Comfort in an Old Coat

Life has thrown me a curve ball these past couple of months. There has been lots of uncertainty, leading into insecurity, leading into more than a couple of meltdowns.

I've found a sense of security in putting on dad's brown coat. Fortunately, the summer weather cooled enough so I don't look too ridiculous wearing it. But why, dad? I dreamt last night of mom, not dad. I always dream of mom around times like this. She's alive and cured. Her cancer is gone and she is healing. But she is always separate from dad. In fact, in one reoccurring dream, she is actually separated from dad and getting a divorce.

But during the day, it is dad. Maybe because dad was pragmatic. His coat symbolizes that. On the outside, it looks uncomplicated and very simple. Who would know that there are so many pockets and hidden pockets? It looks suede, but is faux; people warn me not to wear it in the rain, but I can. It is warm, but not too hot. It is the closest thing to family that I have.

And maybe that's it. This silly coat brings me the closest to family that I can get right now. Times like this can leave us feeling very much alone. No one wants to talk of illness; no one wants to plan or anticipate or speculate or fear or dread or hope. And perhaps therein lies another reason I wear this coat.

Where was I when dad had no one? Where was I when he was full of fear and alone? Where was I when he was confused and frightened by what the doctors had to tell him? He did that all alone. Who did he talk to? Where did he go?

I am trying so hard to not repeat the same mistake with the people in my life now, as I did with dad. But it's hard. And made harder by being in an environment where full disclosure is not allowed. Where you can talk to people but only about so much. Where you can talk to some people, but not others. It is a topsy-turvey world in which knowing is relative, literally.

I am fearful of what lies ahead. I'm questioning my ability to get through it. It's hard to do when you can't speak your truth or can only speak it in certain environs. I am tired, frustrated, anxious, scared, depressed, worried, fearful, angry, alone. So I wear dad's coat. And I hope.

Room 602

What a week! One of those I would have taken a pass on if given the opportunity. I'd take delayed trains and a funky commute over this past week any day! I guess life always manages to put things into perspective for us. And such was my week.

Three days this week were spent with the women of Room 602 at Methodist Hospital - as a visitor (thank goodness for small favors!). You couldn't have asked for a more compatable, diverse group of women to be trapped in one room together. We had the Bronx represented, as well as Brooklyn, African-American, Nuyorican (New York born Puerto Rican), Italian, and an Eastern European mix.

Medical histories were shared, as well as recipies for pernil (Puerto Rican pork shoulder) and chinese food, stories of past work lives, dead husbands, children, grandchildren and pets. Dreams were discussed, spanish soap operas, Michael Jackson updates reported, and the newspaper passed around.

Everyone came off their pain meds around the same time, moaning and groaning in a chorus, followed by about 45 minutes of demerol happiness, laughter and story-telling, followed by two hours of sleep. Then it was up to eat (for those who could - half the room was on NPO), more conversations about food, inattentive doctors, IV bags running dry, and time for more pain meds.

The nurses and nurse techs didn't mind coming to room 602: the air conditioning was on - something everyone agreed upon. Yes, there was the brief time when the knob on one of the air conditioners broke and after waiting for engineering to come (about 15 minutes), bed "C" who was ambulatory with IV pole, went in search of equippement to fix it herself. After attemps at using a pair of scissors to turn the broken knob (helped by a gardening glove that bed "D" happened to have in her purse), bed "C" went to another room and took a knob off of someone else's air conditioner. Problem solved.

When someone was cold, someone else wandered off and raided the linen closet for blankets. They teased the nurse tech who did blood pressure, temps, and took blood, nicknaming her the "vampire". But she could slide a needle in and out without your needing a bandaid and without leaving a bruise. She was the epitome of German engineering!

And they all agreed that in life, they could be real b**ches. But I've never met a group of women more soft in the middle than this bunch. Yes - they spoke their minds. Yes - they demanded that they be treated with respect and not ignored. But their love for family and those closest to them, their compassion for those around them...big mouths, yes...big hearts, for sure.

Yep. It was one of those weeks that offers up a life lesson. I thank God for my health. But I'm also thankful for the three days spent with some incredible women with incredible life stories to tell. Thanks to them for keeping life real.

Now I've Seen (or Heard) It All

Under the category of, "I've-lived-in-NYC- 22 years-what-haven't-I-seen?' I am pleased to announce that it happened last night on the Amtrak home. Train travel this week has not been pleasant. It began with the horrible commuter train crash in Washington DC, a 4.5 hour trip home Tuesday night (30 minute delay on Amtrak and no-signals on the "F" train), and ended up with what I had hoped would be a quiet ride home last night.

I was on the 5:55pm (Washington to Boston), which moves a bit faster and has more of a 'business suit' crowd. I was able to find a seat to myself and comfortably settled in with my Subway tuna sandwich and Cool Ranch chips (recommendation: put the chips in the sandwich...it's noisy, but yummy!)

Footnote for my techie friends: at least 1/3rd of commuters are now using netbooks on the train, versus full-scale computers.


About 30 minutes into the ride the woman ahead of me, who has been on the phone since I got on the train, begins shifting the conversation. To phone sex. Interesting. Not quite as interesting when you can only hear one side of the conversation. Still...interesting. Now...she was speaking quietly and using an appropriate phone voice, still....

I'm not sure the guy she was talking with (yes, I figured it was a guy through the types of questions she was asking!) was any more comfortable than I was. I learned he'd never done this before ("your first-time, huh? That's ok, I'll help you through it") and I think his comfort level was about equal to mine because after ten minutes to talk she couldn't get him to go any further (for my sports friends: I'd say they were stuck between first and second and he was caught in a run down).

It eventually ended with her saying things like, "so you don't want to tell me that," "why can't you say that?" and "fine, I'm ok with that," then the call ended. I guess she wasn't so 'ok with that'. Poor guy.

I must say...commuting life does have its' moments!

A Letter from Dad's Sister

I received a letter from Aunt Betty today. She's dad's sister. At age 78, she's still been working full time. However, the firm she worked for shut its' doors last month and now she is home. Can you imagine spending all those years working, then suddenly having nothing? She feels so lost. I'm not sure that, at that age, I'd want to be re-inventing myself, trying to figure out my role, how my days will go....

She also gave me an update on her tree in the backyard. Some of dad and my Uncle Allen are scattered under the tree. Aunt Betty says there have never been so many flowers on the tree! I believe it. Dad loved to be out in the garden and yard: he trimmed the grass almost every night. Aunt Betty has a gorgeous yard, right at the foot of a big hill.

It's father's day this weekend. And the anniversary of dad's death in a couple of weeks. Am I ready?

Up On A Roof...

I'm reminded of the early days of my 'break'. I came and sat up on the roof a few times to write, think and reflect. Today is such a gorgeous day and there's a little piece of shade up here, so I had to take advantage! There's a great breeze coming over from Coney Island, not too warm.

Today's mass reflected on change. How nothing in life stays stagnant (thankfully) and not all change is good, or quick enough for our liking. Yet, change is how we see the Spirit at work. Calling us, moving us (sometimes, maybe, pushing us) to keep going.

Today a little baby was baptized (full immersion in the font!) and as his daddy held him up high, one couldn't help but feel both hopeful and called. We all have a chance to bring around change. Change for the better, if we try hard. We all have an obligation to do so. If not for ourselves, then for the future. Some change is bigger than we are; and we have to call in reinforcements. Most changes are small, but significant in the context of the world within which we live. It takes commitment, passion, and a willingness to try...no matter how small or how big the change may be.

We get tired, uninspired, fed-up and worn down. And then you see something like a little baby being help up high, to the sky, and you realize that you aren't that tired. Or uninspired. Or fed-up. Or worn down. No...the future is dependent upon us. Yes, change takes time. But it has to begin. And we have to stick with it. And keep challenging ourselves and others. And supporting one another to be better at what we do and how we do it.

Most of my life decisions have been about change. I don't prefer to live in a stagnant world, or work in a stagnant environment where everyone thinks/believes that everything is fine. Where's the fun in that? Or the challenge? Or the growth? Or the living?

Baby Noah, welcome to the world. Welcome to change.

Everybunnies Getting Ready for the Weekend!

...now I'm starting to worry.

I was eating dinner, reading, chilling...when I heard that old Loverboy Song playing on the radio in the front of the apartment.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0nOZbPXO5Q

What did I find to my great surprise? 'Cool Bunny' prepping for a night out on the town. He was sitting in front of the mirror, trying on various shades and styling his ears. I stopped him when he started putting mousse on his hares...er...hairs.

I think I've lost control.

Bunny Gets Cool

Bunny has found his muse. I noticed he'd hopped off somewhere this morning, which is very unlike him. He's typically the quietest of the stuffed animals, preferring to listen to the chatter between Kitty and Sheep, or the long lectures from Moose. Bunny has been with me for over 12 years, so there's not much need for words.

When I found him, Bunny had borrowed a pair of sunglasses and was "making myself cool". He had a picture of another bunny he had found and was 'modeling' himself on that bunny.

I decided to spare him the lecture on how it's important to express his individuality and be his own bunny...he was looking way to cute...er...I mean...cool.

Maudy Thursday

Tonight is like a culmination of many significant symbols: Passover, the Last Supper, the day my mom died 19 years ago...an almost full moon.

There is a great prayer-fullness present. I have sorrow in my heart and mourn for what will be and what has been. For the failure to see Love when in its' presence. For the inability to understand that it is in the smallest acts and simplest deeds that love is so present.

I do not grieve...for I know what awaits. I long for the light of Easter. For clarity of purpose, for faith to give without want or need of reward. It is the passover and we celebrate Gods love for us: His giving out of Himself.

The Great Silence begins. Time to reflect on our lives. Can we live our lives in such profound Faith? To give up our friends, our future, our lives...for a greater good? Is that what is expected of us?

Or are all we asked is to be the best of who we are? To lead with love. To not fight evil and betrayal with angry thoughts and words. But to wash the feet of all those who walk with us; even if they should not love us back.

The Color of Sympathy Cards

I was putting away all the sympathy cards I received after dad died. I wonder if the greeting card industry gets together and sets a 'color of the year'? They were all the same shade of this pale blue. Maybe psychologists have studied that it's a color that is most soothing. I know that blue, in general, is supposed to be soothing - that's why the IRS uses that color on tax forms.

And the sentiments. I think only people who have had someone die in the last 6 months should write the sentiments. It is so hard to find a sympathy card that isn't cheesy...or overly religious...or...sensless.

Most of them talk about how deeply someone will miss their "loved one". Well what if they won't? What if they weren't that close? Or what if their loved one has been dying a slow, painful death and it's all a relief? Where are those cards?

Kitty and Planning for the Serengeti

Kitty is still pretty serious about this Serengeti stuff.
I came home the other night and he's found flights from NYC. He spent an hour begging to use a credit card to book a flight. I can't seem to convince him of the dangers. I wish he could find something else to distract him. He typically has a usually-short kitty attention span. But not with this!

I keep telling him it's not like going on a trip to the kitchen. He'd have to catch his own food and fight off wild animals. Maybe I can get him to re-focus on Easter and the Easter Bunny. Chocolate is always a good distraction for me....

Sister, My Sister

I had the gift of a 90 minute visit with Sister Margaret, who turned 80 last summer. She is doing well...a little slower physically, but as active in her learning and prayer life. It was the perfect end to our spring meeting of the Advisory Board of the St. Teresa Leadership and Service Institute for Women. We had just spent two days working on the continued building of the Institute, which included an invigorating meeting with the Leadership Team of the Sister of St. Francis (Rochester, MN). We had a dynamic discussion on spiritual development and how to address that through the lens of many Faiths and Leadership.

Sister Margaret was not teaching when I went to CST. She was my advisor for Pax Christi/ Bread for the World. We were remembering the 1983 National Meeting of Pax Christi, held up at Assisi Heights. What an incredible weekend that was in my life! Helping plan for it; of course, helping run it; and meeting so many of the people who were national and international leaders in the peace movement.

It was Sister Margaret who brough Gordon Zahn to campus. He wrote "In Solitary Witness: The Life and Death of Franz Jägerstätter". And many others. Individuals who worked and wrote and lived and taught around social justice issues. Such models.

I joked with Sister Margaret that I hold her fully responsible for my leadership skills today. I think I led that group for 3 years and I'm sure she was the one who talked me into it! But she modeled so much for me.

And she continues to teach me to this day. When I'm stuck in life, I just reach out to her and she sends a card or a prayer. When I need to understand something better, she sends me a book.

Always the mentor...and I, her mentee.

Kitty Goes to...the Serengeti?

The ideas small kitties get in their much smaller brains...

Yesterday Oprah had the men from the "Christian, the Lion" video on. Have you seen it? If not, get Kleenex - here it is

Christian The Lion Music Video - Watch more amazing videos here

So Kitty gets this idea that he wants to go to the "SerinSpaghetti" and live like a Lion (for those of us who went to college, aka the Serengeti). We talked to him about the dangers of life in a 30,000km area that serves as the location of the world's largest overland migration.

No-o-o-o-o-o! He wouldn't hear of it! He wants a pride...and to chase Wildebeests...and to sun himself in trees. He tried to talk Bunny into becoming his Lioness, but Bunny got tired of that pretty quick!

This morning Kitty was nowhere to be found. We searched high and low, calling his name far and wide. Then, about 2pm we found him, sunning himself in a tree. I guess we'll let him stay in his SerenSpaghetti world for a little longer. Eventually he'll want to come down and watch tv!

Kitty Goes to...the Serengeti?

The ideas small kitties get in their much smaller brains...

Yesterday Oprah had the men from the "Christian, the Lion" video on. Have you seen it? If not, get Kleenex - here it is

Christian The Lion Music Video - Watch more amazing videos here

So Kitty gets this idea that he wants to go to the "SerinSpaghetti" and live like a Lion (for those of us who went to college, aka the Serengeti). We talked to him about the dangers of life in a 30,000km area that serves as the location of the world's largest overland migration.

No-o-o-o-o-o! He wouldn't hear of it! He wants a pride...and to chase Wildebeests...and to sun himself in trees. He tried to talk Bunny into becoming his Lioness, but Bunny got tired of that pretty quick!

This morning Kitty was nowhere to be found. We searched high and low, calling his name far and wide. Then, about 2pm we found him, sunning himself in a tree. I guess we'll let him stay in his SerenSpaghetti world for a little longer. Eventually he'll want to come down and watch tv!

It's 5pm and the sun fades behind the stained glass....

A few months ago our Parish began a Sunday 5pm Jazz Mass. It was a slow start. Not a lot of people, few musicians, difficulty getting used to having music you don't sing to. But now it's packed. There's at least a trombone and tenor sax and piano, if not more instrumentation. There's a team of greeters with name tags you can read. This week there were so many people, Fr. M. had to go back into the Tabernacle and get more hosts!

It's a beautifully mellow mass. Lots of candles, dimmed lights. The music is jazzy, but soothing. Today there was a little Gershwin at communion. There's a whole other level of reverence. It's easier to still your mind and open your heart. The prayers of the faithful are done communal style. Anyone can offer up a prayer. There is so much pain and loss and Faith and grace out there. It makes me realize what a blessing my life is.

And this time of year (as well as in the fall), 5pm is when the sun is beginning to set outside, lending a special light to the stained glass windows which is off-set by the darkness inside the church. The space, the light, the quiet, the calm...I only wish I didn't have to wait for Sundays at 5pm to experience it.

Suburban or Urban? It's all dependent.

I grew up suburban: the suburbs of Chicago. In high school we moved out west to Wheaton, a full-blown suburban environment. If you didn't drive you were trapped in your sub-division. No buses. If there was a cab service, I didn't know about it. It was nice to be out in the "country" (we actually had five horse farms within a 1/2 mile of the house and fox lived up in the forest preserve at the top of the street), but it made you dependent. You had to wander far and explore to find what you needed.

I love Brooklyn, New York. Yes, you need to drive to get to Costco's, but where else can you live where people from Manhattan take a ferry boat to Brooklyn to go to the Ikea store! In my neighborhood of Park Slope, I walk everywhere. I have everything I need to survive within 4 blocks of the apartment: 2 dry cleaners, 4 bodegas, chinese/thai/italian/diner/pita/american/bagel food, a hospital, a post office, a video store, an office supply store, 2 pharmacies, 2 Opticians, a liquor store, a car service, a jeweler, an ice cream store, a bar and access to 3 subway lines in case I need to go anywhere. Hmmm...maybe my life in Park Slope doesn't force me to wander far or explore. Have I become dependent in an entirely different way?

Watching Your Feet

Have you ever watched children when they first learn to walk? They watch their feet. I suppose it's part of being amazed that they can be used for something more than kicking. But I wonder if it's also part of being cautious. If you watch your feet while you walk, you tend to walk more slowly and intentionally. Most of us look down when we're walking down stairs. But we don't look down when we walk around in life. Why? Are we not worried about falling?

When children start walking they begin slowly...watching their feet.

Then they gain momentum and begin moving faster and faster... they look up, begin giggling with enthusiasm and then...crash!

Up again...watch the feet...slowly...a little faster...faster...giggle...look up...laugh...engage everyone around them with eye contact...crash!

I think there's a lesson here. I think we were meant to walk slowly...and watch our feet. But we're human and we love to move fast and laugh and experience the thrill...and the crash.

The White Noise of Life

The white noise of life has infiltrated my mind. I know things I want to sit and focus on...things I want to do...but clearing away the "noise" of life is the challenge.

How do you do it? Really? There are thousands of books written on the subject. I've read 83.4% of them (I got interrupted during the last one).

How do you do it? Prioritization? Life interruptus happens - someone has to do the laundry!

Do you let things go? I repeat...someone has to do the laundry!

Do you try to do it all? Well...I am writing my blog while doing laundry....

What is urgent in life? What is critical? What matters?

What I want to do...what I'm called to do...what I do

Discerning among these can rattle the mind. I don't yet believe I've aligned all three. For instance, right now I want to write. I feel full of stories and not enough time to get them out.
What I'm called to do....hmmmm...I think it has less to do with one's occupation and more to do with how one lives their life.
And what I do? Interestingly enough, I find myself focusing less on the outcomes and more on how I do my job.

The Highs and Lows of Being a Racing Fan

High: The starts and restarts of a NASCAR race. There is absolutely nothing like it: the sound is amazing. You can actually feel the sounds: the fly-bys before the race were amazing because the airport is right there, so the F-18s come down real low over the stadium!; the car engines revving up as they approach the start/finish line and as they throttle down when they approach pit row. The smell of engines and rubber. It all just makes your heart race!
Low: Ironically enough, the smoking. Because it's an outdoor event, folks can smoke where ever. For non-smokers like me, I wake up the next morning with a smokers cough!

High: Being a #18 M&M car fan
Low: Being about the only #18 M&M car fan in a crowd of 120,000 who constantly "Boo" your driver. Actually, it's kinda scary.

High: Frozen strawberry margarita's at the race!
Low: Sixty degree weather, rain, and nothing but a t-shirt on you while you drink your margarita! Brr-rrrr-rrrrr!

High: The women's room at Daytona. A few more 'stalls' but overall, an excellent 'pit stop'. I 'teamed' up with the woman standing behind me. We entered our stalls at the same time, exited together, washed and dried in unison and merged back into the grandstand, with me 'bump drafting' her all the way! (all racing references and puns intended)
Low: The woman taking up an entire stall in the women's room to have a cat fight with her mother over her cell phone! Who the heck cars if it's "Bootsy's fault if y'all ain't talkin'!" Three women yelled at her: "We don't all need to know yer business lady!"; "We need the stall - take it somewhere else!";"This is the 500 for &^#(@ sake!"

High: The #18 M&M car leading 88 of 123 laps.
Low: "Jr" clipping another car who spins up the track and slams #18 into the wall and ends the night 41st:
http://msn.foxsports.com/nascar/pgStory?contentId=9224358#sport=NASCAR&photo=9224126

High: People are mighty friendly at the race - even the sober ones!
Low: The six people who broke through the cattle gates they were using to herd us on the buses to Lot #7 last night. I teamed up with my new buddy from New York who was standing in line with us and we threw 'subway' elbows to keep them in check!

High: Waiting patiently in line to get out of parking and taking turns letting folks merge in
Low: The guys in the Mitsubishi who tried to muscle in and didn't let others merge in.

High: A weekend with your brother once a year to laugh, listen to rock 'n roll (loud!), have a few beers, too much to eat, grab some extra sleep in the morning, talk about family, talk about work, talk about woulda-shoulda-coulda's, tell inappropriate jokes, discuss religion, and be able to communicate with hand signals during a NASCAR race.
Low: none that I can think of!

Smokin!

What a race and awesome warm-up to the 500! My guy Kyle ran in the top 3 almost the entire race and drove Tony Stewart's bumper right into the last turn. Somehow he thought he could do what he failed to do Friday night in the Truck Series: bump draft up to the line, pull out and around and swing across the finish line in first place.

Yeah. It didn't work Friday and it didn't work Saturday. The restrictor plates just don't give you enough to make it work. The result? Kyle swung out high and two other calls drove underneath him and left him in 4th place as he crossed the line! Eiyeeeee!

He ran such a great race! But Tony "Smoke" Stewart was just that much more. With about ten laps to go a caution came up and Tony took a pit stop. Only five other cars did the same. As Tony pulled into his pit, he could be heard to say 'sorry guys. I made a mistake. I'll get them back." When he left pit row he was in 22nd place!

With about ten laps to go he gained it back and won the race! All props to "Smoke" for a hard ran race! But now my guy, Kyle, is steamed and ready to race! Unfortunately, sometimes he races his emotions so I'm hoping he listens to his Crew Chief, thinks with his head, and races with his heart.

Rain is expected at race time (3:40pm) and through most of the race. They'll be racing on different tires under conditions they haven't practiced in. Of course, the track is so big (2.5 miles) that it could be raining on one side of the track and not the other!

What is it with NASCAR?

I don't think my racing infatuation began with NASCAR. It really began with guys like A.J. Foyt and Mario Andretti and Formula 1 racing. I think when I was younger (junior high, high school) it was just the thought of going somewhere fast. And I really loved the sounds and the colors. Those were the days when Jackie Stewart called the races for ABC and his Scottish accent won me over as much as anything.

Then I started watching stock car racing: Dale Earnhart, Rusty Wallace, Richard Petty. I think I was transitioning my life from the midwest (IL, MN) to Dallas TX at the time. By the time I moved to New York City, I was watching races on TV pretty religiously. I was also starting to really get into the Pro Golf at the time, so sometimes Sunday meant some tough TV viewing choices!

By the late 90's I was watching more NASCAR than golf and then, around the year 2000, my brother Allen and I learned that we were both watching NASCAR...only we weren't talking about it! So we started sharing interest in the sport and in 2005, ventured off to our first official NASCAR race: Texas Motor Speedway!

The mother of tracks - over 200,000 fans! What an inauguration into the sport! In 2006 we ventured to Darlington and then in 2007 we headed to Talladega (yes, that is Alabama!). This year Daytona tickets landed in our laps, thanks to some season ticket holders who couldn't make it this year.
Allen and I will be heading off to the track in about ten minutes, sun screen smeared (our English skin needs help in the Florida sun!) and ready to tackle the parking, the midway, and a few hours on steel seats in the hot sun! YEEEE-HAW!

The man to cheer for is Kyle Busch, driver of the #18 M&M car! He came in 2nd last night in the Truck Series (2nd year in a row!)

Today's race is a just 200 miles (the track is 2.5 miles around) and the average speed is about 189 mph.

We'll let you know tonight how it went!

When Your Hamster Dies

My nephew had a rough week this week. Little boys his age (six) feel things so intensely and passionately... and that includes death.

Real young children deal with death with all the purity and innocence of their youth. They accept it for what it is. They don't over think it or over feel it. That comes with age...and school...and life.

Last weekend, my niece's hamster died. Lucky for her (I guess), it was her birthday this week, so getting a replacement was an easy win for my brother and his wife. My nephew dealt with the loss very pragmatically: he worked on the problem of how you dispose of a hamster in February in Chicago when the ground is frozen. We won't digress and get into the details of his proposed burial solutions. I think they involved trap doors, hidden rooms and the Temple of Doom!

No, this tale focuses on the arrival of a new pet. A replacement rodent was purchased by my niece and lived nicely with the family for about a day. Then they thought the pet was ill, took it to the vet, learned that the pet was fine but - OMG! - it was a boy!

Now here's the tipping point for my nephew. They returned the boy pet and replaced it with a girl! AYE! Ever hear of castration anxiety? Well...it exists...and my poor nephew suffered it. A boy returned and exchanged for a girl! Bless his heart. A little boys worst fear realized!

Thank goodness he has such an awesome dad who makes him feel safe and loved. And to heck with all those girls!

NYC Takes Special Precautions Against Birds

The Department of Homeland Security has enlisted the help of over 648,921 New York City pigeons to maintain close 'tabs' on Canadian Geese flying through the NYC area.

Initial reports that a flock of geese (possibly Canadian) brought down US Airways Flight #1549 led government officials to call an emergency meeting of PGN Local 405 officials to request support in infiltrating geese flocks in an effort to learn about further planned attacks.

Often referred to as "flying rats," PGN Union Chair Grey "Crappy" Pigeon was overheard saying that "finkin' out dos byds will be de bestest ting we culd du". A spokesperson for Free Flying Rights for Geese (FFRG) said that the move by Homeland Security is biased and based on unverified rumors. "There are multiple species of geese in the NYC area. To assume it was Canadian Geese is speculative and unfair."

FFRG is appealing to the US Department of Agriculture, who has conducted many studies on geese. You can learn more about Canadian Geese here: http://www.aphis.usda.gov/ws/ca/living_with_wildlife/activity_sheets/student_activity_sheet_geese.pdf

I've Had an Epiphany!

Well...sort of. And a little late....

Imagine my surprise (and anger about having such knowledge withheld from me!) when I learned that the Epiphany is celebrated in so many different ways, by so many different cultures. Let me clarify. It's not that I'm mad that people in different parts of the world celebrate the Epiphany in many ways. No. It's that I'd never heard about La Befana!

The Italians celebrate with a visit from an old woman called "la Befana," who puts gifts and candy in the shoes of children on Epiphany morning (January 6). Nobody put candy and gifts in my shoes! What's with that?!

And Mexicans celebrate with Rosca de Reyes (the Kings cake). It's made in the shape of a crown with a ring hidden inside.

So where's my candy and cake?

The 4 Horsemen of Sandy's Apocalypse

(perhaps the title isn't in good taste, but the story is pretty decent!)

It started on Monday morning with a call from the UHaul store where I have my storage unit. It's an 8' x 12' room with everything from boxes of books, all my child therapy stuff, out-of-season clothes, bikes, some furniture, etc. A pipe in the unit above me burst and they didn't think it had done any damage to my unit, but there was a little puddle of water outside the room next to me.

So I stroll over in the snow and find that, indeed, yes, the water had come into my unit and had drowned a lot of clothes, an entertainment unit, an air conditioner and computer monitor, as well as a dozen books. It took myself and 3 U-Haul staff nearly 3 hours to get everything out, sorted, moved to another unit and then packed up for the claims agent.

I was disappointed to find my Winnie the Pooh Classics book had not survived. In the words of Christopher Robin, "Tut, tut. Looks like rain."

That evening I was fast asleep at 10:45pm. I was exhausted from hauling boxes, bikes, wet furniture, etc. At 11:17pm, I woke to find out that the power had gone out. Well...kind of. Four plugs still had power in them. So we called ConEd, filed a report, were told they'd be out in 3-4 hours, and back to sleep I went. Or tried.

I'd just dozed off when, at a little after 1:00am there was a huge explosion that shook the house (we're on the 4th floor of a big old limestone building). I ran to the window, only to see a huge geyser of flames shooting up from underneath a van sitting right in front of the house. I ran and called 911 and the fire department had arrived before I could finish dressing and head downstairs.

The salt from the street cleaners had gotten in to the wiring below the street and shorted everything out. The partial power outage was our first hint. The exploding manholes and burning wiring was the second. Although the boiler had gone out (and with it, our steam heat), we were able to keep the fridge plugged in with the help of an extension cord and we had phones.

A police car parked outside of the house, waiting for ConED and trying to track down the owner of the car that had been char broiled. At 2:20am I was back in bed, trying to get in a few hours before the alarm went off at 5:30am.

BOOM! 3:12am and another explosion, another geyser of fire. The police called the fire department this time and again they came. They don't do anything. Well...they go into the basements of the surrounding buildings to make sure the fire hasn't traveled underground. Then they look at the manhole. And you can still hear this "POP! POP!" sound...like the jolly green giant was making popcorn. Then, after six minutes, they all pile back into their trucks, saying that ConED has been notified, ya-d-ya-da-ya-da. I think I watched 4:30am on the clock before I faded out. Tuesday morning.

It was a cold morning without heat, hot water. I made coffee using one of the four active plugs and spent an hour on the phone with the Public Utilities Commission, filing a complaint. ConED showed up at about 10:10am, our building manager called an electrician to do some fancy wiring in the basement so we could have heat (11:30am) and full power came on around 7:45pm).

Flood. Fire. What more? Well....

Wednesday morning. I dare to leave the house (although I confess with a bit of anxiety) and head to the subway. Amtrak leaves on time (7:25am) and I get to work on my laptop. I didn't even recall the train slowing down. I do remember it stopping. But sometimes the trains stop because they've been flagged for going to fast and they are reprimanded by being held by dispatch. Not in this case. Nope. We lost power. For 30 minutes we sat in the train with no power somewhere outside of New Brunswick NJ.

Flood. Fire. Loss of Power. What's next? In the words of the Police, "don't stand so close to me"

Lessons Learned: Reflections on the Inaugural

One of the most significant lessons I’ve learned in my adult life came from the wisdom of fourteen year old Dominican Little Brother, Miguel. I first met him in the early 1990’s. He lived in Washington Heights New York City. His neighborhood was like many back then: a mix of lower income people eking out a living, drug dealers hanging outside the local bodega, and run down apartment buildings. It was also a neighborhood rich with Dominican traditions and culture. There was always Spanish music playing (loud) and the smell of food vendors filled the sidewalk air. Getting off the subway at 155th Street was never dull!

Miguel was matched with a very successful Wall Street broker. Their lives and worlds couldn’t be further apart. But Miguel didn’t seem to mind so much, because his Big Brother communicated one important value: work hard - there are no excuses.

I was still a bit of a ‘baby’ social worker when I began working with Miguel. I’d only been working in the field for six years and this was my first sojourn into working with urban teens. I came complete with all the basic stereotypes: poor kids, disadvantaged, little to no chance, poor education, no role models, doomed to a life in the poverty cycle. My job was to feel bad, wish things were better and be angry at society for having failed young men like Miguel.

Oh, how young and naive I was. And oh, how blessed I was to have Miguel put into my life. It was during a conversation I was having with Miguel about my concern that his Big Brother was putting too much pressure on him, raising the bar too high and not being compassionate to Miguel’s life situation that my life lesson occurred.

Miguel looked at me and said (I paraphrase), ‘if no one expects much out of me, then that's all I’ll aspire to. If no one tells me that I can do it, have to do if and have no excuse, then I’ll sit back and let life happen. I know, deep inside, that I am capable of achieving great things. But I need people in my life that won’t let me get away with not trying.’

On that day, at that moment, I realized that (1) social work wasn’t about feeling sorry for people and trying to be ‘nice’ to them and (2) that how I was approaching my work was only affirming a stereotype that would keep those I worked with bound to low expectations for themselves that rose no further than the label of a ‘welfare’ person.

Miguel went on to teach me a few other things, too. Thanks to him, I discovered the great prose of Langston Hughes and the literary works of Maya Angelou (we read “When the Caged Bird Sings” together). I saw a young man leave home for 3 years to attend a private high school in New England, then return home and successfully graduate from one of the top Catholic High Schools in NYC. I was at his graduation ceremony held in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and brought him on as summer intern to attend Street Fairs and help recruit new volunteers (after all, he was the impact statement!).

As I watched (now) President Obama take the oath of office and listened to his inaugural address, I heard him saying much of what Miguel had said to me over 18 years ago: it’s time to step up. No more excuses. We must all live up to our potential.

I don’t know where Miguel is today (I have tried to search him out but to no avail thus far). I so want to thank him. Until then, I continue to honor him by trying everyday to live the lesson he taught me. Sometimes I push too hard; sometimes I set the bar too high. I’m still learning. But I do know that none of us will reach our full potential without people in our lives who expect us to be our best, who believe the best exists within each of us, and who stand beside us as we strive forward.

Urban Survival

NOTE: In an effort to bring greater value to my blog, I am introducing the use of the POP format (Purpose, Outcomes, Process).

P: To bring you knowledge that may prove helpful...someday.

O: To identify strategies you can use

To identify pros and cons to those strategies

To determine the most effective strategy

P: Outline the potential problem (1 paragraph)

List 4 possible strategies

List the most effective strategy

PROBLEM: what to look at when riding a crowded NYC subway (crowded defined as less than 16.75" between you and the people around you).

STRATEGIES

1. Look at the ads on the wall, up by the ceiling. Works well unless a) you are short or b) there are amazons surrounding you


2. Look over at the people sitting down and a) read their paper; b) watch them play video games on their cell phone; or c) see what they're listening to on their IPod. Works well except a) you have to read at the same pace as the newspaper owner - very, very slowly or very, very fast. Sports pages are hard due to font size of scores; b) also difficult visually and annoying if you could outplay them; and c) frustrating - no sound.


3. Try to look (discretely) at what coats people are wearing - get good ideas


4. Look people in the eye. Smile or it will be misinterpreted as threatening. Don't smile too big or people will think you're flirting. Don't smile at anyone muttering to themselves or who smell like they emerged from a swamp - they may start talking back!

MOST EFFECTIVE STRATEGIES

None of the above. Stare at the floor and get off the train as quick as you can!

Kicked to the Curb!

It's January and the X-Mas trees line the curb, waiting to be mulched. It's such a sad sight in many ways. How proud they look, despite laying there, cold...alone...in the snow.

Today I ran across one who took a lamp with him. Maybe for a little light during the long, dark nights. Maybe to exact revenge on his former owners. Or maybe he has a good book to finish!

Living Thru the Death

When the pain of loss begins to fade

I've noticed that once the holidays ended and life normal resumed, the pain in my heart began to fade.

Last night, walking home under an almost full moon, I thought of dad and flinched, waiting for the accompanying feeling of being stabbed in the heart. But it never came.

Which leads me to wonder if I am 'getting over' the loss and the pain that rides alongside of it.

I think not. I think this is yet another shift or phase in the process.

Much of it is helped by a partner who is doing more to reach out to me and make me feel valued: spending more time together, and little things, like fixing breakfast on the weekends and bringing me a snack while we watch t.v. in the evenings.

Food. Nurturing. Caring. It's helped a lot.

Nothing Happens by Accident

They say there are no accidents...

The last day I saw dad alive was January 2nd, 2008. I left for work early the next morning while dad was still asleep. Dad's flight wasn't until later in the day, so he the morning to pack and take a bath.

At 11:00am I received a call from home: dad had slipped getting out of the bathtub and bruised his arm. We didn't feel it warranted a trip to the hospital (nothing broken, he still had mobility in his arm and fingers): dad felt bruised and shaken. I checked back a couple of times and once past the initial shock, he felt fine.

Now I look back and think...he was trying to tell me then and there that he was sick and needed help.

Whatever happened to old fashioned snows?

Snow isn't what it used to be, is it? Of course, only those of us from the north or currently living in the north could relate to this.

I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago (Oak Park & Wheaton). I remember big snows, leading to the creation of snow forts, tunnels (dangerous but fun!) and constant shoveling. This is a picture on me engaged in a snowball fight with my brothers Allen (in red) and Paul (the little guy next to him). I'm leaning back to fire a split-fingered snowball!

In high school (Wheaton), we moved into the last phase of a sub-division, where there were lots of vacant plots of land that caused tons of drifting snow. When we waited for the bus, a couple of the local boys would drag the big oil cans full of refuse over to the bus stop and light it on fire for warmth.

College was in Southern MN (Winona) and even with the protection of the Mississippi River bluffs, we still had good 10"-16" snowfalls. My freshman year, I attended Winona State U and lived on the College of St. Teresa campus. WSU was an even mile away from St. T.'s and while they ran a shuttle bus between campuses, the schedule was horrendous. Most days I walked home to St. T's, down the middle of a local road where the snow wasn't so deep.

We had tunnels between the dorms at St. T's, which meant you could get to breakfast in your p.j.s (it was an all-woman's school). After I transferred to St. T's and became a student there, we used the tunnels for pitcher-catcher practice (I was the catcher) during the winter.

So...these days, when I hear snow is on the way, my heart leaps! I love to go out and walk in it while it's falling or right after it's fallen, when it is pure, fresh...draped over tree branches and piled on stoops.

We get at least one decent snow in brownstone Brooklyn every year. Enough to slow the city and bring everyone out on cross country skills. But not like we did even ten years ago....

A Special Sighting

While waiting for the snow Saturday, I took a look out the front room window and thought I saw something sitting on top of the church cross

So I ran and grabbed my camera, hoping I could get a better look...

Sure enough! One of the hawks from the park had come out to roam the neighborhood!

And then he returned home...

IBaby

I discovered a new use for the IPhone.

Coming home on the "A" train this week, a young couple gets on at Canal Street with a cute little girl in a stroller. I'd guess the baby was about 18 months old. Well, after about three stops and a slow moving train, the baby starts to fuss.

So dad pulls out an IPhone, holds it in front of the baby and the baby starts touching the screen. I'm curious, so I move to stand alongside the father and peer over at what the baby is so fascinated with.

The baby is touching the screen and scrolling through pictures of herself! It kept her happy the remaining five stops!

So there you have it - yet another use for the IPhone and how we're 'hooking' babies on our technological gadgets at such a young age!

PS: The screen of the IPhone was smashed in the corner. I guess they'll have to make a child-proof Iphone going forward!

IBaby

I discovered a new use for the IPhone.

Coming home on the "A" train this week, a young couple gets on at Canal Street with a cute little girl in a stroller. I'd guess the baby was about 18 months old. Well, after about three stops and a slow moving train, the baby starts to fuss.

So dad pulls out an IPhone, holds it in front of the baby and the baby starts touching the screen. I'm curious, so I move to stand alongside the father and peer over at what the baby is so fascinated with.

The baby is touching the screen and scrolling through pictures of herself! It kept her happy the remaining five stops!

So there you have it - yet another use for the IPhone and how we're 'hooking' babies on our technological gadgets at such a young age!

PS: The screen of the IPhone was smashed in the corner. I guess they'll have to make a child-proof Iphone going forward!

Unspoken Messages

What signs did your lost one leave behind?

Maybe it's dads. Maybe it's men in general (sorry guys). Certainly it was true with my dad: few words spoken.

Not that he couldn't talk a lot. In fact, with dad, 2,000% more after the head injury he sustained in 1984. A head-on collision with an 18-wheeler and dad's Nissan Sentra did it. Thank God for the firewall on that Sentra! The car's engine was reduced to about 16" but the firewall kept it from coming into the car and unto dad's lap.

The jolt bruised dad's brain (the right side), resulting in having to put a shunt in to drain off the fluid that was collecting. Dad lived with a little dent in his head from that day forward.

That and the ability to talk and talk and talk. But mostly to non-family people. He could chat with the best of them. And yet, with family, he remained a man of extraordinarily few words.

Mostly gestures.

When he as angry, he would sit with his coat on in the house 24/7. When he was sad, he went to his room and lay on the bed, sulking.

Talking about how he felt about his children...well, that was a whole other thing. Then dad remained relatively quiet.

So imagine my amazement when we went to the bedroom where my dad last lived. There, on the window sill, were 3 clay art projects that my brothers and I did when we were in...ohhh...1st or 2nd grade.

Who knew that they still existed? Yet there they were. Right above his bed.

Who needs words?