Are You Ready to Make Some Waves?

I watch day in and day out the bickering, sniping, and spats between political sides, not only from politicians, but between friends and family, during this presidential campaign and it fills me with sadness for our humanity. We think we have come so far when, in reality, it’s just another form of racism. It’s just another battle of diversity. What happened if we all started working towards a solution instead of blaming each other for the problem? I bet the world might change!

Imagine that….

Two posts that I read today echoed my thoughts about the whole damn mess. Brice Maiurro, blogger at Flashlight City Blues, was poignant in his hope for humanity and how we’re missing the crucial point.

i know there’s a big battle going on out there for the american throne, but while people are out there trying to choose coke or pepsi, trying to sway the wind in the direction they prefer, i think we’re missing out on something important. sometimes i think we get so hooked on foreign policy, we forget the most miniscule of domestic policy. how to talk to one another. i’m not the first one to say it, and i won’t be the last.

It’s as though Civil War breaks out every four years with the presidential election. The system’s broke and crying out, “Fix me! Heal me! Hear me!” There is so much senseless bloodshed, tears given, hearts broken, angry words thrown that instead of paying attention, I want to bury my head in the sand. But I can’t and I shouldn’t and I won’t. It’s not a luxury you and I can afford.

Maiurro has a unique and refreshing proposition – what about 4 or 5 people running for the presidency? There are ideas, thoughts, movements for change that are not being heard in our country because of the duopoly of the Democratic/Republican system. Maiurro thinks it’s time to “mix things up a bit.” I agree. The system is broken and needs to be rebuilt.

Susan Daniels shared a free verse poem titled, “for my neighbor with the nobama sign,” at her blog, Susan Daniels Poetry. A striking, moving piece of work that highlights the crumbling political system. It has become more than just two parties debating…it is now all-out war, and we are in the middle of the fight.

but this place where violence swallows speech
or speech is lost in fists cannot be my country
can it? do we need peacekeepers
to count our ballots & defend our polls?…

…but bullets through windows

or beating a man for his Romney sign
is not speech, or an issue of right or left

& again i am back to that line of blood
between voice & crime, treason

or incitement to treason

that line that is not politics but hate running loose
where guns & fists strike more pointed blows than fingers
flipping levers lightly behind drawn curtains,
such a simple thing, with more weight than blood & lead

Seems the demise of politics is striking a chord among the people. Maybe instead of assuming they know what we want, the politicians should actually listen. And we should listen and HEAR each other. It’s the least we can do to stem the tide of blood, before our humanity is completely lost.

Are we crazy for thinking we can change the world? Of course! But without the so-called crazies, the world will never change.

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” – Steve Jobs

Change will not come if we wait for some other person, or if we wait for some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek. Sound familiar? It should…courtesy of our acting President. Regardless of what you believe or feel about Obama, he’s right about change. And you know it. Now all we have to do is live up to it.

As Mother Teresa put it, “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”

Are you ready to make some waves?

Read Harper Lee’s Letter to Oprah About Her Love of Books

In 2006, Harper Lee, author of American classic To Kill a Mockingbird, wrote a letter to Oprah about her experience growing up with reading: first listening to family members reading aloud, then hunting down and trading for books, and later connecting with old friends over what books they had been reading. The letter, which we found courtesy of the always-inspiring Letters of Note, is a touching meditation on the reading life that we totally identify with, but in a somewhat prescient manner (of course) Lee also stresses the importance of reading actual books.

She writes, “Now, 75 years later in an abundant society where people have laptops, cell phones, iPods, and minds like empty rooms, I still plod along with books. Instant information is not for me. I prefer to search library stacks because when I work to learn something, I remember it. And, Oprah, can you imagine curling up in bed to read a computer? Weeping for Anna Karenina and being terrified by Hannibal Lecter, entering the heart of darkness with Mistah Kurtz, having Holden Caulfield ring you up — some things should happen on soft pages, not cold metal.”

Convenient as our modern technology may be, we have to admit that she has a point. Read the entire letter here.

What are your thoughts?

Give ‘Em The Old Razzle Dazzle

Notice anything different about my blog this week? Seriously? You didn’t? You must be blind! I mean…how can you not miss it?

Okay…maybe not blind because it’s possible you really are blind and then I would be horribly offending you. So disregard the whole blind comment. Never happened.

Ahem….

Anyways…the blog has new, clean look that I think is much easier to read and navigate. Maybe it’s just my opinion, and frankly, that’s all that matters, so go stuff your head in a toilet and let the water flush around your ears for a bit. Then come back and continue enjoying my writing.

In all honesty, I really was struggling with the other designs. They just weren’t working for me. Some were clunky. Some were unorganized. This last one was just too much, too busy. I can’t handle that. So I changed it. And I’ll probably change it again in the future if this one eventually bugs me, too. But I’m hoping I don’t do that. It gets tiresome trying to re-adjust everything on my blog to the new themes. Not to mention I’m sure I confuse my readers. Ah hahahahahaha! You discovered my evil, diabolical plot!

Um, not really.

I tend to get bored after a while. Call it ADD, unfocused, too much passion, too much energy, too much sugar and caffeine, considering I’m drinking my second 16 oz. mug of coffee…Panama coffee no less which is much stronger, but oh so smooth! If you’ve never tried it before, you must. But I digress.

I had an epiphany of sorts this week. I think. As I’ve said before…my path is never quick and easy. More often than not, I’m meandering off the path to smell the roses, admire the butterflies, gaze at the sun and before I know it, I’m on a totally different path in a different forest in a different damn country. I suppose that’s the fodder for the imagination of a writer and artist (God bless my parents – I’m sure they never had it easy with me).

Back to the epiphany. You’ll discover after some time of following me here that I tend to have multiple epiphanies and you’ll want to smack me upside the head for taking so long to realize things when you knew it right from the start. I’d appreciate you telling me, you know. It would save a lot of tired, aching feet and fingers from the wandering.

BUT. Back to the epiphany. AGAIN. I’m a writer. Duh. You know that. And this blog is about writing. Again, you know that. Or at least I think you do. But my epiphany was that I’ve gotten too serious here. Where’s the fun? The pizzazz? The sparkle? The razzle-dazzle? I’m sure you get the point.

Just because I’m a writer doesn’t mean that I always have to write about writing. Really? I can hear the laughter. It’s okay. I laughed at myself, too. I have so many passions (hence the multiple blog problem which, thankfully, I’ve worked out…for now), how can I limit myself to just one topic? I can’t. So I won’t. Lucky you.

Don’t worry my writerly friends…I won’t forget you and there will still be plenty of tips and tricks and writerly discussions. But there will be a heck of a whole lot else, too. Like the foodie bits. I am a closet chef you know. It’s a burning desire to share with you the things I cook, create, and eat. Food porn. Now there’s something to go Google. I dare you.

So here’s to letting it all hang out!
P.S.  Book Reviews have now moved to their new location, Kat’s Book Reviews.

Remembering 9/11

I remember the day as though it were yesterday. Kind of hard not to when it’s also my birthday. It was impossible to comprehend as I watched it unfold on TV. My ex-husband (husband at the time) called me at work. Did you see what happened? Do you have a TV? Turn it on! We gathered at work and plugged in a TV. I saw the second plane hit. At first, I thought it was a movie, not reality. This really can’t be happening. It’s not possible. What’s going on? All of us stood stunned. Customers in the store stopped to watch, too. Hands covered mouths, eyes began to tear. Work and shopping was forgotten that day as we saw our world crumbling to the ground in smoke.

The commentators started talking, shouting, frantic, telling us this was real. That New York was being attacked! Fear seized my heart as I worried what would happen next. The fallout was immeasurable. I saw them jump from the rooftops, thuds as they hit the ground. One after another, despair and fear their only emotions. My brain couldn’t register that I was watching those stuck in the towers end their life by jumping. My heart stopped with each broken thump. It is a memory that will haunt me the rest of my life.

We always remember that day by asking, “Where were you? What were you doing when the planes hit?” It is a defining point in the lives of my generation just as JFK being shot, Martin Luther King being assassinated, Pearl Harbor, and more.

I will always remember and I will never forget.

This is a piece I wrote not long after it happened and I thought I would share it with you today in remembrance of those lives lost on 9/11 and the heroes that sacrificed their lives for others.

God, where are you? We cry as the first plane hits. God, where are you? We cry as the second plane hits. Infernos burning bright and powerful, hell has come to reign on earth. Waiting with bated breath we stand, in awe of such an evil mark, wondering if our turn will come next. Will we make it? Will our time end now amidst this ravaging pain and sorrow? God make it end! God stop the screams and thuds of others…how much can we endure? Towers come crashing down, spilling its heart to the earth. The shuddering ground belches its fury forth, angry with mankind. Smoke and dust billow high, suffocating all in its way. How could you, God? You knew my husband was in there…you knew my child was in daycare…you knew my wife was the secretary on the 71st floor…how could you? Our lives shattering in a moment; grief, despair, anguish and fear seizing our souls. Running as fast as we can to escape the choking, whirling dust…feeling the pounding heat upon our backs. Huddled in corners of “war-ravaged” buildings…waiting for the impending doom, certain our death is near. People are filming with cameras, trying to capture the scene, numb beyond repair. How could you film such destruction as this? How could you immortalize people dying and crying, lost and alone? How could you expose them and share their deepest pain to the world? Watching on TV the live broadcasts, unable to imagine it is all so real. Images look surreal, a movie in the making, the thriller of all time. A documentary of firefighters, brave souls who lost the fight with hell. Watching their eyes…unbelievable, not happening, this can’t be true. Digging for bodies amidst the rubble, pulling out pieces that were once recognizable. Arms grow heavy and souls grow numb, crushed with more than they can bear. Hearing the faint cries of a baby, buried beneath tons of stone…lost for days until the cries grow silent, an ominous sound, the ringing death toll. How many more, God? How many must we lose until You are satisfied? How dare you, God? How dare you?! How dare you let me suffer this way. How dare you shatter my heart like glass. How dare you cause these people to die. How dare you cause a mother to become single. How dare you take a child away. How dare you cause a father to stumble and cry out in pain. How dare you, God! Churches open their doors, answering the tormented cries. Altars are flooded, crowded and angry. Sorrowful laments of pain. Looking for release and answers. Pastors are praying fervently and hard, hoping that (dare they?) Jesus will come, lay his hands on us, hold us gently and secure until we can stand again. Flags are hung in memory and honor. Lips utter phrases of “God Bless America.” Do they know what they ask, God? Do they know what they seek? How can they be so selfish and not see? Stickers, pins, placards, lawn and window ornaments, hats, shirts, cars and more are made to proclaim “We are the USA.” Pride soon follows of a land shaken, but not beaten. Of a people who are burned, but not eternally lost. Burn Iraq and Saudi and Iran and Bin Laden. Take out a few others, too. We burn with hate and anger and injustice, ready to return the strike of pain. We retaliate in fury, leaving our mark on them. We are here and ready to fight. Bring us war and revenge and Bin Laden’s head on a plate. While we’re at it, how about Saddam, too? Maybe we’ll find a few others, as well, to make our righteous hearts heal.

Oh God, how can they? Can’t they see? Don’t they understand what happened? God, I’m sorry, oh so sorry. You never caused this to happen. You never meant for your children to feel pain. Who are we to say how dare you when it should be how dare we? How dare we ask that You bless America? How dare we expect to be protected? How dare we play God and seek justice? How dare we blame You for our mistakes and sin? We brought this on ourselves. We ask for it everyday. We disregard Your wisdom and love, believing our own way. We dig our own holes and bury ourselves in them, but expect to be delivered when it gets too hot. God, you have never left or forsaken us. You were there when the towers fell. You were there when people jumped, too terrified to remain. You were there when we cried out, Oh God where are you? You answered, but we didn’t listen. You told us, “Right here.” Oh God, how can we be so blind? How can we be so selfish? You won’t start blessing America until America starts blessing You. How dare we expect anything different. Oh God, forgive us…forgive us…for we know not what we do…..

It Only Takes One to Change The World

 

 

It’s that time of year again. The subtle scent of Fall with its crackling bonfires, roasted marshmallows, and a breath of fresh cooler air. The crunch of leaf here and there as they begin to drift from the trees. The brisk mornings with snugly sweaters giving way in the afternoon to bright sunshine and warmer temps. The sound of children running through the aisles at stores, stocking up on school supplies, flashy new clothes, and sharp new kicks. Frazzled parents trying to adjust from the lackadaisical summer schedule, where’s your…..? Are we ready? Do you have your…..?

Yesterday, the hospital where I work had a Healthy Kids Back To School event to celebrate the hospital’s 100th anniversary this year. We did a similar event in July for the summer. We planned it out, assigned roles, and got ready for a fun-filled day. Little did we know what was in store for us. In July, we had about 100 kids. Easy to manage, more personal, enough supplies, plenty of food, and relaxed enjoyment. Yesterday? We had over 400 kids! We ran out of supplies three times, chaos reigned, three kids were injured (unrelated to the event – seizure, heart, and a fall), yet we were still filled with utter joy to serve our community.

At one point, exhausted from the constant stream of children of all ages (from 3 weeks old to 19), I sought refuge inside the pediatric building. I was sweating buckets and longed for the chill of an air conditioner. My 100th Anniversary t-shirt was plastered to my back and my name badge hung limply from its clasp. As I sprawled in a waiting room chair, a dirty blonde haired blue-eyed teenage boy sat next to me. He was solemn with scabbed knees and dirt stained shorts. He turned slightly towards me and commented that he was inside to cool off. He was too hot outside. I smiled and said me, too.

In a quiet voice, he told me that he was waiting for school supplies, but they kept running out. He didn’t want to stand in the long line in the heat. He was concerned that he wouldn’t get any supplies and said he really needed them for school.

What grade are you in? 6th grade. I’m supposed to be in 7th, but I failed. Oh? I’m sorry. That’s okay. It was my fault. I’m not stupid, I know that. They offered to put me in gifted classes. But I acted stupid. That’s why I failed. Bummer. Well, what’s your favorite subject? Math. I love math and I’m good at it. I like social studies and history, too. Oh, that’s so not me! I stink at math! He smirked and shyly glanced at me sideways. I love English, reading, and art. I’m not so good at reading. It’s hard for me. It was hard for my brother, too. He’s now an accountant using his math skills.

How old are you? 12 and 3/4′s. I laughed, you make sure you include that 3/4′s! He smiled and shuffled his feet. Do you think they’ll have a book bag for me like the other kids? I need one, but they ran out before. I don’t think they have any more book bags, hon. But they will have some supplies. I know they went to buy more to hand out. Oh. Okay. How long do you think that will be? My mom can’t wait in the heat much longer. I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s too long. She should be back soon with them. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat. My heart puckered at his despondent gaze.

I watched him get up and wander outside, presumably to find his mom. I sat lost in thought, aching for the boy. It always breaks my heart when children are in need, even for the simple things. All I want to do is scoop them up and protect them from the world. If I could do it for all 400 of them, I would. But maybe there was something I could do for at least this one who, unbeknownst to him, tied a string around my heart. I thought hard and long, unsure if I should do what I was thinking.

A bit later, as I was finally drying off from the sticky sweat, he walked back into the building where I sat, an older worn-out woman trailing behind him. She leaned on the counter at the entrance and started talking to Eddie, the receptionist.  I can’t stand any more in this heat. I’m exhausted! It’s taking too long. It isn’t good for my health to be out there. Johnny, we’re going to have to leave. But I didn’t get any school supplies!  Sorry, there’s nothing I can do about that. We can get them when we meet with Meg at the Salvation Army in October for Christmas gifts. But that’s October! School’s already started! What do I do before then? I won’t have anything. I’m really sorry, Johnny, but I just can’t stand out there any longer. We’ll go shopping at Goodwill or Salvation Army and see what we can find. He hung his head, his shoulders slumped in defeat. My heart cracked a little further.

I was at war with myself about how involved I should get with this boy and his family. Was it really my place to do anything? They’d get help from others. I don’t need to do this. Do I? I watched them shuffle out the door. That’s it. I couldn’t take it. I ran to Eddie, frantically got a piece of paper and pen, praying they wouldn’t leave before I could get to them. I quickly walked out the door. They were gathering themselves at one of the tables, making sure they had all the kids they brought with them, and were getting ready to leave. Johnny hung back from the group, with them, but not.

I walked up to mom and gently tapped her on the shoulder. I pulled her aside and said that I wanted to help. I was really impressed with Johnny. He’s got something in him that I see…Can you write your names, address, and his age on this paper? I’m going to buy him all his school supplies, everything he needs, and drop it at your house. Really? You would do that for him? But why? Because he matters. Because there’s something in him that will be a shining star. Wow! Thank you! See Johnny? It pays when you actually behave!. She bent over the table and wrote down the information. Johnny came around the table and stood quietly beside me.

Thank you. Thank you a lot. You’re very welcome, Johnny. But I want you to make me a promise. Can you do that? He nodded. I want you to promise that you’ll study hard and make it to 7th grade. Can you do that for me? Yes. I can do that. I promise. Don’t give up, Johnny. I can see how smart you are. You do matter and can be anything you want to be. I’ll be checking in on you! He quirked the side of his mouth, wanting to grin, but trying to be a “cool” 12 and 3/4′s year old. Thank you…Can I ask you a question? Sure! Can I have a 3-ring binder? My heart squeezed and I wanted to hug him. Of course, Johnny. I’ll get you a binder. I promise. Will I have the stuff before school starts? When does it start? September 5th. I will make sure you have it all before then. Don’t worry. He looked down at the ground and I saw a full smile slowly form on his lips.

Mom gave me the information and I tucked it in my pocket. She thanked me profusely, gathered the troops, and was off through the crowd to head home.

I may not be able to help the many, but if I can help just one, it can make a difference in this world.

Who are you going to help inspire today? What is your contribution to making a difference, no matter how big or small, in this world?