Rushing's Ramblings

Mrs. Vassar passed from this life recently. Between the tears, I can't stop thinking about her and her influence on my young life. Her daughter told me last year that her mother had dementia. It's hard to imagine her with dementia after remembering her as a vibrant, intelligent, and beautiful young teacher. Heck, it's even harder to realize she's no longer walking this earth. After her daughters were in school, she pursued a teaching degree. It couldn't be easy driving back and forth to the nearest four-year college over 100 miles a day, coming home to take care of children and do all the work expected of a mother and wife. When Mrs. Vassar finished student teaching, she agreed to be the English teacher for high school juniors. Our school only hired the best teachers. She must have felt honored yet apprehensive about taking her place in our classroom. I'm still in awe that a new teacher would have the bravery to take on 16-year-olds!  Mrs. Vassar held her own wi

My friends wanted us to organize and participate in the upcoming March for Our Lives demonstration. Still, I didn't want to do it. As the Democratic Party County Chair, I had to facilitate the convention on the same day. It would be my first convention to lead, and I had no idea what to expect from the participants. On the other hand, my genuine fear was that in the deep red town of Llano, we would be targets for some Bubba wanting to take shots at us from his pickup truck. The gun rack proudly hanging on his rear window would be empty because the shotgun was pointed at us! I don't have an issue with dying, but I'd like to live another day or two to enjoy my two grandbabies. Once I realized that everyone in my circle of activist friends wanted to participate, I decided that I needed to not only organize the county convention but that it would be wise to also host the March for Our Lives event. I located the March for Our Lives website. I registered the small town of Llano a

I've always said that if something crazy happens, it will most likely be in Texas or Florida. Since I've lived in both places, I've decided they are currently tied. I'll admit that I'm not your typical Texan, even though I was born and bred in the Panhandle. I'm probably not typical anything, and once I'm gone, the world will probably breathe a sigh of relief. As I get older with each moment, I could care less if anyone gets upset with my opinions. Oh, maybe there's a part of me that enjoys being accepted, but the important thing is that whatever comes "at" me won't change me. I'm sure I'm not unique in that regard. Texans love their guns. There will inevitably be weeping and gnashing of teeth if there's any mention of gun control. The response is something like this:  "What about the second amendment? You can't take away my gun! I have a RIGHT to it."  Then, they'll cry, "If you get rid of the guns,

I once employed a nurse in my hospital that had spent time volunteering with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. While I try and  " do good"  in the world, I will undoubtedly never be like Mother Teresa. As my nurse would probably say,  " I know Mother Teresa. You are no Mother Teresa."  One of my recent attempts to help others could have been smoother. I was strolling down the sidewalk with my two-year-old granddaughter while my daughter and son-in-law were enjoying a quiet meal with my three-year-old grandson. You know how young kids are––when they're finished, they're finished, and everyone in the restaurant hears it. So, I took her for a walk on a warm day in a beautiful shopping center located in Lakeway. We loved exploring the stores and flowers along the way, basking in the attention of passers-by as they said "hello" to the precious little one holding my hand. Echoes of the song "What a Beautiful World"  played in my head. As

He called crying late one night recently. After watching We'll Meet Again on PBS, he thought about when we met the first time. The healthcare system administrator where I was working introduced the directors to the healthcare system's new Business Manager. He told us he would make budgeting "fun."  This got my attention, as I was responsible for 22 budgets, 7 outpatient clinics, and a 36-bed rehabilitation hospital and needed all the help I could get. He looked like a typical white business guy with his white starched shirt, dark pants, and colorful but tasteful tie. Since I've been around the world a few times, I instinctively knew he was gay. I don't think anyone else had a clue, but it didn't matter that he was, and it didn't matter to me what others might think. Later that day, I stopped by his office to give him a personal welcome. I also told him that we were going to be friends. My pronouncement seemed to stun him a little, but his broad gr