November 5, 2007

Bravo for Writers!


Hollywood screenwriters have gone on strike after talks with studio representatives failed to resolve a dispute over royalties.

The Writers Guild of America has asked its 12,000 members
to stop working and set up picket lines.

Late-night television chat shows are likely to be the first productions
to suffer with drama to follow if the strike drags on.

The last strike by screenwriters, in 1988, lasted a crippling 22 weeks.

The BBC's Peter Bowes in Los Angeles says the strike
is expected to have a ripple effect throughout Los Angeles
with businesses that rely on the entertainment industry being hit hard.

He says one estimate puts the potential cost to the city at $1bn.

October 29, 2007

Yesterday...

Yesterday was a good day -

A day that began with a trip to the costume store
where my 4 year old daughter, Audra,
tried on an assortment of princess gowns
until she had perfected the right ensemble for Halloween.
As we were leaving the store, she said -

"I wish I was a grown-up!"
"Why," I, chuckled.
"So I could be a costume seller."

A day that continued with a prolonged session of
walking, running, and jumping in the park on a windy autumn afternoon -
chasing ducks, and riding the outdoor carousel one last time,
which actually, turned out to be 4 last times.

"Bye horsey," Audra said, with a touch of joyful melancholy -
"See you in the spring."

Later, in a moment of quiet as we both leaned over a wall
to watch the ducks disappear and reappear from under the bridge -

"Look at that big leaf, daddy!
That's a pancake for the ducks because they are hungry."

A day that continued with bedtime on the couch
as we prepared for game 4 of the World Series -
Audra wearing her red Red Sox shirt,
me wearing mine...

"Look daddy, I'm the Red Sox,"
she said pointing to the logo of the red socks on the front of her shirt.
"And you are the 'B's! We're two baseball teams..."

Soon Audra was asleep,
absorbing the sounds and textures of late-night baseball
into her dreams ...

...so good...

October 21, 2007

Game 7 Tonight!

Call it the You-Never-Know factor.
When those 37,163 entered the ballpark last evening,
not one of them thought they would see
J.D. Drew get the biggest hit of the game.
Not one of them thought they would be demanding,
and getting, a first-inning curtain call from J.D. Drew.

But they did.
That's the fascination of sport,
let alone the fascination of J.D. Drew.

Bob Ryan/Boston Globe

October 20, 2007

It was a cool October evening at sunset
when my daughter, Audra, and I waded into the Pacific
to, as Audra put it - "Dance on the waves"

Some while later, with Audra drenched and shivering
from taking "one more wave" on the chin,
I suggested that we might
return to the hotel to get warmed up -

"No daddy, not yet!
I want to stay one more minute,
no, five more minutes,
no, a week,
no, I want to stay one whole year!"

September 24, 2007

Repose ~

(photo by zjm)

First Autumn Night

























I camped outside in the back yard last night with my 4 year old daughter, Audra. It was her first time to sleep under the stars. After we read 'Green Eggs and Ham' by flashlight, we listened to the sound of crickets, and watched the shadows of trees lit by the glow of the rising moon.

"What's it like being outside in the tent?"

"
Rainbowy," dad. "Rainbowy."

September 22, 2007

Ice withdrawal 'shatters record'


Arctic sea ice shrank
to the smallest area on record this year

September 21, 2007

Noble Warrior to the End

Reading, writing, and rebellion

CAMBRIDGE - Jonathan Kozol appeared shrunken in his chair at Harvard's Memorial Church, his blazer tossed aside, the sleeves of his pinstriped shirt rolled up to the elbows to expose bony arms. His thin ankles, swathed in black socks, disappeared into his signature navy blue Keds.

Over the past 24 hours, he had consumed only half a bowl of frosted cornflakes, half a cheese sandwich, several glasses of grapefruit juice, and a French vanilla latte, a treat he granted himself before beginning his lecture this week to hundreds of teachers and education activists packed into the church pews.

Since early July, the 71-year-old education warrior of the 1960s has shed 29 pounds from his slender 5-foot-9-inch frame, subsisting on a mostly liquid diet. His point: to protest the federal No Child Left Behind Act now up for reauthorization. He said he will continue his partial fast until US Senator Edward M. Kennedy, who sponsored the original bill, agrees to drastically overhaul what Kozol called a punitive law that relegates urban schoolchildren to an inferior, stripped-down education and demoralizes teachers, who he believes are forced to teach to the test.

Despite his emaciated 132-pound figure, Kozol is anything but battle weary.

"I'm too old to bite my tongue," he said. "I don't care what happens to me now. I intend to keep on fighting this issue to my dying day."

Surrounded at this week's lecture by grizzled, longtime allies and idealistic college students who regard him as the high priest of public education, Kozol hoped to energize a new generation of teachers in his four-decade-long fight for equity. These are his people, the only family of sorts for a man who never had children and who lives alone in a Byfield cottage filled with books and fan mail.

"My goal is to connect the young teachers to the old, to reignite their sense of struggle," he said, urging audience members to sign up with his new Cambridge-based nonprofit, Education Action!

Kozol, a Newton native who rose to fame as one of the most prolific authors on urban education and social justice in America, spent the first part of the week in Washington, D.C. He met with reporters and members of Congress, and attended an evening rally for teachers to promote his new book, "Letters to a Young Teacher," inspired by his correspondence with a Boston first-grade teacher, in which he rails against standardized testing.

No Child Left Behind, Kozol believes, has plunged urban education back to the dark ages before desegregation. Under the law, schools whose test scores don't improve each year could eventually be shut down, a specter hanging over a disproportionate number of city schools that educate mostly poor, minority children.

"We have apartheid schools, and MCAS has unwittingly introduced an apartheid curriculum," said Kozol during an interview, likening inner-city classrooms to test prep factories. "I'm determined to mobilize teachers and parents to fight this bill aggressively and bombard Senator Kennedy with a very clear message: If he fails to introduce dramatic revisions to No Child Left Behind, it will be devastating to the enormous faith we've had in him all these years."

Kennedy, chairman of the Education Committee, said in a statement yesterday that he hopes to introduce the reauthorization bill to his panel later this month or in early October after he reviews the ideas and recommendations of parents, students, and educators, including Kozol.

"No Child Left Behind advanced the commitment first made during the Great Society, the promise that every child counts, regardless of race, background, or disability," Kennedy said. "We must renew our commitment to its noble purposes, but also make the common-sense changes needed to ensure that it works better for our students and our schools."

Kozol said he has considered Kennedy a friend for more than 40 years. As a young senator, Kennedy defended Kozol after he was fired from the Boston Public Schools in 1965 for "curriculum deviation" for teaching a Langston Hughes poem to his fourth-grade class. Kozol chronicled his harrowing year teaching under deplorable conditions in a mostly black Dorchester elementary school in his first book, "Death At An Early Age."

But, according to Kozol, the senator has thrown up a "cold, stone wall" to his repeated attempts to meet with him this summer about No Child Left Behind. Before the Senate recessed in July, Kozol said, Kennedy's staff offered to squeeze him in for a few minutes.

"At that point, I just threw up my hands, because there's no way of presenting a thoughtful argument in five to seven minutes," Kozol said.

During his lecture at Harvard this week, Kozol likened No Child Left Behind to a "shaming ritual" in which the federal government holds up "impossible demands without money to pay for it." Against this backdrop, it's no wonder that half of urban teachers quit within their first three years, he said.

"Wonderful teachers should never let themselves be drill sergeants for the state," he said, peering at the crowd through gold wire-rimmed glasses. "I don't want them to quit. I want them to stay. But I want them to stay and not lose their souls."

From their front-row seats, three elderly, African-American women nodded gravely.

They were Kozol's old friends, former Boston public school parents who staged a sit-in protesting his firing from a school where children were routinely lashed with a rattan whip in a basement that smelled of urine.

They worked with Kozol to start alternative schools in the South End and Roxbury for black parents shunning the inferior public education their children were subjected to.

"All we wanted was an education for our children," said Julia Walker, 74, as she waited in line to greet Kozol.

"You know what? Sometimes it sounds like we're right back at the beginning," said Joyce Johnson, 75.

"Exactly," Walker said.

"And sometimes it sounds like there's still hope," Johnson said. "My children have picked up the torch."

September 20, 2007


Read this almost one year old story
while eating my breakfast this morning -


One village's African boat trauma


Every day hundreds of African migrants cross the Atlantic Ocean to the Canary Islands in search of a better life. Debbie Woodmansey, who has lived in Gran Canaria for two-and-a-half years, describes the impact this has on her village.

Let me first tell you about our village. It is a small, friendly, ancient Canarian fishing village which is developing to incorporate the growing population.

Life here is hard, hot, but relaxed.

I became aware of the boats from Africa not long after I arrived. At first I would just see piles of battered boats in the corner of the harbour. People told me they had arrived carrying up to 100 people but I didn't believe them. It was beyond comprehension.

One day in the summer of 2005, I came home from work to find my daughter really distressed. She told me she had seen hundreds of African people sitting on the ground in the square looking sad and hungry.

Desperation

What was a shock then has now sadly become a regular sight. The sirens, the police, the desperation of the boat people. These are all commonplace, as is the feeling of helplessness experienced by the villagers who truly want to do something to help.

Boats now arrive most days, sometimes several in a day.

They hold around 100 men, women and children. They are now about 12 metres long but this doesn't mean they are safer.

I wouldn't take my daughter to the next village in one. These people cross an ocean in them, and a dangerous one at that.

We always know when a boat is about to arrive as the harbour fills up with tents, hospital beds and wheelchairs. When we see the helicopter arrive, we know that someone needs to get to hospital at great speed.

The sadness of this sight never fades.

The arrival of the boat people is normal conversation for us, here. We discuss how many arrived last week, what time the boat came in last night, how many didn't make it.

We are all affected emotionally by what we see and hear. We witness the plight of the African people every day.

Drain on resources

However, we can't help but notice the effect on our community.

We live on a very small island and this is a major drain on the resources here.

The navy boats, the coast guards, the civil guard and the Red Cross used to work together fighting the battle against drugs. Now it seems all their time and resources are spent working with the boat people.

What is happening now in the battle against drugs? This is something the islanders worry about.

The villagers are not angry with the people, they are angry about the drain on resources. It cannot be sustained.

The boat people cannot leave the island until they are fit. Because they arrive in such an appalling condition - they are too weak to walk or stand - this takes quite a while. Who foots the bill for their medical care?

Sahara dust

Early in September, we had the dust blowing over from the Sahara. There were many boats crossing at that time. The people were exposed to the punishing sun's intensified rays with little more than a glass of water a day and a bowl of rice.

Seeing them, it was hard to believe they had even had that much to eat and drink, and they were the lucky ones. Countless boats and bodies never make it.

While the dust was here and when the storms came, we silently hoped for the safety of the little boats we knew were making the crossing.

Bodies are sometimes brought in by the fishermen, as they sometimes catch them in their nets. I once heard of a fisherman finding a pregnant woman floating in the sea.

A few days ago, 220 people arrived in one day. When the authorities were cleaning one of the boats before it was destroyed, they found three dead bodies.

A woman had arrived with a one-week-old baby, and the baby had died. Her loving husband had sent them instead of himself.

The villagers have such sympathy for these desperate people. We sit silently as the convoy heads out of our village and up to the capital, Las Palmas, listening to the sirens and holding back our tears.

I had family visiting on one occasion, we were down by the beach. As our children swam happily in the sea, the boats arrived. The contrast was so sharp.

Story from BBC NEWS


September 18, 2007

"No, the great business of our time is this:
for one man to find himself in another one
who is on the other side of the world.
Only by such contacts can there be peace,
can the sacredness of life be preserved and developed
and the image of God manifest itself in the world."

Thomas Merton
(From a letter to Boris Pasternak, 10/23/1958)

September 17, 2007


“If mothers ruled the world, there would be no god-damned wars in the first place.”


So said Sally Field during her Emmy acceptance speech last night in Hollywood.

Let's see ... it is men who are violent, the wagers of war?

But what are we say to the countless children that suffer child abuse at the hands of women each year? Say of those mothers who rule the world of their young with violence?

What do we say of the leading democratic candidate for President, Hillary Clinton? A woman and a mother who voted to send young men and women to Iraq to die? A woman and mother who voted to kill the children of Iraqi mothers? A woman and mother who continues, to this very day, to defend that
decision. A woman who has a stronger pro war stance than most of the other male democratic candidates?

Let's not forget our recent history, and the war waging woman and mother, Margaret Thatcher.

And what do we say to the countless loving men and fathers who, who along with countless good women and mothers, work each and everyday to create peace, and end war?

Enough of the false and empty cliches!

People who crave power, abuse power - and are regularly willing to sacrifice, with violence, anything and anybody, to achieve their ends.

Be they male or female, or any color under the sun!

September 16, 2007

Demonstrators placed a mock flag-draped coffin and combat boots in remembrance
of Marine Lance Corporal Alexander S. Arredondo of Randolph, Mass.,
in Lafayette Park in Washington.
(PABLO MARTINEZ MONSIVAIS/ASSOCIATED PRESS)

In the first major antiwar demonstration in the nation's capital since January, several thousand protesters marched from the White House to the Capitol yesterday, carrying signs and chanting slogans demanding an end to the war and the impeachment of President Bush.
Tina Marie Macias, Los Angeles Times | September 16, 2007






September 15, 2007

Saturday Thought



I merely took the energy it takes to pout
and wrote some blues -

Duke Ellington


September 14, 2007

Moral Intelligence

(photo from Boston Globe)

Upon the undisputed revelation that the New England Patriots violated league rules and cheated by videotaping the defensive signs of the New York Jets during last Sunday's game, Boston Globe writer Jackie MacMullan wrote a column entitled: "You're too smart for this stuff, Bill."

When you live in New England, and you are introduced to someone for the first time, you will either hear about what schools they attended, or hear about how smart they are. This is true whether the person is standing in the room or not. Nothing is revered in New England like intelligence. Everything is connected to intelligence. Smart, and you are likely to be viewed as upstanding, moral, and a valuable asset to society. Stupid, or of below average intelligence, and you are likely
to be viewed as suspect, less than moral, and a liability to society. Too strong? Perhaps.

But isn't it interesting that when Bill Belichick is caught flagrantly disregarding the rules to gain unfair advantage (a value and practice by the way, that is the cornerstone of modern American business) the first thing people think about, are confused by, is why someone so smart would do such a thing?

News to all New Englanders who believe intelligence makes you a more moral person! No Way! No connection between IQ and morality. Proof right here. No need to look any further.

I coached little league for 5 years. If I'd done what Belichick did, I'd have been kicked out of the league, the previous win would have been forfeited, and my team would have been banned from post season play. But my league had ethics, and more importantly, my league cared about the moral future of children. Not so with the NFL.

I've been following and rooting for the Pats since I was a child in the 60's. I've been thinking about the penalties handed down by the new commissioner - $750,000 dollars of fines, which would be like fining me one dollar. A first round draft pick to a team that already has the deepest talent in the league.

Boy, those are tough consequences - makes little league seem awfully unfair!

September 12, 2007

Changing One's View

Joe Deverell is taking a trip on the Erie Canal to promote the historic upstate New York canal system, to tackle a new challenge and to slow down his life to appreciate Mother Nature's offerings.

While many others have taken similar journeys on the canal over the years, Deverell's trek is a bit different. He will pole along the canal in a 36-foot gondola.

''It's about taking the time to look at the world in a different way. ...It would be easier to stay at home, watch TV and have a couple beers, but there will be plenty of time to do that,'' said Deverell, 41, a self-employed industrial engineer from Cato, N.Y., who departed on his trip Tuesday.

At 6-foot-2 and a muscular 220 pounds, Deverell appears ready for the physical demands of rowing a 900-pound boat an average of 12 miles a day for the next 20 days.

Deverell trained for about two months to get in shape and to pad his hands with thick, protective calluses for the rigors of the trip. He hopes to reach Albany by Sept. 30 to meet three other gondoliers who are rowing from Albany to New York City to salute the victims of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. They're departing Oct. 1.

''What he's doing is ambitious in that he's the only one doing it. If he does it solo, I will be very impressed,'' said Greg Mohr, president of the Gondolier Society of America, one of the three gondoliers participating in the Albany to New York City tribute row.

Deverell won't be alone on his trip. Two independent New York City filmakers are accompanying him for part of his journey.

He'll row during the day. At night, he plans to dock the boat, dine at restaurants and sleep outside in a tent.

His biggest concern is running into high winds, which he said would make it more difficult to land the gondola in stormy weather.

Deverell paid $15,000 for his gondola in 2002. It was once used to ferry passengers and cargo through the busy canals of Venice, Italy.

Deverell, who has also sailed boats for many years, was inspired to buy his gondola after his girlfriend of two years died in a car accident in late 1999. She was a science teacher in the Clyde-Savannah school district and loved the outdoors.

Her death, he said, taught him to start living more for today rather than waiting for tomorrow. He had vacationed in Venice in the mid-1990s and fallen in love with the Italian boats because of their simple, efficient design and the romantic view of the world that they offer.

''It's about doing these things while you still can ... I think she would be proud of me,'' he said.

———


Updated: 9/11/2007

SYRACUSE, N.Y.

Information from: The Syracuse Post-Standard

September 10, 2007

A Photo of Celebration for Thom...


(photo by zachary jack marcus)




When I was growing up in the Philippines as the black-sheep-son of a baptist missionary there was much talk and debate about the 'divinely inspired Word of God' - belief in the irrefutable authority of the Bible as the foundation of our entire belief system. While I still do not buy into this sovereignty, I do hold to the existence of the miraculous that once in a while comes our way, offering healing and grace.

Such is Terence Blanchard's
A Tale of God's Will (a requiem for katrina). My friend, Thom, who lives part time in New Orleans, has written a most moving review of this new album. These days I am home during the day, caring for my 4 year and 4 month old daughters, Audra, and Aliza. Mid-morning or so, when a bit of boredom sets in, I play this album, and the mood and center of our home is transformed. It has become an indispensable part of our day, a time of prayer you might say - BUY IT NOW!


"moralities, ethics, laws, customs, beliefs, doctrines -
these are of trifling import.
all that matters is that
the miraculous become the norm"

Henry Miller

A Quiet Rain...

(photo by zachary jack marcus)
...falls this morning and I find myself thinking of the change of seasons.

As my birthday falls on the last day of July, the week prior to the 31st is a season of reflection for me. I notice things more - the passing of time, that which is vital to my life, and the sounds and rhythms of nature.

During that final week of July, things change. The light just before sunset. The sweet smell of harvest arrives. Cooler evenings. And the first few autumn leaves show up in red, orange, and yellow dress. Even though the ancient calendars tell us that the season of autumn begins around the 4th or 5th of August, our calendar insists we wait another 6 weeks to herald her arrival, despite the visible changes all around us.

Viewing changes in nature through the prism of our calendar causes a number of strange things to happen - we start bemoaning our imagined premature demise of summer, the ending of our warm days, and for some of us fortunate ones, the end of vacation and playtime. But more essentially, placing trust in this artificial authority erodes our ability to believe our own inner sense of things - that which we observe around us, that which we once knew.

Common sense is an endangered species now-a-days. We rely, not just on our calendars to tell us what our seasons are, the Weather Channel to tell us of coming climate changes, but we also place our confidence in what THEY say, from parenting, to romance, to spirituality, to most everything under the sun. Nearly dead, is our own inner knowledge of the basic cadences of life.

Perhaps if we spent less time paying homage to THEY, and more time waiting, listening, and acting out of that knowing place still gasping for air within us, we would discover the knowledge, wisdom, and peace of mind that so often eludes us.

September 9, 2007

Baseball and Magic

Bob Ryan, sports writer for the Boston Globe, has written an outstanding piece on the comeback kid, Rick Ankiel, and the new allegations of human growth hormone and steroid use. Please see his quote below, and take time to link to his article -

"The problem with baseball now
is that everyone is suspect.

Everyone who throws 95 m.p.h. is suspect.
Everyone who hits a bunch of homers is suspect.
Every aging player
who puts up great numbers
is suspect.

That's what this steroid and HGH business
has done to baseball."

Bob Ryan/Boston Globe 9/9/07


"Disbelief in magic
can force a poor soul

into believing
in government and business."

Tom Robbins



September 6, 2007

In Seattle


Seattle, Washington, where I lived for 17 years during the eighties and nineties, is a nice and pleasant city, with weather generally confined to a placid range of 40 to 70 degrees year round. Seattle is a locale of temperate emotions, where folks pride themselves on never straying too far toward the extreme passions of human behavior. If and when you visit during the summer and find yourself in need of directions, you are likely to find a queue of friendly residents waiting to help get you on your way - tempting you to believe that Seattle must be the grandest place on earth.

But the price of living in such an affable but passionless place can be high - you are likely to find yourself living on the same Seattle street for a decade, without talking with or meeting your neighbors.


A strange place, Seattle, Washington - an aloof Pleasantville, with low-hanging clouds 300ish days a year.

In keeping with the Seattle oddities I came to know, I had to laugh at this recent piece from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:

Honking your horn could diminish something a bit more physical than the pompous ego of that guy who cut you off.

Turns out that blasting your horn at that idiot talking on his cell phone could end up costing you money -- a fact that comes as a surprise to many drivers and even some police officers.

According to state law, car horns are for emergencies only, and leaning on it because you're feeling peeved is punishable by a $124 ticket.

Earlier this summer, a Seattle police officer decided that Mark Cruz of Renton was honking out of turn. Cruz was waiting to turn onto First Avenue from Columbia Street in downtown Seattle when he realized that the driver in front of him was oblivious to a newly green light.

"He was yakking on his phone, if I recall correctly," Cruz said.

So he honked. The car in front of him lurched into motion. Cruz completed his turn and started to turn into a parking garage.

Then he saw the motorcycle officer pulling up behind him.

"He actually came around next to my window and he said to me, 'You were honking at the car that was in front of you,' " Cruz said. "I kept waiting for him to get to the real reason he pulled me over."

The officer let him off with a warning, but "I was dumbfounded," Cruz said.

"Your horn is for warning, not for talking," said Kris Jensen, a Seattle-based lawyer familiar with fighting traffic infractions. "It's OK to use your horn at the point you're getting cut off. But if you go up behind them and start honking, well, that's not OK."

SMC 11.84.320: The Seattle Municipal Code extends the state law to city streets and alleys

September 5, 2007


Happy 24th Birthday

Cameron Benedict!

I love you,

Dad

September 4, 2007

Remembering Labor Day History, 1937

Waitresses at Woolworth's staged an eight-day
sitdown strike in 1937,singing, dancing,
exercising, doing each others hair and nails
until finally management recognized their union
and gave them a five-cent per hour pay hike.

Words for Today



I hate a song that makes you think that you are not any good. I hate a song that makes you think that you are just born to lose. Bound to lose. No good to nobody. No good for nothing. Because you are too old or too young or too fat or too slim or too ugly or too this or too that. Songs that run you down or poke fun at you on account of your bad luck or hard travelling. I am out to fight those songs to my very last breath of air and my last drop of blood. I am out to sing songs that will prove to you that this is your world and that if it has hit you pretty hard and knocked you for a dozen loops, no matter what color, what size you are, how you are built, I am out to sing the songs that make you take pride in yourself and in your work. And the songs that I sing are made up for the most part by all sorts of folks just about like you. I could hire out to the other side, the big money side, and get several dollars every week just to quit singing my own kind of songs and to sing the kind that knock you down still farther and the ones that poke fun at you even more and the ones that make you think that you've not got any sense at all. But I decided a long time ago that I'd starve to death before I'd sing any such songs as that. The radio waves and your movies and your jukeboxes and your songbooks are already loaded down and running over with such no good songs as that anyhow.

September 3, 2007

To Begin September...



Our fear of death
is like our fear that summer will be short,

but when we have had our swing of pleasure,
our fill of fruit,

and our swelter of heat,
we say we have had our day.


- John Donne, 1620

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

- Carl Sandburg, Under the Harvest Moon

August 31, 2007

Don't Call Me Mr. Mom


Yesterday morning during a long phone conversation with my mother, I described my week at hand - a week where my wife, Laura, returned to work, and I stayed at home to care for our two children, Audra, age 4, and Aliza, age 4 months. A week of laundry, house cleaning, feedings, baths, diaper changes, and more baths, reading books, playing games, rocking to sleep at nap time, shopping at the grocery store, cooking a meal for dinner guests ... you get the drift. At one point during our phone call my mother remarked "You are such a great Mr. Mom!" I replied "No thanks, not Mr. Mom - just dad."

I hear this sort of comment often, usually from women, but also from men who have come to believe that being a good father is becoming a good mother. It is an archaic and slow-dying assumption in our culture, one that implies that IF a man does good primary care of young children, he is simply performing as a Super Mom, having traded in his testicles for his new feminine side.

Twenty some years ago, poet, James Kavanaugh included this verse in his poem, 'Recently'

'Wondering all the while
what it would be like
for a boy
to grow up
without a role model
who is often gruff,
raucous,
bigoted, unshowered
and unshaven
a
nd as tender
as any woman in the world ...'


When I love my two young daughters, I love them as a man, not as a woman who is somehow more tender and loving and nurturing. I love them in, with, and through all of my maleness. You see, I am the other side of the coin from the mother of my daughters, who, by the way, is a mother of unparalleled enchantment. But I do not bring her gifts. I bring mine. Hopefully, in the end, my little girls receive, from both of us, a powerful offering of the rich possibilities of life.

Later in the day, while still musing about my morning phone conversation, the girls and I went to the grocery store for a few last things needed for our dinner party. As we walked through the parking lot toward the front door of the store, I held Aliza in her car seat with one hand, and held Audra's with the other. Good thing I had firm hold of Audra, for a new white SUV came speeding through the lot, doing a good 30 to 40 mph, almost clipping my girls and me, not stopping to apologize or see if we were okay. Behind the wheel of the SUV was a woman, along with her 4 passenger children.


Thought for the day -

Not all violence is the property of men,
nor is all tenderness the property of the women

August 30, 2007

Two Portraits, Two Stories ...












I read these two stories (BBC), back to back, over coffee this morning -

1. New York hotelier and real estate billionaire Leona Helmsley has left $12m to her pet dog, Trouble. The pampered pooch received the largest bequest from Mrs Helmsley's will. The will also says that when Trouble dies, she is to be buried alongside Mrs Helmsley, who died last week, and her late husband in their mausoleum.

2. Peruvian officials say they have run out of tents and urgently need at least 40,000 more to house victims of the devastating earthquake two weeks ago


August 24, 2007

Genocide is the Word

For much of my adult life I was aware, on a minimal level, of the genocide engineered by the Turks against the Armenians, a genocide that claimed the lives of 1.5 million people in the early part of the 20th century. We don't like to talk about that genocide in this country. Much like our refusal to discuss the malignant indifference of the entire U.S. government to the Rwandan genocide, led by then President Bill Clinton, as I previously mentioned in my blog mention of Hillary.

In the 1990's I married the daughter of an Armenian American. His parents escaped the genocide and fled to the United States. Now, I am the proud father of two Armenian American daughters.

In recent weeks there has been a new and contentious debate going on here in New England about the supposed Armenian Genocide, along with yet another shameful response from the Turkish government and the Anti-Defamation League.
Please take time to read up on this and other related articles in the Boston Globe. Also take time to read Peter Balakian's groundbreaking work: The Burning Tigris.

All of us, as an international community, must take a firm stand against the nation of Turkey through political and economic pressure. The Turkish government, and the Turkish people, must be accountable to all of the human community. We must also call on our own government to officially acknowledge and condemn the Armenian Genocide.


The words we use are vital, and ultimately create their own reality. The word was, and is, GENOCIDE!

August 22, 2007

















Nothing like picking
11 pounds
of blueberries
on an August morning

to get your head right

August 20, 2007

News of the Day

(From BBC News)
Pet Camel Kills Australian Woman


A woman in Australia has been killed by her pet camel after the animal may have tried to have sex with her. The woman had been given the camel as a 60th birthday present earlier this year because of her love of exotic pets. The camel was just 10 months old but already weighed 336lbs and had come close to suffocating the family's pet goat on a number of occasions. On Saturday, the woman apparently became the object of the male camel's desire. It knocked her to the ground, lay on top of her and displayed what the police delicately described as possible mating behaviour. Young camels are not normally aggressive but can become more threatening if treated and raised as pets.

August 15, 2007

(photo by zachary jack marcus)

At the Cape for a few days with my family and in-laws. I got up before first light and took the short walk from my room to the beach at Pleasant Bay.


No one was up. Not one soul.

Sprinklers were going all over the posh complex, keeping fresh, the grounds full of greens and flowers - as if no such thing as a natural growing season existed.

I spent the next hour walking along the beach, watching the sunrise.

When I returned from the beach the grounds were still quiet, except for two young women preparing the poolside bar for the day, getting ready for the morning drinks crowd I imagine. Electric golf carts scurried here and there, delivering the latest edition of USA Today to every room. I passed an ash tray holding the stub of a Cuban cigar.

Last night, after checking in, I met the woman who turns down the beds and places chocolates on the down pillows. We talked about our families, and laughed about tourist spots anywhere in the world looking the same. By the time she left, she was calling me by name, and I her. Sylvia is from Jamaica. She arrives here in March and returns home in December to her husband and children. Every year for twelve years.

The seagulls and various other birds came to life as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, grateful, I like to suppose, for another day. I know I am, but I may need something stronger than a bloody mary today -

August 11, 2007

Friday in the Park

While walking through the park yesterday with my three month old daughter, Aliza, an animated and somewhat frantic mother ran in front of our stroller with her five-ish year old daughter in tow. Without even the remotest acknowledgement of my presence behind the stroller, the woman pointed and shrieked-

"Look, honey! A baby, just like you saw on Sesame Street this morning!"

And just as fast as they arrived, they sped off toward the ducks feeding on the grass by the pond.

Sometimes you just have to be there-

Darfur and Holiday Shopping


PLEASE BUY THIS ALBUM!
I know it is only August -
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for everyone you know!

August 9, 2007

Last Thought of the Day

Sometimes, we forget that three days after dropping a nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, the United States went back and obliterated the city of Nagasaki on Aug. 9,1945, killing over 70,000 people in the twinkling of an eye - mostly civilians.

Today, many
thousands of men, women, children, and survivors gathered in the city's Peace Park for a minute of silence at 11:02 a.m., the exact time the bomb fell. Over 140,000 people eventually died from the bombing.

No more. Never Again. This is our duty.

Morning Thought from Thomas Merton

If you write for God you will reach many men and bring them joy. If you write for men - you may make some money, and you may give someone a little joy and you may make a noise in the world, for a little while. If you write only for yourself, you can read what you yourself have written and after ten minutes you will be so disgusted you will wish that you were dead.

New Seeds of Contemplation 1961

August 8, 2007

Wag the Dog, Baseball Style...

As I read the paper this morning, of the fiasco called sport that went on out in San Francisco while I slept, I find what little love I have left for the game, slipping away -

There may in fact be better things to do with one's time, than to participate in a sports culture now perfectly entangled with the american corporate business culture - a souless enterprise that honors the notion' screw your neighbor any way you can as long as you can get away with it'

What joy can possibly be had? What are we teaching our children?

New Home Run King, Culture of Fools.

August 3, 2007

Simplicity

From an episode of Six Feet Under

"Once upon a time, a wise person said -
Every day we must dance, if only in our minds.

Why do we dance?

Because we are happy to be alive. So every day, we must dance, to say thank you God, thank you for life."


August 1, 2007

Another View

Peacenik wrote: 'If you got that whole amount in 5-dollar bills and laid them end to end, you could wrap them all the way around the earth at every single line of longitude and latitude (in other words, 180 strips north/south and 180 strips east/west) and still have enough left over to stretch all the way to the moon and back three times.'
(AP Photo/Courtesy of Earth Sciences and Image Analysis Laboratory, NASA Johnson Space Center)

(FROM THE BOSTON GLOBE THIS MORNING - ON THE 456 BILLION SPENT ON THE IRAQ WAR ... SO FAR)


Peacenik wrote: "If you got that whole amount in 5-dollar bills and laid them end to end, you could wrap them all the way around the earth at every single line of longitude and latitude (in other words, 180 strips north/south and 180 strips east/west) and still have enough left over to stretch all the way to the moon and back three times."

July 29, 2007

Moments like these ...

(photos by zachary jack marcus)











Baseball is a ballet without music.

Drama without words.
~Ernie Harwell