Sound Off

A Declaration for A New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 18:45:00 +0000

It's a new year, so what better time for a new tradition? Perhaps like millions of others or as in years past, you've created one (or more) new year's resolutions without thinking twice. I never much liked the idea of a new year's resolution, because for the most part I don't think they work. They more often resort to hollow promises than well-thought-out goals. They're made out of tradition or habit rather than conscious intent. So for 2009, a year ripe with change, newness, and transformational beginnings, I've settled on something more powerful than the age-old New Year's Resolution: the New Year's Declaration.

What's the difference between "resolution" and "declaration"? Plenty. Resolution is defined as "determination, strong will". It involves constancy, doggedness, and firmness. A Declaration is "an assertion of belief or knowledge". It is an affirmation, a testimony, an oath and at its most powerful, a revelation.

Resolutions take will power to live up to, and without a strong will (or rock solid support system propping up that will), they don't have a prayer. They require effort, struggle, and work. Given this, they are set up to fail; rife with more inroads to be broken or sabotaged than kept.

Declarations, on the other hand, come from a point of decision. Decision necessitates clarity and emanates from that center within each of us which burns with empowerment and resolve. Declarations are a way of saying "damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead". They are more concerned with a starting point than an end result. And isn't that what renewal - each new year's gift to us all - is all about?

Here's my declaration for 2009:

I declare

I will take action toward my dreams and goals even though I might not feel like it
I will get started on tasks or projects even though conditions are not perfect
I will persist even though I could procrastinate
I will write, and write regularly, even though it might suck
I will not use physical illness or discomfort as a reason to stop living my dream even though I could
I will give my body the rest, nurturing, and healing it needs even though it might slow me down
I will not worry or obsess about time even though it marches on
I will not cocoon myself from new opportunities even though sitting home in my pyjamas is more comfortable
On the other hand, I will allow myself the power to say no to requests which are not in alignment with my desires even though I could easily say yes
I will do what I want rather than what other people think I should even though they might not agree
I will dance like no one's watching even though they will be
I will communicate from love and patience even though I'm conditioned to scream and shout
And finally, I will live fearlessly even in the face of fear

A tall order? Perhaps, and I'll definitely need reminding and rereading of the above on a regular basis. But I declare, I'm tired of living any way else.

What's your new year's declaration? What do aspire to do "even though"?

The Financial Crisis' Money Lessons I Learned From My Parents

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 20:08:00 +0000

On the front end of a business trip to The Windy City, I recently had the chance to visit with my parents (now on the far side of their 60's) in the Chicago suburbs. They took me to one of their favorite local haunts for dinner, a cozy grill with a fine-dining menu but casual, comfy atmosphere. The hearty Midwestern fare (heavy on the prime rib and grilled meats) was good, and as always, the conversation was provocative.

Never ones to keep their opinions to themselves, my parents' outrage at the recent government bailout of the financial services industry didn't really surprise me. What did catch me off guard was their sense of righteous indignation over the state of the economy and specifically, their strong emotional reaction to all those who had "lived high on the hog" over the years seemingly at the expense of good, responsible Americans like themselves; people who had "followed the rules" and lived within their means, only to be left at the end of the day with no reward for their good behavior, dwindling retirement savings, and questionable future Social Security benefits.

My mother proclaimed her new goal was to "die in debt". Not to accumulate wealth and leave a healthy financial legacy to future generations as past and current generations are conditioned to do, but instead to spend it all first. She wants to live it up and go out in style while she still can.

Their concern over retirement savings taking a hit and insecurity over Social Security is legitimate, but their anger and bitter resentment from feeling "ripped off" confused me. I felt the generation gap open up as I asked, "What sort of reward did you expect?"

In my early 40's with siblings younger than me, I realized my expectations related to income, career, savings, retirement and happiness which I've developed as an adult are light years away from the conditioned expectations that many in my parents' generation held and continue to assume are true. I don't fault them for thinking as they do, but I do sometimes pity their rigidity and short-sightedness. They grew up in the 50's, a time of post WWII prosperity, apparent job security and well-defined gender roles. I grew up in the 70's, a period of social upheaval, energy crises, inflation, women's lib and general craziness not entirely unlike today.

In spite of or perhaps in rebellion against a suburban upbringing that despite the times remained relatively sheltered and conservative, AND many lectures on fiscal responsibility, savings, and planning from my father aside, here are the lessons I learned about money from my parents along with my take on how they stand in the cold light of today's financial climate:

Lesson 1: Stay out of debt (i.e. Live Within Your Means)
I wildly flunked this lesson after getting my first credit card in college. Of course, I'm among that virgin generation of college students to have been offered consumer credit without having a job to finance it. I have since flunked this lesson on various occasions post-college as well, yet I can truthfully say this about being in debt: necessity is the mother of invention. Carrying debt has at various intervals 1) motivated me to work harder and smarter to pay it off, 2) motivated me to advance my career, 3) allowed me to take risks otherwise not available to me, and 4) has allowed me to improve my standard of living.

On the downside, I've seen what it's like to live beyond my means for material gain alone (not worth it) and have succumbed to the trappings of American consumerism more than once. And I've had my fair share of living with large amounts of debt hanging over my head and the unpleasant feeling of digging out of it. Yet, I've been lucky enough to always have been able to earn my way out of it.

The upshot? It's not debt that's evil, it's why you decide to take it on and how you manage it that can cause suffering. Be a smart shopper and go for the lowest interest rates available. Consolidate, refinance, and be vigilant about liabilities management. Use credit for what matters (like buying a home, a car, building a business or seeing you through tough times), rather than to buy rapidly depreciating luxury goods or worship at the altar of consumer consumption. And in the final analysis, you'd better at least have a positive net worth in case those loans get called or the credit cards demand payment.

Lesson learned: Living within your means is generally a good idea, but taking the occasional risk can also pay off. Living wildly beyond your means without commensurate reward for the risk is never worth it.
Lesson 2: Go to College and Get a Good Job (Otherwise known as "How to Become Risk Averse Part A")
I've got nothing against a university education. In fact, I have a great one, and it cost me dearly. I left four years of out-of-state college with thousands of dollars of student loans even though my father had saved for my education. But in all fairness, it wasn't enough, and I was the oldest of four which didn't make things easy. Of course, after all that credit card debt I racked up in school I had to get a good job to pay it off, but really the intended lesson here was that the path to career success and financial reward was a "good job", the kind of high-paying job with benefits you can land only with a college degree.

When I graduated the University of Michigan in the late 80's with a BA in Communications , starting salaries for journalists were $13,000 a year. You couldn't live on that twenty years ago much better than you can today. So I took a "safe" job in marketing that payed me twice as much, and it slowly whittled away at my happiness along the way. Over the years what little concept of company loyalty and career longevity I saw my older peers cling to rapidly eroded and I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere I wanted to go by working for someone else, making either a company or those at the top rich while I toiled to maintain my standard of living on their terms.

The upshot? There is no job security, and there never really was. You are your brand, you are your own company, and only you and you alone determine how much you're worth. The lessons I really learned here are that it's worth a little (or even a lot) of risk to do what you love, and that when you DO do what you love, the money will follow. Chasing a high paying job for financial security isn't worth the price you'll pay unless what you do at that job is your genuine and burning passion anyway. On the other hand, we all have to get started somewhere, we all pay our dues.

Lesson learned: Get the education you need and can afford, and pay your dues as quickly as you can while the tuition is low, then create life on your own terms while you're young enough to enjoy it. True freedom comes not from the ability to earn what other people say you're worth, but the ability to decide for yourself what you're worth and how to produce that corresponding income.
Lesson 3: Follow the Rules & You'll Reap Your Reward (or "How to Become Risk Averse Part B") My parents taught me to live within my means and to follow the rules. I quickly learned that living within my means and following the rules was a) boring and b) the rules are for the most part, rigged against the average person. Yes, the so-called formula of "college degree" + "good job" = comfy house in the suburbs and financial security was created by the wealthy elite to keep the underprivileged aspiring to all become the same, and to keep average people dependent upon the empires that the wealthiest created. The formula is bogus, for there are many other formulas that work just as well if not better. But it's especially bogus because it assumes that financial security equals happiness. It doesn't account for "life, liberty, or the pursuit of happiness" only the pursuit of income.

True wealth generation, when not corrupt, comes from extraordinary passion and risk-taking even more so than intelligence and hard work, although action toward specified goals should not be discounted. A college degree is not a dependency, and a white collar job is not a requirement. Entrepreneurship usually is. The rules are flawed and sadly, many in my parents' generation (including them) did not think to question those rules and have lived to regret it. Bill Gates and Steve Jobs did not finish college before starting their businesses. Andrew Carnegie didn't even go to college.

The upshot? Somewhere along the line what was aspired to by many Americans became the formula for success (if not also happiness) for most WITHOUT ANYONE QUESTIONING WHY. People opted into the easy, prescribed plan for making a living instead of being taught to pursue their passions and take risks. The formula became the end instead of a means to an end.

Lesson learned: The rules are meant to be broken (as clearly they have been) because they are constantly evolving. Break them corruptly and karma will get you. But break them passionately, revolutionarily, and you'll soar despite the odds. The bottom line: Safe is boring. Don't play it safe, life is too short not to be doing what you love. There is no magic formula for wealth generation or success, because we each define that for ourselves anyway.

Lesson 4: Save For a Rainy Day
On this one, I have to agree my parents have it right. Hedging your bets is something all good gamblers/investors do. A little bit of foregone pleasure today for peace of mind tomorrow is not a bad tradeoff. In diversity lies equilibrium. Not to mention, compound interest is just about the eighth wonder of the world. Yes, despite my proclivity for risk and spending over the years I've also always saved, and don't regret a penny of it.

The upshot? Decide what you really want and realize if it costs money, you'll have to make short-term sacrifices for long term gain. All the living in the moment and instant gratification of today isn't worth being homeless as a senior citizen to most people. On the other hand, hoarding can make you miserable and as the Law of Attraction tells us, a lack of outflow prevents inflow. Balance is the key, and will continually need to be rediscovered throughout life.

Lesson learned: Money is a tool. Use it consciously and wisely. Have clear stated goals and revisit them often. The world certainly does change. Perhaps most of all, don't get too attached to a significant nest or retirement egg. You can't, after all, take it with you.

Like all generations we learn from our elders by filtering what they've done and simultaneously emulating and rejecting their example. We repeat what has worked in the past, then dump it at the point of diminishing returns. We're all a product of our environments, my parents were no different. They did the best they could given the knowledge and circumstances they had to work with.

My hope for those with most of their lives ahead of them and for future generations is to realize financial lessons are not learned once and put on autopilot for life. Understanding the intricate connection between wealth, success, money and happiness is a journey, not a destination. People, markets, and systems are unpredictable and fluid. Safety and security is an illusion. Corruption and greed exists. And most of all, life is too short not to do what you love and find a way to make a living at it.

So the next time you're feeling resentful, bitter or deprived; or if you feel like you're just feeding the machine, working for the man, ask yourself: "Did I rebel, or did I just do what I was told? Did I take risks?" And most of all, "Did I ever ask Why?"

Never stop questioning. Something tells me come 2009 well be doing plenty more questioning and investigating of our government, our business leaders, and our politicians when it comes to our money. Which makes me think one money lesson is timeless: sometimes you have to learn the hard way before the learning sticks.

Non-Voters: Opt-Out or Cop-Out?

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 18:05:00 +0000

I've gotta sound off about non-voters, of which my sister is one and always has been. I'm guessing most of you reading this are not in that category, so enjoy the video humor below and forward the link to the non-voters in your life.

I have a sister in her late thirties and as far as anyone knows she has never voted in a Presidential or mid-term election.

She and I are long past being able to talk about this, so I just don't say anything anymore (except here). All the more surprising that she emailed this today:

Obviously someone sent her the joke, which she forwarded to family with the comment, "Okay, I am ALMOST motivated to vote now". Well sis, whatever works!

But here's how I really feel, because I can't just slam my sister, I've got other non-voting family members who shall remain nameless (and should be thankful I'm feeling so generous). The reasons they don't vote vary from "it won't matter", to "it's rigged anyway" to "I don't like the choices." Yes, I've heard those and more such as "it's just a lesser of two evils contest anyway", "the system is flawed", and "my vote won't be counted". But the one that really, irritatingly sticks in my craw like a stuck piece of toilet paper where the sun don't shine is this explanation: "I just don't care".

Really, you don't care? What will it take for you to care? Hmm, let's see. How about losing your life savings in a bank that goes under? How about being underwater on your mortgage? How about no health benefits? Higher taxes? Rising gas prices? How about your son or daughter in Iraq doesn't get to come home next year?

Maybe you're somehow unaffected by those things so let's take it down to the local level you can't escape. How about the school district re-zoning which now puts your kids in the overcrowded old school with the low income "D" students instead of the shiny new one? Or the referendum proposing a property tax increase? Or the state constitution amendment banning gay marriage? I hope you like your neighbors, because they'll be deciding those things for you. Do you care now?

I've watched these "I don't care" non-voters sit lofty in their ivory towers or if they can't stand to watch us peons from there, bury their heads in the sand. They say they have as much right NOT to cast their vote as to cast it. Technically that's true, no one is forced to vote or penalized for not voting. Realistically, what is truer is that there are always consequences - for action as well as inaction. Flawed non-voter logic overlooks this fact, preferring instead to believe consequences happen only when you do something instead of fail to do something. Witness Presidential elections 2000 and 2004. Point made.

So non-voters, you can claim not voting takes you out of the picture altogether, but that's just denial. What failing to exercise your right to vote does successfully do is remove you from making a choice and living with the consequences of your choosing. And yes, that's a lot scarier and takes a lot more conviction than burying your head in the sand.

Take a Dr. Phil moment to get real and ask yourself: by not voting are you are opting-out or copping-out? Unless you're planning on signing on with another country, I think you know the answer. Go ahead non-voters, you just keep those excuses coming. Because if you argue for your limitations, they will most certainly be yours.

America, Growing Up At Last

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 19:01:00 +0000

The tide is turning, and it's about time. After years of ranting about Americans having been alarmed down, dumbed down, numbed down, and steadily swamped with dread into paralytic complacency, I'm seeing a shift. It's an at-long-last, we've-had-enough sustained upswell away from fear toward what for lack of a better description, I call awareness. Awareness that, despite the smorgasbord of dread and despair served up daily - if not shoved right under our collective noses - we don't have to eat at that fear-mongering table. Once tasty morsels have lost their appeal now that they're exposed as nothing more than gluttonous empty calories.

Arianna Huffington summed it up here and I agree. The theater of American evolution is playing out in this historic presidential election. As if our choices weren't distinct enough in 2000 and 2004, the universe has dumbed it down for us, reducing circumstances to their most simple and obvious. "Crank up the contrast, literally present them with black and white, and maybe they'll finally get it," fate must have reasoned. Like a patient adult waiting for a small child to chose the red or green M&M and providing as many gentle nudges as he could muster before commanding, "just pick one already".

On the long tail of years of stagnation and months of yo-yoing unsettledness, it is nothing less than EXHILARATING to feel the tide turning. It feels like people as a collective are stepping up to determine the future they want rather than remaining willing pawns in a game determined by a select few. Everywhere support of Obama is growing as the choice for our future rests literally between light and dark.

Speaking of her, I had the joy of meeting Arianna Huffington last Wednesday where she was the keynote speaker at a conference I attended. She herself is a bright light, working on several levels which those who are listening will hear.

As I spent the last week traveling cross country from Palm Beach County, Florida to Phoenix Arizona through Dallas - talk about covering Obama, McCain, and even Bush territories - I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation from many walks of life. Praise of Obama grows on many lips. Even as I spent most of the week in Phoenix Arizona, hotbed of McCain support, I saw the Obama supporters vocal, emerging, surging. So take heart, if that’s not the case in your neck of the woods, realize you’re seeing just a very small piece of a very large whole.

My husband is a frequent international traveler and American citizen by marriage which gives him a unique outside-in perspective on this country. In the past month he’s been to Mexico, Brazil, and France. All reports from foreign fronts are that support is overwhelmingly for Obama. Even this morning on my way into the Phoenix airport through security, I met two Hungarian reporters covering the election for Hungary’s major (only?) newspaper. Their trip was limited to campaign headquarters sites - Phoenix first, then Chicago. Without disclosing my preference, I asked them if they had a favorite candidate. They said Obama, and that most of Hungary (if not also Europe) was hoping for the same.

All those I know and have recently met who are passionately interested in what they do are Obama supporters; everyone else is either on the fence or for McCain. The line of demarcation grows bolder by the day. You can tell by the energy, the personality and for lack of a more quantifiable factor the simple "vibe" of who you meet where they stand. Either they’re moving forward confidently and eagerly - in life in general - or are enslaved by their circumstances, resisting and afraid. Little to no middle ground remains. What's really happening here? We're not just being asked to choose a president. We're being asked to choose a way of life.

The current issue of Time magazine has a great article on Obama, summing him up as “a mature adult for a nation that desperately needs adult supervision”. It made me a little sad to reflect that we need adult supervision, but like any lost child, or tumultuous teenager, we'll be better for it. At long last I see people "growing up" into awareness, into the realization that we create our reality moment by moment, and certainly growing into clarity and certainty about what we want that reality to be. Is it possible? Are we as a nation (heck, as a species) stepping into a new maturity? I think although we're not all the way there, we're well on our way, and I for one am reveling in the prospects of a country, a world, and a future in which the measure of maturity goes far beyond chronological years alone.

And possibly, hopefully, achingly under President Obama I will be proud to be an American again, and even prouder to be co-creating an incredible new world.

The Desperation Reeks

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 17:41:00 +0000

I've been wondering for a while now when the McCain camp would get really down, dirty and desperate with attacks on Obama and frankly I'm surprised they waited this long.

Then again, since the primaries I've been waiting for the Obama dirt to come out, and it seems the media can't find anything that sticks to the guy. I don't count an affiliation with a zealous preacher or stupid rumors that Obama is a Muslim (http://www.fightthesmears.com/) as "sticky". No, I'm waiting for some good old bribery, kickbacks, tax cheating, illegal nanny hiring or a juicy sex scandal to break. Yet nothing so far.

So with the gloves all the way off the McCain campaign is now desperate for any tidbit of information that will translate into a decent TV soundbite sparking insecurity and fear in the hearts of the undecideds. The latest card they played is the Bill Ayers affiliation with Obama. As usual, I've done my own research on the Obama-Ayers connection and as a former Chicagoan knowing how things work in Chicago, I say it sounds tame, coincidental, and if they did what they say they did for Chicago schools, downright altruistic. Hey, after all, people can change (referring to Ayers) in 40 years.

Here’s the Anderson Cooper 360 report on YouTube. It's even-handed although the correspondent sounds lame “I didn’t have a chance to ask . . .”. Shit, as a reporter isn’t that your job? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvROBLortBQ

There are two things far more worrisome than calling - or attempting to call - Obama's integrity and trust into question. The first is that it's being done to distract people from the economic disaster (hello? the Dow dropped below 10,000. Anyone paying attention?) which is still far from over. As a senior McCain campaign strategist admitted to the Daily News of their new strategy to attack Obama's character, "It's a dangerous road, but we have no choice. If we keep talking about the economic crisis, we're going to lose."

The second is that the McCain camp may have finally reached the bottom of the dirty tricks barrel, and that's not good. The bottom of the barrel is a dark, rank, desperate place to be. The latest development has Palin inciting supporters to violence against Obama. Hey, when in doubt, try eliminating the opponent (it worked with Kennedy) http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jeffrey-feldman/is-palin-trying-to-incite_b_132534.html.

As dismayed as I am I can't say I'm surprised, which is a sad commentary in itself. I've been considering there could be an assassination attempt on Obama for some time, and granted it's a well-voiced concern. Those trying to preserve the old, obsolete ways of doing things are always most vicious when they know they are failing.

Pathetic, deplorable, piteous and insane doesn't even begin to sum it up. As a writer, words fail me in trying to frame the current state of election politics and makes me believe all those New World Order conspiracy theorists have been right all along. My advice to the general population is to tap into your sense of reason and higher intelligence even if it hurts. My advice to the McCain campaign is to get some real dirt on Obama, or shut up and start addressing the issues. Because you know what? Your stench reeks all the way from Florida to Alaska.

In the Eye of the Storm

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 01:56:00 +0000

On the final Thursday of September 2008 instead of feeling pulled to my 7:00 a.m. yoga class I felt called to the beach instead. Living fifteen minutes from Palm Beach Florida, I don’t visit the beach (any beach, we have several nearby) nearly as much as I probably should. So that morning seemed like a prime opportunity to salute the sun in person rather than perform the usual sun salutations and downward dogs to the yoga studio mirror.

Prime opportunity, that is, until I arrived at the beach (Lantana Beach to be exact – the closest to my home) to find not only no sun, but also no beach. A shallow expanse of sand even at low tide, Lantana Beach was now covered in waves crashing close to if not onto the concrete break wall separating the sea from the Ritz Carlton and its high-priced neighbors just south of the hotel on Ocean Drive. Normally calm turquoise waters and low September surf now roiled and churned into three successive lines of gray, foamy waves.

I hopped the low wall separating the flooded public parking lot from the Ritz to get a better look at the coast to the south, but as far as I could see the tide was at an all time high. The sand was there, but the surf was too deep to do any strolling. The beach was officially closed; gates to the stairways down to the shore locked, and the local sheriff and city parks officials assessing the situation. A massive chunk of bluff had already been swept away, eroded by the elevated sea, from alongside the Dune Deck Café a stone's throw from the Ritz. As I ordered a cappuccino, the Dune Deck wasn’t sure how long they’d be around either.

I sighed. Considering September 2008, it was par for the course.

This September will go on record as being the most turbulent, chaotic, and ridiculously nonsensical month I can recall – ever. If your experience was anything like that of most people I know, you’re still feeling the whiplash of jerking your head back and forth between absurdity and incredulity. To say nothing has turned out quite as expected is an understatement. Predictions have been flummoxed (who’d have guessed Palin?). Both macro disasters (US economy, hurricane Ike) and micro inconveniences (I’ve now rescheduled my daughter’s eye exam for the third time in a week) have materialized – consistently so – straight out of left field. Yet the calm surface crust belies the festering magma and rupturing earth beneath. On one level, daily life continues to operate without a hitch: planes fly, garbage is collected, people go to work, kids attend soccer practice. On another, upsets bubble to the surface as banks fail, foreclosure notices are delivered, jobs are lost and Presidential debates nearly cancelled. Something is most definitely up.

Granted, astrologically we know Mercury is in retrograde between September 24 and October 15, in the sign of Libra. According to http://www.astrology.com/, a planet is described as retrograde when it appears to be moving backwards through the zodiac. Planets are never actually retrograde or stationary, they just seem that way due to the orbital rotation of the earth in relation to the other planets in our solar system. Although a powerful astrological influence, Mercury is a small planet that travels at a relatively fast speed through the zodiac, so it achieves retrograde three times a year. Yet depending on the sign in which it retrogrades, different effects can be felt. Mercury in retrograde is typically characterized by misunderstandings, confusion, and indecision. Most experts agree, the effects of a retrograde period are felt up to a month before and for as long as a month after the planet is in its apparent backwards march across the sky.

As validating as the astrological view is, I don’t need the stars and planets to tell me how out of whack things are. Just look around. I can chart an unsettled September not only from without, but from within. In the space of a week my three closest friends each experienced new and unpredictable upsets. One found herself at the abrupt and dramatic end of a seven year romantic relationship, another on the brink of chucking her twenty-year corporate career in technical engineering. The third, a bit eccentric to begin with, showed up on my doorstep one afternoon only to enact a startling episode of psychotic behavior brought on by a prescription drug interaction.

As for me, I began September with a trip to Orlando’s Universal Island of Adventure where I spent a day riding roller coasters, a fitting metaphor for the month about to unfold. Next up, a business trip to San Francisco coinciding with the expected arrival of hurricane Ike to my stretch of Florida coast. On the heels of Tropical Storm Fay, this hurricane – any hurricane – was a weather event sure to send me into a tailspin since being stranded out of town away from husband, home and child during Hurricane Wilma in 2005. Luckily for Florida, Ike had other plans. Then at the height of hurricane season I befriended a stranger via the Internet who in the space of a month went from fearing she’d be homeless, to actually being on the brink (see A Thousand Dollars From Homeless). Following her story – and sticking with it – took me on an emotional juggernaut that challenged me on more levels than I care to admit.

More mystifying than the confluence of chaos itself is the strange duality of the chaos. In every challenge September delivered, the seed of opportunity quickly burst forth into bloom. Sarah Palin generated hordes of media buzz only to have much of it turn on her and the advantage shift to Obama/Biden, at least today. Old-boy Wall Street firms and big banks have failed only to give small local banks new opportunities to prosper. In my own little world, the friend who experienced the breakup found herself liberated from a static relationship and emboldened to explore new paths. The corporate career woman heard and heeded the call to community service. And Debbie, subject of my homeless story, was saved by anonymous donors (for now) at the eleventh hour. Furthermore, her story delivered my first big writing breakthrough when it made the Huffington Post.

September simultaneously surrounded me with breakups, breakdowns, and breakthroughs. I noticed myself mystifyingly called into service – coming to the aid of friends and strangers alike. Yet through it all, I remain strangely centered in this eye of the storm, privy to a unique vantage point - a space of awareness allowing me to witness the tempest without being swept up in it.

Maybe it’s my sign. I’m a Libra, with a birthday smack in the middle of this Mercury retrograde thing. Again according to the astrological experts, during a retrograde cycle the planet's energy is most powerful (and more likely to generate critical events of universal importance – whoa!) when the planet makes a station: appearing motionless in the sky. These stationary periods occur near the beginning of the cycle and midway through the cycle when the retrograde planet slows to a stop before moving forward again. The "direct station" (when the planet halts before moving forward again) is the most powerful and can be used for maximum benefit. I wonder what unexpected birthday gifts could be in store?

Or maybe it’s the Shift, (Google The Shift Movie) which seems to be undeniably underway and which I’ll write more about later this month. Whatever it is, there’s no denying it. Chaos is increasing as multiple established systems – political, economic, and social – interact at an accelerated pace. Unexpected results and situations, that were never anticipated or intended, can and will arise. For many this will result in mental, emotional, not to mention financial and physical strain. Even as I write this the immediate future seems dire.

Yet the upside of chaos is reorganization. The sands are shifting, but they are still there. Transformation is certain to occur, and although painful in process, when it brings growth it's also liberating, if not gratifying. The challenge for us now is to ride out this sea change while staying calm and afloat. Some shores will erode if not be washed away entirely, but I’m confident that in the process new ones will emerge. It’s up to us to decide what kind of world we’ll build once we land on them. I humbly suggest you begin seriously thinking about that now.

A Thousand Dollars From Homeless

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 15:55:00 +0000

For the last month I’ve been writing about a woman who is now less than $1,000 and one week away from homeless (see Hello America – This is Your Wake Up Call Parts I-V). Her name is Debbie, she’s in her early 50’s, a remarried widow, and mother/grandmother living in Bradenton, Florida (south of Tampa). After nine months of scraping by on a shoestring income and combing every job opportunity, she’s at the end of the road. Of all the lousy times, now during the worst economic meltdown America has seen in nearly a century she’s facing eviction. In this last article about Debbie, I humbly ask all who feel moved to help prevent the tragedy of homelessness in America from happening again, and specifically to help me prevent it from happening to Debbie.

Like so many stories, Debbie’s seems to be going out not with a bang but with a whimper. Despite her circumstances, she remains selfless to the last as she writes:

“Like my landlord said, pay by the 30th or leave the house. Right now I have no means whatsoever to pay the rent, so we have no choice but to go. No place to go but our car. After 20 years it is all we own. I have already looked at rest stops and buildings with many offices and rest rooms that are in hallways thinking this is a good spot to come to wash up if I end up homeless. What a horrible thought but I have to think those thoughts, I have to. I have to have a plan and be strong and get all the tears out now so if it happens I won't upset my kids. God, I thought if I end up homeless without a plan and I fell apart in front of them they would just be so scared. Plus I don't want to make my husband feel like a failure. So I have to stay positive even in the darkest hour to spare my family any more pain than needed, I always listen to that song Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel. It gets me through sometimes.”

A year ago Debbie’s life was a lot more like yours and mine. She and her husband, Randy, didn’t make much money but both had jobs and earned enough to provide for the basics and then some. They’d never been in deep debt or on welfare. Debbie’s several grown children struggled financially and still do, but had lives of their own; save for one, a daughter, now nearly twenty, who is physically and mentally disabled as the result of open-heart surgery as a child. She is still dependent on Debbie. Debbie also raises one of her grandchildren, an eleven year old boy. Together the four of them would do simple, inexpensive things together, like spend a weekend at the beach. Next weekend, they might be living at the beach.

What a difference a year makes. Despite the visible US financial meltdown over the past week, Debbie’s life is the hidden evidence that it’s been simmering for a lot longer. She was laid off from her job last December, followed by her husband Randy’s dismissal (due to reorganization) from his hospital administrator position in January. They’ve both been seeking work since then with no luck. Randy had two job interviews last Friday. On Saturday he received a letter from one indicating they’d hired someone else – obviously he never had a chance.

Their only income since losing their jobs is Randy’s monthly unemployment totaling $1,100 (Debbie couldn’t qualify – they said she hadn’t paid enough into the system) and a Social Security death benefit for Debbie’s deceased husband – about another $900. Randy does odd jobs – handyman or computer stuff – for cash when he can, and Debbie babysits at every opportunity, but neither has been consistent nor lucrative enough to keep them afloat.

With $2,000 in monthly income and $1,975 due for rent and utilities alone, it wasn’t long before Debbie and Randy got behind on their bills. Still, today only $1,000 would bring them current and keep them in their rental home.

The financial catch-22 of Debbie’s situation floors me. Had she not remarried, she’d have retained an additional $800 per month in Social Security survivor benefits. But as she told me herself, she wasn’t trying to live off the system, she had a job. She applied to have her disabled daughter’s Social Security survivor benefit extended, and despite doctor agreement that the daughter has several medical and psychological issues, the extension was denied. Debbie’s daughter was deemed fit for work, even though she still plays with Beanie Babies at age nineteen and has the mind of a twelve year old.

Need more irony? Because Debbie and Randy collectively earn what they do in monthly unemployment and Social Security benefits, they can’t apply for welfare. And since they are both unemployed, they can’t move to a less expensive rental or get a new lease – no one will accept them as renters without jobs.

Debbie is no fool, and she’s long past swallowing her pride. She and her husband have looked into early withdrawal from his State of California retirement pension. However, since only the state and not he paid into it, he is unable to withdraw money until age 62.

Debbie has requested online help as well, applying for a grant from Modest Needs (www.modestneeds.org). Despite it appearing an ideal resource, Modest Needs informed Debbie, “we could not consider your application because in order to qualify for a Self-Sufficiency Grant from Modest Needs, at least one person in your household must be working and your total monthly household income must be sufficient to remit payment for the cost of your monthly rental or mortgage plus AT LEAST $250.” Yet many on that site have grants pending to pay the electric bill or rent because taking their dog to the vet set them back a bit. Perhaps we need another site called “Desperate Needs” (if anyone knows of something along those lines, tell me).

Debbie has called or visited the churches in her area asking for help but again has been turned down; most of the churches sent their available funds to help Hurricane Ike victims in Houston. She’s been to the United Way, but they too have limits on the assistance you can receive in a given time period. She routinely visits the food bank, but you’re allowed only one bag of food every thirty days. In her last bag there was a bottle of mustard, baking chocolate, and dip for chips, but no chips. Not exactly a meal.

I’ve nearly exhausted my resources for helping Debbie and by the time you read this will have fully exhausted them. Nonetheless, let me emphasize how disgustingly inadequate this feels. I’ve sent her several hundred dollars of my own but it’s not enough to stop the bleeding and all I can afford is to stick a Band-Aid on a severed artery. Sadly, the more I suggest, the more she has already done. I’ve given her moral support and encouragement and yet it feels like throwing crumbs to the starving. I have wanted – more than I can express – not to feel the pain and hopelessness of her situation, yet I have cried tears of frustration and exasperation for her. They are nothing, I’m sure, compared to the tears she has cried herself.

And yet. And yet this remarkable woman remains practical and more surprising still, hopeful even through the darkest hour. As Debbie told me today, “I know the possibilities I face are real. I know there is a good chance things will get worse - a lot worse - I might have to face being without a place to live and having the things I need to beat this war on my own. As it stands today it’s more likely than not. But as long as there is just one inch of hope, I am going to keep fighting this battle. That is my job for right now. I still hang onto hope and wish for some miracle to happen.”

I doubt I would be equal to the task were I in her shoes.

It may be the end of the road for Debbie, but it is not the end of this story. In fact, I suspect it is just the beginning. This Broken America is not acceptable to me, and it shouldn’t be acceptable to you. Many (myself included) are worried about losing money in banks and investments. But at least we have money to lose. Even though we’re fed doom and gloom 24/7 on the news, and even though the light is dim now, I believe it can shine brightly again. The gift Debbie bestows is the gift of hope against all odds; the lesson of her story is that it doesn’t take much to transform doom into hope. And that’s a lesson arriving not a moment too soon.

The futility of homelessness in America is entirely preventable, but only if we prevent it. It’s not up to some agency or some Web site or some charity, it’s up to each of us individually, deciding from within to act then acting collectively. It might be a long road, and it might be a slow go, and we might have to do it one Debbie at a time, but together we can do it. One by one we come forth, we stand together, link arms, and before we know it together we've built a bridge over troubled water. So, for all our sakes, but especially Debbie's, will you help?

Hello America, This Is Your Wake-Up Call (Part IV)

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 22:37:00 +0000

My Brother's Keeper

Lest you suspect I am naively setting myself up for a huge letdown, let me set the record straight. I know that as tough as Debbie’s path is, she must ultimately walk it herself. Although it is seldom of comfort in situations like Debbie’s, a belief that nothing is wasted – including and especially the most wretched and unimaginable suffering – is central to my life philosophy. I know from bitter experience that all the wishing in the world will not send angels down to pluck you off your pot-holed road if that is the route you are destined to travel in order to learn what you are supposed to learn in this life. I don’t know why Debbie’s road is what it is, but I recognize that it is undeniably hers.

On the other hand, I also believe in everyday miracles.

I was still trying to understand how she got to where she is today. The complexity of Debbie’s story thickened as she continued to reveal it:

“I never got rich financially off the theater, but rich from giving back. And it made me a pay check. I lost that business just before my husband died due to his need for me to care for him and high medical bills. Six months after his death one of my daughters, then 10, had to have open heart surgery which left her somewhat disabled and today she is 20 but I can't get any help for her. They say she is not disabled enough. So we care and provide for her as best we can. I have her in a program to help her get work education.

I have also been raising my grandson from birth. His mother was a victim of abuse, bad abuse, when he was born, so he has been with me since he was six weeks old. My husband died when my grandson was one. My grandson spent most of his school years in special education. But my current husband fought for him and his education and took on the schools all the way to the courts to get this kid out of special education and the chance to have a better future. I am proud to say he has been in general education now for two years and doing very well. It takes a lot of work from us to help him reach good grades. Just two years ago he could not do simple math or even hold a pen correct. Now he is much better.”

During the years after my first husband’s death and before I met my current husband I worked four jobs. My dad died and my mom moved in with me where she lived for fifteen years. After the death of my husband my mom cared for my grandson and my daughter while I worked hour after hour to keep my family going. My daughter (grandson’s mother) later remarried and moved here to Florida. She has three children, and although she wanted to take my grandson back I would not allow it because he and I bonded so strongly. To uproot a child that was stable was wrong. My daughter agreed and I understood why she gave him to me. It was the right thing to do at the time. But after my husband died it was hard rising a baby at forty and working four jobs.

Thinking back to one year ago today, I would be here with all bills current and food in my refrigerator, wondering what to cook for dinner. The kids would be home from school soon, my husband at work also home soon. I’d be trying to think of something we could do as family over the weekend that wouldn’t cost a lot but yet be fun. Maybe a trip to the drive-in, or may to one of the state parks. We’d be talking about Halloween and what costume do you want me to make this year? There’d be the thought of Christmas coming soon and me thinking maybe I should start looking for those little gifts now.

One year ago I would have never thought that today I’d be sitting here jobless with no prospects for work in sight; with nothing in the refrigerator to cook, so no worry about what to make for dinner. But worry, god how I do, and what can I feed my children? The food bank gives us mustard, baking chocolate and spices, not exactly a meal. I’m behind on my bills with the lights ready to be shut off. I’m $987 away from eviction. Having a meal is what is on my mind for the family weekend. I’m begging for work, never mind applying the normal way. Telling my kids to make sure they eat all their free lunch (provided by the state of Florida) at school; praying this nightmare comes to end. Every time I see the news it seems this nightmare has just begun. Does anyone hear us out here? What has happened to this country, our jobs? How do we fix it? What can I do as a mother but worry about what is in store for my children, for my future?

I don't think they get it in Washington. They just don't get it. I may be one small fish in a large ocean and overlooked. But I never saw this coming; I never got it until it got me. I truly hope and pray no man, woman or child in this country has to deal with the stress, worry and pain I have dealt with over the past five months, hanging on to that last thread of hope in a nation that is falling apart. Every voice - every person - counts in this election. Please let your voice be heard.”

I couldn’t resist and sent Debbie another $200, again knowing it would not be enough. Despite the driving urge to bail her out myself, I knew neither of us could keep going this way. So I drew on the only other resource I knew how to tap, the passion to inspire others. By telling her story Debbie and I would launch a social experiment to elicit random acts of kindness for a stranger; a grassroots effort to help those who, like Debbie, have slipped through the cracks and are $1,000 from homeless. Debbie is one of many, I suspect, who has exhausted all available sources for financial and employment aid (governmental, United Way, churches, and more), and for whom – incredulously – many legitimate charities will not help either precisely because she is not employed, or because she is not destitute enough. Yet.

I wonder who will heed the call to help Debbie, especially today when none of us can be sure just how much we might have to help ourselves. I know it’s scary. More than once I’ve had to confront my own cowardice and muster the courage to put myself on the line for her. Worse yet, I have pondered the awful possibility that I’ll issue an appeal and no one will answer the call – then what? Have I attempted to be “my brother’s keeper” only to make the situation worse? Only to create false hope for a woman whose hopes are dashed to bits already?

Why, when we intellectually know we can help one another do we fail to translate realization into action? It seems we stop ourselves before we even get started, before we can become committed and therefore, vulnerable. What are we more afraid of – failing or succeeding? “If I help so-and-so today, then what about all the others waiting in the wings? When will it end?” we wonder. Or we hear a story like Debbie’s and despair takes hold. We think “My five dollars won’t make a difference,” or “if I can’t solve the problem I might as well do nothing”. The only thing this self talk and over-analysis succeeds in doing is shutting us down before we can begin. Don’t listen to it. It’s not the truth.

What is?

As of July 31, 2008 the Barack Obama campaign raised over 390 million dollars with an average donation of around $25. Millions of Americans, each contributing a small amount, generated a fortune equivalent to the 2007 GDP of Samoa or Dominica. We know we can do it, we’ve proven we can do it and in fact, we’ve done it. Was that so hard? Couldn’t we raise the bar a bit? We must not help just once, or when we feel like it, or when we are passionate and connected to the cause. Nor must each of us help every time. But enough of us must decide, more than just occasionally, to become our brother’s keeper. Only by saving one another do we save ourselves.

Next: Part V – We Carry Each Other

To make a contribution to Debbie’s Cause please contact me through this site.

Hello America, This Is Your Wake-Up Call (Part III)

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 21:12:00 +0000

Stepping Into the Crack

It’s easy to read Debbie’s story and

a) doubt its truth by suspecting she is lying or exaggerating;

b) chalk it up to ignorance and stupidity. (Sadly, there are a lot of people out there who even after being told what to do and how to help themselves choose self-sabotage instead);

c) write her off as hopeless, a victim of a series of ill-informed, bad decisions which have snowballed beyond repair;

d) give quick-fix advice, hoping your kernel of wisdom will be the magic pill to solve all her ills;

and/or

e) walk away.

I know because I at least temporarily did all of these things. None of those scenarios are true, nor were enough to help. The reality is, the more you know about Debbie the harder it is to rationalize her problems away.

As Debbie’s story continued to unfold, I both verified it and secured her agreement to share it. During this process I was often impressed and ashamed. Impressed by her ability to persist when I have often given up over far, far less; ashamed by how visibly and courageously a woman of humble means had lived her convictions while I, of considerably more resources, had usually hidden behind mine.

To understand my reaction it helps to know more about Debbie. I invite you to step further into the crack with me that is currently her life, as told in her own words:

“I know it’s hard to believe so many things. I twice gave to the (Obama) campaign myself back before my husband was laid off in January. When my husband was working we were not upper middle class nor was we middle class according to movement standards. I guess one would say we were at the edge of lower middle class - borderline poverty - because between my husband and I we earned around $45,000 a year. But it paid our bills and enabled us to at least have a taste of the American dream, and we sure didn't have to worry about the basic human needs being cut off.

I remember last November I was at the store and a lady walked up to me all dirty and homeless. She had cards in a bundle that she picked out of the dumpster, where the party store tossed them. She was going up to people looking for help. Most turned her away and kept walking. Before I got out of my car I sat and watched a bit, thinking back to some of my hard times during my life – and boy I had a few –
but never at this poor lady’s level. I thought, heck we bring home $700 a week and we live from pay check to pay check, but we are lucky to have that check. I got out of my car and she came over to me. I gave her $100. She started to cry and she handed me the cards and said “Please, I don't like taking anything for nothing.” I often think of that lady and today I find myself about as close to how that lady lives then I have ever been in my life. I wish I could have done more for her but rest assured went I get back on my feet I will go back to that area and try to look her up and forward what was given to me.

I am Precinct Captain, sworn into office with the Democratic Party on behalf of Obama. Back in January, even after my husband first got laid off it was horrible but not totally horrible because we had a little bit saved and I was lucky to have picked up a babysitting job for awhile until the mom lost her job. My husband put an ad on Craigslist to be a day laborer even though most of his life he worked in an office doing office work. Of course, just being an office tech you don't make a huge amount of money, but he made $18.50 per hour. Now people look at his resume (note from author: I have it) for his type of work and say he is over quantified. No one is willing to pay that per hour, but he is willing to work for $10 per hour and still no one will consider him. He tells me they want someone young, someone that looks good. That may be true but what are people supposed to do?

They go to school to learn a trade, work it for 20 years, then get laid off at 50 and say too bad, so sad. Anyway he was able to go around and do some odd jobs which kept us afloat, but they all come to a stop. And slowly we saw our lives going down the drain. We first lost our car - we just couldn't make the payments anymore. I cried the day my car was taken. We paid on that for 3 years and it cost me $545 a month for three years. I had one year left to owner ship. We knew then it was just a matter of time before the rug was pulled out from under us.

Just before all that I hosted a house meeting for Obama and 48 people showed up including someone from the Obama campaign. I was part of the Obama campaign phone bank, making calls from home to other states like New Hampshire and Iowa for Obama in the primaries, since I have a fixed-price per month national calling plan with my phone.

I started my own home business when we first moved here to Florida; I make homemade soap from goat’s milk. I use to go to craft shows but since the layoff I just don't have the money to do it and I had high hopes for that business; that was my American dream. But like all dreams you have to start off small and work your way up. I made soap every day. I collected natural rainwater from my yard in barrels. I went to a local farm and bought my goat’s milk. I grew a lot of my own herbs. I bought a table and tent and took my soaps on the road. I did pretty good and I wanted to turn my tent into a barn-like setting and get little milk cans to place my soap in them. But here I sit with box after box of soap - hard work put into it and it all come to a stop.

So I took out some of my soaps and put new labels on them to raise some money for the campaign at my house meeting. Everyone bought, even the guy from the Obama campaign bought six of them to send to his family. He said Obama would love what I did with those.

My husband and I have only been married for four years. My former husband, god rest his soul, died from cancer twelve years ago leaving me with small children and a home mortgage. In my last marriage I was owner of a small movie theater in a small town (in Connecticut) for twenty years serving the people that could not afford the movies. For those who could, I ran top movies for $2 and keep candy and popcorn prices to a minimum so everyone could buy it. The town was a very poor town.”

The extent of what I’d been spared in this life was hitting home; the depth of my safe, comfortable, if not cocooned existence I still cannot fully appreciate, may never fully appreciate. What suffering I have borne in my life could not even be called suffering in Debbie’s life. What work I have done would barely qualify as such. Even as I vowed I would never complain again, I knew with pathetic self-loathing that I would fail to keep that promise.

Yet, what I knew more was that I had to go above and beyond trying to help Debbie with a check in the mail. The idea for a social experiment was brewing, an experiment that I prayed would bring her the relief she so desperately needed and me the action I so desperately craved. So with Debbie’s permission, we began.

Next: Part IV: My Brother’s Keeper

Hello America, This Is Your Wake-Up Call (Part II)

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 04:38:00 +0000

Slipping Through The Cracks

Debbie answered my email faster than I expected. Only then did it sink in that I had written to a complete stranger, asking how much money it would take to keep her electricity and phone on. Was I planning to send her some? Yes, I realized, I was prepared to do that. I’m no savior-mission junkie, though I will admit to a tendency toward a bleeding heart. Besides, Barack Obama had more than enough in his campaign coffers, and I’m sure if he knew of her plight, he’d rather I send my money to Debbie than his campaign. As surely as I knew I couldn’t save Debbie, that I couldn’t realistically expect to solve all her problems, I also knew that I could not sit idly by and do nothing. Not when it would be so easy to do something.

At the same time, I wondered, as I’ve so often wondered in my upper-middle-class-sheltered, and by many standards, privileged life, how do people like Debbie get to be on the brink of losing everything after a life of hard work? So many others I’d seen in this position all inevitably had themselves to blame; at least, society painted that picture and those individuals willingly stepped into the role. Some had, through assorted dysfunctions, addictions, or self-destructive behaviors backed themselves into their own miserable corners. Others, despite many advantages, opportunities and much prodding, had taken the easy road and never stepped up to much of anything, let alone basic hard work. Still vast populations of others were mired in ignorance, having either never had the chance for a decent education, or skirting school altogether. None of these scenarios, I was to learn, applied to Debbie. Instead, her life it seemed was one test of fortitude and survival after the next. Her path has been a Himalayan trek the likes of which I hope never to see the trail head, let alone attempt to walk.

I asked for her address. I didn’t know if she’d give it. Despite my nagging skepticism (this was, after all, Florida, a state with more than its fair share of fugitives, vagrants, criminals, con artists and scammers) I realized I was a stranger to her as well. How could, and why would, she trust me to help? But she did, writing:

My God, are you sure? You don't even know me. How could I ever thank you? We are focused on finding work. My husband offers 20 years of experience in his work history as an Administrative Assistant. I never thought it would ever be this hard to find a job. Even $8 hour duties we would take - but nothing, there is nothing. We have sent out 500 resumes in two weeks and only one phone interview. Here is my address (address followed). I wish I could share this story on how Obama women come together. Thank you ever so much from my family’s heart and soul.

I wrote out a check for $150 and mailed it. Before I returned from the mailbox she had written more, gushing forth in her fear that the electric company might actually cut the power any minute. Here, in her own words, is the beginning of Debbie’s story:

I love Senator Obama and right now he is my strength. I live in Bradenton FL. My husband was laid off in January, he worked at a major hospital, we moved here from California and he gave up his 20 years working for the state(of California) to come here for this job and for me so I could be near my daughter.

I am currently raising two kids, one disabled. I was laid off last April and could not sign up for unemployment because I didn't have enough paid in. My (current and second) husband gets $275 a week that is the maximum benefit they will pay. I get a $900 a month Social Security survivor benefit since the death of my first husband. Our total income is $2,000 a month. Our rent is $1,400 and now that we have been late for the past few months my credit is shot to heck. We don't have the money to move, although I will live in a smaller place or apartment if I could get one in case we are evicted from here. They tell me we can't get food stamps, we make too much. What a joke. Had it not been for the democrats my husband’s benefits would be gone by now; thank God for that.

But this is what happened to us. In June we got help paying our light bill through Leap and prior to that I was on a budget with the light company so each month they defer part of the bill in the hot summer months. But because Leap commits to your bill for that month they don't pay for two months and because of that they consider me late and they removed me from the budget and added all the deferred amounts to my normal bill. Now they want $569 in full. My shut off date was yesterday. My phone bill is also due, it’s $120.

We skip buying food as much as we can and stretch what we have but this month I was so out of everything I took a little of my rent money to buy clothes for the kids to return to school and a little food which I have no more of now. My husband gets his unemployment check Thursday for $550. I feel like tossing it in the air and letting whoever catches it take it. I owe that to my landlord. It’s not enough for my lights and if you don't pay the full amount they shut you off, even if you are $20 short. If I spend any of our incoming check on food or gas so my husband can keep looking for work then I am really short. There is no place to get help for hard working people that got laid off. I spent most of today on the street begging people to vote for Obama telling my story and telling people this could happen to you, we never thought it would happen to us.

I cried last night hearing Michelle (Obama) and Teddy (Kennedy) talk at the convention. These people feel our pain and we need them to get in that White House. Thank you for caring and saying nice words. I can't help but cry while I write this. I would give anything for my husband to find a Job. My daughter lost her job last night but her husband is still working so they will ok. It will be hard but they can't help us and I understand. Thank you.

Tears of futility trickled in hot watery tracks down my face as I realized the inadequacy of my token offering to Debbie. I wondered how many other marginalized American women and families were hanging on to the American dream by a thread. How many more have run out of resources, or never had means to begin with, yet have not given up the daily struggle up and out from under their miserable situations? With all odds against them and more waiting in the wings, they fight with incredible strength. Why, I pondered, why are so many given so much only to squander it when at the same time so many do intelligent honorable good with nothing? In this America, this proverbial land of milk and honey where poverty and destitution should be impossible, there is an unsightly epidemic silently spreading. Its name is apathy. And it is slowly but surely killing us like a long undetected cancer.

I have heard of the working poor, casualties of broken social systems, inept government or abandoned spouses and parents, but until Debbie I’d never really seen the magnitude of a daily struggle for survival when your main source of security is pulled out from under you. I had not witnessed the one-step-forward, two-steps-back stumble of constant advancement and defeat. In her story is the story of the silent majority who follow the rules, don’t live off the system, honor a work ethic, fully intend to support themselves, and despite it all, fail. These are not the disaster victims you hear about on the news. These are not the welfare children you read about in the paper. They are not the wounded vets you see on the busy intersection begging for change, or the homeless clustered on city streets staring with an in-your-face look at poverty that appears somehow, despite everything we have in this country, out of the realm of possibility for the average person. These are the people slipping through the cracks, and they need their story told.

So, I decided, I am going to tell it. I am going to get my hands dirty. I am going to get off the sidelines, or at least try. Why? I can only answer that question with two more. “If not you, who?” and “If not now, when?”

Next: Part III: Stepping Into the Crack (Debbie’s Story Continued)

Hello America, This Is Your Wake-Up Call (Part I)

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 03:32:00 +0000

The Beauty of Barack

I’ve never been a political activist. I’ve never even registered with a political party. Over my twenty-four year voting life, I’ve cast ballots for both Democratic and Republican presidential candidates, and once for an Independent (yep, I checked a box for Ross Perot way back when). Although you might consider me a classic swing voter, I consider myself a conscience voter. I vote my values, and I make my choices based on the issues. I evaluate candidates on the merit of their past actions or inactions, and their ability (or lack thereof) to demonstrate sound judgment not only in their decision making, but in who they chose to align and surround themselves with and their lives in general. Perhaps that’s the unique lesson swing voters or independents – call us what you like – bring to the country: assess each round anew rather than declare blind loyalty and you’ll ensure a clearer view.

This election, something is different in me. This year, something moved me to go above and beyond watching, witnessing and analyzing into taking action. That which jarred me loose from my white upper middle class couch is the grass roots galvanizing juggernaut that has propelled Barack Obama to the forefront of the Democratic Party. More than the man himself, that “something” is the energy that has catapulted him – experienced or not – to the current position he is in.

This article is not about Barack Obama per se, and it is not about trying to convince you who to vote for. It is about America, a broken America, an America that for the first time in my forty-something-years has not only seriously begun to crumble, worse, it has broken my heart. It is a look under the thin veil of wishful thinking that is about to be blown off this nation only to fully reveal the angst and suffering that has slowly and long festered beneath. This article, the first in a multi-part series, is an up-close, first-hand look into one of the cracks of our broken America and the story of a remarkable woman I found there. Let me tell you how.

Like I said, this election cycle something is different in me. I took a keen interest in all the candidates from the early stages of their campaigns and paid close attention during primary season, signing up for their emails and registering on their Web sites. In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a marketing coach, consultant and email marketing specialist by profession. I’ve been teaching email marketing seminars for nearly a decade, and have carved out a niche as an expert in the field of how to use it legally, ethically, and responsibly. So I couldn’t resist seeing what the candidates would deliver to my inbox.

From early on it was clear the Obama campaign led the pack in using the Internet, email and social media to galvanize grass roots support. Certainly because of this, I received many email invitations to join various Obama support groups. Like I told you, I’ve never been an activist, but I thought heck, what harm could it do to join a group email list? I could at least see what others were doing. In the spirit of further experimentation I signed up for the Florida Women for Obama email list managed by Barack Obama’s campaign.

The list was particularly active during the Democratic National Convention (DNC), reaching peak buzz the morning of the final day at the DNC. In the midst of reading women’s stories from across my state I felt inspired to write as well, so I did, sending the list a short essay about identity (racial and otherwise) in America which I titled “The Beauty of Barack”. I share this excerpt to provide context for understanding the responses you’re about to read afterwards.

“(here's what I wrote 8/26/08) . . . I notice as I’ve been reading many of the posts that several of you have identified as being of mixed race or as African American. This is interesting to me for several reasons which I’ll get into in a moment. First, I don’t mind sharing my outer identity by letting you know I am about as white, upper middle-class, college educated and vanilla a product of post-50’s American suburbanism as you can get. I’m a mom, married for over a decade, basically living the typical American dream (house, dog, two cars, etc.).

. . . I’ve thought a lot about Barack’s background and marvel at how easily people classify him as “black” instead of white or any other race/ethnicity in his heritage. He is as much white as he is black, so how can he be one or the other? To me, he is the face of America. He is the living manifestation of the Great American Melting Pot. He is all of us, wrapped up in one person, for a reason. So that we will see it is not our different skin colors or cultures or religions that matter, it is our HUMANITY!

. . . A primary reason I’ve thought so much about Barack and the issue of race is that my husband is Mexican. Not Mexican-American, but first generation Mexican, born and raised there. So our daughter is both Mexican and American. Trying to label her one or another is, to me, ridiculous. She is our daughter. She is an amalgamation of two cultures, two languages, two “races” (and if you go back far enough, more than two) the combination of which creates a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Just like Barack, she is the future of America.

The ethnic, racial, and cultural lines longstanding in this country are being blurred, blurred to the point (I hope in my lifetime) where we won’t even be able to classify anyone anymore. We will each identify racially, ethnically, or religiously as we chose, or not at all. And at that point, I believe, we will have made a monumental leap forward not only as a country, but as members of the human race.

. . . not only is there hope for change, Barack Obama IS CHANGE. Like Ghandi said, “Be the change you wish to see in the world”. How refreshing to see a presidential candidate who is not afraid to try. I hope all of us in this group will help undecided voters to see this, to think in this framework about Barack Obama and this election, and not to buy into shallow stereotypes or surface level information about him or any candidate. The time for preserving the status quo is past, because it doesn’t exist anymore, yet some will try to cling dearly to it for fear of change. One thing we can all do is help people get comfortable rather than feel threatened by change.”

Here are some of the responses I received from list members:

“Karen, Thank you for seeing it that way, which is also the way I see it to; Barack is all the colors wrapped up in one, and if the American people doesn't see that its only because they are still looking at color, and are not color blind. You could not have said this better. In this day and time no one should be homeless, hungry, or need medical attention. I pray that saying "United We Stand and Divided We Fall". It's more of the common people than not, and it is time to take a stand for what's right. Oh what a wonderful world this would be.” – Valerie

“Thank you for putting so many of my thoughts into words so eloquently. I do believe we are on the brink of breaking down all of the barriers that prevent us from realizing we are really all ONE! This is an exciting time to be alive and true change is happening. Change for the better.” – Diane, Land O’ Lakes, Florida.

“I just wanted to take a moment and briefly respond to your comments. My background is similar to yours, and I hear your frustration on necessity for most Americans to place an individual in a specific box - and only one box! As you say, Barack is half white and half black, but unfortunately the long history of institutional racism continues classifying anyone with African American ancestors as black. It's not right! If I was to say I am only of Irish descent, I would ignore my English and German ancestors. I pray that under an Obama eight year administration we can make great strides to stop this mainly racist and prejudiced behavior! Thanks for sharing your story and your insights!” - Cathleen (Walden University PhD candidate)

“Thank you for this eloquent tribute. I'm a 65-year-old version of you, but a lifelong Democrat. And this is the man I've been waiting for. Your take on race and culture is only slightly different than mine. I appreciate all that you've said. Please share your faith and enthusiasm with as many friends and neighbors as you can.” – Dianne, Brooksville, FL

Not surprising, you might say. These women are all Obama supporters or they wouldn’t be joining a discussion list supporting the man let alone visiting his Web site. Their responses bolstered my sense of hope, inflated my ego, and sparked my enthusiasm. All well and good, certainly, but I was preaching to the choir. Basking in a warm glow, I scrolled to the next message from the list and there it was; the atypical response, the one that wouldn’t let me just relax into more feel-good cozy comfort and then click “delete”. It revealed that the chink in our American armor is just the visible part of a gaping hole – no, many gaping holes. What follows is the email message in its entirety, editing only for spelling:

“I too have hope. My American dream is about over. My husband lost his job. I have two kids, at any moment my lights will be turned off, come Fri. my phone and computer will no longer be working. Today we are heading to the food bank in hopes to find food. So things look dim for us, though my husband works hard daily as well as myself to find work. We pound the market daily without much hope. My last hope and prayer is Obama though I may be homeless on Election Day I will sit with the rest of the women and stand up for our future for my children to bring back what once was a wonderful country and can be again. Though I have nothing and (am) on the brink of heading to the streets (because of) my belief and faith in Obama I chose to donate $25 twice to his cause. I walk the streets signing up voters. Volunteer my time in every way possible. I hosted an event in my home now that the lights are dimming for us fast. I will not give up hope on this Man because hope is all we have right now. I will most likely miss Obama on Thursday night due to lack of power. But that night I will hold a vision knowing what he will say and how he will change the lives of those in the future. I had the great honor of seeing Obama in St Petersburg (FL) and though a lot of things may be taken from my family they can't take away my hope. So with that I say. Yes we can.” – Debbie, Bradenton, FL

Before my rational mind could kick in, I found myself typing a reply. "How much do you need to pay the electric bill?" I wrote her. Thus began my connection to Debbie, my glimpse into her troubled life, and my journey into action. For me now, the beauty of Barack Obama is much more than everything I already wrote. It is the catalytic power either of him, the movement he started, or both – I can’t be sure which – to forge connections among strangers and somehow, despite even the deepest of ingrained tendencies, compel us into being the change we all so desperately wish to see.

The questions were obvious. “If Debbie can still have hope, how can anyone give up? And if Debbie can walk the talk, what on earth am I doing sitting here on the sidelines?”

I was about to get my answer.

Next up: Part II – Slipping Through the Cracks (Debbie’s Story)

In Celebration of Cracked Pots Everywhere

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 18:43:00 +0000

This came across my email last week:

"A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on either end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, but the cracked pot was miserable, ashamed that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, the cracked pot spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you." "Why? What are you ashamed of?" asked the bearer. "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt compassion and said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path." Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming many beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That is because I have always known about your crack. Accepting what was given to me, I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

- Author Unknown

What I hope this will do for you is what it did for me. Instead of holding myself hostage for all I haven’t lived up to and my own usually impossible high standards of what I “should be” by now, I can appreciate my cracks. I know if I was whole in all ways the flowers in my life - like my daughter for one - would probably not have grown. Now I can see how the cracks allow us to slowly and lovingly water the lives around us and that this is, perhaps, as it should be. What seeds have been planted that only your cracks can water?

We're all cracked in some way. Usually only we ourselves notice these cracks, while everyone else sees and enjoys the roadside flowers. What a blessing to realize you are cracked, for then you have the chance to grow whole in the ways you choose, or stay as you are. So celebrate your cracks along with their results, the nurturing they provide to countless lives. What more wonderful reminder can there be of our intricate and inexplicable connections, and that nothing - no thing - is wasted?

Writer's Retreat Epilogue - Real Writers

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 16:54:00 +0000

It was the end of a creative, spiritual, and emotional juggernaut of a week. I was exhausted and cleansed on many levels, ready to return home. And still there was a final delight in store, as I counted myself lucky to be the only participant riding from Taos to the Albuquerque airport with the retreat leaders, Suzanne and Jennifer. This twist of fate came about after I asked Suzanne whether leaving early would be possible, since my shuttle refused to pick me up later than 11:00 a.m. and the retreat ended at noon. Not wanting anyone to miss the retreat closing (and how right she was) she generously offered to give me a ride with her and Jennifer, who were leaving immediately after the retreat ended and going straight to ABQ like me.

I didn't need to be asked twice. Inside I was clapping my hands and feeling the flutter of stomach butterflies like I'd won a date with Tad Hamilton. Because even though you probably don't know who Suzanne and Jennifer are, and perhaps have never heard of them or their books before (I admit, I hadn't), they had quickly become my idols. They are "real writers", professional published authors, making a living from writing. They are live manifestations of the dream I have for myself. And as I was about to learn - as Us Magazine (or whichever celebrity rag it is) tells us - they are "Celebrities . . . Just Like Us".

At noon on Friday we packed the car, barely fitting everything, and drove out of Taos; they in the front seat, me in the back with the extra suitcase and Suzanne's guitar. Known for an Olympic ability to run my mouth I resolved to be a polite and gracious passenger. I stayed quiet, waiting for natural openings in the coversation to ask my still unanswered writing and publishing questions. Much as I would have liked to suck two and a half hours worth of free coaching from them, I could see they were tired like me. As a seminar leader myself, I know how demanding live teaching can be and how it feels when your event is over. It's a relief, and you're happy for the work to be done and, hopefully, done well. Frankly, it's a pleasure to step out of your professional shoes and just be yourself, maybe even get to know the people from your event socially.

So that is what they, and I, did - we simply enjoyed the moment for what it was, not trying to make it something more, not trying to cram in any last minute anything. We three working moms chatted about our daughters (mine younger than theirs', so again I was student to their teacher), relationships, men, travel and the normal minutia of daily life. Like "regular people" we compared likes and dislikes, places we've been, things our kids did. Like "regular people" we kept our eye on the time and traffic. And like "regular people" hungry and rushed on the road, we scouted out a bite to eat. After dismissing the Burger Kings, Taco Bells and McDonalds, a "Sonic" sign magically loomed ahead. "They have Sonic here?" I asked in amazement. "What's Sonic?" said Suzanne, after which Jennifer and I were only too happy to initiate her into the tasty world of Toaster Sandwiches, Cream Slushes and Oceanwater.

Wolfing down my bacon cheese patty melt in the back seat, I smiled to myself and laughed on the inside. Who from the retreat would believe I was horking down burgers from a sixty's drive- in on a New Mexico highway with Jen and Suzanne? After a week of mostly vegetarian, delicious wholesome food, Suzanne said it best, "This is exactly what we need."

Without having to force fit them, I did get my questions in and along with the answers, some good advice. Infinitely more valuable, I had the chance to spend one on one time with these amazing women; to know them in a social setting; and to learn their business challenges, identity crises, growth journeys and multi-plexed life roles were similar to my own. As we pulled up to my terminal at the Albuquerque airport, Suzanne gracious to the last by offering (despite my protests) to return the car after dropping me off, I wondered how I could possibly communicate what they had done for me this week. How could a few words convey the magnitude of what they had created? Often during our long drive I had the sense they didn't realize the impact of their own efforts, yet how I wanted them to.

As the car slowed to the curb all I could manage was a hastily gushed, "You guys are the first real writers, you're the first professional published authors I have ever gotten the chance to really know so thank you. It's been my pleasure." They responded in tandem with "And you see? Our lives aren't that different from your own." Indeed, although we have varied careers, although they're further down the road I wish to travel, we're all in the same messy, unpredictable soup together. It boils, it simmers, it gets stirred; but it is the most spontaneous and unpredictable of circumstances which savor it best. Like the simple addition of some greasy burgers and creamy shakes shared by a bunch of moms from far corners of a country meeting at the crossroads of a Sonic somewhere in the middle.

Writers' Retreat Day 7 - Full Circle

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 18:45:00 +0000

In Taos, it is impossible to decide which time of day is most beautiful.

The sun kisses me softly awake as it has every morning in this precious enclave, caressing me and then nudging me gently from slumber. I rise to feel the warmth of the hundred year wood floor on my bare feet, timbers that seem to radiate heat even through the cool of the night.

In the stillness of dawn, the butterflies and grasshoppers rest motionless on the sagebrush, drying the dew on their wings in the sun’s first gentle rays.

Then the hummingbirds flit from their nests, seeking the sweet nectar they must sip to float, buzz and flutter from yellow to purple bloom.

Soon the striking black-and-white magpies call out to one another and dive from tree to tree in their mystical mating dance.

Later the clouds make shadow patterns over the mesas, chasing one another across the surface of the high desert. They might thicken and team over the mountains, crowding into gray clusters and thundering a warning as they approach to deliver a brief afternoon rain shower followed by an impossibly vibrant rainbow.

In epilogue, the sun commences its daily descent, splaying orange then red, pink and finally lavender beams of light across the landscape; across my eager face.

On a cloudless night, the stars twinkle on their black velvet backing like diamonds and the Milky Way arcs across the sky in a spray of thick diamond dust.

In Taos, it is impossible to determine where you end and the world begins.

We have basked in the light of this place and let it seep through our cracks until we were ready to throw open ourselves to it.

We have bathed in the waters and springs of this earth and had its dust caked upon our soles.

We have heard the whisper of the wind, beckoning us to listen to its songs and carry forth its wisdom.

We have lost ourselves, but found something truer than who we thought we were when we arrived.

And like links in a chain, we have joined one to another to the next and strengthened the bonds that unite these seemingly separate parts into a circular whole.

In Taos one is completed, as we have been, forged whole by sunshine and shadow, water and dust, solitude and sisterhood, laughter and tears, silence and sound.

We who have come to Taos lost, asleep, broken or afraid find we have made – together and alone – a most sacred journey.

Like this reverent place in its perfect cycle, we have come full circle.

Indelibly linked, yet now physically separate, we walk out from our circle’s edge, expanding it from every point in every direction. Healed where we did not realize we were broken, we emerge into the world.

Now, our connections hold fast, sealed by the whispered wisdom of one another and a force greater than ourselves. Now, at long last, we return to live in the once abandoned sanctuaries of our newly opened hearts.

Writers' Retreat Day 6 - Guiding Wisdom

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 18:41:00 +0000

The Writer's Spa Retreat daily sessions are loaded with plenty of practical, tried and true techniques and tips for better writing, most of which have been sorely lacking in my life. From getting started to deepening and thickening to selling your work, all the must-have, career-level knowledge is there. Yet as writers know, sometimes it is not outer - but inner - guidance that proves most valuable. What I have quickly grown to love about this experience is how naturally the two are woven together. Today, the inner guidance poured forth in droves, and not just for me.

But I can’t speak for others, so here are my experiences. Take them for what they’re worth to you, or don’t take them at all. The only thing I can promise you is I’ve written them exactly as they occurred – no embellishments.

Let me backtrack a moment. The inner wisdom really began to flow not today but earlier this week during Monday morning’s guided meditation called “Discover Your Soul Purpose as a Writer”. I quickly “dropped in” to this beautifully vocalized virtual vision quest, and what came in response to the questions asked was strikingly clear. Afterwards we were to write down our visions – or lack thereof – and a bit to my surprise I shared what I had seen and been told with the group.

Today, though, the guidance was more concentrated and totally unexpected. I thought we’d begin the morning with a short fifteen minute meditation – I was assuming it would be brief and probably silent. It was instead an exercise in channeled writing, something I don’t recall ever doing. Again I quickly entered into a meditative, almost trance-like state. (Even when I first began meditating on a regular basis a few years ago, getting into a relaxed state was always easy for me and today was no exception). After just a minute or so, our instructor asked us to start writing whatever flowed. My eyes half-open, I began to scrawl across the page in a hand remarkably unlike my own.

She invited us to ask questions. Like the guided visualization earlier in the week, the answers were clear and immediate. Though I could barely decipher the handwriting I was of course aware of what it said, since I could mentally "hear it" as clearly as if it been spoken aloud.

I felt the tears sliding down my face even before we were fully finished. The guidance was profound and overpowering in both clarity and message. As the exercise came to a close, I made a beeline for my room, thankfully as close as possible to the group meeting area, and broke into choking, freeing sobs.

Come afternoon I wondered about the reading I had previously scheduled with another retreat participant who described herself as an Angel Therapy Practitioner (yes, I had to ask what that is). She explained she helps people talk to their angels in order to receive direction and healing. Like a medium is a telephone to the dearly departed, Amanda did the same but it was angels, not other entities, speaking through her. I’d asked how she got into it; “Kicking and screaming” was her answer. For her it was an undeniable calling. Good enough for me. Never having had a psychic or energetic reading in my life, I was curious and figured if there was a week for divine guidance, this was surely it. Besides, these were angels I’ll be talking to. Keeping my skepticism alive, I decided to give it a try.

Doubly depleted from both the morning’s emotional release and a full week now waning to an end, I recovered a bit by the time we sat down at four o’clock. I managed to pull some questions together, not wanting to waste my, nor Amanda’s, time. I avoided the frivolous “When will I finally get an iPhone?” or “Will I win the lottery?” amateurs and went straight for the big existential guns, asking about my soul purpose, future as a writer, what I could learn from various people in my life. All I can tell you is, with Amanda knowing nothing about me other than that my husband is from Mexico (which she had overheard during a shared meal, and which had no relevance to what I was asking), the messages I received were spot on. My inner suspicion ever vigilant, I did my best not to talk, nod my head in agreement, or otherwise “lead the witness” during the process. Despite my caution, what was conveyed not only validated that which was revealed in the Soul Purpose meditation earlier in the week but also, perhaps most remarkable, almost verbatim restated what I’d transcribed in the morning’s channeled writing.

This time, despite my awe, tears didn’t come. I felt instead a sense of resigned certainty followed by a wave of gratitude. “How many more wake-up calls do I need, for God’s sake?” I wondered. It was time to get on with it. If I didn’t get the message by now I wasn’t ever going to get it. Yet I was to receive one third and final validation before the week was out.

During our closing moments together, the extraordinary women I’ve spent this retreat with gathered in two concentric circles – those on the inner sitting in straight-backed chairs and those on the outer slowly moving around them one by one. The women on the inside were to sit quietly with eyes closed while those on the outside rotated counterclockwise and whispered to each her affirmation statement which we had individually just been asked to craft.

I was on the outside first, so I could see the tears a-flowin' and the Kleenex quickly running out. Once on the inside, I basked in the joy of the beautiful truths whispered in my ear and the strong, nurturing hands on my shoulders as each woman lovingly shared her wisdom. “I am infinitely creative”, “I am a source of inspiration and love”, “You are enough”, and the timeless classic, “I Am”. But it was the small, heavily-accented grandmother from Chile who, in her dark chocolate voice, broke my personal floodgates open with “You are a gift from God asking you to express his blessing to others through you.”

The truth of it, and the fact that for most of my life I've denied that truth, leveled me. It also made me realize that when it comes down to it, when you get past the daily minutia of human life, aren’t we all God's gifts, here to express that through our unique, individual selves?

Sometimes when you’ve been too asleep, too tired, or too afraid to listen the universe repeats itself so often you can’t help but hear, if only you are willing.

How many wake-up calls do you need? Only you can answer, but if you’re finding yourself hitting the snooze button, consider this one.

Writers' Retreat Day 5 - In the Company of Sisters

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 04:07:00 +0000

We gather outside the Mabel Dodge Luhan house at 6:15 a.m. The conversation ripples and the ripples spread into waves in no time, despite the early hour. We wonder if we'll see the group fifteen minutes ahead, and the six of us jokingly deem ourselves the lazier, sleepier, yet younger, funnier, and more scintillating crew. We share travels and dreams, life philosophies and experiences on the way over to Las Cruces, the avenue leading to the cross.

So enthralled in our conversation, we miss the turn entirely and wander on. At some point intuition kicks in and we backtrack, finding our way anew just as the previous group of walkers is returning. We pass them, fully accepting their friendly chiding, and continue to the cross in the middle of the desert. It is just behind the lodge, but we've taken the long way 'round as we were instructed.

There is so much newness to see and hear that we miss some of the details along the way, but no matter. The cross is much plainer than we imagined and the desert with its head on view of Taos mountain much more spectacular. We spot the shortcut across Pueblo land and decide like teenage rebels to take the rutted dirt road back to Mabel Dodge, laughing like giddy girls on the way over and as nimble as them when we bend and bow our way through the barbed wire fence.

I’ve been part of predominantly or exclusively female groups many times in my life, but truth be told it’s been a while. I grew up in a house of mostly women and have two blood sisters of my own. Upon leaving home for college I first lived on an all-female floor in the dorm, then joined a sorority and lived in the house for three years. I treasure my female friends from both high school and college – each small, close-knit groups of women, geographically scattered though we are. So I forget - I have forgotten, that is - the power of the company of sisters until this week when I found myself awash in it anew and treasuring every moment with these unlikely guides on a journey of a very different kind.

Later that same day after the walk to the cross we visit the Ojo Caliente mineral hot springs about an hour away. It's a special treat to ride with the retreat leaders, a privileged insight for myself and another passenger into the real lives of real published book authors. There is laughing, questioning, funny stores, talk about the kids, dozing and the requisite wrong turn as the result of the navigator half asleep at her post. We successfully do make it to the springs, and I see for the first time my cohorts of all different ages, races, shapes and sizes in their bathing suits. I also see, for perhaps the first time, the beauty of these female bodies - some young and svelte, others old and withered - and then further to the whole essence of each person, loving the entirety of it, cellulite (including my own) and all.

On the way back we stop on the bridge over the Rio Grande, which cuts a 1,000 ft. gorge through this magical land for God only knows how many hundreds or thousands of miles. Those with acrophobia tentatively baby step their way out toward the center point of the bridge where two lookout platforms are built into each side. I, not having this fear, bound straight for the platforms, for the full experience of peering down to the bottom and the best vista of the river's course through the giant canyon it has carved for millenia. We take one another's pictures, marvel at the enormity of the gorge, and hold the hands of those who are scared. I secretly wish that I could sprout wings, swoop down into the abyss, and soar.

Another day there is an impromptu shopping trip to Clairworks, a local jewelry maker's shop talked up by past retreat participants. We indulge our girly desires to the fullest, decorating ourselves with the one of a kind silver, bronze, stone and gold creations like five-year-olds playing dress-up. Everyone leaves buying at least something, even if just a pair of simple earrings. Across the street we spot an international import and design shop, carrying a variety of antiques from Afghan communal eating platters to northern Indian tea chairs to wool prayer rugs. The owner, Ivelisse, is an exotic looking woman who appears as though she could be from any of the regions of her wares, but turns out to be Puerto Rican. She does her job well, I leave with two antique tea chairs and a sizable enough dent in my credit card, but no regrets.

Well into the retreat now, I've spent several days with a group of thirty women, some of whom I know have become new and I hope will remain lasting friends, but all of whom I have had the pleasure of sharing the journey with. I have laughed with them, cried with them, ate with them, sang with them, walked with them, talked with them. We have both taught and learned together, healing and growing simply by virtue of being in each another's nurturing presence. I've basked in the wisdom of elders, the vitality of youth, and the light of them all. Through these extraordinary women, I have come to feel at home because I have come to find that place within myself.

Writers' Retreat Day 4 - Writing Naked

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 03:14:00 +0000

Exposed
Soul laid bare
Writing naked, no holds barred

Morning sun gently caresses
Hidden nooks and dim crevices
Brightens, intensifies
The further down the path I go

Pushing to the edge
Of the mighty river's gorge
Nervous on the approach
To the magnificent cliff

There at last
Out on a limb
Dangling feet
Into open space

Rejoicing, floating
Weightless in a liquid pool
Nearly nude
Swaddled in warm comfort

Intensity released
Balance restored
The effortless way
Reveals me
Exposed

Creativity Spa - Writers' Retreat Day 3

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 03:41:00 +0000

I work frantically drawing the outline of leaves on small cardboard price tags and crumpling white legal pad sheets into tree branches. Twenty five minutes to go and I still have to cut the leaves out, tape the branches to the trunk and tie the leaves onto the branches. It's day three of The Writer's Spa retreat and I'm in the throes of the afternoon creativity exercise. The vision for this three-dimensional creation is coming faster and more furiously than my hands can work with the rudimentary scissors, glue, paper, tape, price tags and pen that are my sole materials for the project.

I name my creation "The Tree of Writers' Gifts", deciding each leaf will represent a unique gift, and quickly brainstorm as many "gifts" as I can come up with in a minute. Faith, hope, love, creativity (can't forget the obvious!) reflection, curiosity, grace, insight, and a few more I don't remember now. Time is flying and I have to finish in the thirty minutes allotted. My cell phone alarm buzzes - I'm done just in time and head back to the group meeting room.

As my fellow retreaters file in and volunteer to present their creations, I marvel in the depth and variety of what has been molded in so short a time from our meager ingredients. Some received tin foil, some toilet paper, one clothes pins, another paper clips. Every woman had just one unique material, yet the constructions that came out of them were awe-inspiring.

Happy as I was with my tree, I quickly realized my fixation on sculpture when I saw women create in forms that hadn't even crossed my mind, fabricating everything from poems to chalk designs, from games to performance art, from dimensional wall installations to an essay that would rival a Pulitzer-prize winning piece. Clearly, I thought, this is no ordinary group; but I suspected that from the beginning. Today went way beyond validating that suspicion and made clear the exceptional energy, ingenuity, and community I am privileged yet mystified to find myself in the midst of. Yes, we are bonding and the ties are powerful.

This retreat is called The Writer's Spa because it is exactly that - as nurturing, healing, and invigorating to the writer as a spa visit is to the body. It is open only to women, and now I understand why. The connections women make to the people in their lives are no mystery, but the opportunity to forge those connections in an accelerated atmosphere brings forth an intensity and depth of power, wisdom, and support that we as these same women are so often deprived of. We see it in little ways with sisters, friends, even co-workers, but so seldom at its point of full potential. Let me assure you, when collective feminine energy such as this is marshaled and released unbridled into the world, the possibilities are quite simply, infinite.

A special treat for today was a workshop and performance by two musicians who host a creativity show on National Public Radio. Viv and John's weekly show The Art of Song airs in 160 markets to over 150,000 listeners. They live near Taos, and their brand of soulful folk music was both an audio delicacy and an inspiration. I let the sounds and rhythms of Taos wash over me today. I heard them in Viv's Native American wails within her songs, in the thunder over the mesa, and in the afternoon rain drops. I savored the rushing stream after the downpour, the call of the magpies, and the wind through the white birches. The spirit world spoke to me clearly today through communion with song, with my sisters, and with nature. What is said is for me to know, and now to bring forth into the world.

Writers' Retreat Day 2

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 04:34:00 +0000

I sit alone in the still darkness of a Taos night, quieter than most places I spend my life and darker than most nights I've had the pleasure to enjoy in solitude like this one. It's the end of day two at my writer's retreat and I've spent much of the day contemplating the concept of a retreat but mostly, joyously living it.

Nurturing was the mantra of the day for me personally. I can't remember the last time I felt so completely taken care of, comforted and totally protected. It's almost like being a baby again - all my basic survival needs provided for and my happiness and comfort someone else's responsibility - heck, priority. It's clear I haven't given myself nearly enough nurturing over my adult years, although my current lifestyle affords much more than most women can give themselves. Maybe the real truth is, I haven't given my writing much nurturing. Actually, I haven't give it any.

Today that changed.

The nurturing has come in so many layers. First the place - anyone who has been to Taos doesn't need a description, plus I haven't even seen the center of town yet so I couldn't give you one if I tried. But I can describe how this space feels. It is naturally unspoiled, geographically expansive and the vistas are breathtaking. The altitude is about 7,000 feet, so the sun is unfiltered and the blue skies brilliant when they're wide open. It holds a stillness and serenity lacking in most of the modern world, as if Taos keeps time to a different cadence, which I believe it likely does.

Then there's the "creature comforts" - the lodging is, as I mentioned in yesterday's blog, historical, creatively inspiring, intimate and unique. The food is home cooked from fresh (probably home or locally grown) ingredients and the menus are varied. Plenty of baked goods, coffee and tea are on hand (surely they knew I was coming!) and with three full meals a day, I had to have just soup, bread and dessert tonight (you didn't think I was going to pass on dessert, did you?) Too full a stomach at today's yoga made for a light meal. Also, no TVs anywhere and no phones in the rooms, although everyone has their cell phone and obviously they have wireless Internet, but just from the lobby.

Did I mention the yoga? Yes, daily one hour, 15 minutes sessions with an inspired and loving instructor, a woman who is clearly the embodiment, in the form of a yoga teacher, of the divine potential we're all here to tap into. I actually fell asleep during the last twenty minutes of shavasana today - woke myself up snoring which is how I know. That's okay, I needed it. Besides, the woman next to me was out cold until the rest of us were halfway out the door! Ah, the nurturing.

Our time is brilliantly divided between writing and coaching sessions, group meals and free time, evening group sharing and unstructured casual conversation. Today we had to state our conditions of satisfaction for the week; that is, what conditions need to be met in order for each of us to leave satisfied at the end? My standards are low. Just being here topped my list. I'm already satisfied, so I raised the bar and threw in some specific goals (you know me, there's always more!) I'd like to accomplish during this precious time.

This is what a retreat is, I now see, a chance to fall back from the daily complex structure of the life I've created and remove - physically, mentally, and psychologically - to a purer, nurturing, nourishing place. To a place of being rather than doing; where doing can come from essence rather than obligation. To relax, re-establish contact with myself, and renew. As for where and how I was needing nurturing, this retreat couldn't possibly be better if I'd designed it myself.

Well, maybe it could. Eckhart Tolle could show up to lead a few guided meditations, and Paulo Coelho could come and read his parables, then each could give us signed copies of their books. Maybe George Clooney will materialize and provide screenwriting tips for those who are interested and free massages for the rest.

I'm kidding of course. Everything I could have hoped for is right here for the taking, if I am by ready and open to receiving. It's not often you get to have your cake and eat it too, but a retreat is one of those times. And I am thoroughly enjoying mine. In fact, it is utterly delicious.

Writers' Retreat: Perspectives From A First Timer - Day 1

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 04:10:00 +0000

It's been months since I wrote for this blog, so what better time than the first day at a writers' retreat? Here I am in Taos, New Mexico at one of the most exquisite national historic landmarks of a house for miles around (location to remain undisclosed for now). Let me just say the inspiration couldn't be much better - D.H. Lawrence described it in his writings, and it was known in its heyday as a haven for artists - literary and otherwise - from Georgia O'Keefe to Ansel Adams. I could go on about the location, but the facts that it's a flawless reflection of its surroundings and perfectly designed for retreats will suffice for now.

I've never been to one of these "writing things". I came upon this one completely by accident, or so it would seem. Through a six-degrees-of-separation chain of events, my "regular job" led me here. Or so it would seem.

We're a group of 30 or so women from diverse walks of life and all ages with the majority somewhere in the neighborhood of age 50. But some common themes quickly emerged during the opening session introductions. Most (myself included) had been through a few recent years of transformative change. Most (myself included) have a stated, obvious or growing interest in the spiritual path. All are here to explore and express their creativity. One thing was obvious: the sense of community is strong. Together I know we will share a sacred space.

The workshop lasts until Friday and it's a retreat for me personally on many levels. Although I registered for it months ago, I've been so busy with my "regular job" that I hadn't given it much thought until the past week when it came time to start putting clothes in a suitcase. Honestly I was just focused on getting some projects done on deadline and physically getting here. The mere contemplation of a week without laundry, meal preparation or parenting duties was retreat enough. The prospect of a visit to the southwest which I love, plus the destination being an area I've longed to see and never have (and I've been to practically every state except New Mexico by now) was icing.

On top of that, the fact that the two organizers already saw some of my work (required for submission to attend) and told me to come anyway was beyond my hopes. My cake is already baked, frosted and decorated - now I see I am here to enjoy it and in the process, nourish myself. (Yes, cake can be nourishing. Trust me.)

What emerged tonight was a sense that all of us here were compelled here. All are in a rebirthing process, exploring and discovering our true essence, tapping into our hidden and infinite power. Many have been on the path of living for someone else until now, postponing hopes and dreams or chasing a conditioned, false definition of goals and aspirations. Others are at transition points and don't know where they're headed, but are willing to find out. In that, we share both the fear of the unknown, and the courage to go forth into it.

Do the two published-author retreat leaders know that they're offering much more than a writing retreat? They've been doing this long enough that I suspect they do. Because for me and the women I've met today, this is about much more than writing. This is a soul conference. We will not emerge ungraced.

As I'm running on my last fumes after a 19 hour day and two time zone changes, what I know for sure is this. I've never felt more in the right place at the right time than right now. My gratitude for this gift is profound. I could say I've given it to myself, and that would certainly honor the self-nourishing spirit of this week; after all I earned the money to come here, paid for it and made all sorts of preparations to take the time off. But the reality is a bit different. The universe opened a door and I finally, after years of thinking about it, walked through. I can think of no better gift to give oneself than that.

Ten Minutes of Gratitude for Planet Earth

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 18:38:00 +0000

It's been well documented that expressing gratitude is essential to happiness. In several recent books published about happiness, such as Sonja Lyubomirsky's "The How of Happiness" and countless Oprah shows, we have been shown time and time again that giving thanks moves people from thinking about what they are lacking to a state of appreciation for what they have. It also just feels good. Mainstream movies like The Secret drive the point home further by explaining that our thoughts actually generate energy waves which travel outward to initiate the process of manifesting what we think into reality; positive into positive, negative into negative. We really do create our own reality, whether we want to believe it or not.

So I've been thinking. Earth Day 2008 is coming up on April 22. Wouldn't it be great if we could use gratitude to help create a better Earth and make ourselves happier in the process? To help heal the catastrophic environmental destruction we've inflicted in merely a century? We know by now we humans have poisoned, pillaged, and harmed much of the planet. There can be little argument that damage has been done. But we've also been told - or at least hold out hope - that it's not too late.

Let's help undo the damage. Let’s show the Earth, a living planetary organism, how grateful we are for all it gives us. Let’s see what happens when we do the opposite of what we usually do with the Earth – take it for granted – and instead express our gratitude at large. While there are thousands if not tens of thousands of Earth Day events planned worldwide (see http://ww2.earthday.net/~earthday/node/80), the one I am launching will not only be the easiest to participate in, but perhaps the most universal. It's called "10 Minutes of Gratitude for Planet Earth". This is what you do:

On Earth Day April 22, 2008 at 12:00 noon in any time zone, sit quietly and for ten minutes and think of all the places, experiences, and moments of Earthly nature you have ever enjoyed. Feel grateful for each of them.
To make your participation official, sign up here ww2.earthday.net/~earthday/node/8035.

Yep, that's it.

You don't have to go anywhere, give any money, recruit anyone or receive any solicitations. Okay, I understand it sounds too easy. That's mostly because we've been trained to believe anything effective is difficult or complicated. Yet usually the best things in life are not just free, they're exquisitely simple. Nonetheless, for those wishing additional information, here is how I see this working as well as some useful guidelines:

Sit in a quiet space in which you will not be interrupted by people, electronics, or anything else.
Ideally, sit outside facing the beauty of nature. Look at your garden, a pond, lake, ocean, mountain or park. If you're city-bound, find a tree or plant and focus on it. Even look at the sky, clouds or sun. The point is to keep the Earth's natural beauty and not a man-made creation in your vista.
Keep your eyes open or closed as you wish.
To begin, focus your thoughts only on your favorite moments in nature courtesy of planet Earth. These could range from a visit to a site of natural beauty like the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, the Himalayas or the beach to a favorite sunset or sunrise you remember, a favorite hike, snorkeling or dive trip, or camping trip. Even the most urban-bound residents of New York, London, or Tokyo have seen rivers, trees, and mountains from their cities. I believe everyone will have something they can focus on, even if simply a patch of sky above them. Better yet if you're in a big city and can get away for a bit, do it.
As you focus on your pictures of the Earth's natural beauty, feel a sense of gratitude for these experiences, thoughts and remembrances. Thank the Earth not only for your memories and experiences, but also for the sustenance in the form of food, water, air and shelter that it has provided you.
If you wish to go beyond ten minutes of gratitude, focus your remaining time on holding a vision of a healed Earth. Picture the Amazon rain forests re-growing. See clear-running streams and rivers. Imagine beaches without a plastic bag, bottle or iota of trash visible on them. Visualize natural abundance and human existence in harmony with our planet. Do this as long as you wish.

Yes, this is idealistic, although not without reason or need. Nonetheless I can hear the doubters already thinking "what about the two-thirds of the planet's population living in extreme poverty or wretched circumstances? They won't even hear about this, or care to do it. So why bother?"

True, but I'm not trying to appeal to them, and perhaps this will convince you. Physicists tell us that according to the laws of wave mechanics, the intensity of any kind of waves that are in phase with one another is the square of the sum of the waves. So, five waves in phase together are twenty-five times as intense as one wave; ten waves are one hundred times as intense, etc. Since physics has also proven that thought is energy, and all energy occurs as waves, then if only 80,000 people are all thinking the same thing simultaneously, they are as powerful as the entire population of the earth (around 6.1 billion people).

Since 80,000 times 80,000 equals 6,400,000,000 (6.4 billion), then 80,000 people all believing the same thing should be enough to change the planetary reality. At least for the moment.

Let's err on the safe side. Let's make it a million people and see what that does. Please participate by simply marking your calendar and planning to take ten minutes of gratitude at noon on April 22. It certainly won’t cause any harm, and hopefully it will do a world of good (pun intended!) Better yet, help spread word of this event by contacting your schools, churches, and community organizations. Link to this article on your Web sites and blogs, or forward it to your friends and colleagues. It's so easy to help, won't you? I know the Earth will be glad you did.

Karen Talavera is a writer who enjoys voicing her opinions and reflections on both issues of the day and transformative personal experiences, many of which are brought about by extensive travel. Through her essays and articles she seeks to elevate social consciousness and generate national and global awareness of issues impacting life on Earth today. She lives and writes in south Florida.

Bye-Bye Plastic: Grocery Bags Get Greener

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 04:27:00 +0000

It’s a small thing for each of us, but a huge thing when you add us all up. I refer to the impending departure of plastic bags from your local grocery, drug, and/or convenience store. At last the day has come, and for me that day is today.

I just made my weekly pilgrimage to the local Publix, the dominant grocery chain in my neck of the woods (Florida) to be greeted by – at long last – reusable fabric grocery bags for sale at a mere 99 cents each. I selected four bags and put them in my empty cart. They were not only incredibly roomy, but well constructed and even fairly attractive (see photo). It was such a small act, but it felt like deliverance.

You see, my husband has been complaining about plastic grocery bags for years now. He’s become more vocal about it since the EU and later San Francisco banned them last year. He works for a French company and travels to Europe several times a year. After every trip to the home office I have to hear about our wasteful American ways, and the inevitable commentary on all those plastic grocery bags we use comes up. Despite the fact that most grocery stores offer plastic bag recycling bins, and that we use them, he remains on his soap box. But not for long.

I agree with him, and have long contemplated pulling out the seemingly self-propagating pile of canvas promotional bags and beach tote bags we’ve accumulated over the years and bringing those with me on my weekly grocery shopping trips. Yet I inevitably forget. Or the bags aren’t wide enough. Or some other lame excuse. Unlike fashionable celebrities, we’re not in the income bracket to afford $300 Coach or $1,000 Hermes bags (nor are we supportive of raising and killing more cows to produce them). So I’ve been patiently waiting for someone to corner the market on reusable shopping bags.

Apparently they have. The tiny tags on the bags I purchased from Publix say they’re from www.greenbags.info. The Green Bag company is literally in good company, with other firms like Sage Green (www.environmentbags.com) creating mass market solutions for the cost-conscious and lazy of us. I applaud them. Make it effortless and practically free to ditch the petroleum based, sea turtle-suffocating plastic bags we mindlessly use and who wouldn’t switch?

Lest you’ve read this far and are still not convinced to switch, let me share my astonishment at how my four new reusable fabric bags somehow held the same amount of groceries normally contained in nine or ten plastic bags. Even heavy juice bottles, glass wine bottles, cans and cleaning products fit nicely and safely into the new bags. Perhaps the most pleasant surprise came when I quickly realized how much easier it was to carry four – heavy through they were – rather than ten bags from the car into the house. Finally, somehow with fewer bags the groceries seemed to put themselves away faster as well. Who would have guessed?

Last week I was on my way out of a Midwestern city waiting for my flight in a quiet airport terminal when my snack bar neighbor, with whom I enjoyed a meager airport dinner, pointed to the bar TV. The channel was airing a news story about the harm plastic bags do to our oceans and sea creatures. I mentioned most of Europe and now China – yes, even those environmental despoilers – had just banned them. I cited the facts my husband had oft-quoted, that in the United States (which has less than one-quarter of China’s 1.3 billion people,) the Sierra Club estimates almost 100 billion plastic bags are thrown out each year. That if just every one of New York City’s 8 million people used one less grocery bag per year, it would reduce waste by about 5 million pounds.

“What the hell is our problem then?” she asked. I had no answer, but she had a great idea. To all of you sales and marketing types out there like me, stop ordering your usual imprinted trade show tote bags and order re-usable grocery bags as promotional give-aways instead. Then we’ll really be making some progress.

Like I said, I bought four re-usable fabric shopping bags today for a grand total of $3.96 plus tax. It was a pittance to pay for an earth-conscious decision that will reap dividends for years to come and furthermore had me thinking about bringing my own shopping bags with me anywhere I go. It was a small thing, in so many ways, but it felt amazingly grand. It was something anyone could do, anywhere in this country, right now. It was something that very soon, we can ALL do. And that we all should.

Tomorrow when I take my morning walk on the beach maybe I’ll see one less plastic bag sailing in the wind. At least I’ll know now that day is a realistic possibility. Won’t you join me?

To share your opinions please use the Comments posting feature of this blog. If you'd like to publish or distribute this article, you are welcome to do so if you include the following attribution at the end. And I'd appreciate a copy. Thank you.

Karen Talavera is a writer who enjoys voicing her opinions and reflections on both issues of the day and transformative personal experiences, many of which are brought about by extensive travel. Through her essays and articles she seeks to elevate social consciousness and generate national and global awareness of issues impacting life on Earth today. She lives and writes in south Florida.

Stop Campaiging on Terrorism

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 16:18:00 +0000

The Florida Republican Presidential Candidate debate is tonight, January 24, in Boca Raton, just down the road a stretch from where I live. So our Florida airwaves are flooded with GOP candidate commercials. Giuliani has been running anti-terrorism ads for weeks (does he have any other platform?), but I just saw a McCain commercial this morning and if I see one more candidate campaigning on terrorism, I'm going to puke.

McCain says "Floridians are concerned about Islamic extremist terrorism groups and high taxes". Well, he's half right - about the taxes. But the terrorism? I can vouch for plenty of Floridians other than myself when I say "Bull*&%$!".

It's time for the GOP candidates exploiting September 11 to wake up and drop foreign terrorism from their platforms. Yes, there is a terrorism threat, but it's not coming from where you think. If you don't already know its source, read on.

I'm a very frequent domestic traveler and fairly frequent (3-5 times a year) international flier. Since September 11, 2001 I've flown multiple times to Mexico, France, England, Italy as well as Egypt, Switzerland, Scotland, and even Israel. Never in any of those countries have I been asked to remove my shoes as part of an airport security procedure. Never have I been prohibited from transporting more than three ounces of liquids and gels in my carry-on baggage.

While in Israel with my family during the summer of 2006, the war with Lebanon broke out. One day we were on a tour through the northern coast of the country, Haifa and the border with Lebanon, the next day the same area was being missiled. Yet, back in Jerusalem, I never felt truly threatened. Even upon leaving the country on our regularly scheduled departure date and without incident or provocation to exit early, we were not subjected to any of the ridiculous security measures routine in US airports. Why? Partially because the Israelis are obviously decades beyond us in security protocol and have sophisticated profiling and suspicion-detection measures, but mostly because the threat of terrorism in their country is real, whereas in the US, it's been manufactured.

How do I know? All frequent fliers know it, and many of them will actually engage in conversation about it. I won't go into detail about the many times since 9/11/01 (including in the last year) I've not only passed through security with "contraband" such as sharp objects and large bottles of flammable liquids - aka tweezers, nail clippers, scissors, nail polish remover, and copious hair gels and sprays - but also successfully boarded airplanes with these in my carry-on baggage. (You can gauge an eye out with a good pair of tweezers, I imagine.) Security my ass!

Yes, cleverly (or at least insidiously) our current Bush/Cheney regime has successfully molded our government into a fear-mongering machine that's done a pretty good job of keeping us all in line. And we, the citizens, have by and large let them. So who are the real terrorists? Whether you're believer in the Loose Change 911 conspiracy view of the September 11 attacks or take what happened that day at face value, there's no denying by now that we are our own worst enemy. Or at least, those we've sleepily elected to lead us are.

Why keep people in a state of fear? How better to control them? Yet with every passing year of "orange threat level" airport announcements (does anyone still hear them? better yet does anyone still believe them? I just laugh) not backed up by any verifiable orange threats; the credibility of the politics of fear suffers. Americans are not being duped anymore and it's time for the presidential candidates campaigning on terrorism to recognize this fact, get a platform, and address the real issues. Take a lesson from Ron Paul or Al Gore and stop addressing the symptoms; reach for a cure.

Real issues such as what Floridians are truly concerned about. Indulge me, a Floridian, by letting me sum it up: 1) Healthcare (we have droves of elderly, like you Senator McCain, living down here on fixed incomes) 2) Adjustable rate mortgages forcing foreclosures 3) Our tanking real estate market 4) Hurricanes and their flipside, drought 5) Rising property taxes and homeowners insurance and 6) Education (we still have a teacher shortage state-wide). Do you see Islamic extremist groups on that list? Me neither.

Modern and anesthetized though we may be, we are still Americans, and Americans just by how we've all from our varied backgrounds come to be Americans originate from a lengthy heritage of boldness, courage, and intolerance for injustice. We tire quickly of propaganda. Tire enough, I hope, to reclaim our threatened civil liberties, freedom from fear, and government by the people for the people (yep, that means YOU on both counts). So to whomever is attending the debate at FAU or any of the upcoming presidential debates, please ask the tough questions and don't let the candidates hide from the issues under the false cloak of fear that's been draped over this country by the Republicans in charge. I can't be there, but if I could I'd ask. Ask for me. Better yet, ask for yourself. For whatever reason that motivates you, just ask.

The Gift of Believing

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Fri, 21 Dec 2007 05:18:00 +0000

In this season of generosity my husband and I have received a most precious gift. Our fifth-grade daughter still believes in Santa Claus.

Yes, I’ve done my best to perpetuate the legend without going overboard, and to accentuate the importance of giving rather than receiving during the holiday season. Yet you parents know how magical playing Santa can be. And those of you with school age or grown children also know how quickly those Santa years fly by, and therefore how treasured each passing Christmas is.

I myself remember pressing my mother for “the truth” at the tender age of seven. After a spontaneous and prideful deduction of my own, without bitterness or disappointment, I came home from first grade and confronted her head-on. “Mom, don’t lie to me, you and dad are really Santa, right? You really buy the presents from Santa, don’t you?” She tried to dodge me but caved pretty quickly, confirmed my suspicions, and swore me to secrecy so as not to ruin it for my younger siblings.

As the oldest of four and thus the first to know about Santa, I had many years afterwards to watch my younger sisters and brother revel in the wonder of the Santa mystery and the surprises of Christmas morning. I even took my baby brother to see Santa a couple of times, and nostalgically joined him for a picture one year on the old guy’s lap. It was around that time I began to see the error of my smarty-pants ways.

As I reached adulthood, got married and had a child of my own, I vowed never to so easily deny Santa. How could I? It was more fun that I could possibly imagine.

Yet in recent years the detailed questions have come hard and fast from our daughter. Thanks to the Internet, that dynamic collective consciousness, what once was just a concept can now be proven real. I could punch up NORAD and show her the real-time satellite-image of Santa’s Christmas Eve ride. We could visit one of Santa’s many Web sites and even email the jolly old elf. Better yet, he would write back with a real letter.

Moving to Florida from Chicago three years ago involved going from a house with a brick fireplace and chimney to one with neither. Yet our daughter’s faith was unwavering. Trusting her father and I would leave the patio door unlocked, she understood Santa simply parked his sleigh and reindeer not on the treacherously high roof, but on our roomy pool deck well stocked with reindeer food and a bucket of fresh water. Santa then easily slipped – rather than squeezed – in through the sliding door. Gifts were thus effortlessly deposited under the tree while their bearer enjoyed refreshments in the kitchen.

Mysteriously, Santa’s presents were always wrapped in a unique paper imprinted with a repeating pattern of his face, topped off by special bows and tags also featuring his happy countenance. And that paper was never found in the collection of usual wrappings and decorations lying around the house in December.

Last year we even prepared a gourmet snack for Kris Kringle. Reasoning he could stomach only so many cookies (and it being too warm for hot cocoa in Florida) we left him an antipasto-style plate of meats, cheeses, dates and sweets. He left the plate empty.

Upon our child’s tenth birthday this July, I wistfully contemplated what this Christmas would bring. Had I already seen my last letter to Santa from her? Would the kids at school burst the bubble and shatter her illusions? Was it all over in our house? Since she is our only child, I knew there might not be many – or any – Santa years left. But it was merely July, so my thoughts waned until a few months passed, and suddenly in September I was hearing, “You know what I’d like for Christmas, mom?”

“Time to start your Christmas list,” I told her, which she dutifully did.

Fifth grade began and as the school weeks passed and December crept up on us, more questions and comments ensued. “Mom, have you ever seen Santa on Christmas Eve?” (Well, no I had to admit, I had not been so fortunate.) “Nicole at school actually has him on video!” (Saints preserve us!) “When do the elves come to start watching if you’re being good?” (after Thanksgiving), “What does Santa do if he sees you spying on him when you’re supposed to be sleeping?” (he winks, laughs, but doesn’t speak a word), “How does the Post Office know where to deliver my letter to Santa?” (just write North Pole and they’ll get it there) and “Where exactly is the North Pole anyway and how does the Post Office get the mail there?” (Satellite-precision air-drops, naturally).

Then just the other day my heart skipped a beat when out of the blue she exclaimed, “You know mom, none of the kids at school really talk about Mrs. Claus, or the elves, or Rudolph and the other reindeer anymore. They just talk about what kinds of presents they’ll get. Some kids don’t even believe in Santa anymore.”

“Do you?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Then you’d better get your letter to Santa written,” I exhaled. “Finalize your list and send it in the mail tomorrow. It’s already December.”

So without further delay, she took out a piece of paper and penned this little note:

Dear Santa Claus,

How are you doing? How are your elfs? A special present from you would be a bell from your sleigh. But if you can’t get me that here are the other presents I want.

(. . . an eight-point list of mostly Webkinz stuffed animals followed)

Love, (her name)

P.S. Say Hi to the reindeer and your wife

A bell from his sleigh. The timeless gift Santa presented the doubting little boy in The Polar Express, made recently into a Christmas movie classic. Her number one request wasn’t a toy, video game, computer or, miraculously though close, another dreaded Webkinz, but something you can’t put a price on, something you can’t buy in a store.

And although asking for proof, she is also asking to keep believing. Believing in the things we take on faith until, unable to rationalize them with our minds, we come to know them with our hearts. She asked for the hope and mystery to continue. She’s not ready to give up on any of that, and neither am I.

I put the letter in an envelope, stamped it, and mailed it immediately to the North Pole.

What I know for sure is I’ll never deny that Santa brings those presents wrapped in the paper and bows none of the other gifts are done up in. And I’ll be able to do so with a clean conscience, because I, like so many other parents, am Santa Claus. We are all Santa Claus. And that’s real enough for me.

I’d better get moving. I have a sleigh bell to wrap.

To share your opinions please use the Comments posting feature of this blog. If you'd like to publish or distribute this article, you are welcome to do so if you include the following attribution at the end. And I'd appreciate a copy. Thank you.

Karen Talavera is a writer who enjoys voicing her opinions and reflections on both issues of the day and transformative personal experiences, many of which are brought about by extensive travel. Through her essays and articles she seeks to elevate social consciousness and generate national and global awareness of issues impacting life on Earth today. She lives and writes in south Florida.

Decluttering Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Talavera) — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 00:35:00 +0000

It has been said that less is more. This holiday season in the spirit of generally simplifying my life I thought I’d see if that’s true. So what better way than to declutter what for most Americans is the jam-packed pinnacle of all holidays? Christmas.

Christmas in particular can use a lot of decluttering, certainly in the US if not in other predominantly-Christian, westernized nations. Two thousand years after the occurrence of the blessed event we celebrate, we’ve managed to turn this time into the Olympics of gifting, baking, mailing, decorating and travel. We’ve made it a month-long sprint of parties, shopping and shipping deadlines. We’ve commercialized the crap out of it until it has become more about myth and tradition that religious reflection. We even kill trees for it. I for one can live without fruitcake, egg nog, and a fresh evergreen in my living room once a year.

Decluttering the holidays means decluttering your life by eliminating excessive or unnecessary holiday activities you have been conditioned to do, and taking more time instead to celebrate the holidays as your heart desires.

But I admit, decluttering Christmas came for me this year out of necessity rather than reflection. Due to a cluster of December business trips – for both my husband and myself – further complicated by a mid-December weekend cruise we’re taking (I just won it and it’s a “use it now or lose it” deal), capped off by the fact that we’d be spending the entire week of Christmas and New Year’s with my husband’s family in a foreign country, I knew back in November there simply would not be time to accomplish all the Christmas and holiday rituals I usually undertake. Even in November I wouldn’t be getting a head-start due to a Thanksgiving week trip to Europe. All told, out of December’s thirty-one days, I would be home for fourteen. And did I mention we have a ten year old daughter (who still believes in Santa) and a dog?

So when contemplating how I would “get it all done”, I quickly realized the limited options available:

1. Don’t sleep and go crazy from sleep deprivation
2. Cut back on sleep, thereby resulting in greatly increased crankiness and diminished holiday enjoyment
3. Try to get it all done but don’t. Feel frustrated and guilty.
4. Do only the holiday things I enjoy and that are important to me, skip or short-cut all the rest, and damn the consequences.

Not liking options 1-3, I sanely selected number 4. No sooner had I made my choice for happiness over obligation than the universe conspired to help me at every turn. In fact, it conspired so well in my favor that this has been one of the most enjoyable holiday seasons I can remember. Even with limited time I have had enough space to do what I love and enjoy, and then some. And that, more than altruistic intentions or principles, is the main reason I’ll stick with this approach for years to come and am inspired to share it with you.

So here’s what got kicked to the curb, what didn’t, and some tips for how you can do the same:

1. Gift Shopping
I love playing Santa with my own child and giving presents to the other children in my life. Since I’m not very crafty, this necessitates shopping.

Online ordering from Amazon and other established Internet retailers made this season’s shopping easy if not effortless. Better yet, this year due to the economic downturn retailers aggressively couponed and discounted merchandise pre-holiday, so while I did make one four-hour jaunt to the local mall (and paid the price with a killer migraine by the end of it) the 50% off coupons, free $10 gift cards, and other assorted perks made it worth the trip. The take-away: plan ahead and get it all done in as few visits as possible.

Here’s another idea: A few years back my siblings and I – all grown, married adults – decided to do away with our annual “Secret Santa” gift exchange. After all, how many more electronic gadgets, designer handbags and home décor items did we need? Instead, every Christmas we contribute a minimum of $100 per couple toward a charity of choice. We take turns selecting the worthy cause of the year.

As an aside, don’t underestimate the power of giving as its own reward. In 2005 we adopted a Katrina family in New Orleans who had lost everything in the hurricane. When the single mother of four called to thank me for our present (a $500 Wal-Mart gift card) we had a nice long chat that brought me to tears for some time afterwards. She might forget us, but I’ll never forget her.

Last but not least, if you’re opposed to material giving of any kind, give the gift of a donation in someone else’s name. You can use your financial resources to donate a cow to a needy family in Africa, create meals for starving populations, fight a disease or save the whales; the choices are endless. Or if financial resources are scarce, give of your time and volunteer for a cause you’re passionate about. Let those you’d otherwise buy gifts for know you’re spending your time and money doing that on their behalf. The bottom line: give any way you can.

2. Decorating
Since we knew we’d be celebrating Christmas elsewhere, this year we agreed (with our daughter's blessing) not to put up our artificial tree. As a result, I placed about half the normal decorations I usually do around the house. Without the full complement of decor and the tree, our home feels much airier and my husband, himself a minimalist, comments daily on how he likes having fewer Christmas decorations around.

And best of all, instead of taking up an entire weekend, the holiday decorating (including putting up outdoor lights for a two-story home) took four hours total. Wow, was that liberating! The focal point of the few decorations we did put out is the nativity scene. How nice to truly have Jesus at the center of Christmas instead of an ornamented tree. Don't get me wrong, I like the tree but even without it, it feels like nothing is missing. The fewer decorations somehow are more subtle and valuable reminders of the holiday.

Declutter Christmas at your home by actually decluttering your home of its usual holiday décor. Instead, if you have quite a bit of stuff, rotate what you display from one year to the next. Then every year it will seem like you have something new.

3. Baking
Usually I enjoy baking at this time of year. I like going to cookie exchanges and making my favorite recipes, many of which were my mother’s. Yet this year due to schedule conflicts I couldn’t attend the events I was invited to and certainly wouldn’t be having any visitors. So why bake? Precisely.

Yet one still craves Christmas cookies, so what to do? Here’s a great short-cut that will give you the best of both worlds. The grocery stores are loaded with pre-made Christmas cookies they normally don’t carry at any other time of the year. BUY a few of your favorite varieties. Add to your selections one or two Nestle or Pillsbury “break and bake” cookie packages and pop those in the oven for 15 minutes. There you go, plenty of variety, fresh-baked goodness, and minimal time spent in the kitchen. That’s a treat if you ask me.

4. Christmas Cards & The Inevitable Holiday Newsletter
I love having sent holiday cards, but hate the process of doing them. Luckily I have above average computer and administrative skills which have come in handy for automating this somewhat dreaded task each year. I’ve essentially reduced this into a labeling and envelope-stuffing process by computerizing the Christmas card address list, then computer-printing all return and address labels. I personally sign the cards, but of course you could order pre-printed ones to streamline this further.

Yet in doing only what I love, I didn’t want to skip the cards this year. They're the chance to reach out and touch the many friends and family I seldom have the opportunity to see. It was important to let them know they’re in my thoughts even though they’re not in my ZIP Code.

Rather than the often overdone (or self-serving) annual holiday newsletter and consistent with my intention to flex my writer’s muscle more often, I penned a short Christmas story and included that with the cards. A simple gesture, nothing Pulitzer-quality, but it’s the thought that counts. (And, for those of you artistically so inclined, is another alternative to a gift).

With the Internet and digital photography, automating Christmas greetings has never been easier. If you want a completely hands-free process, computerize your list, then upload it and your favorite family photos to the Kodak, PhotoWorks or Snapfish Web sites and they’ll do the mailing for you. Or save some trees and send free email greetings from Hallmark.com.

5. Visitors and Visiting
This one’s easy. Visitors? Don’t have any. Or if budget allows, instead go to them, but keep it fun. The more fun you make the destination, the simpler all the other Christmas rituals will be. As an alternative to busy city travels and sleeping in twin beds in the guest room, plan a family vacation to a favorite surf or ski locale. This approach minimizes gift craziness as well since it’s difficult to haul everything around. Think about it, no one has to cook either, and you might even get a tan or a massage rather than stress and dishes to wash.

Decluttering Christmas has not only been an incredible and unexpected gift to myself, it has taught me a valuable lesson. Less is absolutely more at holiday time. When I don't buy into all the "should do’s" dictated by the commercialization of Christmas, I am able to enjoy the celebration at a deeper level. Correction: I am able to enjoy the celebration, period.

This year we'll be with my husband's family in Mexico, and although I’ll miss seeing my own family in the states, I'll be spending the holiday with people I love dearly in simple, uncomplicated relaxation. We’ll be at a family home out in the middle of nowhere, away from television, cell phones and the Internet. There is nowhere else to go, nothing to do, and everyone takes turns cooking. Best of all, we’ll be far away from the hyper-commercialization of Christmas in the US. If that's not a gift, I don't know what is.

To share your opinions please use the Comments posting feature of this blog. If you'd like to publish or distribute this article, you are welcome to do so if you include the following attribution at the end. And I'd appreciate a copy. Thank you.

Karen Talavera is a writer who enjoys voicing her opinions and reflections on both issues of the day and transformative personal experiences, many of which are brought about by extensive travel. Through her essays and articles she seeks to elevate social consciousness and generate national and global awareness of issues impacting life on Earth today. She lives and writes in south Florida.