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Letter From New York November 12, 2009

November 12, 2009

Or: As it seems to me

It was Election Day recently, the first Tuesday in November. Since then it seems all political pundits are attempting to read the runes of this just past election to see what it says about the state of the nation: who is up? who is down? Did the defeat of Corzine in New Jersey mean that the nation was turning against Obama? Or did the election of a Democrat in New York’s 23rd District, the first since 1852, signal deep trouble for the Republicans? Ah… my guess is that come the next election pundits will still be parsing this one.

Me? I was voter number two at my polling place, the A. B. Shaw Fire Station at the juncture of 9H and 23, there before dawn broke and certainly before my morning caffeine had effectively coursed its way through my body. However, I was prepared and knew for whom I was going to vote, having read and studied in the week before as I attempted to be a responsible voter. This election was all about the local politics and for the first time in many years it seemed possible that some new blood could be elected to the Board of Supervisors. As I write this, two of the people I voted for have gone down to defeat and one is leading by a razor thin majority. It will take days to resolve this one. The differential is as few as seven votes to possibly twenty-one, depending on which report you read. It is a classic example of why every vote counts and why I am gratified I made the effort to get home to vote. Based on what’s happening, my vote counted.

What happens, unfortunately, in democracies, especially big democracies, is that people discount the fact their vote matters. The closeness of our local election underscores the democratic principle – a single vote counts.

While waiting for resolution to the local election of the week just past, we have celebrated November 11th, Veterans Day, celebrated on this day because on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, soldiers put down their weapons to end the “war to end all wars,” commonly known now as World War I. It is a moment to honor all veterans, all the men and women who have put themselves in harm’s way for the safety of this our democracy [see above about the importance of voting]. I heard the last living veteran of WWI passed away recently – a moment to give us pause – as we are now in some real way disconnected from a conflict that shaped much of the world in which we live, even if we don’t think much about it. There will come a time when the last living veteran of WWII will pass away and we will become disconnected from that conflict which, too, shaped the world in which we are living. There will be a time when the last living vet from Korea will go, from Viet Nam, from Iraq…

History is, unfortunately, made in conflict. And we should capture those voices while we can as there is much to be learned from them, even the smallest recollection enhances our understanding of the human experience, shaped in conflict. Stephen Spielberg has created the Shoah Foundation to capture on video all the stories he can of the Holocaust. Perhaps we should be capturing the history of those who have fought because in understanding what they have endured we might find reasons to not fight in the future…

The lessons to be learned from combat are in the forefront of our minds this week, due to the devastating events at Fort Hood, where many of the victims were preparing for deployment in Afghanistan to help soldiers deal with the stress of warfare.

The glory of war is often told, all the way back to the Iliad and beyond but now we are facing the price of war on the field of battle.

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Letter From New York, November 2, 2009

November 2, 2009

Or: as it seems to me…

Outside rain falls. I’m not sure I remember a time anymore when rain hasn’t been falling. It’s been that kind of year. And continues to be – wet and chill, perfect weather for the flu. Which is on everyone’s mind these days. H1N1/Swine flu in particular, called that as the theory goes that it first emerged in pigs in Asia, leaping to a human there and then traveling to North America. Personally, I now know a half dozen people who have been ill with it; one so sick she needed hospitalization.

It is both seasonal flu and the more threatening H1N1 strain that has our attention this week. Some reports indicate this will be the peak week for the flu, of whichever variety. The CDC has released the last stores of Tamiflu for children due to an upsurge in children dying from the H1N1 strain, 19 more in the past week. We are all balancing our fears with the reality of living life. While children are especially vulnerable, it didn’t prevent parents from indulging them in this year’s Halloween ritual of “Trick or Treat.” Nor did it stop adults from congregating for parties though I am sure the thought of crowds gave people pause before setting out with their children or going off to their parties. I am sure that the use of hand sanitizer was way, way up. It’s hard to escape sanitizer these days. Many offices seem to have it everywhere; some buildings have installed sanitizer stations next to elevator call buttons and almost everywhere else you can think of. Everyone is advised to wash his or her hands, frequently and thoroughly. Scrub your hands for the amount of time it takes to recite the alphabet or sing “Happy Birthday” twice – that’s the current conventional wisdom.

We are, here in the United States, at the epicenter of H1N1/Swine flu. Some schools are decimated and workplaces as well. But it’s not just here – the entire world is bracing for H1N1/Swine flu. Jet planes mean that infected people move quickly from one country to another. It’s coming up on the time for the Hajj, the annual Muslim pilgrimage to the birthplace of Mohammed. And the Saudi government is taking steps to encourage the most vulnerable not to come to Mecca this year. Hand sanitizers will probably be everywhere though some conservative Muslims won’t use it because it is alcohol based. The world is haunted, rightly so, by the flu epidemic of 1918 that left millions dead.

I tend to think: it’s just the flu. But every year thousands die of “just the flu.” It’s not something to take lightly, especially this year. This last week there was no Letter From New York partly because I was fighting what I thought might be the beginning of the flu – headache and achy body were my symptoms. Doing something unusual for me, I heeded the call of my body and stayed home, resting and going back to work when my body quit aching. Wisdom won the day and it’s smart that wisdom and caution rule the days for all of us this year when it comes to flu; it’s time to be cautious.

Airlines are being more lenient with re-booking fees and some companies are raising the limit for the number of sick days. The President has declared a state of national emergency to expedite procedures if things become dire, as H1N1/Swine flu has been reported in 48 of the 50 states and 168 different countries.

Now we’ve turned the clocks back, had an extra hour of rest, done our “Trick and Treating” we can begin prepping for the Holiday season in front of us. Best to focus on the good times ahead and be health cautious now.

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Letter From New York October 20, 2009

October 20, 2009

Or, as it seems to me…

The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom has issued dire warnings that failure to create an agreement at the Copenhagen Conference in December will result in even more dire consequences to be revealed in weather catastrophes. As I read his dreary statements [and Gordon Browne seems a dreary sort to begin with] I wondered [and here I must admit I was pushed toward this thought by the musings of my friend, the writer/philosopher Howard Bloom], is there no hope in the world? Have we become ostriches with heads in the sand because we hear no one saying there is hope anywhere? It is dire out there, whether climate changes are happening naturally, are being accelerated by human actions or are solely the result of human actions, we are living on a planet that seems to be going through a…change? Menopause? Something. Something is happening and to shrug it off is irresponsible as is ignoring it, as it is acting as if we are as doomed as the passengers on the Titanic after its brush with an iceberg.

While it is true that something significant is happening climate wise, it is untrue that it is completely out of our control. We are a remarkable race that consistently does remarkable things, often when our backs are against the wall [why do our backs have to be against the wall?]. So where in this desert of despair in which we so often seem to be living do we find a voice of hope? Who is going to stand up and say, yes, we can! [Oh wait! Obama said that and for a moment we thought we could and now seem to be slipping back into ennui, a tenebrous state of enervation. In others words: dark, gloomy, exhausted, without much hope.] And while it is more than a tad gloomy out there, we have survived gloomy periods before.

The Great Recession is not infrequently compared with the Great Depression, eighty years ago and there are some striking similarities. Now that was a pretty gloomy time also – and in the end the west pulled itself out from that period’s ennui through the vastly unpleasant shock of World War II, an event that united individuals and nations in a common cause against a frightful enemy. Do we, today, have to be that confrontationally threatened to wake up and react? Perhaps.

We have challenges in front of us [and, in fact, more challenges than we might actually need (certainly more than I personally want)] and we need right now a someone [thank you, Howard Bloom] to stir us with the same passion that John F. Kennedy stirred us with when he said: ask not what your country can do for you but what can you do for your country. It has been nearly fifty years since those words were spoken and yet they still have the power to excite and move and stir us in the fiber of our beings, a call to something beyond ourselves.

According to promos I saw on television this week, this is a week of volunteerism, a celebration of getting out and doing for someone else. God knows we have a lot of people who need doing for [I read a report of a 97 year old woman who is living in her car] and we have a lot of people who need to be doing, to stir themselves out of that ennui, the tenebrous state of enervation, out of the dark and gloomy space which really surrounds us but which we do not necessarily need to be victim to…

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Letter From New York, October 12, 2009

October 12, 2009

Or, as it seems to me…

Last Friday, as on most days, I was awakened by the sound of NPR. I had been in a heavy sleep, deeply tired from having awakened at oh dark hundred the day before to catch the early train into the city. The announcer was telling the world that the Nobel Peace Prize had gone to President Barak Obama. I rolled over and buried my head under a pillow, not wanting to get up and wondering how Barak Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize had worked itself into my dream state, as I was sure that Obama and the Peace Prize were part of a very confused dream I was having.

However, it wasn’t a dream – Barak Obama had, indeed, been awarded the Nobel Prize “for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples. The Committee has attached special importance to Obama’s vision of and work for a world without nuclear weapons. Obama has as President created a new climate in international politics.” [Announcement of the Norwegian Nobel Committee] I was stunned as I sipped my first cup of coffee of the day, wondering what had caused the Nobel Committee to make this choice? It didn’t seem like he had done anything to deserve this award at this time, even taking in the words of the Committee. Everyone I spoke with seemed perplexed, including friends who are ardent Obama supporters.

Even Obama himself seemed puzzled.

As the weekend progressed, it seemed to me that Obama was awarded both for his aspirations and his attitudes while at the same time the Norwegian Nobel Committee was also rewarding the United States for electing someone who had changed the American dialogue with the world from the bumptious, fractious tone of the Bush era to something more… and here I get stuck for words. Under Obama the tone of American diplomacy has been, well, diplomatic. It has also left doors open as opposed to unilaterally closing them. Whether diplomacy will accomplish something is still to be seen. However, we, at least, aren’t alienating most of the world and most of our allies simply by opening our mouth.

The Nobel Prize to Obama has set off a maelstrom among political pundits giving conservatives an opening to ridicule the President. Senator McCain was thankfully muted, simply proffering congratulations. As puzzling as the award may be, the vitriol with which it has been greeted on the right is, unfortunately, not unexpected. Deeply saddening was an article this week reporting that threats against Obama’s life are occurring thirty times more frequently than they did for his predecessor. This fact reflects badly upon us, a counterpoint to what the Norwegian Nobel Committee seemed to be praising us for – the election of a man of color with diplomatic tendencies who chooses words designed to bridge rather than divide, someone who has reflected hope on many levels on the world stage upon which he acts.

Also happening this weekend was a march on Washington by Gays and Lesbians, a National Equality March, highlighting the desires of the LGBT [Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals and Transgendered] Community to have full “full Federal equality” including the right to marry and to serve openly in the military. On Saturday night, Obama pledged to end the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy to thunderous approval of the crowds at a Human Rights Campaign even though the President took it on the chin on Sunday morning from some gay activists for not having set a timetable. Within the gay community there has been division over whether energy should have been spent on such a march when so much is happening and needs attending in states like Maine and Washington where important issues will be faced at the ballot box next month.

I am not sure whether energy should be focused at the state or federal level. However, what remains amazing to me is that energy is being focused on both those levels on issues I did not think I would see addressed in my lifetime any more than I thought I would live to see an African–American President.

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Letter From New York October 5, 2009

October 5, 2009

Or, as it seems to me…

The weekend was spent curled up, for the most part, at the cottage, rain falling, the yard slowly littering with leaves, watching back episodes of Mad Men [without a doubt one of the finest television dramas ever], doing a little reading, some straightening up and, as best I could, ignoring the fact I had left the power block for my laptop at the office…

I spent the weekend digitally deprived, basically cut off from the broadband universe I so heavily rely upon, only using the computer on battery power for absolute necessities…paying bills that were due, responsible things, not for the fun things I normally do like surfing through HULU looking for some video to watch, or writing my weekly missive. Or, on the task side, taking care of the work that I had put off saying – I can handle that on the weekend.

Digital disengagement was not liberating. I thought perhaps it might be – ah, I could spend the time I would be working on the computer doing things I don’t always have time to do – read more, for example. The reality is that I have become dependent upon my ability to interact digitally with the world – or even with myself. My journal resides on the desktop of my laptop. I keep my checkbook balances on an Excel spreadsheet, my addresses are organized in my Entourage, my calendar – almost all the bits and pieces of my life are on my laptop which is why backing up is almost a religious ritual.

Oh sure, I had my iPhone and it wasn’t the same and it wasn’t enough. I can’t really type on my iPhone – it’s great for short emails and it was great because that way I wasn’t cut off, completely. But I missed my full functionality, missed being able to type out my thoughts, missed being able to surf the Internet unfettered by the constraints of a smaller screen and a slower connection. I missed my bigger screen.

In other words, I am tethered to my electronics in ways I only think about when I am not able to exercise what seems to me to be my constitutionally guaranteed right of web access. In other words, I am a man of the 21st century, a man who is electronically dependent and geared toward utilizing those electronic devices to define and refine his life.

Wired. That is what I am, a wired person. And because this wired person was without his computer, he did not get to write his weekly blog. I attempted to put some thoughts to paper, long hand. My handwriting has deteriorated to something that would cause the nuns who shaped my penmanship heartburn. I sometimes have trouble reading it. It is embarrassing to go back to notes from a meeting and realize you have no idea what a certain word is because it is so badly written. I am embarrassed when I think of it which, most of the time; I don’t because I don’t need to read my own writing that often. I do so much of it on my laptop.

So this is what has happened to me. I am so dependent on having my laptop I am not very capable of workarounds. I am a man of the 21st Century; I am a digitally dependent chap who finds it difficult to cope without his digital devices so much so that it brings my life to a minor halt. Am I unusual or am I just like everyone else? Probably not just like everyone else.

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Letter From New York September 27, 2009

September 28, 2009

Or – as it seems to me…

Autumn has arrived; the official start date has come and gone and all around us there are definitive signs: the leaves on the trees along the creek have started to turn, fallen yellow leaves drift down the stream. The temperature has begun to drop and the mornings and evenings are cool and very crisp. Stores are filled with Halloween candy and accoutrements. Sweaters are being pulled forward in closets and it is sometimes necessary, at least here at the cottage, to have heat – the Franklin stove is in use.

Like the start date of autumn, the Emmys have come and gone, full this year of gallows humor about the state of broadcast television. The humor had a desperate edge to it, voices tinged with a soupcon of hysteria. Julia Louis Dreyfus welcomed everyone to the last official year of broadcast television and everyone in the audience who had a stake in broadcast television was afraid she was correct. And there’s no denying that the business is changing. So is everything in media. A once glamorous business seems a bit tarnished and frayed around the edges.

As for frayed around the edges, there is a bit of that in New York as a result of the arrest of several people who allegedly were planning to use beauty supplies to blow up – something. The central figure is a young Afghan named Zazi who seemingly has evolved from enthusiastic immigrant to ardent terrorist.

Apparently in his computer were found photos of New York subways. I hate to admit it but subway terrorism is something I think about. Not just since these folks were arrested… It’s been on my mind since the London bombings in 2005. I arrived there three or four days after the attacks and realized then, as I realize now, how easy it would be to bring backpack bombs onto trains. So I tend to ride subways at the front or rear of the train, not in the middle because if I were a suicide bomber I’d get on in the middle of the train where I would think I could cause the greatest damage.

These are the kinds of things I think about. As, I have discovered, do my friends and colleagues. 9/11 is distant but not so distant as not to think terrorism is a possibility. It is not a bright thought but it is a realistic one.
I also contemplate the changes in media, the work world within which I live. The velocity of change in the media world is unprecedented. In a very short time, many institutions, like newspapers, find themselves called into question. All in all, it’s just a more complicated world than it was ten years ago. On every level…

My great friend Lionel had the good grace to know Jane Campion in Australia, the country of both their origins, and so was invited to the premiere of her film BRIGHT STAR and he invited me to accompany him. It is the story of John Keats and his muse, Fannie Brawne, played out against the deep, lush English countryside which, on film, reminded me of nothing so much as my beloved Claverack – woody, windy, lush, wet, full of promise. It helped me understand why this area is called “New England.”

It also reminded me of the searching we do in our souls for the meaning of things, the meaning of the seemingly countless small things that end up being so important. It is the small things, piled upon each other, that make the important things. It was the combination of wind, rain, lush countryside and passionate love for Fannie that propelled Keats to greatness.

But what combination of small things caused Zazi to turn from being an enthusiastic American immigrant to one who seemingly wants in the deepest part of his soul to bring mass destruction upon his adopted homeland? What combination of small things has resulted in each of our lives taking the direction they have? How did we individually, as industries, as a society, move from where we were ten years ago to where we are today? In the answers to these questions, we have what’s called history.

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Letter From New York Sept 18 2009

September 18, 2009

Or: as it seems to me…

September 11, 2001 came into the world as one of the most achingly beautiful days that nature ever gave the New York area. Into it flew death, destruction and the end of the world as we knew it – in smoke, dust, rending of steel and glass, terror and tears much of the fabric of the world was torn. It seemed that way then and still seems so when I review the world in silence, objectively. In THE GO BETWEEN, Pinter’s line was: the past is a foreign country, they do things differently there. The time before 9/11 is a foreign country, we did things differently there.

September 11, 2009 dawned as one of the dreariest days in a summer of dreary days; dark, rainy, funereal – a day befitting a somber anniversary. Water pelted the windows of my bedroom. On the radio, I listened to a woman re-live her 9/11 experience, resulting in me reliving mine. There had been a dread I felt as this anniversary approached; I did not think we would escape unscathed. I feared some terrible event happening, the weight of the possibility infused my actions, an extra burden to carry as I passed through life with a heightened sensitivity to negative possibility.

Thankfully, the day was busy, full of business, things to be done, distractions, meetings, scurrying from one end of Manhattan to another and then…it was time to go home to the cottage. As we all know now, nothing happened, no building fell, no one died, nothing…thank God.

However, a scant three days latter the NYPD conducted a raid in Queens, carting off trunk loads of evidence from an apartment there What the papers are buzzing about is that this group in Queens may be an Al Qaida cell, planning some event with hydrogen peroxide bombs.

Hydrogen peroxide? Isn’t that what Marilyn Monroe used to get that color of blonde she had? Isn’t it what we put on our cuts and scrapes? It’s also what the London bombers used in 2005 to wreck havoc to the public transport system and to kill dozens. I have learned hydrogen peroxide and Tang can be a fatal combination. Tang? A childhood drink given “stardust” by the Space Program is now an ingredient in an explosive cocktail easily transportable by backpack? The past is a foreign country, indeed.

I don’t know if the men being investigated are guilty of anything. It seems there were no arrests though I suspect every one of them is being followed everywhere while evidence is sifted to see if they, indeed, were doing something nefarious. Regardless, the story underscores the anxiety I felt in the run-up to the 9/11 Anniversary. If there are chops to this story, part of what is so disturbing is that this is a group of Afghani Al-Qaida, something not seen before and, perhaps, motivated by a desire for tribal revenge for familial deaths in Afghanistan by American forces – revenge seems to be required for the death of relatives and knows no geographical limits. Ah, another part of the tangled web we’ve woven in the years since 9/11.

Yet the world goes on. We all keep putting one foot in front of another and mind our daily business, dealing with the Great Recession, the demands of jobs and clients, needs of friends and lovers, the vagaries of the strange weather, all the things that make up the fabric of everyday life despite the background noise of potential terror groups and all the frightening things unleashed upon our world since that achingly beautiful day that changed the world forever – a day that was a tipping point if ever there was one.

So this is the new reality, the new country in which we are living and there will be more days in which a quiet dread will come upon us because we know absolutely there are those out there that hate us enough to kill us while at the same time we must find the courage to embrace life and find meaning in it as we accept catastrophe is a greater possibility that ever.

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Letter From New York 9/11/09

September 11, 2009

Or: as it seems to me…

Labor Day is the emotional if not literal end of summer. The season lingers until later in September but Labor Day… Labor Day is the acknowledged end. Labor Day, in recollection, was a languorous Holiday celebrated by adults while I did my best to mask the knot in my stomach at returning the next day to school. (Particularly painful was the holiday prior to my entering third grade; I was going to be subject to the infamous Sister Neva – a fate to be avoided. Alas, I could not and she proved as daunting as the legend.)

Labor Day weekend in my childhood was a time of barbeques, gatherings of family friends, adults sitting in lawn chairs with highballs and cigarettes while the scent of burgers wafted through the back yard air. It was a moment of indolence. If the phone rang it was generally a guest asking if there was some last minute barbeque component needed.

Flash forward to today. Indolence is on the backburner. Today all Labor Day means is that the velocity and volume of demands diminish. My phone rang with more business demands than social overtures. Business didn’t stop; it slowed. I think the last really languorous Labor Day happened sometime just as email was entrenching itself as part of the business motif. Now I am old enough to remember a time before email – yes, I know that makes me suspect in some circles but it’s true. Before email the world breathed a little easier. Now, with email, cell phones and PDA’s, we are trapped in the immediacy of NOW which does not recognize the boundaries of Holidays and personal time.

Labor Day rest is gone as are vacations. My friends no longer tell anyone they are on vacation. Emails are simply answered from PDA’s poolside. God forbid we tell anyone we have signed off for a moment – they might discover what we fear: they can survive without us. And we can survive without them.

It is anticipated – and we allow the anticipation – that we are always available, that everyone has the right to reach out to us and we will be there. At the ready. With the answer.

It is the world we have created and accepted and it is not going to go away. Yet there are hints people are attempting to deal with it better. Pre-Labor Day weekend I was on the phone with friends and found myself flattened against my desk chair in despair as I witnessed twenty new emails come in demanding my attention as the screen refreshed. My friend Meryl suggested some good coping mechanisms I am doing my best to adopt. I am working to not obsess on the computer and set it aside to do some real work as opposed to responding in Pavlovian fashion to every email popping up on the screen.

Added to the weight of electronic tethers, this year’s Labor Day Weekend came a scant four days before the anniversary of 9/11, the eighth such anniversary and for some reason, at least to me, it was arriving with a sense of discomfort. Mentions of it seem to bring me to the edge of tears for reasons I am not sure I can explain. Is it, I wonder, that I thought eight years ago, that eight years out there would have been some kind of rock solid resolution? I understand intellectually that is not a reasonable expectation. Emotionally, I want one. For God’s sake, World War II was over in about half this amount of time. Instead, we are still in Iraq and digging in in Afghanistan. In emotionally distancing ourselves from 9/11 we threw a self-indulgent economic party. Between the wars and self-indulgence we have nearly bankrupted ourselves.

At a dinner with friends we talked about the world that is emerging. Something new is arising from all of this and we are afraid of what is coming – everything has changed. Technology has altered our world as much as 9/11 and the Great Recession. Put them all together and you have a brand new world – not necessarily brave.

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Letter From New York

September 4, 2009

A tale of two towns…

Or – as it seems to me…

September 4, 2009

Much of America paused this past Saturday to watch or listen to some of, if not all, of the funeral service for Edward Moore Kennedy, aka Ted Kennedy, Senior Senator from Massachusetts, the last of the fabled Kennedy brothers and the last male of that Kennedy generation –a bridge to the Camelot years – in other words, someone who was, pretty much, a living legend. He was the only Kennedy brother to live deep into adulthood, the others dead young, this one dying, hopefully peacefully, of natural causes – the only one of the four brothers to do so – male siblings felled violently in war or by assassins.

His brother Joe died a war hero; his brother Jack was the assassinated President and Bobby the martyred politician of such fierce promise. Teddy was the one who seemed to be getting his hand caught in the cookie jar of life – at least when he was younger. He seemed a bit of a charming n’er do well, then forever marked by his handling of the Chappaquiddick accident that claimed the life of Mary Jo Kopechne. That incident almost cost him the authoritative voice the Kennedy name and the iconic weight of his siblings granted him. Later he emerged as a statesman, the lion of the American Senate who was able to get legislation passed, pulling foes together for a common good.

He was a large man, florid, his face marked by the excesses of his life, eloquent, determined, witty, and close to the emotional rawness that comes with loss. I only encountered him in person once, long ago, when he delivered a eulogy for a friend’s cousin. The cousin had been a wealthy man, gay, and an AIDS activist who succumbed to the disease in the years just before the cocktail granted life extension to thousands. I don’t recall the words Kennedy said; I do recall they were inspiring and full of meaning, providing comfort to the family. One came away with the feeling that a lifetime of grieving gave him a gateway into that particular experience.

Perhaps that is what we remember most about Ted Kennedy and why we forgave him his trespasses; he buried so many and so many of us grieved with him over his losses. He was so eloquent in eulogizing Bobby that his words regarding his brother will continue to echo as long as Bobby is remembered. We will remember Teddy, as we will all Kennedy brothers, for their words, well chosen and eloquent, delivered with an elegance that has always seemed more European than American.

The Kennedy family seemed quintessentially American while at the same time sophisticated in an almost un-American way – they seemed to lack the rough edges of most of us. Uncharacteristically, the American nation forgave, eventually, the Kennedys their elegance and even began to emulate it and embrace it. That was part of the Kennedy magic – they could and did win us over. Teddy probably should have lost the love of the public. The Kennedy charm would not have been enough if he had not risen above his flaws. Once he shook the expectation that somehow he should be President, he devoted himself to becoming a skilled Senator, learning the job and performing it well. Tempered by all the tragedy he endured, he not only empathized, he acted upon his empathy. Each Massachusetts family that suffered a loss during 9/11 received a phone call from Kennedy, with follow-ups as necessary. If he knew you and you suffered loss, he would reach out. His strength in life was formed by his ability to survive and endure loss. When others experienced it, he reached out across the sad gulf that is grief to comfort.

His flaws were many, his politics unapologetically liberal [truly the last of a breed], his character suspect early on and almost universally admired later. He endured the tragedies visited upon him by both fate and the flaws of his own character, seeking redemption in hard good work for what he saw as the public good. May he rest in peace, at last.

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A Tale of Two Towns August 25, 2009

August 25, 2009

Hell hath no fury like Mother Nature…

The cicadas are chirping in a dark, damp night – it has been damp all summer.  I am beginning to believe it will be damp the rest of my natural life.  This summer is headed towards the history books as the coolest and possibly wettest summer in recorded history.  I feel I am living in Oregon again. Weather is the subject of conversation everyone can safely go to rather than face the high emotions of health care reform – and it is as important a subject.   Whether you call it global warming or just natural climate change, something is happening that is different and in its difference is deeply unsettling.

Friday afternoon a riptide of a storm raced through Claverack while I was beginning my way home and by the time I got home roads were ravaged by downed trees and power lines.  Cut off from home, I was offered a port in the storm by my friend Alana.

Saturday morning unveiled the extent of damage – hundreds of trees broken and fallen, homes shattered, my tree sheltered cottage lucky with only one tree down; it had fallen against another tree saving the house.  The weather service called it sheer wind; locals claimed seeing mini-tornadoes tear through their yards and fields, ripping up the landscape and their trees in a sight none remembered before – this was weather as it had not been experienced in living memory.

And that is what is troubling us all – experiencing weather phenomena that no one recalls and no one recalls being told about before.  No one I know has a grandmother who told them a story of the time mini-tornadoes ripped through the town.  Though many who lived through this last Friday will tell their grandchildren…

What is happening with the weather seems new to us.  It may just be the natural cycle of the planet – or not.  It may be global warming – or not.  The debate will go on; what is irrefutable is that what is happening with the weather has little to do with the oral history passed down to us.  What’s going on today wasn’t talked about when I was a child sitting on the steps of my parent’s house and weather was discussed.  There was a sense then that weather had a pattern, a rhythm that had gone on, if not forever, for as long as anyone remembered.

Not so today.  What is happening with the weather has a decreasing amount to do with what we have known and more to do with assimilating what we are experiencing.  Today on NPR I was listening to a report about a glacier in Antarctica, four times the size of Scotland, which seems to be in the process of disappearing – something that seems to have really started about ten years ago.  We are assaulted by stories like this – glaciers disappearing here and there, ocean temperatures far above what they were.  No adult in my childhood told me these kinds of stories.  I don’t remember sitting on the front stoop of my parent’s home being told we were moving into a new weather world that broke all the rules of all the remembered generations.  And that’s because when I was a child the weather rules still reigned – what had happened seemed likely to happen again — yet now we are living in a world where what is happening is not what has happened before.

We are living in a frightening world.  There was an ad campaign not so many years ago – not your father’s Oldsmobile.  Well it’s not your father’s weather anymore either.   Oldsmobile is gone and so is the weather we used to know.  Might be Global Warming, might just be a natural cycle.  Doesn’t matter – the world of weather is changing and it is, like so much around us, a bit frightening.

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