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Letter From New York November 22, 2014

November 23, 2014

It is Saturday night and I am just back from a dinner party. Old, good friends were there and much of me relished being there.

It’s an interesting night. I’ve had a few glasses of wine and yet I am focused.

My inbox is being inundated with new messages from the Democrats – its become grim out there now that Obama has declared he will use an Executive Order to reform Immigration. Republicans seem to be declaring war. According to the emails I am receiving there is talk of impeachment and prison for Obama.

Yikes! Really?

The Emancipation Proclamation was an Executive Order!

I’m tired of it. As I think are most Americans – tired of the partisanship and rhetoric and stupidity. I am tired of the gridlock. I am tired of the whole thing.

Here I sit in my lovely cottage, seemingly safely away from all the silliness. But I’m not, really. None of us are, if we live in an engaged America. But so few of us do. 36% of eligible voters actually voted in the last election.

That’s pitiable. PITIABLE.

36%. Really!

Letter From New York November 21, 2014

November 21, 2014

It is growing dark out; light is fading across the Hudson Valley, a pinkish glow emanates from the west. What’s the old adage? Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.

I am expecting a good day tomorrow then, based on the color of tonight’s sunset.

All day I have curled up in the cottage, snuggled against the cold outside, not Minnesota cold but chill enough. And certainly we’ve had none of the roof breaking snow that has buried Buffalo. It is relatively mild here compared with those places but still, a good day to stay huddled by the fire, doing conference calls and writing thank you notes for gifts from my spectacular birthday.

I have been assimilating the richness of my birthday for the last couple of days. Our train gang gathered to celebrate my birthday with a wonderful party at my house where there was a the great, good camaraderie that is the keynote for that group.

My brother and sister-in-law flew in from Minnesota to celebrate with me; we went to Radio City Music Hall for the Christmas Spectacular, which was both spectacular and a hoot! It was everything I had been told it would be – Rockettes kicking and dancing, a 3D film clip, Santa Claus, and adventure to the North Pole, a Nativity scene with live sheep and camels. Everything Christmas except the Grinch!

A long day was spent at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I, at long last, renewed my membership before touring the magnificent “From Assyria to Iberia” exhibit, linking the ancient art of the Middle East with its spread across the Great Sea to Iberia. It was breathtaking.

Moving on, we had a grand dinner at Café du Soleil with our friends Nick and Lisa. On Tuesday, my actual birthday, we went to visit the Main Library at 42nd Street and then dined at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central where I indulged in my favorite, their clam chowder soup, followed by a lemon sole, followed by a Frangelico in the bar of the Hotel Roosevelt.

Perfect.

CBS Unveils Big Digital Initiatives With Sony, News, And Possibly Showtime

November 6, 2014

CBS moves aggressively to be a digital player. Will it be able to succeed?

Letter From New York September 26, 2014

September 27, 2014

Or, as it seems to me…

The whole of the Hudson Valley is enveloped in grey, with rain occasionally splottering down on me – though so far the torrential rains promised for this afternoon have yet to appear.

Earlier this week I read a NY Times column by Roger Cohen reminding us that things aren’t as bad as they seem. He was fairly upbeat: he dismissed ISIS as a bunch of thugs in trucks and Putin as a thug running a failing regime. New York is a better place than it has been, perhaps ever. And that is true, he says of a lot of American cities – they are better than they ever were! Hey, even Detroit is beginning something of a comeback.

His article buoyed me through a couple of days, into today, when the grey kind of “got to me” and I began to fret about the world in which I live. The boys of ISIS may just be thugs in trucks but they are killing by the thousands and causing people to become refugees in the hundreds of thousands. They are, unfortunately, effective thugs. Putin may be a thug at the head of a failing regime but failing though it may be, he can still stir up trouble of all kinds.

New York is probably better than it has ever been while it is more unaffordable than it has ever been. Manhattan seems to becoming an island of only the rich. Certainly seems to be the case in Midtown, where Billionaire’s Row is rising.

Yet I cannot bring myself to completely despair – not quite in my nature. But there are plenty of reasons to be concerned, even as some hopeful signs bloom. One of the American auto companies is adding 1200 employees to one of its plants to keep up with demand. That is a good sign. So is that new homes sales reached their highest point since 2008.

Winston Churchill is supposed to have said: You can always count on the Americans to do the right thing – after they have tried everything else.

The question we face is what is the right thing to do, particularly in the Mideast. The warriors of ISIS are thugs and that’s part of the attraction they offer their followers, the opportunity for uneducated young men to practice sanctioned thuggery. Their wild brand of Sunni extremism seems to be an outgrowth of Saudi religious extremism. Which apparently is causing the Saudi King some concern; he has brought his Kingdom into the fray, his Air Force flying sorties against ISIS.

It is a bit of a diplomatic coup that Obama has managed to put together any kind of coalition to fight ISIS, especially one that includes other Sunnis. [While I am beginning to recognize the differences I can’t tell you what theological dispute resulted in this devolution to thuggery.] I am sure I will learn more as it is impossible to follow world news without also learning more about the nuances of Islam, as multi-layered and confusing, it seems, as is Christianity.

The fear I have is that we are living on the cusp of an Islamic Reformation. Some scholars say we are long overdue for a Reformation within Islam. That does not cause sanguinity within me; look what happened during the Christian Reformation. Wars and pestilence ravaged the land while Christians killed each other because they disagreed with how others worshipped Christ. It was all very unchristian.

And I fear that is what might be happening in Islam. You don’t worship Allah the way I worship Allah and so therefore you are damned and deserve to die. You are heretic. Ah, harkens to that wonderful time known as the Inquisition. Christians refined torture to a delightful degree, practicing it on other Christians.

The easy thing to say is that religion, of any kind, is the root of all evil. But perhaps within religion answers can be found and perhaps Islam can learn from the mistakes of their Christian brothers.

Letter From New York September 16, 2014

September 16, 2014

Or, as it seems to me…

As I begin to write this, it is a quiet night. I am sitting in the kitchen of my friends Dawn and Gail’s home in Provincetown, Massachusetts. They are out with friends and I am sitting putting together my thoughts about the past week.

It was another anniversary of 9/11, the 13th. There was for me a certain symmetry to this one. On September 10th, 2001 I spent the evening with Jon Alpert, the visionary filmmaker, at a screening of a film he had done about the election in New York that was about to happen, Mark Green versus the billionaire Mike Bloomberg.

An early review of the film said that it would topple Bloomberg’s chances of winning the election. Mike Bloomberg came across as arrogant, privileged, ill-mannered, capricious and not a good candidate for Mayor. But then 9/11 happened and the world changed and a billionaire businessman seemed the best person to take over a city that was reeling from a great catastrophe. And, it turned out, he wasn’t a bad mayor. He may have been capricious, ill-mannered, arrogant and privileged but he brought the city back from the brink and carried it through the dark days of 2001 and 2002 when the city was so wounded it didn’t understand how it would survive its pain.

So on September 10th, 2014, on the eve of the 13th anniversary of 9/11 I found myself back in the company of Jon Alpert. He and I had dinner with our mutual friend Diana Sperazza, currently an Executive Producer for Investigation Discovery. Before that, she had been at Discovery Times Network and had been the EP on a project we had done ten years ago, OFF TO WAR.

We laughed and reminisced and talked about 9/11, 2001. Diana had been living in Washington. I had been in New York. Jon had been in New York, too. Filmmaker that he is, he grabbed a camera and headed towards the catastrophe and caught poignant images of that day. He had marched from his organization’s headquarters in the oldest firehouse in New York, mere blocks from Ground Zero and managed to get past the barricades. His footage ended up in an HBO special.

The weather has been eerily like that surrounding 9/11. Beautiful, sun kissed days. All summer I have thought about how like that time this summer has been and have had an uneasy feeling. 9/11 in New York was the most beautiful day and we have had the most beautiful summer. Some part of me has lived in fear that some terrible event would befall us this beautiful summer.

We made it through. There was no repeat of 9/11. No mass terrorist event.

But we now live in a world that is the child of that day. Since then, we have invaded Afghanistan and Iraq and made a bloody mess of them. ISIS has just killed yet another Western hostage. The Caliphate rises; Arab states want to stop them but are tepid in their support of our desire to stop them. Various terrorist groups now seem to be starting to cooperate, lending their “expertise” to each other. Beheadings are becoming a trend. Egyptian terrorists have started using the gruesome practice in hopes of getting as much attention as ISIS or ISIL or IS, whatever they are being called.

The world feels like a more dangerous place these days. Our outrage against beheadings doesn’t stop them. Sanctions haven’t tempered Mr. Putin’s expansionist tendencies. And our response to Ebola has been slow and strangely muted.

A strange exhaustion has fallen upon us. Everyone seems tired on all sides of the political equation. Boehner seems reading a script as opposed to acting from conviction. One pundit described Obama as a bird in gilded cage, waiting to be let out. Like many Presidents, the office is aging him rapidly.

So we go on, living our lives as best we can while the world seems whirling out of control. Here at home our infrastructure is decaying as we fight wars to keep the barbarians from the gates.

Letter From New York August 21, 2014

August 21, 2014

Or, as it seems to me…

It’s quiet all around me. I am at Odyssey where I have been doing a long term consulting assignment and that’s coming to an end. Everyone has left and thinking the place empty, they even turned out the lights. I didn’t protest; I think I wanted the quiet and the privacy. I’ve been packing up and will drive my personal things back to the cottage tomorrow afternoon.

While I am excited about the future, new beginnings, new adventures, new directions, there IS something sad about an ending. Nick Stuart, the CEO of Odyssey, has become a more than dear friend and we have traveled the US together. He has been my train companion. Three times we have crossed the US by train, developing a rhythm and a sense of adventure for each trip.

It will be sad not to see him as frequently. We’ll still be friends but the lack of proximity will make it more work and less spontaneous. We’ve been known to sneak out on afternoon to see a film, most recently the wonderful GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY.

It also is sad because I had a friendship crash and burn here. That saddens me but I’m a tougher old bird than I sometimes credit myself for. Once I realized, knew, understood I was dealing with someone toxic, I became almost relieved – I quit thinking I was imagining it and accepted it for real. It is sad when people turn out to be not who they present themselves to be. It’s a really bad kind of betrayal. But we humans are capable of that dark bit too.

I settled in here, made the office they let me use a bit of home, hung some favorite artwork and brought in some lamps to make it homier. I will miss that sense of workplace familiarity and will have to recreate it somewhere new when I land on my next direction.

Usually in my life one thing has pretty seamlessly moved on to another thing. I have some things in play but nothing has definitely lined up. And I’m not, strangely enough, anxious about it. I’m actually looking forward to some time to sort things out and to sit more on the deck of the cottage, watching summer shift to fall and to practice working with words a bit more.

If you’re reading this blog, you know I have been doing it more and the doing more of it is so that I learn the discipline of working with words on a regular basis. There are some things on the tip of my fingers that seem to want to come out, things I want to say, thoughts I want to give form to.

It’s the end of an era, said Nick, about my departing. Odyssey is moving in a different direction and there isn’t a place for a digital person in the future they are imagining.

It’s an end of an era for me, too. While a consultant, this was a consistent gig, a place regularly come to and regularly contributed to and now it’s winding down and I’m waiting for the next adventure to wind up. The thought brings a smile to my face.

Letter From New York August 12, 2014

August 12, 2014

Or, as it seems to me…

 

It is a grey afternoon in New York City as it was a grey morning up at the cottage.  It is a grey world in which we live today.  The front page of the NY Times is full of grey news from the Great Grey Lady.

Robin Williams, that whirling dervish of comedy, is dead at 63, having hung himself, apparently in his home in northern California, a loss that seems to lessen all of us with his passing.  A world mourns the departure of a comedy genius – and a dramatic one, too.  After all, he had an Academy Award for his acting.

Out in Iraq, American airstrikes are beating back ISIS for the moment.  Sitting in the Acela Club this morning at Penn Station I saw on CNN helicopters swooping in on Mount Sinjar, dropping off supplies and picking up refugees in scenes that for an instant seemed reminiscent of the American departure from Viet Nam almost forty years ago.

A young man of color was fatally shot by a police officer in St. Louis and the night erupted into violence in protest.  He was unarmed.

A friend of mine wrote to me over the weekend; he is in the end stage of his life according to his doctors.  He has lived there for eighteen months longer than his first prognosis.  He has defied the odds and they are warning him his days of odds defying is probably over.  He hopes to see me before his passing.  I hope to make it to see him.  He overwhelms me with the courage he has demonstrated and the grit with which he has survived.

I am not sure I would have similar strength.  He is going to Lourdes in search of a miracle.  I would that I could go with him.  I probably am in need of a miracle too.  Aren’t we all?

It’s a grey day with grey news, the kind of day when a riff of life by Robin Williams would be appreciated.

Letter From New York July 27, 2014

July 27, 2014

Letter From New York

Or, as it seems to me…

It is a mercilessly grey day in Claverack. A medium hard rain falls outside the cottage and far away thunder rattles the skies. It is a drear day; so dark it is actually hard to see to the end of my property.

It is the flip side of yesterday, so lusciously beautiful that it caused a heart to ache – perfect skies, perfect temperature, a day lazed away in idle pursuits, antique shopping on Hudson’s Warren Street, a leisurely stroll through the little Farmer’s Market, then reading on the deck while the creek languidly slipped by on its way to the pond. It was a splendid afternoon. The wind caused the tall branches to brush against one another, their rustling the music of the afternoon. The reflections of light on the creek with the stirring of the water by the breeze resulted in thoughts of pointillism.

This austere day is made for contemplation. It cries for thought as I stare out the window by my desk, on the rain-drenched drive of the cottage, casting my mind out into the world.

It is hardly prettier out there this week; the Ukrainian crisis still unfolds. Body parts still apparently lie in the debris field of MH17, most certainly brought down by a missile. Putin seems to be doubling down on supporting the pro-Russian rebels. Two doctors leading the fight against Ebola have contracted the disease. I cannot tell from this morning’s headlines if there is or is not a temporary ceasefire between Hamas and Israel. The ill-fated Costa Concordia reached its final resting spot. The United States has evacuated the embassy in Libya because of escalating violence. The Taliban reclaim tracts of Afghanistan. The Boko Haram have kidnapped the wife of the Vice Prime Minister of Cameroon. Forest fires plague the drought stricken state of California with no rain in the forecast. An Air Algerie flight fell from the sky over Mali.

The litany of the world’s trials and travails could go on and on. They are enough to cause us to climb into our bunkers and hunker down for the duration. And that may be a bit of what I do when I retreat to the cottage and indulge in the beauty that surrounds me. If I focus too much on the world an existential ennui falls upon me and I feel I cannot breathe.

For all the dark things happening in the world, there was still laughter on the street yesterday. Hot dogs were purchased from Rick’s stand at 6th and Warren. Ice cream cones were being consumed from Lick, farther down Warren. Little children careened down the street, chased after by parents. Newborns rode in carriages. People find jobs and sit down for meals. The world keeps going on and, in that, I find solace.

It is like this moment, when suddenly the rain stopped and the sun burst through the clouds to dapple the land with its light. The earth abides, hope survives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter From New York July 20, 2014

July 20, 2014

Letter From New York

July 20, 2014

Or, as it seems to me…

 

A gentle rain fell last night in the Hudson Valley, ushering in a gently beautiful day. Not too warm, not too cold, a Goldilocks sort of day, sun glimmering off the creek as well as the small puddles left behind by the night’s rain. The deck is freshly stained, gleaming in the day’s light.

It is another bucolic day in Claverack.

It is not bucolic in much of the rest of the world. The past week has been haunted by the loss of MH17 over eastern Ukraine, a civilian passenger jet shot down by a surface to air missile, apparently by pro-Russian separatists who apparently bragged about having brought down the plane and then removed their social media boasts once they started to realize they may have hit a civilian plane.

According to reports I have read, Euro Control approved the flight plan for the plane; it is one of the generally used flight ways from Europe to the Far East. American airlines have been warned away from that route; I am sure none will be flying it now. Too late.

Nearly three hundred are dead, including eighty children, a leading AIDS researcher, an Australian novelist, a Dutch Senator, a cross section of humanity caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, their bodies scattered across nine square miles of contested land, some strangely intact, some ripped apart, all dead and gone in an instant, hopefully.

We are all appalled. The Russian propaganda machine has come up with all kinds of conspiracy stories, some that are completely bizarre but all of them pointing to others to blame. One pro-Russian separatist told a British journalist that this was all the fault of the Queen.

So it goes in the increasingly strange world in which Russia lives.

These seem almost apocalyptic times, with the chaos that is Iraq, that cradle of civilization, a Caliphate declared over parts of Syria and Iraq by ISIS, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. The Kurds move toward autonomy. Iraq as we knew it seems destined for disintegration. War rages in Gaza. Rockets fall in Israel. And innocents die in all these places.

It seems hard to realize that innocents are dying in all these places when a soft wind is blowing through the Hudson Valley and lovely meals are being consumed in open air cafes with good food, good company and good conversation, often avoiding the painful topics of what is happening in the world because there seems to be so little we, as individuals, can do to alter the events. They seem out of our control. We can decry what is happening but what can we do to change what is happening?

Sitting here in the quiet of the cottage, I don’t honestly know. I can write my Congressmen and Senators on domestic issues about which I have an opinion but would Putin heed a letter from Claverack when he seems to pay little attention to the President of the United States?

But the downing of a civilian airliner seems to be coalescing European opinion into a united front of condemnation, something that they have not done. European interests are closely intertwined with Russia, provider of natural gas to much of the continent. It seems to be taking a tragedy for them to take a stand.

The digital front page of the New York Times this morning is splattered with news of the downed aircraft. The world is reeling from its loss. We depend upon our air lanes to move us to and from – they should be safe from what is happening on the ground but they no longer are. We are confronted by what modern weapons can do in overeager hands. This is no suicide bombing with an improvised device.

As we sit in our bucolic places on a warm summer’s day, the world grows more dangerous.

 

Letter From New York

March 4, 2014

Letter From New York

March  3, 2014

Or as it seems from Italy….

At 220 km/h the Italian countryside slides by as the Italo, Italy’s high-speed train races from Roma to Firenze.  It has been raining on and off all day; off now, as I am cozied up in the Club Car, leaning against the window, staring out onto the Italian countryside, a mix of lush greens and soft browns, a land prepping for spring.  Farms slide by, clouds scud across the sky, threatening more rain, I ride the train backwards as we slide through tunnel after tunnel.

For the last five days I have been in Roma at SIGNIS, the global organization of Catholic Communicators.  I did a speech for them two and a half years ago in Costa Rica and they apparently liked what I did as they asked me back to be on two panels for them this year.

As many know, I grew up in the Catholic tradition and feel that I will never quite quit being Catholic.  It stays with me, a reality from which I can neither escape or fully embrace. 

At SIGNIS there were 300 plus delegates from 80 plus countries, a United Nations of Catholics.  As the days went on, I became aware of the vast gulf between some of them, particularly between conservative and liberal Catholics, with the liberals primarily but not exclusively from Northern Hemisphere countries.

Some American Catholics described their discomfort with African Catholics who tend to be conservative and narrow according to their counterparts, dogmatic and rigid against the backdrop of a changing Catholicism in the north where some embrace Catholicism but turn their back on rigid rules.  I suspect North American Catholics have no trouble with birth control and lean to acceptance of gay marriage, certainly gay relationships.  They seem to follow the social leanings of mainstream liberal Protestantism.  NOT ALL but a goodly number.  It was even surprising to me to hear their voices at such a Catholic conference.

All speak of a “Francis” moment, that this new Pope who has sat upon the Papal Throne for only a year has generated interest in Catholicism and an openness to it that has been missing for at least a generation or two.  Not doctrinally liberal, Francis is spiritually sensitive and projects an adherence to the teachings of Jesus perceived missing in the last Pontificates.  “Who am I to judge?” he has said while also acknowledging at moments, he does not know.  Appealingly human, he has captured the imagination of many and because of that there is a “Francis” moment – a chance for the Church to reclaim the drifting masses and to hold a moral high ground felt missing for a time.  Any man labeled a Communist by Rush Limbaugh deserves some solid attention

Now two days later, I am on the return journey from Firenze, back to Roma, to spend a night before flying home to New York, hoping to be able to get there, as the weather is not promising.  Taking a walking tour yesterday, three of us were treated to an insider’s look at Firenze by the charming Chiara.   The tour ended in the Gallery at the Academia that holds Michelangelo’s David, a sight that literally takes the breath away.

For an hour, I stayed with him, Michelangelo’s vision of the young David, naked, armed only with a slingshot and a stone, ready to take on mighty Goliath.  It is a work of staggering beauty and worth the trip to Florence.

Waking this morning to church bells pealing, I thought this was a good end to the trip, a visit with David.  Once we were all a bit like him, ready to take on Goliath, in the heady days before Kingship and Bathsheba, before the weight of power and the lure of his lusts pulled him from the purity with which he faced the Philistine giant.  For centuries it stood in the town square and now sits protected in the Academia, hopefully for as much of eternity as can be managed.

While back in Rome, it will be interesting to witness how long the “Francis” moment will last, how long it can be managed, this chance for Catholicism to reclaim hearts and minds within and without the Church.