My 30+ year old children introduced the phrase “defunding the police” to me a few weeks ago. Actually, it must have been the week of George Floyd’s death. I was a little alarmed and very confused. What! What are you talking about!? What a ridiculous thing to say! Within these few weeks this phrase has become part of our daily headlines. In DC a road now carries the phrase! There is much conversation online and a Twitter about Defunding the Police. Hmmm … what are we taking about? Much has been written in the last few weeks so I have started reading to help me get a handle on this phrase. The article below is one of the most helpful articles I have found.
Here is what I have gleaned from my initial research What defunding the police is NOT:
• a specific policy • dismantlement of police departments
• lessening public protection from violent crime
• leaving communities to protect themselves
• a very good phrase
What defunding the police is:
• a movement or theory in national conversations
• reallocation of funds to include social workers, interpreters and counselors to ride with police officers and help with disputes.
• offer police more awareness about mental health issues to diffuse situations
• have cities adopt plans that are working now such as RIGHT Care plan highlighted in this article. The San Francisco Chronicle says, “…the concept refers to shrinking police responsibility and delegating some of law enforcement’s duties to other experts – for example having social workers respond to homelessness complaints and health care workers handle people with substance abuse.” Where will the police unions stand in this new call to Defund The Police? I have more research to do on this question. Alicia Garza said on NBC’s “Meet the Press”, “When we talk about defunding the police, what we’re saying is, ‘Invest in the resources that our communities need’.” I cannot imagine having the responsibilities of a police officer. It seems to me that each officer must get ready for their shift knowing they are going to be called into the unpredictable, into danger and into situations unlike I have ever imagined. Having the additional resources of social workers, mental health counselors and health care workers would seem to be good start to to improving life in our communities. I believe we are being called to a new way of understanding how to successfully live in community with one another. The social contract may have worked for my family and me in the luscious green hills of suburbia but until the social contract works for ALL of us we need to keep thinking, reading and pushing through the discomfort of radical changes. It will all be okay when it is okay for all. Mr. Biden nor President Trump are onboard for defunding the police. It is a movement that by its very name scares us. However, last week, in Nashville (lasted past 1 am) and Chattanooga council meetings (7.5 hours) budgetary agendas were scrapped and epic long city council meetings resulted with the citizens demanding attention to these issues. I wonder how it will play out in Nashville, Tennessee. I hope our grandchildren will look back one day and say we were on the right side of history on this.
July 14, 2020 Yesterday was many things… the day I had surgery to remove the cataract in my right eye, the day I sent my husband to do two errands, the day my one year old, just neutered, cone wearing, rescue pup, acted just like a one year old, newly neutered rescue pup. Yesterday, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I officially ran out of goodwill. My self appointed superpower, has been the ability to “smile in adversity!”, to carry on when the chips were down, to dadgum it, turn that frown upside down! However, yesterday was a test. Maybe it’s The Covid, maybe we have entered the “dog days” of summer, maybe taking the generic dose of antidepressant really does make a difference. (It’s just a very small dose… enough to “keep the insulation on the wiring”…but I have been wary of this generic 90 day supply that you can acquire for $15 at Walgreens no less!) First, I wake up at noon yesterday to a heaviness on my chest and a smooshing, liquid, licking sound. My bedroom is dark. I am on my back. I realize I have on leggings and a blouse, not my pjs. Kobe is standing on me, licking the plastic eye patch which was taped to my right eye this morning after having cataract surgery. I have no memory of the surgery, riding home in the car, or even getting back into bed. My lovely anesthesia induced dreams have been interrupted by a 90 pound curious Newfoundland. He is trying to be very quiet as he goes from standing on me to lying down on me, curious about this new patch on my eye. But, what the hell. I am a little dizzy and slobbering for understanding as I assess this scene, wondering where my dear driver, husband and caretaker for the day is. I see that a Diet Coke, in a coozy, is by my bedside, along with a glass of ice water. I haven’t read my discharge instructions yet but I am pretty sure having a Newfoundland gently lick your eyepatch every four hours is not on them. I sit up push Kobe away and go to look for my caretaker. Hmmm, he has gone to work out. Which is wonderful! We all need to keep in shape during the Covid, but I am a little shaky and can’t find my sunglasses and would they even fit over this plastic sticky dog slobbered patch? I would put Kobe out back but we have a pool that he loves, and remember he has just been neutered so he is quarantined here with me, in the house, all day. I see that my five year old, 150 pound Newfoundland, Shadow, quietly watching from his place on the floor willing Kobe to just… please…go…away. I head to the kitchen, make an open faced cheese sandwich and settle into my usual tv watching chair in the den. Having a bite to eat and watching a little HGTV seems like a luxurious way to spend my one eyed afternoon. As I channel surf I hear a sound. A sound like someone playing kick the can. Hmmm, what is that? Suddenly, Kobe bursts into the den, proudly chewing a Diet Coke can. Uh oh. This is the can that was on my bedside table. I shakily return to the bedroom and even half-sighted, I can see that Kobe has jumped on the bed, grabbed the Coke from the bedside, spilled said Coke EVERYWHERE. Framed photos are sitting in Coke, pillows, duvets, sheets and rugs are all doused with the brown liquid. Where is my husband? Oh yeah, working out. I unmake the bed, including pulling off the sheets, mattress pad and the duvets off two king size comforters. I remember I am not supposed to lift anything over 20 pounds or bend over for a few days. Kobe tries to help as he bites and wrangles the sheets and comforters I try to carry to the laundry room. I give Kobe his RX in hopes it will settle him down and wonder if I can take one too. Berry finally returns. I ask him to please go to the grocery for dinner. I also ask him to please take the sticky duvet covers to the cleaners and pick up three items I have waiting there. Berry heads out, I put the sheets in the washer and feeling a little dizzy I head back to my comfy tv chair. Wait. What am I sitting on? It feels sharp and plastic. Oh. It is my clear plastic eye patch, oozing with slobber and now misshapen. Kobe has struck again. He must have climbed into my chair as I loaded the laundry and found the patch I had left on the table as I put in my eye drops. Damn. Berry returns from the grocery and cleaners. Me, “Hi honey! Did you get the cleaning?”Berry, “No, I took the cleaning.” Me, “But, did you pick up the clean cleaning?”Berry, “No.” Hmmmm Me, “What did you get for dinner?” Berry, “Salmon and a pre-cooked chicken.” Berry, “What’s this sticky plastic thing with the holes in it?”Me, “My eye patch. Kobe ate it.” Me, “What else did you get for dinner?” Berry, “Some dried apricots. I know we have some fruit here.”Me, “We have four bananas.” Berry, “That’s plenty.” Me, “So we are going to have pre-cooked chicken and bananas for dinner?” Berry, “Alright with me.”Me, “#%@^&@*(%*&@^%$” I head back to my tv chair with a bowl of cereal and my brain full of disappointments for the small disasters of today. Maybe, that generic RX isn’t quite enough. Yeah, I think I may need a little more insulation on the wiring these days.
I woke this morning to the ping of my phone and a series of texts from my friends who went on a Pilgrimage last year in Norway. Our dear Mary Lynn Miller, on the far right in a purple shirt, sent this photo and reminded us today is the one year anniversary of our first steps on the Norwegian Pilgrimage of St. Olav’s Way. @marylynnmillerWe had no idea what was ahead for us in the next two weeks, much less in the next 365 days. In this photo I still didn’t know that I would have no backpack and I would wear the clothes you see me in for the next two weeks. I didn’t know these people would become like a second family to me. I didn’t know I could walk 8-14 miles uphill in 90+ degree weather. I didn’t know the miracle of St. Olav and why an entire 200+ mile pilgrimage path and cathedral were built in his honor. I didn’t know that you should treasure sleeping in a room with 5 other people almost nose to nose and giggling like teenagers into the night might be a thing that I would, in eight months time, come to be horrified by. I didn’t yet know about Zoom, social distancing, shopping for a mask, the importance of reading everything I can on systemic racism, the hazards of sharing a Coke or sitting three to a seat on a train. I now have a reverent appreciation for corporate worship, tight and extra long hugs, baseball games, ALL health care and essential workers, going to museums and visiting nursing homes…. Dear Lord, Creator, Mother of us all, What will the next twelve months bring us? What is my most important lesson? How can I be a light in this world when I am retired and social distancing? Help us to find ways to emerge from this with souls, hearts and minds that are kinder, more gentle, more understanding, and softer. Help our families. Lift the depressions of distancing.Please bring peace to my daughters as they navigate long and often days with infants and young children. Guide my son who lives in Los Angeles to find creative work when the entertainment industry is shut down. Lord, please keep wifi working. Please bring me enough ego to take a shower and brush my teeth each day, but put the breaks on the ego that reads a little and thinks I am “a super woke woman” when I really need to shut up and keep reading. Thank you for those who are doing the hardest jobs in our world. Keep my voice quieter (not silent just turn the volume down) and my mind brighter. Amen
This is a two part story: Big Don, Big John and Speed Dial Part one Big Don:
Distant from the city lights of Nashville, Tennessee I happened upon two colorful and larger than life characters. I met these two giants under completely different circumstances in the mid 1990’s and I can say with 99.9% confidence their paths never crossed. There was however, a distinct quality that, as I ponder on each of them, makes me wonder if they were, in fact, cut from the same cloth. One of these gentleman never married and lived the life of a back country bachelor. The other was married five times. I have heard that both of these men have since passed away, but they each left an imprint on my consciousness. One of the highlights for our children each year was the annual All Church Retreat, held at the United Methodist Assembly in the beautiful mountains of Beersheba Springs, Tennessee. Our four children, three girls and one son, will all agree that The All Church Retreat and going to Beersheba Springs was better than even Disneyworld! The children had total freedom for the weekend. Four square, bonfires, hiking, volleyball, eating meals with their friends, and feverishly preparing skits for the Saturday night talent show, made for the times of their lives. Have you ever been to Beersheba Springs? It is just passed Altamont, Tennessee and up the mountain from McMinnville. Beersheba Springs is a beautiful and small community. Their library is in a log cabin and their post office that looks much like my fourth grade class portable building. There are two markets along the main road, The Beersheba Market, and Big Don’s Market. As I think back, we we could actually walk to the Beersheba Market to buy candy or a Cokes. However, Big Don’s Market was a bit further and required a car ride. It was the fall of probably 1996. I drove our brand new white Caravan, up, up, up to Beersheba on the scheduled Friday afternoon. I barely came to a stop when the excited children piled out of the caravan, ran up the steps of the assembly, into the quadrangle and played! My son, Will, then age 6, had packed his own bag and as excited kids will do, forgot socks, toothbrush and a few other things. On Saturday afternoon, during the retreat’s rest hour, Will and I set off in the new caravan to see if Big Don’s market carried his needed supplies. My mother was also attending the retreat this yer and I let our girls know I would be back soon and to check in with “Mimi” or their dad if they needed anything while we took this quick errand. (Now, a few background details need to be added here. First of all, during these years, my attorney husband was working, working, working. He drove up to Beersheba on Saturday morning in his own car. Berry is a man with a great sense of humor, but he is serious about his cars. Second, I have never, injured a person with a moving vehicle but let’s just say, Lyk Nu Body Shop continues to receive a holiday card from me each year.) Will, hops in the van with me and off we went! Big Don’s Market did not disappoint! You could buy anything from M & M’s to ammunition! Big Don was indeed big. He ran the cash register as we checked out with socks and snacks. Big Don was friendly, loud and adept at rolling in a large rolling chair from his cash register to the many items on the wall behind his counter. He could pull a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out without even checking to see if he had mistakenly grabbed Newport’s. I was very impressed with his ability to juggle orders, keep the humor going and make change all in one smooth glide from one end of the counter to the other. Will and I thanked Big Don and we climbed in the Caravan. We were excited to return to the goings on at the Beersheba Assembly. I put the van in reverse, hit the gas and then heard it. CRASH! Oh shit, what have I done? I looked back at the brand new Caravan back window and there was no more back window. My brain struggles to understand. I am instead looking at the vertical red steel beam holding up the awning to the gas pumps. I have made a perfect smash into the middle of the back door and window of our new Caravan. Will and I immediately jump out, and I begin to cry over and over and over again, “Oh no! My husband is going to kill me!” I realize the crash is loud enough to get Big Don out of his rolling chair and into the parking lot. He is larger than life, yet he is smiling. Big Don: “Awwww, don’t you worry about this mam.” Me: “You don’t understand! This van is new! Look I still have temporary tags! All we needed were some socks!” Will: “Woah! Dad is going to be so mad!”Me: “Thank you Will. That is very helpful.”Big Don: “Is there someone I can call for you?”Me: “Well, I don’t think I have a divorce attorney on speed dial but do you have a Nashville phone book?” Big Don: “ Honey, (this was back before I was woke and didn’t know I should be offended) listen to me, and listen good, this here is a big mess but nobody is hurt and this van can be repaired. You listen to me because I know about divorce, I have been married five times!” Me, in my mind, momentarily forgetting about the wreck and speed dialing a divorce attorney. I am completely enthralled with this new information, “Big Don has been married five times! Holy cow! I need these details! Who? When? Why? Are you in the middle of number five or are you onto number six? Geez Beersheba must have a must larger population than I realized!… Low and behold here comes Berry in his own car. Berry, “My God Celeste, what has happened?” Big Don explains. Will looks on, nodding in agreement with Big Don’s explanation of events and actually enjoying the ensuing drama. I do remember that Berry did try to remain calm, but you know that heat that comes off of someone when they are trying so hard not to be mad that you are pretty sure their whole body may ignite in flames at any second?I took a step back just in case. We return to the assembly, I am still in tears. I feel dumb, upset and ridiculous. Word of my accident at Big Don’s spreads like wildfire as soon as Will Holt runs to tell EVERYONE in the United Methodist compound about our “errand and wreck”. I retreat to our room still upset and wondering how to add speed dial to my flip phone. As I am drying my tears I hear my mother’s gentle knock on the door. She is so very sweet to stop by my room and check on me. I realize that for just a few minutes I don’t want to be the adult Me, “Hi mom.” Sniff, sniff. Mom, very lovingly, “Lestie. You Okay?” Me: “Well, I don’t know, the van is wrecked and Berry said, “My God, Celeste..” and why don’t boys pack socks? Mom: “Lestie, you know what?” Ahh the joy of your mother’s consolation, even when you are upset. I lean into her. Me, “What mom?” Mom, with great knowing, “Berry is the way he is because he is on the cusp.” Me, in my mind, “This isn’t feeling like consolation…” Me, aloud, “Mom, I have had a hard day. What are you talking about?” Mom, “You know his birthday is January 19? He is born on the last day of the sign of Capricorn, this is the cusp of his astrological sign. He is actually in a constant an astrological conundrum…struggling between two signs.” And for the second time today all I can think to say is, “Thank you, this is helpful.”
A series of Facebook posts I posted as I gathered my thoughts for attending The Women’s March on Washington
January 18, 2017
Day #4 Yesterday I had several people ask me, “Celeste, what is going on with all these posts?” I had to chuckle because I thought I was killing it with the obvious! Ha! So friends, today I will try to be more specific. On Saturday my husband, Berry, my cousins Tom and Diana Gallaher and I are heading to D.C. to participate in The Women’s March on Washington. The Washington March will be only one of 370 marches held across the country on Saturday. Here is The Mission and Vision Statement for the marches: We stand together in solidarity with our partners and children for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health, and our families – recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of our country. I usually post photos of my grandchildren, my dogs and sunsets on Facebook. I am a quiet liberal. However, something broke loose in me when a man with disabilities was taunted on National television this summer. I experienced shame and rage. I could not go “under the porch”, as is my best trick when I am stressed. A presidential candidate mocking a disabled man? This is not okay. What happened to protecting and respecting “the least of these”? I feel such indignation that I cannot be quiet. This is not okay. I feel called on to defend human rights for those who cannot defend themselves. Yesterday post was dedicated to The Dignity of Those With Disabilities. Today’s post is dedicated to Educators of those with Disabilities. I will be marching on Saturday and thinking of all my co-workers at Currey Ingram Academy, my daughter, Laura Holt Taylor who is the daily assistant for a boy with no arms or legs, for the staff at Friends Life, High Hopes, Camp Triad of Vanderbilt, and The Dolphins Swim Program. I have left out hundreds of you who work “knee to nose” with people with disabilities on a daily basis. My heart and love and encouragement go out to you.
This Word Press site would like for me to share with you what. is on my desk today. Here we go… First, today I have been sending prayers and positive energy to my brilliant niece, Dr. Meg Ragland. Today she is giving birth to a baby boy! She is not the doctor today but the mom in labor. I love this photo. Meg, her mother, Lynn Ragland, my daughters, Maggie, Laura and Kathryn and their grandmother Margaret Fentress Holt are with me smiling and happy to be with one another. These brilliant women keep me striving to be awake to my life, to be aware of social justice and to be awash in loving kindness to other.s. Next, I realize I have seven books spread out along with my laptop. I am always reading more than one book because they ground me to this earth. Finally, I have a knitting project for Laura’s baby Grace.
In the summer of 2015, my high school class joined with a couple of other classes in the years above us to have a 40 ish reunion. We all graduated from Hillsboro High in Nashville, Tennessee classes of 1975, ‘76 and ‘77. The big event was at The Vanderbilt Plaza Hotel with dinner, bars, dancing, speeches, choirs from 1975-77 and cheerleaders from 2015! What fun! We were all happy to see one another because, let’s face it, none of us have come through the last 40 years without a few stories that could qualify for Lifetime movies. Forty years has an amazing equalizing effect. We were all happy to just be alive and kicking! Especially, Kenneth Patton, who I was told had died. It was with tremendous sadness that I added Kenneth’s photo on the memory board. Wow, I thought, “I cannot believe our good looking, basketball playing friend has sailed off in the boat to heaven…” Suddenly, low and behold Kenneth tapped me on the shoulder for a dance! I said, “Good God Kenneth! They told me you were dead! Here you are looking like 3 million dollars and I think I might faint!” We all laughed and laughed. I even danced with my high school sweetheart. As we were dancing I said to him, “You were a good high school boyfriend!” He stepped back and looked at me and said, “Well, you were a TERRIBLE girl friend!” Me: Ummm….gulp…and wtf… wait…what? And then I remembered. The boats. Ah yes, the boats. I stepped back from dancing and said, “oh yeah, the boats, sorry.” Then, I walked off, well, I really kinda of slumped off, and went to the restroom and took a fearless moral inventory about the boats. He. Was. Not. Wrong. All through high school, if I was invited to go on a boat I would go!Boat owner#1: “Hey Celeste, want to go water skiing with me and my family on Center Hill Lake on Saturday?” Me: “Why yes I do! Thank you very much! What time will we get home?”Boat owner #1: “probably not until about 9:30 or 10 pm”Me: “great!” In my mind: “uh oh ~ gotta cancel that 7:30 date.” Boat owner #2: “Hey Celeste, want to go down this crazy river on my parent’s boat this weekend?”Me: “Why sure I do!”In my mind: “uh-oh, gotta cancel again.” Boat owner #3: “Hey Celeste do you want to go for a week with my mom and dad and brother to a lake house?”Me: “is there a boat at the lake house?”Boat Owner #3: “Why of course! A ski boat!”Me: “I’m in!” Boat Owner #4: “Hey Celeste, do you want to go skiing on the Monday of our study day, you don’t need to study do you? The boat is old so bring some cash in case we have to get towed back.”Me: “Who needs a study day? I’ll bring snacks and cash! We will get back about 10 pm right? “Boat owner #4: “How did you know?” You see friends, you get caught between a rock and a hard place. You have to choose between the boat you are going to be in for the day, for the college, for the marriage, for the election and for your life. My father, God bless his precious and hilarious soul, was ironically, terrified of water. He didn’t want us near water, pools, lake houses, rivers or boats. He was extremely over protective and even made us come inside if someone in the neighborhood was mowing their yard because he was afraid we would get hit in the head with a rock. Telling my father I was going to spend the day on a boat took finesse. I left that finesse up to my mother. Getting in these boats with elements of potential danger, must have made me feel like a little bit of a bad ass. It’s kind of hilarious now to think of myself as a “boat floozy” but I would indeed cancel ANY plans for the chance of riding in other people’s boats. Participating in a day on the lake left me with a great tan and new skills of water skiing. Herman Gray would have died on the spot to see me wipe out as I learned to drop a ski or to slalom ski. There is danger involved in boating and skiing but when you are 17 you DO. NOT. CARE. Recently, my husband was complaining about attending an event. Husband: “Do we have to go?”Me: “ Why no! We don’t have to go… But, there are two boats, one boat is full of complaints, arguments, and general contankerousness. The other boat is full of hey let’s see how it goes!? Let’s have a positive attitude!”Husband: “You are no longer teaching school. Why do you do this to me?”Me: “Just pick your boat.” So as we think of our lives, which boat are we in? Forty years after the fact, will we be proud of the boat we chose? There probably will not be another miracle, like Kenneth Patton coming back to life! However, the small miracles of the choices we make each day can create communities of generosity, acceptance and inclusivity. I want to get in the boat that gives our sons, daughters and grandchildren the most choices.
The Chocolate Drawer 