Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Call your grandmother. Or better yet, go visit her. There's a special relationship between grandparent and grandchild. Traditionally, the grandparent is not responsible for raising the grandchild and so they do not have to play the role of disciplinary. With this removed, there's only room for love. I remember it always being a treat visiting my grandparents, a welcome escape to a warmer climate. I decided to make such a retreat recently. I was lucky enough to know all four of my grandparents, but now only my paternal grandmother remains. In a truly serendipitous moment, we realized that while I would be visiting we would be able to see the play "4000 Miles." While we both appreciate the arts, this play would be extra special for us because of it's subject matter. It revolves around the relationship between a grandmother and her grandson who visits her and ends up staying longer than expected. It was a wonderful experience we shared together of when theater and life collide. While my stay did not extend past the 5 days we had, it will be time we will not soon forget.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Check out a great piece E:60 did on the survivors:
Monday, April 14, 2014
Why is tonight different from other nights? Why do we eat unleavened bread? We all know there are far more than just "the four questions." Maybe tonight is a good reminder to ask the hard question why? Perhaps we don't ask why enough because the answer is never an easy yes or no. Why requires thought and discussion, which can't be answered in a text. It requires a phone call. It requires a moment between people. Tonight as we sit down with friends and family to answer the questions of why, maybe it's worth pondering why tonight has to be different from other nights in the first place?
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
Sleepless on a Friday night. Why you may ask? Noise pollution. No good comes from pollution. It is threatening our very existence on this planet and right now my sanity for sleep. How do we clean up the pollution in this city? Do we bag it and throw it away? What happens when the pollution is not a stray can or newspaper, but the horns from below? The loud revelers coming home or continuing on during their drunken night of merriment. The incessant car alarm which beeps and beeps then pauses...a peaceful respite, just long enough so that you can appreciate the silence...and then it starts again, the beep and beep. The jackhammer in the hard pavement which drills into my head, ringing in my ears, splitting my skull in two. They say it's the city which never sleeps and at this rate I believe it. Who could ever sleep in this cacophony of sounds that only this city orchestra can produce. Let me be the conductor. The different sections of our city's instruments come to a great crescendo and then with one wave of my baton it all stops. And I hear nothing. I mean nothing. Not the rev of an engine or the whine of the ambulance. All is quiet on the eastern front and I can sleep. I can be lost in my thoughts instead of distracted by the world around me. Turn it off like a light switch. It's time to go to bed.