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Something slightly loftier, pointed and hopefuly witty. |
| The ever popular question of what now comes to mind on yet another end and begining. |
Relationship In a quiet little town, far from the congested streets of a busy city, families are raised in the innocence of a bygone Americana. The limitless rise of the buildings is replaced by open views and fresh air and is the home of a hero. This hero has never fought a war nor has she cured a wasting disease. She has never rushed into a burning building or scored the winning touchdown. In fact, if you passed her in the street, she might appear as just another suburban-mother. She would certainly argue being referred to as a hero, and simply admit that she is just being herself, a wife, a mom, a friend. Michelle Klear makes a comfortable home for her husband, Brian and their two beautiful children Savanna, 10 and Jackson, 6 in Brighton, Mich. This small town-west of Detroit-has maintained its charm and apple pie appearance despite the surge of technology and the ever-changing world around it. Michelle carries out the typical rituals of many mothers past and present; cooking, cleaning, and maintaining her friendship with her husband of 18 years. During the hours when the children are in school she takes time for herself and makes and sells her own jewelry, writes poetry, and is a well respected member of writing.com, an internet blog-site for amateur writers where she always opens with, "Hello my sunny friends," before each of her daily entries. "Michelle opens her heart to the world and shows tremendous courage," said writing.com friend Debi Wharton. "I am envious of Michelle's writing abilities." Klear's sunny friends would soon learn of the trouble that brewed within her world. The cheer-giver was nearing the end of her rope and felt helpless for an answer. Her son Jackson has been struggling with emotional problems since he was a toddler and over time matters had grown much worse. "When he was three we knew something was drastically wrong," Klear said. "He would have horrible and vivid night terrors and I would be forced to sleep with him, night-after-night for over one year to keep him calm." When Jackson was 4 he was taken to the University of Michigan and underwent a therapeutic study, mostly geared towards parenting skills in dealing with emotional disorders. It was there that the Klear's first learned of the possibility that Jackson might be suffering from a form of bipolar disorder. Pediatric bipolar disorder is a controversial diagnosis. Children with bipolar disorder do not often meet the strict definition. In pediatric cases, the cycling between moods can occur very quickly. Children with bipolar disorder may have rapid-cycling or mixed-cycling. Rapid cycling occurs when the cycles between depression and mania occur quickly, sometimes within the same day or the same hour. When the symptoms of both mania and depression occur simultaneously, mixed cycling occurs. Klear refuses to let the barrier between her and Jackson stand in the way of his success and their relationship. She fosters his growth and encourages him to talk about his fears and thoughts. They take bike rides together and play catch in the yard or go for ice cream. "He thrives in social settings," Klear said. He has friends, goes to school and loves Matchbox cars. "Everyday Jackson asks me if I am famous. I always tell him yes. I smile and tell him I am famous for being your mom. He smiles at me. "No, mom, I mean famous, you know for your writing?" I just laugh and tell him, sure I am. He smiles back and say's great. Than he goes about his day," Klear shared. Savanna, Jackson's big sister is not without concern for her little brother. "She is very supportive of her brother's needs and does so through her loving nature and caring attitude," Klear said. "Savanna often offers to sleep with Jackson and is very good at calming him." This selfless act on the part of Savanna gives Michelle time to recharge her batteries or just relax in front of the television because it is hard to know when things will get rough or when chaos will strike. "Savanna has given up so much of her childhood for the care of her brother," Klear said. The family is forced to make plans around Jackson's moods and most of the time, his mood wins and the trip to the theater must be put off. At times Klear feels as if she is fighting the tide when dealing with Jackson's disorder. The school he attends is not prepared to handle the many moods this child carries within his little head. His classmates and teachers try to understand but there are times when Klear will get a phone call and have to go to the school to help calm Jackson. Other times Jackson will just decide he has had enough and packs up for home, then attempts to leave the school. The comfort for him is that home is within sight from his classroom window but it is also a temptation to leave. "I am not like anyone else in my class Mom, I can't do the work," Jackson tells his mother. Klear's petitions for help within the school have been a struggle and she "walks a fine line to keep her sanity." Finally after months of school board hearings and meetings with special education administrators they assigned Jackson a Para Pro at the first of this year. This assistant to Jackson will shadow him as he attends school and provide guidance while acting as a sounding board when his anxiety level gets the best of him. Additionally, it gives Klear some peace of mind knowing that she can let her guard down slightly while Jackson is in school and enjoy a somewhat more "normal" day. "Last night, Jackson cried in my arms and begged me to take away his brain. Mom, I can't hear your voice anymore, all I hear is the bad stuff telling me to be angry. I don't want this brain. I wish I was never born with it," Klear shared. The Klear family has decided to seek outside help for Jackson and enroll him in a new school next year that offers better supervision and one-on-one guidance for his wandering mind. "Havenwyck Hospital is capable of handling Jackson and starting him on a new drug. I don't have the details but I hope we can get started as soon as possible," Klear said. "It is never easy to tell your child they have to go to an institution to get better. It is my job to make him well and (we) can't do it." Through the setbacks and disappointments, fears and uncertainties Klear has never lost her faith or her passion for a happy life. If anyone had a purpose to complain, no one could point blame her way if she chose to do so. "As the day's progress my thoughts and actions turn to others. It is my job after all, and I do a pretty decent job most days," Klear said. Her days are fairly ritualistic in the typical sense of getting kids up and ready for school, preparing lunches and seeing that everyone is where they should be on time. She does set aside some time to coax her spiritual needs by attending church and enjoys the solitary walk to and from the chapel. "Sunday I give up one hour to God; just one simple hour. That doesn't seem like very much, but for some reason it seems to be enough to get me through the week," Klear spoke of her faith. "Recently I have decided to go back to school for my Masters in Psychology. I want to become a professional licensed counselor. I want to communicate what I am learning about bipolar. I want to share my experience and help other's," Klear said proudly. She will be attending the University of Phoenix next semester twice a week and plans to graduate in three years. "Going back to school and getting my master's is a big deal, but not that big of a deal. It is just one more life decision...and we are faced with those every day," Klear said matter-of-factly. From the back patio of her Michigan home Michelle Klear can be found being a mother, a wife and a friend. She can be found clicking away at the keys of her laptop orchestrating her thoughts into passages of poetry, or posing a question to her writing.com family. She is driven by her sons question, "will I out grow this," and inspired by the very rising of the sun and can't wait to type the greeting, "Hello my sunny friends." **On September, 2007, experts (from New York, Maryland and Madrid) found that the number of American children and adolescents treated for bipolar disorder increased 40-fold from 1994 to 2003, and it was increasing ever since. However, the increase was due to the fact that doctors more aggressively applied the diagnosis to children, and not that the incidence of the disorder had increased Sources: Wikipedia on line encyclopedia; Childhood Bipolar disorder Writing.com author Debi Wharton Excerpts from writing.com author Michelle Klear |
| Sociologist Ray Oldenburg's third place theory reasons that everyone has some other location besides work or home to gather. The Starbucks at 16th Street and Camelback Rd in Phoenix is the après-event gathering spot for the upwardly mobile, yet magically maintain a neighborhood atmosphere for young and old to enjoy. Nestled off a heavily traveled road, this location provides a sense of style all its own and you soon forget you are in a chain-store. The open air patio accommodates the coffee-junkies who come to enjoy relaxing conversations with friends, have business meetings or simply watch the world pass them by. Once inside, the sights and sounds of the coffee-going experience come alive as you pass through the double glass doors. Just remember to make note of the little sign alerting you to "pull" and avoid the embarrassing "thud" of your head hitting the door as you enter, a common occurrence here. For the new-comer, ordering a coffee can be somewhat intimidating and learning the coffee-lingo can take practice. Jessica, one of the barista's on duty this night, is a transplant from New Jersey and is a colorful addition to the coffee shop team. Known simply as "Jersey" by her co-workers, she greets each customer with a friendly smile and just the right amount of New Jersey-like banter. John, her co-worker and die-hard Green Bay Packers fan peeks from over the espresso machine wearing a cheerfully braced-toothed smile and bursts into his routine from the movie "You've Got Mail." "The whole purpose of place's like Starbucks is for people with no decision making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, café, de-café, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So, people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $3.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self. TALL, DE-CAFE, CAPPUCCINO!" The ensemble of energetic employees and mix of neighborhood patrons is what fuels the life that breathes within these walls, and spills out onto the patio. There is always something going on here and it is difficult not to be drawn into the action. Of course, sitting back to observe can be an activity all by itself if that is your wish. On Sundays, a group of alcoholic anonymous members gather to share in their struggles as well as support each other through their victories. Tuesdays are a common night to find the third shift from the Phoenix Fire Department Station 17 sharing a few laughs over a round of coffees, while closely monitoring the chatter coming across their radios. Finding a place to sit can be a challenge in this Phoenix-oasis from time-to-time and Wednesdays are no exception as deaf coffee night fills this little Starbucks. Kenton Twidt, a deaf student from San Diego, is here visiting his family and enjoying a pleasant Phoenix evening on the front patio with his brother Kelly, who is also deaf. "We are here for deaf-coffee night, a social gathering of friends and sign language students from Phoenix Community College, Glendale Community College and ASU," Kenton signed. The group monopolizes the outside patio, rearranging the furniture, and sitting in small groups signing and laughing in their animated language. Fast moving fingers spell out the letters of the alphabet and gestures are used to form words and phrases. The students are here to sharpen their sign language skills and learn from their hearing impaired counter-parts to inner-act more comfortably and confidently. Melissa Lemaster, a hearing sign language student at Phoenix College will receive her certificate of interpretership next year and plans to transfer to ASU west for a bachelor's degree in an undecided study. "When I was young our church had a sign language interpreter, which fascinated me and I knew that is what I wanted to do," Lemaster said while signing. Soon the others in the group became curious and join the conversation, pulling up chairs or just standing around signing to each other. Their bright smiles adding to the silent exchange of words of excitement as they graciously accepted the "outsider" with pad and pen. Shay Veno, also a Phoenix College student, will receive his certificate in deaf studies next month. Veno is an accomplished musician and performs locally sharing his Irish heritage through music on his guitar. "My grandfather shortened our last name when he came to America so that he would be more accepted while doing business at his small auto repair shop, which was located in an all Italian neighborhood," Veno shared. The animated stories made the night pass quickly and soon deaf coffee night came to an end. One-by-one they hugged and signed their goodbye's sharing in last minute details of school and spontaneous laughter, probably completely unaware that they added to the unique style which continually blossoms at this "third place." |
| C Anthony Assignment 11 Ray Oldenburg's, Ph.D. of sociology, third place theory is that everyone has some other location besides work or home to gather. The Starbucks at 16th Street and Camelback Rd in Phoenix is the après-event gathering spot for the upwardly mobile yet maintains a neighborhood atmosphere for young and old to enjoy. Nestled off a heavily traveled road this location provides a sense of style all its own and you soon forget you are in a chain-store. The front patio accommodates the coffee-junkies as they enjoy friendly conversations with friends, have business meetings or simply watch the world pass them by. Once inside, the sights and sounds of the coffee-going experience come alive as you pass through the double glass doors. Just remember to make note of the little sign alerting you to "pull" and avoid the embarrassing thud of your head hitting the door as you enter, a common occurrence here. For the new-comer, ordering a coffee can be somewhat intimidating and learning the coffee-lingo can take practice. Jessica, one of the barista's responsible for delivering the coffee beverages, is a transplant from New Jersey and is a colorful addition to the coffee shop team. Known simply as "Jersey" by her co-workers, she greets each customer with a friendly smile and just the right amount of New Jersey-like banter. John, her co-worker and die-hard Green Bay Packers fan peeks from over the espresso machine long enough to go into his routine from the movie You've Got Mail. "The whole purpose of place's like Starbucks is for people with no decision making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, café, decafé, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So, people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $3.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self. TALL, DECAFE, CAPPUCCINO!" Finding a place to sit can be a challenge in this coffee-oasis from time-to-time especially if there are large groups gathering as was the case this night. Kenton Twidt, a deaf student from San Diego, is here visiting his family and enjoying the pleasant Phoenix evening on the front patio with his brother Kelly, who is also deaf. "We are here for deaf-coffee night, a social gathering of friends and sign language students from Phoenix Community College, Glendale Community College and ASU," Kenton signed. The group takes over the outside patio sitting in small groups signing and laughing with each other in their animated language. Fast moving fingers form the letters of the alphabet and gestures are used to form words. The students are here to sharpen their sign language skills and learn from their hearing impaired counter-parts. Melissa Lemaster, a hearing sign language student at Phoenix College will receive her certificate of interpretership next year and would like to transfer to ASU west for a bachelor's in an undecided study. "When I was young our church had a sign language interpreter that fascinated me and I knew that is what I wanted to do," Lemaster said verbally. Soon the others in the group became curious and joined our conversation, pulling up chairs or just standing around signing to each other. Their bright smiles adding to the silent exchange of words of excitement as they graciously accepted this "outsider." Shay Veno, also a Phoenix College student, will receive his certificate in deaf studies next month. Veno is an accomplished musician and performs locally sharing his Irish heritage through music on his guitar. "My grandfather shortened our last name when he came to America so that he would be more accepted while doing business at his small auto repair shop, which was located in an all Italian neighborhood," Veno shared. The night passed quickly and soon deaf coffee night was coming to an end. They hugged and signed their goodbye's sharing in last minute details of school and spontaneous laugher, probably completely unaware that they added to the unique style which continually blossoms at this "third place." |
| Student Success Interview Leah Rosetti Culinary Arts student Phoenix Community College By: Christopher DiVirgilio "Everyone has the world in the palm of their hand; never give up." Phoenix College culinary arts student Leah Rosetti is taking her mother's words to heart. The U.S. Navy veteran has traded in her Navy whites for chef's whites and is well on her way to making her childhood dream a reality. The Arizona native and mother of two enrolled at Phoenix College in the fall of 2007. She will graduate from Phoenix College in 2009 with an associate's degree and hopes to transfer to Arizona State University where she will work towards earning her BAS in Food Management. After only one year of school, Rosetti has already made a name for herself. She is currently the president of the International Honors Society, Phi Theta Kappa, and has been published in the February 2008 issue of Family Circle, a nationally circulated family magazine. Her Arizona dried-tomato chili recipe was featured in the reader's recipe column. All this would be impossible if not for the unwavering support of her husband, Steve. "He keeps me on track and is my best friend in life," she said through smiling eyes. Rosetti attributes her drive to her service in the Navy. Following in a long family line of military service, the combat veteran served aboard the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln during both golf war campaigns as an aviation ordinance technician. Her military career and her ability to perform her duties would soon be altered after a seemingly routine exercise turned into a long and drawn out disaster. While securing an F-18/C that had just landed on the carrier deck, Rosetti and her crew were removing the ammunition and multiple ejection racks (M.E.R) from the wing tips of the aircraft. The M.E.R attaches to the aircraft and holds and subsequently deploys the missiles when called upon by the pilot. Due to the size and weight of the M.E.R, two crew members are needed for its removal, one on the front and the other on the rear, and together and in unison, the device is lowered and stowed. It was during this instant that the crew member on the front of the M.E.R lost his grip and dropped the assembly. Rosetti tried to manage the entire 600lbs of the awkward assembly but fell to the deck with the crushing weight of the M.E.R on her chest and shoulder. Not realizing the full extent of her injuries, she brushed herself off and continued the mission. Over a three year period, she moved on to new commands, but slowly lost her mobility and ability to perform her duties, until being confined to a wheelchair, not knowing if she would ever walk again and was honorably discharged from the Navy. It's been a long and trying recovery for Rosetti, but her determination to walk again was her own inspiration. Rosetti's military training and real life experience has no doubt given her the drive necessary to tackle any challenge life has to offer. Adjusting to college life was one such challenge. "I did allot of research before choosing Phoenix College and was impressed with the fact that the students are educated; not pushed through," she said in reflection. Attending school on a full-time basis as a full-time mother involved child care rescheduling and the full support of her husband. The staff at Phoenix College also helped in calming the "new-student-jitters" for Rosetti by offering excellent guidance and advice. "Lamar Chapman was my inspiration to attend (Phoenix College) as a full-time student," she said of the Veteran's Liaison representative. The Veteran's Center, which is located in the admissions office, regularly assists veteran's enrolling at Phoenix College by processing G.I. Bill paper work as well as offering some one-on-one guidance. Her teacher, Chef Anthony Ridindo, has been a motivator from the first day of class. "He is my mentor. He is patient and his passion for his work shows through each day," Rosetti said of the culinary instructor. Rosetti is already thinking beyond the class room and has plans to fulfill a life long dream of running a bed and breakfast. The Rosetti Inn will be located in Bellingham Wash., and she and husband Steve are currently scouting property in the small port town. "We'll start small but hope to open to the public and offer brunch and dinner specials," Rosetti said. The Rosetti family is donating family relics and Leah plans on proudly showcasing her family history. "Everyone is pitching in to help and Chef Ridindo has offered to help us get things in order in the kitchen," Rosetti said excitedly. From Navy whites to chef's whites, things are certainly coming together for the Phoenix College student. Rosetti will always be guided by the inspirational people throughout her life and always recall what her mother always told her. "Everyone has the world in the palm of their hands; never give up." |
| Eileen Archibald is restless. From behind the frosted glass walls of her office-command post at the heart of Phoenix College- the task of maintaining and growing enrollment falls into the lap of Archibald, executive assistant to the president, and her sharp staff in the marketing department. Since its founding in 1920, Phoenix College has grown from 53 students to well over 20,000. The diverse collection of students ranges from all walks of life with one common goal: continued education. Although born in New York, Archibald is a self proclaimed native Arizonian, having been raised in Tempe. She put herself through college-paying out of pocket as money allowed- and has attended all the Maricopa Community Colleges to experience life at each campus. To help offset the costs of attending school, she took a job with Gateway Community College and earned her associate's in liberal arts and business. Last year she earned her master's in education from Northern Arizona University. Archibald came to Phoenix College three years ago and was offered the position of executive assistant to the president. She "fell" into the position in the marketing department and over the past three years has helped give Phoenix College a fresh look. Some of her duties include raising awareness and enrollment through television, radio and print media based on a solid marketing plan which she oversees. Archibald also meets with various advisory boards, coordinates all public relations, organizes and schedules special events, commencement ceremonies, and is Public Information Officer for Phoenix Community College. A typical day for Archibald is, "there is no typical day," she said with a laugh. She leads a group of four, assigning them various projects and tasks that will transform the group into a team of thinkers and doers. Archibald gets excited in the teaching of others. Seeing a group or individual grow and learn is all the satisfaction she needs to keep her coming back for more. For a change of pace, Archibald is an advisor for the International Honors Society, Phi Theta Kappa (PTK). Phi Theta Kappa is the international honor society of two-year colleges and academic programs, particularly community colleges and junior colleges. She is also a huge Steven Covey fan and uses his philosophies as a facilitator, teaching classes each semester on time management. Dr. Covey wrote the best-selling book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, as well as many other self-help books on time management. Archibald would like to revive her artistic talent and prefect her use of watercolors. She is an accomplished artist, who has taken classes in "live-art;" sketching posed models. She has even sold a few of her pieces. She enjoys attending the First Friday's art walk in Phoenix, although it's more for the experience and not for the art, she admits. Eileen Archibald is restless. She is restless for new challenges, fresh ideas, and new experiences. She is restless for passing her knowledge-like a torch-to those around her, but mostly, she is restless for the students. "The students are why we are here," speaking for the staff as a whole. |
| Interview The midday sun filters through the partially open door of the first floor studio apartment revealing the frail form of an elderly man sitting-head in hand-on the edge of an unmade bed. His snow-white hair weaves its way through his crooked fingers. He is surrounded by boxes and steamer trunks, a few pieces of mix-matched furniture and a TV tray which doubles as a bed-side table. An autographed photo of the cast of “The Wizard of Oz” hangs off center on a vast and empty wall above a neat pile of books and old newspapers. An entire life time of memories is contained within the walls of his tiny one room studio where he lives in solitude and where time no longer has meaning. This is the home of Eugene Horgan, an 84 year old World War II veteran and one of the few remaining citizens of the greatest generation known in American history. He was born in August of 1921 in Philadelphia, PA and went into the Army in 1942 where he was assigned to the 101st Air Borne. Like so many of the young men that served, Eugene does not consider himself a hero. “We knew it was our duty,” he says in a gentle voice. “We trained for months and made many practice jumps to get ready for D-Day.” Eugene stood from his bed and made his way towards one of the boxes along the wall. Sifting through an assortment of papers and note pads he returned holding a creased and yellow-aged form letter. “This is what they gave us before D-Day,” he said handing over the delicate paper. It was headed, Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force and addressed, Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force! “You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you…” It ended, “Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.” Signed; Dwight D. Eisenhower. Not long after reading that hortatory message, Eugene and thousands of other paratroopers like him took to the skies and an experience they would never forget. “The flak was so intense, that our planes were forced off course,” recalls Eugene. The biggest airborne operation ever attempted: 925 planes, 13,000 men of the U.S. 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions, heading for six drop zones all within a few miles of Ste.-Mere-Eglise. Only one, the 505th landed according to plan. Sixty percent of all equipment was lost, including most of the radios, mortars and ammunition. Worse still, most of the men were lost. “My chute caught in the branches of a tree and I hung there slowly swaying back and forth in my harness,” Eugene recalls. “We spent weeks hiding from the Germans and trying to locate our units, but we didn’t give up.” Eugene returns from that terrifying day so long, the crack in his voice testimony to the shadows that cross his heart and the echoes in his mind, looking up from his bed and shyly smiles. These days he spends his time reading or exploring the neighborhood clinging to memories and experiences from his life. He never married, has no children and never owned an automobile. He never complained or uttered a regretful word. He is the greatest generation, he is an American. Eugene passed away not long after this interview, no longer alone. |
| Mesa, Arizona. The private jet was pulled into position. The ground crew swarmed under the planes belly performing a ballet of tasks to ready it for its next journey; a red carpet rolled out to welcome the passengers. I had received an invitation the previous week to tag along with a local Phoenix rock band, Crash Street Kids, for a photo shoot and interview for their latest album being released in May. The event had everything a teenager-at-heart could want; planes, a rock band, and pretty girls. It seemed silly to decline their generous offer so I gathered up a few necessary items and made my way out to Falcon Field in east Mesa. The soothing smell of orange blossoms drifted across the air field from a nearby orchard and clashed with the aviation fuel that hung in the mid-morning air. A taxiing WWII B-25 rumbled by from the nearby Confederate Air Wing Squadron as a pair of Cessna trainers took off on their slow ascent over Red Mountain. I made my way to the tarmac and was met by Dan “Crash Daddy” Uhlik, the bands public relations director, who escorted me past the growing number of eager fans lining the fence. Crash Daddy, as he likes to be called, lead me to the briefing room, which was normally used as a pilot’s ready room, to meet the band and fill me in on the day’s schedule. We walked down the narrow corridor, past a hastily converted dressing room where the girls for the photo shoot were getting ready, their giddy laughter echoing ahead of us. We continued on, resisting a temptation to peek in on them, through two double doors and into the briefing room. The ready room was cluttered with guitar cases and amplifiers, and I made my way past sound equipment cases and coolers towards the group of young musicians and assistants. Crash Daddy tapped his guitar-neck cane on the floor getting the groups attention and introduced me around the room. The bands drummer, A.D Adams was in the process of having some eyeliner applied, but seemed genuinely happy to meet me. His warm smile and contagious laugh is no doubt a benefit during performances and a binding trait in the music industry. Guitarist’s Ryan McKay and Rickey Serrano both offered a friendly hand shake from the comfortable leather sofa’s while bass player Deuce Gregory paused from some solo practice on his acoustic bass and offered me a, “hey dude.” From there I followed Crash Daddy back past the giddy laughter of the girls and out onto the tarmac for a tour of the plane. The Gulf Stream jet sat waiting for the band, Red Mountain silhouetted by the facing sun light and I made my way over the red carpet and up the stairs into the plane for a look around. The interior was lavishly finished in oak trim and leather seating. A wet bar broke up the seating and towards the rear of the aircraft was a small kitchenette and lavatory. The plane had been stocked with beverages and snacks as well as some portable sound equipment. It was then that I had wished I stuck with music lessons as a kid as I made my way forward to have a peak into the flight deck, and back out onto the tarmac. From the top of the plane’s extended staircase, I looked out across the tarmac, imagining the large group of excited fans cheering to see me, as I made my way off the plane. The crowd had grown since my arrival, holding up signs and yelling for their favorite Crash Street Kid, kid to emerge from the interior of the building. Some of the excited fans hung from the fence, poised at the ready with their little digital cameras for just the right moment to capture the foursome step out, while others pressed their young faces against the links of the fence; their bodies pressed together by the fans’ behind them. I worked my way around the crowd, photographing the scene when, without warning, the crowd erupted in unison as Crash Street Kids ran out from the building, huge smiles flashed across their faces as they ran to meet and greet the rowdy group. They shook hands and signed autographs through the links of the fence and posed for pictures making sure to talk to each fan, their popularity no where near fading. I stood at the fence’s edge as the group rushed towards the plane and up the stairs, pausing to face the crowd for one last wave before disappearing into the jet; destined for an undisclosed location to put the finishing touches on their new album. I worked my way through the thinning crowd, reflecting on the day’s events; again, wishing I had stuck to those music lessons as a kid. For more information on Crash Street Kids, visit their website at: www.crashstreetkids.com |
| I feel like a stranger here these days with all that’s been going on lately. My schedule has certainly taken on a life of its own and I am along for the ride. I have been juggling the many tasks of work, school, drums and now an internship at the college. I just returned from the annual manager’s meeting at our corporate headquarters in Marietta, Ga. I have worked for this company for five years and have been eager to visit and meet the many people with whom I speak to via email or phone conferences on a daily basis, but not as thrilled about the actual purpose of the visit. The annual manager’s meeting. The word “meeting” alone conjures up thoughts of corporate brow-beatings and company politics with which I have never been fond of nor have very little use for. The transition from Marine Corps life to civilian life was not very easy for me, having fallen into a comfortable sense of security among my fellow Marines. There was a bond and a trust that was established from the very first day in basic training. Corporate America is worried about one thing... the bottom-line. I arrived in Georgia and was met by menacing grey clouds and a bitterly cold wind, having just missed a very sever storm that crippled a large part of the city which left downed power lines and splintered trees in its wake. I worked my way through the maze, better known as Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport to the curbside baggage claim where I enjoyed a very much needed Red-Apple, waiting in the stifling cold for the shuttle van. I stood there; carry on baggage safely tucked between my legs wishing I hadn’t given all my winter survival gear away during the ice-scraper ceremony prior to my departure from Chicago to Arizona. The cold air made short work of my exposed skin and brought back memories of life in Chicago. I was working on my second Red-Apple when the shuttle van pulled up, the driver, Bobby, obviously noticing my frigid state stopped short to allow me some added “air-time.” His call to my cell phone alerted me to his presence and through the laughter of those already warmly on board; I joined them, lugging my baggage into an available seat. Through chattering teeth I said my hello’s to my fellow managers, most of them quite comfortable with the air temperature. Angie and Bob where in from our Kansas City shop, Catherine from our Chicago shop, Jon and Tabitha from our Wisconsin shop, Bill right at home from our Atlanta shop, which left me and Harold, both from the desert; Harold arriving from our Vegas shop. We were still waiting on a few others whose flights had just arrived. Once the Florida crew arrived we made our way out of the parking lot maze and onto I-75 towards Marietta and the Spaghetti Factory for our dinner and company social. Bobby weaved through the rush hour traffic, the van leaning as it tried to maintain traction with the wet pavement; Tabitha eyes squeezed closed not to happy with Bobby’s driving abilities. As a dessert dweller, it was a welcome change to see the deep greens of the Georgia foliage and tall pine trees lining both sides of the freeway. The lingering scent of fresh cut grass and the recent rain rested warmly on my senses which rushed into the open window of the quickly moving van. It would be a quick, fly-by visit with little time for sightseeing but a rare chance to meet all the people I have come to depend on day-to-day. |
| As famed WWII journalist Ernie Pyle once said, “Try it sometime.” I have been giving those three words some thought these past few weeks as I “try” to master the drums, a discipline that no-doubt takes years of practice. Despite my drum-master’s continued support and encouragement I find myself more and more discouraged with my abilities. I have heard stories of other up-and-coming drummers who once thought as I do; a sinking feeling of complete failure accompanied by that dreaded inner voice of doubt. Is there a fine line between talent and skill, a natural ability or one that is taught? Assessing my own abilities I know there are things with which I “naturally” excel at and things with which I have no idea, or better stated, no right even attempting. I seem to have the “natural” ability with technical and mechanical problems but was never very inept athletically. My natural ability for written expression has always come with little effort, although even that is subject to review from time-to-time, but that’s what editor’s are for. My sincere urge to play music doesn’t seem to be enough to overcome my cumbersome limbs from getting “tangled” as I transition from drum-to-drum. But, I use very little brain power arriving at a solution to an electrical issue aboard an aircraft generator, for instance. I’m reminded of a scene from “Farris Bueller’s Day Off,” where he is aimlessly blowing into a clarinet and when coming up for air says, “Never had one lesson.” Of course, it was quite clear that he hadn’t, but the phrase, never had a lesson holds true for many people with natural abilities. I had a school friend who could draw these elaborate city scenes down to the finest detail and I could hardly manage a stick-figure. Another friend was able to play a right-handed strung guitar left-handed while still strung in a right-handed configuration. He would “simply” reverse his fingers to hit all the proper chords; never had a lesson. I always remember being so amazed at what they considered “no big deal” and it wasn’t until later in my life that I heard the same claims of amazement coming from friends at my natural abilities with technical and mechanical situations. It was then that the “it’s no big deal” realization sunk in and I “got” it. To them, I was a savior of technical skill; to me, it was no big deal. I realized the irony in our natural abilities as never being self-recognized as “natural” but rather something we have always been able to do, and thus, no big deal. I have also discovered that most people, including me, are rarely satisfied in doing the things that come naturally but set out to accomplish things of interest; things that don’t come naturally, which usually leaves us wishing we had the natural ability for this or that. It’s like wishing you had green eyes when you have brown, but if you had green, you would wish for blue. Alas! |
| “No good deed goes unpunished.” I was thinking of this famous quote first sited by Clare Booth Luce after finding a wallet at my third place the other evening. There it sat, on a table for all to see; a brown bill fold swollen with business cards, receipts and cash. I leafed through its contents looking for something that would lead me to its rightful owner. I didn’t recognize the photo on his driver’s license as a fellow coffee-junkie nor did I know the name, but I was determined to get it back to him. I would want the same courtesy afforded me. It’s during these private moments when the devil and angel appear on your shoulders and the ongoing battle between good and evil plays out in your mind. For me, it’s never a very long battle as I am lead by a very powerful archangel whom I like to think resembles Michael, the unshaved, cigarette-smoking, sugar-loving fictional character played by John Travolta who smells like fresh baked chocolate-chip cookies. After thwarting Satan’s attempt in dishonesty I located a dry-cleaning receipt with the protocol-billfold owner’s phone number and placed the call of my discovery. Ironically, his name was Michael. I got the phone call from the very appreciative Michael this morning telling me he and his wallet had been reunited. The quote, “No good deed goes unpunished,” sat on my mind throughout the day as I thought about those words. Webster’s defines punishment as a consequence of a wrong-doing, crime, fault, or bad behavior. Shouldn’t the quote read no bad deed goes unpunished? If the act of doing good deeds resulted in a punishment it would stand to reason that no one would be moved to help each other out, not that it stops the criminals from acting out their bad deeds knowing the possible out-come of their actions. Knowing that and thinking as I do I arrived at a new quote, “no good deed goes unappreciated,” as was evident by the call from the bill-fold owner and all the previous recipients of my “golden-rule” nature spanning the course of my life. The bottom line is that “you reap what you sow.” Now there’s a quote even I can understand. |
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