Mar 29, 2011

23,000 Twitter followers and counting...

The Bronx Zoo lost a cobra overnight. A cobra. With a Twitter account. That's a mighty big feat for a little bitty reptile without thumbs. The cobra, only months old and 3 ozs, is lost in a snake house that is closed to the public. Through a series of surprisingly witty and clever twits, she has taken a side trip into the Big Apple to explore.  

http://twitter.com/BronxZoosCobra

She now has 183,447 .. 48 .. 49 .. followers. And adding about 5 people a minute by my calculations.

Highlights thus far ...
  • I want to thank those animals from the movie "Madagascar." They were a real inspiration.
  • Want to clear up a misconception. I'm not poisonous as has been reported. I'm venomous. Super venomous, but not poisonous so don't worry.
  • What does it take to get a cab in this city?! It's cause I'm not white isn't it.
  • Holding very still in the snake exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. This is gonna be hilarious!
  • Rockefeller Plaza is amaz....wait...OMG! Tina Fey totally just walked by me! HUUUUGE FAN!
  •  Leaving Wall Street. These guys make my skin crawl.
  • Anyone know of a good vegan restaurant near Union Square?
  • Gonna listen to some Jazz tonight. You know I love some great flute work. Do they provide it or is it bring your own basket? 
  • If I recognize a single belt at Bergdorfs or Dkny...  It's a good time to visit you know: our resident mongoose is on a holiday.
  • At the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Temple of Dendur really kicks some asp.
  • Enjoying a cupcake @magnoliabakery. This is going straight to my hips. Oh, wait. I don't have hips. Yesss!
  • Can you hear me now? Phone rings. Caller ID: Bronx Zoo. It’s the snake. Hard to hear. Lots of hissing on line.
  • On top of the Empire State Building! All the people look like little mice down there. Delicious little mice.
  •  Getting my morning coffee at the Mudtruck. Don't even talk to me until I've had my morning coffee. Seriously, don't. I'm venomous.

Mar 26, 2011

Rain Rain Go Away...

I'll admit we Californians are lightweights where the weather is concerned. Being a weatherman in CA must be the most boring job EVER ... 'Today is sunny with a light breeze coming from the East. The next two weeks ahead look like they will be sunny and gusty at times to 20 mph ...'

Out here, we consider weather our friend, nothing to flip out about, although watching commuters during the first real rain of the season wouldn't give you that impression.  That being said, we take most of this weather business for granted. Nothing big ever happens here, compared to the bitter cold and tons of snow and hurricanes and tornadoes elsewhere.

But this time we MEAN it:  we have SERIOUS weather going on!  Let's just put on hold for now Crescent City and the Tsunami ripples that caused all sorts of problems for them because they got a raw deal.

We've got record snowfall and rainfall from storm after storm pounding our state. Yesterday Capitola overflowed from a swollen creek that flooded downtown.  In little Woodlandia we've now got an Infinity style hot tub and pool for no extra charge.

The reservoirs are nearly at capacity and had to release some water for the expected series of storms this week. Yesterday the Sacramento River was right up to the houses at the banks of the county line. The rice fields are deep under water beneath the causeway and on Thursday there were whitecaps from 60 mph wind gusts. That got my attention as I puttered across in my Toyota, wishing I had bricks in my trunk.

The road parallel to the causeway is below the water line and the train trestle is just a few feet above. Hail is on and off every day; raindrops are the size of quarters. There is a LOT of water. There is a lot of mud. 

Elk Grove had so much hail you could scoop it up like snow. The Garden Hwy is a Levee road just north of downtown Sac. On the right side the river water is two thirds up the embankment; on the left are sleepy little low-lying houses. It doesn't take too much imagination that there is levee monitoring going on 24-7, especially after the multiple levee breaches of the late 1990s in nearby San Joaquin County.

Already in Sutter County there was a crack found in one of their levees and earth-moving equipment can't navigate the saturated ground. So they patched it with an old-fashioned fire line of men with sandbags and plastic. Round-the-clock monitoring continues there, too.

Hwy 50 and 80 (to Tahoe and Reno, respectively) is closed completely on and off. Tim's in that mess this morning for a long-planned getaway with friends. Truckers sit idle by the roadside and overrun truck stops as they wait for visibility to improve.  Dave and Mike are racing their beater racecar today and tomorrow, so we're turning out for that with ponchos and a thermos of coffee. And a 24 hour outdoor Relay For Life at UOP in Stockton.

We are over capacity for snowfall which very soon will be melting and running off to ... I'll get back to you on where that will go. On the news last night they cautioned that in some areas not to jump too high because of proximity to electrical lines. By that they meant the 30' high electrical poles are now less than 10' off the ground due to the 20' snow drifts.

Did someone forget to forward the calendar to Mother Nature? This is supposed to be spring!!

Mar 24, 2011

Bushels of Confidence

There was a study recently conducted with high schoolers internationally and American seniors ranked top in the world in - no, not math or science or history - but in confidence. I got a kick out of that: we aren't smarter than other children in measurable ways, we only think we are.

How totally Teenagesque! I remember jumping into things with both feet. Not realizing I should exercise more caution, or even entertaining the thought I might fail, it was an exhilirating time. And then years went by and slowly the remodeling took place. Sometimes I wonder how much of me was left on the cutting room floor.

To this day the friends I treasure most are the ones who never lost that sense of invulnerability. Old enough to 'know better', they constantly surprise and delight with their half brained ideas and a hearty laugh when they see the results. They fearlessky grab life and let it whip them around. Their life is full of unexpected delights and that's why we flock to them: they bring us out to play.

Friends like that can talk me into swimming across a lake with beers stuffed in my bathing suit; make me laugh through a snorkle and play Super Sloppy Double Dare games in the back yard with 20 little kids; put me in a car with no known destination other than a series of clues that need to be interpreted; sit and watch The Three Musketeers in the movies four times in one day; love with their whole hearts so you are safe and warm; plan a road trip on a lark; talk and laugh for two and a half hours until the cell battery dies; and toilet paper the house with the kids just to see if they can tie a big toilet paper bow on the front door without waking the dog.

I'm glad you are in my life!

Mar 19, 2011

Using the Rosary

As a kid, I had some Catholic friends and attended church with them sometimes. The use of the Rosary and chanting throughout the service was really weird, even though there is some response in the Lutheran services. It seemed pretty impersonal to me, and nothing like the more engaging and timely sermons by our Pastors that helped us understand everyday life. I'm sure there are many different ways of delivering the message of Everlasting Life and who was I to judge?

My ex didn't go to church, or his brothers or sisters, but his mother was a devout Catholic. When she passed, I got one of her Rosary beads and a little teacup as mementos. I treasure them.

All through my life, I've wondered where the dividing line is for the term Christian, and who decides and when. It seems largely a matter of preference among the many religions of the world. For some, you are not considered devout unless you are active and financially supporting a church, studying the good book and - most of all - perceived and accepted by others into the circle. For others, it is to stop during the day to kneel and pray; or wear clothing demonstrating a penitent spirit; or confess your sins before a Priest.

Lutherans deliver the message far differently than Catholics, and that was true at a viewing/wake for a friend's father's funeral. For the first time, sitting with my husband who is a Catholic, I learned how to use the rosary properly, and as we worked the beads together I began to understand the humility and comfort of it.  We used Rosary beads of his mother and those we had bought at the Vatican that was blessed by the Pope.

For a long, long while both of us have been independent Christians. Morning quiet prayers and gratefulness for His gifts in our life, and nightly prayers for those in need. But being in church fills my spirit with a different kind of longing. I miss it.  And I miss other things, too, that have fallen by the wayside, nourishing habits that would deepen and qualify life. Things like ~ regular exercise, leisure reading, volunteerism and outreach, and writing every day.

Both of us believe that our personal relationship with God is strong and honest in our quiet time every day. Would it make us feel differently about God by attending a weekly service? Probably not. But I am realizing that I miss the much broader perspective of the sermons, the readings and psalms, the hymns, and the fellowship that more regular attendance would bring.

I think I'll pray about it.

Mar 17, 2011

Probable Outcomes

We'd heard a lot about the movie (docu-something), Waiting for Superman, and last night sat down to watch it for the first time.  It was not what I expected. Not even close.

This is the intro description: 'Documentary filmmaker Davis Guggenheim explores the tragic ways in which the American public education system is failing our nation's children, and explores the roles that charter schools and education reformers could play in offering hope for the future. We see the statistics every day -- students dropping out, science and math scores falling, and schools closing due to lack of funding. What we don't see are the names and faces of the children whose entire futures are at stake due to our own inability to enact change. There was a time when the American public education system was a model admired by the entire world. Today other countries are surpassing us in every respect, and the slogan "No Child Left Behind" has become a cynical punch line. By investigating how the current system is actually obstructing their education instead of bolstering it, Guggenheim opens the door to considering possible options for transformation and improvement.'

Bunk.

I was surprised and interested to learn that even modest educational reform in DC had to begin with a woman who had no stake in the process other than as a parent, and had no direct experience or credentials to be Chancellor and no desire to continue.  It reminds me of the Bob Dylan lyrics, 'When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose.'

I was drawn to and repelled by the fact that the US Department of Education carefully tracks failing schools, which they refer to  by a grim nickname and with full awareness continue to let them 'serve' the community without providing a public school alternative.  The impression was left was that there are just too many issues to address, and we all heard loud and clear that failing schools were predominantly in socio-economically disadvantaged communities. Oh woe is me, the movie implied, that these children are essentially loss-leaders. 

Charter schools took up a large segment of the movie, and I've worked in a Charter in a disadvantaged community, and I know what a breath of fresh air it can be. I've worked in a public school as well, and the difference is shockingly apparent. The Charter has less regulation and so can operate based on a series of expectations they establish for a proper learning environment. They can require personal accountability, higher academic standards as terms of attendance, even uniforms. They can teach meaningful material in a meaningful way, and manipulate the time into segments where study skills and senior project periods are built in. And the reason there is less flexibility and adaptability in the public schools, 100% of the cause, rests on the shoulders of the State/US Departments of Education and the Unions.

The movie really nailed teachers to the wall.  I was not surprised by that; in fact teachers always have everything dumped on them whether it is deserving or not. They get up every day and face children out of control who may live in unstable environments. They teach what they are told to teach and not what they need to teach to make a difference in these kids' lives. Sometimes they work in dangerous places where they invest 12 hours a days, six days a week, plus adjunct duties and weekend supervision for sports events and parent nights. And for all of that, they get yelled at and cursed at, by parents and kids, and often the administration doesn't have the backbone to back them up when they are in the right.

We've got some nasty societal problems, that is true, but the teachers in failing schools can't fix them. They can't make their administration, the communities, or the state and federal bodies that are supposed to serve children unilaterally give a damn. To blame a teacher for the meltdown of the educational system is like telling a homeowner that although the roof is caving in, if they roll up their sleeves and do their part the rest will magically become structurally sound. 

Teacher's unions do contribute to the complacency that has crusted around meaningful changes to public schools, and it's easy for the Fed and State educational bodies to use that blockade as an excuse for not being more aggressive and solutions-oriented. I think the problem lies as much as with the over regulating and limitations on how and what is taught and the seven different assessment tools taking precious class time.  The face of this tragedy is in the infrastructure, and ramming the students through a system that treats them like a hot potato and allows promotions with absolutely no skill sets to succeed.
Mediocre is the new pink, and not just in the schools. 

Waiting for Superman, at least for me, gave parents everywhere a free pass, and the crux of the matter rests with them. Are parents, grandparents, or community leaders vested in this? It doesn't seem like we are. A lot of homes still don't model how to approach school, the importance of it, and what a game changer it is.  Children learn what they live.

If a good education is not a guarantee, then we must win the day. Where is the national movement to demand change that is powered by every citizen from every state for every child? Nothing less will do.

Mar 16, 2011

The Summer Place

There's a running joke around here that we've got to be home on Saturday at 5 for the HGTV crew to sneak up on us and present the big prize of the Dream Home in Stowe, Vermont. We've been logging online every day to put in our chances to win 'the summer place'.

With a place like that, we'd be finally able to see the change of seasons with 12 of our closest friends. There'd be a 20' tree nestled in the family room at Christmas and it would overlook snow-covered fields as far as the eye could see. In April we'd watch the lush colors of spring burst into bloom and the hills turn emerald green from the comfort of our hot tub on the deck.

It would be an extraordinary stroke of luck, to win something like that, even with work, children, pets and friends on the other side of the country. But we've worked that through, too. We would rent it out as a ski chalet and hold back the weeks that family and friends want to be there. We'd find a great caregiver and include the house on a tour of homes. It would be self sustaining and maybe even pay for airfare for everyone to travel there.

This isn't the only thing we stalk. There's that trip to Rome offered by Frommer's, which we have registered daily to win for the last several months. A free trip over for two, plus all the add-ins -accommodations, food, activities. And you already know about House Hunters International and what an addictive drug that is about owning a second home in some exotic location. Unlike the people featured on the show, we are unwilling to get into debt up to our eyeballs to have it, even if we could. Which we can't.

So this whole giveaway idea is just the ticket!  Free*Free*Free. So come Saturday, we'll be vacuuming the house and putting on coffee around 4:30pm, in case you want to stop by. We'll play Tripoley 'til they arrive.

http://www.hgtv.com/hgtv-dream-home-2011-tour/package/index.html

Mar 13, 2011

A Respectful Bow

Oh my Lord, the international news reports coming in from northern Japan are heartbreaking. Amazing stories of survival include watching their life wash away as they cling to a tree or something, and hours of expecting to perish before they are found. Their faces are etched with worry as they are carried to a chair, and right away they gather up the blankets around them and find legs to stand so they can bow to their rescuers.

The largest quake was severe enough to move the earth 8 feet. One survivor, a grateful grandmother in the evacuation center, lay with her eyes on her grandson as he slept;  a hive of workers scrambled over the mountain of debris looking for those undiscovered and trapped; one sorrowful man stood lost and looking for small part of his former life. It is grim.

There have been hundreds of aftershocks and another quake today just north of Sendai that triggered another tsunami. As you would expect, newsreporting has been continuous since Friday and yet there is an absence of paparazzi photos of outraged and self-righteous people wailing in loss. What we see are people sitting side by side and patiently waiting for the work to begin. What grace!

The national disaster preparedness policies were fantastic and surely saved lives in the aftermath. It has been life-affirming to watch the open-arms dialogue from a self-contained culture, and the worldwide response of rescue teams already on the ground there. They are not alone.

As hard as it is, there is a great lesson in observing the behavior of people when all that is left behind is life. Their national character and resilience shines through to stabilize and resolve, cope and respond. Already we see they are ready to rebuild as they collectively focus on a new point on the horizon.  I find it deeply moving to watch life find a way.

Mar 11, 2011

津波: an American spin

Japan has been hit (again) by a serious quake over 8.0 and (again) loss of life and a follow up Tsunami. Our hearts go out to them, especially from sister Californians who live in 'the zone' and not too distantly dealt with the aftermath of a smaller quake here at home.

A Tsunami is caused by "the displacement of a large volume of a body of water due to disturbances above or below the water." (Thank you, Wikipedia) The ocean currents freak out, not only at the site of the earthquake but for thousands of miles in every direction. The closest land gets it: the more shallow it is, the bigger the punch. It was heartbreaking to watch a wall of water 23' high travel 6 miles inland.
Survivor accounts of a Japanese tsunami by a child at a school in the 1920s described the waters receding a long way from shore, and her classmates running down to pick up starfish and seashells. As the ocean built in volume on the horizon and a distinctly big wave formed, they realized the danger too late as they ran for their lives.

It's hard to imagine the approach of a wall of water with no break that surges in and swallows everything in its path. People thinking they were safely out of the way are often swept out to sea with the receding waters. And this just minutes after the shock of living through the most devastating quake imaginable, an 8.9 and hundreds of times stronger than the devastating San Francisco quake of 1906.

Open bays and coastlines are risk even half a world away and so a Tsunami warning was put out for Hawaii and along the west coast through noon today.  For some unknown reason our four major news stations took this as an invite for continual coverage even though tracking a Tsunami is a waiting game. It takes a while to travel. (Dramadramadrama)

Not only that. I'm looking at a confusing series of photos of the Japanese Tsunami on the left side of the screen with a reporter in Hawaii on the right. To the casual observer, it implies that the pictures you are viewing are from Hawaii. Not good, people.

Let's try another station. Here we are looking at the Great Hwy in San Francisco across from where Pop B lives, which has been closed since 5am and is being patrolled by SF's finest. Another earnest looking reporter is standing on the abandoned road and interviewing officers about the implied danger. (But evacuations? No?) With swells expected to be 2' above normal (isn't that 24 inches?) they will 'continually monitor the situation'. Well thank God for that!

Flipping to another station ... where photos are constantly repeating in Santa Cruz, showing the local bridge and a couple of dozen commercial and private boats having lost the oldest dock at the north side of the marina floating along upside down. Five hours of the same pictures and no mention of the 95% of the marina that remains. People in tears. Seriously!

News is super important, I get that, for early warnings and notifications, but I wish it were spent  keeping focused on the real tragedy here: the Japanese people and news on how to help and where to donate. Even with baby tsunami leftovers, no part of this day should have been about us.

Mar 9, 2011

Do Unto Others

I read rather a shocking article by Lenore Skenazy ( http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/08/kids-helpless/?icid=maing%7Cmain5%7Cdl6%7Csec3_lnk2%7C49092 ) about the importance of independence in children.  In it, the author bluntly accused well-meaning and over-indulging parents of teaching the Art of Handicap-itis (my word) rather than self reliance. She went so far as to identify the drop off spots in front of the elementary school as former handicap zones that proves parents think their children are unable to walk.

I love a good starry-eyed trip back to the days of my youth, too, when we walked to school uphill both ways in the snow. But if you take a trip there you might want to look at it all, like all of my neighbors had two parent households and one family car, and there were roughly 35 kids on the block to walk with in a clump to the elementary school at the end of the street.

There were other differences, too. We took our lunch in a lunch box with a thermos of milk. If we fell down on the way to school, we had to figure out if we wanted to ask the secretary for a bandaid or turn for home. There were no cells right to Mom.

At the show, we paid attention because we got to see it once.  No one blew their allowance. When that .50 was plunked down, we had already worked out two or three different ways to go, plus a little to savings. And if we skipped our chores that meant no allowance. Simple systems are sometimes best.

So instead of debating the merits of whether to train and empower our children with the skills they need in life, the better question might be: at what age should it begin? 

It already has. Our little sponges are learning all the time, so make the process interactive. That's it! No big mystery! Have them help pick up their toys when they're 3 and make the bed when they're 4; let them stand on a stool and help mom do laundry when they're 7 and make one dinner a week when they're 10; praise them and push them and model what you want them to learn. Set up consequences and stick to them.  C'mon! Who needs a class on this stuff?!

I'm sometimes sorry that the world has changed. But nowadays my neighbors are busy single parents or two-wage earners. They often need to be on the road before school starts, and they've got to get them there so they drop them off. I'd be vying for that cherry drop off spot right in front of the school, too, because it's faster and safer.

Hey, parents are people, too.

Mar 7, 2011

Long Time Passing

Looking in the mirror shows a ...
Long time's been passing;
Someone's looking back at me
(Kinda looks like Mom;)
Looking in the mirror: guess
the lighting must be terrible!
I still feel 25
But can't see signs when I drive.  

Where has all the firmness gone
Long time passing;
Where has all the firmness gone
Long time ago;
Where has all the firmness gone:
Gone to crows feet everyone;
We'd better moisturize
And hatch a plan to downsize.

Where have all the noses gone
Long time passing;
Where have all the noses gone
Long time ago;
Where have all the noses gone
Gone to gravity everyone;
A witches' nose is there
Which seems completely unfair.

Where have all the jawlines gone
Long time passing;
Where have all the jawlines gone
Long time ago;
Where have all the jawlines gone
Gone to neck fat everyone:
It was there yesterday:
The jowls are just in the way.

Where have all the hairs come from
Long time passing;
Where have all the hairs come from
Long time ago;
Where have all the hairs come from
Lips and chins and everywhere:
They pop up overnight
And hard to see in the light.

Where have all my glasses gone
Long time passing;
Where have all my glasses gone
Long time ago;
Where have all my glasses gone
I can't see without them now
When will I ever learn?
One pair in every room...

Mar 6, 2011

What to Do

Well here I am sitting on the fence at a crossroads, and in the lightening round. I'm only here as a spectator, but it's bad enough even in that capacity.

Someone fairly new to me has developed a false impression of someone I love. As simple as that, decades of relationship building is dissolving away.  It resembles watching a computer virus eat through the hard drive and all you can do is stand helplessly by.

Every time I see it happen, I can never really believe that such unimportant, indefensible issues can take down something so sturdy. In the aftermath, there's no gap to widen, no hope for repair. And although it should be taken into account, it doesn't soften the blow knowing that age and mental acuity are factors. 

I know that what is in our hearts is not always on our lips but I'm reluctant to believe situations come up where each action and reaction is judged separate from the bridge you have spent a lifetime to construct. Seriously, all this (hard) hat hair for nothing.

Ok, so I don't want to believe that we can't count on anyone for sure and what is built together is transitory. I don't even want there to be words for it.

My Very Own Shoes

One of my favorite things when I was a little kid was to pull out a pair of my father's dress shoes and clomp around the house.  They barely stayed on and there was no hope at all I'd ever fit into them. Two of my feet fit into one of his shoes.

It's an interesting expression, 'having big shoes to fill', when you apply it to building a life, because invariably there is always someone ahead who has done everything first.  No one skips a predecessor who has done it, worked it, played it, raised it, or believed it.  And very likely it was done thoroughly and with great panache.

Thankfully, Lifekeeping doesn't remind us of that too often. Everything feels like a personal first as we work our own booth, swap in and out relationships and jobs, go up and down ladders while juggling plates. 

So what is it about being asked to fill big shoes that causes such anxiety and self doubt? Here we've been happily owning our journey and building off the experience and knowledge of others the whole time, millions of times over... and then the dreaded words of ... 'boy, you have some big shoes to fill!' Isn't that just the mantra of people resistant to change?

I understand that. I overheard a conversation with the boys talking about buying our old house that was for sale. And the girls are really attached to our house here, the wallpaper, the Wall of Fame, the yard.

I was mulling all of this over the other day and darned if I didn't remember about those big old shoes of my dad. It was really fun to try them on for size but they sometimes caused me to stumble and trip. And when the sun came out and friends rang the bell,  I was back in my own shoes in a flash and taking off at a run.

New anythings take adjustment, and in the end the only shoes that you want to be wearing are your own.

Mar 4, 2011

The Airport

This, from the internet:

A young lady was waiting for her flight in the boarding room of a big airport. As she would need to wait many hours, she decided to buy a book to spend her time. She also bought a packet of cookies.

She sat down in the armchair of the VIP lounge at the airport, to rest and read in peace. Beside the armchair where the packet of cookies lay, a man sat down in the next seat and opened and magazine and began to read.

When she took out the first cookie, the man took out one also. She was irritated but said nothing. But she thought: what nerve!

For each cookie she took, the man took one, too. This was infuriating her but she didn't want to cause a scene. When only one cookie remained, she thought to herself: Ah! What will this man do now?

Then, the man, taking the last cookie, divided it in half and gave her one half. That was too much! She was angry now. In a huff she took her book, her things and stormed off to the boarding place.

When she sat down in the plane and looked in her purse for her eyeglasses, to her surprise her packet of cookies was there, untouched and unopened. She realized that she had forgotten her cookies were put in her purse.

She felt so ashamed. The man had shared his cookies with her, without bitterness or complaint. And now there was no way to explain herself or apologize.

There are 4 things that you cannot recover: 

The stone after it's thrown;
          The word after it's said;
                    The occasion after the loss; and
                              The time after it's gone.

Feb 23, 2011

This Was On My Mind

I traveled with my husband last weekend to Texas and one of the days we headed over the border into Progresso, Mexico, for his birthday. It's a nice little town, very quaint and very poor.

There's a 350 mile long fence along the Rio Grande that separates their country from ours, and we observed border patrol all along the way keeping watch. But on this day, with immigration on my mind, I tried to see the visit with a different set of eyes.

We have read about the powerful drug cartels in Mexico and their bold strikes at civilians, police and innocent children. There has been an incredible loss of life. They take what they want, whenever they want it: not unlike the Mafia of the 20s and 30s in Chicago. Vicious. Violent. Arrogant. Unstoppable.

This was on my mind as we parked and walked over the long bridge spanning the Rio Grande. We saw small arms with caps poking through the bridge slats at either end where it met ground, women and children begging for a few coins. Downstream there were people begging and Americans tossing them coins to catch.

This was on my mind as we entered a country under siege. There were soldiers with submachine guns walking the streets and barricaded near the bridge to ensure the civil rights of people going about their daily lives. There has been no eruption of violence here, but they were taking no chances.

We walked through the gauntlet of vendors selling puppets and jewelry, knockoff purses and booze, as army transport vehicles full of soldiers drove up and down the narrow streets. We ate at a nice restaurant there, looking down on the street busy filled with tourists, knowing our money is the lifeblood of this little town.

What was on my mind as we walked up and down the main street was that there are real people with beating hearts behind the immigration issue. I looked into their eyes, smiling and trying to connect. They are hard working, proud and strongly desiring a better life.

   I imagine them waking up in the morning feeling the humidity of the Rio Grande and looking meters across to America, where their friends say there are jobs and less reason to fear. 

   I imagine them looking at their little children knowing they would not need to weave between the visitors legs holding candies to sell for a quarter or two if they were in America.

   I imagine they believe there is a guaranteed better future ... as they look beyond the fence that is just across the Rio Grande.

Feb 22, 2011

"Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

I'm reading 90 Minutes in Heaven, by Don Piper. I've wanted to pick it up for a while, and our recent trip to Texas provided the perfect environment for quiet uninterrupted reading time. I'm only halfway through but there was one scene that really stood out.

To set the stage: a Baptist Minister is en route home and his small car is literally run over by a big truck, crushing him inside with such life-threatening injuries he is pronounced dead at the scene. The emergency crews toss a tarp over the car with this man inside and attend to the other accident victims after checking at least twice that there is no pulse. A full hour and a half later, the emergency crews are frantically using The Jaws of Life to extract him because another minister who happened upon the scene was praying over his body and heard him singing along to the hymn.

True story. It is graphic and uplifting, difficult even to read what he went through, the miracle of each step in his recovery and his intense pain during those months and years. There were moments where my mind turned to the suffering of Christ and wondered how a human body and spirit could endure it.

The Minister came to see God's profound lessons during his convalescence, and one very meaningful passage leapt out at me. It involved his Mentor and friend visiting and observing the Minister, who is struggling with intense depression and pain, turn away well-wishers and offers to help in some small way.

The exchange that followed has changed the way I interpret relationships. After the visitors had gone, the Mentor admonished the Minister.  'You need to get your act together,' he told him: 'You're not treating them right. You won't let them do anything for you.'

You can imagine how the Minister protested to those words. He was the one in constant pain, and doing all the hard work. It was his body with steel rods running in and out of his arms and legs, and tubes everywhichway, with no end in sight for his recovery. He was the pathetic and woeful one. It was his life. It was his desire for people to leave him alone in his misery.

But the Mentor persisted. 'It's not your call. You have spent the better part of your life trying to minister to other people ... and now you are cheating them out of an opportunity to express their love for you.'

It was a shocking passage. It meant that when we connect with others, even superficially, we give a part of ourselves away. We give them the reins. Our friends and family become vested in us and the glue is love and purpose. 

This lesson isn't just for when we are lying helplessly in a bed and have no alternative: it should be applied during every step of living.  We gave permission for the people we love to participate even when we don't need it because we invited them in.

I started looking at all the things that are taken for granted, the small gestures of someone making you breakfast or your son mowing the lawn, or your friend taking you out for lunch and offering to pay. Being more in tune with a graciousness of heart and a graciousness of spirit.  Maybe, too, recognizing the gifts for what they are: an expression of love and a desire to please.

I looked back and see it in the failed relationships in my life. Not just in some of them: in all of them. As the relationship grew sick, there were less opportunities to make kind gestures and participate. And when you can no longer give, our role becomes uncertain, we felt unnecessary, and inevitably the relationship ends.

I know we pride ourselves on independence and stalwartness but I wonder about this side of it. So today I think I'll call a friend and see if I can't somehow work the conversation around to this passage and hint around at how her isolated, self reliance is affecting those who want to help. And today I'm going to call someone I've not honestly let in my life the way I should have and see what happens when I nudge open the door.

Post Script: both went well.

Feb 17, 2011

Incredibly Worth the Read (it's long) -- Goodbye California

While I do not endorse all of Victor's conclusions, it has some profound observations for those of us who love California and are trying to understand its rapid decay.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

By Victor Davis Hansen at rense.com
Good-Bye California

The last three weeks I have traveled about, taking the pulse of the more forgotten areas of central California. I wanted to witness, even if superficially, what is happening to a state that has the highest sales and income taxes, the most lavish entitlements, the near-worst public schools (based on federal test scores), and the largest number of illegal aliens in the nation, along with an overregulated private sector, a stagnant and shrinking manufacturing base, and an elite environmental ethos that restricts commerce and productivity without curbing consumption.

During this unscientific experiment, three times a week I rode a bike on a 20-mile trip over various rural roads in southwestern Fresno County . I also drove my car over to the coast to work, on various routes through towns like San Joaquin , Mendota, and Firebaugh. And near my home I have been driving, shopping, and touring by intent the rather segregated and impoverished areas of Caruthers, Fowler, Laton, Orange Cove, Parlier, and Selma . My own farmhouse is now in an area of abject poverty and almost no ethnic diversity; the closest elementary school (my alma mater, two miles away) is 94 percent Hispanic and 1 percent white, and well below federal testing norms in math and English.

Here are some general observations about what I saw (other than that the rural roads of California are fast turning into rubble, poorly maintained and reverting to what I remember seeing long ago in the rural South). First, remember that these areas are the ground zero, so to speak, of 20 years of illegal immigration. There has been a general depression in farming - to such an extent that the 20- to-100-acre tree and vine farmer, the erstwhile backbone of the old rural California , for all practical purposes has ceased to exist.

On the western side of the Central Valley , the effects of arbitrary cutoffs in federal irrigation water have idled tens of thousands of acres of prime agricultural land, leaving thousands unemployed. Manufacturing plants in the towns in these areas - which used to make harvesters, hydraulic lifts, trailers, food-processing equipment - have largely shut down; their production has been shipped off overseas or south of the border. Agriculture itself - from almonds to raisins - has increasingly become corporatized and mechanized, cutting by half the number of farm workers needed. So unemployment runs somewhere between 15 and 20 percent.

Many of the rural trailer-house compounds I saw appear to the naked eye no different from what I have seen in the Third World . There is a Caribbean look to the junked cars, electric wires crisscrossing between various outbuildings, plastic tarps substituting for replacement shingles, lean-tos cobbled together as auxiliary housing, pit bulls unleashed, and geese, goats, and chickens roaming around the yards. The public hears about all sorts of tough California regulations that stymie business - rigid zoning laws, strict building codes, constant inspections - but apparently none of that applies out here.

It is almost as if the more California regulates, the more it does not regulate. Its public employees prefer to go after misdemeanors in the upscale areas to justify our expensive oversight industry, while ignoring the felonies in the downtrodden areas, which are becoming feral and beyond the ability of any inspector to do anything but feel irrelevant. But in the regulators' defense, where would one get the money to redo an ad hoc trailer park with a spider web of illegal bare wires?

Many of the rented-out rural shacks and stationary Winnebagos are on former small farms - the vineyards overgrown with weeds, or torn out with the ground lying fallow. I pass on the cultural consequences to communities from the loss of thousands of small farming families. I don't think I can remember another time when so many acres in the eastern part of the valley have gone out of production, even though farm prices have recently rebounded. Apparently it is simply not worth the gamble of investing $7,000 to $10,000 an acre in a new orchard or vineyard. What an anomaly - with suddenly soaring farm prices, still we have thousands of acres in the world's richest agricultural belt, with available water on the east side of the valley and plentiful labor, gone idle or in disuse. Is credit frozen? Are there simply no more farmers? Are the schools so bad as to scare away potential agricultural entrepreneurs? Or are we all terrified by the national debt and uncertain future?

California coastal elites may worry about the oxygen content of water available to a three-inch smelt in the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta, but they seem to have no interest in the epidemic dumping of trash, furniture, and often toxic substances throughout California 's rural hinterland. Yesterday, for example, I rode my bike by a stopped van just as the occupants tossed seven plastic bags of raw refuse onto the side of the road. I rode up near their bumper and said in my broken Spanish not to throw garbage onto the public road. But there were three of them, and one of me. So I was lucky to be sworn at only. I note in passing that I would not drive into Mexico and, as a guest, dare to pull over and throw seven bags of trash into the environment of my host.

In fact, trash piles are commonplace out here - composed of everything from half-empty paint cans and children's plastic toys to diapers and moldy food. I have never seen a rural sheriff cite a litterer, or witnessed state EPA workers cleaning up these unauthorized wastelands. So I would suggest to Bay Area scientists that the environment is taking a much harder beating down here in central California than it is in the Delta. Perhaps before we cut off more irrigation water to the west side of the valley, we might invest some green dollars into cleaning up the unsightly and sometimes dangerous garbage that now litters the outskirts of our rural communities.

We hear about the tough small-business regulations that have driven residents out of the state, at the rate of 2,000 to 3,000 a week. But from my unscientific observations these past weeks, it seems rather easy to open a small business in California without any oversight at all, or at least what I might call a "counter business." I counted eleven mobile hot-kitchen trucks that simply park by the side of the road, spread about some plastic chairs, pull down a tarp canopy, and, presto, become mini-restaurants. There are no "facilities" such as toilets or washrooms. But I do frequently see lard trails on the isolated roads I bike on, where trucks apparently have simply opened their draining tanks and sped on, leaving a slick of cooking fats and oils. Crows and ground squirrels love them; they can be seen from a distance mysteriously occupied in the middle of the road.

At crossroads, peddlers in a counter-California economy sell almost anything. Here is what I noticed at an intersection on the west side last week: shovels, rakes, hoes, gas pumps, lawnmowers, edgers, blowers, jackets, gloves, and caps. The merchandise was all new. I doubt whether in high-tax California sales taxes or income taxes were paid on any of these stop-and-go transactions.

In two supermarkets 50 miles apart, I was the only one in line who did not pay with a social-service plastic card (gone are the days when "food stamps" were embarrassing bulky coupons). But I did not see any relationship between the use of the card and poverty as we once knew it: The electrical appurtenances owned by the user and the car into which the groceries were loaded were indistinguishable from those of the upper middle class.

By that I mean that most consumers drove late-model Camrys, Accords, or Tauruses, had iPhones, Bluetooths, or BlackBerries, and bought everything in the store with public-assistance credit. This seemed a world apart from the trailers I had just ridden by the day before. I don't editorialize here on the logic or morality of any of this, but I note only that there are vast numbers of people who apparently are not working, are on public food assistance, and enjoy the technological veneer of the middle class. California has a consumer market surely, but often no apparent source of income. Does the $40 million a day supplement to unemployment benefits from Washington explain some of this?

Do diversity concerns, as in lack of diversity, work both ways? Over a hundred-mile stretch, when I stopped in San Joaquin for a bottled water, or drove through Orange Cove, or got gas in Parlier, or went to a corner market in southwestern Selma, my home town, I was the only non-Hispanic - there were no Asians, no blacks, no other whites. We may speak of the richness of "diversity," but those who cherish that ideal simply have no idea that there are now countless inland communities that have become near-apartheid societies, where Spanish is the first language, the schools are not at all diverse, and the federal and state governments are either the main employers or at least the chief sources of income - whether through emergency rooms, rural health clinics, public schools, or social-service offices. An observer from Mars might conclude that our elites and masses have given up on the ideal of integration and assimilation, perhaps in the wake of the arrival of 11 to 15 million illegal aliens.

Again, I do not editorialize, but I note these vast transformations over the last 20 years that are the paradoxical wages of unchecked illegal immigration from Mexico, a vast expansion of California's entitlements and taxes, the flight of the upper middle class out of state, the deliberate effort not to tap natural resources, the downsizing in manufacturing and agriculture, and the departure of whites, blacks, and Asians from many of these small towns to more racially diverse and upscale areas of California.

Fresno 's California State University campus is embroiled in controversy over the student body president's announcing that he is an illegal alien, with all the requisite protests in favor of the DREAM Act. I won't comment on the legislation per se, but again only note the anomaly. I taught at CSUF for 21 years. I think it fair to say that the predominant theme of the Chicano and Latin American Studies program's sizable curriculum was a fuzzy American culpability. By that I mean that students in those classes heard of the sins of America more often than its attractions.. In my home town, Mexican flag decals on car windows are far more common than their American counterparts.

I note this because hundreds of students here illegally are now terrified of being deported to Mexico . I can understand that, given the chaos in Mexico and their own long residency in the United States . But here is what still confuses me: If one were to consider the classes that deal with Mexico at the university, or the visible displays of national chauvinism, then one might conclude that Mexico is a far more attractive and moral place than the United States.

So there is a surreal nature to these protests: something like, "Please do not send me back to the culture I nostalgically praise; please let me stay in the culture that I ignore or deprecate." I think the DREAM Act protestors might have been far more successful in winning public opinion had they stopped blaming the U.S. for suggesting that they might have to leave at some point, and instead explained why, in fact, they want to stay. What it is about America that makes a youth of 21 go on a hunger strike or demonstrate to be allowed to remain in this country rather than return to the place of his birth?

I think I know the answer to this paradox. Missing entirely in the above description is the attitude of the host, which by any historical standard can only be termed "indifferent. " California does not care whether one broke the law to arrive here or continues to break it by staying. It asks nothing of the illegal immigrant - no proficiency in English, no acquaintance with American history and values, no proof of income, no record of education or skills. It does provide all the public assistance that it can afford (and more that it borrows for), and apparently waives enforcement of most of California 's burdensome regulations and civic statutes that increasingly have plagued productive citizens to the point of driving them out.

How odd that we overregulate those who are citizens and have capital to the point of banishing them from the state, but do not regulate those who are aliens and without capital to the point of encouraging millions more to follow in their footsteps. How odd - to paraphrase what Critias once said of ancient Sparta - that California is at once both the nation's most unfree and most free state, the most repressed and the wildest.

Hundreds of thousands sense all that and vote accordingly with their feet, both into and out of California - and the result is a sort of social, cultural, economic, and political time-bomb, whose ticks are getting louder.

Feb 14, 2011

Preferential Access

My son logged off FB the other day and suspended his account after falling into the habit of going on to all his friends' and families' pages to see what was going on. He said it made him feel like a stalker.

I can relate. Facebook has its place, definitely. I totally enjoy watching my 2nd cousins grow up, and get to know their wonderful sense of humor with their siblings and friends.  They are terrific kids. Their parents and I haven't seen each other since passing through from OH to CA in '92, and they didn't have children yet. Now their family is 4 strong with the eldest off to college in the fall. So in that way FB is an amazing opportunity to not lose touch with people outside of our self-contained lives. Would I be picking up the phone if FB weren't an option? No.

Seems like access preferences are making connections harder, too. Some prefer only calls. Some texts. Some FB posts. Some Skype. Some only email. Some old-fashioned mail. So when there is family news, who can remember it all? I have a friend who encouraged me to communicate with her through FB. By the time I reluctantly joined, she had moved on to texting which I didn't know how to do and had to learn. Now that I have a jazzy Samsung keyboard slide phone, I realize we don't talk any more often than before I chased her all over Tecchyland. Now she's suggesting I learn to Twitter. Instead I suggested she just give me a call sometime.

It brings to mind that scene from the movie He's Just Not That Into You where Drew Barrymore is trying to coordinate a date ... he calls her cell, she returns the call from the office, he texts her, she calls him from her landline, he facebooks her ... and so on? Real life, baby.

My son criticises FB for having no real give or take, other than comments and photos that I wonder the wisdom of posting on a public forum. I posted a political article link once and was gently repramanded by a friend who said she never posted anything controversial on FB.  So ... FB really is just the morning mask of Jane Jetson but not somewhere to really talk...which is kinda sad since it is one of our primary communication tools.

Other than sharing the occasional excitement of a big trip, promotion, or family event, I don't find it all that interesting. I think FB is best when it connects friends and family together to meet up later.

I maintain an account on FB for distance friends / family because more and more this is where all of life is shared.  FB-esque communicades are rapidly becoming a substitute for more meaningful relationship building activities like calls and visits. FB is a mass, indirect, impersonal communication tool sent out to hook a response. Ever gone fishing?

I never yearned to return to the school environment of the popular crowd after school.  But FB is patterned after a college social network of young people with unlimited time on their hands. I admit there is anticipation with logging on and often disappointment of finding no messages for me.  How can a social network also be a solitary experience where you spend potentially hours roaming around seeing what others are doing?  No wonder it's getting old.

Feb 11, 2011

Giddyup

I am horseback riding again after reading this article about the value of higher education.

The author has put together results of a national study, from a reputed marketing research firm, that looked into the return on investment via college career paths. Simplistically, he concluded that there is a large percentage of our population who is not working in their direct area of study, something identified as 'underemployed'.

I was that, for about 14 months, but I'm not now.

In this authoritative comparative analysis of college and trade school in terms of measureable yield and outcomes, he missed the entire point: college is an investment in yourself, and an opportunity to deepen and broaden skillsets, experience, and knowledge in relating to the world.

College is the cerebral equivalent of a You Are Here map.  It gives you a jumping off point, but not a destination. Because the destination is open-ended.

A trade school is more of a You Want To End Up Here map. Its focus is narrow and seeks only that outcome. Nothing else matters to a trade school other than teaching one particular skill.

My ex did the trade school route and I did the regular way. We ended up making about the same amount of money (ft-vs-ft), but this study would not identify him as 'underemployed': only me. But am I, really?Would it have been worth it to stay at that vile publishing house just to be on the right side of this study's assessment of whether my academia has been a total waste?

College is a different animal altogether. It seems like the goals are similar for both institutions, but they really are not. And don't forget to throw in what life unexpectedly tosses at you, just for good measure. I'm pretty sure a Ph.D waiting tables has her own reasons for doing it, none of which are our business or useful to judge. Maybe she's a single mother who wants to be home to pick up her daughter and do homework. Maybe she discovered she's a people person who gets antsy sitting at a desk all day. Maybe it's her restaurant. Maybe it's her second job because her husband is unemployed.

I clearly stand by college. It was a hugely valuable personal experience. The oral tradition of the Odyssey and To Kill A Mockingbird was passed on to my children when they were small. I became a lifelong learner, with confidence to grow and learn about computers and new innovations, write blogs and travel journals in my seemingly pathetic 'overinvested' life. And working as a secretary allowed me time to devote to my sons as they were growing up, so I could be home with them and help with homework and sports and Scouts.

How can anyone want to solely rely on the primary and secondary schools to teach the skillsets necessary to fully function in the business of life? Our educational system is in crisis; our children are advanced without demonstrating mastery of the basic subjects; and before we know it, they are 18 and sitting at home playing video games with no job, no work ethic, no skills and no prospects.

You can draw your own conclusions about college, but you cannot deny it teaches endurance and personal accountability. There is a lot of hard work with unbiased assessments based on a student's work ethic, participation, intellect and performance. You meet with obstacles that over 4 years are necessary to overcome. You either master it and achieve or you don't.

That sounds a lot like real life to me.

http://chronicle.com/blogs/innovations/why-did-17-million-students-go-to-college/27634

Feb 7, 2011

GVR

So at work there is a competition between offices called Active for Life (also available on the ACS website for non-employees to participate, http://www.activeforlife.com/) which promotes good health through a healthy diet and exercise.

THIS WHOLE DIET-AND-EXERCISE THING IS A STRUGGLE FOR ME! Whew, I am glad that's out.

So I joined my co-workers last week to get moving. My personal goal is exercising 5 days a week, for 30 minutes a day. 150 minutes doesn't seem like much, does it. They give credit for other activities too, like gardening and housework, and cleaning out the storeroom at work and moving big muscle groups, and I do those things already so the goal seems more do-able than committing to 30 minutes straight on the treadmill everyday.

The website tracks the team's exercise for 10 weeks, because they know that exercise is a habit put in place by repetition. One thing might lead to another, and someday I might jump the hurdle of wanting to walk 30 minutes on the treadmill 7 times a week but admittedly that is not where I am. (I wouldn't hold my breath.)

But even if I never achieve that kind of breakthrough, it is never a waste of time to be reminded to (a) drink several 24 oz water bottles each day, (b) lean up the meal portions and food choices (more veggies and less starch), and (c) keep the old bod moving.

My exercise minutes accumulate with everyone else's toward the daily and weekly goals. Last Saturday I made friends with the gal at the Y who opens up at 6am on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She is expecting to see me there and I heard myself promise to go.  Yikes: What is up with me? 

After the last humiliating attempt at losing 10 that took 9 weeks to do and stayed off for - oh, maybe a month - I'm going to keep this one lower key.  But I have lost a few. (Now don't go saying mean things like it's water weight loss: that's like telling a new father that his smiling newborn just has gas.)

Ya, ya, I know. My old walking buddy and I aren't neighbors anymore, and I don't have a dog with big brown eyes dragging me out of bed, and my husband's work schedule is vastly different than mine now so we can't go to the Y together except weekends. But maybe it's just as well to try being self reliant for a change. It's my responsibility after all to achieve better health and energy and get myself on track. Just Do It, right? Right. I'm bringing my tennies to work to-day!

Feb 4, 2011

Bon Appetit!



Little girl's birthday party 2011

It's a remarkable thing when talent collides with a business idea, and that is the case here with a recent family idea to make high end theme cakes. 

Bella's Bakes got its name from Yana Belle (Aiyana), our 8 year old daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece and cousin who died in 2009 from Leukemia.

Yana's mom and older sister have been combining their talents to produce creative and awesome designs that are fresh and inspirational. Every one is a culinary masterpiece.

Thanksgiving leaves

Bella's Bakes will also contribute 10% from each sale to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society which supports research to find a cure. 


The girls specialize in cakes and cupcakes for special birthdays, public events, private parties, and business celebrations. A Bella's Bakes dessert is guaranteed to leave a lasting impression, especially when you discover most of the decorations are edible, too.

Local Crab Feed 2011

The girls are just getting started, and now that their creative juices are flowing we can look forward to each creation being more fantastic than the last.

Now, to the cupcakes. It's hard to choose but I think this sugar baby cupcake topper is pretty fantastic.

Or should I pick the cherry pie cupcake?

Or the turkey and stuffing designed topper?  

They're all sooo good!

BELLA'S BAKES are located in San Joaquin County
 (CA) and you can contact them through their
FB page formore information.


BELLA'S BAKES is a local
business giving back to
the community.