​The media is full of reminders that a year ago today, our kids went to in-person school for the last time, and the world shut down (a “two-week shutdown” we said).
I remember this clearly, because nine years ago today I gave birth to Ali Unicorn Bear Sage Young Rosen (some of those names may have been added by the erson in question). 
It was a year with odd toilet paper hoarding, the canceling of life as we knew it, the debate over masks, denial and lies from our Commander-in-Chief, the introduction of remote learning, ZOOM!, loneliness, stress, deaths – so many deaths.
 
I loved President’s Biden’s first address to We the People last night.  “Finding the light in the darkness is a very American thing to do,” he reminded us.  Note: not denying or glossing over the darkness, but entering in to it. How else can we find the light?
 
Biden shared that every day he carries a card with his schedule in his pocket (so retro!). On the back of this card he writes the new daily number of American COVID deaths.  He humanizes this number as “Husbands, wives, sons and daughters, grandparents, friends, neighbors, young and old.” My mind fills with stories of how Lincoln felt similarly weighed down by the deaths of those he was leading.
 
The price of living through a historic time is that things are different, darker.  Although we have lost friends to COVID, my family is lucky to still be healthy.  We were not as lucky financially.  Having a small marketing business when society shut down took its toll. We are among many who left LA for more opportunity. (After we explained how the cost of living elsewhere would allow us to have a house that is twice the size at half the cost, with a pool & jacuzzi thrown in, and a nationally ranked school down the road, our next door neighbors told us we influenced them to move out of Los Angeles too. Their home is currently in escrow.)
 
This is the reward of living through a historic time:  we see ourselves differently. We’ve had to do things differently, reinvent parts of ourselves. I suspect I am one of many holed up writing a book. Likewise, I believe there will be a plethora of great music and art to emerge from this time of isolation.
 
This time of isolation has also forced me to look at my relationship to time.
 
Time….I look at my joyful 9-year old and realize the bad news is that time flies.  I wish I could stop time to keep this fun and sweet little girl with me.  The good news is that we’re the pilot. We set the course, the priorities that dictate both our days now and our days to come.  She will age and change, but I can build a closeness that grows with her.
 
I was talking to my mom on Monday and she mentioned that her walking was worse than my dad’s, who was newly home from hospital after his fall.  “Why don’t you go see the chiropractor?” I asked. “It’s not the right time!” she protested.  I countered: “What? It’s much better to be proactive and get help before you develop a serious condition!” She insisted, “I’ll go down the road. As Fr. George always says, Live in this moment.” And thus she ended the conversation. (Silly me. It never goes well when I advise my mother. Will I ever learn?).  
 
Hours after our talk, Mom fell and broke her femur.  She had successful surgery on Wednesday, but is still in hospital and has a long long road of rehab ahead of her. 
 
To live in the moment, this moment, is not to be accepting and passive, as my Mom taught me and still believes. To live in this moment of time is to be aware.  To notice the leak BEFORE we have a flood on our hands.  To be conscious that our four-year old is having problems in preschool BEFORE it affects his self-esteem in kindergarten. To be mindful of our pre-teen’s frustrations BEFORE she hits puberty and hormones get thrown in to the mix. 
 
From recent testing, Ali was assessed a year behind in math.  As her English-major mom, I feel partly responsible. I encourage and work with her on her literacy (she is testing fourth grade in reading). But math? Luckily, as a third grader, if we are diligent, we can get her back on track, because as time goes on, it will become harder and harder for her to catch up.  And a defeated mindset will seal her fate.
 
As the poet Carl Sandburg said, “Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent.  Be careful, lest you let other people (and, let’s be honest, built-up circumstances) spend it for you.”
 
Time: both healer and killer of us all. Best be aware of it in order to spend it wisely, or it leaves us with many regrets.

​“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time”  
- Maya Angelou.  
Angelou’s profound words have saved me a lot of time, grief and drama. I don’t see them as judgmental as much as observational and respectful.
 
Her advice guided my actions in 2016, when Donald Trump was campaigning.  Trump's lies, misogyny, racism, narcissism, blatant disregard for science, education, the environment & our institutions were all on display during his campaign. Therefore, I boycotted his inauguration, and took my six-year old daughter to the Women’s March in downtown Los Angeles on January 21, sign in our hands and pussy hats on our heads.  
 
Never having marched before, I feared violence, and my husband shared that concern, suggesting I leave our kindergartner with him at home. I was firm: “When Lillie Grace is 80, and the Trump presidency is considered one of the worst in our nation’s history, I want her to remember that she publicly opposed it from Day One. If it gets too violent, we’ll come home.” 
 
It was an epic (and peaceful) day, one I will remember for the rest of my life with fondness and pride.
Had I known how magical the experience would be, I would have insisted that Jory come with 4-year old Ali and 6-month old Tyler. But fear and common sense prevailed: Ali was prone to complaining about fatigue after five minutes of walking, and Tyler required a battery of diapers, wipes, bottles, and pacifiers to go anywhere.
 
So it is a powerful memory that Lillie Grace and I share with a few million people around the world. A photo of us in our pussy hats has been my Facebook profile picture as a form of quiet resistance as long as Trump was in the White House.  
 
However, I didn’t attend any of the subsequent marches in the following years, because after its initial euphoria subsided, I was disappointed to discover that our march, the biggest in the history of Los Angeles, a world-wide phenomenon, had changed exactly nothing. 
 
It wasn’t until Wednesday that I realized I’ve been holding my breath for the last four years, wearing a mantle of shame and apology.  I’ve felt helpless.  I stopped reading/watching/listening to the news, only following Dan Rather’s News & Guts updates on Facebook. The news made me too angry, and increased my despondency.
 
On Wednesday, I finally exhaled. I so hungered to hear a leader embrace inclusion, unity, hope and renewal that I took both my girls out of school for the occasion. Biden’s deep compassion is one that emanates from someone familiar with suffering. Like his hero Lincoln, he has buried two of his children, which gave both of these leaders another perspective. Biden pledged to put his very soul in to his work, like great artists do, and this very act inspires, both him and those around him. Like Lincoln, Biden is familiar with failure, and thus has learned to take ego out of the equation. He has much to teach us as we work to rebuild, to end our uncivil war. Like Lincoln, Biden is inheriting a terrible mess. Like Lincoln, he leads by example, and seeks to save the Union.

Problems can be opportunities, after all.  It just depends on the stories we tell ourselves about them.

Biden's brilliant inaugural speech was a call to action, the urgency of which was belied by his calm and modest demeanor. He implored us to “add our own work and our prayers to the unfolding story of our nation”.  
What can that look like for each one of us?  How can we, through our own personal gifts, efforts and grace enhance our country in our time?  
 
Although Biden is humble, let us not miss his call. As we each become our best selves, our country cannot help but reflect that. 
 
Let's sit with his words: “Don’t tell me things can’t change…Let our story tell ages yet to come that we answered the call of history.  We met the moment.”  

What can each of us do, teach our kids to do, to add beauty and grace to this horrible and terrific moment in history...
for our family...our community...our country?

Four years later, a new profile picture. (I'll soon replace it with one with Ali, Ty or Jory - no favoritism!)