Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

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As in Seinfeld…

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When I landed in the U.S. which turned out to be in the middle of corn field and not in NYC or LA, I was often trapped inside my dorm room and therefore I watched a lot of American TV. That’s probably for the better since I needed polishing on not just the English language but also American pop cultures. Nick at Night turned out to be a great teacher.

But the real Sensei for me, in terms of getting integrated into the American Pop culture, is Seinfeld.

It was a struggle for me at first. The show is full of references and references to references. I felt that I needed a secret decoder to decipher the humor underneath the banters. I knew it was funny; I just didn’t know how or why. More puzzling instead. When I finally was able to laugh at all the appropriate moments, and sometimes even at the more subtle points, I knew that I had “GOT IN” the secret club.

We went to see Jerry Seinfeld last Friday. The show was supposed to start at 7 pm, and yet, at 7:20 pm there were still a lot of people getting into their seats. Many of them were either holding a drink or obviously tipsy already. As late as 7:45 pm, there were stragglers wandering in. And throughout the night, until the show ended a little bit after 8:30 pm, people would get out of their seats to get more drinks and popcorn.

Is it just me? Is this nothing uncommon when it comes to standup comedies even though the venue is Chicago Theatre and now some comedy club in a basement somewhere?

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I really had fun at the show. I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt, and I found it hard to breath quite often. In fact, my husband told me after the show that he was surprised by how loud my laughter could be (or did he use the word “cackle”? Anyway, after 14 years of marriage, I was surprised that he was surprised by anything. Wow.) I had to press on my temples at several particularly hilarious yet insightful observations that he made for fear that my head might burst from the suppressed urge to jump up and down in vehement agreement.

One example: (Paraphrased below as usual… for I have no photographic memory…)

The problem with being a father is that our role is not clear. A kid’s role? Very clear. A father’s role? FUZZY. We have no idea what we are supposed to do. In fact, there are only two things that are clearly what fathers are expected to do. One is to come home every night, drop your bag on the floor, and yell, “Daddy’s home!” and then expect everybody in the house to drop whatever they are doing and come running.

The other one is AVOIDANCE. We practice avoidance so nobody can see us. (I can’t quite remember what exactly he said in the middle here… It’s funny. Just trust me on this one.)  “WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?” This question is the most often asked inside the house. (At this line I howled with laughter because it is damn true in my household. At the same time I felt grateful towards Seinfeld because it was damn nice to know I am not alone in dealing with the “Husband in Hiding” issue…) … GOLF stands for GET OUT LEAVE FAMILY…

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Jerry asked the audience to throw questions at him at the end, and it became obvious that many in the audience were flat out drunk. One guy kept on yelling Festivus! Some gal repeated what she had yelled at the beginning of the show, “Jerry I love you you are the best you are the funniest” (and she did not know when to stop). A very blonde and young girl sitting in the first row told Jerry that she has been watching his show since 1995. Jerry said, “Yes, and I have been on TV for the 15 years before that!” Again, this one did not know when to stop either. She went on full gushing mode. “But I think you are the best and the funniest… blah blah blah.”

“If you turn around now,” Jerry had to interrupt her, “you’ll see that there are other people in this room. It is not just you and me here.” He then tried to make the whole situation funnier for the rest of us, “Sometimes people sitting in the front row are so blinded by their power…”

The question of whether he plans to do another TV show was brought up, Jerry said, “To be honest with you: I am old, rich and tired.” He now gets up in the morning sitting at the kitchen counter with his three kids eating cereals while watching Sesame Street. “I would watch Elmo and laugh at his antics, and I’d thought to myself, ‘Yeah. Let him bust his red furry ass…'”

Some guy from the DRUNK section yelled out, “DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FUNNY?”

Awkward silence in the audience. I guess most people were holding their breath at that somewhat rude question.

“I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter what I think. You guys are the ones paying for the tickets!” At that, thunderous applause.

There is no shame on the bandwagon if it is for a worthy cause

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WARNING: Wagon jumping here!

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I learned of Beads of Courage from BugginWord, a charity that I have never heard of until today. The main program is based on a concept so “simple” yet so brilliant (’cause many probably thought to themselves: “Why didn’t anybody think of this sooner?!”) that is making a huge impact on the lives of young cancer patients directly.

The idea is straightforward:

Give beads to children coping with cancer and other serious illness. Allow them to tell their stories through these beads.

I was doubtful at first. “Beads?” I thought to myself, immediately conjuring up the images of teddy bears given to children in the hospitals around the world during Christmas season. Teddy Bears are nice. Yes. But I can only imagine the comfort to be temporary. How is it going to make any ACTUAL difference? And with BEADS?

Watch this video segment from CBS Morning News and you will understand why I was totally blown away by and could not stop telling anybody about what this organization is doing for children around the world and the power of, yes, beads.

(Warning: Elly wrote “Prepare to cry” after the link. I did not heed her warning for I was an idiot this morning. Be warned.)

Ants

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I have been thinking about ants a lot lately. Or rather, the absence of ants. It probably has a lot to do with all the holiday-related activities happening in this house: cookie baking, frosting, sprinkling, gingerbread house decorating. Every time when I see Mr. Monk walking around with a sugar cookie that he has added frosting and sprinkles to, I wince and say to him, “You are lucky we don’t have ants in this house.”

After saying that, I then half expect the ants to show up just to teach us a lesson. Hubris! I live in its shadow.

Moments like this remind me that one of the things about living in America I am most grateful for, in addition to the awesome return policy in most stores, is the lack of ants. The lack of paranoia that a single piece of crumb would attract a horde of ants within five minutes. And there are a lot of crumbs in this house. My kids are like crumb machines; their mouths, as what mothers in Taiwan would say, are like a chipped bowl.

Growing up in Taiwan, I was always wary of leaving crumbs on the floor partly because my mother was vigilant in covering up food and picking up crumbs while yelling “The ants will come and move you back to their colony at night!” and partly because swarms of ants really creep me out. Like the flying German cockroaches, ants are common in houses (i.e. apartments) in Taiwan, at least the places I lived in growing up. It does not matter how clean your house is, they still show up uninvited.

I remember watching wayward ants move along the cracks on the wall as I studied late at night. I followed their trajectories, mesmerized. The wall must be immense from their perspective, like traversing a desert plain. How do they find their friends? Sometimes I would set up “road blocks” by holding my ruler against the wall, forcing the lone ant to change her direction. Again. And again.

Now that I started down the memory lane, I realized that one of my most vivid childhood memories was also one of my greatest childhood traumas:

My mother came home one day from her job at the hotel with a rare treat: a piece of Black Forest Cake. A hotel guest had given my mother the leftover from their party. I had never owned something so extravagant in my life (at that time): The cake was fancifully decorated with delicate chocolate shavings with a cherry perching on top of a tower of whipped cream. It was too beautiful to be eaten and I could not bring myself to cause the cake to disappear. I left it out on the dinner table so I could admire it in all its glory and take my time to savor it later.

I fell asleep before I had the chance.

As soon as I opened my eyes the next morning, I remembered my cake! I put my face right next to it, Ah, CAKE! but noticed that the chocolate sprinkles were moving around…

My father ran to the scene following my scream. He took a lighter and got rid of the ants covering the entire cake. “Here. See? Your cake is ok again.”

“NOOOOOO!!!!!” I was inconsolable. “It is NOT!”

“Look! It tastes just as good.” He took a spoonful of the cake and put it in his mouth to show that the cake was still edible.

All I could do was cry as my father kept on taking a bite off the cake to convince me to try.

I can’t remember how long it took me to recover from the shock. But to this day, whenever I remember that scene, I can still feel the overwhelming sense of regret. If only.

As a grown-up, when I am at a bakery or a coffee shop, I can’t help but order a piece of Black Forest Cake if it is available. But somehow it never tastes as good as the piece that I had never tasted.

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Getting into the Holiday Spirit

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Work.

“Single mother” for two weeks.

Business trip.

Sick.

Child hurting his foot by doing backflip on concrete floor.

Suspicion of a broken foot.

X-ray. Orthopedic surgeon.

Good news: Not broken.

Bad news: No other cure but time for the pain.

Advent Calendar = Sweets first thing in the morning.

Over-purchase of cookie doughs from school fundraising not realizing the size of the tub AND the requirement to freeze them.

Emergency!

Baked cookies = Sweets throughout the day.

Lots of baked cookies = HYPER! for kids. = Coma + Sense of self-loathing. For me.

Keen awareness of the locations of all my sinuses.

Avid supporter of the Kleenex industry.

Work.

Tendency to procrastinate.

Dying. To. Sleep.

But. Can’t.

Sum(A1:A20) = Massive SCROOGEdom = Major Cop-out with Pictures…

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Here's what I had to say to the first snow this season...

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The Unnecessary Saga of the Travelling Jacket

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I have no idea what’s been going on with me as a mother. The fact that I am away from home on a business trip while leaving mu children to the care of a babysitter does not bode well for my chance of winning Mother of the Year anyway. But I did figure out why I am loving people over the Internet so much better in real life.

You do not witness my suckiness up close and personal.

You do not get to witness my parenting fails.

You do not get to be rubbed the wrong ways by my mere presence. My smugness. My suburban privileged life. My undeserved whining. My coy yet relentless pursuit of youthful appearances.

For that, I am grateful.

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Mr. Monk my recently-turned-8 younger child came home with the wrong jacket last Tuesday. It was size XL, way too big for him. When I finally noticed it on Wednesday afternoon, I rushed over to the care facility where he had to stay that Monday and Tuesday because school was out and I had to work on those days.

I made the director at the center check the coat hooks. The cubbies. Different classrooms. I made her call the “suspects” aka kids who were also there on Monday and Tuesday and were BIG enough to be wearing a size XL jacket.

No dice.

I became more and more indignant.

What kind of parents would not notice that their son had gone home with a jacket that’s too SMALL for him?! Wouldn’t they have noticed by now since it is freezing?! Are they keeping our better and brand new (!) jacket on purpose?! Jerks!

I was also mad, unfairly, at my child for coming home with the wrong jacket and for not noticing it till Wednesday afternoon, the day before Thanksgiving, with the entire weekend forecast to be cold cold cold. And on top of that, I had to rush to get everything ready for Thanksgiving. It was hugely inconvenient to say the least. [Oh how I sound like a spoiled brat inside my own head!]

I had purchased the jacket from Gap when there was a 35% off sale. I did not want to pay full retail price. Mr. Monk did not want anything else but his old jacket back because he had been wearing the same style for several years. And if you ever wonder why I am calling him Mr. Monk in this blog: Extremely dislike of changes or disruption to routines and sensory sensitivities.

It was my personal, trivial, perfect storm.

Oh it was a saga alright. Albeit a perfectly unnecessary one. And if I really think about it, quite embarrassing and I really should not be writing about it for the world to know… (i.e. of course I absolutely need to blog about it…)

There have been quite a few coupons floating around in the Cyber space for Gap but none of them could be used for in-store purchase AND the online store did not have the jacket any more. There was ONE left in our local store and I do have a 35% off coupon for in-store but that did not become effective until this Friday. So on Wednesday, after much whining from Mr. Monk and everybody else that had to help him zip up the hand-me-down-too-big-and-a-bit-tattered-with-a-non-working-zipper jacket, I broke down. I called the store in the morning and asked for the jacket to be held for me till the end of day. I drove over there at night and lo and behold, the road to the mall was closed. No problem. I would take the detour. When I finally got there, with 10 minutes till closing time, LOOK! Best parking space ever! Why? Because the entire mall was shut down due to power outage!

I went back again the next day, clearly agitated, and paid for the jacket in full price, fully aware that if I had waited one more day, I could have got the jacket at 35% off. But I did not want to risk the possibility that someone could have walked in the store on Friday morning and snatched that stupid prized jacket away from me.

I hate paying full price. I absolutely hate paying full price for clothing items. I really really do. I hate it. Hate it. HATE IT!

I came home with the jacket and guess what? The zipper did not work!

By then Mr. Monk was so defeated and had come to terms with the fact that he simply had to live without his jacket. [Oh the Horror!] It was like Morgan Freeman telling me to give up on this stupid prized jacket and hop over to Lands’ End to order a jacket with their 40% off +Free Shipping promotion. I bit the bullet and ordered a damned jacket and by doing this, I triggered some Cosmic Law about lost clothing items:

Guess what? The jacket, the original one, came back.

When I picked up Mr. Monk from the weekly Chinese school on Sunday, he presented me with the beloved jacket.

I was horrified.

For this meant many things:

1. I did not notice that he had come home with the wrong jacket for an entire weekend PLUS the Monday AND Tuesday AND Wednesday Morning.

2. I had shown my indignation by mistake.

3. I now need to track down the too-large-jacket that he had come home with [Are you still with me?!] that I had shoved into the hands of the childcare facility director, mind you, with great, visible, indignation and annoyance.

4. I need to go over and pick up the jacket from the childcare facility director with my newfound humility and embarrassment, offering up apologies for causing her so much unnecessary trouble.

5. Then I need to bring the jacket back to the mother of the jacket’s owner who asked incredulously, “You mean, you did not notice it was the wrong jacket when you picked up your child last time?!”

She proceeded to tell me how she had made her son wait with her when the school ended.

“I told him that for sure the mother would notice that the jacket does not belong to her child and she would bring it back right away! How can you not notice that the jacket is too big?!” She laughed jocusingly (Joking + Accusing). And then she said it again for good measure, “You mean you really did not notice it until later that day?”

I did not tell her that not only did I NOT notice it that Sunday, I did not notice it until the following Wednesday afternoon…

As I was leaving the Chinese school with my boys in tow, crestfallen, embarrassed (Did I ever tell you that “fear of embarrassment” is one of the two driving forces in my life?), I was accosted by another mother who made an effort to traverse all the moving and converging children in the hallway to deliver her assessment of my appearance that day,

“You really do look cute in that age.” She delivered her line with a smug expression, indicating the hat I am wearing, pointing it out to the young girls surrounding us (who probably are in the right demographics to be sporting this hat…)

Bah Hum Bug! The hat I am sporting this winter season...

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Did I ever tell you that I hate Other Mothers even though in a different telling of this story, I am probably That Mom?

I am on the down cycle (i.e. Y < 0 ). Catch you all when I come up from below the X axis…

Remember Showgirls? Nomi says you’ve got to put this flag up and see who salutes

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Boing! <– warning: NSFW

Whoa, mama!

Now I’ve got your attention. This proves that if put in the right context with the right mood implied, ANYTHING you say can be interpreted with a naughty bend. But first, a warning.

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That being said, like a good strip tease, I am going to start with something wholesome… See? Pink roses and fancy china and proper tea time.

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Big Little Wolf over at Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy passed this award to me… this September… Ugh… I did mention before that I am in a P.A. (Procrastinator Anonymous) program right? Thank you for the award. I really appreciate it!

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Next up is an intriguing award from Wendy at Herding Cats in Hammond River. It is British with a distinct British word and should be savored properly in Queen’s English. Since I do have a British-accent-fetish, I enjoy looking in the mirror and saying, “You are bloody brilliant!” and also “Blimey! It is almost 4 months since you’ve received this award. You are a rotten wanker indeed!” Thank you, Wendy!

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Yeah yeah yeah. You are thinking, “Well, one BLOODY does not NC-17 make. It won’t even get you bleeped!” Be patient my lad. Now here come the awards by Rabbit aka Micael over at The [Long] Journey [to the Middle].
Rabbit said to take one or all. I couldn’t choose so I took all three. I am NOT being greedy just indecisive…

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This one is rated PG…

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This is all a big tease, isn’t it? Not so… Quick! Earmuffs!

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This award is NOT censored on my blog and it is still fucking awesome!

But wait, there is MORE!

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Are you ready for this? I simply HAD to share this award with you because I do like me some good licking and besides, Nomi says so…

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So step right up! All of you. Please. Because a 10-inch dick is simply too fucking awesome to not be passed around!

AND I would like to give this award back to Micael because he totally deserves it — I hope I just succeeded in finding a loophole for a blogger to accept and display an award that they created…

I know what you are thinking. You are going to be coy. You are going to be humble. I understand. I’d behave the same way if suddenly  a 10-inch-dick award were to be thrust in front of my face.

How about this: How about if we do this for charity? For anybody that brings Nomi home to their blog, a dollar will go to The Global Fund, and another dollar will go to The Trevor Project.*

Do it for Nomi. Do it for the children. And do it, for goodness sake, for the Great 10-inch Dick!

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* Disclaimer 1: I am NO saint. This is in our annual household budget anyway. I know it is uncouth to talk about one’s own charity giving; on the other hand, I do not want to be disingenuous and pretend that I am doing anything extra.

* Disclaimer of the Disclaimer: In the unlikely event that more than the usual number of people come by my blog (Unlikely because Thanksgiving is over and people have stopped searching for turkey and landing here), there IS a certain cap to the Bring Nomi Home campaign. I hope you understand.

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Linlah @ Corn-Bean brought Nomi home and had a great time with her on the stripper pole. I know you want to do it too!

Micael @ The (Long) Journey (to the Middle), Nomi’s creator, was reunited with Nomi on his side bar (Ok. This sounds disturbing for some reason… But it is really all legit…)

Holly aka Midwestern Mamah @ ARE YOU SERIOUS? (yes, it has got to be all CAPS. That’s how I hear it every time I visit her blog…) has put up Nomi right in her living room. Nothing speaks of holiday cheer than a show girl licking the stripper pole.

Wicked Shawn @ Wicked Girls Think It, Do You? (yes, I do I do!) had some technical difficulty at her house so they ended up doing it on the beach. (By doing it, I meant the PARTY. What?)

“Duff Diddy” @ Dufmanno’s Blog (yeah, I have no idea what Dufmmano means either. Go ask her yourself!) needs a 10-inch dick to complete her fancy tea party and we sent Nomi over to deliver the award. I haven’t heard back from Nomi yet. I guess the tea went long. *wink wink*

The Peach @ Being Peachy is being a peach by setting up Nomi in a gorgeous trailer complete with jacuzzi, heart-shaped bed that vibrates with an overhead mirror. And her own personal bejeweled stripper pole! What’s more: Peach produced TWO 5-inch dicks so they could both have a good time. Nicely done, m’lady. That’s what friends are for…

Let’s paint the town red

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Let’s paint the town red because there is much to be celebrated today.

Elly kicked cancer’s butt! She has been declared cancer-FREE by her doctor. It is likely though that she is still radioactive from, you know, activating the Wonder Twin power in her epic battle against that super villain. But like Harry Potter, LOVE is the ultimate magic that is going to keep her safe.

The Internet has come through for Trevor: much love and good thoughts and prayers were sent his way.  According to the Facebook update, “Trevor is out of surgery and in recovery. They were able to reduce the blockage from 85% to 15% and are hopeful that he will be able to leave the hospital Friday.”

At Sundown, our Jewish friends will begin celebrating Hanukkah (I honestly do not know which spelling to follow AND I still copy and paste this word after so many years… I suck. I know.)  The Festival of Lights. If it has become all too predictable to embed the video of Adam Sandler’s classic Hanukkah song for the post published on the first day of Hanukkah, so be it. He’s insanely adorable (or maybe the other way around), and it is always such a pleasure to listen to the list of famous people who (happen to be) are Jewish, including Rob “You Can Do It” Schneider who’s a Filipino Jew.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1sf5yqZX-k

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On December 1, 1955, a 42-year-old African American woman in Montgomery, Alabama refused to give up her seat on the bus to make room for a white passenger. Rosa Parks. You know her name well.

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Today, as is every December 1, is also World AIDS Day.

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“The AIDS pandemic is almost 30 years old, and in that time 60 million people have been infected with HIV, and more than 30 million people have lost their life to the most destructive epidemic in recorded history.

In what has become one of the most recognized international health days in modern history, World AIDS Day is a day to raise awareness and commemorate those who have passed on.”  — LGBTQ Nation

30 years seem to be a long time. Remember the panic in the 80s? The hush-hush? Remember the Red Ribbons?

Things certainly have changed, for the most part, better. We are now in a different century. We seem to have left it behind us. However, there is still no known cure: 33 million people are estimated to be living with HIV. In the US those who are not (or have been) affected by this disease seem to have forgotten about it. (And I used to be one of those). Yes, we still hear about the news from Africa, about Bono’s charity work with (RED), and about the fundraising concerts he gave. But that’s all the way in Africa, right? Do people here still bother with the Red Ribbons on World AIDS Day?

According to CDC and AIDS.org,

  • An estimated 56,300 Americans are newly infected with HIV each year.
  • There are approximately 1.1 million Americans who are living with HIV/AIDS.

Courtesy of Micael @ The Journey*

  • The CDC estimates that 21% of HIV-positive people don’t know they are infected-meaning they may be transmitting HIV without knowing it.

* The picture with the girl holding red balloons also came from Micael. Micael is living with HIV and he talks about what this day means to him this year, the first time as someone from the other side (or this side depending on where you are speaking from) . His writing, especially his poetry, is often packed with sharp edges and gut-throttling punches. Raw and visceral. With an ample amount of biting humor. I think many of you here would also find it magnetic, difficult to tear away.

That is why today is important. We in the modern, safe(r) parts of the world need to help educate and spread the word here and now. Help our young remember. Even the Pope recently consented that using condoms in some cases is a moral issue. Someone else’s life may be at stake here.

At the same time, Bono’s (RED) collective has from the start identified the twin evil of the AIDS pandemic in Africa: Poverty. Lack of access to medication and education. Babies kept on being born with aids. A vicious cycle.

This year (RED) launched a campaign to eliminate AIDS: no more babies born with AIDS, a new generation of children that are not (nor are in danger of being) born with AIDS. In 5 years. 2015.

For the first time since AIDS arrived on the scene, we have a chance to realize, in the next 5 years, a whole generation born AIDS free. This goal is achievable through continued funding from the global health community, including the Global Fund.

To raise awareness for this massive campaign, (RED) has persuaded several landmarks around the world to turn themselves RED for today.

Feel free to paint the town red today in your own way.

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Faraway, So Close.

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I came across an interesting article today in which the author questioned the recent brouhaha / vociferous protest against the security measures enforced by TSA while some other, more serious, offense committed by the US government, such as the wrongful execution of  its citizens, did not inspire nearly enough the appropriate amount and degree of outrage. The author posited that it is easier to find compassion for and harder to ignore when things affect people who are more like ourselves, in this case, law-abiding, gainfully employed, relevantly affluent people and their families who can afford to fly.

To first approximation, everyone can empathize with their neighbors or co-workers and people who they see every day. It’s a bit more of a stretch to take the point of view of people in the next town, or those from a different ethnic group or class, or the gay, or the homeless, or those who dwell in radically different social worlds (Afghan tribesmen, say). The liberal humanist imagination at least strives to see the world through the eyes of others; whereas the conservative mind seems to thrive on shutting out foreignness, or reducing it to something known.

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Being cosmopolitan is hard, it takes work. Empathizing with others is also hard — and it’s not even clear what it should mean. Nobody has the time and resources to empathize with everyone, but the modern world puts us in contact with essentially everyone.

— “No Compassion”, 24 November 2010, Omniorthogonal

What the author wrote about the modern world and the access to “essentially everyone” really struck a cord: I pride myself on being an informed global citizen. Compared to the average Americans, I (believe I) know more about histories, geographies, cultures, customs, and happenings in other countries. I listen to NPR religiously and I read Business Week (used to) read The Economist after all!…

Expanding my alter-ego through the Interwebs, I feel connected to parts of the world that I would not have had any connection to otherwise. I am the product of globalization. A citizen of the world. A resident of the World Wide Web. My peeps are all over the world.

This was made evident when someone in Haiti visited and commented on my blog. At the same time I started noticing the crack in my self-congratulatory complacency.

Kathryn at Reinventing the Event Horizon wrote about the recent presidential election in Haiti and the alleged corruption that’s gotten people agitated to say the least. Did I know about Haiti’s presidential election? Yes, kind of. I heard about Wyclef Jean’s failed attempt to register as a candidate there, and I am aware of the potential for election frauds. Reading Kathryn’s posts was my first exposure to what is currently going on in Haiti. My knowledge of Haiti’s present until then was to the extent of what NPR aired and Twitter tweeted that I happened to catch. The same goes for everything that is happening around the world.

Another fissure showed up in my facade of a well-informed global citizen when a blogger in Indonesia that I got to know online (through Twitter and blogging) tweeted me to say Hi.

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Hundreds of people have died since the first volcano eruption at Merapi on October 25. I did not know anything about it until today. But even my self-chastisement sounds hollow and self-indulgent at this moment. In the scheme of things. Nina sent me a link to see for myself how huge a deal this was in her part of the world. The images speak volumes to the massive force of nature. (For the faint of heart, please do NOT go on to Page 2 where horrific images of the victims are included…)

At times the world seems smaller and the people in it closer because we are all connected, for the fortunate amongst us anyway (Think of Kathryn whose connection to those of us outside of Haiti depends on her WiFi connectivity). At times, of course, we seem yet so far away because I was celebrating Thanksgiving and complaining about cooking while Nina and her people were holding their breath, tweeting the latest updates on the volcano eruptions and relief efforts.

Once again, this is one of those posts where I stated a problem without providing any answers and in the process of writing, only got myself even more confused. I lost my point if there was even a point when I first started.

Reaching out.

We reached out to each other. That should count for something, right?

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Reach out.

Would you reach out and touch a young boy’s heart? Trevor is 12 and he will be undergoing a risky heart surgery today. Pray for him please.

ForTrevorBeingPeachy

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Elly is having her appointment with Dr. Aloysius today. Let your positive thoughts reach her. She is in the general direction of the original Lady Gaga aka Statue of Liberty. Think good thoughts for Elly today. If you play any instrument, play a song for her to keep her company while she waits.

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It is cheesy. Yeah it is true. It is cliche. See if I care. Let there be love, baby. Let there be love.

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