So, it’s 10 o’clock at night, and, unusually late for me, I’m getting ready for bed. (Mostly, I’m asleep by 10, not because I’m old and exhausted from teaching children all day, but because ... well ... fine, I’m old and exhausted from teaching children all day. But last Friday night I tried desperately to pretend I’m young and have the energy of, say, a 50-year-old, so I stayed up all the way to 10 o’clock!)
In 2011, Bibian Nwanguma, hereafter called BN, was charged with trespass in Durham County District Court. She was found guilty, and appealed the decision to superior court.
On Aug. 21, 2012, her case was scheduled in superior court. She appeared in the morning with her attorney. After the morning session, Judge Abraham Jones directed her to appear back in court at 2:30 p.m.
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”
What an amazingly wonderful sentence, not to mention an aspiration, a goal, a dream. I wish I could have met the man who wrote that sentence, and that whole speech. I wish I could have gotten to know him, to sit down with him and talk for hours, to probe the intellect and innate wisdom of the man who could put himself out there, in danger, on the front lines of a fight that had to be fought, just as the Revolution, the Civil War and our World Wars had to be fought.
Both my son and daughter inherited my husband’s introvert genes and, to be honest, I’ve long guessed I might have a stash of my own. While I thrive on presenting, I get tired quickly in the bustle of the world, am uncomfortable at big parties and lost when it comes to cocktail party conversations. Listening to Susan Cain’s “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking” (Random House, 9 CDs, 10.5 hours) clarified and confirmed my feelings.
It wasn't a New Year's intention but a new morning inspiration that got me back into yoga class last week. I've written this column about yoga before, but despite all the endorsements I've given it in the past, I had let busy-ness and stress overtake me, and I had stopped going.
So, the world’s going in the tank, apparently. Well, not the whole world, just our particular country. And particularly my specific corner of our country, I’m sure, because that’s just typical ... not that your corner is automatically better, but I’ll bet it is, simply because it’s not MY corner.
What if the climate change war was over and no one noticed? Lobbyists, scientists and the general public all think it will rage long and hot but maybe not.
I’d like to wish everyone near and far a Happy New Year! I am so excited to begin 2014, which is going to be a banner year for me. How do I know? Because at the beginning of 2013 -- and every year before that since I was around 4 -- I made numerous New Year’s resolutions. And by the end of January -- every year since I was around 4 -- those resolutions were toast.
Whether we are in splendid health or are seriously ill, our lives have moments of delight. Here is a story that will illustrate that fact.
My childhood holiday memories are a collision — gifts spreading across the living room floor, an alcohol-inspired parental fight, my mother playing Christmas carols on the piano, scarfing one too many of those powdered-sugar nut balls.
Every organization with workers representing more than two generations deals with tensions between the old and the young, the inexperienced and the veterans, the energized and the exhausted, between new thinking and a stick-with-what's-always-worked-well mindset.
Christmas 2013 has come and gone and the New Year is poised to enter our reality. Every year people ask, “Are you ready for the holidays?” I ponder that question and the things we do to “get ready.” Why do we do them, and what are their consequences? What is the meaning behind our actions?
Well, it’s finally over. The holiday chaos …the Christmas rush … the wrapping and unwrapping, the ooohing over the hideous sweater, the aaahing over Aunt Betty’s inedible gelatin salad (and, can I just ask -- jello, or salad? MAKE UP YOUR MIND!) The cookies are gone, the tree is a shadow of its former self, and you’re wishing Jimmy Stewart would just go ahead and jump off the bridge already. (And, of course, you’ve gained a little holiday weight and are now the size of a Toyota Highlander.)
I may have mentioned that the days between Halloween and New Year’s are my favorite time of year, especially this little stretch from Thanksgiving to Christmas. However, speaking as a parent, I am betting that if your home contains any children under the age of 20, life around now is just a big bowl of chaos. And, as the 25th approaches, the havoc will rise until you are spending Christmas Day hiding under your computer desk, chugging Jack Daniels-spiked eggnog, behind a big frozen turkey you forgot to defrost ... not that I ever did that.
I want to emphasize, at the outset, that no one has ever told me I should write a cook-book.
People have asked me for recipes, though, and that is where I get into trouble, because I don’t work from or towards recipes. If I open a cookbook, I use the formula more as a “suggestion” than as a mapped-out procedure. I often add or subtract, based upon what I have at hand. Things usually work out.