I've believed for a long time that life is cyclic: no, that's not precisely right. It feels more of a continuous loop with joints and cartilidge that can traverse life's obstacles. Sometimes it's not convenient to believe that, especially when life dishes out one bad event after another.
And God knows I have had years with so many balls in the air it blocked out the sun.
Over time, what came from reading the kinds of books I love is that there is positive and negative energy and a natural balance between the two. Whatever you want to name it (karma, mojo), there's a jarring moment when you become aware that your life is either in or out of balance.
God's in it all the way but there's free will to complicate matters, and our imperfect natures that tempt and cloud our judgment and misinterpret or manipulate life to our own advantage. Probably justification is the worst of our sins, because it pre-dates most of our bad decisions, but that's for another blog.
If balance is the goal, restraint is the means. There's shiny things everywhere to catch my eye, activities and chores and work and family that looks fun and engaging. I know this of me, that I want to fit it all in. There is a lesson I know but can't apply: that to keep an optimal balance, I can't do it all . Coming to a place where I can let go and be at peace with the limitations is my homework.
Jun 23, 2009
Jun 18, 2009
OZ
Life just smacks you upside the head sometimes.
Went to the doc today to check out a bump on my left hip. No big deal, Doc says, birsitis and sciatica. Exercise, keep losing weight, and do yoga. YOGA?
Anything else? she asked. Now that you mention it, I've noticed my left arm has less range of motion. Can you look at that, too? Oh, and this bunion bugs me. And how about my plantar fascitis and the Olive Oyl shoes I am forced to wear and ... OMG! I've become my mother.
Driving home, as I salivated over a 100 pill supply of Naproxin with - count them: TWO refills! - I realized I'm in OZ: the old zone. Here I am, achy and creaky and cranky in the mornings, having to think long and hard about 2 hours of weeding because I may not be able to move the next day, let alone get up off my knees. I guess Lazer Tag is a definite no.
Nowadays, a healthy weekend recovery plan involves a slugfest day on the sofa in jams, reading a book or watching back to back movies. Yah dah, yah dah, I can say all I want about the greuling pace of life, but the twelve pairs of cheaters strewn all over the house, in the car, at the office, and in the glove box say otherwise.
I would long for the moment when pedaling would slow for a little coasting, and straining muscles could relax, to be able to savor the sun and breeze and earn the moment. Will it ever be as perfect as it was in my head? Probably not. But it's still a place I wanted to see, creaky bones and all.
Went to the doc today to check out a bump on my left hip. No big deal, Doc says, birsitis and sciatica. Exercise, keep losing weight, and do yoga. YOGA?
Anything else? she asked. Now that you mention it, I've noticed my left arm has less range of motion. Can you look at that, too? Oh, and this bunion bugs me. And how about my plantar fascitis and the Olive Oyl shoes I am forced to wear and ... OMG! I've become my mother.
Driving home, as I salivated over a 100 pill supply of Naproxin with - count them: TWO refills! - I realized I'm in OZ: the old zone. Here I am, achy and creaky and cranky in the mornings, having to think long and hard about 2 hours of weeding because I may not be able to move the next day, let alone get up off my knees. I guess Lazer Tag is a definite no.
Nowadays, a healthy weekend recovery plan involves a slugfest day on the sofa in jams, reading a book or watching back to back movies. Yah dah, yah dah, I can say all I want about the greuling pace of life, but the twelve pairs of cheaters strewn all over the house, in the car, at the office, and in the glove box say otherwise.
I would long for the moment when pedaling would slow for a little coasting, and straining muscles could relax, to be able to savor the sun and breeze and earn the moment. Will it ever be as perfect as it was in my head? Probably not. But it's still a place I wanted to see, creaky bones and all.
Jun 15, 2009
Forward March
Eve successfully raised her babies in the Bridal Veil hanging plant by the back slider and last week two astonishingly chubby babies fluttered away. For a few days one of them lingered, totally unconcerned by our daily activity of watering plants and checking the pool. Very cool. And then this week, as the baby built up the courage to explore new worlds, we discovered another egg. What is this, the Holiday Inn?!
We've been in a huddle lately about the future and how to best shape it through planning. The terrible economic conditions have been a super conductor to the discussion, but it was always there, a nagging little itch to plan, plan, plan. I've let my focus be on life in full sail and the beauty of the present scenery.
I know that planning anything yields better results but somehow this topic was mired in my diminishing role in an otherwise productive life. I never have come around to believing I'm getting old.
I've said it a million times: women are adaptable creatures, a big jumble of heart, flexibility and spirit that leaps through the stages of life -- little girls, women, workers, wives, mothers, homemakers, painters, landscapers, photo journalists, educators, medics and psychologists. We are first, last, and invisible as historians of our clan.
So if this isn't about adaptability, it has to be about value and place, and the perception of discarded old people in our country. Maybe it's time to see those wrinkles in the mirror and notice the need for more sleep and a quiet day at home after a long week.
Today looks like a good day to grow up, into life as it stands, not tinted by the sweet memories of noisy children and messy playrooms. I reluctantly admit the time to plan and scheme and dream and work has arrived.
And so I will -- Forward March! -- into wherever, walking boldly and surefooted, through transitions in my thinking, my body, my identity, my perceptions, keeping tight to the faith that the path will be lit.
We've been in a huddle lately about the future and how to best shape it through planning. The terrible economic conditions have been a super conductor to the discussion, but it was always there, a nagging little itch to plan, plan, plan. I've let my focus be on life in full sail and the beauty of the present scenery.
I know that planning anything yields better results but somehow this topic was mired in my diminishing role in an otherwise productive life. I never have come around to believing I'm getting old.
I've said it a million times: women are adaptable creatures, a big jumble of heart, flexibility and spirit that leaps through the stages of life -- little girls, women, workers, wives, mothers, homemakers, painters, landscapers, photo journalists, educators, medics and psychologists. We are first, last, and invisible as historians of our clan.
So if this isn't about adaptability, it has to be about value and place, and the perception of discarded old people in our country. Maybe it's time to see those wrinkles in the mirror and notice the need for more sleep and a quiet day at home after a long week.
Today looks like a good day to grow up, into life as it stands, not tinted by the sweet memories of noisy children and messy playrooms. I reluctantly admit the time to plan and scheme and dream and work has arrived.
And so I will -- Forward March! -- into wherever, walking boldly and surefooted, through transitions in my thinking, my body, my identity, my perceptions, keeping tight to the faith that the path will be lit.
Jun 5, 2009
Tweaking
Words take on all sorts of other meanings in today's society, but tweaking still means to me the intricate final adjustments when two things fit together.
No truer is that than with relationships. Strong at first, big and bold, a present moment thrill ride that seems like it condenses life into a series of dense bursts of feeling, each stronger than the next. It's addictive, this place we go when love is new.
And then time settles us down, into a routine, and the balance sheet of compatibility begins. There are things we notice, as the relationship tweaks and broadens. We begin integrating who we are with who we are to each other. If all goes well, we advance.
No longer a roller coaster ride, the relationship is at the apex of discovery as families and friends integrate and bond. Life today is so different, the way I spend time, with whom and how. A tinge of longing bubbles up -- melancholy, maybe -- and I vaguely miss something I can't identify. What is it I forgot to pack?
The baby doves in the nest are nearly grown now, right before our eyes, nurtured and protected by their doting parents. And I wonder, as they spread their wings and hop around the hanging plant under the eaves, if they realize the changes in store on this final stretch before they complete their journey. It will never be the same once they decide to go. They will return as parents someday, under our awning off the back porch, but it will not be the same. But we will celebrate them anyway: our hearts full of hope as they flutter and fly.
No truer is that than with relationships. Strong at first, big and bold, a present moment thrill ride that seems like it condenses life into a series of dense bursts of feeling, each stronger than the next. It's addictive, this place we go when love is new.
And then time settles us down, into a routine, and the balance sheet of compatibility begins. There are things we notice, as the relationship tweaks and broadens. We begin integrating who we are with who we are to each other. If all goes well, we advance.
No longer a roller coaster ride, the relationship is at the apex of discovery as families and friends integrate and bond. Life today is so different, the way I spend time, with whom and how. A tinge of longing bubbles up -- melancholy, maybe -- and I vaguely miss something I can't identify. What is it I forgot to pack?
The baby doves in the nest are nearly grown now, right before our eyes, nurtured and protected by their doting parents. And I wonder, as they spread their wings and hop around the hanging plant under the eaves, if they realize the changes in store on this final stretch before they complete their journey. It will never be the same once they decide to go. They will return as parents someday, under our awning off the back porch, but it will not be the same. But we will celebrate them anyway: our hearts full of hope as they flutter and fly.
May 30, 2009
Regina Brett
Written By Regina Brett, 90 years old, of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio
To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolls over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:
1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's,we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."
To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolls over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:
1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's,we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."
May 19, 2009
Guarding the Gate
I've had the chance to listen to seniors tell the stories of their lives as they present their Senior Portfolios before graduation day on May 30th. Their stories are poignant and compelling. It is hard to imagine their words, their memories, as they stand before us in high heels and pretty dresses, suit jackets and ties. The air is full of promise, and success, as they finish high school and hold college acceptance letters in their hands. Here in the moment it dramatically illustrates what the impact a loving support group has on the life of a child.
Families seem durable and rugged, but they are not. They are shred by poverty, and violence, indifference, divorce and mental illness. I listen to them, to how they got to this moment and their climb out of a culture of failure that contributed to their journey but did not define it. Here, they put to words the truth of those who took their hand and helped them along. The names of teachers, coaches, pastors, neighbor families, and grandparents fill the room with gratitude and love.
The daughters I have grown to love had an unstable childhood which has dogged them into adulthood. They understand all too well the importance of being Lions Guarding the Gate of their childrens' innocence and breaking the cycle of indifference. I listen gently to their journeys and grieve for them and applaud their courage. The wounds still bleed but I know someday it will stop. They are wonderful parents, these girls. One has raised six children under extreme circumstances and the children continue to thrive. Another has stepped forward to raise her nieces and nephew, although she and her husband have no children of their own. They taught themselves how to sacrifice every day, postpone their own plans, re-route their goals, because they know what not doing it will mean.
This I believe: no child is someone else's problem. It is sometimes inconvenient or complicated to intercede when we see crisis or neglect, but we must. Adults need to become an instrument of change when children need our help. Always, and forever, children come first.
Who knows what a simple outstretched hand will do, a gesture of kindness, a nutritious meal, a trip to the zoo, or a ride to church? If all of us are charged with being Lions, children will receive the love, support, dignity and respect they deserve. No one knows better than these high schoolers where they would be without it.
Families seem durable and rugged, but they are not. They are shred by poverty, and violence, indifference, divorce and mental illness. I listen to them, to how they got to this moment and their climb out of a culture of failure that contributed to their journey but did not define it. Here, they put to words the truth of those who took their hand and helped them along. The names of teachers, coaches, pastors, neighbor families, and grandparents fill the room with gratitude and love.
The daughters I have grown to love had an unstable childhood which has dogged them into adulthood. They understand all too well the importance of being Lions Guarding the Gate of their childrens' innocence and breaking the cycle of indifference. I listen gently to their journeys and grieve for them and applaud their courage. The wounds still bleed but I know someday it will stop. They are wonderful parents, these girls. One has raised six children under extreme circumstances and the children continue to thrive. Another has stepped forward to raise her nieces and nephew, although she and her husband have no children of their own. They taught themselves how to sacrifice every day, postpone their own plans, re-route their goals, because they know what not doing it will mean.
This I believe: no child is someone else's problem. It is sometimes inconvenient or complicated to intercede when we see crisis or neglect, but we must. Adults need to become an instrument of change when children need our help. Always, and forever, children come first.
Who knows what a simple outstretched hand will do, a gesture of kindness, a nutritious meal, a trip to the zoo, or a ride to church? If all of us are charged with being Lions, children will receive the love, support, dignity and respect they deserve. No one knows better than these high schoolers where they would be without it.
May 13, 2009
Feet in the Pool
I miss blogging. Like something pulling you from a comfortable sleep, it takes a while to come around to what it is that disturbed you. I've carved out some leisure reading time and already gulped down two books. House projects, here and in Elk Grove, are taking shape. I'm particularly excited about painting the house, putting up window boxes and awnings.
Family plans dominate the rest of the time.
On the horizon: two granddaughter wedding, three niece/nephew graduations, the 21st birthday for my son and my best friend's birthday. I'm tossing back what I've taken over the past couple of years, pounds-wise. (Already lost 5) There's no better diet incentive than to make plans to see friends you haven't seen in a while (thank you Jeff and Susan, Jen and Jeannette!!!).
Mother's Day was in high spirits, lots of laughter and storytelling. Work seems busier than ever, the library is taking shape (especially the teacher resource room) and I'm scurrying around doing a lot of different things that I like. Mike has a big race coming up over Memorial weekend in Sparks, NV. You should check out his blog - it's a riot: http://iwannaroc.blogspot.com/
The dove couple has two eggs in the nest under the eaves and we co-habitate nicely. Our red, white, and blue toned Beta fighting fish (Patriot) is in his 5th year and going strong. We will obviously spend more time with the grandkids, and the kids, now that summer is here. I'll just blog with the laptop propped on my knees and my feet in the pool.
Family plans dominate the rest of the time.
On the horizon: two granddaughter wedding, three niece/nephew graduations, the 21st birthday for my son and my best friend's birthday. I'm tossing back what I've taken over the past couple of years, pounds-wise. (Already lost 5) There's no better diet incentive than to make plans to see friends you haven't seen in a while (thank you Jeff and Susan, Jen and Jeannette!!!).
Mother's Day was in high spirits, lots of laughter and storytelling. Work seems busier than ever, the library is taking shape (especially the teacher resource room) and I'm scurrying around doing a lot of different things that I like. Mike has a big race coming up over Memorial weekend in Sparks, NV. You should check out his blog - it's a riot: http://iwannaroc.blogspot.com/
The dove couple has two eggs in the nest under the eaves and we co-habitate nicely. Our red, white, and blue toned Beta fighting fish (Patriot) is in his 5th year and going strong. We will obviously spend more time with the grandkids, and the kids, now that summer is here. I'll just blog with the laptop propped on my knees and my feet in the pool.
Apr 17, 2009
Reality Bites Back
I hate reality shows. It seems more than not what the audience learns about the ethics and integrity of the participants I'd just as soon not know. But that's just me.
So when someone comes along that defies the odds and sets new ground rules on a failure-oriented reality show, I love it. Such is the story of Susan Boyle, a nice, middle aged, simple woman who had the courage to audition on the reality show, Britain's Got Talent.
I'm trying to imagine her backstage, in her pretty dress and matching pumps, nerves tightening her throat and feeling acutely out of place and far away from the safety of her small English village. She might have been feeling like everything was at stake and her dreams were hanging in the balance before a crowd of thousands she didn't know, young and old, judging her right along with three cynical judges. She probably wouldn't have been able to even imagine the millions more viewers around the world also tuned in on TV and the internet.
I used to watch my son David play competitive soccer in middle school. He was a thin and wiry lad, quiet and humble. But once the ball was in play, he had the skill and speed of a jaguar, whipping the ball down the field before the other team knew what was happening. His coach used to call him the team's secret weapon. It was one of his special gifts.
I am so proud of Susan for having the courage to face her dreams head on. Even with rude eyes rolling and murmers from the crowd, she pushed forward because she knew something we didn't know: she knew her gift. And when the music began, her glorious voice filled the room with pure joy, stunning us, inspiring us, and reminding us that cynicism and snap judgments are barriers to revealing who we really are. All of us have special gifts that aren't always visible with the naked eye.
Susan Boyle is a world-wide sensation because everyone wants to believe that anything is possible. It feels good to be reminded that, scary though it is, our gifts are worth sharing with the world. The writers and singers among us, those that could inspire and make a difference in big and small ways, when will we have the courage to step out on that stage and reveal ourselves? Mom was right about not judging a book by its cover.
So when someone comes along that defies the odds and sets new ground rules on a failure-oriented reality show, I love it. Such is the story of Susan Boyle, a nice, middle aged, simple woman who had the courage to audition on the reality show, Britain's Got Talent.
I'm trying to imagine her backstage, in her pretty dress and matching pumps, nerves tightening her throat and feeling acutely out of place and far away from the safety of her small English village. She might have been feeling like everything was at stake and her dreams were hanging in the balance before a crowd of thousands she didn't know, young and old, judging her right along with three cynical judges. She probably wouldn't have been able to even imagine the millions more viewers around the world also tuned in on TV and the internet.
I used to watch my son David play competitive soccer in middle school. He was a thin and wiry lad, quiet and humble. But once the ball was in play, he had the skill and speed of a jaguar, whipping the ball down the field before the other team knew what was happening. His coach used to call him the team's secret weapon. It was one of his special gifts.
I am so proud of Susan for having the courage to face her dreams head on. Even with rude eyes rolling and murmers from the crowd, she pushed forward because she knew something we didn't know: she knew her gift. And when the music began, her glorious voice filled the room with pure joy, stunning us, inspiring us, and reminding us that cynicism and snap judgments are barriers to revealing who we really are. All of us have special gifts that aren't always visible with the naked eye.
Susan Boyle is a world-wide sensation because everyone wants to believe that anything is possible. It feels good to be reminded that, scary though it is, our gifts are worth sharing with the world. The writers and singers among us, those that could inspire and make a difference in big and small ways, when will we have the courage to step out on that stage and reveal ourselves? Mom was right about not judging a book by its cover.
Apr 4, 2009
Intangibles
Ok, so now you know. I can't sleep. Melatonin didn't even work.
What woke me up was a sore foot, but I was thinking about my dad and about the way we pass on parts of ourselves to each other. It doesn't have to be family members, although that's usually our closest unit. Friends, co workers, bosses, neighbors - everyone and everything colors our world. It's part of the human experience, the MeStory.
I really believe living stories create a shared history from past to future. The great oral traditions and, later, written works captured historical events, but it is the experience of life that changes us fundamentally, and those we love or admire can't help but become part of our life process, part of who we are becoming.
My skin, my hair, my eyes are like my father's, but it is the passing along of his intangibles that are stored in my heart. Life is bound to build on bits of others, person to person, story to story, imbedding it in history. You're right with me, Pop.
What woke me up was a sore foot, but I was thinking about my dad and about the way we pass on parts of ourselves to each other. It doesn't have to be family members, although that's usually our closest unit. Friends, co workers, bosses, neighbors - everyone and everything colors our world. It's part of the human experience, the MeStory.
I really believe living stories create a shared history from past to future. The great oral traditions and, later, written works captured historical events, but it is the experience of life that changes us fundamentally, and those we love or admire can't help but become part of our life process, part of who we are becoming.
My skin, my hair, my eyes are like my father's, but it is the passing along of his intangibles that are stored in my heart. Life is bound to build on bits of others, person to person, story to story, imbedding it in history. You're right with me, Pop.
Darkness to Light
It's been a long rest stop between blogs, and I've missed it. I've been immersed in re-establishing the library at the high school where I work. The school was under a huge remodel and renovation which is now complete, and for the last month or so it has been my task to rebuild and organize the space. It's a huge and physically exhausting task, and I have come to appreciate the generosity of students and staff who have pitched in to help.
There is excitement building as the space takes shape. Students drop in to find out when it will officially be open and what it will look like. I tell them, come in and check out whatever you like: this is your library and the books are always here when you need them.
I put Inherit the Wind and The Grapes of Wrath on the shelves, knowing the stories and lessons they teach and wonder if they still pack the punch for today's students that they did for me. Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Long Walk to Freedom, all part of the sampler quilt of life, all waiting for eager minds and warm hands to open them up.
We unbox hundreds a day, maybe more, separating by author or number and carting them to their destination. There are thousands more, each with a voice eager to be heard. Boxes are still everywhere, and as I inspect the covers and check bar codes I drift off thinking about how the space will be.
I imagine a reader's corner, with used books to take and replace for free, and an author-of-the-month display with a bio, photo and copies of books the author has written. Lining the walls will be inspirational quotes and framed photos of student readers, study desks around the perimeter and a research room full of computers with networked printers. Students will learn about library etiquette, a place of quiet respect that welcomes them in and wants them to linger.
The City of Sacramento has expressed interest in developing a partnership and that may mean more books, more hours, more community outreach. I can't think of anything better than a school library being a positive link to families and the neighborhood. It will come.
There is excitement building as the space takes shape. Students drop in to find out when it will officially be open and what it will look like. I tell them, come in and check out whatever you like: this is your library and the books are always here when you need them.
I put Inherit the Wind and The Grapes of Wrath on the shelves, knowing the stories and lessons they teach and wonder if they still pack the punch for today's students that they did for me. Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Long Walk to Freedom, all part of the sampler quilt of life, all waiting for eager minds and warm hands to open them up.
We unbox hundreds a day, maybe more, separating by author or number and carting them to their destination. There are thousands more, each with a voice eager to be heard. Boxes are still everywhere, and as I inspect the covers and check bar codes I drift off thinking about how the space will be.
I imagine a reader's corner, with used books to take and replace for free, and an author-of-the-month display with a bio, photo and copies of books the author has written. Lining the walls will be inspirational quotes and framed photos of student readers, study desks around the perimeter and a research room full of computers with networked printers. Students will learn about library etiquette, a place of quiet respect that welcomes them in and wants them to linger.
The City of Sacramento has expressed interest in developing a partnership and that may mean more books, more hours, more community outreach. I can't think of anything better than a school library being a positive link to families and the neighborhood. It will come.
Mar 5, 2009
Life can be breathtaking. Take Randy's grandson, PJ, for instance. You go, boy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfl1u3wt21c
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfl1u3wt21c
Feb 24, 2009
A Slice of Love
One of the littlest granddaughters met a lamb at her Aunt's farm with a damaged shoulder. The farm where it came from was going to put it down but her Aunt took it in. The little girl spent time with the lamb and at dinner was still thinking about it. She asked its name. 'Dinner' one of her wiseguy uncles replied.
There were chuckles around the table, and admonishments, but she didn't hear the literal joke or understand the bleaker aspects of life in the country. She accepted Dinner as its real name.
The next day, she returned to school and wrote a story about the lamb. For a little girl with Cerebral Palsy, it's impossible not to make the connection, and she wrote of her aunt was caring for the little lamb the way her mother cared for her.
The story so touched her teacher that she was asked to read it for the class, and then for the faculty, who listened with amusement and warmth to this tender-hearted little girl telling the story of compassion and hope about her friend, Dinner the Lamb.
Sometimes real life doesn't need sweetener.
There were chuckles around the table, and admonishments, but she didn't hear the literal joke or understand the bleaker aspects of life in the country. She accepted Dinner as its real name.
The next day, she returned to school and wrote a story about the lamb. For a little girl with Cerebral Palsy, it's impossible not to make the connection, and she wrote of her aunt was caring for the little lamb the way her mother cared for her.
The story so touched her teacher that she was asked to read it for the class, and then for the faculty, who listened with amusement and warmth to this tender-hearted little girl telling the story of compassion and hope about her friend, Dinner the Lamb.
Sometimes real life doesn't need sweetener.
Feb 10, 2009
What are Friends by Alice Weers
Friends are forever:
they laugh, they love, they share
Each other's thoughts and words
and, most of all, they care
Friends can come and go
and never be apart
Because they keep each other's smiles
deep within their heart
Friends can laugh and talk and cry
and think of lovely times gone by
But - most of all -
they love until they die.
they laugh, they love, they share
Each other's thoughts and words
and, most of all, they care
Friends can come and go
and never be apart
Because they keep each other's smiles
deep within their heart
Friends can laugh and talk and cry
and think of lovely times gone by
But - most of all -
they love until they die.
Feb 7, 2009
Every Single Drop
A college professor used to assign us immitation essays. We would take a passage from Thomas Carlysle, or Keats, or a sonnet of Shakespeare, dissect the structure, pick a topic and write something of our own. I always loved doing that, trying to get in the head of someone who was a master craftsman. Definitely my kind of fun.
I read a lot. The interactive and personal experience of a book, the slow, savory read, the ownership of connecting with its characters, it -- cliche coming! -- transports me. And so when an exceptional piece of writing comes along, I've got to know how they teach their thoughts to breathe.
A book written by Sue Monk Kidd has prose so intricately crafted and fluid, it draws me back. When I'm in the mood for a Monkfest, it's a full scale date -- a cup of tea, a pad of paper and throw blanket, a jug of water, a cozy spot -- because I'm in for the duration. There will be re-read paragraphs and notetaking and I barely accomplish more than a chapter a night, but come away as satisfied as if I had enjoyed a rich dessert.
Anita Shreve is another extraordinary read. Have you read her? She constructs her paragraphs so melodious, I read them aloud. Hers have a zinger at the end, so unexpected and enjoyable that I long to see how she does it. Even with uncomfortable subjects, Anita is a master of language, and carries the reader along on a personalized journey. Oh, and Barbara Kingsolver! It's impossible not to finish a book that is Kingsolver compelling.
Last week, I came upon an article in the February issue of Redbook written by someone unknown to me, Catherine Newman. The bio said she had written Waiting for Birdie and I have since found a humorous blog of hers, too. But as I sat there under the hair dryer in my favorite salon, the words pulled me into an unexpected swirl of emotion. The strong scents of beauty faded, and the chatter of women and the whirr of the hair dryer disappeared. It was me in that hospital room, watching her with her husband during the moments just before receiving the reassurring diagnosis that he would recover. It was me listening to the heartbeat of their connection, knowing the intimate and first person language of love: joyous, triumphant, soulful, and frightened. It was me nodding, yes, I can imagine it.
There is great allure in words, their humility and ability to heal, and the pain and power of them. Love expresses itself in these ways -- words spoken, written, and by touch. I want to catch what life pours out: every single drop.
I read a lot. The interactive and personal experience of a book, the slow, savory read, the ownership of connecting with its characters, it -- cliche coming! -- transports me. And so when an exceptional piece of writing comes along, I've got to know how they teach their thoughts to breathe.
A book written by Sue Monk Kidd has prose so intricately crafted and fluid, it draws me back. When I'm in the mood for a Monkfest, it's a full scale date -- a cup of tea, a pad of paper and throw blanket, a jug of water, a cozy spot -- because I'm in for the duration. There will be re-read paragraphs and notetaking and I barely accomplish more than a chapter a night, but come away as satisfied as if I had enjoyed a rich dessert.
Anita Shreve is another extraordinary read. Have you read her? She constructs her paragraphs so melodious, I read them aloud. Hers have a zinger at the end, so unexpected and enjoyable that I long to see how she does it. Even with uncomfortable subjects, Anita is a master of language, and carries the reader along on a personalized journey. Oh, and Barbara Kingsolver! It's impossible not to finish a book that is Kingsolver compelling.
Last week, I came upon an article in the February issue of Redbook written by someone unknown to me, Catherine Newman. The bio said she had written Waiting for Birdie and I have since found a humorous blog of hers, too. But as I sat there under the hair dryer in my favorite salon, the words pulled me into an unexpected swirl of emotion. The strong scents of beauty faded, and the chatter of women and the whirr of the hair dryer disappeared. It was me in that hospital room, watching her with her husband during the moments just before receiving the reassurring diagnosis that he would recover. It was me listening to the heartbeat of their connection, knowing the intimate and first person language of love: joyous, triumphant, soulful, and frightened. It was me nodding, yes, I can imagine it.
There is great allure in words, their humility and ability to heal, and the pain and power of them. Love expresses itself in these ways -- words spoken, written, and by touch. I want to catch what life pours out: every single drop.
Feb 2, 2009
Postcards in Acts
I've been pawing through boxes of family files. A postcard from the Red Cross in 1914 reassured my grandfather's family that he had survived the long voyage. A Lincoln centennial postcard announced the birth of a child with the simple words: 'We have a 7 lb baby girl at home. Come see it when you can.'
Photos grab hold. Here my mother and dad, with arms linked around people with unfamiliar faces, so treasured the memories captured that they kept them all of their lives. Young and strong, my father held me in his arms before I could hold myself, his tanned forearms reaching across another frame to light my first birthday candle and sing. My mother stands by his side, immersed in happiness and peace, knowing life only as a simple flowered dress and sensible shoes.
I never lay on the carved mahogany bed with creaky slat side rails without thinking of what it knows, times before electricity, indoor plumbing, automobiles, and basic medical miracles, refrigeration, and phones. I stare at a 1920s photo of the bed, marble top dressers, hand carved mirror which is virtually unchanged. The craftsman from 1856 is gone, as is my Great Uncle Don who had saw it new and had it sent by covered wagon from New York to Chicago Heights to provide life its comfort and continuity.
Who has lived and loved in this bed, and how did they spend their lives? In a hundred years, maybe it will it be on display somewhere, in one of my children's children's homes, and pictures will be discovered in a box somewhere with a smiling me in old fashioned clothes. They might lay on it and wonder about the tender moments spent discovering love for the first time, cradling babies or crying themselves to sleep. I hope my sons as fathers will wrap their arms around their children and tell them about me and the early years, when life for them was playful and noisy and new.
Life feels amazingly gradual: neverending days and hours and moments offer ample time to do and think and wonder and play. We won't come up short, we think: there will be time to fit it all in. But as gravity takes hold, and we are astonished to learn we, too, are transitory, what matters is that we passed this way at all. What we hand off to future generations is our indellible mark: how we spent the time we had and what that says about the people we were.
Photos grab hold. Here my mother and dad, with arms linked around people with unfamiliar faces, so treasured the memories captured that they kept them all of their lives. Young and strong, my father held me in his arms before I could hold myself, his tanned forearms reaching across another frame to light my first birthday candle and sing. My mother stands by his side, immersed in happiness and peace, knowing life only as a simple flowered dress and sensible shoes.
I never lay on the carved mahogany bed with creaky slat side rails without thinking of what it knows, times before electricity, indoor plumbing, automobiles, and basic medical miracles, refrigeration, and phones. I stare at a 1920s photo of the bed, marble top dressers, hand carved mirror which is virtually unchanged. The craftsman from 1856 is gone, as is my Great Uncle Don who had saw it new and had it sent by covered wagon from New York to Chicago Heights to provide life its comfort and continuity.
Who has lived and loved in this bed, and how did they spend their lives? In a hundred years, maybe it will it be on display somewhere, in one of my children's children's homes, and pictures will be discovered in a box somewhere with a smiling me in old fashioned clothes. They might lay on it and wonder about the tender moments spent discovering love for the first time, cradling babies or crying themselves to sleep. I hope my sons as fathers will wrap their arms around their children and tell them about me and the early years, when life for them was playful and noisy and new.
Life feels amazingly gradual: neverending days and hours and moments offer ample time to do and think and wonder and play. We won't come up short, we think: there will be time to fit it all in. But as gravity takes hold, and we are astonished to learn we, too, are transitory, what matters is that we passed this way at all. What we hand off to future generations is our indellible mark: how we spent the time we had and what that says about the people we were.
Jan 27, 2009
A Second Rate Idea
I don't understand the way things are anymore. Used to be, a person worked hard, mastered their job, devoted to it years of service and loyalty, and the company knew to give 'em a pat on the head and a roof over their head. It was all about trust and reciprocity. When times were lean, they problem-solved like good partners do. Eighty years after the Depression what lingers are those inspirational stories of corporate heads taking big salary cuts and workers offering to split their shifts so their buddy can stay on the payroll. Corporate America knew their success was intertwined with their workers.
That's not a common belief anymore, that big business will take one for the team. 'Experience' is being let go in record numbers, replaced with young grasshopper workers who are cheap and inexperienced. Maybe retirement is too pricey, I don't know, but it's hard to swallow bailout money being used to buy corporate jets and host lavish parties. That $100K office remodel would hold a couple three workers in their jobs for a year. Even worse, it creates a reciprocal user environment of self centered, unmotivated, uninspired workers. What a second rate idea.
There's a reason folks make a 35 minute drive to see their dentist twice year and chit chat about the kids. It's standing room only at that out-of-the-way sushi restaurant because the sushi chef remembers his customer's favorite rolls. Sure, there are businesses closer to home, but it's not the same.
Truth is, I seek connections. It's why I have a favorite clerk at the market and why we patronize the little theatre downtown instead of the big one at the end of town. It's good to know who will pick up the phone, someone to trust to have answers, who knows me.
With all these layoffs, I'm wondering how these big dogs gauge the market value of this kind of customer service, or even if they do. All of America is watching and wondering: has our corporate country lost its conscience?
I assumed we'd already learned the different ways to measure success. Throwing resources and faith behind their workers when it's needed most will translate into white hot profits. At the very least, and this is huge, it would restore our faith in corporate America to do the ethical thing, not just what benefits them.
That's not a common belief anymore, that big business will take one for the team. 'Experience' is being let go in record numbers, replaced with young grasshopper workers who are cheap and inexperienced. Maybe retirement is too pricey, I don't know, but it's hard to swallow bailout money being used to buy corporate jets and host lavish parties. That $100K office remodel would hold a couple three workers in their jobs for a year. Even worse, it creates a reciprocal user environment of self centered, unmotivated, uninspired workers. What a second rate idea.
There's a reason folks make a 35 minute drive to see their dentist twice year and chit chat about the kids. It's standing room only at that out-of-the-way sushi restaurant because the sushi chef remembers his customer's favorite rolls. Sure, there are businesses closer to home, but it's not the same.
Truth is, I seek connections. It's why I have a favorite clerk at the market and why we patronize the little theatre downtown instead of the big one at the end of town. It's good to know who will pick up the phone, someone to trust to have answers, who knows me.
With all these layoffs, I'm wondering how these big dogs gauge the market value of this kind of customer service, or even if they do. All of America is watching and wondering: has our corporate country lost its conscience?
I assumed we'd already learned the different ways to measure success. Throwing resources and faith behind their workers when it's needed most will translate into white hot profits. At the very least, and this is huge, it would restore our faith in corporate America to do the ethical thing, not just what benefits them.
Jan 26, 2009
The Invisible Mother
Every now and then a funny and prophetic article comes along that is too heartwarming to keep to myself. Although it refers to mothers, I know others will recognize themselves: coaches and neighbors, fathers, uncles and teachers. Together we build one masterpiece at a time. Thank you.
----
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'
Obviously, not.
No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Somedays I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands, I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England ... Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To Wendy, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, afterwhich I could pattern my work:
1. No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
2. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
4. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Wendy. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by our sacrifices.
----
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'
Obviously, not.
No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Somedays I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands, I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England ... Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To Wendy, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, afterwhich I could pattern my work:
1. No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
2. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
4. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Wendy. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by our sacrifices.
Jan 21, 2009
My Fellow Citizens
(Jan. 20) - Text of President Barack Obama's inaugural address on Tuesday, as prepared for delivery and released by the Presidential Inaugural Committee.
My fellow citizens:
I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace.
Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we the people have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears, and true to our founding documents.
So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land — a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.
On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.
For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.
For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.
For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn. Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.
For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act — not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.
Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions — who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.
What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account — to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day — because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.
Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control — and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart — not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.
As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our founding fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.
Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort — even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.
To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West — know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment — a moment that will define a generation — it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.
For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship.
This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.
This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."
America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.
Barak Obama, 44th President of the United States
My fellow citizens:
I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace.
Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we the people have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears, and true to our founding documents.
So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land — a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.
On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.
For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.
For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.
For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn. Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.
For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act — not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.
Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions — who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.
What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account — to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day — because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.
Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control — and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart — not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.
As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our founding fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.
Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort — even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.
To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West — know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment — a moment that will define a generation — it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.
For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship.
This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.
This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."
America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.
Barak Obama, 44th President of the United States
Mr. President
I stood with the rest of the school in a dark auditorium watching Barak Obama become the 44th President. Hand over my heart, and tears in my eyes, I was as present in the moment as if I were trembling in the 20 degree chill on the sunny steps in Washington D.C.
A thousand inner-city students bore witness to the tradition taking place on the wavy screen on the stage: their first inauguration, I mused, and in some ways mine, too. How in tune and hopeful it felt to hear our President's thoughtful, intelligent spirit beneath the words, and the harnessed power beneath. The students stood respectfully, and erupted in joyful celebration when Joe Biden and Barak Obama took the oaths of office.
How deeply needed were the President's words, like a salve on a wound, and reminiscent of the Kennedys and of King: inspiring, comforting, leading the charge in a new direction. President Obama's call to active citizenship was not just on election day, although our country participated fully: it was a call to retire iCitizenship and embrace weCitizenship. Too long have we focused on ourselves, prioritizing personal needs above those of others.
Our President's words brought rain to a parched land, boosted us to our feet, steeled us for the sacrifices ahead with reminders of our own humble, gritty heritage that is our bedrock. To believe our country's greatest hours lie ahead means we must earn it back through innovation, competition, hard work and sacrifice. We have arrived at the moment of truth.
It is wonderful to see young people as Americans at this juncture. The words, work and spirit of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King deeply shaped my sense of citizenship and President Obama will do that for them. There is such promise in the air! God willing, our prayers will continue to be answered for President Obama's safety, success in action and wisdom in adversity as he move us forward.
A thousand inner-city students bore witness to the tradition taking place on the wavy screen on the stage: their first inauguration, I mused, and in some ways mine, too. How in tune and hopeful it felt to hear our President's thoughtful, intelligent spirit beneath the words, and the harnessed power beneath. The students stood respectfully, and erupted in joyful celebration when Joe Biden and Barak Obama took the oaths of office.
How deeply needed were the President's words, like a salve on a wound, and reminiscent of the Kennedys and of King: inspiring, comforting, leading the charge in a new direction. President Obama's call to active citizenship was not just on election day, although our country participated fully: it was a call to retire iCitizenship and embrace weCitizenship. Too long have we focused on ourselves, prioritizing personal needs above those of others.
Our President's words brought rain to a parched land, boosted us to our feet, steeled us for the sacrifices ahead with reminders of our own humble, gritty heritage that is our bedrock. To believe our country's greatest hours lie ahead means we must earn it back through innovation, competition, hard work and sacrifice. We have arrived at the moment of truth.
It is wonderful to see young people as Americans at this juncture. The words, work and spirit of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King deeply shaped my sense of citizenship and President Obama will do that for them. There is such promise in the air! God willing, our prayers will continue to be answered for President Obama's safety, success in action and wisdom in adversity as he move us forward.
Jan 17, 2009
The Year of Redistribution
In 2008, the sky filled with black and ominous storm clouds, and its first heavy downpour washed away some of life. More storms are on the horizon, back to back, fierce in their momentum and forcing us down.
Should we have better assessed its trajectory and power? Yes.
Is it too late to be seeding the clouds to lessen the impact? Maybe.
Last year became a year to fight or flee, self reflect, stand in solidarity and divide, redraw boundaries and reroute traditions. The old communal philosophies were challenged by a world that did not ask forgiveness or permission as it dispensed out old world consequences. We went to war with our value system.
And yet all is not lost. Grandbabies were born, families were reunited, people fell in love. It was historically significant. Moments like these, and lessons about blossoming and waning friendships, made the year of redistribution a year of redistributing the big rocks in my jar.
Life breathes into the pivot points, connections and laughter, even the tears shed at the solemn challenges ahead. As it pounds down from above, I hope we seek shelter together and lighten the load.
Should we have better assessed its trajectory and power? Yes.
Is it too late to be seeding the clouds to lessen the impact? Maybe.
Last year became a year to fight or flee, self reflect, stand in solidarity and divide, redraw boundaries and reroute traditions. The old communal philosophies were challenged by a world that did not ask forgiveness or permission as it dispensed out old world consequences. We went to war with our value system.
And yet all is not lost. Grandbabies were born, families were reunited, people fell in love. It was historically significant. Moments like these, and lessons about blossoming and waning friendships, made the year of redistribution a year of redistributing the big rocks in my jar.
Life breathes into the pivot points, connections and laughter, even the tears shed at the solemn challenges ahead. As it pounds down from above, I hope we seek shelter together and lighten the load.
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