Busy, Busy

The last couple of weeks, and now the coming week, are going to be very busy ones for me. So much is happening that I'm having a hard time keeping it all straight and recording it all in my three planners: the calendar on the kitchen wall, the pink planner in my tote bag, and Outlook on the computer.

I've been asked to serve on a steering committee for The Hetrick-Martin Institute to plan activities for their 30th anniversary year. We had a choice of subcommittees and I chose the Archive subcommittee. The idea of going through old papers and memorabilia intrigues me, and I liked the idea of interviewing alumni, former board members, and former staff. We've got a Yahoo group started so the subcommittee can keep in touch with each other, and I've suggested we do some of the interviews through StoryCorps.

This week, I have a conference phone call at noon on Monday for the Brooklyn Humanist Community. We're getting started with the incorporation process and this is the first step. At one I'll have an interview for a long-term temporary position.

On Tuesday I'm volunteering at HMI and then there's the BHC Board meeting at night. Wednesday evening I'm meeting with someone I worked with in the past, and I'll possibly write a grant for her start up organization. On Thursday morning I've signed up for a workshop on planning special events, through the Foundation Center.

By Friday, if I am not too exhausted, I might go and help out with the physical archives. Somewhere in there I also have to get medical clearance to volunteer with veterans in hospice, work on another grant with the War Resisters League, and arrange lunch with a friend.

I'm sure glad we are basically goofing off today, until the party tonight. It's Bruce's birthday and was our friend Tony's birthday on Thursday. So we've got a January Babies party for tonight, complete with a grab bag so everyone gets a small gift. Tomorrow I'm getting my hair cut, as it is approaching Lady Godiva length, and then on Monday the whirlwind begins.

Thinking About the Afterlife

Do I believe in an afterlife? Generally I answer yes. I've written an entire manuscript based on the idea that there is an afterlife and I have been in contact with the spirits of various loved ones who have died, or, as devotees of the afterworld prefer to say, have "crossed over." I had many experiences around ten years ago and for the next few years, that convinced me we do go on in some form or another.


I'm not sure exactly what to believe in terms of what that form may take. I have read quite a few books on the subject: Hello from Heaven, books by popular mediums such as James Van Pragh, Sylvia Browne, John Edwards, and Rosemary Altea. In fact I saw Rosemary Altea in person through a class given by the Learning Annex. I don't remember so much about the readings she gave but I do remember that at one point I turned my head to look at an empty pew behind me (the event took place in a large church), and saw what I can only describe as an ameboid blob of ectoplasm, undulating. When I glanced back a second time it was gone.


So I have to believe I have seen, felt, and heard the spirit world at various times,and yet now, all this seems so remote with the passage of years. At one point I was sure I would never be afraid of death again, but in fact that feeling has proven to be only temporary, and any alarming symptom still has the powerto send me into a panicked tailspin.


Still, some of the things that happened back then are extremely hard to explain. For instance, in 1999, everyone was worried about Y2K computer compatibility. There were dire warnings that our computer systems might all collapse bringing the end of the world as we know it, Bruce was using an old version of Quicken on our vintage Macintosh Performa, which has long since gone to computer heaven. The computer froze up on him and he rebooted, calling out to our deceased friend Richard to help him out.


When the computer booted up again and Bruce opened Quicken, it was suddenly Y2K compatible. I still cannot think of a sensible explanation for this. What could change the program in the blink of an eye? Bruce had installed no upgrades. Even stranger, Quicken remained Y2K compatible for several days and then reverted to its former self.


It was episodes like these that made Bruce into a believer. I had already been convinced by other events: dreams that came true, a New York Yankees hat sliding towards me at the North Sea in the Netherlands, bearing a strong resemblance to the hats Richard used to wear. So many things happened that convinced me Richard, my mother, and other friends who died in 2000 and beyond were watching over me and looking out for my welfare.


Yet now, it all seems rather remote. I still see some of the signs but have I grown cynical again? Perhaps I have. I do think of Richard when I see the numbers 7, 77, or any string of 7's. I know that in the numerology system, 7 is considered a perfect number, recognized by several world religions. I also know that in the Gematria, the number 26, which is my birthday and my brother's birthday, and which popped up so often in my mother's life that she became afraid of it and tried to avoid the number, has a special and very positive meaning. Twenty-six stands for the unpronounceable Hebrew name of God. When I see that number, I think of it as a sign from Mom and a special blessing.


And yet, in bed at night, sometimes when I can't get to sleep, I worry and fear death. I fear the dying process will hurt, at least in the beginning. I have seen that at the end the dying person sinks into a coma and there doesn't seem to be a struggle or pain at the moment of passing. But it is the ravages of loss of control, pain and debilitation that I fear most.


I also find the thought of the world"wagging on" without me disturbing. If I am conscious and watching from the other side, fine, but I resent the thought that the world will change, my son will live out his life, probably have children and grandchildren,and at some point I won't be there to see it any more. At least if I can watch and lend an occasional etheric hand, whisper some long-forgotten motherly advice in his ear..that might be satisfactory!


The thought that I could be all wrong and there might be nothing afterwards, just a blankness I can only imagine by trying to remember what the world was like before I was born, still haunts me even though I had so many experiences and so many contacts with the afterlife that I should be more secure in that knowledge by now. I don't know why. I had so many readings that rang true. A medium gave me accurate information about my paternal grandfather. She didn't even know my name, and he died before I was born so I knew very little about him. She could not have been drawing this information from my mind,because it was never in my mind to begin with. The only possible explanation is that she was truly in touch with his spirit.


So, why do I still have these doubts and fears?

"Milk"

This afternoon I met Jason in Chelsea and we saw "Milk." The price was high: $25 for the two of us, no student discount and no matinees. I don't feel gypped at all, though my wallet is considerably lighter.

"Milk" was excellent. Sean Penn did a wonderful acting job and I hope he gets an Oscar for it. As the film progressed, I realized that even though I'd known of Harvey Milk and his assassination, I really never knew the details of his life and what he accomplished.

After the Stonewall Riots, there were certainly the stirrings of a gay rights movement afoot, but Harvey Milk seems to have put it on the map. He brought the gay population of San Francisco together to fight against the discrimination, harassment, violence and even murder that dogged them, just because they were gay. He lost his bid for City Supervisor three times but came back again until he won. Because of his leadership, gays gained a voice and gained many rights they never had before.

Though I don't remember his activities and speeches per se, I do remember his arch-opponent, Anita Bryant, and her revolting, bigoted efforts to relegate gays to second-class citizenship as people who were not acceptable to right-wing Christians and to God. I do remember seeing buttons lambasting her with the slogan, "A day without human rights is like a day without sunshine," a parody of her orange juice ads years earlier (a day without orange juice is a day without sunshine).

The film delved into Milk's private life. Yes, it's a cliche that when a person becomes deeply involved in a cause larger than himself, his intimates often suffer. So Milk's lover, Scott, picked up on impulse in a New York City subway station in 1970, left him because he could no longer stand to be part of the political campaigning that took up so much of Milk's time and energy. And Milk's next lover, the passionate but emotionally frail Jack, committed suicide because Milk came home late from the Supervisor job one time too many.

I'm not sure at what moment I realized who Milk's murderer was going to be, but towards the last quarter of the film it became clear that another Supervisor was going to kill him, and the Mayor as well. Milk is portrayed as sensing in advance that he was not going to live to see 50, and that his death would be violent. He'd received death threats and he knew his stance as an openly gay politician was extremely dangerous. So we see him, at intervals throughout the film, speaking his story into a tape recorder, to be aired only in the event of his assassination.

Sadly, his fears came true, and he was murdered along with the Mayor. The candlelight march through the streets of San Francisco in their memory was a very moving scene. Jason whispered to me that he had tears in his eyes. So did I, and that doesn't happen very often.

Thirty years ago, just a year after Harvey Milk's murder at age 48, a teenage boy was beaten and raped in a New York City homeless shelter, because he was gay. Instead of acting to protect him, the shelter authorities blamed the victim and threw him out. Two gay men, one a psychiatrist, were appalled at this story and started a voluntary program to help LGBT youth who were not adequately protected by the system. From their efforts grew the Hetrick-Martin Institute, the home of the Harvey Milk High School.

A particularly poignant scene, for me, was the one where a gay teenager calls Harvey Milk and begs him to help. He says his parents are going to send him away to be "treated" for his "sickness" of homosexuality. The boy says he is going to kill himself. Milk tells him to get on a bus and get out of there, just leave home and head to a big city where he can find understanding and others like himself. The camera pulls back and we see that the boy is in a wheelchair. His situation seems hopeless, and Milk is forced to hang up the phone because a riot is going on in the street.

Later in the film, we learn that the boy got a friend to put him on a bus to LA, and he calls Harvey Milk in the middle of a referendum on Proposition 6 (the notorious attempt to strip LGBT's of their rights to housing and jobs), to tell him that he is doing fine, and that Los Angeles has voted the proposition down.

It's kids like that boy who show up at the doors of The Hetrick-Martin Institute. Seeing "Milk" has made me doubly proud to volunteer there, and indirectly serve the students at a high school named for Harvey Milk. My highest recommendations for this movie!

Inauguration Day

Yesterday was a day that will be in the history books: January 20, 2009, and kids generations from now will have to memorize it: the day the first biracial man of African-American and European-American ancestry took office as the President of the United States.

Almost 2 million people were in Washington D.C., filling the mall all the way from the Capitol to the Washington Monument. I've been in some pretty big crowds on that mall, at anti-war protests in the seventies, but this crowd of every color and every faith was bigger than all of them.

Jason and I watched some of it on streaming video. My computer was not cooperating. We kept losing connectivity every couple of minutes. Finally I shut down the streaming video and listened to President Obama take the oath of office over the radio. I noticed that it got slightly garbled, that Chief Justice Stevens mixed up the words a little bit and got the new President off track. They repeated the oath today, just to be sure.

I liked the inauguration speech. President Obama appealed to the virtues and values we all grew up on. He said we're going to get to work rebuilding America and that we're not going to serve narrow interests any longer. America is not just for the rich.

While he held out the hand of friendship to all nations, he also warned terrorists that they cannot outlast us and we will defeat them. Good strong words, and they are certainly needed now. Just because he is a Democrat and a liberal, there's no reason to think he is going to be a pushover when the nation is in danger.

I'm pleased, also, that President Obama mentioned that we are a nation of many faiths and also of some nonbelievers too. That's probably the first time ever that agnostics and atheists have been given recognition in an inaugural address. That is also a step forward.

We didn't have a television to watch the Inaugural Ball, but I enjoyed viewing the photos on the New York Times website. The Obamas are a beautiful and hot couple, and it's clear from the way they looked at each other and laughed together that they are deeply in love. It's got nothing to do with politics, but it was uplifting to see.

I've said it before: we've broken a barrier that many people thought would never fall down, and the excitement and joy particularly among African-Americans was similar to the joy when the Berlin Wall came down. We haven't abolished racism, that doesn't happen in one single moment. But we've grown up as a nation, and now, the possibilities are infinite.

I wore my Obama 1-20-2009 tee shirt and it felt so good to finally have a President who is going to lead us back to the path of goodwill, compassion, and common sense. To the rule of law, rather than to the rule of expediency. For so long, I was afraid to buy that tee shirt, afraid that Bush would be replaced by someone just like him. But that didn't happen, thank God.

The whole world was watching, and just about all of the world was very happy. Commentators kept mentioning that at such a difficult time, they had never seen so much hope.

Hope alone won't save us, but this man...yes, folks, this late-born Baby Boomer (our day is not over yet) has the power to inspire a new generation to work together. I'm excited to be here to see this and to have the chance to put my energies into the rebuilding we have to do.

Everything but the Kitchen Sink

Yesterday was a strange day full of ups and downs. It began on an unpleasant note. We could not use the kitchen sink because the pipes under the sink were leaking and a flood spread all the way across the floor. Bruce had to mop it up when he woke up at 5 in the morning, because the basin we put underneath the pipe was overflowing. A few hours later when I got up, the basin was overflowing again, and the linoleum was soaked. Water was spread across the floor and even reached the door of Jason’s bedroom. So, I’d made frantic forays downstairs to the superintendent, begging him to come and help.

Now, technically, he doesn’t have to do a thing. We live in a co-op so he’s only responsible for the common areas. If a leak comes down to our apartment from upstairs, it is his job to repair the damage, yet he has often been extremely slow to respond to requests to plaster our bathroom ceiling. We once had a gaping hole in our ceiling for well over a year because he just could not be bothered to come and work on it, and after a while I gave up trying. It took a great deal of persistence to finally get him to come up and seal the hole.

So, I didn’t feel particularly sympathetic to him just because he wasn’t really obligated to fix our leaking faucet. Besides, our apartment is directly over the Board president’s, and that gentleman doesn’t hesitate to complain if something from our apartment bothers him. Once he sent Stanley up to put little felt pads on the bottom of our kitchen chair and table legs, because the slight noise of our chairs being moved disturbed him. Truly, I would not want to put this man in bed with a pea under his mattress!

So I knew that if he got any water coming down from our apartment into his, he would be shrieking at Stanley to do something about it. Armed with that knowledge, I enlisted his wife in the campaign to get Stanley to fix the leak.

It must have worked because Stanley showed up at ten this morning in a totally surly mood. I didn’t realize that he would have to get all the way under the sink to fix it and install a new faucet, so I didn’t remove all the stuff from underneath it when he told me to. He threw everything out onto the floor, and then crawled under the sink. He wouldn’t speak to me and he went in and out of the apartment without saying a word. That’s his typical behavior but this time I sensed there was more anger behind it than simple indifference.

When he was finished, he left without even telling me he was done. I was left with the dilemma of deciding whether or not he deserved a tip. I don’t feel he deserves it, because he did not have to help out yet he agreed to, but then he was obnoxious about it. However, in pragmatic terms, it’s better to catch flies with honey, only in this instance the sweet stuff is green, begins with an “M”, and is not found in beehives.

Once Stanley left, I cleaned up the mess. There were sopping wet shirts and socks we’d left under the sink planning to use them as cleaning rags. But we’d never used them, so I felt no guilt about tossing them out. The rock salt I bought so I could scatter it like Janey Appleseed when I went out on icy days had fused together into one solid and useless lump, so I chucked that too. I tossed the water-damaged items also. I saved the sponges, since they’re supposed to get wet anyway, and left the detergent stains on the dark linoleum, to be mopped up another day. One thing I can say in favor of a leaky faucet, it forced us to mop the kitchen floor.

Once the entire cleanup was done, Jason and I headed out to the Museum of Natural History.

Mosaic, a Novel

Recently I finished reading Mosaic, a novel by Soheir Khashoggi. It bears similarities to Betty Mahmoody's Not Without My Daughter, the true saga of Mahmoody's escape from Iran with her daughter, against her husband's will. In Mosaic, Dina's husband Karim spirits their two youngest children away to Jordan in the belief that he must do it in order to raise them with proper Muslim family values. After living in New York for decades, he's come to the conclusion that American values are flawed and decadent, and he must take the two younger ones away from their influence before they turn out like their teenage brother Jordy.

Like Mahmoody, the fictional Dina refuses to hand her children over to Karim to raise in a completely different culture. She fears for them, because they are American children in a country where Americans are not liked. Her husband's betrayal shatters her happy life and sets her on a dangerous mission to retrieve her children at any cost.

In her time of need, Dina reaches out to her two best friends, Sarah and Em. The three of them each have a "man" problem. Em, an African-American woman from Louisiana, has an ex who walked out on her and their son 15 years earlier, and has hardly ever contacted his son. Sarah is divorced from her Israeli husband, who refused to give her a get (a Jewish divorce).

Each of these characters is well developed and has her issues move to resolution. But in the meantime, Dina finds herself a professional rescuer of abducted children and travels to Jordan to try to get her twins back. Her in-laws are hostile and suspicious except for her sister-in-law. Karim is overbearing. He's the man and he fully intends to continue doing things his way, whether Dina likes it or not.

The attempt doesn't come off. John Constantine, the rescuer, spots trouble in the form of Karim's security men, and backs off.

Meanwhile, however, Karim is struggling with his own conscience. He'd like to feel wholly self righteous, and he'd like to believe he was acting in his children's best interest, but guilt nags at him. When he sees how unhappy Suzy is, he agrees to let her go home to New York with Dina so long as he can keep Ali. Apparently it is important to him to keep Ali safe from the pernicious influences in America that affected Jordan, their eldest.

The big secret about Jordan: he's gay. That's acceptable here, but in the Muslim world, it's an abomination, unnatural. Karim seems to think that if he keeps Ali in the Muslim culture he can save him from following in his brother's footsteps.

Without giving the whole story away, things reach an acceptable, even hopeful, conclusion, for just about everyone. I found this book a pleasure because it portrayed everyone as a three-dimensional human being with good points as well as flaws. Karim is no one-dimensional villain. He's wrong, by my lights, but he's a real person who can reflect and acknowledge mistakes. These are real people, everyone from his or her own specific background, and their differences make up the beautiful mosaic that the title refers to.

Mosaic is also the name of Dina's business, and part of the marital drift between Dina and Karim is her independence and success as a businesswoman. Karim sees it as taking time away from her family, and in fact he abducts the twins while she is out at work. Mosaic, the novel, raises relevant questions about male/female dynamics, Muslim culture versus mainstream American culture, and ethnic paranoia on both sides of the 9/11 divide. I recommend this book highly.

From Grandmother to Wife

I've been mistaken for many things in my lifetime. As a girl, I used to be mistaken for my mother by some of her friends. Apparently our voices were almost identical.

Maybe 12 years ago, I took Jason to the pizza shop just outside the Kingsborough College campus. He was seven at the time. He asked for some piece of candy behind the counter, and the proprietor pointed to me and told Jason to "ask Grandma." My hair was going a little gray but I didn't think I looked all that old.

"I'm Mommy!" I huffed. "Grandma is dead!"

Today, Jason arrived at his doctor's appointment half an hour after I received a call that the doctor would not be in today. They asked him, "Did your wife call?"

Not too shabby, in growing 12 years older, I have morphed from Grandma to his Mrs. How's that for growing younger?

New Year's Goals

I would have liked to compare my New Year's goals to the ones I set out last year, and see which ones were accomplished. But it looks like I didn't make any resolutions last year.

For many years I didn't make New Year's resolutions at all. It's true that most people give up on them pretty quickly and return to life as usual. But then I read that people who succeed have written down their goals. That's a pretty good incentive to write them down.

So here's my list:

1. I've been published a number of times in small publications. This year it's time to break into the better-known and better-paid markets.

2. Today I've taken down one of the barriers that stopped me from selling items on Ebay. Now I'm going to learn how to do that and put up some things we just don't need anymore.

3. I bought a Dana NEO today, a word processor that weighs under 2 pounds and can be toted around anywhere I feel like writing. That's going to be my incentive to write more.

4. I'm going to learn to use the digital camera better and take photos to accompany my articles.

5. I'll take a writing class either online or in person. Maybe more than one, but let's say at least one.

6. I write articles about frugal living but then I'm not so sure I'm as frugal as I'd like to be. I'm going to try to save more money but still have an interesting and varied life.

Let's see which of these I'll have accomplished by this time next year.

Fashion Fantasies

On December 26th, my birthday, we went to the museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology. You can't take photos inside the museum, but we wandered into the entrance to the college itself and found an exhibit of fantasy clothing designed by students. There was no restriction on photography there so I snapped a number of photos of humanoid models in clothing that has never been worn on Earth. Some of it couldn't, like the pinata-style garb for a female centaur.

Inside the museum, we viewed the exhibit on "Seduction," a retrospective of erotic male and female garb from the 18th century to today. Jason especially liked a dark green velvet ball gown. It reminded me a bit of the gown Scarlett O'Hara fashioned out of velvet curtains, on her way to seduce Rhett into giving her the tax money (what a coincidence).

I found the Goth exhibit downstairs more interesting. I've always had a fascination for costumes, and these fashions were more like costumes than everyday wear. Black predominated, of course, and the connection to Victorian mourning attire was obvious. Many of the clothes were quite impractical, such as a jacket that came up over the head, and a gown that appeared to have elongated sequins. Upon closer examination, they turned out to be microscope slides, shining against the blood-red gown.

Behind a mirror, there were humanoid models wearing modern street Goth attire. Black leather jackets painted with skulls, and so on. This was more like outfits I'd seen in real life -- only far more artistic.

After this we travelled uptown to try and get into the Museum of Modern Art, but gave up the project when we saw that there were people lined up all around the block. MOMA is free on Friday nights, and this combined with the holiday season drew out a huge crowd. Instead, we headed down to the Village and ate out at the Washington Square Diner.

A Fishy Christmas

We were supposed to have friends over to discuss the future of healthcare in America this afternoon, but everyone seemed to have something else to do. Fortunately it was a sunny and warmish day (around 50 degrees for a while) and we needed to renew Jason's membership anyway, so it was the perfect way to spend a day that would have otherwise been a downer.

I took 185 photos but deleted a lot of them. Fish and other aquatic animals are always on the move, so it was very hard to get sharp photos of them. The most cooperative critters were the anemones and sea stars that clung to rocks and didn't travel.

This was Bruce's first time seeing not-so-little Akitusaaq, the baby walrus. He's gotten a lot bigger but is still a baby, and he seems to love playing with a white plastic shovel.

It was even warm enough to go to the outdoor show and see Osborn the sea lion do his tricks. Osborn dances and gives sea lion kisses to the kids in the front row.

We had a great time admiring the animals on a day when only a handful of people came to the Aquarium. There were no crowds and it was easy to see anything we chose. It was a fun and relaxing afternoon, just what we needed.

Grand Central Christmas

On Tuesday we stopped off at Grand Central Station to see the holiday train exhibit at the Transit Museum shop. I always enjoy toy train exhibits but this one had a distinctive New York City flavor and that made it more fun. There was even a stuffed King Kong climbing the model Empire State building.

The buildings, tiny people, checkered cabs and buses on the streets added extra detail and charm. Little children were ringed around the enclosure, their eyes wide. I was one of many adults snapping photos right and left.

After we finished with the train exhibit we walked around Grand Central some more and I took photos of the holiday-themed desserts in Zaro's window. They looked delicious but almost too beautiful to consider eating.

For the finale, we watched the holiday laser show on the station's ceiling. I didn't attempt to photograph this, because it was all moving too fast. After it was over we headed home, having feasted our eyes on this most colorful season.

Sex Trafficking and the New Abolitionists

Yesterday Bruce and I attended a panel discussion on Sex Trafficking and the New Abolitionists at the Brooklyn Museum. The panelists were Taina Bien-Aime, Executive Director of Equality Now and Rachel Lloyd, Executive Director of GEMS (Girls Education and Mentoring Services), and the panel was moderated by the acclaimed activist, Gloria Steinem.

While it was exciting to see Gloria Steinem in person, we were really there to learn more about the topic and to bring that information back to the Brooklyn Humanist Community in order to figure out what our group can do to help stop sex trafficking and possibly help survivors. We learned that GEMS is the one group in New York State that serves domestically trafficked girls and women.

I learned quite a lot about the sex trafficking problem. The average age of entry into sex trafficking in the U.S. is 13. It is so frequent that there has been a name given to the "Minnesota pipeline" through which young girls and women from Minnesota are brought into the sex trade in NYC through offers of bogus jobs. All around us, this exploitation and enslavement is happening, and yet we often don't even recognize it.

There are actually more people enslaved today than were enslaved during the 19th century, before the Emancipation Proclamation. We're led to believe it is a thing of the past, but it is not.

While the problem is enormous, the panelists and Ms. Steinem reminded us not to sink into hopelessness. It is not inevitable: many societies, especially some of the oldest (hunter/gatherer) societies do not have prostitution or rape. Not only that, but Ms. Steinem pointed out that while one of 3 women will be raped or sexually molested in her lifetime, that does not mean that one of three men is a rapist. The average rapist has attacked 14 women, so clearly it is not typical of men. I'm glad this fact was brought out because in some of the earlier feminist writings I recall the "every man is a potential rapist" argument, and I hardly think it is fair to men.

However, rape and prostitution are the products of a power imbalance. The panelists also scrutinized the idea of consent. 89-94% of prostitutes were sexually abused, often as children. So can they be said to have "consented" to become prostitutes?

Ms. Bien-Aime of Equality Now spoke of the struggle to shut down some of the sex tourism travel agencies in New York City. At first the authorities weren't interested but ironically, Elliott Spitzer was a big help in getting the first one, Big Apple Oriental Tours, shut down. She spoke also of what a betrayal it felt like when former Governor Spitzer was caught up in his involvement with prostitutes.

Ms. Bien-Aime also talked about the efforts to get legislation passed that would decriminalize the women and children who have been forced into prostitution, and punish the traffickers and the customers ("johns") instead. Apparently Sweden passed a model law in 1999 that does just this. Sex trafficking into Sweden has been reduced as a result but, sadly, has increased in neighboring countries.

For many years I thought that legalizing prostitution was a good idea because then the prostitutes would be medically checked and there would be less chance of spreading disease. But the panelists pointed out that in places where prostitution is legal, the exploitation continues. We heard that in Nevada, legal prostitutes are kept in isolated buildings in the desert, behind barbed wire, and the women are not free to leave. They are in debt to the people who own the business, and are overcharged for everything ($5 for a bowl of ramen soup) so that they aren't able to leave.

Furthermore, in Germany, where prostitution is legal, there was a situation where a woman who lost her job was offered a position as a prostitute and told by government officials that if she didn't accept the job she would lose her unemployment benefits! They backtracked after there was a public outcry but it's outrageous that she was given such a "choice" in the first place.

In New York a law has been passed creating a safe harbor for youth who were forced into prostitution, treating them as clients for child welfare rather than slapping them into the juvenile justice system. But there needs to be more awareness, especially now when the precarious economy makes those who are vulnerable to exploitation even more vulnerable.

There are groups springing up, calling themselves new abolitionists and working to stop sex trafficking, but resistance at the top (government officials) has been strong. In India, abolitionists have taken to staging raids on brothels and rescuing women and children out of them.

Ms. Lloyd told us about her own life experience as a survivor of sex trafficking. Her organization, GEMS, educates young survivors to be able to take up other professions, and she stressed that they receive training in lucrative, non-traditional professions, not sewing and waiting on tables.

The GEMS film, "Very Young Girls" was on Showtime last Thursday, and we could probably rent it in order to have a screening and discussion on the issue. We also heard about a movie called "Trade" on the same issue.

It was fascinating to see Gloria Steinem in person after all these years. She was informed and sharp but soft-spoken, simply getting the information out there to us.

This was an excellent learning experience and I hope we will be able to do some work on this issue in the BHC. I didn't get a chance to ask what a small organization like ours can do, but I will look into it.

Whodunit?

Years ago, I took a class in genre writing with Marvin Kaye. He taught us the formulas for several genres of writing: Science Fiction, Suspense, and Mystery. At that time mysteries seemed more clear cut. There was one body (a character we barely knew and didn't particularly sympathize with), several suspects, and one master detective to put all the clues together.

Today, mysteries have become far more complex. There may be more than one detective at work, and their characters are far better drawn than the detectives of the past (other than Sherlock Holmes that is). Not only that, but there may be more than one criminal at work, and there are almost always multiple bodies.

It makes for more interesting reading than the more straightforward mysteries of the past. I just finished Dr. Death by Jonathan Kellerman. I've been a fan of his Alex Delaware series for quite some time now. This was a convoluted tale, all right. I figured out one of the murderers before he was revealed in the book, and another was obvious, but the third seemed to come completely from left field. I suppose the clues were there, but maybe I missed them.

So is it better for the reader to be able to guess "whodunit" partway through the book, or should we be in suspense until the bad guy/gal is finally revealed? Is it good to feel cleverer than the clever detective, or more satisfying to watch a brilliant mind at work?

I'm glad I figured out the identity of the worst of the killers, but it's also fascinating to be surprised and then groan when the "obvious" clues are recounted. I'm also glad that mysteries are more complex and psychologically engaging than they used to be. They're also more gruesome, but I'll have to take the bad with the good.

Another Publication

Yesterday I received notification that another of my articles, "Finding a Frugal Mate," will be published in an upcoming issue of "The Dollar Stretcher." When it comes out I will attach the link here.

This is great news because it's my third publication with "The Dollar Stretcher." Now I feel ready to approach some of the better known magazines that pay a higher rate. I have been searching on Writers' Market online for magazines and their guidelines.

With the economy tanking, and several million jobs likely to disappear in the next couple of years, saving money will probably be foremost on a lot of people's minds for some time to come. So I will keep on looking into articles I can write about frugal living.

The Blackest Friday

I'm so glad I put only minimal effort into the holidays and don't let stress take over. This year I'm doing holiday cards to business associates. Everyone else will get an e-card and that's that.

For Thanksgiving we met our son's best friend and his Dad at a restaurant.

We celebrate Chanukah. It means lighting candles every night for 8 nights. There's a tradition of gifting, but very small gifts each of the 8 days. I've consolidated that and the only person to get that gift is our son.He's getting a gift membership to the Wildlife Conservation Society, which we can sign up for online or we can go in person to one of the zoos and sign up then and there (and go to the zoo free as members that same day). He even gets a free tee shirt.

Even if I were into more gifts, I hope I would never fall into the crass and revolting materialism that resulted in a worker's death at a WalMart yesterday. For people who don't know, the shoppers outside were so eager to snap up the bargains on Black Friday morning that they stormed into the store at 6 AM, tore the doors off the hinges,and trampled a young man working at the store to death.We have a sick society when buying presents at a low, low price, just so the commercialistic holiday greed can go on even in a bad economy, is more important than a human life. I wonder how the revolting jerks who trampled this poor guy can go home and feel content that they bought their cheap presents. (Actually, the store was closed, so I hope nobody got to buy a damn thing, but the cattle were still streaming into the place, lowing for bargains, as EMT workers were trying to revive the murdered man).

This is the end result of "holiday stress," the pressure to buy presents for everyone under the sun, and the greedy gimmes that society has encouraged people to associate with a holiday season that ought to be about something more spiritual and more caring. That applies whether you celebrate Christmas, Chanuka, Kwanzaa, Diwali, or just the Winter Solstice.

So here's MY suggestion for doing away with holiday stress: Stop giving gifts to people in your family, friends, etc. If you have enough disposable income in these times, make a gift to charity. Right now the food pantries are suffering and more people than ever are on the bread lines. If you've got the money to buy gewgaws then you have the money to make charitable gifts in your loved ones' honor. You can do all that online, no waiting in huge crowds at the mall. Best of all, you'll be sharing the holiday spirit with someone who really needs it, and no store workers or other people will have to be sacrificed. (A pregnant woman was taken to the hospital also, but she turned out to be okay).

About that fancy dinner? Go to a soup kitchen and serve holiday dinner to the homeless or the newly poor. Then get with your family and friends for a potluck some other time when there isn't the commercial pressure to compete with Martha Stewart. Lighten your load, help someone in need, and you can forget holiday stress. You'll be helping others and helping yourself: volunteering is good for your health. This holiday, let's change our ways.

Another Train Wreck

I just finished reading The Glass Castle, a memoir by Jeannette Walls. This was another train wreck about abused and neglected kids. Only this time, the abject poverty wasn't caused by a misguided belief in polygamy, but by an alcoholic father and a self-centered flake of a mother.

I give these kids, Jeannette and her siblings, credit for having the gumption to get the hell out of a horrible situation and flee to New York City. Since they fled in the early seventies, there were still jobs to be had. Three of the four landed on their feet. Oddly, the youngest, who visited other people's homes and got fed there, has been the one who's had the hardest time adjusting.

Ms. Walls may have forgiven her parents but I was less forgiving. From the standpoint of a mother, I could not help but be judgmental about people who failed to feed, properly clothe and house their kids, or even to protect them from danger. That's a parent's job, and these people were the shiftless type that makes a conservative's eyes gleam. Yuppers, they chose to be poor, don't deserve a darn bit of help.

No, they didn't, but their children were helpless victims of their parents' chosen lifestyle, and they most certainly did deserve much more help than they got. Once, a child welfare official came to their home, but there was no follow up. By then the children were well trained to distrust anyone in authority so they wouldn't have told him anything about their living conditions anyway.

Rather than lift a lazy finger to improve their lives, the parents had an excuse and a justification for every one of their failures. If a child got hurt because of the parents' negligence, why, that would just make them strong. Rather than go to the police and complain about a sexual predator who sneaked into the house at night and fondled their daughter, the parents took the attitude of, "See, you are all right. We knew you could deal with it."

These kids wore castoff, junky clothing (not good clothes that were recycled, which would have been fine). They had no food many times and Jeannette described scrounging through the trash after lunch at school, and eating other kids' leftovers. With all their supposed economic troubles, Mom and Dad refused to apply for welfare. They probably knew that their lousy parenting would be exposed and the kids would be hauled off to foster care and a better life. Not that foster care is a picnic, but it would have been better than dumpster diving for dinner.

Whenever some money is found, or the kids save up, the parents misuse it or steal it from their own children. Mommy Worstest buys giant chocolate bars and eats them under the blankets so the kids won't find out. I was glad when her four hungry kids snatched the chocolate away from her and ate it themselves. When the kids find a diamond ring, Mommy decides to wear it instead of selling it for some money to feed her children.

There's mental illness, sure, but the selfishness quotient is extremely high.

Some reviewers have cast doubt on the authenticity of this story. Are there medical records to show that Jeannette really got serious burns by cooking hot dogs unsupervised, at the age of three? Did Daddy Worstest do the "skedaddle" with her, ripping her out of the hospital before she was fully healed? We don't know. It does seem suspicious that, as it comes out at the end, Mommy was sitting on a $1 million parcel of land, and didn't lose it for failure to pay property taxes.

So in the end, I don't know whether it is a true story or a hoax. You see Jeannette's mom in a video on Youtube, and she does look like the bag lady Jeannette says she is. If all this is true, and Jeannette has managed to forgive her parents, she's either a better person than I am, or in major denial. I do wonder about denial, because she writes with such a lack of affect through most of the book. Her first husband "isn't right for her" so she divorces him, but gives us no insight into her feelings about this.

Once I was accused of being a helicopter parent, by a busybody who wasn't a good friend and had no business passing judgment on my child rearing. I think I'm an involved parent, a caring parent, and a strong advocate for my son. If that makes me a helicopter parent, so be it. Yes, I homeschooled Jason for four years, as the Walls parents supposedly homeschooled their kids. But I took it seriously and abided by the state regulations. Yes, we bought hand me downs at the thrift store, but they fit properly, they weren't full of rips and holes, and by golly, all his winter coats zipped or buttoned up to keep him warm.

If there was a problem at school I went in and politely dealt with the issue. Yeah, Rex Walls would have shown up at the school, but he would have been drunk and his belligerence would have only made things worse. Parenting involves sacrifice. Parenting involves watching over your child, taking care of basic needs, taking care of health. These parents failed in all these areas.

So I'm not real impressed with Rex Walls for taking Jeannette into the desert at night and giving her Venus for her Christmas present. Maybe that was a bright spot in her childhood. In an otherwise normal childhood, it would have been a sweet, nonmaterialistic gift. But in this case, it was just a way of being "creative" when the man's pockets were empty, through every fault of his own. And if he'd been smarter he would have used that idea to sell deeds to the stars, just like some company is doing today. Makes a great Christmas gift, and you can even put food on the table.

Parallel Lines

Wednesday night, Bruce, Jason and I watched Nina Davenport's 2003 film, "Parallel Lines." We were previewing it for possible use at a movie night with the Brooklyn Humanist Community.

For that purpose, "Parallel Lines" flunked the test. It was solid documentary where I expected a bit more of a story line from a "docudrama." Still, although it reached no solid conclusions, it was a road movie that captured the thoughts and emotions of so many different Americans.

Some were deeply affected by 9/11, even from thousands of miles away. Others hadn't even heard about the attack until several days later, and it didn't impact much on their emotions or their everyday lives. But for most people, it evoked feelings about loss and sorrow in their own personal histories.

Nina Davenport seemed fearless as she trekked across America, taking the scenic route in order to arrive in New York City in time for New Year's Eve in Times Square. She entered strangers' homes, took boat rides with them, got into their cars to film their responses as they drove. She did, in short, all the things our parents warn us not to do. Yet, she emerged unscathed from all this risky behavior, her deepest wound being the personal sense of loss 9/11 brought out in New York residents.

Ms. Davenport encountered so many lonely people, the entire cast of "Eleanor Rigby." Talking about 9/11 brought out personal tragedies: the mother whose children were taken from her, the flea market man mourning his father's death the week before, the cowboy whose mother had killed his violent father. Davenport stopped in Oklahoma City to speak with a woman who'd escaped death in the Oklahoma City bombing only because she was sick and not at work that day. Her survivor guilt is a mirror for all those who were absent or late to work on 9/11, while their colleagues and friends perished.

Sometimes she encountered negative attitudes: the man who said, what does the United States expect, we've done things like this to people in so many other countries, did we really think it would never happen here? She encounters an elderly black man who is so suspicious that he nearly calls the police on her just for being someone he doesn't recognize. But then he realizes she is not out to hurt anyone, and he invites her into his ramshackle home to tell her his story.

In D.C., suspicion runs rampant. Davenport is nearly arrested for driving around with her camcorder mounted on the roof of her car. She explains over and over that she's making a road movie and the camcorder is filming the view of the open road. Not having any of it, the police tell her to move along. She decides it is high time to get herself back to New York City, the place where she belongs.

Arriving back in NYC on New Year's Eve, Davenport joins the crowds in Times Square, under much heavier security than ever before. But the crowd sees the police as friends and protectors, and when the ball drops at midnight, the police receive loving hugs from the assemblage.

In the final scene, Davenport goes to Ground Zero. Unable to directly look at the wreckage of the World Trade Center's Twin Towers, she films a pigeon on the sidewalk and then films the facial expressions of people as they return from the viewing platform. A fellow photographer breaks down in tears and tells her that he, too, needs to keep some distance from looking directly at the destruction. And thus it ends.

It was a moving film, funny at times, but more often sad. We don't reach a conclusion or a satisfying wrap up. Instead, we're left to make sense of the senselessness of the attack, just as we were in real life.

We Did It!

Listening to the election returns Tuesday night was such a joy. I went into it unsure. Some people were saying that Obama was ahead in the polls. From other sources, I heard that the polls were tightening and the outcome was not so sure.

It's been a long time since I felt the stakes were this high. Maybe all the way back to Nixon's election in 1968 and again in 1972. This time it was different. This time I took an active role in the campaign. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, I was involved in the anti-war movement, but not in the presidential campaigns.

So this was my first experience with working on a presidential campaign. What a sense of excitement there was. I received multiple emails every day asking for donations, and I gave more than I originally planned to because they were so well crafted. Now, I think I'll go fish some of them out of my "old mail" box and keep them as examples of writing that made me whip out the credit card.

Then I began to feel that giving wasn't enough. I wanted to take part in the many phone calling efforts. The first one I responded to was a phone bank at the UAW. I wrote about that and about the chirpy old lady who saw no need for change. In the few weeks that followed, Bruce and I also went to a Move.On party in Brooklyn and a phone bank at the Shorefront Democratic Club in Coney Island. I also tried some phone calling from home, but somehow that wasn't as motivating as sitting in a roomful of other people who were also making calls.

We finished up with another phone bank at the UAW, but I reached none of the target people on November 3rd. Still, I did reach some people and hoped I did some good even if they were relatives of the person I intended to reach.

Tuesday evening I was restless and nervous. I started listening to the radio around 7 PM and listened for the next 5 hours.

The first few returns were pretty predictable. But then Pennsylvania, a battleground state, came in for Obama! That was excellent. The radio announcers were saying this was a very good sign, but they also said it was still possible for McCain to pull an upset.

When Ohio came in it was practically a lock. I woke Bruce up and told him Ohio went for Obama and we high fived each other. After that Bruce stayed up to hear the rest of the returns. Now it was looking extremely good. In order for McCain to win, the announcers said, something really extraordinary would have to happen. I prayed that nothing like that would happen.

My prayers were answered when, at 11 PM, the West Coast came in for Obama as predicted. Not only that, but Obama won Indiana, which hasn't deviated from the Republicans in a generation, and also Florida and Virginia. He not only won, but got something close to twice the electoral votes McCain garnered. That's a landslide in my book!

I wasn't watching on streaming video, which was surely available somewhere on the internet, but we were hearing the reactions, the cheering crowds, people breaking down in tears because they never thought a man with African American ancestry would become President in their lifetimes.

What a joyous moment and what a triumph for us all. It doesn't mean racism is gone, but it means that as a country we've begun to grow up. This time around, the majority of Americans wasn't fooled by all the smearing and the guilt-by-association that was hurled at Obama. Their concerns, the economy, the war, etc., are better served by Obama's plans and ideals than McCain's, and they made their choice without listening to negativity and outright lies.

What a relief and what a breath of fresh air. Now, instead of struggling against the odds as they have for 8 years, organizations looking to bring about positive change will have an easier road ahead of them. Now some of the energy we had to expend in fighting an administration determined to destroy the advances of women, minorities, etc., we'll be able to work WITH the new administration to continue the momentum of positive change.

What a blessing, and truly, God did help those who helped themselves. Change did not come from the top, change came from the bottom up, ordinary people working together in extraordinary ways, making calls, posting on blogs, using Web 2.0 (which I know very little about) to spread the word about President-Elect Barack Obama. This happened thanks to the people who drove to other states to knock on doors and canvass, thanks to so many people who made the time and made the energy to open the door to change and healing for a country that has been so damaged by 8 years of Republican rule.

I know my efforts changed one person's vote. My appeal to her was not a lofty one: I pointed out that McCain had plans to privatize social security and to cut Medicare. That made the difference. But once she went ahead and voted for Obama, she felt more empathy for the African-Americans she saw weeping with joy when the election was called at 11 PM. "I saw how much it meant to them," she said. This was the same woman who told me, a few days earlier, that she could never vote for a black man!

A rabbi once said that if you save a single life it is as if you have saved the world. Did changing one vote save the world? I don't know, but millions of us out there did the same thing, and changed some people's minds.

Now we all have a huge mess to sort out, and Obama is not going to have an easy time of it. We'll need patience, we'll need to be willing to make some sacrifices, and we'll need to keep up our energy to do the work that needs to be done.

But finally...we have that chance. Yes, America, Yes We Did!!

Election Day

So here it finally is, the Election Day that will make history, no matter what happens.

I was at my neurotic best after seeing photos of 8 hour lines for the early voting in other states. So I insisted that we all get up at 4:30 AM and be at the polls by 5:30, even though voting doesn't start until 6 AM. I expected the doors to be locked but they were open and a kindly poll worker allowed us to wait inside and to use the bathroom before the official opening at 6.

A few people tried to cut the line in front of us and I objected. The woman's excuse was that we aren't all going to the same Election District. That may be, but we were still something like 3rd in line and I wasn't going to be moved back by people who came in after us. Fortunately she grumbled but gave in.

At about 6 a number of people came in and the line was just about to the door but I don't think it extended outside. We proceeded to the correct ED and put Jason ahead of us because he had to be at school and needed to get on the subway by about 6:30.

They gave Jason his card and he went in and wasn't able to pull the lever. That's because the machine wasn't properly turned on yet. One of the women at our table didn't even know that the light is supposed to be on, that's what shows the machine is working.

Someone else came over and fixed it and Jason was able to vote. He waited while Bruce and I took care of voting.

Meanwhile, this woman at our table was showing just how ignorant she was. It is amazing that they allowed her to be a poll worker, but I have been through the training and I know that they will take anyone who has a pulse. They give you a few hours of training, and then they give you an open book test during which you are allowed to look up the correct answer. Naturally everyone passes! A bonobo could take a few minutes off from mating with his female relatives, and pass that exam!

This particular woman didn't know how to turn on the machine...even though they teach that at the training. Then she was asked to write up the cards while looking up the names in the book. Oh my, that was just too hard for her. The other woman, who had more smarts, wrote up my card, #3. Then this bozo put my name on card #4. I sure hope my vote isn't disqualified just because this woman is brain dead. I did not vote twice, but it will look like that at the end of the day unless the smarter poll worker tore up card #4.

Then Ms. Ignorant complained that she couldn't write up the cards and look up the names in the book at the same time. She threatened to quit on the spot because she was being expected to do "all that at once." Another poll worker basically told her to shut up, she wasn't going to leave.

I foresee some problems in my election district today, because this woman couldn't even handle the situation when there were only 5 people on line waiting to vote. Just wait until later today when a huge crowd shows up after work. They'll probably have to haul her off in a strait jacket.

Anyhow, I am very glad we voted early, and my fingers are crossed for Obama and all the Democrats. This country has suffered for 8 years and it is surely time for a big breath of fresh air.

Halloween photos

Jason as "Cousin Itt" and Adriana as Mother Goose

Antoinette as Devil Woman, Michael as Rastaman, Celeste & Bruce as Gomez and Morticia Addams

Graveyard Cake