Ever since I wrote a story last summer about the houseboats that you can rent on the Erie Canal I have been looking forward to the chance to rent one for myself. I am doing just that this week. My “kid” brother is in town with his family and we rented a Canal Princess Charters houseboat to use as a floating cottage so we could spend some time together in a central location. It has worked out better than any of us expected.
For the most part, we’ve stayed park in the Gateway Harbor, on the North Tonawanda side in front of the former Packett Inn. Every night we’ve had a gathering of the clan and my nieces and nephews, cousins and aunts have joined us for a dinner on shore, right next to the boat.
I must say, the location is gorgeous. All the flowers are in bloom and every dime the city has put into the landscaping and upkeep is evident in the clean, colorful harbor and park. Even when it rained one night, we simply put a table under the ivy-draped shelter where bands often play, and we were dry and happy.
Those who want to get a taste of the life on the waterways can cheaply rent a floating bike or kayak, or even a pontoon boat from Waterbike Adventures, another rental business on the Tonawanda side right near the Harbor masters’ cabin.
I’m heading out to the Wednesday night concert and my family and I will be enjoying the event from the plastic green Adirondack chairs on the upper tier of the boat. The rain and stopped and so I’m hitting send on the blog entry and I’m off to “staycate” in the harbor!
My friend John Loss of Grand Island called me after reading my column questioning why we make people take tests before they can drive a car but send them off with brand new babies without a thought as to whether they can raise a child.
John was delighted to tell me about a program he and his wife, Suzanne, are learning about. They traveled to Omaha, Nebraska where they watched a graduation of parents in a program called the “Building Families Boutique,” through the Lutheran Church. Parents in the program participated in parenting classes and in exchange received points toward baby clothes and other necessities. Check it out at www.lfsneb.org. The program is “just such a beautiful wonderful way of helping people to see what its like to be a parent,” John said, hinting that he and his wife are planning to get much more involved in the near future. It reminded me of another program locally I did a story on, which does the same thing for new mothers, at the Summit Life Outreach Center in Wheatfield. New moms can earn points to purchases baby supplies by watching videos and participating in counseling. You can watch the video I shot at the Outreach Center at http://www.niagara-gazette.com/niagaraliving/local_story_060160027.html.
Last but not least, a reader blogged this response to my column: “Just read your column in Niagara Living about a parenting test. I too think people are having children woefully unprepared for the experience. People used to be around family a lot more when Grandma and Grandpa and maybe an aunt lived under the same roof. We live in a society today that has us lugging babies around in 10 lb convertible carriers instead of picking the baby up and holding them close. I can bet that physical therapist offices are filled with moms and dads with strained elbows due to lugging the extra weight. Wouldn’t it be great if kids actually graduated from High School knowing the basics of child rearing and how to balance a check book?”
Yes, I think it would!!!
I’m not sure if there is a God, but if there is, I wonder if he/she ever gets tired of listening to the millions of requests for miracles. There’s a scene in the movie “Bruce Almighty” where Bruce, who is filling in for God, can actually hear the voices of people clamoring for help. It becomes like a buzz in his head. Please oh, please, the people pray. Until Bruce can stand it no more.
I can imagine that if there is a God, it’s pretty much like that, except that God would have to be a lot more tolerant of so many voices all praying for a sign or a miracle. He or she would have to be amused at the way that, when something miraculous does occur, we all so reluctant to believe.
That said, I met a lady from Lockport the other day who sees the Virgin Mary in the knotholes of the tree in front of her Harvey Street home. I interviewed her about all the experiences she’s had since, of little miracles and apparitions, and I would have truly loved to have believed her. She was so sweet, so prayful.
I’m a journalist so I don’t have to believe her to tell her story. I just have to report the facts. I have to tell readers what is supposed to have occurred and then relay what others have to say about it.
I love these stories, for their “what if” value, but I find myself unconvinced. I hope God doesn’t hold that against me the next time I am praying for a miracle.
I’m feeling a little bamboozled today by Simon Cowell.
In a recent issue of “Night and Day” magazine, I was one of three writers who expressed their feeelings towards reality television, confessing how a recent segment from “America’s got Talent,” brought tears to my eyes.
An insurance salesman sang the beautiful aria “Nessun Dorma,” and I wrote: “His 10 minutes of fame was a mini-epic story on how one heavy-set, homely man can break your heart by singing something so beautiful you can hardly believe your own ears. The audience rose in unison, screaming in approval. His misty-eyed performance, dedicated to his single mom, was captivating, and he became more compelling with each note. If that’s not a contemporary fairy tale come to life, I don’t know what is. I’ve watched that scene several times, and each time my eyes water in empathy for the way this big guy opened his heart on the giant, lonely stage.”
Well, my fellow writer friend, Ed Adamczyk, called me to point out that the segment is almost a perfect duplication of a segment of “Britain’s Got Talent,” the show that was recreated for America by the infamous reality show judge, Simon Cowell of “American Idol.”
I’ve posted both video segments here for those who want to constrast and compare. It feels to me like somebody went to a great deal of trouble to recreate the British contestant’s appeal by finding an American who had the same sweet, homely look and feel and getting them to sing the very beautiful aria from Puccini, “Nessun Dorma.”
It’s a good thing that “Nessun Dorma,” is such a beautiful song. I can listen to it by either gentleman and be moved. But, I hate it when the stories that move me prove to be fake and it’s just one more example, for me, of why we should be so cautious about what we consider to be “real” on TV.
Well, I’m slagging. Despite my big commitment to try and exercise more and eat better, I have returned to my bad habits, enjoying red wine with my dinners and choosing to work or rest rather than exercise.
I did go, finally, to a yoga class last week, but I am afraid that I have been spoiled by past teachers who ran their classes as if each pose was sacred and where the practitioners were silent and intent. In a recent class at the local YWCA there was very entertaining frivolity and chatter, but little of the stillness and concentration which I find so alluring about the practice. So, I will continue my search for a yoga teacher. In the meantime, just writing this post reminds me to recommit to my intention to make this a month of mental, physical and spiritual movement forward.
It shouldn’t have to be hard. I even had the weight machine in the basement repaired two weeks ago. You’d think that I would lift. It sits in the basement, silently creating guilt. I think the spiritual lesson here is that the guilt has got to go. It serves no one. Instead I’m going to take a cue from basketball players who– research shows–shoot better if they practice visualizing themselves making baskets. I’m going to visualize myself lifting weights. Until I actually make it down the basement steps I’ll at least be buff in my imagination. And wouldn’t it be funny if that was the key!
I read a couple of really good book over the last couple of weeks after a happy trek to Barnes and Nobles. The first was a new paperback called “The Shack,” which I can already see as a feature film. It was one of those books I was in no hurry to finish. It starts darkly, when a little girl is abducted and murdered on a camping trip. As the years pass and her father struggles to deal with the pain and the guilt of not being able to protect her, he receives a letter from God, asking him to return to the shack where police found traces of the little girls blood. When he returns, the place has been brought to life like a little garden of Eden. God is there to greet him and she is a heavyset black woman who, along with a funny, homely Jesus and a sparkling, glowing Holy Spirit, draw this man back into the world of the living, with humor and great love and much grace. I found myself struck by the author’s vision of divinity, and wishing that God’s love is as it is portrayed in this little book. At the end, the author writes that plans are in place for the movie. If you want to know more, visit theshackbook.com.
Also read “The Scapel and the Soul,” a book by a brain surgeon named Allan J. Hamilton, M.D., who writes about how intuition, premonitions, hope and faith, have altered the destiny of his patients. Hamilton is a good story teller, and takes the reader right into surgery and he deals with matters of life and death and the little miracles that touch all of our lives.
I love to read books like these because they affirm for me that how many people experience a connection to something greater than ourselves and while I’m not willing to join up with those who feel certain as to what that something is, I dearly love to explore the ideas.
So, I had some fun reading those books. But, I’m out of good books again and I hate that. I’m going to have to make a trip back to the book store. There’s a lawn chair next to a kiddie pool in my driveway just waiting for me and my next batch of pages.
I had a baby calf named “Pest” nuzzle my leg in a milk barn in Lockport today. I’m a city girl for sure but there’s something about the soft, trusting innocence of baby farm animals that just touches my heart. I spent the day today at a couple of dairy farms for a story I’m doing on organic farming and humane animal husbandry in the Niagara region. It’s kind of a revelation to learn that there are only a few organic farms in the area. The Haseley Farm in Lockport turned organic almost by accident. They couldn’t afford herbicide one year so they turned the fields instead, which worked just as well. Their vet urged them to consider organic farming because they were already halfway there. The good news for farmers is that organic dairy farming doubles what they can get for their product. That encourages farmers to produce milk that is chemical and hormone free and gives us better access to the choice of buying organic. The Haisley Farm sells to Wegmans. Another farm I visited in Medina was owned by an Amish farmer, Ed Yoder who, surprisingly, is the only Amish farmer in his community to go organic. Except for his son, who also runs an organic farm down the road.
I went to see the Yoeder farm because he was listed on the Northeast Organic Farming Association of New York website as a “humane” farmer, which I thought meant that he practiced humane killing as well, but actually means he practices humane animal husbandry. As he told me, “killing is killing,” and he has to send his cows to the same miserable slaughter houses the other cows are sent to because those are FDA approved. I’m still looking for more organic farmers. Apparently, due to FDA regs you can’t kill a cow humanely. You have to send it to a slaughterhouse where, even if you don’t care that they are brutalized and scared, their adrenalin pumps through their system and must surely make its way into the meat. Can’t be good for us. But at least the cows I saw today are well treated while they are alive. It’s all part of organic farming, which I’m looking forward to learning more about. In fact I’m still looking for a farmer who is engaged in community supported agriculture, where people sign up in advance to receive regular distributions of pure, beautiful, toxic free fruits and vegetables.
I had such a day on Saturday. I flew to Washington D.C. on the Honor Flight with a bunch of Niagara’s World War II vets who went to see the monument created to honor them.
It was so hot that sweat was streaming into my eyes as I was taking notes and asking questions. The heat was record breaking, but the vets I was traveling with had been through a lot worse than anything the weather and the strenuous journey could throw in their way. Some were in wheel chairs and some used walkers and canes, but this proud group of gentlemen made their way to the monument and I was lucky enough to be there to witness. Everywhere we went people stood and applauded these guys in their “Honor Flight” shirts. When we arrived at the Baltimore airport the entire terminal lined up and cheered as we got off the plane. It was amazing.
I got involved in Honor Flight the day that an 80-year-old vet named Harry Kuligowski came into the Tonawanda News where my office is located. None of the news reporters had time to see him so I went up to the front desk to find out what he needed. Harry–who I’ve since come to know as a prickly, funny, tough around the edges, soft on the inside, never say die kind of guy–was looking for publicity on his efforts to get the national non-profit Honor Flight organization to come to the Niagara Region and fly WWII vets to the monument for free. Honor Flight requires that a local non-profit to take the lead so I made a phone call to my friend Debbie Mellon over at the Niagara Falls air base. Debbie, who is a communications expert there, also leads the all volunteer military family support group. Debbie took on the whole project and pulled off a day that no one who was there will ever forget. I documented it all in pictures, words and video for the July 6 issue of Niagara Living Magazine.
Couple of little back stories from that adventure: I was amazed to see Senator George Maziarz on the flight. I had heard he was coming but I kept thinking I had misunderstood. George came as a volunteer “guardian,” one of about thirty who paid their own way to provide assistance to the vets. I have never seen an elected politician, especially one of George’s rank, give up so much of his time and energy for a cause. Usually pols just show up and cut ribbons. George worked as hard as the rest of the guardians, pulling wheel chairs out of the belly of the bus each time we stopped, helping vets move through the day. Thoroughly impressed me. The other local notable that I was surprised to see was Henry Wojtaszek, chair of the Republican Party in Niagara County. I happened to sit next to Henry on the plane and– having never met him before–was really surprised to find out who he was. When I sat down next to him I immediately pegged him as a nice young college student who was traveling with a relative. (Never assume. You know what they say…) Anyway, you get the point…he looks young. He’s probably sick of hearing it but he does, even though he’s in his forties. Regardless, I found him to be as thoughtful and open-minded a politician as I have ever met, and thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. I even confided my ideas on how to restore Niagara Falls as the Honeymoon Capital of the world, and he did not make me feel like a crazy person as he listened. Henry, too, was there as a guardian. He had heard about it from George and simply wanted to join the trip to lend a hand. As a “former democrat-former republican-now independent with both liberal and conservative leanings,” I am heartened to know Niagara County’s republicans have a such pols. Good for them. Good for all of us.
Tough morning. I feel a little hungover. I went to the wake last night of one of my cousins who died of cancer, and since I come from a large Italian family, it was what you would expect such an event to be. Laughter and tears. My cousin, Sammy, who I shall always remember for his long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes, was my age and way too young. Took the long drive to Medina with my “girl cousins,” as I like to call them (because whenever we are together we all still feel like we did when we were eleven) and we got lost on the way home because my cousin SuzAnne knew of a better way than my GPS system was offering. Sammy would have appreciated how much fun we had on that ride. Got home and ate a quarter bag of low fat kettle chips–and dip–along a half of a light beer while reading the newspaper. Typically, it takes a bit more than that to give me a sluggish morning hangover, so I suspect my low energy today is a little more about the “circle of life,” than anything else.
This morning I did what I usually do when I wake up to a quiet house. I grabbed the handful of books I keep behind my bed and began paging through them to see if I could send a little infusion of light to guide me through the gray clouds. I stocked up on new books last Saturday during a trip to Barnes and Nobles, but I think I’m going to have to fall back on my current favorite, “A New Earth.”
“A New Earth,” is the book that inspired Oprah to create a global website classroom a few months ago. It’s Eckhart Tolle’s treatise on how to find peace and happiness now, through understanding that we only have this moment and time and that to live our best lives and find our true purpose, we need to fully immerse ourselves in now. One of the few things I’m sure about is that this book can be life changing. I return to it regularly and just open it at random to remind myself to stay present. As Tolle says, the past is gone and the future does not yet exist. The only thing that is real is this moment. This now. Smell it, savor it, live your best life in it. Anybody who missed the classes can check out Oprah.com to watch the video. It’s one of the many reasons I appreciate Oprah, who keeps plugging away, trying to change the planet, using her power for good, despite what some people say. Sure its hard to take life advice from a billionaire, but in her soul, she’s an “everywoman,” and her work on the planet is changing peoples lives. How many people can say that?
As for me, I’m looking forward to my return to yoga, this evening.
OK, in light of my recent episode with hives and steroids, and my vow to spend this month getting a little stronger each day, I tried a push-up this morning. I’ve never been a big push-upper, but I’ve always had strong arms and so I thought that it might be a good way to strengthen my arms without worrying about going to a gym or buying equipment. This morning I tried one. I made it halfway and I got stuck with my face in the carpet. Which needs a good vacuum. I’m going to revise that goal and try to do ten each day for the next couple of days, but standing upright, against the wall. See how that goes. The good news is I’ve found a nearby yoga class Thursday nights after work at the YWCAs of the Tonawandas on Tremont Street. Even better, it’s taught by a woman I wrote about last year who also does “healing drumming,” classes. I saw her do a drumming session at DeGraff senior day care center and she practically brought the house down. Really looking forward to resuming yoga. I remember how great I felt in the couple years where I practiced yoga regularly. I’ll be starting up again two days from now. I feel better already.
