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Wednesday, October 23, 2013

The Golden Anchor Woman


“I worked half my life to be an overnight success, and still it took me by surprise.”  ~Jessica Savitch

“The better the coverage, the more discriminating the viewer.”  ―Jessica Savitch



                    Jessica Beth Savitch, February 1, 1947 - October 23, 1983

http://youtu.be/viJ3dsvCP1Y Jessica Savitch NBC News Update 1978
http://youtu.be/b03y6djkbW4  Jessica Savitch NBC News Broadcast Easter 1979
http://youtu.be/TcgAb3-euGU  Jessica Savitch NBC from April 1983
http://youtu.be/pNCKabsDWPY Jessica Savitch Biography~Lifetime Portrait

Thirty years ago, when I was in college at The University of Florida, in the College of Journalism and Communications, I remember thinking how good things were for young women.  We were breaking glass ceilings and the possibilities for women of my generation were very promising, because of our foremothers.   Most notably for me at the time was that Katharine Graham owned and ran The Washington Post; Sandra Day O’Connor had been recently appointed to the United States Supreme Court; I had seen Barbara Walters co-anchor the evening news on ABC; Gloria Steinem had begun Ms. Magazine, and I’d met her at The University of Florida — even got to ask her a question at an open forum, which still thrills me to this day.  When I think back on it, within that year, we’d see a woman, Geraldine Ferraro, step onto the national stage and be nominated as a Vice-Presidential running mate for the Democratic party in a national election; and, women were making many in-roads in the broadcasting and journalism arena.  There were three women in the area of broadcast journalism who I paid close attention to at the time, because of the field I was going into: Diane Sawyer, Linda Ellerbee and Jessica Savitch.
It is the latter who this blog entry is about today.  For those of you who do not know or remember Jessica Savitch, she was a blonde-haired beauty from Pennsylvania with a Grace Kelly air about her. She had that same regal presence and cool command of both her poise and articulation.  Her rise with NBC was meteoric, and I fully expected to see her sitting in the week-night evening news anchor chair within five years.
I remember reading once somewhere that people “behind the scenes” said she was “bitchy” and “difficult”.   It amused me because you never read that kind of thing about men who demanded that the product they put out be 100% accurate, be the best, and be stellar!  You NEVER heard that about them: “Oh, he’s a REAL prick!  He’s difficult! Watch out for him!”  It’s just one more injustice in business that women have had to endure and put up with that men have not.  Ms. Savitch handled the criticism in a classy way.
Case in point.  I believe it was on The Phil Donahue show, but don’t hold me to that, because I don’t have the archival footage to back up and support my claim.  However, she was on a talk show and was asked about the allegations that she was difficult to work with and, could sometimes be a “bitch.” I never forgot her answer because it was brilliant, and I gained a new respect for her in that moment. She said, and I’m going to paraphrase, because I remember the jist of it like it was yesterday, and I swear she said it to Phil, so, I’m going to go with that.  In essence, here is what she said:
“I really think that we need to move away from the classification of ‘difficult’ or ‘bitchy’ because it’s unfair to women.  The correct terms we should be using are ‘acceptable’ and ‘unacceptable’ in this industry.  Don’t give sub-par work to a woman that you would never give to a male colleague in equal standing to her, be called out for doing that to her by the woman, then castigate her for doing it with inappropriate labels, when you would never consider doing that to her male counterpart.  It’s an issue of respect.  If I bring my best to this table for the job we are about to do, then I expect you to bring your best to the table as well.   If you don’t, it’s unacceptable to me, because I’ve worked hard to get here, and I expect the same professional consideration that you would give to David or to John.”
I remember thinking, “YOU GO GIRL!” Her answer was right on the money.   I’ve used her analogy in my own working life when I’ve heard people refer to a woman as “difficult” or “bitchy’.   It has given people pause who I’ve asked the question of: “why does it have to be that SHE is being difficult or bitchy instead of she’s simply not being accepting of a sub-standard work ethic?”  It’s an idea that still resonates....30 years later.  It’s a classification that we’ve not changed yet, but hopefully some day it will...
Not everyone liked her.  She rose too quickly, some thought.  She didn’t pay her dues, others believed. Blah. Blah. Blah.  I think the woman had a pound of flesh taken out of her at every turn, and if you know anything about the tragedies of her life, you’ll understand that statement.  Granted, she made some bad decisions along the way, but I felt compassion for her.  It’s something my parent’s taught me to do - have compassion for others in their moments of trouble.
Jessica’s tragedies started early in her life: her father died suddenly when she was only 12, and her family uprooted and moved from Pennsylvania to New Jersey.  A faculty advisor told her that she’d never make it in broadcast journalism because she was a woman.  She didn’t let it derail her or stop her from the goals she’d set for herself.
Her public persona and her private life certainly didn’t match up.  On camera, she was golden.  In private, she was flawed, and those flaws led to tragedy after tragedy.   She was married twice within a three-year period.  She divorced her first husband after only 14 months.  Shortly thereafter, in March of 1981, she married her second husband, a doctor.  I remember hearing that she’d suffered a miscarriage several months into that marriage.  It wasn’t long after that miscarriage that her second husband committed suicide.   She found him hanging in the basement of their home on August 2, 1981, and later told friends that he blamed her hectic schedule for the miscarriage.  He obviously had some psychological problems going on that many were unaware of.
In a People magazine article shortly after her death, they reported,  That tragedy sent Jessica into a tailspin. "After that, she was never quite the same," says one close friend. Agrees Barbara King: "She wanted it to work and I think she loved him as much as she could love someone." Following the funeral, Savitch retreated to the home of her former co-anchor Mort Crim in Grosse Pointe, Mich. But she stayed only a week before returning to work. Her sleep was ruined by nightmares; the studio was her sanctuary. "It was as if she had no other existence outside of when the red light was on," says a New York colleague. 
It wasn’t long before rumors of drug and alcohol use and abuse began to surface and plague her.   I never listen to those type rumors because, well, you just don’t know, and it’s unfair to give credence to rumors like that about someone.  Then, on October 3, 1983, there was the unfortunate Sunday night live news brief telecast. {You can view it on YouTube}  It was only about a minute long, but it was long enough to do its damage and give some validity to all those nasty rumors that had followed her for a few years.  Her speech was slurred; her eyes were glassy.  Personally, I thought she was slightly drunk.   Others said she was high on Cocaine.  Who knows for certain?  What is certain is that it was both unfortunate and tragic that anyone there that night who saw her in that condition would have let her take to the airwaves.  She was in trouble. That much was evident.  Whether the tragedies of the previous couple of years had finally caught up to her or the mounting pressure of her $500,000/year contract expiration loomed large overhead, coupled with the fact that Connie Chung had just arrived onto the scene and been given her weekend news anchor spot, reducing Jessica’s air-time to a weekend minute news brief throughout the evening, or she knew that people were whispering that she was showing rapid signs of aging —  a death sentence to a female anchorwoman, {“she’s aged 10 years in the last five...” was the criticism loudly heard} Jessica was obviously not as confident in her carriage as she typically had been known to be.  That night, she didn’t bring her best to the table.  By her own standards, she should not have been permitted to sit down at that news desk. It saddened me.
I didn’t know a lot, at that point, about love and loss, but even in my short 20 years of life, I knew this much: it only takes a minute to unravel what it can take years to build.  I felt for her, in that moment.  I was angry that someone in that studio, on that night, had not protected her from herself, because in THAT moment, that’s exactly who she needed protection from.  She had mistakenly allowed her private life’s drama to seep over into her professional life's responsibilities.  It was a gross miscalculation on her part to believe that she was able to go on-air that evening.  We all make mistakes though.  Each of us is human.  Not one of us is immune to a moment of personal frailty. That night–that moment was one of hers.  The network’s miscalculation was in not looking out for her professionally. They looked as bad as Ms. Savitch did.  Make no mistake about that. I wish someone in power that night would have told her she couldn’t go on!  It would have been refreshingly honorable for them to have given her such a consideration in her moment of need.  It was a lesson to all who were watching.
Notwithstanding, friends of hers said that she was in a good place in her life.  She’d met a new man, and had hopes of having a family one day.  She wasn’t deterred by things happening with her career. There was a possibility that she would fill-in for Jane Pauley who was soon taking maternity leave. She was widely respected among the viewing audience –  a recent 1982 TV Guide poll named her “one of the most trusted news anchors in the country, above many of the most established male anchors of the era.” She was tenacious in her desire and her drive.  If she’d suffered a set-back, many who knew her believed that she would not be down for long.  I think I heard Linda Ellerbee openly state as much, in the aftermath of that early October faux pas, and I took comfort in hearing it.
Shortly thereafter, on another Sunday night, just three weeks later, the ultimate tragedy came to claim her.
I awoke on Monday, October 24th to my radio reporting that NBC’s weekend anchorwoman, Jessica Savitch, had been killed in an automobile accident the previous evening along with her boyfriend, New York Post Vice President, Martin Fischbein, and her dog.  Apparently, they had spent the day in Pennsylvania antiquing before enjoying a meal at Chez Odette’s Restaurant before heading back to New York at approximately 7:15 p.m.; Martin Fischbein was driving with Jessica and her dog, Chewy, in the back seat. Reports stated that it had begun to rain heavily.  Apparently Mr. Fischbein drove out of the wrong exit and up the towpath of the old Pennsylvania Canal’s Delaware Division, veering too far to the left and went over the un-barricaded edge, falling about 15 feet down into the shallow and muddy waters of the canal.  The car landed upside down, sealing the doors shut, and trapping Savitch and Fischbein inside - sealing their fates.
I remember bolting up in my bed, suddenly becoming wide awake, as an “oh my God!” escaped from my mouth, and I scrambled to turn on Good Morning America to hear more of the unbelievable news. It was a shocking end to a young life marked with extreme highs and lows. [Note: the Bucks County coroner ruled that both had died from asphyxiation by drowning. He also noted that there was no finding that drugs or alcohol had played any part in the crash.]
Then, I remember something eery happened.  As the news was reporting about the untimely death of Jessica Savitch, the clock radio, set to ease me into my day with music, played in the background, “Don’t Cry Out Loud” by Melissa Manchester.  I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to the words of that song, but it was haunting in that moment, and I did what the song cautioned me not to do: I cried. I didn’t just cry. I cried for her! It was a loss – one of those stupid, senseless ones.  She was so young–just 36.  She had SO much more to give!  We had so much more to learn from her! As stated, it was a GREAT loss, and I felt it-deeply!
Thirty years ago, I sat in my apartment in Gainesville, Florida on an early October Monday morning that had begun ALL wrong, crying and thinking of the golden haired news girl from Pennsylvania, who, for one brief moment, had stood on the cusp of grasping hold of that brass ring we all dream of...of flying high and proud...of almost having it all....

http://youtu.be/OWiXyAAw1Ek  Don’t Cry Out Loud~Melissa Manchester

http://www.jessicasavitch.com/  Please check out this website if you’d like to learn more about Jessica Savitch.  She was a trailblazer...

Except from a 1979 Commencement Address at Ithaca College [Her Alma Mater]:

“...There is an Elton John song, one of his lesser known songs.  The line goes: ‘I work for the foundry for a penny and a half a day.  Like a blind street musician, I never see those who pay.’

No longer do we answer directly to each other for the jobs we do.  More often than not, we answer to a middle line management person – a person who may or may not have the high standards of excellence.  Like the blind street musician, we never see the people who would benefit, or even those who pay us our salaries unless we are doctors, or lawyers, or perhaps small shop keepers who deal directly with the public.  It has become increasingly difficult for each of us to set and maintain excellent standards.

In my own industry, I, too, am like the blind street musician.  My job as a broadcaster is to serve the interest, convenience and necessity of the viewers.  The people who own the airwaves on which my network is licensed to program.  Yet I never actually see most of those people.  If I don’t do the best job possible, ultimately I will be replaced.  But on a daily basis, who is to monitor my performance?

The answer I have found to pursuing excellence is increasingly to be found within.  At the top of every field I have observed as a reporter is a person who does the job, not because it pays well, not because it makes the person famous, but because doing the job makes the person happy.  And a person happy in his or her work is usually successful.  And success often brings with it may of the tangible rewards — as byproducts.

Although rare, there are examples of the pursuit of excellence in our own times.  The courage of conviction is not easy in any career, and it is particularly difficult in public life, where, no matter what course of action is taken, at least some of the public will disagree.

Probably the most graphic example in the world today was the Sadat Peace Initiative into Israel.  Anwar El Sadat personally lost a brother, a bomber pilot, during the 6-Day War.  He was shot down by Israeli fighters.  So surely there was opposition to the Israeli treaty within Sadat’s family as well as within his party.  Lifelong hatreds are not easily wiped out, and within the block of Arab nations, Sadat’s Egypt was, and is now, alone in its wish for peace with Israel.  Other Arab nations threatened and made good on an economic boycott of Egypt.  With all that against him, Sadat went ahead.  Part of it was smart politics.  Sadat realized the ongoing war with Israel was sapping his country economically, and emotionally, and an end to the fighting could mean a chance to build up economic resources.  Also, there was the fact that the United States actively favored a peace treaty.  And to bring that about would probably mean increased economic aid from the United States for Egypt.  But not to be discounted was Sadat’s own belief that there had been enough war, enough killing, and whatever the political and personal price, peace was worth it.  Sadat believed it.  And he acted upon it to all our good – because an end to any war brings us closer to becoming a truly civilized global culture.

Menachem Begin, too, weighed the risks.  He had been victimized by Nazi Germany, and fled to the mideast desert to help carve out a safe piece of ground for his people.  Begin had learned from the Nazis that enemies could never be trusted, and it was a risk for him to trust this new enemy.  Begin also encountered opposition from the Kinesset.  He was also opposed by Israelis who had lost members of their families fighting the Egyptians, as well as those who had worked to make homes in the hard-won occupied territories.

But, like Sadat, Begin held to his conviction that peace was of paramount importance, and ultimately, both men acted on their convictions.

To some extent, it was President Carter’s risk.  Each president has a moment when diplomacy must eclipse politics.  As Bob Dylan wrote: ‘Sometimes even the President of the United States must stand naked.’  That was perhaps Mr. Carter’s moment.  Here at home, we were and are in an economic domestic crisis.  The President’s standing in the polls was at that time not the best.  For President Carter to have personally gone and engaged in shuttle diplomacy and failed would have severely damaged US power and prestige with other nations.  It could well have had a strong bearing on the outcome of the SALT negotiations.  It was a calculated risk.  To be seen as a peacemaker would have helped Mr. Carter somewhat.  To be seen as a failure would have been disastrous.  The President, too, must be credited for acting on what he said he believed to be the only right course of action — pursue peace — no matter the odds….

My own personal view of a person who pursued excellence and did not lower her standards was Francis ‘Sissy’ Farenthold.  Mrs. Farenthold of Texas was a state representative who ran for governor in 1972 against Dolph Briscoe.  In that same year, she was the only woman placed in nomination for the Vice President at the Democratic National Convention.  She later went on to head the National Women’s Political Caucus and is now President of Wells College in Aurora, New York.

When I met her, she was running for governor.  A woman – in a state known for its tough, two-fisted, male politics.  Farenthold was running as a liberal in a very conservative state, and she was running for her party’s nomination against a millionaire landowner.  But there was dissent in the Texas Democratic party then.  A Watergate-type stock fraud scandal had swept the state.  Party leaders told Farenthold she was going into the race with at least an outside chance.  But, she was told, she’d have to play the game.  Drop her standards.  Make political deals to win election. She refused.  And she lost.  But with it all, she lost by a narrow margin.  And many political observers say she did better than if she had made the deals.

Francis Farenthold paved the way for other women in politics in Texas and across the country.  And she showed one young reporter that it was possible to be strong and honest, and feminine, and work successfully in what was traditionally an all-male field, be it politics or broadcast journalism.

And as a broadcast journalist, my role in life is not to be a doer of great things, but rather a chronicler of those who do.  And it appears to me that all of those people who pursue excellence with the strength of their convictions live out their lives typified by one basic idea.  The Biblical ‘do unto others.’  Voltaire’s ‘all things are possible.’  The Jefferson theory of democracy.

But the one I like the best, the one that hangs above my desk, and the one I have chosen to share with you, is by Theodore Roosevelt.  The President who perhaps best typified the pursuit of excellence through rugged individualism.  He said: ‘Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.’

Do what you can:  You leave here with a foundation of skills and experiences.  Build on them.  Become involved.  Stretch.  Grow.  Take advantage of all the choices and opportunities that are now open to both sexes.

Do what you can, with what you have:  Know your strengths and employ them.  Find your weaknesses and shore them up.  If you do not know your strengths and weaknesses, invest some time in learning.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are:  No one is ever exactly where they want to be.  Healthy dissatisfaction, desire for something better, is the catalyst for change –  the main ingredient of accomplishment.  On the other hand, constant discontent with where you are, or pretending you are elsewhere, keeps you from enjoying the present.  Set your goals, work toward them, but enjoy the process of getting there.  Pause to smell the flowers along the way.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.  It may not necessarily bring success.  It often, however, brings the peace of mind that comes from knowing you have given it your best shot.  It is the quote I have used in my own personal pursuit of excellence.  No doubt you will find, or perhaps write, your own quote along the way.

Lifetime creeds, like commencement memories, are very personal things.

And so in the memories of this day that you will carry with you across the years, the sunshine glistening on the lake, the pride in your families’ eyes, the touch of a friend’s hand as you said goodbye – if in the bittersweet kaleidoscopic montage of those memories the name of you commencement speaker slips your mind, not to worry.  For me, it is more than enough to have been able to share this day with you.  You have bestowed upon me an honor few people ever achieve.

I wish you health, happiness, success, love, and the time to enjoy them all.  And I wish for each of you that some time in your life will come a moment as wondrous as this one is for me.

Congratulations, God bless you, and from the bottom of my heart, I do thank you.”

                                                                      Jessica  Savitch

                                                    The Canal where Jessica Savitch died,
                                                                    October 23, 1983.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Let The Spirit Move You





The dew of compassion is a tear... ~Lord Byron

Make NO judgement where you have NO compassion!

No man is a true believer unless he desires for his brother that which he desires for himself. ~Muhammad

Of all religions, the Christian should, of course, inspire the most tolerance, but until now Christians have been the most intolerant of all men. ~Voltaire

Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged, and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you. ~Matthew 7:1-2 KJV

http://youtu.be/0a45z_HG3WU  Everything Is Beautiful~Ray Stevens
http://youtu.be/wlR0KElxxVg  I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing~The New Seekers
http://youtu.be/M9BNoNFKCBI We Are the World {Issue is different~Message is the same}
http://youtu.be/sSzukDkftL8 Make It Stop~Rise Against

                                                                Love and Only Love....

Today is Spirit Day.  For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a day of observance that was decreed by a Canadian teenager named Brittany McMillan back in October of 2010, because she was outraged and saddened over bullying that was taking place, and she wanted to do SOMETHING to show her support to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender [LGBT] youth who were suffering as a result of this juvenile yet barbaric act.  The concept was simple: wear purple for the day to show your support to those who are victims of bullying simply because of their differences.
The name Spirit Day was derived from the purple strip in the Rainbow Flag which represents “spirit” as defined by its creator, Gilbert Baker.
Back in 2010, there was a rash of widely publicized bullying-related-suicides of gay students.  It was brought to the forefront of national attention with the jumping death of 18-year-old, Tyler Clementi.  As a result of these tragedies, 1.6 million Facebook users signed up to participate in McMillian’s global event that garnered the attention of GLADD as well as many Hollywood celebrities.  Since then, it’s become an annual day of observance in October, when people don purple to show we are united in this effort to stop the bullying and let the LGBT community know that we stand both in support of them and with them.
As a woman, I have felt discrimination before.  Sadly, I’ve even felt discrimination in my life because I’ve battled with weight issues on and off for most of my life. One time during my working life, I had the unfortunate dealings with a boss who was for lack of a better word an insensitive jerk about an issue that was none of his business; had nothing to do with the job I was hired to perform; and, was a TRUE pot meet kettle moment, if you know what I mean!   I could have sued him and probably should have just to teach him a lesson, but I believe the energy we dispense is what comes back to us, and I really didn’t want all that negativity floating around me.  HE wasn’t worth it.  That much I knew.
What I cannot fathom is being discriminated against because of who I love. I just can’t imagine that, and I have tried.  I also can’t imagine being teased mercilessly over that choice.
I remember 20 years ago when I was working as a Sales Manager in an area hotel, I worked with a man who was a Minister outside of being a Sales Manager in our hotel.  He and I had a lot of interesting discussions on religion.  He was very open to honest exchange in thoughts and ideas.  I remember one particular night on the evening news the reporting of a story that indicated that studies were being done that linked homosexuality to a genetic component.  It wasn’t conclusive, but more and more studies were being done to attempt to unlock the key to determine if this trait in homosexual individuals was inherited like height, eye color, hair color, etc.  It’s been a debate for a long time.
Naturally, it was the topic of conversation the following morning between Rick and I over coffee.  It was obvious that he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of it, because he said that the Bible was very specific on the condemnation of that “type” of behavior.
“What if it’s proven right, Rick?” I asked. “What if it’s a genetic determiner?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” I remember him saying.
“You need to think about it,” I cautioned.  Then, I told him why I felt that way.
Basically what I told him was this: if there ever comes a day when science is able to prove that one’s sexuality is as inherent to an individual as their eye color, hair color, height, weight, blood type — all those things that are pre-determined by genetics, then religious institutions have a problem because of what they are espousing.  How can one be condemned to hell for how they are made – for a trait that’s as natural to them as the color of their eyes or hair? [And, for the record, let me say that I believe in a loving and forgiving God, not ALL hell-fire and brimstone.]
As argument, Rick reminded me that the Bible was written by divinely inspired men of God.
“Ah, yes!” I replied.  “But nowhere has it ever been stated that THEY were exempt from sin!”
He looked at me funny.  He knew I was a good debater.  He knew I came to the table with thought-provoking arguments.
This is what I brought to the table:
The Bible only mentions one person who has ever walked this earth exempt–free from all sin and that person was Jesus Christ.  I was raised with a very strict religious upbringing, and it was taught in my church that where the Bible was silent in scripture, no inferences could be made.  None.  Had the authors wanted exposition added, they would have done so.  The fact that it was not expounded upon by them meant that it was not to be expounded upon by us.
Likewise and yes, I agree, the men who wrote the Bible were divinely inspired by God — so are musicians and painters and poets.  The Bible does not say that these men were given an exemption status while they were penning their portions–that they were no longer mortal, flawed men.  I’ve never read that anywhere in the good book.  If it’s not in there, you cannot tell me that “divinely inspired” means that, otherwise, everyone who was divinely inspired would get to claim that same benefit.   You can’t have it both ways!   My point is that there are many theologians who argue about the Bible and it’s validity in terms of merit-on-point.  It is chock full of contradictions.  If you don’t believe me, read it for yourself.  I was amazed watching a nun on 60 Minutes one Sunday night pointing them out.  Please hear me when I say that this is NOT a slam against the Bible!  It’s merely stating a fact.   Likewise, the Bible was written in languages, Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek, that cannot be accurately translated into English.  In other words, there are many meanings given to one word.  Which is the accurate meaning?  And, where there isn’t a very good language-to-language translation of meaning, and it’s translated as closely as it can be to what it should mean in English, what are we suppose to make of that?  I had a friend, Hadas, back in the 80's who was from Israel and spoke Hebrew as her primarily language.  She’s the one who told me that there are entire words in the original language of the Bible’s text that cannot be accurately translated into English.  It gave me pause.  It is but one reason that scholars debate it.   If I’ve got six words that represent an interpretation for one word, which one am I suppose to choose as the gospel?  It’s problematic.
Don’t get me wrong.  I was raised on this book.   My foundation is based upon it. I believe in its overall beautiful and inspiring message.  I’m just able to see it in proper context: it’s NOT all black and white, and I’m not being blasphemous for recognizing and stating that fact.  Case in point: when I was a young girl, one of my best friends at church, I’ll call her, Nancy, for the sake of this entry, was a tomboy.  I was a girly girl.  We got to be good friends at our church summer camp one year.  
It was only when I was in my 20's that my mother told me that my friend, Nancy, had been born a “hermaphrodite”.   I believe the politically correct term now for people born with this condition is inter-sexed.  A hermaphrodite/inter-sexed person is someone who is born with the reproductive organs normally associated with both male and female sexes.  BOTH. Stop and think about that for a minute.  If they have both a penis and a vagina, what does that make them when they partner up with another person?  Confusing, isn’t it?  It’s definitely not black or white, but rather a very complex shade of gray, which is what I tried to tell my friend, Rick, many years ago.   Nancy’s parents had chosen to have her live as a girl, but what if they hadn’t?  What if they had left both sets of organs in place for her to determine, as she got older, how she wanted to live her life — the direction she wanted to go?  How would society classify her based on who she loved?  Gay? Straight?  Bisexual?  Was it even a fair assessment?  Or, what if Nancy’s parents had chosen wrong for her, and as she got older and puberty kicked in, she felt more like a boy than a girl?  Would it be wrong for her to have “those” feelings since SHE had been born with both male and female genitalia in the first place?    Gray matter....that’s what it is.  It’s not that cut and dry.  It’s not that easy to classify, and one shouldn’t be condemned because of a situation like that, which they had absolutely no control over.  I’ve often wondered about Nancy – how she is doing?  If she is happy?  If her parents made the right decision for her so, so many years ago?
I wonder about those other people who are born with inter-sexed conditions and who choose to live an androgynous life.  Are they never suppose to love, if they happen to find love?  Is that right or fair?
Compassion.  I was raised to have it for my fellow brothers and sisters of the world.  Tolerance. I have learned to embrace the differences that separate me from others, not as something bad and evil, unless you are hurting a child, an animal, an elderly person, or someone who is defenseless, but as something that is unique and good.  Love is never a bad thing, unless it’s being abused.
There are far too many divides felt in this world today that a little love, compassion, tolerance and understanding wouldn’t go a LONG way to help heal and bridge.  Lord, it’s time to build the bridges of love and understanding that divide us!  Hate is not something that a child is born with.  It is a learned behavior.  And, bullying is as much a cry for help to the one who’s doing the picking on as the one being picked upon.
Our world needs a big embrace of love and compassion - the whole world over.  Think what a place it would be if collectively we all hugged one another in the spirit of love and only love.  I do believe that heaven would drift down to earth and the smile of God would be so large that EVERY person would feel the warmth generating from the happiness being felt from above.
John Lennon once said, “you may say, ‘I’m a dreamer...’ but I’m not the only one...” I don’t believe I am either.  Just imagine it for a second...  That which we imagine we give power to.  That’s the kind of holy roller moment that I’m talking about!  Scripture says with God, ALL things are possible!  Yes, indeed.  Indeed they are.  Let’s make some things possible: like no more bullying.  How about no more name calling?  How about to every young person out there you remember this: God loves you – just the way you are!  He made you, and he doesn’t make junk!  In your moments of despair, when you feel alone, remember that YOU ARE LOVED!  If you need to hear it in whatever moment you are in, go listen to Josh Groban!  He’ll tell you so!  Don’t give up!  Moments in life – especially the bad ones are temporary.  Don’t take a permanent action to solve a temporary life-moment.  Stop! Take a breath and know that it will pass.  It will! There are not many things I know for certain, but that is one thing that I can assure you of with complete certainty!
I wasn’t fortunate enough to have my children live their lives with me here on earth.  Had I been blessed to mother them through these difficult years, I would have said to them, “You are a rare blessing!  Do not let anyone EVER make you feel less than the unique gift that you are to this world!  Whoever you are is okay!  Just be the best you that you can be, and that will be good enough for your father and I!”  If there is one child out there who isn’t getting that message from home, than you come here and take it from me, because I will gladly offer it to you here, and I will send you a cyberhug to go along with... (((HUG))) You are loved! You are loved! Don’t EVER forget that!!!!
Martin Scorsese once said that as he’s gotten older, he has more of a tendency to look for people who live by kindness, tolerance, compassion, and a gentler way of looking at things.  Yes, Martin.  That’s right!  Those are exactly the glasses we should look through as we get older because everyone is fighting some kind of battle in this life... Everyone.  Be kind....it doesn’t cost you anything, but it might mean the world to them....



http://youtu.be/_pqGOf_V2T4  Love Can Build a Bridge~The Judds
http://youtu.be/aEOuWCIikVc  You Are Loved~Josh Groban *I posted a different version of this in an entry the other day....it “bears” ;-) repeating...


Wednesday, October 16, 2013

The Importance of Being...

                                              "Be Yourself...everyone else is already taken..."
                                       ~Oscar Wilde, October 16, 1854-November 30, 1900

...Champing his gilded oats, the Hippogriff will stand in our
stalls, and over our heads will float the Blue Bird singing of
beautiful and impossible things, of things that are lovely and that
never happen, of things that are not and that should be... ~Oscar Wilde, The Art Of Lying

http://youtu.be/t33NWgOzjK8 The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde read by Stephen Fry
                                                   Full short story~PLEASE listen
http://youtu.be/EQOKtLTt-Hk   The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde
http://youtu.be/5KM5f5S2BPs  The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
                                                    Full Audio Book
http://youtu.be/Ksn2pwKN0WI  The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
                                                    Full Audio Book
http://youtu.be/1kJUH1HIAbk  The Soul of Man by Oscar Wilde [Full Audio Book]
http://youtu.be/FFl5Ew1kRr8  An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde [Full Audio Book]
http://youtu.be/Iq_Kx3IKeSg  REQUIESCAT - poem by Oscar Wilde written in memory of his little sister, Isola Francesca Wilde, who died at the age of 12
http://youtu.be/cqRwZz7n8o8  Oscar Wilde Biography [Harry Smith Narrates Part 1]
http://youtu.be/gehpDtxANEE Oscar Wilde Biography Part II
http://youtu.be/O6S0AmZFw7k Oscar Wilde Biography Part III
http://youtu.be/nSkNvzbgS_E  Oscar Wilde Biography Part IV
http://youtu.be/ABrGNothfP0 Oscar Wilde Biography Part V
http://youtu.be/bk_TstA7cK4  Oscar Wilde Biography Part VI
http://youtu.be/5GNvQL3Iwgs Oscar Wilde Biography Part VII

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born 159 years ago today in Dublin, Ireland.  He was an incredible Irish writer and poet - one of my favorites.  Most notably, he is remembered for his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and his masterpiece play, The Importance of Being Earnest.  He died much too soon at the age of 46 - penniless in Paris.  He was a controversial figure in his lifetime because of his bisexuality, and because of the time he spent in jail.  He was a Bohemian artist, plain and simple - tragic and flawed but brilliant.  I am attaching the Wikipedia link if you'd care to read more about him.  Above, I've included the A&E Biography narrated by Harry Smith.  I encourage everyone to come back and listen to the audio books and watch the biography and the birthday tribute at the end of this entry.  He left behind a rich body of work.  His thoughts were profound, funny, insightful - all thought provoking.

Peruse the entry at your leisure.  That's what it's here for: to pass along the brilliance and celebrate him today.  Enjoy~

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Wilde

The Ballad of Reading Gaol

This is a prison poem written by Oscar Wilde in 1897-8, after his release and during his self-imposed exile in France and Italy; it was published anonymously over his prison number, C33.

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellow's got to swing."

Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place

He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.

He does not wake at dawn to see
Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
With the yellow face of Doom.

He does not rise in piteous haste
To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
Fingering a watch whose little ticks
Are like horrible hammer-blows.

He does not know that sickening thirst
That sands one's throat, before
The hangman with his gardener's gloves
Slips through the padded door,
And binds one with three leathern thongs,
That the throat may thirst no more.

He does not bend his head to hear
The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves
Into the hideous shed.

He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.

II

Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,
In a suit of shabby grey:
His cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay,
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every wandering cloud that trailed
Its ravelled fleeces by.

He did not wring his hands, as do
Those witless men who dare
To try to rear the changeling Hope
In the cave of black Despair:
He only looked upon the sun,
And drank the morning air.

He did not wring his hands nor weep,
Nor did he peek or pine,
But he drank the air as though it held
Some healthful anodyne;
With open mouth he drank the sun
As though it had been wine!

And I and all the souls in pain,
Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot if we ourselves had done
A great or little thing,
And watched with gaze of dull amaze
The man who had to swing.

And strange it was to see him pass
With a step so light and gay,
And strange it was to see him look
So wistfully at the day,
And strange it was to think that he
Had such a debt to pay.

For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
That in the spring-time shoot:
But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
With its adder-bitten root,
And, green or dry, a man must die
Before it bears its fruit!

The loftiest place is that seat of grace
For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
Upon a scaffold high,
And through a murderer's collar take
His last look at the sky?

It is sweet to dance to violins
When Love and Life are fair:
To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes
Is delicate and rare:
But it is not sweet with nimble feet
To dance upon the air!

So with curious eyes and sick surmise
We watched him day by day,
And wondered if each one of us
Would end the self-same way,
For none can tell to what red Hell
His sightless soul may stray.

At last the dead man walked no more
Amongst the Trial Men,
And I knew that he was standing up
In the black dock's dreadful pen,
And that never would I see his face
In God's sweet world again.

Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
We had crossed each other's way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
But in the shameful day.

A prison wall was round us both,
Two outcast men were we:
The world had thrust us from its heart,
And God from out His care:
And the iron gin that waits for Sin
Had caught us in its snare.

III

In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard,
And the dripping wall is high,
So it was there he took the air
Beneath the leaden sky,
And by each side a Warder walked,
For fear the man might die.

Or else he sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he crouched to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.

The Governor was strong upon
The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called
And left a little tract.

And twice a day he smoked his pipe,
And drank his quart of beer:
His soul was resolute, and held
No hiding-place for fear;
He often said that he was glad
The hangman's hands were near.

But why he said so strange a thing
No Warder dared to ask:
For he to whom a watcher's doom
Is given as his task,
Must set a lock upon his lips,
And make his face a mask.

Or else he might be moved, and try
To comfort or console:
And what should Human Pity do
Pent up in Murderers' Hole?
What word of grace in such a place
Could help a brother's soul?

With slouch and swing around the ring
We trod the Fool's Parade!
We did not care: we knew we were
The Devil's Own Brigade:
And shaven head and feet of lead
Make a merry masquerade.

We tore the tarry rope to shreds
With blunt and bleeding nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
And clattered with the pails.

We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,
We turned the dusty drill:
We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,
And sweated on the mill:
But in the heart of every man
Terror was lying still.

So still it lay that every day
Crawled like a weed-clogged wave:
And we forgot the bitter lot
That waits for fool and knave,
Till once, as we tramped in from work,
We passed an open grave.

With yawning mouth the yellow hole
Gaped for a living thing;
The very mud cried out for blood
To the thirsty asphalte ring:
And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair
Some prisoner had to swing.

Right in we went, with soul intent
On Death and Dread and Doom:
The hangman, with his little bag,
Went shuffling through the gloom
And each man trembled as he crept
Into his numbered tomb.

That night the empty corridors
Were full of forms of Fear,
And up and down the iron town
Stole feet we could not hear,
And through the bars that hide the stars
White faces seemed to peer.

He lay as one who lies and dreams
In a pleasant meadow-land,
The watcher watched him as he slept,
And could not understand
How one could sleep so sweet a sleep
With a hangman close at hand?

But there is no sleep when men must weep
Who never yet have wept:
So we—the fool, the fraud, the knave—
That endless vigil kept,
And through each brain on hands of pain
Another's terror crept.

Alas! it is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.

The Warders with their shoes of felt
Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
Grey figures on the floor,
And wondered why men knelt to pray
Who never prayed before.

All through the night we knelt and prayed,
Mad mourners of a corpse!
The troubled plumes of midnight were
The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
Was the savour of Remorse.

The cock crew, the red cock crew,
But never came the day:
And crooked shape of Terror crouched,
In the corners where we lay:
And each evil sprite that walks by night
Before us seemed to play.

They glided past, they glided fast,
Like travellers through a mist:
They mocked the moon in a rigadoon
Of delicate turn and twist,
And with formal pace and loathsome grace
The phantoms kept their tryst.

With mop and mow, we saw them go,
Slim shadows hand in hand:
About, about, in ghostly rout
They trod a saraband:
And the damned grotesques made arabesques,
Like the wind upon the sand!

With the pirouettes of marionettes,
They tripped on pointed tread:
But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,
As their grisly masque they led,
And loud they sang, and loud they sang,
For they sang to wake the dead.

"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide,
But fettered limbs go lame!
And once, or twice, to throw the dice
Is a gentlemanly game,
But he does not win who plays with Sin
In the secret House of Shame."

No things of air these antics were
That frolicked with such glee:
To men whose lives were held in gyves,
And whose feet might not go free,
Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,
Most terrible to see.

Around, around, they waltzed and wound;
Some wheeled in smirking pairs:
With the mincing step of demirep
Some sidled up the stairs:
And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,
Each helped us at our prayers.

The morning wind began to moan,
But still the night went on:
Through its giant loom the web of gloom
Crept till each thread was spun:
And, as we prayed, we grew afraid
Of the Justice of the Sun.

The moaning wind went wandering round
The weeping prison-wall:
Till like a wheel of turning-steel
We felt the minutes crawl:
O moaning wind! what had we done
To have such a seneschal?

At last I saw the shadowed bars
Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the whitewashed wall
That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
God's dreadful dawn was red.

At six o'clock we cleaned our cells,
At seven all was still,
But the sough and swing of a mighty wing
The prison seemed to fill,
For the Lord of Death with icy breath
Had entered in to kill.

He did not pass in purple pomp,
Nor ride a moon-white steed.
Three yards of cord and a sliding board
Are all the gallows' need:
So with rope of shame the Herald came
To do the secret deed.

We were as men who through a fen
Of filthy darkness grope:
We did not dare to breathe a prayer,
Or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us,
And what was dead was Hope.

For Man's grim Justice goes its way,
And will not swerve aside:
It slays the weak, it slays the strong,
It has a deadly stride:
With iron heel it slays the strong,
The monstrous parricide!

We waited for the stroke of eight:
Each tongue was thick with thirst:
For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate
That makes a man accursed,
And Fate will use a running noose
For the best man and the worst.

We had no other thing to do,
Save to wait for the sign to come:
So, like things of stone in a valley lone,
Quiet we sat and dumb:
But each man's heart beat thick and quick
Like a madman on a drum!

With sudden shock the prison-clock
Smote on the shivering air,
And from all the gaol rose up a wail
Of impotent despair,
Like the sound that frightened marshes hear
>From a leper in his lair.

And as one sees most fearful things
In the crystal of a dream,
We saw the greasy hempen rope
Hooked to the blackened beam,
And heard the prayer the hangman's snare
Strangled into a scream.

And all the woe that moved him so
That he gave that bitter cry,
And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,
None knew so well as I:
For he who live more lives than one
More deaths than one must die.

IV

There is no chapel on the day
On which they hang a man:
The Chaplain's heart is far too sick,
Or his face is far to wan,
Or there is that written in his eyes
Which none should look upon.

So they kept us close till nigh on noon,
And then they rang the bell,
And the Warders with their jingling keys
Opened each listening cell,
And down the iron stair we tramped,
Each from his separate Hell.

Out into God's sweet air we went,
But not in wonted way,
For this man's face was white with fear,
And that man's face was grey,
And I never saw sad men who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw sad men who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
We prisoners called the sky,
And at every careless cloud that passed
In happy freedom by.

But their were those amongst us all
Who walked with downcast head,
And knew that, had each got his due,
They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived
Whilst they had killed the dead.

For he who sins a second time
Wakes a dead soul to pain,
And draws it from its spotted shroud,
And makes it bleed again,
And makes it bleed great gouts of blood
And makes it bleed in vain!

Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb
With crooked arrows starred,
Silently we went round and round
The slippery asphalte yard;
Silently we went round and round,
And no man spoke a word.

Silently we went round and round,
And through each hollow mind
The memory of dreadful things
Rushed like a dreadful wind,
An Horror stalked before each man,
And terror crept behind.

The Warders strutted up and down,
And kept their herd of brutes,
Their uniforms were spick and span,
And they wore their Sunday suits,
But we knew the work they had been at
By the quicklime on their boots.

For where a grave had opened wide,
There was no grave at all:
Only a stretch of mud and sand
By the hideous prison-wall,
And a little heap of burning lime,
That the man should have his pall.

For he has a pall, this wretched man,
Such as few men can claim:
Deep down below a prison-yard,
Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
Wrapt in a sheet of flame!

And all the while the burning lime
Eats flesh and bone away,
It eats the brittle bone by night,
And the soft flesh by the day,
It eats the flesh and bones by turns,
But it eats the heart alway.

For three long years they will not sow
Or root or seedling there:
For three long years the unblessed spot
Will sterile be and bare,
And look upon the wondering sky
With unreproachful stare.

They think a murderer's heart would taint
Each simple seed they sow.
It is not true! God's kindly earth
Is kindlier than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
The white rose whiter blow.

Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way,
Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?

But neither milk-white rose nor red
May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint,
Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
A common man's despair.

So never will wine-red rose or white,
Petal by petal, fall
On that stretch of mud and sand that lies
By the hideous prison-wall,
To tell the men who tramp the yard
That God's Son died for all.

Yet though the hideous prison-wall
Still hems him round and round,
And a spirit man not walk by night
That is with fetters bound,
And a spirit may not weep that lies
In such unholy ground,

He is at peace—this wretched man—
At peace, or will be soon:
There is no thing to make him mad,
Nor does Terror walk at noon,
For the lampless Earth in which he lies
Has neither Sun nor Moon.

They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A requiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But hurriedly they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.

They stripped him of his canvas clothes,
And gave him to the flies;
They mocked the swollen purple throat
And the stark and staring eyes:
And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud
In which their convict lies.

The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
By his dishonoured grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
Whom Christ came down to save.

Yet all is well; he has but passed
To Life's appointed bourne:
And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourner will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.

V

I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in goal
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.

But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.

This too I know—and wise it were
If each could know the same—
That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.

With bars they blur the gracious moon,
And blind the goodly sun:
And they do well to hide their Hell,
For in it things are done
That Son of God nor son of Man
Ever should look upon!

The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison-air:
It is only what is good in Man
That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair

For they starve the little frightened child
Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.

The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed and cries to Time.

But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
Like asp with adder fight,
We have little care of prison fare,
For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
Becomes one's heart by night.

With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his separate Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
Than the sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes near
To speak a gentle word:
And the eye that watches through the door
Is pitiless and hard:
And by all forgot, we rot and rot,
With soul and body marred.

And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean leper's house
With the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat.
And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
The Thief to Paradise;
And a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.

The man in red who reads the Law
Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
His soul of his soul's strife,
And cleanse from every blot of blood
The hand that held the knife.

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
Became Christ's snow-white seal.

VI

In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
Eaten by teeth of flame,
In burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.

And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!



Oscar Wilde Quotes:

~Genius is born — not paid.
~Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.
~In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.
~Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary.
~Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.
~You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.
~Arguments are to be avoided; they are always vulgar and often convincing.
~You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear...
~At twilight, nature is not without loveliness, though perhaps its chief use is to illustrate quotations from the poets.
~With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?
~Biography lends to death a new terror.
~I love to talk about nothing. It's the only thing I know anything about.
~Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.
~I always like to know everything about my new friends, and nothing about my old ones.
~A pessimist is somebody who complains about the noise when opportunity knocks.
~I think that God in creating Man somewhat overestimated his ability.
~Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.
~Illusion is the first of all pleasures.
~Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.
~It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information.
~Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
~For one moment our lives met, our souls touched...
~One should always be a little improbable.
~What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.
~Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.
~Each of us has heaven and hell in him...
~Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace.
~One can survive everything, nowadays, except death, and live down everything except a good reputation.
~One should always play fairly when one has the winning cards.
~The aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly - that is what each of us is here for.
~Who, being loved, is poor?
~The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, and the young know everything.
~The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.
~Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.
~A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave.
~There are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating: people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing.
~We teach people how to remember, we never teach them how to grow.
~The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
~Wisdom comes with winters.
~The only thing that sustains one through life is the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and this is a feeling that I have always cultivated.
~Crying is the refuge of plain women, but the ruin of pretty ones.
~To define is to limit.
~My own business always bores me to death; I prefer other people's.
~I can resist anything but temptation.
~It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious. ;-)
~Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.
~Scandal is gossip made tedious by morality.
~We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
~Every woman is a rebel.
~What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
~A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.
~Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years.
~Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.
~Everything in moderation, including moderation. ;-)
~Paradoxically though it may seem, it is none the less true that life imitates art far more than art imitates life.
~We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.
~I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.
~A bore is someone who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company.
~I like men who have a future and women who have a past.
~Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.
~One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing.
~The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.
~Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.
~There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
~To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.
~Women have a much better time than men in this world; there are far more things forbidden to them.
~There are moments when one has to choose between living one's own life, fully, entirely, completely-or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands.
~Society often forgives the criminal; it never forgives the dreamer.
~I may not agree with you, but I will defend to the death your right to make an ass of yourself.
~When a woman marries again, it is because she detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he adored his first wife. Women try their luck; men risk theirs.
~The nicest feeling in the world is to do a good deed anonymously-and have somebody find out.
~Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.
~Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one.
~This wallpaper is dreadful, one of us will have to go!
~Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will forgive us everything, even our intellects.
~There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written.
~I suppose that I shall have to die beyond my means. [upon being told of the cost of an operation.]
~They've promised that dreams can come true - but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.
~Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets.
~What does it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?
~True friends stab you in the front.
~Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.
~The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.
~One has a right to judge a man by the effect he has over his friends.
~No man is rich enough to buy back his past.
~Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.
~Hearts live by being wounded.
~Experience is one thing you can't get for nothing.
~It takes great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it.
~Men always want to be a woman's first love; women like to be a man's last romance.
~We women, as some one says, love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes...
~There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.
~Everything popular is wrong.
~I see when men love women, they give them but a little of their lives. But, women, when they love, give everything.
~To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.
~I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.
~A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction.
~You can never be overdressed or overeducated.
~I don’t want to go to heaven! None of my friends are there.
~All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy.  No man does. That is his.
~Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
~I don’t say we all ought to misbehave. But we ought to look as if we could.
~A man [OR woman] who does not think for himself does not think at all.
~I never put off till tomorrow what I can possibly do the day after.
~To live is the rarest thing in the world.  Most people exist, that is all.
~Some things are more precious because they don't last long.
~The truth is rarely pure and never simple...

The man was BRILLIANT!!!!!

                                                         Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde



        Make some Irish Tea Cake today and a spot of Earl Grey Tea....then, raise your cup to Oscar!!!

http://youtu.be/QCPGIZBNKP8   Happy Birthday, Oscar Wilde

Monday, October 14, 2013

A Lesson In Pooh



“‘Well,’ said Pooh, ‘what I like best’ -- “and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called...” {I KNOW what it’s called: Tupelo Anticipation ;-)...}

http://youtu.be/wQhCNOV5Gnk  Return to Pooh Corner - Kenny Loggins


I got an email that someone couldn't read the above page. It states this:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.” ~Winnie the Pooh


“Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.”

I woke feeling a little 11 o’clockish today — long weekend of family celebrating my sister-in-law getting married and traveling up and back to Philadelphia.  All this whirlwind isn’t as easy on a 50-year-old body, as it once was...but, I digress... I also woke up this morning, with a smile on my face, because today, October 14th is the day when A. A. Milne introduced the world to a sweet, funny little bear and his cast of friends who forever changed the lives of children.  I love bears — I especially love one honey colored little bear named, Winne-the-Pooh, who also had a special affinity for honey itself.  He and I are a LOT alike.
The Year was 1926 when A. A. Milne’s book, “Winnie-the-Pooh,” made its debut.  He’s been delighting young and old ever since!  Warm fuzzy.  That’s what he is.  And Piglet, Roo, Tigger, Rabbit, Kanga, Owl — even Eeyore all provide that same feeling of solace.   Mr. Milne had no idea when he created this cast of characters to entertain his son, Christopher Robin, that he’d be delighting children the world over, but that’s just what he did when he modeled Pooh after a teddy bear owned by his young son.  I’ve read these stories were not the direction Mr. Milne wanted his writing to take — he had other plans and ideas about stories he wanted to pen, but the Pooh tales are the ones that made him a part of the consciousness of child after child after child for generations.  Below is a poem that Mr. Milne wrote, it is estimated about 73 years ago:

Us Two
by A. A. Milne

Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.

"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.

"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.

"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.

"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."

So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together,” says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.

I remember when I was pregnant for the first time with our son, I had read voraciously book after book on EVERY topic conceivable regarding pregnancy, childbirth, early child development, and so forth.  One book I read suggested that the nursery theme selected for a child was very important.   It should, the book suggested, be bright and positive and the characters used should be soothing, comforting and calming ones.  I could think of nothing better to use as the backdrop for the place where our child would sleep, play and nap than that of The Hundred Acre Wood and be surrounded by Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends.  We had it all picked out; I just wish we had gotten to implement it.  Still, it was a good selection!
I also remember thinking 15 years ago when I was pregnant that most of the lessons that were important to teach a child outside of the Golden Rule were Poohisms.  Do you know them?  Hm...they are wonderful sayings, thoughts — ideas.  Truthfully, wonderful doesn’t accurately cover what they are.  They aren’t just good food for thought for children to remember.  They are good food for thought PERIOD!   I couldn’t let today go by and not make mention of this important day in history.  If A. A. Milne were alive today, I’d send him a thank you letter for creating these wonderful characters.  Each one magical and memorable in its own right with something to teach us all...



Love is taking a few steps backward maybe even more...to give way to the happiness of the person you love. ~Winnie the Pooh
















"Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."


"If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so that I never have to live without you." ~Winnie the Pooh




                                             I use to believe in forever, but forever is too good to be 
                                                           true.  ~Winnie the Pooh



                                               Let's begin by taking a smallish nap or two.
                                                               Winnie the Pooh



And together, they touched the sky...


http://youtu.be/jOBcwJbKOdY  You Are Loved ~Josh Groban
{Read the Heart that Eeyore is holding....}

Let's close with this ending thought by Pooh, and mine too: take a half hour EVERY day for JUST you.  JUST YOU!  "Why?"you may be asking.  Because it's important to have a moment just to ourselves to take a breath - catch our breath, call a friend, have a cup of tea with honey, ;-) read a few lines from a book, listen to a favorite song, whatever it is that you want to do...do it!  Because as Pooh says: "Rivers know this: there is NO hurry! We shall get there some day." ...