Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Incident on the Platform

This afternoon, after volunteering at HMI in the morning and enjoying a lunch of nachos with Cynthia, I arrived on the subway platform at Union Square to witness a disturbing incident. A young man, probably around 30, went into convulsions at the very edge of the platform. He fell over, whacking his head hard against the concrete, and would have rolled onto the tracks if other passengers hadn't grabbed him and pulled him to safety. (He still was not all that far from the edge, though).

Apparently he cut himself when he fell because he was bleeding from somewhere on his head. A few people went upstairs in search of help and came down saying help was on the way. But I didn't see anything. I went upstairs, called 911, and reported the incident to EMS, in hopes they would send an ambulance. I came back to the platform to find one man with a police badge and a walkie talkie hovering over the unconscious man, speaking into it. Then another man in a sort of Transit Authority vest came over and they prevented him from rolling onto the tracks as he tried to turn over (but still not moving him more than a foot or two from the edge).

Meanwhile, probably about 15 minutes had passed and I didn't see any evidence of an amublance. Two more policemen came down, looked the man over, but didn't really do much of anything.

I had to wonder what this unfortunate fellow's chances of survival would have been if he had been dying. Probably not much better than the proverbial snowball in hell. As it was, he might have a concussion or some kind of bleeding on the brain, and precious moments were being lost.

Finally I boarded the train and went home. It's discouraging and disheartening to see how slow the response to this incident was, given that we were only a few minutes away from several hospitals. Someone should have been down there actually doing something for this guy a lot quicker. All I can say is, don't get sick on the subway, darlin'. You may not survive.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

A Weekend to Remember


Last weekend was one of those memorable ones. Friday night we went to the Cyclones game in Coney Island. I'd never been to a professional baseball game before and had all kinds of reservations about it since I was never a sports lover. But because this was a minor league game, it was much more "user friendly" and entertaining. Sammy the Seagull did his thing as the official mascot, and there were some entertainments for the little kids (human bowling balls, etc.) in between innings. Also, the stadium was small so we could see what was happening.


It was one of those good, tense games where the Cyclones were behind at first, then pulled into a tie with the Ironbirds, and finally made the winning score at the very end of the 9th inning! Right after that the Coney Island fireworks went off, and we had a perfect view of them from the stadium.


The BHC turned out in force, with 22 in attendance including some family and friends.


Saturday I brought Bruce along to be my "caddy" while I shopped for bargains at the Salvation Army. I actually found 2 summer weight skirts and 3 pairs of summer weight pants, all for $25.95 (tax included). That's the sort of shopping that makes me smile.


Sunday afternoon Jason and I went to the BHC Book Club where we discussed Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet in Heaven. In certain ways the book reminded me of the old Jimmy Stewart movie, "It's a Wonderful Life." But there the main character was alive. I felt sad that in this book, Eddie had to die before he got a chance to see his life in perspective and realize that although he felt his life was wasted in a dead-end dreary job as a maintenance man at an amusement park, in fact he'd saved the lives of many, many children, and his life had meaning after all.


That's great, but why couldn't he have learned this before he died?


Still, the discussion was excellent and so was the exercise Sheila had us do, where we designed our own idea of Heaven and then put down the names of 10 people we wanted to meet there. For a little while, Heaven was an apartment in Sheepshead Bay.


I'm excited about the upcoming July 4th potluck BBQ. And next week, Bruce will be off from work and we will have a New York City Staycation, the sort of vacation we've had for years in an attempt to be frugal, but is now all the rage because gas prices have skyrocketed so high. I'm making a list of places I've either never seen or haven't seen in ages, to check out while Bruce is home.

Friday, June 27, 2008

Alas, Poor Ayveq

I opened the Bay News today and found a sad eulogy to the "star walrus" of the New York Aquarium, Ayveq.

Just a few days after his offspring celebrated his first birthday weekend, Daddy Ayveq succumbed to some mysterious ailment. Here is a link to the article: http://nyaquarium.com/287230/aq_ayveq

During his years as a Docent at the New York Aquarium, Jason often mentioned Ayveq in less than flattering terms. It seems Ayveq had lustful propensities and did not bother to conceal them. Apparently, he was unconcerned about offending public sensibilities. Jason also complained of Ayveq's ungentlemanly attentions to the females in the tank. To top it all off, if Ayveq spotted a Docent in his or her dark green uniform shirt, he would swim after the Docent as far as his tank would allow him.

Jason complained of this to our friend Tony, who found it so humorous that he dubbed Ayveq "Iggy," and teased Jason about Ayveq just about every time they spoke to each other. Jason began calling Tony the "Igman" while Tony dubbed Jason the "Igster."

Jason was not the only one to notice Ayveq's habits, and "Going Coastal" did an article on Ayveq on that very subject, not long after "little" 115-lb. Akituusaq was born. Here's the link to that article, titled "Walrus Dad Still a Self-Lover."

http://goingcoastal.wordpress.com/2007/10/09/walrus-dad-still-a-self-lover/

When Baby Akituusaq was born last June, I pointed out that despite Ayveq being a lewd, crude, rude dude (at least in Jason's eyes), his quite natural behavior had paid off. Ayveq became the father of the first baby walrus born at the New York Aquarium, and one of the few baby walruses to survive in captivity.

Ayveq was a great public attraction and he seemed to know it. I'm sure if he could speak, he would have proudly proclaimed, "I am THE walrus!" In fact, that's exactly what his name meant.

Kudos to the Aquarium staffers who worked hard to try to save Ayveq in his final illness. I'm sure he would have thanked them from the bottom of his heart.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

In Memory: Joyce Warshow

I'm including a link to a write up about Joyce Warshow that appeared last fall, shortly after she died. http://jwa.org/discover/weremember/warshow/, and I will be linking this webpage to their memorial page.

Joyce Warshow was my therapist from 1980 to 1983, when I was just getting out on my own as a young single woman. I went to her for a consultation because my relationships with men had fallen into an unfortunate pattern.

Although Joyce was only supposed to meet with me the one time and then refer me to another therapist in her group, she managed to get past some of my defenses and rattle me in that very first meeting. The other therapists I'd met with did not. So after a few days I called her back and firmly stated that I did not want to be referred on to someone else, I wanted to work with her. Joyce made room for me in her schedule, and so we began.

Many times we did not see eye to eye. I told her I was against the establishment, and she pointed to my corporate attire and told me I had joined the establishment. I didn't want to hear that. Another time, speaking about the difficulties I had with men, she told me that some men are like wild horses and need to be corralled. I replied that I didn't want to have to "corrall" a man. I wanted him to want to be committed to me.

But I was getting out the residual angers from my childhood, and learning to grow up and be my own person. I was ruled by myself and not so influenced by my parents any more. For a year or more I participated in group therapy also, but then I felt it became too expensive and I pulled away.

When I finally left we had an exit interview, and at the end of our last session, Joyce hugged me and I went out, ready to face life on my own terms. Yes, I had one more stupid relationship with a man whose major attraction was his anti-establishment attitude and his beard. That was my old pattern. But when that broke up I saw it for what it was, a hangover from an earlier time. And when Bruce came along, the "nice guy" I would have ignored a decade earlier, I was more than ready for him.

I called Joyce about 9 years ago, when I was grieving for a friend and yet not able to dissolve that grief into healing tears. I felt I couldn't afford her prices, but it was good to connect with her however briefly. The last thing she said to me was that I had always been resourceful.

At Fund Raising Day in New York I found out that Joyce passed away last year. This was one of those non-coincidences. At a workshop on branding, the presenter mentioned a coalition of GLBT organizations with reproductive rights organizations, working together for common goals. I was puzzled to note that HMI was not represented on the list and afterwards I went up to the presenter and asked her if she knew why HMI was not part of the coalition. For some reason she mentioned that Joyce Warshow used to be involved there, and when I said she used to be my therapist, the presenter told me that Joyce had died. It was so strange to hear that in the middle of a professional conference, by supposedly sheer accident. Only I don't believe in accidents.

I believe Joyce was sending me a last goodbye.

When she was my therapist, I had no idea she was a lesbian, a filmmaker, and deeply involved in the GLBT community. In fact, I think it was SAGE she was involved with and maybe not HMI, but that doesn't matter. Would it have mattered to me if I'd known this when she was my therapist? Back then, I might have wondered how she could teach me how to get along with men, if she was in a relationship with a woman. But now I know better. I know she was really teaching me, first and foremost, to get along with myself.

Now I'm curious to see some of the films she made, and I'm going to investigate and see whether they can be rented somewhere. In any case, cancer took her too soon, at only 70 years old. Farewell, Joyce, you have clearly touched many many lives. Mine is just one of them.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Town Hall With Anthony Weiner

On Sunday we went to a Town Hall meeting with our Congressman, Anthony Weiner. We all sat in the library at Cunningham Intermediate School, and the Congressman fielded questions from the participants (about 35-40 of us).

He led into the meeting by stating that today there is more information, less compromise, and zero leadership at the top of our government.

He wants to make sure we have an educated workforce, and that we invest in our infrastructure and put people to work. We have ignored our infrastructure for so many years that it is suprising that in the whole U.S. only one bridge has collapsed. Our best tool is education, and it is time to get rid of the antiquated idea that the federal government should not be involved in public education. As a result of this thinking only 6% of our educational monies come from the federal government. But the states are no longer competing with each other; the U.S. is competing globally.

Congressman Weiner also stated that we need leadership on global climate change. We need to leave our world, country and community better than we found it. He wants to see us move toward a green economy.

We must end the war in Iraq and address the big challenges that we have not been able to look at because we are wasting our resources in Iraq. We also need our elected officials to think in the long term even though their term of office is short. The government must incentivize people to think long term, according to Weiner, and we must invest in education over the course of a generation.

I'm proud to say that our Congressman has a perfect 100% score on conservation issues. He says that our community is now overdeveloped. The zoning laws, last changed in 1961, are outdated, and the Board of Standards and Appeals doesn't set standards and doesn't listen to appeals. We need to grow as a city but we have to be sustainable too. He has proposed a full city reassessment of the zoning regulations, so we can decide what kind of a city we want to be. We need to set rules and then stick to those rules. Legal sanctions for violating zoning regulations are strong but they are not being enforced.

Congressman Weiner also discussed accessibility for the handicapped. Another question was whether any more affordable housing complexes will be build. He said, the Fed has stopped building subsidized housing but they need to do it again. However when the Mitchell-Lama buildings were built there was land available. He says now there is some polluted land that the city would clean if developers will build affordable housing. We need to be creative about bringing in affordable housing, perhaps develop air rights over other structures if the resulting units would be affordable. We have to stop thinking this is not the federal government's job.

We have to make alternative transportation possible: there is no more room for more cars in New York City. We have to make it possible by providing bike lockers and bike borrowing as in other places.

Our current model of using fossil fuels is not sustainable. The Congressman wants to offer incentives in the market for sustainable energy that works. Ethanol, he says, is a disaster because it drives up food prices and costs more to produce than the energy we get out of it. A national energy policy is needed.

The Congressman also stated that he is not pleased with the 311 "hotline" to NYC government agencies, because it creates a whole new layer of excuses between citizens and their government.

At the end of his talk he asked us to get in touch with his office (through his website) if we have an idea for a new law. I certainly will!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Mermaid Parade 2008







It glitters. It spangles. It dazzles the eyes and ears. It's funny, it's naughty, it's socially relevant, and it's phantasmagoric. It's Halloween and the Mardi Gras in June.

It's the Mermaid Parade!

The 26th Annual Mermaid Parade stepped off on the first full day of summer, June 21st. Bruce, Jason and I were there by 12:30 and found a spot on the barricades by a few minutes after 1. We met up with Ferdinand and wriggled into the bit of space beside him.
Ferdinand felt the parade would not start until at least 2:30, but I said it would begin earlier. We made a gentleman's bet. Said Ferdinand, "You have nothing to lose but your dignity."

"No problem," I answered, "I haven't any!"

So, Ferdinand suggested we go for double or nothing. He lost the bet; the first floats and antique cars crossed in front of us at about 2:17. Close to the front of the parade, our Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz was celebrating, too. Marty is a true party animal; he never misses a parade! Now he was shouting, "Hello all you Brooklyn meshuggeners! Don't worry, the half-naked people are right behind me!"

There must have been a good thousand marchers. Some that stand out in my mind were the protestors, trying to save Coney Island from being turned into Yuppie Island, paved over with luxury condos and complete with overpriced lattes at Starbucks. The possible encroachment of Thor developers may have explained the contingent of Marie Antoinette's (male and female) and the huge fake guillotine. Let 'em eat cake!

Another protestor wore a pot for a hat and had huge golden dollar signs on her glasses. Greed personified. But as usual, most of the marchers had at least some passing resemblance to sea creatures, real and fanciful.

There were hundreds of mermaids, many of them scantily clad in bikini tops. Others went even farther and heeded the advice on the windshield of an antique convertible, "Go Topless." Women wore seashell pasties, or substituted body paint for clothing. Many of the men were topless and a few were showing off their rear cleavage as well.
I picked up on a bit of a Hawaiian theme, with many marchers in grass skirts and wielding hula hoops. There was a group dressed as Carmen Miranda, with baskets of fruit (and fish) on their headgear. We saw King Kong and the Mermaid, French Mermaids with seashells and sea stars on their black and white uniforms, plenty of sea jellies, lobsters and octopi.

The Polar Bears, those characters who jump into the ocean on January 1st each year, were there, as were some deep sea divers whose slogan is "Wetter is Better." Brooklyn for Peace was represented, as was the Cyclones, and many other groups, including the Mermaids' Civil Liberties Union!

Some of the zaniest folk from last year made a re-appearance: the Parrot Man, who wears a sequined and spangled dress, dyes his beard light green, and carries his gray parrot on his head. Then there's the bearded man who wears a bridal gown of salvaged items and called himself Miss Use of Recycled Materials 2008. Every year there's a new official King Neptune and his wife Queen Mermaid, but there were also plenty of imitators in the parade. Penis Man, the dude who dresses in a pine-colored velvet suit equipped with a phallus big enough to do the Jolly Green Giant proud, was back, too. He came up to us and whacked Ferdinand and me over the head a number of times with his absurdly oversized "member." Afterwards, Ferdinand said, "I don't know about you, but I feel violated!"

Ferdinand brought his new DSLR and we both snapped photos like mad while several men behind us yelled out suggestive and lewd remarks at every bare-breasted woman who marched by. By the end of the parade, I found that I'd taken over 1,000 photos. I had a little trouble zooming in and zooming out, and consequently had to delete quite a few photos of armpits. But with ruthless, and I do mean ruthless, cutting, I narrowed it down to 372 pictures. Now I'm thinking about trying to sell some of them.

Every year, the Mermaid Parade outdoes itself. I'm still hearing "Dancing Queen" in my mind, and seeing the whole cheerfully outrageous crew cavorting by. Let's keep Coney Island weird!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

City Sights

Or should I say sightings? In the past week or so, I've seen:

A man with dreadlocks that fell past his backside and brushed his upper thighs. I'll bet he's a law abiding citizen, because if not, it would be awfully easy to grab him by the long hairs.

A man with his pet cat perched on his head. This turned out to be a panhandling ploy, because as soon as I smiled at the cat, its owner approached me for a handout.

A buxom young woman with a hideous stuffed toy nestled between her breasts. You have to wonder why.

And, yesterday, while enjoying Thai food for lunch, a man carrying a skeleton passed by the restaurant. I believe the skeleton was plastic but I'm not entirely sure.

That's what I love about New York. You never know just what to expect!

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Fund Raising Day in New York

This year, like last June, I attended the Fund Raising Day in New York conference at the Marriott Marquis hotel. Like last year, I volunteered at the conference, which enabled me to attend for free. Thursday night I attended the volunteer orientation and cocktail party, and on Friday morning I arrived at the conference a few minutes after 7:30 AM.

Over a tasty continental breakfast, I chatted with a young man who'd come down from Toronto to attend the conference. He told me that he works as a consultant, writing grants and creating videos for nonprofit organizations.

I wasn't on duty until the second lecture, so I walked through the exhibit hall for a while, evoking nervous jokes from men who read my "Room Monitor" volunteer's ribbon. I assured them I would not report them to the principal! Then I was free to attend the first lecture of my choice, so I went to a panel discussion on major gifts.

After that there was some time to check out the exhibit hall, score some candy, and get literature from the exhibitors. The first workshop was so well attended that hotel employees had to come take down the air walls, so that the overflow crowd could sit in the hall. The topic was "Connecting with Your Donors," and the two speakers were Thaler Pekar of Thaler Pekar and Associates, and Barbara Becker of StoryCorps. They both spoke about the importance of finding stories that evoke vivid images in donor's minds, and touching their hearts as they view and hear from people whose lives are improved by the organization.

I counted at least 70 attendees at this workshop. It was hard to tell how many people were sitting out in the hall, but one thing was clear: this was a topic many fundraisers were anxious to hear about.

There was a short break before lunchtime, but I had a phone call from Jason. He wanted to go on a sleepover but had very little money left, so I arranged for him to meet me at the conference at 3:30 and then proceeded to lunch.

Lunch was elegant, a small salad, mozzarella slices and tomato, and tuna. There were tiny confections for dessert, iced tea, and coffee. However, this year I preferred to return to the exhibit hall and chat with the exhibitors while the hall was relatively quiet. So I missed the keynote speech.

One of the printing companies had a handwriting expert on hand to amuse the attendees, and I had a somewhat rushed session with her because I had to get back to my post for the 2 PM workshop. She was right on the money about me, telling me I am unconventional and don't much care what people think, I know I can do the job. She said I am creative also and that I put my creativity into an organization. There was also something she said that was a bit eerie, because she told me I had a negative experience at a certain age, and she was absolutely right. She said it was a "shot in the dark" but I don't believe in coincidences. She certainly brings a high level of intuition to her handwriting analysis.

The second workshop I worked at was on the topic of Branding, and it was run by a woman named Bonnie McEwan from Make Waves Not Noise. Ms. McEwan gave us a few eye-opening facts about nonprofit organizations. For instance, last year over 64,000 new organizations registered as nonprofits. They're all competing for the same donor dollars, and competition is not conducive to social change.

She also pointed out some of the specific challenges that nonprofits face in branding themselves, and suggested that one way to avoid competition is for nonprofit organizations with similar goals to form coalitions and collaborate with each other, sharing a common brand and sharing in the monies raised. She quoted John Nash, whose life was the subject of the movie, "A Beautiful Life." His paradigm was, "All players benefit if information is open to all and mixed strategies are used."

Not only do organizations that collaborate in coalition with others gain more resources, they make more progress toward their common goals.

After a half hour break, during which I met Jason and supplied him with some spending money, and went to the raffle drawing where I didn't win any prizes, I attended the last lecture of the day. This time I chose the career track and attended a panel discussion on interviewing. The panelists were a human resources manager and a high-level recruiter. They had some good suggestions on interviewing and dealing with sticky questions.

One woman told some of her "war stories" about terrible interviewers she has met, and afterwards I approached her and told her I wanted to write an article on "Interviews from Hell." She agreed to be interviewed, so I will be writing up and sending out queries for this article.

I enjoyed the day and always gain a new perspective on the fund raising profession by attending this conference. For anyone in the field or considering entering the field, I recommend it highly.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Farewell, Rosanne

I met Rosanne in July of 1991. We were airing our toddlers at a large playground in Sheepshead Bay. Jason and Louis immediately took to each other and ran off to play together. Rosanne looked at me and grinned.



"They're in cahoots!" she said. Jason and Louis continued to be in cahoots throughout their childhood and adolescence too.



Rosanne and I encountered each other in the playground a number of times. She was uncomfortable going home to her apartment on Quentin Road because there was a mouse problem. So she stayed most of the day in the park, and the family ate out almost every night because it upset her to cook where the mice played.



Not too long after we met, we began meeting by design. When the weather turned cold, we left the playground and began meeting in indoor play spaces like Burger King and MacDonald's. Back then many of the fast food restaurants had little play areas for the children, filled with plastic balls they could climb around in, slides, and other attractions. We'd buy Happy Meals for the kids and then sit and chat while they played in the ball pit.



Sometime during that first year, Rosanne and her family moved out to Canarsie to get away from the mice. I was sad, thinking that we might drift apart. Without a car, Canarsie seemed so far away. But at that time Rosanne and Allen had a big brown car and she would come pick me up to go hang out somewhere.



We always had a struggle with the car seats. That is, we had a struggle with getting Louis into his car seat. Jason would get into the car seat calmly but Louis hated them and he would put up such a fight that it would take the both of us to hold him down and snap him into the seat. That may have been one of the first times I heard Rosanne utter one of her signature lines: "Louis Henry, I'm gonna crown you, and it ain't gonna be King!"



My response always was, "But Ro! You named him for two royal houses, naturally he thinks he's in charge!"



In the early years, we celebrated New Year's Eve together. We'd visit them or they would come over to us. We'd have a feast, share some wine, and then eat delicious and sinful desserts. Then there would be a sleepover. We travelled together, too. When the boys were just under 4 years old, we rented an SUV and they drove us out to Lancaster, PA for a weekend. The boys were impossible: overtired and full of mischief, they led us on a merry chase the entire weekend. But we still managed to have fun visiting the Amish country and Hershey Park.



At one point, when the kids all entered school, we had a weekly standing date for Burger King or MacDonald's. Rosanne sometimes brought Louis, and Jason's other two friends, Steven and Morgan, often came too.



Sometime shortly after they moved to Canarsie, Rosanne was approached by some Jehovah's Witnesses who came door to door. She became interested and began going to Bible study with them. I was concerned again when I saw how her views were changing. Suddenly evolution was all wrong, even celebrating birthdays was all wrong. For a few years, she continued to allow Louis to come to Jason's birthday parties but she would send Allen with him in her stead. Then when she was baptized, she no longer allowed him to come at all.



But Rosanne held firm about one thing. She told me that when she joined the Witnesses they wanted her to give up all her "worldly" friends who would lead her astray. "You and me are friends for life," she assured me. And Jason and Louis would be friends for life, too. We joked about watching them graduate college together, about watching them be each other's best men at their weddings.



That wasn't going to happen.



I was the one who got sick first. In 1997 we discovered that I had breast cancer. Rosanne was a huge help. She took care of Jason several times when I went into the hospital for procedures. She helped out again when Bruce had his bout with cancer in 1998.

The kids grew up, and began going out places without adults along. Sometimes Rosanne and I did not see each other for a few months at a time but we always kept in touch and kept up the friendship.

Then, in January 2007, Rosanne wasn't feeling well. She had trouble breathing and tired easily. An X ray or scan showed a large mass in her chest cavity that hadn't been there 4 months earlier when she had a previous X ray. Sadly, the mass turned out to be malignant, a rare form of cancer. I believe it was called myxoid liposarcoma, a type of tumor that grows in the fat cells.

Rosanne was in and out of the hospital many times in the next year and a half. She had her surgery several months later, delaying it somewhat because she was a Witness and wanted to find a doctor who would operate without having to give her whole blood. Her husband feared that while she searched for such a doctor the cancer would spread.

Honestly, I don't think the delay in surgery affected the outcome. This tumor was huge when it was found and probably had already spread to her liver and other places. It was also extremely fast growing. In any case, Rosanne suffered several infections and other problems that delayed her chemotherapy time after time. Each time that happened the tumor had the opportunity to grow, until it overtook her.

The last time I saw her, it was about 36 hours before she died. She was miserably uncomfortable. She wasn't eating and she kept calling out and praying. I don't think she was in terrible pain but she just could not feel relaxed and comfortable. Her labored breathing was very obvious. I knew she didn't have a lot of time. As we left the hospice I prayed that she would be taken quickly and in her sleep. And that's what happened.

She leaves behind a husband of 23 years, an 18 year old son, and many, many friends. I have no doubt that Rosanne will be long remembered. I'll miss her.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Changes Afoot

I am thinking about changing my blog. I note that there hasn't been much added to it in recent weeks, and posts are about ten days apart. Maybe I need to move things around and recategorize them.

What I'm thinking about doing is splitting things off into more than one blog. Maybe one to chronicle the Brooklyn Humanist Community, which is going strong. Another one might be for the books I read and the movies I view. Then there can be the personal stuff, that might stay in this blog.

Would I keep up with all this? Who knows? I'm just thinking that a more cohesive topic would be a help. If I ever decided to go for some advertising or to try and get publicity for the Brooklyn Humanist Community, it is probably better to keep it all under one heading rather than throw random topics into one big mishmosh of a blog.

So I think what I will do is move some of the existing posts into a new blog and see where it goes from there.

Here goes....

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

BHC News

The Brooklyn Humanist Community met again on Sunday, May 18th at the Kensington Library. We had a poetry reading, something that used to be a tradition for those of us who belonged to BSEC in the past. Although several of our readers could not make it, eight people read and it was a great success.

Tomorrow night we'll have our planning meeting. This should be pretty exciting because we need to decide whether we are going to incorporate as a nonprofit, a religious organization, or simply remain a social club with many activities, as we are doing now. I would like to see us move toward being a 501(c)(3) but that is going to depend on the group's decision.

We also need to decide whether to have a guest speaker from out of town. I feel very strongly that Curtis Gans can put us on the map. He's a known expert on the American electoral process and voting habits. The man is well respected on both sides of the political spectrum, and he has spoken all over the place, including before Congress.

So, I feel we can give him some publicity and his presence would be a real gift to us and a chance to make a name for ourselves as a new organization with the ability to attract some high-level speakers. I hope that I can convince the group to be willing to lay out some money (not all that much, even) in order to bring him here.

There's a lot riding on the meeting tomorrow night. I have my fingers crossed that all will turn out in a satisfactory way.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

For One More Day

Mitch Albom's Tuesdays With Morrie was a book that touched me deeply at a time when I was struggling with the loss of my friend and mentor, Richard Price. So when I saw his newer book, For One More Day, I had to read it.

What a stunner. I have read many books about the dead returning to save a loved one in despair, but this one was so immediate, so real, that my eyes were wet. That doesn't happen often when I read a book.

It made me think of my own mother, and it also made me want to hand the book to Jason and tell him, read this before it is too late.

There are chapters headed, Times I Did Not Stand Up for My Mother, juxtaposed against other chapters titled, Times My Mother Stood Up for Me.

Somehow, really, we expect this relationship between mothers and children. Mother gives her all, and the mother in this book, Posey, certainly did. She stood up for her son whenever she perceived a threat to him. On the other hand her son, Chick, didn't stand up for her when he thought it was a contest between his father and his mother, or his mother and the outside world.

Sometimes, though, he did. His parents divorced and so his mother became an outcast, with other women afraid she would charm their husbands away from them. When Chick caught some boys spying on his mother with binoculars and saying, "Look at the divorcee," as if it were a smutty word, he did react and beat them up.

But, he felt he abandoned her to follow his father's dream of making him into a baseball star, and she succumbed to a heart attack. Who hasn't felt he or she wasn't there enough for Mom?

Even though it's in the nature of things, it felt deeply satisfying to see Chick get his one more day with his Mom, and accompany her in the spirit world to minister to people who were about to die. Wonderful story of salvation, because when he awakens, Chick sets about repairing his own broken family, cleaning up his alcoholism, and becoming a part of his daughter's life again, where once he was such an embarrassment that she didn't even invite him to her wedding.

And Mitch Albom dedicates the book to his own mother and reveals that at least one incident in the story came directly from his own life; there's a photograph to prove it.

I guess it is fitting that I read this right before Mother's Day. It is the perfect Mother's Day present... from a mother to a child.

Monday, April 14, 2008

BHC April Program

"The first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more
Cause when life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door."

-- The Grateful Dead, "Uncle John's Band"

It's not always simple getting a new organization off the ground, but we've been managing to come up with monthly programs on a variety of issues, and to have plenty of fun too.

Sunday we met at the Kensington Library, where Remi gave a talk on The Truth of Myth. She brought out the psychological needs that are built into our brains and into all societies, a need for a myth or story, as Kurt would put it.

Remi spoke of the disconnect many people have between the mammalian brain, the cerebellum, that rules emotions, and the cerebrum, that gives us the ability to think and be logical. The need for myth arises from the emotional part of the brain, which requires teaching and needs to be helped to grow just as much as the logical part. She mentioned the story of a young boy who had a nervous breakdown, and when his psychiatrist explored the reasons, he realized that the boy grew up in a family of very intelligent, logical thinkers who wanted nothing but scientific facts in their lives. Consequently they never read their son any children's stories, fairy tales, or myths. That side of his development had not kept pace with his high IQ, so he became dysfunctional.

Once this was discovered, the boy began to recover as his therapist read stories to him, and finally he ordered his family to read children's stories to him every night as other families did.

Remi also brought out that the Greek myths were about gods who were not infallible, in fact they were very fallible. Even though they were more powerful than humans they had some very human failings, which helped people to feel that they were not so unreachable. She also pointed out that until a certain age (the onset of adolescence, maybe) children need heroes to help them feel safe and secure. Take away Samson, she said, and he will be replaced by Superman, because children need that super powerful figure to believe in. Later on many people replace the mythical heroes with an abstract figure such as God.

We went around the room and talked about our thoughts on myths and any myths that have been important to us. One person brought up Prometheus, who brought fire to humanity and was punished by being chained to a rock and having an eagle eat his liver every day. I mentioned two children's stories that influenced me a great deal, both Dr. Seuss books: Horton Hears a Who, and Horton Hatches the Egg. Horton Hatches the Egg fits into the BHC ideal of keeping commitments, because Horton the elephant stays on that nest and keeps that baby bird warm no matter what befalls him. Horton Hears a Who demonstrates not only the importance of standing up for the "invisible" and overlooked people in society, no matter how tiny a minority they may be, but also the importance of everyone standing together and speaking out against injustice.

Both these books were an influence on me as a child and I think led me into the ethical path that first induced me to explore and join Ethical Culture, and then when BSEC failed to walk its talk, breaking away and helping to form the Brooklyn Humanist Community.

After a short break, The Sticker Dude recited the "Storyteller" poem, and then sang folk and protest songs, all selected so we could sing along. He took us from Paradise (Kentucky) to the Promised Land. Along the way we sang along to "Uncle John's Band," "This Little Light of Mine," and many others. It was a rollicking, fun way to finish up the program, and brought back some nostalgic thoughts of Sticker Dude's impromptu concerts in the basement of BSEC. But now we're the Brooklyn Humanist Community, and by golly, BHC Rocks!

BHC Book Club: My Sister's Keeper

On Friday night the BHC Book Discussion Group met at Sheila's apartment to discuss My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. Sheila provided a delicious dinner: a giant bagel sandwich, cole slaw, potato and macaroni salad, fruit salad, cookies and chocolates.

After we ate the "jury" convened to deliberate on whether the various characters in the Fitzgerald family acted ethically. For the most part, we favored Anna, the main character, who was created as a "designer baby" to be a perfect genetic match and therefore a stem cell donor for her older sister Kate, who had a rare and very dangerous form of leukemia. Most of us criticized the mother, Sara, for her obvious favoritism toward Kate to the exclusion of her two other children, Anna and Jesse. Anna was raised with the expectation that she would always be there to donate blood, bone marrow and even body parts to save her sister. Jesse, the oldest and the only male, has become so embittered by being pushed aside and treated as insignificant that he has resorted to drugs, stealing cars, and arson. The father, Brian, could be viewed as kinder to his youngest child than Sara, or else as passive, letting Sara make all the decisions and not putting in his two cents.

Some people felt that Sara was right to try and save Kate at all costs, even if it meant endangering Anna. Others felt Anna was right to bring a lawsuit for medical emancipation from her parents so that they could not coerce her into giving up a kidney for her sister. The discussion was lively and impassioned, and all sorts of moral criteria came to the fore.

It's a tough book to read, especially with the shocking and tragic ending. But the writing drew me in and I ended up reading it three times.

This was an excellent evening, with lots of input from everyone. Our next book will be A Thousand Splendid Suns.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

A BHC Reflection on Freedom

Last night we gathered at Rozanne and Michael's home in Park Slope for a Reflection. This was one of the best turnouts we've had so far. We had about 23 people. Rozanne made a "few simple things," and since she's an accomplished chef, they were absolutely wonderful. After we feasted Kurt led the reflection, based on this poem:


True Freedom
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk being called sentimental.
To reach out to another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk showing your true self.
To place your ideas and your dreams before a crowd
is to risk being called naive.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair, and to try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken, because the greatest risk in life
is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live.
Chained by things that are certain, he is a slave.
He has forefeited his freedom.

Only the person who risks is truly free

.....Author Unknown

The discussion was excellent. At the end, we spoke about those we admire..risk takers or not. I said I admired Beth, who heard from her doctor that she shouldn't buy birthday candles..and every year that she survived, she sent the twit a box of birthday candles.

I liked Jason's story. He said that he admired an autistic boy he met at the stable, who hasn't spoken before but has started speaking there. He made everyone chuckle when he mentioned that the boy has recently started speaking to "a female."

It was great to see so many of us together again. Some of our events have been well attended, others not so much. This one was a real crowd. Rozanne's home is a beautiful setting, a large brownstone with antique furnishings. There's a beautiful kimono hanging on the wall behind the piano. You would think it came straight from Japan but it was purchased in Kansas City. They have figurines that look like they came from Mexico or South America, and in the kitchen Rozanne has a collection of serving dishes mounted on the wall, each one different from the others.

The house is lovely, their adopted daughter is a lovely young lady, but it is their graciousness that makes it such an uplifting experience to be in their home. It was a great night, and everyone who attended contributed some unique thoughts. Ruth said something that stays in my mind: when asked about admiring someone who took a risk, she pointed out that as a group we took the risk of leaving BSEC and forming our own organization, and it is working!

Next we have to organize the Seder on the 25th. I'm going to start making calls tomorrow and get the ball rolling. That should be lots of fun! And it will revive a tradition that went by the wayside for so many years. We're going to revive them all! This was a successful and heartwarming event. There will be many more.

Organized Crime in the Third Grade

I heard on the news that a group of third graders in Georgia didn't appreciate their teacher's scolding. So they banded together and cooked up a plan to tie her up, stab her with a steak knife, cover up the windows, and then clean up the mess.

You have to give them credit for organized planning, but this is a pretty cold and ugly plan to be cooked up by a group of eight and nine-year olds. They must have had the modern "teamwork" approach to education, since they parcelled out the tasks so neatly. These kids could run a junior crime organization; perhaps they'll be hearing from recruiters.

But somewhere along the way, someone forgot to teach them right from wrong.

I don't think this can happen at school. It comes from the parents, and apparently the parents in this case were not up to the job. Or, maybe they were too busy scraping out a living, but that doesn't fly with me. Plenty of people have scraped for a living but remembered to instill some values in their kids.

It's pretty frightening when kids who should be playing at Chucky Cheese or watching cartoons are instead plotting to stab their teacher. What kind of a world are we creating by leaving kids to learn their morals from a TV set or a video game?

Monday, March 24, 2008

"The Other Boleyn Girl"

On Friday Bruce and I went to see "The Other Boleyn Girl." We don't get to the movies much and I am not an experienced critic, but I very much enjoyed the film. Somewhere along the line I may have read about Mary Boleyn who was also mistress to Henry VIII and bore him a son. However he couldn't acknowledge the child because he was still married to his first wife, Catherine of Aragon. In the meantime, while Mary was on bedrest, the more ambitious Ann won him over, supposedly by teasing him and refusing to give herself to him unless they were married.

I doubted that was historically accurate as I suspect breaking with the Catholic Church was Henry's idea and not Ann's. But in any case he broke with the Church and established his own Church of England which permitted divorce, and he sent Catherine home. He married Ann, but according to the film he already disliked her and only wanted her to slake his lust. She miscarried a boy, supposedly, that only Mary and their brother George knew about.

Then, the fatal mistake, Ann decided to try to make a son with her brother, on the premise that at least the baby would resemble her and she could pass it off as Henry's own. Now, when I read up on it, it seemed that the charge of incest was trumped up and used to get rid of her since she too had failed in her purpose as a brood sow to bear the king a male heir. George was executed for a crime history says he did not commit, and Ann was beheaded two days later. Of them all, Mary lived out her life peacefully and happily. And Ann's child, Elizabeth, was Henry's heir after all and ruled England for 45 years.

So really, Ann Boleyn lost her head because of sexism, plain and simple. Henry couldn't imagine that a daughter could rule as queen, instead of a son as king.

In the film, the Boleyn father, Thomas, was portrayed as an ambitious man without principles who was willing to pimp his daughters to get ahead at court. His wife was the one who saw through the whole thing and warned him time and again that he was putting the entire family at risk, for treason was what the king and his advisors made it.

I pitied her, because she had no power to stop what her husband was doing to her children, and she ended up seeing two of them die before her.

The early scenes between Mary and Henry were tender and sensual. It seemed he really cared for her, but he was a spoiled absolute monarch who let his head be turned by the next woman and the next. Probably Mary was lucky that he turned his attentions away from her, and she ended up marrying someone else after her first husband died and living happily with him (though, history says this marriage ruined her fortunes, she was still happy with her husband).

The historical truths, even though of course there was fiction mixed in, made this an interesting film. I love the costumes and pageantry of that era, and the acting was good as well. So I definitely recommend this film, especially to any history buffs out there.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Women Who Changed My Life

Helen Keller: The first woman outside my family who made an impression on me was Helen Keller. It happened this way: when I was eight, my mother took me to see “State Fair” and “The Miracle Worker” as a double feature at Radio City Music Hall. She thought I would love “State Fair” and find “The Miracle Worker” too heavy. She was mistaken.

Halfway through “State Fair,” when the actors were singing some insipid song about an elephant on a revolving platform, I jumped out of my seat, put my hands on my skinny hips, and said loudly, “This movie is about absolutely nothing!” Then I sat down in a huff and endured the rest of the film in stony silence.

But when “The Miracle Worker” came onscreen, my whole attitude changed. I was fascinated by Helen. It amazed me that even before Anne Sullivan came to educate Helen, she had adapted herself so well to her surroundings. In her autobiography, Helen Keller mentioned her early childhood days and how she figured out how to steal keys and lock people into various rooms. She locked her mother into the pantry and when Anne Sullivan first arrived she locked her into her bedroom too.

Of course, an ordinary child would have been punished but because of her disabilities Helen was left undisciplined until Ms. Sullivan arrived. Helen described the amazing moment of enlightenment at the water pump when she realized that the letters Anne Sullivan spelled into her hand meant water, the cool liquid flowing over her fingers, and how she put it all together, saying her baby word, “Wa-wa,” over and over again.

Because I was such an avid reader, I identified with Helen’s giddy excitement as she rushed about asking Anne Sullivan the name of each object she touched. It reminded me of the rush of excitement I’d felt just 3 years earlier, when I suddenly realized I was able to read without sounding out the words on the page.

After the movie was over, I wanted to know more. I went to the library and checked out every book there was on Helen Keller. Also at that time, JFK was President, and some toy company came out with a doll called “Caroline” that bore some resemblance to Caroline Kennedy. I received this doll as a gift, possibly for my birthday.

But in my eyes, this doll was not the President’s daughter. She also bore a resemblance to Patty Duke in the role of Helen Keller. So I named her Helen, appointed myself Anne Sullivan, and learned the sign language alphabet (called, in those pre-PC days, the “deaf and dumb alphabet.”). My “Helen” was about three feet tall and her special feature was that she would walk if you led her by the hand. So I led “Helen” about and spelled words into her hand, just as I had seen Anne Sullivan do in the film.

I don’t know how long I persisted in this game with my “Helen Keller” doll but I do know that Helen Keller made a profound impression on me of someone who was handed massive obstacles and yet overcame them to put her mark on the world.

Several years later, I read a Reader’s Digest article by Helen Keller, describing in vivid detail what she would do if she were to receive the gift of sight and hearing for just 3 days. The article could have been, but was not, filled with poignant longing and self-pity. Instead, it was full of a reverence for the world of the senses. It was an inspiration and a reminder to appreciate the precious gifts of beauty we have access to just by virtune of being able to see and hear.

Things I learned about Helen Keller when I researched her recently didn’t quite penetrate into my awareness as a child. I had no understanding yet of what a feat it was for her to graduate from Radcliffe at the age of 24, only 17 years after she understood her first sign-language word! I didn’t realize what an accomplishment it was for her to learn to speak aloud words she could not hear, or to learn French, German, Latin and Greek in addition to English! So as I researched her, Helen Keller has continued to rise in my estimation. Finally, she devoted her life to traveling and speaking on behalf of the Foundation for the Blind. As someone who is very much interested in nonprofit work, I admire her for this as well.

Anne Frank: At first I hesitated to list Anne Frank as a woman who changed my life, because she was murdered in her teens and never became a grown woman. Nonetheless, the budding woman who left her legacy to the world had a profound influence on me.

I must have been 10 or 11 when I first read her diary. Wisely or unwisely, I had already been exposed to images and stories about the Holocaust, particularly at Jewish-run summer camps. In the mid-sixties, there was a definite focus on making sure that children born after World War II remembered the Nazi horror. So I don’t remember now whether I acted the part of Dussell, the old-fashioned and intolerant man who made it so difficult for Anne to sleep, before or after I first read her diary.

But I do know that I immediately fell in love with it. Horrible though their situation was, I found a certain romance in their Secret Annex and the measures they took to keep themselves from getting caught. I impressed my Barbie dolls into service and acted out scenes from the diary with them, with Barbie’s little sister Skipper playing the part of Anne.

I don’t know how many times I read Anne Frank’s diary while I was growing up. I do know she inspired me to start my own, in a daily planner bound as a hardcover book. Some days I had nothing to say, and it was hard to fill up that single page. As I grew older and had more to write about, I found the single page restrictive and sometimes my writing began to spill over onto the next page.

As I entered adolescence, I began to identify with Anne’s teenage struggles to find herself. Her fights with her mother mirrored mine even though the subject matter was surely different. She was critical of the Van Damm’s who shared their hiding place, especially Mrs. Van Damm, who, according to Anne, flirted openly with her father. As an early teen, I could well identify with the feeling of discovering the hypocrisy of the adult world. Growing up in the late sixties and early seventies, it seemed like the whole world was disgusted with the hypocrisy of previous generations.

But here came Anne’s one and only “love affair.” She and Peter both perished, and their brief happy time together turned out to be all they were ever going to get. If they were a little older, a little more rebellious it would have progressed further, and in a sense, why not? But they weren’t despairing. Anne was able to look out at her little strip of sky, all she could see of the outside world, and still have hope that the war would end, that persecution would end, and that she would live out her life in peace.

That didn’t happen, of course. The families were captured and of them all, only her father survived. By a remarkable stroke of luck, Anne’s diary was not destroyed when she was arrested, and that’s why we all know the inspiring story of the young woman who never got to be an adult, yet gave the world the gift of her optimism and courage.

Sometimes I wonder about Anne Frank. Suppose she had escaped and lived to a ripe old age. She might still be alive today. Would she have placed her mark on the world? Was she exceptional in her optimism and faith in humanity despite the horrors happening around her? Or would any other teenager under similar circumstances react the same way?

In fact we know that many people did not react the same way. Depression and suicide was not unusual at that time. In 1998 we visited my cousins, New York transplants living in the Netherlands since 1969. One day Fran took us to a Jewish cemetery in Wassenaar and pointed out that there was a jump in the number of headstones with death dates during the World War II period. Apparently many Jews, expecting the worst and not wanting to allow their fates to rest in hostile hands, committed suicide as the Nazis invaded the Netherlands.

But despite the deprivations, the days of sitting in silence lest the office workers below hear a floor creak above their heads, and the ever-present fear of being caught, Anne never expressed suicidal thoughts. Instead, she and her sister dutifully educated themselves and prepared for an adulthood after the war, an adulthood that never came. How many of us could stick to our lessons under similar circumstances? Wouldn’t it seem futile? And yet they persevered.

Also on that visit to the Netherlands, our very first stop was at the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam. We got to climb up into the Secret Annex, which is now preserved as a museum, even to the postcards and pictures of movie stars that Anne and Margot kept on the wall. I was emotionally touched to be standing in the very rooms I’d read about so many years ago. I can’t say I felt Anne’s presence, but I felt as if the walls remembered her.

Anne Frank’s experiences and her belief in the goodness of humanity influenced me profoundly and started me on a lifetime of journaling, even though I have destroyed some of those journals. I owe her a great debt for being such an inspiration to me, and honor her as a “woman who changed my life.”

Jane Goodall: I was on my way to an interest in anthropology before I ever heard of Jane Goodall, but she was a major influence on me nevertheless.

As a child I developed an early interest in science. I read books about astronomy, and also about Earth’s pre-history. The development of life and the various stages of evolution that plants and animals went through in order to become what they are today fascinated me. So I read books about the dinosaurs, their environment, and the discovery of their bones.

This led me into reading books on human evolution. I read about Lucy, about Peking man, about Dart’s baby. I knew the names of the various species of hominids, knew their eras, and knew their tools and other artifacts. I was fascinated by the cave paintings and the ritual burials, heralding the dawn of a religion. I also was intrigued by the split off of humans from the other primates.

Although we did not yet know just how closely related humans and chimpanzees are, sharing over 98% of the same genes, in the 1960’s we did know that chimps are our closest animal relatives. So in 1966, when I heard there was going to be a National Geographic special on Jane Goodall, a young Englishwoman who went out to the African jungles to study chimps, I had to watch.

I was captivated immediately by Jane Goodall’s fearlessness and her intimate knowledge of the chimps. She actually gave them names, coded by letter for each family. Thus Flo, Freud, and Frodo were all of the same family line. She found a way to categorize the family groups and yet respect their individual personalities. This earned her the ridicule of many scientists who wanted to keep their distance from their animal subjects. Jane Goodall appeared on the cover of National Geographic, something that “serious scientists” never did. This earned her more ridicule, and remarks about “Blondes in the Jungle” began floating around.

Yet, Jane Goodall made discoveries that caused us to redefine our concept of what it means to be human. In the early sixties, she observed chimpanzees not only using tools but modifying natural objects to better suit their purposes. She saw chimps using thin sticks to poke into termite holes, and then withdraw them with termites clinging to them, for a tasty treat. Not only that but she also observed them stripping the twigs of leaves so they would better fit down the termite holes. So, this young woman who grew up in modest circumstances and had only a high school diploma when she began her fieldwork, revolutionized primatology as we know it today.

Later on, Jane Goodall went on to achieve a Ph.D. and to found the Jane Goodall Institute. In her seventies now, she still travels the world for an exhausting 50 weeks a year, speaking on behalf of her beloved chimps, animal rights, impoverished people, and the environment. For two weeks each year, she takes a “vacation” in the Gombe where she first began her studies, refreshing and renewing her spirit.

Dr. Goodall has faced other turning points in her life. In “Through a Glass, Darkly,” she records later observations of chimps that revealed their dark side. In short, chimps, especially young male chimps, make war on their own kind, maiming and killing chimps from other troops. Even female chimps can be killers, sometimes slaying and eating a rival’s infants. This discovery put her at odds with much of the scientific world, that did not want to hear that the human propensity for cruelty and violence may be imprinted in our genes. In her spiritual memoirs, “Reason for Hope,” Dr. Goodall gives us insight into the spiritual struggle she went through while absorbing this unwanted information.

Yet Jane Goodall does find reason for hope, and she finds it in youth. Through the Jane Goodall Institute she has founded Roots and Shoots, which engages young people around the world, from preschoolers to college students, in projects to benefit animals, impoverished peoples, and the environment. As Jane Goodall says, she can’t save the whole world, and these groups of young people are doing the work that she cannot. Yet, she firmly believes that every one of us can make a discernible difference in making the world a better place.

Jane Goodall’s influence led me into majoring in anthropology. I had visions of going on fossil digs, until I realized that one scorpion or one hideously large insect would send me fleeing homeward on the next plane. But all my life I have admired and respected Jane Goodall for what she has accomplished, armed at first with only a high school degree, secretarial training, and a huge helping of courage and compassion. She has spent 50 years following her dream of a better world with kindness for all earth’s creatures.

Jane Goodall is the only one of these 3 women I had the privilege of meeting in person, at Danbury Connecticut last April. It was a peak moment for me to be able to tell her that when I had breast cancer, I put seeing her in person on my “bucket list” and how happy I was to finally speak to her in person as she autographed one of her books for me.

It would not be fair to praise these three outstanding women without mentioning the women who stood behind them. For Helen Keller, it was Anne Sullivan’s love, perseverance and dedication that made it possible to become her best self. For Anne Frank, it was the courage of Miep Geis, a Dutch woman who brought necessities to Anne Frank and her family and helped them to escape detection as long as they did. For Jane Goodall, it was her mother, Vanne Goodall, who accompanied Jane into the bush for the first months of her fieldwork, when Tanzanian officials would not permit a lone woman to camp there. They, too, deserve to be honored during Women’s History Month.

All three women, Helen Keller, Anne Frank, and Jane Goodall, came to my attention and earned my admiration while I was still a child. Today, I still admire them for their determination, their bravery, their compassion, and their hope. They have influenced me in ways I had not examined closely before deciding to make this presentation, and it is my pleasure to bring their stories to you. Thank you.

Saturday, March 08, 2008

Official Language

I don't care if it sounds un-PC. English should be our official language in this country, and no one should be required to be bilingual for any job.

Otherwise, in just a few years, no one in New York City will be able to work unless he or she is bilingual, and of course the most proficient people will be the ones who have been here the shortest length of time. American born children raised by American born parents will be completely left behind.

Today I was infuriated. While walking on Avenue U we saw two signs in a store window. One was spelled incorrectly. Okay, no one knows how to spell English or properly speak English anymore. That's bad enough, but the other sign in the same window said help wanted, but demanded that the applicants must speak Russian.

Well, excuse me. They can't be bothered to learn English properly, but no American can get a job in their store? This is despicable. It's going to completely undermine our economy if it is allowed to continue.

Oh, sure, we should all learn a foreign language, and kids should be taught in public school. First of all, that's balderdash. They do a completely incompetent job of teaching kids a foreign language. So who is going to get these bilingual jobs? The American born kid who has 3 years of high school foreign language, or the alien? Sorry, American kid, do not pass go, do not collect a salary.

Plus, there are so many immigrants coming in from so many places that it is not possible for any American to learn all these languages and therefore even the playing field. My grandfather spoke 6 languages, but he came from a wealthy family in Greece, and had no need to work until he came to the States. So he had plenty of time to learn all those tongues. Around here you'd have to know Russian, Chinese or maybe Korean to get a job in a local store. In other parts of the city it's Spanish. What's an American supposed to do? Learn fourteen languages?

I think we need to legislate so that Americans will have the leg up getting jobs. Otherwise, our own kids in this next generation will be sitting on the sidelines while the children of foreigners snap up the all the jobs.

Monday, March 03, 2008

Not Buying It, by Judith Levine

I just finished reading Not Buying It. It chronicles Ms. Levine's decision to stop shopping, except for essentials, for a full year. The year in question was 2004. She and her partner faced many puzzling choices as they went through this year of abstinence. What kinds of foods are necessities, which ones are luxuries that shouldn't be bought? Certainly, their larder was full of some items I would consider luxuries (three kinds of salt?).

They had two or three places of residence and three cars between them. Already, that's more luxury than we have or expect to have. Of course, all that was purchased before 2004. Still, I'm sure it made it much easier to cut back to the bare essentials (sort of) for a full year.

Oh, I do empathize with feeling that you can't buy anything you see. I've often felt deprived that way whether because of my diet or a shortage of funds, or just being frugal.

But they didn't do it just to be frugal. The idea was to drop out of consumer society for a year and see where that left them. Ms. Levine says, it left her as a "citizen," more aware of her place in the social body, the body politic.

It seemed to me it left them with a lot of dilemmas. What to give a niece for graduation, if you won't buy anything new? They ended up giving her a family heirloom, a necklace Ms. Levine got from her mother.

And that's the tough part. You can stop buying but even the used items were once "consumed" by somebody else. And your friends will come through and buy you things because they feel sorry for you, even though your deprivation has been self-imposed.

That happened to me once. I was fed up with television and when I moved into a studio apartment I didn't go out and buy one. So I lived without a TV for over a year. Then a friend said, "You have to have a TV!" and gave me a beat up little black and white TV she'd originally purchased in 1969. It worked well enough and I did appreciate its presence when I was out of work. But, I could have lived just fine without it, and relied on the radio for information.

So it's an interesting book but in fact, I don't think they really got away from being consumers. Most people can't, though they did meet up with a man who lives on just a few thousand dollars a year and has enough left over to give $256 to charity. Maybe he's the closest to being a nonconsumer it is possible to come.

Since I don't participate in the holiday hooplah, which is what set Ms. Levine off on this year of Not Buying It in the first place, I guess I am more relaxed about the whole issue of being a consumer. We can all take our purchases seriously, and maybe we should. Who is supported and who is harmed when we buy this or that? But on the other hand, to do this balancing act every time one is out shopping is very difficult.

The book reflects a noble endeavor, imperfectly executed, as all of us are imperfect beings. Ms. Levine gives it honesty; she doesn't pretend that she never slipped up and bought a few "unnecessary" things, or that her partner Paul didn't decide he absolutely had to have alcohol so he made his own beer. It was an interesting experiment to read about, and I'm glad I'm not the one making it.