The Ink Tank

Empty Nest

2010-05-07T18:07:00.000-07:00

She's gone and the eggs too. The fierce winds of yesterday? A crow? Did she leave to eat and something swoop down on her undefended charges? Something drove her from the nest and took her babies too. I spotted it when I got home from work yesterday and it felt like a punch in the stomach. I felt the weight of the loss, a tightening in my throat, a hurried calculus to balance missing her with the reminder that Nature doesn't play.

Searching for the meaning, the omen, the clues, wondering if God had decided to renege on the blessing. The way I see it, the bird in the nest had brought my daughter back into my life after a painful estrangement, we were able to connect again around the magic of the little bird in my back yard. It gave a graceful space for the two of us to reconcile, to continue our relationship with new rules of engagement. A Mother's Day gift if there ever was one.

Still, the sudden disappearance of the hummingbird was a hefty price to pay.

Here she is

2010-05-07T17:52:00.000-07:00

There is something magical about having a hummingbird nearby, nesting in a tree that has been struggling to make it. Not properly planted, my Fuji persimmon tree's poor spindly trunk just now supporting a nice green canopy and maybe even able to bear some fruit this year. Once a source of worry, the tree is now a perfect place. There may be hope for it after all. Maybe the good juju of this little bird will infuse the tree with new life, some course correction for what it is supposed to be but has fallen short due to lack of proper care and feeding.

Not like this nest and the little mother in it. Proper care and feeding. A reminder that we must do this for ourselves too, lest we lose our way. Feed our souls. Feed our minds and bodies. Giving life a chance to show itself off, the details of the Grand Design peeking through.

Backyard Blessing

2010-05-02T16:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I sat outside on my patio. It's as messy and weather-worn as I've seen it, plants in disarray, weeds everywhere, dried leaves from as long ago as November still stuck behind the trellis. I know from experience now that I don't have the same spry energy that I used to to get out there on my hands and knees and make it right. That will have to wait for when I can afford a helper.

Ignoring the mess--a big deal for an anal-compulsive with an aversion to grit--I felt compelled to sit out there, to be silent and observant and let the day come to me.

I've noticed in the last several weeks that there are at least two pair of birds vying to make a nest of their own in the protected overhang of the patio eaves. Yesterday, sitting without any purpose except to finish Pete Dexter's wonderful new novel, "Spooner" and to get a vitamin D fix and tan my legs, the birds were very active, hopping about on the copper frame I had built to be a camellia bush support. The sun was hot but the air velvet, life was peaceful and full of promise and out of nowhere came the loud whirring of a hummingbird, chasing the other bird couples off the copper.

What's this, I wondered? Then I spotted it. A tiny perfect cylinder of a nest, all soft and cushioned, nestled in the crook of one of the branches of my Fuji persimmon tree. It was the hummingbird's nest and she was letting the others know to stay away. Through the afternoon I watched as the pairs of birds flew up into the palm tree, way up above the roof, keeping a respectful distance from the hummingbird. And in between the whirring and aerial mapping of her territory, the mother nestled tight into her nest, sitting with patient vigilance atop her eggs, alert to interlopers minding her time and her own business.

Ah, the cycle of life, I thought. When mothers serve notice to the world that they are doing their job, as best they can even when it doesn't always work out. Babies die or are eaten. They falter somehow or never learn how to survive. In the best cases, they thrive. All their mothers can do is to get them to a place as close to leaving and thriving as they can...and then let them go.

I have no clue if birds love their children, not in any sense that humans do. But the job is the same in either case. Feed the life you bear, nurture it until maturity, let them go. So, Happy Mother's Day to Gaia and all those who helped to sustain me, much as a mother would have. I'm sure like those eggs in the nest in my tree, we are grateful for the blessing.

Storm Prefaces Sweet Beginnings

2010-04-04T21:27:00.000-07:00

Tonight, for the first time in years around here, the sky blew up with lightening and the thunder cracked through the walls, rattling and challenging my sense of safety. It was awesome, in the true sense of that word.

Been gone too long. The Ink Tank ran out of gas for a while, life can do that. But I'm back--thank you Adrienne for the push--and so here we go. Got so used to being scared and anxious and fretful that I forgot those are choices I can choose not to make. The sky pouring down now, soaking everything, knocking buds on trees into bloom, filling the hills and roadsides with green. There's a promise of something better coming. Some sweet beginning. And I'm so grateful for the friends and, at last, for hope.

For Pamela

2009-08-03T18:40:00.000-07:00

Today is my sister Pamela's birthday. I stole the day from my boss, called in sick and spent the day finding my energy again. A gift to me, from Pam. Or rather, the memory of Pam. She died in 1990 and I think of her all the time. We were very close, clinging together like the abandoned children we were. Our mother "gave us up" so I never knew my mom, but Pam knew her. I think Pam never got over being cut loose, being three and knowing that something wasn't right, helpless to do anything about it. I was a baby, 18 months, when the ties were finally broken. Such as they were. Family lore has it that Pam and I were outsourced to foster homes, in the way of our mother's struggle to make a new life with a new husband who didn't want her kids. And my father, who knows where he was or what he was doing during this time? He remains conveniently mum, because of course he had abandoned all of us, making a new life for himself with the woman who would become the only mother I knew. And she turned out to be crazy.

But today is really one of celebration. I walked along the river, nursing my foot into action, willing it to regain its ability to carry me along without pain. And it worked. When I got home, for some reason I can't explain, I was seized with the desire to clean up my two little back and side yard patios, too long left to the spiders and dirt. Every weekend for the past six or seven months I've said, "I really need to clean it up out there." And every weekend I'd find I was too tired, or it was too hot or windy, or I just didn't feel like making the effort. I'm chalking it up to recovery from the radiation therapy, not laziness.

Because today I managed to hose down everything, trim the plants, pull the weeds and nurture into niceness those two spaces that are like extra rooms, visible through windows from the living and dining rooms. Where I got the energy I do not know but it was great to get out there and sweat and make things right. It was all sort of an homage to Pam. And when I was hosing down the walls out back a bat flitted out, I think it was a bat and I was filled with gratitude for the blessing. "Oh please be a bat and not a bird," I prayed. "Oh please come back, I've cleaned your spot, please stay and bring me the luck and grace I know you can bestow." Having bats in your belfry (or your house) is considered an omen and a blessing in China so it works for me.

So on this day, Pam's birthday, I wish everyone good health, happiness and a sense of belonging. I think that sense of belonging is what eluded Pam and I both and why, in the end, she died of a broken heart. Her huge and generous heart just couldn't sustain the ravages she had put her body through nor the aching she'd had all her life for someone to take care of her. That's all we needed: someone to take care of us but at least we had each other. Happy Birthday, Pam. I love and miss you.

CVS Pharmacy: The Anti-Customer Company

2009-07-29T17:31:00.000-07:00

This is a story of how not to treat customers and what happens when a business forgets why they are in business. I'm speaking of CVS Pharmacies, the guys who took over when the friendly neighborhood Long's Drugstores became history.

I get that there are usually bumps during a transition but none of that excuses how the store's personnel interact--or in this case, don't bother--with the customer. Case in point: A month or so ago I had a number of prescriptions to refill. I had taken the time to navigate a rather difficult and not particularly user-friendly CVS website where they had at least migrated my Long's prescriptions to the CVS data base. I clicked away and re-upped the ones I needed and a little sign popped up saying that they'd be filled and available for pick up by 4:00.

Great, I thought. So, after work I stop by and there's a really long line, the after-work-crowd. I notice that there are at least four people, I'm assuming at least one pharmacist and the rest pharmacy techs or clerks, milling around behind a glass partition, visible to us and of course, they can see us, if they look. No one is out front at the cash register and no one is asking, "May I help you?" The guy in front of me tries to get someone behind the counter's attention but is ignored. Finally, after ten minutes, one of the clerks walks out to the order area and meekly says, "Next."

For each of the transactions in front of me it takes a good 10 or so minutes. Neither the clerks nor the pharmacist seem to have a handle on their role, who's supposed to be doing what, and no one is taking charge, saying, "Hey, we've got a bunch of customers waiting in a growing line who are starting to look agitated. Let's at least greet them and ask what they need."

It gets to be so bad that the gentleman behind me and I strike up a conversation, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt but both acknowledging that this is no way to treat a customer. Sighs are getting audible and still the pharmacy personnel seem only capable of fielding one timid clerk while the other three stand around. Oh, and there are two cash registers so it's possible, if they had it in them, to double their effectiveness but that is apparently lost on them.

A couple of weeks later, I had to get another prescription filled. A similar story only this time I'm told by the pharmacist (a new guy) that he won't be able to fill my prescription between 1:00 and 1:30 because he'll be on his lunch hour. Ok. I understand. It's about 12:20 so I figure if I give him the script he'll have 40 minutes to fill it, stick it in the hopper for pick up and still get fed. Just then another pharmacist, a woman, grabs my script and says she has to see if they have it in stock.

They have it so I smile, and say, great, can you fill it now, so as to beat the 1:00 deadline, on account of I'm in a hurry? She bristles at this and starts to explain to me like I'm a five year old that she first has to check to see if it's covered by my insurance, process it and do all manner of red tape things before she can put the medicine in a plastic bottle, label it and hand it to me for purchase. I tell her it is covered, I've been coming to this store for 23 years, my insurance hasn't changed and permission to fill this Rx should be no problem. Her lips tighten as she clacks away at the computer, never acknowledging me or what I've said, annoyed because I've questioned her authority and her procedures.

So I go grocery shopping, whizzing through the store so I can get back to CVS before 1:00 and avoid the customer black out period. There's a line and there they are, the man and the woman pharmacists, doing nothing. Not eating. Not working at a computer. Not stuffing pills into containers. They are talking. For a long, long time. Ignoring the growing line. No one, including the two clerks, come out to say, "May we help you?" or "I'll be right with you." The line is getting restless, peeved to be ignored, wondering what the hold up is. I point to the sign that says that the pharmacist will be eating from 1:00 to 1:30 but it isn't 1:00 yet.

At this point I'm near the break point, thinking, I'm so out of this store forever. Rite Aid here I come. But it isn't until today, when I need to buy eye wash for my allergy-ravaged eyes, when I go to the CVS near the optometrist's office, that I experience the last straw. It's early morning. There's hardly anyone in the store. I approach the counter and there are four people milling around behind the glass. They see me waiting patiently at the counter. But no one comes out to see about me until I finally raise my voice to one of the women milling past and say politely, "Excuse me. I just have a quick question." She stares at me. I continue, "I'm looking for an eye wash and have a few questions. Could you help me?" She continues to stare and then says, "You'll have to speak to the pharmacist."

Just then, this older guy who has seen me standing there for about 10 minutes and who is doing nothing, walks along his side of the glass partition, picks up the phone and makes a call. The rest of the people behind the counter continue to ignore me, don't ask how they might help or say it will just be a minute. They just leave me standing there wondering if I'll ever be served.

And just like that I pivot and walk out. I'm pretty sure my face telegraphed my disgust, mostly at the realization that the bad service at the CVS by my house was endemic to all CVS stores and that the CVS culture was to essentially ignore the customer until you bleet out a desperate call for help. Whatever, it speaks to a place of business that basically has and expresses contempt for the customer.

So today I had all my prescriptions moved to Rite Aid, still in the neighborhood but a little longer drive. Well worth it. When I went in to get eye wash and confirm that my Rx's had been transferred, I was greeted immediately, treated with courtesy and care and even escorted to the eye care products aisle by the pharmacist who wanted to make sure he answered any questions. Now THAT's customer service!

And in case you were thinking that my CVS experiences were just me being bitchy, here are some links to customer complaints ("terrible experience") and evidence of CVS being a bad actor in the industry. I'm not at all surprised. I suggest we all just vote with our feet a boycott this awful business.

Beautiful

2009-07-27T21:35:00.000-07:00

California's budget revision finished up in an anti-climatic mush last Friday. The legislators were wobbly and a bit cranky after pulling an all-day-nighter. The ink from the Governor's pen isn't dry let alone applied yet and the state's finances are already out of whack. Man, but this makes me feel so bad that they can't--and won't--get it together.

I was kind of down today, coming back to work after spending a really nice weekend in Berkeley, trying to figure out what the legislators actually voted on so that I could inform the clients, be all insightful and clear. I stretched the day as best I could, having a real hard time keeping a hopeful attitude, mumbling to myself that the work I do for my boss and his clients is somehow valuable. Certainly it's worth more than I'm paid, of that I'm sure.

So as I was dragging my sad ass around, looking for anything to pull me from these desperate thoughts and times, I happened on an Off Topic from Good Morning Silicon Valley, "Nora the piano playing cat." A concerto, written and performed around the piano playing of a really smart and well-trained cat. Made me smile, for the first time in days. It was beautiful. So. Thank you Universe for the Up. Here it is to share.

Rock With You

2009-07-09T19:29:00.001-07:00

It's only just hitting me that Michael Jackson won't be around to amaze us anymore. Yeah, yeah, I know all about the weirdness but...he was at his heart...a giver. A Virgo. Someone who cared deeply about the condition of the world and who cried out in that high pitched hiccup of a voice that we were killing ourselves and that it had to stop. Sort of like what he was doing to himself.

I started reading some homages to him in The Root and clicked through to videos of him dancing and was suddenly yanked back into my youth, remembering the jaw-dropping amazement I felt watching him gyrate and spin, stomping both feet at the end of a rhythmic riff, like a period to end a wonderful sentence. He'd just send anyone watching into a can't-stop-'til-you-get-enough place. Preternatural, really. Like no one before nor will there be again.

But his gift was more than entertainment. That's just a place he went where he could be safe, where he knew his talent was unassailable. His gift was caring about what shape the human condition was in and making us pay attention. His What About Us? paints the bleakest of pictures, the planet a sorry mess, and even under the anger and pointing out, there is still hope and...caring.

And this is what makes me saddest of all that he has passed because it's getting so hard to find anyone who really cares about things. There is a dominant ethos now of "So What?" or worse, "Whatever...." I see me and what I am about slipping away, an anachronism because I still feel really bad that the Legislature can't pass a budget, that power has become so corrupting, that people who should have a voice don't and the ones doing all the shouting care only about their narrow self-interests. This isn't naivete. It's the reminder that people who care, pay a price. And even with all his wealth and material self-indulgence, Michael Jackson never had to shop for his soul.

Needed When The California Budget Passes

2009-02-04T21:01:00.000-08:00

I spent the better part of five hours today in two different legislative hearings on how the State of California's inability to pass a budget--to have some semblance of courage and fortitude--was screwing just about everyone in the rest of the state. Mostly it was the local governments, special districts and transportation projects (think j-o-b-s) but also the guys supposedly hefting those shovel-ready projects if they ever manage to get off the ground who are taking it in a sensitive place too.

Sorry. This isn't a time for delicacy. I was struck with how years and years of program partying--well intended but irresponsibly legislated, managed and monitored programs--have gotten out of hand. Too many people, too much need, not enough resources and a systemic and structural deficit that is made so much worse by the economy's meltdown with nary a flicker of light in sight for at least a year, probably more. Let's also not forget chronic avoidance of the obvious.

The Big 5--the Governor and the leaders of the two houses and both parties--have been meeting in secret, fearful that if the word gets out about how badly they are going to have to stick it to everyone to finally get a grip on the problem, the organized, well-heeled and not very altruistic groups will come out and what...scare them into submission? Make them stay in stalemate so that the yammering on both sides of the same, stale arguments can keep the political strangleholds they have enjoyed so long--at everyone who isn't them's expense?

I'm sick of it. And while sitting there during one of the more somber moments, with a witness giving public testimony, his voice cracking and eyes welling and the Members of the legislative committee doing their best to look engaged and concerned I thought, "This is what comes from letting ideology get out in front of common sense. This is what happens when you spend one-time windfalls on long-term programs, never check to see if they're working or needed, and then the economy hits the fan. What happens is pain to people who are the collateral damage of stupid decisions, of policy making by fear and political thuggery."

And it all rolls down hill. So the cities and counties, and the taxpayers and the immigrants and kids and the schools and all of the big fat mess we've made of things will have to take one for the team. As the hearing was winding down, I turned to my friend who said, "This is going to hurt. It's just a matter of whether they give us lube or not."

So here's a little gift from the Big 5 and the Budget Mushroom Caucus everyone. Enjoy the ride!

The Trouble Ahead

2009-01-10T21:36:00.000-08:00

At 8:15 a.m. Friday morning I stood waiting, the only customer in a quiet, cold and beautiful Art Deco Post Office building, waiting for someone to show up on the other side of the counter. There was someone in front of me, another customer, already at the counter but he too had been waiting. Finally, an older, trim and prim black woman emerged silently from the sorting room behind the counter. Her movements were slow, deliberate and graceful but she wouldn't make eye contact and barely managed a "That will be...." whatever the amount owed for the transaction. It had taken her 15 minutes to do that customer's business.

Finally, it was my turn. I needed to buy 435 $.59 stamps. Again, she made no eye contact and seemed a bit annoyed at my request. Without saying anything, she disappeared into another part of the area behind the counter and was gone for at least 10 minutes. I was counting by now because I was urgently needed back at my office, so that I could hold down the fort for my co-workers who had to leave to go to San Francisco, asap.

The postal clerk then made her way back to me and proceeded to count out and UPC-read each sheet of the 20-stamps-to-a-page, for a total of 435 stamps. It was interminable. She never spoke the entire time except for a soft, "That's 20, that's 40," and so on. She never smiled either. Then I had to give her a check from my boss, show her my driver's license since the check wasn't mine. Slowly she began scanning a 100-page collection of names, looking for me, making sure I wasn't someone who had foisted bad checks onto the Federal Government. This process took another 7 minutes. It was all I could do to not sigh rudely or to say something. I knew if I did, she'd probably slow it down even more. Despite my sunny attempts to smile encouragement her way, the entire transaction, from my first approach to the counter to walking out those automatic doors took 27 minutes. To buy stamps. Stamps that are probably going to go up in price any minute now as the federal government grapples with deficits and unemployment and salaries and unions.

As I left the counter, my precious stamps in hand, I glanced back to see that there were 8 people waiting in line. Even though you could see other postal personnel milling around in the back, in the sorting room, at no time did anyone bother to poke their head out and ask, "May I help you?"

This, I fear, is pretty emblematic of most government bureaucracies, especially those that have direct interface with the public and who are supposedly providing services. What I've seen and experienced first hand is that those jobs have become bureaucratic entitlements, that the focus is not on service but rather passing time in a 9-hour day (1 hour for lunch, 2 15-minute breaks). With rigid work rules, little else to do but certain exact things, and innovation or short-cuts anathema (boat rocking), is it any wonder that tax payers are getting a little irritable or that the Internet, FedEx and UPS are making the USPS obsolete?

Here's the thing: our country is in a world of hurt. Unemployment is now 7.2% and growing. The idea that someone can keep their job, even when they provide such slow, almost arrogantly indifferent service, seems to me the highest form of disrespect. To all of us customers but also to themselves and their co-workers.

And what most people don't want to admit is that it's those folks in the bureaucracies who just don't give a fuck who will prevent the capital "C" change Obama and the newer breed of leaders and we, their followers are calling for. The bureaucrats who can't be fired just want to do their job, at their pace and on their terms and the rest of us can just kiss their civil service ass.

Seeing Clearly

2008-12-22T19:17:00.000-08:00

Here's what I can see now: that all the unpleasantness of my life's last six months were only the tiniest pieces of a most spectacular puzzle that was created with order, intelligence, and absolute love. Nothing is ever lost, no one becomes less and setbacks are always temporary. And no matter what has happened, everyone lives again, everyone laughs again, and everyone loves again, even more richly than before. With due deference to The Universe, thank you barn, for burning down.

Where's Barbie?

2008-12-11T16:12:00.000-08:00

Is this man for real? Doesn't matter that he got caught red-handed by the FBI acting the political fool, selling patronage like a high-priced hooker. Just when confidence in our form of government, in those we elect to referee the public good, and in their good friends in industry is at an all-time low (other than for President-Elect Obama who is getting 79% approval ratings), we get this. Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich. Ken Doll. What were you thinking? Go away. Get better hair. Get a clue.

Where's The Shame?

2008-12-05T17:00:00.000-08:00

While the Little People in America are getting their asses kicked by this economy, we have the specter, or should I say spectacle, of Wall Street and now Detroit coming to the tax payers for a bail-out. A sobering look at hubris, I highly urge one and all to check out Thomas L. Friedman's piece, All Fall Down. The "unabashed (smirking) complicity of the upper class of American capitalism..." says it all.

The Big Boys ask, "Where's the love, America?" I have to answer, "Where's the shame?"

During China's Cultural Revolution, the capitalistas were paraded before jeering crowds with dunce caps and bound hands or had to stand in public reciting their "crimes" and asking forgiveness. No doubt, a harsh response. But at what point are the Masters of the Universe going to get a clue? They should at least say, "We're sorry." And mean it.

We've All Got A Stake In This

2008-12-04T19:01:00.000-08:00

Here's something scarier than the actual mess in the economy: The public's response to all the job layoffs seems to be, "They deserved it!" or "Just glad it wasn't me!" or worse, "I should be getting a raise!" Where's the empathy and compassion? What happened to the "better angels of our nature?"

If our sense of being our brothers' and sisters' keepers is this far from realization, we will end up with only the sharp-elbowed (and tongued) in the economic survival boat. Is that what we want?

Those lucky ones with jobs or ample resources should reach into their hearts and ask, "If I don't sacrifice at least something to help others keep their jobs, what will happen to us all?" Think about it. The more people with jobs--even at reduced wages and benefits--the better. That's the kind of "wealth" spreading we need to be doing until the current melt down rights itself.

December 6, 2008 - Post Script

This just in. A cogent argument for sharing.

Change Your Life

2008-12-01T16:49:00.000-08:00

Seth Godin is a marketing guy who isn't so much into selling stuff as selling the power of ideas. His many books, including his most recent, Tribes, tap stories of remarkable people doing remarkable things, and by virtue of their example, they define a new direction, they gather like-minded and push the envelope around. Oh yes, and they make a lot of money too. Google him and see what I'm talking about.

Today Seth made an offer I hope some of you won't refuse. An apprenticeship for six months with him, in New York, learning, working on projects, connecting to amazing people. Instead of staying in school because you can't find a job, or if your job is iffy or worse, gone, you just might want to throw caution to the wind and see if you can measure up to Godin's expectations. The people he tends to attract are all ages and range from software designers, dot.com entrepreneurs to feed the hungry, micro-enterprise venture capitalist types. And average folk who happen to have good ideas that take hold and change the world or some part of it.

I'd try out for this thing in a New York minute but I have a mortgage and can't commute that far, which by definition, makes me too chicken-hearted to be who he's looking for. But I sure can cheer the intrepid--maybe you on. Check out his offer here. Go ahead; change your life. Or if you are too squeamish, please pass the word on to your kids, your friends or even that clever enemy at work you can't seem to get off your case. In the end, they'll thank you for it.

Talk Hard

2008-11-21T16:47:00.000-08:00

There's a scene in the cult classic film, Pump Up The Volume, in which Christian Slater's character, Hard Harry, loses his voice disguiser while being chased by FCC vans for illegally broadcasting his hip, outrageous and teenage angst-laden rants on a pirate radio station he's rigged to his mother's jeep. Stripped of his cover, he and Samatha Mathis look out over the athletic field of his high school, at the hundreds of adoring fans listening to their radios, hoping that Hard Harry will stay on the air, not be intimidated by the authorities closing in on him. "This is me now," he says. "No more hiding behind the phony voice." And what follows is an adrenalin-soaring soliloquy to all listening and assembled to use their voices to say what needs to be said, to clear their throats and unburden their hearts.

I'm always thrilled every time I watch this scene because it's me up there, just wishing so bad I had the nerve to say out loud what needs to be said, to question the established, politically correct order, to probe assumptions without fear, to throw a pie or two in the face of organized thuggery, no matter the form it takes, to talk hard. So in the spirit of emancipation....

The Sacramento Bee headline told the story: "Judge rules only nurses can inject insulin in kids." Score: 1 for the grown-ups, the California School Nurses Association, the California Nurses Association and "other nursing groups;" 0 for the 14,000 kids with diabetes who go to public schools. In California, there are 9,800 public schools and 2,800 nurses to serve them. Do the math. Someone's getting screwed here. And all in the name of "scope of practice," "work to union rules," and flexing political muscle through the courts.

What started out as a desperate attempt by the parents of diabetic children and open-minded school personnel to expand the number of people at school who are willing and who can be trained to give a shot to kids when they need it during the day, crashed and burned last Friday. Now, only a licensed nurse may administer that insulin. Unless of course the parent can rush to the school from his or her job or from home, before little Johnny or Maria goes into shock.

It's a bully's play. It's about putting unimaginable pressure on the schools to hire more nurses. It's about salaries and benefits, not about solving the problem of how to keep diabetic kids on their meds, able to function and learn in school.

A letter to the Sacramento Bee's editor from Chris Andre, a former school nurse, a diabetes educator, member of the CNA and parent of a child with Type 1 diabetes: "Learning to give an injection is a piece of cake and does not require a license. A license is needed to develop safe parameters to give the injections...Remember, unlicensed parents are injecting their children every day."

I have spent some good years toiling in the mines of health care workforce issues, the nursing shortage and the dominance of medical doctors over the scopes of practice for all of the healing arts. That rigid, politically-charged paradigm, the one where Our Father (or Mother) the Doctor, the Nurse, the Business & Professions Committee shall dictate the pace and reach of innovation for providing care, well that's running headlong into the other charging train called the Economic Melt Down Express.

Those 14,000 kids and their inability to get a shot when their lives depend on it are emblematic of what's wrong with health care today. The doctors, nurses, technicians--the whole pecking order--have worked themselves doggedly into these tightly engineered, legally defined slots, totally at the expense of those in need of care. Talk about rationing! Embargoing health care, holding patients hostage for wages and benefits, is no different than OPEC jiggering the cost of gasoline or Detroit refusing to make a fuel-efficient car. You can see how well that's working out.

P.S. This just in: According to a November 15, 2008 USA Today survey, "those touched by childhood diabetes seek more support from schools and about half of young people with the condition have trouble coping. Eighty percent of parents and seventy-three percent of young adults thought that teachers should be better informed about diabetes."

Down Is The New In!

2008-11-04T20:11:00.001-08:00

We're dancing in my house tonight, while loud strains of Stevie Wonder and hope and jubilation fill the rooms! WE did it America, WE have turned away from our darker impulses to embrace one another, to form a new and miraculous tribe, to be led by someone with probing intelligence, calm and a commitment to the change we all hunger for.

God Bless America for being such a cool country that we could produce Barack Obama, could nurture his ascendancy to the highest office in the land and allow all of us, Red State, Blue State, all the States to unite again.

Yes. Yes We Did!

Shoes Do The Talking

2008-10-28T18:41:00.000-07:00

When I was in Florence, Italy two years ago, I was really, really depressed, for good reason. But that's another story, probably a book. A particularly striking memory was sitting outside a laundromat, waiting for my clothes to dry. As crowds pushed down the cobbled alley passing for a street, and my friends shooed Gypsies away with shouts and hand gestures, I aimed my Nikon Cool Pix at people from the knees down. Changing the different settings I was able to capture hundreds of shoes in stride, people moving toward something but all I could know of them if I looked back at those photos was their shoes.

It soon became a thing with me, to shoot pictures of people from the knees down, lest they feel self-conscious or lest I steal their soul without their permission. You can tell a lot about someone from their shoes, what they buy, how they care for them, how they wear them, if they have any sense of style or care about how they look.

I have been a shoe nut for many years, collecting them since I was in high school. I spent most of my babysitting money buying shoes to match my outfits. We had very little money but having cool shoes was somehow my way of keeping up appearances and I guess it stayed that way until recently when I no longer needed to clip-clop around the Capitol's marble floors in three-inch heels because now I work from home.

Over the years I must have purchased hundreds and hundreds of shoes, really nice ones. Everything from designer sling pumps to hiking boots for the now-famous Eco-Nazi Boot Camp Trek from Hell (another story, starring the Most Reverend Jeannie Shaw-Connelly and seven women who would dare the wilderness of Yosemite without her permission to use toilet paper lest we despoil the environment.)

In my experience shoes do a lot of the talking, they can tell a story or a lie, they can serve to remind you about what you were doing when you wore them, the heads you might have turned or the compliments..."Nice kicks," I used to hear frequently, mainly because I worked at making the shoes work for me.

So when I got home from Italy I loaded my photos into the computer, to take their place along with 17 years of other photos, data, articles, work, writing, chronicles of my life, and there it all sat, mucho megabytes, unbacked, until last August when the trusty MacBook's hard drive crashed. Leaving nothing to grab on to, to look at, to recall or to take pride in. Gone, pffft, like that!

Beyond the obvious lesson of backing up, there's something to be said for starting over. Here's the start of a new collection, taken in the foyer of a movie theatre on San Pablo Avenue in Albany, CA, just before sitting down in comfy couches, to drink red wine and watch the Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men.

No Reservations

2008-10-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

Make the Chef Happy

I'm standing in line at the grocery store, jotting down menu ideas for the week. Tonight: Filet of sole meuniere, zucchini fritters and an argula salad with sauteed mushrooms, toasted pine nuts and shaved Parmesan. Organized and relaxed I assemble ingredients. I rinse the filets and put them in a bowl of milk to tenderize and sweeten the fish. I throw some flour, salt and papper and a little paprika for color into a bowl and mix it with a fork. I pull out a lemon and some butter from the 'fridge and grab the jar of capers, just for added zing. Ok. We're set for the meuniere.

Zucchini Fritters Aren't That Fattening

Now it's time to make the fritters. Grate the zucchini, toss it with kosher salt and let it drain in a colander. Go outside and snip some mint from the potted herb garden, sniff it and realize that it's grown too rangy and skunky, no good for use any more this season, except maybe to dress a dessert plate. (Mental note: pull it out to give room for the basil and chives; replant next year with peppermint, no more of the spearmint.) Mince some parsley, green onion and basil, set aside. Whisk an egg. Pull out the flour again. Rinse the zucchini, put in an old dishtowel and wring the zucchini dry. Put it in a bowl and add the herbs, egg, flour, salt, pepper and a dash of cayenne. Toss in a bit of mixed, grated cheeses and stir. It's all gloppy and ready for frying by the tablespoonful. Little, pretty golden zucchini rounds.

It's all coming together in record time but I'm in no hurry, just enjoying the feel of the food in my hands, how silky salted and rinsed grated zucchini can feel. The cheeses smell strong, especially the Romano, and I know they will mesh nicely with the herbs.

Even Frogs Taste Better With Butter

In the meantime, I'm sauteing sliced mushrooms in a little butter and olive oil, until they are golden toasty and have rendered their moisture to the pan's even heat. I love the smell of mushrooms and butter cooking. It's earthy and French and in this moment I forgive the French--at least temporarily--for being such pompous cultural and food snobs. I'm reminded too of a line from No Reservations, a pretty bad remake of a French film about love and trust and cooking, starring Catherine Zeta-Jones and Aaron Eckhart. She's the head chef, has drunk too much red wine and asks him, her sous-chef, in a sort-of test, "What are the three secret ingredients of French cooking?" Helping her up the stairs to her apartment he says, "That's easy. Butter. Butter. And butter."

Arugula Is Italian for "Downy-Stemmed Plant"

Mushrooms done, I add them to several handfuls of arugula--and let me say right now what a boon to food prep bagged, pre-washed salad greens have become. I sprinkle in a tablespoon or so of toasted pine nuts and finish it by using my potato peeler to shave a few thin pieces of Grana Padano Parmesan. What's nice about this cheese is how it's drier than many Parmesans but still holds together for smooth, uncrumbled shavings. Then, as I was instructed by Dr. and Mrs. Marco Missaglia, while a guest in their home in the lovely town of Mandello del Lario on enchanted Lago di Como, Italy all you need here is a tablespoon of good balsamic vinegar, a tablespoon of your best olive oil, some kosher salt and pepper grindings and you've got a simple, fantastic salad dressing that holds up well to the arugula. I think even George Clooney, vacationing and shooting it with his salonista pals at his nearby villa in Bellagio would approve.

With all the elements assembled and ready for execution, I saute the flour-dipped sole quickly in butter, pull the filets out and add lemon juice and capers, swirling everything in the pan to a nice, glossy finish. What a wonderful smell comes wafting up as I pour this tangy glaze onto the fish! There. It's all done. I assemble it on the plate, add a little garnish for color, and Voila! As Stimpy might say to Ren: "Dinner is sah-erved."

Lost and Found

2008-10-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

I found a $20 bill the other night, lying on the filthy, bird-doo-stained concrete concourse at the Greyhound Bus Station. A friend and I were just leaving a dinner meeting which was held at a great restaurant which is unfortunately located in one of the seediest, smelliest and most depressing areas in Sacramento.

An embarrassment to any and all of the City's governing pols or 'crats, the intersection at 8th and K consists of a gaping hole in the ground, the Darth Vader Building looming loopily onto K Street, obsolete before they were installed light rail cars whizzing noisily past and a handful of businesses struggling to put their best foot forward with no help from the City, thank you.

There was no parking on 8th or K so to get to the public lot on 7th near the entrance to the Downtown Cowtown Mall we had to go through the Greyhound Bus Depot because the alley next to our restaurant was gated and chained shut at 7th Street. "More of the City's brilliant planning," I thought. "I see they're making it easy for us to get around in downtown Sacramento on a week night."

So that's why we were walking through the concourse when I spotted the $20. At first I thought it might be fake; it was folded, as if to bait someone foolish enough to pick it up. I looked around to see if anyone nearby might have dropped it, but the place was deserted except for a few homeless and hapless people propping up the walls to the Greyhound lounge and ticket counter.

Before my friend could snag it I bent down and slapped it into my purse, feeling only semi-guilty that someone less fortunate than I might have lost it. I started to wonder if perhaps a student had dropped it, or a grandmother, just in for a visit to see her son's new baby. Maybe it was a bus driver's or maybe it fell out of some hooker's bra. The whole proposition felt a bit cootie-fied but then I reminded myself, all money is dirty. Even the honestly earned and deserved cash. It has been handled by thousands of unwashed hands. It is funky, no matter where you find it. Just be grateful for the gift.

As we rounded the corner, putting distance between ourselves, the buses and the waiting passengers, I turned to my friend and quipped, "Money comes to me easily and frequently." We both laughed. It was funny because this is a well-known mantra, one I have started to repeat, in hopes that it will become true. A verbal talisman against my fear of loss and failing. Like so many dreams in this life, you have to believe they are possible, have to visualize and invest positive energy in them. What you put out there, you will receive.

Yes We Carve!

2008-10-20T18:23:00.000-07:00

There's a thrill in the air as we ease into October's end. It's the sense that something momentous is happening all around us. Watch this video, at this site:

http://yeswecarve.com/

See for yourself, feel the fun and the inspiration of these people. A huge tribe is forming right before our eyes: Voters for Obama. All over this country, joined by the idea of a better, fairer, more equal nation, built by our better selves. Other nations are cheering us on from the sidelines. Celebrate what is happening and be part of it. This is history! Exercise your franchise.

Why I Love HBO's "Generation Kill"

2008-10-19T23:08:00.000-07:00

[August 19, 2008] David Simon, the crabby genius who brought us The Wire on HBO, has managed to outdo himself. With the help of his writing partner, Ed Burns and guided by the original work of Rolling Stones reporter Evan Wright, through Generation Kill we are seeing, smelling, tasting, feeling and hearing--mostly hearing--the grit and gore of the Marine 1st Reconnaissance Battalion's advance of the "first U.S. boots on the ground in Mesopotamia." And I love every word of it.

I feel like a voyeur, watching with both horror and glee, men be men. Listening to them speak in arcane military speak, ruthlessly rib each other, go sleepless and bathless and dig holes to do their business, not the least self-conscious. Sweaty, filthy brothers in arms.

I marvel at their training, the lethal accuracy of their bullets, the shape they are in and cringe watching the chain-of-command bitchiness and foolishness that creeps in, threatening to undermine or ruin the rational and earnest Lieutenant Nate Fick. Sometimes I get angry at the incompetence that is covered over or allowed to slip sideways: Captain "Encino Man" and "Captain America" come to mind. Idiots in charge while my favorite grunts Corporal Ray Person and Sergeant Brad "Iceman" Colbert ride point, take the flak and do their best to stay on task, even when the task is a waste of time and resources.

I love Generation Kill because, through the words, the gestures and expressions of the characters, we are reminded how incompetents kill. How bureaucracies harbor and even promote them. That those who would question authority have to find support in sick humor and camaraderie because the outcomes of stupid egos run amok are wincingly painful. No different than The Wire's Avon Barksdale boys taking each other out over territory; the Mayor of Baltimore reneging on his promise to let the police do real policing and not juke the stats; kids slipping through the cracks in the schools; no different than newspaper reporters making up stories or cops faking serial murders.

But mostly I love Generation Kill because it arrives at a time the whole country needs to see up close and bloody what going into Iraq--without a plan, without the right equipment, without any thought to exit strategy--was really like and what it has wrought. We've all had our heads in a recession-fearing fog and even before then, we partied through the war. Busy consuming and wasting and inflating home prices by buying what we could not afford.

Maybe Generation Kill--showing up and finishing just before the Democrats nominate Barack Obama and the Republicans nominate John McCain--will resonate a little with those of us watching those spectacles. Maybe we'll begin to see that what we've started in Iraq--never mind the reasons, they are now irrelevant--we must finish. We must find a way for those thousands of U.S. troops to come home where we will treat their wounded minds and bodies, welcome and thank them for their service and hope that history will not punish us more than we deserve. And next time we send such well-trained human forces into battle, let's for God's sake know why and have a plan. For more on the seven part mini-series go to http://www.hbo.com/generationkill/

We're almost there

2008-10-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

On October 18, 1968, the United States Olympic Committee suspended two black athletes, Tommie Smith and John Carlos, for giving a "black power" salute as a protest during a victory ceremony in Mexico City.

We have come so far since that time of pride and turmoil, yet as we stand 17 days away from likely electing the first African-American to the Presidency, we still see awful and enduring ribbons of racism and ignorance. This from the belly of the heartland, on the manicured streets of suburbia, in the hollows of long-neglected and failing towns. The anger and fear is so palpable it has taken on a life of its own.

What Barack Obama promises is a redemption, another chance for us to get it right, to realize at last MLK, Jr.'s compelling dream. From our current economic and political chaos, we can as a nation emerge stronger, less fearful and more hopeful than ever. One by one, family by family, community by community, from the ground up, We The People must step up, take responsibility, not expect someone to fix it without our help and sacrifice.

It's our last, best chance to restore ourselves and we're almost there.

Thinking is good

2008-10-17T23:18:00.000-07:00

Welcome to The Ink Tank. A place for intelligent, thoughtful and whimsical discourse on topics like politics and culture, film, food, fun, art, music and entertainment. My goal is to use The Ink Tank to riff on what, in the words of "Jerry McGuire," we think but do not say, to spur ideas and eventually spread them. Like viruses only the good kind. I hope to have some guest bloggers add their 2c's as well.

I invite anyone reading to comment, to participate and to have fun. Points given for well-written posts and insights, for checking yourself before you wreck yourself (self-editing). I'm also hoping to identify people who will later be invited to participate in a selective, private Ning.com on-line community where we can create a spirited, private and safe place to bring our personal and professional challenges in hopes the collective experience, wisdom and wit can lend ourselves a hand. If you want to know more about what I'm talking about, check out http://www.triiibes.com/ or Seth Godin's newest book, Tribes: We Need You to Lead Us.

Gotta start somewhere...