Forward to the Past

The recent auto industry debacle has the news networks jumping for joy. More fodder for FOX. And the hearings! Senators seek to scuttle the unions, while the commander in chief leaves the reservation to swoop down and save the world from the big business boogie men. To those unfamiliar with the inner workings of mega-corporations, it seems cut and dry, open and shut. Kick out the greedy CEOs and bring in a new "management team" (the latter being an oxymoron.)

To those of us who've spent many years in the belly of the beast, it's no secret that a change in leadership usual results in a negative impact on a company (read: employees). The new crew unfailingly make their mark by wreaking havoc. And after creating enough chaos and carnage, they pull the rip chords on their golden parachutes and float safely to another organization desperate to recover from the legacy of it's own departed set of deal makers and deciders.

What an unnerving surprise awaits the unsuspecting and hopeful hordes. They quickly learn that they've swapped one crop of incompetents for their doppelgangers. Their unpleasant and largely unknown secret to personal success is that they are carbon-copies of their predecessors. New does not equal improved. The empty suits are all the same - incompetent, ego maniacal, misanthropic megalomaniacs. But the stakeholders are delighted to have exacted their revenge at their own expense. And the press eats it up, happy to spew the swill through their propaganda machines.

It's a show, folks, just a show. Until there's a fundamental change in the way our country does business, the clones will continue their march to mediocrity, The light at the bottom of the hole we're trying to dig our way out of is Obama, and his team. This guy gets it. Not distracted by all the hoopla, he's focusing on the problems at hand, surrounding himself with smart, savvy people. Of course, they're all politicians, but that's the pond in which they must swim. The challenge is to avoid the traps without getting sucked down into the muck.

The titanic failures of the big three are just the tip of the iceberg. As the economy erodes it will impact all of us in different ways. Our kid are graduating from college with freshly-minted degrees and few choices to employ their knowledge. So they move back home with the folks. And WE are the folks. The DNA of the nuclear family is recombining out of necessity. Circle the wagons.

Perhaps there's a silver lining to the the gathering clouds. When our parents and grandparents first came to this country, they formed new communities of old friends and neighbors. Families lived across the street from one another, not across the country or half the way around the world. They shared a common language that spoke of their heritage and hereditary homes. Radio was a big deal, LCD stood for lowest common denominator, not liquid crystal display. Almost no one felt poor or rich, or coveted their neighbor's possessions. A warm bed, hot meal and dry roof were plenty. The Great Depression certainly oppressed many, but they were thankful for what little they had instead of hateful for what they lacked.

The term "family values" was not a political talking point, but rather the very fabric of society, made from whole cloth, that bound together the communities, towns, cities, states and ultimately the entire country.

And that's something money can't buy.

A Rose By Any Other Name

bailout:a rescue from financial distress

bail out:

1: to parachute from an aircraft
2: to abandon a harmful or difficult situation ; also : leave , depart

bale:

1 : great evil
2 : woe , sorrow

bale: a bundle of goods

bill of goods: something intentionally misrepresented : something passed off in a deception or fraud

bail: Security, usually a sum of money, exchanged for the release of an arrested person as a guarantee of that person's appearance for trial.

baleful: Portending evil; ominous.

bail: remove water from a sinking ship

Tri-merica the Beautiful

Unless you've been living on the moon you must be aware of the political hatchet fight that's been brewing. One of the candidates, now a Vice-Presidential nominee, offered up a plan for bringing home the troops from Iraq, correctly taking the position that Iraq is really three countries cobbled together from three separate and distinct religious factions. They were held hostage by a brutal dictator who was put into power in large part by the US government, because he hated the Iranians and would fight a proxy war with them. When it became financially and politically expedient to stage a preemptive occupation for the benefit of the military-industrial complex and to avenge a father's disgrace, the dictator was removed from power in an illegal war that started with a bang in a barrage of bunker busters, and the burials continue on both sides.

Now back to that proposal: let the three factions return to their sovereign roots and settle their own disputes by pulling out slowly in an orgasmic explosion of democracy. All well and good, assuming the powers that would be are willing to settle long-standing religious and political differences, return to former borders and share oil resources, Iraqi gold, Texas W. Not totally unreasonable although highly unfeasible given the lack of a central government and military, as is the case with the U.S and most other developed countries.

But how really different are we, in terms of irreconcilable beliefs and politics? All the vitriolic campaigning and polarizing positions of our parties cry out loudly and clearly that we are no longer thinking, acting and living as one nation, but three - you see the demographics constantly on the continuous news cycles that spew out the desired data. We are red, blue and undecided, fundamental evangelicals, bible-thumping theologians, and everyone else. The haves, have-less and have-nots. We live in virtually three different countries and mind-sets. How else is it possible for three people to look and listen to the same speech, yet come away with three divergent interpretations? It's as if we live in a modern Tower of Babel, Saddam and Got more,huh? with a mall and movie theater thrown in for good measure. Anesthetize the mind and the body will follow.

The more we "change", the more we stay the same - in stasis, suspended in an amniotic sack of fear. That's the remote control. Scare the bejeezes out of us, and we'll do whatever you want, just keep the evil-doers from our door. The thought is scary, for sure, but if you want real terror, here's a list of statistics gleaned from the web that might give you pause:

The top 10 causes of death in the US are (as of 2005)

Diseases of Heart 28.5%
Malignant Neoplasms (cancer) 22.8%
Cerebrovascular Diseases (stroke) 6.7%
Chronic Lower Respiratory Diseases 5.1%
Accidents 4.4%
Motor Vehicle Traffic Accidents (41% of all accidents)
Poisoning (16% of all accidents)
Fall (15% of all accidents)
Diabetes Mellitus 3.0%
Influenza and Pneumonia 2.7%
Alzheimer's Disease 2.4%
Nephritis, Nephrotic Syndrome and Nephrosis (kidney diseases) 1.7%
Septicemia (blood poisoning) 1.4%

That doesn't include the 98,000 deaths due to medical mistakes, and the invisibles who die from exposure, hunger and lack of adequate and affordable health care.

See terrorism listed anywhere? Nope. Yet it is the guiding force of the lives and beliefs of many, who will vote for a person or persons of questionable character based on whom they feel will do best at keeping the boogie-man at bay. There are those who manipulate this to their monetary advantage, knowing full well that they are manufacturing fear for fun and profit.

And then there are those who prefer to place their bets on trying to live as best as possible for as long as possible. All that's needed is the chance, a level playing field. Take care of the basics and they'll roll the dice, as opposed to playing this game of Russian roulette every day. The cards are stacked, and nothing less than a fundamental paradigm shift, not shaft, will make the difference. Instead of cut and run, let's run and cut; things like the deficit, the death rate and financial inequity. Don't just stay the course, alter it, plot a new one that can be re-calibrated for correction. One ship cannot navigate in three directions at once, and a people cannot advance by taking one step forward and two steps back.

Irregardless, we'll know the outcome in two months. Just make a choice and follow through. It's a trifecta we can't afford to lose.

Declaration of Interdependence

Most of us think the Declaration of Independence is a sacred document that illuminates the key entitlements of every person. I posit that this is a misguided perception. "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" is not an altruism, or idealized prose, but rather a demand of King George III (not to be confused with the twice and future king of today) that THESE truths we hold to be self-evident. A very specific independence, from tyranny, over-taxation and the trampling of basic rights.

This ideology has been usurped by those who would have us believe that we are on our own, every man for himself, sometimes referred to as being a maverick, an independent and so forth. In theory, this concept is appealing, an enabler for personal growth and wealth acquisition. But something has gone wrong, horribly wrong.

Ever drive down a street that you've been on a hundred times before, and suddenly you come within an inch of your life, side-swiped by a huge SUV, whose driver was too impatient to wait another millisecond to enter the road, cut you off, cell phone to ear, oblivious to everything and everyone? If it sounds familiar, welcome to the club. You are in a world that is officially independent, independent of courtesy, common decency and consideration. Your life is devalued relative to those who deem themselves above everyone and everything, and woe to anyone who gets in their way. If you see yourself in this illustration, no apologies. You know who you are, and need to re-evaluate your notions of superiority by virtue of wealth or just an ego-driven, over-inflated opinion of self-worth.

Jimmy Cliff sang "the harder they come, the harder they fall". "Be kind to those on your way up, for you might meet them on your way down". After all, we are equal in our humanity. Maslow's hierarchy of needs is the great common denominator - we all need food, clothing and shelter, without which we cannot move up the pyramid to the next level of self-actualization. Absent any one of these basic elements, we become focused and fixated upon obtaining it. We pity the homeless person on the street, but we are not independent of their predicament. Unknown forces are at work, and we are all fair game.

If this sounds like a Socialist doctrine, let's be clear on one thing - we all live in denial of the fact that we are dependent on many "socialized" services of life. Would we be willing to pay a premium, as we do for health care, for services provided by the fire department, police department, postal service, even social services? I think not. We expect to receive those benefits because we are fine, upstanding, tax-paying individuals. The sad fact is that we don't know how our taxes are really utilized. Undoubtedly, they could be better allocated for other services that benefit the common good, such as health care, elder care and aid for those less unfortunate individuals who desperately need relief, to name but a few.

But that wouldn't be the American way: to the winner goes the spoils. Our federal, state and local governments are so corrupt and self-interested that they are only motivated toward the same, selfish end - garnering favorable legislation for their cronies and getting re-elected.

Do yourself a great favor and rent the 1976 movie "Network" - a masterpiece of a film written by Paddy Chayevsky and directed by Sidney Lumet. There are so many life-lessons to be learned there, but at the top of the list is Howard Beale's appeal to his listening audience. He implored them to: "Go to your windows, open them, stick your heads out and yell "We're as mad as hell and we're not going to take this anymore". It's as relevant today as it was thirty-two years ago. The other, lesser known scene is with Ned Beatty, who plays the head of a large communication conglomerate, and orders Howard into his massive board room. The speech sends shivers up one's spine. It ends with the statement, "The world is one large, ecumenical corporation". Think about that for a moment, and then realize how similar it is to the world of today. And we arrived at this sorry state of affairs by purposely putting on our blinders, and plundering the commonwealth for self-enrichment and aggrandizement.

Is this truly independence? Certainly it is a form of societal alienation. Which inevitably puts us all on the road to an unfortunate future. Rather, let us return to our roots, and throw off the chains of corporate enslavement. The time has come to draft a new document, a Declaration of Interdependence, stating that THESE truths we hold to be self evident; that we will work together to ensure that each person has a decent life, economic and social liberty, and that unless and until we achieve these goals, we cannot freely and fairly engage in the pursuit of happiness. By embracing our interdependence we will truly become a nation of many, living as one.

The founders, as imperfect as they were, would be proud.

Younited States

What is a place without the people, and what are the people without a place? A piece of land is just inanimate dirt until trodden. We long for the land that stands as a testament, a lonely relic of a golden time gone by. But is it the space we seek or the individuals who joined together in a tapestry of youthful exuberance, and created a nation of naive naissance, a common coming of age?

In our mind's eye we idealize and metamorphosize those memories into a Younity of many; of the country, by the country and in the country. Bungalows and barns, hotels and horse farms, candy-stores and camps. The country was and still is an escape from the heat and the humdrum.

And that country consisted of states, bound by the collective You. They ran the gamut from the proverbial agony to ecstasy and every nuance imaginable. Each of us perceived a different reality, now filtered through the prism of the past tense. States of joy, sadness, competitiveness, creativity, uninhibitedness, longing, loneliness, the list goes on. They altered the landscape, but each contributed to create the patchwork quilt of quintessential Younanimity.

These Younited states, are dependent upon your support. Some have seceded from the Younion, and many have incorporated and ratified a new constitution, celebrated whenever there is a consensus to caucus. Yet the capitol still stands, the alpha and the Omega, waiting for it's minions to make the pilgrimage, to congregate once again as a nation.

Even if only for a day.

A Dearth of Hugs

Back in 2002, I found myself between jobs. With free time on my hands, I sought to fill the void as best I could. A colleague of mine had developed a new technology that sounded promising, and he asked me to help develop a business plan for securing venture funding. I was thrilled to have something to do, especially in my field, so I gladly accepted, pro bono of course.

During our business relationship, which included several meetings over cookies courtesy of Rita and a white board in the living room, we formed a close bond. As you can imagine, we called each other often to brainstorm. During one such call, my partner hesitated, and asked if he could ask me a personal favor. Intrigued, I obliged. One of his daughters had recently developed juvenile diabetes, and he and his wife were naturally desperately grasping for ways to help her. My friend explained that he had recently reconnected with an old buddy of his who had dropped out of the business world and was seeking harmony, both musically and spiritually, in New Mexico. When he told his old friend of his daughter's plight, the friend suggested that they travel to Washington, DC to seek a healing hug from Amma, a living saint who travels the world giving hundreds of thousands of special hugs, which had been reported to help the sick. The physical effort of hugging so many would certainly appear to be beyond the ability of most humans, and there is no scientific explanation for how Amma does it, even to this day, with hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions.

My partner, aware of my many health problems, and, concerned for my well-being, asked if I would like to travel to DC with his wife and daughter as they attended one of Amma's darshans, which means "meeting with a holy person". Their hope was for their daughter to receive a hug, and perhaps experience a miraculous recovery. At first I was speechless, and after my mind wrapped around the idea, I agreed. Why not? It couldn't hurt. So, even though my wife thought I had taken leave of my senses, I piled into the van and off we went.

The darshan was held at a hotel in Crystal City, an impressive edifice and a fitting locale for a mystical meeting. We were guided to a large reception area by several beatific beings enrobed in white. After giving a reasonable donation, we were admitted to the main area, where we were encouraged to partake of a very nice Indian buffet lunch. It slowly dawned on me that nearly everyone was wearing a white ensemble, signifying that they were devotees of Amma. Hundreds of smiling souls sat cross-legged as they were entertained by musicians playing traditional melodies. Our little entourage found a space and joined the flock, legs dutifully crossed. A palpable sense of anticipation filled the room as the crowd began to chant and the music intensified to a crescendo, at which point Amma was ushered in by assistants and firmly ensconced on a silk pillow.

More songs and chants followed, which I must say was quite enjoyable once I joined in. Amma's son, who led the band,gave a short introduction in English, and then Amma gave a teaching, which was fascinating and resonated with everyone, myself included. I did not judge, and became a human sponge, absorbing as much of the experience as possible. Soon, we were given numbers which signified our sequence for joining the moving carpet of followers, shuffling along single file, still in a lotus position. When a devotee reached Amma, instructions were given as to how to approach her; place hands to the right and left of her and lean forward. At that point, Amma would reach out and hug, whispering a special message in the ear of the huggee, before a quick release and assistance off the platform. As each one left the stage, he or she had a distant, blissful expression, and had to be escorted, legs having turned to jelly.

Watching this ritual, while shuffling forward on crossed legs, I was filled with anticipation, wondering how the hug would feel, and what message this great woman would have for me. Eventually I took my turn. I will not share the message, which was meant for my ears only, but I can say that, after being released from Amma's arms, I experienced an indescribable feeling, one that I had never felt before or have since, a feeling that there is more to the world than meets the eye.

As the four of us left the darshan, not a word was spoken, smiling all the way home. Still glowing as I stepped out of the van upon my return, I briefly contemplated donning blanched duds and joining the flock to seek a simpler life. Floating back to earth I resumed my real life, yet retained the memory of that transcendent event.

Alas, there were no improvements in our physical condition, but perhaps the changes occurred at a more fundamental level.

I share this anecdote as an illustration of a simple effort that can make such a large impact: the hug. I firmly believe that a major reason for our devotion to one another is the act of hugging, which is practiced with great gusto whenever we are together. Each hug is a physical representation of an emotional bond that re-kindles an ember at each embrace. Family occasions often overflow with full-body contact, again releasing hidden hormones of happiness.

Which brings me to the point of this pontification - what the world needs now, are hugs, sweet hugs. Not the horizontal ones, the kind that money can buy (a la Spitzer), but a firm squeeze that transfers a bit of human kindness from one participant to the other. Society, and the law dictates that it's bad form to grab a stranger. That's why I'm proposing a new public service facility - the hugatorium. Having a bad day? Why not share an innocent intimacy with a like-minded individual at your local hugatorium. Strictly limited to consenting adults who've passed a pre-screening and been deemed hug-worthy, contact is made and an appointment reserved at the nearest hugatorium. This platonic practice might spontaneously spur the formation of hug-clubs. The possibilities are limitless - hug-offs, a new political party called the Hugocrats, founded on the platform of a hug for every home. Who knows where it might lead. World peace, perhaps?

The moral of this story is: if you are feeling out of sorts, and like the world has passed you buy, you need a hug.

Ask the person next to you. They might need one, too.

We Must Overcome

My brother had two heroes: Martin Luther King Jr and Pete Seeger. Both were instrumental in promoting social change through non-violent resistance and protest. It was Pete who first caught our attention, because music was the message. I was a big folk music fan - Theodore Bikel, Peter, Paul and Mary, the Kingston Trio, etc. Nearly all of these acts entertained on one level, and informed at a deeper one. Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan weren't on my radar screen until a few years after folk had been replaced by the British invasion.

Pete Seeger is a folk-singer of a wholly different order. He did a stint with the Weavers, a pioneering group in traditional music, and then set out on his own. He is a contemporary of Woody Guthrie, Ledbelly, Joan Baez, and so many more. His songs are timeless, his voice unique. Our Dad bought his first album for us and we listened to it over and over again. Written on his banjo head were the words "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender", a motto that grabbed Wes more than me. In fact, it was part of what formed his humanistic value system, and opened his eyes to the injustices in this world. I was too self-involved to care, and it wasn't until the Vietnam war and my fear of the draft that I participated in the anti-war movement. Wes took a stance early on as a conscientious objector, which led him to Friends World College and eventually to Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers where he organized for worker's rights. Through it all, he continuously wrote songs, many of them inspired by Pete Seeger. "He Had A Dream", one of Wes' best works, is an homage to MLK Jr as well as a reflection of his own aspirations.

Recently, while searching for a CD, I came across a collection of some of Pete's best. I popped it in my player, considering it no more than background music. My attention soon turned to the tunes and I starting resonating with his banjo and his homey, yet powerful voice. The songs are as relevant today as they were forty years ago. The words emanating from the speakers brought back vivid memories of those turbulent times, messages for the common man from a very uncommon one.

One track in particular took me by surprise; Pete's version of "We Shall Overcome". Perhaps because it had become so familiar an anthem that inspired generations, including my own, and that I had not heard it in decades, I listened with one ear. The more I listened, the more it commanded, no demanded my attention. Here are the opening lyrics just to jog your memories:

"We shall overcome,
We shall overcome,
We shall overcome, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day".

And the following verses begin with similar declarations of inter-dependence:

"We'll walk hand in hand", and

"We shall live in peace"

But what really stopped me in my tracks was Pete's introduction to the final verse. He'd obviously picked this verse in particular to give extra emphasis to it's meaning. I hadn't noticed it before, most likely because the song had been sung so many times in support of so many causes, "kumbaya moments" around the campfire, that I had relegated it to the dusty shelf of musical history, seldom opened for serious consideration.

Yet on his seminal version, Mr. Seeger had chosen to break the cadence to re-enforce the gravitas of the subject matter. He said, and I quote:

"The most important verse is the one they wrote down in Montgomery, Alabama. They said "we are not afraid", and the young people taught everybody else a lesson, all we older people who had learned how to compromise and learned how to take it easy, be polite and get along and leave things as they were.The young people taught us all a lesson:

We are not afraid,
We are not afraid,
We are not afraid, TODAY

Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day"

When I look deep down in my heart, I AM afraid. Afraid to even give voice to my own fears and misgivings. Not because they are so numerous, but because they are so potentially dangerous and damaging to my status quo. Big Brother is watching me, at least I'm convinced of it, and I'd better not rock the boat or I could be disappeared, renditioned or worse. Afraid that my every word can and will be used against me in a court of martial law. Afraid of the boogie man du jour. In times past, Jews were made the villains by those seeking to control their populace, and now, many years after our "liberation", those former tormentors are part of a European Union whose currency and standing in the world are far exceeding our own. Then it was the Communists. Better dead than Red. Hatred fed by fear of the bomb. Now we are completely dependent on them for commercial goods and capital support. Turnabout is unfair play. No longer a threat but a debt holder of unimaginable proportions, they had to be replaced with a new devil, and conveniently we were re-focused on one of the largest religious and ethnic groups on earth. A war not against terrorists but terror. Nothing to fear but fear itself.

On this infamous day in American history, let us hope that there are younger people and, perhaps, even some older ones who are brave enough to pick up the torch from those of us who've compromised and learned how to take it easy, be polite and get along and leave things as they are.

Pete would be proud, and the memories of Martin Luther King, Jr and his followers would be honored.

Who are you?

Those of us who've had the good fortune to see a performance of "Love, Janis", a show based on the book by Janis Joplin's sister, were no doubt wowed by her vocal impersonator and her alter-ego, an introspective, Texas girl. It is a musical joy ride of a tragedy, to be sure, but it is so much more.

Mounted in the psychedelic milieu of Haight-Ashbury circa 1967 to 1970, it's a virtual time capsule, expounding the verisimilitude of those mind-blowing years. Her saga is a brief, yet fitting, preface, skirting over the high-lights, so that the listener might recall where he or she was at, man, way back when. Just a triangulation of the truth to illuminate those tumultuous times.

The essence of that incense boils down to a crystal-clear question: what were you then, and who are you now? Where are the punctuation points in your perspective? Could you have imagined the self of today thirty or more years ago, far-out, man, in every sense of the term, from the fabled future you looked forward to?. When some of us came down from that trip, it was a bummer.

The mantra had been non-conformity to the Nth degree. Big hair, small world. The latest LP and a groovy high. The measure of our worth was the size of our Cuban heels and length of our locks. Looking back, it's tempting to mock, but that's taking the easy way out. If perception is reality, that reality was perceived through the prism of the sixties.

Launched by a race in space and a bullet in Dallas, ending when the firing ceased in Southeast Asia, it was too real to deal, so we ducked and covered into the hiding places of our minds. Even a tenure at college was no guarantee of insulation from the pain of draft boards and demonstrations. An altered state, in which we were all painted with the smear of the same brush, until we emerged from whatever bunker we had hunkered down in, blinking at the dawning realization that we weren't in, or listening to, Kansas anymore.

The decade that descended like some temporal tsunami had deposited us on a strange, new beach-head, staring out into the void of the next. Some of us were on a bridge to nowhere, frantically doubling back before it collapsed. And, like it or not, the prerequisites now for feeding one's head were cold, hard cash and a walk down the grocery aisle.

The grand experiment was over,the outcome handicapped by how one had bet on the roll of those dichotomous dice. And at the twilight of each decade, we may look back at ourselves and ask "What were you then, and who are you now?. The answer always ends in a question mark.

We'll just have to wait a couple of years for the question to that answer.

Love and Knishes

Take one part vodka, two parts Jewish soul food. Add a large dollop of love and affection. Mix thoroughly on the dance floor and give a generous portion to all. This was the recipe for the delicious evening at Sammy's Roumanian on the Ides of March. Even without the booze and schmaltz the result would have been the same - an evening that started on a high and kept climbing.

What a paradox! After the reunion, many felt that we would drift back into the woodwork of our daily lives, our needs met and desires satiated. Sure, we'd have the website, but even that was relegated to occasional glances, skimming to see if something had changed. That is, until a devoted few re-lit the flame under our collective behinds, and motivated a migration back to the Forum. Preliminary plans for a potential repeat reunion in '08 received rave reviews.

The tantalizingly short tenure of our time together just intensified the impetus, the spark that started the chain reaction. We continued to crave our company, knowing that we are within easy reach, so close and yet so far. Scattered to the four corners of the country, our thoughts turn to Omega in those moments when we need a place in our hearts to escape the mundane.

Some of us even beamed up to the the original coordinates of the mother ship, but that enterprise didn't complete the mission. All that remains is the exoskeleton, and no sticks or stones can mend those bones.

Only when we stand again on common ground is the force truly with us, and it grows stronger with each transcendent event. Perpetual emotion and our magnetic attraction to Omega and each other will always overcome any inertia and compel us to increase the frequency.

And may it live long and prosper.

Believe It Or Not

It was a cool morning in 1968, and I was preparing for my day off as counselor of the Badger bunk. The campers were out, doing their morning activities, and I had the place to myself, as well as the rare privilege of sole access to the showers. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I took a long, hot one, without interruption. It was as if I were Ponce De Leon taking his first dip in the fabled fountain of youth.

Feeling completely rejuvenated by the warm water's sedating effect, I laid down on my cot, and immediately fell into a blissful nap. Suddenly, I had the sensation of hovering over my body, looking down in disbelief. There I was, dead to the world, while my ethereal self floated above. Thinking it a dream, I waited for the subconscious adventure to begin, but still I hovered. Typically, a dream plays out like a movie, taking us to places we may or may not choose to go. Therefore, I shouldn't be able to move about at will, and, verifying this theory might validate the vision. I endeavored to leave the room and instantaneously became airborne, at what seemed to be two hundred feet above the boy's campus!

The feeling was euphoric, touching the intangible, beyond the earthly ties that bind us to our bodies. This was soon replaced by another, more unwelcome thought: what if I was unable to re-inhabit my physical form? Was I ready to remain in this unreal realm, seeing but unseen, removed from the life I was leading, leaving my loved ones and friends? Panic pervaded my presence, and I resolved to return to my fleshy self.

In an instant I was passing through the wall of that rustic cabin I called my Omega home. Again, another unnerving thought gripped my ghostly noggin: could I make it to the other side and remain intact, so to speak, or was there a risk of freezing in place? At once, I became stuck in mid-wall.

Straining to extricate myself from this unwanted state, I miraculously broke free of my bonds, once again gazing down at my limp, lifeless self. But now began the last, and most difficult leg of my journey: to re-unite with my self and awaken in my former world. The melding began, and as the question of re-entry was resolved, I bolted upright from my slumber. What a gift, I thought, to be given the knowledge that there's more to life than life. As what, I didn't know, and furthermore, didn't care.

Dressing quickly, I ran swiftly to the main house, past the staircase, not stopping until I reached the kitchen. I instinctively knew that my Mom would be sitting there in her sweatshirt, shorts and Keds, planning the next evening's activity or even perhaps the Color War breakout.

"Mom!", I proclaimed loudly, scaring her half to death, "Great news! It doesn't end here! We will all live on! I know, I was just on the other side!". She looked at me, wondering if I had lost my mind, but, in her uncanny way, she quickly realized that I was not delirious. After a reassuring hug, she whispered "I believe you". That was enough; her concurrence was all I needed to certify my sanity.

So, dear reader, I leave it to you. Think what you will of this story. All I can say is, it happened, Bern will corroborate my tale. And I've shared it with others who've had similar experiences. Perhaps you have, too, but are reticent to share it with another living soul.

In any event, you now have mine to mull over. Believe it, or not.

Live For Today - Words and Music by Art Steinman

You are always waiting for tomorrow
Putting off the things that you want to do
You think you've got time enough to borrow
But soon the time will come that your debt is due

You are always searching for the answer
When the problem can be much harder to find
You believe in happy ever after
But fairy tales don't come true all of the time

You've got to live for today
No matter what the people say
They will try to hurt your pride
But don't let them ruin your day

You've got to go with the flow
So have a good time as you go
I don't care what the people say I'm gonna
Live for today

No use worrying about the future
Or regretting things that you did in the past
The present is the only time that matters
So live every moment as if it were your last

Everyone would love to have the power
To make time stand still with the wave of a hand
But a day well lived is worth a thousand empty hours
So live every day just as well as you can

You've got to live for today
Don't ever work as hard as you play
They will try to break your stride
But don't let them stand in your way

It's a long road down
Enjoy life while you're still around
I don't care what the people say I'm gonna
Live for today

We may or may not grow old
The length of life can't be foretold
So listen closely to these words I say

You've got to live for today
No matter what the people say
Though your heart is torn apart you've got to
Get up and go on your way

It's a long road down
Enjoy life while you're still around
I don't care what the people say I'm gonna
Live for today

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An Embarassment of Riches

As a young camper, all my energies were focused on building plaques, painting scenery, finding someone to snuggle with under a blanket on movie night and other simple diversions that seemed so intensely important at that time. I took for granted the things my Mother and Father worked so hard to provide for me and my brother. And that's exactly how they wanted it. The fact that my parents had obligations and responsibilities were abstract concepts. It was all about me.

How many fathers would build a recording studio in his basement so that his young sons could better follow their muse? He knew first-hand how hard life could be; a child of the depression, compelled by circumstance to provide for his mother and sister at a very young age, working his way up the economic ladder until he was able to ensure that his sons might never know the struggles he endured. My mother created a warm and comfortable home, filled with love and laughter, while writing temple shows, running a travel agency and a camp. And she made it look so easy.

I think we're all well aware of the topsy-turvy world in which we now live. It was evident at the reunion that many of the Omegan alumni are doing well, as are their offspring. What keeps me up nights is: what kind of world will my children inherit?

I can't help but be reminded of the sixties and how many of us (myself included)felt we were going to change the world. Money was the root of all evil, down with the establishment,peace, love and rock and roll and all that hip and cool phraseology. Ironically, our parents were working in the establishment so that we could have the unfettered imagination to dream of this Utopian society. Now that we ARE the establishment, it's our responsibility to provide the same for the next generation. But many of us see our children struggling. For them, pensions are pipe dreams, benefits are bygones and changing jobs is a necessary evil. Some are living paycheck to paycheck and need our help to make ends meet. Unfortunately, this now seems to be the norm, rather than the exception. In a country of such great opportunity, the have-nots are in danger of becoming the never-wills, despite our best efforts.

Are we riding a cycle of alternating disparities? The old axiom that says the next generation should do better than the previous one appears to be dysfunctional. If so, can we break this vicious cycle and restore sanity to our society? I don't have the answers to these distressing questions. What I do know is that our parents lived through a depression and a world war, yet somehow found a way to overcome those obstacles and restore the prosperity of a free democracy to our country. May their efforts give us the hope and resolve we now need to emulate their example, and make the right decisions that, hopefully, may leave a better world for those who will inherit it.

A Loss For Words?

Well, it was bound to happen. I'm sure you've noticed the dearth of blogs this month. I've been feeling very guilty about disappointing my faithful readers. Usually, I'm mulling over multiple topics, therefore, this mental constipation is very frustrating to say the least. There's a name for it - "Seasonal Affective Disorder" or SAD (cute). No doubt big pharma has several drugs they'd like to shove down our throats to treat it. It generally hits me this time of year. The holidays are over and we're well into the doldrums. The effect on my cerebellum is cumulative, resulting in a kind of "mind lock" (no, Spock did a mind-MELD!). From the time I wake up I feel like I'm just phoning it in, going through the motions but not really there. I don't expect the Floridian Omegans among us to understand, and I'm not ready yet to make the great Yiddish migration, although I kvetch enough to qualify. This is an annual affliction, a brain-fog much like the one described in "Joe and the Volcano" (one of Tom Hanks' worst, IMHO).

The only time I get a brief respite is when Max and Jack visit me. No, they're not partners in a Kosher deli, they're my four year old grandsons. When they're at the house and I start playing with them, I feel the weight of winter lifting. They're usually up at 7am, and Grandpa is waiting for them in his pajamas and robe, comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair. Every inch of the floor is covered with trains and favorite toys. And I'm a kid again. As silly as they get, I get even sillier. Their laughter is my sunshine, my only sunshine, they make me happy when skies are gray (OK, those last few words weren't mine, but they seemed appropriate). I would apologize for my shameless kvelling if didn't know there are so many grandparents in the group. I offer it here because, for me, it perfectly illustrates my point; that I am, like DiNiro in "Awakenings", in a state of suspended-imagination, revived only by the occasional sweet stimuli.

Hmmmn. I think I've just written a blog about not writing blogs. Seems the process itself might be impetus enough. And now, I'll slip back into my somnambulistic perambulation until next Spring. Or the next blog.

"Ode To A Caucus" by A. H. Steinman

There once was a meeting named Caucus
Which was really quite rowdy and raucus
And when all votes were cast
It became clear at last
Whomever they choose will still faucus

Happy (Blank) Year!

Ever stroll down the aisle at your local supermarket or big-box retailer and get excited about a product that proclaims "It's New!? Big deal, so it's new! Does the fact that something is new automatically qualify it as fabulous? Of course not. Would you buy a piece of clothing off a rack just because the tag says it's new, even if you don't know the size, color or even gender? No way. Then why do we get so excited when the previous year ends and the current one begins? After all, the calendar remains the same, only the year is incremented.

The point I am belaboring is: just because the year is new doesn't automatically make it a happy one. We should all strive to make every year a great year. And if we succeed, perhaps we can even have a "Happy Previous Year" party. Obviously, I nominate 2007 as a year worth celebrating (need I mention the reunion?).

The concept is not meant to be taken literally; the giant ball in Times Square wouldn't go back up the pole and confetti wouldn't fly into windows. But what a feeling of accomplishment it would be to recognize the ways in which we made the most of the months in the rear-view mirror. If the future is unknown and the past is gone, then the present is both a starting AND finishing line. And both are necessary to run a good race.

As we race towards the finish line, we should occasionally look back to ensure that we're on the right track, straight and true, as well as look ahead to try and overcome whatever obstacles may be in our way. But it's the pace that's most important - coasting the continuum at a good clip, but not so quickly as to let the good times roll by in a blur. We must savor each one because, as has been said many times before, when all is said and done, it's not really as much from whence we start or whither we end as it is about the path we take along the way. And, as we follow that yellow brick road, let's take the time to celebrate the journey in toto, too.

So, let's lift a glass and give a toast to life. As that wonderful old Irish proverb goes: "May the road rise up to greet you, and the wind always be at your back."