Arizona

Validating Student Voice

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Supreme Court Ruling: “Students do not shed constitutional rights of freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate.” Tinker v. Des Moines, February 24, 1969.  (Unless their acts of expression are disruptive to the educational process.)

Many of the key participants in the Revolutionary War were surprisingly young:

  • Marquis de Lafayette, 18
  • James Monroe, 18
  • Gilbert Stuart, 20
  • Aaron Burr, 20
  • Alexander Hamilton, 21
  • Betsy Ross, 24
  • James Madison, 25

Young people, like the students in our schools and universities.  However, unlike the founding fathers our informational world has shrunk.  Students today are much more aware of global affairs and have key-stroke access to myriads of up-to-the-minute information.  They are socially conscious, they are articulate, creative thinkers, and they don’t want to be murdered in their schools.

In 2012, when 26 were slaughtered at Sandy Hook Elementary School, we gasped in horror.  Even POTUS wept as he met with loved ones of those lost. Yet, school shootings continued.  The recent heinous act in Parkland, Florida, awakened teens across the country.  When I was in Houston earlier this week, my high school teacher/coach niece said her students were suddenly aware.  “Mrs. Cook, Parkland is so similar to us.  It could happen here at TJHS!”

With this new realization, students have held walkouts–all peaceful, most of them where they stood silently for 17 minutes in remembrance of the 17 lost in Parkland.  Thankfully, most school leaders worked with students to ensure their safety by opening their football fields, gymnasiums, or auditoriums to allow the kids to gather for 17 minutes.  Of course, there are a handful of schools who chose to suspend student participants–stupid. A teachable moment lost.

Many of the these high schoolers will vote in 2018.  They will outlive you and me.  We should guide and applaud their activism in hope our world will be a safer, kinder, and more inclusive place than it is now.

Who wants to go dump some tea in Boston Harbor?

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A Greater Heart

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(This is the last of my series on national heart month.)

Sharen is the owner of my ‘hood bar and grill.  She went to school in the ‘hood, raised her family in the ‘hood, and for the last twenty-some years ran a business in the ‘hood.  Her working day begins at 4:40 AM and sometimes doesn’t end until well after 10:00 PM.  Most of the time, I’m in awe of her energy.

This month she opened her establishment to the high school baseball booster club for a fundraiser.  In fact, she hosts three such fundraisers each year: baseball, pom and cheer, and the marching band.  She solicits donations from her vendors, discounts the food and gives the organization a share of the bar business.  In three hours the baseball boosters raised almost $4,000 to support the team.

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Sharen said, “I’m from the ‘hood and a huge supporter of public education.  Occasionally, I do training for wannabe small business owners, where I remind them to be active contributors to their communities.”  She paused, “Sometimes I just wish I could give more.  I do the best I can.”

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America is jammed with good hearts.  Maybe someday we will applaud them with the same enthusiasm we have for an Oscar winner or a MVP.

Heart Month

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This month’s blogs will focus on heart; no, I’ve not morphed into Delilah!  My eldest is a nurse practitioner who specializes in heart failure.  When I mentioned to her I was going to get my nails done, her reply was, “Wear red nail polish!”

“Why?”

“It’s national heart month, and one in three women die from heart issues.”

I followed her direction.  (Long ago I learned not to argue with her, as she far more knowledgeable about medical issues, more bossy, and cuter.)

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With that said, I share a poignant story of heart. Two young friends of mine, Mike and Becky, bought a 10,000 square foot, antique mall, Zinnias, and turned it into an eclectic Phoenix landmark.  The couple had many humorous adventures across America “picking” for collectibles, which eventually resulted in my officiating their wedding several years later.  Of course, aptly the venue for their wedding was Zinnias they had decked out with colorful murals of their new life together.  Their Boston terrier, Detective, is one of the mural’s focal points.

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When the Arizona legislature passed SB 1062 (later vetoed by the governor) that allowed any business owner, based on religious reasons, to deny sales to gay and lesbian customers, Mike and Becky posted: Open for Business to Everyone signs.  With their technological expertise, they pioneered a cloud inventory and created international sales of vintage items via social media.

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Sadly, the NYC absentee owner of the property recently raised their rental fee to an unconscionable amount and refused to sell them the building, unless they offered an exorbitant amount of money.  At the end of the month, Zinnias will close.  However, Mike recently reflected: We wanted to create a place where people of all races, religions, socioeconomic standings, and ages felt like they belonged.  Zinnias was the Cheers bar for Phoenix antiques shoppers.  Mike and Becky accomplished it.

Best of luck to great for with big hearts!

The Ultimate Test Question

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Please explain:  (Hint:  Be sure you understand the meaning of each word, before you write your answer.)

“If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, it expects what never was and never will be.”  Thomas Jefferson

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I shall await your responses.

Gullibility: $

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New-Small-Designer-Slim-Women-Red-font-b-Wallet-b-font-Thin-Zipper-font-b-LadiesMe thinks there is a substantial percentage of American consumers, who are so gullible they pay outrageous prices for routine items.  Of course, my daughters are in that group. To me, a handbag or wallet fulfills a need.  To them, it is a fashion statement.  So I ask you: when was the last time you ogled someone’s wallet at the store checkout?  When was the last time you coveted someone’s choice of paper towels or toilet paper?  When was the last time you envied someone’s plastic bottle of water?

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This week, I was early to an appointment, so I entered a designer grocery–the kind which caters to folk with more money than sense.  I perused the inflated prices: boneless, chicken breasts at $5.99 a pound, broccoli crowns at $4.99 a pound, and the deli was serving $10 a cup coffee.  I found this curious as the day before I paid $1.47 a pound for boneless chicken breasts.  Obviously, something is seriously wrong with my palate.  Chicken is chicken.  Beef, however, is another matter.  (Ribeye steaks are far superior to round steak.)

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Yet, the most outrageous item I saw on my adventure was one, peeled navel orange in a plastic container. It’s price: $6.00!  Had I known folk were so gullible, I would have picked my plentiful oranges, peeled and contained them, and undercut the price by one dollar.  Damn!  I’d be wealthy!  Maybe, next year.

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#%*+!

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Believe me, I can talk like a sailor, but I was raised with decorum.  I knew people didn’t smoke cigarettes in church, spit in hallways, nor kick puppies.  I also knew there was a time and place when it was not appropriate to use expletives.

In my 18 years on the school board of a large, suburban school district, I never swore from the dais.  I may have thought it, but I didn’t verbalize it.  I knew better.  Further, I didn’t want teachers cussing at students.  Thus, I set an example.  However once, in front of my mom, I accidentally dropped the f bomb.  She heard it fly from my mouth.

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“Sue, when people use gutter talk, it’s the sign of a severely limited vocabulary.  Not to mention a lack of decorum and civility.  Your hero, Mark Twain, was a genius at penning classics without swearing.  We readers fully understood what Huck Finn was really saying, but Mrs. Samuel Clemens edited the base vernacular from his manuscript.”

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Hmm.  Mark Twain was a genius–a stable one.

Oh Package! Where Art Thou?

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Every year I send navel oranges to friends and family.  Since navels are “Christmas oranges,” I usually mail them before the US Post Office gets overwhelmed with packages. And again, this year I did so on December 11.  The boxes went to New York, Ohio, and to Texas.  Since they were sent priority mail, I had tracking slips.

However, I usually get a text or a call from the recipient long before I get around to checking on them.  I’d heard from New York and from Ohio, but not from my sister in Texas.  Curious.  I texted: Did you get the citrus?  “No” was her reply.  Now, I was involved in a mystery, for according to geography, Texas is much closer to Phoenix than NY or OH. I entered the tracking number to find the lost parcel.  OMG!  I was astounded!  The oranges and limes must have decided to go on adventure!

They fled my sister’s Houston suburb, went to downtown Houston–perhaps to ride the Ferris wheel, and then took off to Dallas.  In Dallas, they were sent back to my local post office–less than five miles from my home.  According to tracking, those bad boys arrived on December 18.  Christmas and New Year’s came and went.  No citrus returned.  Weird.

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On January 4, I received a brown envelope from the mailman.  Enclosed was this box top. (Since the original was addressed correctly and neither my sister, nor I want to be deluged with fan mail, I altered the label.)  Also enclosed was a letter, dated December 24 from a Dallas postal facility.  It read:  An empty wrapper with your address was found in the mail and is believed to have been separated from a parcel during handling (see attached portion of the wrapper.) Really?  The package was allegedly in Phoenix on the 18th.  How could the top of a large, flat-rate box been separated from it…unless, someone in the postal service knoshed on oranges and squeezed lime in beer?

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Included was a form to file for missing items.  A laborious form that mandated receipts for whatever was in the box, plus serial and model numbers, sex and size of clothing articles, etc.  I tossed the form.  I have better things to do than worry about errant citrus.  However, the next time I send a box to my sister, it will be filled with….

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XYZ: Examine Your Zipper

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Many will recall the childhood comment: XYZ.  Usually, it was made to a boy, who emerged from the lavatory after those stupid, elementary school bathroom breaks.  Perhaps, you’ve experienced them, where the teacher lined up his/her class at the appointed hour and marched them down the hall.  I referred to this practice as pee on demand.

Though invented in 1851, zippers weren’t used in clothing until the 1930’s.  In the 1937, Battle of Fly, the zipper was declared winner over buttons.  This new tailoring idea in men’s trousers promised to prevent the possibility of embarrassment.

In recent weeks XYZ has morphed into headline stories, graphic dalliances of sexual harassment, even rape, have been exposed.  Certainly, rumors of the “Hollywood casting couch” have been around for years, but both men and women victims remained silent.  Now, it seems to be a pervasive epidemic propagated by those in power over the powerless.  Further, fueled by fear of losing a starring role, a job, or even getting a good grade in a college course.

Finally, victims found their voice.  Unnamed predators are probably suffering from sleepless nights and wobbly knees.  And thankfully, this week voters rejected a known creep, who advertised himself as an upright, moral man.

My advice to the powerful is simply: XYZ.  None of your employees, nor teenagers shopping at the mall are interested in your sausage.  And in this case, it doesn’t pay to advertise.

 

 

 

 

The Santa Claus Challenge

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th-2Most of us remember when one of our classmates declared that Santa wasn’t real.  Some of us ay recall the famous Dear Virginia editorial response published in the New York Sun in 1897.  Even though, I’m old, and even though I’m currently living through the most turbulent, hateful times I find deplorable, I still believe in Santa.

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Santa Claus is a spirit, who resides within most of us. When we were children, he miraculously answered our letters on Christmas morning.  In most cases.  I didn’t get a pony, but a got a Schwinn bike.  I didn’t receive a drum set, but I got a guitar.  Surprisingly, I was never disappointed.  I was happy with all my gifts–except the underwear.

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As I aged, my experience led me to a greater understanding of Santa.  A mythical figure, who lived in a dreadful climate, who urged children to be good, who fulfilled wishes, for what?  A plate of cookies and a glass of milk?  Doubtful. Santa Claus , St. Nicholas, Father Christmas, or whatever your moniker, came to teach.

His lesson embodied the Golden Rule–do unto to others.  But Santa tweaked it a tad.  Do unto others with anonymity.  For me, there’s no greater joy than giving without acknowledgement, nor accolade. And yes, there are a myriad of ways to get a tax deduction without revealing or bragging.   Trust me, I know.

Inside of each of us is Santa Claus.  In times of disasters, strangers help others; sometimes risking their own safety to render assistance.  With the holiday season fast-approaching, I urge you to accept the Santa Claus challenge.  Do something for someone anonymously.  You’ll be surprised by the joy you receive.    I double-dog dare you.

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National November Writing Month

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Familiarly known as NaNoWriMo, is an internet opportunity in which both professional and amateur authors attempt to write a 50,000-word novel in thirty days.  Now if November isn’t busy enough with Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, and decorating, thousands of folk embrace this endeavor.  I have a friend, who teaches full-time, has a family, and has engaged in this foolishness for the last three years.  Quite frankly, I admire her stamina because I personally couldn’t stand the pressure.  After all, timed tests freak me out.

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Early in July, I decided to write a novel.  Believe me, it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.  It has consumed me, kept me awake at night, and even driven me to speak in dialogue.  Sue admonished her labradoodle, “Lexy, Sue doesn’t like when you bark.”  At first, I thought I was crazy; then, I realized I was still scripting in my head.

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I’m a tad over four months into my novel, and to date have written 77,199 words.  Though loosely based on my experience, I’ve spent hours researching and reading to give the book a bit of authenticity.  Thankfully, my brother, who conceived the original idea has provided invaluable assistance in forensic dentistry and tweaking and twisting the plot line.  We anticipate the first draft will be completed by mid-December, necessitating another three months or so of revising and editing.

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Believe me, this is not the great American novel.  It won’t make the best seller’s list, nor will it be picked up by a TV producer or professional publisher.  It may be read by five or ten of my family and friends.  Yet, my attempt has broadened my experience; it’s pushed me out of my comfortable, lazy existence and kept me off the streets!

Whether I’ll ever work this hard again, I doubt it.  But I certainly know I will not be a participant in NaNoWriMo.  Dr. Suze lacks self-discipline and persistence.

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