Friendship

In preschool and grammar school friendship falls into our laps. In the sandbox or on the swings, sharing a dump truck or a doll common ground is found. Parents meet, exchange numbers and invitations to birthday parties and slumber parties are soon to follow.

Has we age and reach our teen years the social pool has been diluted. The class of thirty that we knew fairly well has been absorbed into a larger class of five to six hundred. Friends that we have know since pre-school may not even attend the same high school. Old friends fade into the mist as new friendship develop from the fertile soil of athletics, scholastics and hormones.

Before much time as past college appears on the horizon. New friends and old are scattered across the country by the winds of change. New paths are chosen. New directions are found. Some relationships have survived the turmoil from preschool thru college. Others may be new but a strong foundation has been built.

Graduation and promotions, marriage and children, all of life's responsibilities become part of our essence. Marriage and parenting bring new friends and new circles. Some of the old have drifted away. Finding new circles to swim in. If we are lucky a few of the classics have survived. They have aged like a fine wine. Meant to be savored and appreciated.

As we move to new neighborhoods, transfer to new offices or begin second careers with new corporations the friendship cycle changes once again. Something is different though. The pool is no longer expanding but shrinking. New friends appear to be mere acquaintances. They are great for lunch, a movie, office gossip but the closeness that developed with relative ease through schools and careers has become more complicated. Everyone already seems to have a "best friend". The two o'clock in the morning the world is ending I need someone to talk to type of friend.

Those of us who have that "best friend" are blessed. We have made it through three or four decades with somebody who shares memories and history with us. That in and of itself is a precious gift and one we should embrace wholeheartedly.

Words

"You are a slob. Wait until you are older no girl will even look at you."

"You are so lazy."

"You are fat."

"You are so stupid."

How can she not see his tear filled eyes and the pain their words have caused him. How can she repeat the errors of the previous generation and treat him the way she was treated.

Her mother had always used words as weapons hurling them at the three siblings. She could remember hiding in the closet or under the bed anywhere to escape the pain of those barbs. Words are powerful though they are like time bombs. She thought she had avoided most of the damage but she was well into her thirties and still found herself crying in her sleep. She no longer lived with her mother but the potency of her mothers words crossed telephone lines could still cut her deep.

Yet, what she hated most about her mother she inflicted upon her only son. When brought to her attention she always brushed off the concerns of others.

"They're only words", she would mutter.

"He knows I love him," she would explain.

All the more reason for her to understand the power love gives to our words. The words of a stranger can be easily brushed off. There is no emotional investment. The words of a loved one however are filled with meaning. How can he at ten separate the wheat from the chaff. She calls him stupid, or fat, or lazy but doesn't mean it. How can he not become confused when she than says I love you and means it.

Lacking understanding he searches for the true meaning behind her words but only finds himself lost in tears of confusion and frustration.

Communication

There used to be conversation. Discussion. A decision needed to be made and they sat down and discussed their options like two mature adults. Sometimes one would compromise, sometimes the other. Somehow they always found their way to the middle ground where they could both accept the resolution to the problem.

No more. What used to be quiet conversation in the bedroom or around the kitchen table had regressed into territorial battles. Where had it gone wrong? Why had communication faded into the woodwork? Could they ever regain that early gift they had of mature teamwork? Or were they doomed to one of "those" marriages where they stayed together out of comfort and not passion. Where the children were the only thing left that they held in common.

He for one was not sure. In the quieter moments, late at night he would often find himself pacing the downstairs searching for a solution to their stalemate. If he was completely honest he could even pinpoint the origin of the impasse. It was his fault, because of his irrational obsession that required him to make the entire planet happy regardless of the cost to himself. As their marriage aged he found himself compromising more and more to keep the peace. He would agree rather than fight in front of the children. At first the compromises were over little things. What color to paint a wall, how to arrange the living room furniture.

The consequences of those compromises developed over time. His wife began to understand that if she started an argument she would usually get her way. In the beginning she was careful to pick and choose the times that she would break out her secret weapon. After awhile though she through caution to the wind and began to pick fights to have everything her way. She did not see it as manipulation. She saw nothing wrong. If her husband wanted to keep the peace by sacrificing his desires who was she to stop him.

For him the problem became apparent when the children reached school age. The disagreements intensified as came to the realization that their ideas concerning education were as different as night and day. He understood that while the education system was bruised and battered with parent participation it still worked. She on the other hand wand to toss out the baby with the bathwater and home school the children. He had no problem with home schooling if the parents had the ability to create an environment that stimulated the child's ability to learn. The problem was that he worked full time and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that his wife did not have wherewithal to maintain the proper classroom. The issue appeared to be black and white someone would have to give in.

So it had finally happened a line had been drawn in the sand and all that was left was to see who would blink first. She was adamant about home schooling he was adamant about his children receiving a proper education. This is the straw that would break the camels back. He could give in and forever surrender his ability to voice his opinion or he could make a stand. Praying all the while that it would not be his last.

Ghost Town

So far I have kept my posts link free. That being said all rules are made to be broken and the following link made breaking this unwritten one more than worth it.

Ghost Town

is a site belonging to a Russian woman named Elena. Apparently her favorite past time is to climb aboard her Ninja motorcycle and cruise the former Soviet Bloc. What makes her site unique is that she does most of her touring in and around Cherynobl, also known as Ghost Town. The photos she has posted are erie and really made me stop and ponder the consequences brought about by some of the choices humanity has made. Several images have haunted my subconscious sense my initial viewing of her site. I will leave my opinions for another time so that anyone who decides to visit her site can see her photos from fresh eyes. I will say that viewing her photos brought to mind the poetry of T.S. Elliot especially the poem:

The Waste Land

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Could Have Been

Every family has their would a, should a, could a been story. Ours is no different.

In the early thirties my maternal grandfathers family moved to Los Angeles from Milwaukee. My great grandfather Herman purchased a storefront on Wilshire Blvd. in a part of town that came to be known as the Miracle Mile.

Herman and his son's Stanley and Arthur (my grandfather) opened a radio sales and repair shop. They worked hard and their business prospered. One day Stanley went to his father and told him about the wondrous new product he had seen. The television. He was very enthusiastic in explaining to Herman and Arthur how the salesman had convinced him the television was the future and the glory days of radio would soon fade. His idea was for them to slowly move out of radio sales and into television. While Arthur agreed and understood that there might be a future in television sales Herman would have none of it. Like a lot of people he felt that television was a passing fad and he was not about to mortgage his families future on a whim. Being the patriarch and owner his vote was all that counted and the family remained in the radio business.

Of course history tells us that television went on to dominate American culture. As so many others had, Herman misread the signs and ended up going out of business.

On a side note, Wilshire Blvd. and the Miracle Mile went on to become some of the highest priced real estate in Southern California. With a little bit of for sight my great grandfather would have been a wealthy man.

Origins 1

I was looking through some of my maternal grandmother's papers today. When she passed away most everyone wanted the furniture, jewelry, etc. I on the other hand wanted everything that related to family history. Letters she exchanged with my grandfather, with her relatives, her nursing license. Basically anything that spoke to me from the past. In reading through the material today I was reminded how a family's destiny is never set in stone but flows through time.

My great-grandfather Quinto emigrated from Italy to South Africa in 1899. He was a miner by trade and went to work the diamond mines. He left his family behind with the intention of having them move to South Africa once he was settled. He was not there very long before the Boer War broke out. He wrote to my great grandmother and asked her to remain in Italy until the war had drawn to a close. Once the war continued into its second year he decided that South Africa was not the place he wanted to raise his family. He discussed this with some of his fellow emigrants and found that several Italian families he knew were leaving for Lexington, Missouri. So he abandoned the diamond mines and headed home. He talked it over with my great grandmother and they decided he would head for the America first and find a home and she would follow. So Quinto left Italy and arrived at Ellis Island in 1901. From there he went to Lexington and found work in the coalmines.

My great grandmother Maria followed in 1902. She sailed with two children from Port Le Havre, Seine-Inferior, France on the La Lorraine. Being a relatively poor family they did not have a private room. They traveled in what was basically steerage class with blankets hung from the ceiling to offer some degree of privacy. Her children were Eligio 2 and Adriana who was just 4 months old. Adriana was miserable for most of the trip being both seasick and teething. The little family arrived at Ellis Island on June 7, 1902 and took a train from New York to Missouri. Where Quinto met them and they began a new life. My great grandparents had five more children that were born in Lexington. Most importantly (to me at least) my grandmother Elda was born there in 1906.

Career Free Write

The sound of yesterday's laughter still rings loudly within my ears. Unwelcome reminders of promises made, broken and left behind. Teen years spent in splendid adolescent isolation. Lost in world of literature oblivious to the surrounding sea of hormones. No time for extracurricular activities when books hid new and wondrous worlds to be explored. Worked for the Cask and Cleaver bussing tables and cleaning floors. Dropped in then dropped out of the local college found out law books did not hold the answers. Had a choice to make between school and a career when BofA came calling. Chose BofA and spent twelve years as a corporate serf earning an office without a door. Mergers dominated the early nineties and was merged right out of a job. Experienced the nirvana that is unemployment recording time with chalk marks on the wall. Then Magellan left for Venus so JPL was joined. Spent a year boxing photos from other worlds and playing softball with the techies. Met Sagan before he died and watched Galileo leave for Jupiter. More photos to be boxed until one faulty antenna send funding out the door. Temporarily rejoined the shuffling unemployed before cooking for the priests at Annunciation. Before the stars called again and Griffith Observatory was joined. Counting the cash and training the crew while watching the sun set in the Pacific. Took a test and joined the City of LA still counting cash but the benefits are better.