Here’s how a hero saved one community. Mine.

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Photo of Nabil Yazdani holding water bucket in the melting snow after the temperatures rose. Photo by author.

Nabil Yazdani is a hero. He didn’t wear a cape. He wore a mask, a coat, and shoes that weren’t snow and ice proof, as he knocked on my door on Monday February 15, 2021. He was checking to make sure I was okay, even though I’d never met him, and to ask if I wanted to join a phone tree he was starting to connect the neighbors in our apartment building and a couple of the closer ones. Texas was having an unprecedented power outage during a major freeze.

When he knocked, I was wearing two layers of fleece…


Editor of New Choices. Anti-racist since age 14. Mindfulness practitioner before it was cool.

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Head Shot by my son Blake Scott, aka Moonlair360 on social media. Notice the cat sneaking into the shot.

Once, I wrote my entire relationship history in one short, non-emotional, factual paragraph. The humorous, I hoped, plan was to text it a first date to dispense with before the questions were asked. I never actually sent it. I’m also still single.

Here’s me, sans relationship history, longer than a paragraph, and I hope humorous and more interesting. Also in no specific order of occurrence, as that is how my mind works, and my careers have been.

I’ve been writing since I can remember. Haven’t most of us? All kinds. …


Here’s a secret.

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Photo from Thought Catalogue on Unsplash

Elle Silver writes about being a celibate sex writer, hanging out with models in Barcelona and writing for Spanish Playboy. You can imagine how often she was hit on.

She writes that it was twenty years ago. My own early experiences with sexual pressure was longer ago than that. Post sexual revolution, but it seems pre-historic. Except, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

However, this isn’t a rant against sex. I love sex. I’ve often said most of my regrets are about the sex I turned down. Except for those who assumed sex on the first…


Not a typo

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Photo by David Code on Unsplash

You say unite, I say untie. I saw this typo recently, and after laughing, realized it might be true. Biden and Harris will be tasked with untying the tangled web woven by 45s lies.

If Biden and Harris are going to untie America, what will they need to do it? A lot of persuasion, determination, knowledge of differences, and dexterity.

There are plenty of pundits talking about how Biden/Harris will unite the country, although I must confess a profound amount of pessimism about the chances of succeeding at that. But what about untying America? …


HUMOR

We made it. Here’s how.

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Photo of skydivers by Filipe dos Santos Mendes on Unsplash.

We were 7 days without water when the Paratrooper Plumbers dropped from the sky into our apartment complex.

Okay, maybe they didn’t drop from the sky. Maybe they flew into the Austin, Texas airport from Connecticut, Maine, South Carolina and Florida. You know, states that actually know how to deal with extreme weather emergencies.

However they arrived, it seemed like they parachuted into the complex, and swiftly spread out among the 15 buildings, like troops into a besieged city. While not turning wine into water, they did coax frozen pipes to cooperate again and water to flow. …


I’m an older woman. Deal with it.

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Photo by jr korpa on Unsplash. Woman looking into obscured mirror,

Now, that subtitle may sound like a rant, but this isn’t a rant. I won’t be chastising you or the entirety of western culture for making older women feel invisible. At least not in this article.

Is it a result of patriarchy, resulting in a devaluation of women of all ages, but especially older ones? Of course. Is it a reflection of our throw-away culture? Yes. Is it sexist? You bet.

However, my goal is to help older women fight that invisibility on an individual level, while banding together to give attention and honor to one another. Let’s fight back…


HUMOR

“My dudes, what happened to you?”

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Photo by Marek Szturc on Unsplash

A wolf, out without her pack, happens across the 2021 Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, in it’s new outdoor location on 67 acres of Lyndhurst in Tarrytown, New York. She’s drawn there by sounds and smells that indicate a possible presence of her kind. She’s curious.

She’s also drawn by a strange new food smell that she can’t quite name. As she comes stealthily closer, she hears a human call it a “bait.” Another human asks a dog if she wants a “treat.” Bait and treat smell the same, to the wolf’s lifted muzzle, snuffling into the wind. …


I write and watch for the commercials. And this year the poetry. Oh, and fighting systemic racism.

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Photo by Yuksel Goz on Unsplash

A little background. I grew up in Friday Night Lights. The real ones.
The football stadium lights were the brightest lights in our small Texas town that sported only one stoplight.

We were there in those stands, under those damned lights, every Friday night from September through December, because we had a winning team. Rain or shine, sleet or hail. All of which we had sometime or another in those months. Four months of every year, every Friday night. Whether we wanted to be there or not. And I didn’t. Go Team!

And did I mention it was an all…


What does that say about my readers? What does it say about me?

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Photo by Luis Cortes on Unsplash. Woman with sheet of newspaper over her head.

The demographics of News Break, or so I’ve been told by the platform, are mostly from the U.S. Deep South, with some narrow swaths of the east and west coast. They’re mostly men, older, and generally conservative. I’m female, from the very liberal city of Austin, Texas, and I lean way left. These folks aren’t my normal demographic, but who knows which readers I draw from that particular pool?

My subset of readers must fit that demographic in some way, I suppose, because a significant portion of them read some of my posts, while some posts get no views at…


HUMOR

The News Break challenge

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Photo by Matthew Brodeur on Unsplash.

Writing for News Break is like going back to the early 60s when my parents and other grown-ups referred to pregnant women as P.G. I don’t know if they used that term among themselves, but they sure did when we kids were present. It’s likely they didn’t use any words for genitalia, either anatomically correct or otherwise, as I have no memory of that. Or maybe they had a secret code for genitalia names that were too obscure even for kids to understand. We totally knew what P.G. …

Carol Lennox

Psychotherapist, Hypnotherapist. Leans Left. Mindfulness practioner before it was cool. M.Ed., LPC. Carolsantafe93@gmail.com. Www.Newsbreak.com/@c/561037

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