Mary Wakefield Buxton

URBANNA — Having our president touring Ireland while the U.S., Taiwanese and Chinese Navy were all in the Formosa Straits seemingly on the brink of war reminded me of an old saw from the history of Rome. Nero, the sanity challenged Roman Emperor, was said to have fiddled while his city and empire was falling to ruin.

Whether Nero was actually fiddling or not is not the point. What the adage means is he was not taking care of business, doing his job, leading his country and defending his empire. He was asleep at the switch.

Our president might have been enjoying his week in Ireland touring castles with his son, Hunter, and others but I worried the entire time. I’m an ex-Navy wife and I couldn’t get the image of a U.S. aircraft carrier with several thousand brave men and women on board in service of defending our nation within easy distance of a Chinese missile that could have knocked the ship right out of the ocean instantaneously killing all of the thousands on board.

And yes, China has such missiles and we literally have no defense against them as they come into their target with such speed they cannot be shot down in time to save its target.

I have a humble question. How in the world could the commander in chief leave the country at such a perilous time to tour castles and reminisce about his Irish ancestors?

This president seems eerily absent from not only reality but from attention to his job. I felt from the start he was not as sharp as I would have wished our president and commander in chief to be, but I had hopes that all would be well. Not anymore. I fear the lack of leadership and strength that America now displays to friends and foes around the world.

Recently I wrote a letter to the editor to the Sentinel exclaiming what a fine leader Lud Kimbrough has been. Kimbrough is the supervisor from the Pinetop District. The letter stated the following traits that he possessed and that I thought had made him such an effective leader.

I wrote, “Lud has the personal traits that are needed in a leader — intelligence along with street sense, a pleasant demeanor, respect for all citizens, honesty, business acumen along with economic sense, a knack for leading people into making good decisions and, the most important trait of all, the ability to bring us all together into one Middlesex family.

While I was writing this letter I began to realize these same qualities are just as important in candidates we nominate and elect as president. Added to this list would be a hard worker, someone who will be on the job around the clock and dedicated to defending this nation and its people before anything else. Sure, everyone needs a break now and then, but if one doesn’t have the energy, determination and ability to be on duty full-time, that person has no business being in the White House.

It’s time voters start to realize we have to do a better job nominating and electing our commander in chief. I’m not just down on Biden. I was not impressed with Donald Trump, nor Barack Obama either. Both men, while they took their job more seriously than the present White House occupant, like the present leader, greatly polarized Americans and this is unforgivable. Americans are one family, if we want our Republic to survive we had better wake up, come together and start voting like we care about survival. Any potential leader that attempts to divide us as “one nation, indivisible,” is not presidential material.
Frankly, my worst nightmare is a repeat of a Trump-Biden election choice in 2024. We need new faces, new personalities, and fresh ideas to turn this nation and its people into one family.

If the people of Middlesex County can elect a person with the qualifications of Lud Kimbrough as supervisor, this nation should be able to get the same quality in the White House.

So don’t talk partisanship to me. Talk about qualifications for leadership, executive experience, economic sense, freedom from what I call “extreme dogma,” “corruption, kindness and respect” for “we the people,” physical energy, and mental acumen along with personality traits that will build us up and not tear us apart.

Yet, voters are easy to manipulate, and politicians use every means possible to excite, anger and invite “hot button issues” voting rather than making careful and rational selections. The use of negative advertising, social media outlets, in order to sling mud, spread dirt and disinformation, lies, and scandals in order to turn out negative voters has become the modus operandi of the day.

Let us hope we can improve our nomination and election of leaders. Before it’s too late.

© 2023

URBANNA — When I was 78 years old I was blessed with a new grandchild. I had thought that grandbabies would no longer be born in our family, we already had four grandchildren, and even if I was taken completely by surprise, I could not help but rejoice at the baby boy that was suddenly placed in my lap.

Life delivers many surprises and I have found that most of them turn out to be blessings. As my grandson is now 5 years old, and now that I am in my 80s, (I almost consider him to be my great-grandson!) I believe it is safe to say that this is my last grandchild.

My youngest grandson recently spent some time with me during spring break when he was out of school. We had a busy day playing at the Urbanna playground and walking the docks of Urbanna’s harbor area checking out the boats, but the most fun activity was to visit River Birch nursery to buy some red and pink geraniums, vinca and daisies and plant the flowers in the backyard patio pots. The potting soil and spade were just messy enough to delight a young boy.

But the real jackpot was picking up pine cones with our new “super dooper pine cone picker upper,” a long pole with two tongs on the end that can be manipulated to grip a pine cone and then drop it into a bucket for Auntie Liz who uses them to light fire in her fireplace.

It was hot that day, last Thursday when the temperature rose to an unseasonably warm 84 and growing tired from such a busy day with Grandmother, my grandson removed his shirt to cool off and joined me for some relaxation on the swing. We had earlier enjoyed a lunch of ham sandwiches, carrots and bananas and perhaps the combination of the heat, exertion, full tummy and the hypnotic back and forth rocking of the swing triggered his first yawn. Before I knew it he had crawled into my lap, sprawled and fallen fast asleep.

What a treat for grandmother! The older grandchildren had long ago given up hugs and kisses. They were much too sophisticated now for such silliness. So, I was really enjoying perhaps the last few months of a grandchild that still cozied up in my lap.

We continued to swing back and forth, I thought once again how comforting a backyard swing is. I spend many hours in the swing overlooking my garden watching the flowers bud, come to bloom, fade and fall back to earth. I listen to birdsongs and watch the squirrels scamper across the boughs of trees. I see firsthand the four seasons arrive and pass on by. I see the red berries of the holly trees come and go, the pine cones drop each day, and the constant sprinkling of pine needles that fall from the sky like coconut strewn over a cake.

I see the feral cats play hide and seek under the thick shrubbery against the back fence, never coming too near to me, but daring to approach Dandy because they know he is a gentle dog. It is here from my perch on the swing that I pet Dandy daily and all the while I notice the growing grey on his muzzle as he ages, as I do, as the years pass on by.

A marvelous sensation passes through my brain. I see us as if from afar, Dandy, Grandmother and the youngest grandson in the swing on some fine spring day as if we have been captured for all time in a Norman Rockwell painting.

Father’s words come back to me. Words from 55 years ago when I had just given birth to my own son. I had just come home from the hospital carrying the bouquet of yellow roses he had sent to celebrate the event, a first male grandbaby.  The phone had rung and Father, calling from Ohio, was on the other end. “Congratulations Mays on the new son.” (Whom I had named after Father.)

“Babies, Mays,” he had continued. “The most essential part of life, the reason why we exist, nothing is more important than babies!”

I thought of my grandson and decided once again Father’s words were truth. As I have thought of his words over and over during my lifetime, especially after he passed away, the words returning now as if they were etched somehow in my brain forever. As if he were still with me, still here to teach me all he knew about life for me to pass on to the next generation.

I suddenly think of Robert Browning’s poem “Love among the Ruins” and I rewrite his last line to fit my mood… “Talk of kings and things and all the rest. Babies are best.”

©2023

URBANNA — Do you know what a “death file” is? Chances are you don’t, let alone actually have one.

I do. That’s because I live with a lawyer who keeps a file on everything. I have lived with a lawyer for 60 years. That’s a long time to live with a lawyer.

I’m not complaining, just stating a fact. It’s quite possible that he would say 60 years is a long time to live with a writer.

Here’s a clue that might indicate what life with a lawyer is like. Some 50 years ago our mostly English springer dog gave birth to seven adorable pups. The sire was a purebred English springer but since I had no “papers” I decided to sell them for just $35 a pup.
To use one of Father’s old English expressions, “They sold like hotcakes.” No sooner had the last pup gone then the lawyer approached with pad and pen. “Let’s see now, my dear, that is seven pups times $35 and that is a total of $245 you must report on your taxes to the IRS.”

I was stunned. Who else but an estate planning lawyer would think of reporting such a measly amount to the IRS? Case closed.

Then, 50 years later when the lawyer turned 85, and he finally retired, (I had learned over many years that lawyers don’t retire at a normal age and spouses have to continue packing lunches when they head off to trial and won’t have time to get lunch and see to it he has clean shirts and freshly dry-cleaned suits way beyond the usual years of service), he announced one day at breakfast while I was dishing up his scrambled eggs that he had opened a “death file.”

Now normal people have no idea what such a file might be, a collection of every document that your family will need if one should suddenly take it into his head to pop off. (Which is exactly what I plan to do myself one day, especially if I have to keep tabs of my spouse’s death file!)

Well, I suppose I showed my usual look of horror when he explained that he was gathering all the information I would need in one convenient place “should I ever need it.” He added, “This is the greatest act of love that any husband can do for a beloved wife.”

My philosophy in life is one might as well laugh. Yet I can personally attest that lawyers are an odd species that keep meticulous records on every detail of life. I had to have all the proper documents almost as soon as I was married … will, trust, power of attorney, medical directives … before I even turned 25. I think I might have been the youngest Virginian ever to have a written will.

Then, it’s surprising how many “papers” one needs when someone dies. One can’t just die anymore and be done with it. One has to have zillions of papers to settle things.

Social security records, birth certificates, marriage licenses, military discharge papers, bank accounts, insurance policies, stocks and bonds, not to mention the dozens of passwords needed to access such records. Add to this passports, driver’s licenses, titles to property including land, cars and boats, medical and insurance papers, charge accounts, funeral plans, house records listing surveys, closing costs and, improvements. Also, one should have on hand at least the last six years of tax records.

Then one needs directions for how to disperse personal property. This in itself is a major task for the worst fights by heirs could be over who gets Aunt Matilda’s silver baby spoon.
Then lists of schools, colleges, clubs, organizations and professional affiliations that must be advised on death. One should also have photographs of the deceased. Don’t forget funeral plans, title to cemetery plot and headstone.

His written list of things that need to be completed is quite helpful. His step one is: “First call 911, my dear.” The steps then continue in order until the last chore is completed.
The lawyer is now completing one last duty in his act of love for his beloved wife. Writing his obit.

If this keeps up, in the event of an untimely death all I will have to do is attend the funeral. But perhaps he will prepare for that too? Maybe hire a tearful surrogate mourner to dress in black and appear for me at the funeral? If there is any way he can take care of that chore ahead of time, you can bet that a lawyer will figure out how.
Just so he doesn’t send me a bill.

© 2023.

Note: Mary will be taking some time off from writing her weekly column. She wishes everyone a very happy spring.

URBANNA — Every so often the world we live in becomes so turbulent and discouraging that one just has to take some time off to unwind.

Everything seems challenging now — the economy,  rising prices of goods and services, constant political tensions, global warming, world hunger, ominous pact between China and Russia, an open border with little control over those that come into the country, fentanyl and other drug use, rising teen suicide, racial tensions, gender confusion, rising crime rates and violence in our major cities, troubles in our schools, extreme partisanship, attacks on police and military — the list of concerns seems endless.

Then, I can’t think of what to write about this week. I don’t even feel like writing. I guess you could say discouragement is setting in, losing faith in everything I once believed in, giving up hope that democracy can survive, even imagining the collapse of this great republic.

So, after my daily walk to the church and back with “Dandy,” my cocker spaniel, I settled back in the swing in my backyard, seeking some cheer.

It was that windy, warm day last week when the temperature almost hit 80 and I had shed my coat and hat and settled into a steady rock. Soon the feral cats came out of the bushes, “Blackie” and “Curly,” who reside in the backyard not to be confused with the front yard cats — “Smudge,” “Fudge,” “Wrinkle,” “Gracie,” “Tweedy” and my favorite, “Pepper,” who lives in a neighborhood storm drain.

Yes, I feed and have trapped and spayed feral cats, because that is what kind and responsible people do. Humans are called upon to help others, including wildlife, according to the best we can.

Soon “Curly,” a tiger-striped cat that has a tail that is permanently curled up and over her body strolls across the yard as if she owned the place. She spots “Dandy,” who is stretched out on the patio like an accordion. “Curly” loves “Dandy,” much to the cocker’s dismay and insists on giving him a daily lick down. “Dandy” is acutely embarrassed by this disgusting ritual, but he is too nice to chase the cat away so he looks at me hoping I will put an end to this disgrace.

Now “Blackie,” who is black, we are not overly original with our names for feral cats, jumps up on the swing to settle in my lap and enjoy the rhythmic rock. The wind chimes respond to the occasional strong gusts of wind and from my position under 70-year-old pine trees that surround our house, I imagine once again the giant trees snapping in the wind and crashing into our yard. I imagine hearing that first crack and running to the house for some protection for a Chesapeake forester once told me the most dangerous place to be on a windy day is under large trees.

I see the red and pink camellia bushes have started to wane and the pine-needled ground is strewn with dying petals. The holly trees, still loaded with red berries, are laced with pine needles, caught helplessly in their limbs and the azalea bushes are beginning to show signs of future budding. The forsythia and daffodils are spent, the lilies are just beginning to sprout and the flower pots filled with yarrow, daisies and mums have already reseeded for summer’s bloom.

I look up to the sky and see the fluff of March clouds racing by with a shy sun that peeks out occasionally and winks at me. I see pieces of blue sky. The cat in my lap purrs like a truck. Suddenly the magic happens for in the midst of such glory my fears and concerns fade away, I can actually feel my tense body relax and my mind follows suit.

In the presence of nature how silly it is to be strung up in a day of worries, especially when one can do very little to change things.

I can’t stop the constant political battles that are so depressing. But I can stop listening to the constant partisan clamor. I can’t fix race relations or stop inflation or the harmful polarization of America. But I can write about the dangers of a nation going too much in debt and the virtues of love and kindness. I can suggest tolerance in the face of prejudice and rejection. I can write of understanding amongst citizens even when it’s difficult to understand.

I can’t create world peace, stop nations from invading other countries, or turn dishonest politicians moral. But I can write of the glory of honor, self-responsibility, freedom and independence. I can warn others that there is no worse threat to the diverse American family than a government that ignores the Constitutional rights of the people.

I leave my afternoon reveries on the swing and head for my computer. Perhaps there are subjects I can write about this week after all.

© 2023

URBANNA — I was touched last week by the letter of the young girl at St. Clare Walker Middle School who felt rejected because of her “brown skin.” It triggered the grandmother in me along with memories of my childhood growing up in Vermilion, Ohio, many years ago.

She mentioned the racial divide. Yet there are many causes of division among people and most of us are caught in the grips of some of them during our lives. I was caught in such a trap myself as a young person and although not racial, it was the divide between labor and management which is just as bitter, especially during labor disputes and strikes.

I also ruminated as a young girl wondering why I had to bear the grief of such division simply because I had been born in a family that owned a business that employed many of the people in the area. And yes, some people took their resentments out on an innocent young child simply because of her last name.

Think of all the other divides between peoples of the world! None are fair or right or good but it is the reality of life. It seems to me our only way to solve such a problem in society (besides creating a government that forces everyone to be “equal” and rules every detail with an iron hand as is done in communist regimes) is to not worry about negative behavior from others but charge on with our own plans for success in life regardless of naysayers.

We all experience rejection for unfair reasons and not just once but over and over again and all throughout our lives. The need to reject seems to be an odd part of human nature … to reject others who are different in any way, maybe to feel better about ourselves and our own inadequacies? Perhaps we are dealing with some biological component in our genes that have to do with survival, maybe an innate fear of anyone that is different from us in any way? Who knows?

Reflecting on my childhood, truth is those that used an innocent child to vent resentment against management made me a very strong young woman. Just as you will be if you use any rejection you encounter as a source of inner strength.

I thought I would escape this problem by going to college far away from home. I ended up in a woman’s college in Virginia. I discovered in 1959 southerners didn’t especially like people from Ohio. So I now felt rejected not by my name but because of where I came from!

I finally decided if I let other people’s behavior worry me, I would never become a success so I would be who I was, nothing more and follow my own dreams of becoming a writer, regardless of others.

That’s when a woman becomes powerful. And so shall you be powerful for the individual is much more powerful than the group. And the sooner you reach that peak in your thinking, the freer you will be to become whatever you dream of becoming.

I worked to improve opportunities for women. My two objectives were to open all-male Virginia Military Institute (VMI) and Rotary Clubs to women (which introduced me to what I called “hard core rejection!”) It only made me stronger.

Rotary and VMI soon opened its doors to qualified women and this end made my small efforts worth everything. Years later I was invited to charter a Rotary Club in Middlesex County and it was one of the richest experiences in my life. Thus, out of initial rejection can come great rewards.

It’s good that you see a defect in our society and you have spoken up. But don’t let this situation, what I call a basic flaw in human nature, sour you, dampen your spirit or hurt your drive for success in life. I have been sad to see rejection turn people angry, resentful, bitter, discouraged and such inner forces could end up defeating you.

Shakespeare said it best: Others don’t take us down, we take ourselves down. His exact quote reads, “It’s not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.” Or as Pogo said … “We have met the enemy and they are us.”

Seek all the education you can get and look on any rejection you experience in life as the great motivator that it is. And ride that fuel right to the top!

Also seek to be a kind person that loves your neighbor and be forgiving of those that hurt you along the way. Truly, “They know not what they do.”

I would like to hear from you. Please write to me about this situation in your life specifically stating what your plan is to overcome the problems that you are experiencing. Send it to me in care of the Sentinel. I overcame my experiences with rejection and fulfilled my dreams. I believe that you will too.

Lastly, remember the words of Admiral Farragut who carried on in sea battle with the kind of spirit I wish for you: “Damn those torpedoes, full speed ahead!”

© 2023

URBANNA — An old Chinese expression known as the “Chinese Curse” is wishing another a seemingly innocent blessing: “May you live in interesting times.” The so-called “blessing” is really a curse as “interesting times” suggests a life of troubles and hardships as opposed to one of peace and happiness.

An Englishman, Sir Austen Chamberlain, introduced the expression to western usage when he used it in a letter to a friend in the 19th century. He wrote “we are living in interesting times” to describe a difficult period in English history.

“Interesting times” certainly describes what Americans have been through these last few years with the COVID-19 pandemic. Exceedingly interesting times!

If it wasn’t bad enough to deal with a disease that spread across the globe like wildfire leaving death wherever it touched was that initially no one seemed to know what to do about it. Thus began what I now call the “Covid Wars,” a ferocious battle between those that believed what government told us and those that did not.

As panic spread, new vaccines, treatments and mandates dropped down on us like stone, closing businesses, schools and even churches, forcing wearing of masks, isolation, working from home and the end of group gatherings in a social venue. The new rules in some parts of the country were written in steel and woe to the individual that did not obey. Many felt a total loss of freedom.

Now we are hearing that some information we were told by government, public health, media and drug companies was false. Even worse was Elon Musk’s release of the Twitter files suggesting government and social media outlets were working hand in hand to suppress opposing views and information about the disease and how to best treat and contain it. That there was in America a suppression of information is a scary jibe for the ship that sails on the sea of freedom.

The division between the two groups… those that believed everything the government was saying about the disease and supported mandates and those who refuted government information and mandates, brought on much unpleasantness. Or, as the Chinese might have said: “interesting times.”

As people hunkered down, isolated themselves, desperately rushed  to get the new vaccines and worked from home, resentment grew. Many could not work from home and they suddenly found themselves cut off from earning an income.

Talk about loss of freedom. A government mandate that prevents people working to earn money to feed themselves and their families is huge. Businesses folded, people lost jobs and life savings trying to get by. Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam closed many businesses down for three months. Virginians were fortunate that he allowed businesses to reopen as other states ordered businesses closed for many more months.

Most public sector employees including politicians continued receiving paychecks even though offices and school classrooms had closed. This was good fortune for them but there was much suffering in the private sector when salaries stopped.

Soon the public was told what medicines were “approved” to use for treatment of COVID-19 while other medications were taboo. Some scientists and doctors spoke out questioning not only the origins of COVID-19, but how safe the new vaccines were, and whether the prescribed and approved medicines helped or actually hurt the ill. Before long the doubters were shut down, some lost their jobs and those that did not agree with accepted protocol were labeled  “extremists” or spreaders of  “disinformation” and were treated as outcasts, pariahs, excluded from social media and even fired from jobs.

It was a shame how quickly both sides polarized. Not only did each side discount the other side’s ideas but also questioned their sources of information. There was little exchange beyond you either agree with my side or you’re crazy.

On a personal note, my husband and I received the two shots and booster and then came down with COVID-19. I was told we had a lighter case because of the vaccines and that the later strain of COVID-19 was less fatal than the original strain. We felt fortunate.

As new evidence is coming forth, we learn that masks did not protect us and shutdowns caused much more economic, educational and emotional damage than originally had been thought. The FBI and Energy Department now believe that COVID-19 originated in a lab in Wuhan, an idea that had been strongly denounced by the Biden Administration. What stunning new information will come forth next is anyone’s guess.

What have we learned from the COVID-19 Wars? It is to doubt everything we hear. We should never again allow government or any other source of power, whether it be media, corporation, church, social media outlets, university or political party, to shut down open debate and discussion of issues.

Our “interesting times” were filled with heartbreak and tragedy but it also gave Americans a taste of suppression. I hope we never see it again.

© 2023

URBANNA — I was 12 years old, in the 1950s, when Father brought up the subject of equality at the dinner table.

“I’ve been thinking over what Jefferson meant when he said  “all men are created equal” in 1776 when he wrote the Declaration of Independence.” This was typical conversation with Father.

An electrical engineer by education, he was also an artist, writer, author, fisherman and hunter. Table talk was never boring.

He went on to say that there is no equality in nature. I immediately thought of the mouse and the lion. So he was right on that point.

In 1953 our notion of equality was the concept of “one man-one vote.” This definition had been a long time in coming as over the centuries only white male adult property owners could vote. Today all citizens over 18 can vote (except some felons) and there is talk of expanding the right to vote to non-American citizens and children who are 16 years of age.

The other definition of equality in 1953 was everyone was equal before the law. Today we wonder whether there is true equality in the courts and question whether minorities are sentenced for crime more than others. We also wonder if some politicians are above the law, depending on political affiliation.

In my lifetime the definition of equality has greatly expanded. Affirmative action and hiring and promoting quotas along with special preference given according to race and gender and even sexual preferences have become standard. Some universities no longer consider the old standard SAT test scores to decide admission, high schools have dropped class rankings, National Honor Awards are not necessarily announced and class valedictorians not always honored at graduation as in the past.

But in the 1950s Father was thinking about what Jefferson had meant in his definition of equality writing in 1776 with his oft quoted phrase “all men are created equal.” What Father decided at that time indicates exactly how long and difficult the struggle has been for us to reach our definition of equality today.

Father believed that Jefferson meant that every human being was “born of woman” — that is, no one was born God, but born human. This is an important distinguishment between what earlier religions and cultures professed — that gods often intermingled with humans and produced “half god” offspring. Perhaps Jefferson simply meant as he wrote the Declaration in 1776 that no humans are to be considered God. That notion in itself is a giant step for mankind.

Even as definitions of equality have evolved over the centuries, the same frustration haunts most everyone when we finally realize we are not equal to others. In my case, in high school math and science classes when this good student in literature and history had to fight just for a C- grade.

And when I look in the mirror I see a woman who is not bad looking, but she is no beauty either. Or when I play tennis with my daughter and she beats me every time, or continue hitting the same wrong notes on the piano in “Nessun Dorma” in spite of  playing piano all my life.

And I certainly am aware of inequality when I read the great writers. I’m always left with a dull ache when I see the obvious differences in ability.

Today we also discuss what to do about the fact that some people have had “privileged” childhoods  and others have not. Privilege meaning any advantages gleaned by having been born in a stable, educated two-parent family without suffering from poverty or drugs. How then does society create what is referred to as  “a level playing field?”

We are also concerned with reverse racial discrimination which limits opportunities on the basis of any race which many feel is just as wrong as any discrimination. Although there are some citizens that believe racial favoritism should be now enforced at the detriment of others to atone for past discrimination.

America is doing much to create a more level arena. But it’s a challenge because not only are there differences in social, economic and educational circumstances but also in levels of motivation and self-discipline — major factors in achieving goals.

Yet it is always a thrilling story when a disadvantaged child grows into a successful adult. America has always been filled with Horatio Alger stories. My own grandfather coming from England with no money or education was just one in millions of success stories of an America that promises open doors to all people.

What our society must always do as it works to create fairer systems, is make sure the brightest and hardest working citizens rise to the top. So that America can continue delivering its promise of freedom and opportunity for ages to come.

Still, mustn’t grumble, but even after all is said and done, I don’t quite see why I couldn’t have been born a raving beauty, math genius, ace tennis player, and the first female William Shakespeare!

© 2023

URBANNA — Just as I think that I have written my last opinion, someone like Don Lemon of CNN comes along and tells us a 51-year-old woman candidate just declared for president is … “past her prime.”

Here we have Grandpa in the White House stumbling through his daily messages to us and Don Lemon calls the 51-year- old Nikki Haley, the ex-governor of South Carolina and United States ambassador to the United Nations, past her prime.

Well, I guess you could say I’ve heard everything. But poor me. If Nikki Haley is past her prime at 51, I must at 81 have not just one foot in the grave, but my entire body!

But, seriously, isn’t it a shame we still in 2023 hear such blatantly ignorant and biased opinions? I wonder how many men still believe exactly as Don Lemon so unceremonially said, probably without thinking how it would sound to the rest of the country and how poorly it would reflect on him — such a shocking sentiment: that is women are apparently of little or no use when they age after they lose their youth, beauty, figure and no longer can bear children.

The irony is Nicki Haley is still very much a knockout in all categories but to Don Lemon, well, obviously he likes younger women, and in his view she is now ready along with the many millions of other aging women in America to be put out to pasture like an old cow that’s been milked for the last time.

Just think what Don Lemon must think of all the old crones still hanging around Washington, D.C. that are past their prime — Nancy Pelosi, Elizabeth Warren, Amy Klobuchar, Kamala Harris, even Hillary Clinton. Good gracious, Hillary must be in her 70s by now! Not to mention the fact what he must have thought of that poor Ruth Bader Ginsberg who served so long and so graciously as judge in the U.S. Supreme Court and even had the nerve to be sick and die in the end. What more proof could Don Lemon need to think she was “past her prime.”

The interesting part of Don Lemon’s bias is that his true feelings about women just slipped out for all to see without his being able to censor himself. It just slipped out. It lent a very ugly view into his inner thoughts.

Yet, If being “past our prime” means that older people may be more inclined to think first before they speak, are more aware of their own fallibility, think more about other people than themselves, have more ability for expansive thought than the young and have more empathy for the human condition in general — well, then, Don, I think you have proven my point. A little more years of living may be exactly what you need.

A little age and a lot of experience will improve us all. With age comes character and like a polished gem, seniors become more valuable in passing time. They certainly become less vulnerable to that reckless condition known as “inserting a shoe in one’s mouth.”

Most men I know have mellowed greatly over the years when it comes to viewing women as equals. I recall the passion and the fury of the past when Virginia Military Institute (VMI) alumni considered accepting women into the institute. One VMI grad told me, all it took for him to change his mind from “absolutely no women cadets” to “let’s bring them in!” was one thing.

“Our first born was a daughter,” he said with a grin. “And the next child was also a girl. As a dentist, I suddenly realized I wanted my girls to have the very same opportunities I had, if they so desired — at VMI, at dental school, and whatever they were willing to work for in their lives.”

Then the example of my dear late father. When I wanted to become a Rotarian (before Rotary accepted women members), I called Father and told him I wanted to join his and my grandfather’s club.

“Why, Mays,” he said, “you can’t join the Rotary Club!”

“And why not?” I snapped from my phone in Virginia to his phone in Ohio.

“Why, because you’re a woman!” he said.

In a cold fury I slammed the phone down. To think my own father had said such a thing to me, his darling daughter!

The phone rang within seconds. It was Father.

“I was wrong, Mays! You should join the Rotary Club!”

That fast. Father’s English centuries old tradition of male superiority to women vanished in a flash.

Having a daughter really does the trick, Don. For one’s daughter is never “past the prime.”

© 2023

URBANNA — I get the strangest ideas for a column in the middle of the night. Titles for stories prick my brain in the wee hours like Hamlet’s infamous slings and arrows.

Last night I started wondering what Urbanna would do if it suddenly received a busload of immigrants that had just crossed over the border into Texas and the governor had sent them north to our town.

That’s not beyond reality. Areas across the country are now receiving busloads of newly arrived people to America that desperately need assistance simply because the border states can no longer handle the problem. It is a humanitarian crisis of the first order as most arrivals have no family here, jobs lined up, money, luggage and speak little or no English. They also may have health issues, are perhaps not vaccinated for COVID-19 or flu and they can arrive cold, tired, hungry and in need of a bath.

So as the clock struck 3 a.m., I started to plan what we residents would do if, say, 50 people arrived here that needed immediate help and had nowhere to go but Urbanna.
First, we would need police service as hungry people need food. Before we pass  judgment on this basic human need, think first what we would do if we were starving and had no money. The sheriff has limited manpower as his department covers the entire county but perhaps he could deputize some of Middlesex’s stalwart residents like Bill Hight, Joe Heyman, Eric Faudree or Dan Snead to provide some extra security?

We would need to provide food immediately so perhaps Urbanna Market could donate some of their crispy fried chicken, Something Different deli chicken pot pies or barbecue, and other restaurants in town provide some nutritional sides? But how long could they do this without reimbursement for their food and labor costs?

What bathroom facilities would we have available for so many “visitors”? Could the town marina open up their restrooms? How about showers? Could Middlesex High School be able to open up their locker rooms to provide daily showers? And could the Pearl trolley-style mini bus, which is usually empty on its every 20 minute run to Kent Street, be utilized to provide daily transportation?

Where would they sleep? Would 50 homes in town volunteer to take in, feed and care for one visitor? Food and utility costs have skyrocketed. How could the town ask 50 families, most on fixed income, to take on even one more person?

Then I thought of the churches. Could Urbanna Baptist Church and United Methodist Church each take 25 people, round up sleeping bags and pillows and reserve the first 25 pews in each church for portable beds?

Could the ladies of the Middlesex Woman’s Club form a soup kitchen in the style of the Great Depression years and provide two meals a day? I was thinking of their delicious crab bisque so famous during the Oyster Fest. Could Christ Church put together their tasty ham biscuits and bake homemade chocolate chip cookies they sell each year at the fest? Could the Kiwanians erect their famous tent and serve oysters on the half shell, or the Lions Club do their delicious oyster fritters? Surely Rotary would give cash to help pay expenses?

Would our many watermen donate a portion of their daily catch to help the cause?

Mayor Bill Goldsmith and the Urbanna Town Council might distribute clothing from the thrift shop? Dr. Robusto might set up a medical office in the old town office now empty and give physicals and administer medication for the sick? Would Marshall’s Drug Store be able to supply free drugs? Would Methodist Pastor Bruce provide counseling to those who need it?

Could Fred and Bettie Lee Gaskins provide a fundraising campaign similar to Christmas Friends at the Sentinel?

Could husband, Chip, set up a makeshift law office under a tent in front of Bristow’s store and register the visitors. Help them fill out forms for job applications, licenses, social services benefits, asylum or provide free wills? He would need an interpreter.

By 4 a.m. I realized what I could do. I could immediately start teaching English as a second language. “Buenos dias, amigos,” I would cheerfully welcome my class in my best college Spanish at the Virginia Street Café after the breakfast rush departed and before lunch was served. “Como esta usted?”

I would quickly shift to English. It’s been a long time since college Spanish.

By 4:30 a.m. I finally collapsed into a deep sleep. But not before I realized the challenges would be overwhelming for the Town of Urbanna. Even if we meant well, we surely would fail if only from lack of resources.

My last thought before falling into unconscious bliss free of life’s many conundrums was a pure stab of fear. I imagined before we were able to line up everyone with a job, place to live, and solve the many other problems of relocating … another bus arrived.

© 2023

Note: Mary Wakefield Buxton reports that she will be taking some time off from writing her “One Woman’s Opinion” column.

URBANNA — I still remember reading the political theories of a 16th century Italian philosopher while in college in 1960. I was a sophomore at Randolph Macon Woman’s College in Lynchburg studying political philosophy. As I read his ideas and my brain digested his meaning I noticed goosebumps spread out across my arms. They were not goosebumps from cold. They came from fear.

I had never heard of Niccolò Machiavelli until that moment as high school education in my day (and probably still not today) did not include political theory. Up to that moment I had no idea that there were evil, conniving, manipulative and devious people in the world that wanted to control others and govern their every move.

Yet, we all have run into “Machiavellian personalities” in life … those who are highly selfish, competitive and cunning and will manipulate, cheat and lie in order to win. Such people can be charming and pleasant and yet can turn into a bully and be willing to do most anything to get what they want. They don’t tolerate and they never compromise. They are the antithesis of our right to life, liberty and especially our revolutionary belief that every American has the right to the pursuit of happiness.

Machiavelli lived at a time when Italy was made up of separate city states with each district ruled by its own prince. There was constant fighting and the provinces could easily be picked off by neighboring states.

Thus, Machiavelli was a strong advocate of a united Italy and he envisioned the ruler who could achieve such a goal would have to be extremely strong. His best known book, “the Prince,” laid out his advice on how such a leader could achieve success. The scheme was to rule with an iron hand. It was better to be feared than be loved because loved leaders are only obeyed from obligation, but feared leaders are obeyed because of fear. Which never fails.

Machiavelli said when taking over government it is always best to do all the evil deeds at once and get them over with as the people would then forget about their suffering and, in time, would simply obey from habit. (This is in direct contrast to the Greek fable writer, Aesop, who believed taking the grapes (freedoms) away one grape at a time was a far better plan in order to eventually steal the entire clump.)

Machiavelli also recommended keeping the people always in a state of confusion and turmoil. He liked separating groups according to race, social and economic class, religion, gender and ethnicity. A smart ruler should use whatever differences that separate people and keep them always agitated and angry at each other. In that way, the people would turn against each other instead of the Prince who could then easily manipulate them simply by reminding them always of their hatred for each other’s “group.”

It was that last idea that so frightened me, even at age 19 as I quickly recognized that America was not an ethnically pure country made up of only one race, religion or culture but a potpourri of every group on earth. I could easily imagine that inciting anger and hatred among the many various groups in our country would be quite an easy goal to achieve.

In my lifetime I have seen politicians use Machiavellian techniques to get and keep power. It is heart rending to see how easily people can be agitated and manipulated.

Once I was a feminist and worked for years to open society for equal opportunities for women. Then one day I realized my work was polarizing and that what I really wanted was opportunities for not just women, but all people. If we could change from thinking only from within our own “group,” to thinking as one group, we might stop blatant manipulation.
Today I see America torn into many different factions and much frustration, suspicion, resentment, bitterness, anger and even hatred in the air.

Society has been torn asunder in many areas: racial, gender, religious, economic, social, ethnic, cultural, even such traditions as gender identity, the institution of marriage and even means of birth control have become hot issues. We even argue today over our history with many wanting to rewrite it, erasing all they do not approve of, pretending evil of the past and present is not a part of our human experience.

When I see how wound up we seem to be today, in ways I never have seen in the past, I wonder if our society is being manipulated by Machiavellian figures? I wonder if we are now puppets being manipulated by those that scheme to control us… our lives, thoughts, actions and our very dreams?

We can stop manipulation by refusing to be compartmentalized into any one group that segregates us from our American family. We can work for improvements in society, not some of us, but all of us. We don’t have to tear others down in order to pull ourselves up.

© 2023