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Putting Glasses on the Eyes of God

Putting Glasses on the Eyes of God I am scribbling these thoughts as I sit waiting for my Life Line Screening checkup at the local UMC church. I see a trifold about the LGBTQ stuff, and am happy but not surprised that this is one of the majority of UMC churches who are in solidarity with the Christian principle that All means All--Even in Marriage. Because I had to fast for my medical test earlier this morning, I had to find something to keep my mind off of breakfast, which I almost always eat. Of course, I immediately reached for the addicting FaceBook. Like many, I find myself wasting too much useless energy trying to convince friends of friends that our current president is not interested in hearing anybody's viewpoint but his own (unless he needs to backpedal in order to garner support from an almost equally-ignorant base).  I finally put this behind me and start scrolling through piece after piece about Mauna Kea where the government is trying to put yet another tel...
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In My Dream

In My Dream I am wandering from room to room in a somewhat public place in DC. It is like a mall but without the merchandise. I am not sure I belong here.  Some people who work there might see me and find me suspect.  I don't know if it's kosher, but I nonetheless go through some back hallways that connect one room to the next.  I stumble across two employees who recognize my presence but don't care that I am privy to what they are saying. In fact, they include me in their conversation, which is hard to follow out of context. As near as I can tell, some guy got in trouble with their institution. The story makes more sense when the two folks explain to me that the guy who got in trouble was suing their organization (or was it vice versa--the organization was suing the guy who got in trouble?). In any case, the two strangers and I suddenly decide we must go to NYC. As soon as we step outside and go to the curb where the bus stop is, I realize that I have left my Ros...
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A Book I can't Wait to Read (Don't Forget)

A Book I can't Wait to Read (Don't Forget) So I heard an interview on the radio with the author of a book that just came out. The name of the book is The End of Forgetting . And then it has some subtitle about raising kids in this day and age of social media. Of course, I promptly forgot the exact wording of the subtitle. But anybody can find it online! As you can guess from the title, the author--who's a professor at the New School--talks about how kids growing up today live in a world that leaves no room for forgetting. Most likely, information on anyone is a simple click away. Although if you are a parent with money, she predicts that you may soon have the option to hire someone to make your digital footprint harder to find. Why would privileged parents go to such lengths? Well, if they want their kid to get into a top-notch college and their kid posted something stupid in the past (like no teenager has ever done, right?), then they wouldn't want to advertis...
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4 Things about July 14

4 Things about July 14 1. It is the anniversary of my dad's death. It was two days after my 30th birthday, and I was at DisneyLand in California, visiting a childhood friend. We took the cart around the "Small World After All" exhibit, and I remember thinking how much Dr. Clifford Reutter would've enjoyed the show. Then I found out he died suddenly of a heart attack earlier that day. Three college friends came to Detroit to visit me during this difficult time: Dave, Steven, and Leigh. 2. It is Bastille Day, which is France's Independence Day. Don't ask me about the history of the country that gave us the Statue of Liberty. But you can ask Doug because this date was a big deal to his family who lived in France for a decade during Doug's childhood, even after they moved back to the States. Along similar lines, I remember my hairdresser on Maui telling me about Statehood Day in 1959 in Hawaii. All the neighbors were out in the street dancing and celebr...
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It's my birthday and I'll cry if I have to!

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I have to... Dear Friends, Happy Birthday to me! Despite what FB knows, yesterday was my real birthday. There's so much to be happy for, and you--my dear reader--are at the top of the list. I am happy because I claim each one of you as my friend. The spiritual among us call us "blessed." But the world in which we live...well, you know, that's a different story. And because you know , that's why you're my friend. So just in case you want to give me a late birthday gift, here's my wish list. 1. A liveable wage job: Call me a socialist, but I enjoy eating when I can afford it and seeing the doctor when we need to. And a girl can dream, right? This is why I'm looking for a job that pays at least 40K and has benefits. Plus, the kid wants to go to college next year when we will probably have to move because our landlady is putting the house on the market and our final lease will be up then. 2. A vi...
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When the Authorities Say You're Not Welcome Here

When the Authorities Say You're Not Welcome Here When our kid was kicked out of his public school as a young teen, we had no idea what his near future held. Without any consistency in direction, the authorities kept changing the length of the expulsion: first, they said, it would be a month. Next, a year. Then, a semester...And so it went. They clearly knew not what they were doing. The good news for our son and his family is that there were some limits to the length of time that the district was allowed to continue to deny him an education. Our pro-bono lawyer helped us to understand that our child had to be allowed back to his home school at least after the entire school year had passed. And in the end, without apology, the district recognized their obligation to us after one semester when they finally resumed helping us in educating our child. But then I look to the plight of the immigrants. In particular, the ones who live in my own Sanctuary city. These are my friends a...
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Peacing it all Together

Peacing it all Together "Any friend of Steven's is a friend of mine..." So begins the inscription inside a book written by Mimi that my college friend Steven had gifted me in 1987. I had never met the author, but I knew she was old enough to be my mom and that Steven was calling her by her first name. On the other hand, I had met Steven four years prior and knew him quite well. And nothing felt more satisfying than to be accepted into a community simply because a friend of a friend's had signed her book. Steven and I met at college, the small program within the larger university. His individualized major included a study of feminism. I didn't know it at the time, but he was also embarking on a serious study of what today we know as privilege and intersectionality. The program we were in allowed us to call all of our professors, administrators, and staff members by their first names. No, they didn't just "allow" this, it was standard pro...
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