Gentle Thoughts

It’s a lovely, lovely day in the neighborhood, everything is working out just fine.  Hi Boys & Girls, and how are you this fine, fine Monday morning?  Here is today’s lesson on civics.  It is not who you know, but what you know. That is what makes Homosapiens with opposing thumbs, different from the rest of the monkey’s in the zoo.

Today is the last day for my favorite knuckle dragger, the end of a dynasty is today.  No more metawork for our fist chief responder.  Metawork is the pursuit of trivial or unnecessary work that is done to avoid having to perform the real task at hand while simultaneously taking the credit for it.  In the business world, metawork often manifests itself in the form of meetings, mission statements, project planning, or anything else that lets a person become part of the team without actually doing something productive.

Whole new ballgame starting soon, the change is in the air, as we speak.

No more press conferences from a guy who’s name shall forever never be spoken.  We now have a better speller, snappier dresser, better writer/composer, sense of humor, someone who can speak and actually make sense, who possesses a working vocabulary, might even dream in color, and seems to relate well with others.

But then again, if you take a quick look at what we have had, it is apparent that just about anyone could fill his shoes.

I am for example kinder, gentler, cuddlier, somewhat affectionate, articulate, pragmatic, honest, moral, humble and not from Texas.  I am confident in my stature, posses an open, clean, unobstructed, garbage free mind, I therefore have the capacity of recognizing boundless opportunities in my life and openly share that with others, a positive trait by most standards.

Only one thing that stops me from being President of this country —

I smoked dope.

Yup, and unfortunately, I inhaled.

But putting that aside, most of the above mentioned traits makes me a pretty nice guy.  So as you can readily see — All the above separates me from he-who’s-name-is-never-to-be-spoken-again.  Which is safe to say, because you see, they broke the mold when they made me, I don’t resemble anyone on the face of the planet or in the next three counties.

Curse or blessing, you decide.  I don’t care, you know that.

Please remember that it is a lovely, lovely day in the neighborhood.  What is important here is that you have a great day!  May you get a clean bill of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your gastro-enterologist, your urologist, your proctologist, your podiatrist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the I.R.S..

May your hair, your teeth, your hairline, belly, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your blood pressure, your tri-glycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise.

May this week find you seated around the table, together with your beloved family and cherished friends.  May you find the food better, the environment quieter, the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure much more fulfilling than anything else you might ordinarily do this day.

Still with me?  Well, bless your heart!

May what you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them.  May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes, and brave enough to tell the world of your virtues.

May those bothersome pesky telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you have finished your dinner, may the commercials on TV not be louder than the program you have been watching, and may your check book and your budget balance — and include generous amounts for charity.

i-love-you1May you remember to say “I love you” at least once a day to your spouse, your child, your parent, your siblings; but not to your co-worker, your nurse, your masseuse, your barber or your tennis instructor (who by the way, is a person that “love” means nothing anyway).

May we all wake up tomorrow in a world that will try and celebrate peace and with the awareness of God’s love in every sunset, every flower’s unfolding petals, every baby’s smile, every lover’s kiss, and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of our hearts.

May we find the peace in our quiet moments of the day to thank God for the many blessing in our lives, of which, in case you have not noticed — I am one.  As I said, it is Monday, and —  It’s a lovely, lovely day in the neighborhood, everything is working out just fine.

Good-bye Dubya, I would like to say it has been fun, but it hasn’t.


The Brutha’s New Crib

Recently I read this well written piece, and thought I would share it with all of you.

This month, an African-American man moved from his private residence into a much larger and infinitely more expensive one owned not by him but by the taxpayers.  A vast lawn, a perimeter fence and many well-trained security specialists will insulate him from the rest of us, but the mere fact that this man will be residing in this house should make us all stop and count our blessings – because it proves that we live in a nation where anything is possible.

Many believed this day would never come.  Most of us hoped and prayed that it would, but few of us actually believed we would live to see it.  Racism is an ugly thing in all of its forms, and there is little doubt that if this man had moved into this house fifteen years ago, there would have been a great outcry – possibly even rioting in the streets.

Today, we can all be both grateful and proud that no such mayhem will take place when this man takes up residency in this house.

This man moving into this house at this time in our nation’s history is much more than a simple change of addresses for him – it is proof of a change in our attitude as a nation.  It is an amends of sorts – the righting of a great wrong.  It is a symbol of our growth, and of our willingness to “judge a man, not by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character”.

There can be little doubt now that the vast majority of us truly believe that this man has earned both his place in history and his new address.  His time in this house will not be easy – it will be fraught with danger and he will face many challenges.  I am sure there will be many times when he asks himself how in the world he ended up here and, like all who have gone before him, the experience will age him greatly.

But I, for one, will not waste an ounce of worry for his sake – because in every way a man can, he asked for this.  His whole life for the past fifteen years appears to have been inexorably leading this man toward this house.  It is highly probable that in the past, despite all of his actions, racism would have kept this man out of this house.  Today, I thank the lord above that I am an American and that I live in a nation where wrongs are righted, where justice matters, and where truly anything is possible.

Who is this man?