CVIndependent

Fri11272020

Last updateMon, 24 Aug 2020 12pm

At a time when many people have become cynical about the motives of those in the political world, people like Karina Quintanilla prove that there are still candidates for office who have the best interests of their community at heart.

Quintanilla, 41, just won a seat on the Palm Desert City Council, in her first run for public office. Born in East Los Angeles, Quintanilla—a Palm Desert resident since 2002—came to the desert in 1984 and was raised in Thousand Palms.

“My mom is an incredible woman,” she says. “Although she had never even graduated high school, she’s a brilliant woman. I’m so aware that not everybody can afford an educational experience. She juggled three jobs and raised us. (Quintanilla is the oldest of four.) If I could be a third of the woman my mom is, I’d be satisfied.

“My mom’s words of wisdom were, ‘Always keep going. Don’t wait for something to happen. If you see someone hurting, help them.’ My dad’s mom, born in 1911, married young but was credited for bringing running water, electricity, telephone service and a health center to their small Mexican village. My mom’s mom became an LVN (licensed vocational nurse), taking care of people when they were sick. They gave me the incentive and desire to serve.”

After graduating from Cathedral City High School, Quintanilla attended the University of California, Riverside (UCR), earning a bachelor’s degree in Spanish.

“Maybe the best decision I’ve ever made was taking a field trip to the Chicano Youth Leadership Conference at UCR while I was in high school,” she says. “I had gotten accepted into UC Irvine, UCLA and UC San Diego. But at UCR I thought, ‘This is the place I am at home.’

“Originally, I was going to major in history. Although I had wanted to be a teacher, within higher education, there’s only so far you can go. I realized I wanted to be a translator. People ask me why I majored in Spanish, since I spoke it and had been translator for my mom when I was only 5. It’s funny that nobody ever asks an English-speaker why they majored in English. I wanted to help broker communication, to always find just the right word. Having grown up between two cultures, I wanted to be sure I was speaking Spanish professionally. Plus, we have to learn to really listen, and not just wait for the next thing we want to say.”

After college, Quintanilla returned to the Coachella Valley.

“It made perfect sense to come back here,” she says. “I had a newborn, and my then-husband’s family was here as well. I reflected on what a great experience UCR had been, and I wanted to find a way to impact other students going to college, especially those who were also first-generation. You have to use your tools to advocate for others.”

Quintanilla became an academic adviser. That led to a teacher-credentialing program at California State University, San Bernardino’s Palm Desert campus in 2012, and she is now completing a master’s degree in public administration at Brandman University.

“The intricacies of diversity in education include understanding the challenges that many families face,” she says. “If there’s an accident or an illness in the family, helping students know how to empower themselves without feeling they must drop out is critical. If there’s something I can do to improve the quality of someone’s life, I have a personal commitment to make a difference.”

That sense of commitment has led Quintanilla to be a blood donor since 1996.

“My mom once said, ‘I haven’t donated blood in a long time,’ and I still remember going with her into the blood mobile. I was never one with money to donate, but while I’m walking around, I’m making something every day that I can share to save a life. I generally donate platelets, which means I can donate more often than those who are giving whole blood. Now, with the pandemic, I don’t have to wait as long to make a donation: I generate new platelets every day.”

One of the largest influences in Quintanilla’s life was her association with Hispanas Organized for Political Equality (HOPE). In 2015, she was selected for their leadership institute, which helped her expand her understanding of community engagement and leadership. That led to her lobbying in Sacramento for accessible health care for all Californians, as well as activism on other issues.

“One event at HOPE included a NASA researcher, a Hispanic woman, who told us how—as an average student—she didn’t think that could be the road for her. She ended up with a Ph.D. from MIT! I’ll never forget what she said to us: ‘Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footprints on the moon.’ I don’t know if that was original to her, but it sure made an impression on me.”

Quintanilla has been involved in translating documents and books, receiving credit as co-author of the Spanish-language version of Vicki Mills’ Any Body Can Enjoy Computers, which helped bring computer literacy to the Spanish-speaking community.

She returned to Cathedral City High School to co-coordinate the scholarship program, among other service. “I had been the one student on the accreditation board while I was there,” Quintanilla says. “The teachers would ask me questions, and my opinions were validated and respected. It’s hard to explain the difference that made.”

While at CSUSB-Palm Desert, Quintanilla developed a tutoring program to help students who wanted to transfer from community college to the university, and also generated a $240,000 grant from the California Wellness Foundation to help fund professional tutors at two local high schools. She was the co-plaintiff in the lawsuit that forced the city of Palm Desert to institute a district-based voting system this year.

“Before I ran for City Council, I talked to my daughters, Cristina (15) and Luz (18), and said I wouldn’t do it if they’d be uncomfortable or if it would mean I’d be too busy for them. They said they were OK with it.

“My experience through HOPE gave me confidence and adjusted the lens through which I saw myself. On the council, I hope I’m able to expand the perspective of what the community wants and needs, including real transparency. Maybe reopening some community issues based on the impact on real people would allow finding new ways to engage everyone and move toward more equity. My goal is always to engage people to think beyond their own personal comfort. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that mistakes are valuable for learning, and the learning is the experience—not the mistake.

“During the campaign, I heard people saying, ‘You give me hope,’ and I don’t take that lightly.”

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

Steve Stockton says that his best decision in life was getting married and having a family. However, his work as an optician—which allows him to change people’s lives by giving them the ability to see clearly—is just as important.

Stockton, 59 and a Palm Desert resident for the past year, works for OneSight, a nonprofit organization “committed to eradicating the global vision care crisis in our lifetime.” According to the organization’s website, OneSight has helped more than 9 million people in 46 countries since 1998.

“I was in Costa Rica,” Stockton says, “and went back there after 10 years for the anniversary of our OneSight program there. I saw a woman I had helped on that earlier trip, and she still had the same pair of glasses that had transformed her ability to see. For a little boy from Ogden, Utah, to be able to make that difference, around the world, is the proudest accomplishment in my life.”

Stockton was raised in Ogden and Kaysville, Utah. “My mom was the light of our family,” Stockton says. “She was an incredible woman, the person who brought our family together. I was always able to go to her and tell her anything. She would just hug and love us, no matter what. Her message was, ‘There’s no one better than you are.’

“Mom was a third-generation Mexican American, whose father was a very religious man. He would sit down and preach the gospel to us in Spanish. I do believe in a higher being, and what I hope for is one day to be able to see my mother again.

“Mom and my birth father got divorced. She remarried when I was about 10, and my ‘dad’ adopted my older brother and myself. (Stockton also has a younger brother and a sister.) He was a really good role model for us. He, my mom and dad all had a friendly relationship.”

After graduating from high school, Stockton attended college in Ogden, but then moved to Colorado to study to become an optician—a professional who measures patients’ eyes for vision aids, makes eyeglass adjustments, and educates patients about eyewear. He was licensed by the time he was 23.

“I had originally intended to major in psychology, but I had a friend who was studying nursing and encouraged me to consider becoming an optician,” he says. “Funny, I had always loved drawing eyes. Once I completed my studies, I fell in love with the job—working directly with people and helping them see better.”

Stockton’s first job was with an optical company in Denver, and he is still in contact with friends he made during that time. Stockton later began working with LensCrafters and soon became a general manager. In 1988, the company started collecting used eyeglasses with the idea of giving them to children who couldn’t afford them. That ultimately led to the formation of OneSight, which is now an independent nonprofit.

In 1997, mobile eye clinics were being put together, and Stockton became a clinic manager, leading the expansion of clinics around the world.

“I originally drove a van around the U.S., Canada and Mexico,” he says. “To help people be able to see, cook, sew and read—it’s wonderful to have had that opportunity. In 2018, I became program manager with OneSight.”

The organization’s mission is to bring eye exams and glasses to people who lack access to vision care. They see more than 3,500 patients every week, at mobile clinics all over the world.

“We do comprehensive eye exams at the clinics,” Stockton says. “We have up to 15 optometrists, and a team of about 50 from all over the world. We do eye exams and make glasses right onsite.”

What brought Stockton to Palm Desert? “My husband, Danny, is a teacher. We had been living in Arizona, but salaries for teachers are much higher in California, and we liked the desert. My job is mobile, so I just need to be near an airport.

“We have an incredible daughter, Kylie, 26, from Danny’s first marriage, who is engaged to be married next year. Kylie was 5 when Danny and I got together, and we raised her up until her high school graduation. I’m looking forward to being a grandfather one of these days!”

What’s something others might not know about him? “One thing I really love to do is draw—animals, people, eyeballs,” he says with a laugh. “I work in colored pencils and charcoal, and I’m always doodling.”

Stockton loves to travel, and obviously travels a lot for his job. “Danny and I went to Thailand along with his mother, and I was able to give them the experience I’d had when I was doing clinics,” he says. “They got to see what I’ve seen—meeting people and forming relationships.

“We do clinics through the Fresh Air Fund at summer camps and see about 2,600 kids in four weeks.”

The people who work for OneSight believe that when the world sees better, the world lives better—and Steve Stockton has definitely made the world a better place by helping other people see clearly.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

Shirley and Terry LeMaster were seemingly destined to find each other—even though they took different paths for much of their lives.

Terry, 77, is originally from Morgantown, W.Va., but moved around a lot. His father worked at a gunpowder plant during World War II.

“I was raised by my grandparents some of the time, in Orange, Texas,” says Terry. “My dad was a quiet, reserved man who was not emotional at all, but he was very warm-hearted and had a smile that would light up the room. My sister died of leukemia when I was about 9 or 10, so I was pretty much raised as if I were an only child. I remember that I once saw my father cry, and that gave me permission to be emotional.

“My mom was something of an anomaly. She was college-educated and had always wanted to be a doctor, but women weren’t really able to back then, so she was a retail sales clerk when they got married. She’s the reason I originally studied to become a doctor. She wasn’t the warmest person, but if it was a ‘duty,’ she would do it. She had a real sense of responsibility to others.”

Terry attended Duke University, studying biology, and became ill due to a lacerated esophagus during his second year.

“I couldn’t eat and dropped all my weight,” he says. "The dean took me into his own home; his wife took care of me. I didn’t recover until the following spring. I got a construction job, went to summer school, and finally got my degree in biology and chemistry at Austin College in Texas. I entered medical school at the University of Texas Southwestern (Medical Center), located at Parkland Hospital in Dallas, where President Kennedy had been treated when he was killed. I was actually interviewed by the surgeon who had worked on Kennedy.

“A doctor there took me under his wing and said, ‘I want you to follow me around for two weeks this summer.’ We were in a small town of about 20,000 people, and I ended up working about 80 hours a week. I came to realize that medicine, as a profession, was your life—and I wanted a different life than that. My father’s advice to me was, ‘They can’t pay you enough to be unhappy.’

“With my double major, I knew I could go to work in the chemical industry or in the food industry. I chose the food industry, because even if I didn’t make as much money, I didn’t want to sit in a lab and run tests all day. In the food industry, I got broad experience and ended up in quality control.”

Terry married and had two children. His first-born died when Terry was only 22. “That tends to grow you up really fast,” he says, somberly.

Shirley was born in Centreville, Miss., and raised in Memphis, Tenn., with an older sister and two younger brothers. “My mom was a registered nurse but stayed home until after I went off to college,” she says. “She taught me about unconditional love—such a gift.

“My dad was a management analyst for the (Army) Corps of Engineers in Memphis, and he was also a lay minister with a very fundamentalist church. In spite of the church’s teachings about the appropriate role for women – they couldn’t even speak in the church—he always supported my sister and me to be anything we wanted to be. He really taught me about feminism!”

After getting a degree in speech and English, and then a master’s degree from Oklahoma State University, Shirley went to law school at University of Texas at Austin—but after two years, she realized she didn’t want to be an attorney.

“My first job was doing equal-opportunity investigations in New York,” she says, “and went on to become manager of employment at State University of New York at Buffalo. Then I moved to New Orleans to get married.”

Shirley and her then-husband, a drummer who had played with Dizzy Gillespie and was a news anchor, adopted a son, Joshua. Meanwhile, she became a labor-relations and human-resources manager with Hunt-Wesson.

“I went on to become a regional HR manager, and after 10 years, finally was back in Memphis as regional labor-relations and HR manager, negotiating with unions,” she says.

Here’s where their paths intersect: Terry was with Hunt-Wesson as a food scientist in California. In 1994, he was asked to be the team leader of a project in which Shirley was participating.

“He knew how to get us to a final result as the team leader,” Shirley says, “and we met for a week each month around the country. He was being transferred to Ohio for a huge project—and I was going to California, and I asked if he had a house he could sell me. He did, and I bought it.

“We went out to dinner a month later and then started dating, between Ohio and California. We dated for about a year, got engaged, and finally married 24 years ago. If I’d known he would come with the house, I’d have paid more for it!”

When Shirley’s company moved her back to California, Terry took early retirement.

“I thought I’d just play golf,” Terry says with a laugh.

Terry loved the desert, but Shirley was not as impressed. “Everything was so sandy,” she says. “He said he thought we needed to look at other places, and because he didn’t try to push me, a month later, I suggested we try visiting the desert again. Now I wouldn’t even consider living anywhere else.”

They settled in Rancho Mirage in 1998. Shirley had become a Unitarian in Memphis, and she credits the church with helping her get through the death of her son, Joshua, in 2006.

“I got very involved with the local church in Rancho Mirage,” Shirley says. “I’ve been on the board and in leadership roles for over nine years. It’s a place with smart, open-minded people.”

The church sponsors a staged-reading theater group, with which Shirley—who has been acting since high school—has become an often-featured actor. Terry, who began supporting Shirley’s love of theater by working with sets and lighting, has enjoyed being cast in several roles, often opposite Shirley onstage.

Both Terry and Shirley say that their relationship works because they have common values, enjoy each other’s company, and have fun together. In fact, Shirley says the best decision of her life was marrying Terry.

“Joshua once gave Terry a birthday card that showed a man’s large footprints next to a boy’s small ones, and inside he had written, ‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to my mother,’” she says.

For Terry, sometimes bad decisions became blessings: “I always learn from it, and without some of those decisions I wouldn’t be who I am.”

Their paths, however unrelated they once were, are happily connected now—as if it were destiny.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

They work together, act together, cook together and laugh together. Dori and Rupert Smith are an example of how committed couples can inspire and support each other to become the best they can be, both individually and as a couple.

Dori, currently president of Democrats of the Desert, was born 70 years ago in Madera, Calif., before being raised in Virginia. She was born second in a family that includes two sisters and a brother. “My mom grew up typically Italian in New York,” she says, “and I would describe her as ebullient: She loved to dance and was a lot of fun, but she also was the one who helped to unionize the tool-and-die company where she worked when we were kids. My dad was a hard-working man who just wasn’t around a lot.

“I was once told that the second-oldest always gets into trouble, and I certainly did. I got pregnant and married very young, but then I finished high school. I waited 10 years before deciding to go back to college, majoring in journalism at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, and had worked up until then in the public-affairs department at GTE. After I finished my degree, I came back as a mid-level manager.”

Rupert, 73, was born and raised in Arcadia, Fla. “I was an only child,” he says, “with a pessimistic, introvert mother who was married to an optimistic, extrovert father. I don’t remember my mom ever being overtly happy. She saw the world as black and white, and I had to learn that isn’t true. Somehow, they made me into an idealist who looks for the good in other people. Of course, taken to an extreme, that can be a problem, but I start from a position of trust with everyone.”

Rupert also studied journalism in college, at the University of Florida. He also spent some time in the Army (“They put me in the information office for a while”) and then went into public relations and marketing at GTE.

“They saw my Army experience—and I ended up there for 24 years,” he said.

Dori and Rupert met while working with GTE-Southeast in Durham, N.C. With a clear note of pride, Rupert describes Dori as having been hired as a secretary, but being ambitious enough to go back to school and get her degree so she could come back to the company in management. Rupert was the youngest vice president in the company’s history at that time, and at one point was moved to Connecticut. Dori had taken a job in Indiana after her divorce.

“We finally got tired of flying back and forth, and moved in together in Connecticut in 1987,” says Rupert.

Rupert’s first marriage of 15 years had produced two sons; Dori’s first marriage of 18 years had produced a son and daughter. “We moved in together in 1987 and married in 1994, and we all have a good relationship,” says Rupert.

What makes it work? “He’s patient, kind and generous,” says Dori. “He always encourages me in everything I want to do, and helps me with whatever it takes.”

Says Rupert: “I let her do whatever she wants, and she’s the same with me. If you start thinking about changing the other person, you’re ultimately doomed. I think about a relationship as a three-legged stool: trust, respect and a common sense of humor—the ability to laugh at the same things. I still smile whenever Dori enters a room.”

The Smiths have been Palm Desert residents for 21 years. They began working together locally doing public relations, primarily for local theatrical groups, and both have become involved in local theater themselves. Rupert originally got involved in acting while in Connecticut.

“I needed something that would fit my creative side. I was told to try acting and got involved with a Wilton playhouse. I tried out and got the part, and it wasn’t difficult, because I had done so much public speaking in my job.”

Working with Script to Stage to Screen (S2S2S), both Rupert and Dori have starred in and been nominated for awards in staged readings. During the pandemic, when nothing is being staged for audiences, Rupert has been writing and producing video works for S2S2S that are available online.

For Dori, she started acting when Gina Bikales, the head of S2S2S, asked her to read a part. “I thought it would be fun to do something onstage with Rupert,” she says.

Both have also helped the theater company with website design, public relations and marketing.

“Dori can’t sit still,” says Rupert. “She has to be doing multiple things at the same time.”

Says Dori: “I am always extremely busy. I started the Executive Women’s Golf Association, and that’s how I met women friends when we came to the desert. I also started Moms Demand Action here in the Coachella Valley in response to the gun violence against children across the country.

Dori attributes her current position as president of Democrats of the Desert (DOD) to something her mom said. “When I was a kid, I remember my mom always said, ‘Vote! Vote the whole Democratic ticket! Vote! Vote! Vote!’ I heard about a meeting of Democratic Women of the Desert and started getting involved. I worked to elect Congressman Raul Ruiz, and worked on Barack Obama’s campaign. When I joined DOD, I realized I’d like to lead the organization. I have a terrific board, and we’re holding Zoom meetings and social events. It’s a real challenge to keep people involved with all we’re going through right now.”

Dori had tap-dancing on her bucket list, so she took lessons and is now dancing with her group, including getting a spot in the McCallum Theatre’s Open Call. “But I try to relax, take a nap daily and read,” she says. “I do have a deep need to stay busy. I wish I still had the energy I had 10 years ago.”

Did I mention the cooking? Dori is constantly posting pictures of the beautiful meals Rupert prepares, and together, they make scrumptious pies.

Rupert’s advice to his younger self? “Don’t sweat the small stuff … and it’s all small stuff.”

Dori’s? “Slow down. Enjoy every minute.”

Dori and Rupert Smith are an example of how a committed couple can inspire and support each other—and, in the process, inspire us all.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

One of the most interesting cases Megan Beaman Jacinto has handled as a civil rights attorney involved a class of farmworkers. About 70 percent of the 60 workers in the crew were female—and in need of protection from gender discrimination.

“One day, about 32 showed up at my office,” she says, “and I ended up with 42 clients in a suit for discrimination. Their supervisor was always on them about what tasks they could perform and (wanted) to bring more men into the crew, and if they didn’t, then they were terminated. This is common for farmworkers. I sued for discrimination, and it took until we were readying for trial for a settlement to finally get done. It had taken four to five years. This is one of the cases I’m most passionate about.”

Beaman Jacinto grew up poor in rural Iowa.

“Where I came from,” she says, “it was about 99 percent white, and yet there was evidence of a lot of racism. It was about when I was in middle school that I realized it just wasn’t right to treat or speak about people by making those kind of comments or jokes. A passion developed in me in opposition to racism. I became ostracized—but that motivated me.”

Beaman Jacinto, 38, the oldest of four siblings, was influenced to pursue education by her parents.

“My dad was a factory worker, and my mom was a homemaker until she began working after I graduated high school,” Beaman Jacinto said. “They also maintained a very small family farm with about 30 cattle. They really emphasized the importance of education. Our rural schools were typically underachieving, and I finished all regular classes by the 10th-grade. My mom found other opportunities for us to learn.

“I always knew she would be there for us. It’s a type of advocacy that’s reflected in the way I stand up for others. And there was always an emphasis on treating other people the way you want to be treated.”

After high school, Beaman Jacinto majored in sociology at Grinnell College. “I wanted to better understand where racism comes from, and my responsibility as a white person,” she recalls. “At that point, I had no professional role models.”

Beaman Jacinto finally found a mentor in an American-studies professor who had been a Black Panther and had managed a group of civil rights lawyers who fought against racism. “It was like a light bulb went off,” she says. “I thought that potentially, I could make a difference.”

Before law school, Beaman Jacinto spent some time in San Francisco (“I was a waitress,” she laughs) and Chicago, where she went into an urban-studies program.

While studying law at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Beaman Jacinto says she realized she had the drive to help others. “I worked in student clinics, and I always strove to make the greatest impact. My goal was to find meaningful work, so I applied all over the country, with private law firms and nonprofits. I got an offer from California Rural Legal Assistance (CRLA) and came to Coachella 12 years ago. It was my first job out of law school, and the great bulk of the work was representing farmworkers.

Beaman Jacinto worked with CRLA for four years before setting out to build a private practice. “CRLA was federally funded, so I couldn’t represent undocumented individuals or take on class actions,” she says. “I decided the time had come to grow. I had the choice to either leave CRLA for another nonprofit out of the valley or start my own practice here. It was scary at first, but (starting my own practice) would give me independence and room to grow. It’s the best decision I’ve ever made. Going out on my own, I overcame fear, and I was able to grow and value myself in addition to providing service to people who need help.”

Beaman Jacinto was elected to the Coachella City Council two years ago.

“From the time I came to Coachella, I’ve always tried to build relationships,” she says. “I value the importance of community, and I value the opportunity to serve. I see myself as a community advocate, but I had never seen politics as a goal for myself. There were many factors that came to play in my decision to run for Coachella City Council, including that women are underrepresented. I am driven to ensure that all voices are at the table when decisions are being made, about things like access to water and housing.” Beaman Jacinto is also adamant about helping develop other leaders within the community.

With a husband and two small children, how has Beaman Jacinto managed to get through the pandemic?

“It’s an ongoing process of adjustment,” she says. “I’m able to continue working and providing income, and working from home has given me so much more family bonding time. We all just have to keep the anxiety at bay.”

Does Beaman Jacinto have any talents that might surprise those who know her? “I have to admit I’m pretty good at cooking, although my clients are always surprised that a lawyer can cook,” she says. “And I’m fully bilingual, which is a real help in what I do. I’m also in the Iowa softball pitchers’ hall of fame!”

After coming from such a humble beginning, Megan Beaman Jacinto has established herself as someone who cares about her community and the people she represents.

“If I had to give advice to my younger self,” she says, “I would paraphrase something Michelle Obama once said—that I see all these men making decisions and having a seat at the table, and then I realize they aren’t all that smart. I would say, ‘Don’t be afraid. You’re just as capable as anyone else.’”

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

Elder-law attorney Michael “Mick” McGuire, 73, says he keeps trying to find a way to retire. “But when the pandemic hit, that went on the back burner.”

McGuire, a La Quinta resident for seven years, used to visit the desert from Long Beach—until his wife of 30 years, Vivien, a public defender, made him to decide to relocate.

McGuire was born and raised in Pittsburgh, and his birth family included grandparents who had emigrated from Ireland. They had four daughters and were scrounging for work during the Great Depression. “My grandfather died in his 30s, and my grandmother was one of those people you’re blessed to have in your life. She cleaned houses to support her daughters.

“My mom had no education past the ninth-grade, and they were always one step ahead of the landlord. My mom always used to say, ‘If things aren’t going your way, just get on with it. If one thing doesn’t work, do something else.’

“My dad was a true Pittsburgh boy. He came along at a time when they were letting guys out of high school to go to war. He was in the Army Air Corps, and then he took a correspondence course at Cornell University. He worked in the restaurant business and became a regional manager.

“I have one sister. I always joke that we’re 'Irish twins'; our birthdays are so close. Once we were out of high school, my folks couldn’t wait to get out of the dire winters of Pittsburgh, so after my freshman year of college, we moved to Arizona.”

McGuire (www.calelderlaw.com) got his education at Arizona State University. After a year in the Army Reserve, McGuire’s first job was with Hallmark Cards in Seattle. He relocated to Los Angeles in 1970 and worked for companies including Xerox, E.F. Hutton, and Home Savings. What made him decide to go back to school and study law?

“I was dealing with real estate agents all day long,” he says, “and I had met my wife, who was in law school at the time. In 1991, I studied at the University of West Los Angeles, and passed the bar on my first try!”

McGuire opened his first law office in Long Beach, doing estate planning, wills and trusts. “I had a client who was having real problems with his elderly mom, and thus I discovered elder law as a specialty,” says McGuire. “I realized the need for people to be able to deal with the Medi-Cal system and Veterans (Affairs).

“The best part of what I do is being able to listen to people’s stories. I had a client who had been in a small village in France during World War II at the age of 16 when the Germans had come. He was stopped by two Gestapo officers, was arrested, and he ended up in a concentration camp. He survived and went to Canada, then came to the U.S. He had told his family that he had been in the war, but his daughters had never heard the full story. When they asked him why he had never told them, he said, ‘I didn’t want you to worry.’

“I had another client who had been a submarine commander during World War II and didn’t realize he had benefits available. You can’t make these stories up—they’re amazing!”

McGuire gets particularly emotive when we talk about the COVID-19 pandemic—and particularly its impact on elders in nursing-home situations.

“The state drives people to long-term care, because there’s nowhere else to go,” he says. “It’s all corporate money now, and they’re driven by profitability. They say, ‘It’s all about heads in the beds.’ People get three meals a day, and poor care—and what we’ve seen over the past months of the pandemic shows how bad it is. It’s a terrible conundrum: You have someone who makes about $12.50 an hour to change people’s diapers and wipe their chin. Those willing to do those jobs are often the migrants at the border.

“We have a glaring hole in Medicare for taking care of seniors when they need help. The Affordable Care Act created a plan to pay up to $1,500 a month for long-term care. On average, decent care costs $10,000 a month for a nursing home in California. Long-term care is expensive, but in my experience, it probably only costs an average family about $1,500 to $2,500 a month to keep someone at home. I’ve never met anybody ever who wanted to go to a nursing home.

“It should be a red flag that out of all the developed countries in the world, we’re (the only one) without a plan. We can talk about it all academically, but when it’s your family member, the whole thing changes. The counties are often ignorant of the actual regulations, and how people are being treated is ridiculous. I’ve become very aggressive and insistent to benefit my clients.”

In 2014, McGuire handled what he described as his most interesting case. Los Angeles County had denied long-term benefits to a man taken to a nursing home as a qualified patient. “It took a year to bring the county to the table. I came to understand how badly the system is stacked against the public interest. You walk away from these experiences and realize that for every one who gets representation—how many are left to their own devices, meeting obstacles at every turn?”

McGuire and his wife are very proud of their family, including son Sean (“He works in the office with me, handling veterans’ cases”) and twin grandchildren. (“She’s at MIT, and he’s at Berkeley,” beams the proud grandpa.)

McGuire’s latest venture is a radio program, Elder Answers, airing every Saturday from 10 to 11 a.m. on KNEWS 94.3 FM/970 AM. McGuire describes the show as an opportunity to start a conversation, and he looks forward to, when the pandemic is over, again presenting workshops where people can talk on a more personal level.

“Throughout life, no matter the situation, you’re well-advised to exercise patience and introspection before you react,” McGuire says. “I’ve failed to follow that many times and paid a price for sure. When I’ve done it, it’s always paid off.”

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

I first met Mary Borders after I saw her dance.

It was at a gathering in Palm Springs in 1997 to honor the 84th birthday of civil rights icon Rosa Parks. To the accompaniment of drums, Borders danced a free-form combination of modern dance and African tribal movements. Her style was lyrical, fluid and emotional. It was mesmerizing.

Borders, now 72, lives in Perris after being a long-time resident of Rancho Mirage and Cathedral City. She was born and raised in South Central Los Angeles and raised by an aunt (“who I think of as my mom”) along with her grandmother, and four cousins who are “like my sisters.”

“My aunt would always tell us that when we grew up, we would go to college and be able to be self-sufficient,” Borders says. “We weren’t to rely on a man for a living. She’d say, ‘You can do it yourself.’ She was there all the time, and she seemed to know everybody and whether they were a good person or not. I also saw my real mother from time to time.

“My dad (uncle) was in the lumber business. He was a strong Black man who laughed easily. He was a solid provider, and although he didn’t talk a lot, he was always friendly and warm. He was every bit my dad as he was with his own kids. He showed me what a man is supposed to be like.

“Our house was like the United Nations, with friends who might be Jewish, Muslim, Okies—lots of people who exposed us to so many other cultures.”

After high school, Borders attended Riverside City College, and later studied business at Ohio State University during her second marriage.

“In my third year, somebody put a cross in our front yard, and the Ku Klux Klan did a march down our street,” Borders says. “We were the only Black family in our neighborhood. We moved to Chicago after that, and then came back to California in 1980.”

Borders’ first job was at March Air Force Base. “It started out just clerical,” she says, “but after three months, they made me a staff accountant. I had studied bookkeeping, so I started working as an accountant and did that all through my career.”

Borders’ daughter, Sherri (“She’s 35 and she still gets carded,” laughs Borders), had asthma and allergies. They used to come to the desert to visit Borders’ half-brother, Tahlib McMicheaux, then a minister in Desert Hot Springs. “Sherri would always feel well in the desert climate,” she says.

Borders sold her house in Los Angeles, and she and her daughter moved to Rancho Mirage in 1994. At first, Borders had trouble finding a job. She contacted a telemarketing company, and after a phone call was asked to come in. “When I got there for the interview, the guy looked at me and said, ‘Uh … I didn’t know you were … uh … a woman.’ I reached across the desk and picked up his business card, turned it over, and said, ‘I’m going to need some information so I can tell the Labor Board.’ He said, ‘OK, I’ll hire you, but you have to meet quota, or you’re outta here.’ I not only met quota; I became director of minority affairs. The company marketed themselves as meeting Title VII (of the Civil Rights Act, prohibiting employment discrimination).”

Borders moved on to work as sales director for Desert Woman, a local magazine that targeted Coachella Valley women. “I got a call from the editor saying that Anita Rufus told her she needed to integrate her staff, and that she should call Mary Borders,” she says. “I got a first-class education selling for Desert Woman. While I met a lot of wonderful women and did a lot of networking, there were some local business people who wouldn’t advertise if they thought I owned it: They didn’t want their ad dollars going to support someone who looked like me.

“One woman thought she recognized the designer jacket I was wearing, and asked me outright about it. When I said yes, it was that designer, without asking if I got it on sale or whatever, she said, ‘I can’t afford a jacket like that; how can you? I want to see your car. If you have a new car, which I can’t even afford for myself, I’m not taking out any ads with you.’ You can’t make this stuff up!

“After that, I worked with the SunLine Transit Agency for six years until I decided to retire. They needed someone who could bring the union and non-union workers together, and I also did PR with a focus on creating a positive public image. ”

Is Borders still dancing?

“I’ve danced all my life,” she says. “I once met a guy associated with Three Dog Night who had gone to Africa and participated in a ritual to make a sacred drum. He offered to drum for me, and I studied the moves. I remember that night at Rosa Parks’ birthday so well—we had Native American bird dancers, and a tribute to Mexican Americans. The guest speaker was Ron Karenga,” the civil-rights activist best known as the creator of Kwanzaa.

“It was quite a night. Later, after I had been diagnosed with breast cancer, once I recovered, I went cruising. They had a salsa club onboard. I came back and spent three weeks in New York taking salsa lessons. One year, I was Salsa Queen of the Desert!”

In 2017, Borders’ aunt was recovering from surgery, and Borders had broken an ankle that was not healing well, so she moved to Perris to be closer to her family.

“I’m now taking soul line-dancing classes offered through Riverside County,” Borders says. “Each class includes a party where you get to know everybody, and we’ve all become friends. After the pandemic hit, it was my birthday, and they came in 10 cars, and put gifts on the curb and sang ‘Happy Birthday.’ It was a total surprise. Now we do it for everybody—socially distanced and dancing in the street with masks on. We also go to a local park, and everybody brings a chair and food for lunch. Then we dance down the path, all 28 of us!”

How does Borders feel about the current activism regarding racial equality?

“I had a therapist who once said there had been a dark space in me that had come to the surface and erupted, and I had to forgive and move on, and eventually the scab would come off,” Borders says. “We, as a society, have had a sore that has festered and finally erupted, and we have to heal it. I always remember Martin Luther King Jr.’s words and believe that if there is injustice anywhere, then everybody is in danger, because none of us is safe.

“I feel bad for my white friends, who are being lumped into the racist label. People are striving for something to say or do, but people have become afraid to say anything, because it may be the wrong thing. That’s a shame, because it’s all a teaching opportunity.”

Mary Borders has a positive energy that is infectious. She is who she is, with no pretense. She says her greatest accomplishment in life is her daughter—especially since she was told early on that she couldn’t have children. She also says that the best decision she ever made was moving to the desert: “Everything I did turned to gold. Even confronting the racism just made me stronger,” she says.

That strength comes through whenever you see Mary Borders dance. She is mesmerizing.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

When I told my editor I felt compelled to write about race and the issues currently dominating our news, he said, “Do you feel you—as a white person—really have a lot to add to the conversation? If so, go for it. But make sure you're answering that question in the affirmative.”

Let me start by saying I am a white person who was lucky enough to be raised to know that the only difference between people is in their immutable characteristics: skin color, hair color, eye color, height, sexual orientation—but not in their worth or value as a human being deserving of respect.

I’ve written almost 200 columns now, and too many of them have touched on race, discrimination and the outrages perpetrated against people of color, or people being wronged based on their gender, sexual orientation or religion. I’ve written about my own father threatening my life if I came to my brother’s first wedding with my Black boyfriend. I’ve written about the attack on a Muslim community in Coachella, and on the unconscionable dislocation of Black, Mexican and Indigenous peoples from what is now downtown Palm Springs. I’ve talked about local residents with a long history of fighting racism who are committed to the realization of a diverse society where nobody is considered lesser. I’ve written about my own history of working for civil rights and gender equality. And I have three Black ex-step-children whose safety is always on my mind.

We are right now at a time of profound change—if we are courageous enough to follow through and not let the latest distractions divert us from the hard work that needs to be done.

After the horrifying killing of George Floyd, the shooting in her own apartment of Breonna Taylor, and all the other people we’ve had to add to the list in recent years, the latest indignity is Bubba Wallace—the only Black first-tier NASCAR driver, who pushed the racing series to ban Confederate flags—finding a noose hung in his garage at the raceway. Too many people are willing to distort the message of the tens of thousands of protesters who have filled streets throughout the country and around the world, and label them as thugs, hoodlums and terrorists.

For those who object to what’s happening by maintaining that THEY aren’t racist and have never done anything against others based on skin color, or those who are sick of all the whining and complaining because we all have problems, or those who turn away because it’s too difficult to watch, or those who work with people of other races and have never felt the comfort to have a conversation about these issues, or those who sympathize and wish they could do something to make a difference but don’t know what—this column is for you.

The only way to be part of the solution is to recognize the problem.

We’re born into a culture based on racism, and we absorb it in every interaction and through every institution with which we come into contact. It’s only by awareness and conscious action that we have any hope of overcoming that history. White people, born into the privilege of being considered the norm against which everything else is compared, are the ones who have to change the course toward our future.

There’s a difference between personal bias—where you may have been raised to believe that people who look a certain way are somehow inherently inferior or to be feared—and institutional racism.

A racist system is insidious in its reach, influence and impact, and all too often, especially if you’re white, you’re not even aware that it exists. It’s at the core of education, health care, housing, banking, elections and the police who are supposed to protect and serve the public.

Police forces were originally created to control slave uprisings or escapes, and that mindset is at their core. Let local law enforcement know that you want change in their training, their disciplinary practices, their transparency. Show your appreciation for their efforts in keeping the peace, and lobby for the re-funding of social services that can more appropriately deal with social issues that don’t require an armed response. Never forget that your taxes pay their salaries.

Institutional racism is at the core of our banking and real estate systems. Red-lining is historically how we keep people “where they belong.” Home ownership is a key asset, and if you get into trouble, you have no way to access funds to help get you back on your feet without assets. Identify minority-owned businesses and patronize them. Ask your own bank how they do inclusive outreach in the community. They need to know white customers care about this, and you can influence change by threatening to move your money to a more community-friendly entity.

People of color often have lower-paid jobs without benefits—particularly health care and savings for retirement. Individuals without health-care coverage are more at risk of illness and earlier death. The disparate rate at which people of color are suffering from COVID-19 is evidence of this. Let your elected representatives know you support everyone having access to both.

Education is supposed to be the means by which we offer equal opportunity to get ahead—but public education is not equal when poor neighborhoods have sub-standard schools. Even if those students get through high school, they’re not able to compete with those who have had the advantage of special prep classes, counseling for college applications and financial assistance. Let your children’s teachers know you want them to teach ALL of our history. Remember that children hear EVERYTHING and learn not just from what you tell them. You have to model the behaviors you want them to emulate. Teach them to recognize bias and to be willing to speak up when they see it.

In our political system, although people of color are now more represented in elected office, suppression of votes is another way our country institutionally limits the ability of those who have been most marginalized from having real power to effect change. You can make a difference by getting involved with a local political organization or the Registrar of Voters.

You need to identify your own personal biases, and there are things you can do to change: Put yourself in situations where you have a chance to interact and listen. Expand your awareness of our history so you can teach others.

Perhaps most important, intervene whenever you hear something that is inappropriate. You can do it quietly and firmly, and it will make a difference. Just know that silence is tacit agreement. Do SOMETHING.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show The Lovable Liberal airs on IHubRadio. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

I first met Alden West in January when I was helping direct Taking Care of Mimi, a provocative play being produced as a staged reading by the Script to Stage to Screen (S2S2S) theater. West was playing a lead role as a matriarch with dementia whose death leads to a murder investigation—and I couldn’t believe it when West revealed she was 87 years old.

“Eight-seven and a half!” she proudly proclaims.

West, a resident of Sun City in Palm Desert since 2003, was an only child, born in Washington, D.C.

“I figure I can claim any state,” she says with a laugh, “and I was raised all over the country: West Virginia, Detroit, Buffalo, Baltimore, Richmond and New York City. I went to so many different schools, each with its own teaching styles, that when I moved from Buffalo to Baltimore, I found that they had learned script writing in the first-grade, while I hadn’t. I had a little yellow desk at home, and many tears were shed at that desk!

“It was a challenge going to schools in big cities and then in rural areas. I came from Jackson Heights in New York City, where if you bumped into somebody, you’d never say you were sorry. In rural areas, if you bumped into somebody, they’d say they were sorry—they were very polite.”

West’s father worked at Chevrolet, which moved him around a lot; he also served in the Navy during World War II.

“My mom had married early, at age 18, and was a homemaker until the war, when she went to work,” West says. “I was very close to my mother, even when I was a teenager, and I could tell my dad anything. I not only loved my parents; I liked them.

“My dad was a college graduate, and after I graduated high school in Virginia, where we had lived since I was about 11 or 12, I went to Cornell, where both my dad and granddad had gone. I didn’t stay at college, however, because I had promised to marry my first husband, so I left school at Christmas of my sophomore year. If I had stayed in school, I would have majored in theater arts, but I left too soon to declare a major.”

West proudly proclaims that she had three grandparents in Congress.

“My father’s father was a Republican; my mother’s father was a Democrat. Then when my mother’s father passed away, his wife filled out his term. She had to run for it and was elected.”

West’s jobs over the years included retail; she also worked as assistant in a dental office. In 1980, she studied for and got her real estate license. She sold real estate until she moved to Sun City from Hillsborough, Calif.

West started acting in high school, in Falls Church, Va.

“There was a local community theater, and a friend suggested I audition,” West says. “I got a part and was cast as an Eskimo girl, in a full Eskimo costume, doing a hula. I loved it! I did a little acting before I had my children, and I still remember getting my first stage kiss.

“In college, I got the lead part in my freshman year in The Importance of Being Earnest, and in my sophomore year, in The Madwoman of Chaillot. In that one, I actually had to learn how to whistle! I had always been a little shy; I’d cross the street to avoid someone I didn’t know well. What I found was that when I’m onstage, I’m the character.”

West didn’t start acting in earnest until she came to the desert.

“There was a Panhellenic group meeting I attended, and at the end, they announced an audition was being held for some work at local venues,” West says. “They gave me a part, and that gave me confidence. Then Ron Celona (artistic director of Coachella Valley Repertory) cast me in Driving Miss Daisy. I got a nomination from the Desert Theatre League for that part.

“After that,” she laughs, “I tried out for all the old-lady parts!”

West has subsequently earned more nominations and several wins from the Desert Theatre League—including the organization’s Lifetime Achievement Award.

“When I went up to get the lifetime award, I said, ‘I feel like this is the gold watch,’ but then I thought, ‘You people probably don’t even know what I’m talking about.’” Again, she laughs heartily.

West never formally studied acting, although she has taken some courses locally. She says she can’t do “method acting,” in which an actor digs into personal experience to present a realism-based performance. “I try to think of what is written and who that character is. I try to figure out how that character would deal with the situation being portrayed.

“Truth is, it’s getting more difficult to memorize lines. Sometimes, there’s a word I just can’t get, and I have to substitute one. Lately, I’m noticing that I can only be friends with someone who can complete my sentences,” she says, again with a laugh. “I always have to respond to what’s written and what’s happening onstage in that moment.”

Respond, she does. In the show I helped direct with Script to Stage to Screen, West portrayed an aging woman whose family is at odds about her condition. West’s ability to become that woman and respond to what was happening around her, even when she had no dialogue, was astounding.

West has three children—two daughters and a son. Her second marriage began in 1960 and lasted until her husband died in 2011.

“I’m lucky to have two of my children living fairly close, and the third has a place in Mexico, so it’s a great place for a getaway,” she says.

Does West have a guilty pleasure? “Sweets,” she answers immediately. “My kids tell me I’m indecisive, but I’ll take a cookie over a drink any day.”

How has the current stay-at-home policy affected West? “Being an only child, I’ve had no problem at all,” she says. “I walk every day and do my cardio exercises. I’m used to being alone. I even prefer it sometimes. I’ve learned to adapt to whatever is going on.”

That is a reaction worth emulating.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show That’s Life airs weekdays on iHubradio, while The Lovable Liberal airs from 10 a.m. to noon Saturdays. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

Dr. Dilangani (Dana) Ratnayake, 35, has been a Cathedral City resident since 2016.

“It’s emotionally draining to deal with patients who are in pain,” she says. However, she’s decided that emotional drain is worth it.

I first met Ratnayake because I have chronic pain. About three years ago, I had a headache that lasted for three months nonstop. After what seemed like every test known to man, I learned I had stenosis in a couple of the vertebrae in my neck. I consulted with a local pain clinic and was given steroid shots that almost instantly stopped the headaches and eased the discomfort in my right shoulder. I’ve never used opioids, but I have been getting routine pressure points shots in my shoulder and neck ever since—and she was assigned to be my doctor.

Ratnayake came to the United States from her native Sri Lanka at the age of 16. She has two older sisters, one of whom was then in graduate school in Minnesota.

“My parents got green cards,” she recalls, “because my aunt had actually sponsored my dad 10 years earlier.”

Ratnayake’s mother was the director of a Sri Lanka government agency-tourist board, who taught her daughter to “do what you want to do in your life.”

“My dad was with the Sri Lankan police,” Ratnayake says. “He’s very easy-going, and I think I’m more like my mom. I think I put undue pressure on myself.”

While Ratnayake’s parents currently reside in Sri Lanka, the family formerly lived in Minnesota, where Ratnayake completed high school and then earned her undergrad degree in biology at the College of Saint Catherine. She went on to get her doctorate from the University of Minnesota, and had her anesthesiology residency at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. A fellowship then took her back to Minnesota.

Why anesthesiology? “I liked the procedural aspects,” she says, “and I like being in the (operating room). With interventional pain management, you actually get to build a relationship with the patient.”

Ratnayake returned to Minnesota with not only a degree, but also a husband. “We’ve been together 10 years. A family friend had known him for a long time,” she says. “We actually started dating while I was still in Minnesota, and got married during my last year of medical school.”

Her husband is a primary-care physician, currently practicing in Redlands.

“During residency, (doctors) rotate in different sub-specialties,” says Ratnayake. “Pain management was one aspect. After my fellowship, I came to the desert with Kaiser, focusing 100 percent on pain management—but that wasn’t for me” at the time.

She went back to anesthesia full-time. “But doing anesthesia, interactions with patients are short and intense. There are no long-term relationships.

“I didn’t realize then how much pain management focused on the use of opioids. It wasn’t like that in training. Real pain management is using all of the skills learned—talking to patients, the use of meds, interventional therapies, and other methods of pain control. Opioids do have a role, and that’s the challenge, but it’s diminishing now. It’s not the first best option, nor the only one.”

Of course, Ratnayake has a bucket list. “I like to travel. I was in Europe last year, and I go to Sri Lanka at least once a year to see my parents. Up to now, my time has been limited. … I practice yoga, and I love dogs, but don’t currently have one, so I volunteer at the shelter.”

Ratnayake’s ability to relate on a personal level is not often found in a doctor, at least in my experience. She listens, is empathetic, and always exhibits a warm, caring demeanor. In 10 years, she says she sees herself with a successful practice, working full-time to help those who struggle with pain.

“Maybe, at that point, we’ll have kids,” she says with a laugh.

As for that successful practice she sees herself having, Ratnayake is on the cusp of getting it started. “I’m looking for more autonomy in a practice, and the ability to screen the patients. If you’re looking for opioids to deal with pain, I may not be your doctor of choice,” she says. She wants to focus on women with pain, as doctors are often not attuned to the different kinds of pain that women experience—for example, during menopause.

I initially spoke to her several weeks ago, before the reality of the pandemic set in. Ratnayake said then that she’d found a location and was seeking credentialing to work with health-insurance providers. “I’m hoping for April or May, to start with being open a couple of days a week and weekends,” she told me. “I’ll keep doing anesthesia work with hospitals until ultimately opening five days a week.

But the coronavirus has changed Ratnayake’s path, at least for now. I checked in with her a couple of days ago.

"COVID-19 has had a significant impact on delaying the start of my pain practice. Credentialing and new contracts with physicians are now delayed,” she says. “I was hoping to open for a few days in April, but it will be at least (the middle) to end of May before we finalize contracts and also implement a process where social distancing can be practiced and patients can be seen safely.

“Since elective surgeries have been postponed, I’m not doing anesthesia work—and I must admit it’s an unusual feeling to have time on my hands.”

It may be emotionally draining to deal with patients who are in pain, but Dana Ratnayake is making a place for herself in our local medical community—and is on a mission to relieve pain.

“A lot of people are in chronic pain, and if they’ve been on opioids, you can’t just cut them off. It’s life-changing to get off them,” she says.

We’re lucky to have her.

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal.” Her show That’s Life airs weekdays on iHubradio, while The Lovable Liberal airs from 10 a.m. to noon Sundays. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

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