Friday, November 28, 2014

PIsac hike - day 3.

 It's funny when you look at pictures a couple of years after the trip and wonder.  I know the first few pictures were from the drive there. Then there are pictures of when we walked up the trail.  It's funny.  I do not mention how tiring the hike was.  I re-read my accounts and all I got was that it was a great view.  Now, a few years later, I remember this hike very clearly.  I remember how tired I was.  This was the hike that made me say no to the hike up Hyuana Picchu the next day.  The views on this hike was SPECTACULAR.  I have even written that a camera cannot do it justice and I think at some point I stopped taking pictures.  What was the point?  There was no way I could capture the intense beauty of the place.  The view I got from the top was something well worth being completely out of breath for.  Of course, why not?  It takes your breath away!

Day started at breakfast and drive to Pisac. In Pisac we hiked for a couple of hours up the mountain to reach the top, which was the priest's place or something like that. The climb and hike was on a trail on the cliff side of the mountain. I could get a good grip and footing, but there were a lot of loose stones too and that seemed scary to me. If I ever focused other than the trail, I could see far out and down and the realization of how high up I was really hit me and I'd be a bit scared because one false move or slip could mean certain death, but the views were amazing and the climb and hike was worth it. When we went up, we were able to climb to another look out point and really appreciate how beautiful the surroundings were. I don't think a camera could do justice to the views. I was quite blown away and glad I requested a trip of the Pisac ruins.

We stopped for lunch and after we got back to Ollantaytambo we walked the streets of the old buildings of the nobilities. Of course, they've been converted into touristy shops etc. but look magnificent from the outside.

Tonight is the festival of the cross here. People come to their altars, which look like in India, tiny places of worship with a model of Mary in it. The people hung a string of bread and fruits on the entrance as a symbol of asking the God to bless them with more of the breads, fruits etc. Basically, asking God to bless them with more prosperity. Then, we had a light dinner. I had taqueras - fried wonton with cheese. Served with fresh guacamole. Was great to eat. Tomorrow Machu Picchu!

A Blog of an idea!

I'm not addicted to Facebook and oh dear!  I'm starting with digressing.  Back to the topic.  A link was shared to my Facebook this morning.  It was a blog ad.  What's a blog ad?  I don't know.  It's a term I created.  I guess for me it means, it's an ad to invite people to blog on a particular blog site.  So, if I were to write a blog and put it on their site, then they get more blogs etc etc and you get the picture.  A blog ad!  But I'm intrigued by this ad.  I love the idea of it.  And this gives me the idea for more similar blogs to save humanity.  Sounds like my think tank idea but we'll get to that one too.

This blog title is "Blog to Feed a Child".  Tell us how you think we can eliminate classroom hunger.  Imagine what India would be like if no child goes hungry and an entire generation is educated!  Blog about it and make a difference with Akshaya Patra and BlogAdda.

I think it's a noble idea.  I wish I was smart enough to think of things.  My thoughts would involve having a kitchen at school and paying someone to cook for the children.  Of course, would involve funds and donations, but that would be a worthy cause.

However, there's a flip side to this I feel.  Education.  What is education?  If you asked me when I was younger than 16, I would say education meant going to school and getting good grades.  Education meant memorizing useless facts and doing whatever it took to make an A (except cheating).  Which leads me to wonder.  Shouldn't part of education involve educating children on what education is and what the purpose of it is?  I know I hated to go to school as a kid.  I didn't see the need for it.  Now that I'm older and I view school as "education" and not a boring prison where you sit and listen to the teachers for hours, school seems very promising.  I guess in relation to the blog ad, I would think while hunger is a cause to solve, so is teaching.  Getting good teachers is crucial also.

I have digressed, kinda, but in all seriousness, that was part of the intended blog.  See, I was part of the American Dental Association Institute for Diversity in Leadership (IDL) and it's a long title for a program that educates people on becoming leaders.  What are leaders made of?  Well, this blog is not about leadership.  Not even close.  I learned some stuff but that's beside the point.  What we had to do with this program is come up with a project.  The aim was to "learn" how to be a leader.  How to start a project and go with it.  I have learned that most ideas at first are shot down.  People look at people with ideas as crazy and dangerous and you need to get past that and go the route to believing in yourself and finding the few who believe in you and will stand by you.

Anyways, so I had several project ideas and there are couple I'm still working on.  One idea is called "The think tank".  I wanted to join a group of diverse individuals to get together to solve a problem.  Any problem.  Problems in school.  Problems in society.  Problems with the environment.  Because I believe everyone has something to offer, but not everyone has everything to offer.  If we pool our resources, we may come up with fascinating prospects.  I watched a Ted talk and heard a plumber come up with an idea for a heart vessel.  The cardiologists weren't thrilled, but the point is that different people have different strengths.  On that note, I must add that children have the most vivid imaginations and craziest solutions.  Some of their ideas may be out there, but sometimes you may run into a kid who can think clearly and focus at the issue at hand and soon you may have a very matter of fact solution that others did not think about.

Anyways, I just think this hunger blog ad I saw was a wonderful idea.  It gets a 'think tank' going because anyone of any walk of life can blog there.  I hope more people start more blogs that are aimed at the betterment of society and a bridge between ignorance and knowledge and bridge towards love, peace and happiness.

It is officially the holiday season as Thanksgiving was yesterday.  So, I'll wish you all a wonderful, safe and happy holiday season.


PS.  Don't do anything I wouldn't do!  Life may seem boring but it's worth it in the end. ;-)

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

The Age Divide

This post is not about the generation gap.  The funny thing is that I don't really know what this post is about.  I think this post has something to do with yesterday's non-indictment.  Bear with me while I muse on the topic of age and humanity in the light of Ferguson.

So, let's go back in time for a bit and then we'll see where we go from there.  I was always an awkward and maladjusted teenager.  I felt like I swayed in the winds of reality vs fantasy, having friends vs being a loner, saying the right thing vs blurting out everything that came to my mind; just plain swaying between the proverbial blacks and the whites.  I don't think I ever considered the grays.  It took me several years, until after my cousins grew up that I started understanding communication, relationships with others, friendships and somehow through them I began learning to process my world.  I always felt behind though.  I always thought they were so much smarter than me.  They knew things and understood things better.  That was that.  That was the truth and I was sticking to it.

And then I'll tie in acting to this blog post, because I can.  I was in a show last year called "Splendor in the Grass".  There were a lot of teens cast in that show and I will say that I never forgot what the director spoke about the first night we all met for rehearsals.  She said something so profound, that my then 41 year old self felt my proverbial light bulb turn on.  It was my "ah ha" moment.  It all made sense.  And it all makes sense now.  She said, and I'll paraphrase here, "I've studied psychology and I learned that the brain doesn't fully develop long term consequence processing skills until the age of 25.  So, when I tell you guys to do something, just trust me on it..."  She went on with other stuff more relevant to the actual play but suddenly there I was.  I felt like a million dollars.  Someone had just handed me the Holy grail, the secret to life, the end all be all, the tesseract, the... the...  Oh!  You get what I mean.  It was liberating.  And I felt my years of life fall into place.  I wasn't stupid all along.  I just hadn't grown up yet.  I just needed to age, like a violin or fine wine.

I will add another quote that I learned from theater here.  Another profound moment for me.  I can't remember the show because I hated it.  I hated the concept, the music and just plain hated everything about it.  And yes, I'm quoting from that awful show.  But I want to preface with my dad and his general philosophy.  He says, "If you learn one thing.  Then it's still worth it!"  Well, so I go through this horrible show and I learn one thing.  "The only reality of childhood are adult consequences."  Yes, it was worth it.

One more thought on this.  A good friend of my husband's mentioned how terrorists are mostly under 22 or something like that!  He suggested TSA (whole another topic for me) do age relevant screenings to be more effective and being easier on the older folks.  And it all ties in and makes sense.

So, now I go back to the age divide and my original thoughts.  I don't know the age of the people doing all the looting and violence in Ferguson.  I know Michael Brown was 18 and robbing a store.  It's tricky.  I don't think we, as adults, truly understand or respect that the folks under the age of 25, just don't get it.  Their form of expression with violence, seems rightful to them.  If you were to be in their shoes, you would do the same.  When my girls at work ask me, "how does all this violence solve anything?  Why can't they be peaceful?"  I give them my lecture on age and understanding of "adult consequences".  And recognition that it takes time in years for children to grow up to teens to grow up to adulthood.  And in that time, there's a lot to be said about their thoughts and processes.  I don't know the age of the Ferguson grand jury, but I sure hope everyone there was over 25.  In my mind, based on my thoughts, if you were to walk a mile in my shoes, I would think the verdict was inaccurate if the jury members were composed of individuals under 25!

I know this post goes all over the place, but at the end of all of this rant is a simple message.  We need to respect everyone.  We need to put ourselves in their shoes and see what the best solution is.  I don't have one.  But I do believe that if we all collectively put our hearts and our minds together, we can solve the issues of our youths and in turn of our future.  As far as Ferguson is concerned.  Same thing really.  As adults we are capable of looking out and seeing the big picture.  We need to use our skills of empathy for the greater good.  We need to learn, respect, understand and move forward to a more productive and peaceful community, society and world in general.

That's it for now,
This is TTR signing off...

Monday, November 24, 2014

Ferguson verdict. Non-indictment of Officer Darren Wilson.

I'm heartbroken.  20 miles from my home, businesses are being looted.  Police cars are set on fire.  There's a Little Caesar's pizza burning to the ground.  When I started this blog, I wasn't going to talk about where I lived, but now you know.  This hits home.  Friends of mine have had contingency plans at their places of work that will go into effect starting 8pm today (when the verdict was announced).  One friend of mine cannot go in to work.  He has to drive to Ohio so he can work there 'til this situation dies down.  Some won't go into work at all.  Lives have changed.  Michael Brown is long gone.

If you know anything about me, you also know that I'm not one to watch TV.  When I have guests visit home, I don't know how to turn on my own TV.  When I got the text that the verdict was coming out in 2 minutes, it took me 5 minutes before I could turn on the TV and get to the right channel.  And then I heard the news.  For someone who doesn't watch the news, I just spent the last 2 hours switching between NBC and CNN.  Switching between one coverage of violence to another.  When President Obama came on TV, the other screen had people throw things that looked like fireworks that smoked.  I texted my friend, "Is that tear gas?"  And her response, "Yea".  Another text from her, "It happened last time like this also."

Perhaps last time I was living under a rock.  How can I continue to live under a rock when the world around me is falling apart and soon my rock will be blown to pieces and I am forced to confront the reality of the situation.  I'm not here to tell you how I feel about this decision.  I'm not here to tell you that I thought he would be indicted or that I thought he wouldn't.  I'm not here to tell you that I wished he was or I wished he wasn't indicted.  I'm stupid.  I'm clueless.  It's by choice.  I live under a rock remember.  But, I come out briefly and watch the news for 2 hours and am in shock.

People with their hands up chanting, "Hands up, don't shoot!  Hands up, don't shoot!"  There is something so haunting about watching that.  I don't know if it's a fair comparison but it felt like watching the people jump off that burning high rise on 9/11.  The thud that you hear when bodies hit the ground.  It's what I felt today watching the destruction of so much.  And the voices in the middle, trying to be heard.  Trying to be peaceful.  This is America.  The land of freedom.  Do we not have freedom of speech?  Can we not peaceably assemble?  Will you not hear us?  Some people here, just want you to listen.  They do not want to loot or destroy, but how can we listen amidst the violence surmounting all around.

I feel like people's tongues have been removed tonight and they haven't gotten the chance to express themselves.  I feel anger has been the only expression that has exploded the senses, the scenes, and also has incited the force of the police.  So, wherever you are or whoever you are, today I'm asking for a prayer.  A prayer for simplicity.  A life of peace.  A world of healing.

Signed in faith for more understanding,

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Restaurants in the big cities

My mind wanders.  Today, while driving, I thought back to a very quaint Thai restaurant my husband, nephew and I went to in Chicago.  It was really a hole in the wall.  We were walking and it was lunch time and being hungry we started scouting restaurants.  Of course, this was Chicago.  We had our choice but we wanted something quick and something non-American and not fancy and we walked past a Thai restaurant that had a lunch menu and so we thought.  Why not?

And in we go.  The place was quite large.  We were seated immediately and we had our waiter ready to take our orders very soon. The place was buzzing.  We didn't want to detain the waiters for long with deciding what to order.  And so, the 3 of us ordered something different.  And the food arrived very soon.  I was surprised.  They must have it pre-made and in stock.  It felt like fast food, from the speed aspect of it.  The taste felt like a preppy sit down restaurant.  I wish I remembered where it was, because I do want to go back.  It was so good.

But then again.  Do I need to go back to that restaurant?  Or do I just need to go back to Chicago?  And I think about Chicago and the big cities.  They have so many amazing restaurants.  And then it hit me.  Maybe I'm just a late bloomer and didn't realize this all along, but a restaurant in the big cities that wasn't providing great food would not really survive.  Or would it?  In places where the choices are limitless, why would anyone waste time on an "average" restaurant.

Funny thing.  I started this post a couple of weeks ago and guess I have just been busy.  And furthermore, where was this post leading, really?  I read a friend's status on Facebook an hour ago.  It said that he was craving Taco Bell, despite living in New York where he had access to any cuisine.  Hmmm.  No, this post was not about the far side grass being greener.  I think I was prompted by this post because I went to a Moroccan restaurant here and wasn't majorly impressed.  I guess, I need to move to the big city if I want to eat like a king (or a queen in my case).  Or restaurants really need to up their game in the suburbs of my midwestern town.

Before I go, I just want to say that I'm thankful this Thanksgiving for all you wonderful readers who keep me motivated and going.  You guys rock. :-)


Acting - breaking legs and more...

About a month ago, I was on a Facebook page for people involved in theatre in my area.  An actor I had worked with a few years ago had posted on it that there was an online magazine or blog or something, that was requesting an article about whether acting was a hobby or a profession for those involved in theatre here.  I cannot speak for the others, but every since I read that post, I've been reevaluating what acting really means to me.  Was it just a hobby?

So, I go back and scrounge through every theatre memory I have had since childhood.  I saw a live performance of Sound of Music in Madras, India when I was 8 or 10 or something like that.  That memory doesn't matter to this story.  Next!  I must say the next memory is somewhat significant to helping me understand my relationship to theatre.

I was 16 in a junior college.  There was a sign posted for auditions.  Snow White!  Oh how I wanted to audition, but I couldn't and I didn't.  Reason number 1:  My dad would kill me.  Not literally.  Let's just say he would have blown a fuse, or had a cow or you get the gist.  Reason number 2:  I do not kiss on stage and if I got cast as Snow White, there is no way I could pull off that last scene.  Don't ask me why as a brown girl with no theatre experience, I thought for some strange reason I could even dream of getting cast as Snow White.  And that was that.  I never gave those auditions a second thought, until this blog, 26 years later!  While I was in the junior college, I got to watch a Midsummer Nights Dream.  I don't recall how I convinced my dad that I wanted to go watch a play.  Must have involved "required" course homework or extra credit for one of my classes.  But that's how it went.  My father would not have let me go otherwise!

Fast forward another 15 years.  I had finished college.  I was a professional in a respectable job.  I had a life, so to say.  And through a tennis friend, I got invited to watch The Cemetery Club.  I guess, you could say that this was the first time I connected with theatre.  I was an adult and understood my interests and had come a long way from the child who followed whatever her dad had said (for the most part).  My friend was performing in this show and I was very moved by it.  It was a very small theatre, almost like a black box.  My friend and the other actors had turned in a phenomenal performance.  I struggled with the concept that a "regular" person could be in a show.  I mean, my friend wasn't famous or a celebrity.  She was someone I played tennis with.  And that's when I thought, "hmmm.  Why can't I act?  If she can do it, why can't I?"

I talked to my friend about it and told her that I was interested.  I don't really recall what she said to me. I think she said that it took a lot of work and that it's not as easy as it looks or something like that.  I think she told me to go to a website and audition to look for parts and the next thing I knew, a few months later, she called me.  She said she was in another play and the director was looking for someone like me.  She gave me the director's phone number.  When I called, the director just gave me the time and date to show up for the reading.  I did not know I was cast.  When the director said, "Next week we will block the play." I thought, "Block?  What the heck is that?  Are we playing with blocks?  How is that pertinent to the play?" and as I wondered my friend came up to me and said, "Blocking is just when they tell you where to go and when.  I'll show you next time."  And that's when I realized I probably was cast!  I can't recall much else.  I think my cast thought I did a great job with my role.  And so started my love for an art that I could not express until then.

I have been cast in several productions since.  And a few years ago, I even got cast with a professional theatre company.  I got paid $50 for that stint.  I would have done it for free.  I met my second husband through theatre and I have even started directing.  I have directed 4 ten minute plays until date and God willing I will direct my first full length play next year.  The funny thing about acting as a hobby or a profession, is that I know the answer.  It's a hobby.  I do not make a living from it.  I have a very good living through my profession and theatre gives me the outlet to express a part of myself I wouldn't otherwise.  I feel I may have an advantage over the "professional" actors.  I truly love theatre and I have nothing to lose.  I'm not in it for money or fame.  I think if I were to act professionally, I may not like it as much.  I may feel it takes away from my sense of freedom or expressing when I want to express, rather than forcing a model on me.

There is one part of acting that deeply hurts me.  The part that I can never connect with my father through it.  I know he hates it.  He doesn't even want to hear me talk about it.  It's this form of expression in me that I feel he refuses to accept or understand.  It's like it doesn't exist to him.  He chooses to turn blind to my choice and that's hard.  A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to my dad about other things and I mentioned, "You know, I'm directing this play and…"  He cut me off.  "I don't want to hear about that. You don't know what you are doing."  At 42, my father feels like I don't know what I'm doing.  C'est la vie!  I guess acting means, breaking legs and hearts.

That's it on this topic, for now.  Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!  Will try to write more soon.


Monday, November 10, 2014

What not to wear!

Disclaimer:  I do not watch much TV and while I've heard about the shows, I have no real experience with much of it.  Well, I am getting into shows like Agents of Shield and Gotham but that's a separate post.  Back to this blog!

So, I'm told there is a television show called "what not to wear."  The premise of the show is basically to revamp a person's closet.  Well, not so simple.  I guess, if someone dresses horribly, her (I don't know if guys are involved in this show or not) friends call the show and "report" their poorly dressing friend.  The show in turn goes through the closet of the poor dresser and trashes EVERYTHING and gives the poor dresser a $5000 check or gift card or something, and of course help to get a new closet.

This is where this blog gets interesting.  Hmmm.  Do I really admit to this?  OK.  Here goes.  My cousins who also happen to be my best friends, came to me one evening and asked for permission to send me to this show.  They did not want to call without consulting with me.  Good move there.  I would have blown a fuse so bad, they will probably never have heard the end of it.  So, they did the proper thing and asked me.  They explained how the show worked.  They explained how I could take some of my favorite clothes and hide them in storage so the people who come to my closet would never know about those.  And I'll be honest.  I was considering this.  Seriously.

I know this show is for the horrible dressers but I did not take offense to my cousin's suggestions.  See, about the time I walked through the halls of my professional school wearing fluorescent orange sweats and proved to be the human highlighter (it was not halloween), my closet was filled with more fun stuff.  I had an all-gold outfit, I used to mix patterns, I wore clothes that were way over sized (I'm XS, and I wore M), I wore the wrong colors, and of course I mismatched colors like wearing blues with blacks or greens.  In other words, I had the fashion sense of a gorilla, putting it mildly.

In professional school, my good friend was honest enough to explain to me that I needed a little help with my clothes and so started the education.  She explained how everyone needed a standard black pair of shoes and a black pair of slacks.  I was trying to get through the basics.  And she helped pick out my clothes and slowly I went from horrible to very bad.

I had some help for my desi clothes from my brother-in-law's wife and so I had reconfigured my desi closet.  My cousins began to get involved with helping me a couple of years later when they noticed the change.  They were surprised I wanted to look half way coordinated.  Of course, for all these years, I looked like the geek and anyways a few years ago a good friend of mine got involved in the project to "save" me.  And I remember clearly my instructions from everyone who went shopping with me:  Do not shop without us!

Even today, I hesitate to shop alone.  I'm nervous that I have an uncanny ability to pick the clothes that look the worst on me.  Recently when I was in Ireland, I purchased a bright red Aran sweater.  I thought to myself then that I was breaking a cardinal rule in shopping, but I had no choice.  My cousins or my friends were not in Ireland with me and my husband has no fashion sense.  I had to make my own decision.

Well, this comes to the conclusion of this story.  This past weekend I was giving the introductory speech for the 10 minute play festival.  It runs 2 weekend on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.  Well, the first day, I wore a black dress with broad light blue patterned stripes.  Second day, I wore my red Aran sweater and the third day I wore a costume I bought at the renaissance faire (again, without any help from my cousins, but I had some help from the people at the store).  Everyday, I got a lot of compliments from all the actors.  I was shocked they loved the Aran sweater.  That was my crowning glory.  I picked that one out.  I did.  Myself.  With no help!  On day three as I sat in the changing room with the other actors, one of the women actors says to me, "Oh God!  I so want to raid your closet!"

I was very surprised.  I was thinking, "Are you sure?  What's wrong with you?  You have amazing fashion sense, why raid my closet?" and then it hit me.  Maybe, just maybe, my fashion sense has graduated.  Maybe it's not horrible anymore.  Maybe it's not very bad either.  Maybe I'm heading into the zone of "not bad".  Maybe.  For now, I'll take the compliment and fly high until the next time my cousin or friends point out and ask me "who's the brains to this outfit?"  What not to wear?  No thank you.  I've moved on.


Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Arab on my street!

I am both disturbed and disappointed with myself for such a title.  It is quite racist really.  Unfortunately, a title like "empathy" may sound boring to some.  Or if I titled this blog "My neighbor."  Would you really be interested in that blog post?  No.  "The Arab" sounds intriguing, scary perhaps?  I've created a mystery blog.  Not really but it could be?  Furthermore, I've mentioned "my street."  Now I'm hitting home.  It's sad I have to give such titles for readership (still quite slim) but c'est la vie.  On with the post.  This was a blog I was thinking about a month ago when I was driving home.

A month ago, I noticed the Arab in passing.  And I'll be honest.  I noticed him there because he was in traditional Arab wear and quite frankly looked a bit out of place in a suburban, mid western, American neighborhood.  I chided myself for thinking that he stood out, but he did.  If he wore American sports gear or shorts or I don't know, maybe I would not have even payed attention.
I guess it's the same story of seeing a dot Indian at your local WalMart or Costco, wearing a sari and talking in a different language, but an Arab raises flags (or so I think).

Well, I should have written this blog then, but I forgot.  Age does that to you.  And as luck would have it, last week, when I was driving home, I saw the same Arab.  This time, I slowed down to try to "see" him.  Why?  I had a blog at stake, of course!  But in all seriousness, I was able to capture his face in my mind.  A face that spoke of nothing more than friendliness and peace, I almost felt like stopping my car and inviting him to my home for dinner someday.  See, the thing is that, when you connect to your own humanity, you can see past stereotypes.  Also, I was schooled in Dubai and I spent 6 years in an Arab country.  They are some of the most friendly and hospitable folks I have come across.  For real!  An Arab should not make my head turn.

And yet, when the Arab wearing a long white cotton gown and a red hounds tooth patterned head covering walked the side walk here in one of the suburban neighborhoods, he caught my eye.  I'm just as human as you and I'm just as brainwashed by the media as you.  And I'm Muslim!  I had to work actively against a media-induced judgmental mind that will convince you to not only be scared but to act.  Why?  Based on a man's clothes?  I've come to realize that media doesn't just give you permission, but teaches you to judge.

Back to my friend.  I choose to call him my friend.  I was very impressed that he established his identity with his clothes.  I'll be honest, I was secretly nervous for him (not of him).  I felt that people will judge him as a terrorist based on his clothes.  I felt that perhaps people may yell obscenities at him.  I wasn't sure.  Wasn't there some homeland security act where people can be arrested for no cause if there's suspected terrorism, without proof?  What stops some idiot, and I mean idiot, to call the police and complain that a man was walking the sidewalk in Arab clothes?  That automatically makes him bad?  But then my mind wandered.  I thought about someone approaching my friend and I smiled.

I could see it.  I could see him smile big and wish his approaching man peace and extend his hands out in a hug.  I could see them say hello to each other and smile and talk about how wonderful the day was for a walk.  I could see them talk about their kids and schools.  I could see my friend invite our caucasian American friend over for dinner.  Wait, my mind urged.  Invite me too, but alas, most importantly, I could see that world.  The world of love and hope.  The world of neighborhoods and friends.  It's possible?  Right?

"Everyone makes judgement based on race."  Avenue Q said it best.  It is true.  But isn't it our human responsibility to treat every human with empathy and respect?  Or am I just dreaming?
Today, as I drive into work, I see him again.  Walking.  My thought, "hmm, he walks both mornings and evenings.  Good for him."

That's it for now,  Best always,