I just looked at the photos of the tent cities that are popping up around the US. The Modern Day Hoovervilles. The New Jack Cities.
And what are we doing? We are about ready to have an adventure year and I feel as if I am rubbing our good fortune in the faces of the have not’s. There are people living in garden sheds in Sacramento for God’s sake! Who are we to go traipsing around looking for our own self absorbed spiritual enlightenment? Alright, maybe it is not as self indulgent as that but I can see the self-absorbed aspects pretty clearly.
The other question staring me in the face when I saw those photos was: Why are we considering a community service opportunity in India when there are people who need our help in the US? Is it too hard to volunteer at home? To see others in need in our own backyard? What are we running from?
When I worked for the Fund for Democratic Elections in South Africa - a US fundraising campaign based in Boston to raise money for Nelson Mandela’s election in 1994 - I worked with members of the anti-apartheid movement all over the US as well as with exiled ANC members who were living in the US. One guy, Rider, was in his late 20’s. He was an ANC youth fighter who was exiled to Zimbabwe. While in Zimbabwe he received a scholarship to study at MIT. One day we were talking about doing a literature drop to build a crowd for a rally we were having and he suggested we go to the top the tallest building in Boston, put all the leaflets in a metal trash can and explode it to send the leaflets falling all over the city. Instead we leafleted the student union, Massachusetts Avenue that runs through the MIT campus, and dorm rooms.
Rider asked me why so many white people wanted to help South African blacks when they weren’t interested in helping out the blacks in the US.
I love it when people question your motives and help you to reshape the way you look at things. Rider did, and continues to do this to me, with that one question.
My answer then still seems to hold true for me today – because it is easier. It is easier to clean other people’s houses then to clear out your own closets. You don’t have the life long memories attached to each article of clothing, each photos, and each single earring.
But our adventure in the RV can’t just be about seeing the scrubbed up, made for public consumption, gift shop and café version of the US. We need to see the truth and not just do the easy thing.
Will New Jack City and the garden sheds be on our list of things we want to see on our travels across the US? How can they not? It is the least we can do – to open our eyes, to hear the stories of the people who live there.
We need to see the reality to underscore and be aware of our good fortune and to see how we can help to be part of the movement to rebuild the US when we finally park the RV.
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Monday, 16 March 2009
Flirting with Wife Swap
Flirting with Wife Swap
Two years ago Evan and I received an email from the minister of our Unitarian Church. He was forwarding a request from someone whom he thought was a documentary film maker looking for families to interview regarding their beliefs and how you instilled religious values in your children and how religion is incorporated in your home.
Being the chatter, questioner and frustrated television personality that I am, I got in touch with the film maker. We had a fascinating conversation about religion in the UK, value- based decision making, how to raise children to care about others, the various cultural issues that come up raising children abroad, and how do you incorporate elements of the Jewish and Christian faith in the home. This was your basic 45 minute fun conversation with an interesting person who wanted to hear all about me and my family. I love talking about myself and my family. No wonder I loved it.
And then we got down to the nitty gritty.
She was working for a production company I had never heard of. And then I admitted I don’t watch television unless it was the children’s channels and Bob the Builder, Blue Peter, and Noddy were not on her affiliate. She told me she was a producer for Wife Swap. That meant nothing to me other than what immediately came to mind and the title was a little frightening. Was this some sort of Adult Channel? She mailed me some DVD’s of the show.
Evan and I watched Wife Swap. The kids watched Wife Swap. Evan thought we should do it. Josh, then 9, was chomping at the bit to do it, “I will be famous!” Simon, then 5, said “No way! I can’t be without you for a week.”
Two years ago Evan and I received an email from the minister of our Unitarian Church. He was forwarding a request from someone whom he thought was a documentary film maker looking for families to interview regarding their beliefs and how you instilled religious values in your children and how religion is incorporated in your home.
Being the chatter, questioner and frustrated television personality that I am, I got in touch with the film maker. We had a fascinating conversation about religion in the UK, value- based decision making, how to raise children to care about others, the various cultural issues that come up raising children abroad, and how do you incorporate elements of the Jewish and Christian faith in the home. This was your basic 45 minute fun conversation with an interesting person who wanted to hear all about me and my family. I love talking about myself and my family. No wonder I loved it.
And then we got down to the nitty gritty.
She was working for a production company I had never heard of. And then I admitted I don’t watch television unless it was the children’s channels and Bob the Builder, Blue Peter, and Noddy were not on her affiliate. She told me she was a producer for Wife Swap. That meant nothing to me other than what immediately came to mind and the title was a little frightening. Was this some sort of Adult Channel? She mailed me some DVD’s of the show.
Evan and I watched Wife Swap. The kids watched Wife Swap. Evan thought we should do it. Josh, then 9, was chomping at the bit to do it, “I will be famous!” Simon, then 5, said “No way! I can’t be without you for a week.”
The concept of the show is to take two very different families and swap the mothers. The first week the family lives under the existing rules of the house as normal, the second week the New Mother can changes the rules so they are in line with her thinking. That is when the excitement starts.
Evan, my personal cheerleader, thought I would come across wonderfully and I could use my/our 15 minutes well and help show others what a fabulous job we had done as parents and how others could incorporate values into their home as well. All I could imagine was me screaming at someone on national television and people pointing out our house saying, “that is where the obnoxious Americans who did Wife Swap live.” Yes, we might be famous but it would be for all the wrong reasons.
Then the producer called back, and called back, and called again. She was so smooth, so complimentary, so interested in having us on their show. We took it to the next step. They sent a camera crew out to see how we would look on camera.
We passed the test. “You are naturals, the camera loves you!” said the Producer. Yes, we are ready for that close up.
Now the pressure was really on. The phone calls continued. Can we do it next month? If not then, when? We have the perfect (undisclosed) family for you to swap with.
Luckily we had a well timed dinner with my brother and sister-in-law who were living in London as well and some friends of theirs. Turns out the friend had worked at the same television production house and she talked sense into us. We would have no control over anything. Whatever the most controversial argument, whenever someone lost it – that would be the 5 second clip that would play over and over to get people’s interest in watching the programme. I understand. It is all about viewers and advertising. Why would I knowingly throw myself into the milieu? If we have a message we want to get out, write a book. Do it on our own terms. Write a blog!
The producer called again. This time I was ready and gave the firm, I really mean it this time, NO.
With our upcoming adventure I have thought about what it would be like to make this into a reality television show. Maybe we could sell this to someone. Maybe it would be lucrative enough so we could extend the adventure and do that Australia piece we just can’t afford. But why? Again all I can think about is all of us losing it and yelling obscenities at each other and never being able to get paid work again.
However if Good Morning America would like to do a few interviews – we are available. We have been told that the camera loves us!
Evan, my personal cheerleader, thought I would come across wonderfully and I could use my/our 15 minutes well and help show others what a fabulous job we had done as parents and how others could incorporate values into their home as well. All I could imagine was me screaming at someone on national television and people pointing out our house saying, “that is where the obnoxious Americans who did Wife Swap live.” Yes, we might be famous but it would be for all the wrong reasons.
Then the producer called back, and called back, and called again. She was so smooth, so complimentary, so interested in having us on their show. We took it to the next step. They sent a camera crew out to see how we would look on camera.
We passed the test. “You are naturals, the camera loves you!” said the Producer. Yes, we are ready for that close up.
Now the pressure was really on. The phone calls continued. Can we do it next month? If not then, when? We have the perfect (undisclosed) family for you to swap with.
Luckily we had a well timed dinner with my brother and sister-in-law who were living in London as well and some friends of theirs. Turns out the friend had worked at the same television production house and she talked sense into us. We would have no control over anything. Whatever the most controversial argument, whenever someone lost it – that would be the 5 second clip that would play over and over to get people’s interest in watching the programme. I understand. It is all about viewers and advertising. Why would I knowingly throw myself into the milieu? If we have a message we want to get out, write a book. Do it on our own terms. Write a blog!
The producer called again. This time I was ready and gave the firm, I really mean it this time, NO.
With our upcoming adventure I have thought about what it would be like to make this into a reality television show. Maybe we could sell this to someone. Maybe it would be lucrative enough so we could extend the adventure and do that Australia piece we just can’t afford. But why? Again all I can think about is all of us losing it and yelling obscenities at each other and never being able to get paid work again.
However if Good Morning America would like to do a few interviews – we are available. We have been told that the camera loves us!
Friday, 13 March 2009
Weird Al, Greg Brady, Me and my stuff.
With the impending move I look at all our stuff differently. Mostly my thought process is, “how much will it cost to store this (fill in the blank with various household items) for a year?”
Do we really need “it”?
Can we eBay “it”?
When did eBaying turn into a verb?
If we sell “it” for 5 quid now on eBay, will we need to re buy some similar “it” when we eventually end up someplace?
And then there is Weird Al Yankovic's Ebay Song. My “it’s” will go along side Smurf Alarm Clocks and William Shatner’s toupee. I love Weird Al. I bet he doesn’t love me. But that is ok.
I keep hearing about Craig’s List and how you can buy some one else’s used “it” real cheap. Wouldn’t it be cool at the end of every block people could just put their things they want to get rid of in a box and other people could come and take it? I guess Craig thought the same thing.
Who Is Craig?
And then I start thinking about the Brady Bunch and then I remember his name was Greg not Craig.
Which then makes me think back to 1972 and Friday nights with Room 222, The Brady Bunch and Love American Style which was quite risque for it’s time. And then I think about London and Page 3 in the daily papers and all the exposed breasts and the British love of Fancy Dress and men in drag yet folks on the whole are quite buttoned up in terms of daily interactions.
And then I think about my wonderful friends and how it really takes a long time to have local British friends because they wonder if you are just passing through and is it really worth the investment when you will just be moving away.
And I put on a brave face and said, “But I am not moving away. I am stable. See, I plant perennials.” Oops.
Someone else will be enjoying my perennials. But that is ok. Because it still is adding enjoyment to someone. Maybe not me, not Greg Brady, nor Weird Al – but my neighbours.
And I wonder how another day has slipped by and I have still have yet to get anything done.
Do we really need “it”?
Can we eBay “it”?
When did eBaying turn into a verb?
If we sell “it” for 5 quid now on eBay, will we need to re buy some similar “it” when we eventually end up someplace?
And then there is Weird Al Yankovic's Ebay Song. My “it’s” will go along side Smurf Alarm Clocks and William Shatner’s toupee. I love Weird Al. I bet he doesn’t love me. But that is ok.
I keep hearing about Craig’s List and how you can buy some one else’s used “it” real cheap. Wouldn’t it be cool at the end of every block people could just put their things they want to get rid of in a box and other people could come and take it? I guess Craig thought the same thing.
Who Is Craig?
And then I start thinking about the Brady Bunch and then I remember his name was Greg not Craig.
Which then makes me think back to 1972 and Friday nights with Room 222, The Brady Bunch and Love American Style which was quite risque for it’s time. And then I think about London and Page 3 in the daily papers and all the exposed breasts and the British love of Fancy Dress and men in drag yet folks on the whole are quite buttoned up in terms of daily interactions.
And then I think about my wonderful friends and how it really takes a long time to have local British friends because they wonder if you are just passing through and is it really worth the investment when you will just be moving away.
And I put on a brave face and said, “But I am not moving away. I am stable. See, I plant perennials.” Oops.
Someone else will be enjoying my perennials. But that is ok. Because it still is adding enjoyment to someone. Maybe not me, not Greg Brady, nor Weird Al – but my neighbours.
And I wonder how another day has slipped by and I have still have yet to get anything done.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Out of Body Experience
All I have done the last week is wander around the house putting things away in preparation for potential buyers. People come to a house wanting to imagine themselves living there and don't want to see the birthday party invitations on the fridge, the stupid postcard collection on the cork board, the book choices of the present occupiers next to the beds or god forbid their worn down toothbrushes next to the sink. We are not selling ourselves - merely the vessel we live in. Save the interesting tidbits for the dinner parties please.
But today my boys come home at 3:30 pm and then it is time for homework, haircuts and dinner - so the people coming at 5:30 and the next group at 6:00 might just have to deal with a bit of our reality. Perhaps we will save viola practice for after dinner.
It is interesting the reactions of the potential buyers. Besides the line about the Master Bedroom being too small (come on man! There is room for a queen size bed, two night stands a bookshelf - what else do people do in their bedrooms? Never mind....strike that.) many people have trouble with the fact we back up onto the WORLD FAMOUS HOOP LANE CREMATORIUM. Sigmund Freud and Anna Pavlova were cremated there for goodness sake - this is a shrine and they should be so lucky! The Memorial Gardens are beautiful and our view from our tree house bedroom is spectacular of the gardens, the poplars, the open fields. Clearly these people have issues with death.
I have also been very busy eating many little snacks of varying degree of healthiness and writing emails.
In reality, I have the attention span of a gnat. I am so overwhelmed with the Holy Trinity of Emotions -(1) profound sadness for leaving London after six years of really living; (2) terror of not knowing where we are going and where we will end up; and (3) excitement for the unknown and all the adventures that it holds in store for us.
I feel as if I am watching myself from the ceiling and man oh man, am I ever boring.
To quote Simon, "I feel like this (whole trip) isn't happening to me."
What is so weird is that when my brother Martin was tragically killed in a a horrible car accident in August of 1988 I also felt this way - like I was watching myself go through the motions from above. That summer I was living in Dallas, Texas with a lovely Democratic supporter of Mike Dukakis who had graciously donated her guest bedroom so I could live for free while I worked with the coordinated campaign led by Congressman Martin Frost's office for the election of Mike Dukaks and Lloyd Bentsen for President and Vice President.
At that point, I had been on the road for close to a year organizing various congressional districts from the corn fields of Kansas, to the beer drinking college town of Stevens Point, Wisconsin, to the dying coal town of Steubenville, Ohio. I arrived in Dallas for the general election and in August things were looking like we still might have a chance.
Barbara, my hostess, was a lawyer and a brilliant one at that, with a judgeship under her belt, a quiet yet mighty forcefulness to her voice, a dry wit, an artistic bent and her heart in the right place. Each morning she would go off to her office and I went to mine and rarely would I see her. Then one Tuesday afternoon she was in the campaign office. This wasn't all that rare and usually it meant something fun - a surprise check in or a quick bite for lunch so while I was surprised to see her, I was also excited. She was like an older sister and took her role seriously of watching over her 26 year old charge. But that Tuesday was different. She came to tell me about my brother. She hardly knew me. My mom had called her and asked her to tell me in person because my mom wanted to make sure I wasn't alone.
Poor Barbara to have to be the one to tell me.
But as soon as she told me I immediately felt a rush of noise in my ears that wouldn't go away for months. As I look back on it now I am on the ceiling watching myself on the floor looking up at Barbara, searching her face. Wondering how a woman whom I had known for less than a month could say the name of my brother whom she had never met. And now would never meet.
When Martin died at 28 he left behind his Korean wife Sang and their two children Amy was 3 and Luke was just 1. Martin was a bit of a wild man. He was the kid in high school who never wore shoes. He was smarter than his teachers and knew it. He jumped railroad cars and biked across the country more than once. He was the guy on skis that went straight down the mountain because turning was for wussies.
He wanted to be a millionaire by the time he was thirty to show my dad he could be successful without having gone to some fancy east coast college. And he did - he was only 28 and he was a millionaire when he died thanks to the highly exclusive and prestigious business of floor buffing and waxing.
Yesterday I got an email from Sang in response to our Big Announcement email. Sang wrote to say that Martin had wanted to do a trip like the one we are planning with her and Amy and Luke. Martin is going on this trip. He will be looking down at us as we are camping in the desert, protecting us as we drive over mountainous passages, and singing country western songs along with us as we listen to the radio. But he liked Merle Haggard and I prefer Hank Williams.
I guess life changing event and out of body experiences are par for the course and this means I am a mere mortal.
Time to go put away the toothbrushes.
But today my boys come home at 3:30 pm and then it is time for homework, haircuts and dinner - so the people coming at 5:30 and the next group at 6:00 might just have to deal with a bit of our reality. Perhaps we will save viola practice for after dinner.
It is interesting the reactions of the potential buyers. Besides the line about the Master Bedroom being too small (come on man! There is room for a queen size bed, two night stands a bookshelf - what else do people do in their bedrooms? Never mind....strike that.) many people have trouble with the fact we back up onto the WORLD FAMOUS HOOP LANE CREMATORIUM. Sigmund Freud and Anna Pavlova were cremated there for goodness sake - this is a shrine and they should be so lucky! The Memorial Gardens are beautiful and our view from our tree house bedroom is spectacular of the gardens, the poplars, the open fields. Clearly these people have issues with death.
I have also been very busy eating many little snacks of varying degree of healthiness and writing emails.
In reality, I have the attention span of a gnat. I am so overwhelmed with the Holy Trinity of Emotions -(1) profound sadness for leaving London after six years of really living; (2) terror of not knowing where we are going and where we will end up; and (3) excitement for the unknown and all the adventures that it holds in store for us.
I feel as if I am watching myself from the ceiling and man oh man, am I ever boring.
To quote Simon, "I feel like this (whole trip) isn't happening to me."
What is so weird is that when my brother Martin was tragically killed in a a horrible car accident in August of 1988 I also felt this way - like I was watching myself go through the motions from above. That summer I was living in Dallas, Texas with a lovely Democratic supporter of Mike Dukakis who had graciously donated her guest bedroom so I could live for free while I worked with the coordinated campaign led by Congressman Martin Frost's office for the election of Mike Dukaks and Lloyd Bentsen for President and Vice President.
At that point, I had been on the road for close to a year organizing various congressional districts from the corn fields of Kansas, to the beer drinking college town of Stevens Point, Wisconsin, to the dying coal town of Steubenville, Ohio. I arrived in Dallas for the general election and in August things were looking like we still might have a chance.
Barbara, my hostess, was a lawyer and a brilliant one at that, with a judgeship under her belt, a quiet yet mighty forcefulness to her voice, a dry wit, an artistic bent and her heart in the right place. Each morning she would go off to her office and I went to mine and rarely would I see her. Then one Tuesday afternoon she was in the campaign office. This wasn't all that rare and usually it meant something fun - a surprise check in or a quick bite for lunch so while I was surprised to see her, I was also excited. She was like an older sister and took her role seriously of watching over her 26 year old charge. But that Tuesday was different. She came to tell me about my brother. She hardly knew me. My mom had called her and asked her to tell me in person because my mom wanted to make sure I wasn't alone.
Poor Barbara to have to be the one to tell me.
But as soon as she told me I immediately felt a rush of noise in my ears that wouldn't go away for months. As I look back on it now I am on the ceiling watching myself on the floor looking up at Barbara, searching her face. Wondering how a woman whom I had known for less than a month could say the name of my brother whom she had never met. And now would never meet.
When Martin died at 28 he left behind his Korean wife Sang and their two children Amy was 3 and Luke was just 1. Martin was a bit of a wild man. He was the kid in high school who never wore shoes. He was smarter than his teachers and knew it. He jumped railroad cars and biked across the country more than once. He was the guy on skis that went straight down the mountain because turning was for wussies.
He wanted to be a millionaire by the time he was thirty to show my dad he could be successful without having gone to some fancy east coast college. And he did - he was only 28 and he was a millionaire when he died thanks to the highly exclusive and prestigious business of floor buffing and waxing.
Yesterday I got an email from Sang in response to our Big Announcement email. Sang wrote to say that Martin had wanted to do a trip like the one we are planning with her and Amy and Luke. Martin is going on this trip. He will be looking down at us as we are camping in the desert, protecting us as we drive over mountainous passages, and singing country western songs along with us as we listen to the radio. But he liked Merle Haggard and I prefer Hank Williams.
I guess life changing event and out of body experiences are par for the course and this means I am a mere mortal.
Time to go put away the toothbrushes.
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