Remember, remember…

So it seems a very large group of people have, spontaneously, occupied the Wall Street area of New York City to protest. What they are protesting, and the “event” itself seems to me an evolving melange, a creature with many tentacles beginning to reach in too many directions with no one real focus.

What are their demands? Can something so disorganized really hope to accomplish anything? And what would be the measure of any accomplishment they might secure?

Yes, people want jobs. A good friend of mine, today, will witness the auctioning off of his home. But what do these folks on the streets REALLY want to see happen? There are every kind of sign you could imagine down there. The poor will eat the rich, bankers are the devil, at least one saying something about the Federal Reserve (one of the real culprits IMHO). There are even signs that say “Welcome Home”, whatever that is referring to.

I do understand the iconographic meaning behind the Guy Fawkes masks, but I wonder if the folks wearing them all do. I mean, old Guido WAS part of a plot to actually KILL people. With a lot of gunpowder. November 5 is more a celebration, or was originally anyway, of his failure rather than the success he never attained. So the overuse of the masks is both amusing and somewhat worrisome.

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Carpe Diem

My mother-in-law passed away just over a year ago, and my father-in-law is just beginning to show signs of emerging from a most understandable funk. I’m more than glad for him. I think he and I have had more meaningful conversations now than in the entire previous twenty years we have known each other.  Not quite the phoenix rising, but more like a bird pecking his way out of a shell. And I’m happy for him.

So it was most unfortunate when he lost just about everything in a river storm surge during the part of Hurricane Irene that hit us here in New York. This included his car. Surprisingly, he took it all in stride.

The conversation between his children then had to turn to finding him a home AND a new car (and some clothes and shoes as well). Sent out on his own one day, he put a deposit on a BMW, sight unseen, and with no haggling whatsoever. One daughter put the kabosh on that.

And so back and forth they went. He told them a number of times how he’s always wanted a Mercedes Benz or a BMW. His daughters, being logical, smart young women who care deeply for their father, discussed the merits of an Acura over a Lexus. Something sensible. His son, my husband, vacillated between his father’s dream and sensibility.

A phone call from sister to brother, she calling from the back of a New York City taxi cab to discuss the same topic, may have made the decision a little easier.

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