The Fall That Refuses to Fall

Isn't it special?  We are almost four weeks into Fall and today's high will be 88.  I repeat.  88.  And the South Georgia natives wonder why I don't call it Fall yet.  Fall is supposed to be more than just a date on a calendar.  It's supposed to be a crisp catch in the air, foliage changing color, A & W Root Beer from the drive-in, fresh apple cider from the cider mill, breaking out jackets and seeing your breath at Friday night football games.  It's not about not being able to go outside to walk because the gnats are so thick, and still having to worry about heat stroke.

We are about six weeks into football season, and most of the great rivalry games are still to come. The Wolverines play Michigan State not this Saturday but next.  The Spartans are not what they were, but you always need to be your best when faced with an in-state rival.  It's exciting to see Michigan in contention for a playoff spot, but even with a good team, I'm aware everything has to break just right. One loss could take them out of it.  Oh, don't get me wrong.  Multiple SEC teams could make the national playoffs with a loss.  Other conferences?  Eh, not so much.


In a day less than three weeks, our long national political nightmare will reach a new phase.  We won't have the godawful campaign anymore, but we will have to start dealing with it's terrible aftermath.  Drumpf is likely to lose, either with a loss similar to McCain's or Romney's, or as close to a fifty state loss as modern politics can come.  He is ginning up his minions not to accept the results of the election.  I truly fear what consequences this horrible behavior will have.  One plot to kill people the day after the election has already been revealed and foiled.  Hopefully, there will be no more, or we will discover and stop them.

We are also in the surreal situation where some Republican Senators have said they won't approve Hillary's Supreme Court choices.  So instead of holding the Supreme Court hostage  for the last year of a Democrat's Presidency, they now will try to do it for another four years.  How can anyone put up with that nonsense?

In about two and a half weeks, we will have the writer presentation for the 3rd Annual Okefenokee Writer's Contest.  I'm very happy to report that we've had a record number of entries, in both adult and student categories.  There will also be a very special award that afternoon, so mark your calendars - Sunday afternoon, November 6th at 2:30.

A few days after that event, Alison and I will celebrate our 20 year anniversary.  It's been fantastic, and we continue to grow closer every day, as we enjoy this walk through life together.  She still makes me feel like one of the luckiest son of a gun's on the planet.

We All Matter

Black lives matter.

Do you cringe when you hear that?  Do you want to automatically snap back, "No! All lives matter!"  Or defensively shout, "Police lives matter!"

Well, you know what?  All lives do matter.  And especially in the wake of the  brutal killings in Dallas, who would not say that police lives matter?

As I write this, the Dallas situation is still in flux, and not all facts are known.  But what is clear is this - police were deliberately targeted.  And that is never justified, for any reason.

Rallies were held throughout the country, virtually everyone of them peaceful and incident free.  That was true in Dallas as well.  The outside sniper(s) were not part of the peaceful rally.  They came from outside of it.  Everyone in the rally, police and civilian alike, was horrified by what was happening.  And police officers, not knowing what was going on, rushed to aid the civilian protesters,  because for the overwhelming number of cops in this country, their instincts are to preserve and protect.  They know that every citizen is important, that every single life matters.

And yet....

There is warrant and purpose behind the phrase black lives matter. They are being killed at a higher rate than other ethnic groups.  They are being killed in situations that, clearly, if they were white, they would not be.    They are not being given the benefit of the doubt, and reactions to them are crueler and swifter,  It is clear to me that open carry and having a gun is a right only reserved for white people.  I'm supposed to be okay with a white person carrying a semi-automatic rifle into Walmart, but then call the police in if I see a black man with what turns out to be a toy gun.

Frankly, our whole culture is partly dependent on the idea that some lives matter less than others.  We operate within our set clan or clans and are more concerned with that than other outsiders. When a terrorist incident happens in Paris, all our facebook profiles are enshrouded in a French flag,  When a bombing happens in Istanbul or Baghdad,  and the attack kills mostly kills Muslims, we barely hear a blip.  Did I see facebook profiles covered with the flags of Turkey, Iraq or Bangladesh?  No, I did not.

Our international economic system is based on the idea that it is A-okay that some cultures or groups get paid significantly less in order to provide goods for the more well-off.  it matters not a whit to us that most of our goods are put together by people who may be paid only pennies an hour.  Because their lives are simply not as important as our own.

You can see it in the response to the killings of African Americans.  They wouldn't have been killed if they would've cooperated better.  They have a criminal record.  There is more black on black crime, and killing in urban centers, so why are we concentrated on this?  And on and on it goes.

But it keeps happening.  Over and over again.  Ant it doesn't seem to matter whether they cooperate or not, whether they have a record or not, whether they're dressed well or not.

The great religions and philosophies all teach the same thing - everyone matters, friend and foe alike.  Immigration is okay, but it's not okay to bring people in at substandard wages.  It is not okay that one group's median wealth is so much lower than others.  When one of us bleeds, all of us bleeds.

Hate is not the answer.  Fear is not the answer.  Indifference is not the answer.  You can accomplish more through love than hate.  Just ask the parishioners of  Emanuel AME church in Charleston, who accomplished more through love and forgiveness than would have ever been possible with hate and vengeance.  The shooting of the Dallas police officers makes things infinitely worse.

When the phrase black lives matter is used, it is not to supplant or supersede the idea that all lives matter.  It is to emphasize it's equality with that concept, that black lives matter as much as any other.

When I hear people complain and fuss about black lives matter, it makes me cringe.  They don't understand what they're saying.  They're not saying that black lives matter more than others.  They're saying they should matter the same.

Because in the end, we will not survive as a country or a planet if we do not understand this -

WE ALL MATTER.

The Terrible Rage

It's not what you think it is.

These are not huge, conspiratorial organizations carrying out political and social agendas.  Oh, those things exist.  The Paris attack was coordinated by a group.  Not a huge group, but a group nonetheless.

But what we've had in the United States is almost entirely lone wolfs.

Oh, sure.  They get excuses for their darkness by things they find on the Internet, or other material/propaganda that enhances their delusions.  But it's mostly to give them an excuse for their dark tangents.

The attack on a Planned Parenthood clinic?  The man was using abortion as an excuse to exercise his anger at women, at his inability to control them or hold their interest. The intensity about abortion was just a focal point for his anger.  Do violent men who want to control women really care about the unborn?  I doubt it.

Murdering African-American parishioners in their own church?  One loner, young and confused, not fitting in, concludes there must be an external cause for his failure.  He finds propaganda that justifies his feelings - the government is interfering with his ability to succeed by giving others a leg up over him by the virtue of the color of their skin.  So he tries to start a race war for which he is the lone soldier.  But he actually does the opposite, as the forces of love and forgiveness prove to be stronger than hate, and the negatively-charged Confederate flag finally comes down.

In San Bernardino, a man looking for targets settles for the co-workers that have pissed him off, and not given him the recognition he is due.  His allegiances to radical Middles Eastern political movements, his twisting of a basically peaceful faith, are merely used to justify going "postal".  He is a loner, with the exception of a complicit spouse.  They live in a bubble of their own anger.

In Orlando, humanity's Pulse is attacked and slaughtered in an horrific fashion, leaving dozens of beautiful lives cut short, and dozens more wounded, and millions traumatized.  He uses ISIS style allegiance at the last minute, almost as an afterthought.  His motives have not yet become clear, but it is obvious that he was angry and conflicted, perhaps battling feelings within himself that his family and culture were not able to handle.  His wife, either by terror and devotion, may have assisted in some way.  We;ll see over time.  But it is clear that his choice of target was not happenstance.  It was an attack on the LGBT community, without question.

Yes, the voices that encourage violence and hatred must be quieted.  But these men are often using that as a cover to justify their own insecurities, a deep seated anger that goes beyond politics and religion.  It is an inner rage to reassert masculine dominance, a primal cry to subjugate.

You can see the the same thing in less headline grabbing situations throughout the world.  Domestic abuse, workplace sexual harassment, unequal pay, anger at minorities and the LGBT community, even the horrors of rape - these are reflections of the ugly side of  the struggle of male supremacy.

These are made worse in the United States by the ease of access to guns, and magnified by our inability to ban or restrict access to brutal weapons that accelerate our killing incidents to rapid mass slaughter.

Today's blog is not really to present solutions, although I hope to address that, and if one looks at other postings I have done, they may be able to glean what I feel may help.  But I did want to stress this -

It's not completely about politics and religion.  Those are often used as cover for other problems.  So it does no good to demonize Muslims or minorities or Conservative Christians or any group.

We have to get to the terrible rage and start dealing with that.

Full Life Philosophical Meanderings

Don't stop thinking about tomorrow.

No, seriously.  Don't.  And while you're at it, remember the past, too.

Why?

Why not just live in the present?

Why?

Because we're sentient beings, with a conscious and a mind, and we can retain memories and impressions. We have the capacity to learn and to anticipate.  It helps us feel things.  It lends us to empathy and caring.  It provokes us to dream, to imagine, to hope.

It also leads to resentment and desire for revenge.  It leads to hard feelings and failed expectations.  It stirs sadness and depression over people and things that have been lost.

What can I say?  There is no yin without the yang, no good without evil, no light without darkness.

Life is conflict.  Life is a journey.  Life is growth.

There are setbacks and horrors and the incomprehensible.  There are are wonders and beauty and moments of stunning insight.  Sometimes life seems a series of steps towards nirvana.  Sometimes it seems like a series of missteps circling us to a return to the dark ages.

Live as a full human being.  Remember the past.  Enjoy the present.  Dream the future.

One thing above all else should be abundantly clear from this short blog message -

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a philosophy major.

Carpet D Em!

T. M. Strait

Shaking Off the Wednesday Blues

I didn't have a very good day yesterday.

We had a review of our work at the accounting firm I am employed with.  There were a number of problems with an assignment I handled, and although there was nothing horribly wrong, it was enough to make me feel pretty bad and inadequate. Accounting can be quite discouraging to me, at least as something fulfilling to do, or something I can feel a large sense of accomplishment.  It's something that I can do adequately, and customarily with a high degree of accuracy, but it is not something I can shine in, nor receive a great deal of recognition.

I would love to leave accounting, but I am a responsible person, and I want to do what's right by my family, and not have to endure financial sacrifices for me to do so.  So I have spent the last few years building up my ability in something I enjoy more and was hoping might build to be a supplemental income over time.  So I write, for enjoyment and personal satisfaction, but also in hopes that it can accelerate my phase out from accounting.

But on the same day when my nose is being shoved into my inadequacies as an accountant, I receive a major blow to getting some of the recognition I crave as a writer.  An affirmation I was hoping to get was not to be.   Was I wasting my time?   Was I also a mediocre writer?  Am I all quantity and very little quality?  It caused me to have doubts in the very thing that I was hoping would lead me out of the accounting wilderness.  And on the very day when I needed to be most assured.

I was low and getting lower.

And then the evening came.  And I got an important reality check.  A great kick in the pants as to what it's important.

Benjamin had his first performance with the school pep band.

That's Benjamin, in the middle, waving, holding the big ol' baritone horn.

Benjamin has had a rough time in 8th grade.  He is in a classroom pod with many boys who are athletic and/or quite different than Benjamin, and he was having a hard time making friends.  Then he joined Pep Band, and he has discovered that band was actually fun, and he was making new friends, outside of the bullies that dominated his regular classroom.  He has joined student council, Beta Club and a student group that tests new school lunch items.  I am so proud of him.

It did me good to see Benjamin doing so well, and having a good time.  I also saw other friends, like Kimberly Beck and her two girls that are part of a dance troupe called the Blue Diamonds.  There was even a football game going on that I found myself being drawn into.  I found myself getting excited and cheering, surprising myself with my unexpected participation.

Yes, it's amazing how good life can be when you pull your head out of your own ass.

Would I like to be a writer?  Yes.  Am I likely to make much money off of it?  Probably not.  Will I stop writing?

Hell, no.  Even if it's just for me, even if it is just one hand clapping, I will not stop.  Come along for the ride or not.  That is up to you.

But the ride will be here, for anyone who wants to climb aboard.  No admission charged.

At least right now.

Bwahahaha!

Thursday Without a Theme

Yes, I know today is Throwback Thursday.

I just don't feel like throwing it today.

This seems to be a fairly recent invention.  I don't recall much about it even a year earlier.  It seems like an excuse to share an older picture on social media.  For some of us, that means YEARS ago, but for others than might mean last month.

Yes, I know my posts with pictures get more page views.

I just don't feel like hunting one down today.

So I'll just take the hit today.  Or lack of page hits, that is.

Yes, I know that I could rile people up about politic or religion.

I just don't feel like doing it today.

I could say something about the Israeli-Gaza conflict, but that might require more research than I can muster in my precious few minutes to write before I head off to the job that pays the bills.  Well, some of the bills.  Alison's job contributes mightily as well.  Suffice to say on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict that both sides have legitimate grievances, and that as difficult as it may be, both sides need to negotiate in order to end it.  Or at least end the active killing of each other.


Yes, I could write a piece of fiction or poetry that I will enjoy but few others may see.

I just don't feel the muse this morning.

A part from one of my inter-related novel projects usually takes three to four hours to write now.  So even if I start one, I couldn't finish it this morning.  For a short story I have to have an idea on fire, which I don't this morning.  Poetry comes better at night.  I'm not sure why.

So this morning, this is it.  This theme-less broach of writing etiquette.

Or maybe musing on not having having a theme is like having a theme.

Whoa!

This is just great.

Now I have Keanu Reeves stuck in my head.

No Appeal, No Hope: Adsense Nonsense

I admit it.

I brought it on myself.

I wanted to help the Flying Dragon.  I wanted to have a source of support for them that could be steady if not spectacular.  They were going to be moving in a direction where I would have to sell more things to family and friends, such as donuts and dinners, something I am not very good at.  So I had a brain fart that if I gave them a larger percentage of ad revenue from my blog, that might help show that my heart is in the right place, and substitute for my lack  of personal fundraising ability.

Then it started to work.

All too well.

We're not talking Bill Gates numbers.  My previous monthly high was mid-thirties, and it was approaching the mid-eighties.  I noticed that some people might be a tad too enthusiastic, and tried to put some tentative break on excess.  But not too hard.  I had to admit I wanted to see how high it could go.

I suspected that some were clicking excessively.  That there might be a problem with too many clicks coming from the same computer.  But in my naivety, this is what I thought would happen - that it would cut off clicks from that location, that it would  just shut off for the eager beaver.  At most, I though I might get a warning.

No such luck.

The morning after my account exceeded the $100 where they would pay me, I got an email that Adsense was closing my account.  Permanently.  I had one appeal and then it would be done.  I was filled with so much guilt and shame that I did the appeal, but of course I was too honest and confessional.  And of course, they rejected my appeal.

And now my ads are gone.

Forever.

It further stated that if I start another blog, I would not be allowed ads on that either.

Given the nature of our society, where redemption and second chances abound, I was stunned and depressed.  How could it be so final, for a slightly overeager misstep?  Even violent criminals get three strikes.  Even convicts get to come back into society (except for, in many states, voting - but that has more to do with voter suppression than it does punishment).

I have tried to move on, continue my blog but refocus on other writing opportunities.But I can't shake the depression, that the blog I have worked so hard to build is now a shadow.  Making enough money on my blog to quit work was a foolish, stupid pipe dream, but it at least it was a dream.  Now, there is no hope.  And whether it's related to the loss of Adsense or not, my blog page views are dropping, from a high of 5,000 a month to this month less than 3,000.

It's frustrating.  Heck, yesterday, even OJ Simpson got pardoned for some of his crimes.

But not me.  I have been confined to a lifetime of writing in an ad-less environment.

I will survive.  I will grow.  I will turn my energies into something even more promising to my writing career.

But it still hurts.

Rushing to Judgement Saturday Political Soap Box 60

The horrible bombings at the Boston Marathon may be over, but they will live in our memory for quite awhile.  The police and law enforcement officials do deserve our support and appreciation for a successful apprehension.  The tools at their disposal and their fierce bravery and determination are to be commended.

I just hope that the aftermath of this does not result in the sweeping over-reactions that we are sometimes prone to.

We cannot protect ourselves to the point that we are prisoners of our own fear.  We cannot surrender what is most valuable in order to ensure safety.  The Boston Marathon must go on.  Our lives must go on.  Common sense security measures should be applied, but draconian limitations to our freedoms should not be tolerated.

We should resist sweeping comments about immigrants to this country.  We're virtually all immigrants here (even the Indians may have come across from the Bering Straits).  Many people from all over the world have come here and contributed to this great nation.  Ours is the story of the Great Melting Pot.  Our greatest communities are ones of diversity and respect.

We should not be led into attacking people's religions. The vast, overwhelming majority of Muslims in this country are dedicated, law-abiding citizens, principled and loving in their faith.  Every religion has those pushing it in untoward, vile directions.  Basically, if you are teaching hate and intolerance, no matter what you call your faith, you have gone horribly off course.

We should be proud of the millions in this country who identified with the plight of Boston, and sympathized and extended their support.  We should be proud of all the many citizens who rushed in to aid, at an unknown risks to themselves.  Despite our awful aberrations, we are still a people that cares, loves, and supports each other when terrible things happen. 

I have no great, sweeping policy recommendations at this time.  That may emerge as the facts are gathered.  Now I can only say -

God Bless America.

God Bless all the good and caring people here and all across the world.

Tragic Day In Boston: Making Sense Out of the Senseless

There is only one, clear, sure reaction to the tragic explosions at the Boston Marathon yesterday.  And that is to send our thoughts and prayers, our love and support, to all those caught up in this horrible  experience.

As is usual with incidents of these kinds, news is bouncing all around.  Sometimes stories will changes quite dramatically over the course of minutes, hours or days.  That does not stop media and individuals from wildly speculating as to what happened and what it means.  The human desire to make sense of the senseless is often overwhelming.

How many people were killed or injured is something that should come clearer very soon.  The numbers have fluctuated some but they should solidify over the course of today.  It does seem clear that one of the casualties was an eight year old boy, which just brings to the surface again the horrible shootings in Newton, or the "collateral damage"  that is often seen in drone attacks or other acts of war.

The fact that the bombs were aimed low in such a way that so many of the injuries were to the lower extremities  that is, the legs, seems doubly tragic.  Deliberate or accident, it is ironic that it would occur at one of the nation's most prestigious marathons, an event centered on running and the power of the human legs.

Who would do such a thing?  We just don;t know now.  A terrorist, domestic or foreign, communicating God knows what message?  A madman, another Joker-inspired lunatic?  Someone with a grudge against runners or Boston or his ex-wife or whatever?

When will they be captured?  It may be even happening as I'm writing this.  Or it may take weeks and months of careful detective work, resulting in an arrest sometime down the road.  Or we may never know, like we have no idea who sent the anthrax after 9/11 to the large (i.e., "liberal") media outlets and Democratic Senators on the committee about to hear the Patriot Act.

How could we have prevented this?  This is where the media will go wild and spend weeks in analysis.  Some suggestions will be helpful.  Most will not.  Giving up our freedoms in order to prevent things like this is making us lose the thing those who are against us most want us to give up.

So let us all come together to support those affected.  That's the best we can do right now.  The rest will be made clearer in the coming days.  Hopefully.

The March of the Timeteers

Not everyone who reads this remembers her.  But those of us in our fifties and up know her very well. Annette Funicello, the most famous of the Mouseketeers, passed away yesterday at the age of 70.  She struggled most of her adult life with multiple sclerosis, and was a leader in raising money and knowledge in fighting neurological diseases.

It is hard to watch the passage of time, as the icons of your youth disappear.  We think of them as large figures that will never fade from human consciousness, but in only very rare cases do they stick more than a generation.  The Mickey Mouse Club was a unique and creative use of television, making children around the globe feel like they were past of the biggest, happiest club on earth.  And the young preteen girl that made our hearts swoon, whom the boys would admire and the girls would want to emulate, was Annette Funicello.

Now if you ask someone in their twenties and early thirties about the Mouseketeers they will come up with a slew of different names - Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and around here, Nikki DeLoach.  The Mickey Mouse Club was revived in the nineties, and this is what they remember   Chances are, the club will be revived again, and a future generation will have a completely different set of names.

For the more politically oriented, yesterday saw the passing of  Margaret Thatcher, Britain's Iron Lady, popular Prime Minister of the Reagan era and influence.  Not one of my favorites, but still a stripping away of things past.

As we grow older, we see those who once we saw as young pups start to age and grow old around us.  It must be interesting for retired teachers to be approached by former students who now have gray hair.  Or to see those whose diapers you changed in the business of changing diapers of another.

Hang on to your icons   Be respectful of the icons of those generations before you.  Learn about Demi Lovato, but also find out  about Annette Funicello and Marilyn Monroe and Greta Garbo and Mary Pickford, and on and on as far back as we can.

Not all of us can live anew for each generation.  Not all of us can be Betty White.

Annette, I and many others remember you well.  We remember not just the Mouseketeers, but the woman who struggled bravely against a terrible neurological disease, and cared enough to concentrate her efforts on helping others.

So long for now!

Re Root

This last Friday, I was very pleased to visit a high school classmate whom I had not seen for some thirty-four years.  It was a very good visit, finding out the different courses that life had take us on.  It was interesting to see that the same basic character shone through for both of us, although a bit wiser and more experienced.  I hope we will see more of each other in the future.

I have heard and read many complaints about Facebook.  It is perhaps rightfully derided for many things.  It is commercial and artificial often, constantly changing in confusing ways.  Some people over-share, or have more contact or less contact than you desire.  It's all a matter of perspective, so I'm sure I can be accused of thees things as well.  I have three or four basic audiences (classmates, family, my liberal friends, my theatre pals), and like in Ghostbusters, sometimes the streams cross together in unpleasant and apocalyptic ways.

On the other hand, for this shy guy, it has helped me reconnect with people from my past that would have never happened before in the past.  And for that I am very grateful.

Both of us, Dona and myself, had moved a number of times in our lives.  The concept of where home really was came up.  Like her, many of the places I have lived, I do not fell like I fit in to anymore.  I don't even remember them feeling like home when I was there.  She is hoping to move to a place she has been before, where she has some friends and is closer to family

So, where is home?

It's not Bridgeport, as much as I was raised there and would have some roots.  I have no one from my family that lives there, and I really haven't been there in decades.  The most recent time of significance would have been a reunion 19 years ago.

It's not the other places I have lived, including Cass City, Cartersville, Stone Mountain, Villa Rica and Rockmart..  None of these are places I would go back to.  Nobody from these places, even with facebook, have any contact with me.  I might remember a restaurant or landmark fondly, but that's about it.

Then it struck me.  The cliche is true. Home is where the heart is.

It's where I'm at now.  It's where my family is, Alison and Benjamin, her parents and relatives.  It's where my church family is, the longest and deepest church commitment I have ever made.  It's where my theatre family is, where I have been in many plays and helped make positive contributions to the vitality of community theatre and have finally begun to even make friends that exist even when I'm not currently in a play.  It's where I work and have held a job at the same place for almost 13 years now (previously my record was 5 years).

So the light has gone on in my head.  Blackshear.  It's my home.  I wasn't born here.  God knows the politics here is horrible, and it never snows.  But nevertheless, Blackshear/Waycross, I adopt thee.  I am now your native son.

There's no place like home.

at least until Doug joins Ramya and Greg in California and start having grandbabies.  Then it's a brand new ballgame!

The Sound of Waves

I hear the sound of the ocean waves coming in.  It is neither too loud nor too quiet.  It is a background noise that somehow soothes and comforts.  I see them whitecap and brush the sandline.  I see birds just ahead of the waves, big and small, picking at the tiny treats that come in the wake of the waves.  There is only an occasional beachcomber.  It must be too early for them.

The sky is overcast.  In places, it must be raining.  Or soon will be.  I don't mind it.  For me, the beach is a visual treat.  So it is more enjoyable without having to worry about  heat stroke. Later, if it is not coming up a gully washer, we will walk the beach ourselves.  Benjamin, our 11 year old son, will get out into it if the weather stays clear.  And me, trying to be a dutiful father, will go out with them to keep him safe.  Being more sociable than me, he will probably find some kid down from New Jersey or Canada, and be lifelong friends with him within an hour

Why do so many flock to the ocean?  Even people from the Great Lakes region, the land of friggin' lakes, for cryinoutloud, come to the ocean for vacations, or to retire.  Is it a clarion call to return to the womb?  Is it something people do just because so many others do?  Is it the sound of the waves, triggering a neural calm deep within our beings?

I don't know the answer.  I just know, that even for this landlubber, it's true.  There is something about the sound of the waves.  And, if you'll beg my indulgence, right now I'm going to stop analyzing and just enjoy.

Victory is Ours!

It worked!  I had 1,025 page views for May!  Woohoo!  That means....well, I don't know what it means, but....woohoo!  Noe it's onward and upward with my new goal of  1,100!  Can't put my foot off the pedal now!

It worked!  Flying Dragon is fired up and ready for a great summer!  There's a good chance that Flying Dragon has a new air-conditioned facility as I write this, although I have not received definite confirmation of it yet.  Regardless, the passions are a flowing and I'll think you'll see great things this summer from the Greatest Little Children's Theatre That Could!

It worked!  Yes, the stimulus package worked, by all objective measures you can find.  Any chart you can find, it's easy to see when the stimulus started, because that is when the numbers started to slowly improved.  Was it enough?  Of course not.  It was larded with extra tax giveaways that had nothing to do with stimulating the economy, and that was at the insistence of Republicans and Blue Dogs.  Want to help the economy in the short run?  It requires extended unemployment benefits, food stamps, aid to the states, and government work projects.  Want to help the economy in the long run?  That requires infrastructure investment, research and development, and money in education.  Support for underwater homeowners, relief from usurious interest rates. health care reform, financial reform - all these are important too.

It worked!  I have an adjusted work schedule where I know have Fridays off!  I am writing more, contributing more at home, and my attitude toward life is MUCH better!  It's a slight pay cut, but we are making it work and who knows, the next big blog may be just around the corner!

No, wait, I'm sorry, that's just Cocoa Bear, our dachshund-spaniel mix.

Here's to things working out!  Saludo!

Thoughts on a Tragic Day

Today, in an unexpected and tragic way, someone very special and important on our theatre group lost someone very close to her.  Bobbie Bateman, our gifted artistic director, had recently found herself in a loving relationship with a man whom I only know as Uriah.  She had lost her husband several years ago to cancer, and more recently, her beloved dance mentor, Freddie Martinez.  Bitten by tragedy, she had found a way to move and grow with her new relationship.  But that was taken away from, as Uriah experienced a horrible late night motorcycle accident while trying to go into work.

Why do horrible things happen to good people?  How does one make sense of the awful tragedies that confound mankind, both on a societal and on an individual level?  It's the oldest question man asks himself, and I'm not sure there is an easy answer.

At these terrible times, I know it can be tempting to think of God as one mean son of a B. But, at the risk of offending some theologically, that is not God. God is love. God, Christ and the Holy Spirit is in each and everyone of us, saint and sinner, believer and unbeliever alike. God is in the calming breeze. God is in the hand that reaches out to you. God is in the strength, compassion and caring we give each other. God is in the small child that looks up to us, filled with hope, looking for our guidance, love and support.





I know this will sound silly, redundant, and sentimental, but it's important. Every day, be sure to tell the ones you love that you love them. Every day tell the ones that you care about that you care for them. Do it both in what you say and what you do. Love is not a limited resource, like oil or gold. Love is limitless and should be given freely, wastefully, constantly.