Sensical Approach to Cultural War

 

Events — The Book Lady Bookstore

Sensical Approach to Cultural War

Stop Moaning

“This country was born in turmoil and conflict.”

 I’ve done a lot of soul searching since the pandemic when the world seemed to be turned upside down. In May 2021, my own neighborhood was invaded The Black Lives Matter organization. It was disturbing and thought provoking. I spent time wondering what I have missed and how maybe my own perspective is distorted. Then I found an article written from an interview with Annette Gordon-Reed. Annette is a Pulitzer Prize winning writer. This article was about her book The Hemingses of Monticello: An American Family.  I think she covers it quite nicely.

As a child Annette loved to read, more specifically biographies. She read about George Washington Carver, George Washinton, Thomas Jefferson, Dolley Madison, etc. Jefferson was the most interesting to her because he loved to read, and he wrote the Declaration of Independence…but he was a slave owner. Sally Hemings’ children were fathered by Jefferson. Annette says that though they were enslaved people, bound by the institution of slavery, they were also mothers, fathers, sisters, aunts, friends, etc. They had different personalities, different ways of going through the world. Their opportunities were severely circumscribed because of slavery but she wants to view them as individual human beings.

She understands why people would not want to name something after Jefferson, but “we have to grapple with him, because he embodies the contradictions of this country, the good things and the bad things.” Members of the founding generation of our nation must be a part of the conversation. The statues and things named for them present an opportunity to talk about the way this country was born. Annette believes that we can’t take out those parts of history because they are less favorable, yet they make us who we are today.

Annette is optimistic about the young people today because they have grown up thinking there is a problem, and it’s a problem we must deal with. She believes that some don’t want to talk about history, and she thinks young people are resisting that. She plans to write more books about the Black progress that has been made.

In 1964, Annette Gordon-Reed was a child growing up in Conroe, Texas. She was part of the generation, just as I was, that lived during the integration of schools. It was intense because it was a big deal for a Black child to go to a white school. We lived during a time where we had separate waiting rooms at the doctor’s office and Blacks were seated in the balcony at theaters. We were part of breaking those barriers.

Today, we name things also for ALL people who have made a difference in communities, state, and nation. There are no barriers. The walls have crumbled, and we must be aware how much we have grown as a nation. A new school in Conroe was recently named Annette Gordon-Reed Elementary School. Let’s celebrate our successes and stop groaning about the history which led us to this place today.

KUOW - In 'On Juneteenth' Annette Gordon-Reed chronicles hardship and joy on the path to Black freedom

Our Baby Brother

 TROY ROBERT LONG

1961 - 2019

We lost our baby brother on 20 May 2019. Oh, how my heart hurts for what could have been. We had recently been reunited with him and were looking so forward to him coming to join us on the mountain on May 28 when his son Isaac got out of school. (we had fallen out of his favor when we purchased the mountain property in 2008) It was going to be the start of what I had dreamed about! I loved Troy as the little brother that I never had. He was one of the two people that I always thought would be there for me. That wasn't in God's plans. 

We had just gotten to the mountains on May 15, had settled in when a heavy snow began to fall. We had gone out to play in the snow when we got a call from his son Michael that Troy had been found deceased in his home, earlier that morning. Nightmares are created from this type of call. We were frantic to make arrangements to get off the mountain and head back home, and we were trying to support Michael long distance. The snow had begun to melt, but we only had a window of time to get out on the road. More snow was on the way. I think we were packed and ready to leave by 1 pm. Our journey out was a bit dicey, but we got off the mountain. What lay ahead of us was to be the heaviest snowfall that Colorado had seen that late in the year since 1898. Another nightmare. We altered our route and made it home safely, but there were days and weeks of mourning the loss of one of my soulmates. He guarded and protected me through many occasions, and I miss him just as much or more today as I did on the day we lost him.

THIS Baby Girl

 My niece, part of my heart and soul, was born on 15 May 1981. We spent many hours together, probably more than she can even remember. She was a huge part of my life from the day she was born. I cherish every moment that we were afforded together. Thank you, Lord, for bringing her into my life and I pray that your divine guidance will shine a light on her path forward.

What Has Happened To Us!

 

                                                                freepik.com

 

Worthly posted on Facebook
15 reasons baby boomers feel out of place in today's world
Story by Bruno P
 
Face-to-face Conversations Have Been Replaced by Texts
Short texts and emojis have taken over, and for Boomers who value tone, eye contact, and real presence, it feels that something essential is missing. Communicating through screens doesn't carry the same warmth or meaning. I do like texting to get information and not get hung up on the phone, but it should not replace the ability to truly communicate with someone you love.
 
Manners Don't Seem to Matter as Much Anymore
We were raised on phrases like "please," "thank you," and "excuse me.” Showing respect to elders was expected, not optional. In today's culture of speed and casual everything, traditional manners feel like relics from the past. I feel the impatience around me as if I should hurry up and get out of the way.  Whether it's someone talking over you or not holding the door, the loss of respect makes the older generation feel invisible and brushed aside.  
 
The Work Ethic Has Changed Drastically
Boomers were loyal to one company for decades and our hard work was often rewarded. Now, job-hopping is normal, and remote work has blurred the lines between personal and professional life. Makes me wonder how they will feel at the end of their life…. never having established themselves in a community outside of their homes.
 
Everything Feels Overly Complicated with Technology
The younger generation cannot understand the confusion that technology can create for older people. What should be a short cut, most of the time becomes a nightmare of trying to navigate something that shouldn’t be so hard. Sometimes my finger hits the wrong button or I make the wrong choice of the next step and then spend time trying to get back to the place to make the correct choice. From smart TVs with endless menus to grocery store checkouts that need apps and codes, even simple tasks now require tech knowledge. We feel left behind in a world that expects us to understand constant updates, passwords and platforms.
 
Music and Pop Culture Feel Foreign
Boomers had bands whose lyrics meant something and concerts that felt like shared moments. Streaming services, auto-tuned hits, and viral TikTok songs, feels more like noise than connection. It’s not that we don’t like new music, but rather that we struggle to find depth in a world that moves so quickly to the next big thing.
  
Personal Privacy Seems to Be Gone
Boomers remember when they kept things private unless they chose to share them. Now, people post their every move online, what they ate, who they're with, even their personal struggles. This constant public sharing feels overwhelming to many Boomers, who were taught to value modesty and boundaries. It feels less safe and we wonder about someone’s values when there is no modesty or boundaries.
 
Handwriting Has Nearly Disappeared
Boomers grew up writing thank-you notes, passing handwritten letters in school, and learning cursive by heart. Digital communication has nearly wiped out those small but meaningful traditions. Seeing kids type everything makes the world feel less personal. It's not just about writing; it's about the care that went into something handwritten, and the loss of that simple, thoughtful touch is hard to ignore.
 
Instant Gratification Replaces Patience
Waiting used to be part of life—waiting for film to develop, letters to arrive, or shows to come on once a week. It gave us time to think things through and consider options. Today, everything is on-demand, and people expect answers, replies, and results immediately. This feels exhausting for Boomers, who learned the value of patience and planning. It’s hard for us to understand how someone feels entitled by self-gratification right now!
 
Customer Service Isn't What It Used to Be
Boomers remember when store clerks knew your name and companies stood by their products. These days, it often feels like you're just another number in a system, talking to chatbots or being put on endless hold. That personal touch is missing, and it makes people who value relationships and trust feel unimportant. Good service once built loyalty—now it's a struggle to even speak to a real person.
 
Shopping Has Lost Its Social Side
Going to the store used to be a chance to get out, talk to people, and feel part of the community. We feel that we’ve lost the small social moments that once made life feel warmer and it’s created a world filled with impersonal reactions to our fellow human beings. Though online shopping, self-checkouts, and home deliveries are convenient, we’ve lost the small social moments that once made everyday life feel warmer. The young people have no way of learning how to deal with others on a personal level. And COVID in 2020 changed the way we respond to others, I’m afraid, forever. Too many younger people now hide behind screens.
 
Attention Spans Have Shrunk
In a world filled with short videos, quick scrolls, and fast-forward buttons, deep attention seems rare. Boomers who enjoyed reading books, watching full movies without distractions, or having long talks now find that people tune out fast. The art of real listening or focus seems gone. Slowing down to really absorb something feels out of place, even though it's still deeply valuable.
The News Feels Overwhelming and Untrustworthy
There was a time when you watched the evening news and trusted what you heard. Now, with countless outlets, nonstop headlines, and sensational stories, it's hard to know what's real. Boomers often feel drowned in noise rather than informed.
With the lack of trusted resources, we KNOW that most people are ill-informed, including ourselves. Our views are lopsided and negative because we no longer reason with the truth.
 
Traditions Are Fading Fast
Holidays, Sunday dinners, even handwritten birthday cards— Today's world moves fast, and fewer people slow down for these old customs. While change is natural, losing those rituals feels unfamiliar. These habits were the glue that held families and communities together. Without all of them, things can feel very hollow.
 
 

Song of My Soul

                                                    The Common Poorwill

                                                                                    https://www.inaturalist.org/guide_taxa/2414290
                                                                                        Birds of the Fort Worth Botanic Garden

 
The whip-o-will remains a symbol of summer nights in eastern North American forests, celebrated in folklore, poetry and music for its haunting, continuous call.
 
Certain things bring comfort to your soul. Mother often called certain meals “comfort food”, food that is known as southern comfort. I think there are sounds that are comfort sounds, especially if they have been a part of your world for a long period of time.  Such is the sound of the whip-o-will for me. 
 
Over 40 years ago, when my husband and I purchased nearly an acre of land and built a home on the outskirts of Austin in the Hill Country (we have since been overrun with development). It was a beautiful piece of land, surrounded by much wooded area; however, the large space of land behind us was used as Felder’s Follies. We were lucky enough to back up to a beloved piece of land that was owned by the builder, L.A. Felder, and he used it to graze cattle sometimes or just to keep it naturally mowed. He fed the wild turkey, and he loved and tended to this property.
 
When we moved in, there was already a fence across the back to keep the new homeowners from his property. Being that it was a wire fence, we have an open view across the field and beyond to the wooded area on the other side where there is a dry creek bed with natural cool water some of the time. This makes for great wildlife viewing.
 
The first summer we were here we put up a wooden fence around the other part of the property to keep our dogs on our land. Our helper for that project was my husband’s younger brother, and after a long day of digging post holes, I prepared our dinner and afterwards, we sat on the porch overlooking the land as twilight set in. Then I heard a sound for the first time, which I said from the beginning sounded like a whip o will. Each and every following spring, I looked forward to the return of the comfort sound, as I knew the summer months were not far away. It was a sound that represented our comfort zone, a place filled with peace and a time to slow down from the busy work schedule. This bird never failed us as it came year after year.
 
I never knew what it really was, until we purchased property at Possum Kingdom lake. I began to hear the sound there, as well. Our beloved neighbor, Skip Cox, told me it was most likely a poorwill, as that is what we have in that area. He was correct, as always. Sadly, with development now out there, I no longer hear their song at night. They survived two fires, but they can’t survive man’s bulldozers.
 
We are lucky enough to still hear them at our Hill Country home, though development is closing in. Felder passed away close to 30 years ago and donated his land to his church, the First Baptist Church in Austin. The church kept the land until recently, keeping the tradition of mowing it once a year. Then the property went up for sale. I held my breath daily, praying that it would not sale to someone who would rape the land and develop it into a nasty backyard neighbor. God answers prayer. A wealthy lady who owns Whole Foods purchased it for nostalgic reasons as she used to ride horses there and now, she wanted to bring her grandchildren closer in, to enjoy space together.
 
I am fortunate, as the comfort sound of the poorwill continues and I still find peace in my own backyard.  It never fails to take me back to the moment in time when I first heard the now familiar Poorwill and remember our precious baby brother, who passed away in 2019.

NOTES
Populations have declined in parts of their range, likely due to habitat loss and reductions in large moth and beetle populations. Conservation efforts focus on preserving open forest habitats and monitoring population trends.
Often heard but rarely seen due to its camouflage

The Folly of Modern Life

 

The Folly of Modern Life

Reader’s Digest April/May 2026 p 21

“Don’t Trim the Azalea”

 
I found this quote in an article that struck a chord with me. Often on our mountain property, I have commented that our purchased land doesn’t belong to me, but to the animals that call it ‘home’ every day. I’m just the traveler moving through, as this land has been there for eons.
 
“It’s a sad folly of modern life that we think we’re somehow separated from the natural fabric in which we live. It’s a perspective built on a calculus of artifice – brick by brick by technological advance, we’ve convinced ourselves that we live apart from the bird and the turtle and the fox. But it’s a perspective that diminishes the lives of both humans and wild creatures. In a world older and more complete than ours, animals move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.”   ~ Henry Beston The Outermost House.
 
The article goes on to say that in a lot of ways, how we live our lives is a matter of choosing how we wish to impact those “other nations.” A bird flushing from a side-yard Azalea is proof that those other nations aren’t “out there” in some abstract fashion: they live among us and with us and alongside us. Whether it’s a drive to the grocery store or an approach to lawn care, the act of everyday living has real-world impact on our furred, feathered, scaled and exoskeletoned fellow travelers. We either choose to ignore our impact on those other nations, or we choose to be as neighborly as possible.
 
There is an obligation that comes with living on the only planet we have. My little plot of land with huge pine trees and/or my neatly urban trimmed shrubs are not mine alone, nor is anywhere that I’ll ever plant a footprint in this life. The other nations are everywhere…and more reliant on harmony and benevolence than ever before.

Unlock Someone Else's Cage

 Unlock Someone Else’s Cage    

That’s my title for an article I found on FB

ALICE WALTON

Alice Walton: Billionaire Bridging Art & Community | Biography | Net Worth | Philanthrophy |

                She inherited a Walmart fortune that could buy a small country. What she did next shocked the art world—and changed thousands of lives. When Alice Walton inherited her share of the Walmart empire in 1992, she became one of the wealthiest women alive. Her stake in her father's retail kingdom would eventually grow to rival the economies of entire nations. Most people who inherit that kind of money spend their lives protecting it, multiplying it, treating wealth like a competitive sport with an ever-rising scoreboard.

                Alice saw something different in those numbers. She saw possibility.

Her father, Sam Walton, was the man who turned a single store in Arkansas into a global phenomenon. He was famously frugal - driving an old pickup truck even as his company became the largest retailer on Earth. When he died, he left his children more than money. He left them a choice about what to do with impossible wealth.

                While her brothers stepped into corporate leadership roles, managing the business that bears their family name, Alice walked a different path. Born in 1949, she grew up watching her father's relentless expansion, but retail never captured her imagination. While others counted profits, Alice was drawn to paintings.

                The question that defined her life became: What do you do when you have more money than a thousand lifetimes could spend? For most billionaires, the answer involves private collections, exclusive clubs, and the quiet accumulation of more wealth simply because the numbers can always go higher. Alice's answer was radical: she would give art away.

                In 2011, she opened the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas—a town of 50,000 people nestled in the Ozarks. She spent over a billion dollars acquiring masterpieces by Georgia O'Keeffe, Andy Warhol, Norman Rockwell, and Jackson Pollock. The art world elite laughed. Why would anyone bring priceless American art to rural Arkansas?

Then she made it free. Forever.

                Alice's vision was beautifully simple: a child growing up in a trailer park deserves the same access to culture as a Manhattan socialite. Art shouldn't require a trust fund or a coastal zip code. It should belong to everyone.

Since opening, over six million people have walked those halls—school groups, farm families, travelers who suddenly had a reason to stop in Arkansas. By eliminating admission fees, she eliminated the invisible wall that separates culture from the people it's meant to inspire.

                But Alice didn't stop at art. She turned her attention to something even more urgent: healthcare. Rural America is hemorrhaging doctors. Communities across the heartland watch their hospitals close, their clinics disappear, their neighbors drive hours for basic care. Alice saw this crisis and decided to build a solution from the ground up. The Alice L. Walton School of Medicine opened its doors to students in 2024, focused on whole-health medicine and committed to training doctors who will serve underserved communities. She created substantial scholarships to ensure students graduate without crushing debt—removing the financial pressure that drives new doctors toward wealthy suburbs instead of rural towns.

                Alice Walton's story isn't about building wealth from nothing. It's about something equally rare: deciding what existing wealth should build.

The debates around wealth inequality and labor practices remain complex and valid. But Alice's choices offer a glimpse of what intentionality looks like at the highest levels of wealth. She inherited an empire but chose to create institutions that outlast quarterly earnings reports.

                She brought world-class art to forgotten towns. She's training doctors for communities the healthcare system abandoned. She didn't build the fortune, but she's deciding what it leaves behind.

                In a world where most billionaires treat wealth like a high score in an endless game, Alice broke the cycle. She realized that money can be either a cage of endless accumulation or the key that unlocks someone else's cage.

Most people spend their entire lives chasing more - more money, more status, more security - trapped in a hunger that grows with every zero added to the balance. Alice proved that the escape isn't found in having more. It's found in deciding that something else matters more.

She understood that the true measure of a fortune isn't its size. It's what it builds after the numbers stop mattering.