A friend of mine was offended because I wrote about a man I happened to meet who was intentionally walking away from his house. He was boasting to virtual strangers (us) that his wife's retirement and his salary are very good but since the economic downturn was the fault of the banks, he had the right to make them take it back. The right.
He bragged about knowing all the strategies to defraud the lender. Since some of the bailout money is coming out of my pocket, I am entitled to an opinion. I have the right to disagree when I know consumerism is about individual choice and individual responsibility. I have the right to be offended, and to say I am, even if others disagree. And I was and I am, for anyone who betters himself at the expense of the rest.
There is a lot of pain and suffering right now, innocent people being hurt in this fledgling economy. My heart goes out to those duped into believing they could afford things they clearly could not. There is appreciation in the people I meet, for a job, money in the bank, and stability even just in the moment. Humility is in the air.
Which was why this man's attitude was so offensive. As a country, where would we be and how would we survive if everyone did that? John Donne came to mind and I believe this to be true:
No man is an island, entire of itself.
Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less
As well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls:
It tolls for thee.
Dec 27, 2008
Dec 24, 2008
The Card
The family is expanding, and I'm going on a diet right after the holidays! But I mean, really, it is expanding.
Don and Jami have a basket of two daughters, two son in laws and four grandchildren. My basket now includes Erika, who is like a daughter, so our basket comfortably accommodates her two brothers, and parents. Randy's brothers and families include 11 more, not counting Aunts and Uncles and cousins which number in the low 20's. And to add Randy's brood is another 19 more. Does anyone have a calculator?!
Let's suffice it to say, the days of not needing to add a leaf to the holiday table are over. As such, we have had to be a little creative with family cluster gathering this year.
There is always a favorite moment in the day when I stop and look around and give thanks for the playful banter and laughter of a family gathered together. But this year just seemed especially joyful, with additions to the family tucked happily inside. The time we take to pause from our hectic lives is the real gift, but it's fun to watch the faces as we open each other's thoughtfulness being unwrapped.
Let's face it: there's always a favorite gift. This year, it was the card that was on the tree from my son. Can you believe he was thanking me for my love and support these years and how glad he was to see me happy. He said it was good to see me taking care of myself after all the years of taking care of him and his brothers.
Oh honey! It's always been a joy being your mother and that will never change. No matter where life leads us, I will always be there for you. Always.
Don and Jami have a basket of two daughters, two son in laws and four grandchildren. My basket now includes Erika, who is like a daughter, so our basket comfortably accommodates her two brothers, and parents. Randy's brothers and families include 11 more, not counting Aunts and Uncles and cousins which number in the low 20's. And to add Randy's brood is another 19 more. Does anyone have a calculator?!
Let's suffice it to say, the days of not needing to add a leaf to the holiday table are over. As such, we have had to be a little creative with family cluster gathering this year.
There is always a favorite moment in the day when I stop and look around and give thanks for the playful banter and laughter of a family gathered together. But this year just seemed especially joyful, with additions to the family tucked happily inside. The time we take to pause from our hectic lives is the real gift, but it's fun to watch the faces as we open each other's thoughtfulness being unwrapped.
Let's face it: there's always a favorite gift. This year, it was the card that was on the tree from my son. Can you believe he was thanking me for my love and support these years and how glad he was to see me happy. He said it was good to see me taking care of myself after all the years of taking care of him and his brothers.
Oh honey! It's always been a joy being your mother and that will never change. No matter where life leads us, I will always be there for you. Always.
Focus and Breathe!
I was watching the family last night, struck by transitioning lives as the new generation struggles free. Last Christmases for some, weddings, illnesses, and everyone was feeling the pinch of life striking out on its own. There were tears of joy and sorrow, struggles for others, but the undercurrent was change in all of its challenging and intimidating forms.
So many things about life are hard. Take for instance watching friends struggle with the sudden stilling of their business phones in this economy; laying to rest a beloved friend; accepting when a friend's life no longer intersect as it once did. There's a bitter spot at the bottom of your stomach when you know, you just know, the gig is up. Even before the emotional books balance, you begin to yield to what will come. It's easy to feel like life is a let down.
But last night, I listened to a duet of What Child Is This on the electric guitar and piano (grandma and grandson) that was amazing. I felt the warmth and thanksgiving of the family gathering and in the eyes of a happy teenager. I watched little ones clomping around wearing the Bride's shoes, playing hide and seek in the walk in closet, and picking off the good stuff on the top of the pizza. I was part of a family providing comfort to one another because work and home emergencies have taken their toll. I was moved.
What a great reminder that the only value that matters is our own internal assessment and place in the world. Yeah, it would be great to be hailed as the Next Big Thing, have an easy life and public accolades to stroke our egos. But when it's just you and God, it's how we mark our time that matters, the bridges we build, the lives we touch, the lessons we learn and pass on. A job is a job is a job, and we need them to get by. But Family, God's Blessings, Love, Health, now those things are worthy of prayer.
We are so blessed to have loving families and friends to stand with. As Colette used to say, we'll get through this: now focus and breathe!
With the contraction of our economy, our lives, our jobs, and our hope, I think that is excellent advice.
So many things about life are hard. Take for instance watching friends struggle with the sudden stilling of their business phones in this economy; laying to rest a beloved friend; accepting when a friend's life no longer intersect as it once did. There's a bitter spot at the bottom of your stomach when you know, you just know, the gig is up. Even before the emotional books balance, you begin to yield to what will come. It's easy to feel like life is a let down.
But last night, I listened to a duet of What Child Is This on the electric guitar and piano (grandma and grandson) that was amazing. I felt the warmth and thanksgiving of the family gathering and in the eyes of a happy teenager. I watched little ones clomping around wearing the Bride's shoes, playing hide and seek in the walk in closet, and picking off the good stuff on the top of the pizza. I was part of a family providing comfort to one another because work and home emergencies have taken their toll. I was moved.
What a great reminder that the only value that matters is our own internal assessment and place in the world. Yeah, it would be great to be hailed as the Next Big Thing, have an easy life and public accolades to stroke our egos. But when it's just you and God, it's how we mark our time that matters, the bridges we build, the lives we touch, the lessons we learn and pass on. A job is a job is a job, and we need them to get by. But Family, God's Blessings, Love, Health, now those things are worthy of prayer.
We are so blessed to have loving families and friends to stand with. As Colette used to say, we'll get through this: now focus and breathe!
With the contraction of our economy, our lives, our jobs, and our hope, I think that is excellent advice.
Dec 18, 2008
Bidding Adieu
Day 13:
All packed and ready to go, we dropped Flat Stanley with the US Post Office on the way to work. We double checked he had his itinerary, clothes and his little surprise. After that sushi dinner last night, we left him with extra change for postage, too!
It is always sad to say goodbye, but Flat Stanley was very excited to surprise Joey by being home by Christmas eve. We told him we would track his trip back online so we can imagine his adventures as he makes his way back to Florida.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Love,
Your family in California
All packed and ready to go, we dropped Flat Stanley with the US Post Office on the way to work. We double checked he had his itinerary, clothes and his little surprise. After that sushi dinner last night, we left him with extra change for postage, too!
It is always sad to say goodbye, but Flat Stanley was very excited to surprise Joey by being home by Christmas eve. We told him we would track his trip back online so we can imagine his adventures as he makes his way back to Florida.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Love,
Your family in California
Dec 17, 2008
Stan's Stand on Sushi
(This is me in front of Griffith Observatory in Southern California)Day 12:
No visit to California is complete without a dinner at Hisui, so after work we took him to our favorite Japanese restaurant in Fairfield. Have you ever had sushi? Flat Stanley hadn’t either, but we reassured him that if he tried it and didn’t like it, he could have something else on the menu like chicken teriyaki or tempura.
Flat Stanley liked the place right away! The first thing he saw was a stone fountain with koi fish (they look like fancy gold fish but are really big) and two turtles swimming around. We let him hang over the edge and held onto his feet so he didn’t fall in.
There is an interesting part of the restaurant where Japanese chefs cook dinner right at the tables (Hibachi cooking), and that is fun, too, but we were headed for the sushi bar. We know the owner and the sushi chef very well, and they seated us right away. At the sushi bar, there is a long oval counter with stools and in front is a moat filled with water. The sushi chef stands inside the circle and makes all types of sushi and puts it on plates on the little boats and they float along the moat with the food. If you see something you want, you take the plate and put it in front of you. It’s THAT easy!
Well, when Flat Stanley got a load of the boats, he got so excited he jumped right onto an open spot and floated away! We had to walk down to pluck him off the boat and explain it is only for food.
We tried a lot of sushi after that, and Flat Stanley really liked the rice and the cooked shrimp (ebi) but wasn’t wild about the tuna (maguro) or salmon (sake). He liked eel (unagi) a LOT and the California roll (avocado, crab, cucumber rolled in rice). He also liked gari, which is thinly sliced ginger used as a garnish. For dessert, we all tried a fried banana, which is a little slice of banana quickly deep fried and drizzled with powdered sugar and plum sauce. We all left very happy and full.
No visit to California is complete without a dinner at Hisui, so after work we took him to our favorite Japanese restaurant in Fairfield. Have you ever had sushi? Flat Stanley hadn’t either, but we reassured him that if he tried it and didn’t like it, he could have something else on the menu like chicken teriyaki or tempura.
Flat Stanley liked the place right away! The first thing he saw was a stone fountain with koi fish (they look like fancy gold fish but are really big) and two turtles swimming around. We let him hang over the edge and held onto his feet so he didn’t fall in.
There is an interesting part of the restaurant where Japanese chefs cook dinner right at the tables (Hibachi cooking), and that is fun, too, but we were headed for the sushi bar. We know the owner and the sushi chef very well, and they seated us right away. At the sushi bar, there is a long oval counter with stools and in front is a moat filled with water. The sushi chef stands inside the circle and makes all types of sushi and puts it on plates on the little boats and they float along the moat with the food. If you see something you want, you take the plate and put it in front of you. It’s THAT easy!
Well, when Flat Stanley got a load of the boats, he got so excited he jumped right onto an open spot and floated away! We had to walk down to pluck him off the boat and explain it is only for food.
We tried a lot of sushi after that, and Flat Stanley really liked the rice and the cooked shrimp (ebi) but wasn’t wild about the tuna (maguro) or salmon (sake). He liked eel (unagi) a LOT and the California roll (avocado, crab, cucumber rolled in rice). He also liked gari, which is thinly sliced ginger used as a garnish. For dessert, we all tried a fried banana, which is a little slice of banana quickly deep fried and drizzled with powdered sugar and plum sauce. We all left very happy and full.
(This is Randy with his favorite Aunt, Aunt Norma. She is Randy's mother's sister and he misses his mom so he spends a lot of time with her. )
Dec 16, 2008
The DeGol Family Park
Day 10:
Around the corner from the house is a neighborhood park which Joey and his brother and sister visited when they were here. It has things to climb on, and a xylophone made of wood, and slides and rope bridges. It was a beautiful day today, sunny and about 65 degrees, so Flat Stanley went there in the afternoon and had a lot of fun running around and working off some energy. Around here, we call it the DeGol Family Park because we were the only ones there.
After he returned from the park, he asked for a tour of the Bat Cave. It’s not really a cave, it’s a room in the house, but it is very full of interesting things from floor to ceiling so it feels like another world.
Randy and Flat Stanley talked a long time about music and sports, two interesting topics, and Flat Stanley picked out something for Joey. There were all sorts of wonderful vintage pictures of San Francisco to talk about, and lots of books to see. He liked The Beatles a LOT! But his favorite thing in the whole room was a bell casted in 1936 for the Queen Mary.
The Queen Mary is a luxury liner ship that is now docked in the Port of Long Beach Harbor, and is on display. Long Beach is a town at the bottom of the state. A friend worked on the docks and when the ship was renovated, he was given the bell as a gift. When you pull on the rope, it makes a very loud and clear ring.
Flat Stanley was a little sad this evening, and we asked why. Although it has been a great adventure, he was feeling a little homesick. We talked a while about Christmas and made a big decision on when he should head home.
Day 11:
Flat Stanley has been noticing that California's geography is very diverse, meaning there are a lot of different things to see. We have valleys and foothills and mountains and lakes and rivers, and one whole side of the state touches the Pacific Ocean. We explained this much diversity attracts a diversity of people, as you might expect, and California is known for that.
There are big cities for business, and rich agricultural land for farmers and cattle ranchers. Surfers and mountain climbers and environmentalists come for the beauty and mild climate. We have immigrants and tourists, just like he does in Florida.
Woodland is a suburb about 35 minutes north of the capital (Sacramento). It is called the 'City of Trees' because we have 10,000 trees! It has a nice downtown with restaurants and shops and is surrounded by open land. When you drive out of town, there are little fruit stands along the way selling freshly grown fruits and vegetables. If you ever have eaten a strawberry that has been warmed by the sun and just picked, you know how different it tastes than store-bought ones. Flat Stanley had TWO bites, it was so good.
Ten minutes away is Davis, which is the home of a very famous university and medical facility. Have you ever heard of the UC Davis Medical Center or the University of California, Davis? The college is best known for its Veterinary Sciences program. The medical center is one of the best teaching hospitals in the world.
Around the corner from the house is a neighborhood park which Joey and his brother and sister visited when they were here. It has things to climb on, and a xylophone made of wood, and slides and rope bridges. It was a beautiful day today, sunny and about 65 degrees, so Flat Stanley went there in the afternoon and had a lot of fun running around and working off some energy. Around here, we call it the DeGol Family Park because we were the only ones there.
After he returned from the park, he asked for a tour of the Bat Cave. It’s not really a cave, it’s a room in the house, but it is very full of interesting things from floor to ceiling so it feels like another world.Randy and Flat Stanley talked a long time about music and sports, two interesting topics, and Flat Stanley picked out something for Joey. There were all sorts of wonderful vintage pictures of San Francisco to talk about, and lots of books to see. He liked The Beatles a LOT! But his favorite thing in the whole room was a bell casted in 1936 for the Queen Mary.
The Queen Mary is a luxury liner ship that is now docked in the Port of Long Beach Harbor, and is on display. Long Beach is a town at the bottom of the state. A friend worked on the docks and when the ship was renovated, he was given the bell as a gift. When you pull on the rope, it makes a very loud and clear ring.
Flat Stanley was a little sad this evening, and we asked why. Although it has been a great adventure, he was feeling a little homesick. We talked a while about Christmas and made a big decision on when he should head home.
Day 11:
Flat Stanley has been noticing that California's geography is very diverse, meaning there are a lot of different things to see. We have valleys and foothills and mountains and lakes and rivers, and one whole side of the state touches the Pacific Ocean. We explained this much diversity attracts a diversity of people, as you might expect, and California is known for that.
There are big cities for business, and rich agricultural land for farmers and cattle ranchers. Surfers and mountain climbers and environmentalists come for the beauty and mild climate. We have immigrants and tourists, just like he does in Florida.
Woodland is a suburb about 35 minutes north of the capital (Sacramento). It is called the 'City of Trees' because we have 10,000 trees! It has a nice downtown with restaurants and shops and is surrounded by open land. When you drive out of town, there are little fruit stands along the way selling freshly grown fruits and vegetables. If you ever have eaten a strawberry that has been warmed by the sun and just picked, you know how different it tastes than store-bought ones. Flat Stanley had TWO bites, it was so good.
Ten minutes away is Davis, which is the home of a very famous university and medical facility. Have you ever heard of the UC Davis Medical Center or the University of California, Davis? The college is best known for its Veterinary Sciences program. The medical center is one of the best teaching hospitals in the world.
Dec 13, 2008
Stanley, the Scientist
Day 7:
Today, everywhere in the world, we were told the moon was at its closest distance to the earth. So of course Flat Stanley wanted to take a better look so after work we headed outside with a telescope. Once it was set up and adjusted, we had to wait a while because of cloud cover but the waiting paid off. The moon looked really big just looking at it, but when Flat Stanley looked in the telescope, well he was amazed to see all sorts of detail on the moon, craters and valleys and little mountains.
Randy told Flat Stanley all about the lunar landing in 1969 and the Sea of Tranquility. We were hoping to identify the Sea of Tranquility with the telescope and we DID! So Flat Stanley, on this day (December 12, 2008) saw the exact spot where Commander Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon for the very first time! That seemed like a long time ago to Flat Stanley, but Randy and I remember it like it was yesterday.
Day 8:
It was time for Randy to put up Christmas lights on the house. Can you believe he’s this old and hasn’t EVER put up Christmas lights before? Well, that’s absolutely true. Flat Stanley told him not to feel bad, he hasn’t put up lights, either, and so the two of them decided to work together. It was very foggy out and the air feels extra chilly when it looks gray and thick but they kept at it, putting up clips and spacing the lights just the way I like them. The house is now ready for Christmas! I made them hot chocolate as a thank you before we tackled the next project of decorating the tree.
The tree was already in the tree stand and filled with water, so we put on lights. Then we opened all the ornament boxes and admired each one as their stories were told. Flat Stanley climbed around in the tree and found just the right spot for each of them. Some had Joey’s cousins’ pictures from when they were his age. Some were from places we had been. Flat Stanley learned that Christmas ornaments are like looking at the happiest parts of a family’s life hanging on a tree.
Day 9:
Well it’s officially cookie season and you know what THAT means – it’s time to get to work making sugar and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, toffee bars and other goodies that make the house smell yummy. We want to have lots of things to eat when friends and family come over. Flat Stanley had a blast mixing the ingredients and baking the cookies and eating them, too. He liked cracking the egg over the bowl with a karate chop – hiYah! He liked sprinkling the cookies with cinnamon sugar. Don’t worry, Joey, we’ll put extra postage on the envelope when Flat Stanley heads home.
Flat Stanley the Worker Bee
Day 4:
Flat Stanley got up before me this morning, but we made it to work on time. Today was a busy day helping parents and students. We had one emergency call to 9-1-1 for a student who was doing jumping jacks and passed out right in class. We were worried until the Paramedics arrived. They took her in an ambulance with her mother just to check her out, and her mom called later to say she was okay.
After work we went to the Christmas potluck at an art gallery around the corner from the school. It is named 40 Acres Art Gallery and our students' artwork was up all around. Before we ate, an important man spoke to all of us, the man who imagined the school and worked hard to make it real. I will give you a hint: He was also a famous basketball player and played for the Phoenix Suns in the 1980s and 1990s when we lived in Arizona.
Have you guessed who it is yet? Why it's Mr. Kevin Johnson! And guess what else: Mr. Johnson is the newly elected Mayor of Sacramento but he still made time to stop in at our Christmas party to say hello. He is a very good man who has made a big difference. Flat Stanley didn't get to meet him but he did see him.
Day 5:
Flat Stanley was tired, so he decided to stay home with Sophie our Boxer. No, not a Boxer fighter, a DOG! Sophie and he hung out in the garage with snacks. The garage is piled high with all sorts of interesting things we are selling at a garage sale, so I told Flat Stanley he could look around all he wanted. Just be careful not to get stuck in a box!
There was a little bit of ice on the windshield this morning, can you believe that? Sophie hasn't been feeling very well lately, so I left them with blankets in case they were chilly. The pool guy came today and petted Sophie a while. He had to replace the pump and seals on the motor for the hot tub so Sophie and Flat Stanley hung out watching him work. After he left, George the neighbor came over and locked the gate and gave them a couple more snacks.
Day 6:
Flat Stanley had to drag his tired body out of bed this morning reeeeeaalllly early to go to work with Randy at 4:55 am!! He said it felt like it was the middle of the night. Flat Stanley perked up once he had a cup of java (that's 'Randy lingo' for coffee). The coffee Randy makes is sent 'specially from San Francisco's North Beach – the Italian District. Randy tells everyone Graffeo's coffee is the best in the WORLD!
Flat Stanley hadn't ever been to a company that sells roll up doors before. They make them in Mountaintop, Pennsylvania, but Randy sells them to places like Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, Port of San Francisco on the docks, and Treasure Island. Treasure Island is where they held the 1939 Worlds Fair and is in the middle of San Francisco Bay.
Randy had six jobs to bid (that is a LOT for one day) so Flat Stanley helped him with phone calls and crunching numbers on the calculator. They got it all done, though! Sales are up, thanks to Flat Stanley's hard work!
A lot of Randy's co-workers introduced themselves but there was one big SURPRISE in store: Joey's cousin Tim works there, too, and so they hung out together in the shop. After a long day at work, the boys headed home at 2:30. That seems early, but do you remember what time they left for work? Flat Stanley was so tired, he conked out right after dinner. He didn't even stay up for ice cream.
In new adventures, Flat Stanley will discover the moon and make cookies ...
Flat Stanley
My cousin's son, Joey from Florida, sent us a paper doll from his 3rd grade class named Flat Stanley, asking us to host him and journal his adventures. Thanks for picking us, Joey! We are enjoying having him as a visitor and he will return to Joey and his class with a lot of stories and memories to share.
And so, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the Wonderful, Marvelous, Fantabulous Adventures of Flat Stanley on the Occasion of his Sojourn to California, 2008.
Day 2:
After a good night's sleep, Flat Stanley traveled with us to hunt for Christmas presents. He snacked on free samples at Costco, helped us order gift cards at Target for the grandchildren, and looked for a Christmas tree.
He liked the scrawny one that was on sale, but we told him NO! This year we're going all out on the beautiful full one to set near the fireplace, in honor of his visit. After all, how many times do we have out of state friends of the family visiting for Christmas?
Day 3:
And so, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the Wonderful, Marvelous, Fantabulous Adventures of Flat Stanley on the Occasion of his Sojourn to California, 2008.
Day 1:
Flat Stanley breezed into Woodland, CA, flat broke and owing money (26 cents, to be exact). He did admit to eating a big hamburger on the trip and maybe that is why he was heavier on arrival than he was on departure.
He had an incredible trip, being tossed around in different cities and getting to know fellow travelers on the airline flight which, amazingly, was ON TIME!
Flat Stanley's luggage was lost en route so first up was making him a sleeping bag and warm clothes for his visit. By the time the airline finds his luggage, he'll probably be ready for home.
Day 2:
After a good night's sleep, Flat Stanley traveled with us to hunt for Christmas presents. He snacked on free samples at Costco, helped us order gift cards at Target for the grandchildren, and looked for a Christmas tree.
He liked the scrawny one that was on sale, but we told him NO! This year we're going all out on the beautiful full one to set near the fireplace, in honor of his visit. After all, how many times do we have out of state friends of the family visiting for Christmas?
Day 3:
Flat Stanley and I went to work together. I work in a high school in Sacramento, CA. It is a charter school which just opened another similar school in Harlem. This school helps students of all nationalities who want to work hard and go to college. It is in Oak Park, CA, where a lot of poor people live.
Flat Stanley was amazed by the diversity of the people he met. He had to be in uniform in order to come for a visit, so I made him a set in his size. At our school, all students – boys and girls – wear the same shirts, slacks and sweatshirts. It keeps them focused on working hard and the clothes are very affordable and durable, and the families appreciate that.
Stay posted for more of Flat Stanley's adventures when he hangs out with Sophie the Wonderdog and meets the Mayor.
Dec 8, 2008
Dust
It filters down from above, in our hair, shoulders, hands. The air is loaded with it, grainy and rough, carried on the strands of sunlight, blocking it with the grime and grit. I shield my eyes to glance up at the shards being swept off the edge and hear the quiet tap tap tap of life chipping away.
People are hunched over now, covering their noses and mouths with cloth from their shirts, dust accumulating in the creases of their exposed necks. They begin to wander around seeking cover, under a tree perhaps or awning, and try in vain to dust themselves off and also their companions' backs where they can't reach. Familiar things look unfamiliar as it is blanketed by the erosion of life.
My 401K - down 48%, to the original investment of 1999. Jobs in the balance, young people filled with dread. Even if we compassionately fall short of the doomsdayer projections of total economic collapse, it's unsettling to watch things erode. We now know we will all suffer for the blind ambition and unchecked greed of a few. We are here again because our country has not yet learned the lesson it needs to learn.
The best kind of national infrastructure is faith based, that is to say honoring and valuing that which is unseen. We the People believe it is there to sustain us without feeling confined by it. The lives we know and cherish, the freedoms we have so arrogantly come to complacently expect, is transforming. What will it be like, I wonder, and how long will we have to wait until the dust settles?
People are hunched over now, covering their noses and mouths with cloth from their shirts, dust accumulating in the creases of their exposed necks. They begin to wander around seeking cover, under a tree perhaps or awning, and try in vain to dust themselves off and also their companions' backs where they can't reach. Familiar things look unfamiliar as it is blanketed by the erosion of life.
My 401K - down 48%, to the original investment of 1999. Jobs in the balance, young people filled with dread. Even if we compassionately fall short of the doomsdayer projections of total economic collapse, it's unsettling to watch things erode. We now know we will all suffer for the blind ambition and unchecked greed of a few. We are here again because our country has not yet learned the lesson it needs to learn.
The best kind of national infrastructure is faith based, that is to say honoring and valuing that which is unseen. We the People believe it is there to sustain us without feeling confined by it. The lives we know and cherish, the freedoms we have so arrogantly come to complacently expect, is transforming. What will it be like, I wonder, and how long will we have to wait until the dust settles?
Nov 23, 2008
Balance the Drawer
I paid $1.75 the other day for gas and happily idled for 20 minutes for an available pump. How sad is that? The year I got the keys, a quick look under the seats and floormats usually scrounged up enough money for a few gallons of gas. Gas was about .40/gal, a little less than the two Jack in the Box taco deal that was offered until midnight.
My first job, other than cleaning my grandmother's house on Saturday mornings and babysitting, was at the Donut Wheel. The cinderblock building sat all by itself in a field with a short gravel parking area on a busy street. People coming in had to hurry off the road and screech and slide to a halt. But they did because John made the best donuts in town, an assortment of cake and raised donuts for $1.50 a dozen.
The Donut Wheel was pretty banged up and had field mice in the back. A friend from school literally handed me her job by telling me to show up. I worked alongside a great friend, Carol, and earned $1.60 an hour which seemed like a deal at the time. The hours were 6-11:30 am on Sat/Sun, which left time for a social life and practice.
I became very fond of the regular customers and especially of the crusty, philosophical donut chef John who taught me how to balance the drawer. He'd show how to use the fryer, flipper and glazer when it was slow. On Sundays, Carol and I would ride home on our bikes, singing show tunes and balancing leftover boxes of donuts on the handlebars for my mother's office.
It's been almost 40 years since we sat together at the speckled formica counter talking about life and the real joy you get from working hard, no matter what you do. The kids today wouldn't look for work at someplace like the Donut Wheel. What a chance they'd miss by not seeing John flip 36 perfectly shaped donuts in three turns of the wrist. He was a man in balance, to be sure.
My first job, other than cleaning my grandmother's house on Saturday mornings and babysitting, was at the Donut Wheel. The cinderblock building sat all by itself in a field with a short gravel parking area on a busy street. People coming in had to hurry off the road and screech and slide to a halt. But they did because John made the best donuts in town, an assortment of cake and raised donuts for $1.50 a dozen.
The Donut Wheel was pretty banged up and had field mice in the back. A friend from school literally handed me her job by telling me to show up. I worked alongside a great friend, Carol, and earned $1.60 an hour which seemed like a deal at the time. The hours were 6-11:30 am on Sat/Sun, which left time for a social life and practice.
I became very fond of the regular customers and especially of the crusty, philosophical donut chef John who taught me how to balance the drawer. He'd show how to use the fryer, flipper and glazer when it was slow. On Sundays, Carol and I would ride home on our bikes, singing show tunes and balancing leftover boxes of donuts on the handlebars for my mother's office.
It's been almost 40 years since we sat together at the speckled formica counter talking about life and the real joy you get from working hard, no matter what you do. The kids today wouldn't look for work at someplace like the Donut Wheel. What a chance they'd miss by not seeing John flip 36 perfectly shaped donuts in three turns of the wrist. He was a man in balance, to be sure.
Nov 14, 2008
Four Thousand Pennies
I did that dinner thing with my friends from college last week. I had been romanticizing about how it would be to enjoy a treat night of reminiscing. It turned out to be a reminder of the great distances we have travelled since we studied together in Fanjeaux Hall and gossiped over lunch in Caleruega.
One of us had lost a spouse, one recently lost a marriage, and the topic of the night was not light and carefree as I thought it would be. We talked instead about families in crisis and, although there wasn't much of the optimism and innocense of those early days when the chapters of our lives had not yet been written, that was okay, too.
I have a couple of nomadic girlfriends whom I adore. They boldly move wherever the wind takes them, across town or across the country. Both are single professionals who currently reside in Seattle and Reno. Reno is do-able on a weekend, so I drove on up to hang out, gamble away the $40 in my pocket, eat lunch and laugh. It sure felt like she was circling around looking for somewhere to land. I envy the wanderlust spirit of change the way they do, but appreciate the roots that hold me fast.
The best part about these visits was re-discovering that we are no longer unmolded clay. We have cleared our lives of debris to live it richly and are rougher, softer, and sadder by its imprint. Spreading our wings and focusing on the experience is as fun as seeing the result. Now we know all of it matters.
Would we change any step of the journey if we could? Probably. I don't know anyone who wouldn't want to occasionally revisit a decision after learning how hard living with it would be. But doing that would run the risk of missing out on all the good and wonderful things it has brought. We are the lives we have lived, warts and all. To change any part of it would change us entirely.
One of us had lost a spouse, one recently lost a marriage, and the topic of the night was not light and carefree as I thought it would be. We talked instead about families in crisis and, although there wasn't much of the optimism and innocense of those early days when the chapters of our lives had not yet been written, that was okay, too.
I have a couple of nomadic girlfriends whom I adore. They boldly move wherever the wind takes them, across town or across the country. Both are single professionals who currently reside in Seattle and Reno. Reno is do-able on a weekend, so I drove on up to hang out, gamble away the $40 in my pocket, eat lunch and laugh. It sure felt like she was circling around looking for somewhere to land. I envy the wanderlust spirit of change the way they do, but appreciate the roots that hold me fast.
The best part about these visits was re-discovering that we are no longer unmolded clay. We have cleared our lives of debris to live it richly and are rougher, softer, and sadder by its imprint. Spreading our wings and focusing on the experience is as fun as seeing the result. Now we know all of it matters.
Would we change any step of the journey if we could? Probably. I don't know anyone who wouldn't want to occasionally revisit a decision after learning how hard living with it would be. But doing that would run the risk of missing out on all the good and wonderful things it has brought. We are the lives we have lived, warts and all. To change any part of it would change us entirely.
Nov 13, 2008
The Alldredge Girls
Three traveling companions met for the first time in a hotel lobby in Philly the week before Christmas. They had been given each other's numbers because they were reluctant to travel alone in West Virginia in the dark and wanted to share a car. They came from all over the world.
They had no idea what to expect from the experience or each other, certainly not friendship. Their paths would never have crossed at all except for their sons entering the same rehab program at the same time.
Germany was early, nervous, and turned out to be a refined and insightful artist and scholar with a well developed sense of humor. She carried a neatly packed, organized suitcase and tote. She had the confidence in her step of having been down this road longer than the others. She brought the courage, the perspective.
California arrived in tennies, jeans and a Disneyland sweatshirt, the novice, afraid and wondering more about how it would play out with her ex than with the counseling sessions for her son. She brought the maps, the compassion, and an open heart.
Colorado breezed in last, with hair piled high on her head, dragging a suitcase, travel snacks and wearing boots, jeans, a long sleeve sweater and a down vest with gloves dangling out of the pocket. She was a jumble of spiritual, nurturing love with a whole face smile. She brought the confidence and car keys.
They listened and talked and laughed and cried on that six and a half hour drive, which included two detours and one rest stop talking to a man without front teeth. And together they literally and spiritually found their way. Now, three years later, the Alldredge Girls are still at it, talking about heady stuff like being who they are meant to be. They are each other's linchpin to the world they shared in those snowy months in a remote part of West Virginia. They have earned a place at the Thanksgiving table and their boys are in each other's prayers.
People say a crisis binds people together, and it did during those long, emotional days and weeks and months when the boys captured center stage. But philosophically, the real glue has been their shared belief that the journey never ends and when they falter, it is their Alldredge sister who will always be there to pick up the phone.
They had no idea what to expect from the experience or each other, certainly not friendship. Their paths would never have crossed at all except for their sons entering the same rehab program at the same time.
Germany was early, nervous, and turned out to be a refined and insightful artist and scholar with a well developed sense of humor. She carried a neatly packed, organized suitcase and tote. She had the confidence in her step of having been down this road longer than the others. She brought the courage, the perspective.
California arrived in tennies, jeans and a Disneyland sweatshirt, the novice, afraid and wondering more about how it would play out with her ex than with the counseling sessions for her son. She brought the maps, the compassion, and an open heart.
Colorado breezed in last, with hair piled high on her head, dragging a suitcase, travel snacks and wearing boots, jeans, a long sleeve sweater and a down vest with gloves dangling out of the pocket. She was a jumble of spiritual, nurturing love with a whole face smile. She brought the confidence and car keys.
They listened and talked and laughed and cried on that six and a half hour drive, which included two detours and one rest stop talking to a man without front teeth. And together they literally and spiritually found their way. Now, three years later, the Alldredge Girls are still at it, talking about heady stuff like being who they are meant to be. They are each other's linchpin to the world they shared in those snowy months in a remote part of West Virginia. They have earned a place at the Thanksgiving table and their boys are in each other's prayers.
People say a crisis binds people together, and it did during those long, emotional days and weeks and months when the boys captured center stage. But philosophically, the real glue has been their shared belief that the journey never ends and when they falter, it is their Alldredge sister who will always be there to pick up the phone.
Nov 12, 2008
Change-a-Comin'
Love is in the air and you know what that means ... change!
We knew our granddaughter Morgan was engaged but yesterday we learned her sister just got engaged. It looks like an exciting 2009! My brother and his wife return today from their Caribbean honeymoon and we had our first yard sale as partners.
It's hard to separate out things we don't need -- duplicate appliances and stuff we've dragged along through life that won't fit in the new plan. Like on TV, we had to decide which stuff to store, or display, or sell or donate. It's surprisingly hard to look at our lives that way after so many years, and I am currently better at the game of detatchment than he is, but we're getting there.
After several weeks of spot-targeting, there was enough for a garage sale. I made cute little signs which were totally unnecessary because we're on a major street and the minute you put a sofa and table on the driveway, everyone stops. He told me that: I didn't listen.
Yard sale day was a kick. One funny, spunky lady really got into it and sold stuff for us to a spanish speaking family. An older guy hung around a while and negotiated a better price on the sofa than the deal I had made. When they left, the sofa guy's wife gave each of us a homemade mexican pastry that was out of this world. In the end we emptied some of the storage unit and garage and have over $300 in the new sofa fund.
Our favorite neighbors were our best customers - isn't that always the way? But I'm sure they will probably make it back the next time we play Tripoley together. Another neighbor bartered with something we wanted for something we had. That was funny, as was the lady from down the block who came by just to tell us she loved the yard.
We had put an up-for-grabs list out to the kids beforehand, and Morgan and Jason came by to keep us company. They came knowing their apartment was full and left with glassware, dishware, a barber pole, a big old box of baseball cards and a full belly. That's just how it works at yard sales - you can't leave empty handed, especially when it's free.
It was the first time any of Randy's family had been here since the transition of households began, and I watched her look around, taking it all in. I know, honey, it's different than it was, and she said, but now the house has you in it and that's good. I just love that girl!
Yesterday, too, my sons got together and moved the last of furniture out of the house in Elk Grove and parceled out tools. We're hosting Thanksgiving for the Fassio Bros. and our eldest son has invited his girlfriend's family to join us. How very interesting! Who knows: maybe there's more change-a-comin'.
We knew our granddaughter Morgan was engaged but yesterday we learned her sister just got engaged. It looks like an exciting 2009! My brother and his wife return today from their Caribbean honeymoon and we had our first yard sale as partners.
It's hard to separate out things we don't need -- duplicate appliances and stuff we've dragged along through life that won't fit in the new plan. Like on TV, we had to decide which stuff to store, or display, or sell or donate. It's surprisingly hard to look at our lives that way after so many years, and I am currently better at the game of detatchment than he is, but we're getting there.
After several weeks of spot-targeting, there was enough for a garage sale. I made cute little signs which were totally unnecessary because we're on a major street and the minute you put a sofa and table on the driveway, everyone stops. He told me that: I didn't listen.
Yard sale day was a kick. One funny, spunky lady really got into it and sold stuff for us to a spanish speaking family. An older guy hung around a while and negotiated a better price on the sofa than the deal I had made. When they left, the sofa guy's wife gave each of us a homemade mexican pastry that was out of this world. In the end we emptied some of the storage unit and garage and have over $300 in the new sofa fund.
Our favorite neighbors were our best customers - isn't that always the way? But I'm sure they will probably make it back the next time we play Tripoley together. Another neighbor bartered with something we wanted for something we had. That was funny, as was the lady from down the block who came by just to tell us she loved the yard.
We had put an up-for-grabs list out to the kids beforehand, and Morgan and Jason came by to keep us company. They came knowing their apartment was full and left with glassware, dishware, a barber pole, a big old box of baseball cards and a full belly. That's just how it works at yard sales - you can't leave empty handed, especially when it's free.
It was the first time any of Randy's family had been here since the transition of households began, and I watched her look around, taking it all in. I know, honey, it's different than it was, and she said, but now the house has you in it and that's good. I just love that girl!
Yesterday, too, my sons got together and moved the last of furniture out of the house in Elk Grove and parceled out tools. We're hosting Thanksgiving for the Fassio Bros. and our eldest son has invited his girlfriend's family to join us. How very interesting! Who knows: maybe there's more change-a-comin'.
Nov 11, 2008
Forever Mine
I keep talking about my sons, and why not? They are wonderful men, completely transformed by life and on their own journey. I see glimpses of me in them, the way they lean forward and gesture during conversations or how they tease with a sidelong glance. Their dad is present in their charming good looks. Grandpa and Uncle Don's adventurous, playful side is there, and a daredevil spirit which I'm convinced Tim recycled through the family.
What I am most glad for is knowing I contributed to a home that gave them freedom to be themselves. They are as dissimilar in their style, interests and temperaments as brothers could be. But all are bound by a sense of right living and honest effort. All are smart, and interesting to talk to, stubborn and proud. It's a joy to watch them succeed, or face and solve challenges and talk things over with me when the time is right.
My favorite images will always be of three endearing little boys perched around the diningroom table on phone books or tucked under blankets on the sofa for storytime. It's not about running the herd anymore, or keeping them safe, clean, and filled with food. Now it's about finding a way to show them how much faith I have in them and how much they are loved.
What I am most glad for is knowing I contributed to a home that gave them freedom to be themselves. They are as dissimilar in their style, interests and temperaments as brothers could be. But all are bound by a sense of right living and honest effort. All are smart, and interesting to talk to, stubborn and proud. It's a joy to watch them succeed, or face and solve challenges and talk things over with me when the time is right.
My favorite images will always be of three endearing little boys perched around the diningroom table on phone books or tucked under blankets on the sofa for storytime. It's not about running the herd anymore, or keeping them safe, clean, and filled with food. Now it's about finding a way to show them how much faith I have in them and how much they are loved.
Nov 8, 2008
Keys on a Ring
I got a call from a really great college friend the other day. We keep in touch two or three times a year, and a little more than that after her husband died a couple of years ago. She was my college roommate, my Maid of Honor. Even though she's in the City and I'm in the Capitol city, we rarely get together except when one of us happens to be passing through.
I carry an interesting assortment of keys to the car, house, rentals, safe deposit box, mailbox, file cabinet, and storage unit. There's even a couple of weird ones that I have forgotten why they were important. They dangle from little pewter flippers that remind me of Colette and my happy snorkeling excursions. On a smaller key ring off the main are the things I can't part with: my brother's house key, although he doesn't live there now, and my dad's and mom's keys, who are long passed away. I guess you could say my keyring represents the Key Things in my life.
Alanna's call got me thinking about maintenance and how much I miss her on my Key ring. Like old stucco that chips away from a foundation, our Key relationships also erode (our spouses, our children, our friends) without noticing the damage caused by our lack of upkeep. And then one day, Bam! there's a big chunk of wall on the floor. The point is, change is inevitable if we do nothing to stop it.
Life is very distracting. There are a lot of really great things going on - new cars, new jobs, new friends, new towns - and it is easy to talk ourselves into thinking the old Keys will always be there. But it takes effort and passion to maintain anything, especially hearts, and family and old friends are part of our living heritage. More than any other, their stories and anecdotes punctuate our lives with warmth, humor and a sense of belonging.
I carry an interesting assortment of keys to the car, house, rentals, safe deposit box, mailbox, file cabinet, and storage unit. There's even a couple of weird ones that I have forgotten why they were important. They dangle from little pewter flippers that remind me of Colette and my happy snorkeling excursions. On a smaller key ring off the main are the things I can't part with: my brother's house key, although he doesn't live there now, and my dad's and mom's keys, who are long passed away. I guess you could say my keyring represents the Key Things in my life.
Alanna's call got me thinking about maintenance and how much I miss her on my Key ring. Like old stucco that chips away from a foundation, our Key relationships also erode (our spouses, our children, our friends) without noticing the damage caused by our lack of upkeep. And then one day, Bam! there's a big chunk of wall on the floor. The point is, change is inevitable if we do nothing to stop it.
Life is very distracting. There are a lot of really great things going on - new cars, new jobs, new friends, new towns - and it is easy to talk ourselves into thinking the old Keys will always be there. But it takes effort and passion to maintain anything, especially hearts, and family and old friends are part of our living heritage. More than any other, their stories and anecdotes punctuate our lives with warmth, humor and a sense of belonging.
Oct 27, 2008
Stuff
I tear through life like its on fire. Lord, there's not a minute to spare.
Ah: I know what this is! This is life in transition, with one foot in the old life and one in the new. The mail is forwarded, the dog is settled, and the mountain of stuff is somewhere or other, a storage unit, a flatbed trailer, at the old place.
Don and Jami just went through this. Don's been a confirmed bachelor all of his life until the girl down the block won his heart. He's a historian, a world traveller and photographer so his life is cluttered with the trappings of that: a shell casing from WWI, framed photos of exotic places, memorabilia from the Civil War, family heirlooms, a kayak.
He recently mentioned how much easier it is to let go of things when you are building a life with someone. In other words, the things that Don had attached such significance to have now become just things.
Wow. Loving somebody stretches us into new shapes. I suppose we're apt to feel a small twinge of nostalgia as the old patterns slip away but in its place is the excitement of making a new and better life. I was curious how Randy and I would get from here to there, somewhere I could crack open that book I've been neglecting. The answer is: we just will.
Ah: I know what this is! This is life in transition, with one foot in the old life and one in the new. The mail is forwarded, the dog is settled, and the mountain of stuff is somewhere or other, a storage unit, a flatbed trailer, at the old place.
Don and Jami just went through this. Don's been a confirmed bachelor all of his life until the girl down the block won his heart. He's a historian, a world traveller and photographer so his life is cluttered with the trappings of that: a shell casing from WWI, framed photos of exotic places, memorabilia from the Civil War, family heirlooms, a kayak.
He recently mentioned how much easier it is to let go of things when you are building a life with someone. In other words, the things that Don had attached such significance to have now become just things.
Wow. Loving somebody stretches us into new shapes. I suppose we're apt to feel a small twinge of nostalgia as the old patterns slip away but in its place is the excitement of making a new and better life. I was curious how Randy and I would get from here to there, somewhere I could crack open that book I've been neglecting. The answer is: we just will.
Oct 6, 2008
Before I Go
When my marriage ended, there were several minor things that took on huge significance because, contrary to popular belief, being the one left is just as hard as the one being asked to go.
I needed anchors. Right away, I bought a kayak, something I'd always wanted, and a patio set for the yard. Daisy the Wonderdog came inside to sleep that very first night and remained there until she passed away in 2005. She even slept on the bed once or twice.
That year I treated myself to acrylic nails and bought a car and a house entirely on my own. And that is how I eased from reliance to self-reliance and became an Independent.
My sons say, nearly 10 years later, how much calmer and more easy going I am now. I laugh good-naturedly at that, so unaware they are of the complexities of raising three rambunctious boys with a demanding job. It was a Team of One plucking them off the roof, fixing the sprinklers, running to the ER with stitches and broken bones, sweating the bills, and monitoring their school. I really missed life BD (before divorce) but it was a Needs -vs- Wants kind of existence and, frankly, I was grateful just to keep all the balls in the air.
There were catastrophically hard choices to make, the consequences of which are still felt. Moving an hour north had a significant impact as did the boys' choices for college and moving away. In the end, each of us had to shed a lot of the past to make room for the future.
As I pack seven years later, I am surprised by how significant those markers continue to be. I am deeply attached to the house and the accessories accumulated along the way. Some of it will move forward: the iron bed Michael made in high school, David's handwoven scarf and Tim's gumball dispensing machine. I linger here in the half disassembled livingroom, trying to swallow the lump in my throat as I memorize each detail. I will miss it.
I needed anchors. Right away, I bought a kayak, something I'd always wanted, and a patio set for the yard. Daisy the Wonderdog came inside to sleep that very first night and remained there until she passed away in 2005. She even slept on the bed once or twice.
That year I treated myself to acrylic nails and bought a car and a house entirely on my own. And that is how I eased from reliance to self-reliance and became an Independent.
My sons say, nearly 10 years later, how much calmer and more easy going I am now. I laugh good-naturedly at that, so unaware they are of the complexities of raising three rambunctious boys with a demanding job. It was a Team of One plucking them off the roof, fixing the sprinklers, running to the ER with stitches and broken bones, sweating the bills, and monitoring their school. I really missed life BD (before divorce) but it was a Needs -vs- Wants kind of existence and, frankly, I was grateful just to keep all the balls in the air.
There were catastrophically hard choices to make, the consequences of which are still felt. Moving an hour north had a significant impact as did the boys' choices for college and moving away. In the end, each of us had to shed a lot of the past to make room for the future.
As I pack seven years later, I am surprised by how significant those markers continue to be. I am deeply attached to the house and the accessories accumulated along the way. Some of it will move forward: the iron bed Michael made in high school, David's handwoven scarf and Tim's gumball dispensing machine. I linger here in the half disassembled livingroom, trying to swallow the lump in my throat as I memorize each detail. I will miss it.
Oct 4, 2008
Asleep at the Switch
September 30, 1.9.9.9.
Fannie Mae Eases Credit To Aid Mortgage Lending
By STEVEN A. HOLMES
In a move that could help increase home ownership rates among minorities and low-income consumers, the Fannie Mae Corporation is easing the credit requirements on loans that it will purchase from banks and other lenders.
The action, which will begin as a pilot program involving 24 banks in 15 markets -- including the New York metropolitan region -- will encourage those banks to extend home mortgages to individuals whose credit is generally not good enough to qualify for conventional loans. Fannie Mae officials say they hope to make it a nationwide program by next spring.
Fannie Mae, the nation's biggest underwriter of home mortgages, has been under increasing pressure from the Clinton Administration to expand mortgage loans among low and moderate income people and felt pressure from stock holders to maintain its phenomenal growth in profits.
In addition, banks, thrift institutions and mortgage companies have been pressing Fannie Mae to help them make more loans to so-called subprime borrowers. These borrowers whose incomes, credit ratings and savings are not good enough to qualify for conventional loans, can only get loans from finance companies that charge much higher interest rates -- anywhere from three to four percentage points higher than conventional loans.
''Fannie Mae has expanded home ownership for millions of families in the 1990's by reducing down payment requirements,'' said Franklin D. Raines, Fannie Mae's chairman and chief executive officer. ''Yet there remain too many borrowers whose credit is just a notch below what our underwriting has required who have been relegated to paying significantly higher mortgage rates in the so-called subprime market.''
Demographic information on these borrowers is sketchy. But at least one study indicates that 18 percent of the loans in the subprime market went to black borrowers, compared to 5 per cent of loans in the conventional loan market.
In moving, even tentatively, into this new area of lending, Fannie Mae is taking on significantly more risk, which may not pose any difficulties during flush economic times. But the government-subsidized corporation may run into trouble in an economic downturn, prompting a government rescue similar to that of the savings and loan industry in the 1980's.
''From the perspective of many people, including me, this is another thrift industry growing up around us,'' said Peter Wallison a resident fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. ''If they fail, the government will have to step up and bail them out the way it stepped up and bailed out the thrift industry.''
Under Fannie Mae's pilot program, consumers who qualify can secure a mortgage with an interest rate one percentage point above that of a conventional, 30-year fixed rate mortgage of less than $240,000 -- a rate that currently averages about 7.76 per cent. If the borrower makes his or her monthly payments on time for two years, the one percentage point premium is dropped.
Fannie Mae, the nation's biggest underwriter of home mortgages, does not lend money directly to consumers. Instead, it purchases loans that banks make on what is called the secondary market. By expanding the type of loans that it will buy, Fannie Mae is hoping to spur banks to make more loans to people with less-than-stellar credit ratings.
Fannie Mae officials stress that the new mortgages will be extended to all potential borrowers who can qualify for a mortgage. But they add that the move is intended in part to increase the number of minority and low income home owners who tend to have worse credit ratings than non-Hispanic whites.
Home ownership has, in fact, exploded among minorities during the economic boom of the 1990's. The number of mortgages extended to Hispanic applicants jumped by 87.2 per cent from 1993 to 1998, according to Harvard University's Joint Center for Housing Studies. During that same period the number of African Americans who got mortgages to buy a home increased by 71.9 per cent and the number of Asian Americans by 46.3 per cent. In contrast, the number of non-Hispanic whites who received loans for homes increased by 31.2 per cent.
Despite these gains, home ownership rates for minorities continue to lag behind non-Hispanic whites, in part because blacks and Hispanics in particular tend to have on average worse credit ratings.
In July, the Department of Housing and Urban Development proposed that by the year 2001, 50 percent of Fannie Mae's and Freddie Mac's portfolio be made up of loans to low and moderate-income borrowers. Last year, 44 percent of the loans Fannie Mae purchased were from these groups.
The change in policy also comes at the same time that HUD is investigating allegations of racial discrimination in the automated underwriting systems used by Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac to determine the credit-worthiness of credit applicants.
Fannie Mae Eases Credit To Aid Mortgage Lending
By STEVEN A. HOLMES
In a move that could help increase home ownership rates among minorities and low-income consumers, the Fannie Mae Corporation is easing the credit requirements on loans that it will purchase from banks and other lenders.
The action, which will begin as a pilot program involving 24 banks in 15 markets -- including the New York metropolitan region -- will encourage those banks to extend home mortgages to individuals whose credit is generally not good enough to qualify for conventional loans. Fannie Mae officials say they hope to make it a nationwide program by next spring.
Fannie Mae, the nation's biggest underwriter of home mortgages, has been under increasing pressure from the Clinton Administration to expand mortgage loans among low and moderate income people and felt pressure from stock holders to maintain its phenomenal growth in profits.
In addition, banks, thrift institutions and mortgage companies have been pressing Fannie Mae to help them make more loans to so-called subprime borrowers. These borrowers whose incomes, credit ratings and savings are not good enough to qualify for conventional loans, can only get loans from finance companies that charge much higher interest rates -- anywhere from three to four percentage points higher than conventional loans.
''Fannie Mae has expanded home ownership for millions of families in the 1990's by reducing down payment requirements,'' said Franklin D. Raines, Fannie Mae's chairman and chief executive officer. ''Yet there remain too many borrowers whose credit is just a notch below what our underwriting has required who have been relegated to paying significantly higher mortgage rates in the so-called subprime market.''
Demographic information on these borrowers is sketchy. But at least one study indicates that 18 percent of the loans in the subprime market went to black borrowers, compared to 5 per cent of loans in the conventional loan market.
In moving, even tentatively, into this new area of lending, Fannie Mae is taking on significantly more risk, which may not pose any difficulties during flush economic times. But the government-subsidized corporation may run into trouble in an economic downturn, prompting a government rescue similar to that of the savings and loan industry in the 1980's.
''From the perspective of many people, including me, this is another thrift industry growing up around us,'' said Peter Wallison a resident fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. ''If they fail, the government will have to step up and bail them out the way it stepped up and bailed out the thrift industry.''
Under Fannie Mae's pilot program, consumers who qualify can secure a mortgage with an interest rate one percentage point above that of a conventional, 30-year fixed rate mortgage of less than $240,000 -- a rate that currently averages about 7.76 per cent. If the borrower makes his or her monthly payments on time for two years, the one percentage point premium is dropped.
Fannie Mae, the nation's biggest underwriter of home mortgages, does not lend money directly to consumers. Instead, it purchases loans that banks make on what is called the secondary market. By expanding the type of loans that it will buy, Fannie Mae is hoping to spur banks to make more loans to people with less-than-stellar credit ratings.
Fannie Mae officials stress that the new mortgages will be extended to all potential borrowers who can qualify for a mortgage. But they add that the move is intended in part to increase the number of minority and low income home owners who tend to have worse credit ratings than non-Hispanic whites.
Home ownership has, in fact, exploded among minorities during the economic boom of the 1990's. The number of mortgages extended to Hispanic applicants jumped by 87.2 per cent from 1993 to 1998, according to Harvard University's Joint Center for Housing Studies. During that same period the number of African Americans who got mortgages to buy a home increased by 71.9 per cent and the number of Asian Americans by 46.3 per cent. In contrast, the number of non-Hispanic whites who received loans for homes increased by 31.2 per cent.
Despite these gains, home ownership rates for minorities continue to lag behind non-Hispanic whites, in part because blacks and Hispanics in particular tend to have on average worse credit ratings.
In July, the Department of Housing and Urban Development proposed that by the year 2001, 50 percent of Fannie Mae's and Freddie Mac's portfolio be made up of loans to low and moderate-income borrowers. Last year, 44 percent of the loans Fannie Mae purchased were from these groups.
The change in policy also comes at the same time that HUD is investigating allegations of racial discrimination in the automated underwriting systems used by Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac to determine the credit-worthiness of credit applicants.
Oct 2, 2008
The Hybrid
I listen to talk radio these days, flip on the TV when I awake at 6, think about things broader than my life, my home, myself. These are living history moments, today and in the days to come.
What will we remember most from 2008=09? Will it be the most historic Presidential election, with the choice of putting a Woman or a African American male in the White House? Or will America's financial industry's embarrassing scope of corruption which fueled the Wall Street and banking/housing debacle and subsequent grotesque bailout overshadow that? Families, it turns out, do not all deserve houses of their own, and that simple truth has taken our nation's economy nearly to its knees.
Legalizing Gay marriage is up for the vote, and that's momentus, but so is being on the brink of the Iraq war becoming a neverending saga. It is likely that auto manufacturers will have to shut down, along with a lot of other businesses whose names are household words: Washington Mutual, Lehman, AIG. How could we let Japan steal our thunder? Didn't WE invent the automobile?
I sat on the edge of my seat during the vice presidential debate tonight, not able to remember if I had ever bothered to tune in before this year. I found myself evaluating Biden and Palin's Commander-in-Chief qualities if their running mate was unable to complete the term of office. Remarkable.
Both candidates said the election is a clear choice. But a good one? McCain and Obama are uncomfortably divergent. I don't trust that they will be able to sit down together and craft solutions to very serious issues in a balanced, moderate way. I know I'd breathe a little easier if some of the candidates had more experience, or more demonstrated leadership over the long haul. When I was in Arizona, McCain did a whole lot of nothing that can be construed as Presidential or Maverick.
I don't want a President who's quick to anger and won't play by the rules even when he should; but I also don't want a wishy washy, Do-Gooder with untried philosophical principles to be played out on the world stage.
What we need is a Hybrid! An innovative, lean and mean, political team prototype that is scarcely reliant on fossil fuel and burns clean. Sleek, efficient and Eco-Friendly, they could effectively maneuver through rough political terrain with the onboard GPS system. Sound on or off, your choice.
What will we remember most from 2008=09? Will it be the most historic Presidential election, with the choice of putting a Woman or a African American male in the White House? Or will America's financial industry's embarrassing scope of corruption which fueled the Wall Street and banking/housing debacle and subsequent grotesque bailout overshadow that? Families, it turns out, do not all deserve houses of their own, and that simple truth has taken our nation's economy nearly to its knees.
Legalizing Gay marriage is up for the vote, and that's momentus, but so is being on the brink of the Iraq war becoming a neverending saga. It is likely that auto manufacturers will have to shut down, along with a lot of other businesses whose names are household words: Washington Mutual, Lehman, AIG. How could we let Japan steal our thunder? Didn't WE invent the automobile?
I sat on the edge of my seat during the vice presidential debate tonight, not able to remember if I had ever bothered to tune in before this year. I found myself evaluating Biden and Palin's Commander-in-Chief qualities if their running mate was unable to complete the term of office. Remarkable.
Both candidates said the election is a clear choice. But a good one? McCain and Obama are uncomfortably divergent. I don't trust that they will be able to sit down together and craft solutions to very serious issues in a balanced, moderate way. I know I'd breathe a little easier if some of the candidates had more experience, or more demonstrated leadership over the long haul. When I was in Arizona, McCain did a whole lot of nothing that can be construed as Presidential or Maverick.
I don't want a President who's quick to anger and won't play by the rules even when he should; but I also don't want a wishy washy, Do-Gooder with untried philosophical principles to be played out on the world stage.
What we need is a Hybrid! An innovative, lean and mean, political team prototype that is scarcely reliant on fossil fuel and burns clean. Sleek, efficient and Eco-Friendly, they could effectively maneuver through rough political terrain with the onboard GPS system. Sound on or off, your choice.
Sep 15, 2008
Rice, not Potatoes
It's been an extraordinary year. We've got well defined candidates and it's a fight to the finish between the good old boys network vs the green idealists, making for a most compelling drama.
It's sure got us talking. My youngest says its the topic at parties, even for those too young to vote. Dinner parties I attend start and end with it, and I'm left wondering when the last time a Presidential race stirred us like this.
I have a rabid Republican in my life; well, more than one. I get that they want to keep what they work hard to earn. The Republican party protects and preserves through slow and steady routines; they go with the flow, stick with tried and true methodology, their world stays flat.
Not me. I'm an idealistic Democrat through and through -- a flower child believing the world is bettered through altruism and heart. We have to dream it before we can live it or, like the Velveteen Rabbit, it will never be real. My world isn't just round, it's in a constant state of evolution that has no room for same old, same old.
For a long time, I begged off political discussions. But we're now in a place where I've got to be more informed and insightful, where I can listen to the Republican hyperbole and know how to recognize and extract the kernels of truth found there. We all seem to agree there's a desperate need for a mainstream candidate solid and steady, visionary and brilliant, who represents the best of our country rather than extreme swings right or left. We'd sure warm to a competition that included Dr. Rice.
It's sure got us talking. My youngest says its the topic at parties, even for those too young to vote. Dinner parties I attend start and end with it, and I'm left wondering when the last time a Presidential race stirred us like this.
I have a rabid Republican in my life; well, more than one. I get that they want to keep what they work hard to earn. The Republican party protects and preserves through slow and steady routines; they go with the flow, stick with tried and true methodology, their world stays flat.
Not me. I'm an idealistic Democrat through and through -- a flower child believing the world is bettered through altruism and heart. We have to dream it before we can live it or, like the Velveteen Rabbit, it will never be real. My world isn't just round, it's in a constant state of evolution that has no room for same old, same old.
For a long time, I begged off political discussions. But we're now in a place where I've got to be more informed and insightful, where I can listen to the Republican hyperbole and know how to recognize and extract the kernels of truth found there. We all seem to agree there's a desperate need for a mainstream candidate solid and steady, visionary and brilliant, who represents the best of our country rather than extreme swings right or left. We'd sure warm to a competition that included Dr. Rice.
Sep 12, 2008
Obstructing Sidewalk Traffic
I've always been honored by my right to vote as a citizen of our country. I love the whole process, well except for the media hype part. I enjoy the little newspaper voting booklets, reading and marking them up. I love the rickety booths that threaten to collapse and the smiling volunteers who hand me an I've voted sticker.
A recent online article about The Women's Suffrage Movement really grabbed my attention and took it to the next level. I studied the Suffrage Movement in high school but I don't remember it getting into the down and dirty process of how these women earned us the right to vote. Could I have really forgotten the horrific abuse and intimidation that was suffered in the name of voicing our opinion?
This isn't a distant event: It was 1920. My mother was born in 1927, making hers the first generation of girls in America born into that right, making me the second. Here are excerpts from the article:
"On Nov. 15, 1917, the warden at the Occoquan Workhouse in Virginia ordered his guards to teach a lesson to the suffragists imprisoned there because they DARED to picket Woodrow Wilson's White House for the right to vote. Forty prison guards wielding clubs and their warden's blessing went on a rampage against the 33 women wrongly convicted of 'obstructing sidewalk traffic.'
"The guards chained Suffragist Lucy Burns' hands to the cell bars above her head and left her hanging for the night, bleeding and gasping for air. They hurled Dora Lewis into a dark cell, smashed her head against an iron bed and knocked her out cold. Her cellmate, Alice Cosu, thought Lewis was dead and suffered a heart attack. Additional affidavits describe the guards grabbing, dragging, beating, choking, slamming, pinching, twisting and kicking the women.
"For weeks, the women's only water came from an open pail. Their food--all of it colorless slop--was infested with worms. When one of the leaders, Alice Paul, embarked on a hunger strike, they tied her to a chair, forced a tube down her throat and poured liquid into her until she vomited. She was tortured like this for weeks until word was smuggled out to the press. And when the United States President and his cronies tried to persuade a psychiatrist to declare Alice Paul insane so that she could be permanently institutionalized, the doctor patently refused, admonishing the men: 'Courage in women is often mistaken for insanity.'"
I won't forget your sacrifices when I proclaim I have ALWAYS had the right to vote.
Sep 7, 2008
Following Her Lead
Today I learned that Sophie's depressed energy is actually due to a neurological problem affecting her hind quarters. She can manage alright for a while, but time is short: well, shorter than I thought. She's a beautiful dog, a pedigree Boxer with sculpted lines and a highly muscular body and large proud chest. Her markings are perfect: she's tan with a white mane collar, white chest, a perfect stripe up her face and over her head, and white forepaws.
I haven't known her long, just a third of her life, a hair over 2 years. But she has made an impact. For instance, I like the way she strains against the leash with such force I risk shin splints just to keep up. I might as well be a kite when she encounters a certain basset hound in her disfavor. And yet with a pup, she gently nudges it around with her nose. She demands a cup of water mixed in with her kibble and begs at dinner from the edge of the carpet, staring hard to entice us to give her the last few bites. She self-directs play. Up her toy goes into the air and flies across the room or she chases laser lights down the hall, up the wall and into a closet. She's a great companion, sits at my feet as I blog or lays her head on my knee for reading time.
Her body will atrophy as she loses the ability to balance, maneuver, and stand. I can see it already, in her resignation at watching, rather than chasing, neighbor cats sitting out front. Ok, little girl, here's the plan: we're in this together. We will enjoy each other as long as we can and be satisfied with that.
I haven't known her long, just a third of her life, a hair over 2 years. But she has made an impact. For instance, I like the way she strains against the leash with such force I risk shin splints just to keep up. I might as well be a kite when she encounters a certain basset hound in her disfavor. And yet with a pup, she gently nudges it around with her nose. She demands a cup of water mixed in with her kibble and begs at dinner from the edge of the carpet, staring hard to entice us to give her the last few bites. She self-directs play. Up her toy goes into the air and flies across the room or she chases laser lights down the hall, up the wall and into a closet. She's a great companion, sits at my feet as I blog or lays her head on my knee for reading time.
Her body will atrophy as she loses the ability to balance, maneuver, and stand. I can see it already, in her resignation at watching, rather than chasing, neighbor cats sitting out front. Ok, little girl, here's the plan: we're in this together. We will enjoy each other as long as we can and be satisfied with that.
Aug 28, 2008
My Favorite Cup
Funny how attached we get to things. Marcia and I went out to dinner last week and she was telling me a long, drawn out tale of her favorite coffee cup, how she found it in 1982 and it had been with her for years before it was broken in a tragic accident two years ago. She has had bad cup karma since and has broken two replacements.
I totally live in her world. I've got this coffee cup I just love to death. It was hand crafted in Ashland by a woman who rolled the handle and embossed a design on the outside. It's not perfectly round and it gets too hot to touch but it's light blue and completely unique. I bought it for $25 -- TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS -- which I gladly paid and which provides endless joy each morning. I'm so attached to this little ceramic cup that I'd never dream of taking it to work. When my son leaves it in the sink, having used it when I'm away, part of me actually wants to hide it.
Can you believe that? Of course you can.
Possessions are hugely significant, marking our travel through life. For Marsh, this faded 16 oz urn had weathered it all: marriage, divorce, three jobs, a daughter. For me, my little extravagant mug was the first thing I bought at the Shakespeare Festival to celebrate my emancipation after the divorce.
Imperfect. Serviceable. Unique. Now why does that seem familiar?
I totally live in her world. I've got this coffee cup I just love to death. It was hand crafted in Ashland by a woman who rolled the handle and embossed a design on the outside. It's not perfectly round and it gets too hot to touch but it's light blue and completely unique. I bought it for $25 -- TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS -- which I gladly paid and which provides endless joy each morning. I'm so attached to this little ceramic cup that I'd never dream of taking it to work. When my son leaves it in the sink, having used it when I'm away, part of me actually wants to hide it.
Can you believe that? Of course you can.
Possessions are hugely significant, marking our travel through life. For Marsh, this faded 16 oz urn had weathered it all: marriage, divorce, three jobs, a daughter. For me, my little extravagant mug was the first thing I bought at the Shakespeare Festival to celebrate my emancipation after the divorce.
Imperfect. Serviceable. Unique. Now why does that seem familiar?
Aug 26, 2008
Looking Up
We've had a loss. A 16 year old, popular kid was gunned down at a party over the weekend. The article talked about his turnaround, leaving the gang and starting over, working hard in school and making choices for a bright future. He was a starter running back for a team that hadn't even played its first game.
How his life made a difference is all around me, with anger and tears that pay tribute to our loss. It's in the football team who walked through town to the home of his mother, paying tribute to their teammate and friend. He was a leader, a star.
But the kids here, they know all about second chances, about intolerable lives and the vulnerability of clawing their way out. It could have been me, their expressions say as they write his name on the wall; it could have been any of us. But today it was Robert, and for him we grieve.
How his life made a difference is all around me, with anger and tears that pay tribute to our loss. It's in the football team who walked through town to the home of his mother, paying tribute to their teammate and friend. He was a leader, a star.
But the kids here, they know all about second chances, about intolerable lives and the vulnerability of clawing their way out. It could have been me, their expressions say as they write his name on the wall; it could have been any of us. But today it was Robert, and for him we grieve.
Aug 25, 2008
TiMe
I miss me time: eyes closed, head resting back on the high back sofa, capturing the ingredients of ideas to roll and let rise and knead into something else. Thoughts that catch in my throat somehow find a voice through my fingertips. When was the last time I took genuine, leisurely time to let thoughts gather like clouds?
Me Time sounds selfish: Me-Me-Me-Me! Afternoon naps, are you kidding? Shouldn't we always have a purpose like baking a pie, or gardening, fixing the car, or reading two chapters -- TWO! -- in the just released Janet Evanovich book? Purposeful time is work all dressed up in a leisure suit.
But my body has this concept down pat. After 50 years, it tells me when I need Me Time, and it's not very polite about it. When a cold starts taking hold, it's followed by a forced trip to the Green Room where I sit and wait to find out what's next. Oh I employ my best diversionary tactics, double up on vitamins and drink quarts of OJ, but the Green Room wraps me up, makes me stop and inevitably head off to bed.
We need a Green Room for the spirit. When life tumbles too fast, something would automatically slow us down to regroup. Everyday things, like sweet little moments before the snooze alarm sounds, or the feeling we get when we treat the car behind to a bridge toll, or put a dish out on the stoop for that little lost dog that won't come near would give us the needed boost to put more of us back in our lives.
Me Time sounds selfish: Me-Me-Me-Me! Afternoon naps, are you kidding? Shouldn't we always have a purpose like baking a pie, or gardening, fixing the car, or reading two chapters -- TWO! -- in the just released Janet Evanovich book? Purposeful time is work all dressed up in a leisure suit.
But my body has this concept down pat. After 50 years, it tells me when I need Me Time, and it's not very polite about it. When a cold starts taking hold, it's followed by a forced trip to the Green Room where I sit and wait to find out what's next. Oh I employ my best diversionary tactics, double up on vitamins and drink quarts of OJ, but the Green Room wraps me up, makes me stop and inevitably head off to bed.
We need a Green Room for the spirit. When life tumbles too fast, something would automatically slow us down to regroup. Everyday things, like sweet little moments before the snooze alarm sounds, or the feeling we get when we treat the car behind to a bridge toll, or put a dish out on the stoop for that little lost dog that won't come near would give us the needed boost to put more of us back in our lives.
Aug 5, 2008
Howling at the Moon
Read recently about legislators trying to rescind food stamps being honored at fast food restaurants because the poor of their state are obese. Buying fast food is no bargain and food prepared at home is healthier. But withholding fast food from poor folk while allowing the rest of us to roam around free? That's just nuts.
If they need something to do, I wouldn't mind seeing better regulating of all this violent entertainment. People justify the violence by saying it's make believe, but if that's true, why do they spend millions of dollars to make it realistic? Entertainment is so enmeshed with the American social conscience that it's impossible to even say which came first anymore: is art imitating life or directing it?
What a legacy we're leaving, that violence is accepted -- expected -- to solve problems. It's not a matter of right and wrong, it's a matter of access and opportunity. Gee, wasn't that just on the 6:00 news?
Violent movies are breaking box office records as we rush to see the last performance of an actor who overdosed during filming. It was a dark and hateful film, which played out with loud and thrilling special effects the inhumanity of a man without conscience or remorse. The actor himself was a casualty of the Joker. He was so immersed in the character, I am told he needed sleeping pills to awaken, to sleep, to relax and it got the better of him. How can fantasy become life, you ask? This is how: the darkest side of our nature took hold of this man and he couldn't pull free.
What we think and learn is intertwined with who we become. That's what The Secret was all about. So I ask you, when historians study us, what will they learn that we don't want to know about ourselves? What are we filling our heads with and those small developing brains of our children? If movies can educate, shape values, and inspire, why are we so reluctant to accept responsibility for them also instilling hatred, violence and antisocial behavior?
Legislators should stop worrying so much about fast food. I'm pretty sure that's not what will kill us. All by myself, I'll just keep on howling at the moon.
If they need something to do, I wouldn't mind seeing better regulating of all this violent entertainment. People justify the violence by saying it's make believe, but if that's true, why do they spend millions of dollars to make it realistic? Entertainment is so enmeshed with the American social conscience that it's impossible to even say which came first anymore: is art imitating life or directing it?
What a legacy we're leaving, that violence is accepted -- expected -- to solve problems. It's not a matter of right and wrong, it's a matter of access and opportunity. Gee, wasn't that just on the 6:00 news?
Violent movies are breaking box office records as we rush to see the last performance of an actor who overdosed during filming. It was a dark and hateful film, which played out with loud and thrilling special effects the inhumanity of a man without conscience or remorse. The actor himself was a casualty of the Joker. He was so immersed in the character, I am told he needed sleeping pills to awaken, to sleep, to relax and it got the better of him. How can fantasy become life, you ask? This is how: the darkest side of our nature took hold of this man and he couldn't pull free.
What we think and learn is intertwined with who we become. That's what The Secret was all about. So I ask you, when historians study us, what will they learn that we don't want to know about ourselves? What are we filling our heads with and those small developing brains of our children? If movies can educate, shape values, and inspire, why are we so reluctant to accept responsibility for them also instilling hatred, violence and antisocial behavior?
Legislators should stop worrying so much about fast food. I'm pretty sure that's not what will kill us. All by myself, I'll just keep on howling at the moon.
Aug 4, 2008
Roots
From: 'David LaBonte'
My wife, Rosemary, wrote a wonderful letter to the editor of the OC Register which, of course, was not printed. So, I decided to 'print' it myself by sending it out on the Internet. Pass it along if you feel so inclined. Written in response to a series of letters to the editor in the Orange County Register:
Dear Editor:
So many letter writers have based their arguments on how this land is made up of immigrants. Ernie Lujan for one, suggests we should tear down the Statue of Liberty because the people now in question aren't being treated the same as those who passed through Ellis Island and other ports of entry.
Maybe we should turn to our history books and point out to people like Mr. Lujan why today's American is not willing to accept this new kind of immigrant any longer. Back in 1900 when there was a rush from all areas of Europe to come to the United States, people had to get off a ship and stand in a long line in New York and be documented. Some would even get down on their hands and knees and kiss the ground. They made a pledge to uphold the laws and support their new country in good and bad times. They made learning English a primary rule in their new American households and some even changed their names to blend in with their new home.
They had waved good bye to their birth place to give their children a new life and did everything in their power to help their children assimilate into one culture. Nothing was handed to them. No free lunches, no welfare, no labor laws to protect them. All they had were the skills and craftsmanship they had brought with them to trade for a future of prosperity.
Most of their children came of age when World War II broke out. My father fought along side men whose parents had come straight over from Germany, Italy, France and Japan. None of these 1st generation Americans ever gave any thought about what country their parents had come from. They were Americans fighting Hitler, Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan. They were defending the United States of America as one people.
When we liberated France, no one in those villages was looking for the French-American or the German American or the Irish American. The people of France saw only Americans. And we carried one flag that represented one country. Not one of those immigrant sons would have thought about picking up another country's flag and waving it to represent who they were. It would have been a disgrace to their parents who had sacrificed so much to be here. These immigrants truly knew what it meant to be an American. They stirred the melting pot into one red, white and blue bowl.
And here we are in 2008 with a new kind of immigrant who wants the same rights and privileges. Only they want to achieve it by playing with a different set of rules, one that includes the entitlement card and a guarantee of being faithful to their mother country. I'm sorry, that's not what being an American is all about. I believe that the immigrants who landed on Ellis Island in the early 1900's deserve better than that for all the toil, hard work and sacrifice in raising future generations to create a land that has become a beacon for those legally searching for a better life
I think they would be appalled that they are being used as an example by those waving foreign country flags.
And for that suggestion about taking down the Statue of Liberty: it happens to mean a lot to the citizens who are voting on the immigration bill. I wouldn't start talking about dismantling the United States just yet.
(signed) Rosemary LaBonte
My wife, Rosemary, wrote a wonderful letter to the editor of the OC Register which, of course, was not printed. So, I decided to 'print' it myself by sending it out on the Internet. Pass it along if you feel so inclined. Written in response to a series of letters to the editor in the Orange County Register:
Dear Editor:
So many letter writers have based their arguments on how this land is made up of immigrants. Ernie Lujan for one, suggests we should tear down the Statue of Liberty because the people now in question aren't being treated the same as those who passed through Ellis Island and other ports of entry.
Maybe we should turn to our history books and point out to people like Mr. Lujan why today's American is not willing to accept this new kind of immigrant any longer. Back in 1900 when there was a rush from all areas of Europe to come to the United States, people had to get off a ship and stand in a long line in New York and be documented. Some would even get down on their hands and knees and kiss the ground. They made a pledge to uphold the laws and support their new country in good and bad times. They made learning English a primary rule in their new American households and some even changed their names to blend in with their new home.
They had waved good bye to their birth place to give their children a new life and did everything in their power to help their children assimilate into one culture. Nothing was handed to them. No free lunches, no welfare, no labor laws to protect them. All they had were the skills and craftsmanship they had brought with them to trade for a future of prosperity.
Most of their children came of age when World War II broke out. My father fought along side men whose parents had come straight over from Germany, Italy, France and Japan. None of these 1st generation Americans ever gave any thought about what country their parents had come from. They were Americans fighting Hitler, Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan. They were defending the United States of America as one people.
When we liberated France, no one in those villages was looking for the French-American or the German American or the Irish American. The people of France saw only Americans. And we carried one flag that represented one country. Not one of those immigrant sons would have thought about picking up another country's flag and waving it to represent who they were. It would have been a disgrace to their parents who had sacrificed so much to be here. These immigrants truly knew what it meant to be an American. They stirred the melting pot into one red, white and blue bowl.
And here we are in 2008 with a new kind of immigrant who wants the same rights and privileges. Only they want to achieve it by playing with a different set of rules, one that includes the entitlement card and a guarantee of being faithful to their mother country. I'm sorry, that's not what being an American is all about. I believe that the immigrants who landed on Ellis Island in the early 1900's deserve better than that for all the toil, hard work and sacrifice in raising future generations to create a land that has become a beacon for those legally searching for a better life
I think they would be appalled that they are being used as an example by those waving foreign country flags.
And for that suggestion about taking down the Statue of Liberty: it happens to mean a lot to the citizens who are voting on the immigration bill. I wouldn't start talking about dismantling the United States just yet.
(signed) Rosemary LaBonte
Aug 1, 2008
Eye on the Ball(s)
I was sent an article about Cindy McCain the other day, an internet piece without an author or source. It talked at great length about all of Cindy's accomplishments and that she shouldn't be dismissed as a trophy wife. At the outset, the author wrote: "It turns out that she is a character as she is or has been a race car driver and is also a pilot. She flies John around the country to his rallies. After hearing that about her and reading this I now have a lot of respect for her."
Oh who are we kidding. We were ecstatic about Jackie Kennedy, a smart, educated, poised, lovely, wealthy trophy wife. Fashion and hair styles changed world-wide because of her. We all wanted to BE Jackie. Nancy Reagan, too, was adored for being a beautiful non-political, loving and devoted mother and wife, philanthropic by nature. We still compare every other First Lady to them.
Truth is, America talks out of both sides of its mouth. We don't celebrate strong women that push to achieve. Oh at first, maybe, because it makes us feel culturally advanced. But as the novelty fades, we accuse them of overstepping their bounds and exerting undue influence over their husbands for the very same qualities we hailed. Eleanor Roosevelt, honored for her intelligence and devotion, became the object of ridicule during her husband's second term when he/we needed her most. She was accused of having too much influence over matters of state. Imagine that.
I endured the Clinton years. I watched Bill and Hillary handle some rough terrain and assessed their character like everyone else. Hillary's strength as a woman is not my objection, but letting Bill back in the White House IS. Neither of them represent my values or the ones I want my nation to emulate, so why would I explore her stand on education and Iraq? They had their shot: nobody gets a do-over.
But this whole Cindy McCain thing has me baffled. Yes, Cindy let her integrity shine through privilege in order to enrich the world through philanthropic outreach and support. But this isn't about her, it's about John and Barak. I want to know what's in their satchels because rhetoric is cheap and plentiful. Let's see some action frames of our guys modeling integrity, hopefulness, strong values, grit, patriotism and balls of steel. As they say in the movies ... Show Me The Money.
Oh who are we kidding. We were ecstatic about Jackie Kennedy, a smart, educated, poised, lovely, wealthy trophy wife. Fashion and hair styles changed world-wide because of her. We all wanted to BE Jackie. Nancy Reagan, too, was adored for being a beautiful non-political, loving and devoted mother and wife, philanthropic by nature. We still compare every other First Lady to them.
Truth is, America talks out of both sides of its mouth. We don't celebrate strong women that push to achieve. Oh at first, maybe, because it makes us feel culturally advanced. But as the novelty fades, we accuse them of overstepping their bounds and exerting undue influence over their husbands for the very same qualities we hailed. Eleanor Roosevelt, honored for her intelligence and devotion, became the object of ridicule during her husband's second term when he/we needed her most. She was accused of having too much influence over matters of state. Imagine that.
I endured the Clinton years. I watched Bill and Hillary handle some rough terrain and assessed their character like everyone else. Hillary's strength as a woman is not my objection, but letting Bill back in the White House IS. Neither of them represent my values or the ones I want my nation to emulate, so why would I explore her stand on education and Iraq? They had their shot: nobody gets a do-over.
But this whole Cindy McCain thing has me baffled. Yes, Cindy let her integrity shine through privilege in order to enrich the world through philanthropic outreach and support. But this isn't about her, it's about John and Barak. I want to know what's in their satchels because rhetoric is cheap and plentiful. Let's see some action frames of our guys modeling integrity, hopefulness, strong values, grit, patriotism and balls of steel. As they say in the movies ... Show Me The Money.
Jul 31, 2008
Type Cast
I'm not his type, so I'm told.
I can see that. I'm a Democrat so we can't discuss politics (you know how ex-Democrats can be). I run late and am forever getting lost except when I'm with the Human Garmin. It creeps me out he knows where I am when I'm lost in downtown Sac and he's sitting in the pool in Woodland with a Scotch.
Life is entertaining. Much to my chagrin, I'm a natural straight man for his bad puns and wicked wit. We talk passionately about history and literature, play cribbage cross legged while we sing 1960s songs. Sometimes I remember both the lyrics and the name of the group, but he always does.
My dog hairs up the place, swims in the pool, licks him awake. He likes Shakespeare and I'm thinking about liking movies. We saw Executive Action on TV the other night and talked about it for the whole next day. (Sorry, not you, Batman.)
His 'carefree' yard takes an hour a day because we went hog wild with container plants that now need to be watered and tended. We talk incessantly about how they're doing, our little plants that we fuss over like children, and gripe at each other about over- or under-watering as we drag them around the yard. The man uses a 5 gallon bucket to water, for crimeny sake.
We stroll around big issues a while before coming back to decide. There's no big past drama to haul out and beat. Disagreements seem to dissolve in the hot tub along with the rest of life's stresses (but God Help You if you wash two-day-old shorts draped over the bench ...)
Needs are small, dreams are big, and time seems long and leisurely. Come to think of it, he's not my type, either.
I can see that. I'm a Democrat so we can't discuss politics (you know how ex-Democrats can be). I run late and am forever getting lost except when I'm with the Human Garmin. It creeps me out he knows where I am when I'm lost in downtown Sac and he's sitting in the pool in Woodland with a Scotch.
Life is entertaining. Much to my chagrin, I'm a natural straight man for his bad puns and wicked wit. We talk passionately about history and literature, play cribbage cross legged while we sing 1960s songs. Sometimes I remember both the lyrics and the name of the group, but he always does.
My dog hairs up the place, swims in the pool, licks him awake. He likes Shakespeare and I'm thinking about liking movies. We saw Executive Action on TV the other night and talked about it for the whole next day. (Sorry, not you, Batman.)
His 'carefree' yard takes an hour a day because we went hog wild with container plants that now need to be watered and tended. We talk incessantly about how they're doing, our little plants that we fuss over like children, and gripe at each other about over- or under-watering as we drag them around the yard. The man uses a 5 gallon bucket to water, for crimeny sake.
We stroll around big issues a while before coming back to decide. There's no big past drama to haul out and beat. Disagreements seem to dissolve in the hot tub along with the rest of life's stresses (but God Help You if you wash two-day-old shorts draped over the bench ...)
Needs are small, dreams are big, and time seems long and leisurely. Come to think of it, he's not my type, either.
Jul 21, 2008
Frequency
When I close my eyes, time floats away. Life presses down these days, responsibilities and commitments fuzzy in the gray areas where I reside. How do I answer the echo?
I know lots of things, like compromise means meeting halfway and the spirit has to be fed; like church is good and hope is great; like honoring separateness strengthens both; and life boils down to trusting someone to know your heart and do right by it.
I know lots of things, like compromise means meeting halfway and the spirit has to be fed; like church is good and hope is great; like honoring separateness strengthens both; and life boils down to trusting someone to know your heart and do right by it.
Jul 15, 2008
A Double-Yolked Egg
I work with an amazing group of people. For a multitude of reasons, we've all found our way to this place where we spend most of our time. We talk about that sometimes, how we landed here and why, but mostly we just appreciate that we did.
Each school has its own rhythm and sound as it gathers inertia to begin the new year. I find it funny that working in a similar environment led me to think the process would be similar. Hardly! There is a fluidity to tasks and roles here, a results-driven focus without speed limits or white lines. I sit in meetings with excitement - and terror - at the road ahead.
This is an academic Galapagos, where the only thing you can count on is change. The model by its nature constantly adapts and evolves with the changing needs of achievement. We do whatever it takes as long as it takes for student success.
There are long odds for a lot of our kids, who come from environments eroded by poverty, violence and academic failure. A good many don't live with their folks or family members and are several grade levels behind. They come to us not daring to believe they will achieve a high school diploma let alone go to college. But they soon discover there is no great mystique about college: it just takes their hard work, with our support and resources. College is in the cross-hairs every day and over time they empower themselves to view a world much bigger than they thought. College becomes an attainable goal.
So many changes are happening at work. There is so much to do to support and assist the school now that we have compressed jobs and responsibilities. I am disheartened by the enormous tasks, all critical, all requiring 150% effort. How will it not shove my life out of balance?
The students must feel this way at times. What gets them up every day to make it to school is the knowledge they are investing in themselves. They work hard, struggle, slip back, press forward, and we nurture and nudge them to 'Own It. Fix It. Learn from It. Thrive.' It's not easy for them, either.
So I've decided this year to let THEM motivate ME. If they can do it, so can I!
Each school has its own rhythm and sound as it gathers inertia to begin the new year. I find it funny that working in a similar environment led me to think the process would be similar. Hardly! There is a fluidity to tasks and roles here, a results-driven focus without speed limits or white lines. I sit in meetings with excitement - and terror - at the road ahead.
This is an academic Galapagos, where the only thing you can count on is change. The model by its nature constantly adapts and evolves with the changing needs of achievement. We do whatever it takes as long as it takes for student success.
There are long odds for a lot of our kids, who come from environments eroded by poverty, violence and academic failure. A good many don't live with their folks or family members and are several grade levels behind. They come to us not daring to believe they will achieve a high school diploma let alone go to college. But they soon discover there is no great mystique about college: it just takes their hard work, with our support and resources. College is in the cross-hairs every day and over time they empower themselves to view a world much bigger than they thought. College becomes an attainable goal.
So many changes are happening at work. There is so much to do to support and assist the school now that we have compressed jobs and responsibilities. I am disheartened by the enormous tasks, all critical, all requiring 150% effort. How will it not shove my life out of balance?
The students must feel this way at times. What gets them up every day to make it to school is the knowledge they are investing in themselves. They work hard, struggle, slip back, press forward, and we nurture and nudge them to 'Own It. Fix It. Learn from It. Thrive.' It's not easy for them, either.
So I've decided this year to let THEM motivate ME. If they can do it, so can I!
Jul 9, 2008
Aging
This: anonymous, sage.
Old Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now closest to the person I have always wanted to be.
Oh, not my body! Often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror but I don't agonize over it for long. I've become more kind to myself, my own friend. I don't chide myself for not making my bed or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio.
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60's & 70's, and if I wish to weep over a lost love, I will. I am at times forgetful but some of life is just as well forgotten.
Yes my heart has been broken, but that gives us strength and understanding and compassion. I am blessed to have lived long enough to watch my hair turn gray and for laugh lines to etch into my face. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
Age has actually set me free.
Old Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now closest to the person I have always wanted to be.
Oh, not my body! Often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror but I don't agonize over it for long. I've become more kind to myself, my own friend. I don't chide myself for not making my bed or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio.
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60's & 70's, and if I wish to weep over a lost love, I will. I am at times forgetful but some of life is just as well forgotten.
Yes my heart has been broken, but that gives us strength and understanding and compassion. I am blessed to have lived long enough to watch my hair turn gray and for laugh lines to etch into my face. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
Age has actually set me free.
Look
I had an interesting thing happen this week. A conversation with one of the girls brought up some vivid memories of my past, some 40 odd years ago, and something similar to what she is experiencing now. My eyes instantly welled up, and I was flat amazed at how modern life could be so unrecognizable and at the same time so completely unchanged.
I know it seems like a shock when big things hit our lives, like it's come out of the blue. But maybe it's more that we haven't looked hard enough to see life moving along the whole time, quickening the pace between leaves raked up in piles. How could I not notice my dog sleep more of the day as her muzzle turns gray?
What I say is what I know from where I've been, that years of trial and error, loving and losing, risking and winning train the eye to see past the glitz and twirl of life to the constancy beneath. Our feet reach for it, to anchor there and find the best of ourselves and a sense of place.
I know it seems like a shock when big things hit our lives, like it's come out of the blue. But maybe it's more that we haven't looked hard enough to see life moving along the whole time, quickening the pace between leaves raked up in piles. How could I not notice my dog sleep more of the day as her muzzle turns gray?
What I say is what I know from where I've been, that years of trial and error, loving and losing, risking and winning train the eye to see past the glitz and twirl of life to the constancy beneath. Our feet reach for it, to anchor there and find the best of ourselves and a sense of place.
Jul 7, 2008
Lava to the Sea
Last night, there we were, all squeezed into a little waiting room, working a crossword orally -- Say, does anyone know a 4 letter word for an African beast with the 3rd letter a U?
Kids were strewn around, making joyful noises as they played, adults reading and teasing one another with a childhood familiarity that was repeated on down the line. One strummed a guitar and before long everyone was humming and singing and remembering five different songs all at once.
It went on and on, this crecendo of life. No one came to scold us for being noisy in the middle of the maternity ward late on a Sunday evening. I enjoyed the ritual, the celebration. And when he arrived, our littlest guest, we crowded around the window in awe of his weight and length, joyous to be the welcoming committee for the newest person on earth.
Four generations in the room but the circle didn't feel complete. My heart was sad for those I have come to know and love. As closely as I identified with the experience, remembering the first touch of my babies, learning their scent, wondering about the magic tucked inside, I knew I wasn't the right mom. Where was the matriarch?
What came to mind was a trip a decade ago to the Kilauea volcano where it was making land from sea. It was a fiercely beautiful sight to stand on the hard, black lava that stretched its wrinkles of new land in all directions. Last night, I again experienced the sensation of utter desolation that accompanies change, wherever it's found.
Kids were strewn around, making joyful noises as they played, adults reading and teasing one another with a childhood familiarity that was repeated on down the line. One strummed a guitar and before long everyone was humming and singing and remembering five different songs all at once.
It went on and on, this crecendo of life. No one came to scold us for being noisy in the middle of the maternity ward late on a Sunday evening. I enjoyed the ritual, the celebration. And when he arrived, our littlest guest, we crowded around the window in awe of his weight and length, joyous to be the welcoming committee for the newest person on earth.
Four generations in the room but the circle didn't feel complete. My heart was sad for those I have come to know and love. As closely as I identified with the experience, remembering the first touch of my babies, learning their scent, wondering about the magic tucked inside, I knew I wasn't the right mom. Where was the matriarch?
What came to mind was a trip a decade ago to the Kilauea volcano where it was making land from sea. It was a fiercely beautiful sight to stand on the hard, black lava that stretched its wrinkles of new land in all directions. Last night, I again experienced the sensation of utter desolation that accompanies change, wherever it's found.
Jun 22, 2008
Unabridged
It's been over a year now. Movies and lively conversations are as natural as if that's all it's ever been. I sit cross legged, singing along with Robert Preston's Music Man, feeling the uniqueness of an unfenced world.
Like a beautiful, warm shawl laying gently on my chilly shoulders at night, I dip my feet in the pool and watch the stars, free to say and do as I please, looking down from the hilltop at an unabridged me.
Like a beautiful, warm shawl laying gently on my chilly shoulders at night, I dip my feet in the pool and watch the stars, free to say and do as I please, looking down from the hilltop at an unabridged me.
Jun 15, 2008
Where It's At
We were a little early yesterday. I don't like being early to parties because when I'm giving it, either me or the house isn't ready on time. No sooner had we pulled in under the tree then the screen door flew open and a little granddaughter hurled herself into my arms in a welcome hug. Talk about melt.
The Bucket List is out on DVD now, have you seen it? Great movie, that will carry you along, laughing, celebrating, rooting them on. Rob Reiner sure knows how to tap into the deepest, richest parts of the human experience.
We spent the entire weekend with family. Saturday for a funeral, followed by a birthday surprise party, and on Sunday a Father's Day BBQ for Dad and his sons and their families. The Bucket List kept coming to mind, the part about giving and receiving joy.
It's easy to fill a life with owning stuff and making money in a country like ours, where so many believe it measures success. But looking at the family together, laughing, loving, tossing water balloons, the footprints we've made in each other's hearts is what really matters.
I'm new to this family, so the hug felt especially wonderful as it washed over my heart.
The Bucket List is out on DVD now, have you seen it? Great movie, that will carry you along, laughing, celebrating, rooting them on. Rob Reiner sure knows how to tap into the deepest, richest parts of the human experience.
We spent the entire weekend with family. Saturday for a funeral, followed by a birthday surprise party, and on Sunday a Father's Day BBQ for Dad and his sons and their families. The Bucket List kept coming to mind, the part about giving and receiving joy.
It's easy to fill a life with owning stuff and making money in a country like ours, where so many believe it measures success. But looking at the family together, laughing, loving, tossing water balloons, the footprints we've made in each other's hearts is what really matters.
I'm new to this family, so the hug felt especially wonderful as it washed over my heart.
Jun 9, 2008
Finish Strong
Someone once said he felt like a spectator in his own life. He'd been plenty of places, interesting ones, but he hadn't learned how to push off from the edge of that high wall where he dangled his legs, and into life.
Half a century of travels, building hearth and home, exploring parenthood, working hard, trying to fill the hours and days with joy and purpose, and in the stillness of my thoughts I still struggle with transitioning into a life now that my sons are grown. Can I really feel out of place in my own skin?
Life is waiting. Just lean forward and push off the wall and fly feet first into the stream, it says. The water will be cold and invigorating, so float with the current awhile, get the lay of the land, acclimate. Rapids and rocks litter the way but look for the beautiful coves with beaches and waterfalls just around the bend. The melody is enchanting, offering up a chance to swim strong against the current and change direction as you will.
Do you hear it? Push off, it whispers, push off.
Half a century of travels, building hearth and home, exploring parenthood, working hard, trying to fill the hours and days with joy and purpose, and in the stillness of my thoughts I still struggle with transitioning into a life now that my sons are grown. Can I really feel out of place in my own skin?
Life is waiting. Just lean forward and push off the wall and fly feet first into the stream, it says. The water will be cold and invigorating, so float with the current awhile, get the lay of the land, acclimate. Rapids and rocks litter the way but look for the beautiful coves with beaches and waterfalls just around the bend. The melody is enchanting, offering up a chance to swim strong against the current and change direction as you will.
Do you hear it? Push off, it whispers, push off.
Jun 6, 2008
Doves
Yesterday I found a Dove outside the bedroom window. She had evidently hit the glass and broken her neck. Her mate sat cooing in a nearby tree and watched as I carefully tucked her inside a plastic bag. He trailed along behind, tree to roof, calling to her as I walked to the front yard and discarded her body.
I really like Doves. A few years back, a Dove made a tidy nest on a shelf near our back door. It had a deep overhang and looked to be an ideal spot. We gave her a wide berth, using other doors to get to the back yard, and watched her dutifully sit on her nest. Her mate came and went, sitting on the three eggs while she fed herself, sharing the responsibility of parenthood.
One afternoon, without warning, a hawk flew under the awning, slammed into the kitchen windows and snatched the Dove right off her nest, scattering eggs and nesting material everywhere. It paused on the fence momentarily to gain a better grip of the Dove before flying off to enjoy its prey. Her mate returned each day for a week, searching for her, because he expected to find her -- because she'd always been there.
Partners for life! I wonder with human partners if they ever stop worrying about dangers before they happen and build on the moments of their lives believing in each other like that.
I really like Doves. A few years back, a Dove made a tidy nest on a shelf near our back door. It had a deep overhang and looked to be an ideal spot. We gave her a wide berth, using other doors to get to the back yard, and watched her dutifully sit on her nest. Her mate came and went, sitting on the three eggs while she fed herself, sharing the responsibility of parenthood.
One afternoon, without warning, a hawk flew under the awning, slammed into the kitchen windows and snatched the Dove right off her nest, scattering eggs and nesting material everywhere. It paused on the fence momentarily to gain a better grip of the Dove before flying off to enjoy its prey. Her mate returned each day for a week, searching for her, because he expected to find her -- because she'd always been there.
Partners for life! I wonder with human partners if they ever stop worrying about dangers before they happen and build on the moments of their lives believing in each other like that.
May 19, 2008
Relay
When I signed up to be a committee member for the American Cancer Society Relay for Life, I didn't really know what to expect. Oh I was passionate enough. Trust me: Mom's cancer, and dad's, and two grandmothers, friends, and even a near miss myself was plenty of incentive.
As we poured over the details each step of the way, committee members scurried around so that walkers would be fed and hydrated and entertained and appreciated. There is great tedium in the shadow of something great and we tired of the process but we pressed on.
This year was a scorcher. Saturday to Sunday, for 24 hours tents of cheerfulness fought off the brutal 100 degree heat and transformed the football field and track into a collaboration of sights and sounds all working towards a cure. We had water balloon fights, squirt gun fans, we tossed cold water bottles to walkers on the track, cheering one another on. And we raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for cancer research along the way.
Neighborhood groups sang and danced and the DJ kept up the momentum. The Rotary and Lions fed us, teachers and students, businesses, city workers, churches, and survivors. And oh, when those Luminaria bags were lit, all decorated with the names of those who didn't survive, in honor and remembrance, it made me weep.
I love the hopefulness of Relay, the grassroots feel of committing a moment, a day, to making a difference. As I stood there in my Relay hat from 2002, with all the names of those I've loved and lost to cancer -- Mom and Dad, co-workers and friends -- I realized that all we have is this moment to be heard. We matter, all of those names and faces on the bags and all those faces that smiled back as I served them water or cleaned up their trash. And for that, we fight on.
As we poured over the details each step of the way, committee members scurried around so that walkers would be fed and hydrated and entertained and appreciated. There is great tedium in the shadow of something great and we tired of the process but we pressed on.
This year was a scorcher. Saturday to Sunday, for 24 hours tents of cheerfulness fought off the brutal 100 degree heat and transformed the football field and track into a collaboration of sights and sounds all working towards a cure. We had water balloon fights, squirt gun fans, we tossed cold water bottles to walkers on the track, cheering one another on. And we raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for cancer research along the way.
Neighborhood groups sang and danced and the DJ kept up the momentum. The Rotary and Lions fed us, teachers and students, businesses, city workers, churches, and survivors. And oh, when those Luminaria bags were lit, all decorated with the names of those who didn't survive, in honor and remembrance, it made me weep.
I love the hopefulness of Relay, the grassroots feel of committing a moment, a day, to making a difference. As I stood there in my Relay hat from 2002, with all the names of those I've loved and lost to cancer -- Mom and Dad, co-workers and friends -- I realized that all we have is this moment to be heard. We matter, all of those names and faces on the bags and all those faces that smiled back as I served them water or cleaned up their trash. And for that, we fight on.
May 12, 2008
Owning the Moment
The plan was to spend time with an intelligent man. We agreed to meet for dinner on a week night, and I was running late. I spotted him first, while dodging cars trying to park. He was seated outside, looking nervously first left then right for the spark of advantage, but the advantage was mine for having a few undiscovered moments to size him up. We disagree now on whether he had a beard (he didn't) and what I ordered at Borders (Chai tea) but not about the mutual surprise at our companionability. Sushi, books, and ideas: pretty potent stuff.
That evening - and hundreds more - have confirmed our suspicions, but it was that first night, standing by the car amid busy shoppers, where he gently rested his hand on my hip and owned the moment.
Now he tills the soil and I plant the blooms. His eyes twinkle in a tease and I try in vain not to finish his sentences. We punctuate our conversations with lyrics and discover places only two can go but haven't been. I love his laugh, that he still calls even before I get home, just like he did the night we met. That's just the way it's going to be, he says.
Thanks, babe.
That evening - and hundreds more - have confirmed our suspicions, but it was that first night, standing by the car amid busy shoppers, where he gently rested his hand on my hip and owned the moment.
Now he tills the soil and I plant the blooms. His eyes twinkle in a tease and I try in vain not to finish his sentences. We punctuate our conversations with lyrics and discover places only two can go but haven't been. I love his laugh, that he still calls even before I get home, just like he did the night we met. That's just the way it's going to be, he says.
Thanks, babe.
May 5, 2008
AD
His daughter and I were playing around today with one of those silly questionnaires you get over the internet, you know the kind, what color of Crayola would you want to be and how far have you been away from home. When we got to the question about favorite smells, I offered up brownies, but she countered with the scent of her mother's perfume, even on clothes she wasn't wearing.
Oh those kinds of smells! My father's clean soapy scent is what I most loved, wrapped around me in that hug that went all the way around twice. His chuckle would reverberate though his chest and all the way to my toes. He'd gather us around and auspiciously push his spectacles down his nose as he read, his deep baritone voice booming with emotion as he'd glance up directly into our eyes, like a schoolteacher wanting us to listen. Oh, and we did.
It's 5 AD (After Dad), although it seems longer. I would give anything to sing another duet with him, live another day hearing his footsteps down the hall. I was at a crossroads once, the way she is now with her mom. How I hope she will someday look back without regret for finding the courage to chop on through to the clearing. It was worth it for me.
Oh those kinds of smells! My father's clean soapy scent is what I most loved, wrapped around me in that hug that went all the way around twice. His chuckle would reverberate though his chest and all the way to my toes. He'd gather us around and auspiciously push his spectacles down his nose as he read, his deep baritone voice booming with emotion as he'd glance up directly into our eyes, like a schoolteacher wanting us to listen. Oh, and we did.
It's 5 AD (After Dad), although it seems longer. I would give anything to sing another duet with him, live another day hearing his footsteps down the hall. I was at a crossroads once, the way she is now with her mom. How I hope she will someday look back without regret for finding the courage to chop on through to the clearing. It was worth it for me.
May 1, 2008
Breaking News
Funny: with all kinds of thoughts tumbling around, why is it so tough to write about the things that are most important?
The kindest, most loving person I've ever known announced his engagement last week; the guy I always knew would make a wonderful husband and father is taking the plunge! He taught me all about unconditional love. When other guys were torturing their little sisters, he was nice almost all the time. When life took a serious detour for my boys and me, he stepped up to the plate in a world where that's more an exception than a rule. It wasn't easy but it made all the difference in our lives that he did.
Engaged. This is World News Tonight News. Even for an explorer such as himself, he's in for quite a ride. Of all the remarkable memories in life, nothing compares with the Technicolor moment of giving your heart away.
It does seem like skipping over dinner by inheriting two daughters and sons-in-law and four grandbabies without being a father. Then again, I'm a long-time fan of dessert first.
Love and Congratulations, Jami and Don.
xo Nan xo
The kindest, most loving person I've ever known announced his engagement last week; the guy I always knew would make a wonderful husband and father is taking the plunge! He taught me all about unconditional love. When other guys were torturing their little sisters, he was nice almost all the time. When life took a serious detour for my boys and me, he stepped up to the plate in a world where that's more an exception than a rule. It wasn't easy but it made all the difference in our lives that he did.
Engaged. This is World News Tonight News. Even for an explorer such as himself, he's in for quite a ride. Of all the remarkable memories in life, nothing compares with the Technicolor moment of giving your heart away.
It does seem like skipping over dinner by inheriting two daughters and sons-in-law and four grandbabies without being a father. Then again, I'm a long-time fan of dessert first.
Love and Congratulations, Jami and Don.
xo Nan xo
Apr 27, 2008
The Quiet Room
I recently came upon a half hour massage gift certificate from last year. Perfect! After checking in, the salon staff moved me to 'the quiet room' with a glass of water before meeting the masseuse. It really was nothing more than a darkened hallway of wraparound cushy chairs with a waterfall focal point and flute music playing softly in the background.
The chair made me think of being at home in my favorite writing spot. My barrel chair sits low to the ground and wide enough to fold my knees up to rest the computer. It's so low, in fact, the dog claims me on her turf and rests her head on the edge of my knee as I stroke her ears and write.
I've tried to write other places, and sometimes do, in coffee shops or at my home away from home, but it's better here.
There is great peace in the perspective of surveying my home from down low, a straight view end to end all the way to the front door. After dusk, I sometimes light candles and turn the lights down, listening to logs crackle in the fireplace or rain tapping on the skylight. During the day, light streams in the windows onto abundant houseplants. Appliances hum and walls creak, sounds as comforting to me as those in the spa.
'The world is too much with us', Wordsworth wrote. But in my quiet space, life stills, rebuilds, rebalances my spirit. I wish the dentist's office had that.
The chair made me think of being at home in my favorite writing spot. My barrel chair sits low to the ground and wide enough to fold my knees up to rest the computer. It's so low, in fact, the dog claims me on her turf and rests her head on the edge of my knee as I stroke her ears and write.
I've tried to write other places, and sometimes do, in coffee shops or at my home away from home, but it's better here.
There is great peace in the perspective of surveying my home from down low, a straight view end to end all the way to the front door. After dusk, I sometimes light candles and turn the lights down, listening to logs crackle in the fireplace or rain tapping on the skylight. During the day, light streams in the windows onto abundant houseplants. Appliances hum and walls creak, sounds as comforting to me as those in the spa.
'The world is too much with us', Wordsworth wrote. But in my quiet space, life stills, rebuilds, rebalances my spirit. I wish the dentist's office had that.
Apr 14, 2008
Mattering
She's a part of my life, this woman wrapped in a shawl that has holes and stains, as she looks out at traffic on Franklin Boulevard.
Her hair is brown, I think, as she sits nestled in the crease of a closed business with garbage bags guarding her space. No smile is on this wide and earnest face, as she studies traffic, facing the day. She does not notice that I drive a different car.
Sometimes she wears a beanie and other times, when the frost lingers on the windshield, she pulls the bags up around her to break the wind. I look in her face as I pass, slowing to make a turn onto 5th, noticing her not noticing me.
One day I will touch her hand and make her less invisible as I come to know her story. She is part of my world.
Her hair is brown, I think, as she sits nestled in the crease of a closed business with garbage bags guarding her space. No smile is on this wide and earnest face, as she studies traffic, facing the day. She does not notice that I drive a different car.
Sometimes she wears a beanie and other times, when the frost lingers on the windshield, she pulls the bags up around her to break the wind. I look in her face as I pass, slowing to make a turn onto 5th, noticing her not noticing me.
One day I will touch her hand and make her less invisible as I come to know her story. She is part of my world.
Apr 7, 2008
Bouquet
I planted bulbs over the weekend, cheerful red tulips trimmed in yellow, that had come in a beautiful glass vase where they sprouted indoors. Like things out of their element, they didn't last long: a few weeks they brightened the kitchen before pulling back into themselves.
Now in humble modesty they sit forgotten but to the gardener whose hands gently tilled the soil and buried them like gold in the yard, beneath summer verbena, cyclamen and orange crush that has claimed center stage.
The forward push towards heat, with slip-and-slides awash in daisies, dahlias and azaleas in rock gardens, promises hearty and prolific blooms. Beauty is everywhere and is joyfully carried along in our grasp, in vases, in lapels.
We too burst with energy, texture and color, only to acquiesce to the next blooms, knowing we all deserve our turn in the sun. Tulips nap and nourish themselves to be ready when their sturdy stalks must peek through to prove that the world will awaken. Being reminded that each of our contributions make the bouquet glorious is one of the best things about spring.
Now in humble modesty they sit forgotten but to the gardener whose hands gently tilled the soil and buried them like gold in the yard, beneath summer verbena, cyclamen and orange crush that has claimed center stage.
The forward push towards heat, with slip-and-slides awash in daisies, dahlias and azaleas in rock gardens, promises hearty and prolific blooms. Beauty is everywhere and is joyfully carried along in our grasp, in vases, in lapels.
We too burst with energy, texture and color, only to acquiesce to the next blooms, knowing we all deserve our turn in the sun. Tulips nap and nourish themselves to be ready when their sturdy stalks must peek through to prove that the world will awaken. Being reminded that each of our contributions make the bouquet glorious is one of the best things about spring.
Mar 23, 2008
On the Way Home
Sunday began in the easy way it does with people close knit. Through the always-open front door marched family and friends, neighbors, kids and dogs, all with boisterous greetings that filled the house. Food was everywhere: on the table, the counter and sideboard, the stove. Spring dresses and hair bows (shoes, even) and guitars, coolers with icy beverages, a kiddie pool and bags of water balloons. It must be spring in a life of a young family!
Before jumping into the day, I took a little walk around the neighborhood, watching it bloom with families laughing and double parked, waving to neighbors in their small town way. Every single yard was ablaze with flowers of yellows and reds and blues and violets. Would life be like this every day if families weren't separated by freeways? I remember when life had this pace and the washing machine constantly ran.
Family clusters, we see it less and less. Life pulls us every which-way, and have come to think that only by striking out on our own can we truly become self reliant.
Multi-generational life would, I'm sure, focus our commitment more on the virtues and standards of the family unit. Knowing people that way, my sons and his daughters engaged in their lives - not just when the house is dusted and the fridge is full - would require a more developed interpersonal skillset. There'd be none of this no-talking feud business tolerated. I expect squabbles would be unilaterly handled in the same way children's squabbles are: toss them into a room together until they fight their way to peace.
How great that recitals and honor roll ceremonies would be attended on Wednesday afternoons and that the Vice Principal wouldn't strike terror in the hearts of our teens as much as fessing up to it at the dinner table.
Grandpa would be there to tuck a $20 into the palm of a kid heading off on a date, or pin a corsage on his granddaughter's Confirmation robe. Our natural treasures would know by heart the way to Grandpa's house because it would always be on the way home. Now that would be Heaven.
Before jumping into the day, I took a little walk around the neighborhood, watching it bloom with families laughing and double parked, waving to neighbors in their small town way. Every single yard was ablaze with flowers of yellows and reds and blues and violets. Would life be like this every day if families weren't separated by freeways? I remember when life had this pace and the washing machine constantly ran.
Family clusters, we see it less and less. Life pulls us every which-way, and have come to think that only by striking out on our own can we truly become self reliant.
Multi-generational life would, I'm sure, focus our commitment more on the virtues and standards of the family unit. Knowing people that way, my sons and his daughters engaged in their lives - not just when the house is dusted and the fridge is full - would require a more developed interpersonal skillset. There'd be none of this no-talking feud business tolerated. I expect squabbles would be unilaterly handled in the same way children's squabbles are: toss them into a room together until they fight their way to peace.
How great that recitals and honor roll ceremonies would be attended on Wednesday afternoons and that the Vice Principal wouldn't strike terror in the hearts of our teens as much as fessing up to it at the dinner table.
Grandpa would be there to tuck a $20 into the palm of a kid heading off on a date, or pin a corsage on his granddaughter's Confirmation robe. Our natural treasures would know by heart the way to Grandpa's house because it would always be on the way home. Now that would be Heaven.
Mar 20, 2008
Percolating
The first day of spring always makes me think of birth. No, not as a metaphor: a real birth! I was in a labor room on this very day a short twenty three years ago, in the middle of the night, dancing the Charleston with Colette and awaiting David's leisurely arrival.
My doctor wasn't on call. The doctor hadn't been on call with my first son, either, so this time I met everyone in the practice. I mean, if they're reaching into my nether regions, I ought to have met them on a prior occasion right side up.
Well one must have been on errands, because about 3:30 am, this hippie guy breezed in wearing a sleeveless UC Berkeley sweatshirt, sweatpants, big hair and a dazzling smile. Let's get this show on the road! Was this an intern?
After hippie Doc explained his holistic approach to childbirth, he took my hand and gently talked me through it: slow and easy, and before I knew it a beautiful little boy was happily peeking at me through half closed eyelids in the crook of my arm. The only thing missing for Doc was a catcher's glove.
With a start like that, I should have figured my son would be amazing. He was the most naturally joyous and loving child I ever saw. His tender, inquisitive nature took life by storm. A natural athlete, statesman, banker, and friend, he thrived everywhere. Sensitive natures have ample challenges, and he was no different, but he kept at it, forcing himself forward, surrounded by the smartest and most dedicated friends, finding a way.
Personalities percolate over the years and become stronger, more robust. The wishes I always wished for him were to have a dream to pursue, a happy life to live, and be a good man in word and deed. Since he's already doing that, I'd better just wish him a happy birthday and remind him how much he is loved.
My doctor wasn't on call. The doctor hadn't been on call with my first son, either, so this time I met everyone in the practice. I mean, if they're reaching into my nether regions, I ought to have met them on a prior occasion right side up.
Well one must have been on errands, because about 3:30 am, this hippie guy breezed in wearing a sleeveless UC Berkeley sweatshirt, sweatpants, big hair and a dazzling smile. Let's get this show on the road! Was this an intern?
After hippie Doc explained his holistic approach to childbirth, he took my hand and gently talked me through it: slow and easy, and before I knew it a beautiful little boy was happily peeking at me through half closed eyelids in the crook of my arm. The only thing missing for Doc was a catcher's glove.
With a start like that, I should have figured my son would be amazing. He was the most naturally joyous and loving child I ever saw. His tender, inquisitive nature took life by storm. A natural athlete, statesman, banker, and friend, he thrived everywhere. Sensitive natures have ample challenges, and he was no different, but he kept at it, forcing himself forward, surrounded by the smartest and most dedicated friends, finding a way.
Personalities percolate over the years and become stronger, more robust. The wishes I always wished for him were to have a dream to pursue, a happy life to live, and be a good man in word and deed. Since he's already doing that, I'd better just wish him a happy birthday and remind him how much he is loved.
Mar 17, 2008
Keeping Score
I watched a boys basketball team recently compete for the state title. In a sea of purple movements, we bore witness to life choreographed in wild cheers and discordant sighs. On a sunny afternoon on a gleaming court, the tangible results of extended fingertips and thundering shoes boiled down to eighteen years and now-or-never seconds.
Our hearts beat just as hard in our chests as those young men striding the court. We, too, leaned into the action and leapt anxiously to our feet with flawless layups by the enemy team. We rallied with each swish of the basket and felt the prick of discouragement with each bad call.
How clear these moments are, when we are catapulted toward - or away from - the grit to press on. One way or another, life draws us to our knees in prayers of thanksgiving or humility.
Our hearts beat just as hard in our chests as those young men striding the court. We, too, leaned into the action and leapt anxiously to our feet with flawless layups by the enemy team. We rallied with each swish of the basket and felt the prick of discouragement with each bad call.
How clear these moments are, when we are catapulted toward - or away from - the grit to press on. One way or another, life draws us to our knees in prayers of thanksgiving or humility.
Mar 10, 2008
Home.
An essential spot, here in this place where I know all its faults. Latte colored walls and unopened mail gives rest and contemplative time for things otherwise. The homecoming is all the more sweet because I pull away.
There are secrets. Daffodil bulbs jump the gun with a few warm days in February and get pummeled by spring downpours each year. They were planted just left of center so from my favorite chair I could watch them find the strength to survive. Under bed covers on chilly November days, the tree flames crimson before it scatters across the lawn. Westminster chimes echo through the house and it awakens me at two, but wondrously not at three or four.
Kitchen chair legs are just the right diameter to grip with my toes as I lean into a game of cribbage or wrestle with a passage of text. In the background, the rhythmic whirr of the dog's breathing inventories the comfort of being somewhere that knows me best.
There are secrets. Daffodil bulbs jump the gun with a few warm days in February and get pummeled by spring downpours each year. They were planted just left of center so from my favorite chair I could watch them find the strength to survive. Under bed covers on chilly November days, the tree flames crimson before it scatters across the lawn. Westminster chimes echo through the house and it awakens me at two, but wondrously not at three or four.
Kitchen chair legs are just the right diameter to grip with my toes as I lean into a game of cribbage or wrestle with a passage of text. In the background, the rhythmic whirr of the dog's breathing inventories the comfort of being somewhere that knows me best.
Mar 9, 2008
Sparklers
A lost spirit fills the house with joylessness. Where is his sparkle, I wonder, the crackle missing as I watch him in repose. Seeing Kaitlan and he tucked into a movie on the sofa wraps itself around the quiet lonely struggle to yield to what is.
Fallout. Reconciliation.
I hear and know that love means adapting -- changing -- metamorphizing. Forward and back, it draws me between the me-ism world and balance. Sustainable, endurable, transcendable love is the culprit. is it also the cure?
Fallout. Reconciliation.
I hear and know that love means adapting -- changing -- metamorphizing. Forward and back, it draws me between the me-ism world and balance. Sustainable, endurable, transcendable love is the culprit. is it also the cure?
Mar 3, 2008
March 3rd
She would have been eighty today, I mull over as I get ready and head off to work. I put out the dog and notice daffodils from bulbs she bought me two years ago are in full bloom, obviously confused by a few wintery warm days.
I'd have called her first thing, wrestled with a gift idea, marshaled the forces for a strong show for a get-together. She'd have repeated the mantra -- 'I don't need anything, just all of you here' -- as if that wasn't a feat in itself with grown sons immersed in their lives.
It's strange to have March 3rd come and go without her. I thought this day was only for her. Happy Birthday, Mom.
I'd have called her first thing, wrestled with a gift idea, marshaled the forces for a strong show for a get-together. She'd have repeated the mantra -- 'I don't need anything, just all of you here' -- as if that wasn't a feat in itself with grown sons immersed in their lives.
It's strange to have March 3rd come and go without her. I thought this day was only for her. Happy Birthday, Mom.
Mar 2, 2008
The Pencil Can
Tonight I noticed a button-covered pencil can that my son made in cub scouts. I remember that art project with 9 second graders on the portable table in the garage. They had just run themselves silly with a game of freeze tag and had settled into the task of making a Christmas gift for their moms. They were hunched over a thousand buttons as they glued them to their cans and a reward of warm cookies when they were through.
When my wonderful mother-in-law died, I acquired her button collection. She used to say, you never know when you'll need a button, so she saved them all of her life. While everyone was diving for the sterling and jewelry, I was happy to dump the box on the bed and spread it out in a wide arc.
It was glorious. They were every color of the rainbow, thousands of them, all shapes and textures and sizes. I set to work sorting by color, then size, then shape, then fabric. That didn't work! There were glass, metal and plastic ones, too, and matchless ones. I'll bet she was the only person to keep those little plastic extra buttons bags that come with garments bought at Macy's ...
I rolled the barrel shaped wooden buttons around in my hands, imagining them on 1950s car coats or Irish cardigans. I visualized her in red lipstick, a total knockout on New Years Eve in a red cocktail dress with those red satiny teardrop shaped buttons up the back. The gold fleur-de-lis designs were from scout uniforms and I carefully examined the uneven holes bored into abalone shell buttons.
This is Rina's vapor trail. And here, on the desk in my bedroom, signed in wiggly penmanship by my 7 year old son, it pulls a smile to my lips.
When my wonderful mother-in-law died, I acquired her button collection. She used to say, you never know when you'll need a button, so she saved them all of her life. While everyone was diving for the sterling and jewelry, I was happy to dump the box on the bed and spread it out in a wide arc.
It was glorious. They were every color of the rainbow, thousands of them, all shapes and textures and sizes. I set to work sorting by color, then size, then shape, then fabric. That didn't work! There were glass, metal and plastic ones, too, and matchless ones. I'll bet she was the only person to keep those little plastic extra buttons bags that come with garments bought at Macy's ...
I rolled the barrel shaped wooden buttons around in my hands, imagining them on 1950s car coats or Irish cardigans. I visualized her in red lipstick, a total knockout on New Years Eve in a red cocktail dress with those red satiny teardrop shaped buttons up the back. The gold fleur-de-lis designs were from scout uniforms and I carefully examined the uneven holes bored into abalone shell buttons.
This is Rina's vapor trail. And here, on the desk in my bedroom, signed in wiggly penmanship by my 7 year old son, it pulls a smile to my lips.
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