A Six Month Hiatus...from Blogging

Six months have passed since my last entry in this blog. I have to reflect on why that is.

Could it be that my nomadic tendencies have begun to wane? When we made the move to Miami over a year ago, our son gave us an ultimatum: five years in one place so that he could get through middle school...or else. We decided to heed his wishes.

We've begun to settle in like proper rooters.  We've become part of a school community, have re-connected with some of our friends, but in truth have been so wrapped up in our own ambitious scheduling that we have not gotten to spend quality time with many of them.

My husband was on a crazy work schedule in which his nomadic tendencies were being fanned and fueled, as he went zigzagging east and west on a weekly basis...until he wasn't.

I've been on a pace one might not expect of someone trying to root: I was published in a journal http://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/Ss5fwBpxYcmCBHGCA2EW/full; have pursued a full-time school load and am now one class shy of my Masters; started a non-profit organization www.voicesunitedusa.com and was asked to join the Miami Country Day School as full-time faculty to oversee their Broadcasting Lab and studio and help start an Entrepreneurial program for kids.

So I guess it boils down to this: my nomadic tendencies really are those that propel me to act, to move, to work, to be. Even if I am rooted, I will remain peripatetic, engaged, busy, seeking opportunity and encouraging change. It's in my nature.

So onward Urban Nomads! (I'll try to fit in blogging more...)

Margaret Thatcher and Me

In today's press, we will read and hear countless anecdotes of former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who died today after suffering a stroke. For me, there is a personal element to the story- one that changed the course of my life. My mind goes immediately to the woman I watched control a room full of swaggering, blathering, excited gentlemen yelling over each other and posturing for position during the 1980 Parliamentary sessions during the year I served as an intern for MP Julian Critchley of Aldershot. Of democracy and his constituents, Critchley once said to me with piercing conviction, "My dear, when power gets into the hands of the people, it's all over." So much for my naive beliefs that I was surrounded by the upholders of democracy itself. Critchley, a well-known columnist for the newspaper The Guardian, had a particularly identifiable writing style and was later outed for penning an anonymous-- and scathing --  critique of the leader of his own party, Mrs. Thatcher. I felt a pang of respect for Mrs. Thatcher at that moment, as she realized what an imbecile she had in her party and she did the right thing: she ousted him. Good on you, Maggie, I said.

The months I spent working in the British Parliament, walking  proudly through the St. Stephen's entrance, flashing my ID and credentials were months that shaped my life's work.  I was not a fan of Margaret Thatcher (no upstanding liberal Democrat from NY would have been at that moment in time); yet seeing her take on that room of men embedded in my mind's eye  a lasting and indelible impression. It was only years later that I realized those PM talks gave me the deepest respect for her, a realization that hit me as I came into my own in the working world in which I was surrounded by smart and snarky men.

Paraphrasing her, "if you need someone to speak, get a man; if you want to get something done, get a woman." How right you were. And how feminist was your position.

RIP Mrs. Thatcher. May you be with your Denis and may you preside over the many debates up on high.

Little Voices

While waiting outside the office of the lower division director at my son's school yesterday, I wrote the following:



Little voices screaming powerfully down the hall
On tiptoe they march to and fro
On steps of concrete, in sand and grass.
Children oh children 

With joy and mirth they cry for help
Quizzical looks as teacher talks

Tears of joy at friendships lost 
Renewed each morning at roll call.

To be young is not to be free
When those around are on constant watch.
Listen now to the little voices
For in them lie the future.
                                -- Karen Davis 2013

RIP Uncle DIck

My husband and I have entered an age when our parents, aunts and uncles and those of our friends begin to fizzle like mosquitoes to summer bug zappers.  My Uncle Dick, we were notified, passed early this morning, after suffering a stroke about a week ago. Dick was my mother's brother.

Dick, may you find peace in wherever it is that you land and may you be comforted by your parents, sister and brother there. Look down at us now and then and give a sign. You come from a long line of sign-givers. Your mother turns the lights on and off in our place every once in awhile. Your sister trips people when she wants us to remember her. Aunt Blanche, well, I think she used to appear on the street and stick out her tongue. But that stopped years ago. We are all part of this very strange and yet wonderful DNA mixture.

May you find comfort in that land beyond.
XOXO,
Your loving niece

MEND in Los Angeles is a "Force for Good"

One of our favorite organizations is MEND-- Meet Each Need  With Dignity -- which my son and I were privileged to work with in Los Angeles. Local Forces for Good | Stanford Social Innovation Review | Diigo

Happy New Year

As we draw the curtains on 2012, we need to stop and think: what the heck were those Mayans carving stones about? And which apocalypse did Nostradamus actually see? Let's hope that whatever it was it over. Perhaps whatever they saw was an implication of a new world order, a new way of living. Perhaps we are already in it.

Let's toast to 2013, be happy for friends around us and those in our hearts and thoughts.
Comfort to those who need a hug.
And hold our kids close.

Happy New Year one and all and thank you for reading this blog and keeping up my spirits when you do.

What to do on New Year's Eve?

In 2001, my soon-to-be husband and I decided that we'd get married on New Year's Day. There were two prescient reasons for choosing that date. Since we were a bit old to be marrying for the first time (both in our forties), we figured we'd begin losing our memory quicker than most newlyweds, so we wanted something easy to remember for all our futures together. One plus one equals two. Anyone could remember that as an anniversary date. The second reason was, in thinking  about the planning that went into new year's eves of the past, we wanted a future free of hassles, in which we both had dates, plans and partners -- preferably with each other.

So here we are, eleven years in, two days before New Years and we have no plans. We have no idea what we will do for New Year's Eve. We have racked our brains. We have searched through every cruise line sailing from Florida. Too expensive. Too many tourists. Too much partying. We have looked for Caribbean hideaways. Rooms, yes; flights for this week are over one thousand dollars per person. Forget that.

So we've been looking at dinner, dancing options in Miami. Some offer a champagne toast. Others a full bottle. One place has a fancy drink they call champeler. Not even champale, but champeler.

My guess is we will end up home or maybe with some friends. A lovely real bottle of champagne. Maybe a roasted goose. And a partner to sleep with, around 9 pm.

Here's wishing everyone a happy new year!

The Year End Blues

I got them ol' year end blues.

I think it began when I looked at our collection of holiday cards. Well, "collection" might be a bit of an exaggeration. Less than five. You know you are an Urban Nomad in trouble when the holiday cards you receive are from hotels you frequent and airlines you book. The fact that we received more from those vendors than friends or family sums up our year pretty well. Lots of work and moving travel, little time for friends, barely time for each other, hardly any communication.

But thank you Doubletree. Happy Holidays Delta! Best in the new year Bank of America!

I am trying not to concentrate on the naysayers, joy-enders, rule sticklers or doomsdayers.

The world goes on after the apocryphal 12/21/12 end of the universe. We remain with a new home in Miami, a state-of-the-art school for our son, a 4.0 in my first semester in Grad school and an income providing position for my husband.

May the coming year be full of wisdom, love and new ways of seeing the world.

Skinny Old Geezers

"Skinny Old Geezers in Black" is how my son described the performers on the 121212 concert stage for the victims of Hurricane Sandy. When Clapton walked on stage he questioned why there were no girls performing. I'm seeing Chelsea Clinton and she is rockin'!  Yeah, where are the girl rockers??
Where's Snookie? How about some of the SNL girls?

I say let's get some skinny -- or not so -skinny old geezer girls up there!
Rock on.

Playground Fights: A Question for Parents

In the "old days" when a kid pushed another kid to the ground on the playground, it was deemed okay, even encouraged, for that kid to get up and follow through through an act of retribution. Maybe a push-back. Maybe even a punch. Especially if these were two boys. Right?

Well my son came home last night with what looked like purple-pebble scratches on the side of his face. When I asked him about it, he very convincingly said he had no idea what it was and it didn't bother him. I didn't really buy into his story, but pushed no further, thinking if it was still there in the morning, I'd consider calling the dermatologist.

Later that evening, he took my hand as we were walking out of a restaurant and quietly said, "The real story Mom is that a boy pushed me down and I fell on my face on the playground."
"Who was the boy? Was he someone in your class?" I asked. "Did anyone help you?"
"Not in my class, no."
"In 4th grade?"
"He's a boy in extended care. I didn't tell anybody."

Extended Care is the after-school-hours program where kids can stay, do their homework, play, work on the computer. It is supervised. My son didn't seek help and would not give up the boy's name. I asked him "Why?"
"Because he was nice to me afterwards." I'm not really sure what that meant, but I left it at that.

The problem I face is that this has happened before and I feel that my son may not be so well-equipped to deal with aggressive behavior in a way that empowers him. Last year, while attending a public school, my son was in a fight with a boy who ended up sitting on his head. When I picked him up a short while after the incident occurred, he was crying, the boys around him were upset and there was no counselor around to help them. I was furious at the program and spoke immediately with the Director.

We can't keep our children out of fights. In fact, I would not want to, as I am a strong believer that the playground is a fundamental learning area, where we begin to understand human interaction, for good and bad. But still, I am not sure how to react.

So three questions come to my mind immediately:
1. Should I be upset that there was no adult supervising this and intervening afterwards?
2. How do I teach my son to better stick up for himself? Physically? Verbally?  A bit of both?
3. What would YOU do?

I'd love to get some feedback.

If you fail to plan...

The episode yesterday regarding my decision to quit a group project because of complete and utter disconnect, disrespect and discouragement between one of my teammates and me (plus the fact that no one else had done any work on the project), prompted me to think about how I think about teamwork and executing group projects. It's called metacognition; i.e. thinking deeply about thinking.  I just learned that in grad school. (Sidebar: My 9 year old came home last week and told me I wouldn't be able to read his "metacognition" because he was going to read it to me at the parent-teacher conference. Huh?? )

So thinking about it, the caption above pretty much captures what I know to be true: "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." I assumed a grad student would know that. Idiot me for assuming that in the first place.

Something else I know:  if you plan on being random, i.e. "I'll get it done whenever," your execution will pretty much tank. In the toilet. Suckeroo. But I guess they don't teach that to some undergrads.

Got me thinking about an old, old argument against minority quotas and college entrances on the base of color, creed or sports ability rather than merit.  It's really a form of discrimination that race and ethnicity specific tracks for admission even exist in this country, but they still do. They work in favor of those with lesser abilities and as a suppressive measure to those with merit. It's unfortunate that this incident got me thinking that they only way this young woman has made it this far is due to a favorable quota situation. Her attitude, work skills, ability to collaborate are anything but the high standard of her cohorts, as exhibited by her class participation throughout the semester and in particular, as a project team member.

And one last thing I know: never drag your colleagues or teammates down. Being part of a team is about helping those around you rise, together. It's about support, active listening, collegiality, comaraderie.

So I've learned my lesson: count me out of any team that fails to plan and plans to fail.

I was Bullied for Being An "Old" Student!

Well, at 53, I am an "old" student. But to actually have my age be thrown in my face by a fellow student was a real eye-opener. I guess it had to happen, right? Grad school. Boy. And to think, tonight's class had to do with Anti-Bullying rules and practices!

So it all started when I signed up for a group project on the topic of Instruction in Multilingual Classrooms. Something I know a little about -- well, the instruction in multi-lingual settings, at least, is what I've been doing most of my career. I was excited at the prospect of working in a group with Teach For America Corps members (which all but one other classmate besides me was) and was looking forward to their first-hand accounts of teaching for the past year in urban settings. At first, no one else signed up for this topic, so I figured I would end up doing a research project on a subject of lesser interest to me. Then, just when it looked like the topic was a "dead"one, two members of the class signed up.

The first time we sat together, in the following week's class, I noticed the "death to white women who don't understand Latinos" attitude on the other. My red buzzer was screaming in my ear. "Bad idea!!" it shouted. "Change teams," it urged me, yet I didn't. I thought perhaps my gut was wrong and I was just overreacting.

Trust the gut.

Sadly, it was correct. But it took me six weeks, two no-shows to group meetings, countless emails unanswered, no comments, suggestions or re-writes on numerous drafts of topic points, refusal to work on a timeline or commit to doing research to understand that this girl and I were not in the same league. Not on the same team. Not even in the same time zone (philosophically speaking). So when she told me this evening, ten days before a presentation and thorough research paper were due, as I asked her if she had her section done (as she had committed to having it done by this evening) that I was "freaking out" "too invested in the project" and "old, " I got pissed off. When she incredulously told me I was disrespecting her, I stared at her incredulously, ready to simply walk away. When she went on to say it was my "choice to have kids so maybe you shouldn't be doing this," I went ballistic. No one crosses that line. The good thing about being "old" is you can easily separate bullshit from reality.

I then did something I have never done: I quit the team. The professor offered me the ability to write up my own research paper, in lieu of doing the presentation, which is alright, although disappointing.

Then I realized my quitting was one of the first proactive acts of self-preservation I have committed in many, many years.

So "bully" to being old I say. (But if she dares use any of my material, I'll get her for plagerism!)

A Glimpse at Early Voting

I've not had a moment like this before, when, pulling up to the North Miami library, early voters were out by the crowd-ful, patiently waiting their turn in what was estimated to be a 2 to 3 hour wait. This was not your "typical" crowd to begin with. This was a predominantly Black and Haitian neighborhood, where you normally hear more Creole or Patois than English. What made this an incredible sight was that there were more people patiently waiting on line as it snaked around the block than I have seen at a Disney park. They were stationed like this on a workday at 2pm under the hot Miami sun in numbers that made a line at DisneyWorld look small. No complaints.The pride was palpable. Ladies in t-shirts from various church organizations sat on colorful chairs under umbrellas to stave of the sun while they gave advice to anyone with questions.

I was thinking back to other voting experiences I have had or witnessed. I could never imagine a New York crowd waiting two to three hours to cast their vote. Wouldn't happen. But NewYorkers do take pride in voting; although not in high numbers. Wouldn't it be transformative if they came out in numbers that correlated with those of these new Americans? I was thinking of voting in South Pasadena, California, where my fellow voters were mostly Korean or Chinese. A mix of older Americans and some newer citizens.  We lined up to vote in the driveway of a private home, designated an official voting site for that election -- something else I had never witnessed.

The North Miami voting line made me proud to be part of this mix. Americans all. It doesn't matter if your language is Creole, Patois, Spanish, Mandarin, Cantonese, Guarani, Korean or something else, you are encouraged to vote.  A great reminder that no matter what your native language or culture or political views, you're safe to vote and your voice does matter.  With more communities with people of mixed backgrounds, creeds, colors, religions, I can't help but think that, despite incredible bouts of intolerance, we are still the best place on Earth!

Is Our Language Policy a Way to Freedom or Oppression?

Some might say that capitalism has been our greatest strength—the free flow of trade based on supply and demand, the allowance of financial markets to balance themselves and the encouragement of entrepreneurs to bring new ideas to market in a constant and free flow. I would argue that capitalism is of course fundamental to our way of life, to our American society. However, I would argue that our greatest strength as a nation is something else entirely: it is our diversity and our tolerance. No other country has the mix of diverse cultures, living together in communities, often under one roof, as we do. And although we have had major bouts of intolerance including segregation, regressive immigration policies, racism, sexism, the United States has had more laws created to counteract breeches. Ours has never been a country of the homogeneous; our identity was born out of tolerance for others—for their religion, primarily. We are and have always been an amalgam of cultures, languages and mixed races. No other country in the world has more children born to families with dual language capabilities. Yet we are among only four countries in the world that adjudicates monolingualism as the “natural” state of being. We now know that we come into this world hard-wired for multiple languages, yet we continue on this path of demanding monolingualism. Language policies in our public schools for the most part in transitioning non-English speakers to English speaking which effectively obliterate their home languages.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…” penned Emma Lazarus in 1883 in her sonnet "The New Colossus." When in 1903, these words were emblazoned upon the Statue of Liberty they were not watchwords of a homogeneous society striving for one language, one culture, one way of operating. Rather, these are the watchwords of diversity. Her name is not the commonly heard moniker “Lady Liberty;” Lazarus called her the “Mother of Exiles.”  Exiles who bring their own special cultures, languages, morals, foods, and world perspectives to our shore have always been fundamental to our culture.  It is what has made the United States the republic it is today. Yet, we have legislatively, linguistically, culturally maintained a suppression of those characteristics in favor of making us fit into an unnatural state of “oneness.” Speaking anything other than English has been seen as divisive, anti-American. Rather than embracing and elevating to the highest esteem our multiple language abilities, our policies and practices have suppressed our capabilities and consequently oppressed our people.

The time has come to recognize our diversity as our greatest strength and legislatively, educational and economically shift our policies and practices. Our world power – and our ability to participate fully in a globally interconnected, digital world – will depend on it. 

If we are to participate fully as leaders in the next few years and on into the coming centuries, we must turn this around. It is a right and a social imperative, to teach and encourage multiple language use in our children. The need for a paradigm shift is staring us in the face. 

A 14 year old peace-prize winning Pakistani girl was shot today by the Taliban. Her younger brother remarked, "Every day I pray for peace to come to Swat [the area in which they live] and if not peace, either the US or China." The Taliban released a statement saying that indeed they wanted her dead for writing an international blog, which the BBC published, against the Taliban but mostly for saying that Obama was her hero and that incited insurgency in her area. They admitted having a plan to kill her over a year ago, but said the "timing" just hadn't been right. A 14 year old school girl. Today she is fighting for her life, along with two other schoolmates caught in the crossfire as they left school.

How many ways is this wrong?

In an effort to tally Western thoughts in relation to Taliban rationale, I would love to hear from anyone who reads this. Write down just ONE way you consider this wrong. Please.

A Queens Project that Does it Right

Building Movement Reflection. Case Study: Queens Community House

I read the case study of the Queens Community House (QCH) published by The Building Movement Project (www.buildingmovement.org).  Values of inclusion and social justice were the building blocks of this organization when it was established in 1975. QCH satisfied the mandate of having a community-wide, “inclusive” element as part of a low-income housing project spearheaded by then-governor Mario Cuomo. Over the years it has grown to reach over 20,000 residents at 21 different sites, and is no longer solely the focal point of the original Forest Hills community where it began.

Reading the case study, I was struck not only by the power of its leader, Irma Rodriguez, but of its flexibility as an organization to change with the times and therefore, succeed.  Despite the cynicism that is often prevalent in discussions about social service organizations, Queens Community House is a shining example of how to do it “right.” By reaching out to other organizations to form coalitions, by offering programs that empower their residents to act on their own behalf and by demanding that their own staffers actively commit to community building, QCH illustrates that human service organizations can make a huge impact on the people they serve. It is a great example of a mission driven organization that evolves from one generation to the next and illustrates the importance of organizing growth in order to sustain the organization itself. When they veered too far from their original core values, they course corrected. It took a great leader—Irma Rodriguez – to recognize that they had gone off kilter and bring them back on track, on numerous occasions.

On a personal note, I have been to the Forest Hills community that first launched QCH and have interviewed residents there as part of various political campaigns I helped. Mario Cuomo, Ed Koch, David Dinkins, even Mike Bloomberg have all taken credit for the good that has come out of these Queens projects. It had been my experience that many of these projects looked great at campaign time, but had little true, sustaining value to the communities they were meant to serve. My initial reaction, as I began reading, was wondering if the “true” political side of the story would be present. It wasn’t; but reading this case study gave me renewed hope.

“We see services as a means, not just as an end,” says Irma Rodriguez, Queens Community House’s executive director. I believe her. They‘ve gone back and forth over the years in terms of what took center stage: social services or tenants’ right s or community building or advocacy for families and children. The bottom line is, since their inception in the 70s, they have faithfully maintained their goal of being a connecting body within the community. They’ve been an active collaborator; flexible enough to change with the times, deepening their relationship to the community and helping the community stay intact. Kudos to Irma Rodriguez! Long live the Queens Community House!

Cultural Intelligence Can Lead to Life...or Death

The New York Times calls it "cathartic rage." In response to a video made by some far-right "believers" satirizing Islam, Muslims and the prophet Muhammed that went viral on YouTube, the Arab world has erupted. The American ambassador in Libya, along with four other diplomatic workers, killed this week. Demonstrators in Gaza chanted, “Death to America and to Israel!” Palestinians clashed with Israeli security forces in Jerusalem and held protests in the West Bank. The German embassy in Khartoum, was under siege earlier today. State media in Egypt has reported more than 220 people injured in the clashes since Tuesday. The chasm between the Muslim world and everyone else is widening; the protesters, nearly deafening. There is an unmistakable scream being heard around the world. And all I keep thinking about is this: freedom indeed has its price and its own language that many who have lived without it simply do not understand. What is absolutely crystal clear is that different cultures value behaviors differently and what is an expression of free speech in one land can lead to death in another. Simply put, our cultural intelligence differs.

What is cultural intelligence? It is the way we come to understand ourselves in the context of our societies, our values and the behaviors that result.  In the United States, we value speed of intelligence, i.e. how quickly we get to the point. We hold in esteem those who can quickly understand a concept. We value free speech and that means we need to listen even when we are in great disagreement. We value honesty, forthrightness. We even value dissent. The values we  hold dear, including freedom of speech, freedom of movement, freedom to live life as we see fit, make up the foundation for our cultural intelligence and is the way we assess each other's individual intelligence. These same values are NOT the foundation for other societies, as we are witnessing now in the Arab world.

There are Imams who are calling for the US government to arrest and punish the producers of the video. Would public beatings or beheadings be the answer? Perhaps in their culturally intelligent way of thinking, yes. But to Americans who hold freedom of speech as one of the most important values we have, this is unthinkable. So how can we ever expect to lessen this chasm when we do not value the same things? Have we crossed over too far to ever bring us back?

I think there will be a time of widening before we can ever come together again. There needs to be a new language in diplomacy; one that speaks using cultural intelligence. Until everyone truly understands cultural intelligence and how that factors in, until the world understands that we all have differing points of view, there will be no end.

Hello from Miami!

Hello from Miami: we have landed! This incredible journey and life adventure in urban nomadism continues. Stay tuned.

Los Angeles: We're Signing Off...

So long LA. Some call it LaLa Land, but for us, it's been a time of extreme work, some play, economic upheavals, business pressures, glorious mountain hikes, refreshing and fragrant air and a place to raise a family. It's been anything but "LaLa." As we leave our oldest here to the vagaries of the new economy, we wish him a ground-breaking path and the best of luck and fortune in his career at Netflix, in his love life, in his desire for happiness. We wish all our friends and family a safe life journey and a crooked and very interesting path. We know ours will all cross again.

Onward east, to the Shores of Miami.

Signing off as the UrbanNomad in LA...onto the Urban Adventures in Miami.

Lots of Love from us.
xoxoxoxoxoxo

From Tweets to Twickers

On my way home from the gym this morning,  I saw a bumper sticker that cracked me up: "I child-proofed my house...but they STILL get in." Yeah, how about that?? The Mercedes wagon in front of me had two car seats in the back, so it's obvious they're definitely "in" and the luxury vehicle they thought they bought is nothing more than a playroom on wheels. Expensive wheels. Thinking of my own home, I conjured up images of waiting dishes in the kitchen, my son's room where Lego "Shanghai"he designed and built still covered 90% of the useable floor space, the trail of socks, underwear, shorts and toys spread from the garage to the hall to the living room.  I thought of the Scooter that I noticed in his bathroom earlier. How did that get there? His piles and piles of artwork, homework, crayons, markers, doodles, pencils, stencils and then, his report card came to mind.

Straight A's as it were, less the points for "Organizes well" and phys ed. My mind immediately played a montage (yes, my mind does montages...) of those awful bumper stickers Moms and Dads put on their cars: My son is on the Honor Roll...My Daughter is a Scholar at...My Daughter Sucks...oh what?? No, they don't say that.

In all candor, don't you just hate those bumper stickers that say "My Child is an Honor Student at..."? It usually just gives me something to snicker at while waiting at Stop lights. Just then something else hit me: we no longer need bumper stickers. Why? Because people look at the phones now when they are at a traffic light.

It occurred to me in this context that Twitter is the new bumper and all these catchy tweets are nothing more than bumper stickers. So in less than 140 characters, you too can now create what I will call "Twickers" that people can read on their phones and PDAs while idling at stop lights.

So from now on, I just may Twick and Tweet. Won't you join me?