tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2345645611759209472024-02-21T11:47:34.199-05:00slowertimesOne day I went off the beaten path and saw my initials on the road next to this sign.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-65408741404424619662020-10-25T08:38:00.004-04:002020-10-25T08:38:51.695-04:00Recipes + Memories<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFPsY-z1YkVjbvbZsnQBMZGr5rJTg-BQp2YH6BJGA8-_IgEN_0XW0HPErxpxpVotz4TVu4eUVf-R_Odrg23s8shNSDq5hXrNHv_WfukIVsB-I43Gm0sYx7TZ5AFmLo63o2DpsHNhpnAeV/s288/PXL_20201025_121955862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFPsY-z1YkVjbvbZsnQBMZGr5rJTg-BQp2YH6BJGA8-_IgEN_0XW0HPErxpxpVotz4TVu4eUVf-R_Odrg23s8shNSDq5hXrNHv_WfukIVsB-I43Gm0sYx7TZ5AFmLo63o2DpsHNhpnAeV/s0/PXL_20201025_121955862.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It seems AMAZING that I still make this recipe our neighbor, Betty Neale, gave my mother about 65 years ago. I also make Eric Carlson's skirt steak though the recipe doesn't carry his name. The Carlsons and the Neales were our Bel Forest neighbors in Bellevue, Washington, along with the Madisons, and the Nelsons, cousins who lived across the street. Not a surprise that recipes - especially eponymous ones on well-worn cards - are invested with so many memories. But I enjoy taking time to think about our childhood neighborhood and friends like Susanna Neale with whom I exchange holiday cards. I wonder about those with whom our family has lost touch and think about one of our across the street cousins who died not long ago. Our family reconnected with the Carlsons in the 1960's when both families lived in the Chicago suburbs. The Madisons introduced us to their Washington state college friends the Stotts, who became lifelong friends when we moved from Bellevue to Connecticut where they had also relocated. Meandering thoughts...all prompted by a recipe card for the rice I'll make this afternoon.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-85200981147684318282020-03-24T12:39:00.000-04:002020-03-25T09:58:57.503-04:00Lessons learnedThinking about lessons learned from two men whose lives intersected with mine many years ago. Like others I've taken advantage of this period of self-quarantine and social distancing to peruse a collection of memorabilia that seems to grow exponentially with age. Today I found this 1984 note from the late Sid Fischman. A former Board of Estimate & Taxation member, Sid offered his encouragement and support as my mayoral nomination to the same board headed to the City Council for a vote. I kept this as a reminder of how touched I was by his gesture and my realization of the importance of personal notes. Not long before leaving Connecticut I told Sid's son Eric about his father's influence on me through this simple kindness.<br />
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Earlier this morning I saw this photo of one of my former students in the online media. I met Ricky in the 1980's when he was in his 20's and he enrolled in a high school equivalency program I facilitated. At the time he worked as a receptionist at the local hospital. Ricky confidently and quickly completed the competency-based program earning a local high school diploma. He was a capable and engaging student, demonstrating proficiency in both the basic and life skills required for graduation. Some months or more later I saw Ricky on the streets of our town. He was obviously down and out and dealing with stuff. He greeted me warmly and said he hoped to get his act back together soon. In subsequent years when I saw Ricky - either in person or through the police blotter - I learned more about his demons, powerfully witnessing the ravages of mental illness and substance abuse on my remarkable student.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-63482779940910361972019-06-24T10:31:00.000-04:002019-06-24T10:31:04.055-04:00Connecting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It began when a woman about my age said she liked my outfit. We were sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, she with her daughter and me with my husband. I thanked her for the compliment noting this was the first time I’d worn these two vintage (actually just old) articles of clothing together. With news of the latest mass shooting on the nearby TV, she commented that it was such a tragedy children couldn’t go to school these days without fear. I nodded and she continued, saying that perhaps it was understandable. When I asked what she meant, she said as a Christian, good and evil were ever present in our lives and we could only hope for good to prevail. I nodded again suggesting gun control was certainly another factor. She told me that her father owned a gun and never put it in a locked cabinet because as children, she and her siblings would never have thought to touch the weapon or ammunition. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thus began one of the most meaningful 20-30 minute conversations I’ve ever had with a complete stranger and her daughter. Is it perhaps helpful to note they were African American, born and raised in the South? With laughter, smiles, questions back and forth, and nods of agreement, our conversation covered many subjects: being raised by a single parent (the daughter), parenting (all three of us), religion, race, public housing, income disparity, education, and politics. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I only wish I had gotten her name and contact information before she left to see the doctor and my husband returned. Powerfully inspired by this interaction I’m committed to being open to more opportunities like this, realizing how much I can learn from listening and learning from those who bring different experiences and perspectives than my own to important conversations. </span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-64450979273599882612019-06-14T12:05:00.001-04:002019-10-23T12:07:29.125-04:00Touching<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few days after my friend Amy made me smile when she wrote about my <i>drive-by hug </i>I received this envelope in the mail. Kathryn and I were neighbors in the 1980’s and our sons (now in their 40’s) used to have play dates. After divorcing in the 1990’s she returned to college, earned a degree, and realized her dream of living in Africa. A chronic illness prompted a move to Bangkok, Thailand where Kathryn continues to enjoy the life of an expat and Air BnB host. We’ve stayed in touch through email and social media so I wondered about the handwritten communication - perhaps my upcoming milestone birthday? She wrote to thank me for the small but apparently meaningful ways I supported her efforts to become the person she is today. Reading and re-reading her note, I thought about the connection between significant objects and small gestures. Both the artifacts and the touches can have powerful long-term impact. Sometimes it’s simply a case of seeing the best in people when they don’t see the good in themselves. I thought about the people whose small touches have stayed with me for many, many years – Georgia, Meg, Joanie, Cheryl, and so many others. Touches can be comments, explanations, nods, suggestions, or simple hugs. They give pause for thought, prompt smiles, and last forever like an eternal time-release capsule, a precious gift indeed.</span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-86881187794670367292019-06-09T11:47:00.000-04:002019-06-14T12:10:15.485-04:00Aunts & Uncles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After we moved I decided to give my three nieces, daughter and daughter-in-law several spoons from this collection. Grandpa Ole’s sister, Tante Trine, gave us this traditional Norwegian pattern as a wedding present almost 50 years ago. <span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My aunts and uncles were beloved. Maybe I cherished them so much because I was cherished (along with my two younger brothers) for the first seven years of my life, before they began their own families, before we moved from the Pacific Northwest to suburban NYC. Together we road horses on Cannon Beach, sorted buttons, baked cookies, hiked trails, etc. But most of all, they were present in my life, talking to me like I understood, and listening attentively to what I had to say. In hindsight I can see that they were able to fill in some gaps while my mother raised three active young children and my dad traveled for work. I always hoped that in different ways and given the challenges of distance I could be that kind of presence in my nieces’ and nephews’ lives. </span><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms"; font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-26108009915540421392017-07-07T15:40:00.000-04:002017-07-07T15:40:02.392-04:00Significant Objects
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last weekend when our son and his family visited, he described his recent efforts to “purge” his home of things he no longer wanted
or needed.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I listened and nodded
without commenting because that is generally what the mother of a 40 year old should do. But my mind meandered to <a href="http://significantobjects.com/">significant objects</a>, something I've </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">been thinking about since reading a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/12/garden/at-home-with-joshua-glenn-of-the-significant-objects-project.html">NY Times article </a>five years ago.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The idea is that some things only
become valued and even valuable when one tells stories about them. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So while I agree about the benefits of getting
rid of unnecessary stuff, I believe in keeping the memories alive with
photos and stories.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My son’s visit inspired me to get rid of
a few books (three) and remind myself why I’m keeping two others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- When I retired the school librarians gave me a basket of books. Amy contributed "The Trouble with Poetry" by Billy Collins. I still enjoy reading the poems and treasure the sweet note tucked between the pages. This is a "keeper" ... for now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- I'm embarrassed to admit that I borrowed and never returned "Where did you go?" "Out" "What did you do?" "Nothing" from a church library in Park Ridge, Illinois. It reminds me of the best of the 1960's when I was part of a youth group and our weekly volunteer work at Marillac House on Chicago's west side. Time to return this book to its rightful owner. (I don't think they collect fines.)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbryzbsFmAcjoRZzlGKoBggDb5ihkiyM9wlIIfp54euXma8VYYjkqxHYGKUNTMCgPBcfAtvPXkzIi4hV98A7lDLBZYi7aFHAUByA2qDM9CBlNAGqa1YPgYrPB7c-FsnquOyJvjDQYWT3G/s1600/nasusneslo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="67" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbryzbsFmAcjoRZzlGKoBggDb5ihkiyM9wlIIfp54euXma8VYYjkqxHYGKUNTMCgPBcfAtvPXkzIi4hV98A7lDLBZYi7aFHAUByA2qDM9CBlNAGqa1YPgYrPB7c-FsnquOyJvjDQYWT3G/s200/nasusneslo.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">- I'm ready to donate the two books my Aunti Randi and Uncle Roger gave me after capturing one of inside pages for posterity (nasus neslo = susan olsen spelled backwards). I think I got a small printing set that Christmas along with the book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- For several years the adults in my family drew names for a holiday gift exchange. In 2004 my mother's husband, Bob, drew my name. This cookbook is special not only because of the outstanding recipes (lobster asparagus risotto is a favorite) but also for Bob's lovely note.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-22036668929873493962015-06-08T06:40:00.000-04:002015-06-08T15:07:27.171-04:00Words Matter <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnpXoO7AwnBuLwHjxtJurB4nwCf8jf6TEhXoC780rJEOPn1V01wPkYeTphEJ2b5UVgK7RjTugLuGD-HE0Ff1BqG4RGM1waXEu28fUWbjGdhg5S6EmQSjUw7PAaubrIlVSzYu5qFQTGsN0/s1600/IMG_20150608_053527424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnpXoO7AwnBuLwHjxtJurB4nwCf8jf6TEhXoC780rJEOPn1V01wPkYeTphEJ2b5UVgK7RjTugLuGD-HE0Ff1BqG4RGM1waXEu28fUWbjGdhg5S6EmQSjUw7PAaubrIlVSzYu5qFQTGsN0/s1600/IMG_20150608_053527424.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Not long ago I reached out to someone I'd never met about helping with program for students in a local arts program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman commented that she
appreciated the opportunity to work with young people, especially those who are
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">underserved</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This conversation reminded me of the
power of language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also
reminded me about our community’s current public discussion about having
certain neighborhoods officially designated as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slums </i>in order to meet federal funding guidelines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">As an educator, I made a shift from
compensating for students’ deficits to identifying and building on their strengths.
Not much different from what the wrestling coach taught my son about how
to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">build a base</i>. I began to use <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">people first</i> language and replaced one
word with another:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">children with disabilities</i> rather than <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">disabled children</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">accessible </i>rather than <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">handicapped,</i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">typical</i> rather than <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">normal.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">As a lover and teacher of languages I have
always been fascinated with idiomatic expressions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do the French describe someone as an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">elephant </i>rather than a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bull</i> in a china shop?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While English speakers <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">let grass grow under their feet, </i>Russians<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> wait by the sea for the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></i>There’s even research about how language reflects and shapes
perceptions of the world</span></div>
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But language is just the beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Choosing our words is little more than
an attempt at being politically correct unless we also think about how language
reflects new and different ways of thinking and acting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-72563231050349717192015-04-26T06:04:00.000-04:002015-04-26T06:04:15.542-04:00The Gift of Siblings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fTBQq49LzTsg4NERO3AtHmgFXzOs6ExNZqhwaMNftZmG7i9qQcu3FpYKf9cq321sGDkVXkrHdUo48oOo4WzSs1WGvq5xSWWuZvVdYqbqBhZ4g9asnyQ8mdabDafL9KFTuNRcI7rBnJ36/s1600/SRA@beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fTBQq49LzTsg4NERO3AtHmgFXzOs6ExNZqhwaMNftZmG7i9qQcu3FpYKf9cq321sGDkVXkrHdUo48oOo4WzSs1WGvq5xSWWuZvVdYqbqBhZ4g9asnyQ8mdabDafL9KFTuNRcI7rBnJ36/s1600/SRA@beach.JPG" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Andy, Susie & Rolf circa 1957. Almost two years ago NY Times op ed columnist Frank Bruni wrote a terrific piece, "<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/26/opinion/sunday/bruni-the-gift-of-siblings.html?_r=0">The Gift of Siblings."</a> I especially l liked this quote: <i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 23px;">Siblings are the only relatives, and perhaps the only people you’ll ever know, who are with you through the entire arc of your life (Jeffrey Kluger </span><a href="http://www.salon.com/2011/09/10/siblings_interview/" style="color: #326891; line-height: 23px;">observed to Salon</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 23px;"> in 2011, the year his book “The Sibling Effect” was published).</span></i></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-19621304294240787172015-04-25T17:40:00.001-04:002015-06-08T06:33:54.640-04:00Marginalized<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Marginalized<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">:</i></span></b></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">§<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Treat (a person, group, or concept) as insignificant or
peripheral, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">attempting to marginalize those who disagree</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Google)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #424242; font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">§<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #424242; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">To relegate to an unimportant or powerless position within
a society or group. (Merriam Webster)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It’s not surprising to learn
from Googling around that more people than ever are using the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">marginalized</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It certainly describes my feelings these days. Shortly after
I retired five years ago, I decided to reconnect with my local political party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Before c</span>ompleting a Ph.D.
program and taking on a demanding job in a nearby community, I had served the
party and city for almost 20 years as an elected member of the Common Council,
Chair of the Board of Estimate and Taxation, appointed member and officer of
the regional planning association, member of a Charter Revision Commission, member
and officer of the party’s town committee, and chair of my district committee. I
learned quickly that my interest was misguided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New party activists who openly practiced age discrimination
and less seasoned veterans were in a reform-minded place which seemed to brand
anyone who had been around as long as I had, “part of the problem.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Rules.</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many attempts to win friends and
influence people failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t
that I didn’t get a sympathetic ear most of the time, just that others knew
what they were going to do, how they were going to do it, and there wasn’t a
place for me in the plan. Along the way I experienced a problem with party rules
which resulted in a complaint to the state level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I offered to help re-write the party rules with a group
that had apparently been working on this for some time but my offer was
declined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I renewed my efforts over the years with no success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Last fall I volunteered again in response to an email invitation but
heard nothing more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally attended a
meeting in February 2015.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
this meeting my questions about who else was supposed to be on the committee
and whether the leaders had copies of prior complaints to State Central were
rebuffed, at one point described as “stupid.” When several of us tried to help by creating a “red-line” version of the work that had been done,
we were told it was too confusing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When a member said angrily that “only certain people should be allowed to
serve on this committee,” the other member and I took our cue and left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The experience gave me insights into the ways some people view rules as a way to control and manipulate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;">I think of social justice and civil rights as a
journey not a destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
not something that can be achieved solely through legislation, proclamation or
war. I get it – right now, there is increased tension and unrest in
our country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately it seems
to have taken needless, tragic deaths to refocus people’s attention on the work
that still needs to be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
has also been a major change in people of color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New immigrants from many countries,
multi-racial citizens, and Latinos have joined African Americans, who typically have deeper, personal understandings of our country’s flawed history and incomplete
civil rights efforts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of redefining
the agenda and beginning the difficult but important work, too many people seem
to be stuck in blame. They seem to operate as if old school identity politics is the
only way to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately that
leaves people like me on the sidelines, marginalized because of skin color. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Religion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;">If current racial tensions are
sensitive and painful, it becomes even more confusing and frustrating when
religion enters the picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happened to the separation between church and state?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do people believe that convening prominent,
predominantly Christian ministers to lead public community prayers is the best
way to move forward with tackling issues of racism, incivility and injustice?
What about those of us who feel marginalized by this approach?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there any evidence that people who
engage in public prayer come away better able to build a more just
and civil society, or to deal with interpersonal anger and violence?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While time marches on and school
children move from one grade to the next, many who see themselves as
disenfranchised seem to spend more time praying, venting and blaming than working with those who might bring wisdom, experience, and talent to
dealing with social justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Respect.</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some years I’ve been interested in
civility, specifically its erosion in public discourse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why one of my first retirement
ventures involved organizing and convening several community conversations
about civility:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What does it mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do we experience civility (or lack
thereof) in Norwalk? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The past
president of the Association of Opinion Journalists joined us one evening, another time the author of “Saving Civility” shared her work. Great conversations, helpful ideas, and it
was heartening to hear more people talk about how important civility is,
especially for governance and to promote adults serving as role models for young people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However instead of really thinking
about what it takes to change culture and behavior, boards of education,
legislatures and councils, even governors began adopting civility guidelines or
making public events out of signing civility pledges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">walk</i>
needs catch up with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">talk</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good public policies need to have some
kind of built-in accountability or monitoring system to see if they’re having
any impact on how we treat and speak with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good news, an unscientific analysis
suggests people are at least thinking and talking about civility more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My feelings of
marginalization are based on recent personal experiences with rules, race,
religion and respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
experiences have been powerful, sometimes painful, and often demoralizing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at the end of the day I am a
positive, resilient person who derives strength from my work with young people
and reminding myself of what it means to have come of age in the 60’s. At the end of the day, this is not about me, but how my experiences and feelings may be similar to those of many others who are on the path to disengaging from participatory democracy - or sadder yet, who have already opted out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-28747266647653353112014-10-23T09:08:00.004-04:002014-10-23T09:45:44.124-04:00Braiding Ideas<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiNDnGKDe7N6bmcaxwm8JUyXLCXZ-311HKk_Gda159B97svr7Q6eOBQ2ordlvXyHgtdb7RktM1C2Yw5NcuNLT0a0jNuVAwzvpf0wzQPD-k7xcJjZDFFg4Q5YK8Fxt0ZN-LqBaOlWfDqCY/s1600/Braid.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiNDnGKDe7N6bmcaxwm8JUyXLCXZ-311HKk_Gda159B97svr7Q6eOBQ2ordlvXyHgtdb7RktM1C2Yw5NcuNLT0a0jNuVAwzvpf0wzQPD-k7xcJjZDFFg4Q5YK8Fxt0ZN-LqBaOlWfDqCY/s1600/Braid.png" height="125" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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Braiding usually involves taking three strands of hair,
three ribbons, three pieces of string, weaving them into a single thread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some years ago I became intrigued when
a workshop presenter talked about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">composting
</i>ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning I found
myself thinking about health care, public education, and baby boomers and
realized I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">braiding</i>.</div>
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With increasing frequency – twice over the past few days –
I’ve heard people bemoan the fact that going to the doctor now feels so
impersonal, like being a small cog in someone’s out-of-control machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From personal experience in
public education I know many teachers feel oppressed by a system which has
turned them into data collection portals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And boomers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just yesterday
in a large planning group Gen Xers bemoaned what they described as an outdated
boomer-driven mindsets about economic development.</div>
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Then I read a wonderful NY Times <a href="http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/10/18/why-doctors-need-stories/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0">opinionator</a>
piece about the value and importance of doctors’ stories to round out what can
be gleaned from data, and how the trend has been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to squeeze the art out of its science</i>. This was the first thread in
my braid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next I thought about how
much teachers would appreciate an invitation to add their stories to the vast
student information databases, and to have these stories valued along with the
numbers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the second
thread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And finally, I thought
about who seems to have been most responsible for shifting medicine and
education away from admittedly incomplete anecdotal stories toward technology-facilitated
numbers – not the boomers, but Gen-X.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Of course those of us who are boomers must take some responsibility for
having raised our Gen-X children.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I contend, we are not the ones defining public policy,
other than by virtue of our sheer numbers.</div>
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So my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">idea braid</i>
suggests that there is a real benefit to finding ways to capture and add
vignettes to our public policy data sets; and that we would benefit from
spending more time thinking about how the different generations’ dispositions inform
our past, present and future, rather than dismissing valuable perspectives and
experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sounds so 60’s doesn’t
it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Makes sense since Peter D. Kramer (b. 1948),
author of the article, and I (b.1949) are both boomers.</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-67280490647926320492013-10-10T13:49:00.000-04:002013-10-10T13:49:28.484-04:00The thing about apple crisp...Yesterday I posted a picture on Facebook of the apple-pear crisp I made. The ladies who prepared lunch in my elementary school cafeteria set the apple crisp standard for me - a perfect balance of fruit and crunch. In those days they actually cooked the food from scratch at North Mianus! Some years later I found this topping in a recipe for fresh rhubarb crisp and I've used it ever since: 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup raw rolled oats, 1 cup light brown sugar, 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine. Sometimes I use granola for part of the oats and reduce the sugar.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXUXBDTepzjHVy5X3gct3pZ6sbdYmq9Jv_4MBRg7GDd7zdZ1ZLAEcGAH2Rj6aynV5TfcSXwxZOMfHEC776VBkzbL7dGOgCdNZw9bS5hQCKT8s5Dhyphenhyphen5QIKBBnHU6HPGW0NLik7o_ZIEb16/s1600/Fruit2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXUXBDTepzjHVy5X3gct3pZ6sbdYmq9Jv_4MBRg7GDd7zdZ1ZLAEcGAH2Rj6aynV5TfcSXwxZOMfHEC776VBkzbL7dGOgCdNZw9bS5hQCKT8s5Dhyphenhyphen5QIKBBnHU6HPGW0NLik7o_ZIEb16/s1600/Fruit2.jpg" height="130" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was also inspired by a special fruit delivery from my friend, Ikuko. Last week she dropped off a few Asian pears and yesterday she delivered some Mutsu apples along with a dozen Italian prune plums. I think she got them at <a href="http://www.bluejayorchardsct.com/">Blue Jay Orchard.</a> I decided make a plum torte (<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/21/dining/216frex.html?_r=0">Marian Burros' recipe </a>is the best) but wanted a way to easily share tomorrow with my former colleague, Pat. I decided to try making small, individual tortes rather than the larger one described in the recipe. Here's the result. Not bad but I think next time I will cut the plums in smaller pieces and try to arrange them more <i>artfully</i>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihcZnC39VVTx5eTIfp94-re5vJMYMWyaI2p3PkYRoUP7By4iihXW5yMwFJUykisN7JVMZ9-sJ3P6_JH6Wioe-hyojRZ2FdhhsJ5HmMYC1h98xk5pfXt1EvS-bwo1FXmbOBaCR9hsnEOzH9/s1600/plumtorte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihcZnC39VVTx5eTIfp94-re5vJMYMWyaI2p3PkYRoUP7By4iihXW5yMwFJUykisN7JVMZ9-sJ3P6_JH6Wioe-hyojRZ2FdhhsJ5HmMYC1h98xk5pfXt1EvS-bwo1FXmbOBaCR9hsnEOzH9/s1600/plumtorte.jpg" height="176" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-59538544671043594232013-04-17T12:31:00.000-04:002013-04-17T12:31:17.051-04:00Aunti Randi's Curry Kit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSa2c2HWx6EK75w8KBebwrzIvoqoKawf9lC9F_gL4cxqt18kfxqNwX3FcLTMm1o6uMDQCLsjtfTLlJX4OlsW-z3sTfx7UylUEL0AsRsMxko5jNOsc8cyviv_ZfUE2ygpmCk5EK3VH0Qe1D/s1600/Curry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSa2c2HWx6EK75w8KBebwrzIvoqoKawf9lC9F_gL4cxqt18kfxqNwX3FcLTMm1o6uMDQCLsjtfTLlJX4OlsW-z3sTfx7UylUEL0AsRsMxko5jNOsc8cyviv_ZfUE2ygpmCk5EK3VH0Qe1D/s1600/Curry.jpg" /></a></div>
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Last May I went to Sandpoint, Idaho to be part of a loving bedside vigil for Aunti Randi, my mother's younger sister. She passed from this life as she had requested, looking out on the Pend Oreille River, surrounded by family and friends. During our stay, my cousins and I explored Aunti Randi's pantry and freezer - in part to see what was available for mealtime, but also as cultural anthropologists, investigating the ways artifacts reveal people's lives. We were not surprised to find bags of frozen rhubarb and berries, key ingredients in her famous Rhurazz jam. We noted a large basket in the pantry marked "curry fixings." Randi learned how to make curry early on in her marriage to please Uncle Roger who was born and raised in India, the son of medical missionaries. Several days ago I received a box in the mail from my Seattle cousins after they cleared out Aunti Randi's home before it was sold. Powerful smells and fond memories of curry dinners long ago flooded my senses. Proust had his madeleines but I have Aunti Randi's curry kit!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-55792186186334780752013-03-08T10:43:00.003-05:002013-03-08T10:43:41.099-05:00Did I used to be like this?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikutSYNgfbQACTHBzjBTaWUiFU7_5b1HYwv67tjpH_J73U8bFXo3YfY_thbhRyHW9un7L0_NUUmKEJrCh8Yc2wd77tV2AWiMHKF87H2rufSe_okkppGfdoVciY3W5J9QbtPL7Td0nO9IPI/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-03-08+at+10.11.03+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikutSYNgfbQACTHBzjBTaWUiFU7_5b1HYwv67tjpH_J73U8bFXo3YfY_thbhRyHW9un7L0_NUUmKEJrCh8Yc2wd77tV2AWiMHKF87H2rufSe_okkppGfdoVciY3W5J9QbtPL7Td0nO9IPI/s320/Screen+shot+2013-03-08+at+10.11.03+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
I've been interested in ethics ever since I took a graduate course many years go. The take away for me then was that there is a difference between ethical and legal. I also enjoy reading The Ethicist in the Sunday Times Magazine. As a school administrator I sometimes got involved with interpreting and enforcing our town's code of ethics. Over time I became more and more convinced that most people really want to do the right thing, but sometimes they need a little help understanding the finer points of ethical behavior. Then there's the issue of perception vs. reality. So when I learned our local Ethics Board did not seem to be doing the work they were appointed to do, I offered my services. Time went by and nothing happened until two current members of the Board were proposed for reappointment. OK, I said to myself, it doesn't matter if I'm on the Board but is it a good idea to have people who haven't been doing their jobs continue? So I wrote a <a href="http://www.nancyonnorwalk.com/2013/02/will-council-conduct-business-as-usual-with-norwalk-board-of-ethics-vote/#comments">letter to the editor</a> expressing my consternation. Several weeks passed and I learned that my letter had apparently disqualified me from further consideration. "No problem," I said to the terrific elected official in his mid 30's, who conveyed what he described as "bad news." I told him not to worry, this was not about me! I felt I had done my civic duty by offering to serve and by highlighting what I viewed as the current board's shortcomings. He listened thoughtfully and apologized. I again stated, this was not about me. He repeated that he felt badly about being the bearer of bad news. After we ended our conversation I started wondering if I used to think the end game was about me rather than the well-being of our community. Sometimes getting older feels good.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-61323894361415990452012-11-22T11:54:00.002-05:002012-11-22T11:54:24.236-05:00My usual walkMy usual walk around the neighborhood is a 1.5 mile loop. The other day I thought about the people I know or have known who live along my route and how this contributes to my sense of being connected to my community. In the small world category is this house, previously owned by Mr. Schuman, my late 9th grade government teacher at Eastern Junior High in Greenwich. I particularly remember that class for three reasons: It was the first time we had a black classmate. Kennedy was assassinated that fall, and we moved to Chicago mid-year. One of my former high school students lives down the street and an elementary principal with whom I took graduate courses lives across the street.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS03lj0ZCAbFRCCS-rnpPc9_wS1msClsSVHe4mImzVf-Gw8Eoz5qA5zNIoxdtuus_lbrrFCWFYCiz6vmdQXjdRfg4ykcTdcQFXqm3A5Z-feuBtGo6xRmXCiUYO3s1wE6ycp_U2qSbGUhmJ/s1600/WalkSchum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS03lj0ZCAbFRCCS-rnpPc9_wS1msClsSVHe4mImzVf-Gw8Eoz5qA5zNIoxdtuus_lbrrFCWFYCiz6vmdQXjdRfg4ykcTdcQFXqm3A5Z-feuBtGo6xRmXCiUYO3s1wE6ycp_U2qSbGUhmJ/s320/WalkSchum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Just last month I performed a wedding in this house. As an elected Justice of the Peace, people contact me from time to time to ask about my availability and how much I charge (nothing). The Thai nanny who works in this home emailed me while I was traveling so I didn't respond. Shortly after our return she drove down our driveway one morning with her mother who was visiting from Thailand and the little girls she looks after. How could I say no? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBDTQc7D168fv_Jww7qItPqZk_2Y30QAsDgnL_qonaufVhOoh4ZU516hS8ewplr31P3OM9AXDk4rwZJERUt-kl07EUklo_75fvMlGoR9bJjghovvtI7W4JNIRBxRVgCw9eZrBMl43YRFF/s1600/Walkwedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBDTQc7D168fv_Jww7qItPqZk_2Y30QAsDgnL_qonaufVhOoh4ZU516hS8ewplr31P3OM9AXDk4rwZJERUt-kl07EUklo_75fvMlGoR9bJjghovvtI7W4JNIRBxRVgCw9eZrBMl43YRFF/s320/Walkwedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Someone once told me that this driveway on a street that forms a border between Norwalk and Westport leads to the lovely home where the jazz saxophonist Gerry Mulligan lived with the actress Sandy Dennis sometime between 1965 and 1973.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAmE0FC6INXynVb8gxrnCzpWAqOJWXr1Upnn7pOPble1KMJFTItcqhTaCcYCtmxWpIafinY5eMtZh6CTvE54uvxTTULtbh8fhjSEzOQqUevSvdmZX7qqG9T3Hv58iI1Sbq4W4L46MAclb/s1600/WalkDennisMulligan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAmE0FC6INXynVb8gxrnCzpWAqOJWXr1Upnn7pOPble1KMJFTItcqhTaCcYCtmxWpIafinY5eMtZh6CTvE54uvxTTULtbh8fhjSEzOQqUevSvdmZX7qqG9T3Hv58iI1Sbq4W4L46MAclb/s320/WalkDennisMulligan.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
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About two years ago a young couple bought this lovely house across the street. Even though Mrs. Donnelly --- the elderly widow who lived there for many years --- had a long driveway, our children always loved to trick or treat there because she was so clearly delighted to welcome them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjr-VNK3-2ZmpDlgFThUDrskThEgdUL0FeNoROM7Let-ByPE-SVVmy9tm0xaZHfqmrSdL-uTqfHgMHUGvWyI2mNQPr9V_mh0rdcoVKODUGGms-rRv0wQ2lWdnk8aMbd1OPu9HxWRAJcCU/s1600/Walkdonnelly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjr-VNK3-2ZmpDlgFThUDrskThEgdUL0FeNoROM7Let-ByPE-SVVmy9tm0xaZHfqmrSdL-uTqfHgMHUGvWyI2mNQPr9V_mh0rdcoVKODUGGms-rRv0wQ2lWdnk8aMbd1OPu9HxWRAJcCU/s320/Walkdonnelly.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-25336225857086483302012-11-22T11:21:00.004-05:002012-12-06T07:52:27.705-05:00Giving thanks 2012<div style="text-align: center;">
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This morning I volunteered to help my friend Marcia at the <b>Rowayton Turkey Trot</b>, a fundraiser for the <a href="http://www.rowaytonartscenter.org/">Rowayton Arts Center</a>. It was fun standing in the middle of the road in my orange vest, directing the runners where to turn at the intersection of Pennoyer St. and Rowayton Ave. I didn't notice until the end of my shift that the race organizers had drawn a turkey on the pavement at each intersection.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhr-XYRupcuHkMLU42_xIyjgxztGBcoqTRqYQTuRYquuNTeTIOllOr9-yTYUgAyrERBZfh1YQrXTFdLmF9dVbe5yEG8j6bM4obXYWJGvg59Yt7pQzSsRdKQ-WTfaXLCUndTNZV5kadZCXI/s1600/Turkeytrot11.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhr-XYRupcuHkMLU42_xIyjgxztGBcoqTRqYQTuRYquuNTeTIOllOr9-yTYUgAyrERBZfh1YQrXTFdLmF9dVbe5yEG8j6bM4obXYWJGvg59Yt7pQzSsRdKQ-WTfaXLCUndTNZV5kadZCXI/s200/Turkeytrot11.12.jpg" width="137" /></a></div>
Besides cheering on the racers, I suggested that what they were calling a <i>hill</i> around the corner was really just an incline. On my way home I passed a group of day laborers at their usual spot near the train station. Will they get any work today? Do they know it's Thanksgiving? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-51438119755343580062012-10-23T15:41:00.002-04:002012-10-23T15:41:45.054-04:00Charlie appreciates good art!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE92Fv-m1clRv63UGoxB80XsvOhGn7axnGlclB9mZ65MZ71XeJrLeX65TTGMSeLI8zlfv1UXcYv3aYgAhBdv5ftlXlbfPuu33kz16CV_p0mNuyGr3I4VY_6HdAb900SQnx3Jy8ieD32O6P/s1600/Charlie&fam8.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE92Fv-m1clRv63UGoxB80XsvOhGn7axnGlclB9mZ65MZ71XeJrLeX65TTGMSeLI8zlfv1UXcYv3aYgAhBdv5ftlXlbfPuu33kz16CV_p0mNuyGr3I4VY_6HdAb900SQnx3Jy8ieD32O6P/s1600/Charlie&fam8.12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Early this morning 4 year old Charlie called to ask whether we knew <a href="http://www.jimfloraart.com/about.html">James Flora</a> wrote children's books. Charlie had just borrowed one from his local library and learned that this was the same man whose paintings hang in our home. Here's a section of the Flora painting in our sun room:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fPfBJL9JLrOyue5JYHVQXyAs41hCgBr6v47_vlqv7FVOYoCWE5n-qJSkXvaNT-F4-qpPT7QO8bZ_T7tcv3J_su0Be2YYMZo1Krnbm0PBXoea1fv8Bg1KM-DNELOkEsNnmG3nZIVt4Pmx/s1600/Floradetail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fPfBJL9JLrOyue5JYHVQXyAs41hCgBr6v47_vlqv7FVOYoCWE5n-qJSkXvaNT-F4-qpPT7QO8bZ_T7tcv3J_su0Be2YYMZo1Krnbm0PBXoea1fv8Bg1KM-DNELOkEsNnmG3nZIVt4Pmx/s1600/Floradetail.jpg" /></a></div>
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How cool that besides his album covers and paintings Jim Flora also wrote and illustrated children's books including <a href="http://www.jimfloraart.com/books.html"><b>My Friend Charlie</b> and <b>Charlie Yup and his Snip-Snap Boys.</b></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-48067756758139807522012-08-28T07:35:00.000-04:002012-08-28T07:35:18.814-04:005 Moose in Maine<div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1227267036"></span><span id="goog_1227267037"></span><br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2F29fKnmZ17BmMhw2Bk1jQaw2OXQO41Jr8nbVQ-MkudqhW0gmb9imxwfMVNVX6Hh0F7SFxQqj2-11rElQ-C-HIU1vMZ9cy-KJBoHg2Nj9eBrvIeTnXhL_YYYTLz6A9Jgpxix-DWjSF4Em/" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">Every year the Fabs and Wallersteins go to Portland Maine in August. Every other year we bring the Tretolas with us too. It is so much fun I don't even have a favorite part. The big reason we come here is because of family. We have 2 family members here and one moving here tomorrow. The family members moving here tomorrow are Aaron, Lauren and their new baby Ellery. We are so excited to see them. The family members living here are Aunt Nancy and Grandma Neetie. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-18490542142389817482012-06-29T10:33:00.000-04:002012-06-29T10:39:49.367-04:00Doing the Puff & Strut<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTeLuo9nZzp_pl0VO3sVQvG2xjWEYTS9BuTNUOvoVuyECdXR6Y2YmLRMdAmiutOlcsR6NlmDFFTg5prsIv_yiPJq91feZSIw5qlP7yfyIT969PxECggY3s9NKGR55ZR7yue20LsOH41CLg/s1600/Duvian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTeLuo9nZzp_pl0VO3sVQvG2xjWEYTS9BuTNUOvoVuyECdXR6Y2YmLRMdAmiutOlcsR6NlmDFFTg5prsIv_yiPJq91feZSIw5qlP7yfyIT969PxECggY3s9NKGR55ZR7yue20LsOH41CLg/s200/Duvian.jpg" width="174" /></a></div>
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Yesterday many came together to celebrate a wonderful public art project at the <a href="http://norwalkpark.org/public-art.php">South Norwalk Train Station</a>. <a href="http://www.duvianmontoya.com/Welcome.html">Duvian Montoya</a>, a graduate of Norwalk Public Schools, expressed how meaningful it was to him to have such a prominent installation in his hometown. As is so often the case, public officials did the <b><i>puff and strut,</i></b> recognizing themselves and taking credit for a job well done. Those in the know perhaps smiled along with me, remembering the work of mostly unrecognized champions who got the project moving in 2010, back when it was mired in government bureaucracy. But at the end of the day it's all about the talented artists and members of the public who get to enjoy their work.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-43644135308754181442012-06-26T10:20:00.001-04:002012-06-29T10:36:10.341-04:00Paying it forward in Greenwich<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n-KIIukC0Gw3iRCVCt-vus6HPZD-OfKFYJUjjlzAisZV2nGGGxfusqNwZOgwfHBaA7s0bdK4DXN2LI10W1CodZFkHPDqEO8u0Vy4pvCboKxwZwqWY6psbiaMCP9J_S22dpHzjGrgog6c/s1600/VitoNicole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n-KIIukC0Gw3iRCVCt-vus6HPZD-OfKFYJUjjlzAisZV2nGGGxfusqNwZOgwfHBaA7s0bdK4DXN2LI10W1CodZFkHPDqEO8u0Vy4pvCboKxwZwqWY6psbiaMCP9J_S22dpHzjGrgog6c/s320/VitoNicole.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've sometimes had a love-hate relationship with Greenwich. This year's award ceremony at Hamilton Ave. School was definitely a time to feel the love. Graduating seniors who attended Hamilton Ave. return to be recognized and to speak with 5th graders. Vito Sperduto, a successful businessman and Harvard graduate, returns every year to <i>pay it forward. </i>He told the students how he arrived at Hamilton Ave. from Italy in the 1970's not speaking much English. This year he gave a scholarship to Nicole LaPointe-Jameson who will attend Columbia University. I met Nicole and her proud parents, Noel and Lise, when I served as interim principal at Hamilton Ave. in 2005. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-67266855320502927292012-06-17T14:34:00.000-04:002012-06-17T17:52:01.415-04:00Fathers Day 2012<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dad shows me how to drive Ivy's tractor. <br />Stanwood, Washington 1959</span></td></tr>
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Today is our nephew Aaron's first Fathers Day. We began at the Unitarian Church in Westport where family and friends welcomed our great niece Ellery (Queen of Babies) into the spiritual community. For the second time this year I crossed paths with Ken, an octogenarian former colleague of our late father. I remembered something my daughter told me about <a href="http://www.consequentialstrangers.com/about/" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">consequential strangers</a> and realized it was more than chance that brought Ken and me together today. The church is around the corner from a lovely mill pond where our Dad stayed at the company guest house before the rest of us made the move from Seattle to Connecticut in the 1950's. It has been a remarkable day with new and old memories thanks to Ken and Ellery.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-54603363006103381572012-06-12T08:04:00.001-04:002012-06-12T08:04:09.776-04:00Strawberry Picking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sunday was perfect for our annual visit to <a href="http://www.jonesfamilyfarms.com/farm/strawberries" target="_blank">Jones Farm</a> to pick strawberries. I've been going there for more than 20 years. This year three Fab kids, Grandma (that's me) and our friend, Jackie, picked two full flats from our assigned rows in less than an hour! Pretty good considering Jackie was a first-timer and Charlie is only three. The first year Sam picked berries he found one that looked like Mickey Mouse. Now it's a contest to find the most unusual looking berry. Sam won again. <br />
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The real work begins after driving home in a car filled with a luscious aroma that smells nothing like those artificial air fresheners. Ripe berries need immediate attention. After dividing our spoils I ended up with two quarts of frozen berries (tartes, trifles, smoothies, lemonade, delicious in a glass of prosecco), a quart of <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/strawberry-rhubarb-sauce-2/" target="_blank">strawberry rhubarb sauce</a> (skip the food coloring, yummy on ice cream, yogurt, puddings) and shortcake for dinner. One of the best parts is reconnecting with the childhood memory of picking berries with Grandma Dora and Grandpa Carl in Stanwood, Washington.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-16195708359725695352012-04-15T09:06:00.000-04:002012-04-15T09:06:30.354-04:00Billy's Bakery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4vNdrHrPCIm4Oq8IFOOOSKTrS3PQ-aD7Nfb9p6jpg8t_61yNB235l4E1xMpEStqQrCKKSzPYNkBbp89lI_0lt_5z-sJcofPHtcgnQFIfRthx349jHpaZ7NuDB8fZqEmDT0jUo8WOKn02/s1600/Cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4vNdrHrPCIm4Oq8IFOOOSKTrS3PQ-aD7Nfb9p6jpg8t_61yNB235l4E1xMpEStqQrCKKSzPYNkBbp89lI_0lt_5z-sJcofPHtcgnQFIfRthx349jHpaZ7NuDB8fZqEmDT0jUo8WOKn02/s320/Cupcake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We tested <a href="http://www.billysbakery.com/" target="_blank">Billy's Bakery</a> and we thought that it was a great place to get all kind of sweets. It is a great pit stop for an on the road trip. It has cookies, cupcakes, bread, bars and brownies. Posted by: Sam Fabricant.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-91137313126365628072012-04-04T16:12:00.000-04:002012-04-04T16:12:56.611-04:00Carmel Matzoh Crunch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShHFA0LX_1tjV0ECxlHQSEiF6amE6V-7aQp762ZChyphenhyphen6_RHmQRA7DHUsXU-Amm86B08vuTPlBwl-iuxz19Lo9QEeiW2t5VN9Q2Ri8IXtJaw_Fc0Qlrie4BqIpW9_hhPzHswjOGEwvs9T9K/s1600/Matzo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShHFA0LX_1tjV0ECxlHQSEiF6amE6V-7aQp762ZChyphenhyphen6_RHmQRA7DHUsXU-Amm86B08vuTPlBwl-iuxz19Lo9QEeiW2t5VN9Q2Ri8IXtJaw_Fc0Qlrie4BqIpW9_hhPzHswjOGEwvs9T9K/s320/Matzo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I brought a goody bag of <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/My-Trademark-Most-Requested-Absolutely-Magnificent-Caramel-Matzoh-Crunch-109117" target="_blank">carmel matzoh crunch </a>to Maribeth and she loved it! Toughest thing about making this annual Passover favorite is deciding whether to use white chocolate along with the dark. Yum!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-37613262435206592942012-04-03T16:59:00.000-04:002012-04-03T16:59:07.753-04:00Pacific House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwbK-b90pzfLmS1JkTfWKroCIphma8uc9dexbV6JrUkcmIHfwKs_CWsbvAXN-UNt_PLx9RROw91ennGffKj1g2Hz2-ZTNLsbHXb0KcRg9PK7m9xsa27jaNcV_IJuCnYdPITWKDziQZ30K/s1600/Pacific2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwbK-b90pzfLmS1JkTfWKroCIphma8uc9dexbV6JrUkcmIHfwKs_CWsbvAXN-UNt_PLx9RROw91ennGffKj1g2Hz2-ZTNLsbHXb0KcRg9PK7m9xsa27jaNcV_IJuCnYdPITWKDziQZ30K/s320/Pacific2.jpg" width="271" /></a></div><br />
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For about ten years I've helped friends, family and former colleagues prepare and serve dinner to 50-60 men the first Monday of every month at <a href="http://www.shelterforhomeless.org/" target="_blank">Pacific House</a>. What started as a community service project has become a labor of love. I first learned about the shelter at a friend's birthday party and "apprenticed" with a group from a local travel agency. Joe always brings the rolls and and butter. Last night he also brought a small watermelon just for Sidney, our favorite staff member. Rob and his mom brought the cupcakes with sprinkles, offering each guest a choice of vanilla or chocolate. Little things make all the difference.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234564561175920947.post-79320199459310225072012-04-01T15:21:00.000-04:002012-04-01T15:21:44.170-04:00Well-being<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPoDuWjJTCVsWOdWnU6HO5uSYkt7fSifzJVTJ04areGbOyIa9aoIsJA5rdlvKR8E7kjtbGgvGpo7Akjdr_8GwrMFKEwnbol6KmNo7Wtz1bFCdnRiPbxuNfd8f2mkx7X_P2xPjf-2N2hqO/s1600/Dakar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPoDuWjJTCVsWOdWnU6HO5uSYkt7fSifzJVTJ04areGbOyIa9aoIsJA5rdlvKR8E7kjtbGgvGpo7Akjdr_8GwrMFKEwnbol6KmNo7Wtz1bFCdnRiPbxuNfd8f2mkx7X_P2xPjf-2N2hqO/s400/Dakar.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Thanks, Maggie, for recommending Robert's yoga class. He's terrific and I've really been enjoying stretching, breathing, and everything else. Thinking about wellness reminded me of a scene I captured on film nearly 20 years ago when I spent a month in Dakar, Senegal. Every evening at dusk, hundreds of people engaged in calisthenics on the beach.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0