I don't know why I feel compelled to write this, other than I see so many articles and memes about paying McDonalds workers as if burger flipping is a skilled lifetime career. And also because the last 2 jobs I had (for a total of 15 years) before I retired seldom provided raises, and when there WAS a raise, it was 15-25 cents/hour... not even CLOSE to the cost of living. More of a token raise. I wanted to say, "Poor ole company. If 25 cents is what you think I'm worth, or what you can afford, maybe you ought to keep it. After taxes, I won't net more than $100 a year anyway.
Where was I going with this?
Oh yes! I remember... There is a saying that goes something like, "Do something you love, and you'll never work a day in your life."
Nursing was not what I wanted to do. NOT my idea of a fun job, and certainly not anything I loved. I remember one job that every day, when I got to the parking deck, I would begin shaking, crying, and feeling nauseated. It took all the courage and strength I could muster to walk the quarter mile from my car to the time clock. Hate doesn't begin to describe my feelings about that job, or many others I've had. They paid great, but boyohboy, were they HORRIBLE jobs. Horrible work environment, horrible supervisors/bosses, horrible hours.
Then I discovered teaching. OMG! I LOVED it! It didn't pay very much, so I still had to work some weekend shifts over at the Brookwood torture chamber, but Monday through Friday, I was in job heaven!
With that in mind, think about this ethical question:
If you come to work at my McDonalds franchise as a crew member, and you know the pay is $8.25/hour, how hard will you work for that money?
I'm not making any value judgements here, but I ask you to really think about that. If it were ME, I have to say I would work every minute, every hour. My inner adult requires me to do my best - whether it's as a McDonalds crew member, or as a nurse at Brookwood Prison, or as a teacher at Virginia College... regardless of the pay. I knew what the pay was when I took the job, and I agreed to give an honest hour's work for THAT pay.
OK. Now, what if there was a miracle, and all of a sudden, the pay DOUBLED? What if the McDonalds crew member job now pays $16/hour? Will I work twice as hard for double the pay? I WILL? Then I was lying when I said I would give it my "all" at $8.25/hour, wasn't I?
Will I work twice as hard at Brookwood Iron Maiden for $60/hour? Well, no. And not for $100/hour. I'm already at my limit. But at Virginia College? For $50/hour? Again, no. I'm already "working" at maximum capacity, but enjoying every second of every minute.
If I cheat my employer of my time and talent because of the pay, then how ethical am I? I contend that if I value myself at all, and I agree to work, whatever I do, I will do just the same for that pay, or double that pay. If McDonalds pays $8 or $16 or $25 or $50/hour, the worker will still do the same work, at the same pace, because that's who he/she is.
So you say, "It's better to cry in a BMW than on a bicycle."
I say, "Crying sucks the same, wherever you do it."
Monday, December 28, 2015
Friday, December 4, 2015
Hate and Fear - It's for Everyone.
I am not on a bandwagon here. Like some of my peers, I have mixed feelings, and I don't have any answers. This is just one woman's perspective.
"He who doesn't understand history is doomed to repeat it" is a familiar statement these days. So let me give you some historical facts:
Pre-WWII, many Jews, and other groups in Germany were being abused, garnered in remote camps, starved and displaced. "Travesty" and "tragedy" doesn't even begin to describe the horrors perpetrated by Adolph Hitler and his henchmen. As my brother, red-eyed and shaking, said when we exited the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C., "Is there any way I can UNSEE what I've just seen?"
From 1938 to 1941, the world had an inkling of what was going on over there in Germany, but nobody - not one country - organized any specific rescue plan for the victims. In 1941, President Roosevelt instituted a policy for refugees/displaced persons to come to the U.S., but that didn't happen. In short, by 1952, 137,450 Jewish refugees had been rehomed here, over a fourteen year period. That is not quite 10,000 per year. You can read the details here, and I hope you do:
http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10007094
But here is one quote from the article:
"While some American activists sincerely intended to assist refugees, serious obstacles to any relaxation of US immigration quotas included public opposition to immigration during a time of economic depression, xenophobia, and antisemitic feelings in both the general public and among some key government officials."
Now, we are in the throes of another world refugee crisis. Is history repeating itself?
I PERSONALLY understand the situation we are in. I am retired, so I know the limitations and problems of surviving with limited resources (Social Security), limited and expensive healthcare (Medicare), fuel costs (including not just gas for the car, but gas and electricity for my home, which still has 5 years left on the mortgage), food costs, and medication costs. I know I'm better off than the vast majority of retired people here, though, because I have almost $14,000 in my 401k, and over $2000 in my savings account. Most have no savings or retirement plan at all.
I'm sharing those personal details so you know I'm not sitting up in Mt Brook or somewhere, preaching from an elite perspective. I'm not homeless, either. I'm in between those extremes, like most everybody else in America.
So, here we are, still in economic depression, still sporting xenophobia (fear of people from other countries, particularly those from Syria), and now with antimuslim feelings "in both the general public and among some key government officials."
After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the United States rounded up everyone of Japanese origin and herded them to encampments. Why? Because we were afraid the American Japanese would turn on us and begin eliminating our other citizenry. Can you say, "kneejerk reaction"?
We haven't started displacing our Muslim citizens into camps yet, thank God (or Allah), but almost everyone over the age of 3 is terrified of them.
Many governors, including Alabama's, have said, "Syrian refugees are not allowed in my state," as if there is a Great Wall around the states with armed guards checking drivers licenses or something when people cross the State line. Last week, when I went to Tennessee, there was no wall, but there WAS a sign that said, "Welcome to Tennessee". When I came home, there still was no wall, no armed guards, no "Alabama-Resident-Checkin". There was a HUGE sign that said, "Welcome to Alabama the Beautiful". Beautiful for ME, maybe. But beautiful for everyone coming into Alabama, especially if they're not a bonafide resident? I'm not so sure.
I'm as afraid of terrorists as the next citizen, but I'm equally wary/afraid of any people wandering around parking lots, unfamiliar cars parked on my dead-end street, and knocks on my door when I'm not expecting visitors. I glance in my back seat before I get in my car, I get my key out of my purse before I leave the building, and I try not to park next to vans without windows. I'm not paranoid. I'm just aware.
I admit I'm not afraid of the Muslim attendants at the Shell station or the Marathon station in my neighborhood. I'm not afraid of the Muslim customers at our Brown Bag mission (incidentally, it wasn't Muslim customers that shot the lady at Four Winds. It was white male customers, who had also attended services at the church). I'm not afraid of the Muslims that live behind me, whose children come out to pet Major Big Dog when I walk him around the block. I wasn't afraid of the Muslims who were eating dinner at Ming's Cuisine last month. (Didn't know they liked Chinese food. I guess some of them do.) I'm not afraid of the Muslims shopping at Winn Dixie. And I'm not afraid of the Muslims walking around the Galleria. Do you think I should be? Then let me ask you this:
How can you identify a Muslim if she/he isn't wearing the traditional/cultural headwear? How can you identify Syrians from those from any other Middle Eastern country? If I'm afraid of Muslims, should I also be afraid of Baptists? What about the Westboro Baptists? How do I differentiate between them and the Vestavia Baptists? What about Japanese? They might be carrying a WWII grudge because of their grandparents. Then there are the Jews we didn't let take refuge here 70 years ago. Oh my goodness! How do I identify THEM, if their name doesn't end with -stein?
And, since I'm Caucasian, maybe I should be afraid of ANYONE with dark skin, be they of Middle Eastern, African, Israeli, Pakistani or South American descent.
In fact, maybe I should stay home, lock my doors, and watch out for the Mexicans across the street.
"He who doesn't understand history is doomed to repeat it" is a familiar statement these days. So let me give you some historical facts:
Pre-WWII, many Jews, and other groups in Germany were being abused, garnered in remote camps, starved and displaced. "Travesty" and "tragedy" doesn't even begin to describe the horrors perpetrated by Adolph Hitler and his henchmen. As my brother, red-eyed and shaking, said when we exited the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C., "Is there any way I can UNSEE what I've just seen?"
From 1938 to 1941, the world had an inkling of what was going on over there in Germany, but nobody - not one country - organized any specific rescue plan for the victims. In 1941, President Roosevelt instituted a policy for refugees/displaced persons to come to the U.S., but that didn't happen. In short, by 1952, 137,450 Jewish refugees had been rehomed here, over a fourteen year period. That is not quite 10,000 per year. You can read the details here, and I hope you do:
http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10007094
But here is one quote from the article:
"While some American activists sincerely intended to assist refugees, serious obstacles to any relaxation of US immigration quotas included public opposition to immigration during a time of economic depression, xenophobia, and antisemitic feelings in both the general public and among some key government officials."
Now, we are in the throes of another world refugee crisis. Is history repeating itself?
I PERSONALLY understand the situation we are in. I am retired, so I know the limitations and problems of surviving with limited resources (Social Security), limited and expensive healthcare (Medicare), fuel costs (including not just gas for the car, but gas and electricity for my home, which still has 5 years left on the mortgage), food costs, and medication costs. I know I'm better off than the vast majority of retired people here, though, because I have almost $14,000 in my 401k, and over $2000 in my savings account. Most have no savings or retirement plan at all.
I'm sharing those personal details so you know I'm not sitting up in Mt Brook or somewhere, preaching from an elite perspective. I'm not homeless, either. I'm in between those extremes, like most everybody else in America.
So, here we are, still in economic depression, still sporting xenophobia (fear of people from other countries, particularly those from Syria), and now with antimuslim feelings "in both the general public and among some key government officials."
After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the United States rounded up everyone of Japanese origin and herded them to encampments. Why? Because we were afraid the American Japanese would turn on us and begin eliminating our other citizenry. Can you say, "kneejerk reaction"?
We haven't started displacing our Muslim citizens into camps yet, thank God (or Allah), but almost everyone over the age of 3 is terrified of them.
Many governors, including Alabama's, have said, "Syrian refugees are not allowed in my state," as if there is a Great Wall around the states with armed guards checking drivers licenses or something when people cross the State line. Last week, when I went to Tennessee, there was no wall, but there WAS a sign that said, "Welcome to Tennessee". When I came home, there still was no wall, no armed guards, no "Alabama-Resident-Checkin". There was a HUGE sign that said, "Welcome to Alabama the Beautiful". Beautiful for ME, maybe. But beautiful for everyone coming into Alabama, especially if they're not a bonafide resident? I'm not so sure.
I'm as afraid of terrorists as the next citizen, but I'm equally wary/afraid of any people wandering around parking lots, unfamiliar cars parked on my dead-end street, and knocks on my door when I'm not expecting visitors. I glance in my back seat before I get in my car, I get my key out of my purse before I leave the building, and I try not to park next to vans without windows. I'm not paranoid. I'm just aware.
I admit I'm not afraid of the Muslim attendants at the Shell station or the Marathon station in my neighborhood. I'm not afraid of the Muslim customers at our Brown Bag mission (incidentally, it wasn't Muslim customers that shot the lady at Four Winds. It was white male customers, who had also attended services at the church). I'm not afraid of the Muslims that live behind me, whose children come out to pet Major Big Dog when I walk him around the block. I wasn't afraid of the Muslims who were eating dinner at Ming's Cuisine last month. (Didn't know they liked Chinese food. I guess some of them do.) I'm not afraid of the Muslims shopping at Winn Dixie. And I'm not afraid of the Muslims walking around the Galleria. Do you think I should be? Then let me ask you this:
How can you identify a Muslim if she/he isn't wearing the traditional/cultural headwear? How can you identify Syrians from those from any other Middle Eastern country? If I'm afraid of Muslims, should I also be afraid of Baptists? What about the Westboro Baptists? How do I differentiate between them and the Vestavia Baptists? What about Japanese? They might be carrying a WWII grudge because of their grandparents. Then there are the Jews we didn't let take refuge here 70 years ago. Oh my goodness! How do I identify THEM, if their name doesn't end with -stein?
And, since I'm Caucasian, maybe I should be afraid of ANYONE with dark skin, be they of Middle Eastern, African, Israeli, Pakistani or South American descent.
In fact, maybe I should stay home, lock my doors, and watch out for the Mexicans across the street.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Please Don't Eat the Christmas Tree
One of the most observed rituals of the Christmas season is decorating for the holiday. Most Christians, and many non-Christians adorn their homes with lights and festive plants in bright colors. And every year, about 25,000 people are injured by this cheery greenery.
Although it is difficult to find exact statistics, The New York Poison Control Center reported that every year, about 20% of all calls it receives involve plants, so while holiday plants are great gifts, and everyone loves them, it is important to be aware of the dangers, both to children and to pets. Like you do with everything else in your home, keep toxic plants out of reach.
Let's take a look at the most popular Christmas plants:
Pointsettia: This beautiful Christmas flower has gotten a bad rap over the years. While it isn't something you want to put in a salad, it also isn't particularly dangerous. While eating a few poinsettia leaves might cause nausea or vomiting, research shows that only ingestion of very large amounts of this plant may be harmful. If you rub the milky sap from the plant on your skin, you might get an itchy rash. Beyond that, poinsettias are unlikely to cause a problem for your children or your pets.
Holly: The stiff green leaves and bright red berries are often very attractive to children. In many homes, holly is a traditional decoration for Christmas. Since medieval times, the plant has carried a Christian symbolism (remember the hymn, "The Holly and the Ivy"?) Well, holly berries are highly toxic. Ingestion of even twenty berries could result in death. Though the bright red berries are the part of the plant most commonly consumed, the bark, leaves and seeds are also toxic. You might have heard that chocolate is lethal to dogs. Well, the poison compound in holly is in the same caffeine family as the toxic chemical in chocolate, but many times more concentrated in holly parts. DO NOT EAT HOLLY!
Amaryllis: An amaryllis bulb is a common holiday gift. Amaryllis bulbs (as well as daffodil and narcissus bulbs) may be forced to bloom indoors, to produce showy holiday blooms. Eating the bulbs can cause abdominal pain, cardiac arrhythmias, and convulsions. The leaves are slightly less poisonous, but shouldn't be eaten either. Amaryllis bulbs are more likely to be eaten by pets than by children, so keep them out of reach of both your pets and your kids.
Jerusalem Cherry: The Jerusalem cherry is actually a species of nightshade. The fruit looks and tastes like a cherry tomato. Kids might eat enough to cause nausea and vomiting, but generally it is not life-threatening to humans. Pets are a different story. It is highly toxic to animals, and probably birds too. Do NOT allow your pet to to eat Jerusalem cherries.
Boxwood: Commonly used in holiday wreathes and draping, the twigs and leaves of boxwood contain a toxic alkaloid. Ingestion could result in severe stomach problems, convulsions, and even respiratory failure. Do NOT eat boxwood.
Christmas trees: Coniferous trees maybe toxic if eaten in very large amounts. Small amounts may cause irritation and stomach upset, or can cause aspiration or obstruction. Since the needles or foliage of a Christmas tree are generally sharp, it is unlikely that either pets or children will chow down on one. A skin rash may result from coming in contact with the sap, though. (In spite of what Euel Gibbons espoused back in the 1970s, pine cones are not toxic but are not edible either.) So discourage your pets and children from snacking on the Christmas tree.
I saved the best for last, so you would read this far.
Mistletoe: This is the most powerful Christmas plant of all. It makes holiday romance democratic, by making everyone equally kissable - friends, strangers, and distant cousins. Wander beneath a sprig of mistletoe, and like it or not, you become fair game to anyone whose lips are within range. And it is unarguably the most interesting of the Christmas plants.
The scientific name is phoradendron, meaning "thief of the tree" in Greek. While not a true parasite, it comes close, sinking its roots into a host tree and leeching nutrients for photosynthesis. The translation of the word mistletoe isn't romantic either. Mistal means "dung" and tan means "twig", so actually mistletoe means "dung on a twig".
Mistletoe contains a toxin that, when consumed by humans, can cause blurred vision, nausea, abdominal pain, diarrhea, and even death. ALL parts of the mistletoe plant, including the berries, are poisonous. Eating one or two berries probably will not cause a huge problem for a child, but can cause death in your pet. If your child consumes mistletoe, it is a good idea to seek medical advice.
So there's the lowdown on the most common Christmas plants. If you think your child may have ingested a plant, call the Poison Control Center.
My gift to you is this instruction: RIGHT NOW. While you're thinking about it: Post the number for the National Poison Control Center on your refrigerator. Put it in your cell phone. Memorize it.
It is 800-222-1222. You're welcome, and Merry Christmas!
Although it is difficult to find exact statistics, The New York Poison Control Center reported that every year, about 20% of all calls it receives involve plants, so while holiday plants are great gifts, and everyone loves them, it is important to be aware of the dangers, both to children and to pets. Like you do with everything else in your home, keep toxic plants out of reach.
Let's take a look at the most popular Christmas plants:
Pointsettia: This beautiful Christmas flower has gotten a bad rap over the years. While it isn't something you want to put in a salad, it also isn't particularly dangerous. While eating a few poinsettia leaves might cause nausea or vomiting, research shows that only ingestion of very large amounts of this plant may be harmful. If you rub the milky sap from the plant on your skin, you might get an itchy rash. Beyond that, poinsettias are unlikely to cause a problem for your children or your pets.
Holly: The stiff green leaves and bright red berries are often very attractive to children. In many homes, holly is a traditional decoration for Christmas. Since medieval times, the plant has carried a Christian symbolism (remember the hymn, "The Holly and the Ivy"?) Well, holly berries are highly toxic. Ingestion of even twenty berries could result in death. Though the bright red berries are the part of the plant most commonly consumed, the bark, leaves and seeds are also toxic. You might have heard that chocolate is lethal to dogs. Well, the poison compound in holly is in the same caffeine family as the toxic chemical in chocolate, but many times more concentrated in holly parts. DO NOT EAT HOLLY!
Amaryllis: An amaryllis bulb is a common holiday gift. Amaryllis bulbs (as well as daffodil and narcissus bulbs) may be forced to bloom indoors, to produce showy holiday blooms. Eating the bulbs can cause abdominal pain, cardiac arrhythmias, and convulsions. The leaves are slightly less poisonous, but shouldn't be eaten either. Amaryllis bulbs are more likely to be eaten by pets than by children, so keep them out of reach of both your pets and your kids.
Jerusalem Cherry: The Jerusalem cherry is actually a species of nightshade. The fruit looks and tastes like a cherry tomato. Kids might eat enough to cause nausea and vomiting, but generally it is not life-threatening to humans. Pets are a different story. It is highly toxic to animals, and probably birds too. Do NOT allow your pet to to eat Jerusalem cherries.
Boxwood: Commonly used in holiday wreathes and draping, the twigs and leaves of boxwood contain a toxic alkaloid. Ingestion could result in severe stomach problems, convulsions, and even respiratory failure. Do NOT eat boxwood.
Christmas trees: Coniferous trees maybe toxic if eaten in very large amounts. Small amounts may cause irritation and stomach upset, or can cause aspiration or obstruction. Since the needles or foliage of a Christmas tree are generally sharp, it is unlikely that either pets or children will chow down on one. A skin rash may result from coming in contact with the sap, though. (In spite of what Euel Gibbons espoused back in the 1970s, pine cones are not toxic but are not edible either.) So discourage your pets and children from snacking on the Christmas tree.
I saved the best for last, so you would read this far.
Mistletoe: This is the most powerful Christmas plant of all. It makes holiday romance democratic, by making everyone equally kissable - friends, strangers, and distant cousins. Wander beneath a sprig of mistletoe, and like it or not, you become fair game to anyone whose lips are within range. And it is unarguably the most interesting of the Christmas plants.
The scientific name is phoradendron, meaning "thief of the tree" in Greek. While not a true parasite, it comes close, sinking its roots into a host tree and leeching nutrients for photosynthesis. The translation of the word mistletoe isn't romantic either. Mistal means "dung" and tan means "twig", so actually mistletoe means "dung on a twig".
Mistletoe contains a toxin that, when consumed by humans, can cause blurred vision, nausea, abdominal pain, diarrhea, and even death. ALL parts of the mistletoe plant, including the berries, are poisonous. Eating one or two berries probably will not cause a huge problem for a child, but can cause death in your pet. If your child consumes mistletoe, it is a good idea to seek medical advice.
So there's the lowdown on the most common Christmas plants. If you think your child may have ingested a plant, call the Poison Control Center.
My gift to you is this instruction: RIGHT NOW. While you're thinking about it: Post the number for the National Poison Control Center on your refrigerator. Put it in your cell phone. Memorize it.
It is 800-222-1222. You're welcome, and Merry Christmas!
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Taxation Without Representation
My daddy always said, "Security is the opposite of Freedom" and maybe he was right. His examples were a prisoner who is totally secure - fed, clothed, and with a bed - has no freedom. On the other hand, a homeless person, wandering the streets, is totally free, but has no security whatsoever.
I know these are extremes, but considering even my own choices, the concept seems to work very well.
In 2002, Cahaba Heights, then in Jefferson County, voted to become part of Vestavia Hills. Those of us who could see that we were giving up freedom for security (and property values) protested the annexation loud and clear. But we were outnumbered on voting day, and our quiet little community became the slums of Vestavia Hills. (The per capita income in Vestavia Hills is just over $52,000/year. The per capita income in Cahaba Heights is just over $28,000.)
Our property value did increase, but that comes into play only if one wants to sell her house. For those of us who DON'T want to leave their homes, the property taxes skyrocketed. In my case, my annual tax bill went from $99/year to over $1500/year. Quite a hefty increase for a retired person!
"But look," the proponents said, "You don't have to pay for garbage pickup ($15/month) anymore, and no more fire dues!" ($99/year)
For me, and many other residents, the tax burden is hard, but for the dozens of Mom & Pop businesses that had been in the community for 50-plus years, the business license burden was unbearable. In the second year of being Vestavia, most of those closed, leaving just a handful of them after 2004. Now there are only 2 left, and one of those is moving to Hoover soon. They just can't afford to stay in business here.
So, with that background in mind, consider what is happening now:
A certain developer wants to build a 4-story apartment complex adjacent to Cahaba Heights Elementary School, which will have shops on the first floor, and living spaces on the other 3 floors. As soon as this was on the City Council agenda, hundreds of (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents wrote, called, and emailed their councilpersons in protest. Including me.
Of the 8 councilpersons I emailed, I got no reply from 4 of them. Two of them replied, "Thank you for your input." One replied that there was no such building planned, OR on the council agenda to consider, and one was on vacation and automatically replied as such.
The day of the vote, City Hall was flooded with (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents, protesting the development. The school principle spoke against such a building on the school playground. Hundreds of students and their parents lined Highway 31 with signs and cards protesting the building. The council room was so crowded with protesters that people took turns moving in and out so everyone would have a chance to hear some of the proceedings, which lasted from about 5:30pm until almost 9:00pm.
There was no support from (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents, or from anyone else, other than the representatives of the development company wanting to build the apartments. Apparently the residents of our (formerly) quiet little community are having second thoughts about their "security". Hmmmm.
Well, around 9pm the City Council voted 6-2 to allow the 81-unit apartment to be build on the back of the Cahaba Heights Elementary School property, adjacent to the football field.
It seems like I remember that our country has already had issues with "taxation without representation". Now it comes home to (formerly) Cahaba Heights, which has no representatives on the City Council. Maybe it's time for another "tea party" over here in Vestavia Hills! Or maybe I'll run for City Council. At least I answer my emails.
I know these are extremes, but considering even my own choices, the concept seems to work very well.
In 2002, Cahaba Heights, then in Jefferson County, voted to become part of Vestavia Hills. Those of us who could see that we were giving up freedom for security (and property values) protested the annexation loud and clear. But we were outnumbered on voting day, and our quiet little community became the slums of Vestavia Hills. (The per capita income in Vestavia Hills is just over $52,000/year. The per capita income in Cahaba Heights is just over $28,000.)
Our property value did increase, but that comes into play only if one wants to sell her house. For those of us who DON'T want to leave their homes, the property taxes skyrocketed. In my case, my annual tax bill went from $99/year to over $1500/year. Quite a hefty increase for a retired person!
"But look," the proponents said, "You don't have to pay for garbage pickup ($15/month) anymore, and no more fire dues!" ($99/year)
For me, and many other residents, the tax burden is hard, but for the dozens of Mom & Pop businesses that had been in the community for 50-plus years, the business license burden was unbearable. In the second year of being Vestavia, most of those closed, leaving just a handful of them after 2004. Now there are only 2 left, and one of those is moving to Hoover soon. They just can't afford to stay in business here.
So, with that background in mind, consider what is happening now:
A certain developer wants to build a 4-story apartment complex adjacent to Cahaba Heights Elementary School, which will have shops on the first floor, and living spaces on the other 3 floors. As soon as this was on the City Council agenda, hundreds of (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents wrote, called, and emailed their councilpersons in protest. Including me.
Of the 8 councilpersons I emailed, I got no reply from 4 of them. Two of them replied, "Thank you for your input." One replied that there was no such building planned, OR on the council agenda to consider, and one was on vacation and automatically replied as such.
The day of the vote, City Hall was flooded with (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents, protesting the development. The school principle spoke against such a building on the school playground. Hundreds of students and their parents lined Highway 31 with signs and cards protesting the building. The council room was so crowded with protesters that people took turns moving in and out so everyone would have a chance to hear some of the proceedings, which lasted from about 5:30pm until almost 9:00pm.
There was no support from (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents, or from anyone else, other than the representatives of the development company wanting to build the apartments. Apparently the residents of our (formerly) quiet little community are having second thoughts about their "security". Hmmmm.
Well, around 9pm the City Council voted 6-2 to allow the 81-unit apartment to be build on the back of the Cahaba Heights Elementary School property, adjacent to the football field.
It seems like I remember that our country has already had issues with "taxation without representation". Now it comes home to (formerly) Cahaba Heights, which has no representatives on the City Council. Maybe it's time for another "tea party" over here in Vestavia Hills! Or maybe I'll run for City Council. At least I answer my emails.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Nobody Can Do It Alone
In August I attended a Congregational Health seminar that was so informative, interesting and uplifting that I want to share some of it with you.
The pervasive theme of the seminar was "You can't do it alone" - "it" being everything from work to worship. (This WAS a church-centered seminar, ya know). It made me think of when I was taking the training course, and the Debbie Duke said, "You will need a team for your health ministry. Even Jesus didn't do it alone. He had disciples."
But the repeating scripture reference was Mark 2:1-12, the story of Jesus healing the paralytic. One of the points of this story is that the paralyzed man couldn't come to Jesus alone. It required the work, ingenuity and faith of four of his friends.
So we were asked this question, and I ask you now: Do you have four friends who will "carry" you if and when you can't move? If you are "paralyzed" by loss of a job, death of a loved one, or other life-shattering event? Think about it. Are there four people in your life who will come get your children and care for them indefinitely when you have to go across the country to care for your mother? Four people who, when you need help moving, simply ask, "What time do you want me there?" Four people who will offer to pay your power and water bills when you're out of work and at the end of your savings? Four people who will stay at your bedside when you're sick and helpless? Four people who will give you their spare room when you lose your house? Four people who will "carry" you simply because they love you?
I asked the hard questions first, just to get you thinking. The easy question, of course, is: Do you have four friends who will carry you spiritually when you're paralyzed by fear, loss, helplessness, depression or sorrow? Four people who will pray for or with you when you're unsure where your next meal is coming from? Four people who will give you a list of doctors who specialize in your malady? Four people who will call a plumber for you when your toilet is clogged? Four people who will bring a covered dish when you lose a loved one?
I'm not a Bible scholar, as you well know by now, but I think this story probably has profound and concrete lessons for us, beyond the obvious and stated spiritual lesson that Jesus forgives us of our sins because of faith. In Mark's story, the infirm man was apparently paralyzed in all ways - physically, spiritually, emotionally. He couldn't move, AND and he didn't want to. "Y'all just go on without me," he probably moaned to his friends. "I don't want to be a burden."
In the story, the friends did not say, "Well, Don't worry. We will all pray for you, because we see you are helpless to help yourself." They did not go get him a pair of crutches and tell him, "We will help you get up on them, and you can follow us to where Jesus is teaching." They did not say, "You just lie there. We know you can't move. We will report back to you this evening, and tell you what Jesus said."
What they DID do was find a stretcher, heave him up onto it, physically tote him through the streets, up and down the hills, and through the (possibly) jeering crowds. Then, finding that it was impossible to get the man up to where Jesus was teaching, they found ropes, climbed up on the roof, heaved the paralytic strapped to the stretcher up onto the roof, dug a huge hole in the roof, and lowered him gently through the hole they dug, to a spot right in front of Jesus. As one speaker put it, "It was a real commitment to dig into some stranger's roof and make a man-sized hole in it. If they are wrong, they will be the biggest laughingstocks in town, and small towns have long memories. If Jesus disapproves of this at all, their paralyzed friend would be a helpless human pinata swinging in the living room of a stranger."
But none of that stopped them. Faith. THAT is the kind of FRIENDSHIP I'm talking about. Are there four of those on your contact list? I know I have two, aside from family. That's a start.
But here's the REALLY most important question, and maybe the hardest: Are there four people who, if they were "paralyzed" you would, without question or hesitation, "carry" them? Are there four people you know and love enough to faithfully and quietly pay their power bill, do their laundry when their washer breaks down, feed their children and do their dishes, store their books, buy groceries for them, or let them live in your spare room? Thankfully, in the Bible story, it was because of the friends' faith, not the paralytic's, that Jesus granted forgiveness and healing.
Are YOU a friend with unfailing faith? Somebody needs you to be. Nobody can do it alone.
The pervasive theme of the seminar was "You can't do it alone" - "it" being everything from work to worship. (This WAS a church-centered seminar, ya know). It made me think of when I was taking the training course, and the Debbie Duke said, "You will need a team for your health ministry. Even Jesus didn't do it alone. He had disciples."
But the repeating scripture reference was Mark 2:1-12, the story of Jesus healing the paralytic. One of the points of this story is that the paralyzed man couldn't come to Jesus alone. It required the work, ingenuity and faith of four of his friends.
So we were asked this question, and I ask you now: Do you have four friends who will "carry" you if and when you can't move? If you are "paralyzed" by loss of a job, death of a loved one, or other life-shattering event? Think about it. Are there four people in your life who will come get your children and care for them indefinitely when you have to go across the country to care for your mother? Four people who, when you need help moving, simply ask, "What time do you want me there?" Four people who will offer to pay your power and water bills when you're out of work and at the end of your savings? Four people who will stay at your bedside when you're sick and helpless? Four people who will give you their spare room when you lose your house? Four people who will "carry" you simply because they love you?
I asked the hard questions first, just to get you thinking. The easy question, of course, is: Do you have four friends who will carry you spiritually when you're paralyzed by fear, loss, helplessness, depression or sorrow? Four people who will pray for or with you when you're unsure where your next meal is coming from? Four people who will give you a list of doctors who specialize in your malady? Four people who will call a plumber for you when your toilet is clogged? Four people who will bring a covered dish when you lose a loved one?
I'm not a Bible scholar, as you well know by now, but I think this story probably has profound and concrete lessons for us, beyond the obvious and stated spiritual lesson that Jesus forgives us of our sins because of faith. In Mark's story, the infirm man was apparently paralyzed in all ways - physically, spiritually, emotionally. He couldn't move, AND and he didn't want to. "Y'all just go on without me," he probably moaned to his friends. "I don't want to be a burden."
In the story, the friends did not say, "Well, Don't worry. We will all pray for you, because we see you are helpless to help yourself." They did not go get him a pair of crutches and tell him, "We will help you get up on them, and you can follow us to where Jesus is teaching." They did not say, "You just lie there. We know you can't move. We will report back to you this evening, and tell you what Jesus said."
What they DID do was find a stretcher, heave him up onto it, physically tote him through the streets, up and down the hills, and through the (possibly) jeering crowds. Then, finding that it was impossible to get the man up to where Jesus was teaching, they found ropes, climbed up on the roof, heaved the paralytic strapped to the stretcher up onto the roof, dug a huge hole in the roof, and lowered him gently through the hole they dug, to a spot right in front of Jesus. As one speaker put it, "It was a real commitment to dig into some stranger's roof and make a man-sized hole in it. If they are wrong, they will be the biggest laughingstocks in town, and small towns have long memories. If Jesus disapproves of this at all, their paralyzed friend would be a helpless human pinata swinging in the living room of a stranger."
But none of that stopped them. Faith. THAT is the kind of FRIENDSHIP I'm talking about. Are there four of those on your contact list? I know I have two, aside from family. That's a start.
But here's the REALLY most important question, and maybe the hardest: Are there four people who, if they were "paralyzed" you would, without question or hesitation, "carry" them? Are there four people you know and love enough to faithfully and quietly pay their power bill, do their laundry when their washer breaks down, feed their children and do their dishes, store their books, buy groceries for them, or let them live in your spare room? Thankfully, in the Bible story, it was because of the friends' faith, not the paralytic's, that Jesus granted forgiveness and healing.
Are YOU a friend with unfailing faith? Somebody needs you to be. Nobody can do it alone.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
National Veterans Day History
National Veterans Day began in Birmingham, Alabama on November 11, 1947. Many people born and raised here don't know that, so I'm going to give you a brief history of NVD so you are aware of one of the WONDERFUL events that Birmingham enjoys.
President Woodrow Wilson first proclaimed Armistice Day for November 11, 1919. It was to honor and remember the brave warriors of WWI. Major hostilities of World War I were formally ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, when the Armistice with Germany went into effect.
President Calvin Coolidge later made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday: "a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as 'Armistice Day'." In Birmingham, every November 11, the World Peace luncheon is held, in honor of the original intent.
In 1945, World War II veteran Raymond Weeks from Birmingham, Alabama, had the idea to expand Armistice Day to celebrate all veterans, not just those who died in World War I. Weeks led a delegation to Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, who supported the idea of National Veterans Day. Weeks led the first national celebration in 1947 in Alabama and annually until his death in 1985.
On May 26, 1954, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed a bill establishing November 11 as a holiday into law. It had been eight and a half years since Weeks held his first Armistice Day celebration for all veterans in Birmingham.
Congress amended the bill on June 1, 1954, replacing "Armistice" with "Veterans," and it has been known as Veterans Day since.
In 1982, President Reagan honored Raymond Weeks at the White House, with the Presidential Citizenship Medal for being the driving force behind the national holiday. Elizabeth Dole, who prepared the briefing for President Reagan, determined Weeks as the "Father of Veterans Day."
Birmingham's Veterans Day parade is still the largest in the world. In Linn Park, at the northwest corner, is a memorial honoring Raymond Weeks, the founder of National Veterans Day, and every November 10, at 4:30p.m. there is a ceremonial wreath-laying at the Weeks Memorial.
As an interesting sidenote, some people use an apostrophe in "Veterans", and it is acceptable to write "Veteran's" or "Veterans' ", but officially there is no apostrophe. It is not a day that belongs to veterans; It is a day for honoring all veterans.
President Woodrow Wilson first proclaimed Armistice Day for November 11, 1919. It was to honor and remember the brave warriors of WWI. Major hostilities of World War I were formally ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, when the Armistice with Germany went into effect.
President Calvin Coolidge later made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday: "a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as 'Armistice Day'." In Birmingham, every November 11, the World Peace luncheon is held, in honor of the original intent.
In 1945, World War II veteran Raymond Weeks from Birmingham, Alabama, had the idea to expand Armistice Day to celebrate all veterans, not just those who died in World War I. Weeks led a delegation to Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, who supported the idea of National Veterans Day. Weeks led the first national celebration in 1947 in Alabama and annually until his death in 1985.
On May 26, 1954, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed a bill establishing November 11 as a holiday into law. It had been eight and a half years since Weeks held his first Armistice Day celebration for all veterans in Birmingham.
Congress amended the bill on June 1, 1954, replacing "Armistice" with "Veterans," and it has been known as Veterans Day since.
In 1982, President Reagan honored Raymond Weeks at the White House, with the Presidential Citizenship Medal for being the driving force behind the national holiday. Elizabeth Dole, who prepared the briefing for President Reagan, determined Weeks as the "Father of Veterans Day."
Birmingham's Veterans Day parade is still the largest in the world. In Linn Park, at the northwest corner, is a memorial honoring Raymond Weeks, the founder of National Veterans Day, and every November 10, at 4:30p.m. there is a ceremonial wreath-laying at the Weeks Memorial.
As an interesting sidenote, some people use an apostrophe in "Veterans", and it is acceptable to write "Veteran's" or "Veterans' ", but officially there is no apostrophe. It is not a day that belongs to veterans; It is a day for honoring all veterans.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Encounter with Birmingham's Finest
My friends know that I'm not a whiner. I'm not a victim. I am responsible for my own fate/circumstance.
Well, except for this situation in which I find myself with Officer Owens, a Birmingham Policeman, and I'm not sure how to handle it or what to do about it. I'll be as succinct as possible, but unless you know the circumstances surrounding it, you can't understand it. So here goes:
On February 7, while driving to Aaron's house to pick up his laptop, I ran over a fire hydrant that was lying in the road. It was old and rusty, so it probably fell off the back of a city truck. Anyway, it messed up the right front tire and wheel, and bounced off something under the car. I pulled into a driveway and onto the sidewalk in front of a house. (This was about the 4000 block of Clairmont Avenue.) I called Aaron to let him know I couldn't come for his laptop, but he brought it to me, along with his car, so I could get home after I handled MY car, and had a friend take him back home.
I pulled his car behind the fire hydrant that was still in the road, since I couldn't lift it, to be sure nobody else hit it. Leaving the car running, and the headlights and taillights and emergency flashers on, I call 911 for an accident report for my car. While waiting for the police, I called USAA to see about a tow, and to check benefits (repair, rental, etc.) As I'm chatting with the USAA rep, I see in the rear view mirror a car go through the 42nd Street light (about 3 blocks away) and barrel toward me. As it got closer, I realized the driver was oblivious to me, and wasn't slowing at all. I said to the USAA rep, "A car is coming, and it doesn't look like it's slowing." A few seconds later, I screamed into the phone, "OH SHIT! I'M GOING TO GET HIT!" and the car plowed into my rear so hard and fast that it knocked the shock absorbers and back wheels off the car.
Miraculously I was unhurt, except for being very shook up (and quite sore for a couple of weeks). The collision knocked the front of the car up onto the curb, and the other car was knocked up on the curb on the other side of the street. A girl (I would say mid-20s) wobbled out of the car and weaved across the street. "Are you ok?" she slurred. I assured her I was OK, and she got back into her car.
Since the police still hadn't responded to my call, I called them again. This time he came, approximately 10 minutes later. Parking behind me, he passed my winow and said, "I'll need to see your license and insurance information," and headed over to the other car.
About five minutes later, a firetruck and an ambulance arrived. Firemen and paramedics jumped out of their vehicles and came over to me with, "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?" I said no. I was OK. So they went to the girl's car, loaded her on a stretcher, and took her away.
The policeman then came back to my car and asked what happened. I told him the whole story that I've just told you, and handed him my license and insurance card.
His first comment was, "Where did you hit the fire hydrant?"
I said, "Right back there. It was lying in the road."
He said, "It wasn't there an hour ago. Where was it when you hit it?"
I consulted my phone for the time of my first 911 call and said, "I hit it over an hour ago. It was lying in the road before that." (A while later, when neighbors started getting up and coming out to see, one man said, "See that oil spot back there? The hydrant had to have been in the road long enough for the oil to have leaked out of the top of it.")
He smirked and said, "I see you jumped the curb and hit that little tree over there."
I told him, "No. I didn't. I pulled into that driveway and onto the sidewalk."
"NO. YOU HIT THE TREE!" He repeated loudly, and walked over to the little tree and picked up a headlight on the ground. Carrying it over his head like Vulcan's torch, he marched over to the front of my car (on the sidewalk) and looked back and forth at the two headlights still on my car. Then he looked at the headlight in his hand, and again at the two on my car, as if he couldn't figure out where the third headlight was supposed to have been.
When he couldn't determine where the headlight had come from, but certainly not from my car, he returned to his car, and I called USAA back. I knew Aaron's car was a total loss, but mine looked repairable. USAA called a tow truck and gave me instructions about a rental.
The policeman finished whatever he was doing in his car, and came back over to where I was cleaning stuff out of Aaron's car and putting it in my car. It was now daylight.
He said, "I've called Weil for three wreckers. They will be here shortly." I told him USAA had already called a wrecker for my car.
"You HAVE to use Weil!" he said.
"NO. I DON'T." I said.
"OH YES YOU DO!"
"OH NO I DON'T!"
"WEIL IS GOING TO TOW YOUR CAR TO THE WEIL LOT!"
"NO. IT ISN'T. I HAVE A TOW TRUCK COMING!'
We were at a standoff, when three Weil trucks arrived. He told the closest driver, "Get that one first," indicating my car.
"No," I said. "I have another tow coming for THAT car."
The little policeman now looked like Rumplestilskin, hopping about and yelling. "YOU HAVE TO USE WEIL! AND BESIDES, YOU CAN'T LEAVE A CAR IN SOMEONE'S FRONT YARD ALL DAY! AND I CAN'T STAY HERE ALL DAY WAITING FOR SOME TOW TRUCK!"
About that time, the lady who lived there came outside, saw me and my friend (who I had called and who had arrived by then) and yelled, "What happened? How long have you been out here in the cold? You want to come inside and have some coffee and use my bathroom?" She also assured Officer Owens that my car could stay in her yard all weekend for all she cared.
The other two cars were being hooked up to tow trucks, and I asked for the other driver's name and insurance info, since she had left before I could ask her. Officer Owens snapped, "It will be on the accident report. You can get that in 72 hours," and then my tow truck arrived.
That's basically what happened. Although I don't have many interactions with policeman, (and aside from the fact that he was the ONLY person who came onto the scene that never once asked if I was OK), this was without a doubt the rudest bully I've ever encountered in law enforcement.
OKAY... so there's THAT. I depended on USAA to handle the cars, repair, rentals, etc... which they did.
Aaron's check for his car came, along with a letter that said, "This is payment in full, minus the $500 deductible."
Wait a minute. Why isn't this girl's insurance paying for his car? So I asked for a copy of the accident report, which USAA emailed to me immediately.
I couldn't believe what I read. The report was basically false. It said I called 911 at 0508 and that he arrived at 0512. I actually called at 0440 the first time, and 0456 the second time. I don't know what time he arrived, but it was a good 10 minutes after the second call. It said that I was "illegally parked in the road" (I wasn't parked at all). It said that the contributing factor was an "unseen object", with me ("Unit 1") being the contributing factor. (I saw her coming 3 blocks away. How could she NOT see me, lit up like 4th of July fireworks? Unless she was either drunk, asleep, or texting and not watching the road?). If I had been changing a flat tire, I would be DEAD. If I had been successful in moving the fire hydrant at the moment she came by, I would be DEAD. If Officer Owens had come when I called the first time, it would be HIS car that was hit, and probably we both would be dead.
Does anyone know what recourse I have about this?
OK. I'm finished. I think I'll contact Chief Roper about this anyway. He is serious about cleaning up the police department, and about deterring crime. And I think he needs to know about Officer Owens' unruly and ill-mannered behavior.
Well, except for this situation in which I find myself with Officer Owens, a Birmingham Policeman, and I'm not sure how to handle it or what to do about it. I'll be as succinct as possible, but unless you know the circumstances surrounding it, you can't understand it. So here goes:
On February 7, while driving to Aaron's house to pick up his laptop, I ran over a fire hydrant that was lying in the road. It was old and rusty, so it probably fell off the back of a city truck. Anyway, it messed up the right front tire and wheel, and bounced off something under the car. I pulled into a driveway and onto the sidewalk in front of a house. (This was about the 4000 block of Clairmont Avenue.) I called Aaron to let him know I couldn't come for his laptop, but he brought it to me, along with his car, so I could get home after I handled MY car, and had a friend take him back home.
I pulled his car behind the fire hydrant that was still in the road, since I couldn't lift it, to be sure nobody else hit it. Leaving the car running, and the headlights and taillights and emergency flashers on, I call 911 for an accident report for my car. While waiting for the police, I called USAA to see about a tow, and to check benefits (repair, rental, etc.) As I'm chatting with the USAA rep, I see in the rear view mirror a car go through the 42nd Street light (about 3 blocks away) and barrel toward me. As it got closer, I realized the driver was oblivious to me, and wasn't slowing at all. I said to the USAA rep, "A car is coming, and it doesn't look like it's slowing." A few seconds later, I screamed into the phone, "OH SHIT! I'M GOING TO GET HIT!" and the car plowed into my rear so hard and fast that it knocked the shock absorbers and back wheels off the car.
Miraculously I was unhurt, except for being very shook up (and quite sore for a couple of weeks). The collision knocked the front of the car up onto the curb, and the other car was knocked up on the curb on the other side of the street. A girl (I would say mid-20s) wobbled out of the car and weaved across the street. "Are you ok?" she slurred. I assured her I was OK, and she got back into her car.
Since the police still hadn't responded to my call, I called them again. This time he came, approximately 10 minutes later. Parking behind me, he passed my winow and said, "I'll need to see your license and insurance information," and headed over to the other car.
About five minutes later, a firetruck and an ambulance arrived. Firemen and paramedics jumped out of their vehicles and came over to me with, "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?" I said no. I was OK. So they went to the girl's car, loaded her on a stretcher, and took her away.
The policeman then came back to my car and asked what happened. I told him the whole story that I've just told you, and handed him my license and insurance card.
His first comment was, "Where did you hit the fire hydrant?"
I said, "Right back there. It was lying in the road."
He said, "It wasn't there an hour ago. Where was it when you hit it?"
I consulted my phone for the time of my first 911 call and said, "I hit it over an hour ago. It was lying in the road before that." (A while later, when neighbors started getting up and coming out to see, one man said, "See that oil spot back there? The hydrant had to have been in the road long enough for the oil to have leaked out of the top of it.")
He smirked and said, "I see you jumped the curb and hit that little tree over there."
I told him, "No. I didn't. I pulled into that driveway and onto the sidewalk."
"NO. YOU HIT THE TREE!" He repeated loudly, and walked over to the little tree and picked up a headlight on the ground. Carrying it over his head like Vulcan's torch, he marched over to the front of my car (on the sidewalk) and looked back and forth at the two headlights still on my car. Then he looked at the headlight in his hand, and again at the two on my car, as if he couldn't figure out where the third headlight was supposed to have been.
When he couldn't determine where the headlight had come from, but certainly not from my car, he returned to his car, and I called USAA back. I knew Aaron's car was a total loss, but mine looked repairable. USAA called a tow truck and gave me instructions about a rental.
The policeman finished whatever he was doing in his car, and came back over to where I was cleaning stuff out of Aaron's car and putting it in my car. It was now daylight.
He said, "I've called Weil for three wreckers. They will be here shortly." I told him USAA had already called a wrecker for my car.
"You HAVE to use Weil!" he said.
"NO. I DON'T." I said.
"OH YES YOU DO!"
"OH NO I DON'T!"
"WEIL IS GOING TO TOW YOUR CAR TO THE WEIL LOT!"
"NO. IT ISN'T. I HAVE A TOW TRUCK COMING!'
We were at a standoff, when three Weil trucks arrived. He told the closest driver, "Get that one first," indicating my car.
"No," I said. "I have another tow coming for THAT car."
The little policeman now looked like Rumplestilskin, hopping about and yelling. "YOU HAVE TO USE WEIL! AND BESIDES, YOU CAN'T LEAVE A CAR IN SOMEONE'S FRONT YARD ALL DAY! AND I CAN'T STAY HERE ALL DAY WAITING FOR SOME TOW TRUCK!"
About that time, the lady who lived there came outside, saw me and my friend (who I had called and who had arrived by then) and yelled, "What happened? How long have you been out here in the cold? You want to come inside and have some coffee and use my bathroom?" She also assured Officer Owens that my car could stay in her yard all weekend for all she cared.
The other two cars were being hooked up to tow trucks, and I asked for the other driver's name and insurance info, since she had left before I could ask her. Officer Owens snapped, "It will be on the accident report. You can get that in 72 hours," and then my tow truck arrived.
That's basically what happened. Although I don't have many interactions with policeman, (and aside from the fact that he was the ONLY person who came onto the scene that never once asked if I was OK), this was without a doubt the rudest bully I've ever encountered in law enforcement.
OKAY... so there's THAT. I depended on USAA to handle the cars, repair, rentals, etc... which they did.
Aaron's check for his car came, along with a letter that said, "This is payment in full, minus the $500 deductible."
Wait a minute. Why isn't this girl's insurance paying for his car? So I asked for a copy of the accident report, which USAA emailed to me immediately.
I couldn't believe what I read. The report was basically false. It said I called 911 at 0508 and that he arrived at 0512. I actually called at 0440 the first time, and 0456 the second time. I don't know what time he arrived, but it was a good 10 minutes after the second call. It said that I was "illegally parked in the road" (I wasn't parked at all). It said that the contributing factor was an "unseen object", with me ("Unit 1") being the contributing factor. (I saw her coming 3 blocks away. How could she NOT see me, lit up like 4th of July fireworks? Unless she was either drunk, asleep, or texting and not watching the road?). If I had been changing a flat tire, I would be DEAD. If I had been successful in moving the fire hydrant at the moment she came by, I would be DEAD. If Officer Owens had come when I called the first time, it would be HIS car that was hit, and probably we both would be dead.
Does anyone know what recourse I have about this?
OK. I'm finished. I think I'll contact Chief Roper about this anyway. He is serious about cleaning up the police department, and about deterring crime. And I think he needs to know about Officer Owens' unruly and ill-mannered behavior.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Prayer
You have heard the warning, "Be careful what you pray for." That's because God always answers prayers, but sometimes not in the way you had hoped. And He always answers in His time, not yours. And sometimes His answer is "NO."
Prayer has been part of my life for as long as I can remember - from the bedtime "Now I lay me down to sleep" to "Please, God, don't take him at Christmas." I pray every day, and usually many times a day. For me, prayer is a conversation with God. Over the years, my prayers have changed - or maybe they have just matured.
When I was a child, God was an imposing figure - a larger-than-imaginable man with a long white beard who was able to strike down bad people, but who always looked kindly on little children. Now I know God is all powerful, spiritual, loving, giving, and forgiving. And He wants to hear our desires and needs. But we don't have the whole universal picture, and never will. Only God does. And we're not alone down here on earth, either. There are other people down here with us, and as much as I sometimes have my doubts, all those people are God's children, and He loves them. It's good that He does, because some of them aren't very loveable at all.
Now, more and more frequently, I find myself waking up in the morning with, "Thank you, Lord, for giving me another day in this wonderful world. Please keep me safe today." And as the day progresses, there are lots of little conversations - as if I'm talking with a friend. "Lord, thank you for this food. Let it fuel me to make it through the day." "Lord, please hold my hand and cover my mouth." "God, help me know what You want me to do here, because I'm at a loss." "Lord, I need your guidance. I don't know which way to go." "Lord God, give me patience to deal with this traffic in a Christian way." and usually ending the day with something like "Dear Lord, thank You for all my blessings. Thank You for walking with me today. If You want me to continue, please give me another tomorrow. And most of all Lord, stay with me, guide me, and know that I love You."
I laughed when they outlawed prayer in school. What a joke! Did they really think a law could put a stop to my communication with God? How can anyone really, truly prevent someone else from praying? To this day, I don't understand the concept there. They can prevent Bible reading aloud. But they can't prevent the human brain from thinking, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." I can't remember very many times I sat down to take a test that I didn't say, "Lord, be with me and guide my pen." I was a pretty good student, but I figured you can't be too careful, so just in case...
OK, I admit that most of my prayers are selfish. Sometimes not, though. There are the prayers for panhandlers or politicians: "Lord, bless her. She needs a blessing BADLY." There are prayers for friends and family: "God, take him in Your loving arms and help him through this. Wipe his tears, and strengthen and comfort him." And prayers for my children: "Lord, You know I did the best I could raising him. I love him more than only You can know, and I know You love him too. Now, all I can do is relinquish his care to You. Please hold him in Your arms, like I did for so many years, and keep him safe."
God has seldom told me NO. But He HAS has put me places I didn't want to be. He has kept me from places I DID want to be. He has tested me many times in uncomfortable ways, and He has put people and obstacles in my path that I have stumbled over, and occasionally I have fallen. But He has never left me down there. He has always offered His strong hand to help me pull back up.
Don't misunderstand me here, though... There have been times in my life that I have doubted God. There have been times I have even doubted His very existence. I have been angry at Him. I have yelled at Him, and questioned His decisions and actions. Directly and loudly. I don't know for sure, but I think when I get that way, God probably waits patiently and quietly for me to calm down, settle down, and come back to Him, kinda like a wise and loving Father with a wayward and sassy daughter.
I'm happy to report it has been many, many years since I doubted Him.... not so many since I've been angry. But God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and He lovingly and patiently tolerates my stupid little tantrums. At least I hope He does, since I'm human, and have human emotions.
Today is Christmas. The day we celebrate as the time God gifted us his Son in human flesh and blood. Now, over 2000 years later, we gather our own families and friends around us in love and companionship and happiness. Oh yes, we put up Christmas trees, and we sing Santa songs, and we hang stockings. We give each other gifts. Theoretically gifts symbolize the gifts of the Magi to the baby Jesus, or even symbolize God's gift to us of Jesus. Now, I have no illusions about that. I know there are people celebrate Christmas as merely a opportunity to score toys and stuff. But that's all I have to say about that.
This morning, I was blown away by Mark and Michelle's gift to their friends and family. In fact, I teared up when I opened the little envelope and read the card that said, "A gift to Heifer International in your honor will provide the resources to help smallholder farmers increase their income so that they can feed their families nutritious meals every day, send their children to school, and light their way to a better future." What a thoughtful and meaningful gift! (Last Saturday, they gave a donation to the Birmingham Humane Society in honor of Aaron and Britt.) And then Mark cooked breakfast for us. I can't remember a more warm and wonderful Christmas morning. (I know it's Michelle's influence. Again, I have no illusions LOL). Thank you, God, for bringing Michelle into our lives. She is a blessing - not only to Mark, but to our family.
Aaron and Britt were in Indiana with Bobbie and Steve and the rest of Britt's family. There's another blessing, (Thank you, Lord. You seem to know what we need!) and I had already prayed for traveling mercy for them.
And then, this afternoon, my phone rang. I saw it was Aaron, and answered with a cheerful, "Merry Christmas! Are y'all having a great time?"
"No. I'm not."
"Oh, Aaron! What's wrong? Is everyone all right?"
"Oh, Mom, Coda is dead." and he moaned in despair and pain.
Aaron's words still echo in my head. Their dear, sweet, loving, happy Coda dog had been hit by a car. I can't express in words the grief and anguish I feel for Aaron and Britt. And my own selfish helplessness and distress at the loss of my precious Grandpuppy.
It was a stupid accident... basically an unavoidable accident, unless Coda had been kept in a cage or on a chain. And in his short life, he never knew anything but being hugged and loved by Aaron and Britt. He didn't know desertion or cold or hunger. Coda never heard a loud or unkind word. Even Aaron's reprimands were gentle and loving. "Coda, we don't pee in the house. Understand? That is a no-no." "Coda, Buddy... see that garbage can? We don't pull things out of it. Getting in the garbage is a no-no. Understand? Coda, Look at me. Understand?"
So a perfect morning turned into a tragic afternoon. Coda was truly a part of our family. and sadly, MORE a part of our family than some real family members are.
Dear Lord, I know you have your reasons, but for the life of me, I don't understand this. Maybe I never will. I know Coda's sweet spirit is in doggy heaven, because I can't fathom such a loving spirit being anywhere but playing with squirrels and butterflies over the Rainbow Bridge. So here is my prayer, my sincere desire, my deepest need right now: I need You to be with my dear son and his beautiful wife. Now, more than at any moment in the past, they need peace. They need courage to get through the next few days and weeks, so give them courage. Give them comfort. I believe with your help, they can lean on each other, depend on each other, comfort each other, and help each other work through the unbearable grief and loss they both feel. Only You can perform this miracle, and we need a miracle now.
Amen.
Prayer has been part of my life for as long as I can remember - from the bedtime "Now I lay me down to sleep" to "Please, God, don't take him at Christmas." I pray every day, and usually many times a day. For me, prayer is a conversation with God. Over the years, my prayers have changed - or maybe they have just matured.
When I was a child, God was an imposing figure - a larger-than-imaginable man with a long white beard who was able to strike down bad people, but who always looked kindly on little children. Now I know God is all powerful, spiritual, loving, giving, and forgiving. And He wants to hear our desires and needs. But we don't have the whole universal picture, and never will. Only God does. And we're not alone down here on earth, either. There are other people down here with us, and as much as I sometimes have my doubts, all those people are God's children, and He loves them. It's good that He does, because some of them aren't very loveable at all.
Now, more and more frequently, I find myself waking up in the morning with, "Thank you, Lord, for giving me another day in this wonderful world. Please keep me safe today." And as the day progresses, there are lots of little conversations - as if I'm talking with a friend. "Lord, thank you for this food. Let it fuel me to make it through the day." "Lord, please hold my hand and cover my mouth." "God, help me know what You want me to do here, because I'm at a loss." "Lord, I need your guidance. I don't know which way to go." "Lord God, give me patience to deal with this traffic in a Christian way." and usually ending the day with something like "Dear Lord, thank You for all my blessings. Thank You for walking with me today. If You want me to continue, please give me another tomorrow. And most of all Lord, stay with me, guide me, and know that I love You."
I laughed when they outlawed prayer in school. What a joke! Did they really think a law could put a stop to my communication with God? How can anyone really, truly prevent someone else from praying? To this day, I don't understand the concept there. They can prevent Bible reading aloud. But they can't prevent the human brain from thinking, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." I can't remember very many times I sat down to take a test that I didn't say, "Lord, be with me and guide my pen." I was a pretty good student, but I figured you can't be too careful, so just in case...
OK, I admit that most of my prayers are selfish. Sometimes not, though. There are the prayers for panhandlers or politicians: "Lord, bless her. She needs a blessing BADLY." There are prayers for friends and family: "God, take him in Your loving arms and help him through this. Wipe his tears, and strengthen and comfort him." And prayers for my children: "Lord, You know I did the best I could raising him. I love him more than only You can know, and I know You love him too. Now, all I can do is relinquish his care to You. Please hold him in Your arms, like I did for so many years, and keep him safe."
God has seldom told me NO. But He HAS has put me places I didn't want to be. He has kept me from places I DID want to be. He has tested me many times in uncomfortable ways, and He has put people and obstacles in my path that I have stumbled over, and occasionally I have fallen. But He has never left me down there. He has always offered His strong hand to help me pull back up.
Don't misunderstand me here, though... There have been times in my life that I have doubted God. There have been times I have even doubted His very existence. I have been angry at Him. I have yelled at Him, and questioned His decisions and actions. Directly and loudly. I don't know for sure, but I think when I get that way, God probably waits patiently and quietly for me to calm down, settle down, and come back to Him, kinda like a wise and loving Father with a wayward and sassy daughter.
I'm happy to report it has been many, many years since I doubted Him.... not so many since I've been angry. But God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and He lovingly and patiently tolerates my stupid little tantrums. At least I hope He does, since I'm human, and have human emotions.
Today is Christmas. The day we celebrate as the time God gifted us his Son in human flesh and blood. Now, over 2000 years later, we gather our own families and friends around us in love and companionship and happiness. Oh yes, we put up Christmas trees, and we sing Santa songs, and we hang stockings. We give each other gifts. Theoretically gifts symbolize the gifts of the Magi to the baby Jesus, or even symbolize God's gift to us of Jesus. Now, I have no illusions about that. I know there are people celebrate Christmas as merely a opportunity to score toys and stuff. But that's all I have to say about that.
This morning, I was blown away by Mark and Michelle's gift to their friends and family. In fact, I teared up when I opened the little envelope and read the card that said, "A gift to Heifer International in your honor will provide the resources to help smallholder farmers increase their income so that they can feed their families nutritious meals every day, send their children to school, and light their way to a better future." What a thoughtful and meaningful gift! (Last Saturday, they gave a donation to the Birmingham Humane Society in honor of Aaron and Britt.) And then Mark cooked breakfast for us. I can't remember a more warm and wonderful Christmas morning. (I know it's Michelle's influence. Again, I have no illusions LOL). Thank you, God, for bringing Michelle into our lives. She is a blessing - not only to Mark, but to our family.
Aaron and Britt were in Indiana with Bobbie and Steve and the rest of Britt's family. There's another blessing, (Thank you, Lord. You seem to know what we need!) and I had already prayed for traveling mercy for them.
And then, this afternoon, my phone rang. I saw it was Aaron, and answered with a cheerful, "Merry Christmas! Are y'all having a great time?"
"No. I'm not."
"Oh, Aaron! What's wrong? Is everyone all right?"
"Oh, Mom, Coda is dead." and he moaned in despair and pain.
Aaron's words still echo in my head. Their dear, sweet, loving, happy Coda dog had been hit by a car. I can't express in words the grief and anguish I feel for Aaron and Britt. And my own selfish helplessness and distress at the loss of my precious Grandpuppy.
It was a stupid accident... basically an unavoidable accident, unless Coda had been kept in a cage or on a chain. And in his short life, he never knew anything but being hugged and loved by Aaron and Britt. He didn't know desertion or cold or hunger. Coda never heard a loud or unkind word. Even Aaron's reprimands were gentle and loving. "Coda, we don't pee in the house. Understand? That is a no-no." "Coda, Buddy... see that garbage can? We don't pull things out of it. Getting in the garbage is a no-no. Understand? Coda, Look at me. Understand?"
So a perfect morning turned into a tragic afternoon. Coda was truly a part of our family. and sadly, MORE a part of our family than some real family members are.
Dear Lord, I know you have your reasons, but for the life of me, I don't understand this. Maybe I never will. I know Coda's sweet spirit is in doggy heaven, because I can't fathom such a loving spirit being anywhere but playing with squirrels and butterflies over the Rainbow Bridge. So here is my prayer, my sincere desire, my deepest need right now: I need You to be with my dear son and his beautiful wife. Now, more than at any moment in the past, they need peace. They need courage to get through the next few days and weeks, so give them courage. Give them comfort. I believe with your help, they can lean on each other, depend on each other, comfort each other, and help each other work through the unbearable grief and loss they both feel. Only You can perform this miracle, and we need a miracle now.
Amen.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
So, after over 40 years, I returned to the theatre. Well, not really. I WENT to the theatre to see a show. But I saw Carl Stewart, who I haven't seen in 40 years, and with whom I share a history, and it brought back glorious memories!
But before the show, I was sitting in the lobby enjoying a glass of wine and I happened to meet Greg. He is about my age, or maybe a few years younger. He is a veteran, having served in the Coast Guard. He has cancer. Having been jerked around by both the V.A. and the civilian medical system for several years, he now has cancer in almost every organ in his body. I won't go into all that, but he hopes that with the new medicine he's on, he might have as much as a year to live.
Even in high school, Greg was a phenomenal sculptor. He has won many art awards over the years, and according to my friend who introduced him, Greg could have competed with the finest artists in the world.
Now, though, Greg no longer sculpts. Why not? "I don't know." He is agile, in spite of the boot on his right foot (immobilizing his bones and muscles from which tumors were removed 3 weeks ago), and has a great smile, in spite of the barely scabbed over wound on the bridge of his nose, from which a tumor was removed this morning, due to it burrowing perilously close to his brain.
Greg has no family, and is renting a room from a friend of Aaron, who is also sorta caring for him. I asked what his plans are. "To get some things straight, so I don't leave a mess."
Talking to Greg made me think again about my own mortality, as us old folks occasionally do anyway. I hope I have a year left on this earth. Hell, I hope I have 30 years more! But what if I knew I had only a year at most? What then? I have no "bucket list". There really aren't many things I want to do that I haven't done. I have no burning desire to see Paris or the pyramids. While travel would be fun, deep own, I really would rather go fishing or read a book.
Once I had a list of 3 things I wanted to do before I die. I've learned to whistle (thank you, Mary). I still haven't learned to yodel, and I haven't ridden in a blimp, but in the broad scope of things, I think I will have few regrets if I go before I do either of those things.
So, what would I do? What is REALLY, REALLY important enough to spend time doing, if you KNOW your time is limited, and every minute counts? It is important to Greg to "not leave a mess". I'm not sure I care if I leave a mess. My children are used to mess. They can handle it. And I have no real regrets. Oh sure, there are some things I might would do a bit differently, but when I look at the ripples of my decisions over the years, I wouldn't change anything significantly.
There is one I loved (and still do), and might have spent my life with, had things been different, had I been different... (sigh)...but we all have one of those, probably. I love my life NOW too much to have any regrets about that either. But I digress.
So what would I do if I knew I had one year to live? Write my memoirs? Oh that might be a big mistake. Read all the books I want to read and haven't read yet? Probably not. My grandmother died in the middle of "General Hospital", and I'm pretty sure there were no significant ripples. Would I plant a garden this Spring? Maybe, but probably not. Would I get these dents in my car fixed? No. New tires? Nope. Finish cleaning out the basement? Don't think so. Lose these 10 extra pounds, so my casket is lighter? Get real!
After all is said and done, I think I would do exactly the same things I do now. If I knew I had one year to live, I think I would do the same things, but would enjoy them even more. I would pay more REAL attention to the people I am around every day. I would be sure they know I love them and care about them. I don't do "goodbyes", so there would be none of that, but just in case today is the last time, I would say, "I love you" more often, give more hugs, and write more letters.
None of us know. Today could always be the last one. So let me say this to you right now, so there is no wondering later: I love you. HUGS!
But before the show, I was sitting in the lobby enjoying a glass of wine and I happened to meet Greg. He is about my age, or maybe a few years younger. He is a veteran, having served in the Coast Guard. He has cancer. Having been jerked around by both the V.A. and the civilian medical system for several years, he now has cancer in almost every organ in his body. I won't go into all that, but he hopes that with the new medicine he's on, he might have as much as a year to live.
Even in high school, Greg was a phenomenal sculptor. He has won many art awards over the years, and according to my friend who introduced him, Greg could have competed with the finest artists in the world.
Now, though, Greg no longer sculpts. Why not? "I don't know." He is agile, in spite of the boot on his right foot (immobilizing his bones and muscles from which tumors were removed 3 weeks ago), and has a great smile, in spite of the barely scabbed over wound on the bridge of his nose, from which a tumor was removed this morning, due to it burrowing perilously close to his brain.
Greg has no family, and is renting a room from a friend of Aaron, who is also sorta caring for him. I asked what his plans are. "To get some things straight, so I don't leave a mess."
Talking to Greg made me think again about my own mortality, as us old folks occasionally do anyway. I hope I have a year left on this earth. Hell, I hope I have 30 years more! But what if I knew I had only a year at most? What then? I have no "bucket list". There really aren't many things I want to do that I haven't done. I have no burning desire to see Paris or the pyramids. While travel would be fun, deep own, I really would rather go fishing or read a book.
Once I had a list of 3 things I wanted to do before I die. I've learned to whistle (thank you, Mary). I still haven't learned to yodel, and I haven't ridden in a blimp, but in the broad scope of things, I think I will have few regrets if I go before I do either of those things.
So, what would I do? What is REALLY, REALLY important enough to spend time doing, if you KNOW your time is limited, and every minute counts? It is important to Greg to "not leave a mess". I'm not sure I care if I leave a mess. My children are used to mess. They can handle it. And I have no real regrets. Oh sure, there are some things I might would do a bit differently, but when I look at the ripples of my decisions over the years, I wouldn't change anything significantly.
There is one I loved (and still do), and might have spent my life with, had things been different, had I been different... (sigh)...but we all have one of those, probably. I love my life NOW too much to have any regrets about that either. But I digress.
So what would I do if I knew I had one year to live? Write my memoirs? Oh that might be a big mistake. Read all the books I want to read and haven't read yet? Probably not. My grandmother died in the middle of "General Hospital", and I'm pretty sure there were no significant ripples. Would I plant a garden this Spring? Maybe, but probably not. Would I get these dents in my car fixed? No. New tires? Nope. Finish cleaning out the basement? Don't think so. Lose these 10 extra pounds, so my casket is lighter? Get real!
After all is said and done, I think I would do exactly the same things I do now. If I knew I had one year to live, I think I would do the same things, but would enjoy them even more. I would pay more REAL attention to the people I am around every day. I would be sure they know I love them and care about them. I don't do "goodbyes", so there would be none of that, but just in case today is the last time, I would say, "I love you" more often, give more hugs, and write more letters.
None of us know. Today could always be the last one. So let me say this to you right now, so there is no wondering later: I love you. HUGS!
Friday, November 21, 2014
Identifying Community Needs
We in Middle Class America know what the problems in the "less fortunate" communities are, and we are here to solve them. OK... maybe that's not fair. Let's talk about what I REALLY know about. So let me start over. We in Middle Class Birmingham know what the problems are over in West End, or Woodlawn, or Elyton, and we are here to solve them.
Siimple enough. OK, what are the problems in West End and Elyton? Well, obviously one of the main problems is hunger. Just look at all the people begging for money for food. Many of them "Will work for food"... until someone offers to let him mow their yard, or clean their house, in exchange for lunch or supper. OK... bad example. Everyone was on to that. The signs have changed. Now it's "Disabled Vet. Need help." Except when you ask them what branch they were in or what their MOS was. They get a blank look and say, "I don't remember." Or try to give them a list of V. A. agencies who provide everything to veterans from food to shelter to healthcare to wheelchair vans, they hand it back and ask, "Can you spare a few bucks?" Another bad example... How about those pitiful panhandlers in the church parking lot telling the little old ladies they're hungry, but get really agitated when the ladies invite them inside the church for sandwiches and coffee? Or those in the grocery store parking lot asking for food money until they can "get back home" but refuse to come into the store and let you buy them groceries?
A homeless man I talked with in Avondale Park said, "If anyone in Birmingham is hungry, it's their own fault. There are at least a hundred places that hand out free food or meals every day."
While I'm sure a hundred is an exaggeration, there are 4 places/churches within 2 miles of Avondale Park that daily prepare hot noon meals for the homeless. Two of those also prepare evening meals, and two churches in the area hand out bags of groceries every week.
One resident of a veterans' home in the area told me that they get more food donated than they can eat, only mostly it's fruit, cookies and bread. He said they don't get many donations of meat and vegetables. He said when he gets his check he heads for a local diner for "meatloaf and beans. Don't get that donated." Then he heads to Piggly Wiggly for tuna and "vi-eeners".
Well, if it's not hunger, must be healthcare. We all watch the news, and know that the underpriviledged don't have access to healthcare. Lots of people agree on that, because last October there were 3 huge health fairs in the Avondale community within 2 weeks of each other. All three were sparcely attended. Why? Well two of the health fair sponsors said it was due to "poor communication". If people had known, they would have come in droves. But one of these advertised on the radio, on TV, and had posters all over Avondale. Another did the poster thing, but also advertised heavily to their Brown Bag Grocery recipients for a month beforehand. (Further proof of healthcare needs is the two free health clinics in Avondale and Woodlawn.)
So where were the people who need healthcare? Several people told me "I get a free flu shot at my doctor. He also takes my blood pressure. Didn't need a health fair." WHAT?? How do you afford the doctor? "Medicaid pays." If you don't have Medicaid or Medicare, you can go to one of the free clinics, or if you just need your blood pressure taken, stop by the fire department. The homeless in Avondale Park mostly go to M-Power's free clinic, because they also get free medication there, as do the homeless in Woodlawn.
Well, I guess the homeless need shelter? Back to the park. Asking the people who live in the pavillion and sleep on the picnic tables if they would like a ride to the Firehouse Shelter, or to the J.H. or another mission that houses and feeds people. "No thanks, Ms. Ginger." But... but... but... why not? "Can't drink at the mission, and have to pray every day. Have to clean your room and be in by ten at the Firehouse. Have to look for a job too. I don't need all that hassle."
So how do we identify what the needs are? We could ask the charities, run by the middle class, who serve the population. I suspect If we asked CSM, they would say the biggest need is food. It's what they do. If we ask M-Power, they would say healthcare. It's what they do. (M-Power also has some awesome job training programs, which they have identified as a need in the community). If we ask the Jimmy Hale Mission, they would tell us it's shelter and alcohol rehab. It's what they do.
But I don't mean to direct this rant to the homeless. There are multitudes of ramshackle houses in all those areas, in which families live ... well, reside. While my house is small and needs work, it is in a neighborhood that has never seen a drive-by shooting. There has never been a robbery at our 7-11. Children safely ride their bikes all around the block. I don't personally know all my neighbors, but I know most of them, and all of them by sight, or by their cars.
I do know that not one of them is chronically hungry. None of them is homeless, and none of them lives in a drafty house in Avondale with iffy heat or drafty fire-hazard fireplaces, no a.c., with roaches running rampant. None them prays nightly that somehow God will provide their child a coat for the winter, or help them find a way to pay the power bill this month. Not one of us in my middle class neighborhood is homebound because we can't drive, or can't afford a car, or because our children and other relatives have died or forsaken us, or moved to California, so we see nobody except whoever appears on our TV screen - IF we have a TV.
As for you: I would bet not a single one of you actually goes a day, much less a week or a month, without your phone ringing. SOMEBODY thinks about you every day, and SOMEBODY calls to tell you.
When you look at "those people's" situation, it's easy to identify the problems from a middle-class viewpoint. "Good grief! You can't pay your power bill. How do you think you can feed that DOG??" "If he abuses you, leave him." "If you're sick, go to the doctor. "If you would spend your money on food instead of beer, maybe you wouldn't be hungry." "Clean up this mess. Get rid of that cat. You can't even afford kitty litter!"
So it sounds like the main problem is just that "those people" make bad choices. Maybe they do.
But maybe, just MAYBE, the problem is loneliness. Maybe people need companionship more than they need food, or shelter, or healthcare, or even their dignity. And maybe, for some people, the only friend that never deserts, is there every day, and comforts the most, lives in a bottle.
Siimple enough. OK, what are the problems in West End and Elyton? Well, obviously one of the main problems is hunger. Just look at all the people begging for money for food. Many of them "Will work for food"... until someone offers to let him mow their yard, or clean their house, in exchange for lunch or supper. OK... bad example. Everyone was on to that. The signs have changed. Now it's "Disabled Vet. Need help." Except when you ask them what branch they were in or what their MOS was. They get a blank look and say, "I don't remember." Or try to give them a list of V. A. agencies who provide everything to veterans from food to shelter to healthcare to wheelchair vans, they hand it back and ask, "Can you spare a few bucks?" Another bad example... How about those pitiful panhandlers in the church parking lot telling the little old ladies they're hungry, but get really agitated when the ladies invite them inside the church for sandwiches and coffee? Or those in the grocery store parking lot asking for food money until they can "get back home" but refuse to come into the store and let you buy them groceries?
A homeless man I talked with in Avondale Park said, "If anyone in Birmingham is hungry, it's their own fault. There are at least a hundred places that hand out free food or meals every day."
While I'm sure a hundred is an exaggeration, there are 4 places/churches within 2 miles of Avondale Park that daily prepare hot noon meals for the homeless. Two of those also prepare evening meals, and two churches in the area hand out bags of groceries every week.
One resident of a veterans' home in the area told me that they get more food donated than they can eat, only mostly it's fruit, cookies and bread. He said they don't get many donations of meat and vegetables. He said when he gets his check he heads for a local diner for "meatloaf and beans. Don't get that donated." Then he heads to Piggly Wiggly for tuna and "vi-eeners".
Well, if it's not hunger, must be healthcare. We all watch the news, and know that the underpriviledged don't have access to healthcare. Lots of people agree on that, because last October there were 3 huge health fairs in the Avondale community within 2 weeks of each other. All three were sparcely attended. Why? Well two of the health fair sponsors said it was due to "poor communication". If people had known, they would have come in droves. But one of these advertised on the radio, on TV, and had posters all over Avondale. Another did the poster thing, but also advertised heavily to their Brown Bag Grocery recipients for a month beforehand. (Further proof of healthcare needs is the two free health clinics in Avondale and Woodlawn.)
So where were the people who need healthcare? Several people told me "I get a free flu shot at my doctor. He also takes my blood pressure. Didn't need a health fair." WHAT?? How do you afford the doctor? "Medicaid pays." If you don't have Medicaid or Medicare, you can go to one of the free clinics, or if you just need your blood pressure taken, stop by the fire department. The homeless in Avondale Park mostly go to M-Power's free clinic, because they also get free medication there, as do the homeless in Woodlawn.
Well, I guess the homeless need shelter? Back to the park. Asking the people who live in the pavillion and sleep on the picnic tables if they would like a ride to the Firehouse Shelter, or to the J.H. or another mission that houses and feeds people. "No thanks, Ms. Ginger." But... but... but... why not? "Can't drink at the mission, and have to pray every day. Have to clean your room and be in by ten at the Firehouse. Have to look for a job too. I don't need all that hassle."
So how do we identify what the needs are? We could ask the charities, run by the middle class, who serve the population. I suspect If we asked CSM, they would say the biggest need is food. It's what they do. If we ask M-Power, they would say healthcare. It's what they do. (M-Power also has some awesome job training programs, which they have identified as a need in the community). If we ask the Jimmy Hale Mission, they would tell us it's shelter and alcohol rehab. It's what they do.
But I don't mean to direct this rant to the homeless. There are multitudes of ramshackle houses in all those areas, in which families live ... well, reside. While my house is small and needs work, it is in a neighborhood that has never seen a drive-by shooting. There has never been a robbery at our 7-11. Children safely ride their bikes all around the block. I don't personally know all my neighbors, but I know most of them, and all of them by sight, or by their cars.
I do know that not one of them is chronically hungry. None of them is homeless, and none of them lives in a drafty house in Avondale with iffy heat or drafty fire-hazard fireplaces, no a.c., with roaches running rampant. None them prays nightly that somehow God will provide their child a coat for the winter, or help them find a way to pay the power bill this month. Not one of us in my middle class neighborhood is homebound because we can't drive, or can't afford a car, or because our children and other relatives have died or forsaken us, or moved to California, so we see nobody except whoever appears on our TV screen - IF we have a TV.
As for you: I would bet not a single one of you actually goes a day, much less a week or a month, without your phone ringing. SOMEBODY thinks about you every day, and SOMEBODY calls to tell you.
When you look at "those people's" situation, it's easy to identify the problems from a middle-class viewpoint. "Good grief! You can't pay your power bill. How do you think you can feed that DOG??" "If he abuses you, leave him." "If you're sick, go to the doctor. "If you would spend your money on food instead of beer, maybe you wouldn't be hungry." "Clean up this mess. Get rid of that cat. You can't even afford kitty litter!"
So it sounds like the main problem is just that "those people" make bad choices. Maybe they do.
But maybe, just MAYBE, the problem is loneliness. Maybe people need companionship more than they need food, or shelter, or healthcare, or even their dignity. And maybe, for some people, the only friend that never deserts, is there every day, and comforts the most, lives in a bottle.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Lonely Banquet
National Veterans Day Awards Dinner, 2014, did so many things RIGHT!
To begin with, the "reception" before the event was open to everyone. The hors d'oeuvres were simple, but elegant and plentiful. There was a cash bar for everyone, and the VIPs got a "one free drink" card. That made everyone feel special and welcome. There was a band playing cocktail music, and people were mingling, talking and laughing in the huge lobby of the ballroom. Perfect start to the evening!
At 1845, the ballroom doors opened, and people started making their way into the banquet. VSOs sell blocks of banquet tickets to their members. That is because the members of your American Legion Post want to sit together. I am a member of several organizations, so this year I chose to sit with BSSFI. There are 8 people to a table, so I knew we would have several tables. Well, it turned out "we" had one table. Eight members were assigned to that table. The other 10 or so of us were scattered throughout the room. I was at a table with seven people I didn't know. What are the odds of that?? I probably knew about 150 of the attendees, and not a single one of them was even within hollering range of my table.
In the meantime, members of the other VSOs to which I belong were saying, "Why are you over here by yourself?" I had no answer. I did meet four delightful young ladies at my table (who left just after the second hour was finished). I will say that they had a new ticket person this year, but one would think that he would have placed blocks of people from the same organization near each other, not spread out all over the room.
But that was ok. We weren't there to talk anyway.
The program started appropriately with the presentation of the colors, followed by the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance. Then everyone sat, and there was a welcoming speech, then some words of wisdom from Mayor Bell, and then a short speech from someone from a local business that contributed money to the celebration. All that took about 20 minutes. THEN an Army Chaplain came up to pray the invocation, so we could eat. Well, another seven minutes later... (probably the longest "invocation" I've ever sat through) we dug into the now-wilting salad.
So about 30 minutes have passed, and we're just now beginning dinner. Not too bad, because we are about one-third through the program.
The first thing on the real agenda was introducing the head table. There were, I would estimate, about 40 of them - three rows that spanned the entire end of the room. OK. NOW we have "Opening Remarks"... I'm quoting the program here. This is over halfway down the program. Well, this is the first dude since the preacher that loves to hear himself talk. I think he was a from the National Veterans Administration, because he gave us MANY statistics about the Veterans' Hospitals in this country, of which this guy has visited 26 or 27. He can't remember. But he did have a LOT of statistics about how many more patients are served today than a year ago, and the percentages of people that get appointments within a month, and on and on. It was after 8:00 by now, and people were beginning to leave. I thought they were going to the restroom, but they didn't return, so I deduced they had left. Well... 15 or 20 minutes of "opening remarks" that consisted of lists of statistics probably was putting them to sleep. I needed another glass of wine.
He FINALLY shut up and sat down, and the "SPEAKER" was introduced. THIS dude was awesome. The keynote speaker was well spoken, clear, had a great Morgan Freeman voice, and spoke about eight minutes and sat down. (Doing better!)
After that, it began falling apart. There was a "Minuteman Award" given by the ROA president, who apparently hadn't read her speech ahead of time, and stumbled over words, hesitated between words, and ended up giving such a disjointed award that I'm not really sure what the Minuteman Award is. It was presented to some Congresswoman, who gave a loud and long, aggressive political speech about what the Republicans need to do, now that they're in the majority, preceded by introducing all her family and staff, who were in the audience, and telling us what all they've done for her and her office. I didn't time it, because I truly thought she was going to say something like, "This is an honor. Thank you," and sit down. Oh NOOOOOOO...
By now it was about 9:30, and we were still several agenda items from the end of the program. More people left. I was still there with two gentlemen at my table I didn't know, and the tables around me were almost empty.
Then they went off the program and presented the "Soaring Eagle" award to Catherine Roberts, founder of the Quilts of Valor Foundation. She couldn't be there, so some other woman accepted the award for her. There was a very nice bio of Ms. Roberts in the program, and the woman pointed out that this bio didn't tell the "whole story", so she proceeded to read a comprehensive bio and story of how Quilts of Valor came to be, how and why the name was changed several times before the last name was chosen, and ended with some statistics about how many have been awarded and why. Her speech was approximately 20 minutes, I think.
The next item was the "Screaming Eagle" Awards. Mayor Bell's father, a WWII veteran, received one, and Dick Cole got one. THEN Congressman Spencer Bacchus got one. Now, I'm not getting political here. This isn't the venue for that. I admire and respect Congressman Bacchus for all the hard work he has done for veterans. Among other things, he was instrumental in getting the National Cemetery in Montevallo for Alabama. That said, he is probably the worst speaker I've ever heard. He has a squeaky voice, and he can't make a sentence without 3 or 4 "ers" or "uhs" ... almost like listening to a stutterer. On top of that, he is redundant, and drones on for seemingly hours on end. OK.. I exaggerate, but not much. More people left. I would estimate that over half the people had left by now. Most of the middle 30 or so tables were empty.
FINALLY came the National Veteran Award presentation, to Senator Bob Dole. Senator Dole is unable to travel after his stroke, but a couple of people read why he was chosen for the award, and why he couldn't be there to receive it. Last March, a contingent of the Committee had gone to Washington to present it to Sen. Dole, and recorded the event.
On video, Mark Ryan, President of National Veterans Day in Birmingham, was shown, along with Senator Dole (in a wheelchair) and guess who... Congressman Spencer Bacchus.
Mark read the same thing on video he had just read live to us, but explaining that the REAL award was like the Heissman Cup. It has recipients' names engraved on it, and Sen. Dole will be added to the ranks of veterans such as DD Eisenhower, General Bradley, etc. He read about 8 of them. If they had let Sen. Dole say thank you at that point, it would have been perfect. But Congressman Bacchus was there. He started in and in his squeaky, stuttering voice, talked for about ten minutes. His redundancy and repeating things in one-syllable words made it look like he thought Sen. Dole was either 5 years old, or was retarded.
Before Sen Dole could speak, a woman appeared where Bacchus had been, and began reading the same Quilts of Valor bio the lady at the banquet had read. OMG! (At the back of the room, people were streaming out like it was a fire drill or something. The back tables had pretty much emptied.) She then presented Sen. Dole with a beautiful Quilt of Valor, explaining what the pattern was, and taking her cue from Bacchus, asked if she could wrap him in the quilt, and explained that "It's how we do it. It's our tradition to wrap the quilt around the warrior who receives it."
At 10:30, Senator Dole said (basically), "Thank you for this award. Thank you for this blanket. I served under General Eisenhower, and it is an honor to be listed here with him."
Thankfully, someone stopped the tape at that point. More people were leaving and as I looked around at those still at tables, it was mostly the head tables, although a couple of them had also left.
The ending would have been great, because the band was still in the lobby, the cash bar was still open, and Mark invited everyone to go and dance - the band will play until ...
If everyone hadn't turned into a pumpkin by then, it would have been perfect to regather out there, have a drink, dance a bit, and go home happy. As it was, the few people still there were dragging to the parking deck. A man who happened to be in the elevator with me asked, "Did you enjoy the evening?" I said, "Well, up to a point." not knowing who he was, or what connection he might have. But he said, "It could have been a coupla hours shorter and I would have REALLY enjoyed it." All I could say to that was, "Me too."
To begin with, the "reception" before the event was open to everyone. The hors d'oeuvres were simple, but elegant and plentiful. There was a cash bar for everyone, and the VIPs got a "one free drink" card. That made everyone feel special and welcome. There was a band playing cocktail music, and people were mingling, talking and laughing in the huge lobby of the ballroom. Perfect start to the evening!
At 1845, the ballroom doors opened, and people started making their way into the banquet. VSOs sell blocks of banquet tickets to their members. That is because the members of your American Legion Post want to sit together. I am a member of several organizations, so this year I chose to sit with BSSFI. There are 8 people to a table, so I knew we would have several tables. Well, it turned out "we" had one table. Eight members were assigned to that table. The other 10 or so of us were scattered throughout the room. I was at a table with seven people I didn't know. What are the odds of that?? I probably knew about 150 of the attendees, and not a single one of them was even within hollering range of my table.
In the meantime, members of the other VSOs to which I belong were saying, "Why are you over here by yourself?" I had no answer. I did meet four delightful young ladies at my table (who left just after the second hour was finished). I will say that they had a new ticket person this year, but one would think that he would have placed blocks of people from the same organization near each other, not spread out all over the room.
But that was ok. We weren't there to talk anyway.
The program started appropriately with the presentation of the colors, followed by the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance. Then everyone sat, and there was a welcoming speech, then some words of wisdom from Mayor Bell, and then a short speech from someone from a local business that contributed money to the celebration. All that took about 20 minutes. THEN an Army Chaplain came up to pray the invocation, so we could eat. Well, another seven minutes later... (probably the longest "invocation" I've ever sat through) we dug into the now-wilting salad.
So about 30 minutes have passed, and we're just now beginning dinner. Not too bad, because we are about one-third through the program.
The first thing on the real agenda was introducing the head table. There were, I would estimate, about 40 of them - three rows that spanned the entire end of the room. OK. NOW we have "Opening Remarks"... I'm quoting the program here. This is over halfway down the program. Well, this is the first dude since the preacher that loves to hear himself talk. I think he was a from the National Veterans Administration, because he gave us MANY statistics about the Veterans' Hospitals in this country, of which this guy has visited 26 or 27. He can't remember. But he did have a LOT of statistics about how many more patients are served today than a year ago, and the percentages of people that get appointments within a month, and on and on. It was after 8:00 by now, and people were beginning to leave. I thought they were going to the restroom, but they didn't return, so I deduced they had left. Well... 15 or 20 minutes of "opening remarks" that consisted of lists of statistics probably was putting them to sleep. I needed another glass of wine.
He FINALLY shut up and sat down, and the "SPEAKER" was introduced. THIS dude was awesome. The keynote speaker was well spoken, clear, had a great Morgan Freeman voice, and spoke about eight minutes and sat down. (Doing better!)
After that, it began falling apart. There was a "Minuteman Award" given by the ROA president, who apparently hadn't read her speech ahead of time, and stumbled over words, hesitated between words, and ended up giving such a disjointed award that I'm not really sure what the Minuteman Award is. It was presented to some Congresswoman, who gave a loud and long, aggressive political speech about what the Republicans need to do, now that they're in the majority, preceded by introducing all her family and staff, who were in the audience, and telling us what all they've done for her and her office. I didn't time it, because I truly thought she was going to say something like, "This is an honor. Thank you," and sit down. Oh NOOOOOOO...
By now it was about 9:30, and we were still several agenda items from the end of the program. More people left. I was still there with two gentlemen at my table I didn't know, and the tables around me were almost empty.
Then they went off the program and presented the "Soaring Eagle" award to Catherine Roberts, founder of the Quilts of Valor Foundation. She couldn't be there, so some other woman accepted the award for her. There was a very nice bio of Ms. Roberts in the program, and the woman pointed out that this bio didn't tell the "whole story", so she proceeded to read a comprehensive bio and story of how Quilts of Valor came to be, how and why the name was changed several times before the last name was chosen, and ended with some statistics about how many have been awarded and why. Her speech was approximately 20 minutes, I think.
The next item was the "Screaming Eagle" Awards. Mayor Bell's father, a WWII veteran, received one, and Dick Cole got one. THEN Congressman Spencer Bacchus got one. Now, I'm not getting political here. This isn't the venue for that. I admire and respect Congressman Bacchus for all the hard work he has done for veterans. Among other things, he was instrumental in getting the National Cemetery in Montevallo for Alabama. That said, he is probably the worst speaker I've ever heard. He has a squeaky voice, and he can't make a sentence without 3 or 4 "ers" or "uhs" ... almost like listening to a stutterer. On top of that, he is redundant, and drones on for seemingly hours on end. OK.. I exaggerate, but not much. More people left. I would estimate that over half the people had left by now. Most of the middle 30 or so tables were empty.
FINALLY came the National Veteran Award presentation, to Senator Bob Dole. Senator Dole is unable to travel after his stroke, but a couple of people read why he was chosen for the award, and why he couldn't be there to receive it. Last March, a contingent of the Committee had gone to Washington to present it to Sen. Dole, and recorded the event.
On video, Mark Ryan, President of National Veterans Day in Birmingham, was shown, along with Senator Dole (in a wheelchair) and guess who... Congressman Spencer Bacchus.
Mark read the same thing on video he had just read live to us, but explaining that the REAL award was like the Heissman Cup. It has recipients' names engraved on it, and Sen. Dole will be added to the ranks of veterans such as DD Eisenhower, General Bradley, etc. He read about 8 of them. If they had let Sen. Dole say thank you at that point, it would have been perfect. But Congressman Bacchus was there. He started in and in his squeaky, stuttering voice, talked for about ten minutes. His redundancy and repeating things in one-syllable words made it look like he thought Sen. Dole was either 5 years old, or was retarded.
Before Sen Dole could speak, a woman appeared where Bacchus had been, and began reading the same Quilts of Valor bio the lady at the banquet had read. OMG! (At the back of the room, people were streaming out like it was a fire drill or something. The back tables had pretty much emptied.) She then presented Sen. Dole with a beautiful Quilt of Valor, explaining what the pattern was, and taking her cue from Bacchus, asked if she could wrap him in the quilt, and explained that "It's how we do it. It's our tradition to wrap the quilt around the warrior who receives it."
At 10:30, Senator Dole said (basically), "Thank you for this award. Thank you for this blanket. I served under General Eisenhower, and it is an honor to be listed here with him."
Thankfully, someone stopped the tape at that point. More people were leaving and as I looked around at those still at tables, it was mostly the head tables, although a couple of them had also left.
The ending would have been great, because the band was still in the lobby, the cash bar was still open, and Mark invited everyone to go and dance - the band will play until ...
If everyone hadn't turned into a pumpkin by then, it would have been perfect to regather out there, have a drink, dance a bit, and go home happy. As it was, the few people still there were dragging to the parking deck. A man who happened to be in the elevator with me asked, "Did you enjoy the evening?" I said, "Well, up to a point." not knowing who he was, or what connection he might have. But he said, "It could have been a coupla hours shorter and I would have REALLY enjoyed it." All I could say to that was, "Me too."
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Dude, dont f*** with my children
My roof was leaking. My boss, Libby, gave me the name and number of a handiman who is honest and works hard and is reasonably priced. I called him and hired him for the roof leaks. That was a year ago. Now I call him whenever some other little handiman job comes up and I can find a few bucks to pay him.
Well, one night after he painted a bedroom, we went to Miss Myra's BBQ place down the street for a sandwich. Nothing romantic, I assure you. we went "dutch", but Libby teases me incessantly about it. Just in fun, mind you... but I'm thinking this dude also thinks there may be something more down the road. But that's another story...
Anyway, yesterday he came over and worked a bit on replacing some wood on the eaves. Aaron's friend, Beagle, came over and Dude latched onto him and told him to get on that other ladder and help hold the wood up. After that was finished, he told him to get a rake and start cleaning out around the house where old roofing tile had fallen. Well, Beagle isn't a handiman. He's a drummer, for Pete's sake. It was a humid 103 degrees in the shade. After about 45 minutes, Beagle had to come inside and get a drink of water and cool off. Said he felt faint. (so did I).
Well, after Beagle left, Dude had all these derogatory comments about Beagle (who might as well be one of my children). "He's 30 years old. He oughta be in better shape." "I think he wimped out on me." "He needs to work out. He can't work 5 minutes."
I was very irritated. "He's a drummer, not a yardman," I said. "He is a skilled musician, not a weight lifter," I said.
Dude copped an attitude with me. "Well, at his age he could at least work out. Get in better shape."
"He doesn't need to. He doesn't play the drums on top of a ladder in 100 degree weather. It's NOT WHAT HE DOES!"
I'm not sure I'm having Dude back. I'm not paying him to have him insult my children, especially after he practically forced Beagle to work anyway. Beagle was there to burn a CD.
Is this mother henism?
Well, one night after he painted a bedroom, we went to Miss Myra's BBQ place down the street for a sandwich. Nothing romantic, I assure you. we went "dutch", but Libby teases me incessantly about it. Just in fun, mind you... but I'm thinking this dude also thinks there may be something more down the road. But that's another story...
Anyway, yesterday he came over and worked a bit on replacing some wood on the eaves. Aaron's friend, Beagle, came over and Dude latched onto him and told him to get on that other ladder and help hold the wood up. After that was finished, he told him to get a rake and start cleaning out around the house where old roofing tile had fallen. Well, Beagle isn't a handiman. He's a drummer, for Pete's sake. It was a humid 103 degrees in the shade. After about 45 minutes, Beagle had to come inside and get a drink of water and cool off. Said he felt faint. (so did I).
Well, after Beagle left, Dude had all these derogatory comments about Beagle (who might as well be one of my children). "He's 30 years old. He oughta be in better shape." "I think he wimped out on me." "He needs to work out. He can't work 5 minutes."
I was very irritated. "He's a drummer, not a yardman," I said. "He is a skilled musician, not a weight lifter," I said.
Dude copped an attitude with me. "Well, at his age he could at least work out. Get in better shape."
"He doesn't need to. He doesn't play the drums on top of a ladder in 100 degree weather. It's NOT WHAT HE DOES!"
I'm not sure I'm having Dude back. I'm not paying him to have him insult my children, especially after he practically forced Beagle to work anyway. Beagle was there to burn a CD.
Is this mother henism?
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