Tag Love

Let’s All Fall Back a Bit

Michael 5 Comments

This weekend Americans (and some others) go through that twice yearly madness of figuring out exactly how to open the back of the antique mantel clock or adjust the electronic version in the middle of the dash of your mid-nineties jalopy while reciting (mentally, hopefully) “spring forward, fall back” as the debate over the necessity for Daylight Saving Time and/or Standard Time plays out on the nation’s talk radio shows.

While that is going on I’d like to ask everybody to fall back just a little more than the proscribed one hour. Let’s shoot for, oh how about 60 years. That would make it 1958. The legendary ’57 Chevy Bell Air would be just a used car (and it’s Nomad counterpart a regular old (eww) station wagon, Jack Paar was hosting the Tonight Show, “It’s All in the Game” was in its 6th and final week as the Billboard #1 Single, and I was not yet allowed to cross the street by myself.

Ok, I’m not a nostalgia freak. I could really care less that Conway Twitty would wrest the top spot in the charts from Tommy Edwards next week with “It’s Only Make Believe.” (But I was pretty tickled that later on in the year The Chipmunks with David Seville would have the top selling record with their iconic Christmas song.) And 1958 had a lot going against it also. Unrest was escalating in Vietnam, the U.S. and Russia (then the USSR) were both putting the finishing touches on the first intercontinental ballistic missiles while they and Great Britain began conducting atmospheric nuclear tests, and a three year famine would begin in China ultimately taking 30 million lives.

Something that happened in 1958 that could be good or bad actually went on a little earlier than early November. September 12 actually. That’s when Jack Kilby discovered (developed? perfected? made usable?) the microchip, the heart of integrated circuitry. Because of him we have cars that can let you know when you wander out of your lane, phones we can carry around with us, computer assisted tomography that allow doctors to see inside us (that’s the CAT in CAT scan in case you – yeah, you knew, sorry), and (drum roll please) the Internet.

Most days I’m OK with the cars and the phones and even with the CAT scans. But lately I’ve been really ambivalent about this Internet thing. Of course if it wasn’t for it you’d not be able to read these ramblings, and for that you might be more grateful than I’ll ever know. But without it I’d not be able to see firsthand just how two faced, insincere, hurtful, and to be blunt, disgusting people have become. To not be exposed to such constant streams of hatred I’d gladly give up everything new from these 60 years.

It’s not been a week since eleven congregants were gunned down in a Pittsburgh synagogue. A day after that horrific occurrence a vigil was held to remember the victims and speaker after speaker including local politicians stood before the community and said hate cannot win, everybody should be and is welcome here. A day after that momentous event those same politicians were denouncing members of the opposing party, urging other politicians to stay away, and continuing to air the most vile political ads to date  while jockeying for position ahead of next Tuesday’s general election. It only took two days for politicians to revert to being their typical unsavory selves, to letting the public know how unsuitable, untrustworthy, and dishonest their opponent is and oddly saying little about themselves (or perhaps much about themselves) at the same time. With the help of the Internet and news sites’ comments areas, the followers of this party or that have marched in line spewing the insults that they’ve taken the last two years to perfect.

It’s in everybody’s best interest to live kindly and peacefully. Yes, you get to pick and choose who you are going up like just as others can decide to like to you or not. But nobody – NOBODY – has the right to hate. Lies are hate. Saying what you think people want to hear then doing the opposite is hate. Being a sheep isn’t hate but it is stupid. If we can’t rely on those we look to for leadership and guidance to take the time to demonstrate their commitment to not letting hate win, then we’re going to have to do it ourselves.

Maybe a starting point would be to spend some time face to face with your neighbor. Of course you’ll have to put down your phone to do that. Fortunately because of the efforts of Mr. Kilby, you can fit it into your pocket while taking that time.

Fall back this weekend. However far you’re comfortable going.

No Exceptions

Michael 10 Comments

NoExceptions“Love thy neighbor, no exceptions.” That’s the message in front of a church on Pittsburgh’s Mt. Washington neighborhood overlooking the downtown area. Last Saturday, in the Pittsburgh Squirrel Hill neighborhood, just a handful of miles from downtown, a man full of hate (whose name does not deserve mentioning) showed the ultimate disregard for that advice by shooting down thirteen people, eleven fatally, while they were attending services among three congregations at the Tree of Life synagogue there.

Hundreds of reports, perhaps thousands, have been filed in papers across the country and around the world and with the power of the Internet available to anyone who is reading this. I don’t need to expound on the actions of a madman. You can read all about it at your favorite news outlet. But I do want to expound on the actions of the neighbors.

Although I’ve never publicized it, you may have guessed from some posts that I am a Pittsburgher.  My torturous bend on some basic grammatical constructs might have given you a clue even though I try to be cognizant of my natural tends toward Pittsburghese. From the home of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood to “Love thy neighbors, no exceptions,” to every neighborhood in Pittsburgh being commonly referred to as a “neighborhood” (the Squirrel Hill Neighborhood, the Point Breeze Neighborhood, The Brighton Heights Neighborhood, and the other dozen or so geographic areas where clumps of people clump about their daily routines), neighborliness is second nature…no, first nature to the city, the county, in fact to the entire Greater Pittsburgh area.

Although out of town reporters referred to the shooting having taken place in the “predominantly Jewish community of Squirrel Hill,” the Squirrel Hill neighborhood is home to families of many backgrounds and many religions. Squirrel Hill is home to Jews, Catholics, Methodists, Muslims, Irish, Indian, African, Italian, Arab, rich, poor, comfortable, and just getting by. To the outside world. To themselves they are Pittsburghers. They celebrate their family holidays, they worship with their own congregations, the cook from their own heritage, but few if any take the time or use the energy to differentiate themselves from their streetmates or fellow city residents, except perhaps during high school football playoff time. The Squirrel Hill neighborhood, in fact most all local city and county and area neighborhoods are microcosms of what America wants to be. Not just the proverbial “melting pot,” but a pot where the ingredients have been stirred together and allowed their flavors to meld, like a hearty stew. That’s not local pride. That’s the truth.

A vigil was held Sunday night to remember the eleven victims of this crime of hate. A recurring theme was heard from all the speakers. Hate won’t win. But only one speaker took it an extra step. Rabbi Jeffrey Myers said, “My cup overflows with love. That’s how you defeat hate.” He told the assembled crowd and the television and radio audiences, you cannot let hate fester and grow, you must actively live love in order to defeat hate. He challenged everyone, singling out the politicians in attendance to lead the way, to avoid hateful rhetoric. “If you can’t say something nice, zip it!”

Last year after the shooting in Charlottesville, “Don’t let hate win” was the battle cry. Apparently we didn’t get it then that Rabbi Myers had to remind us now that you have to work to defeat hate. It doesn’t just happen, you have to actively love. After the Charlottesville shooting I posted:

Facebook profile pictures are sporting “We will not let hate win” banners above posts that call those who don’t agree with them “bat shit crazy.”

Unfortunately, we don’t seem to be expressing any love lately. You can’t say hate won’t win if you’re doing some of the hating.

“Let The Better Love Win” August 21, 2017

Unfortunately hate is nothing new. It goes back to Cain and Abel, mankind’s most extreme sibling rivalry. The 19th century philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer said, “If a man sets out to hate all the miserable creatures he meets he will not have much energy left for anything else; whereas he can despise them one and all, with the greatest of ease.” Gee. That starts out seemingly positive. If you hate everyone you meet you’ll never get around to doing anything else. But then it takes a dark turn, just go ahead and hate everybody, it’s easier that way. Maybe it’s easiest to stick with the twentieth century philosophy of “all you need is love.”

Facebook profile pictures now sport frames spouting “Stronger Than Hate.” Maybe this time we can spout a little love to go with that. Just remember – no exceptions.

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It’s the Most Unwonderful Time of the Year

Michael 12 Comments

It’s time for my annual “Woe is me” party. I figure I have lots of reasons to celebrate my misfortunes. A rare weird disease, cancer, blood clots, lack of mobility, dialysis. Too much plaid in my wardrobe. The list goes on. But those are everyday disasters and things that almost everybody else will go through. Maybe not all of them or the ones you someday experience not all at once. But these are the things people deal with. And I deal with them pretty well. I have good family and good friends and a good medical team to help me along.

But all the help and support from family members and dialysis nurses won’t change the fact that on Wednesday I’m going to wake up alone. There will be no card taped to the bathroom mirror, they’ll be no second place setting at breakfast (and that’s a shame because I’m planning on a traditional Eggs Benedict with my own Hollandaise), there’ll be no impromptu dancing in the living room in front of an open window for the world to see that old people can still love.

I suppose old people still love. I see them. I know some who are seemingly doing all the right things. Maybe that’s it. Seemingly. In my experience, getting old did not help in the still loving department.

Broken_Heart_Pose_(1)First there was the ex. Forgive me for being so old fashioned here but by “ex” I shouldn’t have to explain ex what. It kills me when people refer to someone they dated three times as their ex. That’s a “guy or girl I dated.” Or someone they saw for almost a year. That’s an “old boyfriend.” By the way there is no “old girlfriend.” Just someone “I used to spend time with” accompanied by a wistful look into nowhere. But no, these people aren’t exes. There has to be something that existed to be exed out of. To me “ex” will always and only be an ex-wife. Or husband depending on your point of view.

Anyway, first there was the ex. We weren’t that bad when we were. We had our moments but then we also had our moments. It was hard getting together in the 70’s. Things were expensive. Money was expensive. It was not a time of destination weddings and yearly two week tropical vacations, new cars, new houses, or new tires no matter how much the mechanic whined they weren’t going to pass inspection next time. We’ll worry about it then. And that was pretty much how we got though out first 10 years. Worrying about it then. And then by the next 10 years we didn’t have to worry so much. Cars were newer. Houses were big enough that the daughter could have her own room with lots of space to spare. Plans were made and met and new ones thought up. One plan that caught us off guard was that I planned on turning 40 and she didn’t. So when I did and she should have soon followed there was lots of holding back and plans changed. Eventually my 40 turned 45 and her never ending 39 regressed to 30 and the 15 years difference was too much for her.

comforting__hearttle_6__by_domobfdi-d7186dwYears went by and I would meet a somebody now and then in between being dad and homemaker. Single parenting isn’t much fun for the male set either in case you’re wondering. Eventually a new she entered and if she wasn’t perfect, she was just right. Right enough that space could be made for her. We danced and swam and festivaled. We visited places from northern falls to tropical islands and enjoyed time in farm markets and art studios. Plans were made and met and new ones thought up. One plan that caught us off guard was that I planned on getting cancer (well, part of me did but didn’t bother to tell the rest of me until it was too late) and she planned on me always being the same. So when I did and the cure necessitated removing some parts of me, and some of those parts were the parts that impart a certain amount of masculinity to maleness, and plans changed. We struggled a bit until the phone call that spoke of things wanted and things able and they weren’t the same things. And then sometime in our 8th, maybe 9th, could have been 10th year, the new she began to become someone I used to spend time with.

So twice bitten I’ve had no will to risk adding even a girl I used to date to my record. The desire, yes. The will, no. I’d love to have someone warm to hold close at night or to slog through mud tracked roads leading to the demonstration area at the maple festival. Someone to see the old ships of New England and the old houses of the Old Country. Or someone to sit next to and read a book for the fourteenth time and for the thirteenth time to explain that it’s OK to reread a book. Or someone to share an Eggs Benedict then dance with in front of a window

Nope, not the most wonderful week of the year for me. But that’s ok. There are 51 others to amuse me. I’ll be back to normal sometime next week.

 

Images by Picquery

Let the Better Love Win

Michael 5 Comments

If there was a movement started to celebrate those who believe in, actively participate in, and fought for human trafficking and slavery, would you support it? What about if there was a movement started to commemorate those who fought for their country bravely and without concern for their own personal safety because it meant preserving their family’s heritage and the only way of life that they knew?

What would you say if somebody you didn’t know said you had to change your name? Move? Forsake your parents and grandparents?

What would you do if somebody you trust, somebody whose opinion you value and word you accept unquestioningly, were to blatantly lie to you to make themselves look good in front of others.

Unfortunately, there’s a very good chance that you’re the one supporting the movements, doing the saying, or being the liar. Particularly if you’re an everyday, ordinary, middle of the road, try to do all the right things, unextreme American.

Those two movements I brought up. They are actually happening, right now, right here in the United States. The Civil War was fought because one side wanted to keep slaves and the other did not. It’s really just that simple. And it had been going on since before the signing of the Declaration of Independence almost 90 years previous when the southern colonies coerced the northern colonies to remove anti-slavery rhetoric from the document in exchange for their ratification of it. But those who fought the battles some 90 years later didn’t consider owning people unusual or even questionable. It’s what they and their families had down for as long as they had been Americans. All those monuments that have become this month’s flash point celebrate those who fought to continue slavery. They also celebrate somebody’s great grandfather’s younger brother who died from infections grown in wounds suffered when he was trampled by a regiment’s cavalry unit defending his family’s right to live the only life he ever knew.

In our efforts to “not offend” we have sanitized all heritages, all history, all family. Somebody, probably not someone whose roots are indigenous to this continent, decided those people will be called “Native Americans.” Someone, probably not somebody whose roots hail from the Far East, decided those people should be called “Asian Americans.” Somebody, probably not someone who never set foot on Africa, decided anybody with dark skin regardless of their country of origin should be called “African American.” If we are truly honest, and our parents or grandparents came to America from Italy, or Germany, or Poland, would we be happy calling ourselves “European Americans?” Why should a proud decedent of the Lakota, or The Navajo Nation, or Japan, or Cameroon not be allowed to celebrate their heritage and call themselves Americans and still respect their true heritage.

So many are calling Charlottesville a hastening of America’s downward spiral into unrestrained racism. Actually, that spiral began not last week in Charlottesville but last century in Selma, when a big chunk of our populace had to demonstrate to get the recognition of people, equal in all respects, that a civil war was fought for and a presidential proclamation declared them to be 98 years earlier. We passed laws and called them “equal rights” but actually fostered inequality and spent more time debating what constituted equal than time spent on living right.

UnhateFacebook profile pictures are sporting “We will not let hate win” banners above posts that call those who don’t agree with them “bat shit crazy.” We openly claim support for tolerance yet openly refuse to make allowances for anybody who didn’t vote the same way regardless of which way that was. We justify our remarks by standing behind the First Amendment but tell others what is and isn’t allowed and don’t extend the courtesy to anyone whose speech is different.

St. Augustine said, “There are two loves, the love of God and the love of the world. If the love of the world takes possession of you there is no way for the love of God to enter you. Let the love of the world take the second place and let the love of God dwell in you. Let the better love take over.” This works regardless of what you call or believe your God to be: a heavenly being, a force of nature, a guiding spirit, omniscience personified. There is a greater force and there is an earthly force. You can believe in both, you can honor both, you can love both. You should love both. But the love of our guide should light our path. The love of the world should invite others to join us.

Unfortunately, we don’t seem to be expressing any love lately. You can’t say hate won’t win if you’re doing some of the hating.

 

Let It Snow

Michael Leave a comment

We’re writing this on December 21.  That’s the first day of winter.  In fact, according to the weather people here it was sometime a bit after 12:30pm that the earth was at its absolute farthest from the sun making that day the shortest, the darkest, and the least absorbing of the sun’s warmth.  It’s going to be 61 degrees today.

Sixty-one degrees might be an ok temperature for Florida for the first day of winter but we’re north of the Mason-Dixon Line.  Our average temperature for this date is 30 degrees.  Three days ago when it was still fall it was 18 degrees during the day, 10 or so at night.  There was also snow.  Lots of snow covering every non-driving surface around.  (What can we say?  We have some decent road crews.)  Today there is only rain and it has melted all of the snow.

The day before the first day of winter the weather people were predicting highs in the 40’s for Christmas Eve and Christmas.  Not nearly cold enough to make for a white Christmas.  And that’s exactly how all of them led off their reports.  “They’ll be no white Christmas this year,” they all said.  One could almost hear the collective wails of every child in the greater metropolitan area.  How will Santa get their booty to them?

Then on the first day of winter, the one with a predicted high in the 60’s, the one on which the local weather people had less than 12 hours earlier declared no white Christmas, the local forecasts now called for temps in the 20’s on Christmas Eve including the possibility of snow and perhaps accumulated snow for Christmas morning.  We think it’s a conspiracy.  Somebody from the North Pole got to those weather people and made them change their forecast.  So what if they turn out wrong.  They usually do!

Actually, what we really think is, does it really matter.  Will the children find the holiday less holiday-ish without snow?  The parents will appreciate being able to drive to church and then to Granma’s on snow-free roads even if their town doesn’t have a crack road crew.  And the road crews will get to enjoy the holiday too.  Speaking of church, even though there was some snow there a few weeks ago, snow isn’t the norm in Bethlehem.  If those on the first Christmas were able to do without the white stuff, we can manage also.

Christmas isn’t about how white it can be, how many presents are under the tree, or how many new cookies were thought up for the year.  It’s a time to be with family and with cherished friends and companions.  It’s a time to unwrap one of the best gifts of all, love.  And it’s a time to wish a very special One happy birthday.  Snow or no.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Will the Real St. Valentine Please Stand Up

Michael Leave a comment

Sunday evening we were at home having our Valentine’s Day dinner.  (Steak au poivre, green beans sautéed in butter and olive oil with onions and mushrooms, baked potato with a pepper cream sauce, and a salad of mixed greens with strawberries, walnuts, and feta.  We never made it to dessert.) (Yes, we go out a lot but we still know how to cook and cook we do when it’s a truly special occasion.)  Work schedules and other conflicts forced us to hold our celebration off for a few days.  It happens.  And it was worth the wait.      

While we were dining we wondered what is it about this Valentine guy that has made greeting card companies, florists, jewelers, and for some, restaurants so much money around the globe and over the years.  The most common story is that of Valentine, priest and martyr of third century Rome during the reign of Claudius II, also known as Claudius the Cruel.  He believed that his army was not giving its all because the men were more attached to their wives and families than to their emperor.  To solve that little problem he banned marriages.  No marriages, no families, strong fighting men.  He didn’t count on Valentine still performing marriage ceremonies even under the ban.  Valentine was imprisoned and ordered to be executed.  While in prison Valentine became enamored with the daughter of his jailer and legend goes on to say that on his last day in prison he wrote her a farewell letter and signed it, “With Love, Your Valentine.”

We sort of like that story.  It has a love interest, a creepy villain, a secret plot twist (priests aren’t supposed to fall in love with women, even in the late 200’s), and a story that hangs around even after almost 1,750 years.  But there are other stories.  There were other Valentine’s, other Valentines who were priests, and other Valentines who were martyred and became saints.  We still like that story.  And it is St. Valentine of Rome whose feast day was set to the day of his execution, February 14.

But how did that get from there to a Hallmark moment?  Let’s fast forward some 1100 years from the 270’s to the 1370’s and to English poet Geoffrey Chaucer.  In the poem Parliament of Foules he wrote, “For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne’s day Whan every foul cometh ther to choose his mate” and thus linked February 14 as the day we go in search of our best link.  In fact, it was already becoming common in late 13th and 14th century England and France for lovers to exchange letters, poems, and gifts in mid-February as the weather lightened.

There are many Valentines who have been canonized by many Popes over many years. (There was even a Pope Valentine.  He served for only 40 days in 827.)  In all there are 12 St. Valentines, the most recent, St. Valentine Berrio-Ochoa, a Spaniard who served as bishop in Vietnam until his beheading in 1861, was elevated to sainthood by John Paul II in 1988.  Twelve Valentine’s, twelve months.  We didn’t do the research but you can probably find a St. Valentine Day almost any time of the year if you, like us, were busy on February 14.    

Then, when you have another one as special as we have in each other, every day can be a day to celebrate your love for each other, even if it isn’t the real Valentine’s Day.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?