In Search of...My Advice to the President on How to Win Re-election

For those of you who have been pestering me relentlessly to write about politics in the midst of this campaign season, here you go....enjoy!

I’ve been wondering lately what it will take. Every day of this campaign season seems to bring with it new polling numbers, new data on jobs and the economy, and new opportunities for me to dine with the President and any number of famous people, the most appealing of which (besides the First Lady) has hands down been George Clooney.

Of course, I’m the choir that doesn’t need to be preached to, the one whose vote the President can be assured of, and whose few measly dollars here and there, particularly after listening to Mr. Romney or Mr. Ryan speak, is given willingly, if not abundantly to the re-election effort, because I am, after all, part of the 98%.

I wonder in earnest how people can vote against their own interests. Do Medicare recipients really not understand the ramifications of the proposed voucher system by the Romney/Ryan ticket? They would be out of voucher money after a bout with the common cold, never mind anything more serious or that requires ongoing treatment.

And to all you parents out there, imagine raising your children without Sesame Street or Curious George or any of the other wholesome programming that PBS provides, because the first thing that Mitt Romney wants to do to trim the fat is cut off funding to PBS. Yes, to put it bluntly, Mitt Romney wants to kill Elmo and that’s just heartless no matter what side of the aisle you sit on.

I wonder how anyone who has been denied health insurance coverage or a legitimate medical claim can be against the affectionately titled Obamacare.

I don’t know how anyone in this country who was alive on 9/11 could feel anything but respect and admiration for a leader whose bold and courageous decision as Commander in Chief took down Osama bin Laden.

I won’t even go into avoiding the bread lines of a depression, or turning around a failing American auto industry. Oh, and yes, putting an end to Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and publicly coming out in favor of equality for an entire sector of the population that has been denied equal rights thus far in our history.

But if all this can’t convince the American public that President Obama is the one to vote for, what can?

I have been giving this quite a bit of thought and I think I’ve got the answer. So hear me out on this one: Americans like people who can sing. We not only like people who can sing, we vote for them…by the millions. American Idol, America’s Got Talent, The Voice, X Factor, you get the picture. Setting aside, well, responsible citizenry for one thing, I think singing is President Obama’s key to Election Day victory.

So while I’m glad his soulful vocal stylings have been under wraps in recent months, I think he needs to warm up and take ‘em out for a spin again, because “he got game,” as the kids are fond of saying. And side by side, note for note, that just may be the one thing that can get him the votes.

I know, I know, there are very real and dire life and death issues coming into play in this election. And people should take those issues seriously. But the truth is people’s eyes glaze over with discussions of debt ceilings, interest rates, and tax loopholes. We understand things like the image of a dog being tied to the roof of a car. And we flock in droves, clamor even, to watch, vote, and feel a part of singing competitions. We want to be entertained, amused, and I’m not judging here…well, maybe just a little. But I say you gotta go with your strong suit, your ace in the hole. And Mr. Romney, for all his millions and all the voice coaches in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, can’t outsing the President of the United States.

So Mr. President, if you’re reading this…please, sing us a song.

In Search of...peace. A 9/11 blog.

Every year on the anniversary of 9/11, I listen to a CD comprised of songs written and performed by New York artists, recorded shortly after the attack. It’s not that I want to dwell in grief or wallow in despair, but I do want to remember that nothing is to be taken for granted – that our safe return home on a regular day is never guaranteed and that we should never pass up any opportunity to tell people that we love them.


These are the things I am mindful of today, as I prepare to go into New York City. For those of you who live outside of New York, I don’t know if the somberness of this occasion is palpable anymore. It still is here. And everyone seems a little quieter, a little more fragile, a wee bit more compassionate. In a way, I wish we carried that with us everyday, because the world would be a kinder place if we did.

I could use this time to talk about non-violence, or about freedom, or about a kind of peace that seems very far removed from the nastiness of political campaigns and wars we’re currently engaged in. In my bleaker moments, I think humanity is destined for self-destruction…but then there are those moments, little things, really – the person who holds the door open, the friend that does a favor, the sound of my niece’s laugh – moments that make me think that all hope is not lost, that there is still a chance to chart our course in another direction, and that all each one of us can do is our very best to make a difference.

So on this day of remembrance, I’m taking a moment (and inviting you to join me) to breathe deeply, love profoundly, and to find that place within me where peace resides.

Blessings to you…and peace.
Ilene

My Birthday Blog - What to Keep, What to Throw Away

It’s my birthday today, and so far, it has been one filled with love and well wishes from both expected and unexpected people. And I can’t really think of a better way to celebrate than to try to be fully present to all the good people would send my way.

I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams lately – which ones to dust off and go for with zeal, and which to let go of and consider a thing of the past. And maybe this birthday is finding me more reflective and melancholy because as we get older, we become more keenly aware of how fast time goes and how quickly life changes and how, in the blink of an eye, those we love can be taken from us. So I want to be sure to appreciate every morsel of beauty and joy that I can in any given moment.

Today, I am contemplating what to keep and what to throw away. And though I usually sift through these things around the New Year, I feel like it’s somehow more fitting today to boldly lay claim to my intentions. So on that note…

I want to keep those relationships that nurture my soul and serve as a reminder of who I am at my very best.

I want to throw away any erroneous thoughts of lack and not enough, because this is a world of abundance and possibility.

I want to keep an outlook of hope, faith and love no matter what the circumstances that surround me.

I want to throw away old ideas and beliefs that no longer reflect what I know to be true. And what I know to be true is – love trumps fear, faith trumps doubt, and miracles happen in big and small ways every minute of every day.

I want to keep the passion for creating something new out of a blank page, because, really, isn’t that the gift we’re handed every day we get up in the morning – a blank page and a clean slate to start over again?

I want to throw away pain and keep the compassion gained by it.

I want to throw away the notion that we are limited by our past or our present and hold fast to the knowledge that I am creating my future by the words and deeds I choose right now.

I want to throw away the remnants of self-loathing and keep the ones that taught me self-love.

I want to keep an open heart, a willing spirit, and an air of expectancy that good begets good, that love is the bold and best choice always, and that unimaginable blessings will chase us down if we are but willing to receive them.

These are the things I am envisioning for myself on this birthday. I wish for you, dear reader, not only all the things you wish for yourself, but a keen awareness of my gratitude for you, both friend and stranger alike.

Thanks for stopping by. Peace and Blessings to you.

In Search of...nervous anticipation

Lately I've been feeling a nervous anticipation, like something big is about to happen. No, it's not Mitt Romney announcing his running mate, although I would like to point out that I see a striking resemblance between Paul Ryan and the TV character Eddie Munster, but that's just me. Anyway, back to the story, which is this feeling of butterflies I've been having lately.

I remember when I first felt like this. I was starting out in the music business in New York, 1980-something. I was playing clubs, most of which have since closed. I was working an office job during the day, recording all night and weekends, slinging cassette tapes at anyone and everyone I thought might be able to help get my songs heard. I had a belief in the inevitability of success. I was young and hopeful and naive. But I look longingly now at the bravery I possessed for as insecure as I was back then. That's the beauty of aging - wisdom acquired after gravity begins making a mockery of various body parts. But possible nips and tucks are a conversation for another day.

With this persistent nervousness has come a visual resurgence in my mind's eye of things I haven't let myself think about in many years - like the dreams I held for my life before ever contemplating what wasn't possible. And I wish that the person I am now could have had a conversation with the younger me and told me to listen to others less and bet on myself more, because in the end, we are left with the results of the choices we've made, and seldom do we regret what we've done nearly as much as what we didn't do. (That's how I wound up parasailing in Maui recently.) So now I allow myself to see my life as I dreamed it once in all its splendor and with unbridled passion and excitement.

We live in the realm of the physical, though, where circumstances and appearances run contradictory to optimism. And most would consider it folly to take a few minutes a day and boldly dream the dreams they once considered their birthright. But me, I'm seeing things differently now. I'm working as though any minute those things are showing up, because the truth is we just don't know. And it's just as possible that they will as that they won't. So why not go for what feels happier? This is my new thinking.

So while I'm off writing songs and polishing banter I might otherwise have no use for, I invite you to revisit the longings of your own heart and pull out a dream or two that makes you smile.

As for that feeling of nervous anticipation, I still don't know what it is. But I'm certain it's something big. I'll keep you posted on it.

Thanks for stopping by and spending a few minutes with me. Please tell your friends.

Peace & Blessings,
Ilene

In Search of...the American Dream...

This weekend my family is converging on New York City for the 75th anniversary of the Mary Angel Family Circle. Or maybe it’s the 74th anniversary. The exact date has been the topic of some discussion, and as with all things family, there has been some debate about it. Whichever it is, there will be four generations in attendance representative of no fewer than ten different states in the union.

That we still call ourselves a family “circle” is a byproduct of the era in which it all began – the 1930’s. And like the story of many other Americans who immigrated to the United States, my family came to these shores to flee the religious persecution of Eastern Europe and to seek a better life for their children.

My great grandparents, Mary and Morris Angel (anglicized names to be sure), raised their seven sons and daughters with a belief in shared sacrifice as well as shared celebration. Nothing was more important than “the family,” and when my great grandmother, Mary, died, Morris gathered those seven children and began this official “family circle” in Mary’s memory for the sake of maintaining a close-knit group and fostering continuity that he never could have foreseen at the time of its inception.

We who gather this weekend are the descendants of those seven brothers and sisters, and we will number more than seventy. Of the original seven, not all of them went to or graduated from college, but I dare say there are few, if any, of my generation and beyond who haven’t gone to or graduated college. This dream of Morris Angel’s has produced doctors and lawyers, actors and architects, police officers and teachers. We are writers, musicians, engineers, and photographers. We’ve served in the armed forces and work at the United Nations. And yet, that is not the thing that sets us apart from any other family.

What sets us apart, at least in my opinion, is the fact that we still find value in continuing our now once a year family circle meetings. What is distinctly American is that we are defined not only by what we make of ourselves in the modern world, but by where we came from. Most of our lives would never intersect were it not for these yearly reunions.

When the family circle started, everyone lived in New York, so the meetings were frequent and a mere subway or bus ride away. And when I say “meetings,” I mean there were actual meetings with minutes taken and decisions made by a majority vote. Of course, the only piece of real business ever discussed to my recollection was the family cemetery plot. But then there was “old business” and “new business,” during which time both the concerns and accomplishments of individual family members were shared. This was usually the cue for the children who had spent most of their time concocting some form of entertainment, to get ready. Show time was approaching.

By the time of everyone’s departure, we knew the whereabouts and date of the next meeting. And if there’s one thing that I attribute our current continuity to, it is that attendance was never optional. There was no choice involved when it came to showing up.

So here we are, bringing it back to its point of origin where there’s a clear view of Lady Liberty and the boundless opportunities she has bestowed upon my family. We will no doubt discuss what’s new and reminisce about bygone days and people. We will leave knowing where and approximately when we will meet next.

As for our big 75th anniversary, it turns out, after doing a little research, (a.k.a. calling my cousin Lynn), that the first meeting actually took place in 1938…making this our 74th anniversary, not our 75th. Oh well. I won’t tell if you won’t.

Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.

In Search of...a Father's Day blog

Today is that wonderful holiday invented by...well, I don't actually know who it was invented by (Hallmark, perhaps?)...where we celebrate dads.

At present, mine is still sleeping, enjoying a lazy Sunday morning in, so I thought I'd write a blog in his honor. He's 83, a Korean War veteran, retired accountant who is not so retired around tax season. I can blame him for my hazel eyes and propensity for anxiety when going new places, my love of the New York Yankees and my ability to remember things numeric but not names. Oh yeah, and he is good to the core, too, a person whose word is his bond and who genuinely seems to hold no malice toward anyone. These are the things I've not only observed firsthand but admired all my life.

After losing my mother, I realized that Mother's Day and Father's Day completely suck for those who have lost parents, or maybe never had them to begin with, but for those who still have either one, it is an opportunity to give thanks and express what we usually take for granted most of the time.

It is hard as we watch those we love age, to let go of a treasured past so that we can find beauty in the present moment, whatever it is. I remember the man who easily carried me on his shoulders into the kitchen for milk and cookies. And that is the same man whose walk is slow and labored now and who listens to the television at decibel levels that would scare small children. But I don't mind the slowing down part, because you get to notice things you normally wouldn't and that is a gift.

So today I am thankful. I am thankful that my father is still with me, thankful for all the quirky traits we share, for the person I became because he is my father, and thankful for the time I get to spend with him. He is a gift for which I am extremely grateful. And when I watch my brother with my niece, I know that he, too, took away what was most beautiful and important about my father.

So to all you dads out there, and to those of us celebrating them - Happy Father's Day!

Thanks for stopping by.

In Search of...the thing I checked off my bucket list

Parasailing wasn't always the thing I wanted most to do. Frankly, it wasn't even on my radar until several years ago. I wanted to hang glide. Why, you ask, would I want to jump off a cliff with the equivalent of a fake set of wings being my only security? Because I wanted to feel like I was flying through the air unencumbered by such things as an airplane.

Maybe I saw one too many Superman movies. I don't know. What I do know is that I've wanted to do it since I was a child. It wasn't until my cousin Jill suggested parasailing as a much safer alternative with the sensation I desired that I combined my desire to fly with my dream of going to Hawaii. So for years now, I have dreamed of parasailing in Hawaii.

Fast forward to my Hawaiian expedition with two friends. I wasted no time in sharing my dream. Their response? An article on a freak fatal parasailing accident. This was not exactly the kind of unbridled enthusiasm I was hoping for.

The Oahu portion of our trip came and went with no better news for my bucket list goal. In fact a hotel employee told us they stopped recommending it at all because it was too dangerous. This further cemented my friends' vehement attempts at nixing my plans. Okay, so Oahu was out. Next stop Kauai.

Kauai is not exactly the place for parasailing. Hiking or golf, yes. Parasailing, no. Next.

Maui is what I believe you find in the dictionary when you look up the word "paradise." And so it was there that I decided I would fulfill my dream.

Now might be a good time to mention that soaring high in the air above the waters of the pacific is not something anyone who knows me, even in passing, would associate with me. I have not been known to be synonymous with adventure. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that I am a master worrier, someone who can see the potential worst case scenario in just about any situation. It's a gift, I know.

So the question was this: would I cater to my fear or my heart's desire? And isn't that really what it comes down to for all of us?

Most of us walk through life unconsciously living out belief systems that were either handed down to us by previous generations  or by assumptions we made about life based on our own worst experiences. In either case, we are not basing our choices on truth, but rather skewed perceptions that set extraordinary limits on our lives.

As I got dressed for my parasailing excursion, I felt a strange mixture of nervousness and excitement. I saw this as the opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to choose consciously what I wanted to do and to lay to rest once and for all generations of women in my family whose choices were governed by fear. This was my opportunity to experience a loving universe that would support me if I would but stay true to my core.

When my friends and I arrived at the designated spot on the beach, I had several pages of waivers to sign - another reminder that there was actual physical risk involved with this activity. I signed the papers. Did I mention that the only boats I'd ever been on were the ferry that takes you to the Statue of Liberty and a dinner cruise around Manhattan ?

Well, it turned out that you had to take the equivalent of a motorized blow up raft out to the parasailing vessel a few people at a time. And the kicker was you didn't get your life vest until you got on the bigger boat.

I awkwardly climbed in. I wish I could say I waived goodbye to my friends who were probably assuming I was rafting off to my certain watery death. But I was already clinging to the raft for dear life.

Holy shit, I thought to myself and possibly said out loud as we zoomed away. How am I going to get from this raft thing onto the boat? I only knew I had to. Let's just say I wasn't graceful and I banged myself up pretty well doing it.

Step one complete. Now for the boat ride. Did you ever hear of trade winds? Suffice it to say it was very windy on the open seas, so windy, in fact, that we had to travel to another town where it would hopefully be less choppy.

The ride out could best be described as a cross between a roller coaster ride and Pirates of the Carribean gone terribly awry. My knuckles were white as I held on to a metal rail with one hand behind me. No one else looked the slightest bit worried. 

We were told how it was going to work and what the signal was if you got up there and quickly realized parasailing wasn't for you.

I knew I was going to do it. Everyone else was going up in pairs but I was on my own. The guide helped me on with the gear. I stepped up onto the back of the boat and got ready. One, two, three, up I went! I was in the air, high up over the pacific, looking at the whole world differently. I was going the way the wind blew me - literally. It was magnificent and peaceful. It was a different kind of quiet than I'd ever heard. And the peace is what I imagine heaven to be like.

It was ending sooner than I expected or wanted as I started descending back toward the boat. I landed perfectly on my feet on the back of the boat I had ascended from.

I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I took my seat for the honeymoon couple to go up next. Even during the ride back over the same choppy waters, I was calm and relaxed and going with the crazy flow.

I had lived in the moment, free of the past and the future both. 

As the boat met up with the raft-like thingy, I found it was much easier getting off the boat than on. We sped  back to shore where everyone but me disembarked without incident. I climbed over the side of the raft and lost my balance in the shallow water, getting soaked. A perfectly imperfect ending to my experience. 

I learned a lot of things from my parasailing adventure, things I'm still processing, but perhaps the most profound is that in the end, it's up to each one of us to shout down our own voices of doubt that hold us back from living the life of our dreams.

So here's to one item checked off and many wonderful and exciting adventures to come.

Thanks for stopping by.