Well, bollocks.
PM Tony Blair is really leaving. He bid the Labour Party goodbye this week with panache and class, something we Americans, some of us, ever crave in leadership. He owned his part of our friendship but acknowledged his own neighborhood by saying, "It's hard sometimes to be America's strongest ally. Europe can be a political headache." Detailing the myriad of challenges we face, he believes terrorism will take at least a generation to contain, Blair sums up by saying, "And the truth is that nothing we strive for...can be solved without America, without Europe." A brilliant man, graced with humility and strength but grounded in the here and now. He doesn't kid himself. That's why he's leaving.
The thing about Tony Blair is this: he speaks straight from the heart, speaks the truth as he knows it and let's the chips fall where they may. And I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't admit that one of Blair's most appealing qualities is that he's such a contrast to our own intellect-challenged and communicative disorder-proned President. The cerebral elegance this man easily employs is more than a tad seductive but as you examine his arguments, you realize he has a vision and a determination that looks different but feels much like Churchill: "The British people today are reluctant global citizens; I want them to be confident ones.". He makes a strong argument for the big picture of British change in the new millenium. These days sovereignty is textured and laced with collaboration and partnership, according to Blair. Hmmm.
And so it goes. Nuts.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
We're waiting for our friend Tom to get his call; first of the week, he hadn't eaten in a week and had been refusing water for four days. It started in his colon, moved to his liver, spread to his lungs, then his brain. He's had chemo, radiation, surgery.
He himself has saved so many lives in his line of work that we didn't take his cancer seriously, even as each stage brought new, more ominous information. With all the good that he did for so many people, there's no way he wouldn't beat this. But science is science; there was no way to beat this and so he will die early. Our funny, tough Boy Scout has done his last good deed.
We first knew him when he was a leader in the Scout troop the Christ Child joined. The Christ had gotten his first batch of new merit badges and at the meeting the following week, Tom stopped this little kid of mine and said, hey! where are those new merit badges? The Boy said, well, you know, my mom has been real busy and just didn't have time....Tom cut him off at the socks and said, THOSE AREN'T YOUR MAMA'S MERIT BADGES AND THAT ISN'T YOUR MAMA'S UNIFORM! As the Christ Child put it at his Eagle Court of Honor four years later, "...that was the year I learned to sew." And that's a true story. It was the first of many adventures and encounters in Scouts, with Tom, that helped our youngest child understand that we are eachl responsibile for our own well-being. How could we know that this delicious, wonderful man would donate generously to our little boy's psyche and his spirit? We couldn't know, we didn't know and even when it was all done and that little boy had grown up and moved away to go to school, we were astounded at the kismet of Tom in our lives. How did that happen? How did we all get so lucky as to know and love Tom Deilke?
And so he goes early, leaving us behind to clean up. Fortunately, he taught us how so we know what to do. But it's lonely here today as the bright light of sunshine peeks through the dull, gray afternoon horizon; it's still.
We wait.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
He himself has saved so many lives in his line of work that we didn't take his cancer seriously, even as each stage brought new, more ominous information. With all the good that he did for so many people, there's no way he wouldn't beat this. But science is science; there was no way to beat this and so he will die early. Our funny, tough Boy Scout has done his last good deed.
We first knew him when he was a leader in the Scout troop the Christ Child joined. The Christ had gotten his first batch of new merit badges and at the meeting the following week, Tom stopped this little kid of mine and said, hey! where are those new merit badges? The Boy said, well, you know, my mom has been real busy and just didn't have time....Tom cut him off at the socks and said, THOSE AREN'T YOUR MAMA'S MERIT BADGES AND THAT ISN'T YOUR MAMA'S UNIFORM! As the Christ Child put it at his Eagle Court of Honor four years later, "...that was the year I learned to sew." And that's a true story. It was the first of many adventures and encounters in Scouts, with Tom, that helped our youngest child understand that we are eachl responsibile for our own well-being. How could we know that this delicious, wonderful man would donate generously to our little boy's psyche and his spirit? We couldn't know, we didn't know and even when it was all done and that little boy had grown up and moved away to go to school, we were astounded at the kismet of Tom in our lives. How did that happen? How did we all get so lucky as to know and love Tom Deilke?
And so he goes early, leaving us behind to clean up. Fortunately, he taught us how so we know what to do. But it's lonely here today as the bright light of sunshine peeks through the dull, gray afternoon horizon; it's still.
We wait.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Said goodbye to my friend Kitsy yesterday. Pretty much choked and snuffled it out, but it was definitely a goodbye. She, in her sunny Irish way, responded with a beautiful, fully-present-in-the-moment, eloquent toast to days past and days future. People and places and things and times change, they come and go, but this this one I will miss. I will miss Kitsy. Here's some of the things I will always remember:
Kitsy organizing her employees to each throw in 2 hours of vacation for their co-worker, who already exhausted her paid sick and vacation time in care of her cancer-ridden partner.
Kitsy knowing the words to any Beatles' song ever written.
Kitsy with love beyond love, compassion for ever, for her former abusive boss, who ended up homeless.
Kitsy in deep abiding pride at her childrens' college degrees.
Kitsy driving her housekeepers around to Social Security, garage sales, anywhere they needed to be, so they didn't have to walk or take the bus.
Kitsy working the night shift so she could personally greet the guests when they came in.
Kitsy and her swear jar. It was always full to the brim.
Kitsy with handsful of thank you notes from children of guests.
Kitsy and the Christmas parties she used to throw for her employees; she'd call me up to scam free stuff for them.
Kitsy treating the people in my office with honor and respect and being universally loved and acclaimed here.
Kitsy and hard times; she never once gave into despair.
Kitsy when she got to go to Ireland with her family.
Kitsy organizing her employees to each throw in 2 hours of vacation for their co-worker, who already exhausted her paid sick and vacation time in care of her cancer-ridden partner.
Kitsy knowing the words to any Beatles' song ever written.
Kitsy with love beyond love, compassion for ever, for her former abusive boss, who ended up homeless.
Kitsy in deep abiding pride at her childrens' college degrees.
Kitsy driving her housekeepers around to Social Security, garage sales, anywhere they needed to be, so they didn't have to walk or take the bus.
Kitsy working the night shift so she could personally greet the guests when they came in.
Kitsy and her swear jar. It was always full to the brim.
Kitsy with handsful of thank you notes from children of guests.
Kitsy and the Christmas parties she used to throw for her employees; she'd call me up to scam free stuff for them.
Kitsy treating the people in my office with honor and respect and being universally loved and acclaimed here.
Kitsy and hard times; she never once gave into despair.
Kitsy when she got to go to Ireland with her family.
for Mary Kristine
Give us, Lord, a bit o sun,
A bit o work and a bit o fun,
Give us in all the struggle and sputter,
Our daily bread and a bit o butter.
Give us health our keep to make
And a bit to spare for other's sake.
Give us, too, a bit of song
And a tale and a book to help us along.
Give us, Lord, a chance to be
Our goodly best, brave, wise and free,
Our goodly best for ourselves and others
Till all men learn to live as brothers.
--Old Irish Prayer
I'll remember you; you remember me.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Monday, September 18, 2006
Well, okay, The Christ Child is leaving. Yes, I know. Here's all the things I am gonna get done once he's gone: get his room straightened up again, reclaim my car, give his clothes to the housekeeper's kids, put his truck in storage, put his cell phone number on inactive status, read, read, read, reread all my favorites on the UK, plan Christmas, finish my new library, store my handbags on his bed, walk the Chows to Manito and back once a day, see how low I can get the grocery bill here, go back to mass daily. there.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Monday, September 11, 2006
Judy Fernandez was at work; she was 27 years old. She was from Parlin, New Jersey which means she came in on the PATH train to her job with Cantor Fitzgerald at the World Trade Center Tower 1, 107th floor. It was a beautiful, beautiful late summer day in New York and she had absolutely no way to knowing that when she climbed out of the train that morning that she would never, ever go back to Parlin again.
Judy was one of 2, 996 heroes that were murdered that day; everyday heroes who were at work, making a living, taking care of business. It is the cruelest of all fates that she had plenty of time to await the Angel of Death; plenty of time to know that something was dreadfully, fatally wrong; plenty of time to hear the screams and anguish of her co-workers and to watch some of them jump. We'll never know how or when she died; they never found her. She was vaporized off the face of this earth.
She had a family in New Jersey; they gave her a wonderful Sweet 16 party. They lived with her in a wonderful neighborhood where the kids surfaced far and wide after Judy died to console her parents, recalling the golden childhood they all had together. She was a benefits specialist; can't know what kind of education she had. But do know it must have been a source of enormous pride to her close-knit Fillipino family to watch their little girl go to the city and work for The Man every morning. It all happens that fast. They are your sun, your moon, your stars and your whole understanding of the universe. And then they get the call. I pray for Judy and her mother and father now, in the tradition of our faith. A prayer of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families, in hopes that we will all be together again soon:
Lord have mercy on us all.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, hear us.
Christ, graciously hear us.
God, the Father of Heaven,
Have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy on us.
God the Holy Ghost,
Have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, one God,
Have mercy on us.
Holy Mary,
Pray for us.
Holy Joseph,
Pray for us.
Noble Son of the House of David,
Pray for us.
Light of the Patriarchs,
Pray for us.
Husband of the Mother of God,
Pray for us.
Chaste Guardian of the Virgin,
Pray for us.
Foster-father of the Son of God,
Pray for us.
Sedulous Defender of Christ,
Pray for us.
Head of the Holy Family,
Pray for us.
Joseph most just,
Pray for us.
Joseph most chaste,
Pray for us.
Joseph most prudent,
Pray for us.
Joseph most valiant,
Pray for us.
Joseph most obedient,
Pray for us.
Joseph most faithful,
Pray for us.
Mirror of patience,
Pray for us.
Lover of poverty,
Pray for us.
Model of all who labor,
Pray for us.
Glory of family life,
Pray for us.
Protector of Virgins,
Pray for us.
Pillar of families,
Pray for us.
Consolation of the afflicted,
Pray for us.
Hope of the sick,
Pray for us.
Patron of the dying,
Pray for us.
Terror of the demons,
Pray for us.
Protector of the holy Church,
Pray for us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
He made him master of his house,
and ruler of all his possesions. O God, You were pleased to choose Saint Joseph as the husband of Mary and the guardian of your Son. Grant that, as we venerate him as our protector on earth, we may deserve to have him as our intercessor in heaven. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Friday, September 08, 2006
Full moon last night. Even though it's still summer, that harvest moon gives it away: change is around the corner. This had to be the fastest summer of my life; I ran the entire way.
I really, really like living in The 'Kan. I love adventure and I love travel and it's the best day of the week when I can find out something new and learn a whole lot more. And therein lies the conundrum of each and every day as I pull the soft, smooth sheets away and slip out of bed to survey the morning sky, panoramic in my bedroom window. That horizon bids me ever onward and succumbing to the call of the Sirens, much as Odysseus, I find to my dismay that when I come home to The 'Kan, the roses have bloomed and gone.
I planted the roses and made a garden in memory of my mother, in honor of my friends, in hopes for my children. I lined the paths of the garden with the most used of bricks and filled them with the tiny rainbow pebbles of the Mission Valley. Along the way, I culled and collected birdhouses and benches and feeders and fountains and my most favorite of rocks from everywhere and poked and placed them along the path, for respite and reflection. It's a wonderful garden, built by me.
It's been alone much of the summer and as a result, my eye is clouded and corroded and weary. I sit in my office and watch the planes fly east to Chicago and south to Denver. The little ones head straight for Seattle. The American flag waves languidly off a crane of the big project down the street and the sky sits a pale gray, still in the September summer. I can't see and understand how the gray of the morning air makes me feel and so I know again, that the benches in my garden have sat too long in the summer sun without me.
I need a mast made of the finest hardwood and the strongest of rope; to lash me, to hold me, to protect me from the seductive call of the Sirens, ever singing a beautiful, mysterious melody of odyssey. I will plant this mast deep in my garden in the cool shade among the tall ferns and in the thickest of the mosses, and hold dear to its ropes that bind me--and keep me near the roses, who bloom fragrant and spicy each and every day of the year, just for me.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
I really, really like living in The 'Kan. I love adventure and I love travel and it's the best day of the week when I can find out something new and learn a whole lot more. And therein lies the conundrum of each and every day as I pull the soft, smooth sheets away and slip out of bed to survey the morning sky, panoramic in my bedroom window. That horizon bids me ever onward and succumbing to the call of the Sirens, much as Odysseus, I find to my dismay that when I come home to The 'Kan, the roses have bloomed and gone.
I planted the roses and made a garden in memory of my mother, in honor of my friends, in hopes for my children. I lined the paths of the garden with the most used of bricks and filled them with the tiny rainbow pebbles of the Mission Valley. Along the way, I culled and collected birdhouses and benches and feeders and fountains and my most favorite of rocks from everywhere and poked and placed them along the path, for respite and reflection. It's a wonderful garden, built by me.
It's been alone much of the summer and as a result, my eye is clouded and corroded and weary. I sit in my office and watch the planes fly east to Chicago and south to Denver. The little ones head straight for Seattle. The American flag waves languidly off a crane of the big project down the street and the sky sits a pale gray, still in the September summer. I can't see and understand how the gray of the morning air makes me feel and so I know again, that the benches in my garden have sat too long in the summer sun without me.
I need a mast made of the finest hardwood and the strongest of rope; to lash me, to hold me, to protect me from the seductive call of the Sirens, ever singing a beautiful, mysterious melody of odyssey. I will plant this mast deep in my garden in the cool shade among the tall ferns and in the thickest of the mosses, and hold dear to its ropes that bind me--and keep me near the roses, who bloom fragrant and spicy each and every day of the year, just for me.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Sunday, September 03, 2006
And so it's Labor Day, again. A summer of mighty memories, yet it's the small moments that stack up as the most valuable: floating the north fork of the CdA, coffee in the morning sun, riding the Trail of the CdAs when the cottonwoods are blooming, Sandpoint on a Saturday afternoon, listening to the still of those hot, hot August nights. Came home to a note from a dear one who says he's pondering the meaning of life; I've been trying to figure out the meaning of life for 15 years but I don't think I'm any closer to understanding. But one thing I do notice, increasingly, is that life gets more beautiful with each day. I have always lived right here and I do not know when I have enjoyed the blue sky and the pine trees more. The waters of the rivers and lakes are deep and clear. But Pat Flammia died. My childhood gets farther and farther away as the exquisite landscape around me comes into finer and finer focus....
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
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