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I woke up to a slew of comments from men who denigrated a woman who was assaulted; what vile words, what vicious and volatile comments. Just plain ugly.
I would like to remind all men out there – even the good ones, the kind ones, the generous and loving ones, even the ones who raised their children alone, the single dad’s – a little nudge this morning: we birth you, we bring you into this world; we nurture you and cradle you and coddle you; we feed you and hold you, we rock you when you’re in pain or can’t sleep; we are Mother’s Milk and Mother Earth.
Stop demeaning us, stop belittling us, stop battering us and bruising us, stop vilifying us, stop violating us, stop pushing us aside, pushing us into corners, stop slandering us, stop silencing us, stop beating us, stop assaulting us – verbally & physically.
We are mother’s and sister’s and co-worker’s and neighbors; we are wives and lovers and friends and partners.
Please, for god sake, stop hurting us.
We pushed & pushed & pushed and brought you into this world: say thank you.
You will soon get to know Amy Ferris if you don’t know her yet. I am her Goddess Sister, and she is Mine! She posted this on Facebook today and it is a reminder that life has detours, obstacles, and shit along the way but we can survive if we are compassionate, caring, and loving humans!
The Words of Amy Ferris – Please, bear with me.
Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death; 20 years today; November 2.
This is one of my very favorite pieces that I wrote about us, and in honor of him today, I share it again.
Every Saturday we took the Long Island Railroad from Bellmore to Manhattan. New York City. The train ride was about forty-eight minutes, station-to-station. At the candy store in Bellmore, he got a newspaper and a coffee with a little milk; and I would get chocolate milk. On the train, we would find seats – two together, side by side – and we would sip and he would read, and I would stare out the window watching the world swish by.
He had been arrested.
A bribery case – the United States vs… my Dad.
He didn’t expect to be caught. He didn’t expect to be arrested. We didn’t expect life to change. She didn’t expect to pawn all her jewelry. I didn’t expect to be bullied and harassed, and to have imaginary friends. We had never known that kind of fear and sad before, and now they had moved in with us, constant companions, tagging along where ever we went.
You don’t expect that kinda shit when you’re 8 years old.
He needed a job; to feed us, to pay the bills, the mortgage, the car, the clothes.
He got a job working at Melvin’s Frame Shop in the West 30’s. Or maybe it was the West 40’s. We would walk from Penn Station, the LIRR, to the shop. His friend, Murray, got him the job. Melvin was Murray’s cousin. Melvin made frames for Museums, and Art Gallery’s and was pretty well known in that world. Elaborate frames. Fancy frames – gold, and silver, huge frames. My dad was hired to sweep the floors, and clean the place. A janitor. He would sweep, and clean, and label frames, and organize things, and I would sit on the wooden table, my little-girl skinny legs dangling, and I’d watch – mesmerized – as my dad swept the wooden shavings from under the tables with a huge broom and dustpan. And Melvin would berate him, in an accent sprinkled with angry. “Sweep here. HERE. This. This. Here. THIS. This dust, and this sand, and these wood chips… and the mess… sweep, god-damn-it, sweep, you lazy man, can’t you see where you’re sweeping, Goddamnit?” And my dad would shrink right before me – right before my eyes. He would shrink, and disappear, and I was so scared he would disappear forever. He was a tall man – six foot one – but Melvin could make him disappear. Melvin had the same tattoos that Phyllis and Henry had. The same exact tattoos. I called them cartoons. I didn’t know what tattoos were. Numbers – like a telephone number – on their forearm. Melvin had the same tattoo as them. I knew about those numbers. I knew that Phyllis and Henry had lost both sets of parents. All four. They had burned to death in an oven. I knew that story. I had heard that story over family get-togethers, dinners. Incinerated, was the word used. I watched, witnessed, as Melvin spewed at my father. Goddamn you, you lazy man. And I would sit on the wooden worktable, my little skinny legs dangling, and watch my dad lose whatever faith he was clinging to while I was clinging to him. I wasn’t sure why he brought me with him on Saturday’s. Maybe he wanted me to know that he loved me. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe because it was a Saturday, and he never needed to work on Saturday’s, and that was our day. But our days were different before the arrest. They were filled with hope and possibility; museums and plays, and theater, and movies and Aunt Jemina pancakes. Maybe he needed to know that no matter what, no matter fucking what, I would love him. We would leave the Frame Shop right on the dot: Five O’clock, and we would walk down Broadway to Penn Station. Stopping at the automat. He would get a hot steaming cup of coffee, and I would get a milkshake. Chocolate. And we would sit at the counter, and I would watch my dad stare into his coffee, a million miles away. And I would make believe that I was a Princess from the Island of Long, and we were having a day out and no one – no one – could find us. I liked that game. And then, we would stand up, and almost on cue, we would both exhale, and then he would leave a tip, a few coins for the waitress behind the counter, and we would walk to the train station, a few blocks away, and climb down the stairs into the station, and find the track number, and go to the platform, and wait for our train, and the train would swish into the station, loud and steamy, and when the conductor said: all aboard – because back then they did – we stepped in, and found our seats, and I grabbed my dad’s hand and didn’t let go.
I didn’t let go.
And I could feel every bit of his sad and his unhappy and his burden and his disappointment and his humility and his anger and his disgrace and his embarrassment and his shame and his worry and his fear and his doubt entwined in my fingers. Our hands. I could feel it. And when I finally caught his eye – when he finally looked down at me – his little girl, his princess – my eyes were saying, you’re my hero, Daddy, you’re my hero. And I think maybe for a few seconds he believed me, and I think that maybe that gave him just a little more courage. A little more hope. At least enough courage and hope to get us home.
After months – day in, day out, day in – my dad was acquitted on a technicality. And our life came back, piece by broken chipped cracked piece. He stopped working at the frame shop and my mother stopped pawning her jewelry and I stopped having imaginary friends and we never, ever talked about that time.
It was taboo.
That huge, massive cluster of shame was hidden deep, tucked away, because that’s what you did back then – when something bad, awful, horrible happened – and it was swept under the wooden table along with all the wooden chips and all the dust and all the shavings; into corners and crevices and cracks and under rugs – hidden and buried deep.
When something goes wrong what do you do? You check it out and try to resolve the error! At least that is what I do- but no amount of check this, check that resolve the issues of our incoming sound not recording. The soundboard reflects that all is well, and even the software we use for our podcasting indicates it is working, but when played back you hear me LOUD and clear in the studio, but YOU the podcaster are not heard!
So I went to Guitar Center thinking it was a soundboard problem and I was prepared to purchase a new board ($$$$$,) however, they informed me the Professional Mackie Board we use is working well. We went through the connections, and we reviewed the levers and knobs, and they were ensuring that it was OK.
Rich and I came home and tested it again, and we still had problems, but we kept at it, and finally, we thought we had it FIXED. However, after two-plus recordings yesterday, we are still not working!
I am not sure if it’s the skype™ connection, the software, or Windows 10™ that recently updated. So I am ASKING YOU – I AM NOT TOO PROUD does anyone know anything about soundboards, recording software that has been working for three years and then one day it STOPS.
Podcasting here in the studio or remotely is not affected; however, more than ½ of our podcasts are recording using skype™ for the incoming line.
Suggestions are welcome please email email@example.com
Our newest podcast features musicians doing what they do best write, produce and share their art check this out.
In about one hour I will be using the Uber App (Morgan Malone) https://www.spreaker.com/show/lyft-diaries-morgan-lyft-uber-driver. Like many of you, I am not comfortable when it comes to doing something for the first time, especially if it means causing a problem for myself or others. When I decided I would use Uber to get me to the hospital this morning I was not anxious, in fact, I was feeling invincible that day, Helen Reddy – I Am Woman (1971) – YouTube.
However, last night I had to have my son Alex download the app and walk me through using it (easy peasy!) I also did a shoutout on Facebook asking how early do I need to request my ride since it is an hour away. My doctor only performs surgery on Mondays on the far west side of town, and I live South and East. Oh well! In addition to all this I know I am stressing because I have had a migraine since Saturday despite my monthly injection and meds. The medication has been working, so I am assuming that this is my brain and nervous system acting up.
Before a year ago I never had heard of Pelvic Floor therapy or surgery. It seems to be the new age surgery. “Pelvic floor reconstruction is a group of surgical procedures used to treat pelvic organ prolapse, a condition that occurs when the muscles of the pelvic floor are weakened or damaged, often due to childbirth. Other causes include repeated heavy lifting, chronic disease, or surgery.”
“Healing takes around three months, so during this time, I should avoid any task that can put pressure on the repair i.e. lifting, straining, vigorous exercise, coughing and constipation.
Although it is recommended to take six weeks off work, I plan to be at my computer tomorrow Tuesday; it’s What In the World with Paul Seaburn and his sidekick, John. https://www.spreaker.com/show/what-in-the-world-with-paul-seaburn-2019
I love my Cleveland Indians, and I have since the early 80s were when I moved from Cincinnati to Northeast Ohio. Born in Detroit, Michigan I grew up being a Tigers fan, and then I move to Minneapolis, and I followed the Twins because of Harmon Killebrew (https://www.baseball-reference.com/players/k/killeha01.shtml), my father’s name was Harmon too so of course, I rooted for them in the 60s. When living in Philadelphia I did not adopt the Phillies, I went back to my original home team the Tigers and continued to love the Tigers until I connected with my boys of summer, The Cleveland Indians.
The Indians were not a strong contender in the 80s, but they did put in the effort at the old ballpark where I first saw them play. When they moved to Progressive Field (known as Jacob’s Field in the day), I continued to root for them as Alex was introduced to the game as young as the age of 2. Each year they put in the effort sometimes more than others, but you can’t betray them, you must continue to support them in sickness and in health, reciting the vows of marriage to the players who give it their all!
Take me out to the Ball Game and let me root for the home team, “if they don’t win it’s a shame!” But remember, no one wins it all, all the time. Let us not judge but enjoy the spirit of the season with this group of talented players and staff who began in Grand Rapids, Michigan in 1894.
First, there was a team called the Cleveland Spiders playing from 1887 to 1889 at League Park, disbanding in 1889.
The Grand Rapids Rustlers became the Cleveland Lake Shores, and in 1901 they were known as the Bluebirds.
In 1902 another name changes occurred, and they were known as the Naps named by a newspaper write-in contest.
However in 1915, the team was renamed to the Cleveland Indians, The nickname “Indians” may reference the Cleveland Spiders baseball club during the time when Louis Sockalexis, a Native American, had played in Cleveland (1897–99).
As history goes the Indians have been good, great, and not so good! However, they are our team, and this is our hometown, isn’t it time we treated them with respect?
Please join me as the baseball season slowly comes to an end and support the men and women who are part of the Cleveland Indians organization. It takes a village, and the town the Dolan’s have built is one that I am proud to call my own!
Kenny Curcio is releasing this song tomorrow for 9/11. I had the honor to interview this talented individual who believes in democracy, peace, humanity, and the awareness for acceptance. Our first responders put their lives in danger every day to protect us, and yet many of us do not provide them with the support they need.
Let us stop the violence!
Let us stop the evil speech, the words that hurt and cause life-long damage!
Let us stop assuming the worst and find the positive spirit that each one of us is capable of sharing!
Let us stop pointing fingers and accusing others of our faulting thinking!
Let us stop profiling as we are unique individuals that can learn from each other creating harmony!
Let us accept the Golden Rule and Live By!
DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE THEM DO TO YOU!
Let us stop the violence and the destruction of life!
Please take a moment to play “American Soldier” https://youtu.be/FIbEtzg3qXs
Once you listen, I hope you will extend your hand in friendship and acceptance.
We (my husband and I) are not planners. I used to be the ultimate planner, and it drove my husband crazy. In his mind, I had every moment of every day scheduled. However, I was so obsessed with scheduling I never left time for error, breathing. In the last couple of years, unless it is for work, as well as podcasting, I am a lot more liberal with my time. I do schedule my workout time every morning as it is my ritual and my time to breath, pant, and sweat. Sometimes even my exercise time appears to be obsessive to him. OCD or not, I am going to the gym and at minimum working to get in shape.
Because we don’t plan, we assume if we did our day would have a hiccup and we may disappoint one or the other. However, I am determined on this second day of September in the year 2019 that is going to change. Rich and I have devoted our time to shift things around and at the end of the day, not only is one of us disappointed, both of us are disappointed.
When I came back this morning from the gym Rich asked what I wanted to do today. My first reaction was let’s go to the movies – having two in mind, he responded, what else? As I sit here writing I’m considering either drive out to Amish Country, have a nice meal, since the day is clearing here in Northeast Ohio, or the original plan a movie. GUESS WHAT, while writing this we decided to drive out to North Canton to see, “Yesterday.” We also just purchased tickets for “Pump and Dump” at Hilarities on Wednesday night, October 2, 2019. Sometimes it only takes action to make the changes you want in your life.
Every day is labor day and yet four days from today, Monday, September 2, 2019, is officially Labor Day. Since 1894 we have honored the first Monday in September dedicated to the social and economic achievements of Americans. For some, it will be just another day to work, well for others an excuse to party, picnic, drink, and grill out. However, there will be many who will be all alone, and that person may be a relative, a friend or a neighbor. Do not take for granted that someone you know is not alone and lonely. When was the last time you invited someone to join you at your table? In Yiddish, we say it is a “mitzvah” for observing and caring for another. Maybe this weekend would be an excellent time to think of someone other than ourselves.
I used to be the one who welcomed others to our home, and yet no reciprocal invitations came back. I didn’t expect or need one in return. Over the years, it would have been nice to be on someone else’s guest list. Even when you have a spouse, significant other, or child in your home, sometimes it is just nice when someone else does the asking.
Take a moment and ask yourself how you would feel if you were not included in on the celebrations, whether for Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah, or even Ground Hogs Day. It doesn’t take much to reach out and become the bigger person. Do it you might like it!
For the last four days, I have been playing with the website, or attempting to and spending most of my time on the phone with GODADDY, who is helpful, but the situation has been annoying. The first REP tells me that I am accessing my website incorrectly. However, I have been accessing it in the same manner for almost three years and had no real problems until this weekend. Although he initially got me into my site, it stopped working.
Call #2 instructed me that WordPress had issues and that since I was not paying for a secure website I was encountering these errors and it would only get worse. They want on to explain viruses, etc., and scammers who debug and bug the media and if I had a secure website with them, they would be responsible for the fixes and if anyone got infected visiting my site. Another insurance policy needed, and $1000 plus spent that newclevelandradio.net doesn’t have but we had to find it!
OOPS – Call #3 site still not working and now I am told the server we were on had problems, therefore, denying me access to my pages. I was kindly told they would inform me when the site was repaired. Did you get that email or phone call, I didn’t but it appears to be working. Also in the URL address, there is a lock for security so my money is going to good use – I hope!
newclevelandradio.net is now venturing out to add sponsors to our webpage. We will have their adds link to their websites and or Facebook page or phone # whatever works for them. It is important for us to continue to support individuals, like yourself, to have the strength to follow your journey through the challenges of life. We also hope to bring you more podcasting that will assist you to face your daily challenges.
If you or anyone you know would like to sponsor our website and or podcast with us, we would like to hear from you, WE ACCEPT PAYPAL.