How You Sea It

I feel we are all islands - in a common sea.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

 

Be calm

When others around you have decided to stir up the seas of life

Be calm

While people are huffing and puffing and starting storms of their own making

Be calm

When others try to hide the light and cause you to lose your way of peace

Stay calm

Life is how you sea it....

and that's poetiquejustis

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.