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.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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.
Monday, January 26, 2009
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?
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?
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?
Friday, January 23, 2009
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!
Monday, January 19, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, January 16, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
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....
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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.
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.
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