Yesterday, Came Suddenly

Photo of Patrick Leo Jones taken 14 Nov 2010 by Martha Bryson

When I posted this photo to my FaceBook page in November 2010, I couldn't know it'd be the last day my Patrick would be pain-free.  And, I couldn't know that the next 14-days would be my undoing mentally, as I watched him suffer night and day, despite the Morphine drip then, Dilaudid.  He lost the use of one arm then the other, and his ability to speak or open his eyes.  He took his last pained breath at 10:31 P.M. on 28 November. 

He hadn't wanted to die in a hospital, but at home, and I THOUGHT I was strong enough to give him that, but I was to find out later I wasn't.  Being right there with him as he was dying changed me profoundly forever, in ways I still struggle to find the words to describe.  There is still so much more to the story of his dying than I was able to convey in the three posts to this blog in November, 2010 (see links in right side column.)

I feel compelled to write more because now I think I've stitched up my broken heart enough to get back to the task.  The story of his dying is a tragedy from which I feel strongly Life-lessons can be gleaned that could benefit others.

The biggest tragedy is that he didn't have to die at all. If he'd had health insurance.  In Texas Medicaid is denied to poor people, and he was a low-wage earner in a job with no benefits.  If the "charitable" Catholic hospital, Seton, had scoped his throat sooner, before the cancer had bored a hole in his esophagus and planted a fist-sized tumor in his chest that was crushing his windpipe against the back of his sternum.  He'd been to the same ER nine times in the previous 18-months with the same symptoms: pain in his chest while swallowing food or even water!  

There are so many "ifs" that are connected to his death about which I still feel so much anger. Activities of my daily life now allow me to put my rage on a shelf in the closet of my mind.  Most days.  And then, there are days when I'm blind-sided and some event, something normally insignificant occurs that transforms me into someone wholly unfamiliar.  No matter how many times it happens, I'm always taken by surprise because there are no warnings beforehand.

An "episode" can last a few hours or days.  I struggle with the smallest of daily tasks, I ramble and over-explain things and forget familiar tasks. I feel as if I'm imprisoned in a strange dimension some call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD.)  I'm never privy to how long an episode will last, and I usually can't explain to those around me what is happening and why I am behaving strangely. Mostly, I become highly annoying to those around me.  

I'm aware that strangers think I'm weird even on my "good" days, so how friends and family perceive me is a source of great consternation when I'm having a bad day. And here's the thing, Patrick's dying and the affect on me spotlights how PTSD changes a person and everything in their world.  

Maybe my personal trauma triggered by the injustices of Patrick's death is an opportunity to have an inside look at a mental illness, PTSD, which is becoming more and more common, but that most people do not understand at all.  I feel all the shame that comes with living with mental illness, which is a subject still very much considered taboo, even within families. 

What I really believe is that it doesn't matter what the source of the PTSD is, because military combat, street violence, personal tragedy and all other triggers produce the same destruction to the human psyche, just with different details and degrees of suffering.  There is just so many compelling reasons to share his story, and mine.

Patrick was a good man and many people agree. I am certainly a better person for having known him  He was always the helper dude, taking young ones under his wing and expecting them to learn respect, teaching them by example, stressing the value of good deeds and building strong character.  He was always special in various rather curious ways.  

I am told at age four, his four older sisters would sit him up on a clothes dresser, a perch from where he would mete out somber, yet hilarious advice while they fixed their hair and put on make-up to go out in the frenzied state in which all teenagers operate. He earned the nickname, "The Professor," because his demeanor warranted it, and they would give him the eye when he would spout some adult truism with his very serious tone of voice, which he mimicked from their parents.  

He was the youngest of seven children and grew to be the man all looked to for guidance and support. He was humble in the way all good men are. A man short in stature with the sturdy gait of a born leader with followers. He never aspired to be a leader and insisted on walking and sitting alongside others, never positioned in front. He had a presence he never flaunted. I receive many calls after he died from folks I never met who hadn't seen him in decades, that wanted to tell me all the ways he changed their lives, or that of their family, and would always be remembered.  He was a giant of a man in so many ways because he touched people.

The grief all who knew him have isn't something one "gets over" but something one learns to live with. And, he made it easy to remember his infectious laugh and guiding voice, which helps ease our grief.  No one can forget how much he loved to dance, and that music was a part of his very being.  He knew every word of every song written or co-written by Stevie Wonder (over 200 songs!) At the end of his life he asked me to write about his life so his 27 nieces and nephews (he included the ones he knew in my family in that number!) could know him better after he'd gone.  I argued with him I was not a good enough writer to do that, but he insisted I was.

So, one kind of needs to know about this extraordinary man to understand why his death left the impact that it did on me, and so many others: friends, family, and strangers alike.

Today, I began writing again after several dry years while getting my life in some kind of manageable order.  It was painful to see this picture again, six years after I took it, and I shed some good buckets of tears.  But now, all I care to think about is the comforting sound of his deep voice, remembering his beautiful smile and wonderful laugh, and I feel grateful for his love and devotion to me the short ten years I'd known him.

There'll be another day to write about his death, and the resulting tsunami of pain and anguish that altered the universe for me and countless others.

A Day In The Life . . .

I cannot look the other way --  have never been able to.  Each day I encounter homeless people everywhere I go.  As I roll down the sidewalks in my town, in my motorized wheelchair, I always make eye-contact and offer greetings. I know firsthand the pain of being ignored to the point of being treated as if invisible.  On my treks the magnitude of human suffering I see every day is astounding.

Today, I spent part of my day, as I do most Saturdays, visiting with the homeless in my community at a weekly event named "Feed the Burg."  In addition to my volunteer advocacy work with the homeless, I am also working on the "Vote Rita Harris for Douglas County Commissioner" campaign committee, trying to get "a person of conscience" elected.  And so, I passed out campaign handbills and offered the opportunity for homeless folks to register to vote.  In just one hour, about a half dozen homeless people  indicated they want to volunteer to work for the campaign.  Today, no one wanted to register to vote, but two people took blank registration cards, promising to fill them out and turn them in to the County Clerk's office prior to the October 14th registration deadline.

Homeless people attending Feed the Burg eat quickly, and disperse afterwards even more quickly, eager to avoid encounters with law enforcement patrolling downtown.  I try to approach the larger groupings of folks first, in order to reach as many people as possible with whatever information pamphlet I am distributing. Working alone, I am never able to have contact with everyone, and on a good day I can talk to at least half of those gathered.  I only reached about a third of today's attendees.

Most homeless people are eager to take my information handouts, thirsting for knowledge. Others are so jaded from being kicked while they are down, they no longer believe laws (or, homeless rights activists like me) provide any protections for them at all.  They are convinced law enforcement, lawyers and judges don't believe homeless people have any Constitutional Rights, because every aspect of their daily lives have become criminalized. And, the rest of us with a roof over our heads, are part of the problem because we have let that happen.

Misinformation runs rampant among homeless populations; many think they can't vote because they have no ID or because they have previously been convicted of a crime. Others believe they can't vote because they have no address at which to receive mailed ballots. Homeless people desperately need access to correct information about all their rights.

Homeless people are surprised to learn someone who is not homeless is interested in learning the specifics about troubles they are having. They welcome my invitation to tell their woeful and often, heart-wrenching, stories about their daily lives.  Many suffer from untreated medical problems, an overwhelming majority of them have had their identification lost or stolen, sometimes by fellow homeless persons and other times by arresting officers. Without an ID they cannot take a job or cash a check a family member might send, or prove who they are when questioned by law enforcement. A lot of homeless struggle with mental health issues, and/or turn to drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of homelessness … or the pain of hunger … or dental pain.

These unfortunate neighbors are becoming more and more oppressed with each passing week.  Last week I talked to a man who was given 7 citations in one 24-hour period.  Another, keeps being dogged by police for sleeping "in public" because the side affects of his mental health meds knock him out.  He suffers the daily struggle of choosing to comply with his medication regiment, or, finding a place to hide from police, who, if they find him, will force him to find a way to sleep sitting upright or threaten him with arrest.  I asked if he could sleep while jailed, and he said it was not possible because of overcrowding -- 6 men in an eight-by-twelve holding cell.

A few weeks ago, I felt outrage upon hearing the story of a disabled man who must use a walker to take even a few steps. He was angry he had to sleep under a bridge near a small creek. It had rained the previous night and the creek overflowed its banks and his sleeping bag and clothing were soaked. He had been sleeping at the "rescue" mission, but was suspended for 30-days due to a "baggage violation". Everyone is required to take all their belongings with them when they leave after breakfast each day.    He didn't know to ask special permission to leave his two suitcases, as a "reasonable accommodation" for his disability. Of course, the odds of him getting such help was slim to none, considering the oppressive rules they have at the mission.  One such outrageous rule is getting kicked out for 30-days if a man speaks to, or even greets, a member of the opposite sex.  Only men can sleep at the mission, but homeless women who want to eat at mealtime, must attend mandatory prayers with the male residents and both eat at common tables together in the dining area.

Today's outrageous story was unbelievable, until I heard it from more than a dozen different people.  The latest new way to step on the neck of homeless people is particularly cruel. The Sheriff's deputies who roust the homeless from makeshift camps at the nearby South Umpqua River, just outside Roseburg city limits, are handing out $1,500 tickets for criminal trespass to campers. The tickets previously charged them with illegal camping, which carried a lesser fine. Additionally, the homeless are now being told they must go to court in Canyonville, 27 miles from Roseburg, or face a FTA (failure to appear) bench warrant.  Many do not have any income with which to pay for travel to get to the District Court in Canyonville, or, to pay their huge fines. Previously, they went to court in the Douglas County Courthouse located 6 blocks from the park! I am hoping we are able to rattle the  powers that be enough to end this new rule because of the hardship it creates.

I talked with a homeless man familiar to me, who agreed I could share his story. Jerry is a very kind 62-year-old gentleman, who is also a Vietnam Vet.  He uses alcohol most days to block out memories which still haunt him about his Special Forces assignments 45-years ago, that are war crimes under the rules of the Geneva Convention.  His income is $745 a month from Social Security disability and he is trying to get VA retirement benefits.  He has been beaten and robbed more than once, and out of the past 90-days he has spent 65-days in the county jail for various offenses related to his homelessness.  I've visited with him on other Saturdays, but today he asked me for help.   He wants out of the cold and off the streets.  He needs affordable housing.

Here is the story of his most recent troubles.  Ten days ago, while sitting on cement stairs at the public parking garage downtown, he was cited for having an open can of beer sitting on the step next to him. He was busy bandaging the broken leg of a pigeon, who'd just been hit by a car speeding through the parking structure, and so he didn't see the police officer approaching him in time to dump out the beer.  The fine for "Drinking in public" is $1,500, and, there is a second charge on the citation for "Urinating in public" which he wants to fight because he is not guilty of that act (on that day). The fine for this second charge is also $1,500.

Jerry excused himself to go find the proverbial bush, because there are no public bathrooms downtown anywhere. But first, he enlightens me of a new development in the lives of my homeless neighbors.  Very recently, officers began charging those caught actually urinating in public with a "sex charge."  This applies for both men and women who have no place to access a toilet because they are homeless.  Jerry tells me he would be so grateful if there were port-o-potties in the parks downtown.  He feels robbed of his dignity.  He laments, "I may be too poor to be able to afford housing, but I still deserve access to a toilet."

The man sitting on the park bench next to him is also a Vietnam Vet. While Jerry has gone off to find a semi-private bush, Bill, whips out a handful of citations which he's received in just one week. He asks if I can help him fight some of the tickets or get them dismissed.  He'd heard me tell some other folks at the other end of the park earlier about the handout I'd passed out which details the Oregon laws concerning camping and mandates homeless persons be treated humanely. He is very upset that he is being required to travel to Canyonville to go to court, instead of appearing in court in our town, which is the County seat.  I give him my phone number and address and urge him to come visit me next week so I can try to determine if he has grounds to appeal any of the citations. He shuffles off with his bags and bedding in a pushcart, grumbling, "I fought for this country and should be allowed to sleep any damn place I want."

Next, another homeless person in her 60s, walked up and asked for my help.  She was camping recently at the river across from the county fair grounds, outside the city limits.  A Sheriff's deputy issued her a $6,500 ticket for illegal camping.  I am hoping her fine is really just $1,500 and she just misread the citation due to poor eyesight!  She, too, is supposed to appear in District Court in Canyonville in 21-days.  She has no income and cannot possibly travel out of town to go to court.  She says she will come to my house next week and bring me the ticket, in hopes I can help her fight it.

A young couple in their early 20s were standing a few yards away, waiting their turn to ask me a question about the homeless rights handout I'd given them earlier. They told me they are temporarily staying at the local flea-bag motel downtown, operated by a slumlord with whom I've tangled a couple of times in the recent past.  I gave them my phone number and arranged to meet with them next week to discuss their situation.  They are registered voters, but didn't know that they must update their registration so their ballot can be mailed to them at the motel.  They agree to take some Vote Rita handbills to other tenants at the motel.

No matter how much work I do, there is also so much more needing to be done. A major setback in achieving any real successes with systemic change, is there are too few advocates and activists working on social justice issues in small-town America.  In larger cities there are members of agencies and church groups' social concerns committees forming coalitions and advocating for the rights of the downtrodden, as well as, lifelong activists agitating for social change in groups such as the Gray Panthers, NAACP, LULAC, and others. Still, I cannot look the other way when people are suffering all around me. I have a moral obligation to help any way I can, because it is the right thing to do, today … and every day.

Walk with me, through my world.

I have a hard time understanding some things.  

Like how insensitive people can be. And self-centered and uncaring. 

Like drivers who inconsiderately speed around, paying no mind to pedestrians, bicyclists, those pushing babies and young children in strollers, and people in wheelchairs. 

Or, like joggers who won't slow down and use caution while passing me in my wheelchair when we share walking/bike paths. 

Or people who spit on the sidewalk. Who wants to inadvertently walk/roll through that and track it into our homes? 

And then there are those that litter, completely clueless to the bad example they set for the countless children watching their actions.  

Sometimes I feel very annoyed after such people cross my path. 

A woman working at Denny's in my town came to open the door for me (AFTER I beckoned her with the appropriate hand-gesture.)  She opened the door and then stood directly in the path of my wheelchair!  

I politely told her she was standing in my way to get through the doorway, after which she griped sarcastically, "I don't know what to do!" 

And then, there are all those drivers in my town who ignore me in my wheelchair as I attempt to cross streets at crosswalks and at traffic signals. 

They speed on past me, never even slowing down, as if anyone not in a vehicle is invisible to them entirely. 

On another day, I encountered two clueless young women at the local bagel shop who handed me the key to the restroom, after which I followed their instructions to go down a narrow hallway only to discover 3 feet from the restroom door there was a step. 

To make matters worse, the hallway had boxes and supplies stacked along the side, and was too narrow for me to turn my wheelchair around to exit the hallway back the way I'd come. 

I had to back my wheelchair all the way out of the hallway, which was unduly stressful. I was even more upset the workers DIDN'T THINK to realize a wheelchair needs a ramp to traverse a step! 

It has been 23 years since the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) was passed to mandate equal access be granted to those who are differently-abled. It is not only cold and calloused, but illegal, for business owners to not, know about and willingly provide, reasonable accommodations so that disabled people can be included. 

We should not even need a law directing folks to be helpful so that those who use wheelchairs, canes, and walkers, as well as, those who walk unaided but with great difficulty, can be included and go places abled-bodied people go. 

Even when folks do not personally have any disabled or elderly and frail people in their lives, it only takes a small amount of imagination to become aware of the obstacles which exist that are barriers to access. 

Long before it became difficult for me to walk, when my children were little, I taught them to be aware of and helpful to those around them who were having difficulty. After all, isn't that the right thing to do?

In my view, a little awareness and empathy can go a long way to helping us all become better citizens.

Rethink Your Housing Costs

I just read that renowned economist, Robert Shiller, has been awarded a Nobel Prize, well actually only one-third of one -- the prize in economics he shares with two others. When I was reading about who he is and why he deserved a Nobel, I learned that he thinks owning a home is a terrible investment. I am not an economist, far from it, but I think he is right, and I've thought this for some time now.  It just makes NO sense whatsoever to pay $1,200 - $1,800 a month for a mortgage. Even if -- and maybe ESPECIALLY if -- you make $60k/year and are raising three kids at home!

I personally know too many people who mistakenly think that home ownership is in the best interest of their family, even as they struggle daily to survive poverty conditions. Some are even cutting back on buying food and doing without healthcare and needed medications, in order to meet their mortgage payments each month! And, the enormous amount of day-to-day stress this creates is wrecking their health, and even killing some folks. I am not joking.

Housing prices are NOT going to rise enough for them to EVER realize a profit and still, they blindly drive by house after house, on block after block, that have "For Sale" signs posted in the yard, in every single neighborhood. The message those signs tell us, just by the sheer numbers of them, is that home buyers are few and far between and decreasing in numbers exponentially yearly. Waiting a few years for the economy to bounce back so you can sell your house for a reasonable price, at this point, is a pipe dream. The painful realization for many is the value of their house can be slashed to half of what the purchase price was in as little as 5 to 10 years.

The economy has been bad for awhile now, and it may take several more decades before we are able to see any lasting improvements, and even then things will never go back to the way they were for the parents of baby boomers. It seems the only places where any housing is being built at all is in gated communities where the rich reside. Look around. In my neighborhood and most likely in yours, too, no new "affordable housing" is being constructed. And, all across the country "low-income housing" is being bulldozed to clear space for high-rise condominiums, with each unit having the typical purchase price of 5 to 10 dollars per square foot.  Do the math.


Make no mistake, it is not by accident but by design that the only places any of us can afford to live are areas as much as a 1 or 2 hour drive away from where the jobs are typically located, unless of course you work in the fast food industry. The commute will make you go insane, rob your family of your time and attention, and/or kill you, figuratively if not literally. Controlling where we live by raising the cost of housing and deciding where housing is to be built has long been an effective tool for controlling the masses.  It doesn't take a leap to realize all the things we struggle with are interconnected.  It is pretty much true that creating long commutes makes us need to buy new cars every few years. And who has time to shop for and prepare nutritious meals when both parents work full time and have daily commutes? So most of us eat fast food too often or can only afford highly processed, boxed or frozen foods that contain little to no nutritious ingredients, but only take 5 minutes to nuke. It is easy to connect the dots: instead of paying $1,500 a month for a mortgage, renting a 3 bedroom house for $1,200 could put $300 into your meager food budget.  And, then there is the monthly cost of required home owners insurance, maintenance and repairs, and a bunch of other expenses I overlooked like exterminators and lawn care and roof damage repairs from last week's hail storm.

Those who bought their own homes in the time period 1950 through 1980 had a chance to live long enough to pay off their mortgage. And, maybe those who began purchasing in the 20 year period from 1980 to 2000, have paid enough to earn equity of some value, provided they were fortunate enough to have and keep a good job. Ever since the mid-90s decent paying jobs have become increasingly hard to get, and then keep for most. Even folks with college degrees have been forced to accept jobs that pay low wages, when many industries have 150-300+ applicants for each and every job vacancy.

For those who began buying a home at any time since the year 2000, listen up: if it is NOT a struggle to pay your mortgage, fine. Keep on keeping on. However, if you struggle to financially meet other survival needs, such as food, childcare, clothing, and medical care: it is in the best interest of your family to dump the mortgage and go back to renting.


For many, this is the ONLY way they will have enough money in their monthly budgets to be able to buy kids clothes and shoes, have enough money for food, medicine, and dentists, not to mention, funding enrichment activities such as swim lessons, soccer, and dance/karate classes. Self-esteem building enrichment activities should not only be accessible for kids of rich parents.

Struggling with poverty not only wrecks the health (and sanity) of the parents, but puts horrible stress on children, as well. So, at the very least, do a budget with your mortgage payment(s) and another paying rent for housing, and then compare the two. Look at the purchase power of your monthly income, in terms of the overall quality of life for you and your children. Taking into consideration the uncertainty of the housing and job markets of today, you may decide that having the same life-goal that your parents had, of home ownership, in reality is a nightmare instead of a dream come true.

If you disagree with my opinion, I urge you to go read what economist Robert Shiller has to say about home ownership.

A Collective Pain: Same Story the World Over, Just Different Details

Shhhh!  Rape: a taboo subject in my family, never once talked about; my rape never reported.  The year was 1969 and the place was downtown San Antonio, 300 miles south of my hometown of Fort Worth, Texas. I was barely 14 years old, a troubled runaway youth, and my attacker was a stranger, a corporal in the U.S. Army. 

I fight him with every ounce of my being, but am no match for his brute strength. When he is done he releases my bound wrists, and I bolt out of the room, grabbing my clothes off the floor as I leave.  I scurry down the hall and dart into the deserted stairwell, stopping only long enough to pull on my jeans and t-shirt.  My heart is in my throat as I imagine he has dressed and is on his way to find me.  My head is throbbing, each passing second marked by a loud boom ringing in my ears, as if from a bass drum.  My hands shake so much I can’t zip and button my jeans and I’ve dropped my t-shirt twice trying to get it over my head. Where are my shoes? Damn. I left them in the room. What do shoes matter when one is running for their life? 

The stairwell is the only way down to the first floor; I must hurry before I am caught. I race down the stairs and pause for just a moment to listen for noises to know if I am being followed. I hear nothing but my own labored breathing. I slip through the door and into the dimly lit motel lobby, passing the disinterested clerk, who is laughing at some sitcom he is watching on a small black-and-white television behind the counter. Holding my breath I make my way silently on bare feet the short distance to the front door, not wanting to be seen and leaving behind only a trail of tears.  

As soon as I make it out the front doors I begin to run away as fast as I can, to nowhere in particular in an unfamiliar city, my escape covered only by a thick fog. Three blocks away I find a park bench on which to sit and catch my breath in the city's famous downtown River-walk area, which is mostly deserted due to the late hour. I don’t dare stay too long in one place, for fear my attacker will be in pursuit. Moments later, a couple walking arm-in-arm passing nearby notice me crying and stop to ask if I’m okay.  I open my mouth but no words come out. I don’t know who to trust or what to say. The man’s gaze lowers and I see him stare at the abrasions on my wrists, which are starting to burn. I jump up from the bench and begin walking quickly away, hearing the couple call after me but not understanding what they are saying.

I feel so disoriented, my thoughts spinning around in my head. I feel weak and my legs shake, and, I am cold in the night air but I cannot stop until I reach somewhere safe. I wonder what safety will look like and how much farther I will have to go to reach it. My body is running on nothing but adrenalin, fueled by an overwhelming sense of terror. I have come to the mind-numbing realization that it is safer for my attacker to hunt me down and kill me, rather than run the risk I will report him, an active-duty soldier, for rape.

I get away but do not feel safe again for years. Ten long years pass before I find the courage to tell someone – the man I will later marry.  And now, 44 years after it happened I write it all down.

A Matter of Character

When I opened FaceBook today, the first thing I read was a posting from my 24-year old daughter, which read:

 ME:   They are outlawing homelessness in Tampa by making it illegal to sleep in public.

YOU:  Good!

ME:    Packing my things and leaving.

I’d be packing, too. The post would be funny if the subject matter wasn’t homelessness.   One can find a jerk anytime at the bar on the corner; who in their right mind wants to live with one?

We who are not homeless really do have a moral responsibility to gain understanding about and show compassion for those who are homeless. It is awful that some folks still believe one becomes homeless because of "personal moral failure," as if the scarcity of jobs and affordable housing hardly plays a part. 

Back in the early 90s, there was an average of 900 applicants for each blue-collar job opening, and, precious few affordable housing units were being built then, or have been built in the past 20-plus years. Today, things are much worse, with well over half of our entire population jobless or, living paycheck to paycheck, precariously close to becoming homeless.  The dire situation of homelessness is truly an indictment on our society we are doing nothing to remedy. Heck, just taking away the tax break rich folks get on their vacation homes could fully fund rent subsidies nationwide for low-wage earners in need.

I feel a lot of compassion for homeless people, and find difficulty in judging them for turning to drugs and alcohol to numb their pain.  I think about just how much my mental health would be jeopardized if I had to stand and walk around every waking moment, rarely finding a safe place to sit or lie down, free from being looked down upon (and/or harassed) by passers-by and law enforcement.  How does that Christian saying go, “There, but for the grace of God, go I?”

A friend recently shared a story with me about her attending a public meeting where homelessness was the topic of discussion. When a homeless man went to the podium to speak he asked the audience to please stand, which they did. Then, he gave his talk and then just turned and went back to his seat in the audience and everyone sat down. He never explained his request for folks to stand while he talked, and hopefully, those in the audience got it. The exercise offered a tiny glimpse into what it must be like to struggle to find a safe place to sit, much less lie down and sleep, in the community.

This daughter of mine has always been a great person.  While a teenager in high school, she did an amazing thing that showed the content of her character. Just having picked up some tacos for dinner, we were stopped at a traffic signal when my daughter asked, “Mom, will you share half your food with me?” I laughed at her while saying, “Yes, of course!” thinking she was making some kind of joke.  In the blink of an eye my daughter let down the car window and handed over her food and drink to a middle-aged homeless woman standing on the curb with a sign begging for food. The woman was so hungry she immediately began unwrapping the food with shaky hands and eating, not able to wait the little bit of time it would take to walk away from the street and find a place to sit. The traffic signal turned green for us to go a few seconds later. As I drove off, the homeless woman, through tears of gratitude, shouted to my daughter over the noise of the traffic, “Thank you!”  I reached over and handed one of my two tacos to my daughter, as tears began to well up in my own eyes at her spontaneous act of kindness. We ate in silence and later agreed: those were the best tacos we had ever eaten.

Yes, I’d say she would be packing . . . if the scenario in her FaceBook post were about her.

Whites Only

I was eight years old in 1963, swimming with my brothers and sister at Forest Park swimming pool, the only community pool (at that time) in our hometown, Fort Worth, Texas. It was a very hot day and the water felt wonderful as we splashed about. As I played, something caught my eye that made me stop and survey my world. I saw an image that haunts me to this day.

There was a ten-foot high chain link fence all around the pool area. On the outside of the fence, with their fingers curled through, and their foreheads pressed against, the diamond shaped openings in the links, there stood a row of very young, barefoot, children, staring at me and all the other children cooling off in the pool. Each of the children clinging to the fence had dark skin of different hues, a sampling of the many black and Hispanic families that lived on “their own” sides of town.

I cannot now recall which of my siblings I asked, but I wanted to know why those kids outside the fence were there and not in the pool playing with us.  It was explained to me that they had “their own” day to swim in the pool. My young mind could not find any logic in this; those children were sweating and clearly as miserable from the heat as I had been prior to jumping into the pool.

The pool was huge and there was plenty of room, so, of course, I asked why there would be such a dumb rule.  It was only after I was told that it was the “whites only” day at the pool, that I began looking around. I was shocked to realize all of the people in the pool were white. Before this jolting enlightenment, I had just seen people, without regard to their race. A strong wave of shame washed over me, shattering my innocence, as I realized it was not they who did not want to swim with white people, but the other way around.

I felt dizzy and a huge knot formed in my gut. I sat alone in the shallow end of the pool for a long while, desperately trying to sort things out in my mind. I was deeply confused. Every Saturday morning I spent two hours in catechism class at my church, learning about how we are all God’s children. If the white people in the pool and the brown-skinned children outside the fence were all equal in God’s eyes, why did white people make “white days” and “colored days” for using the pool? I could see no reason for this rule. I simply saw the children of color, hanging on the outside of the fence thirty feet away from where I sat, as being no different from me. I suddenly felt very alone, even though a sea of people surrounded me.

The other big thing bothering me was why no one else in the pool but me seemed disturbed by the exclusion of these little children, based solely on the color of their skin. If they could be invisible from the consciousness of the rest of my family and all the other people in the pool, then I might become invisible, too. I stared at the children, studying their faces, which were dripping sweat from the heat of the day. And, even though each had sparkling eyes, their faces wore expressions of deep sadness which made my heart hurt.  After that, I was never the same. This was the first of several other “whites only” incidents that I encountered in my youth, even after the 1964 civil rights act was passed.

In 1991, I had the occasion to take my own three young children to that very pool back in my hometown. I had recently moved back to Texas after spending 11 years in various places on the West Coast. It was a terribly hot day and the pool was packed. As I swam and played with my children I suddenly began to weep. Unsure about what I was feeling, I assured my children that I would be alright, explaining that I just had some old memories take me by surprise.  I went and sat alone in the shallow end of the pool to think. The pool and surrounding areas looked exactly the same as in my childhood.

The same tall chain link fence surrounded the pool, and my gaze riveted to the spot where those children with brown skin had pressed their faces up against the outside of the fence. I could see the features of their faces with my mind’s eye as if I had first seen them yesterday instead of 28 years prior.  I felt overwhelmed as I looked all around the pool, watching the children, white and brown-skinned, playing in the water together, as they should have always been allowed to do.

Recalling how segregation at this swimming pool in my childhood, first opened my eyes and my heart to how much racial inequality hurts people, I then understood why I had wept.  A moment later my kids, and some others whom they had befriended, charged at me splashing and laughing, bringing my mind back to the present.  That day after swimming, I told my children about how the racial segregation of long ago at that public pool had upset me, and helped shape the activist adult I had become.

What’s For Dinner? (Or, will that salad be with or without pesticides?)

Here are some of the reasons I promote eating organically grown fruits, vegetables, nuts, and grains.

The United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) does NOT protect us from being poisoned.  Chemical companies are allowed to give campaign contributions to politicians.  This should be a crime.  These same politicians are responsible for the actions (and inactions) of the EPA.  The following information is from the EPA website, and contains language not even close to telling the truth about the dangers of these toxic chemicals.

Organophosphates (OP) and N-methyl Carbamates

          EPA completed cumulative risk assessments and risk management decisions for the organophosphate (OP) pesticides in August 2006 and the N-methyl carbamate pesticides in September 2007. Further consideration is needed regarding these pesticides' effects on endangered species. In recent years, EPA and stakeholders have invested significant resources in gaining a better understanding of these classes of pesticides. Addressing endangered species effects early in registration review will ensure that this investment is not lost or eroded over time. The registration review of the OPs began in 2008, and the N-methyl carbamate review began in 2010.

Pyrethroids, Pyrethrins and Synergists (PPS)

          During fiscal year 2008, EPA completed reregistration eligibility decisions (REDs) for the last individual pyrethroids, pyrethrins and synergists (PPS) that were subject to reregistration. Meanwhile, other PPS were not subject to reregistration; they are new active ingredients first registered after November 1, 1984. The PPS pesticides have similar uses and issues but have never before been considered together. Many have residential uses that may result in urban runoff, potentially contaminating surface water and sediment, and posing ecological risks. Most of these pesticides require endangered species risk assessments. Because the PPS pesticides may be used as alternatives for one another, it makes sense to consider them together and assess and manage their risks within a similar timeframe. EPA, therefore, is considering the PPS during registration review, starting in FY 2010 to FY 2012.

•    -- PPS Special Docket, EPA-HQ-OPP-2008-0331 includes documents related to EPA's review of this group of pesticides

•    -- Pyrethrins/Pyrethroid Cumulative Risk Assessment (October 2011)

•    -- Pyrethroids and Pyrethrins web page

Sulfonylureas (SU)

          To increase efficiencies, EPA also began reviewing the sulfonylurea herbicides (SUs) as a group during registration review, starting in FY 2011. SUs are herbicides that control weeds through inhibition of the enzyme acetolactate synthase. SUs are used as pre- and post-emergent herbicides to control a variety of weeds on cereal grains, pasture and rangeland, industrial sites, and turf grass.

          Many of the constituent herbicides of this chemical class were first registered in the 1980s or later and so have not undergone reregistration. Consequently, the oldest group of these chemicals began registration review in 2011, and two subsequent groups of more recently registered SUs are scheduled to have dockets opened in 2012 and 2013.

          Registration Review of the sulfonylureas will include an evaluation of the need for endangered species risk assessments and an examination of the potential for adverse reproductive effects of sulfonylureas on off-site non-target plant species, such as may result from spray drift.

Neonicotinoids (NN)

          The neonicotinoids are a class of insecticides with a common mode of action that affects the central nervous system of insects, causing paralysis and death. All of the neonicotinoids were registered after 1984 and were not subject to reregistration. Some uncertainties have been identified since their initial registration regarding the potential environmental fate and effects of neonicotinoid pesticides, particularly as they relate to pollinators. Data suggest that neonicotinic residues can accumulate in pollen and nectar of treated plants and may represent a potential exposure to pollinators. Adverse effects data as well as beekill incidents have also been reported, highlighting the potential direct and/or indirect effects of neonicotinic pesticides. Therefore, among other refinements to ecological risk assessment during registration review, the Agency will consider potential effects of the neonicotinoids to honeybees and other pollinating insects.

          The registration review docket for imidacloprid opened in December 2008, and the docket for nithiazine opened in March 2009. To better ensure a “level playing field” for the neonicotinoid class as a whole, and to best take advantage of new research as it becomes available, the Agency has moved the docket openings for the remaining neonicotinoids on the registration review schedule (acetamiprid, clothianidin, dinotefuran, thiacloprid and thiamethoxam) to FY 2012.

Fumigants (FUM)

          Fumigants share the characteristics of being volatile and mobile in the environment, so methods to assess them are somewhat novel. Soil fumigants were determined to be eligible for reregistration in 2008 and several other other fumigant pesticides completed reregistration a few years earlier. While EPA is implementing risk mitigation decisions for the soil fumigants, new research is underway to address current data gaps and refine understanding of factors that affect how fumigants move in the environment. New methods and technologies for fumigation are emerging. EPA decided to move the fumigants forward in registration review from 2017 to 2013 so the Agency will be able to consider new data and new technologies sooner, as well as determine whether mitigation included in its decisions is effectively addressing risks as EPA believes it will. EPA will also include other fumigants that were not part of the reregistration review of these pesticides.

Triazines (TR)

          EPA decided to review all pesticides in the triazines group within the same time frame and to move these pesticides ahead in the registration review schedule so that dockets for all will open in FY 2013. EPA initiated a reevaluation of the triazine pesticide atrazine in fall 2009. Given the availability of new scientific information as well as the documented presence of atrazine in both drinking water sources and other bodies of water, EPA has determined it appropriate to consider the new research and to ensure that the Agency’s regulatory decisions about atrazine protect health and the environment. EPA’s reevaluation process is based on transparency and sound science, including independent scientific peer review. The current atrazine reevaluation will help address aspects of the atrazine registration review which is scheduled to begin in 2013. As a result, the current reevaluation should reduce the scope and resources needed to complete the atrazine registration review.

Imidazolinones (IM)

          Imidazolinones are low-dose, high-potency herbicides that work by inhibition of the acetolactate synthase (ALS) enzyme in plants. Their mode of action is similar to that of the sulfonylurea (SU) family of herbicides, for which registration review dockets will open between FY 2011 and FY 2013. In addition, imazapyr was the only one of the imidazolinones to be subject to reregistration; registration review will provide the first opportunity to consider the six herbicides in this family in a common timeframe, starting in FY 2014.

Isothiazolinones (IS)

          Isothiazolinones (or isothiazolones) are a group of compounds known for biocidal activity that are registered with EPA as antimicrobial agents and have similar uses and use patterns. Some of the isothiazolinones have conventional pesticide uses, as well. EPA has adjusted the registration review schedule for the isothiazolinones so that all of the uses of this family of pesticides can be considered in a common timeframe, starting in FY 2014.

Pyridines (PY)

          Pyridine herbicides, which are used to control a number of broadleaf plants, have primarily been identified in previous risk assessments as posing a potential risk to non-target plants. In particular, some herbicides in this family appear in reported incidents to have persisted in manure or compost later applied to planted fields. As with the imidazolinones, only a portion of the pyridine family was subject to reregistration, and registration review affords the Agency the opportunity to consider all the herbicides in this family in a common timeframe, starting in FY 2014.

EPA: Registration Review Program Highlights

Current as of April 2012

          Registration review is replacing EPA's pesticide reregistration and tolerance reassessment programs as those programs are being completed. Unlike earlier review programs, registration review operates continuously, encompassing all registered pesticides.

          Through registration review, EPA is reviewing each registered pesticide every 15 years to determine whether it still meets the FIFRA standard for registration. In this way, the Agency is ensuring that all registered pesticides do not cause unreasonable risks to human health, workers, or the environment when used as directed on product labeling. The scope and depth of the Agency's reviews are tailored to the circumstances, so registration reviews are commensurate with the complexity of issues currently associated with each pesticide.

          By law, the Agency must complete the first 15-year cycle of registration review by October 1, 2022. To meet this requirement, EPA is opening 70 or more dockets annually continuing through 2017, so that almost all pesticides registered at the start of the program will have dockets opened by 2017. In fiscal year 2012, 744 pesticide cases comprising 1,165 active ingredients are scheduled for registration review. (These numbers include cases that were scheduled but were not required to go through registration review because there are no active registrations for these pesticides in the U.S.) Newly registered pesticides will be folded in each year. The Agency must complete the registration review of each new pesticide active ingredient within 15 years of its initial registration. 

Current Status

As of April 2012,

•    over 300 registration review cases are past the docket opening stage

•    over 250 registration review cases are past the Final Work Plan stage

•    30 registration review final decisions have been issued

          The Docket for each pesticide case beginning registration review includes a Preliminary Work Plan, which explains what the Agency knows about the pesticide and our thought process for determining the anticipated data and assessment needs. After considering public comment, the Agency issues a Final Work Plan for each case which responds to comments received, explains the Agency's risk assessment and data needs, and presents an expected time line for the registration review. 

Groups of Related Pesticides Beginning Registration Review

          In conducting the registration review program, EPA generally will review pesticides in chronological order according to their baseline dates; that is, older cases will be reviewed first. Within this structure, however, the Agency also plans to review certain related pesticides at the same time. Pesticide cases may be related by chemical class or structure, mode of action, use, or for other reasons.

          During reregistration, the Agency gained experience and efficiencies in simultaneously reviewing related pesticides in groups like the organophosphates, N-methyl carbamates, triazines, and chloroacetanilides, as well as the rodenticides and soil fumigants. Similarly, EPA expects to increase program efficiencies and promote other benefits by continuing the practice of grouping related pesticides during registration review. For example:

•    Technical and regulatory issues may be resolved more easily looking across an entire chemical class or group;

•    Resources can be maximized within EPA, among stakeholders, and within other federal agencies;

•    New research findings may be facilitated;

•    In developing decisions, a "level playing field" among chemicals in the group may be assured.

The following groups of related pesticides have started registration review or are scheduled to begin registration review from 2012 to 2015.

•    See Registration Review Schedule for Beginning Reviews, 2012 to 2015.

•    See Chemical Search for documents related to EPA's review of individual pesticides.

•    See Assessing Pesticide Cumulative Risk for information about EPA's cumulative risk assessments for the OPs, N-methyl carbamates, pyrethrins and pyrethroids, and others.

Toast & Jam: The Making of Christmas

Friends came today with an orphaned tree, who someone had viscously decapitated and left by the wayside to serve the beggars. The gratefully rescued tree, once it was dressed in sparkly craft fair adornment, found its special purpose spreading joy and happiness.

The empty-house blues were promptly chased away by the friends, hustling to arrange the twinkling lights on the tree (which I was forbidden to videotape, unless I was prepared to name it "Martha's Last Christmas") and, bustling about, setting out cheery companion tabletop accessories.

I shall take pleasure at gazing upon the yuletide splendor as I eat

my toast and jam.