Follow Her Lead

This week is an anniversary, a real where-were-you-when-you-heard-the-news kind of thing. Last year just before Halloween, our beautiful granddaughter Aiyana went from being a precocious, happy and joyful child with a pale complexion that everyone thought might be the flu to being a cancer victim. And in one short month, 30 days exactly from the day of her diagnosis, she was gone.

We are past the shock of it now, but not the lingering anguish that forces itself up and out in the most unlikely ways. She is in our dreams, and those moments of wakeful dreaming. It stalls our heart to watch other eight year old girls with long chocolate colored braids that swing happily as they walk hand in hand with their moms to the car. We recognize that elfish sparkle as it peeks out from behind eyes of a 4 year old eating sushi for the first time, or in the sound of happy laughter that floats over from the next booth.

The world misses her. Her elementary school began a a penny drive and the movement blossomed into a beautiful tribute with music and performances by her student friends and a bench dedication for disabled students to use after school. Aiyana's love of reading inspired hundreds of books to be donated to the school library.  

Aiyana gave us an astonishing gift, and perhaps that is why I continually write about her and see her as I go about my life. She lived the great example of truly loving others no matter what and joyfully loving herself just as she was. She lived as Jesus teaches us to, with an open, whole heart.  How many of life's problems would be solved if we could do the same?

It is uncommon to know someone like that, for it is hard to do. Maybe that makes the loss feel greater. I am grateful for knowing and loving her. She has changed me. And it is her example that will carry us through the lonesomeness to a place we can feel her arm gently draped over our shoulders like a shawl to keep us warm. Slowly and surely we will find our way there.

1869

I've shied away from political discussions for most of my life because a) everybody always gets mad and storms off to their respective corners, b) hard feelings develop and linger, or c) there's an all-out brawl.

And so with trepidation I entered into a conversation with a Texas friend about the issues of the day. It turned out to be a wonderfully spirited and very educational dialogue about the State of the Union and the Presidency. She is smart as a whip and our conversation went on for hours, days really, with banter back and forth about issues that matter most to us and our families. After about twenty discussions we emerged better at articulating our positions. She gave me something significant: a renewed confidence that earnest discussions can be had with people of differing philosophies without resorting to disparaging remarks. And walk away friends.

There's been similar discussions with a young man in Elk Grove who will be voting for the first time in this election. Intelligent banter and discussions I thought to be unique and primarily due to his political ideology tempered with optimism and promise. I remember those days! It's a fun intellectual workout to undergo his cross examinations and re-directs. He is smart and compassionate and his opinions are often fierce, but we always seem to come back for more. When he sways me, or I him, we do so with history, logic and reason.

Turns out I love discussing topics of the day. Pertinent stuff. It makes for a better citizenry to be able to discuss politically-charged issues without fear of someone trying to ram their philosophical ideologies down our throats. An open dialogue helps foster political awareness by listening to one another's perspectives. And discovered the fastest way to squelch open communication is to change a political debate into a political argument and try to win at all costs (i.e. by accusing the other of being  uninformed, inexperienced or unenlightened just because you disagree).

No matter. The 15th Amendment to the Constitution, 1869, guarantees each citizen one equal vote, one equal share, one equally weighted opinion. I will enjoy flaunting mine.

Beep Beep

Better than Fiction:

Yesterday there was an interesting tale of a 20 seater plane in the Congo crashing after one of its passengers smuggled a live alligator on board in a gym bag. The alligator somehow loosed itself and began roaming the aisles. Aisle.

Twenty people are encased in a small bullet hurling through the air and come upon an alligator, even a small one, weaving between their legs and going after the chickens on their laps. (Do Congoans even eat chickens?)

But I digress.

It was pandemonium. According to an eye witness and only survivor, the flight attendant dashed towards the Captain and a lot of the passengers followed, surging the weight to the front of the plane and causing it to crash in a field of thatched huts.

The alligator also survived, and was quickly dispatched by a machete on the ground. The story concludes with a fairly off-handed explanation that loose alligators are not all that uncommon on flights in this part of the world, and to their knowledge has never taken down a plane.

So ... a man boarding a plane with a wildly thrashing carry on doesn't arouse suspicion, but a grandmother with more than 3 ozs of shampoo is detained in Denver?

The Secret o' Life

(James Taylor)

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
Any fool can do it
There ain't nothing to it
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill
But since we're on our way down
We might as well enjoy the ride...

The secret of love is in opening up your heart
It's okay to feel afraid
But don't let that stand in your way
'cause anyone knows that love is the only road
And since we're only here for a while
Might as well show some style
Give us a smile...

Isn't it a lovely ride
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride

Now the thing about time is that time
Isn't really real
It's just your point of view
How does it feel for you
Einstein said he could never understand it all
Planets spinning through space
The smile upon your face
Welcome to the human race

Some kind of lovely ride
I'll be sliding down
I'll be gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride

Isn't it a lovely ride
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride

Lean Forward

Who IS this fervent woman who leans forward and pays attention and debates the news of the day over dinner? In our house the news is on, and even sometimes the Direct Mix station showing all six at once. What have you done with her?

I am an emerging citizen. Every day I wade through all the stupidity of reporters who watched too many reality shows and are SUPER concerned about the WELFARE of the people in the unbelieveable stories (aka Bubble Boy, Acid Girl). Unbelieveable is right, as in not to be believed. Is the public so undisciplined that we won't sit through 20 minutes of actual news that tells the truth straight up without the supercharged human interest stories? (It's the fault of all those participation trophies we got for placing last in little league. I knew it!)

Informed citizenry. Especially when life is pinching us, Hard, we need to make ourselves informed and aware. For me, diverse viewpoints help me comprehend an issue and I certainly don't believe for a second voting candidates from differing viewpoints will hobble government. I mean, we all mastered the groundrules in kindergarten, right?

I just love those unscripted debates on shows like Meet the Press and the roundtable discussions that impart information and brainstorms about solutions. It is 'no kidding hard work' to be a good citizen and wade through complex issues and agendas filled with persuasive rhetoric. I research topics and still get tangled up in some of the rhetoric and super white smiles of the partisan shows - on both sides of the aisles - that are laced with prejudice and bigotry. 

Not only that. In a country who has laws to protect its diverse citizenship, to vote into office people who do not hold the same protective opinions of civil rights almost guarantees our laws will include the absence of protection for the citizens most vulnerable. If we don't follow the voting records of our legislature, how can we learn what they are up to and in whose pockets they are tucked?

There is neverending dialogue about our country's broad shoulders and the right to better ourselves in whatever way legally possible. It is a free country and we can hold whatever opinions we want.  So let's talk the economic crisis. It has been the opinion on Wall Street that they could freely fleece the country and its people out of their futures with a nod from the Legislature who signed into law the legal loopholes and relaxed regulations to make it possible. Do you still think our founding fathers meant our country to be that free? Seems like Jefferson and his cronies had more faith in us than we deserve.

It all loops back to this whole voting/citizen participation issue. Remember in the movie 'War Games' when Joshua the super computer had to learn the lesson itself to avert a global nuclear war? Sometimes no one wins. Like now:

When citizens put their feet on the desk and rely on something (or someone) else to do the work, no one wins. If we take in what the media feeds us and swallows it whole, and then regurgitate it at the polls, no one wins. When we copy down how Dad is voting, or mimick friends, no one wins. When we vote straight party lines without exploring who they really are and what that really means, no one wins.

Our individual intellectual power needs to weigh in at the polls or we are not participating beyond getting an 'I Voted Today' sticker. And as cool as they are, our country really needs us to care about her and fight for her and take a stand.

There are other ways to fight for your country than wearing a military uniform: straight down the middle in a country-saving, results-driven compromise. Maybe, finally, at last, I get it.

Life Upon the Wicked Stage

Last week I discovered my step grandmother had a checkered past which tumbled out in the form of family gossip as my  sweet little old step-mother and I chatted over lunch. Great story:

Doris was the daughter of successful parents who through a stroke of luck were virtually untouched by the financial woes of the depression. Doris' uncle performed in a well-regarded troupe of actors who traveled throughout California and the US, and his son had developed into quite a song and dance man in his own right, although still a child. He and Doris grew up together as contemporaries. 

At some point there arose a need for entertainment between the acts and Doris and her cousin were invited to join their travels to sing and dance during intermission.  It was an exciting life of adventure and Doris learned about the world by exploring it. But obviously, there was some sort of education training required since formal public education was out. 

As luck would have it, Doris' mother was a college educated woman, a rare specimen in those days, and she put her keen mind to the task of home schooling her daughter and nephew in mathematics, the arts, literature, history and science. In her entire life, Doris spent a total of 3 terrifying weeks in a formal classroom before abandoning it for the more comfortable alternative at home.

Her mother's legacy was a fine education through the 8th grade and the confidence and abilities to function well in the world. Doris had a fine business mind for property management in The City for sixty years, raised two daughters and was a talented seamstress. Plus, of course, having spent the better part of her childhood years bringing smiles to the faces of theatre-goers everywhere.

(I told you it would be a great story.)

JD

John Donne was on the brain this morning and his famous passage, 'for whom the bell tolls'. So I hopped online and while I was reacquainting my memory with his works, I came upon a well-pu-together essay on his background, experiences and health issues that contributed to propelling Donne to hold a prominent place among the Metaphysical Poets.  I hope you enjoy it.

http://community.middlebury.edu/~harris/donne.html

No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod be washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were ; and mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

The Gift of Time

My father's second marriage became an amazing and inspirational love story. They were the ideal match. I marvel that it happened at all, especially midpoint in life with all its complications. My dad passed in 2003 but the love of his life is alive and well.

His bride still has a great smile and infectious laugh. Life is gently running its course, and there is an  occasional need for someone to lend a hand, you know, with errands or cleaning out a kitchen cupboard. Her daughter/son do a lot but I realized there's room for me, too. So a plan was hatched for mine to be the helping hands once a month.

She lives hours away through bay area traffic, and BayAreaites groan when I say that, because it means seven different freeways and a constant fleet of crazies who accordion in and out of lanes, lookey-loos and texters and the-worst-drivers-in-the-world-Asians screaming along at 70 mph with optional turn signals.

After arriving we got right to work! :) And through the course of Day #1 I learned the Golden Helper Rules.

• Do not set things up the way I'd like because it's not my house!
• Move at the pace of the lowest energy denominator.
• And most of all:  Do know there is a Window of Opportunity, which is the precise amount of help to be helpful but not exhausting  (Unfortunately that lesson was learned after her eyes began to droop.)

We chatted and chored and I heard great family stories to put down here before I forget them. And when she finally kicked me out, I headed home with a grateful heart for the time together, but also for sharing the day with my father who I sensed was hovering nearby.

OneSon

I know by heart the shape of his head and the way the sun reflects off his hair. I know the freckles and moles on his arms and the smudgy profile that has become long and broad since our first meeting. On that day, I could circle his wrist with my thumb and forefinger as I cradled him gently against my heart.

He wiggled out of my arms a hundred thousand times to explore the world and make it his. I watched life fall in love with him, the same easy way I fell in love. His heart beats strong, and there is a willingness that propels him forward. Sometimes I hear him come by in the quiet thoughts of morning, checking if my arms are still there if he needs them. He lingers a second or two before turning tail and dashing out of sight. Life for him is laughter and hard work and full of obstacles, just as I hoped.

I have to look up now to see his handsome face and smile.  Like a foolish investor, I have tossed in with him all that I am, my assets, my liabilities, my heart.  It is impossible to remember the feel of life before his hand wrapped around my finger on his first steps because it has always been an all-or-nothing proposition that believes wholly in the promise and glory of my son.

Murky Waters

Less than a month to go before elections and last night's news was full of the discovery of thousands of potentially fraudulent loans that are overburdening homeowners and the bank's illegal foreclosure proceedings.

If the projectionists are anywhere near center on this, the legal ownership that is in question involves commercial and residential properties originally financed or refinanced during the last decade. We stand on the brink of a completely stalled national real estate market for sales, resales, and foreclosures.  Property will become investment mausoleums.

Without clear ownership rights, there are no assets, no sales, no credit, no growth. Courts will be flooded with lawsuits of those challenging the validity of paying for homes people no longer want. People will get away with staying in homes for years without paying for them while ownership is established. Banks could fail, for real this time, and the government will be powerless to assist.

I wonder about the hearts of the Wall Streeters who stood tall on technicalities and short on morals to personally profit. How can they live with themselves knowing their avarice is responsible for all of this? I shudder to think of the consequences if the shoe was on the other foot, and the consumer got the upper hand with, say, a legal loophole to crawl through that could lash back at those who have wronged us. We may know the answer soon enough...

Yesterday's article solidifies the issue ~ http://www.dailyfinance.com/story/investing/charting-the-foreclosure-crisiss-far-reaching-consequences/19673408/ ~ and a thoughtful response from a reader worth pondering: 

As a homeowner who did lots of things to pay off a mortgage and get our kids educated, I wonder if some of those folks who simply quit paying their mortgages aren't gaming the system. I know there... are many who have suffered from this economic downturn but no one, especially the major media outlets, ever pins some of this blame on the Dodds and Franks of our Congress. Quite honestly, I see this administration and the leaders of Congress looking for scapegoats around every corner when they have added to the problems because they are hellbent on redistributing wealth rather solving the real problems. It is time to put Bush to bed and start assuming some responsibily for failing to act as promised.

We are responsible for ourselves, no matter what the circumstances are, and have come to the moment to weigh the importance of character and if it is worth protecting. Will we hide behind anger at the Wall Streeters and Congressmen who put us here, and like them take advantage of the situation for personal gain? Or will we hunker down and do what it takes to see it through, go through the painful work to untangling this mess with our integrity intact?

Reflections on Retirement

Gentler musings on unrecognized transitions.

I look for work every day and more often than not come across minimum wage, or just-over minimum wage jobs that want a plethora of skills and education to do them. Not really what I'm looking for.

Yesterday there was a job for a part time worker (8-15 hours a week). Job requirements: 2 or more years of accounting experience and tax prep mastery, several years of being a personal assistant, consistent, independent and reliable habits, able to maintain personal and business finances, act as receptionist and problem-solver, do all product shipping, maintain all aspects of a home business, run errands and maintain household and business calendars. Pay: $10.50.

Another small business owner needed someone to manage her schedule part time, unknown salary, basic experience and she was open to a virtual assistant. She received 275 responses from all over the world. Seriously.

I've let thoughts stew over the weekend. I feel the prick of being on the short end of our supply and demand society for the first time. God, what a privilege of a life with little worry for buying that house or car, landing that job, taking that vacation. My life had some pretty good financial inertia.

Now a long termer OOWMAW (out of work middle aged woman), I live the bleak idleness of unrealized work. Too skilled and experienced to believe it at first; too assurred to believe it would last; too astonished to believe it has.

An unrecognizable world has emerged, with downsizing, restructuring, and regrouping. I pass up starter jobs, like starter houses ~ places to get into the game and pay your dues in order to move up ~ knowing my kinds of jobs will be on the horizon. In the quiet I hear Truth say 'Ready or Not, Here it Comes'.

It is suddenly my turn at bat.
I'm not in uniform or have the right shoes,

and I stand at the plate with trembling knees
not knowing the rules of the game.

I wonder if not being ready makes it any less real, or if environmentally-forced retirements are so hard because we didn't get to choose? If I were 62, it would be joyful to leave work and live a life of enrichment hobbies like cooking, and fine books, and gardening. Every day would be a portal to the next interesting phase of life.

Maybe someday I'll see it that way.

Socially Acceptable

I had an interesting conversation with a granddaughter the other day who happened to run into a girl who she knew when she was young. They met because her grandmother (one of the other g'mas) was briefly married to this girl's dad. The girls are sort of the same age and our granddaughter would have technically been her niece and playmate for a few years, but that's another story.

It was a lively, the-world-is-small-isn't-it story and the retelling brought a new perspective to knowing how the other family handled the break up. As I listened, I wondered if it is ever a fair toss or an even draw when it comes to who was hurt the most. Most of the time we forget entirely about the coin having a second side.

This old complicated organic world has natural restrictions and consequences. All of life preys on itself: bigger-smaller, stronger-weaker, smarter-simpler, taker-giver. Kids think the world is no bigger than the arms of their embrace, even in this day and age of trying to be socially acceptable and championing for fairness and impartiality. I'm glad for that. And as for adults, I believe now it is cowardly to turn away from what we do not want to know just because it makes us sad.

I wish there was an island where everyone everywhere got what they wanted and everyone won through compromise and mutual regard. I would buy my ticket early and stand in line for days until they called my name. I would step inside and listen to the balanced sounds of harmony and smell the honeysuckle scented air. And with closed eyes I would let it seep into my heart, a lesson in righteous goodness and peace, to take back to the world I know and make it better.

God bless us anyway.

Far and Wide

Thirty years ago I was selling a car and this really nice man came to look at it. It was to be a gift for his wife and he drove it and paid me full price and later returned with his wife and drove it away.

It was a Saturday and he paid by check. Back in those days there wasn't an ATM depository or debit card safety net. Banks had, well, banking hours: 10am to 3pm M-F. People thought I was some kind of crazy to hand my only asset over to a total stranger.

I waited for the bank to open on Monday and the check was good, just as I expected. So here we are in this day and age with all the same cautionary tales of people being taken for a ride, or worse. But I am still unconvinced.  Last year I again sold a car to a really nice man from CraigsList with no money down.

What is up with me? I remain unsullied by that thick outer layer of mistrust that others seem to wear. I believe in people and have total faith and optimism in their goodness.
 
But then again I like knowing the French are nicer than their reputations and that people mostly honor their promises. I like believing that when life knots up it will eventually untangle itself. I like people responding with reciprocity. I like being right most of the time. 
 
It's true that trust has caused some of the most excruciatingly painful and heartbreaking times of my life. But when all was said and done, Love and Faith prevailed with Optimism intact. So let me just sprinkle a little of it that over here, and savor the gratefulness of it, even the scars.

Be the 'Do'

I was in the turn lane heading over an overpass the other day and thought about how we exercise personal restraint. We're trained to believe in rules and face collisions if we ignore them. We're pretty good at them, I thought, as I crossed 3 lines of traffic patiently respecting my green arrow.

I've had a little collision (again) with the notion that America perceives itself by-and-large as a place of tolerance and understanding, and takes pride on taking the high road. I would have liked being part of what is a just and honorable country, that altruistically steps up anywhere there is need. 

This is an America not of that ilk. People are burning the Quron and sending hate mail to elderly people under the guise of political rhetoric. In poverty-stricken Louisiana our help after Katrina was modest at best and third world countries were left suffering from famine and genocide with no oil rich reserves to offer up in thanks.

Today's America is driven by the business of compassion, the 'what's-in-it-for-me' element.  (Lucky for us the Middle East has something to offer or there'd be no war.)

A man stepped down yesterday from a business he spent a lifetime to build. I knew him fairly well, a decent, caring and honorable chap currently in the midst of a contentious divorce full of ugly innuendo and accusations. Stories like this get us to wondering if this is a strategy by his wife's lawyer to get around a pre-nup, or if it's true, instead of asking ~ can any future exoneration undo the damage already caused to this man's life and career?

No.

A counselor at a school where I once worked was accused of inappropriate behavior with a student. He was put on leave and the whole matter was investigated, very public, very ugly, leaked interviews and a court case. Months after it began and under cross-examination in court, the girls who reported the incident admitted they concocted the story because they were mad at not being put in the same class. 

There is no question he was ruined by it.

The truth is there is no truth in the media. They report ... a bias, a suggestion of impropriety, with a likely little smirk. As sensationalism topples life after life with hushed whispers and wagging fingers I wonder where the rules are they live by? Not the ones stretched out of shape under the first amendment, but the underlying values of honesty, fairness, and impartiality? What is the media's carbon footprint on the lives of those judged before they have their day in court?

It was once said to young parents that criticizing a child one time takes twenty positive gestures to correct. How does the media make amends when they are wrong?

It would be so much easier to see them exercise personal restraint and journalistic integrity by honoring the rules of the road we all share, namely to become the 'Do' in Do Unto Others:

• Do be mindful of what is said and implied.
• Do remember lives hang in the balance.
• Do follow the rules of fairness and impartiality.
• Do respect the law and wait for the process to conclude before drawing conclusions.
• Do not chase windmills.  
• Do recognize and discount gossip. 
• Do know the difference between real life and a reality show.

DailyFinance

This today from DailyFinance:

While the National Bureau of Economic Research announced Monday the recession ended in June 2009, the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development says unemployment in the U.S. may stay above the pre-crisis level until at least 2013, with long-term unemployment remaining a concern.


"Supported by substantial stimulus measures, the U.S. economy has started to grow again after one of the most severe economic crises it has faced since the Great Depression," the OECD said in its latest U.S. Economic Survey -- a 142-page report full of assessments and recommendations. But the OECD projects a slower pace of growth than past expansions as the economy remains constrained by the "significant tightening of credit and the loss of one-quarter of household net worth between the middle of 2007 and early 2009." The OECD projects economic growth of 2.6% in 2010 and 2011.

"We don't see a risk of a double-dip recession," said OECD Secretary-General Angel Gurría. "That said, we don't see either a recovery that is strong enough to put a significant dent in unemployment."

The survey explains that as unemployment rose for two and a half years before peaking in the fourth quarter of 2009, "it could be early 2013, at best, before the rate returns to its pre-recession level," because of sluggish demand while Americans put their finances in order. The jobless rate will average 9.7% this year and 9.0% in 2011, according to OECD.

The OECD welcomed near-term support for the labor market, such as the extension of unemployment benefits, but to combat long-term unemployment, such measures should slowly return to pre-crisis level. The survey also recommends prolonging training and education programs for the unemployed.

Similarly, other stimulative and supportive moves are warranted in the short term. However, "the groundwork for withdrawing the very accommodative stance of monetary policy has begun and should be continued," the report added. Gurría welcomed the administration's plan to reduce the deficit to 3% of GDP by 2015.

'Paper Clips'

Norway invented
the paper clip

Last night we watched a remarkable documentary about a middle school in a small rural white-bread community in Tennessee that began a project to teach its children about tolerance. The Principal of Whitwell Middle School wanted the sheltered children of her community to come to understand the lessons of understanding and compassion for every race and the consequences when bigotry and hatred go unchecked.

And so she sent the Assistant Principal on a mission: to travel to schools in bigger cities and come back with an idea that would do that. He came back inspired by the lessons of the Holocaust and in 1999 the project began. At first the children struggled to conceptualize that anyone could exterminate millions of people, or even what 6 million of anything looked like. And so the children set out to research what they could collect six million of, to help them understand.

Their research led them to learn about the paper clip. The paper clip was invented in Norway and used by Norwegians as a silent protest to their country's occupation during WWII.  The children adopted it as their symbol: one paper clip for each Jew murdered by the Nazis in the concentration camps.

They wrote to communities, movie stars, world leaders, and businesses for donations and  paper clips began to pour in. The children counted and catalogued every one, and stowed them away. Soon packages with stamps from all over the world began to arrive. Some of the paper clips had notes attached with stories and photos and names of actual people who had perished.

Something was clearly going on here. Holocaust survivors in America learned of the project and German news journalists came to meet the children. It was headline news across America. The entire world seemed to become involved in this small town in the Heartland.


Documentary
Movie Logo



 By 2004 and the filming of the documentary, the students had received, counted and catalogued over 24 million paper clips and there was no more room to store them. Over dinner one night, the idea was hatched for a Holocaust Memorial that could also store the paper clips. The German couple spearheaded a search in their own country for what the school leaders wanted to symbolize the Memorial. (You have to see the movie: it's a surprise.)

The couple eventually found what they were looking for and accompanied it to the United States and to its final resting place just outside Whitwell Middle School. At the dedication, Holocaust survivors, the community, children and teachers joined together in a Yiddish prayer.

Today it is the students who teach the lessons of tolerance for visitors who come. And inside are thousands of letters and satchels and photos and stories along with 6 million whose paper clips, one for each Jew, and the 5 million more, gypsies and others who were also killed by Hitler during that time.

http://www.oneclipatatime.org/

A Pirates' Intention

Once upon a time there were 30-something and 40-something people who used their hard-earned money to invest for retirement. Some bought a home or two and diversified part of it into stocks and bonds.  Some of them went the government route and those enduring jobs and highly-sought-after retirements. And everyone was promised something really wonderful, a personal thanks from Uncle Sam himself, a little hedge against inflation called social security and a pat on the back. 
 
But there were dark days ahead. There were pirates lurking about disguised in suits. They saw all the money lying about and decided to take it for their bounty. They sat at their desks and ate in their fancy restaurants with other pirates and hatched a scheme so they could carry away sacks of cash for themselves.

At first they were armed. They were sure someone would ambush them because they were carrying out sacks of gold and investments. But no one ever did. Night after night they carried out all this money completely unnoticed.

The pirates filled their cars and houses and storage units to the top with money and ran out of where to put it. So they started buying bigger houses and nicer ships and sending it to offshore accounts. The pirates put their guns away and filled their pockets to bursting with all the money they found.

There was more than enough money for the whole world but the pirates wanted more. So they turned some of their workers into pirates by making them say the pirate oath. They gave them Armani suits and alligator shoes to walk among the people. They showed them how to sell loans so they could reach into the purses and wallets to take what was there. This is how the pirates came to have all the money in the world and even the company that prints the money.

One gloomy day it was discovered these men were pirates in disguise, and everyone became afraid. The pirates began to point at each other and to quarrel over whose fault it was, and everyone joined in, businessmen and families and the government leaders. And while all of this commotion was going on, the pirates quietly slipped out and hired on elsewhere as CEOs with a salary of ten million a year. 

The End.

Nuts to That

The following quote was put out there, asking voters to agree or disagree, and a whopping 88% agreed that 'A rich person is not the one who has the most, but who needs the least.'

That's a popular philosophy, and we have learned nothing from these past few years if not the importance of needs-vs-wants and living within our means. Money money money. Too much, too little, all of life seems to be about trying to figure out where the line is between comfort, hoarding and abject poverty.

It's a contributing factor in every big worry, divorces and family feuds, education, estate lawsuits and our children's future. We resent it and conversely pay homage to it as the declining resource it is. There are articles quite literally telling us to cut up our own chickens, average our utility payments, drop Direct TV and quit going out for meals.

After the terrible fire in San Bruno that levelled 50 homes and killed and injured numerous residents, PG&E came rushing in with a solemn promise to do anything for this community. And right on the heels of that, literally a few days later, they were back on the news alluding to increases that will be necessary to address and replace the 216,000 miles of 50 year old pipeline. Like they never knew the pipeline was rotting beneath our feet. Like it is our responsibility for them not spending the last twenty years changing all of them out.

I am outraged to see them stand hat in hand before the state's beleaguered workers, many working and many who are not, to foot the bill for their maintenance mismanagement. Hadn't PG&E recently announced record quarterly earnings?

PG&E, fix your own damned mess. And that goes for our elected officials, too: give back your perks and fancy retirements and AIG insurances and use that money to re-invest it into the business of solving the financial crises you have caused. They'll get by alright with social security and medicare and the government subsidies. Everybody's gotta be cutting up their own chickens.

I want enough for a comfortable life, whatever that is, and health insurance and food and a home I can count on with running water and heat; an occasional dinner out and holidays with friends and family eating pasta and playing cards; books to read and cards to send.

I deserve to keep the nuts I stashed and to know it will not be looted by utilities or the state or the federal government who already devoured theirs and didn't plan ahead. Don't come calling: I've got nothing to give.

The Sounds of Quiet

I am watching a hummingbird this morning drink from the feeder. There are six openings and plenty to go around no matter how many want to feed here, but he fiercely chases intruders off. Some days he spends all of it protecting the right to lord over this little plastic hanger rather than sitting long enough to enjoy the nectar inside. It seems incongruous for such beautiful and delicate birds.

I caught an episode of How I Met My Mother the other night, a sitcom with a central character who's a pretty cerebral guy (and also the narrator) and is surrounded by friends: a hedonistic opportunist, a quirky married couple and a former girlfriend who is very grounded. It's a witty and edgy show, clearly not for everyone, but this episode was about finding a way to let go of trying to control life to sometimes just enjoy the ride.

It is reminiscent of lyrics by John Lennon from Beautiful Boy, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."

Maybe all of these reminders helped awaken a grateful heart today, a quiet appreciation for God's many gifts, for my husband and kids, friendships and good health, even for the need to diet.  It is so easy for life's blessings to be overlooked.  But for some reason today was the day I noticed while sipping coffee with the red and green throated hummingbird sipping his morning nectar, that both of us were grateful.

The Porta-Potty

My brother turned somewhere around 60 the other day, and at his party I got to talking with a man who does triathlons. He's an interesting guy ~ and his developing philosophy of competition was really interesting. Here is his story:

His first triathlon was a strenuous circuit that any new athlete would find challenging, and he stopped in a porta-potty a few miles into the race. He was beginning to panic that he would not be able to finish. It occurred to him that this porta-potty was the only place along the circuit where could he sit unobserved. If he stayed here, no one would know he quit.

His thoughts turned to the family and friends somewhere along the route waiting to cheer him on, and so he pressed on. Each mile he would pass that blue and white porta-potty, and each mile it would say to him, come and rest, no one will know.  Mile after mile he saw them, and each time thought about how easy it would be to quit. The porta-potty had been put there as an aide for the athletes but it nearly undid him.