Read before both performances yesterday:
Ladies and Gentlemen, on this ninth anniversary of the attacks on World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and the crash of Flight 93 we ask you to join us in a moment of silence in memory not only of the people lost in those tragedies, but for all those people who are defending our country and also protecting and serving us here at home: the military, the police, the firefighters and the emergency medical workers who are always there for us when we need them, and who sometimes make the supreme sacrifice in doing their duty.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
NEVER FORGET 9-11-01
NEVER FORGET has become a motto of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon nine years ago.
Many things stick in our memory of that day: the brave words ‘Let’s Roll!’ in an airplane over the Pennsylvania countryside, the billows of smoke and ash surging through the narrow New York streets, the hole breaching our ideal of protection at the Pentagon, a mass of people walking across the Brooklyn Bridge to escape the aftermath, disbelief, horror and personal, private memories that will never fade.
We will Never Forget that day and the ones following. But let’s extend that motto to Never Forget those lost in the fighting initiated by the attacks on our country. Let’s Never Forget those lost at Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and for that matter in Hiroshima and Auschwitz; Vietnam, Korea and any and all the other times and places that people have paid the ultimate price in a conflict that someone started in the name of right and righteousness.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the ones who rushed to help, who lost their lives trying to save others – as they do for you and you and you every time they answer a call for help every day in every part of our country.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the civilians lost, the ones who are always the innocent victims of conflict, the ones who pay that same ultimate price only because they were there.
Because if enough of us Never Forget, maybe, just maybe, there will be enough of us to remember that maybe there’s another way, a better way, a way that doesn’t end in disbelief and horror.
And meanwhile, let’s Never Forget to honor all of those mentioned here, and do it every day in every way we can.
NEVER FORGET. 9-11-01
Many things stick in our memory of that day: the brave words ‘Let’s Roll!’ in an airplane over the Pennsylvania countryside, the billows of smoke and ash surging through the narrow New York streets, the hole breaching our ideal of protection at the Pentagon, a mass of people walking across the Brooklyn Bridge to escape the aftermath, disbelief, horror and personal, private memories that will never fade.
We will Never Forget that day and the ones following. But let’s extend that motto to Never Forget those lost in the fighting initiated by the attacks on our country. Let’s Never Forget those lost at Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and for that matter in Hiroshima and Auschwitz; Vietnam, Korea and any and all the other times and places that people have paid the ultimate price in a conflict that someone started in the name of right and righteousness.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the ones who rushed to help, who lost their lives trying to save others – as they do for you and you and you every time they answer a call for help every day in every part of our country.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the civilians lost, the ones who are always the innocent victims of conflict, the ones who pay that same ultimate price only because they were there.
Because if enough of us Never Forget, maybe, just maybe, there will be enough of us to remember that maybe there’s another way, a better way, a way that doesn’t end in disbelief and horror.
And meanwhile, let’s Never Forget to honor all of those mentioned here, and do it every day in every way we can.
NEVER FORGET. 9-11-01
Sunday, August 29, 2010
For all the rescued animals – and for the ones that could not be saved:
Where were you when the water was rising
Back 5 years ago
Where were you when the floods rushed in?
Were you in the yard,
In your house
Did you have a home that you never left
Did you find a roof to climb on?
Did you run, did you swim, did you hide
Climb a tree, crawl inside
A room or cupboard
Or scramble high on something
Above the rushing water?
Did you live?
Where were you when the water went down
Were your people gone
Were you all alone?
Where were you in the ruined city
Hungry, alone, afraid
Did someone take pity?
Were you on the streets
Were you chained and bound
On the streets alone
Were you lucky enough to be found?
Where are you now
Are you warm, dry and safe
Did your people find you
Did you find a new home to stay
Many miles away?
Is your new life good
Lots of love, lots of food
Do you miss anyone
From that life long ago?
We’ll never know.
We only know we love you now.
Back 5 years ago
Where were you when the floods rushed in?
Were you in the yard,
In your house
Did you have a home that you never left
Did you find a roof to climb on?
Did you run, did you swim, did you hide
Climb a tree, crawl inside
A room or cupboard
Or scramble high on something
Above the rushing water?
Did you live?
Where were you when the water went down
Were your people gone
Were you all alone?
Where were you in the ruined city
Hungry, alone, afraid
Did someone take pity?
Were you on the streets
Were you chained and bound
On the streets alone
Were you lucky enough to be found?
Where are you now
Are you warm, dry and safe
Did your people find you
Did you find a new home to stay
Many miles away?
Is your new life good
Lots of love, lots of food
Do you miss anyone
From that life long ago?
We’ll never know.
We only know we love you now.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
“The pond beckons….”
My cousin Kelli wrote that of Facebook this morning. It sure is a pond beckons kind of day shaping up, temps in the 90’s and muggy. I sure wish a pond could beckon me and I could answer it, but nope, work won’t let me heed the call.
The pond she refers to is at her father’s place, a wonderful location on a hill just above (literally) the farm where I grew up. It’s useable for swimming, and also works for a short rather circular boat ride and some fishing. It’s also a bit of sadness for me; when they dug the test holes to decide where the pond should be, one of my dogs fell into one and drowned.
But this is about ponds beckoning. Ponds, and creeks. We did have a pond on the farm, but it never amounted to much, it never got deep enough to swim in because very soon after it was made, the dam got a large hole that never did get repaired. It was shallow, we could wade in it, and my father took the guide boat out on it sometimes, guide boats being especially made to work in very shallow water – I was in it with him once and he was trying to see how shallow we could go, and we were in water only a couple of inches deep when he asked me ‘did you ever walk home from a boat ride?’ We didn’t have to, he rowed/poled until deeper water and we rowed back.
Our ‘swimming holes’ were in the creek, and I think that anyone who has never swum in a lazy country creek has lacked something in their life. There were two, ‘Raup’s’ and ‘Wagner’s’, named for the property owners where the lanes went down to the swimming hole. Wagner’s was more popular, because there were rocks to swim to and sit on and jump off of. Raup’s I think might have been a larger area, and deeper.
We’d work in the hayfield or doing other chores, and then either in the late afternoon, or early evening after the cows were milked, we’d all climb into the pick-up (usually there were a few cousins around to join in) and go swimming. Oh, that first jump into the water was so wonderful! Whether you grabbed the rope and swung out and launched yourself into the deep water, or ran in or waded and then let yourself sink down, it was the best feeling ever!
We’d have swimming races, or see who could stay under the longest, or who could dive to the bottom in the deeper places. Or we’d just swim to the rocks and lay on them in the sun – or push each other off, or sit on the bank and dare each other to try different stunts.
Once, after a day of hard rain storms, a neighbor took us down, but the creek was running so high and fast he wouldn’t let us go in. He did, and tried to swim against the current, he was a large, strong man, and he couldn’t go forward; that was a lesson in the power of water. And one night, my father and mother brought my sister and I down after dark and we all went skinny dipping. My sister and I giggled a lot.
A few times we rode the horses down there, and took them into the water. I think that old guy of mine tried to roll over in it once, if I recall correctly, with me on him, of course. And I think that was the same day that I stepped on a broken jar top and cut my foot quite deeply and badly. We tied a bandana around it and I kept on swimming, because why let a little thing like that stop the fun? I still have that scar.
I can still feel the water flowing around me and feel the sun. Swimming pools are fine, but they can’t match the feel of the pond or creek that beckons.
The pond she refers to is at her father’s place, a wonderful location on a hill just above (literally) the farm where I grew up. It’s useable for swimming, and also works for a short rather circular boat ride and some fishing. It’s also a bit of sadness for me; when they dug the test holes to decide where the pond should be, one of my dogs fell into one and drowned.
But this is about ponds beckoning. Ponds, and creeks. We did have a pond on the farm, but it never amounted to much, it never got deep enough to swim in because very soon after it was made, the dam got a large hole that never did get repaired. It was shallow, we could wade in it, and my father took the guide boat out on it sometimes, guide boats being especially made to work in very shallow water – I was in it with him once and he was trying to see how shallow we could go, and we were in water only a couple of inches deep when he asked me ‘did you ever walk home from a boat ride?’ We didn’t have to, he rowed/poled until deeper water and we rowed back.
Our ‘swimming holes’ were in the creek, and I think that anyone who has never swum in a lazy country creek has lacked something in their life. There were two, ‘Raup’s’ and ‘Wagner’s’, named for the property owners where the lanes went down to the swimming hole. Wagner’s was more popular, because there were rocks to swim to and sit on and jump off of. Raup’s I think might have been a larger area, and deeper.
We’d work in the hayfield or doing other chores, and then either in the late afternoon, or early evening after the cows were milked, we’d all climb into the pick-up (usually there were a few cousins around to join in) and go swimming. Oh, that first jump into the water was so wonderful! Whether you grabbed the rope and swung out and launched yourself into the deep water, or ran in or waded and then let yourself sink down, it was the best feeling ever!
We’d have swimming races, or see who could stay under the longest, or who could dive to the bottom in the deeper places. Or we’d just swim to the rocks and lay on them in the sun – or push each other off, or sit on the bank and dare each other to try different stunts.
Once, after a day of hard rain storms, a neighbor took us down, but the creek was running so high and fast he wouldn’t let us go in. He did, and tried to swim against the current, he was a large, strong man, and he couldn’t go forward; that was a lesson in the power of water. And one night, my father and mother brought my sister and I down after dark and we all went skinny dipping. My sister and I giggled a lot.
A few times we rode the horses down there, and took them into the water. I think that old guy of mine tried to roll over in it once, if I recall correctly, with me on him, of course. And I think that was the same day that I stepped on a broken jar top and cut my foot quite deeply and badly. We tied a bandana around it and I kept on swimming, because why let a little thing like that stop the fun? I still have that scar.
I can still feel the water flowing around me and feel the sun. Swimming pools are fine, but they can’t match the feel of the pond or creek that beckons.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
July 4 - Happy Birthday, America
July 4 – Happy Birthday America. There were fireworks at the end of the ‘FunDay’ on the fairgrounds, we can hardly see them from the back of the theatre any more, the trees have grown up so high, but some went out and watched anyway. They were quite noisy, and during moments in “The Secret Garden” that did not match the booming. The only time that worked was once when we were doing “1776” and the fireworks went off as they were tolling the bell for the men to come up and sign the document.
I hope that all take a moment from their play, cook-outs, swimming, or working (EMS, fire, police, and people like my friend Laurie, who is driving a load from Houston to Wisconsin) and give thought to the real reason for the day. Think about our ancestors, who defied their mother country and declared themselves a free and independent nation. Think about the courage, the daring to do that. But their forefathers had already made a daring giant step, to come here, to strike out blindly to a new land, and a new life. Things could be a lot different for us all if they all had not done that. So also when you think, say “Thanks” to them all for giving us what we have today.
Me, I’m off to work, too. Two shows and then changeover from “The Secret Garden”, which has been one beautiful show in which everything: the voices, the set, the children doing major roles, the leads, the ensemble, the costumes all clicked to create majestic magic. The people who did not come see it have missed a treasure.
But, we celebrate the Fourth. We have Patriotic Night in the coffee house on Friday and Saturday – almost everyone in the company joined in a medley of patriotic songs from “The Star Spangled Banner to God Bless America to Anchors Away to God Bless The USA”. Those same great voices singing those stirring songs was memorable, and as always I got a little snuffly. Everyone sang “The Star Spangled Banner”, on their feet (although not all put their hands over their hearts, I noticed but will not comment on). Makes me proud, makes me happy.
We will also have a cookout, between shows, a nice break.
And, since I have to dig out the grill and take it up to the theatre, I guess I better get to work.
Happy Fourth, everyone – enjoy it, but please take the moment to think and say thanks.
I hope that all take a moment from their play, cook-outs, swimming, or working (EMS, fire, police, and people like my friend Laurie, who is driving a load from Houston to Wisconsin) and give thought to the real reason for the day. Think about our ancestors, who defied their mother country and declared themselves a free and independent nation. Think about the courage, the daring to do that. But their forefathers had already made a daring giant step, to come here, to strike out blindly to a new land, and a new life. Things could be a lot different for us all if they all had not done that. So also when you think, say “Thanks” to them all for giving us what we have today.
Me, I’m off to work, too. Two shows and then changeover from “The Secret Garden”, which has been one beautiful show in which everything: the voices, the set, the children doing major roles, the leads, the ensemble, the costumes all clicked to create majestic magic. The people who did not come see it have missed a treasure.
But, we celebrate the Fourth. We have Patriotic Night in the coffee house on Friday and Saturday – almost everyone in the company joined in a medley of patriotic songs from “The Star Spangled Banner to God Bless America to Anchors Away to God Bless The USA”. Those same great voices singing those stirring songs was memorable, and as always I got a little snuffly. Everyone sang “The Star Spangled Banner”, on their feet (although not all put their hands over their hearts, I noticed but will not comment on). Makes me proud, makes me happy.
We will also have a cookout, between shows, a nice break.
And, since I have to dig out the grill and take it up to the theatre, I guess I better get to work.
Happy Fourth, everyone – enjoy it, but please take the moment to think and say thanks.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
FATHER’S DAY 2010
Today is Father’s Day, tomorrow would have been my father’s birthday. We usually celebrated them together, along with a little celebration for the end of school, and always had strawberry shortcake. My father has been gone for 30 years and I miss him (and my mother, who has been gone 13 years) every day. This is the progression of life that we must all face and come to terms with.
Somebody posted on facebook this morning ‘Anyone can be a father, it takes some one special to be a Dad’. Breaking that down, we all know that there’s way too much of the ‘anyone can be a father’ stuff going on, with people bringing into this world a new human being that they cannot – or will not – care for correctly, cannot afford the cost of either financially or emotionally, will not take the time and effort to give them care, love, guidance, values. We need fewer fathers and more dads – dads to praise or to correct as necessary, to teach and to set an example, and to be there with their strength.
Some fathers do get to be dads, some will never make it. That’s a loss to their children, but an even greater one to themselves.
My daughter’s father was an off and on dad, maybe mostly off. He tried, off and on, and cared, in his own way. He’s tried to do some reconnecting over the past couple of years, having moved from Florida back to our area, and has reached out some, and I’m glad. Even with all that’s been missed, there’s a chance to have something in the time they have left to do it. Her stepfather had good intentions, but was distracted and didn’t know what to do with a daughter and stepdaughter. My daughter let him know he was forgiven, with a birthday card that said ‘now that I’m a parent I know where you were coming from all those times’ or words to that effect. She’s also managed to let her own father know the same thing, I think.
I think I know where both the fathers were coming from, to some extent, because, like I said last month, I was never all that great a mother.
So, besides being fathers, they both had some times when they were dads. I’m happy for that, and happy that my girls had those times. And I’m happy for all the children, of all ages, who have a dad, even if it’s just for a little bit. Make the most of it.
Somebody posted on facebook this morning ‘Anyone can be a father, it takes some one special to be a Dad’. Breaking that down, we all know that there’s way too much of the ‘anyone can be a father’ stuff going on, with people bringing into this world a new human being that they cannot – or will not – care for correctly, cannot afford the cost of either financially or emotionally, will not take the time and effort to give them care, love, guidance, values. We need fewer fathers and more dads – dads to praise or to correct as necessary, to teach and to set an example, and to be there with their strength.
Some fathers do get to be dads, some will never make it. That’s a loss to their children, but an even greater one to themselves.
My daughter’s father was an off and on dad, maybe mostly off. He tried, off and on, and cared, in his own way. He’s tried to do some reconnecting over the past couple of years, having moved from Florida back to our area, and has reached out some, and I’m glad. Even with all that’s been missed, there’s a chance to have something in the time they have left to do it. Her stepfather had good intentions, but was distracted and didn’t know what to do with a daughter and stepdaughter. My daughter let him know he was forgiven, with a birthday card that said ‘now that I’m a parent I know where you were coming from all those times’ or words to that effect. She’s also managed to let her own father know the same thing, I think.
I think I know where both the fathers were coming from, to some extent, because, like I said last month, I was never all that great a mother.
So, besides being fathers, they both had some times when they were dads. I’m happy for that, and happy that my girls had those times. And I’m happy for all the children, of all ages, who have a dad, even if it’s just for a little bit. Make the most of it.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
The ending of a post on A Day In The Life Of An Ambulance Driver, for the whole thing go to http://ambulancedriverfiles/2010-06/hunnert-percent-murkin/ :
“But these immigrants are not the ones we’re looking for. These people came here because America represented an opportunity. They live here, they work here, they pay taxes here, and they send their kids to college here.
They’re the people Emma Lazarus was talking about in that sonnet enscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty:
…”Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the tempest-tossed, to me,
I lift up my lamp beside the golden door!”
In other words, they’re Americans too, and they enrich this country with their culture and their presence. They represent the values this country was founded upon.
Me, I think I’m going to take my business elsewhere in the future. Maybe even learn to say, “Thanks, partner, have a good ‘un,” in Urdu.
I think it would be the American thing to do.”
Needless to say, he got a bunch of responses, some completely supporting his thoughts, some disagreeing. My response:
Where did your family come here from? Unless we are Native American, we are all immigrants. Some are more generations removed that others; personally I am two generations away on one side and go back to the Mayflower on the other. Our life today takes in parts of all of the cultures that make up our population, the heritage that each brought to this land with them. Don’t know about in rural Louisiana (my experience in that part of the world is limited to a delivery in New Orleans once and helping at an animal shelter after Katrina), but here in upstate NY we have German, Polish, Indian, Italian, Irish and many other ethnic festivals that are attended by people of many heritages. If the Indian and Pakistani people shouldn’t keep their culture, does that mean that Italians shouldn’t eat spaghetti, or Irish not celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? No, I don’t condone illegal immigrants, and hate extremist action by any side of the issue (my squad went to NYC and I saw first hand the sad pile of fire trucks and ambulances pulled from the WTC rubble). No, we may not have the same religious or cultural beliefs as many of them do. But, yes, the majority of them are here for the same reasons our forefathers came – to express and practice their beliefs and to improve their lives. And as long as they do it as our forefathers did (ok, hanging the witches is an exception to this whole thing) – peacefully and within their own community, where’s the harm to us? Education and understanding of differences, acceptance of people for who they are what is needed, not judgment of all by the actions of a few.
“But these immigrants are not the ones we’re looking for. These people came here because America represented an opportunity. They live here, they work here, they pay taxes here, and they send their kids to college here.
They’re the people Emma Lazarus was talking about in that sonnet enscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty:
…”Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the tempest-tossed, to me,
I lift up my lamp beside the golden door!”
In other words, they’re Americans too, and they enrich this country with their culture and their presence. They represent the values this country was founded upon.
Me, I think I’m going to take my business elsewhere in the future. Maybe even learn to say, “Thanks, partner, have a good ‘un,” in Urdu.
I think it would be the American thing to do.”
Needless to say, he got a bunch of responses, some completely supporting his thoughts, some disagreeing. My response:
Where did your family come here from? Unless we are Native American, we are all immigrants. Some are more generations removed that others; personally I am two generations away on one side and go back to the Mayflower on the other. Our life today takes in parts of all of the cultures that make up our population, the heritage that each brought to this land with them. Don’t know about in rural Louisiana (my experience in that part of the world is limited to a delivery in New Orleans once and helping at an animal shelter after Katrina), but here in upstate NY we have German, Polish, Indian, Italian, Irish and many other ethnic festivals that are attended by people of many heritages. If the Indian and Pakistani people shouldn’t keep their culture, does that mean that Italians shouldn’t eat spaghetti, or Irish not celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? No, I don’t condone illegal immigrants, and hate extremist action by any side of the issue (my squad went to NYC and I saw first hand the sad pile of fire trucks and ambulances pulled from the WTC rubble). No, we may not have the same religious or cultural beliefs as many of them do. But, yes, the majority of them are here for the same reasons our forefathers came – to express and practice their beliefs and to improve their lives. And as long as they do it as our forefathers did (ok, hanging the witches is an exception to this whole thing) – peacefully and within their own community, where’s the harm to us? Education and understanding of differences, acceptance of people for who they are what is needed, not judgment of all by the actions of a few.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)