Blessing

Beannacht

On the day when

the weight deadens

on your shoulders

and you stumble,

may the clay dance

to balance you.

And when your eyes

freeze behind

the gray window

and the ghost of loss

gets in to you,

may a flock of colours,

indigo, red, green,

and azure blue

come to awaken in you

a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays

in the currach of thought

and a stain of ocean

blackens beneath you,

may there come across the waters

a path of yellow moonlight

to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

may the clarity of light be yours,

may the fluency of the ocean be yours,

may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

wind work these words

of love around you,

an invisible cloak

to mind your life.

from Anam Cara by John O'Donohue

Moonrise by Stanisław Masłowski, 1884

Today's important life lesson - Knowing the lyrics is always optional

Itchy nose 

+ 

Ukulele skillz 

+ 

natural and complete unselfconsciousness of a child 

= 

makes me smile

We should all be this free and joyful.

He's singing "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz.  See Jason's take on it at his blog =
Itchy faced kid does amazing rendition of I'm Yours 

And if you are ever in need a 19-letter word,
go ahead and use the one in this post.

A spider's day

A spider


running from two crazy hoes


trying to save her egg sac.

And how was your day?

We can do better

Volunteered again tonight.

[Big sigh]

I have a feeling that this place is going to be a source of endless frustration for me. I have all these opinions on how they could be doing things better. But who am I? I don't have children. I don't have a degree in anything child-related. I've never had a job involving children - unless you count babysitting in my teen years.

But I just can't help myself. I wonder WHY are they doing this? Why are they NOT doing that? And this is my blog so I am allowed to say whatever I want, right?

After snack time. I counted. There were 11 kids, 8 staff people and me. Holy Almost-a-one-to-one-ratio, Batman! What a great opportunity to give the kids some focused attention. Let's each grab one or two kids, sit with them, read to them, talk with them, color with them. They have plenty of group activities all day. Let's create just a little block of time in their day where they get the full attention one caring adult.

Nah.

Let's sit them in front of a movie.

Again.

Just like last night.

And the night before.

And let's have the move be Mulan. And let's have the last scene that we show be the one where Mulan is being abandoned by her army buddies because they found out she was a girl. (A moment earlier they were going to kill her, but decided not to.) Let's watch all the people she cares about walking away and leaving her on a snowy mountaintop all by herself. Then let's shut off the TV. Sweet dreams kiddies!

Yes, it is a cartoon. And most of the kids are too young to fully comprehend the story. But I'll bet you they know scary when they see it. And sad - they certainly know what crying looks like.

So why?! Why even have movies that contain ANYTHING scary, slightly violent or with scenes of abandonment or sadness or bad things happening to vulnerable people? These kids have experienced loss in their lives. Some have witnessed or been victims of real violence. They've just been pulled from their homes and sent to to live with a bunch of strangers. They have no control over anything and they have no idea what is going to happen next. Their REAL lives are scary and sad.

Why can't this place be a true shelter from the storm - full of gentleness, safety and peace. A place where we deliberately filter out unnecessary images of violence and scariness. Where we wouldn't THINK of showing a movie that has any frightening content, even if it is a well known Disney cartoon. Where the only movies we show have fluffy bunnies singing the alphabet or a family of bears who take a vacation on a boat and have fun and SAFE adventures.

You cannot protect any child from every single scary or sad thing they might encounter in this world. And you shouldn't necessarily put them in a protective bubble so tight that they don't develop any resilience or learn how to cope with difficult situations.

But why don't we put a little more thought into the things that we CAN control with THESE children while they are temporarily in our care. These children are special. They need extra comfort, a little more nurturing of their fragile spirits, and lots and lots of gentleness and safety in their surroundings. We can and should do better.



It doesn't take a freaking genius to figure that out.

Even though it frustrates and upsets me, I still feel like I need to keep going back. Especially when it frustrates and upsets me, I feel like I need to keep going back.

this little weed

This little weed. Reaching out
from a crack in the concrete.


Look what it has done -

found life on barely a sliver of earth.


I just can't bring myself to pull it out.

How could I?

Justice?

Here is the outcome of the jury trial that I was almost picked for:

Gunman Sent to Prison for Normal Heights Gas Station Shooting

I'm glad I was not picked for this jury. Even if he is guilty, I would feel bad to send such a young person to prison for so long. You just know he's not going to come out any better.

Yes, yes...go ahead and say it - Don't do the crime if you can't do the time. I know. I still would feel bad.

Quakers believe that there is "an inward light, a spark of the Divine, that of God in every person." If that is true then this young man, in spite of what he has done, deserves compassion.

I'm with the Quakers on this one.

(Quote from American Friends Service Committee)

Yesterday's raindrops

Click on pictures for larger view.

Who are the police officers in your neighborhood?

I really have to get better at asking follow up questions.

This morning I walk out my door. There are no less than ten unmarked police cars parked up and down the street in front of my house. Identical white sedans, each with a spotlight mounted near the driver’s side door.

There is a man with an orange reflector vest that says Police standing near one of those devices that surveyors use – like a mini-telescope on a tripod. There is one other guy in a camouflage outfit that also says Police. He is putting something in the trunk of one of the white cars. I hear other male voices in the distance. Possibly up the stairway that runs next to our house or maybe a little further up the street where I can’t see them.

I am puzzled. I look at the camouflage cop.

Me: Can I ask what is going on?

Camouflage cop: Sure, we are just trying to locate some evidence.

Me: Wow. That’s a lot of cars.

Camouflage cop: Yea.

I get into my car and drive away heading to work. And then it hits me. WHAT?!?!?

There is a small army of police officers practically in my backyard and I don’t ask more questions? What evidence are they looking for? What crime occurred? Why does it take 20 of them? Why is he dressed in camouflage in the middle of a city? Where can I get one of those nifty spotlights for my car?

Sigh...so many unanswered questions...

Jury Duty - Almost

Well, I pretty much just told you how this story ends, but the whole thing was fascinating so I am going to talk about it.

I report for jury duty at 7:45 AM. I sit around for a while. I get called into a courtroom with 59 other potential jurors. I am assigned the number 45. No names are used. I am now Juror #45. The Judge, prosecutor, defense attorney and defendant are all there.

The first process is called Voir Dire, which I think is French for "Weeding out the Crazies." This is when the Judge talks to us about how the law works and the prosecutor and defense attorney get to ask us questions to find out if we have any biases.

They tell us that the defendant is charged with Attempted Murder. They tell us handguns are involved. They tell us that maybe someone might happen to mention Gangs. They tell us that maybe someone who might have been convicted of a felony could possibly be testifying. They tell us that the defendant might or might not invoke his Fifth Amendment right not to testify.

Some people have immediate and strong reactions to the mention of guns and gangs. The Judge, in a very calm and respectful tone, asks them if they can put aside these biases. The Judge has to ask this over and over again as people talk about what they think about guns and gangs.

One older woman - let's call her Mrs. Crank - says that when she hears the words guns and gangs, she thinks of another G-word - Guilty. Guess who's probably not going to be asked to sit on this jury?

There were a number of people who said that they would not be able to put aside their biases. These people are either really deceitful or really honest. I can't decide how many of each there might have been.

The deceitful ones are just willing to say anything to get out of jury duty. The honest ones are perhaps more sincere than the rest of us. They are willing to acknowledge their limitations and risk looking like narrow-minded jackasses. It is more acceptable to tell ourselves that we are open-minded and that we don't judge people and situations according to our tiny little pinhole view of the world. But we all do.

I made judgements about every single person in that courtroom the minute I saw them. The defendant looked like the sweet 20-year-old kid who used to work for us before layoffs. So I immediately like him and feel bad that he is in this situation. (Yes, "this situation" is him being charged with attempted murder. But, come on! He looks like a nice kid!)

The defense attorney had too much over processed, blond hair on her head, so I thought she looked like a cheap floozy. (Is floozy really a word?) The prosecutor was a wiry, early thirties man with a shaved head. He reminded me of one of those guys in high school who hung out with the cool kids and pretended to be nice to everyone but was really the meanest SOB in the group.


The stenographer! Oh the stenographer! I'd swear she had been whisked straight from the set of the film Working Girl. Her hair wasn't as teased, but it was big and flowing with feathery waves. She also had this air of defeat and resignation about her. Like she has been pummelled into submission by the tedium of her job or her exposure to the worst elements of human nature, day in and day out in that courtroom.

If I had been more honest with myself, I would have raised my hand and said, "Your Honor, I think you should probably excuse me. The defendant is just so adorable, the stenographer makes me want to have a Long Island Iced Tea and I'm afraid the prosecutor is going to give me a wedgie any minute now. I should probably go."

THE NEXT ROUND

After they have asked all of their questions, we leave the courtroom and wait outside in the hall. The clerk comes out and reads off about twelve juror numbers. These are the people who said they didn't think that they could be fair and impartial. They are excused. Mrs. Crank hurries down the hall with a smile on her face.

The rest of us go back into the courtroom and now it is mostly about the numbers. In this round, the defense or prosecution can dismiss you for any reason and they do not tell you why. Starting with Juror #1, they seat 12 people in the jury box. The prosecutor looks them over and then says, "Your Honor, please excuse Number 4." Number 4 leaves the courtroom and the next number in line takes her seat. The defense attorney looks them over and picks out one more to excuse. Next number in line fills the empty seat. This goes on and on.

This was the part that I found the most fascinating. I couldn't quite figure out what they were going for. It seemed to me that both the prosecutor and the defense attorney were getting rid of the same kinds of people. They both excused men over 40 and almost any woman. They weren't just looking us over; they were also referring to an elaborate set of post-it notes they each kept. The post-its were arranged like a seating chart and had their tiny scribbles with multiple colors of ink. I was dying to know what they had written on those notes.

I also wonder what they did before post-its. And why no one has invented a computer version of that yet. And if there is some kind of chart or computer program where they plug in the variables - one 20-something Latino defendant - one charge of attempted murder - one female victim = what kind of juror? As you can see, I spent a lot of time wondering.

SWEARING AND TEARS

My juror number is 45. Juror number 43 gets up to fill the next vacant seat in the jury box. I am thinking, "Wow. I can't believe they have gone up this high. I might actually end up on this jury." Feeling nervous and excited. What an experience it would be to sit on this jury.

Number 43 takes a seat in the jury box. Both the prosecutor and the defense attorney decide that they are satisfied with this jury. They make the twelve jurors stand, raise their right hands and swear to uphold the law, etc.

But it ain't over yet! They need two alternate jurors. That would be the worst, most thankless job to have. You have to sit, listen to everything, pay attention throughout the whole trial and then your opinion doesn't mean squat. I would hate to be in that position.

Number 44 and I get called to sit in the two empty seats in the jury box. Suddenly the prosecutor asks the Judge if he can have a word privately. The Judge, defense attorney and prosecutor go off into a back room. I am wondering if there is going to be some last minute plea deal or something like that. They'll come back out and tell us all to go home.

They come back into the courtroom. The Judge says to the juror sitting in seat number 11, "Miss, are you okay?" The woman is sitting in the jury box, quietly crying. She explains through tears that she is getting married in January and she had saved up her vacation days for that and she knows that this is her duty and she wants to serve but... The Judge very nicely asks her if she wants to be excused. She says yes. The prosecutor and defense attorney have no objections.

And so we continue with the musical chairs. Juror #44 has to go sit in the vacant seat #11 in the jury box. I have to take the seat that was vacated by Juror #44. And the next in line, juror #46, has to come sit in my empty seat. So now the prosecution and defense get to decide if they want to keep #44 on the regular jury. They both do. He stands up and gets sworn in.

So the final jury consists of 10 white men between the ages of 20 and 35, one white woman in her 50's and one Asian woman in her 30's. I am fascinated by this. Is this really the jury that both the prosecutor and defense think will be able to fairly weigh all the evidence and pass judgement on this 20-year-old Latino gang kid?

Of course, I can only look on the surface of things. Maybe race or age have nothing to do with it. Those are just the traits that I can easily identify. Maybe what matters is education level, type of job or if they are married or single. I didn't have that information, but the attorneys did. (When you do a search on Amazon for Jury Selection you get over 5,000 books. I am definitely going to do a little reading about this.)

Now the attorneys can turn their attention to the alternates and decide if they want to keep #46 and me. The prosecutor looks us up and down and then gives me the boot. Too many X chromosomes for him perhaps. I stand up and shout "I will not go! You can't handle the truth! This whole courtroom's out of order!" The court bailiff hits me with a taser and I black out.

Yea. Okay. It wasn't that dramatic. I just left the courtroom quietly, bought a sandwich and drove back to work. And that is the end of this story.


UPDATE on the trial here.

My pal Citibank

My credit card company hates me. And that's the way I like it.

In speaking about my credit card company - Citibank to be exact - you would normally see numerous profanities throughout this entry. About how those bleeping, sons of bleeps are always trying to bleep with you every chance they get. I'll try my best to keep this G-Rated.

One of my goals in life is to NEVER let them take my money. It's like a big game - we are all rats in their maze and you have to pay attention to EVERYTHING in order to get out of there with all the money you started with. You also need persistence, endurance and the resolve of a Samurai warrior to NEVER surrender.

Citibank enticed me to sign up for another card with them. They offered me 5,000 extra airline miles and 1.2 airline miles per $1 of purchases for one year. My normal Citibank card offers 1 airline mile per $1. So I signed up for the new card. I will use it for a year, get all the extra airline miles that I can and then cancel it.

The very second after I signed up for this new card, the games began. They grabbed my squirming, fur-covered body and dropped me into the maze.

ACTIVATE THIS

My new card gets mailed to me and I have to call a number to activate it. Oh, but they have so much more than activation on their minds. The guy on the other end of the line - we'll call him Joe - has that warm, smooth voice. It is deep and masculine, yet soft and soothing. You want him to read you bedtime stories. He thanks me for being a cardmember and welcomes me to the American Express family. Gee, thanks Joe.

Joe really, really wants me to sign up for their Credit Protection Program. I really, really don't want them charging me money every month for something I don't need. I say no. Joe thinks I mean maybe.

Joe is not pushy. He just recites the program benefits again, lulling me into a sweet stupor with that mellifluous voice of his. I am putty in his hands. He goes in for the kill. He offers me a $15 Amex gift card just to sign up for the free 30 -day trial. He says, "What I tell MY customers to do....." I am HIS customer! Oh, Joe - you had me at "May I have your credit card account number, please."

I do it. I sign up for the free 30-day trial. What Joe doesn't know is that I most certainly WILL call to cancel before the 30 days runs out. I will take their $15 from them and buy toilet paper at Target.

NOT SO FAST

I get the Credit Protection Program materials in the mail. There is no $15 Amex gift card. Joe, how could you?! Oh, the betrayal! Instead of the $15 Amex gift card, there is a redemption certificate to fill out and mail to them so that they can send me the gift card in 6-8 weeks.

Joe has messed with the wrong woman. I will not surrender that easily. I fill out their redemption certificate and mail it in. They have forced me to spend 42 cents on a stamp, but that is all they will get from me.

My next step is to call to cancel the Credit Protection Program. This time I get the Anti-Joe. The woman on the phone is so robotic in her answers and devoid of any real human emotion that I wonder if she is some digital Citibank Customer Service Bot. But no. I'm sure they would have programmed at least some fake personality into a customer service robot.

I tell Robot Woman that I want to cancel. She answers by reading off her screen in a flat, stilted, monotone voice:

I am sorry to hear that you want to cancel. In these difficult, economic times, this protection is needed more than ever. Would you like to reconsider and continue this protection?

I say no. Robot Woman says:

I can understand that cost might be a concern. Can I get you to reconsider with our lower cost program that still provides the same 16 benefits of the other program?

I say no. I don't want it, don't need it and will not pay for it no matter what the cost.

Robot Woman then wants to offer me $50 in MasterCard gift cards for continuing the service. Where have I heard that before? I was just starting to get over Joe's betrayal and she has to bring it up again. (Sigh....why Joe? Why?!)

Fifty dollars is a lot of money, but I never forget that I am in their maze and I listen to exactly how she phrases it. They will send me the $50 in MasterCard gift cards if I keep the Credit Protection Program open UNTIL I RECEIVE the MasterCard gift cards. In other words, they'll be happy to charge me $20 a month for the next 6 months while they take their time sending me these so-called MasterCard gift cards worth $50.

I say no and she starts again to try to convince me otherwise. I cut her off and say I do not want it and I want to cancel. I can almost see the computer screen in front of her as she switches from Try to Convince Them Screen #18 to the Give It Up and Get Rid of Them So You Can Take Another Call Screen #23. She quickly reads to me the wrap it up monologue:

Fine! Whatever! We'll cancel you and stuff, but don't think we won't try again to wrap you in our web of financial trickery. Your cancellation will take effect in 2 days. Thank you for calling. Really, we mean that. THANK YOU.

IT AIN'T OVER 'TIL...

I know how much you are wishing this was the end of the story, but it is not. I got my first statement for this new credit card and there is a big, fat $50 annual fee on it. The offer for this credit card clearly stated that there would be no annual fee. The only reason I know that the offer had no annual fee was because I saved the original credit card offer. Who saves those things? I do.

And in telling this story, I just realized what my superpower is. Not super human strength or the ability to fly or be invisible. My superpower is Super Financial Organizational Skills! In other words, I am a Super Nerd. That is the only reason I am able to go through their maze and come out alive. Mere mortals could never withstand the barrage of minutia and inscrutable fine print or the endless follow up phone calls to soulless Citibank Cyborgs. Give me a calculator and a obsessively exact filing system and no one can stop me!

I call them up. This time I get a relatively normal sounding woman. She's no Joe (sigh) but she seems to be more human than Robot Woman. I tell her that my credit card offer stated that I would have no annual fee. She looks at a few things and then says she has to put me on hold for a moment.

She comes back and tells me that her manager is going to let her waive the annual fee. LET HER? As if they are doing me some huge favor. As if they weren't deliberately trying to screw me out of $50 by charging it in the first place.

She tells me that the $50 will be credited to my account within 3 days. And then, no kidding, she asks me if I am interested in signing up for their Credit Protection Program.

No thank you.

NO! Thank YOU!

Hoop Dreams

Congratulations Bob and Jen on bringing Lorelei Elizabeth into the world! (Did I spell her name right?)

You know what this means, don't you? Five nephews. Five nieces. Full court, 5 on 5 basketball action! Nieces vs. Nephews!

Dad, see if you can reserve the high school gym for some time around 2016. I'll coach the girls and Bobby will take on the boys.

I think MacKenzie is going to be our outside shooting threat. And Alex will DOMINATE under the basket. Sarah will use her height to be a good power forward and Jenna will be our star ball handler and point guard. Not sure about Lorelei yet, but at 9 lbs 2 oz, it's looking promising.



Girls, now is the time to start preparing!

Susan, have Sarah do at least 100 free throws a day. And no more pillows on her bed - she sleeps only with basketballs every night!

Maureen, it's never too early to start slipping some human growth hormone (or other "nutritional supplements") into your daughters' breakfast cereal. (Come on! Think of the team!)

Patti, we'll have to recruit you to work against the boys team. Have Ryan take up smoking, so we can stunt his growth. And no more milk for Nathan - all that calcium for strong bones can only work against us.

And I think it is important to cut out this Hannah Montana nonsense entirely. Instead, the girls will watch only classic Celtic Lakers games from the Larry Bird era.

We'll start with the conditioning drills when I come home for Christmas.

Come on girls! We can do it! The boys team doesn't have a chance!

Gross kitty

Look at this face. He looks so sweet and innocent. He's not.

The other night I saw the cat pounce on some small, dark shape in our dining room. Then he ran out the back door. I wanted to see what he had caught.

He had run into a dark corner of our backyard. I couldn't see anything, but I heard - CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

Ewwwwww!

I couldn't help myself and I got a flashlight. I saw him chomping on the remaining half of a grasshopper. A big grasshopper. Looked just like the one at the top of this blog (except it no longer had a head or many of its legs left.)

I told the cat he was gross and left him alone to enjoy his snack. I wonder if he really likes it or if he just feels obligated to eat it now that he's caught it. Like when you order something at a restaurant and find out that it is not as good as it sounds but you eat the whole thing anyway because you are paying for it.

Today's happiness

Hanging my clothes on the line to dry.

My basket of clothespins.

My begonia starting to bloom.