You aren’t going to believe this! The fact that this aired on a "mainstream" program –albeit Rush Limbaugh, is, indeed, beyond belief.
The viciousness of it, and the fact that Limbaugh remains so popular, is very scary. Inspired by my friend Cooper Munroe, who posts her outrages, I offer it here. If it won’t play (I am NOT quite clever at the relationship between TypePad and YouTube) here’s the link.
Research shows that I’m hardly alone in this, but I have a deep and abiding fear of disappearing into the fog that is Alzheimer’s disease. I’m approaching my 61st birthday, which, these days, is young. Horrible to contemplate, but NOT old. Actually even for the last generation it’s not much – my dad lived to be 78 and my mom 80. So even in WWII generation terms, I’d have a good crack at at least 20 more years. And when I think about dying I really worry more about the sadness of those I love than anything else. No one wants her life to be over, but unlike many of my friends, including those far younger, I’m not terrified.
Alzheimer’s is different though. If you read the statistics, the odds are pretty scary for all of us. Today the New York Times reports (actually I think a little late – if you don’t have Times Select try this story on amNewYork) on a new awareness program by the Alzheimer’s Association. Here’s the video (short.) That’s good.
And it even includes Kate Burton, Meridith Grey’s mother (Grey’s Anatomy for those of you not addicted already.) 
Her character, in a series of almost unbearable episodes, suffered from Alzheimer’s. There is so much written about this disease and the risk to our nation’s future, one person at a time, but if the documents are to be believed research is far behind potential.
As usual it’s a question of money. And I know I should care about that. I guess I do. But what’s tougher for me is to face, almost daily, the small memory losses and forgetful moments of aging and not fear that they are all connected to the disease. People my age even joke about it – calling it “old timer’s” disease or “senior moments” but all it is is awful. To lose a word, see know the star of a classic film and not be able to retrieve the name, work a crossword puzzle (recommended to maintain brain “muscles” and besides I love them) and KNOW the missing word somewhere in your brain – but no place where you can get to it…. it’s all terrifying.
Think about it. Spouses who’ve shared years of generating memories suddenly seeing you lose yours; knowing daily that your access to those moments is disappearing. Children who’ve struggled to build strong and independent lives burdened with the emotional obligations created by a wasting disease in a parent. Friends self-conscious and uneasy on visits they know they should make – if they even have the strength to make them. Can you imagine anything worse – except the painful, protracted ending that cancer often brings?
As I write this, random thoughts wander through my mind. Most dominant are lyrics from a Bruce Springsteen (of course) song.
I don’t wanna fade away, Oh I don’t wanna fade away, Tell me what can I do what can I say, Cause darlin’ I don’t wanna fade away.
Yeah it’s about the end of a love affair but it’s playing in my head as a kind of Alzheimer’s anthem so you have to listen too.
The other things are really corny but right now I think I need to be corny. This one is part of what we read at the beginning of our wedding almost 36 years ago: In the time of your life, live—so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. It’s from William Saroyan’s play The Time of Your Life.
The other is from Our Town. And I know it’s old fashioned and sentimental. But as I look this terror in the eye, I know it’s what I have to do to keep it at bay.
Emily: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?–every, every minute?
Stage Manager: No. Saints and poets, maybe–they do some.
I guess the answer to all this is to aim for the saints and the angels. Nothing is going to prevent the future from happening; not faith, not love, not Hogwart’s magic, not even the miraculous gift of children. So each day I need to be as present as I can. Whatever happens it’s a blow against the unknown and a prayer of gratitude for the privilege of being present and aware.
Saturday night we went to my friend Rona’s 60th birthday party in LA. The photo is me, Rona and our Today Show colleague Coby. It was really fun – how often does Famous Amos bake you cookies and Brian Wilson sing to you on a Bel Air tennis court turned party heaven? How often do you see photos of yourself, your friend and your husband at Today Show shoots and crazy parties? And how often, in the unexpected chill of an April Los Angeles evening, do you see a pile of blankets for guests that includes the one you made their now 14-year-old son when he was born?
I’ve written about Rona before but Saturday night was a real reminder of the nature of a gifted friend. She asked everyone to stand up. Those who knew her 5 years or less, sit down. Then ten years. Then fifteen. We were feeling pretty cocky since we were in the 20 years or less category – until we saw how many people – from New York, DC, Hawaii, San Francisco, LA and God knows where else – were standing at 30 – and even 40 years! And Rick and I knew many of them; we’d been to birthday parties or holiday events or just dinner with them over the years. I once heard someone quote Wendy Wasserstein as saying that you could judge someone’s character by how well they kept their friends. In that as in so many other ways she was a star.
On the tables were CDs for all of us – with a photo of her at Woodstock on the cover (one that I’d used in our 20 year anniversary piece (it was really great) to close it out. Sunday I was driving around LA while my husband was at his conference so I stuck the CD into the player. The next thing I knew I was driving down the 10 Freeway in tears — not sweet little showers but huge wracking sobs. Not really sadness, it was more a recognition of all the treasured time that has passed – of how much I loved so much of it and how real it still feels to me. I’ve never read Remembrance of Things Past but I’m told that the entire epic emerges from memories evoked from the smell of a Madeline (a kind of French cookie – they sell them at Starbucks I think.)
Well each song – Van Morrison or Bob Dylan or Paul Simon or Marvin Gaye took me someplace. The thing is – sad as I was, I was also absurdly grateful to have the memories and moments so powerfully evoked by the music. Not until I hit 60 did I realize you really DO get older – that some things are in the past for good. When the music is there, though, nothing's really gone. Memories and senses arise in all their glory and float me back where I came from. Not for long – and not entirely – but enough to remind me of the privileges of my life and the wonders of life itself. Corny but oh so true – music brings the gift of memory and joy. Yet another thing to thank birthday girl Rona for adding to my life. Happy birthday one more time, my sister.
Well it’s finally over. All that’s left now is to move all the Passover stuff (dishes, pots, flat ware, utensils, pot holders, dish towels, condiments, coffee pot, etc) down to the basement and reinstitute the usual kitchen — including replacing a pantry full of cereal, rice, Tasty Bites instant Indian food, cous cous, brownie mixes, pasta sauce, olives, capers, and all the rest.)
It’s a real pain in the neck. I started this post Tuesday night and should have taken photos but suffice it to say we stopped and started and it’s now 7AM Thursday and everything is back where it was. I’m kind of embarassed by how hostile this long long holiday has made me. In the time from the Monday night it started until Wednesday evening of the next week, we spent five days living “Sabbath rules” — no driving, no cooking, no turning lights on /off, no shopping etc. In addition to all the stuff we weren’t allowed to eat (Passover rules forbid anything that isn’t “kosher for Passover” — nothing that has been leavened (bread, cereal, pasta etc). plus lots of other products without Kosher for Passover lables) we used different dishes, pots, utensils, napkins, dish towels etc etc etc. (Those were some of what I had to store at the close of the holiday.)
I used to really love Passover and very early on some of our Orthodox friends (women) warned me that it was so much work I might never feel the same way about it despite the magnificent religious and political messages of freedom and justice it contains.
It’s the enormous amout of work that changes things. For some reason it really set me off – I’ve been pissed for days, even though, unlike our friends, I didn’t do any entertaining to speak of. Since this was the first year we’ve observed the holiday in this way, we only bought a few “Pesach” articles; figured next year we’d do it up right. One of my friends told me I might have been less upset if I’d just invited people and used paper plates…. that not entertaining for some of the TEN!! “festive meals” – (Sabbath eve and lunch — as well as two seders, two other dinners on the last two days and four lunches i addition to Shabbat) — just made me feel more anxious. We did enjoy each of the meals to which we were invited, and were grateful to be asked, but who knows?
Anyway it’s over now until next year; I have some time to get used to yet another set of obligations. Some days it seems that there are so many and I’m nowhere near all the way there yet…. They say this religion is a journey not a destination. Last week was one where I really felt I still have a long way to go!
I began my day at the plenary session of one of my favorite conferences –NTEN — The Nonprofit Technology Network. It’s a gathering of mostly non-profit activists who use the web to enhance their work. They are sharp, committed and fun.
The main session this morning was off the charts: David Weinberger, from Harvard’s Berkman Center for the Internet and Society. He nay be the best speaker I ever heard – certainly one of the best. Of course he’s funny and sometimes outraged – both very good things — but he also offers really thrilling analysis of our lives online and the role of each of us in making the Web what it is, and what it will be. Read more about him from another admirer, at the conference blog.
I also popped in at "Using Technology to Support Your Mission." Very cool but it turned out to be techier than I wanted, so wandered around running into people. This community is so vibrant and purposeful that it’s a wonderful place to hang around. These are people who don’t think the web can change the world, they know it has.
By the way, beyond what I’m learning in sessions, I can tell you what’s hot by the sessions I couldn’t even get into: The Age of YouTube: Using Video Online to Reach the Masses and Leveraging the Power of Participatory Media. Fortunately the YouTube one, at least, was videoed and will appear on the NTEN website where we can attend without sitting in a corner on the floor and sweating from the major body heat surrounding each of us.
Even so, in all it was a great day; sorry this report is so brief. More tomorrow.
It’s almost Shabbat and I only have a second but if you’re hanging around the web this weekend don’t miss this. It’s the newest Jib Jab video and will tell you all you need to know about why I went from TV to the web. Happy Passover!
When you first hear the term "cyberstalking" you think it’s a joke. Well guess what. It’s not. Read this. It’s the post of a prominent blogger who has canceled speaking engagements and remains frightened and close to agoraphobic because of vicious and threatening online attacks, both verbal and visual. I started to post one of the photos, but just couldn’t do it. So instead you see how I felt upon reading Kathy Siera’s post.
Death threats, violently edited photos of bloggers as well as violent, vicious prose, are a grave threat not only to women blogers (it appears that women are particularly targeted) but to the wonder that is the blog universe. Those who oppose such behavior have to take a stand – we’re the activist types anyway or we wouldn’t be writing so publicly. SO. 
Here, from the wonderful, generous Andy Carvin (left) and other sites, are some things we can do:
Join Stop Cyberbullying, a site created by the aforementioned Andy Carvin.
Post on our own blogs and/or post comments on participating blogs – which Andy will include in "Stop Cyberbullying" site
Visit and share existing resources like Cyberbully.org or this parent brochure
Learn more from other sites like this one.
Check out BlogHer co-founder Lisa Stone’s Hating Hate Speech, in which she discusses this issue and offers the BlogHer community guidelines.
Think of something else, do it and post the idea on Stop Cyberbullying. OH and remember to tag anything you write about this with the stopcyberbullying tag so it will show up in searches. Let’s not be silent in the face of this threat to our community. Thanks, Andy, for giving us a tool to make noise!
OK, those folks who run TypePad and YouTube haven’t found a way to add this blog host to automatic video posting so I’m hooking a link in right here so you can watch this. I can’t decide what I think – it’s funny and clever and a perfect definition of a mashup but it’s also mean and off-mark. While many, including many feminists, have issues with Senator Clinton – this 1984/Apple Commercial version isn’t representative of most of them. Accusations of opportunism and flabbiness on the war are not the same as totalitarianism. True, she voted for the Patriot Act, but so did all but two Senators – and one of them didn’t vote at all!
Now, I remind myself – we still remember who voted against the Tonkin Gulf Resolution (Senators Wayne Morse of Oregon and Ernest Gruening of Alaska) and that was in 1964 so maybe this vote will last too. Anyway, I don’t know where I’ll land politically this year – I’m really just thinking about the power of the kinds of media manipulation (in the technical sense) that are possible today. How will we ever help newer voters figure out how to determine the truth? Are they so much more evolved than we are in a media sense that we needn’t worry, or is the dismal lack of critical thinking work in current No Child Left Behind education going to affect how people think in the voting booth as well as our educational standing in the world?
Thoughts?
One of the great gifts of an observant Jewish life is the lighting of Sabbath candles. At a prescribed time each Friday, 18 minutes before sundown, it is the obligation of the Jewish woman to light candles as a symbolic acceptance of the Sabbath upon herself. The prayer is said AFTER you light the candles because once they’re lit, the Sabbath rules – ignite no fire, do no work etc. preclude the lighting of a match.
Here’s how it works: you light the candles, move your hands above the candles three times to bring their warmth toward you, then cover your eyes and say a simple blessing. It’s in Hebrew, but it means “Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who sanctifies us with his commandments, and enjoins us to light the candles of Shabbat.” Yes,the words of the prayer are plain; women say them in every corner of the earth – educated or not, every week and have been doing so for thousands of years. Many of us add prayers of our own, for those we love, for peace, for the lifting of burdens, for a better world.
I always take a very deep breath — the kind they taught us when I was quitting smoking — and exhale very slowly, releasing a lot of the stress of the week before I begin. One of my friends told me that when she was in medical school and having babies at the same time, she’d weep, every week, as she felt the burdens fall from her in the glow of the flame.
Makes sense to me. Something about this ritual is transporting. I also love the idea that this is a woman’s privilege. Much has been written about what observant Jewish women are NOT permitted to do – and much of it is true. That’s another conversation. But the impact of this particular duty is profound, beautiful and serene and I am grateful for it. So, as we move toward the close of this day and toward what I have found to be the true peace of the sabbath – I send to you, whatever your faith – a peaceful wish — Shabbat Shalom.
Monday night Patti Smith was among those inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. As I’ve written in the past, I’ve attended a few inductions and they are high on the list of great experiences and remind us (as if we needed it) of the power of the music — a topic I’ve been discussing recently.
This remarkable poet, who wrote Peaceable Kingdom – a mournful memory of her husband, who died of heart disease way too soon, and the anthem People Have the Power, can move us, then generate anger and provoke action. Listen to these – these are iTunes links: Peaceable Kingdom and People Have the Power. As different as they can be and each inspiring, moving and unforgettable.
Smith wrote in the New York Times that she had been ambivalent about the award – this independent spirit wasn’t certain she wanted to treat her art in this way. I’m including the whole piece here because it will soon go behind the Times "wall." Just see what sort of person has just been honored – and join me in my high respect and affection for this remarkable artist.
ON a cold morning in 1955, walking to Sunday school, I was drawn to the voice of Little Richard wailing “Tutti Frutti” from the interior of a local boy’s makeshift clubhouse. So powerful was the connection that I let go of my mother’s hand.
Rock ’n’ roll. It drew me from my path to a sea of possibilities. It sheltered and shattered me, from the end of childhood through a painful adolescence. I had my first altercation with my father when the Rolling Stones made their debut on “The Ed Sullivan Show.” Rock ’n’ roll was mine to defend. It strengthened my hand and gave me a sense of tribe as I boarded a bus from South Jersey to freedom in 1967.
Rock ’n’ roll, at that time, was a fusion of intimacies. Repression bloomed into rapture like raging weeds shooting through cracks in the cement. Our music provided a sense of communal activism. Our artists provoked our ascension into awareness as we ran amok in a frenzied state of grace.
My late husband, Fred Sonic Smith, then of Detroit’s MC5, was a part of the brotherhood instrumental in forging a revolution: seeking to save the world with love and the electric guitar. He created aural autonomy yet did not have the constitution to survive all the complexities of existence.
Before he died, in the winter of 1994, he counseled me to continue working. He believed that one day I would be recognized for my efforts and though I protested, he quietly asked me to accept what was bestowed — gracefully — in his name.
Today I will join R.E.M., the Ronettes, Van Halen and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. On the eve of this event I asked myself many questions. Should an artist working within the revolutionary landscape of rock accept laurels from an institution? Should laurels be offered? Am I a worthy recipient?
I have wrestled with these questions and my conscience leads me back to Fred and those like him — the maverick souls who may never be afforded such honors. Thus in his name I will accept with gratitude. Fred Sonic Smith was of the people, and I am none but him: one who has loved rock ’n’ roll and crawled from the ranks to the stage, to salute history and plant seeds for the erratic magic landscape of the new guard.
Because its members will be the guardians of our cultural voice. The Internet is their CBGB. Their territory is global. They will dictate how they want to create and disseminate their work. They will, in time, make breathless changes in our political process. They have the technology to unite and create a new party, to be vigilant in their choice of candidates, unfettered by corporate pressure. Their potential power to form and reform is unprecedented.
Human history abounds with idealistic movements that rise, then fall in disarray. The children of light. The journey to the East. The summer of love. The season of grunge. But just as we seem to repeat our follies, we also abide.
Rock ’n’ roll drew me from my mother’s hand and led me to experience. In the end it was my neighbors who put everything in perspective. An approving nod from the old Italian woman who sells me pasta. A high five from the postman. An embrace from the notary and his wife. And a shout from the sanitation man driving down my street: “Hey, Patti, Hall of Fame. One for us.”
