I woke up thinking about Charles Kuralt, and the years he would get me out of bed really early on Sunday mornings. His show Sunday Morning captured moments of exhilarating life full of compassion that bolstered me for the week ahead.
And that is why I have become a Facebook fan.
Facebook is somewhere people I like gather and share the moments of joy, surprising discoveries, amazing photos, silly jokes and the upside of life. We tease and play somewhere far away from the sobering fear and ransacked value system media is trying to shove down our throats.
I like Facebook because it connects people I truly love and would not spend time with otherwise: cousins and uncles/aunts and friends in far away states. The rabid laptop warriors don't post on my page, thankfully. What's going on is a fun group of friends, some of them new but all of them real, who chat about what is important. Facebook is the modern version of an old fashioned social hour to swap recipes and pictures and hobbies, and even advice. We offer up ideas, and congratulations and even condolences.
Will they be part of my world anytime soon? That was never the deal.
And so to those saying FB isn't real, I have to disagree. Facebook is as real as any other virtual group of friends. But on FB, together we are able to create the spirit of the Sunday Morning show every day of the week, where we can play a while before heading into the day. That's what keeps me coming back. I think Charles Kuralt would be proud.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 22, 2015
Know Your Way Home
I sense the world is different. A paradigm shift in the Memory Makers.
I miss believing the illusion and comfortable arrogance of someday having my turn at circling a calendar date with the whens and wheres of retirement, and heading into the sunset with colors flying high.
It was different back then, wasn't it?
I miss the days of unending promise before I knew what old money was, and why it was important. I never wanted to learn why it was foolhardy to believe in the unlimited potential for new money.
The Generation of Change,
with blinkers to the right,
are sliding into the slow lane.
How can that be?
It seemed like such a never-ending life of busyness and energized chaos, with years flowing along like a river, and suddenly, unexpectedly the family was grown and gone.
So many wonderful things now.
A beautiful friendship that blossoms is easier to spot through the weeds than it used to be. Nobody really cares if I wear hats to the grocery store and put my feet in the fountain or stay in to finish that novel I've been obsessing about.
I hear the lessons of my parents clearer, and I realize I learned more than I thought I did.
Love has bloomed late in life and taken me on adventures I only imagined. What a great reminder that living every piece of your life is important, even the parts you didn't know where there. The beautiful tapestry of life is full and rich for those unafraid to start and fail, and start again.
I sit pondering all of this, and what makes a family strong.
Resiliency, I'd say. Fostering love and dispelling hate, facing loss and uncertainty, and pulling together no matter what.
Being open to new people even knowing they will change the family forever.
Believing in the stories and folklore, and the people who remind you where you come from.
Living life as a world traveler, exploring and learning and trying life on, but always knowing your way home.
But in the end, it is all about Love.
I miss believing the illusion and comfortable arrogance of someday having my turn at circling a calendar date with the whens and wheres of retirement, and heading into the sunset with colors flying high.
It was different back then, wasn't it?
I miss the days of unending promise before I knew what old money was, and why it was important. I never wanted to learn why it was foolhardy to believe in the unlimited potential for new money.
The Generation of Change,
with blinkers to the right,
are sliding into the slow lane.
How can that be?
It seemed like such a never-ending life of busyness and energized chaos, with years flowing along like a river, and suddenly, unexpectedly the family was grown and gone.
So many wonderful things now.
A beautiful friendship that blossoms is easier to spot through the weeds than it used to be. Nobody really cares if I wear hats to the grocery store and put my feet in the fountain or stay in to finish that novel I've been obsessing about.
I hear the lessons of my parents clearer, and I realize I learned more than I thought I did.
Love has bloomed late in life and taken me on adventures I only imagined. What a great reminder that living every piece of your life is important, even the parts you didn't know where there. The beautiful tapestry of life is full and rich for those unafraid to start and fail, and start again.
I sit pondering all of this, and what makes a family strong.
Resiliency, I'd say. Fostering love and dispelling hate, facing loss and uncertainty, and pulling together no matter what.
Being open to new people even knowing they will change the family forever.
Believing in the stories and folklore, and the people who remind you where you come from.
Living life as a world traveler, exploring and learning and trying life on, but always knowing your way home.
But in the end, it is all about Love.
Dec 13, 2015
God Be With Us
Today. On a crowded bus. On Michigan Avenue. On my way home from a great job in a city in a diverse country that I was born in.
A man screamed at me. Called me a sand ni**er. Told me I was the problem. That I need to get the fuck out of his country.
I may have been wearing my scarf higher on my head than usual because it was cold out. I may have somehow looked suspicious listening to Spotify. I am half Iranian, so maybe it was my skin or my eyes.
But 5 minutes of this at least went on with no one doing anything. Me telling him calmly to back off. Me telling him I would call the cops and me trying to get my gloves off to dial.
Then this man spits at me. A man in a suit and tie. Like anyone else I'd see. He spits at me and looks at me with these regular eyes now filled with anger and tells me to get the fuck off the bus, do what I'm told, because this isn't my country. This isn't my place.
That's when I screamed at the top of my lungs for him to back off. That's when people decided to maybe help and tell him to stop. That got the attention of the bus driver to kick him out.
I'm home now in my nice apartment in a nice part of Chicago with my fiancé and my cat. Sitting in a room looking out at the lights of other apartments. Wondering how many others out there got screamed at and told today this isn't their country, that they're worthless somehow, that they don't matter. How many?
My father was in the World Trade Center on 9/11 and survived. Days and weeks and years after that horrible day, I have been told somehow me or my mother's family are the cause, that we are evil and going to Hell. That Iranians, that Middle Eastern people, that Muslims are less than human.
I am a mixture like so many in this country today.
I was born in Boston, Massachusetts. It's one of the most patriotic cities in America. My ancestor Hugh Drury is buried in the oldest graveyard in Boston, and he helped contribute to the building blocks of what would become the United States of America.
And yes I'm also Iranian. My mother's family came here to seek incredible opportunities and they found them. They've become doctors and entrepreneurs and athletes and writers and singers.
I have family who are Muslim.
I have family who are Catholic.
I have family who enjoy laughing and talking and dancing and drinking till they're silly.
And I am American. and this is my country. I do belong here. My roots are planted here.
I'm here and I belong. I won't get off the bus.
A man screamed at me. Called me a sand ni**er. Told me I was the problem. That I need to get the fuck out of his country.
I may have been wearing my scarf higher on my head than usual because it was cold out. I may have somehow looked suspicious listening to Spotify. I am half Iranian, so maybe it was my skin or my eyes.
But 5 minutes of this at least went on with no one doing anything. Me telling him calmly to back off. Me telling him I would call the cops and me trying to get my gloves off to dial.
Then this man spits at me. A man in a suit and tie. Like anyone else I'd see. He spits at me and looks at me with these regular eyes now filled with anger and tells me to get the fuck off the bus, do what I'm told, because this isn't my country. This isn't my place.
That's when I screamed at the top of my lungs for him to back off. That's when people decided to maybe help and tell him to stop. That got the attention of the bus driver to kick him out.
I'm home now in my nice apartment in a nice part of Chicago with my fiancé and my cat. Sitting in a room looking out at the lights of other apartments. Wondering how many others out there got screamed at and told today this isn't their country, that they're worthless somehow, that they don't matter. How many?
My father was in the World Trade Center on 9/11 and survived. Days and weeks and years after that horrible day, I have been told somehow me or my mother's family are the cause, that we are evil and going to Hell. That Iranians, that Middle Eastern people, that Muslims are less than human.
I am a mixture like so many in this country today.
I was born in Boston, Massachusetts. It's one of the most patriotic cities in America. My ancestor Hugh Drury is buried in the oldest graveyard in Boston, and he helped contribute to the building blocks of what would become the United States of America.
And yes I'm also Iranian. My mother's family came here to seek incredible opportunities and they found them. They've become doctors and entrepreneurs and athletes and writers and singers.
I have family who are Muslim.
I have family who are Catholic.
I have family who enjoy laughing and talking and dancing and drinking till they're silly.
And I am American. and this is my country. I do belong here. My roots are planted here.
I'm here and I belong. I won't get off the bus.
Oct 10, 2015
A Case for Access
I really do wonder if the world has gone mad. Friends are having conversations about owning a gun, and just how far they would go to protect themselves. Friends spend their days target practicing because it's fun, and it's a good-to-know skill.
A good-to-know skill. God help us.
We are shaken up by the violence in our communities and schools and homes. We don't know what to do. Guns are everywhere, and we know it. More and more we are coming to believe the only way to be prepared is to arm ourselves.
Most of us know history well enough to realize we are in much more danger without the right to bear arms. The 2nd Amendment is an essential right, even knowing among us there are life takers. Gun Control advocates stand on one side demanding regulatory responses and follow through, or the removal of guns altogether. The Pro-2nd-Amendmenters stand on the other side saying, don't mess with our right to bear arms, and they do not believe any legislative body could ever propose anything to target the problem without encroaching on the right.
Both sides are right. Each state has its own regulations and California is one of the most stringent, and yet we continually struggle with our violent communities. It is a multi-pronged problem, to be sure. I would like to point out, though, that it isn't just about the gun owner. Take me for example: I have total access to weapons because I live in the home with guns. I have access to them and have never had a background check or taken a gun safety class including weapon storage.
This exact situation is played out across America: people come and go from our homes and have access to weapons without a knowledge of how to handle and respect them. What if they don't have a man like my husband who is expert at handling and understanding the safe storage in a gun safe, and who has made absolutely sure I know how to safely handle a weapon?
The only sensible place to begin is with Access. We need a national safety policy that gun owners have to provide proof of a gun safe in order to pick up a weapon or transfer ownership. We need to focus on the importance of safe storage, perhaps in a mandatory class with statistics and personal stories on why the policy is there. And we need to never look away when guns are not stowed safely. No one gets a pass. There needs to be levied an outrageous - and I mean outrageous - fine for non-compliance.
Yes, it will be hard to implement. Certainly not harder than burying a child. Not harder than watching your juvenile ruin their life for murdering a neighbor girl who didn't let him see her puppies. Not harder than looking a victim's parents in the eye during the trial and having no voice for the depth of your sorrow. Not harder than living with the guilt of not recognizing the danger in a family member before a massacre. Not harder than living in fear of your neighbor.
Tackle access first, and from there take on the legislation that tightens full compliance and follow through of what is already on the books, add peripheral hands training classes for families of gun owners, and insist on background checks that actually turn up useful information.
The #1 unalienable right in the US Constitution is Life. It is listed before Liberty and before the Amendments. For those qualified to own a gun but too stupid to see the benefits of safe storage, fix that with a firm, consistent and reasonable requirement for gun safe storage, which is in the best interests of all. To Life!
A good-to-know skill. God help us.
We are shaken up by the violence in our communities and schools and homes. We don't know what to do. Guns are everywhere, and we know it. More and more we are coming to believe the only way to be prepared is to arm ourselves.
Most of us know history well enough to realize we are in much more danger without the right to bear arms. The 2nd Amendment is an essential right, even knowing among us there are life takers. Gun Control advocates stand on one side demanding regulatory responses and follow through, or the removal of guns altogether. The Pro-2nd-Amendmenters stand on the other side saying, don't mess with our right to bear arms, and they do not believe any legislative body could ever propose anything to target the problem without encroaching on the right.
Both sides are right. Each state has its own regulations and California is one of the most stringent, and yet we continually struggle with our violent communities. It is a multi-pronged problem, to be sure. I would like to point out, though, that it isn't just about the gun owner. Take me for example: I have total access to weapons because I live in the home with guns. I have access to them and have never had a background check or taken a gun safety class including weapon storage.
This exact situation is played out across America: people come and go from our homes and have access to weapons without a knowledge of how to handle and respect them. What if they don't have a man like my husband who is expert at handling and understanding the safe storage in a gun safe, and who has made absolutely sure I know how to safely handle a weapon?
The only sensible place to begin is with Access. We need a national safety policy that gun owners have to provide proof of a gun safe in order to pick up a weapon or transfer ownership. We need to focus on the importance of safe storage, perhaps in a mandatory class with statistics and personal stories on why the policy is there. And we need to never look away when guns are not stowed safely. No one gets a pass. There needs to be levied an outrageous - and I mean outrageous - fine for non-compliance.
Yes, it will be hard to implement. Certainly not harder than burying a child. Not harder than watching your juvenile ruin their life for murdering a neighbor girl who didn't let him see her puppies. Not harder than looking a victim's parents in the eye during the trial and having no voice for the depth of your sorrow. Not harder than living with the guilt of not recognizing the danger in a family member before a massacre. Not harder than living in fear of your neighbor.
Tackle access first, and from there take on the legislation that tightens full compliance and follow through of what is already on the books, add peripheral hands training classes for families of gun owners, and insist on background checks that actually turn up useful information.
The #1 unalienable right in the US Constitution is Life. It is listed before Liberty and before the Amendments. For those qualified to own a gun but too stupid to see the benefits of safe storage, fix that with a firm, consistent and reasonable requirement for gun safe storage, which is in the best interests of all. To Life!
Jul 11, 2015
Honest Lens Alert
I have had recent experience with friends/family 'coming out', and there being a flurry of activity right afterwards, calls and emails about the 'situation'.
People seem all upset and wringing their hands, and praying to God for the young man's deliverance.
I think it reflects how uncomfortable they are to receive information like this. Sexual topics are generally not discussed in families. Someone has just shared an intimate truth about their life choices, their sexual choices, and allowed family and friends to know a profoundly personal part of their lives. They are not seeking permission. It is their statement of self.
It is a courageous thing to do. A risky move. I can't think of one heterosexual couple that has ever purposefully opened themselves up to the opinions and ridicule of others. We guard our intimacies, and believe what happens in the shadows of that is only our business. So why is a person coming out perceived as a call for action in some families?
On the flip side, I also don't believe it is newsworthy. News reporters would never say, this heterosexual man was just indicted on Racketeering charges ... but they do typically mention if the person is Gay or Lesbian. (Is that you, Prejudice?) Unless it is a matter of unequivocal equality and the country needs to fight for their rights, I know that we will never truly embrace it until it is not considered noteworthy.
I believe that living according to the teachings of Christ means that we should try to be like him, and in that not to pass judgment when faced with values that are at war with our own.
Except for Jenner. It galls me to no end that he has achieved celebrity status. I have no quarrel with him wearing a dress, but do we really need to act like a bunch of immature 13 year olds snickering over finding a nudie magazine?
People seem all upset and wringing their hands, and praying to God for the young man's deliverance.
I think it reflects how uncomfortable they are to receive information like this. Sexual topics are generally not discussed in families. Someone has just shared an intimate truth about their life choices, their sexual choices, and allowed family and friends to know a profoundly personal part of their lives. They are not seeking permission. It is their statement of self.
It is a courageous thing to do. A risky move. I can't think of one heterosexual couple that has ever purposefully opened themselves up to the opinions and ridicule of others. We guard our intimacies, and believe what happens in the shadows of that is only our business. So why is a person coming out perceived as a call for action in some families?
On the flip side, I also don't believe it is newsworthy. News reporters would never say, this heterosexual man was just indicted on Racketeering charges ... but they do typically mention if the person is Gay or Lesbian. (Is that you, Prejudice?) Unless it is a matter of unequivocal equality and the country needs to fight for their rights, I know that we will never truly embrace it until it is not considered noteworthy.
I believe that living according to the teachings of Christ means that we should try to be like him, and in that not to pass judgment when faced with values that are at war with our own.
Except for Jenner. It galls me to no end that he has achieved celebrity status. I have no quarrel with him wearing a dress, but do we really need to act like a bunch of immature 13 year olds snickering over finding a nudie magazine?
Jun 15, 2015
Coming to Class Having Forgotten it is Exam Day
A week or so ago I chatted up our mortgage company about the hazard insurance and property taxes they collect each month as part of our payment. PITI. Principal, Interest, Taxes and Insurance. I was just curious, really, why our tax collector had just informed us all of last year's taxes had not been paid.
They didn't get a bill? They didn't notice on their end of year reconciliation statement it had a zero next to taxes paid? They had $3200 extra dollars sitting in impounds with nothing to do?
The mortgage company at first tried their traditional pass the buck stuff, but what turned up is that they utilized the impounds for cleverly double paying for hazard insurance with two different insurance companies (old and new). They also took it upon themselves to pay for FEMA flood insurance which had been prepaid and a copy of the invoice sent to their impound department to verify coverage.
We had a sticky wicket. I was transferred around past two or three people before resting in the tax department with a really young-sounding person who quipped: Oh no biggie! We will just refund you when all this sorts out.
That would be fine except for the small matter about the taxes. Oh I don't know anything about taxes, let me transfer you ...
I was connected with an equally pleasant and useless tax specialist who chatted for a while about the curious situation with the impounds, and that she actually notified me the loan was not collecting for taxes.
We chatted a bit about the T in PITI. I was getting nowhere fast, so finally asked, what do you suggest we do about the $2800 due by June 30th? Well, she smiled through the phone, since we wouldn't be able to pay the taxes anyway through impounds, I suggest you pay it.
Just like that. $2800. Like it's sitting in the side drawer of my dresser.
In the meantime, she continued in her most professional, soothing voice to counteract the boiling blood vibes coming through the phone at her, I will call for an audit on the account to evaluate what happened. That can take up to 30 days to complete. We will be in touch.
In touch, they were. A couple of days ago we received a somber form letter notifying us that our mortgage was going to jump $150.00 a month and did we know we are short on our impounds?
No words.
They didn't get a bill? They didn't notice on their end of year reconciliation statement it had a zero next to taxes paid? They had $3200 extra dollars sitting in impounds with nothing to do?
The mortgage company at first tried their traditional pass the buck stuff, but what turned up is that they utilized the impounds for cleverly double paying for hazard insurance with two different insurance companies (old and new). They also took it upon themselves to pay for FEMA flood insurance which had been prepaid and a copy of the invoice sent to their impound department to verify coverage.
We had a sticky wicket. I was transferred around past two or three people before resting in the tax department with a really young-sounding person who quipped: Oh no biggie! We will just refund you when all this sorts out.
That would be fine except for the small matter about the taxes. Oh I don't know anything about taxes, let me transfer you ...
I was connected with an equally pleasant and useless tax specialist who chatted for a while about the curious situation with the impounds, and that she actually notified me the loan was not collecting for taxes.
We chatted a bit about the T in PITI. I was getting nowhere fast, so finally asked, what do you suggest we do about the $2800 due by June 30th? Well, she smiled through the phone, since we wouldn't be able to pay the taxes anyway through impounds, I suggest you pay it.
Just like that. $2800. Like it's sitting in the side drawer of my dresser.
In the meantime, she continued in her most professional, soothing voice to counteract the boiling blood vibes coming through the phone at her, I will call for an audit on the account to evaluate what happened. That can take up to 30 days to complete. We will be in touch.
In touch, they were. A couple of days ago we received a somber form letter notifying us that our mortgage was going to jump $150.00 a month and did we know we are short on our impounds?
No words.
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