I am on jury duty this week.
We are going through voire dire right now, and I have not been chosen for the panel yet, but given my education and profession, I am finding the process more interesting than usual.
On my way to the courthouse, it struck me that jurors think about a lot of things on their way to court- where to park, how do I get out of this, etc. The one thought that does not often cross their mine is the defendant.
Odd.
Suddenly it struck me that somewhere in the Larsen Justice Center of Indio there was a person who was waiting for a twelve people to be selected who would decide his fate (it was in fact a guy)
Twelve people who would try their level best to get out of it. Twelve people who live in a country that fights wars around the world so people will have this privilege and who are now looking at their watches and formulating excuses.
Understandably, when the judge questioned me he asked me if my Doctorate in Criminal Justice would influence me. He answered his own question by saying he assumed an MD on the panel would have opinions on a malpractice suit. He then asked me if I thought I could be neutral. I told him that I had been known to argue points of law, but as a man's future was at stake here, I would do my level best.
The response to my mentioning the "elephant in the room" was pretty astounding.

The judge actually did a double take looking at me with curiosity.

You could here a pin drop in the courtroom.

The DA glared at me. How dare I remind everyone that this was not about us, but rather about the defendant?

I am a theorists, an academic and a criminologist. In my world, by the time we get to court, there have been layers upon layers of community and social failures that have occurred and we have funneled down to this now. Twelve people who want to be somewhere else deciding your fate.
But it is the best we have got.
And it is better than most.

What's In Store When the Stores All Go Away?

The other day I was downloading some music on to my iPhone. That was right after I had downloaded a book. It struck me that there was something gone from my life that may never come back.

Record stores for one thing.

I remember going to Woolworths with my mom when I was 6, having a grilled cheese sandwich at the lunch counter, and then going over to the record department and picking out my first record.

I used to love to go to record stores and flip through the albums (yes, I remember albums and even singles!) and hear the music speak to me like a chorus as I made my way from Herb Alpert to Led Zeppelin. I loved the creativity of the album art and I even read the liner notes. And all around me were people there to feed their soul at this buffet of sound and lyrics.

Gone. Now, I hold my Shazam app up to a radio to find out what a song is that has caught my ear, get whisked through cyberspace to iTunes and then the song comes to me.

I think I have lost something.

Books- really no complaints. Love being able to just grab a book online and then read it on my phone a few minutes later. There are really no bookstores left- at least out here. I will still browse Denver's Tattered Cover for ours (fireplaces, overstuffed chairs....) or the Upstart Crow in San Diego (always keeping your fingers crossed for one of the coveted tables by the window nestled between Women's Studies and Philosophy book shelves where you read and sip arguably the best latte this side of a coffee bean. Or, less notably for aesthetics but with its own charm, Latitude 33 book store in Laguna Beach. This is a place where the owner will put the perfect book in your hand whether you want her to or not- whether she knows you or not- and she uncannily right.

Books and records....record stores and book stores. Shopping online and sharing thoughts online.
Some scientists believe that this is the beginning of the creation of a great cosmic consciousness- all of us connected through the net of cyber space.

Wouldn't it be a drag if the answer to the eternal question was Facebook?

In Arborial Memorial

OK...I know that we have all tipped our Arnold Palmers to the joy of leasing for a bit.
Send someone else the bill fromthe grdner and the pool man and all that.

Fair enough.

But, I want to go on record:

I hate leasing
and here is why:

This poor disfugured monstrosity used to be a gracious tree that helped to turn the backyard in to a secret garden rather than a monument to the scorched earth policy.

And then there is this:


This arboretic (word coined specifically for this purpose and I do not apologize for it) atrocity used to be the hallmark of the front yard. It is right outside my office window, and the birds would sing to me from within the shelter of the boughs.
The only upside is that Halloween is coming and the up-lighting makes this thing that used to be a tree absolutely petrifying.

I understand the need to trim. TRIM- not amputate. Huge limbs were taken off never to return.
Why? Because the gardener (in name only as he does as little as possible whenever possible) called the owners and convinced them that the trees were a danger to life and (sorry) limb.

Truth? He hates to rake. He hates to mow (so he has this incredible story that he gives anyone who will listen about why the grass is spotty in some areas) and apparently, he hates trees.

Oh- says the owner from somewhere on the tree lined avenues of Beverly Hills-

cut cut cut cut cut cut cut.

And so, he did.

It was a wake up call.
We live here
It is not our home.

Gone....Just Gone

Mary Travis of Peter, Paul and Mary left us this week.

Her passing reminded me of the days and weeks and months and years that I tried in my own small way to be heard.

I protested the war in Viet Nam.

Vigorously.

I never felt I was protesting against our troops.

I believed I was protesting for them- because I could.

Because, as high school graduation approached, I saw the light dim in the eyes of the guys I knew as they saw their possible fate approaching.

I protested because of Patrick Haley.

Did I ever tell you about Pat?

He went to Notre Dame with my brother.

He was 10 years older than I was, but a dear friend on whom I had a probably not so secret crush (how good are 11 year olds at keeping crushes a secret?) But I was a pragmatist even then and Pat was engaged to a beautiful, accomplished woman and I accepted the little sister role with what I hope was good grace.

I must have succeeded to some extent because night that he and my brother graduated from Notre Dame, he told me after dinner that he was being shipped out to Viet Nam.

Pat was Air Force ROTC (my brother was Navy).

Pat told me before he told his mom or even his fiancée.

The moment he told me is frozen in time.

Because the moment he told me, I knew he was not coming back.

And he did not.

He flew chopper rescues and was lost in his second tour.

My brother accompanied his body home.

My brother never really recovered from the fact that he was not sent over.

Survivor guilt.

It happens.

It is unnecessary because we all have our part to play in this drama of life…and yet it happens.

But, that is why I protested. I was never unkind to a soldier or a sailor or a marine.

I was a pen pal and sent packages to guys I never knew.

But I protested- screaming in to wind as my friends were fed to the jungles of Southeast Asia.

So where have all the flowers gone?

I do not know, Mary Travis. After all these years, I still do not know.

Signs

This week, a bright and charming young woman from my graduate school alma mater came out to interview me for the school newspaper. We sipped cappuccinos and she asked questions.
It was a strange feeling. All the years of struggle to get through the degrees and here I was watching them in the swirl of foam in my cup.

It was a good thing.

Kind of like the capstone project at the end of a course.

There is a certain amount of PTSD that any Doctoral candidate goes through because you are always hanging by an academic thread and at the mercy of a committee that is at the same time very involved and yet exquisitely aloof. I have been "Dr D" as the students call me for a year now, and I still wake up in that proverbial panic.

Here is an interesting coincidence.
The same day that I was interviewed and was thinking- OK- it must be real- if they interview and the fact that you are a PhD is in print, they can't take it back, right?- my students showed up with a bouquet of flowers for me marking the end of the quarter.

How many more signs does it take, Dr D?
Breathe in
Breathe out
Move on.

A Striking Difference

I am not alone among criminal justice professionals when I say there are some flaws in the Three Strike Law. But that is a debate for another day.

Sort of.

You see, Pfizer pharmaceutical as I am sure you read yesterday, was slapped with a multi-billion fine for fraudulent marketing. Imagine our shock that pharmaceutical companies that is arguably our first line of defense against everything from pregnancy to swine flu would act in less than a responsible, righteous and forthright manner.

But, rest easy. The Attorney General tells us that this mega fine "should act as a deterrent".

Really?

Newsflash. This was Pfizer's FOURTH fine since 2002.

Maybe we need a new definition of deterrence.

So here is my point:
Some kid commits three Class I crimes- violent or not- and he/she gets life in prison.

Pfizer? I have a feeling that this is just the top of the inning and it is going to be another winning season

Your Tax Dollars at Worst

So, because I am the unfortunate member of the class known as middle, I had to pay my own way through school. The government gave me a bit of help and now owns me body and soul.
The reams of paperwork that I need to fill out on a quarterly basis to keep them from extracting the funds back from me while I enjoy the benefits of the bad economy is legion.

Here was my latest and perhaps my favorite.
"Please fill out this forma and attached documentation" (shortened version of their request)

So, I did. Made myself copies and sent it off.

One week later.

"Thanks for submitting, but we could not process this because it did not have all the required information BECAUSE- we did not ask for that information as it is a new requirement and we have not updated our forms,"

OK, guys- psychic comes extra. How was I to know to put it on there if they did not ask for it? And how much is it costing them (us) to send out the wrong form, and then send it back?

A weaker mind would snap.

Dreams Through the Years

My oldest son is in New York this week.
He called Amtrak, packed a back and told us all he needed a break- and headed East- for 17 days.

He is spending his days on the upper west side at cafes and parks.
He is tippin' a few with the old timers at Jimmy's on Times Square and he is making his pilgrimages to Lucky Strike- our family's restaurant in SoHo.

He sounds more like Robert DeNiro every day.

I send him emails about where there are Jazz Festivals and Flea Markets happening in the City- but he is not there to see or even here.
He is just there to be.

He is where I want to be.
He told me the other day that he was sitting in Central park and realized that he was doing just what he wanted to be doing as he sat at his desk in California.
So he just did it.

OK...a really cool part about having kids is that they get to live your dreams when you don't have the time.

What Profiteth a Woman....

July 28. That was the last time I opened this blog.
My friends who are very dear to me have been living their lives out in a small way through these pages- and where was I?

My daughter has put up incredible pictures of my granddaughter that I missed completely.

Teaching, community service, blah blah blah

Sorry.
I do not know where my head has been.
To elude the entanglements of other they-will-go-unnamed blog places and social networks is excusable.
But not this one.
note to self: Remember what is important.

School Daze

Last night, I had an experience I never want to forget. One of my students- a guy in his 30's with at least one kid that I have met, came to me and said he wanted to be a psychologist.

This is a guy who just got his GED three months ago and since then has made Honor Roll in my class and was Student of the Month in June.

Why the late start?

Because, when he was younger people told him he was not "college material".
What the heck?

Where do people get off saying things like that?

That is what I love about my students at this particular school.
They not only beat the odds- they are doing it with full time jobs, families and coming to class four nights a week sometimes until 10:30.
Me?
I am just along for the ride.
I impart whatever knowledge they need for this journey and correct their quizzes.
I am in awe of every last one of them.

Bullet-In

Through no fault of my own, I have to teach my criminal justice students how to shoot.
This brings up several problems.


One: I cannot shoot a gun- this by the way is a cultivated ignorance as stopping someone's life by inserting a bullet in to the interior of their body and thereby destroying vital organs has never been a goal of mine.

Two: I do not like guns. This is not a moral decision. I do not like golf clubs, weedeaters or electric razors either. I am an equal opportunity "don't liker".

Three: This is supposed to be a course in Criminal Justice and, unless we have reverted to the Wild West...I do not get it. But the students get a kick out of it- and that worries me even more!

But, those who write curriculum for my school felt the need to invest vast quantities of cash in a life size video game that is supposed to teach students how to decide when to shoot- so there you have it

When the Rangemaster from a local police department came in to train me, and I saw him virtually gun down the first fifteen year old who was holding other kids hostage, my first reaction was: Wait! I want to talk to him! I want to find our why he is so angry.

This is going to be interesting....bang bang.

Forever Blowing Bubbles

There is something not missing in my life and it is troubling

What is not missing is bubble bath

On the contrary- the bottles of foamy fragrance seem frozen at their present level

This is not good for obvious reasons- the most basic of which is that I am not taking time for a bubble bath.



The bubble bath has a particular place in my life and a perfected ritual.
It includes some favorite books that I do not mind marring with a bit of water, a plastic faux wine glass filled with faux wine and twenty minutes or so of uninterrupted peace when I am not teacher, wife, pet owner- you get the picture.

I eyed those filled accumulating bottles of bubble bath this morning (they tend to accumulate because I tend to collect them) and committed to their demise via drowning in tubs of soothing water.

Bubbles be gone- you are about to meet your Waterloo.

Breaking Away

I think you will understand this, My Friends,
even if I do not explain it very well,
so I am going to try and put it in to words.

This morning, as Lady Daisy and I were walking just after dawn, I looked up and saw a white bird
- a gull perhaps-
I am not sure.

It was flying all alone.


Its wings were moving with purpose.


It was heading Northwest.

What was it looking for?
Was it fearful of all that open sky ahead or exhilarated?
Was its heart beating resolutely, or were there second thoughts?|

Flying to or flying from? I do not know.

All alone in that endless sky...moving...moving....moving forward and never looking back

and never looking down.

All I could do was watch
Feet firmly planted as though in cement
and wonder if I could ever be that brave.

All Boxed Up

I had a meltdown (almost literally) at work yesterday.

Because of lack of space, they have squeezed the faculty in to an office about the size of a booth at the Yard House. There is no ventilation and a copy machine that runs constantly giving off heat and fumes.

My final round of complaints was met with something akin to "that's just the way it is- this is a designated workspace."

What is that all about?

I remember the good old days when people complained about Dilbert-esque environments



Now, this is how I spend my days
In this little sweat box, I am supposed to dream up academic brilliance, grade papers, and meet with students. And I do it with 9 other people in the room.

Well, they can stick me in a box, but they cannot keep my mind there!
They don't know it, but I have a penthouse view.....in my mind.

Cheaters never prosper.....

I spent the morning correcting papers for one of the online classes that I teach.
I was appalled at the plagiarism.
Appalled, but not surprised.

There are sites out there where you can buy papers.
Should that be?

There are students out there who are taking care of families, working two jobs and trying to go to school.

Is that a recipe for disaster?

I did what I had to do and rejected their copied work; but I did feel sorry for them.

I know that their heart is going to sink when they see the zero on their papers.

I know that they rationalized the whole thing.

But they have known about this assignment for 8 weeks!

Cheating is not new and in this fast paced world, in may seem like the only way.

But I can very defensive about academia.
I mean, there has to be a place somewhere in the world where people are not lying and there is no subterfuge, right?

These students are seeing news stories every day about how politicians and financiers lie, cheat and steal and have risen pretty far doing so.
Can you blame them for trying?

Unfortunately, I have to.
But I do feel sorry for them.

Where to put my thoughts....

Daisy the Wonder Dog is waiting for me to take her for a walk, so this is going to be short.

Lately, my husband and I have been doing a lot of talking about slowing things down- not slowing down- just slowing things down.

You now, smell the roses...

It all started actually when this economic tsunami hit and it became so incredibly obvious just how discounted we all are as human being by those in power.

Now, it is their sandbox, so I assume they can make the rules.
But we do not have to play the game.

So, we are taking our ball and finding another playground
And we will just play with friends
We will grab every moment we can with our family
We will make sure that our grandkids know us and the generations that went before us
And we will not keep score with dollar signs
And we will let the kids play that no one else wants on their team
And when we have done all of that- we have already won!

working on a dream

Today is the day.
I start teaching new classes at two colleges today.

Since one of them is a "brick and mortar" and the other is online, I have two different mindsets...two different approaches...and I have two very different classes.

One class is for forensic nurses and I am guiding them through the victimology and offender mentality of domestic violence. My objective is for them to come out of this with a better understanding of intimate partner and family violence so that they can be instrumental in prevention, intervention and treatment.

My other class is the real heartstopper. I met these guys last night.
I am director of a new criminal justice program, and last night I met what will be the first graduating class. All ages...all shapes...all sizes...all ethnicities....all full of hope and fear.

Many did not do well in school the first time around.
Some may not do well again
All of them have my undivided loyalty.

So....here we go...working on a dream....

Today sucked.
I mean, it really did.

Well…most of it.

At least it did until I got home.

I went to a meeting this morning that I was very hopeful would bring some bright things in to my future.

I ran smack dab in to an emotional brick wall.

At least I think I did. I cannot really tell because I was still reeling from a phone call I got on the way in to the meeting where I found out that a young man whom I have known for his whole life- and whom I care for a great deal- was in trouble.

Big trouble.

And there was nothing I could do to help him.

And to make things absolutely perfect, I went to a non-prof Board meeting that devolved in to something between a high school hair pulling match and mud wrestling.

But women are good at these bumps in the road- right?
And somehow, the groceries were bought, the laundry got done and there is a roast in the oven.

Grandpa Bruce's Birthday

We celebrated Grandpa Bruce's birthday this weekend and the Fam came out for the day.

Our son Cassady and our daughter in law Rebecca packed up the kids and grabbed our other son Jason and our daughter in law Georgette and they all made the trek to the Valley
Our Grandson Dylan helped him blow out the candles on the pile of Birthday "Skinny Cow" ice cream sandwiches.

Our daughter Megan, who is at home in Sacramento waiting with her husband for the birth of our next grandchild Maya, even called in time to sing Happy Birthday through the speaker phone


Auntie Georgette wades in to play




And Uncle Jason looks on

The weather cooperated so we were able to have some pool time.

It was a great day, a great time and some great memories.

I live a small life.
It is not that it is not meaningful
But it is meaningful in small ways.
I mean..... night times never find me cutting million dollar deals at an Upper East Side restaurant in New York

And I yet to find a book I wrote on any list at all.
I don’t send diplomats to Syria or soldiers to Afghanistan

I teach…I walk my dog…I love my family.

But there are days like today when I am glad that my life has some open space. Today, I was able to hang out with 150 and kids at a place called Angel Light Academy.


These were kids who may have the odds stacked against them, but they are ready to take on the world.
They worked together today on the tough questions in their community- drugs, harassment, hate and violence.
And they looked for real life solutions for real life problems.
And gave my life more meaning as they did.

Shallow? Like I care...

We are going to Glendale today to see a phenomenon.

We are going to Americana.

In my husband’s business, they call it multi-use.

I call it heaven.

Americana is an upscale shopping center with condominiums and apartments.

It is a self-contained community built around a (sort of) main street with a little trolley.

It was built by the same guy who built the Grove in LA (Rick Caruso).

OK…now imagine, falling out of bed and having a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and a Barnes and Noble right downstairs.

Call me shallow- but I love this whole idea.

Yea….quiet, desert, mountains…I know.

But face it, guys. I have.

I am a City girl.

If I could bottle the smell of Bloomingdales, I would spray my house with it.

In my mind, paying 3 bucks for a Cappuccino is an American right.

And having a Cheesecake Factory on the corner is ….well….

You have got to see this place.

http://www.americanaatbrand.com/

I Will Never Fold

Ok...so you know that I went to school for 20 years and put lots of letters after my name.
And you know that I have had my share of victories and defeats.
What you do not know is that today, I bested a nemesis.

Smoking?
Heck no- been there- dropped that.
Nail biting?
Yuck!

No!
Today- after keeping house for 35 plus years and doing ton after ton of laundry I- with the help of YouTube learned how to fold a fitted sheet so it looks like it just came out of the package!

Are there any more challenges?
Everest?
Piece of cake!

Triathalon?
For kids.
I have learned how to fold a fitted sheet!

I Have Hammer

Today, in another blogging life I was talking about looking for a Dilbert life in a cubicle just to wait out the storm.
The very thought gives me hives.
So I got to thinking.....
why not build my own cubicle.
I mean, it is not like I have not done it before.
This is not my first recession

Wow- this is not even MY recession.

In my relatively short life, I have built up a private school, a PR firm, and countless other "cubicles".
Where's my hammer?

Isn't it amazing the difference a day can make.

Maybe it is because of my husband.

I swear- the man only knows how to have a good and upbeat view of life.

He always seems to have two goals-
To please God and to take care of me.

How did I get so lucky?

My head is stuck.

In a record groove.

I have been correcting papers all morning.

Now, I have to turn around and try to do something to help make our future a little more secure

Like find a full time job

With benefits

My head is stuck and the record keeps going around

Find a job

Round and round

Find a job

Round and round

A job that won’t mean I have to move or drive four hours a day

Record going round and round

My mind is stuck.

Like a needle on a scratched record

Wish I could change the song.

Open Road, Pioneer Spirit

There is a writer that I truly enjoy. Her name is Sue Bender and I think I am attracted to her words because we have matching “issues”. Write now, I am reading- for the fourth time, bits and squiggles of her book “Stretching Lessons”. I keep it by the bed and dip in now and then, nodding my head and saying- “Yea…I get ya….”

I read today how, when she was looking for a retreat where she could write her book in peace, she almost gave up the opportunity of a free space in San Francisco for three weeks because it would have meant sharing the space with cats and she was a not “cat person”. It was not the cats that daunted her- it ws the newness- the risk.

When I was 18, I thought nothing of taking the Ferry from Staten Island over to New York City to ride the subway in the middle of the night just to watch the sparks fly on the tracks. I would go to the airport with a friend and take the next plane to anywhere (that I could afford). I set up housekeeping in my own apartment and took on Madison Avenue before I was in my mid twenties.

In short, I was pretty fearless.

I mean, I opened a PR in Hollywood.

Not much scared me.

Then I moved to the Coachella Valley- and suddenly, I was immobilized.

Freeway Freeze.

HATE the pass…abhor the 91 and I read too many accident reports to have any real rapport with the 10.

For three years now, I have been stranded unless my husband and I go somewhere together.

Then I found the 210!!!!

Follow the yellow brick road!

I don’t know why, but that freeway is my friend!

I am outta here more often than I am in here and that makes it more fun to live here.

Since we met, the 210 has taken me to LA, Pasadena and all points west. It is going to take me in to have lunch with a friend in the Studio City Hills this week.

Summa cum Sadder

Anyone got any cheese? I need it to go with this whine.

I know it seems like a little thing- and it is when you think about the really terrible things that are going on everywhere-

but...well,

I am going to miss my commencement ceremony for my Doctorate,

and I am just a little bit bummed about it.
Graduation is on the east coast and that kind of trip is just not in the budget right now.
Of course, my husband offered-but he and I both know that it would be really irresponsible.
It's just that you get this cute little beret when you get your Doctorate- and these robes that look like they came from a Oxford- because they are the same design.
I was really OK about it until I got an email that they were putting my name in the commemorative program even though I would not be there.
I felt as though it was a medal being bestowed posthumously (I can be overly dramatic ....)
Well- what the heck.
Like I said- there are more important things to think about, right?

Just Lucky, I Guess

I'm feeling lucky today.
My classes are caught up, and all my students seem to have a great grasp on the material.
A friend who I lost track of a decade ago "found" me through an online social network.
I finished my Blog for MyDesert.com and I really believed what I had to say.
And now, I have nothing to do but "play with my house"- my code for cleaning- while I listen to a recorded book.
And I just heard we are going to be seeing our son and his family this weekend!
Yup- this is my lucky day.

Going To Class

Today is the first day of school- at least it is for the 40 students I am teaching at the University of Phoenix. I am their professor for cultural diversity.
I have taught for many years, but I have never felt the burden as heavily as I do now.
I worked hard for civil rights.
I spent several years trying to pull kids out of ghettos of streets and of thinking.
Now, I have a chance at a very momentous time in our history to influence the thinking of young, future scholars.
Oh my...am I ready?

Order

It has been a strange couple of days. I am getting ready to teach two classes next week at a University for whom I have never taught before and I am a bit nervous.
I find I am like Georgia O'Keefe in a very small way. She could not paint unless her drawers were cleaned out and organized. I cannot teach if my closets- all of them - are in order. So for the last two days, my husband has given me a wide berth as I have torn a part every closet in the house- threw out, organized, labeled and otherwise terrorized even the most innocent loose hanger.
I do this as I listen to books on tape and do not come up for air until it is done.
So here I sit- closets in order....classes about to start. I really feel like I have it all together.
Wadda ya wanna bet I will not be able to find a pen?

Who's the Boss?

Today I have to go to a Board meeting and make a presentation.
Right up there with getting wisdom teeth pulled without benefit of anesthesia

Places to go...people to see...points to make...points to lose....
Dollars to spend...dollars to make
But while I go about the business of going about my business....
believe me....
I'm working on a dream.

Just a Note

An old friend told me once that my life was set to music- I have a sneaking suspicion he was being a bit sarcastic at the time, as I was your typical histrionic teenage girl- but I didn't care- I liked the idea.
Maybe it was growing up with all those great movie scores with swelling string sessions. You know, in your mind, running through the streets to meet Cary Grant at the top of the Empire State Building....that kind of stuff.

Or maybe it was the poets in those turbulent years

Simon and Garfunkle
"hello darkness, my old friend....I've come to talk with you again...."

Leonard Cohen
Suzanne takes you down
To a place by the river
You can see the boats go by
You can spend the night forever

Donovan-
Thrown like a star in my vast sleep
I open my eyes to take a peep
To find that I was by the sea
Gazing with tranquility.
'Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Came singing songs of love.

High school dances....the songs coming from the radio of your first car...the song you listened to over and over when "he" did not call....your wedding song.....the song you sang to your child at bedtime....

You know...life set to music

Predictions

You just have got to love a country that looks to groundhogs to predict the weather.
But then again- we look to politicians to correct the future.....
Personal trainers to change our bodies.....
And time to change everything for the better.




So- Happy Ground Hog Day....I am predicting nothing- but hoping for the best...working toward the better....believing in it all.

I would like to button things up.
I would like to see things in order.
Everything.
I would like for people's feelings not to be hurt.
I would like for people not to hurt my feelings.
I would like to not be misunderstood or to misunderstand.

I want things to be buttoned up.
I want everyone to have some place to live.
And someone to love them.
I want countries to stop threatening each other and frightening the children

I want things buttoned up.

Home...The Pawns and the Kings

I read an article this morning about the cottage industries- not to mention the mega-businesses - that are being spawned by the foreclosure crisis. People are being told that no one will their loan company renegotiate until they stop making payments on their house.
They go in to default.

The default becomes public record and the mailbox begins to fill up with every Tom, Dick and Harrasser who- for a fee- can help ya out. My son is a mortgage banker, and he truly does try and help people- so I know they exist. And it is a good thing that they do, because the consequences are enormous.

The house, once a place of quiet and comfort, now has put a large target on your back.

Meanwhile, back at the bank, hands are being rubbed together over late fees; foreign and domestic investors are hovering behind ghost corporations and buying up the foreclosures in bulk; and only 20% of the houses that go in to default ever stay in the hands of the original owner.

And America loads its gun, looks down the site, and takes careful aim at its foot once more.

Ever heard of Maslow?
He was a guy who put together a very perceptive pyramid of “what does it take to reach your potential.” At the very bottom- the place from which all else is built- before security or love or relationship - is home.

These piles of brick and stucco that developers slap up over night and then deposit us in as though we were cans on a shelf (as they high tail it back to the haciendas by the sea in Newport Beach) are our homes.
They are where we grow and become our own inspiration.
I see over and over that when people walk away, they often leave behind toys and pictures. Do they feel that they no longer have a right to family- or is that whole struggle to be solid and united and part of the American Dream too much to bear?

I have no answers. I only have tears today for the people who packed up or left behind their dreams and crammed what they could in to a car or an apartment.

The Equation Does Not Balance

Pressure.

I was tutoring at a youth center yesterday and two high school freshmen walked in. One I had met before when he brought his math in for me to help him with. The other guy was his cousin. From the look on both their faces, you would have thought they had found out the way to the Holy Grail. I, apparently, had all answers to math.
Gulp.
The good news is- I was able to explain the math.
The bad news is- both these boys were put in math classes where they did not belong. Having never seen the inside of a pre-algebra book, they had been stuck in Algebra I because there was "no place else to put them." When there mother complained, the administration threatened to put them in Geometry! Geometry??? Geometry is 90% algebra! you know....c sq = a sq + b sq and so on?
So, back they went to Algebra 1.
And they are failing. And my tutoring them one day a week in second semester is not going to change a thing.
And administration shrugs.
And teachers throw their hands up.
And the kids fight to keep their hope alive- showing up once a week to ask me to unravel the mystery of letters mixed with numbers and people who just do not seem to care.

Mixer Elixer

I went to a mixer last night. You know- one of those places where you take a bunch of people who have absolutely nothing in common- offer them cheap wine...and remind them it is all for a good cause?

Here is the problem.

I don’t mix.

I don’t mingle.

Give me a room full of friends and I will talk your ear off…..

But mingling….not so good.

I can face an audience or a class of students without a tremor.

But put me in a room with a few dozen chattering women hellbent on having fun and I turn in to a doorstop.

There are people who are absolutely fantastic at this mingling thing.

I saw one gal last night – wine in hand- working the room….working the room…group to group….

Me?

I volunteered to make the name tags when people came in the door (door being the operative word here so that I could slip out and head home at the first opportune moment- which I did.) Actually, I did not volunteer- one of the mega minglers spotted me and asked me if I would take over for her while she got a “Bev-ah –rej” and she never managed to find her way back.

Fine with me,

From my vantage point made it possible to make some observations…..

Some women were just quietly drinking- they had shown up and they were going to have their $5 wine and be done with it- seen and be seen.

Some women were frantically networking- cards and hugs were flowing like the $5 wine

The ones who got my attention were the ones who came alone- maybe for the first time to one of these things- and faced the room the same way a novice ice skater faces a rink where people are whooshing around and doing spins and leaps. She enters the room, hugs the wall the way a new skater hugs the rail and makes it to the bar, holding on to her glass of courage as though it were a lifeline.

Cancelled

So, I got a post card in the mail today telling me sorry, but a magazine to which I subscribed was no longer being published as of this month- but not to worry- they had taken it upon themselves to choose another magazine for me, and the balance of my money was being transferred and I should start receiving this new magazine any old day now.

Excuse me?

An examination of the offending post card gave me no contact number (imagine my shock)- simply a P O Box somewhere in Florida.

Feeling my investigative juices starting to flow....I began.
Digging out an old copy of the now defunct publication, I did indeed find a phone number (let me state here, by the way, that the customer service website was "down for repairs"....uh huh.....)
The first call got me a very pleasant young man named Rob who told me in no uncertain terms that there was absolutely, positively nothing he could do for me- but here was an 800 number I was free to call.

I cut Sir Rob some slack since my unfortunate post card proclaiming the end of my mag probably translated in to a pink slip for him.

Undaunted, I called the 800 number, where Rob assured me I would find a humanoid and- after pressing 0 many times to by-pass the rather insulting recording (do they really think I do not know there is a website with "all my answers") I make the vocal acquaintance of Ms. Brenda. I explain to Ms. Brenda that, with all due respect, I do not want her magazine. Ms. Brenda pulls up my account- which is already in her hands with all my information including my credit card even though I have never authorized their having it!) and after enough information to clear me for a State Department credential, somewhat grudgingly says that my $19.95 refund will be at my door in 3-4 weeks. I thank her, and think to ask for some sort of confirmation number before we take life down our separate paths.

Sigh of relief.
I mean, you have to get a bit of control where you can, right?

Men In Trees

I read a news story today in our local paper about a homeless man being found dead by the side of the road not very far from my safe and quiet neighborhood.

This is not the first time that there have been reports of homeless men found dead in the area, but this one stopped me so still and chilled me so thoroughly I wonder if I will ever be the same.
It seems this man- and many others- are living up in the branches of the tamarisk trees on the road that runs along the freeway.

What shocked me even more was that the police community affairs officer said that the city knew they were there.

So...let me get this straight- in a Valley that has just spent thousands of dollars to promote an art festival, a film festival and the Bob Hope Classic golf tournament- we have people living in trees; we know about it; and we just go about our daily lives?

Who are we?

All At Sea

I received this from a woman yesterday who, having really never heard anything different, thought at the beginning of our conversation that we were nothing but country clubs and galas people out here.

Many people think that about the Palm Springs area- and we do quite a bit of PR to keep people thinking that way.

I explained to her the facts about where I live near Palm Springs, California- where there are 75,000 acres of agricultural land and people living sometimes fifteen to a trailer to bring those crops in... a place where there are multiple foreclosures on every street....a place where we are hoping for a new prison just to get jobs. And, does anybody ever wonder who it is that keep those resorts so pristine and where do they live?

Here are her words:

Patty --- thanks for educating me about Palm Springs. I had some pre-conceived notions about the relative affluence of the area. As is the truth everywhere, there are “invisible people” with needs. You’re serving them—and doing God’s work. I experienced this dual society a couple years ago on a cruise. My M-in law took all of us on a Caribbean cruise, which was generous and we’re all grateful. I sure got an education. I assumed that the staff on the cruise were young people who hadn’t put down roots yet or maybe college kids who wanted a stint of adventure. Oh boy.

The staff turned out to be almost entirely from developing countries who were working away from their families in order to send paychecks home to their impoverished relatives. Our “host” and cabin maid are assigned to specific families on the cruise, and I got to talk to them quite a bit about their lives. Both of them had small children being cared for by grandparents, and you could tell that the separation was devastating. Then, I went to one of those pampering facials, and the consultant there was from South Africa. She told me that by working for a 6 mos stint on the cruise, she would make enough money to open her own salon back home. She was separated from her family as well.

At the end of the cruise, it all looked very different to me. I was one of hundreds of privileged white people being waited-on by citizens of the world who, by accident of geography, were destined to pamper me in order to get-ahead. Not only that, the cruise ship didn’t have the staff housed in luxurious cabins like ours. Their quarters were in the bottom of the boat, like closets with no windows, and the cabins were crowded. When was the last time ethnic minorities took ocean cruises with white people living in luxury on the upper decks? Yup. It made me sick. I tipped generously and will never go on another cruise.

The world is so unfair. Never forget that your work “leveling the playing field” makes a difference. Keep on keeping on!

The Light

Threshold.
Window opened to a landscape of trees and birds fluttering on the horizon

My generation lost its innocence many years ago. Our beliefs and hope dimmed when John F Kennedy died. When Martin Luther King died. When Robert F. Kennedy died.
We grew up wary. We grew up ashamed because our African American friends were not considered "equal" in this land of the free. We grew up frustrated in a country where women made less money for the same job.
We grew up.
They threw a war and many of us died.
They elected Nixon and many of us gave us hope.

We have spent the last many years watching, listening and waiting.
And tomorrow, perhaps- just perhaps the waiting will be over.
If President Obama delivers on all his promises or not does not matter to me.
Even if the Republicans keep up their shenanigans.
There is no excuse.
We- the American people- have a chance to start again- with them or without them.
All those school kids who felt the light dim within them the day they told us Camelot had ended and John-John saluted away our history and perhaps our future at his father's grave.
All of those whose heads were bent in despair.
Lift up your light

It is a new day.
Do not throw this chance away.
I fear it may never come again.

DC Bound Daughter

Our daughter is going to the inauguration- the parties and all.

She had a little trouble finding a ball gown as she is 7 months pregnant- but you got to know Megan to know that very little stands in her way.

From the time she was 8 and risked life and limb following her brothers down ridiculously steep hills on her scooter; or her taking on some the most difficult students in the Sacramento school system as a new teacher, Megan has never backed down from anything.

And, if the rather embarrassing article from the Chicago Tribune that the Desert Sun so gleefully ran just now tells me anything, I don't have to worry about unfriendly crowds.

It seems that the Republicans are all leaving town.

Wow.

I am stunned.

I am embarrassed for our country.

I hope none of those guys are dads who say to their little leaguers- "OK, Son- it is how you play the game- now we are going to give a high five to the other team that won".

I mean, we would not want to add hypocrisy to the list, right?

Yup- I am upset. Very intuitive of you to notice.

But,we are proud of our daughter and our soon to be granddaughter who will be there (her husband could not get off work, and someone has to take care of my "other"grandkids- the two cats that share their home).

So Megan, daughter dear- watch the turns on Dupont Circle.- the most confusing piece of real estate in the world....bundle up, California Girl..and know...I am proud of you.

I honestly believe you were the first to say "Yes we can"- so you belong there this week.

You go, Girlfriend!

Luddites Had It Right

My world has narrowed down to a 16" computer screen.
I am working, writing, staring and waiting for responses to more things than I care to think about.
I am beginning to remind myself of a woman I used to see at a University at which I once taught.
Every time- and I mean every time- I walked passed her office (several times a day) she was sitting there staring at her screen like Narcissus in to a pond.

So I turn on my Pandora radio and try to type to the beat of the music, and I reserve part of my mind to wander the seashore and the mountains and the places I would rather be.
And I crawl back in to my screen and try to make things happen and get things moving and keep my obligations.

Sometimes, there is a "bing" and I know that a friend has stopped by to let me know that there is a human out there somewhere.

Today, I stopped for a moment and sent out some ecards to some other cyber- hostages that I know- faculty, teachers, insurance brokers, accountants.

Next week- I am gone hither and yon and I will be longing for the relative peace of my screen and my streaming music.

But today.....not so much.

holiday hangover

Did you ever have a day when you felt as though you needed a machete just to get through the fog surrounding your head?
I started out the day with this very complete to do list- and it is now i153pm and I just want to say I am done.
But I cannot.
I know there are loose ends to tie...obligations to meet...
if I could just remember why they seemed so important this morning...
.

Maybe it is the turkey I have in the oven
It is making the house smell like the holidays and I am reverting in to Noel mode.



I want to put on my slippers and robe and pretend that it is the week before Christmas.
Maybe a walk will help

probably not.

Maybe I will write a book....

The Watering Hole

So, have I been missing this blog, or what?
Excuse one:

got my professional website up and running http://communityadviser.com

Excuse Two: been facilitating seminars and workshops all over the place
N omore excuses.

I just looked at my title of my Blogspot and it reminded me of a thought that I had earlier today.
People are not meant to live in a desert.
A desert, by its very landscape and heat and winds scream "uninhabitable".
My desert- the Coachella Valley was never meant to be lived in even by the people who came and built houses here. It was a place to get away from life- not live life.

But my very wise husband mentioned this morning also that below the surface of the desert, there is water- you just have to find it.
My friends and I are finding it- figuratively speaking.
Every time I start to chafe and long to get myself back to a big city- where the excited topic of conversation is not yet another Fresh and Easy or a Soup Plantation-I think...."you are part of a great experiment here." This place has generations and cultures; it has rich and poor; it has places of higher learning, and places of high rollers.

Maybe I will stick around and see how this place shakes out.