What's the word?

In the last few years, I've seen that it's customary for people to adopt a "word" for the next year.  This word is one that they use to be their emphasis or their guide for that year.

Brian Hardin, from the Daily Audio Bible (www.dailyaudiobible.com) has adopted a word for the last few years.  Last year it was "hope", this year it was "maintain".

So, do I have a word for this year?

Well, yes . . . and no.

I have two words and a phrase for this year.  It's stuff I've been thinking about for some time, and it's about time I put the words into practice.

They are:  Foundation, fundamentals, and back to basics.

I've worried about several issues within Christianity over the last few years, such as, "Are we allowed to have instruments in worship?"  "What is the role of women?" and on and on and on.  Lately, it's occurred to me that answers to those questions aren't worth it if I don't have the proper foundation . . . which, according to I Corinthians 3:11 is Jesus Christ.

I can squabble about "women's roles", "instrumental music" and everything else, but what good is it if I am not building on Jesus? 

So here I am, picking up my shovel, and clearing away the rubble, leveling the ground for the foundation of Jesus, and praying that I will build on it with the proper materials. 

Happy New Year, all.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Shutdown

Unless Mighty Mouse swoops in and saves the day, we are 15 and a half hours away from a government shutdown.  Since my husband is a government employee, he will be placed on furlough and he will not get a paycheck until the government reopens.

We have already bought Christmas presents and Christmas dinner, and we have savings, assets, and a full pantry.  I can still proof, and my husband will qualify for unemployment.  And if the situation gets dire, we have good friends.  My husband and I will be fine. 

The whole issue boils down to Donald Trump saying, "I want money to build my wall, and if I don't get it, I'll hold my breath until I turn blue!"

Congress:  "Inhale, Mr. President.  Our favorite shades of blue are azure, turquoise, cobalt, and navy."

There is a reason why I refer to the children -- er, Congress, and why our President should probably be referred to as the toddler-in-chief. 

My disgust for American politics has reached a new high.  Or low, depending on your perception.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

German chocolate and the end of innocence

When Roz Fishburn learned that someone wanted a recipe for a layer cake made with German chocolate, she picked up her phone and dialed 527-4188.

By the time the other party answered the phone, she was out of breath . . . but not because she'd raced to the phone in order to make her phone call.

Between the time Roz Fishburn made her phone call and the time her party finally answered, she'd heard the following words:  "President Kennedy is reported to have been wounded by an assassin in Dallas, Texas.  There are no further details at this time."

The number 527-4188 that Roz Fishburn dialed belonged to radio station WTIC in Hartford, Connecticut; and the show she was trying to contact was "Mikeline."  This website, dedicated to Hartford, CT radio history, describes "Mikeline" as "WTIC's 'neighbors-over-the-backyard-fence' call-in program".  For a half-hour, between 1:30 p.m. and 2:00 p.m., people around the state of Connecticut (and some outside of the state) could call either 527-4188 or ask their operator for the number Enterprise-9842.  On the air, callers asked for recipes, cleaning tips, or other household-related questions; other callers would call in and say, I know where you can find such-and-such.  

On the day Roz Fishburn made her phone call--November 22, 1963--announcers Floyd Richards and Bob Ellsworth manned the studio, taking phone calls from people asking about such things as the game of mumblety-peg, how to clean a tent before you put it in storage, and where to get directions for an Italian knitting machine.  The very first phone call answers a question about "how do I keep my garbage cans clean?" with a suggestion about "these new plastic liners".  (We now take plastic trash bags for granted.)

"Mikeline" began at 1:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.  In Dallas, Texas, it was 12:30 Central Standard Time.  At the moment Floyd Richards was greeting his listening audience, President Kennedy's motorcade was making its final turns through downtown Dallas, heading for the Dallas Trade Mart, where Kennedy was due to have lunch and make a speech. 

I've watched/listened to the JFK assassination TV and radio coverage posted on YouTube, and more than any other, this video shows just how ordinary that day was before those three shots that changed history forever.  No other video also shows the horrifying contrast between the chit-chat on the radio and the reality happening in Dallas that no one knew about yet.

The person who posted the video goes by the YouTube handle "Bertelevision".  Over the audio of "Mikeline"'s November 22, 1963 broadcast, he's superimposed pictures of what people were calling in about (for example, a picture of a garbage can shows up during the audio of the woman explaining about the new plastic liners). 

What he's also done is, in captions, post a minute-by-minute account of what was happening in Dallas at the exact same time "Mikeline" was being broadcast.  In fact, while the woman was talking about plastic liners for the garbage cans, the shots were fired at Kennedy's car, hitting JFK and Governor John Connelly.

Approximately 10 minutes into the broadcast, a woman calls in with a request for a layer cake made with German chocolate.  This was the recipe request Roz Fishman heard.  At the same time she was heading for her telephone, Jack Bell, an AP correspondent, finally got his hands on a receiver of his own and filed his account of JFK's shooting.  Unfortunately, Merriman Smith of UPI had already beaten him to the punch by grabbing the phone in the press bus and refusing to let anyone else have it.

At 1:55, after Floyd Richards listened to the question, "When is the best time to trim young maple trees?" Bob Ellsworth broke in with, "Floyd, I have something rather important from the WTIC newsroom in the form of a bulletin."  

He then read the announcement about JFK being wounded.

Floyd Richards and Bob Ellsworth, both blindsided, decided to take the next phone call, from the now-breathless Roz Fishman.  She said that the announcement just "took my breath away."

As she began to give the recipe, Bob Ellsworth interrupted with a second bulletin--announcing that President Kennedy and Governor John Connelly had been "cut down by an assassin's bullets".  

Bob Ellsworth, after saying that "this changes the complexion of many things", said that "we'll continue along." 

Floyd Richards said to Roz, you're in the middle of a terrible thing here; perhaps it's best to keep on going as best we can and for us to give the news as best we can.

Her response:  "I don't feel like it."

The sympathetic Floyd Richards told her, "that's fine.  Give us a call when you can."

By that time, the major networks were either on the air or getting ready to go on the air.  Within moments of Roz Fishman's hanging up, WTIC switched over to the NBC Radio feed, much to the relief of Richards and Ellsworth.

The period from November 22 to November 25, 1963, is often called the death of American innocence.  One can argue whether American innocence really died that day or if it had ever existed in the first place.

But when you listen to the WTIC broadcast of "Mikeline" with its questions about recipes and household hints, and read the captions showing the parallel events in Dallas, it brings home how the world, in less than half an hour, was totally transformed.  

I don't know if Roz Fishman ever called back with her recipe.  Perhaps, by the time the events of that awful weekend in 1963 were over, the world had just changed too much.  

German chocolate cake just doesn't seem that important when three shots in six seconds ended innocence.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Without a voice

I am without a voice at the moment.

Literally.

I caught a cold last week, got a sore throat, and then it developed into laryngitis.  I can make a low-sounding croak, and that's about it.  Yesterday I strained my voice canceling two appointments and I don't know if one of those people got or understood the message I left. I rescheduled an appointment for Friday (a PT evaluation) and just said I'll be there if I have to write stuff down; meaning, I'll be there if I have to write notes in order to communicate.

I did have errands to run yesterday, and it was interesting.  I did a lot of smiling and nodding; whispered at a couple of points, and worried if I was going to be perceived as being rude because I wouldn't talk to people.

It also made me wonder, how in the world do people cope who can't communicate?

No wonder people throw tantrums or scream or cry when they feel like they aren't making themselves understood.  It's frustrating to not be able to communicate.   I at least can write, and that helps. 

There's a deeper metaphor to all of this, I'm sure.  There are the those who are literally "without a voice", as I am at the moment; those who are physically unable to speak.  There are the deaf, who rely on sign language or texting or written notes.

And you can throw into the mix those without access to people who will listen. 

These are the ones cut off from society, those who plead for redress over and over again and who are not heard.  And although I have serious problems with those who resort to destruction of property, Martin Luther King had a point when he said that a riot was the language of the unheard. 

What do we do?  How do we give that voice to the voiceless? 

Right now, I honestly don't know.  I was going to add, " . . . and teach them how to use their voice," but I wonder if that comes across as paternalistic.  Would I only teach someone "how to use their voice" if I wanted them to only say what I wanted them to say? 

I'm lucky.  My voice will return sometime in the next couple of days.  For those without a voice, they may not be so lucky.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Out of ideas

A friend of mine posted that, in the wake of yesterday’s shooting at a synagogue in Pittsburgh, PA, that telling people to love each other wasn’t working.  He was “out of ideas’.

So am I.

This week, a Gwinnett County police officer was laid to rest after being killed in the line of duty.  (I had knee surgery Wednesday.  One of the nurses who took care of me is the wife of a Gwinnett County police officers.  All I could say to her was that I was sorry all of this had happened.)

This week, a man was arrested for sending pipe bombs to a number of prominent Democrats, including the Clintons and the Obamas.  A photo of his van shows it decorated in anti-Democrat, pro-Trump slogans.

And then yesterday came a shooting that left 11 people dead.

I’m out of ideas.

I’m out of ideas in how to stop this hate, this killing, this absolute anger that’s convulsed our country in ways we haven’t seen since 1968.

I feel like I MUST march in lock step with a certain political agenda, or else I will be shamed and shunned, even by people I know.

We don’t listen.  We’re more interested in screaming at each other.

What is it going to take, people?

Another 9/11?
Another Civil War?
Something worse than that?

I don’t know.

I just now that I will totally helpless.

Like my friend, I am out of ideas.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

A prayer for the coming week

It was the summer of 1972, I was eight years old, and I was excited about the song from Godspell, "Day By Day".  I didn't know anything about Godspell except that the song was on the radio and it was a cool song.  I remember finding the Godspell album at the store where my grandmother worked and just almost shouting, "It's Day By Day, Robin and Company!" (the credited singers for the track.)

I now know that Godspell is a musical loosely based on the Gospel of Matthew and containing interpretations of other Biblical stories.  In the '80's, I saw a community production of Godspell in Tallahassee, Florida, where the cast members were costumed '80's style (including one member dressed as Michael Jackson).

This song has been an earworm for me for the last few days.

I've been very disappointed this past week in the behavior of many who claim to wear the name "Christian".  Frankly, we're called to be better than this.  It seems that we are more interested in protecting our political power and influence than we are in carrying out the command of Jesus to "go and preach the gospel to all nations" and in fulfilling the greatest command to "love one another as I have loved you". 

This week, I fear we will face similar turmoil.  I fear we will see truth-tellers branded as liars and people that will posture before the camera and the microphone who claim to want the truth and who claim to care about people and care about this country--when, in fact, they are addicts whose drug of choice is power and prestige. 

Christians are not called to this.  I am not called to this.  The power Jesus had when he was on earth, he exercised to the glory of his Father and to the service of others. 

The song "Day By Day", which is a cool song, is also a prayer.  The song is one chorus, repeated six times. 

I think it's a good prayer for the coming week.

Day by day
Day by day
Oh dear Lord
Three things I pray
To see Thee more clearly
Love Thee more dearly
Follow Thee more nearly
Day by day.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

If you want to hear this cool song, click on the picture above.

The wrong door . . . or no?

(The following is my own opinion, based on the facts as I am aware of at this moment.  My opinions may change as I learn more of the facts surrounding this case.)

In the summer of 1983, I lived in Dorman Hall at Florida State University.  One day, I came back from class and got into the elevator.  When the elevator door opened, I got off the elevator, turned down the hallway, went down a few feet and stuck my key in the lock of a door . . . and asked myself, why isn't the door unlocking?

That's when I looked up and saw that the number on the door was 206, not 306. 

I hadn't been paying attention and I got off on the wrong floor and went to the wrong door.  

In Dorman Hall, as in many residence halls built in the 1950's and 1960's, the corridors all look alike.  So unless you know what floor you've gotten off on, it's easy to go to the wrong door.

That's why, when I heard of the alleged circumstances surrounding Botham Jean's shooting, I understood how going to "the wrong door" could have been a possibility.  Amber Guyger, the Dallas police officer arrested and charged with his shooting, claims that, after a long shift, she parked on a level she normally didn't park on and ended up going to the wrong apartment.  Her apartment is directly below Botham Jean's.  The apartment complex where they both lived is described as having symmetrical hallways, and other residents, according to this New York Times article, have reported occasionally going to the wrong apartment.  Maybe that's why Botham Jean put his red mat in front of his door.

That doesn't explain, though, the door being ajar.

Although, if I thought it was my apartment, I'd be concerned. 

That also doesn't explain her not noticing the red mat in front of his door.  In the case of me going to the wrong door at Dorman Hall, though, I wasn't paying attention and I might not have seen a mat in front of the door. 

In her version of events, she opened the door to a dark apartment and saw a silhouette of someone, gave "verbal commands" and when he didn't respond, she shot him.  Then she turned on the lights and realized she was in the wrong apartment.

Lawyers for Botham Jean's family say that his door was closed.  Neighbors have said that they heard someone banging on the door shouting, "Let me in!" and "Open up!" before they heard gunshots.  They've also said they heard someone, maybe Botham Jean, saying, "Oh, my God, why did you do that?" 

Jean's family also say that he and Amber Guyger did not know each other.  

On the day of Jean's funeral, the media broadcast the results of a search warrant executed at his apartment.  The police found, according to an inventory:

• 2 fired cartridge casings
• a laptop computer
• a black backpack with police equipment and paperwork
• an insulated lunch box
• a black ballistic vest with "police" markings
• 10.4 grams of marijuana in ziplock bags (less than an ounce)
• a metal marijuana grinder
• 2 RFID keys'
• 2 used packages of medical aid

Of course, what did the media immediately pounce on?  The marijuana.  The lawyer for Botham Jean's family has accused the police of mounting a smear campaign against Botham Jean.  There's even been some speculation that the marijuana was planted in Jean's apartment. (The police had been called earlier to Jean's complex by someone complaining of a strong smell of marijuana on the floor where Jean lived.) 

We have yet to hear the results of any search warrant executed on Amber Guyger's apartment.  

In another account of events, Guyger was allegedly struggling with the lock when Jean opened the door and confronted her.  

Since I wasn't there, I can't tell you what happened.  There are only two people that know the whole truth, and one of them is dead.  In the early stages of any investigation, and especially a high-profile one with loads of media attention, there are going to be conflicting reports and reports that are downright wrong.

But what it all boils down to is this:  An African-American man was killed in his own home by a white off-duty police officer.

This is frightening.  

I'm a white woman.  As much as I may want to "get it", I will never truly "get it".  Just like people who want to will never truly "get" what my husband and I deal with in raising a son with autism. 

I'm a white woman who wants to believe that the Civil Rights movement and the laws that were passed as a result solved the race problem in this country.

I'm a white woman that wants to believe that law enforcement and the legal system is truly "blind" except to facts, and that people can objectively look at facts, piece them together, and come to a correct conclusion. 

But is this true?

There may be laws ending legalized discrimination, but those laws do nothing to change the hearts of people.  Attitudes cannot be legislated.  The attitude of racism and prejudice can't be changed by law.

And I only need to take a quick look at history to see that no, "the system" isn't blind except to facts. 

This particular shooting has resonated with me more than others have because Botham Jean was a member of the Church of Christ, as I am, and he graduated from the same university that many members of my congregation are affiliated with.  People I know are expressing deep anger and deep sorrow. 

Did Amber Guyger go to the wrong apartment by mistake, find the door ajar, go in, and shoot a man, thinking he was a burglar in her apartment?

Did she go to the wrong apartment by mistake, try to open a closed door, get confronted by Botham Jean, and shoot him?

Or did she go to his apartment on purpose to confront him and to shoot him?

Did she go to the wrong door?

Or no?

Right now, I don't know.  Right now, I don't have the answers.  Right now, I don't know all of the facts.  I only know that a lot of people are hurting and angry. 

This particular entry is mostly me, as a white woman, trying to work out my feelings and my observations about yet another white cop-black victim shooting in the United States.  The facts must come out.  Justice must be served for Botham Jean.  Amber Guyger must be treated as any other accused would be. 

I want justice.  I want truth.  And I don't want our anger and our grief to overshadow anyone's search for truth.  

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.