Category: Latest Thoughts

Oh, Humanity, Do You Demand Too Much Of Us?

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts6 Comments

It has been an emotionally exhausting weekend.

Thankfully all is well with me, my family; my closest circle of friends, and the Seahawks did win the Superbowl, but the larger collective, the community, the great mass of humanity with which we engage, took a few hits this weekend, from the sickening death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, to the aching letter of Dylan Farrow, to the snarling response of bigots to a multicultural Coca Cola ad, right down to the thousands of Tweets, Facebook posts, comments, and debates that have roiled around each one of these events.

There is clearly no one more exhausted, more truly affected, than the people intimately involved: Hoffman’s family, the Farrows and Allens; the millions of ethnic Americans sick to death of xenophobes defining our country as a place where only English-speaking white people exist. Each are, respectively, suffering horrible sorrows, deep anxieties, and tremendous rage.

Me? I’m only involved as a questioning observer, a member of the community, a woman, wife, mother, friend, and thinking/feeling human who has been stunned, saddened, angered, and left drained by the responses of so many to this list of tribulations.

It’s not just a matter of having opinions; I have opinions… plenty of them. As a writer, I often put those opinions into words that fly across the internet and garner either agreement or spittle-flying hate and denouncement. Opinions are like… well, you know how that goes.

The problem is not the opinions (well, some of them maybe); it’s the way people choose to express them, the seething, judgmental, arrogant, aggressive way in which sides are taken and lines are drawn. I have read utterances that have made me shake my head and wonder how we got so goddamned superior and all-knowing, when we became so convinced that our experiences dictate the reality of everyone else’s, and why we think it appropriate to decide that compassion and empathy are “enabling” when dealing with either addicts or damaged daughters… probably even Coke drinking immigrants.

A great actor who seems to have been loved by everyone who knew him died of a heroin overdose and someone suggested I might be too “kind” in my assessment that compassion was in order. “Ass kicking” was considered a better prescription for an addicted person. Others felt it necessary to point out, with great vitriol, that Hoffman was an “absolute douche… a piece of shit who would rather get high than fulfill his responsibilities”…  as if orphaning his children had any part in the decision to stick a needle in his arm. The degree of judgment and disdain exhibited by far too many in response to Hoffman’s death has itself been sickening. As if humanity couldn’t find a way to deal with grief without drowning it in denigration and revulsion. Couldn’t witness the weakness of an addict without seeing it as permission to be imperious and condescending. We all have our stories, our experiences with alcoholism and drug addiction and so, yes, certainly, we are allowed to be superior, right?

Then there’s Dylan Farrow and the matter of child molestation and our view of the women – and men – involved. Holy hell. As I write this, article after article is being posted, tit for tat, for or against, pro and con, everyone deciding who should be believed and who shouldn’t. It’s almost as if the bookmakers have jumped in: Whose side are you on? Who’s winning in the court of public opinion? Should we boycott Woody Allen films or decide Dylan is a patsy whose strings are being pulled by her fire-breathing mother? Is there any way to believe a woman who came forward 20 years later to finally tell her side of the story or is she to be categorized, as some have, as a calculating, relentless pawn? Should Allen’s celebrity be a shield against the accusations or has the addled Mia Farrow sacrificed her daughter for the sake of revenge?

I don’t know, you don’t know, but do you realize we have made a parlor game out of the life and death of people we don’t even know? Yes, these are worthy topics to discuss and there are many who’ve done so with grace, empathy, and an awareness that there are truths we may never know. But far too many have done so with smug, moral certainty that they are right, angrily, judgmentally right, and these strangers they’re discussing are worthy of their disgust and moral superiority.

Are they? I have my opinions; you, no doubt, have yours. But at the end of the day, to put it bluntly, who the fuck are any of us?

As a friend of mine put it, “Being judgmental and selfish is human, being an asshole about it is a choice.” Okay, but how about this? How about choosing to be human enough to NOT be judgmental and selfish? Human enough to express opinions with civility and whatever logic you can summon up. Human enough to realize every single person you are judging is human, too. And hope that if you ever need the humanity of compassion, empathy, and non-judgment, those around you will have the humanity to extend it.

As for Coca Cola… I don’t drink the stuff but damn if I didn’t appreciate their view of the humanity that is the “real America.”

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

The Gratitude Meme. Not Just For Thanksgiving.

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts8 Comments

Gratitude is not a cliche

In case you hadn’t noticed, gratitude is pretty hip these days. All zeitgeisty and viral, posted daily on social media, in Twitter acknowledgements of thanks and grace; there are even Facebook groups devoted to the idea of expressing gratitude. It’s a beautiful thing. And because it’s the internet, all of this higher consciousness thinking and warm, human emotion is moshed in with screeching headlines, comment fisticuffs, and the never-ending dirge of articles written, posted, and shared about the very worst of our life and times. Crazy making. Hard to find balance in all that, but balance we must.

I read an interesting piece the other day that espoused the idea of “not buying into” the messages created for us by the ubiquitous media: messages of lack, fear, doom, opposition, worry, illness, etc. We know those things exist, but that they exist does not demand our emotional attachment to them, emotional attachment defined as the acceptance of those messages as indisputable fact, the immersing of ourselves in them as inevitable, or the habit of getting ourselves so surrounded and embroiled in them that it all becomes a soul killer. An anxiety builder. A depression stirrer. A joy denier.

A beleaguered woman told me recently that she felt too guilty feeling joy “when there’s so much hate, suffering and anger in the world.” Hmm. Not much good in that equation, but I understand.

Particularly when we often feel helpless about what to do to change the course of those negative elements of our society. Some of us feel that shining a light on them, bringing them to light as writers, commenters, opinion leaders and sharers is helpful; it illuminates the darkness. And sometimes, and in some cases, it does. But then what? We read about it all, watch it on TV, listen to it on the radio, but the fact is, most of us can’t leave our lives to go join an international charity group, don’t have the money to donate to important causes we believe could turn the tide; don’t even have time beyond our life, work and families to volunteer at shelters, organize political rallies, or hold crack babies at county hospitals. So what do we empathetic, compassionate, caring sorts do and, come on, how are we supposed to feel gratitude in the midst of… all that??

What if we stopped engaging in the cultural battle? Stopped buying into the conversation?

I touched on that in my recent Huffington Post piece, Want to Feel Better, Really Better? Step Away From the News, the idea that our compulsive need to “stay on top of things” is literally manifesting in a form of “consumer anxiety”: the malaise where one feels they can never be current enough, on top of it enough, because it’s all changing so fast and being reported so relentlessly that we have to watch, read, listen, write, argue, debate, suffer, be depressed, defriend, and ultimately deflate in a pool of “life sucks.”

But it’s smoke and mirrors. A hologram. Life isn’t moving as fast as it seems; it’s an illusion created by the 24/7 media. As an old mentor of mine used to say, “you can stand on your street corner for hours and, on most nights, you’ll never see a damn thing happen.” But the media, by virtue of compiling the millions of things that have happened, around the world and back again, have made us all feel that there’s a running montage of dramatic, life-shifting, often terrifying events happening right outside our doors every minute of every day, Jesus Christ, I can’t even breathe in here, what the HELL, get me OUT!!!

Breathe. It isn’t all happening here, there, and everywhere. Not by a long shot.

It’s one thing to be empathetic and aware, it’s another to focus yourself on the darkest aspects of life. One is consciousness, the other is cultural masochism, which is not healthy or helpful. So instead of immersing yourself in the hologram that is “all-drama-all-the-time-yikes-the-sky-is-falling,” step out of that loop and immerse yourself in the good of your own life and the world around you; deeply, truly, and with arms open. You’re allowed to do that, to feel joy and gratitude for your own abundance and good fortune, however and wherever you find it (and sometimes it’s in the very smallest of things!). You’re allowed – and, in fact, advised – to become just an observer of the cultural noise, unattached and unencumbered. Notice, but don’t dive in; do what you’re moved to do, then detach. Have empathy but focus on positivity.

Sometimes it’s as simple as, when your office mate tells you that “something’s going around… everyone’s getting sick,”  you say, “I’m not.” When someone shouts that all of this group is “spineless” and all of that group are “assholes,” make note (out loud or otherwise) that generalities are the tool of the narrow-minded. When a seemingly charitable, caring person drones on about the woes of the world, the country; your neighborhood, gently put their attention on the good that exists in all those same places. When another diatribes about “kids today” point out the brilliant young people you know and are aware of. When anyone tells you humanity is doomed, the world’s on the brink, and we’re all idiots too stupid to figure it out, walk away while noticing the countless, incredible things around you that emanate love, beauty, and hope.

Because, honestly, if it’s true our lives reflect where and on what we put our attention, why the hell would we put our attention on the very worst of it? Why would we spend so much time on the lack, the ugly; the sorrowful? Why not put our attention on what we see that’s good, rather than what drives us fucking nuts?

We’re made to believe there’s something infinitely noble in being informed and trudging through the daily muck, but unless you’re one of those moved to honest activism by your rage, let’s be clear on the allowable limitations of “being informed”: watch/read/listen enough to be aware, but put your attention on that which you love, that which empowers and uplifts, that which offers hope, inspiration, humor, and healing. Put your attention on GRATITUDE and decide it’s not a cliché, not a nifty November meme that feels good until it gets trumped by the latest tragedy, crime, or political blunder. Those will keep coming, it’s inevitable, but you’re allowed to simultaneously feel joy and gratitude. And you might be surprised to discover just how much living and reflecting those higher elements of human thought and emotion impact the energy of the world around you. You might find it’s not only “all you can do,” it’s more than you might even imagine.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Truth Is, History Will Trump Us All On The Rights Or Wrongs Of Obamacare

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts14 Comments

As the Affordable Care Act continues to roll out with its underwear exposed and seam lines in clear view, its hapless designers pilloried, ridiculed, insulted and compared – in gross false equivalency – to any number of true tragedies (Hurricane Katrina??) or lapses in moral character (Nixon??), one has to wonder how folks as old as any of us viewing, teeth-gnashing, or commenting on this moment in time are not more aware that our perceptions are flawed. Deeply flawed. Because we’re still in it. And time has proven, over and over again, that only History gets to decide.

I’ve mentioned once or twice that I am not covering politics with quite the verve or frequency of yore (you may have read my piece, A Pause From Politics…), but occasionally the high-water mark of inanity rises to such a level my alarm bell goes off and I have to speak for the sake of my own sanity.

You can’t open any media site, scroll the Facebook feed, trip through Twitter or glance at a newspaper or magazine without being bombarded with polls, analyses, dissection, judgment, hysteria; any manner of outrage at – as one right-leaning journalist put it  – “the catastrophic launch of the Affordable Care Act.”

“Catastrophic”?? Seriously? What blew up? Who died? Who had their limbs cut off?

You’d think the man had lined up a raft of toddlers and shot ’em at the wall.

The degree of anger and denunciation at “the debacle that is the Obamacare roll out” is so insanely out of proportion with reality – not only the history of how other major programs rolled out, but the facts of the ACA’s intent, long-term implications, desperately needed existence, and ultimate and likely very positive impact on Americans’ health and economy – that I truly wonder what it is about change and the implementation of it that seems to drive people to such hyperbole and madness. I get it: the website sucked, confusion reigns, the insurance companies pulled a bait & switch, better plans cost more, but COME ON!

I’ve seen perfectly nice, seemingly logical, and clearly intelligent men and women turn into self-righteous, bizarrely petulant foot-stompers “demanding” that Obama apologize (that he did is irrelevant; apparently this catastrophe demands a very specific form of apology); fire Katherine Sebelius, and draw and quarter the tech team who put the site together. There is a hissing meme going around that “HE LIED!”, layered on top of the demand that he accept blame for everything, but not admit “I don’t know” about anything because God-like omniscience is also demanded (but imagine the hell to pay if he actually implied thus!). It seems this crowd won’t stop demanding things until he’s flogged in the public square and, if possible, guts himself completely for the satisfaction of those OUTRAGED BY THIS CATASTROPHE!!!

Dear God. Grab some stones and get the Coliseum tickets!

I’m not going to bother listing reasons for why this is all so silly. I won’t enumerate the many examples of the GOP rabidly fighting the President every step of the way on healthcare reform, with racial politics driving much of the opposition. I won’t mention toxic fringe groups (i.e., the Tea Party) embracing theocracy and bigotry in lieu of logic. There’s no need to describe the current culture of trolls with their virulent hate speak poisoning and perverting the social experiment of democratized online communication, or discussing how extreme partisanship has tainted anything any administration would have to offer, much less one led by a black man. It’s all been well documented.

What I will say is that while it’s expected for Republicans and their toadies to glow with Schadenfreude over the clunky, clumsy roll-out of the Affordable Care Act, it’s another to watch typically less lemming-like others march in step. But as those various factions pontificate on social media, breathlessly announce falling poll numbers, hash and rehash the same stories over and over, trumpet their prognostications and predictions of doom in the very unAmerican act of negative, destructive and counterpoint thinking, History is quietly taking note.

And History – only History – will be the arbiter of just how great or not great this president is; just how momentous or minor the Affordable Care Act will prove, and just how right or wrong the many hoots and hollers of a caterwauling public turn out to be. History listens to no one, has no party; is not bound by dogma. And it has proven over and over again that what is viewed in the moment, particularly if that moment exists in the dark tunnel of partisanship, fear, selfishness, greed, prejudice, and mob hysteria, always pushes through time into the unencumbered, often redemptive, embrace of History. There is where we will see just how “catastrophic” a country’s, a President’s, an administration’s efforts to right a very wrong system turn out to be.

I’m holding a good thought.

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Christmas Creep… Or, I’d Like My Holidays Served Separately, Please

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts8 Comments

The anxiety’s picking up, debates are front and center, and posts on the topic have gone viral. It’s clear we’ve got a big problem and it ain’t about politicians, global warming, or radioactive sushi. What is it, you ask?

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Christmas Creep.

Yep. It’s big, it’s bad, and, frankly, it’s too late, cuz, odds are, it’s already taken over your town.

I know you’ve heard the protests; they’re loud, clear, and to the point. Pleas to hold off on the Christmas bombardment before we’ve barely retired ghosts and goblins. Entreaties to wait on carolers and candy canes until we’ve had a chance to fully experience pumpkin pie and a well-roasted gobbler. There’s even a petition going around denouncing stores that will be open all day Thanksgiving, thereby robbing employees of a chance to be with family in the retail rush to kick Black Friday off on Thursday.

Protest away, folks. There’s no stopping this snowball.

It may be inexorable, but it wasn’t always like this. No, there used to be a delicious timing to it all, a careful unfolding that drove us mad with anticipation but was all part of the fun. When I was a kid, the turning of leaves and quickening of the cold were signals that we’d left the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer to move into the next and most exciting time of the year: the much-vaunted, adrenaline-inducing, just-can’t-wait holiday season.

As it started and the various days of celebration rolled out like a cavalcade of stars, we’d ready with our well-marked boxes of decorations and the traditions for each that we knew and loved. It started with costumes and the dizzying sweetness of Halloween, rounded the corner into warm Thanksgiving gatherings, then, depending on religion and ethnicity, there was Hanukah, Christmas, and Kwanzaa to fill the month of December, with Christmas, clearly, the seasonal headliner. The slow, well-paced build-up allowed us to relish one flavor, so to speak, before moving on to the next.

These days?

It’s like sitting down to a six-course meal and having every single course dumped on the table at the same time. No consideration for the pleasures of each item and, sorry, palate cleansers not allowed. I saw Christmas decorations in a hardware store in September and by early October a few retail shops actually had decorated trees hip-checking the Halloween displays off center stage. Come ON, people!

I get being prepared, but isn’t there a limit? I actually have a neighbor who not only begins her Christmas shopping in June, but takes great pride in announcing to anyone who’ll listen that, “I got it all done, wrapped, and ready to go before Labor Day!” Holiday spirit as competitive sport. Thanks, but I’ll take my summers with lemonade and sunburn; you go ahead and get Santa involved.

While certainly this rush to rush things has been building over the years, somewhere along the line, like an unseen hitch in the rate of the earth’s rotation, it picked up speed, so much so that the notion of holiday differentiation is almost moot at this point. Look, I’m old enough to remember the creaky maxim about “no white after Labor Day” so this conflation of celebration does not go unnoticed. And when I see the Three Kings of Orient are at Costco before the kids have even stopped arguing about who’s going to be Buzz Lightyear, I feel a shudder in the time/space continuum.

Macy's NY Christmas Window_sm

What’s odd about this acceleration is that most people claim they don’t like it. SOASTA, Inc., a leader in cloud and mobile testing, found last year that 75% of those polled didn’t want to see Christmas decorations up before Thanksgiving, with 78% objecting to even hearing the music before then. This year?

In a survey of 2,038 Americans age 18 and older, in which data was weighted to be representative of the entire country, conducted online by Harris Interactive on behalf of SOASTA, discovered that 81 percent of American adults think stores should not play Christmas music before Thanksgiving—up from 78 percent of American adults when SOASTA conducted the survey last year.

In addition, 77 percent of American adults think stores shouldn’t put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving—up from 76 percent last year.

A similar poll at NPR – albeit a non-scientific one –  found numbers skewed even higher when the question was asked about “Christmas creep” before Halloween: a full 82.11% of respondents said they didn’t want to see anything “Christmasy” that early in the season. There’s actually a Facebook page called “No Christmas Before Thanksgiving” where users bemoan everything from Santa’s early arrival to the latest transgression – Black Friday actually starting on Thanksgiving Thursday – and still, still, the beat goes on.

What gives? If so many people resent the rush, why is it picking up speed?

Macy's Christmas Balls_smWe all know, don’t we? It’s retail that’s the “industry behind the curtain,” twirling dials and ratcheting up promotions to get people the in the doors as early as possible. With holiday shoppers creating almost 20% of a store’s annual income, it’s not a hard formula to fathom: more days to spend money, more money spent. And this particular year, given when Thanksgiving falls, there are actually fewer shopping days than last year between the two holidays, and, dear God, that’s causing panic in the streets!!

OK, maybe not panic, but clearly retailers have made note of the deficit and are raising the stakes in response. I swear to God, if they could have gotten away with it, 4th of July banners would have been wrapped around Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Of course, not everyone hates this holiday hash. According to some, they want to get the heavy lifting done as quickly as possible so they can spend the true 12 days of Christmas wrapped in quirky sweaters humming “Little Drummer Boy” as they assemble the gingerbread house. Others just can’t get enough of Christmas cheer, whenever it comes. Me?

It’s not so much the rushing; it’s more the conflating. I don’t want my Halloween goblins pre-empted by Christmas trees. I want to enjoy the orange and browns of Thanksgiving before I see green and red everywhere. And once we get past turkey and stuffing, I want to, very slowly and selectively, relish each separate, specific element and tradition of our Christmas.

Since there’s little we, the people, can do about what retailers put into motion, it’s up to each of us to design our own holidays, cultural pressure be damned. If you’re okay with the rush, enjoy it. But if you’re like me and want to slow things down enough to actually experience one holiday before we steamroll onto the next, you’ll just have to set your boundaries. Which means putting on blinders and exercising serious self-control (a good Christmas cookie is hard to resist no matter what time of year!).

Around here, no decorations are pulled out until the previous holiday has been joyfully exhausted and packed away. We avoid Christmas candy until the pumpkin pie is gone. And don’t talk to me about Black Friday because we’ll still be reveling in the true meaning of Thanksgiving. (I’m not kidding… get away from me with that credit card and those wild-eyed sales schedules.)

It can be done. You can ignore what’s being foisted and partake only when and where you see fit. There is no mandate to march to the madness. They can dangle the decorations and crank out the carols but the power is in your hands.

I hope you had a delightful Halloween, I wish you a beautiful, warm, and appreciative Thanksgiving, but I’m not talkin’ any more about Christmas until next month.

The Autumn Leaves copy

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

The Lesson Of Long-Term Marriage: What’s Better Is So Much Better Than What’s Worse

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts6 Comments

Twenty-three years ago today I got into a car with a very handsome man dressed in blue pants and a white shirt, drove a couple of hours to a courthouse in the very bucolic town of Mt. Vernon, Washington and, during the lunch break of a local judge, and in the presence of the bailiff and court secretary, married the man to whom I am still married today. The bailiff fired off a few snapshots from my then-cheesy 35mm camera (pictures I, years later, Photoshopped to the excellent results below!), we had lunch at a nearby cafe where a bottle of champagne and a slice of pecan pie with a bride & groom atop awaited us, then we drove north to Vancouver to spend three days at the Pan Pacific Hotel as our rainy, wondrous honeymoon. It was perfect… and when people ask if I ever regret not having a wedding, I assure them I still think it was perfect, to this very day.

Wedding day sepia 4 triptych

There is much to be said for weddings done right (I covered a few of those HERE), and certainly the topic of marriage is a deep and many-layered one (in The Warmest Chord my own heartfelt perspective is offered), but on this anniversary, from where I sit many years beyond that glorious Pacific Northwestern day, currently miles away from my stoic, stalwart husband who continues to deal with the ramifications of brain injury, the message of marriage I have to share is a different one than I had 23 years ago.

It’s a stronger one, one built more on wisdom, resilience, commitment and compassion than wild romance and youthful lust. Though, don’t get me wrong; I’m all for romance and lust, revel in it whenever it presents itself (which, as most of us would attest, is never enough!), but life teaches that any long-term relationship survives within an unpredictable mix of emotion and events… and the way we respond to both. And the longer I live the more I realize, while I may not be able to predict events that come flying my way (damn that unpredictable universe), I can do something about how I interpret, respond to, and learn from those unfolding moments.

Love is a funny thing, too. It keeps you attached and aware of that other person; sensitive to their needs and emotions, impacted by the events of their life that can overlap your own. Sometimes those intersections are lovely, sometimes they’re… challenged. As any couple knows who’s dealt with illness, adversity, injury, or any of those kinds of unexpected events that knock us off our feet  – a job lost, a disease diagnosed, a family member’s death; a brain injury – marriage can become about endurance and tenacity, a balance between attachment and detachment, even an ability to let go when needed to allow life to reorganize into some different while you’re away.

As the wife of a husband dealing with brain injury, I’ve learned about that part of being married. I’ve learned (as I wrote years ago in Love In the Age of MTBI) how circumstances can change and impact a marriage, make it more complicated and mercurial, shake it up in ways that can both take your breath away (and not always in a good way) and make you realize how strong your relationship really is, strong enough to endure the dark corners stumbled upon repeatedly and sometimes without warning. When pain episodes strike, when the walls go up and the lights go down and you realize plans will change, warmth will take a holiday, communication will be backburnered in lieu of necessary isolation and silence, it’s then that you face the reality of what you and your chosen one created back on that magical day, years earlier, in a courthouse in Mt. Vernon…

The tether. The bond. The connection. You can pull apart because you have to, because you both need time to regroup and recalibrate, but you never stop feeling the connection. The love. The sense that you are family and you will get through this to a happier time, a better time.

And while away, if you’re smart, you’ll take the opportunity to pursue your own “vision quest.” You’ll pay attention, listen, learn, and remember that thoughts impact reality; you’ll readjust your own view of life to get stronger, more compassionate and loving… to him and to yourself.

And if, during that time, an anniversary pops up, you’ll pay attention to that, too. You’ll look at that person – from wherever you are – with all the love you feel, all the belief you have in what’s good and right, and you’ll … celebrate another anniversary. Another year of marriage. Another worse endured for all that is better.

Because what you find when you step away, when you take that breath, and look at the reality outside of pain and the adversities life throws at you, is that what’s better is so, so much more than what’s worse. Worse, you can overcome; better, is the life you’ve created and will continue to create. That’s the lesson, the true gift of a long-term marriage.

Happy anniversary to us!

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Why I’ve Retired The Tiara And Won’t Watch Award Shows Anymore

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts18 Comments

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It used to be a big deal. My pals and I would plan the day like a prom… to the point that some of us did come with tiaras and fake fur stoles (um… that would be either me or Tina). We’d gather around my obscenely large formica (odd, I know) coffee table overcome with food of every kind, plates balanced on our knees, and with loud “shushes” to announce commencement of the festivities, we’d hunker down to watch the Oscars… the Emmys… the Grammys… the whatevers. It was a ritual in which we felt – as artistic sorts ourselves – involved. Our passions and proclivities gave us something to vote on, prognosticate, argue over, even feel deflated by. But it was always something to look forward to, a grand reason to eat too much and spend some lovely, enthusiastic, often well-dressed time together.

For a while.

Then it got ponderous. When the Oscars became more about panic-fueled marketing campaigns, respected actresses making that creepy butt-turn to show the backs of their designer gowns, and idiotic hosts doing bad comedy and even worse song & dance numbers. When Grammys and VMAs became about thunderous, Vegas-like spectacles of twerking, pole dancing, smoke and mirrors. When Emmys became some version of both but with the added dimension of too many shows, too many actors, too many everything to fully and fairly award everyone deserving.

But let’s face it; award shows have always been a silly idea, even if a brilliant marketing ploy to draw attention to good work. But what started with that noble goal has, like so many other things in this hyperbolic world of ours, devolved to the very edge of cultural hysteria. As the various award extravaganzas bobble on the horizon, the drumbeat of media madness begins, building in pace and volume until that’s all we hear and THEN… it’s over. As the guests straggle out of the theater to run desperately for sustenance at one party or another, column after column bleats about their favorites while excoriating whoever won who were not their favorites. Media sites and their battalions of writers employ lines like “he/she/they were robbed!” at the expense of the deserving he/she/they who won. Studios, networks, publicity companies and PR hacks who worked overtime bombarding every blogger, magazine, newspaper, breathing human with publicity campaigns, screeners, bios and airbrushed publicity photos step back for just a short breather post-event… then start up again for the next onslaught, whatever that may be.

It starts to feel like … well, like every other “contest” we hold in this country – whether beauty pageant or national election:  a cluster-f**k. An oversaturated mess of hysteria and hyperbole, mixed with pointless attention on ancillary matters that have nothing to do with the work/point/candidate at hand; all narrated, moment by bloody moment, by our countless, endless, ubiquitous and apparently never-ending sources of media – social and otherwise. So much so that we lose sight of what it is the contest is actually about.

In the case of awards shows, it’s “the work.” The great, good, often meaningful work done by talented artists who’ve typically worked long and hard to get to that vaunted place of well-deserved acknowledgement and recognition. But when I read a post-Emmy article in which the writer screams that Jeff Daniels won over Bryan Cranston or Jon Hamm only because HBO has more voters because, clearly, Daniels isn’t deserving (this from Think Progress, which typically covers liberal politics!), or another writer caterwauls, “Scandal! Why Kerry Washington was robbed at the Emmys,” bemoaning the fact that the great Claire Danes won for her incredible work on Homeland over Kerry’s incredible work on Scandal, I have to wonder why on earth we bother with this ridiculous charade. Why we can’t have our favorites, have our opinions, even agree that both Claire Danes and Kerry Washington are classy, talented actresses, without resorting to tantrums that denigrate the work of either… or anyone else?  My comment to the Scandal writer (I couldn’t even bother with the Think Progress tantrum) made the point:

“Why do we do this? Why do we look at a collection of supremely talented people in a category, chosen amongst hundreds of other supremely talented people, pit them against each other, then raise a ruckus over whichever one won over whichever other?? It’s just plain silly.

“Every talented artist knows they are lucky to get a great role, lucky to get that role on a good show; lucky that the network promotes that show, and therefore, lucky to be one of the few picked for nominations. To say they’re all deserving is a cliche but a true one. To diminish Claire Danes’ win because one thinks Washington was better is absurd. They’re both great actresses doing stellar work. No one robbed anyone. This is simply the math of awards… someone wins. That’s it. It’s not about any of the group being better than any other in the group… but someONE wins.”

Which is why I won’t watch awards shows anymore. I don’t care who wins. Anyone who’s good enough to be nominated in any category is profoundly worthy and should not be pitted against their peers in the gladiator-like, soul-crushing, knock-em-down-on-the-way-to-the-sales-table type competition that is the great American awards show.

Though I might peek in on the Oscars… I just won’t bother with the tiara.

Photo by Scott Web @ Unsplash
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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Remember That Piece About Songwriting? Here’s The First Follow-Up: ‘You’re Still The One’

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts8 Comments

Remember that piece I wrote about songwriting, the one with the memorable title, I Write The Songs That Make The Whole World… Well, I Write The Songs I Love And We’ll Go From There? In it, I shared my particular creative process when it comes to songwriting, detailing a new collaboration with an old friend, Jason Brett, that held high hopes. I promised to follow-up on the adventure as we got deeper into it, so let’s launch the next chapter!

When we last left off, we’d just finished writing our first song together, “You’re Still The One.” We’d worked out the arrangement, found the right key, then I had to dash to the airport to return to Los Angeles from Chicago, leaving us to figure out how and when to get the song recorded. Which meant I happily returned to Chicago shortly after, for the third time in five months, and Jason and I headed into the studio with the amazing Elliott Delman, a wonderful guitarist/composer with a remarkable musical history (including a collaboration with Dan Fogelberg whose early records were a soundtrack to my life for many years!).

Elliott Delman

With Elliott mastering the recording process and much of the instrumentation, and Jason handling acoustic guitars and drum programming, we spend an entire day in the studio doing something I’ve spent thousands of hours doing: taking a basic idea and building it into a – full-blown, put it on your iPod, listen to it in your car – piece of recorded music. A record. An mp3. A file. A disc. Whatever the format, it’s the music that counts.

Jason rocks

Though, actually, I wasn’t able to be there for the full ‘birthing process” this time around. After the basic tracks and vocals were done, schedules demanded that I leave it to the guys to finish it up (damn those long-distance relationships!)… which I believe they did to stellar results.

With the music done, we now leap into the commerce side, getting it out to song publishers and music supervisors we know, looking for the right soundtrack, the right show, the right artist to fall in love with it. Certainly let us know if you have ideas on any of that… we’ve got more coming.

So, as promised, I’m sharing the finished song. We call it a “country slow-dance heartbreak song.” It’s not twang country (anyone who knows me knows that’s simply not possible!), but it has a country/pop feel and instrumentation. You’ll see… it will hopefully touch a heartstring or two and make you want to slow dance with the person of your choice!

I’ve included the track and lyrics below, as requested. Since I well remember laying on the floor of my living room with the inside sleeve of whatever album I was listening to, singing along with the lyrics in my hand, I’m happy to oblige!

Enjoy…

You’re Still The One 

Words & Music by Lorraine Devon Wilke & Jason Brett

We were young, we were dreamers
We had time on our side
We had life, we had love, we had hope, we had … everything

We set out, we surrendered
We held on for the ride
Till the road we were on left us weary and wandering

You say time got the best of us
Maybe love got the worst
Now you stand at the door with your sorrows
Your goodbyes all rehearsed

CHORUS:
But there’s still a spark that’s holding us together
And you’re still the man who promised me forever
So I’ll tell you once again so you remember
You’re still the one… you’re still the one for me

You say love it was easy
It was life that was hard
And we were foolish to think we’d have everything

Now you beg my forgiveness
While you’re breaking my heart
Finding words to deny any reason for lingering

Now you’re ready to walk away
No more room for the fight
Should I listen and learn to forget you
Or convince you I’m right?

CHORUS:
That there’s still a spark that’s holding us together
And you’re still the man who promised me forever
So I’ll tell you once again so you remember
You’re still the one… you’re still the one for me

Bridge:
Yes, some dreams have been stolen
I’ve lost a few of my own
So we cry and we try but we hold on
To the love we have known

CHORUS:
Yes, there’s still a spark that’s holding us together
And you’re still the man who promised me forever
So I’ll tell you once again so you remember
You’re still the one, you’re still the one for me
You’re still the one… you’re still the one

© 2013

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

A Pause From Politics… Or Why I’d Never Want To Be President

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts6 Comments

Not that anyone’s asking. I did have a long stint in rock & roll, God knows, and there has been some questionable behavior over the years, but, really, it’s the job itself that makes the point. It seems thankless, incredibly difficult, and one that comes with a big, fat, ready-made target for easy back-fastening, no matter who, when, what party, or what issue. I have a hard enough time with internet trolls; the presidency would do me in.

I’m not sure there’s ever been a time in history that hasn’t been dramatic and incendiary – certainly historians tell us that’s the case – but this is a particularly challenging era because now, by virtue of the internet and our 24/7 media saturation, we get to know everything about everything. Or so we think.

I have said very little about the situation in Syria; I’ve posted threads of others, shared thoughts expressed by smart people who seem to have a decent grasp on things, but as I’ve listened, watched, and read as much coverage as I can tolerate in a given day, I’ve mostly kept quiet. Which is not typically my style. But this is a complex, particularly troubling event, happening at a very politically convoluted time, playing out against a world literally breathing down the necks of those trying to sort it out while being battered, bullied and second-guessed by every living soul from Putin to Madonna. I don’t honestly think I have enough true, unbiased, completely factual information to be as firmly opinionated as either of them… or so many others, as it appears to be.

What I do observe is often a simplistic, foot-stomping tone to much of the debate, a tone that sometimes seems juvenile, petulant and lacking in appropriate consideration for the deeply sensitive nuances of the issue – which, likely, few of us are actually privy to. As someone who refuses to get swept into the black & white polarity of most of our political discourse and drama, I’ve stood in the back… listening. And I remain there, as I read and hear lines such as:

  1. I’m so disappointed in my President.
  2. I voted for change… where’s change?
  3. How is this any different than Bush and Cheney?
  4. We need to take care of our own backyard before we worry about the rest of the world.
  5. Love is the answer.
  6. War sucks.
  7. It’s simply not our responsibility.
  8. Syria can take care of its own mess.
  9. They’ll hate us no matter what we do.
  10. America can’t police the world.

And so on.

First of all, of course war sucks. I can’t think of one person in this world – unless they’re a sociopath or an arms dealer (which may be redundant) – who doesn’t think war sucks. And of course love is the answer but, COME ON! We can’t even be nice to each other on the internet; how can we expect “love” to keeps warring factions from their life and death struggles? As for Bush and Cheney? Let’s not get into false equivalencies (though we do so love those). Our backyard vs. the world? When has one precluded the other in terms of separate budgets and resources? Have they? If there’s irrefutable evidence that money has been taken from needed domestic programs to fund international military action, let’s hear about it. That would be a very necessary conversation.

But, strangely, it seems manageable for Americans to think “globally” when it comes to matters of money, difficult when it comes to humanity and the protection of it in certain situations. It’s worth discussing that, as a people, by virtue of what we buy, what we sell and export, what we’re willing to pay for our products, our oil, our gasoline, etc., we’ve easily embraced global interaction, the blurring of lines, if you will, of foreign borders. But even beyond oil, some of our favorites retail stores – Walmart, the Gap, and many other companies – work with business models based on cheap foreign labor and limited regulations. Why? Because we welcome a global community that will bring our costs down, make our products cheaper, keep our labor less expensive and our profit margins higher. Perhaps we should think about how we can so readily embrace “global participation” when it comes to money, but when issues like chemical warfare, ethnic slaughters, political ‘punishments,’ etc., occur, too many Americans suddenly shut the door and start talking about “we gotta take care of America, we can’t get involved in policing the world.”

As for the rest: Obama. Change. Disappointment. War-mongering. Craving the limelight (an accusation made by the usually wise Robert Reich about John Kerry). World War III. Our horrible country. Etc. All that.

It’s a swirling eddy of point and counterpoint. Frankly, I cannot imagine being the leader of the free world and having to ponder, research, weigh and come to decisions about grave national and international matters against a backdrop of EVERYONE’S expertise; everyone’s criticism, anger, unrealistic expectations, self-focused priorities and unremitting judgment. It’s never-ending. The President cannot and will not be able to make any decision that won’t bring down the bludgeons, no matter what he does, which way he turns, or what rationale he relies on. That’s a given. Because, somehow, the great we out here in every-day world, on Facebook and Twitter, listening to talk radio and cable news, sending around petitions and memes, penning treatises about our lack of faith in our country and our leaders, appear to have a remarkable depth of arcane, insider knowledge about what the hell is going on in Syria (and everywhere else, for that matter), enough to micro-manage world leaders, including our president, assigned the responsibility of solving it all. I’m not sure how everyone got so profoundly included in the minutia, the nuances, the details, the intelligence, the hair-trigger possibilities and imminent threats, but it seems they did. And from that vaunted perspective, there is no way for Obama – or anyone else – to win this battle.

Because it’s simply the way of the world, true in every aspect of 21st century life. Writers can’t write anything – even, I suspect, about flowers or kittens – without being pummeled for getting something wrong. Artists can’t make a mistake or flaunt youthful indiscretions without media and its many tentacles ripping them a new one. Politicians of any stripe can’t utter the wrong word, make a faulty decision or appear in any way fallibly human without the mob throwing them to the lions. How on earth could a president, a senator, a cabinet member, or a military leader make any decision without SOMEONE screaming they got it wrong? They can’t.

I am against war. I don’t even own a gun. I find the idea of maiming, hurting, shooting, bombing, poisoning and annihilating each other in the name of religions, countries, regions, ethnicities, politics, family feuds or neighborhood boundaries INSANE; anathema to everything hopeful, humane, and holy. And yet war has been the most predictable, most common, most connecting thread between human beings since the dawn of time. Wish though it would, it will not be going anywhere soon. Likely ever. Love may be the answer but war is the machine, driven by men who are hell-bent on aggression and power… or, as in many cases, driven by those with a sense that they’ve lost something of profound value, taken by those hell-bent on aggression and power.

As for Syria, I hope we can find a way to respond to the horrors there without bombing, without military action, without further decimation of that country and its people. I hope we can be part of a global coalition that upholds international law against chemical weapons (regardless of anyone’s past use), that imposes “economic sanctions or a freeze on Syrian assets,” as Robert Reich suggests, without embarking on what no one wants… another war. Can that be done? I don’t know. But, then again, I personally do not have all the intelligence that is being shared, analyzed and judged by those in positions to act upon it. None of us do. So, because I don’t happen to believe our leaders, particularly our President, are amoral enough to go blithely into war for no reason, I will put my faith and trust in their decision and hope they get it right. Because, right now, they know more than I do.

And lastly: I wrote a piece at Addicting Info awhile back that I’ve chosen to take to heart: All News All The Time Just May Be Very Bad For Your Health. I’ve been involved with political writing and commentary for a while now and have decided to take a pause for a bit. That’s not to say I won’t have things to share on political matters from time to time; I’ll certainly take advantage of social media to stay in the conversation and, as a freelance writer, will gladly take political assignments as they come. But particularly after an election year, with all the drama of our crazy world before and after, the sheer immersion in the genre has taken a bit of a spiritual and creative toll. I’m veering off to focus on some new projects, others that have been neglected in the meantime, but I’m also just going to get quieter, more contemplative and observational for a bit. There’s a lot of noise out there, not all of it healthy or productive, and I want to step back, refresh my spirit, make sure what I’m contributing when I do contribute furthers the cause and isn’t just more noise. I mention this only because a few of you have asked where I’ve been; why I haven’t covered this or that, and I figured – after sharing hundreds of political pieces with you over the years – an explanation was in order. I’ll be around, I just won’t be publishing quite as much, at least regarding politics.

But what I do write, create, photograph, or sing, I will share… you know me!  And I will always welcome your enjoyment and response. Until later, then.

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Empty Nest Pt. 4: He’s Leaving Home AGAIN… Bye Bye

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts6 Comments

Dillon In Motion

There seems to be a pattern here: he grows up in a fly-by blink, goes off to achieve higher education; comes home for long summer breaks, but is then compelled to return to that other place he lives that is not here… not home. Though he tends to refer to it in such terms, I’d like to think that’s because no one’s there harping about laundry and keeping the bathroom clean.

It’s interesting how many times and ways you say good-bye to a child throughout their life. It seems to go on forever and maybe that’s the point: that the process of parenthood is evolutionary practice for letting go of so many other salient, important things… even life itself. I don’t know; that may be too heavy, but whatever else you can say about it, parenting is fraught with the demand to find balance between loving and letting go, and it always seems to find newer and ever more complex ways to test you on that.

It starts early, the pulling away, somewhere around the time of toddlerhood, when that three-year-old suddenly puts their foot down about a whole host of things (literally and figuratively). This streak of independence leads to the longer days of kindergarten, full-time grade school with after-school programs; then middle school with its natural drift from family to friends, high school with more of the same (including, now, the full-time passion of puberty), all leading to what one friend’s child called, “really big boy school,” college, where all of life twists into the practice version of their truly leaving home. Brutal. Freeing. Confusing. Exhilarating.

In looking through my series on Empty Nest Syndrome (links below), I realize we, here in this family, really are well past that initial rite of passage. He’s into his fourth year of a five-year program and if we hadn’t figured out by now how to gracefully transition from those long summer breaks to the exodus back to school, we’d be in trouble, because the next phase is fast approaching. The Actual Adult phase. When they move out, get a job, get their own place, maybe relocate to another city, fall in love, start building a life… on their own… no strings attached… no “breaks” to assuage the pang of missing them at the dinner table or seeing their bedroom messy, lights on, and occupied.

Me n' Dill 1998-9

Yes, we’re good at this latest transition. We barely blink. He packs up his car for the umpteenth time and heads north with nary a look back, and before he can even make the turn onto the freeway, I’m into my day, my work, my own life; focused, driven, and with… a big, fat, breath-choking lump in my throat. Goddamnit. Why does this still hurt??

Because, at least for me, lucky me, this person, beyond being my son, is one of the best friends I could possibly have. That person who walks into a room and lights up the place. Who sits on the couch and shares idiotic videos he’s sure I’ll find hilarious (I do). The guy who listens and converses like an interested adult when we take long drives or get caught in traffic. Who introduces me to new hiking paths, turns me onto songs he claims, “you’re gonna love,” brings home Pinkberry unexpectedly, or checks in on nights he knows I’m alone and a little blue. That kid. One likes having that kid around. And yet, he has to keep leaving.

I don’t cry anymore when he does. Sure, I tear up if I think about it for too long, but I’m busy enough and good enough at self-soothing to just get on with it. And, besides, we’ll be going up for Homecoming, he’ll be home for Thanksgiving; there’ll be that long Christmas break and, well, we still have a few semesters left. That bedroom will continue to be occupied for a bit longer, time we’ll cherish.

Because we know that, too, will end. And when that last grasp of childhood is finally exhausted, when he goes off as the grown man he is, responsible for his own life, I will feel that next layer of peeling away, of letting go; of saying good-bye. Seeing him off to his own house, with his own dinner table and his own bedroom. I can’t picture it yet, I don’t have to… yet… but it’s coming. Just like every other phase of his growing up has come and been embraced, however mixed the emotions. I will deal, as I always do. But, wow. Loving a child is a wild ride.

Drive safely, sweetheart. Stop if you get tired, check in when you can, don’t text and drive, and have a good semester. We love you and will see you soon. Bye, bye….(damnit, I can never find Kleenex when I need it… )

Me n' Dill 13

Younger Duo photo by Dean Fortunato
Older Duo photo by Ben Chandler
Skateboard photo by LDW

To read the entire Empty Nest series, click links below:

• Empty Nest Pt 1: My Very Cool Roommate Is Moving Out…
• Empty Nest Pt 2: Empty ‘Next’ Syndrome…Coming Home
• Empty Nest Pt. 3: See You In November!
* Empty Nest Pt. 4: He’s Leaving Home AGAIN… Bye Bye
* Empty Nest Pt. 5: It’s a Wrap… Well, Almost
* Empty Nest Pt. 6: the Final Chapter: With Keys In Hand, He Flies…
* Empty Nest, EPILOGUE: He’s Getting Married in the Morning

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Why I Hate Online Commenters… Well, SOME Of Them Some Of The Time

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts18 Comments

Comment

Everyone’s a critic. Everyone’s a better writer. Everyone knows what you should have said, what you said wrong, why you’re an idiot, why they could do better; how stupid you are, what a pointless article you wrote, what shoddy journalism you practice, how you’re like Sean Hannity (yes, I got that one), and why you should just “shut the fuck up and get a life.” Yeah… quotes. Cuz someone actually said that.

Commenters. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live… well, we’ll leave it at that.

The comment feature under every article, every image – in fact, pretty much everything online – was designed to engender interaction, create involvement, and inspire a dialogue. Its hopeful intent was to connect readers with each other and with the writer (or artist of whatever medium) in the spirit of public engagement. It was a good idea and when it works, it can be a powerful forum: great for feedback, lovely for compliments and support; convenient in terms of exchanging interesting ideas, getting new angles on the subject matter, even tangling in hearty debate. When it works.

When it doesn’t, well… the image above is a pretty accurate depiction of how it goes. And, to be honest, that’s how it goes too often. It ain’t pretty and, frankly, I hate that part of my job.

Because, tell me, when did the job description of “writer” come to automatically include the addendum of “punching bag”? I wonder if college professors have created writing courses now to teach “how to endure commenters”? If not, they should.

Where that rare phenomenon of commenting productively happens most is on Facebook. Not hard to figure; most people are there with their real names and faces. If they have access to your posts it’s because you know them, they know you, they requested to become a “friend” because they like your work, or they connected to you via someone else you know. They’re a fairly welcoming bunch and even when it gets feisty, it’s more “friendly fire” than the hardcore volleys experienced elsewhere. And if it does get out of hand – as it is wont to do when you’re a “public figure” and unknown subscribers come aboard – it’s a simple matter of blocking the more heinous participants from the firing line.

Twitter is usually pretty benign, as well. Not quite as intimate as Facebook, but anyone looking at and able to respond to your tweets is there because they chose to “follow” you or someone else who’s following you, so it’s unlikely they’re going to get too aggressive in 140 characters (though it’s been known to happen!).

Where it does get down-dirty ugly? In the comment sections under your articles. Dear God…

It’s as if being given the ability, the permission, to comment on the work of others has unleashed the hounds of hell in some people, given them carte blanche to be incredibly hostile, verbally assaultive, vile, insulting and aggressive in ways that tell me they see this whole commenting thing as an outlet for some deep, personal rage. I’m a pretty tough chick but there are days I feel like I’ve had more poop thrown on me than the mother of a one-year-old.

It doesn’t appear it’s enough for these types of commenters to just say, “I don’t agree with you,” or “I think you missed some things,” or “You made a mistake,” or “I love the Post Office.” No, it goes from reading however much of an article their attention will hold before they’re compelled to spew (which is sometimes just after the headline!) and then it’s a straight shot below the belt, with as much snarling, sneering vituperation as they can muster and still type.

I always wonder, and sometimes actually say, “Why don’t you do the work of researching, writing, editing, fine-tuning and carefully putting together an article; do the work of getting it out to publishers and websites, go through the vetting process to get it accepted and published, and after you’ve done all that, how ’bout I come over there and punch you in the gut, call you names, and castigate you in every way I can manage… how about that?!”

Because that’s pretty much the drill. It appears some people think you’ve traded your humanity for the generic, faceless role of WRITER, a replicant at the mercy of their slings, arrows, pitchforks and… poop.

But here’s the deal: that isn’t part of the bargain. That isn’t the contract between writers and their readers. The real contract?

My part: I write. I’ll always deliver my very best (because that’s how I roll); I’ll research the hell out of what I write but if I make a mistake, let me know and I promise I’ll fix it (and give you credit!). I’ll do my utmost to make sure the copy is correct, the names are spelled right and the facts are accurate. I’ll put in the work to create flow, rhythm, pacing and verbal acuity. I’ll offer depth, background and context, maybe I’ll even make you laugh. And I won’t put it up for publishing until it’s the best possible article I can deliver, for your sake and mine.

Your part? You read, preferably all of an article before you jump. Don’t latch onto a word or phrase and then rush to counter; take the time to take it all in and see, if viewed as a whole, it makes sense. When you’re done, if you have something to say, BE CIVIL. Don’t get personal. Don’t insult me, call me names, condescend, patronize or attempt to make me feel stupid. Say what you have to say, share your ideas, offer your counterpoints, but be intelligent and congenial about it.

THAT’S the contract.

Writers’ pictures are generally affixed so you can see they’re real people. Treat us that way. Be decent, for God’s sake. Because, in most cases, that hard-working writer you’re busy flinging poop at is a decent person too. And there’s just no call for all the mess.

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.