You win some; you lose some...

Today was a good day-- for the most part, a very good day. I got a new gig! In a week or so, I'll start working as a trainer for a company that provides systems and technology training for pharmaceutical companies. It's a flexible, project-oriented job in a work environment that values what you can DO, not just what you've done or how recently you've done it-- ideal for a mom re-entering the workforce.
And yesterday we got coupons for 4 free tickets to see GEVA's "Music Man." I entered a drawing through Genesee Valley Parent magazine and actually won. We're going to see the show on Sunday night-- we wouldn't have been able to go otherwise. It's supposed to be a great production, and it's certainly in the pantheon of shows I want my kids to see.
When you have a good day, you want the not-so-good stuff to stay away. But, of course, it's not like all the problems in your life are solved because of one good day... The weather is still gloomy and will remain damp and grey for another 3 days, at least. The bills keep coming. The weeds in the yard we can barely afford to maintain keep growing. The kids still talk back.
I choose to focus, at least for today, on the good stuff. So there.

I watched "Freedom Riders" on PBS last night. The documentary chronicled the summer of 1961 and the incredible determination of a small group of people to push the boundaries of segregation by riding Greyhound and Trailways buses from Atlanta to New Orleans, through Alabama and Mississippi, along the way sitting in white-only waiting rooms and eating in white only restaurants.
The violent welcome they received-- one bus burned with the passengers trapped inside, beatings by crowds in Birmingham, menaced by KKK members while quietly waiting for a bus in a bus station-- was disheartening, if not a terrifying display of mob behavior.
The perseverance of the riders was inspiring. They knowingly pushed the envelope, aware that they faced a possibility of violence and even death in pursuit of their goal. It begged the question: what would I be willing to die for?
Certainly, I would risk my life if my family, particularly my children, was at risk. I'm not sure what that risk would be... On September 11, I feared something i didn't understand. I spent time packing a tub with tuna and water and a can opener and blankets... It was a threat, but not one I could take actual action against.
But would I be-- am I-- willing to stand up for something I believe in or someone who is persecuted, even if it meant I could die? I wish I could say an unequivical yes...
I want my kids to watch the documentary and challenge them to think about what means that much to them... and hope that they will be braver than I am.

Rain, rain, go away!

It's cold. It's dark. It's wet. It's gloomy. And it's May 16!
Enough already!
On days like today-- and the way too many days previous-- anxiety creeps in at the edges... If it's nice out, I'm able to take a deep breath and know that the feeling will pass. If it's gloomy, then the anxiety begins to take over. It's a bit of seasonal affective disorder, I guess...
Will the rain ever end? Will the sun ever come out again?
I scan the Weather Channel's forecast for the week... OK, it rained Saturday and Sunday. It's raining today through Wednesday. Will we be able to get out from under the clouds on Thursday? And will I be able to get out from under the psychological cloud that's making me anxious, sleepless and nervous by then?
I wish I could afford to go to yoga class every rainy day. That always makes me feel better.
Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me!

Not a cause for celebration...

‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." -Martin Luther King, Jr

I read this on a friend's Facebook page this morning. I was having a hard time understanding why the killing of Osama bin Laden was inspiring the kind of raucous and chest-thumping celebration in Times Square and outside the White House that the slaying of American soldiers does in other parts of the world. We're not supposed to be like "them," right?

I'm not about jumping up and down in glee when anyone dies at the hand of another, whether friend or foe. In a perfect world, we'd all get along, accept each other's differences and deal with evil in a peaceful way... I know it's not a perfect world, but I still cannot accept that violent death of any kind is something in which to rejoice.

I am grateful to live in the United States, a country that values individual freedom (though sometimes struggles with what the concept means.) We can voice our opinions, however hateful or offensive, and for the most part, whoever disagrees with us can shout back equally loudly or obnoxiously. But the glorification of extremism in any fashion begets more extremism and, at some point, violence.

I also believe there are things worth fighting for-- the safety of my family and the right to speak my mind and worship the way I choose without fearing retribution, to name but two. But I will never throw a party afterwards-- regardless of how it turns out.

Bin Laden Dead

I was half asleep last night when my husband woke me to tell me that the president was making some kind of unprecedented announcement. And as the minutes passed, I wasn't sure I understood him correctly... Frank was saying that Bin Laden was dead. That we finally found him and took care of him.
As President Obama addressed the nation, I was still processing the news. I tried to parse what he was saying... they found him in some kind of mansion in a city outside of Islamabad. Obama referred to it as a "compound." US forces went in. They engaged in a 40-minute fire-fight. No Americans were hurt. The president called the president of Pakistan. It's over.
This morning, the only feeling I have is one of confused relief.
I was in New York on September 11. I will never forget listening to News Radio 88 as I drove into work. It was a beautiful early fall day; sunny with clear blue sky. Tom Kaminsky in the CBS helicopter over Manhattan was saying something about smoke coming out of the upper floors of one of the World Trade Center buildings. By the time I reached the West Side Highway, the second tower had been hit and the news was breaking of a hit on the Pentagon. It wasn't a mistake; it was some kind of coordinated attack. The highway was closed in front of me. I rolled down my window and exchanged a few words with a guy in the car next to me. Something along the lines of "Did you just hear what I heard?" And I knew right then that this would be the most important day in my professional career... I had to get to work.
I managed to make it to the exit at W. 158th street and wind my way down Riverside Drive to my parking lot around the corner from the CBS building on W. 57th Street.
By the time I got to my office, there was a wierd stillness in spite of the sirens wailing from police cars and firetrucks headed downtown. Or maybe it just seemed that way as people who would normally be rushing to work or school or wherever were shocked into disbelief...
My daughters were home with our sitter. I couldn't reach them. My husband was in Scotland of all places, on a trip with his mother. No way to reach him. I felt isolated in a city with 8 million people.
It was one of those days that you just do what you do, and hope that it will all turn out OK in the end. An hour or so later, we found out that it wouldn't be OK... Thousands died in a plume of smoke and debris so thick that we'd never be able to find them all. And we found out we were not invulnerable. And the unease would last...
For more than a week I was sleepless as invisible but loud fighter jets flew through the night skies. Eventually the jets left. And I was able at some point to get back to sleep. But the underlying anxiety has always been there.
Bin Laden and his minions won-- that day and for way too many years later. We invaded Afghanistan, then Iraq. We've spent trillions of dollars and lost thousands more lives in a battle against foes who had no official army or headquarters-- just a figurehead who for some reason we couldn't catch. Ten years later-- we finally got him.
I never went back to the World Trade Center site. Ever. It's become a tourist destination and I'm now a tourist in a city I once called home. But I still don't want to go back.
I wish I thought that Bin Laden's demise meant we could stop feeling vulnerable... but that beautiful and horrible September morning took that away forever.