Margaret's musings

A New Song

2012-01-03T17:09:00.000-08:00

Cherubs:

Leonard Bernstein wrote a wonderful aria called "I will sing the Lord a new song". I'm not even sure if that's the name, but that's the name I remember. But I am thinking about a new song for myself. I'm thinking about dumping more stuff in the trash can. The past. My relationship with the past. My lack of family relationships and my guilt about that. I'm done. I wish I could just chuck it all in the trash can. Let's try.

It's easy to accept that nobody loves you as you deserve to be loved. That's not so hard. What's hard is to be rid of your wishes. You wish you were understood. You wish somebody somewhere cared enough that you should be understood. You wish so many things. One must be rid of one's wishes. So open the trash can.

I was both my brothers' mother. They don't care. Dumped.

My mother was limited in her ability to love me. Dumped.

My father was limited in his ability to love me. Dumped.

My ex-husband is and was equally limited. Dumped.

Due to all those limitations, both my brothers are limited in their ability to love me. Dumped.

I am not willing to pay the price to be loved, because of all these things. The bill will always be too high. Dumped.

There is no longer much of any family left to care. Dumped.

There is no need to be sorry for me because in reality, if I am really able to dump all this waste in the trash can, then I can really be free. I will really be able to go where I want, do as I please and simply not care.

It's all in the trash can. And now, we will see what happens.

Try not to see this as cynical, but rather, as a purge, so to speak. Life is continuing and completely, itself, does not care.

Warm wishes dearest cherubs.

Ok it's sad that I haven't written

2011-10-02T12:18:00.000-07:00

Hello all who have chosen to follow, I"m sure you have forgotten me. And who's to blame you.

There has not been much time. There has only been time for work and for worry. But I have been trying to deal with the worry because I have things to say. The problem is I have little time to say them. But it is the worry that prevents this, not the work. The work has been good. But the worry interferes with everything.

One assumes, from time to time, that one is a good writer. I think perhaps I am, sometimes. I have written some very good poetry. LOL, I am not under the impression that I will get rich from writing poetry. However, I am a poet and there's nothing to be done about that. Here's one short one:

In the quiet of the almost autumn night, there is sliver of peace
While the cell phone charges and the house rests with its bills mostly paid and its worry at a temporary nadir.
In this quiet of the almost autumn night, there is reflection, or at least the time for same.
While the cars slow going by as if they were looking in my windows.
In this quiet of an almost autumn night, I am taking some time from worry, guilt and gnashing of teeth to wonder
I am wondering. I have to know that I can't fix it. But even if I could I might choose not to. I have already, perhaps, fixed too much.

Okay you guys, sorry for the long hiatus. Hang in there with me.

Warmly Margaret

An unusual positive childhood memory

2011-07-13T18:01:00.000-07:00

Hi cherubs:

Sorry for the long time between posts. Most of my childhood memories are pretty horrible. But there is one that is not. Perhaps it's not the only one, but it's one that I was reminded of tonight. I was watching a program about solar winds and I was reminded about the blackout that occured in the 1960s, which I believe was caused by solar activity interfering with power grids.

The entire eastern seaboard of the US was knocked out, not to mention Canada. So I came home from school, and I did my homework by candle light (the teachers gave us extra credit for that, by the way). Then, my mother began to play the piano. She had all the old songbooks that had the folk tunes (What shall we do with the drunken sailer etc) and we were all there around the piano, singing our hearts out. We hardly noticed the blackout. The neighbors were there and we were there and we were playing and singing. It's a wonderful memory. I remember my brother John next to me singing (my brother Tony was not yet born) and I remember the candles and I remember that we had cooked dinner for many people because we had a gas stove and others had only electric.

Mom played and played. We sang and sang. It was great fun. It's one of the few happy memories I have. I am grateful, so grateful for that memory.

Best wishes dearest cherubs.

Dear Dad

2011-06-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Dad:

You are dead now so I don't know if you can hear what I have to say. I'm hopeful that you can.

When I was a very little girl, I used to ride with you on the subways of Boston. Back then, the subways sometimes flashed what I called "lightening" during the occasional explosions caused when the connections got over heated. So we'd be riding along under Boston's busy streets, and the "lightening" occured and I would burrow into your shoulder to seek comfort. Your strong arm would go around me and circle me with what I thought would be endless protection. Alas, that protection was brief. Or perhaps, my need was brief. It's hard to know which came first.

I shared your classroom. I spoke to your students. We were both educators. This we shared. That is how we connected. I was not young for very long.

Dad, you made many mistakes. I forgive you. You did the best you could. You were affected by your own childhood. This is something I understand now. I am also affected by my own childhood, or lack thereof. It has closed my heart, and encased it in stone. Somebody, somebody please find a hammer.

It's easier for a daughter to forgive a father. At least, that's what they say. At least, that's what they say.

Happy father's day dearest cherubs.

M.

I have to say how I feel

2011-05-28T15:52:00.001-07:00

Hi all who wish to follow:

I am cleaning my house. I am throwing my past into a dumpster. It is painful. It is incredibly painful. I was not really prepared for this pain.

Perhaps, it is because I have no way to know what the future brings. Perhaps, it is because I blame myself for many bad decisions. Perhaps, it is because I did not expect, personally, to be thrown into the dumpster. But yet, I was and I have been. I have been thrown into the dumpster myself, and it has merged with the pain of broken dishes, broken dreams, and a broken life.

However, I have not given up. I am still here. I still have wonderful friends, and colleauges, and many other gifts. There could be worse things. I'm sure there are worse things. But tonight, the pain is deep and gut wrenching and overwhelming. It is hard to be grateful for gifts, when you are facing your past in this way.

But dearest friends, I am still here, and this morning I awoke on the correct side of the ground. I have good friends who are helping me and for them I am grateful. But I must admit, my heart is broken. I did not think my heart could break like this, but it has and it will, and it continues to break.

How in the world I will survive this I do not know. But I will continue to try. I ask for your love and support. Warmly dear cherubs, and with lots of love, Margaret

It's a new post for a new time

2011-05-22T14:53:00.000-07:00

Dearest cherubs:

I cannot know what to tell you. My life is what it is. But I surround myself with history, and that history speaks to me.

I am deeply moved by many things. I see things happening and I guess, I think that I think those are the things that should happen. Yet how can I know?

I simply accept, and yet, perhaps I should not. So I ask you all, perhaps you should not also. Don't just accept. Wonder why. Wonder why. I am wondering why. All my love to you dearest cherubs. M.

In the Sweet Spring

2011-04-10T16:52:00.000-07:00

One must hope. And when you go outside, the twigs are greener. They cannot break, they only bend. Quietly they breeze their way through, but yet they cannot prevail. I must prevail. I have no way to really get there, but I ask for mercy. I want to go away soon. I want to go to warmth, and love and less judgement. But there is the reality, and the reality is that it is not there yet. Not yet.

Winter's Back Broken

2011-03-05T17:02:00.000-08:00

Cherubs:

I have felt the sun's warmth on my face twice now, so I am hopeful that winter's back is broken. Why do think this? Here are the reasons:

1. I can see my driveway.
2. I can see parts of my backyard.
3. I feel that I can worry about things other than whether or not my house will stand up.
4. I have found time to see people and relax with people.
5. I am grateful to be alive.
6. I am grateful for my friends.

I guess that's my list. I guess it's the list of spring. I am grateful for everything. Winter makes a person grateful. But spring is a greater instigator in my humble opinion.

Lots of love cherubs.

This winter and what it teaches us

2011-02-04T16:34:00.000-08:00

Cherubs:

It's been a toughie for those of us residing in the northern part of the USA. It's been a toughie for those of us residing in the southern part of the USA also.

The hard part is, when the storm comes up the coast from the south, we get bashed here in New England, we get bashed badly. And my humble little town is right in the path of the bashing.

So, because I am instructional designer and because I care about learning, I always ask this question -- "What can we learn from this?"

We learn about resiliance. Resiliance is a wonderful word, that describes our ability to cope, to persevere, to endure, to even improve. Yes, resiliance.

I have improved my ability to get up in the morning. Yes, contracting has improved that (no work, no pay) as well as my ability to say ok, this is what must be faced during the next storm.

I have improved my ability to think positively, "well perhaps this last storm will not crush my house", that kind of thinking.

I have improved my ability to understand what human beings can endure. And this brings me to my daughter who is enduring many things.

She is a young adult, and so needs my assistance to help her forward. This is an obligation all of us have who are parenting young adults. Remember, their world is not the same as our world of more than 30 years ago. We had no internet, we had no "social network" save that which we could experience in the eye, face to face. We had dances, dates, interactions, but not this kind of removed from direct interaction, ummm interaction.

We must adapt.

We must understand.

And Facebook, for me, has assisted me in doing that. Many of my highschool connections have now evolved into ummm for want of a better word "real people". We are compassionate, loving and caring. Our lives as human beings have caused us to be so. But we may not have been so back in high school. But we are now, and I guess that is all that matters. And we have rediscovered each other in this new state. How wonderful is that?

I am grateful to Mr. Zuckerman for this opportunity. And it also causes me to understand my daughter and her social connections. I am here for her, and I am here for you.

With all my love, from my wintery world.

Dearest cherubs. Goodnight.

The New Year

2011-01-02T14:27:00.000-08:00

Dearest cherubs:

So, there are resolutions, and there are hopes and perhaps, even at my age, dreams.

Yes.

You know what I hate most about my life? Money. Money is always in the way. But I guess that's up to me. I guess I have to take care of business as they say. But what I want is enough money to stop the endless nagging worry that tears away at my bones every night. But I guess the question is, how much money is that?

Maybe I just have to stop the constant worry that I'm sure is shortening my life and just deal with things as they are. But I really have nobody to help me. And the truth is, I wouldn't want somebody to help me because the price is always too high. The price that you pay another person to be involved in your life, that price is very high. Perhaps, I can exchange the worry for not having to pay that price any more.

Perhaps that price is being paid as I speak. It's affordable. I am alone. The aloneness is good.

Happy New Year everybody.

In the silver of the night

2010-10-12T16:27:00.000-07:00

In the silver of the night there sometimes is the smell of soup, and soap, and being on top of the ground.

When one's life changes like the energy or like the light that consumes us in winter with its lack.

We might weep, or we might laugh, or we might touch one another but in a sense not described until

The event occurs that is life changing that is temporal. Until the event occurs. Then we look out and see what we must see.

Like carving out a dinner, we see it. We might be aghast we did not see it coming like a truck. But we see it. We must appreciate the change. The change will speak to us. It will speak.

The Dad thing

2010-09-18T15:21:00.000-07:00

Hey ya cherubs:

I have been missing my Dad. I am not exactly sure why. But I watched a film where the Dad figure was time traveling and popping in and out of the daughter's life. I guess, that's where I am now and where I was.

My Dad was always popping in and out of my life. He was there sometimes when I needed him and not there sometimes when I needed him.

Sometimes, my dreams include him and sometimes not. Sometimes I miss him so much and sometimes I don't even think of him.

I don't know what all this means. Daughters think about their dads. They just think about them in a way and you have to kind of accept it I guess. So there it is. I wish he could suddenly appear sometimes and fix stuff. He did appear at one time in my young life and pick up my stuff and make it all better. But he's gone now, and he can't fix stuff anymore. I sure wish he were here sometimes. He knew my daughter but not in her adulthood. She's a cool person in her adulthood and I kind of wish both my parents could have known her that way. I really like my kid in her young adulthood. I really like her. Dad, I miss you. I miss you so much.

Blessings upon you dear cherubs. Blessings upon you.

M.

What the White Mountains of NH can do to you.

2010-08-22T13:05:00.000-07:00

Dearest cherubs:

Those of you who know me best, know that I am not a Wordsworth person. I don't write poems about "here we go gathering nuts in May". Nature, for the most part, bores me. It's people that interest me. Yet, when I am seeking peace, when I am seeking contentment, when I am seeking some kind of center, that's when I call my good friends who live near base of Mt. Washington and ask if I can visit.

They have a most wonderful house, but that is not why I ask to visit them. They have a wonderful social connection with the North Country, but that is not why I ask to visit them. They have a wonderful connection with a church near there, which is ecumenical and welcoming, but that is not why I ask to visit them.

I ask because I think that they know that they live in a place that radiates peace and that I need that peace.

In the morning, sometimes, I rise before my hosts and I walk on their deck, or sometimes down towards the river that flows near their property. The mountains, the river and the forest all contribute to some kind of peaceful existence which is born of acceptance of what nature exacts from those who choose to live near it.

The most fun I have there, is talking with them. But I can't deny, that my walks in their orchard, of sorts, sooths my soul in such a way that no other place can do, except Little Diamond Island in Portland, ME. Little Diamond Island is the only other place in my life that affords the same peace.

Why do I rail against Wordsworth then? Why do I reject nature? What is it that I cherish that nature seems to rebel against? I guess it is only that I value civilization. I feel that my friends have so completely embraced nature and civilization in such a way that allow both to be embraced. And I admit to complete and utter jealousy that they have done this.

To be honest, I have often wished for a helicopter. I would live in the woods, and yet, have a way to get to the city. The city to me, is a panacea for my ills. And the blessed north woods of New Hampshire, is a panacea for my ills. And how, my most dearest cherubs, shall I reconcile them?

I end with a small joke. To me camping is best when defined as a bed and breakfast with view. That is what my friend's house is, in a sense. It's a bed and breakfast with a view. Yet they endure the NH North Country winters with grace. They bring their civility to the world. And I seem to keep mine close to Boston, where perhaps I hope it will bear fruit.

Warmly and with all my love, dearest cherubs, I send my latest post.

An August Poem

2010-08-14T18:33:00.000-07:00

I am looking at him with my mind's eye, Ceaser Augustus -- his breath creasing the air with its mist, its cutting edge.

I walked along the stones he walked along and I thought of him.

I do not know what to say to him. But I knew he fought a good fight. He was not a good man, in our modern sense. But he was a leader.

I walked under the arches created by his uncles and by his grandfathers.

Arches we must understand even though we do not understand them now.

Understanding is a bad word. We cannot measure it. What does "understand" mean? We cannot know.

Ceaser Augustus, I feel you close by. We live this summer month named for you. And there is life beyond this month Ceaser. There is life beyond this month.

Stuff I have figured out

2010-07-24T16:59:00.000-07:00

Hello dearest cherubs:

I have figured out that nobody cares, really. And that's ok. It's just the way it is.

I have figured out that I am a good poet. I am not sure anybody in the literary world cares. Please see statement number one.

I have figured out that although death really sucks, by the time somebody gets to the end, it's a blessing in disguise.

I have figured out that we all depend upon one another whether we like it or not. I don't like it. But nobody really cares. See statement number one.

I have figured out that there is a life after death. I assure you this has nothing to do with religion. It just has a meaning for me having experienced so much death and so much life.

I have figured out that wine is food. Nothing in the world will ever change that. Wine is food.

I have figured out that when we bring children into this world, we bring trouble. Children are worth the trouble.

I have figured out that I don't know anything, really, I don't know anything. I wish I knew more.

I have figured out that learning goes on forever. And when we stop learning, we die.

I have figured out that love takes so many forms, it is impossible to name them all and thank goodness for that.

I have figured out that when people say that youth is wasted on the young they are both right and wrong at the same time.

I have figured out that those who care for others, must be careful to care for themselves.

I have figured out that if I win the lottery, I will have to toss dice to see who's life I will save.

I have figured out that my abandonment was my ultimate release.

I have figured out that stuff that people hate, is stuff that people do to themselves.

Here is my post for your consideration, my dearest and most beloved cherubs.

Therefore

2010-07-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

Therefore, there is great hope although how this is achieved is unknown and how it is perceived is unknown.

Therefore, there are realizations which are arrived at in such a way that it would be impossible for us to untangle them.

Therefore there is a terrible and unmitigated sadness, which may never again be relieved or misconstrued or be blamed for its damage.

Therefore, there is leadership and one who brings home the march which causes us to march behind, whether or not we know why.

Therefore, there is love, which will never be understood, not even in the course of a millenia.

Therefore, there is terrible suffering. I do not know why.

Therefore, I have the feeling that every so often, I have reached something that I cannot name or define or forswear or defend. Perhaps it is the truth.

Therefore, I have hope.

For Noble

2010-06-20T15:25:00.000-07:00

Dearest Cherubs:

So, my cousin is gone, a victim of pancreatic cancer. We will all miss him very much.

But dearest cherubs, I hear him in my head all the time. He laughs at me. He always did, not in an unkind way, but in a way that always reminded me of the absurdity of life. His last text to me was as follows "don't check anything". hahahha I must explain.

I wrote on my status on Facebook, that I was headed to the White Mountains for the Memorial Day weekend and that I would not have cell service (for that pretty much cuts out halfway up Rt. 16 to Jackson, NH due to the mountains) but that I would be checking Facebook and e-mail from time to time. Not long after I had posted this status -- his text came in -- "don't check anything". hahahha I heard him as best I could, although I did check. But I heeded his words which I think had to do with appreciating where I was and who I was with, at that time and place. I think he was trying to tell me to live in the moment.

Noble's thoughts were often cryptic. His opinions were often only understood by people who thought differently about life and about society. My mother adored him, my father played chess with him and often resigned as Noble's chess game was hard to beat.

My favorite story about him was when he, Allyson and I were studying at Ana Roje's studio in what was then Yugoslavia. Thank you Aunt Neta for granting me that opportunity.

I must explain to the non-dancers reading this post. When you are a young girl studying dance, you have the floor to yourself for most of your training. You struggle alone at the barre, in the centre, and nobody is in your space. Other dancers are around you, but mostly, your space is your own. But when your learn to dance with a partner, all of a sudden, your space is no longer your own. All of a sudden, a man's hands are in your space and it's quite disconcerting. Noble was my first partner. He made me laugh almost constantly as I was making this adjustment. "Damn it Margaret", he would say. "Would you just wipe that ballerina look off your face!" "Damn it for Christ's sake, just let me hold you up, I won't drop you, I won't let you fall, Jesus Christ!"

I still remember his hands on my torso turning me around and around and telling me that "he was in charge of how many times I turned and I should just get used to it damn it!"

LOL the biggest problem was not laughing in the middle of an exercise!

Even in my head now, Noble is still making me laugh.

I have the impression that he is just getting a big kick out of this death thing. Perhaps this is the way I am comforting myself in my grief, but I still hear his laughter.

I know how much he loved his wife, his daughter, his mother, his mother-in-law, his sister and all his friends. I know how much he wanted to stay. He stayed as long as could. He stayed beyond his daughter's student performance, and but not beyond his sister's birthday. He stayed with us as long as he could. I hope he will forgive me for my tears. I will miss him so very much, that it is almost impossible to say.

I remember his hands on my waist turning me around and around "Jesus Christ Margaret will you relax"! I will try to relax Noble. I will remember you always.

Thank you dear cherubs, as always, for listening.

If you hope

2010-03-30T16:26:00.000-07:00

My cherubs:

What can one say? The rain it comes. The bad news, it comes. But you have to keep on with the hope thing. Well, perhaps you don't have to, but it's advisable that you do.

Personally, I'm not sure to whom I'm talking when I send my thoughts elsewhere you know what I mean?

There's a wonderful book by Michael Shertlove called "Audition" in which he states that when actors ask questions of nobody, they are speaking to "he/she who must have all the answers".

So I am speaking to he/she who must have all the answers. You cast eyes upwards and do the best you can. I'm not exactly sure why you cast your eyes upwards, but I think one must to be sincere you see. At least that's the tradition.

Mostly, I want to hold my friend's hand and try to share the pain. Mostly, I am not in a position to do this. I'm working, or mothering, or exwifing, or roommateing, or something that causes me not to be in a position to be helpful. I try to remember during these times that this is not about me. This is about my friend. But still the guilt cuts deeply.

There is a painful but deeply real poem written by Robert Frost called "Out Out--" in which the last line is "And they, since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs".

Sometimes, you are too close to things to write. And sometimes, you are too far away. But still one must hope.

Because after the worst happens, we will turn to our affairs. Because that's all we can do. We really have no other choice. We cannot go on and on about things that cannot be changed. I reach out as best I can and then, when the shit hits the fan, you just swallow, hug, weep, write poems, write blog entrys and wonder to yourself why, oh why does this shit happen?

Ah, this we wonder. Why? I do not expect to receive an answer. But hope, hope is eternal, ubitquitous, and present in our lives to keep us from attempting to end our lives in utter despair over that which cannot be changed.

She/he who must have the answers. Speak up, speak up dammit! I'm listening!

Bless you all cherubs most dear to me. M.

Just Start

2010-03-17T16:29:00.000-07:00

Precious cherubs:

Do you think you can't accomplish what you set out to accomplish? Do you think you feel abused, down trodden, overlooked, underappreciated, unloved, ignored, wiped out?

Just start.

Do you think you can't get the thing done? Do you think there's nobody to support you? Do you think you are being handed a recipe for failure? Do you think there's somebody out to get you?

Just start.

Do you think that government sucks? Do you think that you are entitled to what you aren't getting? Do you think that the two-party systems is dysfunctional?

Just start.

I am now just in the most negative, fearful, frightening, and overwhelming part of my life that I have ever experienced in my 54 years. But here's the problem. I haven't started. This is MY fault, this is nobody else's fault. I am completely fearful and I have been giving into my fear.

Just start everybody. Just take one step, like the one I took in the doctor's office the other day. That's when I found out that I would be able to walk again, not soon, but not so very far away either.

Just start. How bad could it be? Could it be worse than what's going on now? I repeat this to myself often. I hope soon, I can find the courage to start.

Just start.

Warmly, Margaret

Oy, another broken ankle post

2010-02-24T16:00:00.001-08:00

Ok you dearest cherubs:

One of the things that happens when you damage part of your body, is that you spend time thinking about the time when your body wasn't damaged. I have been thinking about that time.
I was in ballet class every day. I was in class every day when I was training (sometimes twice or three times) and I was in class every day when I was dancing professionally.

For those of you who may not understand, when you are a professional dancer, daily class is a must. As Rudolf Nureyev said "it's boring", but it's necessary. If you don't keep the muscles in shape they won't be in shape.

So when I began my physical therapy for this broken ankle, they put me on the exercise bike. It was unbelieveably painful. I mean, you guys, it was really ummm painful. But I pedaled. I kept pedaling. I'm no hero, not like any of the Olympic athletes you are seeng on TV. But I pedaled. The therapist would stop by every so often while I pedaled and see the tears on my cheeks, but I pedaled. And at one point, she said, you don't have to cry. And I told her yes, yes I do have to cry. This hurts but this is what is necessary at this time. She smiled at me. I could not pedal without crying. And so crying was necessary.

So, this short post is to tell you all, sometimes, crying is ok. And you never know how much what you have already undergone in your life prepares you for what you must face. How much pain ballet causes is how much pain must be undergone from time to time.

I am no hero or heroine. But I will pedal the bike until my foot is well, and then, I hope to walk again.

I appreciate all your good thoughts. Warmly, and with love.

Margaret

What the heck is up?

2010-02-11T15:26:00.000-08:00

Dearest, dearest cherubs:

Yes, there are two dearests in there. I have been thinking of you all.

I have been thinking about my life which seems to have taken up an interesting challenge. How to get around with one foot incapacitated?

But you know it's not so much the foot that is bothering me. It's the state of the world that's bothering me. I just picked up my yellowed newspaper which I carefully saved after President Obama's election. What in the world is everybody so danged unhappy about I wonder?

Ok, I usually do not care for one sided opinions. Opinions should be fueled by fact and careful research into both sides etc.

There are no easy answers to anything, there are no easy fixes. When, oh when will Americans figure this out?

Do you expect a president to cure your economic ills? I have some advice for you. Go back to school! I suggest you aquire a credential. I suggest you learn some stuff. I suggest you face the fact that manufacturing in America is done and get on with your life. We are making the transition to a global economy. It's not done yet. It will hurt for a long time. It will hurt and it will stink and you will get angry. But think about this -- the solution is up to YOU.

It's often what I say to women who come to me with problems about men. There are no white knights on horses. Get over it. Your happiness is up to you.

I don't know if I will lose my job. But if I do, getting a new job will be up to me and it will be nobody elses problem. I will be frightened I'm sure. I will be emotional, I'm sure.

I am emotional now. I am a former ballet dancer with a foot that no longer will ever, I mean ever, function as it did. But for heaven's sake it's not President Obama's fault. It's not the fault of the MBTA who had black ice on the curb at the Franklin/Dean station. It was just an ACCIDENT. We use that word because stuff happens that we can't predict. Stuff just happens.

We must have a sense of history. For quite a few years, we allowed excesses to happen in the financial markets. We allowed it (and you can't blame the government, because they are us, and we are them) and why did we allow it? Because people were making money hand over fist, that's why we allowed it.

You all know it. You all used your houses like banks. We all did it. We need to get over it and do the learning that must be done.

My friend Lou Longo speaks often of responsibility. You may not like the consequences of what has happened. But if we all take responsibility, then we can be like the great generation after World War II that Tom Brokaw writes about. We will recover and we can teach our children how to recover.

I'm just thinking out loud as usual my dearest cherubs. Thanks so much for listening.

All my love to all of you.

Latest Poems

2010-01-16T13:49:00.001-08:00

Hello dear cherubs:

Some of you have inquired about my latest poems, so here are a couple of them. Enjoy!

Frozen

The somnambulists walking through the maze and it was just like every other morning except

This time there was an ambulance picking and tearing its way through and so we waited on a small piece of cement.

We stood there and watched the gentle edging of cars and cell phones barely hearing. The ear buds clearing out the gloom.

I fixed my eys on the bus.

The ambulance was gone.

The woman walked.

She walked as if there was nothing in the world to protect her, as if there was nothing in her way or worries or life or lights.

I cried out.

I might have said "stop, or wait, or watch out". I don't remember.

I remember crying out and then my eyes fixed on the bus driver whose window was open.

His face ashen beneath his black face. Our eyes locked.

The woman walked on. And so did I.

___________________

This is an older poem. But I like it, so here it is.

Random

A night worth waking with questions.

I float you see.

I wander and touch things -- the diamond eyeball TV stares back at me, it's 3 AM.

Not worried, not aching, not tense but there are so many ideas.

One hopes one is halfway through but you never know it could be near the end.

I wander and touch things -- I hear regular breathing and every so often a car goes by.

A night worth waking with questions.

I sift you see.

I wander and things things -- my questions are unanswered but that's okay.

Not super human, no frightened but there is so much to comprehend.

One hopes one's children might find teh center, but one is never sure, it could never happen or it could.

I wander and touch things -- there is a lovely aroma from the flowers on the table.

A night worth waking with questions.

I feel you see.

I wander and touch things -- I hear my heart, my heart which I have tried for so long not to hear.

I live entirely within this husk that is changing so rapidly I cannot even define it.

I hope there will be definition soon.

I wander and touch things -- the light filters through my window like dust.
_________________l

Untitled

As I strode toward the station the moon, earthlit, rose above me.

The sun behind me did not warm my neck.

In the sky with unequal love.

The deer frozen in the capsule of a moment, I hurtled toward her.

Her eyes luminescent like the moon, there was no time to live my life again.

At the last moment she moved and yet it feels just like I hit her broad on, the way she was standing, burying her hooves inside my heart, inside the celestial beings who shone down and did not care.

___________________

Happy New Year dearest cherubs.

Margaret

The obligatory physically challenged post -- coping with a broken ankle

2010-01-04T12:38:00.000-08:00

Precious Cherubs:

Ok, so most of you know by now that I am the victim of black ice, which is not as nice as being the "victim" of black gold, "oil that is, black gold, Texas tea". Fifteen points to all who can sing the complete Beverly Hillbillies song. Nevermind, I win.

So I am past the surgery which involved plates and screws. And I am rediscovering my life. I have temporarily lost my independence. It occurs to me that I never really had it, that it was, perhaps, an illusion -- not my life, but my independence.

You have to figure out the following:

How to move (back and forth and up and down)
How to bathe
How to eat
How to drink
How to keep your clothes clean

There are many more sub-catigories that fall under those larger catigories. And all of them have to be rediscovered.

I have become grateful to many people, namely, my roommate, my daughter, my brother, and my friends, yes, in that order.

My roommate was a "first responder". He picked me up at the ER. He made the most profound statement of my life. He said the following: "Margaret, I can clean the house, cook the meals, wash the clothes and take care of you. In return, I ask only that you don't cry". I love you Tom DiFrancia.

My daughter was the "immediate care giver". She said the following: "Mum, you took care of me for many years, including the time that both my wrists were broken. Think of this as payback time". And she drove the car and took me to the doctors, to my testing, to the hospital at that ungodly hour, and she waited while I had my surgery. Then, and only then, did she venture home to her New Year's eve party. I love you Lydia.

My brother John was what he has always been, the "guy who picks up the pieces". He showed up at the hospital after I had my surgery and I opened my drug laden eyes to his smiling face. He looked like an angel to me. He offered to bring me home from the hospital on Thursday, after he had worked many long hours. Lucky for him and for me, my roommate's work schedule was changed and he was able to pick me up earlier. I love you John.

My friend Margaret came to make my bed at home and brought me books and stayed to discuss poetry with me. My friend Marcia brought me goodies from the grocery store and trashy magazines and stayed to talk with me in the middle of a busy day. My Facebook, Tagged and Yahoo friends left encouraging messages. My friends Patt, Jan, and Molly and my brother Tony, all called. I am one lucky woman.

I am not a believer in fate. I am not a believer in love. I am not a believer in God. But somehow it would seem many things wound themselves together during these last couple of weeks to make one accident that might have been unbearable, bearable.

I often tell people that what they deposit in the karma bank, comes back to them. Now I know, it's true.

Happy New Year, dearest cherubs.

Boys of Summer

2009-12-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

The radio rustles with their return every year and somehow
No other team will suffice and no other worldly honor will be lauded.

They play the games those large men, they fly into each other as if each had a purpose.

The puck will sing, the ball will be kicked, but still part of us waits for the boys.

It is perhaps the inner life of those players -- we watch them wait for the pitch and imagine
inside ourselves what they might be thinking. I have always watched them. Their inner life, like the inner life of a nun, has always spoken to me.

When you stand still and wonder. When you stand still at the barre and wait for instructions. When you stand still and wonder what life will give you at that particular moment.

The moment when a ball will be hurled at you at 90 mph and then you must decide what to do.

And you have no time.

And you have nothing to rely upon but your instincts and your experience.

Ballet dancers, baseball players and nuns, how could you know how much they have in common. And yet, they do.

This I know because I have been all of them, either in reality or in my mind.

I have been all of them.

My problems with the holidays

2009-11-21T14:05:00.000-08:00

Dearest cherubs:

It's not PC what I have to say. But I have a lot of problems with the holidays.

It is extremely difficult for me to just forgive and forget. I find, after much introspection, that I can do neither.

So, this year, I will not participate.

I resign.

I'm packing it in.

So this year, for the holidays I seek solitude. Complete and utter solitude.

What does this mean, you might ask.

This means the bell ringers go unanswered, the carols go unsung, the meals go unattended, the presents go unbought. The life goes on as if the holidays did not even exist.

I am finding some solace in this decision. But I also find that people feel sorry for me. I am wondering what kind of projection allows them to do so. For whom are they feeling sorry? For me? For themselves? For the myths? I am not sure.

But I also have to tell you, that is not a sad thing for me. My aloneness is not the same as lonliness. They are separate. Sometimes I am lonely. Sometimes, people teeming with family, are lonely. Sometimes people wish for the time to be alone, and they can never be. But I can.

I think the time to be alone with myself is something I have fought for all my life. And at no time other than the holidays is that more profound.

We are supposed to be making merry. But making merry means different things to different people. To me, making merry means being alone, quiet, or with one or two people. To me making merry means making merry with myself. I like me. I am a good person. I find, often, that I am the best person to tell myself that.

Best wishes for your own, self actualized, holiday celebrations.

Warmly and with love dear cherubs:

Margaret

Ok now that the hype has lessened, here are my thoughts about Ted Kennedy

2009-09-17T17:36:00.000-07:00

Dearest Cherubs:

Of course, I had to let the hype die down. How could I even add to anything? But now, I have bought the book "True Compass" and I have devoured it my dears. I mean, I have completely devoured it. And it has brought me back to my childhood and to my adolescent years and to my adulthood.

So now, here's what I have to say.

I am part of the generation who watched JFK die, RFK die, Martin Luther King die, Malcom X die, George Wallace become paralized from a gun shot, race riots, Kent State and many other appalling indignities and horrid events transpire.

But I did not lose three brothers and two sisters. I did not endure that. I did not endure being responsible for the death of another person. I endured other things, but not those things.

On the other side of that, I was not responsible for championing legislation that made other people's life better. I did not nor was not in the position to make things better for the people of Massachusetts and the people of the USA. I was not in that position. He was.

I have only one small Kennedy story to tell. When I was in highschool, I knew a student who went to school at Concord Academy, the school which Caroline Kennedy attended. There was a small gathering at Concord Academy that year to which I was invited. Caroline was there. Her father had been dead about eight years. She wore her hair very long, I remember. It covered half her face. I was also wearing my hair in the same fashion.

The party was lively and fun but yet, Caroline held herself apart, quietly sitting in a corner. Who could blame her?

I gently approached her. I have no idea what gave me the courage to do that. I touched her hand and said, hey, there's cake, have you had some? She smiled at me and said that she didn't care for cake.

I don't remember much after that. But I tried to speak because it seemed to me that she was an unwilling victim of that senseless act of violence. And no matter how unsettled my adolescent life was (and it was) it could never compare to what she had to go through.

I am sure if I related that incident to her now, she would not remember it. But I remembered it. Because she was a Kennedy.

They were and still are a family that represents things to us, as Americans. And Teddy chose to give up aspirations to power, because I believe that despite what happened on the Cape that night, he could have been president. He could have been President of the United States of America. But he gave it up. Perhaps he felt himself unworthy. But I think not. I think he thought of the children and grand children left to his care. I really think he thought of them and thought that he was the only one left. So he took it on. He took it on without complaint. And he stayed in the United States Senate and voted every year, day after day, month after month, year after year, exactly as I would have asked him to vote.

It is for that I am grateful. It is for that, that his book goes into my library in a place of honor. It is for that public service that I thank him from the bottom of my heart.

A perfect person he was not, and who is? But a great public servant, he was. And dearest cherubs, there are few. So very few.

With love and respect, I submit this post.

Progressive libralism and sound Investing, they're not mutually exclusive

2009-07-13T16:25:00.000-07:00

Hello dear cherubs:

I am an investment professional, I guess you would say to me that fact should make me a conservative, at least fiscally. Ummmm it does and it kind of doesn't.

I am a progressive liberal who believes in investing. How bizarre is that? But it's true. I am a progressive liberal who believes in investing. Investing and being careful and smart and informed does not collide with being a progressive liberal. Unbeknownst to most people, liberals don't just know how to spend other people's money. We also know where to spend the right amount of money at the right time. This may mean that the money we spend doesn't have an immediate effect. Good investing takes patience. To those who tell me now that the stimulus is not working, I will say to them the facts: the stimulus bill is 90% unspent, hung up in bureaucracy. And it's not the federal bureaucracy, it's the individual state's bureaucracy. So we have no idea whether it's working or not. My thought is, it is working but not quickly enough to suit most Americans. Americans have very little patience for anything.

If I could make enough money doing it, I would teach poor folks how to invest. I would think about investing for them. If brokers were really doing their job, they'd be thinking about poor folks too. I think that's what the government should be doing, paying brokers to help poor people learn about investing.

For a while, I was able to beat the S&P 500 by a goodly percent in my 401(k). (Many thanks go to my former colleagues who taught me about investing.) But the fact that I was confined to investing in a single fund company worried my investments into losses beyond my control.

But now I am back in control. And what do you all think I am doing in my 401(k) account dearest cherubs? I'm buying! I'm buying! I'm buying! There are values out there that are unbelieveable and if you're not buying you're crazy.

However, in my non-contributary accounts dearest cherubs, my roll over IRA, what do you think I'm doing? I'm protecting myself. I'm in bonds and precious metals and other safe investments. I'm being careful. Because I can't contribute to those accounts and so therefore, there's only one way to mitigate risk and that is to be in less lucrative but "safer" investments.

Now you're all smart folks, and so you know why I'm making these choices. I'm 53 years old and I have to save what I can save, and grow what I can grow. Also, I have a wonderful financial advisor who cares what happens to me. I'm unusual in this respect.

I really do not have a problem with the losses I suffered recently. That's the way the market works. But it's all a loss on paper. I have sold nothing and bought nothing that can be valued now. If I were to sell, then, I would suffer. But the fact is I will recoup my losses over the next 20 years or so. This is how one must think. For the people just retiring now, I am sorry, but I hope they had a wise broker who saw it coming and got those investments into safety. Because if that broker truly acted in his client's best interest, then folks just now retiring who were fortunate enough to be that broker's clients, they would be just fine. But we all know there are people out there who know what they're doing and others, well, let's hope this environment squeezes many of the bad ones out of business.

Here is what my progressive liberal self hopes. I am hopeful that we have learned something about what unchecked greed and unmitigated risk can do during this crisis. I hope that we have learned that when you don't restrain the market, the market will not restrain itself. My investor self hopes that the regulatory community will be wise in its imposition of new regulations (and we all know these are coming) and not prevent the market from achieving reasonable growth based on real value and solid deal making and not silly and stupid ideas like "the housing market will always go up".

See, we liberals know about money, yours and my money, other people's money. We know alright. We know that if you're investing for retirement, it's all about "hurry up and wait". If you're getting close to retirement age, consult a professional with a good ethical reputation and that professional should put you in the right place at the right time. That's her job. If she's not doing her job, fire her and get somebody else.

Who's in charge here? You, that's who.

Ok enough about that. Thank you, as always, for listening.

Warmly and with all my love, Margaret

Business Speak I never want to hear again!

2009-05-04T06:15:00.001-07:00

Cherubs:

There's something happening to our language concerning the way we communicate in the world of work, here in America. The words are moving away from the humanity, there's a distancing and an objectification that's happening. It bothers me immensely. I'll attempt to use a little humor here, but consider the following phrases:

"Think outside the box" -- People who still say this are decidedly inside the box. It's become a tired phrase that attempts to conjure creativity, but instead succeeds only in conjuring eye rolling on the part of the listener, if indeed, the listener is still listening. How about "think creatively about" or "think beyond the obvious" what's wrong with that?

"It is what it is". -- I do not know who coined this phrase but if ever a more empty, defeatist, negative phrase existed I don't know what it is. If the good side of this is to invoke pragmatism, there must be a better way to do it. How about "let us accept those things which can't be changed and work together to improve those which can"? Oops, maybe that's too many words?

"Take this offline" -- This is an attempt to pretend that you don't want to bother people in the larger meeting which the details of a particular matter. But what it really means is that you actually want private time with the person disagreeing with you in order to brow beat them into submission with impunity and without witnesses. And by the way, when we're sitting in a meeting are we "on line"? I know some of us are pounding away on our blackberries and not paying any attention to the meeting in the first place, and I know that some of us are so unfortunate as to have had to call into the meeting which allows those present in the meeting room to snicker at us without being detected, but I was not aware that we were "on line". So why are we taking things "off line"? Things in English are really weird in corporate America.

"Circle back with" -- OK this is a weird one. What this means is that you can't answer a question, so you need to speak with the person who has the answer. Why you can't just "speak" with them as opposed to "circling back" with them is beyond me. It kind of reminds me of the old cowboys and Indian games, where the cowboys "circle the wagons" (which by the way, never really happened but it made for a nice movie shot).

"Reach out and touch" -- Okay I think the political types use this one more than the corporate types, but I've heard it both places. What it means is to contact somebody, talk to somebody, speak with somebody, telephone somebody, or otherwise attempt to communicate. There was an old television ad I believe that had a jingle "reach out, reach out and touch someone". Perhaps that old ad is what spawned this phrase, but I actually would posit a different theory. My theory is that "reach out and touch" gives the feeling of distance and "speak with" gives the feeling of closeness. When faced with the choice of distance or nearness, most corporate speakers will choose distance. Distance is safer. Also, I think "reach out and touch" implies that you're doing something more than you're doing. Corporate speakers always want you to think that they're working harder than they really are.

"We" -- "We" almost always equals "I" or even more often "you". People choose to say "we" because they think it sounds more egalitarian than "I/you", and protects them from being exposed as a bully, which is what they're really usually doing, bullying you into doing it their way. Consider the following sentence: "I'm not sure we should be taking that approach". What this means is "you stupid idiot, just do it my way and get it right next time, ya hear?" Enough said.

"Resources" -- "Resources" = "money". There are no exceptions to that equation. It's just that we don't say the bad, bad money word. The money word is bad, very, very bad. Even if "resources" = "people", "people" cost money. And the money word is bad, very, very bad. Don't say that word, okay?

"Throw him/her/them under the bus" -- This frighteningly violent phrase has to do with pointing out that somebody on one's team, or elsewhere in the company, might be responsible for doing something less than helpful. "I don't want to throw anybody under the bus but didn't that gaff in the newsletter originate with the editing team?" It can also mean that you intend to assign somebody a painful, difficult and thoroughly awful project and then you name the name of the person to whom this dreadful and thoroughly awful project will be assigned. Then you end with some iteration of the bus phrase. "Not to throw Julie under the bus, but she'd be very good at sorting out all the widgets into the special widget drawers and then reporting the contents of each drawer in 20 different memos to senior management, twice weekly." In other words, when you state you don't want to throw somebody under the bus, that's exactly what you end up doing. Look both ways before crossing anywhere in corporate America folks.

"The bottom line is" -- See above under "Resources".

"Bandwidth" -- This is an adoption of a computer measurement of memory or disk space which is being applied to people's "time". "Time" is almost as bad "money" in the corporate world. Don't say these words okay? Again, I'm seeing a depersonalization of people -- they don't have "time" they have bandwidth, they are not people, they are computers. They are not people who have time and who cost money. They are people who have/don't have bandwidth and are worth/not worth resources. Yikes!

"Do the math" -- You do the math! Okay, I'll do the math! Doing the math refers to figuring something out. I actually don't mind this phrase quite so much if it is not used to brow beat somebody. "Everybody knows that the editing team (not to throw them under the bus) has made at least 25 errors this year. I mean, you do the math!" There is one most dreadful iteration of this and that is, dare I say it, the conversion of the word "math" from a noun to a verb. Yes, it's the now commonplace assumption that we don't have enough verbs in English and so therefore, we have to use perfectly good nouns and convert them to verbs. People "gift" each other now, so I guess, the verb "to give" is just not okay anymore. But when people "math" things out, I have to put my foot down all. I really can't stomach that.

And I guess that brings me to the end of this blog entry with a plea for a return to humanity in the workplace. Let's close up the distance and communicate with one another in such a way that acknowledges our human worth and makes us less like commodities and more like people. I dare say we'll get more done, make more "money" and have more "time" to ourselves. You do the math!

All my love, Margaret

I understand completely that I am too introspective

2009-04-14T17:31:00.001-07:00

Cherubs:

I have been cautioned about my introspectiveness. I have been counseled (and I think carefully, and with forethought and love) that I must join the world, that I am alone too much in my thoughts.

I think perhaps that all those who council me are quite correct. One cannot sit and contemplate one's navel. Yes, indeedy, I agree.

But dearest cherubs, I ask you this..... who is thinking? Who is thinking? And I ask one more time, who is thinking?

Writers serve a purpose in the world. We sit around during train rides to Boston and we think of stuff. Sometimes, we look around us and make an observance that might, one hopes, be useful to somebody else. Notice that I don't say "everybody" I simply say "somebody". I really don't care two bits if I ever publish a book but I sure do care two bits if I don't influence or communicate with other human beings.

I have several good friends who have encouraged me to write a book. What in the sweet name of heaven would I write about I wonder? My family is indeed, colorful. If I wrote about them, I might risk hurting somebody whom I never would have intended to hurt.

I could write about the things that bother me, confuse me, piss me off, make me happy.... make me happy.... I have to think about the "make me happy thing".

I have declared often to those whom I love and to those perhaps who simply endure me that "happiness is an unproductive state". Do you know when I am completely happy? It's when I am doing absolutely nothing. I am completely happy, in a bubble bath, in a tub that I don't have to clean, sipping a glass of wine that I didn't have to buy, looking at towels on towel warmers that somebody else is paying the electricity bill for, knowing that I will soon wrap myself in those towels.

Happiness is not productive. Agnst is productive. Worry and gnashing of teeth is productive (sometimes). Carefulness, and planning and consideration all are productive...but happiness? Well, to me it really is not conducive to getting anything done.

I believe that our founding fathers guranteed us only the "pursuit of happiness". The pursuit, is all that is guaranteed. The happiness is all a matter of perception.

I pursue my bubble bath. But I know that what I contribute is of value. But nobody is going to say to me "hooray for you Margaret". So who will say that to me, other than myself -- nobody I think.

So back to introspectiviness. I am indeed, introspective, and perhaps I wonder why that is. It is, I think, because I give myself the credit and rely on nobody else to do so. Even if somebody says, nope, you didn't get there or you didn't do what I wanted you to do, I still know that I am a person of worth. I guess I credit a person who sat across from me. in a leather chair-- a woman, my therapist, who saved my life.

I no longer see her on a regular basis, but she saved my life nonetheless, and my gratitude to her knows no bounds.

Today, I went to a gym to begin the process of putting back together my body to match my psyche. And my trainer was another kind of therapist. I could tell that he had compassion and I could tell that he had a sense of humor. I did only 9 pushups in one minute. But I knew that if I made a commitement, those 9 pushups would grow. I remember the feeling of muscles working from another life. Thank you to all my dance teachers for that.

Cherubs, the pursuit of happiness, is a very great pursuit. It is my humble opinion that one should attempt it as best one can, even if it results in lack of production. And please all of you, forgive my introspection because what can one do? I am thinking. I am thinking. I am thinking.

Warmly, and with love, Margaret

The obligatory Easter Blog!

2009-04-12T12:20:00.001-07:00

Sweet cherubs:

Because of my group membership in the popular social network LinkedIn, I have been in a dialogue with a minister. Yes, this is me, Margaret, the agnostic, in a dialogue with a minister.

He posed a question to the Learning, Education and Training Professionals group on LinkedIn. The question is as follows: Do you know of an objection to Christianity?

Well, as you might imagine, there were several posts indignantly questioning the relevancy of such a question posted in this particular group. But I decided to reply to him privately. I should tell you that he was actually seeking a way to communicate across many other religions and answer questions and talk about Christianity. Well, I thought that was a noble effort, so I replied. I suggested to him that one cannot debate faith, for the very reason that faith is based on an acceptance that cannot be proved or beaten into another person. Faith just is, you either have it, or you don't. What I did suggest to him is that what I call "churchianity" has caused much ill in the world. (More about that later.) Across a few e-mails, I suggested to him that if one were to have a discussion, one must discuss the similarities across all three Abrahamic religions. It's basically the same story, with different names, in slightly different locations, over approximately 3,000 years.

I also suggested to him that if one were to step back one step further to include the eastern religions, there are still points of similarity. "Everybody be loving and helpful to others; everybody help those less fortunate than yourselves." Goodness gracious, what's wrong with that? It's quite difficult to argue with that, don't you agree?

Back to the evil and disparaging "churchianity". Herein lies the problem. Churches were founded by men (and sometimes women, but mostly men). Once you have a "church" you have a problem. You have a problem because then, somebody starts pointing to a book and saying "it says here in this book that this and such and stuff is true and if you don't believe that, then you are wrong, and not just wrong, you can't be a part of our community".

Well, that is where organized religion and I part company. I explained to the good minister that God and I have a good relationship. I explained that she smiles at me every morning when I look in the mirror (I expect that statement may have given him some pause). But I also explained that once you say "it says here in this book" that I believe one is automatially wrong. The discussion of right and wrong must be avoided. There is no right and there is no wrong. There just is dogma and stories and the stuff of humans. It's humans that made religion. God had nothing to do with it.

Finally, I suggested to our friend the minister, that in order to break out of the evils of "churchianity" he consider respect. Okay the Christians believe this, the Jews believe this, the Muslims believe this and the Buddhists, believe this. So what? Everybody's beliefs are okay, and everybody's non-beliefs are okay. You can't convince anybody, but you can share ideas. You can share ideas as long as you do not feel the need to "convince" anybody. Faith and convincing are an anathma to one another. My ex-mother in law is a devout Christian. I learned to get along with her when I stopped beating her with my intellectual approach. As I have said before, faith cannot be proved nor can it be repudiated. When we would talk, I simply smile and say, "your faith must be a great comfort to you". I was not patronizing her, but I was trying to say in a sense, "I"m okay and you're okay". I won't get on the band wagon, but neither will I imply that you're on the wrong band wagon. I just, simply, have no idea.

To me, it's okay not to know. Sometimes, I think, we were not meant to actually "know". Jeepers creepers, there's a lot of quotation marks in this post!

Thanks as always for listening dearest cherubs.

Blessed Be and Happy Easter, Passover, ummm not sure what the Muslims and Buddhists do this time of year.

Margaret

Sunday afternoon --a random post

2009-03-29T11:52:00.000-07:00

Blessed cherubs:

It's raining outside and I'm glad, because we needed the rain. However, the rain causes me to turn inward, as I am wont to do these days, to consider several things.

I am considering whether I am becoming angrier than in days past. I am considering whether I think corporate America can ever be an organization that I want to be part of. I am considering whether or not to "retreat" to academia.

I believe I mentioned before that I went to hear Noam Chomsky recently. This man stirred a nerve that I had buried deeply inside me since I went to Seabrook back in the 1970s. Even back then, I chickened out, I chose to come back to UMass, take my exams and graduate. Several members of that protest begged me to stay. They accused me of being a "fair weather" protester. Perhaps I was a fair weather protester. But I was also a person interested in becoming a person. Hah! And so why must there always be a choice?

I have buried myself as a wife, buried myself as a mother, and buried myself as a corporate laborer. Recently, I have slowly climbed out of that pit that I was buried in. And now, I wonder if there is any place for an observing, progressive liberal intellectual like me.

The president that I wanted, is in the White House. The Congress that I elected is in the Capital. Why, then, am I still so worried?

I am worried because I am concerned that the thinking that must be done, is not being done. Now don't get me wrong. President Obama is doing the thinking I have no worries about that. Congress, well Congress has always been out of control, and the House will be mitigated by the Senate, as the plan has always been. It's important that we understand that our founders had that right. The House will put forward an inappropriate bill to tax the AIG bonuses, and the bill will be defeated in the Senate. This is as it should be.

But the thinking that I'm talking about is more of a self examination. Will Americans examine their way of life and find it wanting, and implement the change?

Will Americans embrace the good of all, over the good of the few?

I think not.

I think they will patiently wait until they can get the credit they think they deserve, and then, they will continue to borrow indiscriminently, and not save anything.

Sigh.

Now I'm not preaching here, because I struggle with all these things. I love my cell phone. I love the fact that I can reach my daughter at anytime to know that she is ok. I have not canceled cable TV, I like the On Demand feature and use it more than viewing network television. I don't like owning a home, but appreciate that when I was married, we could borrow against it to make necessary repairs. But I also confess to you that I can't wait until we can sell it because it feels like an albatross around my neck.

But I have also thought about doing some things I might not have thought about doing, before this melt down. I have thought about soliciting for a roommate. I have thought about sending MORE money not less but MORE money to my 401(k). I have canceled some little luxuries. I have joined a health club, but closed down a coffee club membership and my Zoots membership which I frankly, really adored. I am not sure if I am part of the problem. But this whole thing had caused me to think about my priorities and I guess frankly, that's a good thing.

Is there a place for me as an observant, progressive liberal? I certainly hope that there is. There's certainly more opportunities that there were before. But I find my self arguing more than ever with my conservative friends. They are angry. Ok now, it's our turn. Perhaps soon, you can say that we blew it. But not yet, my friends, not yet. President Obama has not yet had enough time to blow it. Let's just try to give him a chance to fix this mess.

So I say to my conservative friends at this time, the soap box is NOT yours. Try as best you can to adapt to this change, and try to have some respect for the other point of view. After all, the "other" point of view is now in power. You're done for now. Get over it, and try to listen more than talk. That's the wisdom of the age. Listen.

Blessed Be, sweet cherubs.

A couple of days off

2009-03-20T13:26:00.000-07:00

Cherubs:

You know, it's a really sad thing when you have to have oral surgery. But what's really much more sad, is that you're grateful to have a good excuse to take a couple of days off.

I'm sitting in my home office, happily writing to you. I have minimal pain thank goodness, and if I have more pain, I have drugs. But I'm blissful, why? I'm blissful because I was able to take two days off because I was having this procedure. What is wrong with this picture? Why in my heart of hearts, could I not have said to my boss, I need to take a couple of days off, for my own sanity. Why didn't I just do that?

Well it's complicated I think.

In this economy, one wants to feel that one is indispensible and needed and that one's absence will be missed. I'm not sure that I'm indispensible (even though I'm the only trainer for a global company), and frankly, all that I think will be missed is my sometimes annoying message to my colleagues -- that my company must become a learning organization and that learning and continuous improvement is important. Yikes, I wish I were not the only one saying that but in fact, I think that is true.

The other thing that plagues me is the good old Protestant work ethic. You work, and if you can walk, you work, and if you breath in and out, you work. It's a terrible plague. The Europeans are much better at the work life balance. The saying goes that American's live to work and that Europeans work to live. I like the European approach better, and being of Italian descent, feel drawn to that approach. But frankly, I was born here, and hard work has been beaten into me since I was a tot. My Italian cousins shake their heads at me. "You're in Italy for one week", my cousin Bruno exclaimed. One week! He was amazed. I explained that one week was the only vacation time I could get. Once in my life, I took two weeks vacation, but I couldn't this time. He simply was amazed.

There's one more, even more disturbing reason why I feel that I can't just take a day off. My existence. I worry about my existence. I worry that if I don't constantly prove every day of my life that I am of value, that I will simply cease to exist. Now that's really messed up. (I would use the F word, but this a public blog.) But I feel compelled to admit it to you all, because I think that I am not the only one who feels that way.

So I sit here with my slight discomfort in my lower right jaw and I feel grateful for a failed root canal. I feel grateful because I could lie in bed this morning and watch Sense and Sensibility or Henry V or any of my favorite films and not feel guilty. Heavens, this is just not good.

I think sometimes that this is why people play the lottery. Not because of greed, or worries, or anger, or even the hope of riches. But because they might be able at some point to be self actualized human beings and make their own decisions based on their own feelings. Wow, what a luxury that might be.

I bid you peace dearest cherubs with the hope that you might actually take some time for yourselves without guilt or other forms of hand chafing.

Warmly, Margaret

Is romance real?

2009-03-08T17:57:00.000-07:00

Dearest cherubs:

You must forgive me, because when I feel called to write upon such subjects, it's usually after a couple of glasses of wine on a Sunday evening. :-)

But now that I am single, after a long period of being married, I find myself contemplating this sociological phenomenon called romance.

What the heck is it, I wonder?

It may perhaps only belong to young people. Or, it may be that it only belongs to those who believe in it. I'm just not sure, and I don't feel qualified to judge. I'm not sure that I've ever been in love.

I think I've been in limerence (please forgive the spelling, I can't find a dictionary that has this word in it, yet I know it's a real word). Limerence is the scientific term for the feeling that we experience sometimes when we meet somebody and we find we can't really think or behave rationally or at least with a semblance of reasonable behavior. We stammer, we pull at our hair and look down or up, and bat our eyelashes. This is limerence. Friends, I guess I find that limerence at this point in my life is highly undesireable. I confess to you that I have no desire to experience limerence ever, ever again.

I seem to desire friendship. Friendship to me seems ultimately to be desired. It is so easy to love a friend. You get together, you share views, experiences, worries, triumphs, failures and concerns. All of this is done without judgement, without rancor, without demands. You just are, you just can be, you are of support to one another without having any hidden agendas.

Is friendship enough?

Ah now this is the ultimate question. I do not know if friendship is enough. I am hoping that it is, but I have a nagging suspicion that it is not. I do not know what causes this nagging feeling. I wonder if our society poses this necessity to conform. I am at my core, a nonconformist. But I do not reject society's mores out of habit. I attempt to examine these things. I attempt to ask questions and to seek answers.

The other day I went to hear one of society's great dissidents, Noam Chomsky. He was brilliant, as I knew he would be. But he also struck me as quite vulnerable (he is now 80 years old), quite charming and deeply connected to the human condition. Is that what one must be to be a truly great human being? Perhaps, perhaps that is true. I wonder if Noam Chomsky was ever in love?

My dears sing out okay? I write only to pose questions, not to demand answers.

Warmly and with love, Margaret

A list in celebration of civility

2009-03-02T16:41:00.000-08:00

Dearest cherubs:

Those familiar with my writings, will know that occasionally I post a list. Here's my first "blog" list.

I am from the age of civility. And so for me, to see a president who is civil on the evening news, no matter how huge the severity of the thing he is addressing, is enormously comforting.

We have debate, we have opposing views. But there is no need for us to brow beat one another.

I went to a party this weekend and I had a really wonderful time. I am grateful to the person who threw this party, because good times are few and far between these days. There was lashings of civil behavior everywhere.

I am a fan of politeness. Did you know that in the theatre, if you are in the way of a stage hand, he doesn't say "get the hell out of my way" (at least the good ones don't) . Do you know what he/she says? He says "clear please". Can we not at least practice this simple kindness to one another?

I used to be a stage manager (I've done most everything in the theatre) and when I was the most stressed, I was the most polite. "Ladies and gentleman, this is your 15 minute call". And I would get back the most polite response from the people even more stressed than I was. "Thank you 15".

Today my boss and I met about something that I was proposing. He disagreed with me. I pushed my patience button. I tried to listen. I heard what he had to say. He had some good points. I had some good points. I don't know what will happen, but it pleased me.

Civility pleases me. Because it means that we are listening to one another.

Let us, dearest cherubs, listen.

Warmly, and with love, Margaret

I confess to feeling discouraged

2009-02-18T16:12:00.000-08:00

Hello cherubs:

Okay we've heard the epithets, we've heard the sayings, we've heard the tired, worn out phrases: "it's tough out there, it is what it is, feel lucky that you have a job, well there are opportunities, you just have to look for them". Yup, we've heard all that.

The fact is I'm feeling discouraged and I have a job. My discouragement is interfering with my ability to add value to my organization. And I'm concerned about that, because if I don't add value, then truly, I will not survive in the organization. So what can I do about that?

Well, I can do a number of things. I can, as my friend Lou would say, make sure that I make the right "Choices" (the capitalization is his invention). I can choose to give up or I can choose to keep going. I can choose to add value or I can choose to be petulent. I can choose to have a voice, or to curl up within myself and not be present. I am trying to make the right choices. But I must say to you that it ain't easy.

It's demotivating to feel grateful that you are still employed. There is the survivor's guilt, the worry over friends and family that have lost their jobs, the concern over your own job, the worry that there are not enough resources to access to allow you to be a success. There's so much that it feels overwhelming sometimes. But I have some memories to sustain me.

When I was young, I was poor. I mean, really poor. But I didn't know that I was poor. I just woke up every morning, rose from my bed, showered, put on my leotard, went to class, went to rehearsal, did my performance and fell into bed after having washed out that very same leotard that I had to wear the next day, because I couldn't afford to have too many around. But I did not despair, or fret or worry. I was doing the work I loved. I didn't think about the "future". I just did my work. Sometimes, I had teaching work on top all of that and I rejoiced because it was extra income. My body was young and strong, and dare I say it, I was pretty. My muscles were in almost constant protest. Something always hurt. I never worried about that, it came with the territory. I actually felt that the pain I was feeling was a result of the hard work that I did and was actually a kind of benediction. Bills sometimes went unpaid. Retirement was an unknown concept. Taxes, oh well, one did what one could. I do regret that at that young age, I didn't pay more attention to taxes. I now pay attention to taxes.

But what this teaches you is that you've been there, and you could be there again, and guess what? You'd survive. You'd survive. Because you did then, and you will now. If I have to clean houses for a living again, I will. I can do almost anything. I have no shame. I can live I can cope. I have experience and education and above all, empathy. There will always be somebody worse off than I. Always!

So I leave you with that encouraging thought amid all the discouragement. Let us take as much heart as we can dearest cherubs. It's up to us. It's all about Choices.

Warmly and with love, Margaret

Where is your body in space?

2009-02-12T11:01:00.000-08:00

Greetings cherubs!

Winter in Boston brings a curious juxtaposition of order and chaos to Boston's buildings and streets. Ice creates the chaos. People are slipping, sliding, walking like creatures more akin to ducks or penguins than human beings. They take up much more space -- arms outstretched for balance and looking fearfully from side to side to make sure that nobody, absolutely nobody can touch them or are coming close to touching them or even thinking about touching them lest they lose their balance. The line weaves around from South Station working carefully around particularly frozen bits, or going way out of its way to avoid the worst of all the worsts -- the polished stone that looks so nice on the entrance to buildings in summer but creates a horror show when freezing rain, or sleet or ice covers it.The news programs show endless taped loops of people falling on their behinds. I was watching a popular local news program one morning and I think I saw the same guy fall on his ass at least 25 times in the space of 15 minutes. I mean jeepers, don't you feel sorry for that poor guy? "Hey George, what did you do this morning?" "I watched myself on TV falling on my ass 25 times." What a way to start the day. When it's icy, you have little control over where your body is in space.

Now the snow, the snow creates order. In what must be an effort to conserve precious budget dollars, there is only one path shoveled from South Station, to Surface Road, and then from the Red Line kiosk, across Dewey Square to that absurd intersection that I have written about before where two roads converge coming out of the tunnel. Once you survive crossing these two roads, there is again only one path across the courtyard of 175 Federal Street to High Street.What this does is force people to walk in an orderly fashion using these paths. Everybody has no choice -- we have to touch one another because there's too many of us to get by each other without touching and we have to harden our hearts against the homeless folks selling Spare Change newspapers and holding out cups since they, too, must use the same path. I can even hear the poor Spare Change Newspaper guy grumble under his breath every time one of us hard hearted creatures passes him by without so much as a glance. But everybody knows where his or her body is in space.

When the snow melts and the ice is gone, then nobody has any idea where their body is in space. South Station is a cavernous building with no clearly delineated paths of traffic. There is a hap hazard scattering of tables and chairs, the ubiquitous coffee bars and newsstands placed here and there with seemingly no planning whatsoever. The people flow off the trains, into the station and guess what's coming at them? You guessed it, people flowing off the subway coming up the escalator in the opposite direction. What brilliant engineer came up with that one? So imagine now if you will my friends, the scene. We have two mobs of people dashing toward one another with briefcases, backpacks, cell phones, Ipods, and yes, they all have their heads down. It's a blood bath! It's a den of thieves! It's a free for all! As soon as you get to the escalators, you have to dodge the people crossing your path. Eventually, they will turn around and be going in the same direction as you are but even that is a struggle as we attempt to all ummmmm "get the right of way".Once out of the building if there's no weather to organize us, we wander about as if we were in our right minds. I have already written about paying no attention to the lights, but one thing really strikes me, and that is that so many people are wearing headphones or ear buds, they most likely can't hear you or anything else but what's pounding in their ears. Their heads are down because it's a weekday morning and they're probably caffeine deprived so their sensory skills are already muted. In other words, they don't just only not know where their bodies are in space, they have no access to the space at all. They're closed off, entities unto themselves and they bring their own space to the space, as if the shared space didn't matter at all.

Where is your body in space is the question I used to ask my daughter when she used to bump into me, or her dad, or a chair, or other obstruction. Daughter, I used to say, one must be aware of where one's body is in space. I guess it always came easily to me since I was a dancer so it was part of my job to have that awareness. But I think that awareness may be diminishing in our workaday world and I'm not sure whether I'm sad about that or whether I just accept it as part of the constant rabble of change that bangs on my head relentlessly every single day. I wish everybody a happy day and for heaven's sake, be aware of where your body is in space!

Warmly and with love, Margaret

Welcome

2009-02-08T13:31:00.001-08:00

I have been writing to many of you. But now, I want to make my blog available to others. So here I am. Please read me and comment. Thanks all. Margaret