Jan and I am a technology immigrant. There are three generations that currently exist in the cyber world: technology aliens, immigrants and natives. I bet you know one in each generation. The aliens still exist in the dark ages – no email address, no smart phone and absolutely no computer at home. After all it is a fad and just like the 8-track player will eventually fade away into oblivion, right? Don’t try to fight it, it is a badge of honor for them to be on the outside looking in.

The immigrants were brought into this brave new world kicking and screaming. Some recognized what it was becoming and begrudgingly jumped on board. They created email addresses, learned to surf the web but that’s it. Others embraced this strange new world and dove face first into the deep end of the pool, learning as fast as they could trying to make up for lost time. They were in awe of the capabilities of technology, almost like the feeling of going to Disney World for the first time. They loved it, they couldn’t get enough of it.

And then there are the natives – they never knew anything but the digital world. Their baby toys were small computers. Their moms pacified their cries by handing them their smart phones and watched in amazement at how intuitively they mastered the device. They text and surf faster than the speed of sound. They live their lives through social media. They are wired all the time. They know nothing else.

I am proud to be a technology immigrant and a closet geek, although more and more I seem to have come out of the closet. But I was dragged kicking and screaming into cyber world by my sister-in-law as I was mistakenly one of those who thought computers were just another fad. My sister-in-law plunked me down in front of her computer, tears streaming down my face, and said you will learn this – this is important. I was scared to death, scared I couldn’t cut it, scared I would break it, just plain petrified. She also dragged me to a computer programming class – I hated it. I mean, how could numbers make a computer work? I am now probably one of a only a handful of people remaining who wrote code to solve the quadratic equation in Pascal language – not that it got me anything, but it did teach me about the inner workings of a computer.

Then it came time to buy my first computer. Ah yes, I remember it well. It was a Gateway with a 30 MB hard drive. I was styling. I had the power of the world in my home office. I knew it just couldn’t get any better than this. I had reached the pinnacle of technology. Life was good. Or so I thought. But things changed rapidly and in a few years my poor little Gateway didn’t have the capability to perform common functions. So time for the next latest and greatest. That computer was a Dell – and it came with an 18 inch flat screen! No more mini television as a monitor. Wow – certainly this was the pinnacle of technology. I was in technology heaven. I have to say the Dell served me well – I had it for seven years – a fossil by technology standards. But when it started to act up and the cost to repair it equaled a hefty down payment on a new one, I was once again in the market for the next latest and greatest. Decisions, decisions…

One day, my husband told me he had a long conversation with our neighbor about computers and what we should buy. Our neighbor took him to his home office, had him sit down in front of this huge sleek screen and began to show him some of the features of his computer. (It is important to note that up to that point my husband was a technology alien). He immediately started to play around with it and was surprised at how intuitive it was. He was hooked. He came home that afternoon and said, “Honey, we should get an iMac.” I almost fell off of my chair. The next day I posted on my Facebook status that we were considering going over to the dark side, leaving the Microsoft world and venturing into the world of Apple. My niece immediately called me and said, “Auntie Jan – I am an Apple Genius and I can get you a discount on my family plan.” The rest is history. Today we are the proud parents of an iMac, MacBook Pro and iPhone. The iPad will be the next venture.

So what’s my point? Well, there are a couple. First, I will never forget the first time I did a Keynote presentation on my MacBook Pro and was able to control it from my iPhone. After the presentation a twenty-something young man came up to me and asked me how I did it.  Hallelujah, I had arrived! I finally knew something that a technology native did not. I was validated. Second, I never thought I would ever see the day when my husband would be surfing the internet. He uses it frequently now and realizes what a valuable tool it can be. It has opened up worlds to him and I am grateful for that. Third, and perhaps the most important of all, these tools have changed our lives. We can find and keep in contact with people we never thought we would see or hear from again. We can get and receive information in the blink of an eye. We can master the power of computing even though we struggled with Math and Science. And most of this was because one man had the vision to take technology out of the geek world and make it accessible to and desired by the masses.

Thank you Steve Jobs. Rest in peace. Your legacy will be compared to the likes of Albert Einstein, Henry Ford and Thomas Edison. Not too shabby for the likes of just one man!

Steve Jobs 2005 Stanford Commencement Speech

I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like not to be free. Yesterday as I watched the Amanda Knox verdict I began thinking about  a few things that happened over the past week regarding life in general and what we choose to appreciate. I’m not going to get into a debate about whether she was guilty or innocent. What struck me was her reaction when she heard the verdict and what she said afterwards. She was so relieved that she was going to once again be free that she could barely stand and had to be held up as they escorted her out of the courtroom. Later, after she was released, it was reported that all she wanted to do was to go home and lie in field of green grass. Interesting.

I also saw a show last week about the Memphis 3, a group of 3 young men who were arrested eighteen years ago and convicted for the deaths of three very young boys. The person believed to be the ring leader was sentenced to death and was being held in solitary confinement. His life was filled with days where he had no sunshine, lived within four walls with a concrete slab and mat for a bed, a hole in the floor for a bathroom and a slat in the door where his meals could go in an out. His only “luxury” was a television but he only had the basic channels, no cable. He described the things he had to do in order to cope with these horrific conditions and how he began to lose his ability to see things far away as he rarely had to use his eyes to see beyond the confines of his four walls. He was allowed one visitation each week for three hours on Sundays. That is how he lived his life for eighteen years until modern science and a review of the investigation shot huge holes into the conviction. Can you imagine not seeing the sun for eighteen years, not knowing whether it was day or night and only having human contact for three hours a week? And what he said he appreciated the most about being free was being out in the sun again, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. Interesting.

Lastly, a close friend of mine lost her younger sister last week. She died from a pulmonary embolism, quick and gone. There was literally nothing anyone could do to save her. My friend had breakfast with her sister just last Sunday and in the blink of an eye everything changed. She talked about how wonderful it was to have that time with her and how glad she was that she made the time to do it. A simple breakfast, interesting.

It struck me how in each one of these situations the things that mattered the most were the simple things. I remember when my mom was dying and it was getting near the end. My life was turned upside down and all I longed for was a “normal” day. A normal day. I wanted the little things like relaxing over a cup of coffee on the deck, going to work, coming home and having dinner with my husband, no hospitals, no doctors, no nursing homes, no insurance companies, no illness. I wanted a normal day. And no money in the world could buy me that at the exact time that I wanted it.

So, that begs the question of what is truly important in our lives. Do we stop and think about it? Are our priorities straight? When was the last time you truly appreciated lying in a field of green grass, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face, having breakfast with someone close to you, appreciating a normal day. Little things really, but once they are taken away from you they become the most important of all.

It was just the same as it was on 9/11. You remember exactly where you were and what you were doing. So it was on November 22, 1963 when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I was in 7th grade at the time and our teacher told us that the president had been shot. The whole school walked over to the church and en masse we all prayed that the president would be all right. After we finished, the pastor went up on the pulpit and announced that John F. Kennedy was dead. That was the very first time the concept of death hit home for me. I mean, it just couldn’t be. He was so young, so vibrant and he represented a new era in American politics. The torch has been passed to a new generation, my generation. And in an instant, it was gone. The hopes, the dreams the excitement over what was to be. Gone.

So now I found it very interesting to finally hear the words of Jacqueline Kennedy in the only interview she gave after President Kennedy’s death. She was only 34 at the time he died. So young, so beautiful and she carried the sorrow of a nation on her shoulders with dignity and class. Everyone wanted to be like Jackie. She had the ability to melt the heart of Charles De Gaulle and charm the throngs of people she met on the campaign trail. And now, marking the 50th anniversary of Kennedy becoming president, Caroline Kennedy has chosen to share her mother’s thoughts with the world by releasing the tapes of that interview.

What struck me as I listened to some of the excerpts is that although we as women feel we have come a long way, it was not that long ago that we were expected to be subservient to men and were socialized to believe that was our role. In listening to Jackie you hear how she willingly would defer to the wishes of her husband, how she wanted to make for him a quiet and relaxed atmosphere when he came home because of the enormity of the stresses he faced during the day and how she felt that women should never go into politics. She talked about Kennedy’s disdain for showing affection in public and so he would never hold her hand. She willingly accepted that and she usually tried to walk slightly behind him when they were out in public. As a matter of fact, a television commentator once remarked how unusual it was for Jackie to deplane Air Force One before Jack as she had done at Love Field on the day Kennedy was killed. She had very hard and fast beliefs about the role of a woman in a marriage and it was definitely one that took a back seat to the man.

Some people were actually shocked when they heard her words. How could someone like Jackie Kennedy, Jackie O, be saying these things. I was not shocked at all. I have been studying women and leadership for the past 6 years and one thing I learned and try to teach is that the rights women now have here in the United States were not unalienable and only granted a very short while ago. Women did not have the right to equal pay until 1963 when the Civil Rights Bill was passed. Women could not vote until 1920. In some parts of the world women still cannot vote. Just this past week women in Saudi Arabia were finally given the right to vote but not until the 2013 election even though there will be an election coming up in a few months. And women in Saudi Arabia still cannot leave the country unless they have permission from their husband or guardian.

American women have a lot of rights that we now take for granted and some that could very easily be taken away, namely to right to choose what you can and cannot do with your own body. I find it funny that many women take these rights for granted or think they are entitled to them. And I find it funny that they think it odd that Jackie Kennedy would sound so subservient to her husband. It was not that long ago that women were expected to behave that way. We’ve come a long way baby. Or have we?

Change is a strange thing. We all look at change as something to expect and we all say that change is good and yet when we are in the midst of change we sing a different tune. Maybe it has to do with how change is handled. Maybe it has to do with who is leading the change and why the change is happening. But maybe it just has to do with the fact that by nature we are creatures of habit and change is the antithesis of that. Change means doing something differently, behaving differently, breaking a habit, foraging into the unknown. So although in theory we all say we should embrace change, by nature we tend to resist it.

Take for example the Muscular Dystrophy telethon. This year after 46 years Jerry Lewis was not a part of it. Lewis had been the face of MDA, so much so that we began to look at the young children he advocated for as Jerry’s kids. For years he brought the biggest and brightest stars out to stump for the MDA. One year Frank Sinatra even got Dean Martin to appear, the first time the feuding duo had been on stage together since their break up many years prior. The show was a 21 hour marathon and we all watched as Jerry sleeplessly made it through, loosening his tie, looking bleary-eyed but always fighting for the cause he had taken on as his own. And then at the very end the singing of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and with tears in his eyes he would thank the audience for their generous support. It is estimated that over the years Lewis garnered billions of dollars for the MDA. And now, matter-of-factly, Lewis is no longer the MC of the show.

Don’t get me wrong, it is my understanding the Lewis could be one heck of a bastard to work with and very difficult to manage. I don’t excuse that. Success can create monsters in people and only the truly successful remain humble through it all. But there is no denying that he produced big time. He created a brand for the MDA that many other charitable organizations wish they could emulate. To dismiss him matter-of-factly was a poor choice on their part. And despite everything they were still able to raise 61 Million without him. They may feel validated. But I wonder if that would have been possible had he not created the foundation for doing so.

Now, was it time for Jerry to hang up his hat? Probably. But there is class and there is class-less and I think the MDA appeared more the latter than the former. It is easy to dismiss someone simply because they appear no longer relevant or too old. But to fail to consider the body of work over four decades and recognize it appropriately is bush league. Every year I have given to the MDA but I did not this year. I am disappointed in how they handled the whole situation. There is something to be said for time and tradition. And although it was probably time for a change, they handled the change very poorly.

So I guess I am resisting this change at least for this year. Change is hardly ever easy but it can be successfully accomplished if it is appropriately managed. This could have been the year of the tribute to Jerry. Instead the MDA walks away with mud on its face and a little less money in its pocket, at least from the lack of my donation. It may be a drop of water in the ocean but at least I feel validated. And, thank you Jerry for entertaining us all these years. You deserved a little better than how you were treated.

We are now in the home stretch of Directors School. I am currently sitting in a class listening to a presentation of Fiscal Resources Management. The more I sit in on these classes and have an opportunity to interact with the students the more I am impressed not only with the faculty but with the caliber of people who are currently in the field providing parks and recreation services to communities across the country. These professionals are hungry for knowledge and are passionately engaged in all of the sessions. They are high energy, challenging and thirsty for every kernel of information they can get. I am so impressed and so humbled. This school goes by so fast. It will be over by tomorrow evening. But the learning and networking will go on far longer than the short week here and benefit the communities that they all serve.

All of this has just served to reinforce my love of the educational process. The sharing of knowledge, the interaction of teacher and student, the joy of discovery, the blessing of sharing, the struggle, the laughter, the learning and growing – how does it get any better than this? I look out on this group of students right now and feel extremely blessed that they are the ones in the trenches making it happen in the field of parks and recreation. I started out in this field because I loved the educational process but did not buy into the traditional educational system. And over the years I have never regretted being in this field. When I decided to move out of teaching in after school programs, my goal was to make sure that the types of programs and services offered through parks and recreation would continue on as I experienced first hand the differences these programs made in people’s lives, including my own. And I sit here right now and am feeling that I have come full circle. To be able to be part of this very special educational process makes me feel that in some small way I am making good on the promise I made to myself years ago. As I see the passion of these students, I have no doubt that our profession will continue to carry on.

What did I do to deserve to being involved in such a special program? I am so glad that goes around comes around – and I am so glad that I was around when it came back around.

Who will ever forget the picture – Baby leaning on the railing with her cute little dress and sweater, dreaming of what was to come – the stone covered pathway and the camera panning back to this big rustic resort building known as Kellermans –   Baby sneaking a peak through the window as old man Kellerman talks to the service staff, and then seeing Johnny Castle for the first time. I can see those moments from that movie so clearly.

The setting of Kellermans seemed so perfect for the story of Dirty Dancing- the beautiful scenery, lake, cabins and tons and tons of activities from which to choose. What an ideal way to spend some time during the Summer. I always hoped one day to visit a place like Kellermans. Three years ago I got my wish when I was asked to be an instructor for the National Recreation and Park Association’s Directors School. The school was to be held at the Oglebay Resort and Conference Center and although many of my colleagues were very familiar with Oglebay, I had never been there before.

Oglebay is about a one hour drive from the Pittsburgh airport. I can remember that first year renting a car and making that trek to Wheeling, seeing a huge Cabelas store on the way and enjoying the experience of traveling to a new part of the country.  I got to Wheeling and immediately began seeing the signs that direct you Oglebay via a winding road filled with numerous twists and turns. It felt like I was driving on that road for a very long time and then, all of a sudden, there it was – Kellermans! No, it was not the same building as in the movie, but the same rustic resort-type feel that greeted Baby in the movie greeted me at Oglebay. There is a porch lined with rocking chairs at the main entrance to guest registration. It reminded  me of the rocking chair that Baby’s father sat in as he sadly stared at the lake and wondered where his innocent daughter had gone. Individual cabins line the trails around the resort and I could imagine all of the “dance staff” popping out of any of them at any given time. The lake, the paddle boats, the stables, the golf courses – all aspects of what I envisioned Kellermans to be. You can stand at the top of a hill and watch the deer romp on the property. You see a father and son fishing in the lake. A trolley makes regular stops by the front porch to take guests to visit various places in the park. The resort even has a small zoo with quite an impressive stock of animals. And the trademark hanging plants stationed on just about every pole. The restaurant was also reminiscent of Kellermans with multi level seating and beautiful views. And then there was the library. The library is actually a small pub-type restaurant and lounge nicknamed the library by the school students who tend to spend some time there during the course of the week sipping a few brews and making friends that will last a lifetime. Oglebay is definitely a magical place. And in a few days I will be happily on my way back to my Kellermans. I look forward to it every year. And although there are no Johnny Castles there, I have found it to be a wonderful place to learn, refresh and renew. And who knows, there may even be an evening of “dirty dancing” in the library!

Its after dinner and I am sipping a glass of wine and thinking about benchmarks. I have to admit this thought did not come to me out of the blue but rather it was influenced by a blog written by one of my former students. In the blog she posted today she recalled the significant benchmarks that occurred between her last two hairdresser appointments. And yes, they were significant. It got me to thinking about the benchmarks in my life, especially the more recent ones. And although the time between my last two hairdresser appointments have not yielded the monumental changes she wrote about, the last ten years or so especially since I left Chicago have. I guess the trip my husband and I are planning back to Chicago is playing into these thoughts.

I left Chicago in 1999. If someone would have told me in 1998 that I would wind up living in Boulder, Colorado I would have laughed at them. The world is so much smaller these days. When I grew up people stayed in the city where they were born until they died. My parents were born in Chicago and lived their whole lives there. Yes they did retire to Florida but one of the driving factors for that move was the fact that my brother moved there several years earlier and so they felt they would still be close to family. When they moved, I was the sole remaining Drabik left in Chicago and my upbringing did little to make me think that I would ever live anywhere else. So I thought I would live in Chicago my entire life.

But things changed dramatically for me in 1993 when the Chicago Park District reorganized and I began working with a whole different level of talent and experience than the District had ever know before. One of the more life changing experiences I had was working with a woman who became the most influential mentor I ever had. She opened my eyes to a world of professional possibilities. She made me believe in myself. She pushed me, supported me and kicked me in the butt when I needed it. Her influence is directly responsible for me going after the job in Dayton, Ohio and making me believe that I was good enough for the job in Boulder.

But all of that meant leaving Chicago behind. And to the surprise of many including myself, I did. And although I have not lived in Chicago since 1999, I have been back to Chicago a couple of times since then. And when I went back I realized that there was a lot to the saying that you can never go home again. The old neighborhood where I grew up and the neighborhood that my husband and I lived for twenty plus years were not the same. The big old tree in front of my parents house was gone and replaced by a concrete pad. I guess no one wanted to mow the grass. The houses on Oakdale where Nick and I used to live were razed and in their place were three story single family dwellings. Our neighbors of twenty plus years were either gone or deceased. It simply was not the same. The city I had lived in all of my life was now not my city anymore.

Soon I will be going back to Chicago. I have not been back there for over 8 years. Why am I so excited to go back? What fascination does the city of Chicago still hold? I know what I will find. I know it will not be the same. I mean, what happened to Marshall Fields? The last time I was in Chicago I visited Marshall Fields on State Street. If I go there this time it will be Macys. Am I ready for that? The last time I was in Chicago Miegs Field was still there. Last I heard it got bulldozed in the middle of the night and park land left in its place. And now I hear they have a casino in Rosemont. Changes, changes, changes. So why do I want to subject myself to the sad fact that things will be so different from when I lived there and that life went on without me?

The difference this time is that I know that in all likelihood I will never live in Chicago again – and I am at peace with that. The difference is that I live in Colorado, I love Colorado and I have no intention of leaving Colorado. The difference is that I have accepted that life moves on and that Chicago will never be the same. But why should it?  No matter what you do or where you live, live moves on. That’s just a simple fact and fighting it is senseless. But the one thing that will not change and that no one can ever take away from me are the memories I have of growing up and living in that wonderful city. They are precious, they are mine and they will never change. And although Colorado is my home, Chicago is my heart. Be it ever so humble, I am who I am because of growing up and living in Chicago. And so it will always be – sweet home Chicago.

When I was in grammar school and high school it was the time I dreaded the most. Eventually I would open the Sunday paper advertisements and see those words: “Back To School“. It signified that the carefree days of summer vacation were counting down and soon it would be time once again to hit the books. I hated the thought of going back to a dictated routine, having to get up early, having to wear a uniform, having to study, waking up when its still dark outside, the sun setting at an ungodly early hour – all of the things that signified this particular ominous time of year. But there was always one aspect of back to school that was an undeniable joy – buying school supplies!

The first pleasure associated with buying school supplies is olfactory. Walk into any office supply store or down the aisles where the school supplies are stocked in any store and you will know what I mean. That smell of paper and file folders – there is nothing comparable. It makes you want to reorganize your life, or on second thought maybe just your desk. But that initial whiff is so intoxicating it gives you visions of scholarly grandeur.

Then it’s time to start making your school supply choices. Oh the possibilities! I loved getting that new lunch box or choosing what pens I would use, getting my yearly supply of Elmer’s Glue (gotta love Elmer’s Glue), buying file folders, pencils, crayons, scissors, a new book bag, yellow highlighters, paper clips, and on and on all the while watching my shopping cart fill up with back to school delights. But there was one purchase that was the pinnacle of them all, the big kahuna, the brass ring, the piece de resistance, the mother of all mothers, the purchase to end all purchases, the height of the back to school supply shopping experience – buying your notebook!

Back To School

Ah the notebook – so many choices so little time. What will it be this year? Do you get the tried and true traditional composition book with its familiar black and white design on the cover? Or do you go bargain hunting and buy various ones with different colored covers for twenty cents each. Or maybe you opt for the one that has your favorite television show on the cover, or your favorite cartoon character or your favorite movie hero. Choosing a notebook is highly personal and tells the world, or at least your classmates, who you are and what is important to you. It is your brand for the upcoming year. Every year the notebook aisles seem to get longer and longer and the choices are endless. You can spend hours just looking at them, opening them up, fanning the pages, determining whether you want thick or thin lines, perforated edges, divided sections, pockets on the inside flap, large ringed or small ringed, a hundred pages or fifty pages. It is such a difficult decision. After all you will be stuck with it for at least a semester or perish the thought maybe even an entire year. Decisions, decisions…

So now whenever the back to school ads appear they bring back these precious memories.  No longer do I have to worry about going getting back into the routine of going back to school. I haven’t had to worry about it for a long time. And I chuckle thinking about what goes through kids’ minds today as they see those ads showing up for the first time. Are they dreading them like I did? Do they look forward to buying their school supplies? Do they get excited buying Elmer’s Glue and browsing through all of the notebooks? I wonder…

But one thing I will never understand. Can someone please explain to me why I still have this inexplicable urge to buy a notebook?  Beats me. But y’know, for old times sake I think I just might.

I guess I must be living in a hole because until this weekend I had never heard of the 27 Club. And for those of you who are just like me, the 27 Club is an exclusive club of lore consisting of musical artists who died at the age of 27. For my generation the 27 club was started by Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones who died in a pool at that age. The club has some auspicious members including Janis Joplin, Jimmie Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain. This weekend the club welcomed its newest member Amy Winehouse. And although there may be a mythical aura surrounding this club, the sad thing is that it consists of members who had talent, charisma and promise but inevitably chose to embrace a life of alcohol and drugs to such an extreme degree that it killed them.

In many ways you are just beginning your life at 27. Most people have finished school and have begun the process of making career and life choices that will set the stage for the rest of their lives. These artists were not all that different in that regard, they were just doing it in a profession where big money and fame can be had quickly and so-called friendships and advisors can be bought and sold on a daily basis.

The only member of the club I actually had the privilege of seeing perform live was Janis Joplin. I was a freshman in college at the time  and my roommate and I snuck back to the Chicago area from DeKalb to see her performing live at Ravinia. She was already in the throws of her downfall and she appeared wasted and lethargic as she performed. On one of the amplifiers near her was her trusty bottle of Southern Comfort and every once in a while she would stroll over to the amp and take a big swig. She still had some magic left in her but it was obvious that she was in trouble. Janis attended a recording session on the night she died. She went out with a friend for a couple of drinks afterwards and then went back to her hotel. She shot herself up with heroine and went down to the hotel lobby to get change to buy cigarettes. She was found the next day collapsed on the floor of her hotel room with a cigarette in her hand.

Jimmie Hendrix was a phenomenal guitar player, one of the best of his generation and his song Purple Haze was every druggies’ anthem especially when he sang the words. “S’cuse me while I kiss the sky.” He mixed wine and sleeping pills and that turned out the lights for him.

Come on Baby Light My Fire was such a sexy song and very racy for the time – so racy as a matter of fact that when the Doors performed on the Ed Sullivan Show, Sullivan tried to get them to change some of the words that were thought to be too suggestive for family television. Needless to say Morrison figuratively gave him the third finger salute and although verbally consenting to change the words performed the song as originally written. Sullivan was furious and the Doors were never invited back to the show. I am sure Jim Morrison was not dismayed. On the night he died Jim was vomiting blood and found dead in the bathtub with blood oozing out of his nose.

Brian Jones was one of the original members of the Stones. I’ve also had the privilege of seeing the Stones live (that was at the Amphitheater in Chicago) but by the time I saw them Jones was already dead. I was and still am a Stones fan and have a great appreciation for some of their early music. I remember when Jones’ death was reported a lot was left unsaid but there was a heavy insinuation that the drowning was drug related. I never had a musical connection to Kurt Cobain but he was the lead singer in the grunge band Nirvana. He was a heroine addict who one evening decided to take a gun to his head and shoot.

And now Amy Winehouse. I have to admit I never paid much attention to her but upon hearing of her death and the 27 Club thing I watched a couple of YouTube videos of her early performances. I was impressed with her voice, that is her voice in earlier years, and could see a real talent behind the flashy clothes and trashy makeup.  I also watched the video of her last performance. She could not stand still, wobbled all over the stage, eyes clouded over and constantly rubbing her arms and nose (a sign associated with drug addiction). We don’t know as of yet what caused her death but I would double down on it being drug related. What a shame, not just for her but for all of them. So young, so talented, so much promise, so much to live for.

I would hope at this point that the 27 Club is closed off to membership but seeing the effects the music industry can have on high profile entertainers I think membership will continue to grow. And that is a sad state of affairs. The only comfort I take in all this comes from words of a Righteous Brother’s song – “If you believe in forever, then life is just a one night stand. If there’s a rock n’ roll heaven then you know they’ll have a hell of a band!”

Summertime and the livin’ is easy… such a special time. And it brings about fond memories of summers past when I came out of my cocoon and enjoyed being outdoors. Can you remember what it was like to be out of school for almost three months? Having picnics, going to the beach, going to the amusement park (Riverview), staying up late. So now as I sit on my deck sipping some cool water and watching Mia play with her toy on a beautiful Summer day, I thought I would  jot down some of my more vivid and special memories of Summers past.

My parents, brother and I lived in a very small three bedroom apartment on the third floor of a three flat building on the South Side of Chicago. Being on the top floor of the building you could count on the summer heat to come blasting down from the attic filling the apartment from corner to corner. My bedroom had one window at the foot of my bed. One of my fondest summer memories was sleeping upside down – sleeping in a position opposite of what I normally did so that my head could be by the window and I could feel the cool breezes directly on me. Many summer evenings I would flip my pillow to the opposite side of the bed and lay by the screened window looking at the stars, listening to the crickets and praying for a cool breeze. We lived directly next door to a Catholic School – Saint Pancratious (don’t ask, don’t know) – and at the beginning of every summer the parish would have its annual carnival complete with Ferris Wheel and Tilt-o-Whirl!  The Tilt-o-Whirl actually was set up on part of our property and every night for ten days as I lay by the window I could hear the motor from the ride’s generator and the screams of the people riding it. It was my summer lullaby for many years. I also remember our very first air conditioner. We thought we had died and gone to heaven. We would wind up needing two window units to cool the entire apartment and even though they were obnoxiously loud they brought welcome relief to the summer heat. The only downside to getting air conditioners was that it often curtailed my joy of sleeping upside down.

I never was a day camp girl – I hated day camps. I was always the kid who threw up in the back of the bus on field trip days. But I loved going to the local pool and spent many a summer swimming at the McKinley Park pool. In later years my mom told me that she almost drowned in that pool and that she never wanted us to know because she did not want us to be afraid of the water.

But the highlight of every summer when I was a child undoubtedly was our special two week vacation. Every year we went to Beverly Shores Indiana (woo hoo!)- about two hours out of Chicago although it always felt like we were on the road forever before we got there. My mom and dad knew this woman who had a small boarding house with guest rooms and a common kitchen. My mom, her best friend and us kids (both dads would drop us off and come and stay on the weekends after work) would have what I thought was a dream vacation. Every day we would walk the quarter mile to the beach, play in the sand dunes, swim in Lake Michigan, sit in our inner tubes on the water, get bad sunburns (sunblock hadn’t been invented yet and no one knew of the perils of UV rays) and feel like we were living the good life – and we were. I remember every morning waking up to this distinct bird call – it wasn’t until years later that I found out it was the call of a bluejay. And I remember summer evenings playing baseball on the dirt road – with trees as our bases and using a plastic bat a whiffle ball. There was always a ton of mosquito bites to contend with (no West Nile Virus at the time) but it was worth it, especially when the fireflies came out and provided a beautiful evening light show.

Summer time was also the time when the Good Humor truck perused the neighborhood with the distinctive melody coming from the truck’s bull horns and of course that wonderful Good Humor Ice Cream. The second you heard that familiar music you would run into the house and beg your mom for some money to buy your favorite treat – mine was the ice-cream bar. To this day, no one makes a better ice-cream bar than Good Humor – or at least that is what I seem to remember.

As I got older, summer evenings were what I looked forward to the most. Especially once I was able to drive. I will never forget how free it felt to be behind the wheel of a car driving the streets of Chicago with the radio blasting and all the windows down. You really had no particular place to go but it was just the feeling of freedom you had driving in the summer air. It made you felt like you would live forever. I remember riding in my friend’s convertible for the first time – it felt like you were actually out on the street and could touch people but you were in a car. The radio was playing “Close To You” by the Carpenters and I remember singing it at the top of my lungs, my hair wildly blowing in the wind and I was feeling so happy and free. No amount of money, drugs or alcohol could ever recreate what I felt at that moment. What a feeling and what a memory!

As you get older the concept of summer vacation changes dramatically – unless you are a teacher and actually still have a three month summer vacation. Your days are now filled with work and although you earn “vacation time” it certainly is not those three glorious carefree months. If you do take a summer vacation you try to cram as much as you can into a week or two weeks, but it is never quite the same. You have greater responsibilities and the luxury of having twelve weeks for relaxation and fun is just not feasible anymore. Summer vacation is now gone forever, or so it seems to be.

But take heart. What goes around comes around. There is this thing called retirement and although it never dawned on me all of a sudden I have a summer vacation again! I really have a year-round vacation, but that feeling of being able to take the time and as much time as I chose to enjoy what the summer has to offer was a revelation for me when I first retired. I know, I am a slow learner – but all of a sudden I realized that those simple joys of years past can be had again. It is now just a matter of choosing to do them. So now when I drive down highway 287 with my windows down, hair blowing in the breeze, music blaring and singing at the top of my lungs – this summer it is to Adele singing “Rolling in the Deep” (some things just have to change) – I feel the joy that I felt at 18 albeit a different type of joy. When I was 18 I thought summer vacation was my right. Now I am just eternally grateful to have it back again.

So my wish for you is that you have a great Summer. Take some time to make some lasting memories. I am grateful that my parents did that for me. And now every morning when I hear the call of the bluejay it reminds me not only of memories past but of experiences yet to be. Hot fun in the Summertime!

If you are anything like me, you are probably sick of all the posturing about Casey Anthony post trail. Did the jurors miss the boat, should their names be released, is Casey cutting a deal with the William Morris Agency, where will she go, will she be safe. All right – enough already!

I also think there are a few things we all need to think about that we may have forgotten in the light of this circus. First of all the justice system did not fail – it worked. There was a trial and a jury of her peers rendered a verdict based on their views of the evidence presented. If they found reasonable doubt, they found reasonable doubt.  Remember the jury was sequestered and not privy to all of the media opinions flying rampant throughout the trial. Bottom line, who are we to judge them?

Second, the media is out to get viewers people. HLN has never had ratings this high in recent history. So no wonder they are spending every minute fanning the flames of the Casey and Caylee Anthony story. People are watching and listening to their garbage. Are they telling the truth? Maybe sometimes but they are also sensationalizing – that is what gets people to tune in. Case in point: yesterday one of HLN’s reporters was “shocked and outraged” (you hear those terms a lot on HLN) because Jose Biaz and Case Anthony cut a deal to be represented by the William Morris Agency – the most powerful talent agency in existence. It was reported that Biaz negotiated a “package deal” to include both of them. But wait, twenty minutes later: now, breaking news – William Morris did not sign Casey Anthony after all and it appears they may be in conversations with only Jose Biaz. Very different story – but how many people got riled up because they heard the first false report any may have never heard the second.

Then there was the speculation of how Casey Anthony was dressed for the sentencing. “No more school marm look for her” retorts Nancy Grace. Well, who cares – and how does the almighty bleached blonde know what is going on in another person’s mind? I for one would  be very relieved if I bit the bullet and did not get charged with murder in the first degree. I would assume that would have to show on my face – just the relief of it all. But the media fans the fuel of the public’s outrage by speculating on things that they have no basis in fact on which to speculate.  Fan those flames – how she dressed means the party girl is back. Do we no that for certain – no. Could it be true – yes. But why do people feel they have the right to comment and enrage masses of people when what they are saying is based on conjecture and not fact?  Who are we to judge?

I think we have gotten to a place with instant communication that we convince ourselves that we know all the facts, know what is ultimately right and feel we have the right to threaten and suggest violent retribution if situations do not turn out the way we expect. And the media is not our friend. They are in a business to make money and although as television personalities, and face it folks that is what they are, they may seem altruistic, they are really ratings gurus who know how to build and sustain an audience however gullible that audience may be.

Bottom line I have had it up to here with all of this (can you tell?). The last time I heard, the only person in the position to judge is the Almighty and I know he (or she) will do their job. It may not be our good fortune to see it in our lifetimes, but what goes around always comes back around.

This whole fiasco, in my opinion, started and ended with people’s inabilities to differentiate fact from conjecture. And just to be clear – do I think she did it. Yes. Am I sick about the fact that this little girl’s death by our society’s standards may never have justice. Yes. Am I happy that Casey Anthony is being set free? No. But our legal system has spoken and after that who am I to judge?  Who are we to judge?

It was like waiting to hear the verdict from the O.J. Simpson trial – there I was getting ready to leave for work with CNN on in the background waiting with the rest of the world to hear the verdict. When I read online that the jury had taken only 11 hours to deliberate I knew for sure the outcome would be guilty. Even the television commentators were saying that they hoped the defense team was preparing Casey for the worst. A short deliberation time almost always means a guilty verdict. Almost always. When the verdict was read I remember turning to my husband and asking – what did they say to which he replied, not guilty.

No one can deny that emotions ran high in this case. Just looking at the pictures and videos of lovely little Caylee and the thought of what may have happened to her had everyone out looking for blood. The lies the manipulations and the death of an innocent, angelic 2 year old captured our hearts and minds. Over and over for 3 years we have seen the pictures, heard the commentary and formed our opinions based on how the media presented it. How could there be any doubt – this woman was a slut and a bad mother so it stands to reason that she killed her child. Thank goodness our criminal justice system is based on a couple of simple principles namely the presumption of innocence until proven guilty and acquittal with established reasonable doubt.

Who in this country for even one minute presumed Casey Anthony was innocent. No one person I know. And yet our legal system tells us we must presume that – it is the law. In an era of instant communication, social networking and media blitzes we all jumped on the bandwagon of convicting this woman before the trial even began. No wonder we are all in shock today because we all convicted a person before they had their day in court. And the media played a big part in this. So, guilty or innocent I for one am relieved that someone with so much bad press about them can still become a free person when being judged by a jury of their peers. I never would have believed that that could be possible anymore.

Then there is the mandate of reasonable doubt. I don’t think the story of Caylee drowning in the family pool or George Anthony trying to cover it up cast one shred of reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. But charging someone with a capital offense of murder in the first degree with the possibility of death and not being able to prove when Caylee died and how she died – that casts reasonable doubt. The jury only took 11 hours to deliberate because the prosecution failed to provide any substantive evidence that proved Caylee was murdered.  The prosecution also could not definitively prove her manner of death. And that was at the foundation of everything else that was presented to the jury. So if the they all agreed that the prosecution did not prove those two things there was absolutely no need to go any further with deliberations. Although the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming, our justice system requires proof . The prosecution was charged with proving that murder had been committed and in the end because they could not Casey was acquitted. When you are asking 12 men and women to convict someone to death because they killed someone, then you had better be able to prove that a murder occurred.

Although my heart aches for little Caylee, I do believe our justice system prevailed. I think one reporter coined it most appropriately – Casey’s verdict was not guilty on the charges brought up by the prosecution. That is totally different than saying that Casey is innocent. But because the prosecution went for the jugular in this case by pursuing murder in the first degree we may never know what happened to Caylee and her death will probably go the route of Jon Benet Ramsey – a memory that fades in time.

We forget that the purpose of our legal system is not to provide justice but plainly and simply to determine guilt or innocence based on facts and not on circumstance. And when emotions seep into the equation it steamrolls out of control just as it did in this case. The legal system was never designed to provide justice – if that were the case people like O. J. Simpson and Casey Anthony would never be able to walk free. But the system did do what it was supposed to do, provide a verdict based on whether the facts in the case prove the charges being rendered.  And in this instance, they did not.

That being said,  it doesn’t make me feel any better to know that we will probably never find out exactly what happened to poor little Caylee and who was responsible. And although the jury rendered a not guilty verdict I truly believe what goes around comes around. I just hope I am around when it comes back around.

Fourth of July – Independence Day – barb-b-queing with friends – hot fun in the Summertime. Yet we all know that what we celebrate today is the birth of our country, the good ole’ USA, and the freedoms we share and probably take much too much for granted. And although our country is relatively new by world standards, it is a country whose prosperities and freedoms are envied by many.

So how do we show our appreciation for what we have here in the United States? I think we all have the fun part down judging by the myriad of fireworks I’ve heard and charcoal fires I’ve smelled over the past several days. But do we truly honor our country by being students of its history and knowing some of the basic facts about who we are and who helped to make us great? I wonder.

So on this Fourth of July take a few minutes and test your knowledge about our country by clicking on the link below. Hopefully you will do well – and if not, you might want think less about the fireworks and more about learning and appreciating who we are as a nation.  Happy Fourth of July everyone!

Test your knowledge about the USA

I spent my entire career working in local government. I did not pursue this career path by conscious choice but by the benefit of a political favor given to my father. I graduated from college with a Bachelor of Science in Education degree and was certified to teach at the secondary level. The only problem was that once I became certified I began to struggle with the concept of our long standing grading system. In my mind I felt that my “A” effort may be vastly different from your “A” effort, but both deserving of an “A”. Unfortunately in our traditional system “A” is considered a rigid 93-100. The philosophical struggle resulted in me not pursuing a teaching career in the Chicago school system.

I moved out of the house one month after I graduated and got a receptionists job at an insurance agency in downtown Chicago. I hated it. At the time I lived in Oak Park and would take the “L” to and from work. Every day as I was riding home I could hear Peggy Lee singing in my mind “Is That All There Is”. I was 24 and felt like my life was over. My dad knew how unhappy I was and one Friday night I got a call from him saying he had just spoken to Mayor Daley. I laughed and said something like “sure dad, and I just got off the phone with Robert Kennedy.” He assured me that he was not joking. He told me that he had written three letters to the Mayor about me (this was at the time when Daley was sick and spending a lot of time at his Michigan home). He said Daley apologized for not getting back to him but he had not received the first two letters. He told my dad to have me bring my resume to Tom Donovan at City Hall on Monday and that they would fix me up with something.  Why Daley did this for my dad is a subject of another blog, but on Tuesday I had a job with the Chicago Park District (CPD). That was the beginning of my 34 year career in local government.

I was fortunate to work in a large agency like the CPD. It gave me the opportunities move up the ranks in one place. I stayed there until I had no other choice but to leave in order to get an executive level position. Having worked in local government since 1974, I’ve seen many changes especially regarding how to lead in that environment. In the waning years of my career I heard over and over again that government should learn to operate more like a business. And although at times I have said the same thing, now in retirement, my attitude has changed. I still think fiscal responsibility is absolutely paramount for government agencies.  But now having had experiences in working in both the public and private sectors there is no question in my mind that government leaders work under vastly different constraints. In the days of Franklin Delano Roosevelt government was perceived as the people’s savior especially with the onset of the social security system.  Today it is totally different.  Government has far more impacts on people’s lives than the private sector and because of that can easily become the focal point for people’s hostilities. More than ever government agencies are being scrutinized for every thing they do and bashing government is a common pastime both with citizenry and the press. And on a parallel track, government’s budgets are being slashed dramatically but expectations for government services have become greater and greater. It almost sounds like a no-win situation and strong leadership skills are critical in order to maneuver through these unique challenges.

Over the next few weeks this is what I will be thinking about as I prepare to teach a class in Leadership for the National Recreation and Park Association’s Directors School. This class has been part of the school’s curriculum for the past three years. I team teach the class with a brilliant man who was the former Director of Parks and Recreation for the city of San Carlos, California (and we won’t even get into the budget issues that state is facing). We’ve decided to initiate some changes to the session and narrow our focus to a few of many critical leadership issues and skills. We also decided  to add a section on leading in the government context,which I will present.  I will also focus on gender and leadership (surprise, surprise) and accountability – a skill that is virtually non-existent in today’s litigious society. I know I have some P & R people who read this blog, and so any insights you might have as I am thinking this through are always welcome. And for those not in P & R, if you have any thoughts feel free to share. There are many commonalities between the constraints of the private and public sectors as well as vast differences. We can all learn from one another. I will look forward to hearing from anyone who wants to share their thoughts.

I have mentioned before that I led a very sheltered life when I was growing up. I went to both a Catholic grammar school and high school and lived in the bubble of that world for 18 years. My first sex education class was in Sophomore year Biology class. Sister Herman had the class read out loud paragraph by paragraph Chapter 6,  the chapter on human reproduction. When we finished she quickly said, “Since there are no questions we will move on to chapter 7. When I was a Senior I was taught in religion class that there should always be six people present when I went out on a date – me, my date, one of my parents and God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. I was eighteen at the time and ready to go to college. My preparation for entering that world was far less than adequate up to that point.

I also felt at the time that I was a pretty normal girl. I went from the stage of hating boys to being curious about boys to liking boys. And that was normal, at least that was how I felt at the time. Then I went to college. For the first time in my life I attended a public institution, Northern Illinois University, and for the first time in my life I was away from home. At Northern, I got a very different perspective of the world and I got it quickly.

My major was in Theatre and like every good theatre student I got involved in plays early on. I don’t even remember the name of the first show I was in, but I do remember the director was a former Broadway actor who was now teaching at the University and so I felt really pleased that he cast me in the play. One night as we were rehearsing I was sitting in the audience watching a scene that I was not in. One of the other actors, a guy, was sitting next to me and watching as well. The scene we were watching was between a guy and a girl, and the guy on stage was absolutely gorgeous – I thought he was amazing. As I watched the scene I turned to the guy next to me and said something like, “I think he is so good looking” to which he replied, “so do I – we’re lovers.”

I almost fell off my chair. What did he say – they were lovers? How could that be? I didn’t know what to think. I was confused but didn’t say anything. After rehearsal I went back to my dorm room and called my mother. When I told her about it she said matter-of-factly, “Oh, he’s a homosexual.”  A what? And she proceeded to explain that a homosexual had sexual desires for their own sex rather than the opposite sex. I was in shock. After all, that’s not normal. I was confused on a variety of levels. Up to that point the thought had never crossed my mind that a man could be sexually interested in a man or a woman sexually interested in another woman. And I felt like an idiot finding out about something like this in the way that I did. I wasn’t sure whether to be hurt, angry, disgusted or repulsed. It was a lot to take in all at once.

But after a while I began to think about what I experienced from a different perspective. I have always fiercely supported a woman’s right to have the ultimate control over her own body – a woman’s right to choose. If a woman makes a decision to terminate a pregnancy, I believe (and still do) that she has the right to do so. That decision should never be taken lightly or without conversations with the father, but ultimately I believe that woman has the right to the final say-so. It is her body. So it stands to reason that I should support that same right to choose for both men and women when it comes to their bodies.

I also began to think about heterosexuality from a prejudicial standpoint. What would happen if all of sudden I was discriminated against because I was a heterosexual? What would happen if I was denied certain rights because of my sexuality. I couldn’t imagine it. And if that is the case, then who am I to judge someone else’s sexuality?  I also thought about those two guys – I really liked them both before I knew they were gay. Am I supposed to feel differently about them now because of their sexuality? How would I feel if all of sudden someone chose not to like me because I was straight. I just couldn’t fathom it – so why should it be different for them.

And that began my lifetime of supporting anyone’s right to love who they want to love and be who they want to be. Being in a theatrical community I have met and become friends with many gay men and lesbian women. A person is so much more than who they are in the bedroom – and all of my friends who find their joy differently than I do are the salt of the earth. You get to a point where it isn’t even a consideration or topic of conversation anymore. It is such a small part of what makes up a person.

So I for one am overjoyed about the recent happenings in New York. It is long overdue and I hope the rest of the country picks up on New York’s lead and then lets be done with it and move on. Human rights are human rights – they aren’t just for the strong, the rich or the straight. They are for everyone.

Most of my friends know that in my retirement I have my “fun job” – I work part time at Crate and Barrel. I love the store, have loved it for years even before it became anywhere near the corporation it is today, and I truly like the people I work with. It is a great way to still have some challenging structured work in my life without the greater responsibilities.

So, last night I was at Crate and as we were stocking the store for closing a customer came in and purchased some items from my section. I eyeballed from afar what she had taken and went to the stockroom to get replacements for the display. One thing I needed was three glasses of a particular type called a cooler. To my relief we had just three left on the stockroom shelf. If we didn’t have enough we would have had to do what is known as a fix and either change how the display was arranged or change out all of the items on the display and replace them with different items.

So merrily I went  on my way feeling very happy that we could avoid a fix. When I got to the display and began to replace the glasses, all of a sudden I noticed that I had miscounted and that I needed four glasses instead of three. I was not amused and not in the mood for a fix and so, without thinking twice, I stood there and said, “Oh s***!”  I thought I said it under my breath but then I heard “Jan” and looked to see two of my co-workers looking at me – one nearly busting a gut with laughter and the other smiling a big grin and looking like she couldn’t believe what I had just said – I knew that I had said it much louder than I had even realized. It was one of those Kodak moments.

As I was driving home after work I started rehashing the incident in my mind. I found the whole thing so strange and the only thing that kept going through my mind was boy have times changed for me. First of all, I am a big believer in being appropriate at work. I think I was tired and ready to go home and so my little expletive came out with a greater ease than I would have liked. But second of all, I found it funny that people might think that I am so prim and proper that I do not swear.

All throughout grammar school and high school I was the good little girl – didn’t do things like smoking or swearing. But then the college years rolled around and things changed pretty quickly. I remember the first time I dropped the f-bomb when I was in college. I waited for lightening to strike and the gates of hell to open and suck me in. But nothing happened. So I waited a few moments and I dropped it again – and again nothing happened. Pretty soon it became my favorite noun, verb, adjective, adverb – you name it – any way I could use it, I would. I became so comfortable saying it that when I went home from school on break I dropped it in front of my mother. Boy did I get the lecture about what it was exactly that I was learning in college.

Early on swearing was a way for me to feel equal to others, especially men. Men can swear and often people do not bat an eye – women swear and it is not considered lady-like. It was also just plain fun. It made me feel like an adult and every once in awhile the shock value was just too good to pass up. Most of my friends could pull out the gutter mouth just as well as I could – so I never gave swearing another thought.

Thank goodness I learned along the way that there is a time and a place for everything and as I matured I learned to temper my words so that they were appropriate for the situation and the people involved. But there are very few if any words in the English language that compare with s*** or f*** and so sometimes they just need to be said, loudly and with great conviction. At least I think so.

I think the thing that surprised me the most about the Crate incident was not what I said but that some people may have an impression of me that is so different from who I am. And that just makes me laugh. Recently I penned a comment on a friend’s status on Facebook and said LMAO. Another friend commented that she laughed her a** off that I even wrote that comment. Are you kidding me? Me, not swear? I had to chuckle. Maybe it is something that is attributed to age – the older you get it is assumed that you don’t do those kinds of things anymore. Boy, I would hate to think that as you get older all of the joys of your youth are stripped from you. I will not go into great detail about the things that I have and have not done in my lifetime, but I am no saint and find it hard to believe that there are many saints out there. And I just found it odd that people may actually believe that I am still the “little miss goodie two shoes” I was in grammar school and high school.

So, here and now I am making a bold confession – yes, I do swear and have done so since I was eighteen years old – probably a late bloomer by today’s standards. I do regret saying s*** at work yesterday – it was definitely inappropriate and I am glad no customers were around to hear it. But every once in a while I find it cathartic and even fun to rip out a good swear word. So I hope I have not burst anyone’s bubble regarding their impression of me. And if I did… well WTF! (Just kidding, but it sure felt good).

I am relatively new to this blogging thing – I like the idea of it, it is amazingly cathartic and it also leaves you wondering if anyone really cares what you have to say. And I have been pretty full of myself lately and especially with my technological prowess. Most people of my generation are not on Facebook, cannot maneuver their way through a smart phone, cringe when asked to put together a power point presentation, cannot text, tweet or blog. So here I am, little miss techno genius… or so I thought so until today I tried to figure out how to upload a picture to the sidebar of my blog.

The irony of it all is that I had done in once already – had the best picture of Mia with her tongue hanging down waiting for me to throw her toy with the snappy caption – Is It Spring Yet? And since we are in the throws of summer I felt, in my infinite wisdom, that I should update the picture. Big mistake. Because now I can’t figure out how to add a new photo. I could have sworn it was the image widget but when I pull that up it asks for a link to a URL. And, I could have sworn I uploaded the last sidebar image from my computer but there is no option in the set up of that widget to do that. But hey, I am a whiz at this right?  I’ll just link the image to a URL and the image will be be on the sidebar. Not! When I do that, sorry no image, all I get is this dreaded little blue square box with a question mark inside.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no problems loading images into my blog – but trying to get one on the sidebar has been a several hour nightmare. I’m just not getting this widget thing – especially where images are concerned. And to add insult to injury, after I recently changed my Facebook password I can no longer publish directly to Facebook either even though I follow the “to enable publicize” function.

So today I have been kicked down a notch in my technological self esteem. Just when you thought you mastered it all – bam, smacked back down again. But at least I will insert a picture into this post to prove that I can actually do something technologically related.

In a few short days the next major “Hallmark Holiday”, Father’s Day, will be upon us. And like Mother’s Day it gets us all talking about and honoring our fathers. So even though every day should be Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Children’s Day, its good every once in a while to stop and reflect on one of your parents.

My father was born Edward Joseph Drabik to Rose and Joseph Drabik on September 26, 1915. He was of Polish decent and like my mother came from a very humble background. He was the second of four children. His parents made their living by owning and running a small neighborhood grocery store on the South Side of Chicago. Back in those days the big grocery store chains were not as prevalent and neighborhoods quite often had two or three small independently owned stores within walking distance of several homes. These stores as well as the local taverns were the hubs of the neighborhoods.

Edward Joseph Drabik 1915-1998

Joseph died when my father was 10 years old leaving my grandmother Rose to raise three children on her own. The fourth child would come from a second marriage later in life. Being a woman and solely brining up three children in those days was very difficult. Money was very tight, so tight in fact that when my grandmother was “approached” by one of Al Capone’s men, Frank Nitty, to sell illegal alcohol in her store she agreed. I say “approached” because as a woman on her own there was no saying no to Al’s men – the consequences could have been enormous.

My father told me that one week my grandmother did not make her sales quota and when Nitty came to collect she was not able to give him the money he was owed. She was terrified and cried hysterically to him, telling him about the challenges of trying to bring up three children with no husband, working long hours plus having to make the sales quotas. Nitty was not pleased but gave her a pass and as he left handed her $50 free and clear to help with the children. I’m not so sure the mobsters in those days were all bad.

My dad was a very simple man who grew up with very traditional values. In his mind men had certain roles to fulfill and so did women. I will never forget the day he told me that he had never in his life done laundry. I was flabbergasted – I couldn’t believe it. But, as he said, he went from his mother’s house to married life and doing the laundry was always the woman’s job. I just had to shake my head.

My dad took his role as head of the household and provider very seriously. He always wanted to make sure we had what we needed and then some, probably to the point of spoiling us and especially me his only daughter.  He also had a bit of a temper that was exacerbated when he drank. Thankfully he eventually gave up the booze. But I always knew he was there for me even when he did not understand me, my way of thinking or even my beliefs.

Both of my parents were devout Catholics. When my husband and I decided to get married we opted not to do so in the Catholic Church since he was a divorced Catholic and I did not believe in “buying” and annulment. My mother was furious with me. One day on the phone she told me that if I was not going to get married in the Catholic Church that she would not be part of the wedding. The conversation was very tense and it did not end in a good place. I found out later that after we had hung up my dad sat down with my mother and talked to her. He told her that he was not happy about our decision either but he asked my mother if it was worth losing a daughter over. My mother was not an easy person to sway especially when it came down to her religious beliefs, but by the influence of my father she gave in, called back and said she would support us and our decision. He was truly a man of unconditional love. I never realized how amazing that was at the time but I do now.

My dad’s last days were very tragic. He fell in his home and became quadriplegic. For 18 months he was relegated to the fate of being a live head on a dead body. He did not deserve that and I was relieved for him when he passed away. Always having been a very active man who loved to dance and play baseball, being quadriplegic was the worse thing imaginable for him. I knew he had suffered his hell on earth. One day after his death my mom handed me his wallet and told me to open it. I looked inside and saw all the usual suspects, credit cards, drivers license, insurance card, etc. But when I opened the billfold area I got the surprise of my life. There in the billfold area was a picture of me as a baby. My mom said she never knew that all this time he was carrying that around in his wallet. On the back of the picture in his writing were the words, My Precious Nannie (his nickname for me when I was a child). My mom said she felt the picture symbolized how he always had me with him and that I was always in his heart. I cried like a baby.

So, on this Father’s Day, I would like to honor my father, Edward Joseph Drabik. You were my rock, my safety net, my dancing partner, my mentor and probably the most Christian person I have ever known. I love you and I miss you terribly, Daddy but I feel your love every day. I am honored and humbled to be your precious Nannie!

Today was the 33rd annual running of the Bolder Boulder the largeest 10k race in this country and the 5th largest 10k race in the world. This Memorial Day 56,000 people (the population of Loveland, CO.) descended on Boulder, Colorado to run, jog, walk, hobble or even race their wheelchairs through the streets of Boulder and into the University of Colorado’s Folsom Field to show they can complete a six mile course in whatever ability they have.

Folsom Field - Bolder Boulder Finish Line.

I guess that is what I think is so special about the Bolder Boulder. It’s not about racing or your time, although you can make it about that and there is a professional race that is associated with it. It’s really about getting out there and showing yourself that you can do it. That no matter what ability or inability you have, you can complete a 10k race and be proud of your accomplishment.

This week the local newspaper was filled with stories about people who were going to participate in the race. One family was planning a family reunion and part of the festivities would be the whole family being in the race. Some participants have done the race for the entire 33 years and would be coming back to do it once again. Grandparents walking with their grandchildren, people in a wide variety of costumes (King Kong made an appearance as well as Superman and Batgirl) and all along the route there was entertainment to make you forget that your legs felt like bricks. Elvis serenaded the crowds, belly dancers shimmied and shaked, garden hoses doused the sweaty participants and even a slip and slide was set up for those that wanted to really cool themselves off.

But above and beyond all the hoopla, the most important part of this event is to complete it. To keep going, keep trying, push yourself a little and get up off of your butt. Along the route people shouted encouragement, offered free hugs and high-fives, provided you with cups of water or gatorade and even told you that you only had one kilometer left to go and not to stop now. The streets were packed with people of all ages, sizes, skills and abilities and all with a common purpose – to show themselves that they could complete this race.

The person who runs the race, Cliff Bosley, told me once that his father started the race to get his children interested in physical activity. And he soon found out that he had no olympic calibre athletes in the Bosely household. So in order not to discourage them he structured the race so that the prize was completing not competing. He even offered trophies for the top 13 finishers. Why the top 13? Because inevitably a Bosely child would be near the top and it almost always was in 13th place. And the philosophy of the importance of completing underscores this race to this very day.

So on this day that we celebrate our men and women in the Armed Forces, it was so incredible to see 56,000 of your closest friends all cheering you on and celebrating your desire to improve yourself and to try. This is the second year that I participated in this race and I intend to keep on participating in it. I like what it stands for and I like that it provides me with the impetus to keep pushing myself to be better emotionally, mentally and physically. Congrats to all that completed the race – you definitely should be proud of yourself today! And thank you Bolder Boulder – you certainly know what is important and how to do it up right!

By now, a lot of my friends know that at 8:17 a.m on this day sixty years ago Janice Marie Drabik was born to Edward and Euphrasia Drabik at Holy Cross Hospital on the South Side of Chicago. Sixty years ago, a whole century ago, a whole lifetime ago, and in many ways only just yesterday.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was twenty, it felt like just a blink of an eye. Then I turned around and I was forty-five. Now I’ve sneezed and I am sixty. Am I old – I don’t know. When do you become old, is there an exact moment in time?  Is it the first time you get up out bed in the morning and your bones are creaky? Is it the first time someone calls you m’am? Is it the first time you’re given a senior discount on your food bill when you never asked for it? Is it the first time someone says you look just like a friend’s grandmother?  If these are specific moments that define being old then I am old because they have all happened to me.

Over the past few months I have been thinking a lot about turning sixty. To me, that number just sounded old. In the past I’ve never been one to focus on my chronological number but this year I was borderline obsessed by it. I have always prided myself in trying to keep myself in the forefront of whatever I was doing. I can be extremely competitive and always want to make sure that I am part of the fray, making a contribution, being a contender. (can you hear the music from Rocky building right now?).  But there is one thing that you cannot control and that is the march of time. And to quote a line from the play Steel Magnolias – “time marches on until one day you see that it has marched all over your face.” No one is immune, it happens to us all. And unfortunately we are a society that is obsessed by youth, looking young, feeling young. Want to feel younger – try lifestyle lift and get rid of that sagging skin under your chin. Want to feel younger – get Botox injections and get rid of those bags under and around your eyes. Want to feel younger – go to a fat farm and lose those unwanted pounds. And it can go on and on.

So I woke up this morning, and I have to admit that I was feeling a little down. I don’t want to be sixty but there is nothing that I can do about it. Or can I? Just as I was starting to wallow in a heavy dose of self pity, I picked up my iPhone and noticed that I had a message on Facebook. The message was from a former student of mine a lovely young woman, now thirty, who recently went through a huge medical issue that for quite some time left her virtually completely paralyzed. Before that happened, she had been in the teaching profession for about 10 years and in her message shared with me how shocked and amazed she was at the outpouring of love she received during her illness not only from friends and family but especially from her students, some of which she knew for years but others for only a few weeks or months. She said she knew she had touched these students in many ways but realized there were so many other ways she had had an influence on them and never realized until this unfortunate incident happened.

She then told me that she felt our lives as teachers were similar in many ways. She proceeded to thank me for my influence on her life and that, based on her recent experience, could not fathom the breadth of influence she felt I must have had on many lives given the years and various work experiences that I had. She ended by saying, “to quote my sister Shelly, we are so happy that you were born. Happy Birthday to you with all my love.”  And at that moment it finally dawned on me that I had totally been obsessing about the wrong thing over these past few months. The worth of your life has nothing to do with the number you are, your physical beauty or your physical ability. The worth of your life is really about who you love and who loves you. To have love in your life, to give love and to receive love is all that matters. Everything else will be what it will be.

So on my sixtieth birthday, I want to especially thank my former student Sandy Jarosz Kozloswki for being my personal Cher who so brilliantly in the movie Moonstruck slapped Nicholas Cage in the face and said “snap out of it.” Taking the time to write that beautiful and poignant message was, more than you will ever know, exactly what I needed to hear and exactly when I needed to hear it.

And to all my old friends from Chicago, my new friends from Colorado and my fabulous co-workers at Crate and Barrel, thank you so much for the messages you sent me today on Facebook. Your kind thoughts mean the world to me. And now, it’s time to roll up my sleeves and keep training for the Bolder Boulder! Here’s to the next sixty!

There is a never ending struggle between men and women to understand what makes the other tick. A few days ago I had a friend tell me that he thought all women were crazy, and he truly meant it. After hearing why he felt that way I could understand why he might think like that. But if women are crazy, what’s up with men, especially men of power?

By now we all know about the escapades of Arnold. And we hear about it all the time – men with power and prestige thinking that society’s basic mores do not apply to them. Osama Bin Laden’s hideaway was found to be a treasure trove of porn, not to mention the fact that he had several wives. Tiger Woods thought it was ok to dip his wick with a porn star while a married man with two children. Gary Hart and Donna Rice, John Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinski  – and Arnold, well isn’t he just the icing on the cake. Not only does he lie to his family but he lies to the entire state of California. He conveniently waits to come clean until he is no longer in office, leaving with a dismal approval rating in the low 20’s and with no chance of ever being taken seriously as a politician again. That was really big of him. And what was the point of coming clean now – to humiliate Maria and his children? Or maybe it was because his housekeeper/sex partner was finding it harder and harder to keep her mouth shut. You have to wonder.

I just don’t get it. Why does this happen over and over again with men of power? Don’t get me wrong, I love men – always have. When I was younger I felt more comfortable around men than women. Some of my best friends are men. In my estimation it would be a pretty boring life without men. But men have one serious issue that can plague them beginning with puberty and lasting through the rest of their lives –  and that is the dangerous cocktail of testosterone and their appendage. Most men learn to manage that perfect storm very well, but others, and it seems like over and over again especially men with power, feel it is their God given right to do what they want to do, when they want to do it and with whomever they want to do it with. Will the ever learn that they are not above it all? I somehow doubt it.

But, I think Pete the Greek had the answer to solving this dilemma. Pete the Greek was a drinking buddy of my husband’s. You could always count on Pete the Greek to be sitting at the bar of our local tavern holding court and spouting pearls of wisdom regarding just about any subject imaginable. One day, after the Gary Hart sex scandal broke Pete was sitting drinking a beer and bemoaning the demise of another powerful man. Out of nowhere he said to my husband, “You know Nick. Men are born with a deadly curse, their dicks. It is the source of all of their troubles throughout their lives. I was just thinking, maybe instead of circumcising us at birth they should just cut it off. It would save us and a lot of other people we know from a whole lot of agony and grief. And think about it.  We could go on with the rest of our lives, just drinking beer and watching sports. We would be a lot happier and our lives would be a hell of a lot less complicated.”  Socrates could not have said it better.

We are such creatures of habit. We can create such structure in our lives without even knowing how we got there. Think about it. When was the last time you deviated from your established route to work? Or better yet, when was the last time you were going somewhere other than work but on your work route and all of a sudden you found yourself unwittingly going to work versus your actual destination?  We’ve all done it. Most often when that happens to me I’ll say something to myself like, “if I had a brain, I could be dangerous.”

So, the other day I was on my usual route to the grocery store. After I passed one of the landmarks it suddenly occurred to me that something had changed. The landmark was a vacant field where prairie dogs had established a colony. That colony has existed since I moved here ten years ago. It is right off of a busy intersection and has been thriving for quite some time.

Prairie dog - Teller Farm Trail

In recent months a for sale sign had been put up on the property. I remember thinking at the time that I could not imagine who would actually buy a piece of property with an active prairie dog colony on it. The expense of mitigation added to the expense of the property itself would be enormous. But then again, maybe not. As I drove passed the property the other day it dawned on me that something was very different. Then I noticed that the field had been completely plowed over. The day before active burrows, today only tilled soil. And all of sudden I started to feel sick to my stomach.

People who know me know that I love animals, animals of all kinds. And people who know me also know of the challenges I faced related to prairie dog mitigation when I worked for local government. Prairie dogs are a source of heated public debate in this neck of the woods. They are considered a cornerstone species, a link to attracting the fabulous raptors you see here and also a key ingredient in land management. Before man inhabited this area, prairie dogs were nature’s own rototiller. They would build their burrows (and if you have ever tried to plant anything here without some type of soil amendment you would quickly find out that the high concentration of clay makes the soil like a brick without some sort treatment), aerate and denude the land and move on. Then the land is ready to be revitalized with the first step of the process being aptly performed by the prairie dog.

Now that man had developed the area, prairie dogs have become to many merely a nuisance. And since they are technically of the rodent family they are considered to be rats by those that would advocate for their demise. There is no easy answer to the prairie dog situation. At what point do we protect life and at what point do we not? I certainly don’t know the answer to that.

I do know that I am not a PETA advocate. There are times that organization is too radical for my tastes.  But I would match my love for animals with anyone. To me it is a simple question of how we value life. Do we have the right as human beings to simply go in one day plow up a field and bury alive a colony of prairie dogs? Something about that just doesn’t seem right to me. Relocation is expensive and tends not to be successful, capturing them and donating them to a recovering raptor program is also expensive. Any way you look at it, it is costly to manage an unwanted prairie dog colony. But burying them alive?

I’m not sure what the answer is. I understand a person wanting to sell their property. I understand this person patiently allowed prairie dogs to inhabit the space for ten years, maybe hoping the colony would be hit by plague and naturally die off. But since that didn’t happen there has to be a better way, even if it is more expensive. From my standpoint it is a question of do we or don’t we value life. If we do, then we need to think very carefully about our rationale and methods for taking life. Anyone who has ever been faced with euthanizing a pet knows the agony of making that decisions. Should prairie dogs be treated any differently simply because they are not our pets?

At this point I see no better solution than trapping and humanely euthanizing them. If the land needs to be sold and the prairie dogs are preventing that, then I would opt for that solution. Yes it is more expensive but do we or do we not value life, any kind of life? To simply view life as something easily discarded or in this instance plowed over dehumanizes us. I would hope that as a species we were more intelligent and caring than that.

There is, although, an upside to this dilemma. Whoever plowed the land did a pretty poor job. If you know anything about prairie dogs, you need to eliminate each and every hole as their underground system is interconnected and leaving just one hole can result in the easy reestablishment of the colony. And that is exactly what happened. As a matter of fact several holes on the perimeter were left unscathed and the very next day the prairie dogs were out in force reestablishing the colony. So it appears most of them survived the trauma to this point. What will happen next is left to be seen. But it still makes me uneasy to think that we as man, the stronger and supposedly smarter species, can have such little concern for life and for taking life. I don’t care if technically they are rodents. The bigger question is are we humane in how we deal with life and do we treat life and death with respect. I was really saddened to see how this was handled and I have to say surprised about how bad I felt for the prairie dogs. They were the bane of my existence when I was working in local government but there is a reason why they exist in the whole scheme of things. And they are living, breathing creatures that have a right to life and a humane death.

I was sitting on my couch last night watching CNN and all of a sudden, breaking news – the President is going to address the country. My first thoughts went to the unrest in Libya and thought to myself, ok – what happened now. Then came the newscasters who certainly know how to pour on the drama. Wolf Blitzer says he was told by a source that you better “go into work”, and that he had a inkling of what the address may be about, but he felt compelled not to say it because it only came from one single source. This went on for about thirty minutes or so, the newscasters repeating again and again how unprecedented this Sunday evening address to the nation was, how they had an idea of what it may be about and that it definitely was not about Libya.

So goes the theatre of the news. Then at a strategic moment before the president revealed what he had to say, the newscasters announced that Osama Bin Laden was dead. They couldn’t let the President be the first to say it, they had to trump him (no pun intended) by sharing what they new probably from the beginning of the “breaking news” segment. But the drama sure kept you tuned in until the President was ready to speak. And of course, the newscasters had to be the first to tell us.

After they announced that the President’s remarks would not be about Libya, I began to wonder what the news could be. I have to say it took me a few minutes, but I remember getting up to get a drink of water and it finally dawned on me – I bet they’ve captured Bin Laden. I never considered that he would be dead, just that we would finally have him. What goes around, comes around.

That has been my favorite saying over the years. I have seen the wisdom in this saying play out in a variety of ways and in my experience it always comes back around. I created an addendum to this saying. My version is: “what goes around, comes around – and I hope I am around when it comes back around”. This is one of those times when I was glad to be around when it came back around.

We all remember where we were on 9/11 when the World Trade Center got struck. Heck, I remember where I was when John F. Kennedy was assassinated! And both times, I remember very clearly how I felt. When Kennedy was killed I was very young and in utter disbelief. It was a sort of coming of age for me as up to that point I firmly believed that bad things did not happen to good people. On 9/11 I was working for the City of Dayton. This was the first time in my lifetime that the United States was attacked on its mainland. The false feeling of security we all felt living here died that day along with the three thousand plus lives that were lost. I remember just wanting to be with my family, to make sure they were safe. I was in shock and utter disbelief that this could happen, a very different sort of coming of age.

Osama Bin Laden was definitely the face of 9/11, but as many today are celebrating, I am left wondering whether his death will make this crazy extreme violence stop. I doubt it. We talk justice, they talk revenge and it goes on and on in a vicious cycle. So although many feel that the death of Bin Laden brings some sort of closure, I think its just another chapter in the “an eye for an eye” saga that we see playing out all over the world. And, if we keep on with this strategy, pretty soon there will be no eyes left, and that is my greatest fear of all.

For most people, the movie that conjures up Easter memories is The Ten Commandments. Every Easter you can count on seeing the Epic story of Moses and Ramses brought to life by Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner. But another Charlton Heston movie captures my Easter memories, and that movie is Ben Hur.

I remember seeing Ben Hur with my entire family at the Michael Todd when I was eight years old. At the risk of sounding ancient, in those days going to the movies was a big event, especially seeing an epically produced movie like Ben Hur , Gone With The Wind, or Camelot. Those movies were over three hours long and when you went to see them it was like seeing a Broadway play. The movie had an overture and an intermission. Yes, you would have about a 10 minute opportunity mid-movie to get up, use the facilities, get some more popcorn or whatever. It was the art of creating an theatrical experience through film and as a young girl I was captivated.

I had never seen anything like it before, the music, the grandeur the conflict, the spectacle. Watching the story of two boyhood friends, one a Roman and one a Jew, grow into men and into enemies. The movie chronicles the story of the Roman oppression of the Jews and one of the side plots is the story of Jesus Christ. Ben Hur chronicles the life of Judah Ben Hur beginning with his life of wealth and privilege and moving to his loss of wealth, the imprisonment of his mother and his sister, his sentence to be a galley slave and his downward spiral into hatred and despair. In the end it is Jesus Christ that saves him and reunites him with his family. The movie begins with the birth of Christ and ends with His death and the redemption of mankind.

I remember sitting in my seat watching the miracle of redemption and feeling so convinced that the teachings of the Catholic Church were absolute. Unfortunately time and experience have shaken those beliefs but a glimmer  of faith remains in the seed of Ben Hur. Many times in my life I have been disillusioned by things I once believed in so strongly. Many times I questioned why certain things have occurred, why bad things happen to good people, why I was hurt deeply or deeply hurt others. In those moments, my mind flashes to the very end of the movie when Ben Hur comes home to Esther no longer angry and bitter but with peace in his heart and he says, “it was as if He took the sword from my hand.”

Many times in my life I prayed to have the sword taken from my hand, and I have to say it always was. So although I may not have blind faith, I do believe that there is someone watching over me. And every Easter, I think about sitting between my mother and father at the Michael Todd Theatre and seeing Ben Hur. I am grateful they gave me the gift of that movie and I am grateful that throughout my life God has always taken the sword from my hand.

If you’re like me, you probably have had your fill already about the royal wedding. Day after day, insipid article after insipid article tracing the parade route, what Kate bought for the honeymoon, her diet, why Prince William will not be wearing a wedding band, the history of Westminster Abbey, and on and on and on.

I vividly remember when Diana and Charles got married. I admit I got all caught up in the fairy tale nature of it all. How romantic that a young girl could find the prince of their dreams and they could get married and live happily ever after. And we all know how that one turned out. And here we are again, pinning our hopes on romance and getting sucked into wedding fever. Not me this time. Does it mean that I am jaded or just older and wiser?

I have to say there are many factors about this wedding that give me a glimmer of hope that this marriage can have a go of it. I love the fact that the two of them have lived together and had some sort of an extended private life together before they decided to go into the public fray. I like the fact that William was not required to marry an aristocratic virgin. Now there’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one as well as a throw back to the dark ages. I like the fact that it appears that Kate is more mature than Diana was and that she is handling the spotlight with poise. I have to say I really like the fact that William gave Kate his mother’s ring. I think it says something about how much his mother meant and still means to him. So have they learned from the past or are cultural norms more relaxed and they have become much more media savvy?

These people live a life that we cannot even hope to understand, a life of extreme privilege. Can you imagine what it would be like to have someone who everyday squeezes the toothpaste on your toothbrush for you? That’s just humdrum day-to-day life for Prince Charles. Can you imagine having three chauffeurs always at your beckon call? Just humdrum day-to-day life for Queen Elizabeth. Can you imagine having the cobblestones outside of the church were you are to be wed vacuumed? Just humdrum day-to-day life for the royals. So with these types of privileges, what are the rules of the game for royal marriage? Does it mean a stiff upper lip and discretion, or do the normal everyday rules apply?

I would hope for the normal everyday rules, but they do not lead a normal everyday life. So, all I can do is wish William and Kate my best. Their lives will never be the same and although fraught with privilege will be under a constant microscope. I hope they make a go of it, I hope it works, but I just can’t get sucked into it like I did before and I can’t wait until April 30th when we can move on from it all.

In its infinite wisdom, the University of Colorado Board of Regents decided yesterday to phase out the School of Journalism. Citing reasons of dwindling enrollment and not being afraid to blaze new trails with more innovative programs, they decided the journalism program was no longer relevant. And why not, I mean after all we are a nation of great writers, right?

What were they thinking? The art of writing a simple declarative sentence is going down the same path as All My Children – canceled. After all, when we can truncate things by using such nifty abbreviations like u, r, LMAO, TTYL and my favorite WTF, we don’t need to write the old fashioned way anymore. At the risk of sounding somewhat stodgy, I rather enjoy something that is well thought out and well written. The skill and creativity needed to create interest, hold someone riveted, make someone laugh or simply tell a good story is, I fear, fading into the sunset. Or maybe the sun has already set.

And above and beyond that precious skill, simple rules of English are consistently being murdered these days. Knowing the difference between there and their, when to correctly use which or that, the difference between your and you’re – these and many more basic concepts have long gone by the wayside.

Take for example some fun little games that people post on their status on Facebook – something like “You wake up in the morning and come down to the kitchen. There are only two people in the room, you and me, and there is only one cup of coffee. In four words, tell me what you would say.”  And you see replies like: “This one’s not yours” or “You’re not drinking this”. HELLO! This one’s not yours is five words as “one’s” is a contraction for one is – and the same with you’re not drinking this, you’re is a contraction for you are. Drives me insane!

And, how about the young woman who posted on her Facebook status that “Today the United States attacked Labia”. I used all the restraint I could muster not to make some smart aleck comment about that – just too ripe for the asking. And you see things like this over and over again. How do all of these people pass their English courses? Do we teach basic writing anymore? Do we teach English anymore?

I guess not. And I guess we don’t teach journalism anymore either. What CU is saying with their recent decision is that writing, among other journalistic endeavors, is just not relevant. So @ University of Colorado, all I can say is WTF! R U kidding me? When I herd you’re decision I LMFAO. TTYL. =-/

Northern Illinois University, 1969-1973 – lunch time at the student union, lunch with All My Children. Since my college days I have downplayed the fact that I have been an All My Children fan. From the time I had control of my academic schedule I made sure that the noon hour was not scheduled so that I could eat lunch in Pine Valley. From the early days and the romance of Philip Brent and Tara, to Tad the Cad, Jenny and Greg, Jessie and Angie and Kendall and Zach, I religiously followed the lives and dirty deeds of the residents of Pine Valley.

Now I know that, at heart, this is trash TV but over the years there were story lines that gripped me and some acting that was actually superb. Who could ever forget James Mitchell (RIP) as Palmer Courtland and my all time favorite David Canary as Adam Chandler. And although she will probably never win an Academy Award, Susan Lucci as Erica Kane defined that show almost from the beginning. I don’t think there is a person alive that on one day or another didn’t wish they could step into those shoes and say or do the things that Erica did. All you need to say is the name Erica, and everyone knows who you mean. That is creating quite a brand and quite an achievement!

The comings and goings of the residents of Pine Valley have been a part of the fabric of my life. I watched the series when it was in black and white and only a half hour long, rejoiced when it became an hour long series and filmed in color and loved the transition to high definition. Beautiful people are beautiful people high definition or not. And today ABC announced that the show will be canceled with episodes airing through September of this year.

Another ending. I can’t say that I did not see it coming. My husband actually called it a few weeks back. The era of the stay-at-home mom who gets respite from her tedious life by living vicariously through soap opera characters is gone and has been gone for a long time. Viewing habits have changed – today All My Children is gone tomorrow the daily newspaper.  And in the end is all about one thing – making money.  I am surprised it held on for as long as it did.

So, thank you All My Children. It has been a glorious ride. I will never forget Pine Valley and its many residents over the years. Thank you for the laughter, the tears, the escape. And life goes on…