Without a Single Unless

Exerpt from Glennon Mellon's 'A Mountain...'

'I've been watching America's response to recent bullying-related suicides closely. People seem quite shocked by the cruelty that's happening in our schools. I'm confused by their shock. I'm also concerned about what's not being addressed in the proposed solutions to this devastating problem.

'The usual response seems to be that we need to better educate students and teachers about what bullying is and how to react appropriately to it. You can't argue with that. But on its own, it seems a little like bailing water frantically without looking for the hole in the boat.

'Each time one of these stories is reported we tend to say some version of "Kids these days -- they can be so cruel." But I think this is just a phrase we toss around to excuse ourselves from facing the truth. I don't think kids are any crueler than adults. I just think kids aren't quite as adept at disguising their cruelty.

'Yesterday I heard a radio report that the students most likely to be bullied are gay kids, overweight kids and Muslim kids.

'Hmmmmm.

'I would venture a guess that gay adults, overweight adults and Muslim adults feel the most bullied as well.

'Children are not cruel. Children are mirrors. They want to be "grown-up." So they act how grown-ups act when we think they're not paying attention. They believe what we believe. They say what we say. And we have taught them that gay people are not okay. That overweight people are not okay. That Muslim people are not okay. Through our words and actions we send the message that these people aren't equal and they should be feared. We know that people hurt the things they fear. What kids are doing in the schools, is what adults do in the media. The only difference is that children bully in the hallways and the cafeterias while we bully from behind pulpits and legislative benches and in one-liners on sitcoms.

'People are heart-breakingly sensitive. If enough people tell someone over and over that he is not okay, he will believe it. And one way or another, he will die.  So how is any of this surprising? It's quite predictable, actually. It's trickle-down cruelty.

'I don't know much. But I know that each time I see something heartbreaking on the news, each time I encounter a problem outside, the answer to the problem is inside. The problem is ALWAYS me and the solution is ALWAYS me.

'If I want my world to be less vicious, then I must become more gentle. If I want my children to embrace other children for who they are, to treat other children with the dignity and respect every child of God deserves, then I had better treat other adults the same way. And I better make sure that my children know beyond a shadow of a doubt that in God's and their father's and my eyes, they are okay. They are fine. They are loved as they are. Without a single unless.'

---

These 9 paragraphs condensed essentially everything I've learned in 57 years. I found this on the heels of an interview on NPR discussing the prejudice of elders as they transition through the last stages of life; about their invisibility when they are no longer perceived valuable enough to be useful; about how when there aren't folks watching out for them, the disastrous end of life scenarios.

The man speaking had been a long term caregiver to his mother with advanced Alzheimers. In an astonishing comparison to the way blacks are still treated in much of our country, he asserted that regardless of position in life and status, age is one of the great equalizers. There will always be a level playing field at that point, without an advocate (or a pile of money to pay your way up). Elders have a declining self-awareness, limited mobility and poor mental acuity to protect themselves from becoming irrelevent inconveniences unless we step in.

So much of being an American is about power and judgment: strong vs not; opportunity vs not; valuation vs not; money vs not. Those middle school girls that snub the average ones, or target the weak in gym class, are pushing the limits of power, and feeling what it feels like to lord over others. There is no power without it being over something else.

That is what is modeled at the movies and on the news and on our favorite shows.  Heaven help us that we have not figured out what we ingest is what comes out the other side. If we have an appetite for victimizing the elderly, the disabled, the disfigured, the unattractive, the overweight, and the small, why are we shocked?

Making It Work

A friend and I drifted into a long and wonderful conversation about the generational family home where she lives with her husband, son/wife and 3 1/2 granddaughters. The house is always sweet smelling and lively with a webbing that grows between generations. The biggest drawback to the arrangement, she says, is the lack of privacy.

Her husband's small business failed after 40 years and they lost their home because the bank would not work with them. Something about the bank assessing them as having too few years left of earning potential to be a good risk for a loan. (They are in their early 60s) And that is how it came to be one big, noisy, chaotic home.

I learned some of her story the other day when she announced her retirement.  I admire her irrepressible spirit that rolls with the punches, perhaps learned from being a Survivor and knowing to face forward, not back. Bev lives fully engaged in the moment. That's what I love about her; that's what I will miss.

As I warmly congratulated her and marvelled at her readiness for retirement, (wishing I could be in that boat with her) she tossed back her head in a laugh, and replied: 'Ready? Oh heavens, no. We'll just make it work.'

What a perfect answer! I have no doubt that she will.

Houses and Homes

Yesterday was the last day in the house I love surrounded by the people who share the love. We all came together to relive and remember the indelible people who made it so special.

Mom J to me, and Grammy J to the boys, will be laid to rest today, sprinkled somewhere over the ocean. Dad's been gone almost 20 years, patiently waiting on the mantle for today. Well, maybe not patiently...

I first stepped inside in 1975 as part of the clean up crew. As part of the family. The place was a train wreck: after inconsiderate tenants and smoke damage. The folks had to renovate before moving and one of my most celebrated tasks was scrubbing the fireplace with Coca Cola and taking bets on the color of the brick.

It is harder to imagine a softer landing spot in life. It welcomed all of our gains and losses, and even when we never made it very far out of the gate. The door swung wide for new grandbabies, and shut soundly for the deer coming down the hillside trying to have their way in the garden. Dad was always puttering around fixing and building and destroying, tool belt strapped under his belly and carrying a ladder. Mom was always putting out the welcome mat with food and beach towels and in the midst of a crossword.

As we stepped inside on Saturday, I wondered if it would feel the same.  But my sibs were there with a warm embrace, and after hugs all around there was a full table of food for distraction.  And as the house filled up with noisy multi-generational conversations, I could almost hear the house give an audible sign of relief: Goooood.

For a thousand years it has been like this. Everything is in its place. It will all be divvied up soon and sold, donated or tossed. But today I took it all in and felt it way down in my heart. This has always felt like my only real home.

The air was thick and about to burst with memories, and once the storytelling began everything tumbled out: amazingly funny and bittersweet stories, and good natured tattles. Time melted away.  Everyone joyfully returned on this stormy January day for themselves as much as the folks. We half expected Mom and Dad to round the corner laughing with delight.

I listened to the love people had for this family. All the good times spent here in a place that time forgot. But more than that, it was because there was never a time the door swung open that someone inside did not open their arms. No matter how rough it was outside, you could count on that. Here, you were safe.

Thanks, Mom and Dad J.  Rest in Peace.

Reckoning

I am stark awake at 3 with things on my mind. Nothing earth-shattering, but enough to occupy and reckon with. I like that term: reckon. It means both a stern warning and an uneducated guess. English must be a wicked language to learn.

I am reading The Uncharted Path by Lee Myung-Bak, current President of South Korea. He was interviewed on NPR and the book is compelling. I'm only halfway through and already have no point of reference for the utter poverty and despair of his early life.

The crisis on our doorstep is going to test our grit. Our integrity and values are on the line. But there are a helluva lot more people elsewhere that exist in a life so low that the poorest of ours would seem to live in relative luxury by comparison. We are out of touch with how lucky we are.

Lee Myung-Bak lived an unimaginable hardship, making his rise to the Presidency an astonishing achievement. One would think it would be a source of inspiration and pride to his people to be led by such a driven, inspired man. One would think it would be an inspiration to us all. But the problem with writing a book is that people will read it. And when there are not only two sides to the story, but two completely different sides to the story, it is those differences that come center stage. Now I can't wait to finish the book and delve into his background to learn the truth.

Reviews of the book initially were good. But there is a groundswell of outrage for the lies told and positive spin put on his wheeling-dealing to snatch for himself the wealth and power he now holds. (This is an all-too familiar theme.)

My favorite critique so far, and the cleanest (which means I can share it) is by Hyon C. Lee (South Korea), entitled:You're seeing the face of the biggiest liar in the history of Korea

"I call this guy a biggiest liar lucky enough to become a present of South Korea. Truth?

"During college year, he was arrested during anti-government movement, then he got "prematurely" released of the service time and "mysteriousely" entered Hyundai without the mandatary military service and went up the ladder at an unprecedented speed that was never known in the hisotry of korean chaebol. He was gov't plotted/sponsored spy in college.

"During his tenure at Hyundae construction - the company went into bankrupcy. Yet he glorifies those times and lie about achievement.

"He became wealthy through illegal real estiate speculation.

"With this wealth, he became a congressmen but failed to finish the service term due to illegal political fund. His own right hand man at that time accused him for all the illegal/unethical doings he has committed.

"When sentenced down from the congressmen, he ran to US and established BBK security exchange company with another Korean American con man. The company's seed money are of course illegally funded by Lee through illegal means. The con man ran off with hundred of millions of dollars of investor's money and this case is still at trial in US. Yet he claims no association with the crime despite real video records and tons of other evidence exists.

"Those are a few examples of life path he has led. He became president with lies and continues to lie at his presidency. He will never stop lying so don't waste your time reading this book. Korean people are so eager to have him step down from the Office. It is a shame as a Korean, but if anything, he will be locked inside jail right next day his term ends."

Time will tell.

Ann Brenoff: The Huffington Post

In November, I got a frantic call from a good friend in Dallas. My friend's sister -- a divorced mom with a teenage son -- had lost her teaching job in the recession. She had been managing to keep all the financial balls in the air, but barely, and an unexpected back injury pretty much ended even that.

Her sister, said my 52-year-old friend, was in trouble. The bank was threatening to foreclose on her home mortgage of $62,000, which is less than the house is worth. Did you catch that part? Less. She isn't upside down on her loan. She is just an out-of-work single parent who is physically unable to get another job at the moment. Without income and without savings, she had fallen behind on her mortgage payments and, with fees and penalties the total amount of what the woman back-owed was about $10,000.

My friend called me, knowing I reported on real estate for the past decade, and asked for advice. She had already contacted the bank on behalf of her distraught sister and offered to write a check for the shortfall. But something about that plan felt wrong to her and she wanted my opinion.

"Call the bank back and tell them you'll send that check when hell freezes over," I told her. "Tell them your sister is a prime candidate for a loan modification and will be applying for one post-haste." Her sister has equity in her home, had excellent credit until the double whammy of unemployment and illness struck, and as soon as she is able to work again, will literally be back on her feet and paying her bills on time. Temporary relief for a temporary situation; isn't that precisely what the loan modification is suppose to address?

There is another consideration too, I told my friend. The money she was planning on using to help her sister out of this jam was money meant for her own retirement. My friend has dodged a few layoff bullets herself these past few years and you just never know when one with your name on is heading your way.

I also raised the unmentionable. What if her sister never actually got back on her feet? With her teaching job gone and preferring not to move while her son finishes up high school, her sister's employment prospects may not be all that bright for the next few years. Wasn't it possible -- likely? -- that despite the family bailout, she would wind up losing her house anyway? And why hadn't she explored simply selling the house -- remember, she wasn't upside down -- and renting an apartment in town until her son graduated?

Nobody likes to hear it, but the recession has rocked many a world. Few of us are living at the same standard we once did.

My friend took my advice, but here's the part that makes me want to scream. The bank turned down the woman's application for a loan modification for one reason: They had noted in their records that my friend had stepped up willing to pay the back due. They knew that when push came to shove, my friend would step in before letting her sister and nephew be tossed to the curb. So, armed with this knowledge, the bastards at the bank decided to play hardball.

The story unfortunately has a familiar ring to it. I regularly hear from readers who tried for short sales but were told because they are current on their payments, it's a no go. Or who tried for a loan modification and were advised by the bank that to be eligible, they had to miss payments -- and once they did that, the bank foreclosed on them. Or unemployed people who have struggled to stay current on their payments who are told that if they can't show a pay stub, the bank won't consider giving them the current loan rate instead of the higher one they have.

It simply makes no sense. Welcome to America friends, where we bail out the banks who turn around and stomp out our lights.

But if anyone has a story to top this, I'd love to hear it.

Follow Ann Brenoff on Twitter: www.twitter.com/AnnBrenoff

On Being Nice

A girl I once met said her shrink told her that being nice 'wasn't anything' and challenged her to stand for something and make something of herself. 


My upbringing was all about being nice. It was an end goal; a saavy and necessary partner in business and life to maintain a sense of self.   Other than on the show Sunday Morning, where is it modeled?


Nice is thought of as weak. When someone says you are nice, more than not it is for lack of a better adjective. But it really is strength.
Nice is a synonym of righteous, or right-wise, and defined as good, honest, virtuous and fair. It is one of the character traits we all try to find, maybe even the actual cornerstone of an honest life.

Being nice is hard work. How interesting that it can be misconstrued. No matter! It remains my highest goal. I hope I wear the label with pride.

I Have Served

We live in the county seat of Yolo and Superior Court is located just down the street. I had postponed jury duty from October, as it was the busiest month on record at work and there was no time to serve.

In the past I've found the process interesting, watching how negotiations behind the scene affect the time in court. Mostly, though, I'm astonished at the waste of time of everyone involved.

Yesterday was my make-up day with a report time of 8:30. It was postponed to 9, and there was a long line and challenge with parking, but I got inside ahead of schedule. The metal detector detected the underwire in my bra.

It is a beautiful old building with marble walls up to the 15 foot ceilings. The ceilings were lathe and plaster with crown mouldings. It looked hand painted tone on tone cream with gold trim. Very ornate.

But otherwise it was a mess. At least 100 people were lining the walls, squeezed hip to hip on the few benches there were, sitting on the stairs and getting up and down, up and down, as people needed to pass. The jury waiting room was already full, and the jury information room informed us that it was already full, and to come back at 10:15.

Back home, a couple of chores, and same hallway. Same people. We were brought down to Department 6 to a courtroom there, and read the jury instructions from a sweet young girl who seemed apologetic for the delay.  In silence we sat there, I read fortunately, until 11:50am when we were told to take lunch and report back at 1:45.

Back home, repeat of earlier, and back at 1:45.  Back to the Dept 6 courtroom and then ushered upstairs at 2:15 to the original jury waiting room to sit in silence until 4:15. Another young woman came in apologetically and said the judge had not instructed them if we were needed, and only he could release us.

We did have a bit of excitement. A bailiff came in and walked us up one flight to a jury room that was at capacity, only to realize that we were not supposed to be there. Back we trudged to the jury waiting room after passing two more groups of about 35 heading either up or down stairs with confused and irritated expressions.

But in the courtroom we were waiting for, I saw the judge had already seated 10 solid jurors in the box and there was a capacity crowd of citizens ready to be interviewed. The judge had the right to keep us there, even carry us over to the next day, but he didn't need an extra hundred people hanging around until 5 to 5. It just seemed inconsiderate.

Today another two hundred will serve, lining the halls, being led up and down stairs staff who apologize too much. What a shame we didn't have a glimpse of the interesting aspects of the court. I left thinking about opening a coffee and sandwich place across the street. That would really clean up. 

The Ace up our Sleeve

I can't tell you the number of times we're out in town and in the midst of a big old laugh someone nearby chimes in. My husband is gregarous and witty and people like him. He calls out to me in the store with nicknames like, 'my precious wonderment' or something else silly, and for just a moment the faces around us burst into a broad smile and you can see by their expression they believe in the hopefulness of a lasting marriage - in the possibilities.

They don't know our newlywed story unless they ask, and if they do we tell them about the amazing set of circumstances that led us to each other, and how implausable it would have been to meet otherwise.

Family is so important to us. Not a week goes by that we don't spend time with family in different combinations, and every time we do we long for a bigger diningroom to accommodate more. Concerts and bbqs and weeknight dinners, and movie nights...

The company where my husband works is failing and we are bracing for impact. Talk around the table is about the changes that will bring. What life might look like, contingency plans and possible moves. We wonder what living among strangers would be like if it comes to that. I love my job and he loves his, and at our age this would be an even bigger deal.

As we sit holding hands over a cup of coffee, we look around at the beautiful faces of our blended families all over the walls. We remember how much change we have been through. We decide that the best preparation is probably in our attitudes of facing it in a positive, welcoming way.

But we have something extra this go-round: the Ace up our sleeve is each other.

Daughter of the Bride

This beautiful piece was written by Lisa Belkin, staff writer for the Huffington Post.

There is a certain look people get when you tell them you are going to your mother's wedding (particularly once you assure them you are thrilled.) It's a smile of surprise, mixed with an implied fist bump of "you go girl", mixed with just a touch of eyebrow raised confusion.

At their age? Why?

I suspect I had the same look as I held the chuppah over Mom, who is not quite 74, and Al, who is 82, as they read the vows they had written to each other. They pledged love, yes, but also so many things that their younger selves would not yet have come to cherish -- to honor each other's commitments to their families, to accept each other exactly as they are.

As my mother and new stepfather (I am still getting used to that...) spoke of lifetimes and beginnings, I realized how rare these moments were. Not just a wedding at their age, which is unusual enough (the most recent census numbers say that of every 1000 widows over the age of 65, two will remarry, while 14 per 1000 widowers will do the same) but the chance to stand with a parent when a new door opens.

My grandmother called it shepping naches. Literally translated that means "deriving pleasure" but it is so much more than that. It connotes swelling with pride at the accomplishments of others, and until Mom's wedding I had only ever thought to use it to describe a parent's derivative joy at the success of their children. The reason I never heard it applied to what a child feels about a parent is because that's rarely the way it works. So many of life's milestones are doors opening for children, and closing for parents.

Standing under that chuppah in my mother's Tucson backyard, I spun through the lifecycle moments she and I have shared. Nearly all of them were new beginnings for me, and something much more complicated and bittersweet for her. My own wedding, when my parents sent me off toward a new chapter and closed one of their own. The birth of my children, which inched them further from their parenting years. And the times when I was there to shepherd and support her? All sad, and final. The downsizing of her home. My father's death. Her move to Arizona because the New York winters had become too hard.

None of this is to say that her life has been spent waiting around for her kids to bring happiness. My mother doesn't wait around for anyone. And there certainly have even been moments when I did feel as though I were watching her at the starting gate, certainly not the finish line. When she graduated from law school the year I graduated from high school, I remember thinking that this is the pride a parent must feel. When she shook herself out of mourning and put herself on a cruise ship, I was like a mom whose kid was spending his first summer at sleepaway camp, waiting for emails, hoping she was making friends.

But as I looked past the chuppah and to my own two sons -- both young men, actually -- sitting among their new cousins, I saw clearly that already they were closing doors and moving on, while I could only stand still and watch them go. My job was to wave as they left for kindergarten, and high school, and college -- new beginnings for them, thinly veiled endings for me. I would burst with joy and pride, they would periodically pause and wave back.

When the vows were said, and the glass was broken, and a few happy tears were shed, we headed to a favorite restaurant for the reception. Theirs was one of two wedding parties celebrating there that night, separated from each other by a thick glass wall. Part way through the meal there came a moment when the bride and groom on the other side, looking just like the couple a top the identical cakes, caught the eye of the bride and groom on our side, looking nothing at all like the cake topper, but for their smiles. It was like looking in a mirror through time, and all four of the newlyweds began to wave.

From Lisa Belkin: I wrote this soon after Mom's wedding. But before we could run it, Al's daughter Suzanne passed away from cancer, leaving behind her husband and their 8-year-old son. Her funeral is January 10, two weeks to the day after her father married my mother. A reminder to celebrate whenever you can.

Work It, Baby!

That old midwestern work ethic is alive and well, having been raised by two Chicagoans who seemed to constantly be in motion.

Even at rest, my mother never rested, not entirely. Watching TV was at the ironing board and out of the corner of our eye all of us strewn on the couch and floor could see the rhythm of movements as the iron moved over the tablecloth.

I got to thinking about how sedantary we've become because of the no-iron fabrics and remote controls and computers. The effort we have to expend is less and less. No wonder we're fat.

This is the crux to (some of) the budget crisis. Looking at all of the unemployed and welfare families we as a country are unable to sustain in support, why don't we ask them to give back?

When we need a great idea, schools usually are working on the answer to fill the cultural gaps. And there it was: volunteerism. Volunteering has been added to the curriculum because it strengthens the connection between people, creates a mindset of purpose and selflessness, and kicks in one's work ethic.

In the news this week I read that people were up in arms about the potential restrictions the government wants on food stamps and junk food. UP IN ARMS. About how to spend the government's money. Uncle Sam has every right to say - no alcohol or cigarettes or the kinds of foods that do not promote good health.

 (A friend's son recently inherited a tidy sum from his grandmother with the restriction that he be a full time student and it go only for college. Is that fair? Well, sure.)

We are sitting on a mountain of people with their hands out for welfare and unemployment, and why not mandate volunteerism?  There's tons of things in our towns and cities that need fixing, trash and graffiti abatement, and beautification projects to make them better places to live. Imagine if everyone on the rolls was required to work 10 hours a week in their communities helping others and lending a hand to those in need...

I think Roosevelt would love a purpose-driven requirement added to his social programs. It's simple economics with a jolt of caffeine. There is an urgent need to retrain citizens who currently take and not give; it would address the issue of generational welfare families; and it would improve the environments in which we live.

It's time we remind everyone that a work ethic is an action verb. Work it, baby!

Job Sharing

The Iowa Caucus has been interesting. Staunch Republican friends are struggling with where to throw their endorsement.  For me, in the last two decades I've waffled between the parties, including Independent. Still vote the person and not the party.

It's interesting to see what this level of visibility does to the candidates. What enormous pressure to be on the spot for months, having to keep the political persona in perfect wear. Not sure that we aren't over-exercising our right to know at the expense of a really good presidential candidate. But that's a hunch, just like it will be on voting day when we hope and pray what we've seen will be what we get.

We knew Obama was a greenhorn from the beginning. We knew his views of democracy and citizenship and government were not mainstream. Certainly those differences have not helped resolve the serious issues facing our country or instilling confidence that we think our president will represent us well.

It would have been a Godsend to see him surround himself with the most brilliant minds and actually take their advice, rather than focus his term on how posterity will view him for having put women and minorities in cabinet roles for the first time. It would have been inspirational to watch him muster untapped strength and wisdom from within, and successfully tackle any one of the serious issues in play. But the fact that he didn't isn't as much a surprise to me as listening to friends and neighbors complain for having handed the reins to an inexperienced unknown. 

This time there will be a different kind of assessment when I look at the candidates. We know what it looks like when Washington works and when it stalls, and what the candidate brings to the table is of the utmost importance. I pray for someone who has mastered the rules, is quick on his feet, and a Christian. Someone who will stand tall with tenacity and integrity to maneuver through the treacherous waters of change. Someone other than the choices we have.

I've thought for a while the President's role should be re-tooled. Maybe job shared.  You know, let one guy cover domestic and the other foreign affairs. Maybe utilize the VP for more than christening yachts and going to funerals. Pick a running mate to actually help run and manage the big business of doing the right thing.

Life by the Tail

There's a leftover sour taste in my mouth with all these health issues plaguing the parents and friends. Prayers are flooding in and out to everyone struggling with the changes we cannot stop.

Day 1

Sammy is curled up as I write this, having just come from a comfy snuggle in the after-the-alarm-and-before-rising zone. She is such a good dog, the right size, the right temperament, loyal and creative. The back yard has gaping holes where she is sure there is buried treasure. Or a bone.

Back in the early days of puppyownerhood we took a friend's advice and lined the run with kryptonite.  Frankly, we thought the recommendation was a little excessive, but she has labs and she would know. So we put in one stalwart defensive system of this thick metal grid along the fence and underground, too, with bricks buried about a foot down. What is this pet, a Velicoraptor?

The little furball thinks so. She keeps testing the perimeter fences all the way down to the brick. We set up a dig spot elsewhere but that's not enough. So now my husband heads into the back yard in the afternoons armed with a shovel to back fill her progress. 

We know this too shall pass.

Day 101

It is fun watching her grow into herself. She has an unquenching interest in all things counter-high, plus everything else. She is nudging closer to the pool, which is a big improvement over last summer when she would walk the long way around just to steer clear. We found her yesterday standing atop the dog house, lording over her castle. Or was that hatching a plan?

Her favorite snacks are carrots and cucumber; she bows when she catches the ball mid-flight; she poses for pictures. I'd say she's got life by the tail. Pass the Pup-a-Ronis, please!

Goodbye

My honorary mom passed away at 89 on New Years Eve, the gal who wrapped me in a hug and tucked me into her brood when I was a co-ed and struggling with my relationship with my own mom.

Marge was the lady who always had food on the stove and a melodious laugh that filled the room. And booze in the cabinet.

She had a great sense of humor and a sharp tongue but for some reason the two of us remained on good behavior status with each other. In 37 years I don't remember having had a cross word. How we skimmed over all the messy parts of family life, I'll never know, but our connection remained strong. Magical.

I always felt she glommed onto the best parts of me and decided that was all she needed to know. And so the disappointments of screwing up and making flubs were glossed over. From those first days to the last, that's how it was. She was my Head Cheerleader.

There'll be no service for her, I'm told, having outlived all of her friends and even her spouse. With no fanfare at all, she will be remembered by her grandchildren and children before the assets are weighed and house emptied. Life will go on.

But before all of that happens, let me say I wish you had known her! I miss the chance to gather to celebrate and tell stories of her life and acknowledge how important she was.  But today I am not as much family as before; and, like this post, I will find a way to keep her stories and funny memories alive.

In With the New

2011: What inexplicable joys it brought, hidden like gems encased in worry and doubt.

2011: A year that kept our humanity in check, helped us aide and abet those we love, and filled it with beautiful music. A year of quiet gifting and blessings, and an opportunity to practice what we preach.

2011: We ran from it fruitlessly, and then listened hard to the message. Game changing issues arose which will surely take us to new ground. We wonder if we will adapt.  But I know we will.

We sat on New Years Eve in a theatre watching a musical revue of The Beatles by a group called RAIN. We swayed in time to the music, peace signs high in the air, and collectively sang Give Peace a Chance and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band word for word.  In a sold-out house, we owned those tumultuous decades of drugs and war, bigotry and hate, when civilized protests ended in bloody violence. Those arms linked around each other on the TV used to be ours, being pepper sprayed ... and worse.

We had a startlingly loud voice during those sit ins and occupation days of the 60s and 70s. We believed in a gentler way in a world of chaos and forced our vision into the world. Most of the country did not understand or agree.

And so 2011 is most remarkable for its young people worldwide who found a voice and a willingness to stand up for it. It is the process of taking the helm that's important. The winds of change are palpatable. Sharing their perspective is secondary to how significant it is to see their passion and investment in the future emerge.

God Speed.