November 9, 2016

In the words of  Little Carmine: "We are on the precipice of an enormous crossroads." A nonsensical butchering of a tired cliche.  But Jesus Christ does it fit.

Many are scratching their heads wondering how this could have happened.  We know exactly how this happened.  You make enough cuts to education generation after generation you end up with an electorate that does not read.  You squeeze the middle class so much that you end up with an electorate that is too exhausted to question.  You force news outlets to be profit centers rather than loss leaders and you end up with an electorate that is easily fooled.

I was recently at a party where a group of "anyone but Trump" voters were talking about Hillary. They all agreed "I don't like her and I do not trust her."  I heard this repeated so many times in a 5 minute window that I had to interrupt and ask  "Why?"  "Just one thing - can you name one reason you do not trust her? Whitewater?  Anything?" Not a single person could articulate it.  And then it hit me.  We have been brainwashed.  Brainwashed into hating, even fearing, this woman that by all accounts has really only ever tried to serve this country.  All you have to do to get people to believe something is to repeat it over and over again, like breathing, and after awhile they will forget.  They will forget that it is all a lie.

The number of people who "could not bring themselves to vote for her" simply because "she rubs me the wrong way" have caused us to utter the words President Donald Trump.  In the words of Louis CK "we have been hazing her; holding her down and spitting in her mouth for 30 fucking years."  And she still wanted the job. Still wanted to see how she could make things better for me for you - for teachers, for nurses, for caregivers, for first-responders.  But no.  You don't like the sound of her voice.

So now we have him. Climate change denying, woman-objectifying, disability mocking, KKK poster boy Donald Trump.  We built this. We did not hold the media accountable and they let this carnival spill out in to the streets, into our homes, and onto our ballot.

"It's a republic ma'am. If you can keep it."  This was not a dare.  This is not about "Let's see how far we can bend it before it breaks" folks.  This is a country of ideas - but those ideas are only true to the spirit of America when they are supported by our common principals of decency, dignity, and equality for all. Not the privileged few, not the white ones, not the male ones.

Eight years ago we elected a man named Barack Hussein Obama to the highest office in the land. Barack, Hussein. Obama.  That is an awful lot of improbable right there.  But we did it. Not once but twice.  But less than 24 hours ago arguably the most qualified, seasoned, intelligent, rested and ready candidate to ever run for office was defeated by a purveyor of hate and division - a know-nothing.

We need to understand the source of the momentum in that swing. Because whenever you see such a gross manifestation of hate you better believe its fuel is the most deadly of all emotions. Fear.  If we do not get to the bottom of that and really understand it, it will destroy us. And no, we will not get to keep this republic.

A Seat at the Table

The past couple weeks have been rough.  After typing this I looked at the calendar and realized that is has been just six days since George Zimmerman was found not guilty in the murder of Trayvon Martin.  It feels a lot longer than that.  Maybe because at the core of this is something that goes back longer than any of us can possibly comprehend.  But it is comprehension and understanding that is needed right now.  And, sadly, I am realizing there are aspects to this I can never understand, or so I am told, because I am white. I don't disagree.

I have never, ever had to tell my sons anything about the police other than they should respect police officers and run to them if they ever needed help.  The only instructions I have ever given my boys about their behavior in public has been "remember, please and thank you and use your inside voice."  Hearing people talk about the discussions they have with their black sons is heart-breaking.  It's like they literally live in a different world than I do.  I can't listen to those accounts and shrug and go on my merry way. Two worlds separated by thick, smoky glass.  You think you know what is on the other side but you are not really sure.

I consider myself a pretty open minded person.  But I guess I am not the best judge of that - kind of like describing yourself as a good singer - really? Says who?  But I know I try.  I want to be get better and be better at living in this world.  I put a quote from Stevie Wonder's "As" here but I deleted it.  Was afraid it would look disingenuous.  That fear of being misunderstood is why I am here typing in the first place.

I want to talk. And I want to talk about race.  But the thought of talking about race terrifies me because, frankly, I don't know what the hell I am talking about, let's be honest.  I know more about being a world-class chef than I know about being black in America - and I hate to cook for God's sake.  Someone once described me as "exceedingly white."  OK. Not sure if that was a comment about my pigmentation or a judgment of my personality, or (God help me) an indictment of my attitude. I was not insulted as much as I was puzzled. That was about seven years ago and I think about it often.  I think I am trying to understand what it means - at least from the perspective of people who aren't white.  If I am going to be realy honest it was the first time I was aware that someone was seeing the color of my skin.  It knocked me off center.  Race matters, it shouldn't, but I guess it does.

As I have stated before, Barack Obama's election to the highest office in our nation turned the world upside down for a lot of people.  And instead of ushering in a new day in a sunny post-racial America, it pulled the curtain back and revealed hatred and bigotry that is simply mind-blowing.  I don't know what is more shocking - the severity or the extent of the hatred.  I cannot relate to hating someone that much based on anything, let alone the color of their skin.

This "conversation" about race that we so desperately need to have is a minefield.  It is littered with so many chances for the well-meaning white people at the table to say the wrong thing or say the right thing in the wrong way.  There are racist aspects of every white person. It is almost impossible to grow up in white America and not have parts of you that, when you honestly look closely enough, you realize are wrong. I guess the difference among white people is - do you want to have those racists views/perceptions or not.  If you do, go along your merry way and stay out of ours.  If you don't, then slide on up to the table and speak your mind.  Let's just promise each other that if we say something stupid we will know it comes from ignorance and not malice.

Trayvon Benjamin Martin did not get justice from this verdict, but maybe we can give him justice from our revolution.

The Good Bye Email

I have written a lot of "Good Bye" emails in my career.  I have moved around a lot.  I wish I had kept all of them, you know, those "it has been nice working with you all... I will miss you....etc." messages you send to coworkers as you move on to another opportunity. I am getting ready to leave a company I have been with longer than any other.  I have never seen a company go through more changes and grow as much as this one has.  And never before have I been able to say I had the chance to be part of so much change and growth and I am grateful to have had that opportunity.

But what I am most grateful for is the incredibly talented and hard working people I got to work with every day.  Who would ever think that people who see each other once a year at the most could feel so connected?  I am not sure I will ever be part of such a special group of people.  A company is greater than the sum of its parts and those parts are its people, regardless of the services it provides or the products it makes: a company is nothing without its people.  Having said that, it's not easy to make a virtual company work, but we do. Working from home makes your life easier (sometimes) but your work harder (sometimes.)  You can't stand up and lean over the cubicle wall to ask a question.  You can't gather in a conference room with a white board.  Your can't have cake in the break room. You have to communicate at a very different level and you learn to work together, but alone. And we do it. And I think we do it well.  Many times we communicate in just the subject line of  an  email and it is amazing how much information you can convey in the file name of an Excel spreadsheet. Working from home is an amazing feat to say the least.

When I started here my youngest was just 6 months old.  Now he starts Kindergarten in the fall.  I think I have had 5 relatives die since I have been here.  I have watched my co-workers, my friends, go through some really hard times.  "It's just a job" is what we say to mitigate stress but the right company, the right people, can make you feel like what you are doing matters and that you are building something together, and that is what is important.  It does become like a family and perhaps it should.

So as I move on to another opportunity I will say this - it is never really good bye. Paths cross and then detour in opposite directions all the time.  But one thing is for sure, they always cross again. So, I'll see ya all later.

Love,
Christy

He Was Random So I Will Be Sincere

I wonder when it will be.  When will women finally stop being obsessed with their appearance, specifically with the changes in their appearance as they steamroll through life?  2014 and beyond shall be an amazing time in the timeline of the country and for women, cuz you know my girl's gonna run.  And inevitably her appearance will be a factor and topic of discussion - the bullshit "Hillary through the years" slideshows.  

I supported Obama in 2008 and 2012.  I chose him over Hillary because I felt there was a predestined order to it all - not order as in hierarchy but order as in sequence.  I felt he had to go first. I have also over these years redefined my definition of "ready."  Ready doesn't mean we can handle it but it means we need it. And yes, our sorry asses, need a woman to be President.  Sorry Joe, be VP again and history will remember you as the guy that stepped aside for love of country.

So this is how I arrived at this post.  I was insulted today by someone I (thought I) respected. An insult was leveled at my appearance in a picture taken while I was out for the day with my kids.  So boom.  You didn't look good.  I work my ass off full time (as an aside his wife stays home with the kids) and take care of house and home and kids, but let me throw a punch at you and remind you that despite all you try to accomplish - you didn't look so good in this picture.  Two steps forward, three steps back.  It wasn't just the insult or said it but it was the cold realization that I suppose it will always be about what we look like.  Oh and for the record I look damn good for 41 and two kids. But who the fuck cares? With that one comment from someone that hasn't been part of my life for close to twenty years nothing else mattered for just that brief moment.

The insult was random but my response to it is sincere. After I let the sting wear off I remembered - no one can make you feel inferior without your permission. We all know that quote - I think it is attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt.  We've heard it a million times.  But do we really live by it? Let's not give them permission.  Women (and non misogynistic males) are going to need to lock arms tightly over the next 4 years and beyond.  There is a fight of a generation coming and it has to be the only close up we are all ready for.

So thanks for the insult - it made me write.

Twas the Night Before the Iraq War....

In the lead up to the Iraq War I had dinner with my dad.  Among other things you can always count on my dad for consistent, steady, every-man sensibility with frequent flashes of brilliance that out-pace his education or experience.  He just gets it.

Knowing this, I asked him what he thought about the prospect of getting into a war.  He paused and thought for a moment.  He then said "If these guys think that this guy has these weapons then we have no choice."  I agreed.  To a point.  I responded, "But Dad, I don't think these guys have even thought about how we are going to get out.  This will be another Vietnam."  No lie.  That is what I said.  They should have called me.  Maybe I should have called them.

You see we never had a plan for how to get out.  "You break it you own it" was apparently too esoteric for President Asshat.  There was no plan to get out. No plan to aid the troops when they got home. Hell there was no plan to aid them while they were there,  you know, the troops "we had, not the troops we needed."

Those troops, this nation, the Iraqi people could have used an OUNCE of the outrage spilled over Benghazi.  Why is it that our outrage is always misdirected?  You want to see a Congressional hearing convene in record time?  Have some flash a nipple at the Super Bowl.  Have a bunch of overpaid athletes juice up.  Orchestrate a fake war that kills and maims  hundreds of thousand of people and the silence will be deafening.

Just when we started to step beyond the shame and atrocities of the Vietnam War - we jumped right back into a quagmire.  On the surface it just looks like self-flagellation but it is really all about the money.  The only economic power the wealthy in this country possess lies in their ability to wage never ending war.

Never Forget Who You Are

I live in the same county where I grew up.  Delaware County, just south east of Philadelphia.  Like any other part of the country (yes including the so-called mythical Main Line) there are areas that are nicer than others - places you would love to live, places you wouldn't want to be alone at night and, yes, areas where I wouldn't take a house for free - yes, just like on the Main Line.

I am proud of where I grew up.  Upper Darby High School has always had a bad reputation for tough kids and drugs - I was there for four years and never saw any of either.  I was too busy working my butt off in classes that were part of a top notch honors program.  Three of my teachers in high school had Doctorates.  But people in Radnor and Lower Merion seemed to love to look down on us as "Upper Dump." I never understood it but I do now probably more than ever.  People like to pretend.  They pretend they are more important than they are and pretend they have more than they do.  Everyone is trying to be something they're not.  The saddest part is what they are trying to be ain't all that great.

I recently had someone take a jab at where I live and it hurt. They do not think highly of the community in which my family resides.  Not high-brow enough. Not affluent enough.  Too "working class" perhaps.  They apparently view it as low class - or perhaps it's just that they have a very high opinion of where their family lives. But I am OK with that I suppose.  They can have it - I'll stay where I am.  People can think what they want and view things how they see fit. As my grandmother would say "that's why they make chocolate and vanilla."

If you remember around Christmas time, in the wake of Sandy Hook, people were doing "26 Random Acts of Kindness."   I knew I wasn't going to be able to swing 26 so I decided to do just one.  I delivered a Christmas cactus and some chocolates to the doorstep of the house where I grew up in Upper Darby.  My parents moved away many years ago.  The neighborhood is much different now.  The houses aren't maintained the way they used to be and the lawns are no longer manicured.  The community of two and three bedroom row homes was never a rich neighborhood by any measure - I just never remember "poor" being a word you would use to describe it.  I certainly never felt poor.  Poor might be a word I would use to describe it now.  As I placed the gift on the doorstep and walked away - I felt sadness - not shame - but real sadness. Many people have it hard - harder than I can possibly imagine.  I also felt a sense of relief that my parents had been able to move away to a bigger house with a garden for mom and a shed for dad.

I also felt a sense of pride to know that no matter what happens I will never allow myself to get so far away from there that I fool myself into thinking I am something I am not.  I guess all I can hope for is to surround myself with like-minded people that understand: it's not about what you have, it's about who you are.

The Best Thing To Ever Happen To You

The single most important decision a woman (yes a woman - sorry guys but it just isn't the same for you) can make is whether or not to have a child. Read that again - notice I did not say that having a child is the most important thing a woman man will ever do.  Because I do not believe that.  But the decision itself places a woman on one path versus the other.  It literally changes, no, forever alters, the trajectory of her life. As much as we want to think that we can "do it all" and "have it all" - we can't and it is irresponsible, even self destructive, for us to think we can, whether we have children or not. 

Among women that are contemplating having or not having children there is the recurring theme of "regret." "Will I get to the end of my life and regret not having children?"  Does it matter?  If you live your life the right way there should be a heaping pile of things you regret, a big list of things you never got the chance to do.  Those piles have to be big, those lists have to be long - if they are not then you never fully embraced the possibilities and opportunities that abound. If you get to the end and somehow convince yourself that you "did it all" I'm sorry but you are kidding yourself...or your bucket list sucked. If you get to the end without regrets you didn't try hard enough.  If you get to the end without enemies then you probably never stood up for anything either. In that case who cares if you had kids or not?

There are two main paths in life for a woman - one with children and one without.  And each is peppered with feelings of happiness and joy and pain and loneliness and, yes, regret.  There are plenty of  "couldas" and "shouldas" on both paths. Plenty of time will be spent envying women on the other path but most of the time you will not be able to imagine your life on any path but the one you are on. It's your path. No one else's.

I once had a friend say to me "Isn't being a mother the most wonderful thing in the world?"  I paused and thought "Seriously?  I want to blow my brains out most of the time." So I forced a smile and said "Oh isn't it just great?" Bleh - I was faking it and, honestly, she probably was too.  You see there is this  strange competition among mothers - no one talks about it so this is all on deep background. We are all trying to see who can make it look effortless. It's not. Anyone who does make it look effortless is medicated, heavily. 

Is this where I have to say that I love my children and can't imagine my life without them?  I love them.  They make me crazy. And no I can't imagine my life without them - primarily because I can't remember my life without them. So there, in case you were about to call child protective services.

When are we going to stop thinking that women were put here to reproduce? And for God's sake when are the mommies going to stop making women without children feel like they are missing out on "the best thing that could ever happen to them?" What, if you don't have kids then, sorry!  No best thing ever for you!  Bullshit. Small aspirations from small-minded people. If I have children am I now prohibited from searching for the best thing that will ever happen to me - does it have to be my children?  If I keep searching for things that make me happy and make me feel fulfilled does that mean I don't love my children?  If I happen to go on to cure cancer do I still have to say that my children are my greatest accomplishment in order to satisfy some silly Mommy archetype?  That is flawed and holds us all back.

So here is the big reveal.  Motherhood is not, and never was, the answer to anything. Don't think a child is going to give your life meaning.  You give your life meaning and purpose. Never stop looking for all the greatest things that will ever happen to you - collect as many as you possibly can.

Nobody Likes a Cheater. Or Do We?

According to Merriam-Webster the definition of ambivalent is "simultaneous and contradictory attitudes or feelings (as attraction and repulsion) toward an object, person, or action." I did not need to look up cheat.  Unlike Armstrong, I was already quite certain of the definition.  I really hope I never find myself searching for a semantic loophole to slip through in that definition.

I am not very passionate about sports. I can't say there has ever been an athlete I looked up to the way it seems people seem to worship (worshipped?) Lance Armstrong.  Perhaps Mildred Ella "Babe" Didrikson Zaharias. Babe never doped. At the time of her death at the age of 45, from cancer, she was the top-ranked female golfer.  If you would like to delouse yourself from this Lance Armstrong thing, read about Babe, read about Jackie Robinson, Wilma Rudolph, read about Jesse Owens. Read how the Basque Steeple Chase runner alerted the Kenya runner that he had mistaken the finish line and was not actually finished the race. Google it. I have never been an athlete but I have always known that "sport" is more about spirit than framed jerseys or endorsements.

I usually have opinions about things - ill-conceived or too rooted in emotion they may often be. There are few topics I was more ambivalent about than Lance Armstrong. Then I watched the Oprah interview and saw the 60 Minutes Sports piece.  People have been worshipping a bully.  A narcissistic, remorseless bully. It's not the cheating, it's the threats and intimidation that are chilling.

When I was in my 20s I worked for a man who was lying about everything. His education, his certifications, his work history - he even claimed to have played for a professional hockey team.  He too was a bully and loved to threaten people. As the corporate powers that be closed in on his charade he became uglier and uglier.  Being within arm's length of such a desperate person is something I hope I never experience again.  In a very tiny way I can relate to what Emma O'Reilly and Betsy Andreu experienced - a very tiny way.  Desperate people are dangerous. His actions toward innocent people are unforgivable.

I can't think of a longer, harder, more deserving fall from grace.  So many people seem to be at a loss for what to do now that the source of their inspiration was a mere mirage. Ah but that's just it isn't it? It's always a mirage.  All we ever see in other people is what we choose to see.  People are our mirror.  When we see good things in them, we are seeing the good things we see in ourselves. When we vilify someone we recognize something in them with which we (would rather not) identify.

I am not sure what the future holds for Lance Armstrong.  But this I do know.  Personally, what I love more than a victor is a Phoenix that rises from the ashes. So...we shall see.

Truth is Often the First Casualty of Outrage

As much as I tried to resist it I have to admit that my experiences on Twitter have been incredibly rewarding.  As an aspiring "writer" there is no greater exercise for the mind than to be forced to make your point in 140 characters or less.  And let's be honest, those opinions, at least for me, are never about the weather.  They are about the big things - or at least I think they are big things.  The election.  The economy. A murdered teen in Sanford, FL. A massacre in an elementary school. A brutal rape in Steubenville.

The downside of communicating in such short, impassioned spurts is we can become snappy, jumpy, punchy.  I recently had a disagreement with a coworker via email and as I typed my response I realized (before hitting send, thankfully) that my response closely resembled one of my biting responses to a right wing troll accusing the President of being a perpetually vacationing Communist.  Yikes.

Take a breath, take a step back and think before you type, genius.  Easier said than done when you get caught in the wave of (mis) information.  Add in the shameful need to be retweeted - to gain followers.  Since nothing feels better sometimes than kudos for your 140 character weigh-in on the crisis du jour.

I don't tweet about what I am eating or what I am wearing.  I like being in the middle of the fire storm.  It is just social media of course and the best way I can describe Twitter is an enormous circle jerk.  There is a circle jerk going on among those on the left and there is another one going on among those on the right.  Lots of words - lots.  With some isolated examples there really is little to no action.  But along the way we do learn something despite the 140 character limit.

The crisis in Steubenville is a prime example.  I just had an exchange with someone (from Breitbart.com, God help me) who seems to be trying to counter a lot of misinformation.  The exchange made a light go on.  The volume on this case has been turned up - way up.  The involvement of the Anonymous movement has pushed this case into the spotlight - that's a good thing and perhaps a bad thing.  The video. That video.  It's almost impossible to watch.  If Sandy Hook was our gun crisis wake up call - the Steubenville video could very well be the light we needed to shine on our culture of violence against women.

Is the video horrific? Without a doubt.  Is it evidence of guilt?  That really can't be determined. Certainly not by non-lawyer me or social media.  So here is the risk.  If the details of this case are blown out of proportion the real case, the real truth, will be dismissed and forgotten.  "Wait, you mean she wasn't in the next room when that video was made?" "The guys that made the video may have had no contact with her?" And the crime that was committed, and the victim, will be pushed aside. Somehow if the most outrageous details prove to be misleading then it will be like the whole thing never happened. That is the risk. It wasn't as bad as we thought so it must have been just dandy.

Everyone knows that the danger in the old "rush to judgment" is that someone will be wrongly accused, or worse, convicted. But the overlooked danger of a rush to judgment and blowing things out of proportion is that the real horror of what happened could be lost.

Something horrible happened in Steubenville. How bad does it need to be to keep our attention?

This Thing Called New Year's

I have never been a big fan of the dreaded "New Year's resolution."  Too much pressure. Too much judgment.  Too much expectation to be extra-ordinary - not with the veracity of the follow through, necessarily - just with the content of the resolution itself.  A "mine is better than yours" childish pissing contest that I tend to tire of very easily - no matter the subject matter.

I remember being mocked by someone for my response to the inane "what's your New Year's resolution?" question.  Like anyone that ever asked that gave a crap what the answer was.  Especially this particular time.  I was working for a small PR firm and an insufferable colleague of my equally insufferable boss asked me what my New Year's resolution was.  So I replied with what I felt was a very sincere response - much too personal for the complete tool I was talking to but I was feeling magnanimous.  "I don't actually believe in New Year's resolutions.  I believe if you want to make a significant change in your life - do it - regardless of the date on the calendar."  His tiny brain had trouble grasping this but I frankly didn't care.  I took the ridicule from him as I had on several other occasions - as part of the crappy $6 an hour job.

I still feel the same way.  Don't wait for January 1st to change the tide of your life. Don't think because January has come and gone that the window to start your own personal revolution has closed.  We really only get to do this once.  Live the life you'd go see if it were a movie, or read if it were a book.  After all you are the author.

Do great things....

Fix the Guard Rail

When you are formulating the solution to a problem you need to ask yourself:

Am I simply putting more ambulances at the bottom of the cliff or am I actually fixing the broken guard rail?

In light of today's horrific shooting at Sandy Hook, I can't help but think about this question.  I hate guns.  I have never held one in my hands.   I simply can't relate to this fascination, our national obsession.  So, I admit, regulating the damn things sounds like a good idea to me.  Then I ask the question - does it fix the guard rail?

Bowling for Columbine is one of the best documentaries ever made. Regardless of your opions about Michael Moore, he methodically tries to figure out why there are so many more gun deaths per capita in the US than there are anywhere else in the world.  Getting to the heart of that reason is truly fixing the guard rail.  Gun control might simply be putting more ambulances at the bottom of the cliff (please excuse the harshness of that metaphor.)

The ideal solution to any problem does both - it puts ambulances in place until the guard rail is fixed.  In my opinion that is what gun control is - ambulances at the bottom of the cliff - until we fix ourselves - get to root of our violence, our mental health crisis. But those ambulances are needed, several and quickly, because I am starting to think that the guard rail is not broken - it just isn't even there.

No more prayers, no more" hearts going out."  Pretend these are random terrorist attacks - because they are.

It's Just Stuff

The recent images flooding in from Hurricane Sandy have brought back some rough memories.  Please understand, I can only relate in part to what the victims of this disaster are feeling but I think I have had some of the very same feelings myself.

My stuff.  It's gone.  It is a very strange feeling.  To go to the place where you kept your things to find them no longer there.  Or it's all there but it's, well, gone. Destroyed. Never to belong to you again. Never the same.

It's funny how our things can define us.  I don't mean in terms of status, although we all know that's true.  But slowly, over time, we assign memories, emotions to things.  Our things.  "See this?  We got this that time we went to that place and Uncle So and So laughed so hard milk came out of his nose? Remember?"

My freshman year of college I lost everything I had in the world to a dorm fire.  The fire started in the room next door in the middle of the night.  The fire alarm system did not work and we were all saved by a fast-acting security guard.

Once we were able to return a couple hours later it was the eeriest feeling I have ever had.  To look at my bed, now black like charcoal, with the sheets pulled back like I had just gotten out.  My pillow looking like my head had just been on it. The alarm clock inches from where my head was melted flat to the table.  It was all there and yet none of it, except for a few things, was salvageable.

I cannot describe the feeling. It is the loneliest most desperate feeling.  In that moment you feel like nothing will ever be the same. You will never own anything again.  All of your memories are gone -all of your things are destroyed. All I could say was, "This was everything."

And yet even as I stood there with this horrible pit in my stomach I knew my mother was en route from just a couple hours away to come take me back, well, home. I still had a home to go to.  A roof over my head to have - parents that were at the ready to prepare the insurance claim and take me shopping to begin replacing my things.  And just for the record it is not the "shopping spree" that one dreams of - there was nothing fun about it. "What do you think of this sweater?" "Sure I'll take one in each color. What's next on the list?"

The only thing I can offer someone that has or ever will "lose everything" is this.  It really is just stuff.  That experience made me less sentimental about things but more reflective about the passage of time.  That brush with death has, over the years, slowly crept in to my consciousness and has made me realize that it really can all change in an instant and all this stuff we surround ourselves with just weighs us down.

So it is only in this small way that I can relate to the victims of this tragedy.  No. You no longer have the thing you got at that place.  But nothing can change the fact that Uncle So and So laughed so hard milk came out of his nose.  So, just, remember.  It will take some time but you will get there.

What my 4 year old thinks of Mitt Romney and flying...

I spent a good chunk of my weekend cleaning out my children's play room.  Three piles - one for donation, one for  trash, and one for recycling.  I do this on a pretty regular basis - I am a bit OCD about keeping that room organized. It is amazing how many match box cars, coloring books, and lenticular puzzles these two little boys have.  And crayons.  Oh the crayons. 

At some point along the way we acquired a pretty cool replica of Air Force One.  It's about eight inches long and pretty heavy.  This clearly went into the "keep pile."  What was placed in the trash pile was a small plastic plane with no doors or windows and a broken propeller.  "This is Brock Omama's plane," Julian said as he flew the Air Force One through the air.  "And this," he said as he held up the Wright Brothers' reject ,"is Mitt Romney's plane."

True story.

President Jimmy Carter

I have always had a soft spot for the peanut farmer from Georgia.  I find his gentle southern drawl soothing and his steady way reassuring.  I also associate him with one of my earliest, most vivid memories.

I was sitting in art class with my friend Lisa.  We were both born in January so we would have been 7 in the fall of 1979.  Lisa asked, "Who do you want to be President? Jimmy Carter or Ronald Reagan."  Before I had a chance to answer (typical Republican) she blurted, "I think Ronald Reagan should be President - he's rich and he's from Hollywood so he knows a lot of famous people."  Even at seven this seemed odd to me.  "Well," I said - almost afraid to disagree with my friend - after all it could very well have been my first experience with having a real opinion, "I think Jimmy Carter should be our President.  He has a little girl so I know he would never want to start a war."

And there you have it. The reason, if I am going to be honest, that I perhaps still vote for anyone.  Not that they never would - but that, at their core, they do not desire conflict.

Much like President Clinton, President Carter has had an exemplary post-White House life.  He and Rosalyn have been involved with Habitat for Humanity since 1984.  The Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter Work Project is one of the most high profile aspects of the organization - its focal point is an annual build blitz - one week of this blitz frequently results in the completion over 100 homes - from the Gulf Coast to the Mekong to West Philadelphia.

Many years ago, the Work Project brought President Carter to a home on Stiles Street where my mother grew up.  My mother's cousin stood with President Carter in the basement of her childhood home and told him stories of how my Great-Grandfather used the basement for wine making.

I have always hated the way people have spoken about President Carter.  You can say what you will about the Carter Administration, the Carter years.  They were what they were and, no, perhaps they were not very good.  But when the criticisms of the administration turn to insults and treat Jimmy Carter like a punch line that's when I get my back up.  At the most basic level - the difference between Jimmy Carter's helicopter crash and Barack Obama's Black Hawk crash?  Seal Team Six had a back up helicopter.

Romney has practically made disrespecting a living President a hobby.  Maybe not anymore.  Not only is revenge a dish best served cold but it is also best served by your grandson.  Just ask James Carter IV. People are praising him - but he simply did what any of us would have done to protect our loved ones from bullies.  Regardless, we should thank him - I thank him, and his grandfather.

Hey Mitt, like the best spokesman for truth and peace warned, Instant Karma's gonna get you.

Betty White's Rebuttal

In the wake of what may go down in history as the most ridiculous display of histrionics ever on a convention stage, there was an almost immediate call for a DNC rebuttal from the incomparable Betty White.  Funny?  For sure. Over the top? Potentially.  But not if it's done right.  (Read: Not if the DNC does it my way.)

I am not interested in answering the RNC as much as I am in sprinting right past them.  So picture this. The place - Charlotte, NC (hopefully without the Greek columns.) The time - the slot immediately before President Obama takes the stage.  Yes.  Immediately before.

She should walk on the stage  (crowd goes wild, laughter, etc since all have been a-buzz about the possibility of her appearance.)  Then a few moments later, while she is still soaking in all the adoration, someone brings out a chair.  She looks at it  (more uproarious laughter.)  Then she sits in it and says "Well, what else was I supposed to do with it?  I turned 90 this year.  I need to sit."

Then she should talk about those 90 years - as an American, and as a woman. What has changed, what has gotten better.  And yes, what has not gotten better.  She should talk about what a twenty year old Betty would have thought about walking on the moon, the right to choose, smart phones, gay rights, equal pay and yes, an American President with a name like Barack Hussein Obama.  Did she ever think she would "live to see the day" to see any of this?

Think about what Betty White has seen in her lifetime.  If this were my full time job I would come up with an incredible list of some of the less-obvious things that have happened in and to America in the past 90 years.

Actually maybe we can all come up with a list and you can write one (or several) in the comments.

What her talk should leaving us feeling is equal parts of pride and anger - pride in what we have all built and anger over the things that are still unfinished, always neglected.

It would be a slam dunk and hell, I'd pay to see it.  Obama would have his work cut out for him following Betty White.

Photo By : Pete Souza, White House photographer

A Side of Bigotry with your Outrage?

So I have been thinking a lot about this ICK Fil A thing.  I call them that because it is garbage food that no one should be eating anyway.  I saw a piece on them a while ago and was shocked at how long it took the GOP to embrace them.  Here is my stance and you better sit down.

Let them do what they want.  The most powerful tool we have against bigotry, hate and, yes, stupidity is our almighty dollar.  If you do not agree with their politics do not give them your money.  I think we would be shocked at what business owners support what causes. I do not like what Walmart stands for so I do not go there.  But I do go to other big box retailers that have changed the landscape of our retail environment - no more mom and pop stores, the loss of the American Main Street.  Does it make me a hypocrite?  I suppose, but I cannot fear being called a hypocrite so much that I do not act in the small ways I can.  No act of boycott any of us ever engage in will ever be perfect but we have to do what we can to exercise the expressions of Free Speech that are available to us.  And remember, according to our Supreme Court money is speech. So spend your dollars wisely.

I am reminded of the quote that I have always loved - I believe it has been credited to Thomas Jefferson.  "I do not agree with  a word you say, but I will die fighting for your right to say it."  I did not look up the actual quote - I just went from memory since it is perhaps more important how it lives in my heart than how accurate it is.  I do not want any bigotry to exist in our society.  But I do not think that the way to eradicate bigotry is to in turn be a bigot.  My Twitter profile says that I am trying not to be a bigot for The Left - some days I am better at that than others.  The quote is from Annie Hall and you can see the clip here.

Annie Hall Clip  

The implication in that scene is that Woody Allen's character is a bigot , but for the left, so it's OK  (clearly the point was that it's not OK.)

The Left will win this battle for equality but if we are not careful we will trip over ourselves on the way the promised land.  I say we we welcome everyone.  Keep them close - they might learn something - who knows maybe we will too.

If I were stuck in an elevator with Paul Ryan....

The difference between you and me, Representative Ryan?  Choices.

You choose division over unity.
I choose to work for what is best for the country.
You choose stalemate over progress, filibuster over consensus.
I choose to vote for the best solution regardless from which side of the aisle it originated.
You choose the rich over the poor, the comfort of the few over the safety of the many.
 I choose to remember that it must always about the least among us.
You choose big business over education.
I choose to understand that without outstanding education for all American enterprise will disappear.
You choose profits over the environment.
I choose to understand that no amount of money will ever reverse the damage we are causing.
You have chosen to be bigoted.
I choose equality.
You have chosen to be heartless.
I choose to always care about my fellow earthlings - American or not.
You have chosen to turn a deaf ear.
I choose to always listen to all sides.
You have chosen to reject the teachings of your own religion.
I choose no religion other than that which teaches me to look out for those that cannot look out for themselves.

No one chooses to be poor.
No one chooses to be sick.
No one chooses to be chronically unemployed.
No one chooses to be homeless.
No one chooses public assistance over self reliance.
No one chooses a free lunch program over feeding their children.
No one chooses their sexuality.
No one chooses where they are born.

But we can choose to vote all of you out. And we will.

I hope those nuns choose to kick your ass.

Can some one get me out of here?  PLEASE????

The Father-Daughter Dance

I am an only child - yes I am Jim and Anna's only kid.  More importantly perhaps I am my father's only daughter.  My wedding was a mini royal wedding to be quite honest.  My parents eloped so my grandfather never had the chance to walk my mother down the aisle.  All my life I knew that was never going to happen to me - it was not an option.  I would have a wedding and it would be beautiful - the wedding my parents never had.  And, yes, dad would walk me down the aisle.

On more than one occasion my mother commented that she was completely opposed to the idea of a weepy bride walking down the aisle.  "No one wants to see a blubbering bride."  So I guess I have always known that the pressure was on to hold it together - which frankly is not one of my strengths.  My guess is Mom gave Dad a really harsh talking to about what he was allowed to and not allowed to say to me prior to our long journey down that narrow space.  As we were waiting for our cue we talked about the weather. Yes the weather. It was raining, pouring actually - it had not rained in months.  My wedding was knick-named the drought -buster wedding.  Luckily I suppose, since it did give us a topic distract us and keep the emotions at bay.  It worked - we both held it together.

My guess is my mother did not have a similar rule in place for the Father-Daughter dance though.  Clearly all bets were off and I have the blubbering dancing bride pictures to prove it.  I never told anyone what he said to me until now.

"For the rest of your life, no matter where you go or what you do you need to always remember you are loved.  Your mother and I will always love you.  You are our life.  Alway remember where you came from.  Always be true to who you are and never ever forget how much we love you."

We danced to an old Helen Reddy song "You and Me Against the World."  Jim and Anna only had one child.  They should have had more.  Such a shame that only one person calls them Mom and Dad.

For My Boys.....

On the radio last night I heard part of President Obama's Father's Day message.  I was pleasantly surprised (OK absolutely thrilled) that much of what he said reminded me of what I wrote for my sons' blessing ceremonies.  Instead of a traditional "Christening" ceremony we had a non-demoninational blessing ceremony.  When the boys are older, and if they choose, they can make their own decisions about faith and religion.  Regardless of what they choose I hope these words always guide them.

For Nathan...

Being your mother is the most important thing I will ever do.  A wise woman once said that being a mother means that for the rest of your life your heart will live outside of your own body.  I didn't really know what that meant until you were born.  Now I realize how incredibly beautiful and fragile everything is.  I never knew my house had so many sharp edges and I never knew how slippery a baby can be when you lift him out of the bath tub!


My dreams for you are very simple.  I have no expectations of where you will live, who you will choose to spend your life with, or how you will make your living.  My only wish is that you become the kind of person who walks through his life with an open mind and an open heart.  Be the one with whom anyone can find solace.  Be the one to bring laughter where there is sadness, hope where there is fear and perspective when life seems overwhelming.  May you be proud to look back on your life.


I do want you to be an excellent student of history, especially your own.  You are the grand sum of the love, hard work and sacrifice of many generations from many different parts of this world.  Your ancestors crossed oceans, including your grandfather, with very little and built wonderful lives. Now you are standing on their shoulders.  I will do everything I can to make sure you are looking out toward a very happy and fulfilling life.

For Julian...

We have all learned from our Super Heroes: "To whom much is given, much will be expected."  Julian, much will be expected of you.


We expect you to always be kind. Always be generous with what you have - no matter how little.  Alway be willing to share your treasure, your time and your talent.  We expect you to be brave - never be afraid to be the lone voice that speaks up for what is right and what is fair.  Always be one of the good guys.


You have been born into an extraordinary place during an extraordinary time and we hope you don't settle for being a passenger on this journey.  The world needs all the help it can get...so be ready.  Remember, anyone can do well but too few manage to also do some good along the way.


Today is your blessing but we are the ones that are blessed.  Thank you for being our son.

I always new President Obama and I were on the same page.

Ronnie Bucca - Prologue

There is a book that has been sitting on my nightstand for nearly ten years. Yes, ten.  That is not a typo.  1000 Years for Revenge by Peter Lance.  It has sat there, mocking me.  I pick it up, dust it, move it from here to there. My failure to read it has nothing to do with lack of time or interest. I fear that reading it will launch me into a new direction - some kind of strange point of no return.  I needed to be ready.  If I started this journey without being ready, it would have been a false start.  I have to, in my own way, tell the story of Ronnie Bucca - something I think I am supposed to do.  Maybe the way some people contemplate Everest or travel the world in search of the perfect wave or something. Maybe the way one might spend years trying to pull a mythical creature from a river. He has to. Now, I have to.

Ronnie Bucca was an FDNY Fire Marshal - the only one in the history of the FDNY to die in the line of duty. Tower One. 9/11.  On a floor higher than any other fire fighter.  Also, by all accounts, he saw the attacks coming and tried to warn the US intelligence community.  He knew they would come back to finish the job.  He was right.  I don't think enough people know who he is or what he did.  His entire life was truly extraordinary.

So this is simply my taking the step to commit to doing my own research and promising to tell his story.  Hold me to it.