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?
Aug 28, 2008
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.
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