Countdown to 11/29/11

Inside us, we have paradigms sitting, waiting and craving the proof they are dead-on. They usually are not distracted by conflicting evidence.

One of my paradigms is difficult to deal with. I believe we have inner racists lying in wait to become our default position. It makes that ugly thought we get in a racially charged situation. If what you think cause bile to rise in your mouth, you’re fighting your inner racist. Good for you.

Recently, the news was full of story about a brief second in time when Shirley Sherrod of the Georgia USDA had one of these moments. Sitting across from a white farmer, she recalled all the black farmers who didn’t get the help they needed. In that critical moment, she thought she would not give this white farmer her full support. She even said so in a taped video speech to the NAACP this March.

It was just 30 seconds of a 45 minute speech. The USDA did shabby damage control and compelled her to resign before it went viral with the conservative news yakkers. There is not much I can add to this storyline.

Let me do otherwise. I watched Sherrod’s complete speech. She continued her story with a narrative that left me impressed with the high level of service and humane care she gave to this farmer. She saved his farm when others stood by. Today, this farmer praises her for her help.

Shirley Sherrod had her racist thought and did not allow it to cause her to act improperly. That’s the way out of this race mess we find ourselves in.

Sherrod’s speech: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9NcCa_KjXk

Music has been my companion since birth and will be with me until my final breath. My favorite choices in music remain while others lose favor only to return later. Then there are some genres that do get limited play time with me - country - while others never make it at all - opera.

How I listen to music has changed though. When I was young and full of spirit, it made my body move and took me to places my adventurous mind liked.

It’s over 40 years later, and I listen now for the memories and to return my spirit to those earlier days. As for moving to the music, I can still get down, but I have trouble getting back up. Beside that, no one wants to see an aging boomer do the boogaloo.

Smokey Robinson sings “Tracks of My Tears”, and I remember slow dancing at Bishop Shanahan’s teen dances. As a bonus, Joni Mitchell sharply describes the event in “Come In From the Cold.”

I listen to “Loving Her Is Easier Then Anything I’ll Ever Do Again” and marvel at how Kris Kristofferson was able to capture the depths a man can love a woman.

When Janis Joplin belts out “Piece of My Heart”, I mourn the loss of this giant talent and remember wishing I could have been there to save her from herself.

I hope the sound track of  your life treats you this well.

Every where we go there are learning experiences. Often called failure, it is possible to actually learn prior to entering any destructive phases.

This brings me to iTunes.

My journey started when I was gifted with an iPod by my wife, Lyn. To use this then cutting edge technology, I would download songs from iTunes at the fire sale price of $0.99 each. This meant I could program this small device with 1,600 favorite tunes and have nearly instant access to any of these tunes within seconds. It would be the sound track of my life.

This activity became a study in overkill.  The iPod’s capacity far exceeded my actual favorite songs’ total of about 400. It was here where I decided to slow down the process. Every now and then, I’ll add a song, but I’m done. Remaining old songs don’t mean that much to me and nothing new is meeting the standard. I do find some gems in non-rock genres but not in large numbers.

Lesson learned: I accepted my life’s experiences palls compared to technology’s ability to catalog it. To get more results, I would need to lower my standards. I learned to accept things as they are presented to me and not push beyond some limits if to do so would dilute the original goal.

In his song by this name, Keni Thomas educates us about special markings on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, DC. A cross means the inscribed name was Missing In Action or MIA. If he or she surfaced later, a circle would be placed around the cross to signify the circle of life. There are no circles on the Vietnam Wall.

What are the chances that anyone remains to be repatriated from the Vietnam War? Probably as slim as can be imagined but of course, one is too many.

Today, John McCain is in a dog fight for a Arizona Senate seat with a “more Conservative than thou” candidate. McCain is being haunted by a ghost from his past. What has happened to the POWs the North Vietnamese supposedly were holding as ransom for war repatriations we never paid?

The core article is written by a major player, Pulitzer Prize winning author of the Killing Fields,  Sydney Schanberg.  http://www.amconmag.com/article/2010/jul/01/00010/

The article reads that McCain and John Kerry used their positions on the Senate Select Committee on POW/MIA Affairs to bottleneck information about non-returning POW/MIAs. This article tries to  expose a side of these two men they would rather hide if true.

I did find what I read to be distrubing since it shot clean to the core of my opinion of John McCain. I always believe him to be the leader for all things POW/MIA who worked diligently to bring light and closure to these issues. The article would have the reader believe the opposite.

As is my way, I went looking for supporting information – a second source as it were. My problem was that all other articles led back to Schanberg as its sole source. I gave up my search without conclusive results. Is McCain the POW/MIA advocate I had believed him to be or an evil force for blocking the light?

One fault I found with Schanberg’s article is he relied heavily on quotes by North Vietnamese officials. This group was particularly crafty at sending up false trail balloons in order to get what they wanted for little in return. The reader is left trying to prove negatives which is always troublesome.

My final shot: Schanberg also reports how prisioner McCain did break under torture and confess to war crimes allowing the enemy to use it for propaganda. McCain has admitted this happened and how much he regrets it. I don’t understand why Schanberg included these facts unless he just wants to dump on McCain.

I invite you to read more on this subject. I know I will. If I can dig up more acceptable information, I’ll blog about it later.

My Aunt Theresa passed away this week after battling Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s Diseases. Our extended families were saddened, and we paid our last respects to her and acted to comfort her immediate family.

At the funeral, I watched as people positioned themselves in the Church. I saw my 91 year old Aunt be escorted to a front pew by one daughter and one grand-daughter. Two of her other children were in the church and did not sit with her. I believe this is because they have been feuding for years.* Her estranged daughter walked passed her Mother twice to do a scripture reading with no acknowledgements either way.  

As sad as this is, it is amplified by the fact this family has suffered the previous loss of two sons and another daughter. They are all they have, and they choose to withhold their love to each other. I don’t know the reasons and do not know if I’d understand any better if I did.

The thought running in my mind was we were all there in one of life’s most pivotal moments. Where else is the fragility of life and the need for bonding more relevant than at a loved one’s funeral? And yet some of us still hold on to the hurt and push others away.

Here were the hypocritical notes come in. I am the same person I scold here. I am estranged from my one sister and choose to stay this way. Maybe I can take my own advice and find a way to get back with her.

Like most people, I always think others should make the first effort, and I can leave my existing position intact. I can be magnanimous and forgiving if the offenders learn the errors of their ways; find contrition and ask for my forgiveness.

Being a little bit hypocritical is like being a little pregnant.

* Note: I hope I’m wrong about this.

I just read a blog from http://www.thesimpledollar.com/ . The writer’s messages are mostly on-point with the solid research shining through. This one was about trading money for labor* to get more time in your busy day. Will hiring an assistant or outsourcing mundane chores actually give you more time or just add another iron in your crowded fire?

To help me decide, I also read the usual readers’ postings following this article. There was a lot of hair splitting over what to do with this newly captured time. Why spend time waiting in a Jiffy Lube when you could be making sales calls or planning an upcoming meeting? But wait, isn’t your steel stallion on a lift being drained of fluids. The argument swayed back and forth with no clear consensus, but it made me think.

What’s a better way to spend time then with yourself? A blank sheet and a pencil helps your trapped thoughts spring forward. Finding a quiet spot to meditate will reboot your mojo to mellow. Writing a message no one will read is not wasted time, it’s creative writing practice.

I now find time to play a self-indulgent game with no name. Its goal is write down things to make my life the slimmest percent better. It may be about buying clothes; eating better; or listing unfinished work. Even if I’m ill prepared for the exercise and it comes up empty, its is not wasted time. I’ve become more in touch to what’s going on in my life.

So far, I’ve decided I don’t want an assistant to be part of how I go through life.

Doing it myself is too much fun.

* this article: http://www.thesimpledollar.com/2010/06/24/professional-time-leisure-time-and-wasted-time/

Father’s Days don’t usually create memories with legs. One thing I remember about this day is Jim Bunning pitched a perfect game on it when I was younger than young.

Most other years are not marked by anything the world remembers. We Dads remember these days because our little ones would give us tracing on construction paper of their hands made at school. Or maybe we’d open a gift we knew came from the other parent on behalf of the kids. Or maybe it was a Sunday when we went out to eat followed by a stop at the ice cream store.

For some reason, this Father’s Day makes me feel more special. It could be because I got a card and a call from my NYC based daughter, Beth along with a call from my son, Adam in Saigon.

These contacts make me wish they were closer to home and my company. I like the adults my children have become. They’re both doing what they want to do which makes me admire them more.

When we were raising our children, my wife, Lyn and I often would say, “Roots and wings” to outline what was important to give our children.

On this day, I am reassured our efforts have borne fruit. I walk around with a bit more swagger today than normal.

This is the gift our children give us that really matters.

As the husband of an elementary teacher, I have done some interesting outings supporting  my wife. One year while she was finishing another teacher’s sabbatical, my wife, Lyn needed adults to help supervise a bus trip to Washington, DC. I was a last minute fill-in and was glad to help out.

My reputation for dealing with small kids was not good. This happened before we had our own children, and I wanted to improve in this department. 

The adults were sprinkled throughout the bus so we each had a zone to watch over. It didn’t take me long to realize who was the one boy who was the target of the bullies. He was small, withdrawn and reminded me of me at his age.

When I had enough of the bad treatment this poor lad had endured, I sat next to him. This immediately stopped the overt bullying, but I had a different game plan.

I trotted out my arsenal of bar tricks and taught them to my new student. When he was confident enough, we went live with our little show.

One by one, we played these tricks on the other boys. Many of them were the bullys he dealt with today and on a regular basis. As he was able to pull off the stunts, I could see a new level of respect grow for my protege.

After about an hour of truly stumping the others, one student insisted on learning how the tricks were done. I had prompted my young assistant this would happen and to not reveal the answers. To do so would be to give away the power. He held his own, and said simply it was magic.

By the time we reached Washington, our little show was long over, but I noticed a change in the way the little guy was treated now and how he seemed to have a new sense of empowerment.

I hope he remembered the tricks and has entertaining others with them. Maybe he’s even helped another little guy gain some much needed confidence.

You know that guy or gal. They breeze effortlessly through their projects. All they need is always within their reach. They are always finished on time and often early. They are able to forsee unforseen problems. It’s as though they are not affected by physics or  Murphy’s Law. And on and on.

Then there are people like me or maybe you. Doorways are always 1″ smaller than whatever I plan to transport through them. I search endlessly for the same supplies I’ve been pushing around for months. When I need ten #8 x 2″ screws, there are nine in my tool cabinet. And on and on.

Do I spend any time trying to become the first guy? Not really. I’ve learned obsessive planning and a burning need for order drain too much of my energy.

I use the “ready, fire, aim” method to guide my efforts. Here’s an example of how it works. I have two keys but only one will open the door lock. As I try one key, I have a 50/50 chance it’s the right one and a 100% chance the second one will open the lock.

Why do I prefer this approach? It’s born from action and not just thinking. I learn as I go and adjust my efforts until I’m successful.

 When Thomas Edison was developing the electric light bulb, his failing attempts numbered over a thousand. When he was asked about these crushing failures, he’d respond, “We now know a thousand ways not to  build a light bulb.”

Edison plowed ahead, and found the missing element.

I don’t think Edison would have been as successful if he had to have all the ducks in a row before he acted.

You may want to try ”ready, fire, aim” not because I use it, but because of why I use it. It worked for the world’s greatest inventor: Thomas Edison.

So far this day, I had successfully dodged beggars in Florence; rode the train to Rome; taxied to my new hotel and spent a fortune writing emails at the hotel.

I found a place to conceal myself from my family when they arrived from an impromptu Vatican visit. I waited for a power move to make my presence known. After ten minutes of waiting for them to say something to cause a memorable moment, I stepped into the lobby where Shirley Klunk saw me.

Shirley is my brother Bernie’s lady. She was there with Bernie and my cousin, Masch (Anthony Mascherino). I saw new energy return to their bodies. We decided to check in and visit the nearby street market for a taste of Rome. 

We strolled to the marketplace where Masch informed me to keep a watch on my wallet because these street markets are a haven for pickpockets. Okay, Masch. I buttoned my wallet pocket.

He also taught me to keep an eye out for the “umberlonis”. These are large umbrellas outside of wine bars. These are there for the sole purpose of stopping, sitting, and having a bit of wine. He told me if he winds up missing to just look for these umberlonis to find him.

It was easy to get lost in this maze of tables and tents. Shirley and I split away from Bernie and Masch and in no time, lost contact. After a short time of wandering in staged directions, Shirley and I returned to the hotel.

Masch and Bernie did return to our rallying point. Bernie however was past concerned about Shirley’s welfare. It was agreed by all to make a better effort not to break away from the pack. This mentality is important when you travel with others. It really is unfair to cause others to worry about you whether they should or not. They’re on vacation after all.

This evening’s anchor event would be dinner with a third cousin I’ve never met: Monica D’Adamo. She had done some solid background work on our behalf with our distant cousins here. Her skill arsenal includes speaking English and being internet savvy. Her work was indispensable to us during the planning time. This night, we would meet her and share a meal.

We waited for Monica in the hotel lobby area. At one point, Masch went outside to check on the weather since it has been overcast and chilly all day. He barely cleared the front door when an umbrella hawker was in his face. The guy had focused on his prey and moved in whatever direction Masch went. In exasperation, Masch just reentered the hotel with a brief weather report: cloudy and starting to rain.

Monica’s car was able to drive to the hotel since the owners of the triple parked cars had driven them home. I looked at my third cousin and looked for similarities to our family women. Closest one was niece, Jodi Bugliani. Monica was a charmer from the jump. She had that musical sound in her voice as she spoke English.

The five of us fit nicely into her mid-sized car and off we sped to her choice for the evening’s meal.

The parking jam had moved from the hotel region to the restaurant region. Monica found a spot near the restaurant that in America would not be a place to park. Note: in order to park on these streets, drivers must put euros in a nearby money box. It’s about 2 euros per hour with a 20 euros fine for failing to do so.

The restaurant was nicely appointed and had a welcoming spray of sunflowers in the lobby. At the table, the waiter and Monica spoke briefly. Almost at once, the wine flowed. Let the good times roll.

We got caught up with this distant cousin’s life. She’s a Doctor in Rome. She was pleased to tell Masch she has a “boyfriend now”. This was not surprising to hear since she’s a lovely woman.

She told us our Teramo cousins are waiting for our visit. We confirmed the travel plans with her, and she offered to update those waiting for us. Masch and I told her we planned to stay at a Teramo hotel rather than bother any of them. Her response bordered on, “Good luck with that!”.

The wave of food started with seafood goodies like steamed clams and mussels. The food seemed to never stop. It is hard for me to describe how good it is. I knew then my stay in Italy would be marked by many wonderful meals.

Following the meal, Monica offered to take us on a car tour of Rome. Sure thing; sounds like fun. Monica skirted the usual avenues, and we found ourselves taking night photos of the Colosseum and a grotto overlooking the Vatican.

All too soon the evening ended and Monica needed to get home. I asked her to teach me the Italian kissing greeting. It goes like this: two people place their hands inside each others between them; they press cheeks and do an air kiss. The right cheek goes first and then the left. The embrace is ended with a squeezing of the hands and smiling looks into each others’ eyes.

What we did with the rest of evening is lost to me. I do remember Masch and I trying to find a car to rent, and we may have done this on this night.

Before we got seperated at the street market, our foursome sat under an umberloni for a little wine. Our waiter look like he  was from central casting. He brought us two small dishes of munchies. I asked Masch if he had ordered these treats. He said no. These places serves goodies in an effort to get people to stay and drink more. It was a nice little touch.

It was good to connect with my family and settle into a typical tourist mode with them. My role has changed from lone wolf to member of the pack. I could no longer do things just because I wanted to do them. I would need to adjust for the good of the pack. It’s worth it to spend this time with my family in Italy.