comes over us. We perhaps look back at our summer days, remembering fondly the fun of the cool breezy ones, and knowing now that the storms we endured tempered our minds, despite what it may have done to our bodies.We see the fruits of our labors in the comfort of our homes, the success of our children. If we haven’t already, we look ahead to the coming winter and prepare. Around sixty is what I consider to be the beginning of our winter years. Things slow down around us which is good, because perhaps we’re a little slower too. Like the snow settling on the ground, we too are a little more gray. The wind blows cold, but there’s still a warmth inside us and in our homes, where we take comfort and solace in the lives we built and created. The end of this season for some people could be considered death for some people I suppose. For those who believe in a higher power, death may just be that final step in this world and a first step into a new Spring elsewhere. I have no idea, and no one has come back to fill us in so I guess we have to find out for ourselves. For my part, I’ll wait a bit longer, thank you. In little more than a week, I’ll turn forty-nine, taking one last trip around the sun before hitting the halfway mark of my own autumn I suppose. Unlike the year or so leading up to my turning forty, I don’t feel a lot of anxiety or dread about turning fifty. As I came to realize, there’s no changing it, so may as well go along with it. Still there’s some things that are more difficult to accept than graying hair and aching joints. Perhaps the most painful part of getting older is having to watch the generation before you do the same, until the day comes they take that last/ first step into whatever comes next. I’m at that stage where all but one or two of my grandparents’ generation are still alive. I recognize of course that there are many who never knew, or knew well, their own grandparents and their peers. However growing up and spending a lot of time with my maternal grandparents, I had a lot of exposure to the great-aunts and great-uncles who frequently visited, especially on the weekends, for coffee and conversation. How many families can say they still do that on a regular basis these days? Yet that was normal back then, and I remember those visits and even some of the stories told over cigarettes and coffee well. Upon hearing of another of that generation passing away a while back, I commented to my wife, “I’m witnessing an entire segment of my family disappear, one by one.” And look, I know full well I am not unique in this, it’s something we all have to endure. We have to accept it, it doesn’t mean we have to like it. As one generation passes through that last phase of life’s winter, another steps up to take its place. In time they’ll pass on into that Eternal Spring and then it’s my turn. I don’t know what that will look like, and truth is, I’m in no hurry to find out. But as someone once said, “The days are long, the years short.” In the blink of an eye, the feeling of “that feels like just yesterday” looking back will be here soon. I won’t lie, that scares the shit out of me, but I also know there’s no use dwelling on it. To do so is to just waste the time we’re given, so it’s best to live in the now. Still, those thoughts and feelings of dread come from time to time and to offset them I think about what the generation behind us is doing, watching them build their lives and families just as we and the generations before us did. James Taylor sang, “The secret to life is enjoying the passage of time.” And while it’s not always easy to, the truth it, we have no choice. So like Sweet Baby James says, we may as well enjoy the ride. Chris Sherwood writes from his home in North Chemung. He is the author of In Times of Trouble, a post-apocalyptic novel set in Upstate New York, and is currently working on the sequel. To learn more, go to cmsherwood.com

I love to see a beautiful rainbow at the end of a storm, don’t you?! I’ve even seen the occasional double rainbow emerging as the sun begins to shine, leaving a lustrous shimmering sheen on everything wet. Then there’s that elusive pot of gold we joke about finding at its end… wouldn’t we be rich! Rainbows have come to symbolize many things. Since the early 1970s, the rainbow has represented the LGBT community with bright bold colors, used by gays as far back as the 19th century to identify themselves. In some cultures, rainbows are a bad omen, a portent of evil, while on the flip side they’re said to bring good luck, especially double rainbows. But spiritually and biblically, the rainbow represents God’s love and covenant to all of mankind that never again would He destroy the earth. In that one-and-only 40-day flooding deluge of rain, only Noah and his family members survived in the ark he built because of their faith in the one true God… while the rest of the world mocked Noah and worshiped their false gods. With representation in twos, male and female of every living creature, including mankind represented by Noah’s faithful family, that must have been one full and noisy ark! After the storm, Noah and his family saw a magnificent rainbow as they left the ark. “God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.” So God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth.” (Genesis 9:12-17 NIV) And what a blessing of love and hope God gave us as represented by that rainbow! We are showered with mercy and grace when we come to Him in faith, admit our sins, and ask for His forgiveness. We all face the difficult trials of life, some more than others it seems. As one of America’s favorite poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, once penned, “Into each life some rain must fall.” “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.” Yet, just like the rainbow given as a sign to Noah after the flood, God has promised He will be with us, and never leave us… forever. (Matthew 28:20) I’ve always been touched by the story of Israel’s Joseph, sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. Taken to Egypt to become a slave, and though a faithful servant, he was falsely charged and imprisoned for many years. Eventually released by Pharaoh for his ability to interpret the king’s dreams, he became second in command! As a “prime minister,” Joseph led the nation through tremendous harvest successes followed by extreme drought and famine. During the famine, his brothers sought assistance from the foreign nation, not knowing their younger brother was in control of grain disbursement. When later identifying himself to his brothers, Joseph shared how God had blessed him through the difficulties, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” (Genesis 50:20) Though we all face our own share of difficulties, we have the hope that our gracious Lord will walk beside us, guide us, and see us through the storms. As Joshua told the nation of Israel on going into the Promised Land, “Be strong and Courageous. Do not fear… for the Lord your God goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) Many generations later, the Apostle Paul wrote that he had asked God three times to remove the thorn with which he suffered. Instead, God’s response was simply, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…” Paul was able to boast in his hardships because it was then he felt Christ strengthen him, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (II Corinthians 12:7-10) Yet, all too often, like me, we often see only the bad in the difficult situation… initially at least. When we raise our eyes to see how God walks through the storm with us, we see the good, the blessing, that comes as we look back in hindsight. Paul reassured us by saying, “And we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28) The beautiful rainbow arching across the sky after the storm is a beautiful reminder of God’s love for us, His gift of salvation, His promise to always be with us… no matter what! The Rainbow’s End Linda A. Roorda ~ The richest treasures at the rainbow’s end Reveal the blessings of abundant grace Joy from the heart to brighten your way Wrapped up in love and joy unending. ~ Yet the pot of gold always out of reach Taunts our goals with pursuits of pleasure Tempting the heart to envy another To yearn for more that’s not ours to gain. ~ But when we release our wants for more And humbly embrace to persevere We face the trials standing firm in faith As blessings pour out from our Father above. ~ Such treasures rich we cannot fathom For in His plan all things work together That from a rough path we find His promise And see His face at the rainbow’s end. ~

It was odd... this winter, just past, of 2023 and 2024. And, spring seems reluctant to stand firm. Winter keeps making dashes back with a little graupel here and a snowflake there, as if to make up for its earlier lethargy. We are usually safe from deep snow by mid-April, but one never knows. Early in March, warm weather brought out the snowdrops and winter aconite. Potted Easter flowers have gotten me through to now, when my daffodils and hyacinths are beginning to open and bring more life to outside. Change can often be a charged topic. People generally applaud winter changing to spring, and, in gardens, brown becoming green. A baby has a whole new attitude when his/her diaper is changed. Finding pocket change (coins) is always fun. A changing of the guard is a relief for whomever has been on duty for hours. A change of clothes and shoes to PJs and slippers defines relaxation. But when it comes to our habits, perceptions, comfort levels, or thinking, we would prefer to make no changes. Over Easter weekend, one of our family conversations discussed how we humans resist changes in our perception of what we can do and be. One of our sons left home in Vermont, about 9 PM, to drive to Spencer, getting him here around 1:30 AM. To quote him (the timeless answer to moms and wives): “I’ll be fine! I’ve done it for years!” His wife, who was already at our house, and I, were discussing the difficulty people (men especially) have in even contemplating the idea that they cannot do everything they have always done forever. But, even as we laughed a lot, and worried a bit, I admitted that I, myself, do not take kindly to seeing my capabilities diminished. Who wants to adjust the vision of one’s self from a coping, can-do person to a fragile being with limited possibilities? Life, however, frequently disregards our wishes and forces us to get real. Reality compels me to confess that I can no longer dance all night. My doctor had the nerve to ask if I ever could!! I assured him that not only could I, but I had more than once. Now, unfortunately, I can’t do a polka without stopping half-way through to breathe and settle my spinning head.I’d probably never make it through a set of 3 square dances, though maybe, with steady practice, say, a square dance/weekend!! 😊 When sciatica hit two weeks before Easter Sunday, rather intense pain meandered from my lower back, down through my left hip to my ankle, and didn’t go away. I was just a little cranky about the bad timing, and abandoning my usual holiday preparations. I ended up baking no cookies, no Swedish tea rings, and we dined out for our family Easter dinner. While the bakery cinnamon buns from Owego, and pastries from Vermont, were very tasty ---- and dinner at the Parkview in Owego quite satisfactory ---- I was not happy at the necessity. It wasn’t what we did, but the change in what I could do that I wanted to resist. But ---- as one of the Star Trek (the Borg, I think) lines went: “Resistance is futile!” At least when it comes to change! Hindsight proves that life is constantly changing. And changes generally bring discomfort, even angst, until they become routine. In our seven changes of residence, I only welcomed two of them. And even then, while I was happy about the one move itself, I hated leaving friends behind. I grumbled when my family home was sold out of the family and had a similar reaction when the houses of my siblings met the same fate. In my work life, when there was an opportunity to take more responsibility in the agency where I’d been for twelve years, I took forever and a day to decide; I was very comfortable in my position, so why change? And there were our offspring! Except for the rare occasions when I was tempted to send them to Outer Mongolia, I mostly enjoyed being an at-home mother, so when our children grew into adults, as children tend to do, (our granddaughters have also done this!), I missed those fun years with tweens, and teens. Even with my grumbling, though, I admit that with nearly every change, there has been a gift, something good that would have been impossible without the change. Our ancestral homes were purchased by people who respect tradition and have restored them well. My time as a director of an agency kept us safe from a director we might not have enjoyed, and taught me quite a lot that I have since found valuable. Our sons have grown to be amazing people and have married good and talented women. Our granddaughters are on their way to becoming equally amazing people. A plethora of gifts, all intertwined with change! I am having trouble recognizing any gifts in health changes (for myself or others), but I have been assured that such gifts will be found. My fading vision is frustrating; I finally gave up trying to sew after several abysmal attempts. Actually, I awarded myself an imaginary gold star just last week, when I neither screamed, gnashed my teeth, nor did I throw the machine across the room, all of which I was tempted to do. To be unable to even do an alteration is challenging, so my irritation level was (actually, still is) quite high. But I keep remembering my mother, who dealt with some of the same issues, and only said that she had more time to listen when she couldn’t be doing. The change most difficult for us all, I expect, is the death of someone for whom we care and on whom we rely. Two days after Easter, we learned that one of our dearest friends had passed on; a friend who had been part of our lives for over 50 years. Because we have reached our 80s, we must expect to lose people, but that makes the grief and emptiness no less traumatic and lasting. If I did not believe that human life here on earth is but one stage of living, I would probably be in despair, for this change I do not like. Bill was something of a “Renaissance Man;” interested and educated in a wide variety of things, and a wise mentor. Having been a history teacher, his perception of the world was based on understanding of what had gone before; on cause and effect. He was an outdoors person who enjoyed hiking the hills, watching birds and promoting good conservation practices, and he loved to garden. Becoming an ordained pastor gave him an opportunity to create a safe place for people who came to him with questions and concerns about life itself. He was a fine musician, and skillful with pen and ink; one of his sketches is on our living room wall. He helped us develop our theology and our families had many good times together. He and Connie participated, with us, in Faith At Work and Marriage Encounter both of which deepened our understanding of ourselves and each other. No one wishes to lose a friend who claims so much affection and respect. But the gift therein, has been the many years we’ve enjoyed what Bill offered. We have immense gratitude for all we have found good in this friendship and the impact he had on our family even as we regret his physical absence. As is probably universally true, the death of someone close, brings a thought or two of one’s own mortality; certainly, one of those changes we seldom wish to contemplate at length. I think I might be miffed (can one be miffed in the next stage of life?) if no one missed me. I would hope that the gift accompanying my death might also be whatever good impact I had on the lives around me; that some individuals might be grateful that I’d been there and that others would forgive me for the times I missed the mark. I would hope that our times together would leave stories and laughter, forming a golden thread of good memories, reminding those I love of who I was, and who I will go on being! Change is universal and unavoidable, though we humans may dig in our heels and attempt to ignore the necessity, and continue pining for “back when.” Unless one takes up residence in a glass ball of protected atmosphere, change will always be in every part of our lives; the seasons, the weather, our growth and understanding, choices and what makes up our cultures (no matter how me may disapprove!). Currently, we are on the cusp of change from mud season to blossom time. The amusing woodchuck I watched last summer has waddled out from beneath the woodshed, and is once again happily munching sunflower seeds. I don’t know its gender; I’m hoping that there aren’t babies back in the den. Spring flowers are about to burst into bloom. The change from brown to green, from dormant to alive and growing is, for me, a most welcome change. And this is a change upon which we can rely. So far, we can be sure spring will come every year and these lines by Rudyard Kipling seem both humorous and reassuring: “Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God, who made him sees that half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees. So, when your work is finished you can wash your hands and pray for the glory of the garden, that it may never pass away.” * Proving that some things never do change after all! **** Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net *from The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling. Kipling was a British poet and writer, born in India. Two of his most famous books for kids are: The Jungle Book and Just So Stories.

In a recent column, I wrote about Chemung County Sheriff’s Investigator Mike Theetge who, while in pursuit of a suspect in a retail theft operation at a Target store in Big Flats, Chemung County, was struck and severely injured by the getaway vehicle being used in the crime. Investigator Theetge is 35 years old. He suffered a skull fracture and brain bleeding. Gratefully -- thanks to his own fortitude and strength, and the incredible care and support he has received -- Investigator Theetge is steadily improving. But he and his family face a long road of recovery. Sadly, and tragically, the ongoing spread of lawlessness throughout this state once again hit far too close to home last week when two Syracuse law enforcement officers – Onondaga County Sheriff Lieutenant Michael Hoosock and Syracuse Police Officer Michael Jensen -- were gunned down and murdered in the line of duty on Sunday, April 14. In the aftermath of the Syracuse tragedy, Monroe County Sheriff Todd Baxter, in words that echo the sentiment of so many throughout this region and state, said, “I’m frustrated. I’m angry. I’m hurt. Just like everybody else in Syracuse. There is what I believe is a target on the back of law enforcement. People have come to a new level of brazenness towards law enforcement and if that doesn’t scare the hell out of our community then I don’t know what will." Sheriff Baxter is right about a “a target on the back of law enforcement” and a “new level of brazenness towards law enforcement.” Many believe it stems directly from the brazenness of Albany Democrat policies and a mindset that have failed and refuse to recognize – in fact, that deliberately work against -- the need for law and order. As I have stated many times over the past several years, the consequences are clear: a rapidly declining Empire State. Beginning under former Governor Andrew Cuomo and continuing under current Governor Hochul, working in tandem with a state Legislature under all-Democrat control, New York State’s criminal justice system has been turned upside down and inside out. Failed bail and discovery law reforms. A “Raise the Age” law (aka the Gang Recruitment Act) that removes criminal responsibility for violent 16- and 17-year-olds, thereby providing incentive for gangs to recruit and utilize younger members. A parole system that continues to outrageously release the most violent of inmates, including cop killers and child murderers. A correctional system that has become a powder keg of violence because it handcuffs administrators and correctional officers from being able to maintain control, and the inmates know it. The approval of new laws like the so-called “Clean Slate Act” facilitating a widespread sealing of millions of criminal records, 2.3 million records to be exact, including for any number of violent crimes including assault, armed robbery, attempted murder, manslaughter, kidnapping, drug trafficking, and others, regardless of the number of criminal convictions an individual has. The halls of state government are out of control and, consequently, the streets are out of control. Under the cover of a so-called “progressive” political ideology that has taken over the reins of power in Albany, this state has become less safe. Plain and simple. Statewide polling throughout the past few years confirms that New Yorkers view crime as one of the most critical issues confronting the state and that New York is moving in the wrong direction to address it. Albany Democrats keep trying to defend a mindset for which there is no defense. They keep trying to assure the rest of us that public protections remain in place. That, somehow, the reality of their “no consequences” approach to law and order is not real. Instead of changing their own ways, they keep trying to convince us that all we need to do to make things better is to stop believing what we keep seeing and hearing every week. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.

by Erin Doane On November 7, 1923, the Elmira chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution held a meeting. At that meeting, the organization’s president Dr. Arthur W. Booth proposed the creation of a historical society to preserve historic objects, documents, and stories. The first official meeting of the Chemung County Historical Society took place two weeks later with 75 people in attendance. The Historical Society’s first home was in two rooms on the upper floor of the Steele Memorial Library on the corner of Lake and Church Streets (now the Chemung County Chamber of Commerce). The rooms quickly filled with donations from the community. Members of the society presented talks about local history and created displays of historic objects in the library for the public to enjoy. The Historical Society received its charter from New York State in 1947. Shortly after, they began searching for a stand-alone building to house the collections and provide more space for displays. In 1953, the Historical Society moved into 425 East Market Street and Frances Brayton was appointed as its first professional curator. It was around this time that Historical Society also began searching for the mammoth tusk that had been found by Judge Caleb Baker along the Chemung River in 1778. (Read all about that tusk and the Historical Society’s search for it here) While they were not able to find the original, they were able to get a similar mammoth tusk from the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. The Historical Society relocated again in 1965 to 304 William Street. The mammoth tusk and all the other historic objects, documents, and photographs that had been donated over the previous 40+ years were moved into their new home. Many of the objects were used in new exhibits focused on topics we still explore in the museum today - life here in the 1800s, the Civil War, local organizations and schools, and, of course, Mark Twain. Materials that didn’t go on display went into storage. Unfortunately, one of the main storage spaces in the building was the basement, which proved disastrous during the 1972 Flood. (click here to read how the Historical Society reacted to the flooding) The Chemung County Historical Society moved one more time to its current location at 415 E. Water Street. The building was originally home to the Chemung Canal Bank starting in 1833. After the bank moved into new headquarters, the building housed law offices and apartments. It underwent major renovations in the late 1970s and opened to the public as the Chemung County Historical Society in 1982. In 1986, the Historical Society received accreditation from the American Alliance of Museums (AAM). It was reaccredited most recently in 2021. Less than 5% of museum in the United States are accredited by the AAM. In 1992, further renovations to the building took place. An addition that includes the Howell Gallery, the Frances Brayton Education Room, and the Barn Gallery, as well as a new entranceway, was added to the main building. The Chemung County Historical Society currently operates the Chemung Valley History Museum and the Booth Research Library. Our mission is to deepen our understanding of history and to provide an appreciation of our community’s place in state and national history. We’ve done this over the last 100 years by collecting, preserving, interpreting, and presenting the history of our community and we plan to continue this mission for the next 100 years. And, yes, the mammoth tusk is still on display. Erin Doane is the Head Curator at The Chemung Valley Historical Society. For more information about the museum and to see more of their blog, click here

There was a time we longed to know more about our loved one, wasn’t there? When we were dating, we wanted to know everything there was to know about our beloved’s life… from childhood to adulthood… who they were in the depth of their heart, and what made them who they are today. We often come to know each other so thoroughly that we can finish their sentences! We know how they think, and why they do what they do. And we eagerly follow their leading. How well I remember following Ed in the barn, learning from him… following so close he called me his little shadow! I hope we never lose sight of that longing to know our loved one on a deeper level because life continually changes, and so do we. And that got me to thinking… and wondering… how well do I know my Lord? Oh, I know Him… I love Him… and I know His word. But, do I know Him deeply, as well as I knew my husband? I know I fall short and cannot live up to His expectations. But I also sense a need in my heart to continually study the depth of who God is; and, in that way, learn more about Him and His will, His path, His leading in my life. In Deuteronomy 6:5, we read, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.” That’s not always easy. It’s a challenge. There is so much in life that clamors for our time and attention. Yet, as the psalmist David expressed his heart in Psalm 25:4, I find it echoes my heart-felt longings: “Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths.” While he also wrote in Psalm 63:1-2, “O God, you are my God; I earnestly search for you. My soul thirsts for you…” Many years later, the prophet Jeremiah heard Yahweh/Jehovah God speak to him with a message for the people of Israel on returning to their homeland from captivity in Babylon. “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, “‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart.’” Jeremiah 29:11-13 NIV) And that’s the heart I want while seeking Him in my life. The day I was writing this blog in 2015, my stepmother, Virginia, and I spoke on the phone. As we reminisced about my father, Ralph, who had died that April 17th, she shared a story about my brother Charlie’s daughter. At age 3, Nina tagged along behind her grandfather on his way out to the garden. “What are you doing Pop-Pop?” she asked. “Picking the Japanese beetles off the tomato plants and putting them in this bucket,” was his reply. Since she wanted to go in the garden with her beloved grandfather, he told Nina to follow where he put his feet so she wouldn’t get her sneakers dirty from the mud. Out of love and understanding for his little granddaughter, Pop-Pop then took a shorter stride. As Nina followed, she stretched her little 3-year-old legs just far enough for her feet to land in Pop-Pop’s big footsteps as he led the way down the path. Under Pop-Pop’s guidance, Nina picked beetles off the leaves and dropped them into the bucket. As she exclaimed to Granny, “I pick Napanese beetles like Pop-Pop!” Nina was literally following in her grandfather’s footsteps, and proud of it! And isn’t that what the Lord asks us to do as we seek Him? That we would love Him enough to follow in His steps, on His path, as He guides our way! To Walk In Your Steps Linda A. Roorda My soul is thirsting for truth from Your word, My daily strength on this path of life. A joy with grace and merciful peace When in Your will my soul finds its rest. ~ Teach me Your ways, to walk in Your steps Let Your light shine as it guides my path, May I be used to reach seeking souls Others who need the touch of Your hand. ~ May all my words echo Your wisdom And may the thoughts within my heart's depth Reveal the treasures I’ve kept and pondered That all I do will glorify You. ~ So I’ll rise above the fray of this world To place my trust in Jesus my Lord And even though some days overwhelm I rejoice within His absolute love. ~ For gracious is He who pursues my heart Just as I am, He embraces me. To know His truth with mercy sets free Blessed assurance and peace in His will. ~~

On the evening of Friday, March 30, Chemung County Sheriff’s Investigator Mike Theetge, in pursuit of a suspect in a retail theft operation at a Target store in Big Flats, just two miles from my home, was struck and thrown by the getaway vehicle being used in the crime. Investigator Theetge, 35 years old, suffered a skull fracture and brain bleeding. As of this writing, he remains hospitalized in critical condition. First and foremost, please keep Mike and his family in your prayers. The outpouring of community support has been incredible. According to the Chemung County Sherriff’s Office, individuals or businesses wishing to make a direct donation to the Theetge family should contact the Sheriff’s office at 607-737-2950 (Road Patrol) or 607-737-2987 (Administration) for assistance in doing so. The prevalence of ever-rising retail theft across this state and nation reaches home here in the Southern Tier in a shocking and tragic way. This is not just a big city issue, it’s right here in our own backyard in rural, upstate New York. We are all being impacted by the consequences of no consequences resulting from the Albany Democrats’ soft on crime and punishment policies. It’s estimated that retail theft is costing New York State businesses upwards of $4 billion annually. Polls have shown that retail workers are fearful of being attacked at their workplaces. One recent survey conducted by the Retail, Wholesale and Department Store Union, for example, revealed more than 80 percent of retail workers say that they are worried about an active shooter coming into their workplace. Yet, raise the prospect of increasing criminal penalties to crack down on retail thieves -- for example, legislation to make it a felony offense to assault a retail worker – and the response from leading Albany Democrats demonstrates the mindset destroying law and order in New York State. Assembly Speaker Carl Heastie recently said, "I just don't believe raising penalties is ever a deterrent." Senate Majority Leader Andrea Stewart-Cousins joined her Assembly counterpart in expressing the same sentiment, “Both houses find that merely raising penalties, does not necessarily get at, you know, diminishing the amount of crime." Another leading Senate Democrat, Brooklyn Senator Kevin Parker added, “I don’t see any increase in penalties coming out of the state Legislature.” It’s preposterous. If retail thieves, if criminals in general, don’t fear the consequences of their actions – and they don’t in New York State today – there’s no stopping this explosion of crime and violence. You might just as well wave a white flag of surrender. “It’s better off to commit a crime than get a job in New York,” says the President of New York’s Bodega and Small Business Association “How do you deter crime except by penalty?” asks Nelson Eusebio, who heads the National Supermarket Association and Coalition to Save our Supermarkets. He’s right. For her part, Governor Kathy Hochul has acknowledged the growing retail theft crisis and put forth a $45-million plan to establish a new state-level task force to coordinate statewide responses. The governor also wants to: set up a New York State Police Smash and Grab Enforcement Unit dedicated to building cases against organized retail theft rings; increase funding for local district attorneys to prosecute property crime cases and to bolster the ability of local law enforcement to combat retail theft; and establish a Commercial Security Tax Credit to help business owners offset the expense of store security measures. That’s all well and good, but can any of the above be truly effective without being accompanied by tougher penalties for criminals? Yes, the governor has expressed her own support for increased penalties as part of the broader deterrent and enforcement strategy, but she failed to put it in her proposed executive budget, which is where she has the most power with the Legislature’s Democratic supermajorities. Consequently, it’s clearly going nowhere in the Democrat-controlled Legislature and the governor appears in no position to be able to sway their opinion. Writing in the New York Post, longtime New York City newspaper columnist Michael Goodwin reacted to Assembly Speaker Heastie’s “penalties are not a deterrent” way of thinking this way: “Because (Heastie) has a life-or-death grip on every piece of legislation that moves or doesn’t move in Albany, his admission illustrates why lawmakers have allowed and even encouraged the waves of crime and public disorder that are destroying New York. The lenient bail laws, the handcuffs on judges, the raising of the age from 16 to 18 for young offenders to be treated as adults — they all play a role in the coddling of criminals and the victimization of the innocent. The murder of (New York City) Police Officer Jonathan Diller by a career criminal who along with his partner had racked up at least 35 combined arrests underscores the devastating impact Heastie and his Democratic collaborators are having.” Goodwin hits the bull’s eye here. New York State under one-party control has spent the past several years coddling criminals and victimizing law-abiding, innocent citizens. The plague of retail theft goes on ravaging New York and other cities and, as I started this column, the prevalence of lawlessness is seeping into every corner of the state, including the horrific encounter that left Chemung County Sheriff’s Investigator Mike Theetge fighting for his life. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.

I know change doesn’t come easy to me. But, change, like pruning of bushes and trees, is necessary. Inevitable change without and within, As time marches forth on its forever path. But what of our heart when the depth is exposed? Are we bitter in change or more gentle and kind? Pruning is vital. It cleans out dead branches on a bush or tree. It clears out heavy overgrowth. Pruning is a necessary step for fruit trees and grapevines, enabling them to produce a bountiful crop of top-quality fruit. Pruning also helps plants put more energy into growing and showing off their abundance of gorgeous flowers. For those unfamiliar with the process, pruning helps a plant maintain optimum health. While dead branches, or an excessive amount, choke out the sun from reaching the inner depths, pruning opens up the heart of a plant. Removing or trimming back branches allows the sun’s rays to reach into the heart of the plant in order to revitalize the entire plant. It may seem harsh when beginning drastic cuts; but, when the task is done, we have a much healthier plant. Without pruning, any flowering or fruiting plant, vine or tree can revert to a more wild state, putting its energy into unnecessary overgrowth. With pruning, the focus is on nutrition, feeding and nurturing the plant so it produces the best flowers and fruit. Admittedly, I have failed to prune many plants over the years and have ended up with a messy overgrowth that is now a challenge of where to begin. And so it is with us. We need pruning… of our thoughts, words and deeds… a pruning of our heart and soul. With the trimming away of unhealthy vices, we are more open and receptive to change… change which brings out the best in us. As Jesus said, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15:1-2) We need pruning to let the Son’s light enter the depths of our heart in order to revitalize us as we begin producing our fruit of the Spirit – “…love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22) We’re all branches in the tree of humanity, bearing fruit of various kinds. We each have something special to contribute to this world around us. Created unique, we’re endowed with individual gifts and talents. But, we often need pruning to clear away the destructive debris in our lives. We need pruning to allow the Son’s rays a chance to enter the depths of our heart… to cleanse and renew… to revitalize us… so that we can shine our fruit, our blessings, out into the world. And since God made each of us a unique one-of-a-kind creation, it brings joy to share our special gifts with our family, friends, and others beyond our close circle. In so doing, we bless them in ways we can’t imagine, so that they in turn are encouraged to use their gifts to bless someone else. The Pruning Linda A. Roorda He takes out his shears and sharpens the blades Ready to trim overgrown chaos. He eyes the tree, knows which branch must go, Which limb needs space as he trims and shapes. ~ Decisions are made to remove dead growth Prune overcrowding and bring in the sun. Yet not unlike my life’s debris trimmed When clutter is cleared, opened for the Son. ~ Bearing bad fruit shows a branch gone wild And bearing none how stagnant we are, What benefit then to remain untrimmed For lack of growth cannot show God’s love. ~ But if we abide as a branch alive Bearing our fruit for the world to see The evidence speaks our soul’s depth of love That we will prove the Father’s commands. ~ Abiding in love just as He loves us No greater gift has one for another For You, Lord, above have chosen us That we may bear fruit in lasting tribute. ~ Inevitable change without and within As time marches forth on its forever path But what of our heart when the depth is exposed Are we bitter in change or more gentle and kind? ~~

It was back to the races for Senate Democrats at the Capitol last week – the race, that is, to see who can be first to inflict yet another energy mandate on New Yorkers. In fact, since the 2019 enactment of what’s known as the “Climate Leadership and Community Protection Act,” we’ve watched the one-party control of the Albany Democrats move at world record speed trying to pile one unaffordable mandate on top of another unworkable mandate on top of the next unrealistic mandate in their race to try to inflict the devastating consequences of a zero-emissions economy on this entire state. As this state’s energy strategy currently stands, it's a race to unaffordability and to run manufacturing out of the state. Yet they were at it again last week with the approval of a piece of legislation known as the “New York Heat Act.” For her part, Governor Hochul included a version of the same legislation in her proposed state budget and calls it the “Affordable Gas Transition Act.” There will be nothing affordable about it. That’s the point our Senate and Assembly Republican conferences have been making since the start of this disaster in the making five years ago. Natural gas bans. All-electric school bus fleets. No sales of gasoline-powered vehicles. Round and round the Albany Democrats go and you know the rest, nobody knows where they’re going to stop. What we do know, what’s becoming as clear as the clearest sky, is that we’re all going to pay a heavy, heavy price once the bills truly start coming due -- and it’s going to be a cold, hard truth. During a news conference Senate Republicans held after the Senate Democrats approved the Heat Act last week (you can view the full news conference on omara.nysenate.gov), I once again stressed the important reality that keeps getting overlooked (or ignored) by the other side: Albany Democrats want 70 percent renewable energy by 2030 and zero emissions by 2040 -- despite our state emissions accounting for just 0.4% of total global emissions and recognizing that, even if we could somehow get to zero through the imposition of these drastic, draconian measures imposing untold hardships on New York’s communities, residents, industries, and local economies, it will have virtually zero impact on the statewide, national, or global climate. Furthermore, it will require gigantic taxpayer-funded, government subsidies, impose heavier and heavier burdens on ratepayers, and fuel a whole new set of environmental consequences and crises, many of them currently unforeseen. And again, our state-level actions on their own -- our solo, utopian leap into the energy unknown -- will make a pittance of a difference to addressing the global climate challenge. Many of us have called it a perfect storm of higher costs and drastic consequences and that’s exactly what’s playing out. The bottom line is that we can’t continue to overlook the better because we want the perfect. The perfect does not exist. The Heat Act, for example, calls for capping utility costs for 25 percent of the lowest-income New Yorkers, according to the plan’s supporters. What they don’t highlight is that the funding needed to continue to operate the state’s energy grid will come out of the pockets of the 75 percent of the ratepayers who won’t receive any assistance under the legislation. In other words, a small group of citizens will benefit while hard-working, middle-class families largely bear the burden. Further, the Heat Act would eliminate the “100-foot rule” for gas service and put at risk thousands of local jobs for utility workers. New York State consumes less total energy per capita than all but two other states. New York State’s per capita energy consumption for the transportation sector is the lowest in the nation. In 2020, New York State’s per capita energy-related carbon dioxide emissions were lower than those of any other state but then, the Albany Democrats closed the Indian Point nuclear energy plant and CO2 emissions have increased over 40% in the New York City area since the closure. New York State has been a champion in this arena and we should continue to be a leader on reducing emissions, yet it has become fundamentally important to keep sounding the alarm that the all-Democrat energy strategy as it stands is not realistic or achievable, it’s not responsible or rational, it lacks critical foresight, and it unreasonably risks energy grid reliability and affordability. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.

Easter is always a special time of year. It reminds us that warmer weather is arriving after the long winter’s cold, and spring is beginning to show its colors! It’s a time of renewal as new plant life exemplifies rebirth by poking through the covering of a late snow, leaf buds begin to swell and emerge from their long winter’s sleep, and early flowers showcase their gorgeous array of colorful blooms. It’s a special time for children as they have fun decorating eggs, enjoy the search for hidden eggs to fill their baskets, and savor scrumptious chocolate treats and marshmallow peeps. I also remember a time, way too many years ago, when it was fashionable to buy a new spring dress and white bonnet for Easter service at church. When the Covid pandemic kept many of us from attending church, I drew Easter chalk art on our sidewalk to celebrate the joy of Resurrection Day. And I also admire the Polish/Ukrainian Pysanky a friend makes – gorgeous delicate painted artwork on eggs. But there’s so much more to the meaning of Easter. Each year we are reminded again of all that took place about 2000 years ago. That precious little baby whose birth we celebrated just a few short months ago grew up with a purpose. As my husband’s niece, Rebecca, once said, “That God would become a man and understand our struggles on earth just blows my mind. [That’s] true humble love.” Yet, in contemplating God’s love, I sometimes find it hard to think of such unconditional love for me... After all, what about that little thing I did? Was it really wrong? Maybe I can just excuse it away. Will my family, my friends, or even God, forgive me for certain errors I’ve made? I know He has, as have friends to whom I’ve apologized over the years. How could God still love me when my temper flares… again…? What does He see in me? I can never measure up… Well, actually, none of us can. We “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23) … “for the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23) So, why would God care so much for me… for each of us? Because of one man, Jesus… That one man, perfect in all he did or said, willingly took my unworthiness, my shame, my heavy load of sin, and endured the penalty of death on the cross, just for my soul, is overwhelming. I cannot repay such a debt! Wait… I don’t have to? My debt is paid in full? Because Jesus gave His life that I might live, all I have to do is believe and accept His free gift? Jesus really loves me and you that much? Yes! That’s the grace and mercy of God’s love… it does not define and cancel us for our failures, but rather shows that we are each created unique by God, worthy of His love and forgiveness, redeemed through Christ from a life of sin. (Colossians 2:13-14) Now that’s unconditional love… as He blesses us with His wisdom, courage, compassion, and peace. I am reminded of Johnny Hart’s “B.C.” cartoon column. He was a good friend of my husband’s Uncle Mart and Aunt Tilly and their family in Ninevah, NY, members of the same Presbyterian Church where Hart also taught Sunday School. How succinctly Hart put the thoughts of this holy week into perspective in his comic strip: [Johnny Hart in B.C., 04/09/03] Which brings to mind a similar thought-provoking cartoon from “The Wizard of ID”, a joint venture written by Johnny Hart and Brant Parker, illustrated by Parker: Friar: “Happy Good Friday Sire!” To which the king grumbles: “What’s so good about it?” The friar replies: “It took an act of God, but they finally found somebody willing to die for you.” ...with the king left standing there speechless. [Copyright Creators Syndicate Inc.] But, after the brutality and agony of Jesus’ crucifixion and death, His friends are devastated. All their hopes and expectations for Jesus as the earthly king of the Jewish nation appear to be dashed. Yet, envision with me the beauty of an early morning sunrise. Birds are beginning to sing as the sun’s first rays appear. The dew has settled gently on the flowers in the garden as they open their buds to the sun’s warmth. According to Mark 16:1-5, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome quietly arrive at the tomb just after sunrise on the first day of the week. They carry spices with them to anoint their beloved friend and teacher, Jesus, who had died a horribly painful death on a cross… only to see in astonishment that the great stone has been rolled away from the entrance. Upon entering, they see the tomb is empty. Already sad, now they are also afraid. Suddenly, two men stand before them in brilliant light. Knowing their fear, an angel speaks gently to reassure them. “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples…” (Matthew 28:5-6) Trembling and bewildered, the women run from the tomb. Despite their confusion and fear they run to tell the disciples. Peter and John arrive after hearing Mary Magdalene’s report, look into the empty tomb, and also see only the burial cloths which lay neatly in place. (John 20:3-8) And they wondered and believed. As the others return to their homes, Mary Magdalene stays at the empty tomb, crying, missing her Lord. As a man she presumed to be the gardener speaks to her, she asks where he put him. On hearing the man speak her name, “Mary,” she recognizes him as her dear friend, Jesus, and calls out, “Rabboni!” (Teacher). After their conversation, Mary hurries to share the good news with the disciples that she “has seen the Lord!” (John 20:10-18) Jesus truly is alive! And to think that with a simple child-like faith in Jesus who willingly gave His life for me… for each of us… He will live in our hearts now and for eternity. As John 3:16 reminds us, “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish but have everlasting life.” What pain there is to realize that I fall short of His tender love every day. But what joy in humbling myself to recognize and confess my sins, and to ask for forgiveness for the errors of my ways from those around me and from my Lord, and then to feel the forgiveness… as the Lord’s love and peace with mercy and grace surround my soul. That’s what Easter is all about… God’s great love! Hallelujah!! Christ is risen!! What a Savior!! Besides… I love you! Linda A. Roorda Who am I? My soul doth ask. What am I worth? And to whom? I see only failure as I take the reins And do not give my Lord the lead. ~ How can you love the me who I am When all I see are my struggles? Yet, Lord, You do love even me In ways that I cannot comprehend. ~ To sight unseen You guide my path Ever at my side, gently calling. And as you wrap loving arms around You cover my soul with tender mercies. ~ For You opened wide Your arms on a cross Giving Your life that I might live, And in return You ask for my love With all my heart, my soul and my mind. ~ But you didn’t stay within that tomb For on day three You rose from the dead. Seen by many, in the hearts of more, Eternity waits Your Gift of Love. ~ Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer.

Reading several pages of a book by Laura Hillenbrand to my students, I knew I needed to read the full story. “Unbroken - A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption” is a bio of Louis Zamperini. Holding records for running the fastest mile, he remains the youngest Olympics qualifier at age 19, placing 8th at the 1936 Berlin Olympics in the 5,000 meter race. Though he didn’t medal, he put on a burst of speed to run the fastest final lap among the competitors in an amazing 56 seconds! On asking, the teacher lent me an unabridged version and I’ve been reading every minute I can this weekend, unable to set the book down for long. In a Pacific battle with the Japanese during WW II, Zamperini and his pilot friend survived their B-24 plane crash of May 27, 1943. Stranded at sea for 47 days, they were picked up by the Japanese. Surviving more than 2 years of hellish prison camps and disease, they were tortured, starved, and severely beaten, enduring the brutality with humor, hope and determination. Freed after the atomic bombs were dropped in August 1945, Zamperini faced torments at home with PTSD nightmares of his experience under one especially sadistic guard. Drinking excessive alcohol to control the nightmares, his life began to unravel. Finally acquiescing to his wife’s entreaties, he attended a Billy Graham crusade. She had accepted Christ a few days earlier, and hoped Louie could find solace in Christ for the torments he lived with… and he did! His drinking and tormenting nightmares stopped that very night. Zamperini heard Graham preach on the adulteress that night, Graham’s words reminding him of forgotten prayerful pleas for God to save him while in the lifeboat at sea – “If you save me, I will serve you forever.” After accepting Christ as his Savior, Zamperini returned to Japan, meeting his former prison guards, themselves in prison. They were puzzled to see him reach out to embrace them with his infectious joy of forgiveness. He also began the Victory Boys Camp for troubled youth, sharing his life’s path, including his salvation journey. As I read, I knew I had to change my plans and post this blog instead of my first choice. Forgiven! Can you imagine how she must have felt? So close to being condemned to death, now free to go… forgiven a heavy burden of sin… free to overcome her past… and free to share the love of her Savior with everyone she met! “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery… ‘In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?’ They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him. But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground. At this, those who heard began to go away, one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there…” (John 8:3-9) We’ve all done something in our past we’d just as soon forget. We may still feel the sting of shame. I can think of many public figures who disgraced themselves including President Nixon, Pete Rose, Lance Armstrong, Bill Cosby, Ravi Zacharias… while many others seem to be enabled in walking away from accountability for their words or actions. But, how much better that we all face our wrongs… our sins… head on. Admit them and repent, ask for forgiveness, stop blaming others, walk away from wrongful behaviors, and feel the loving grace of our Lord as we make a full corrective change. So, what about the men who brought the adulteress woman to court? Well… they simply walked away and left her standing alone with Jesus. I’ve always wondered if Jesus was writing a list of their sins in the sand. If so, that would have made them more than a little uneasy. They would have stood in amazement, and perhaps felt shame as their secret thoughts and sins were written in the sand, available for all to read. How did this man know so much about them? They had brought this woman to condemn her for adultery, a sin punishable by stoning to death. And yet, where was the man from the tryst? Didn’t his sin matter to them, too? Or, was he among her accusers, blaming her? Rather than face the depth of hypocrisy in their own heart, each man turned and simply walked away. They didn’t want others to learn the weight of their own brokenness. But, as they silently walked away, no contrite heart or apology was expressed. Did they not realize that God sees and knows the truth? What a mockery they made of justice… fingers pointing at another while being guilty themselves. So typical of abusers who hide behind their mask of piety. They were so focused on trying to get Jesus to incriminate himself with a response, they didn’t understand the depth of their own sin. They walked away from seeing who Jesus truly was, and their own need of grace. Both civic and religious leaders fail us then as now. Leaders who call themselves gifted exude an arrogant pride. (Proverbs 16:18) Leaders who fail to hold themselves and others around them accountable lack integrity and humility. Often, they can be classified narcissistic, being more than simply self-centered. They feel entitled to praise or special treatment. They lack empathy, are abusive, liars who do not take responsibility for their own behavior, take advantage of others, lash out at criticism or perceive they’re not getting the attention they deserve with a behind-the-scenes retaliation and perpetual blame shifting. Underneath the egotistic façade, they are often deeply insecure and use a faux cover to present themselves as more worthy than they really are. Yet, what a powerful picture of mercy and grace Jesus gave us all as He forgave the woman. All she had to do was repent from her old ways, and become a changed woman. In leaving her old life behind to follow the Teacher, our Lord, she gladly started sharing with others what He had done for her. Because she now had a future! A life to look forward to! She’d lived her past under whispered labels. She’d heard the mocking voices deep in her soul… stupid, worthless, trash, adulteress, prostitute. Yes, she’d lived a life of ill repute. But, the Teacher… He respected her! So, what did He see in her? He saw someone who’d been taken advantage of to benefit others… someone weighed down by a heart of sorrow and shame… someone willing to openly shoulder responsibility for all of her own wrongs… someone longing for change. This Teacher, the man named Jesus… He saw what she could be when cleansed of her past. He saw her broken heart longing to be made whole. He stood her up tall so she could start anew. Just like our Lord does for us. He forgives the heart that repents, no matter the charge… that longs to make amends… that longs for a closeness with God. He holds out His hands to draw us near… setting us back up on our feet as He guides our path with flawless wisdom… Forgiven! The Adulteress By Linda A. Roorda I met him today, the greatest Teacher! My life was a mess, but He picked me up. He gave me hope... He gave me vision. He freed my soul from sin’s dark snare. Dragging to court they brought me up front, My accusers smug turning to the crowd. With taunting words they scoffed and accused Revealing my life, my sin and my shame. How could I have reached such fallen depths? He told me he cared. I believed his lies. His words were glib with flattery smooth But now I was caught, ensnared in a trap. Stating that stoning was punishment fit They asked the Teacher his thoughts on the law. Instead He stooped and commenced to write Words hid from others, known only to them. Yet, as they questioned, He continued to write. On standing tall, He peered in their soul. “If any one of you lives without sin, Let him be the one who casts the first stone.” Slowly the elders and then the younger Quietly fled until only two, The Teacher and I, we alone stood still. From silence He spoke, my soul deeply touched… “Woman, where are they? Have any condemned?” Glancing around, “No one,” said I. “Then neither do I. I condemn you not. Go, and leave your sin. Forgiven are you.”

Due to that recent warm spell, my enthusiastic little crocus bulbs are putting forth green shoots. And this week, we have another warm day or two to encourage them. Has anyone seen skunk cabbage peeking out of swamps yet? My former drive to work took me through swampy areas, so I always noticed those green-y/ purple-y, pointed, smelly leaves. You wouldn’t want them in a bouquet, but they are a visible sign of spring. Spring, on the calendar, is about a month away. But Easter is early this year (we are now in the season of Lent, which, appropriately, began February 14th) and, to me, that means spring, regardless of the calendar. I’m in the mood for pollywogs, daffodils and Easter bonnets. Back in the dark ages of elementary school, we celebrated Washington’s birthday today. Now-a-days, our first president must share the party with Abraham Lincoln, our sixteenth president, on a mutual President’s Day, this past Monday. I think George and Abe would probably enjoy a Lady Baltimore cake and pudding while having considerable conversation about our foolishly complex lives today. I expect that after leading the nation through a revolutionary war, and a civil war, our life-styles could seem a bit laughable, and even potentially hazardous. February is a busy month for our family; several birthdays keep us hustling for appropriate cards and/or gifts. I don’t really mind; I have more of a problem when birthdays aren’t celebrated. I think un-noticed birthdays are a neglect of one’s personhood; ignoring what intricate and amazing creatures we are. “Oh --- it’s just another day to me.” Nonsense! We need to celebrate and be glad for our existence. All this angst about age, “never ask a woman her age,” is silly. Seemingly, in the last few decades, males have become just as anxious about aging as females. Thanks to a glitzy corporate culture and addiction to media stars, hair dye and skin products sell well for both genders. We vain humans succumb easily to promises guaranteeing we will look younger and nearly wrinkle-free, and the dollars roll in to the persuasive retailers. I wonder when we became a society that worships youth thinks being young is the only time that life is good. The place to be, and stay, forever? Admittedly, younger years have some advantages: agility of limbs, fresh-looking skin, boundless energy... all physical pluses. But regardless of our misplaced adoration of it, youth isn’t the ultimate stage in good living. Maturing has its upside. One centenarian, when asked about the benefits of aging, replied, with a smile: “There is very little peer pressure!” That’s amusing, but there is so much more to anticipate! Having worked for 20 years with a county Agency on Aging, I observed a wide scope of behaviors and attitudes among people age 60 and older. Very few tried to deny age or remain forever young, and there were some cool, talented, articulate people among our clients. There was one woman though, and I remember her because no one else was quite this ditsy and foolish. She was a nice enough person, but insisted on trying to be 40 years younger than she was. She regularly dyed her hair an unusual pinky-blonde, wore make- up that no longer went with her skin, and dressed in frilly, girly clothes. Her youthfulness was all on the surface like a mask, and unfortunately, she hadn’t developed much in the way of inner resources beneath that mask. She married again late in life, and sadly, when her husband became an invalid, she helplessly wrung her hands and said: “I didn’t count on this!” and promptly separated from him. She had little substance, no depth, and from what I could see, very little joy in life. She clung so tightly to her imagined “best time of life” that growing older brought neither wisdom nor happiness. Aging gives us an opportunity to develop in understanding and complexity. While I appreciate all of the good times I had in my growing-up years, I would never wish to be eighteen again. I am not the same person I was at 18 or 25, or even 45. If we use our brains, in every passing year we grow in confidence about who we are. Those of us who reach our 8th and 9th decades, feel free to be as Boho, as eccentric, as unusual as seems good to us. What people may think of us is no longer a major concern. We can develop our unique sense of fun, our spiritual lives and perception of the world around us as far as our souls take us. After all, we have observed the world turning several times, and ----if we have used our common sense ----- we know what is important and what isn’t. Naturally, we want to maintain our physical bodies as well as is possible. I wish I had taken better care of mine earlier! All that gardening, with no sun screen, did my pale, Scottish skin no favors. While I wouldn’t put my face under the knife of a face-lift, I do have my own little cache of moisturizers and lotions. I am also notoriously inept with my hair. One hair professional, who I knew well, said: “please don’t mess with your hair! You’ll just botch the job!” Fortunately, my parents both grayed late in life and the inherited genes have been kind. Some people pay well for added silver highlights. So, I worry none at all about increasing silver, and don’t moan a lot about a facial crease here and there. I do miss wearing sparkly, high-heeled shoes, but because I wish to walk, I’m glad to find (SIGH) inch-high heeled shoes that support my uncooperative ankles and don’t look too therapeutic. Obviously, more than a dollop of vanity lingers, and probably will for all of us, as long as we live. We should be asking ourselves why the outer shell of a person should seem so much more worthy than the inner core? Why is it that we judge a person by how svelte their bodies, glamorous their hair or smooth their skin? Or how chic their clothes? What about a beautiful brain? And a light spirit? A wonderful sense of humor? A stock of information and/or wisdom? Someone said: “When any older person dies, we’ve lost an important piece of history.” This is so true. The stories vanish!! There are one or two people in our community who are older than we are, and I love listening to their tales of growing up. And I am assured about our own offspring who, having their own stories of pranks and difficulties, but continue to exhibit the integrity, the humor and the caring for community that was a hallmark of those older friends, in their stories. Back to birthdays; the day is surely worth at least a special cookie, if not a four-layer cake and a brass band. Some years ago, for or my husband’s 50th birthday, we put together a jazz band, with the help of a few musical friends. Kerm had said so often that he wanted a New Orleans jazz band for his funeral, that we thought it’d be a good gift for his 50th birthday. And it was!! But even if you must celebrate without a brass band, doing something special is not a waste of time. Dance around the room (carefully!!). Take a few moments to be glad you are you. Carl Jung *said: “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are!” Have a special treat --- chocolates, ice cream, tea, lemonade, a brandy Alexander ---- whatever makes you smile. You are unique ---- you have blessed the world for however many years and you deserve to take note. A birthday is an excellent time to run your memory film backward --- to recall all the good times; the special, growing occasions you’ve experienced; how you have become who you are. Birthdays or not, we still have some winter weather. Someone recently said: “Winter is definitely a ‘Wonderland’. I wonder if I’ll slip on the snow! I wonder how many inches we’ll get. I wonder if the car will start. I wonder where I left my gloves.” I’m quite careful as I wander around our snowy yard, not wishing to fall flat. But even as I shuffle through powdery snow and avoid muddy spots, to fill the bird feeders, I am energized by the negative ions filling that cold air. Chill breezes are the winter version of a summer water fall, and those ions are good for us; good for our brains and good for our spirits. There are days, of course, when those negative ions aren’t sufficiently luring. I really don’t want to get out and face the weather. Nor do I have the energy for deep-knee bends to ready my legs for gardening. Late in the day, all that chopping for salad sounds like too much. But I come from relatively stubborn people, so I keep assuring myself that this feeling will pass. If I can just push through, I will feel better and more able to cope. But sometimes we do need a respite. There is this whimsical, little Self-Help that someone posted on FB: How to stop time: Kiss How to travel in time: Read How to escape time: Music How to feel time: Write How to release time: Breathe** In other words, stop and refuel! Little interludes restore one’s zing. For this last bit of winter, remember this little ditty by Robert Frost***: “The way a crow shook down on me the dust of snow from a hemlock tree. Has given my heart a change of mood, and saved some part of the day I had rued.” Perception, changing one’s mood, is part of life. Yoyoing from birthdays to bad days to better days is how we roll. CarolBossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Carl Jung ---World-famous Swiss psychologist. Also a prolific writer, illustrator and correspondent. 1875-1961. **from Inspiration Power Bost. ***Robert Frost ---- Widely loved New England poet. 1874-1963.

One of the most controversial actions of Governor Kathy Hochul’s proposed 2024-2025 state budget is her move to cut education aid to more than half of New York State’s school districts outside of New York City. If enacted, the governor’s proposed education cuts would fall most heavily on certain regions, including many small, largely rural school districts across the Southern Tier and Finger Lakes. Here's a few of the most staggering cuts to schools in the 58th Senate District: Hammondsport would suffer a 30.7% or $1.6M cut; Penn Yan, 18.5% or $2.2M cut; Watkins Glen, 16.8% or $1.9M cut; and South Seneca, 16% or $1.5M cut. The governor’s education proposal can’t stand. The property tax increases required to ameliorate these cuts would be prohibitive. That’s the message my Senate Republican colleagues and I delivered at the Capitol last week. As I’ve stressed time and again, New York State has been steadily moving closer to the edge of an economic and fiscal cliff – due in large part to the spending appetites of former Governor Cuomo, Governor Hochul and, since 2018, the Democrat-controlled, biggest-spending Legislature in state history. The bottom line is that the state budget, between 2018 and 2023, has grown by upwards of $60 billion! This growth is in the first five years of one-party Democratic control of both houses of the state Legislature, and the offices of Governor, Comptroller, and Attorney General. Just that growth alone is larger than the budgets of more than 30 states. It is larger than the states of Florida and Texas combined, each of which has a larger population than New York. It spends 1½ times more per capita than California which has more than twice our population. From the outset, many of us have warned about this out-of-control spending, that it would never be sustainable and puts a new generation of state and local taxpayers at risk of shouldering an even heavier burden far into the future (keeping in mind that New York is already recognized as one of the highest-taxed, least affordable to live, and most unfriendly to business states in America). In fact, the bill’s already coming due for Democrat overspending. We start the current year facing a state budget gap of $4.3 billion, with ongoing deficits in the next three years projected to be $5 billion, $5.2 billion, and $9.9 billion, respectively. Consequently, Governor Hochul – suddenly painting herself as a diligent fiscal disciplinarian and watchdog -- unveiled her 2024-2025 state budget proposal with the following statement, “We can't spend like there's no tomorrow, because tomorrow always comes.” That’s true, however the governor needed to stand for it long before now. And it’s equally important to understand the context of the governor’s full game plan this year. Her opening gambit offers a $233-billion spending plan, an increase of $4 billion over New York’s current budget that represents a significant increase and, if enacted without any changes at all (and I've yet to see the Legislature come back with a budget that spends less than the Executive's proposal) will be the largest-ever state budget. There are proposed cuts and negligible belt-tightening, but not truly for the sake of any long-term fiscal discipline in this state. It’s being done, instead, to accommodate higher (and long-term) spending elsewhere – while, at the same time, knowing full well that the Legislature is left with no choice but to demand restorations in key areas. As I noted at the start, education is the prime example of this gamesmanship. Governor Hochul’s proposed budget calls for the elimination of what’s known as the “save harmless” provision of the state education aid distribution formula. “Save harmless” is utilized to ensure fiscal stability for school districts, especially high-need districts, and has long been critically important to small and rural schools. According to our Senate Republican budget analysis, this move would cut nearly $170 million from approximately half of the state’s school districts and result in particularly hard hits in specific regions of the state, including, as I said, small and rural districts across the Southern Tier and Finger Lakes. The Governor made much fanfare of “consumer protections” in both her State of the State and Executive Budget presentations. However, her education budget proposal is nothing short of “Bait and Switch” lacking “Truth in Advertising.” While local school districts get cut in excess of $400 million in this budget, she includes another $2.4 billion (bringing the two-year total to $4.3 billion) to provide taxpayer-funded assistance and services to the ever-growing surge of asylum-seeking migrants flowing into New York from the nation’s southern border. In addition, to add insult to injury, the state will pay the federal government $15 Million to rent a former military base, Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn, for use as a migrant shelter to house migrants the federal government has allowed to flow illegally across the Rio Grande! Her budget also spends $150 Million for floating pools in the rivers of New York City (I kid you not) and $45 Million for planting trees, to name just two. These may be nice things, but not in times of what should be fiscal austerity and in the midst of staggering cuts to rural, suburban, and small city school districts. That’s just one example of the shell game going on here. In other words, Governor Hochul’s proposed budget is not truly aiming for long-term fiscal discipline and responsibility. It’s a budget that in the name of fiscal discipline attempts to take away from some to keep giving away far more to others. That’s a game we can never play, in my opinion, with the quality of education for our small, rural school districts across the Upstate region, or any school district at all for that matter. The Senate Republican budget analysis reaches this conclusion, “As proposed, the Executive budget includes few proposals to deal with the high cost of the everyday lives of New Yorkers. There is little in the category of affordability proposals advanced, that work towards mitigating the increased costs in food, home fuel or transportation that everyday New Yorker’s face. There is little in the way of improving New York’s business climate which has been rated one of the worst in the nation. There is little in the way of addressing the State’s outmigration problem which, according to a study in October of 2023 by the Economic Innovation Group, has caused New York to lose $24.8 billion in net adjusted gross income (AGI) during the pandemic.” That's a significant loss of tax revenue. We desperately need to get New York State’s fiscal house in order. But it’s outrageous for Governor Hochul to target small, rural school districts. That’s not an answer to this state’s deep-rooted fiscal irresponsibility. It’s just redirecting misguided priorities that won’t move us any closer to fiscal stability, taxpayer relief, or long-term affordability and sustainability for most New Yorkers. I need you to join in the fight opposing Governor Hochul's budget cuts to our schools and handouts to illegal immigrants. Please contact the Governor directly by calling 518-474-8390 and by emailing at: governor.ny.gov/contact.

by Rachel Dworkin When people ask me what I do, I tell them I am an archivist. When they stare at me blankly, I explain that it’s a subspecies of librarian. The job of a librarian is to collect, catalog, and share the information patrons need for their education and entertainment. Keeping these goals in mind, let’s take a look at how well I did this year. 1. Collecting Here at the Chemung County Historical Society, we collect items specifically related to Chemung County history, people, and organizations. In 2023, we accepted archival material from 93 donors. Some of these donations were just one or two items. For example, on recent donation consisted of the 1918 diary of Elmira Free Academy student, J. Lawrence Kolb. There was another earlier in the year that was just a poster for the Auto Thrill Show at the Chemung County Fair, circa 1970. Other donations were a bit larger. George Farr donated his research material for his book Lincoln’s Banner Regiment which contains over 100 items related to the history of the 107th New York Volunteers. A former employee at Sumirail/ABB Traction in the Heights, donated 500+ photographs documenting both companies and their products. In addition to donated items, I also collect items related to things happening around the community. This includes newsletters from the Elmira City School District, the Foodbank of the Southern Tier, the Friends of the Chemung County Library District, and Congregation Kol Ami. I also collect programs from the plays I attend, fliers for various events, and menus from new restaurants. In this way, I’m able to capture a snapshot of what is happening now for future generations. I also conduct oral history interviews. This year, I conducted 8 interviews. The topics included Elmira’s LGBTQ+ community; area Polish, Italian, and Finnish communities; COVID-19; and historic weather events. 2. Cataloging It’s all very well and good to collect things, but an archivist must take what my grad school professors called “intellectual control.” In short, an archivist must figure out what they have, wrestle it into some sort of order, and then make that order apparent to everyone else. This is known as “cataloging.” It can be a pretty time consuming process, especially when a single donation may contain hundreds of items. To be honest, I’ve been a little behind on the cataloging this year. I’ve only cataloged about one-third of our new items. Part of the reason for the delay is that I’ve been working hard on getting our older finding aids up on EmpireADC (see this blog post for detail). A finding aid is an index for an archival collection which provides additional context about the creator(s) of the collection and the circumstances under which the collection was created, as well as the collection’s size and organization.We joined EmpireADC this summer. Since then, I have uploaded 111 old finding aids to the site. Check it out here. 3. Sharing Collecting and cataloging information is all very well and good, but it is pointless if it isn’t shared. The archives here at the Chemung County Historical Society are open to the public 1pm to 5pm, Monday through Friday. Visitors may come in and request to see anything within our collection. We are also open for researchers to call or write in with questions weekdays from 9 am to 5pm. In 2023, we had 84 in-house researchers. This was down from pre-pandemic levels, but up from 2022. We also had 210 write-in research requests. I did not keep track of the number of phone requests, but it was well over 100. Two people requested and received permission to use our photographs in their publications. In addition to assisting researchers, I also find other ways to share information with the public. This blog, for instance is a pretty handy tool. This year, I wrote nine blogs. I hope you liked them. I was also interviewed by the press half-a-dozen times about topics ranging from City Hall to Iszard’s to daylight savings time. Earlier this summer, I teamed up with Maggie Young, the genealogy librarian at the Steele Memorial Library, to create a master list of genealogical resources at both our institutions. Next year, we hope to expand it to other places in Chemung County. You can find it here. We also have several digital collections on the New York Heritage website where researchers can access material for free at any time. Our older collections include the records of the Thatcher Glass Manufacturing Company, the records of the Methodist Committee for Overseas Relief, Chemung County high school yearbooks, and the Black Oral History Project. This year, I received a grant to digitize and upload the records of Elmira midwife, Rose Spadaccino. I also began uploading some of our older oral histories to the site as part of a collection called “Voices of Chemung County.” Looking back, I think I accomplished quite a bit. What do you think? For my next trick, I shall finish cataloging all the items we received in 2023, finish the shelf read, add at least one new finding aid a week to EmpireADC, upload my recent oral history interviews to New York Heritage, and have fun doing it. Rachel Dworkin is the archivist at the Chemung Valley Historical Society. For more information about the museum and to see more of their blog, click here

by Jeff Minick In his classic work Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton penned these profound words about tradition: For those with no interest in tradition, Chesterton’s words may appear meaningless or, worse, ridiculous. After all, these people might say, the dead are dead, and those who are either ignorant of history or who disdain tradition will pay Chesterton little attention. We see these forces of ignorance and contempt at work today regarding our American past. Knowledge of our history among students is abysmal, and even many adults have never read the Declaration of Independence or the Bill of Rights. They’re clueless about the past; for instance, about the accomplishments of men and women like John and Abigail Adams, the events surrounding the Civil War, and the enormous contributions of the United States and capitalism to people around the globe following World War II. Those on the extreme left go even further by attempting to obliterate altogether America’s heroes and past accomplishments. They rewrite history books, tear down statues, and seek to replace merit with equity and liberty with tyranny. If we rid ourselves of the morality and customs of the past, they say, we can step into a shining utopia, a heaven on earth freed from the shackles of old ideas, Judeo-Christian codes of morality, and a baneful, biased tradition. If they are still around to witness the consequences of their actions, these radicals are likely in for a shock. They claim they are on the right side of history by pitching American traditions into a dumpster and replacing them with relativism and collectivism, but the past is rarely kind to tyrants and bullies. They’ve also apparently forgotten that the dead still speak to all who care to listen. All of us alive today, for instance, still benefit from the gifts of wisdom inherited from our immediate ancestors. Born nearly a century ago, my now-deceased parents taught me a work ethic, manners, and morals that I have in turn passed on to my children. Mom and Dad doubtless learned many of these same lessons in their own adolescence, meaning these whispers from the past extend even further back in time. These same voices of the dead speak to us in the laws, documents, and deeds of our more famous ancestors. Revisionists can assault Thomas Jefferson as racist and sexist, but his Declaration of Independence will continue to stand as one of the world’s greatest monuments to liberty. They can attack the writers of our Constitution for the same reasons but again cannot erase the freedoms that that remarkable document brought to a new nation. Hike in a national park and the ghost of Theodore Roosevelt walks at your side. Turn on a light bulb, drive a car, take a prescribed medicine, fly in an airplane, and men like Thomas Edison and Henry Ford deserve at least a tip of the hat. Behind all of these famous figures is that long, winding line of our more anonymous forebears, men and women like my ancestors and yours who built this country, often at the risk of death, and who pursued the American Dream of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness so that their children’s children could do the same. If we listen closely, these voices of the dead also speak to us through memoirs, movies, novels, poetry, songs, and even tombstones. The fact is the dead only truly die when we living let them die. Whenever we teach our children the truth about America, the good and the bad, we keep the dead alive. When we stand against lies and oppression, whether delivered from the left or the right, we honor and remember the dead. And when we step into a voting booth this November, at our elbow will be a great host of spirits whispering a single word whose magic and beauty so many of us seem to have forgotten: “America!” Jeff Minick lives in Front Royal, Virginia, and may be found online at jeffminick.com. He is the author of two novels, Amanda Bell and Dust on Their Wings, and two works of non-fiction, Learning as I Go and Movies Make the Man. This article appeared on IntellectualTakeout.org and is shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

by Jeff Minick In George Orwell’s 1984 are dichotomies now familiar to many Americans: “War Is Peace. Freedom Is Slavery. Ignorance Is Slavery.” Inscribed on the outside of the white, pyramid-shaped Ministry of Truth, this is the motto of Oceania, a nation governed by “The Party.” The Party designed these slogans to obfuscate the meaning of words, thereby shredding absolute truth and reality. They worked some semantical magic, altered the language, and controlled the people. And like the Party in 1984, the media, certain politicians of both political parties, and many academics work diligently to perform these same parlor tricks. These illusionists wave wands over their top hats and out pop not rabbits but words transformed in meaning. Here are a few instances of this linguistic sleight of hand. ‘Racism’ Originally, racism meant a skin-color-based prejudice or bigotry directed by one person or group whose skin was a different shade than the target’s. Today, however, many argue that only white people qualify as racists. White people are demonized as such solely on the basis of their skin color. Without the slightest hint of irony, racist writers and speakers rail incessantly against the evils of “white privilege” and “whiteness.” Thanks in large part to these bigots, hope for a color-blind society seems dead and buried. ‘Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion’ (DEI) In a recent interview with The Epoch Times, Mike Rowe of Dirty Jobs fame briefly addresses the effects of DEI on the workplace and on our future: Suppose our collegiate and professional basketball teams applied DEI to their recruiting. Practicing real diversity and equity on starting teams would mean including three white players, one black player, and one player of another race or ethnic background. This doesn’t happen because the sports world rewards skill and competence. At bottom, DEI is simply racism and sexism disguised by language. ‘Extremist’ An extremist according to my online dictionary is “a person who holds extreme or fanatical political or religious views, especially one who resorts to or advocates extreme action.” In his September 1, 2022, speech to the nation, Joe Biden lambastedDonald Trump and MAGA Republicans. He said, “Donald Trump and the MAGA Republicans represented an extremism that threatens the very foundations of our republic.” In other words, a man who had served as president between 2017 and 2021 (without, notably, the republic’s consequence collapse), the millions who voted him into office, and the millions more who voted for him to be president in 2020, are all extremists. Today “extremist” is simply a smear applied with a broad brush and little real meaning. ‘Sex Education’ I remember when sex education was introduced to American schools as a measure to cut teen pregnancy rates and reduce sexually transmitted diseases. Today sex ed goes under the innocuous title “comprehensive sex education,” but the program itself is graphic, radical, and anti-family. Like DEI, the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States (SIECUS) also sounds bland and innocent, as does the legislation it’s currently pushing, the Real Education and Access for Healthy Youth Act. But as commentator and former educator Kali Fontanilla notes of this legislation: It’s important to remember that for the Left the term ‘sex education’ is just a euphemism for radical gender ideology and a host of other inappropriate perversions pushed on children. It bears little resemblance to the facts and anatomy-based approach to sex ed that you and I remember from our childhood. The words remain the same, but the meaning has been drastically altered. Other Euphemisms Speaking of euphemisms, here are just a few in use today. “Top surgery” in reality means a bilateral mastectomy for females, often teens, as part of their quest to become males. “Termination of pregnancy” is a substitute for abortion. “Undocumented immigrant” has replaced “illegal alien.” Perhaps worst of all is “My truth is not your truth.” It smacks of tolerance, but it erases entirely any concept of truth. Politics breeds euphemisms like the old jingle: “Two bunnies make four bunnies, and four bunnies make more bunnies.” Theodore Roosevelt and many other Republicans, for example, once considered themselves progressives, but today a “progressive” is a code word for socialist. TheInflation Reduction Act of 2022 sounds appealing, but it works as a cover for Green New Deal policies and more government spending. Given that many in our government, universities, corporations, and media are all in on these alterations, the only way left to prevent verbicide and euphemisms is to refuse to participate in the propaganda. When modern-day racists speak of whiteness, call them out. When some describe themselves as progressives, request a definition. When others trot out some euphemism regarding sex and gender, ask questions and force them to speak in straightforward language. Defend the true meaning of words, and you’re defending liberty. Jeff Minick lives in Front Royal, Virginia, and may be found online at jeffminick.com. He is the author of two novels, Amanda Bell and Dust on Their Wings, and two works of non-fiction, Learning as I Go and Movies Make the Man. This article was republished with permission from IntellectualTakeout.com

I saw the sun shining bright for a while yesterday as it peeked from behind those clouds! That prompted me to take a brisk walk with the wind at my back helping my pace… the same wind and sun in my face on the way home, making me lean into the wind to keep my balance a few times. How well I remember taking walks with Ed on days like that where he’d hold tightly onto my arm to keep me from blowing away, as he put it! He kept me from getting blown to and fro by those changing brisk winds… something our Lord does for us when we hold onto His hand, allowing Him to lead and guide us thru stormy days. Which prompted this previously unpublished blog for today. May you know the Lord’s guiding hand every day on your journey thru life. Sometimes we feel like we have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, and we fret and worry about everything! I know… because that description fits me at times. It’s one of my struggles – learning to release my cares to the One who knows and allows what it is I face each and every day. He can handle all that comes my way… if I would just let Him… and He can lift me up from all the mistakes I manage to make. But I’m going to admit it’s not easy to “let go and let God” as the popular saying goes. Sometimes it seems that if I do the worrying, then somehow that will help make the situation better. Nah! Don’t count on it! Actually, it seems like it often tends to make the situation worse as I become confused and lost in the tangled web of thoughts. So, you’d think I’d have learned to always release my burdened heart and let God take over while I move forward in peace. After all, God is right there, ready to listen, ready to carry me, and ready to deal with whatever is stressing me out. He can fix it all… without my help! And He has done just that… blessing me richly in so many ways, so many times… drawing me closer to His side, filling me with a calm and quiet peace. Yet, somehow it seems to be a lesson that I must learn and relearn. All of which reminds me of Matthew 6:25-33 (NIV), part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. These verses have often come to mind over the years. “Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear… Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? …But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” And as I heed these precious words from our Lord himself, reaching out to Him in prayer, He’ll guide me each step of the way… just as He’ll guide you through whatever you might face on this journey of life! His Guiding Hand Linda A. Roorda Lord, I give You my all As I relinquish That which my heart Has always held tight. You know that I struggle Thinking I can control All of life’s burdens Which tumble my way. You hear desperate pleas As I try to wait, While Your very best answers Conform my will to Yours. At times I struggle Alone with my thoughts In a mind doing battle Within my seeking soul. Where is my God, my protective Shield? How can life be so raw? Why does pain and confusion Keep knocking upon the door? And yet… He is always here! In a whisper soft … or a vision serene Enveloping my heart With His perfect love and grace. For He directs me on the stony path And plants my feet securely Upon a foundation solid and firm Guiding each step along the way. As rough this road at times can be, He gently carries me safely home, When oft in prayer I turn to seek His loving, guiding, and merciful hand. ~~ Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer.

We have just exited the Christmas season. Having made it through December and New Year’s, many people are breathing a sigh of contentment, repletion, and maybe —- relief.? Wonderful holidays and the Christmas decorations lovely, but it is time to take the tree down and put the ornaments away until next year. Twelfth Night, just past, is traditionally when the Magi reached their destination (probably not the stable in Bethlehem although all of our creches have them there), to worship Jesus. Regardless of time and place, it does commemorate a special event; that the hope and love in the Christmas story are for all the world. The other name, Epiphany, originated in the Orthodox Christian churches but quickly spread to include the European churches. It also marked the end of the 12 days of Christmas merry-making. For many years, we held a 12th Night party, always including more people than our house could comfortably hold. Somehow, its walls stretched, perhaps aided by the laughter and good conversation. It was a warm and wonderful occasion that fortified us to meet the rest of January. We miss doing it, but it was an activity that became too difficult, regardless of how much fun it was. I recently found a word that expresses our coming year’s journey very well: “Coddiwomple.”This word means: “To travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination.” Isn’t that perfect for a new year? We all have hopes and plans, and some people, who are more confident and/or arrogant than others, have no doubt that their plans will work as they wish. Those of us who are more experienced (generally older) know how quickly life can change regardless of our wishes. So, I really like that word both for its uniqueness and for the reality that our year’s journey will be full of surprising side trips, some not always of our choosing, but many that are delightful — for which blessings we can be grateful. When one reaches our elevated state of “elderly”, there are decisions to be made; issues to discuss. One that came up for us recently was our home. Our sons and daughters-in-law,- and rightfully so, were concerned that the maintenance of house and land was getting to be too much for the energy and strength we find it possible to summon. The gardens that I’ve had so much fun creating, with Kerm’s helpful digging, raking and weeding, are way too vast for us to keep in order, especially with mutually uncooperative artificial knees and a tendency to run out of steam too soon. Inside the house, the dilemma is nearly as bad; both of us have several projects going at once, creating too much stuff for tidiness. Creative ideas keep on flowing, but my organizational abilities, sadly, have diminished. Our concerned family members also, undoubtedly, are contemplating the huge job it might be to clean out and distribute our way-too-many belongings. So, what to do???? We considered several options. We could buy a smaller house. A couple of houses in town have come upon the market, but there isn’t a lot of turn-over in our community. And we are relatively fussy. As we considered that move, we agreed that it would cut down a bit on the volume of our maintenance, but only a bit. As for cleaning out our stuff, certainly some of that would be accomplished, but I’ll never live as a minimalist, so we will always be surrounded by too many things. We cherish our books, and I enjoy various sorts of porcelain silver, sculptures, and glass ware. We could consider renting, eliminating outside maintenance. However, rentals in this community are not numerous either and we are rather firm about sufficient space for each of us to do what we want to do. Neither of us wants to sit in the other’s pocket! Ithaca has some fine senior living places where we’d probably do just fine. But, as much as we enjoy visiting Ithaca, we really do not wish to leave our community where we have 45-year-old roots, a church, fine neighbors and friends. So, after analyzing things, we finally decided to stay right where we are, but to revisit the issue each year. And we’ve agreed to try to find help for cleaning and gardening. This may not be easy or inexpensive. But it seems to be the best solution for us right now. There is a concern that one not put off too long what changes might be necessary. Too often, older people procrastinate with decision-making, and those choices, by necessity, fall upon their reluctant children. It is sad when older adults are “put” somewhere, often with no opportunity for closure, because they didn’t make changes in their lives while they could. Of course, sudden illness or disability unexpectedly hastens the need for other accommodations. In former centuries, most homes had multiple generations living in them. But with healthier old age and young adults going out on their own earlier, this simply is no longer the norm. Certainly, multi-generations in one abode bring their own challenges, some of which probably means a bit of discomfort for all involved. We went through a series of care needs with Kerm’s mother; moving her, reluctantly, from her farm home to an apartment in town, then to assisted living, and finally to a nursing home. And that nursing home didn’t always please us, but her need for care was more than we could provide at our home. My sister moved from her home, also reluctantly, to a lovely senior apartment, but from there, right into a nursing facility when she suddenly needed more care. That nursing home was excellent though it still wasn’t really “home”. Quality of care varies considerably, sometimes due to available finances; sometimes due to lack of staffing or training. And most places have nothing happening that would encourage a resident to feel needed or valuable. There is a nationwide need for continued discussion, planning and creativity around elder care. People are people who all need the same consideration and medical opportunities. And even more important, for mental health, no one wishes to feel stashed away and useless. Meanwhile, we are still at home, and hope to be fully participating in this new year. And while we intend to eliminate some of the unnecessary stuff ( via yard sales, auctions, and loving relatives —-lock your cars! — 😊) in our lives, I found other even more important, but less solid things we all should remove. All of us, regardless of age! “Fitting in” should not be all that important. We all wish to be liked but we shouldn’t deny our uniqueness and gifts to accomplish that. Being harsh and critical of ourselves is foolish and unhealthy; our brains don’t respond well to self-bashing. Be careful about criticizing others, especially for small things. We have no idea what troubles and pressures exist in their lives. Instead, pray for them. Do not spend time with people who make you feel badly about yourself. You are the only just-like-you in the universe. This is good. Don’t let someone else make you uncertain about that. Don’t worry about or agonize over failures. Mistakes become learning experiences if we are at all wise. Don’t become too attached to material objects. This one is tough for me; I’m a “thing” person and many of my possessions remind me of times, places and people I love. But I’ve also reached a point in my life when I could give almost anything to someone who needed it. I might replace what I gave away via the next antique shop or auction, but….. 😊… So perhaps better advice would be to not let material things be first in our lives. Stop comparing yourself to anyone else. We are each different —- purposely. We can learn from others, but shouldn’t try to be clones of them. Develop a spiritual connection. Someone once said we are spiritual persons in a physical body. So, this is a health issue that also, during spiritual growth, brings a few growing pains, but also a certain quiet joy. If we all consider putting these into practice, 2024 would be a gift to ourselves and all those around us. And surely one step toward a happier world. We may be looking at the year with gloom, doom and fear in our hearts; certainly, there is enough evil, both generally and specifically, and potential chaos to make that dour perspective reasonable, even logical. Or we can trust what has been true for eons; that joy will find its way into the chaos and there will be many times of happiness, warmth and enjoyment in the coming days. I hope to go on setting goals, finding interesting things to do and continuing to plan ahead, even if I must go to Plan Z. I hope the same is true for you — that your year finds you looking for both enjoyment and ways to help wherever you are, and that you can look ahead with that trust and faith that makes life worth our participation. Ranier Maria Rilke* had an especially good thought that starts this year off well. He said: “And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us — new, untouched, full of things that have never been.” Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Ranier Maria Rilke —- actually Rene Karl Wilhelm Josef Maria Rilke. Rilke was an Austrian poet and novelist. 1875-1926.

Recently, I was mocked for my faith and belief in God by a reader of my online blog. Attributing to God the special ways my prayers were answered to overcome a fear of going alone through major airports, I met folks who became helpful friends on my flights to and from visiting family. This woman was aghast, proclaiming God had nothing to do with it. She added that her comments were “unlikely to sway anyone who has been indoctrinated into a belief system.” Rather, her purpose was to “lay bare the myth of religion” as Christianity has been “incredibly destructive.” Proudly, she stated how “green” she was, yet bragged about travelling to 90 countries, logging millions of miles, and that God had nothing to do with her flights because “God does not exist.” Without God, we trust in ourself - that’s called pride. How sad! For as King David wrote in Psalm 14:1, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’” I chose not to respond, but to pray for her instead, while two supporters/administrators made it clear to her that her comments were very inappropriate. As a meme I once saw noted: “An umbrella cannot stop the rain, but it allows us to stand in the rain. Faith in God may not remove our trials, but it gives us strength to overcome them.” Faith… it’s intangible. You can’t see it. You can’t feel it. And it’s hard to define. But it’s there… deep in the heart. Faith is a trust, a belief, a confidence knowing that something positive will happen based on past experiences, while hope is optimistically looking to the future. Even though we may not see the evidence of our faith and hope for a long time, we can agree that biblically speaking, “faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” (Hebrews 11:1 NIV) “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7) We put faith in a lot of things – like people, money, real estate, our job, military power, that the water we drink and use will always be there, even our electric until it suddenly goes off. We put faith in our best friends, in our dear loved ones, and hope that they will come through for us. We have faith our car will start… especially on those bitter cold mornings! We often don’t know or understand how something works; it just does – so we say we have faith that it will work. We have faith knowing that at the end of a long, dark and dreary winter, we will see spring’s beauty unfold. The cells of life are within each seed whether human, animal, or plant as created by God and established within its own kind. And as we watch the flower or leaf bud begin to swell, and then open, we see the evidence, the proof, of our faith and hope in this new life that’s about to burst forth. Yet the opposite of faith is pride in self, while the opposite of hope is uncertainty, anxiety, despair… with uncertainty being sure of one thing – nothing. And how often don’t things and people let us down? Thus, we should “be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let [our] requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard [our] hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7). We have faith, hope, and trust in our God to guide and assist us when we look to Him, seeking to follow in His steps, His path, His will. So, what exactly is at the heart of this kind of faith? True faith must be put into practice… for though faith is unseen in our heart, it becomes an action on our part when we actually place our trust in the Lord. And, I’m ashamed to say, I have failed at times. Yet, faith is essential in relating to God. Faith helps us realize that no matter what happens to us, good or bad, God is working in the situation for His will, His purpose. And Ed and I have seen our God working through many difficult situations and losses of health, jobs, and life, using what we’ve learned to come alongside and assist someone else on their difficult journey. We can’t see God and can’t feel Him next to us. But, in fact, it is even He who opens our heart and gives us the faith to come to Him seeking forgiveness and salvation. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:8-10 NIV) And it’s within that faith as we build our trust and confidence with belief and hope that we learn how much our heart wants to please and praise our God. Still, at times I have failed to understand the effort to trust that I must put forth in the equation of faith. At times I have questioned what I sense the Lord is telling me to do versus what my heart wants. At times I have pushed the limits of self will, wresting control of the reins instead of resting in His hands, His will. But as I’ve learned to trust Him more, to obey His Word, to have faith in His greater purpose for my life, I find peace. Yet, how hard the lesson can be at times! Still, God is faithful, even when I am not, so I can have confidence that “…he who began a good work in you [and me] will carry it on to completion...” (Philippians 1:6 NIV) Thus, faith is trusting that God will work through me in whatever situation I face. He wants me to simply trust Him… like a child trusts their parents… to have faith and confidence in Jesus as my Lord and Savior, and in Him alone… that He will take me through a difficult situation, and bring me to the other side with new understanding from the journey. Out of this depth of trust comes the proof of our faith in God as we see the fruits of the spirit emerge in our actions and love toward others. This will then bring glory and honor back to our great God and His precious gift of love as we continue drawing closer to Him through prayer and study of His Words of wisdom. And therein lies our growth… the fruit of our faith. So what’s at the heart of faith? An obedience to trust and live out what God expects of me by showing I have confidence in Him and His word. “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7) Faith is trusting the Lord will provide and care for me even when I don’t see immediate answers to prayer, knowing “…that in all things [He] works for the good of those who love Him… (Romans 8:28a NIV) Simply put, faith is resting in the arms of God, allowing Him to work His will through me… like putting my hand in the Lord’s hand and saying, “Where you lead, I will follow.” (based on Luke 9:57) Faith Linda A. Roorda My faith is more than just mere words More than the eye could ever see For underneath the surface stirring Believes the heart with hope evermore. A hope within the depths of my soul Focused upon what cannot be seen There in the quiet and solitude calm Lies sweet the dream someday to fulfill. Choosing always to patiently rest Under Your wings to calmly abide Eagerly awaiting the break of dawn A gentle semblance of faith held secure. Your promises firm ring evermore true For when I put my trust in Your hands And then release the reins to my life You guide my steps from within Your will. And yet faith hopes in what can’t be seen Always expecting the best to emerge For faith is more than just simple dreams It’s holding on to trust in the truth. For truths in Your Word which cling to my soul Will give me hope and confidence clear When all seems lost and fears wander dark Faith holds forever its promises bright. ~

It’s been a minute … sorry about that. Life, you know? We’ve been dealing with some family stuff, work stuff. No different than anyone else, but unfortunately it manifests itself for me in neglecting my writing. Or at least my “unpaid” writing, since writing is what I’m doing full-time right now. Without anything much but lament to share personally, I wanted to share a piece of fiction I did for a writing contest. By way of background, this particular one is a flash fiction contest (1,000 words or less) and gives a genre, location and item that need to be incorporated into the story. This was romance, bonfire and eyeglasses. Random, yes, but at worst it makes for an interesting exercise. I’m pleased with how it came out, and the judges scored it pretty highly in my group. I’d love and appreciate any feedback. So, here you go … Dog’s Best Friend I saw her across the crowded yard full of humans, laying next to a bonfire while her person was shouting about some music she thought was really cool. I didn’t like her but I could tell right away that Guy – that’s what I can my human – really liked her. Like, REALLY liked her. That was a problem, because Guy had the worst taste in human women. I tried not to think about that because of her – the most beautiful long golden hair, the shiny beaded collar, her giant brown eyes … she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. And she was chewing on Loud Girl’s glasses, which had fallen to the ground without anyone but the two of us noticing. Slowly, I walked to where she was laying, busily slobbering all over those bright red glasses, and sniffed behind her. What a smell! And when she turned around, her brown eyes looked like two juicy treats in the reflection of the fire. But a second later, she was back at those glasses. How do I get her attention, I wondered, then I did the first thing that popped into my brain – I barked! Not a mean, “go away, mailman!” bark, but the soft one I use when I want to come inside but Guy’s not waiting right there for me. It worked, but not how I thought it would. She dropped the glasses, but Loud Girl looked down and saw how they’d been chewed on and yelled at my would-be love. “Skye! Bad girl!” she shouted, and the poor girl lowered her head with the saddest expression. Here’s my chance, I thought, as I laid beside her to console her. Guy made his move too, fumbling for a napkin to wipe the glasses off. His move was much better received than mine, as the woman smiled and took the napkin. My girl just kept her head down, looking broken. “She didn’t mean it,” I whispered as I leaned my head closer. “They just can’t tell when we’re making something better for them.” Finally, she lifted her head with a smile and touched her nose to mine. At the same time, Loud Girl had her head resting on Guy’s shoulder. So it was a happy bonfire for both of us. Guy made plans to return to the bonfire the next weekend but he got sick and we couldn’t go, so we planned to go the following Friday. I hoped that Skye hadn’t forgotten me. Two weeks can be a long time to remember someone you just met. On that Friday, I could tell Guy was excited because he put on that smelly cologne he only wore when trying to impress a human girl. I could smell it from the backyard while he was splashing it on in the bathroom. Yuck. “Now Chester,” he said as he put my best harness on me and attached the leash, “please try to be cool tonight. I really like this girl and I want her to like you too. OK?” I smiled – there’s no other way for them to understand us – and let him scratch my neck. What I wanted to say was, “I’ve got as much riding on this as you do, buddy. Don’t blow it for me.” The 10-minute drive seemed like hours but we finally arrived at the bonfire. During the drive, I learned the human girl’s name was Chloe, which is an OK name. I was rooting for Guy … his luck with human girls was really bad, and he deserved to find a good one who likes him as much as he likes them. As we walked to where the people were, Chloe was again talking loudly and waving her arms around, going on about something she just saw on the TV, which I found out is that weird window where human watch things and yell while other humans play games. When she saw us, she stopped for a second, smiled and waved, then went right back to talking again. I didn’t see Skye anywhere, which made me sad until I smelled the same smell from two weeks earlier and I knew she was close by. Sometime between the first time and then, she had a bath and it made her smell very sweet. She smiled when she saw me, walked over and touched our noses again, which made me very happy. I think Guy and Chloe were very happy too, because after that night she and Skye were around a lot. The humans talked about living together, and we got excited about that, but it didn’t last very long. Guy’s taste in human women was, again, not very good. But Chloe was nice enough to let Skye live with Guy and me when she left, and that makes her a good human in my eyes. She did take one of our puppies though, one of them lives on the farm where the bonfires happen, and one stayed home to live with us. When I think about how sad Guy was when Chloe left, it hurts my heart. But it didn’t last too long. We have a new human with us, and when they talking about something called a wedding they get very excited, so I think she’ll be here with us for a while. Skye gets sad about Chloe sometimes. It’s hard when your human goes away. But when she feels bad, she goes to our crate and pulls out something she hides under the blankets in the back – Chloe’s old glasses, which are covered with chew marks. Seeing those gives me a warm feeling, like when we first met. Chris Brewster writes from his home in Waverly, New York. You can see more of his writing here. Chris also recently released his first book, A Lab in The Lab, which you can find here. This column originally appeared on Chris's website in August 2022

We’re very thankful for the good rains that came following the heavy smokey haze we and so much of the northeast dealt with from Canada’s many wildfires. I saw the photos taken by my cousin in New York City sent to his parents, and which his mom forwarded to me. Much denser a haze than we had here, which was bad enough, it permeated everything. And going without rain for several weeks or even a month, it was cause for joy when my students and I heard and saw the heavy rains coming down! But the smokey haze hit me as a good metaphor for the haze of emotional disruption caused by PTSD – post traumatic stress disorder. The emotional distress clouds your normal ability to experience life on a good positive level, while you try to live normally, hiding or concealing symptoms of distress so that few notice something just might be amiss… because you, yourself, may not even understand the depth of distress. I’ve been there… and this is my story. June is National PTSD Awareness Month. PTSD is a serious issue whose effects I don’t think we fully understand even today. This is the story of my journey. I no longer deal with its effects as in years past. Now realizing I did nothing to cause the problems, there is no reason for me to feel ashamed. Life being what it is, an imperfect entity, there are things that happen to each of us over which we have no control. What we do have control over, however, is our reaction… either to our detriment, or to our recovery and growth. And I hope sharing my story here will be helpful, encouraging others in their struggle. Several years ago, a friend’s Facebook post about PTSD suffered by combat veterans brought memories back to me of long ago. Nearly 10 years ago, inappropriate incidents by a so-called friend during a time I felt utterly overwhelmed by extreme stress… working full time and caring for my husband, his many medical appointments, and virtually all household needs for so many years… reactivated my own PTSD symptoms. Post-traumatic stress disorder is not a syndrome affecting only our military vets returning from an active war zone. It is believed that about 20% of American adults who have suffered some form of trauma can be diagnosed with PTSD. This diagnosis includes a host of after effects from various traumas such as emotional, physical, or sexual assaults, natural disasters, serious accidents, and many other traumatic life-altering situational stressors. PTSD is an invisible pain with its own specialized mental challenges. Unlike visible wounds, it often lacks outward evidence or proof, taking prisoner one’s deepest inner self and emotions. PTSD is typically evidenced by flashbacks, nightmares, difficulty sleeping and working, panic attacks, and feeling detached from reality… essentially an unstable emotional equilibrium. Usually, no one else knows the victim has a problem, who may also be in denial that anything is wrong, or may be totally unaware they have a problem. I know. I was diagnosed with PTSD well after the trauma of verbal rape had occurred in junior high. For me, PTSD reared its head to strike years later after having to steel myself daily in an abusive employment situation. Predating the initial traumatic event though, my family abruptly moved when I was 9 from a farming community of everything and everyone I loved to city life, and I was an emotional mess. Within the year, Tourette’s Syndrome began, albeit undiagnosed until years later. But I overcame the challenges and adapted, making a new life with new friends. Yet, just a few years later, my family never knew why I suddenly became withdrawn, was easily agitated, and startled and screamed easily at the unexpected. I was always on alert, wary of others, shied away from making friends, withdrew from a great group of peers in our church youth group, being afraid of even them, and often “clung” to my sister’s side when I should have been making my own friends. I also never shared my fear of the dark, literally sensing someone was behind me to grab and kill me. It was a very real and horrendous fear that I battled for several decades. I was afraid to tell anyone, fearing they’d think I was absolutely crazy. But, to be fair, I also had no idea the trauma of verbal rape in junior high could have caused my problems. I thought that event had simply been tucked away in the distant crevices of my memory. A few years after that emotional trauma, my family moved back to a rural community in upstate New York. There, I was mocked by a neighbor’s sons, or so I assumed, hidden from view in their yard as I took care of my horse. Unfortunately, my dislike for them was real. Unexpectedly, I was reminded of that mocking incident by the perpetrator over 20 years ago. Still thinking it was hilarious fun at my expense, laughing while retelling the mocking episode, I was afraid to share the pain I’d lived with for so many years. Sadly, my sister does not comprehend the damage her mocking did to me. It is well known in the psychiatric community that emotional abuse damages the victim’s self-esteem with long-term consequences to their emotional stability. Wishing I could apologize for my own wrong in holding onto dislike in thinking a neighbor’s son had done this, I gathered the courage to seek him on Facebook. He graciously accepted my apology for my long-held hate, and forgave me, passing away unexpectedly several months later. I am forever grateful I listened to God’s prompting at that time to reach out. A few years after that mocking incident though, returning home from dates with Ed (being legally blind, he could not drive), I would park my car as close to the house as possible, and run as fast as I could to get into the house. The closer the car to the door, the more severe the fear. It was laughed about, but I never shared my intense fear of the dark with anyone except my husband-to-be. Sharing it with my Dad a few months before his passing, I heard the pain in his voice for his never having known in order to have been there for me way back in junior high. Fast forward several more years when, after leaving an abusive employment situation, property damages began, and nightmares and flashbacks set in. It felt like I was beginning to break with reality. Resigning from a new job because of the sudden inability to function and make office decisions regarding things objectively I knew very well how to do, hearing condemning voices and yelling in my head by my former employer, I felt like an absolute and total failure. While looking for just the right tree to drive my car into, I drove past the home of my Dad’s former Army buddy, Roland, a faithful Christian. I’d sat on his knee for Thanksgiving at my family’s cabin in Alaska when I wasn’t quite 2 years old. Now, driving past his home, I clearly heard the voice of God saying, “I’m here for you. Your family needs you. You will be okay.” Like ancient Israel’s King David who said in Psalm 91:2, “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust,’” God was always here for me in so many ways. Finally seeking professional counseling, I was given a diagnosis - PTSD. My counselor shared that it was not a diagnosis given lightly, typically not given out other than for military personnel. But she said I had been severely traumatized in several ways, had suppressed the trauma and my feelings, steeling myself to additional abuses, and emotions overwhelmed me. Told I really would be okay, and that none of it was my fault (which I’d always believed), the healing process began with my husband’s loving support. Still, having to support my family with Ed unable to work at that time, taking a month off, I put one foot in front of the other to work as a secretarial temp for executives before being hired as a hospital medical transcriptionist over 30+ years ago. The temp jobs were a boost to morale with letters of commendation from a bank president, university labor relations professor at Cornell, and a hotel CEO. They had each told me personally they would have hired me but for their own secretary being on vacation. It seems like a lifetime ago. I have forgiven those two boys in junior high, hoping they’ve gone on to become good men as adults, as well as my mocker, and former employer. The effects of any bullying are devastating as we see all too often among today’s youth. I will no longer allow myself to be mocked or bullied, even when such abuse is hidden from the eyes of others, even within the church. I forgive, but renewed friendship is inappropriate with those who continue to blame their victim, refuse to comprehend the damaging effects of ongoing bullying, and cannot apologize or amend their behavior. Though I still find it difficult to go outside in the dark even with a flashlight, startle easily, and always assess my surroundings, I’ve also learned God uses the traumas of life for a higher purpose, like the words He’s blessed me with in poetry, words which I’ve sensed have come from the depths of my soul. As Paul wrote in Romans 8:28, “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…” And I pray God may use me to “be there”, bringing peace and comfort to others who struggle. I’m also thankful to say I’m doing well, appreciative of the great supportive friends who have blessed my life with their presence. My prayer is that anyone else suffering PTSD, or the adverse effects of abuse and bullying, will seek help to recover… and be richly blessed in their healing! Where the Heart Soars Free Linda A. Roorda Little girl sad, withdrawn and teary Changes and loss disrupting life’s flow Leaving behind remnants of what was With emotional scars, reminders vivid. ~ Where once her heart ran free, unhindered Clinging to joys and ease of childhood Now all the world was seen through the lens Of deepening gray on guard for the unknown. ~ Open her eyes, Lord, that she may see All of the wisdom You share with her May she then know how great is Your love That You care enough to shelter her heart. ~ For there is a place where the heart soars free Where love shines bright in a world grown dim Where hopeless need meets faith to overcome By walking the path that conquers defeat. ~ As an airy joy with a zest for life Brings cheer to the sad and light to the dark Where peace in the heart and contentment calm Cover her wounds with Your loving grace. ~~

To kick off the 2023 legislative session – one that we believed represented a pivotal session with New York at a crossroads in so many areas – the Senate Republican Conference put forth a comprehensive set of goals to help rebuild and strengthen local and state economies, focus on the financial challenges facing many middle-class families and small business owners, and make public safety a top priority. At that time back in early January, I said, “New Yorkers across the Southern Tier and Finger Lakes regions, and statewide, are worried about making ends meet. They see this state becoming less safe, less affordable, less free, less economically competitive, less responsible, and far less hopeful for the future. Albany Democrats acknowledge that New York State has an affordability crisis causing the exodus of our citizens to more affordable states, however the Democrats are intent on raising taxes to increase handouts to their base. They have no interest in reining in out-of-control spending, eliminating taxes, lowering costs, cutting burdensome regulations and mandates, or restoring public safety. We need to rescue New York by restoring the right priorities to turn things around, rebuild stronger and safer communities, and work toward a more responsible and sustainable future." We called it “Rescue New York” and we began rolling it out at the very start of this session — a session that New York’s Democrat legislative leaders will bring to a close later this week — with a focus on fiscal responsibility and affordability for all taxpayers, rebuilding and revitalizing New York’s local economies, and addressing rising crime and public safety. Albany Democrats have gone in a completely different direction. It continues to put this state’s future on high alert. Their direction for New York is producing billions upon billions of dollars of short- and long-term spending commitments requiring billions upon billions of dollars in new taxes, fees, and borrowing for future generations of state and local taxpayers. The overriding goals of our Rescue New York agenda would have: Offered a safer and better quality of life for all New Yorkers by repealing bail reform and supporting law enforcement and crime victims; Made New York more affordable for every resident by cutting the state’s highest-in-the-nation tax burden and taking other actions to lower the cost of living in New York; Improved the state’s business climate and expanded economic opportunity by cutting burdensome regulations; Moved more responsibly and sensibly toward a cleaner energy future without ignoring affordability, feasibility, and reliability like the strategy currently set in motion under Governor Hochul is doing; and Restored accountability and local decision making to state government in the aftermath of rampant abuses of executive power throughout the COVID-19 pandemic. But that’s not where we have gone this session under continued one-party, all-Democrat rule. The size of the state budget continues to skyrocket. There was no turning back from this explosive tax-and-spend path this year. Far from it, in fact. The new state budget, as I have detailed in previous columns, took yet another huge leap in size and will burden state and local taxpayers for years to come. The same goes for law and order. Albany Democrats are turning criminal justice on its head. Most reasonable New Yorkers recognize that rising crime and violence, and weakened public safety and security, are the direct result of the pro-criminal policies being enacted and pushed by this governor and a State Legislature under one-party control. They have emboldened the criminal element throughout this state through failed bail reform, lenient parole policies, an out-of-control Parole Board, cowing to the “defund the police” movement, and an overall careless approach to criminal justice. In short, our calls to make New York more affordable, responsible, safer, and sustainable have, once again, gone unheard this session. Nevertheless, the fight goes on to rescue and restore a more reasonable approach to governing this state. It's more urgent than ever.

What a beautiful sunny morning for Mother's Day! Within the busyness of life of working full time in both raising a family and earning an income through a career, finding relaxation through resting or enjoying a special hobby, may you be richly blessed in all you do that is dear to your heart. Wishing each mother a very special Happy Mother’s Day! How to explain a mother’s love… It’s all encompassing… She believes the best, encourages, supports, and nudges her young ones forward from infancy as they grow up to become who they’re meant to be. As a mother holds her tiny newborn in her arms, she feels an intense and special tender love. From deep within her heart, this new love emerges as each little one is born… for every child is created unique by God… an individual with a distinct character and personality… unlike any other in the world. Children are also not born with a set of instructions in one hand as they enter the world… sometimes unfortunately! But, with biblical Godly wisdom, a mother, a parent, also grows within… to become wiser as her children mature. It’s a process involving her learning and understanding while her children move through their own maturation processes. She holds her hands out to pick her young ones up when they fall… while at the same time she tries to let them fail so they can learn from their mistakes… often called tough love. We want so much to keep them from feeling pain, loss and disappointment. And I’ve been guilty of being a helicopter mom… I didn’t want them to face some of the pains I did while growing up. But, that’s not the best option. A mother also realizes she has not always been wise and successful at every turn of the way. She makes mistakes too. At times I needed to apologize for my own misunderstandings and mistakes, being willing to learn from the experience with my children, and to move forward a bit wiser. Discipline, responsibility, accountability, honesty and respect are necessary for a child’s growth, taught and modeled by parents. One form of discipline I incorporated from Ed’s Aunt Ethel with our three children was to have them all sit on the sofa holding hands together when they had been arguing. Unbeknownst to me, as soon as my back was turned, they stuffed their hands down between the sofa cushions – so they wouldn’t have to touch their sibling. As soon as Mom reappeared, they held hands again. When I could see they were treating each other well again, I sent them off to play. As adults, they shared with me what they used to do. I laughed and said, “But it worked! It got you talking and working together, even if you were conspiring against me to unhold your hands!” As a child, Jenn liked to take chocolate chips to her room, hiding them in her desk drawer. One time, this concept went too far. While their dad was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Massachusetts, I took the kids grocery shopping with me. Turning around one time, Jenn slowly took her hands out of her pocket with an odd look on her face. I knew… I just knew what had happened. Sure enough, she’d slipped a candy bar into her pocket. I made her put it back, telling her that the store manager had literally just walked past us. If he had seen her, I said, he would have charged her with shoplifting. And people who do that go to jail. Maybe that was harsh to tell an 11-year-old, but this was going to be stopped. On the way home, I even drove past and pointed out the county jail. When we visited their dad at his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry’s home in Massachusetts a few weeks later, I shared my concern with Uncle Harry. The next day, he took us all to the Boston Aquarium. We saw the Old North Church, like an ant, tucked down amongst tall “skyscrapers.” Then he took us to see “Old Ironsides,” the famous ship from the War of 1812. It was impressive to walk on a piece of early American history! We thought it was especially neat to see a sailor in an 1812-era uniform on deck, talking on a modern telephone! On the way home, Uncle Harry drove us past a prison with its high barbed-wire fences, telling us it was for teenage delinquents. I’m sure the message was received. Jenn never attempted to steal anything again. True love, and guiding our children through the maze of learning appropriate behavior, does not leave them to blindly follow their own selfish desires. After our daughter, Jennifer, passed away at age 25, I wrote my memories of the growing-up years of Jenn, Em and Dan in a book, “Watch Them” for family and friends. In one chapter I wrote, “Our children – each a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them in their journey through life. My late friend, Mimi, shared a special quote from her stitchery: ‘There are two lasting gifts we can give our children – one is roots, the other is wings.’ May we love our children enough to provide them with the deep roots of a sturdy foundation, and yet love them enough to discipline them, giving them wings and freedom to fly out into the great big world on their own.” To me, that is what a mother’s love is all about. And I love each of my kids and grands so very much! God bless you all, and Happy Mother’s Day! A Mother’s Love Linda A. Roorda A mother’s love From the first smile of joy For the precious bundle held in her arms To the pride in her heart As to the future her child is given. A mother’s love With hugs, tears and kisses That heal life’s bruises As arms enfold her child tight A place that no one else can fill. A mother’s love From deep within her tender heart A love that forever hopes the best A love that believes in guiding the will And a love that never ever lets go. A mother’s love Is kept in gentle memories From her tender sweet smiles To the depths of her heart Forever a love held precious and dear. ~~

I love to write. I need to write. But when? First, thanks to everyone who read my first post. I thought it would be fun to throw some thoughts down and see if anyone paid attention, and while it’s not massive numbers - yet - it was more than I expected, so thank you. That leads directly to my latest frustration. I feel strongly that writing is what I’m meant to do when I grow up - I enjoy it, I have an aptitude for it, so why not do something you love and make a living at it, right? I guess it depends on how you define that exactly. When I spent 20 years in newspapers, I certainly made a living at it. I didn’t get rich, but it paid the bills and gave me some money to play with. In every non-newspaper job I’ve had, writing is a major component. The how comes in when considering what “making a living” looks like. I always envision this artistic version where I retreat to my study every day and the creativity flows through my fingers until I end up with a novel, then send it to my agent and publisher, and wait for the royalty checks to pour in. That’s so far from where I am that I can’t even see that world through the most powerful telescope. Does it mean I can’t, or won’t, get there? I don’t think so. It just means adjusting my expectations to what works in my current version of the real world. Opportunities to write, and write for money, are out there for the taking. So why aren’t I taking them? Like all of us, I can whip out a great list of reasons - work, family, a million other distractions real and imaginary … we’ll cover many of these as we journey ahead - but the actual why is that I haven’t made it a priority. We can all find so many other things that keep us from what we want to do, but if it’s important, if it’s a priority, we figure out how to make it happen. And that is one of the purposes behind this thing you’re reading right now. In theory, if I have time to do this a couple times a week, it’s not a long leap to finding daily time to write other stuff. So, subscribe, indulge me these exercises for my brain and forming better habits, and I’ll put you at the top of the list when I mail out my first book! Chris Brewster writes from his home in Waverly, New York. You can see more of his writing here. Chris also recently released his first book, A Lab in The Lab, which you can find here.