Yates Redux

I will have a lot to say about Andrea Yates as she is being re-tried for the deaths of her children.

Let me fire across the bow by asking if it is possible for Rusty Yates to be busted, cuffed, and called Shirley and tried as a co-defendant.

If anyone needs to do jail time for the deaths of those children, it's Rusty Yates.

That's RUSTY YATES.

Yates with a "Y".

Andrea needs help. Rusty needs a kick to the crotch.

I'll pay my own way to Houston to administer said kick.

Finally, a Regular Gig

One of the “reforms” our new priest has instituted is improving the liturgical music for Mass.  To that end, he has hired a Music Director, Paul by name, who has a Master’s Degree in Vocal Performance and whose “real job” is music teacher at a Catholic School.  Paul knows his liturgy, and for the first time in a real long time, our parish utilizes seasonal Mass Parts with regard to music.

In many parishes, Mass Parts such as the Kyrie, Gloria (G-L-O-R-I-A), Sanctus, and the Amen are either spoken or sung to the same melody week after week.  I think the reason for this is because it’s just easier to use the same melody instead of taking a few minutes for the parish to learn a different melody every 12 weeks or so. Our new practice of paying heed to the changes in the Mass Parts makes for a richer, more meaningful Mass; and the it the whole point of attending, right?

Being a former professional-musician wannabe myself, I would look over to the choir section of our church longingly, wondering if there was any place for my formerly-somewhat-formidable skills.  I felt some resistance from my wife, who would prefer that we all sit together in Mass as a family (and this is a valid point).  I kept my ambitions and desires in check, because, after all, I am Catholic.

In the course of practicing and practicing (or, as we former professional-musician wannabes call it, “rehearsing”) for a CD I am working on, I have all of my instruments on display in our office/den located off the living room.  On one of his “priestly visits” to watch a football game this fall, Father Tim noticed the three guitars, violin case, Honolulu Guitar Harp, etc and asked me why I wasn’t in the choir.  I deflected and parried, and pretty much just said that I wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

Last week, Paul, the Music Director, cornered my wife and told her that he heard that I played guitar, and really wanted to add a guitar to the 10:30 Mass.  Jill made some sort of excuse about me thinking that I wasn’t good enough to play (we will seek marriage counseling because of this comment – I may or may not be good enough to play, but I would never THINK I wasn’t good enough), but said if I were interested, I would talk to him.

So the following Sunday, Paul waved me over to confirm that I played guitar.  We had a five-minute discussion about my ability, and we both believed I could handle the music.  I gave him a brief verbal resume, (violin at 10, switched to tuba at 14 when we moved to a school district that did not have strings-thanks, Dad - guitar from 14-26 to either cope with adolescent loneliness or avoid college studying- sporadic playing since then, etc).  Paul is a great vocal teacher, and he says he can allay any concerns I have about my singing with some training and practice (rehearsal).

I attended my first choir practice (rehearsal) last night and was very happy.  I’ll practice (rehearse) my ass off for the next 3 days to get caught up, but come Sunday morning, I’ll play in front of a real live audience for the first time in 20 years.  For the longest time, I’ve been searching for an outlet, and now I’m getting plugged in!

Where Do I Start the Riot?

Mock my God, will you?

Walking across the aisle

I'm on the verge of changing political affiliations, and it's all Al Franken's fault. I just need to reconcile/rationalize a few things. Stay tuned.

Homage to Fogelburg: Home Free 1972

Home Free (1972)

To The Morning
Stars
More Than Ever
Be On Your Way
Hickory Grove
Long Way Home (Live In the Country)
Looking For A Lady
Anyway I Love You
Wysteria
The River

Dan Fogelberg - acoustic and electric guitars, piano, organ, Moog, vocals
Norbert Putnam - bass, cello
Kenny (Buffalo) Buttrey - drums, percussion, red & green
Weldon Myrick - pedal steel, dobro
Buddy Spicher - fiddle, viola
Farrell Morris - vibes, percussion
David Briggs - played piano on "More Than Ever" and "Anyway I Love You" and organ on "Long Way Home"
Glenn Spreen - String arrangements on "To The Morning" and "Wysteria"
Bill Purcell - String arrangements on "Hickory Grove"

After dropping out of the University of Illinois to pursue a career as a singer/songwriter, Fogelberg followed Irving Azoff to Los Angeles. Azoff shops a demo around to several labels, and Fogelberg eventually signs with John Hammond at Columbia Records. Hammond is building a stable of singer/songwriters that will include Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel.

Fogelberg goes to Nashville to record with Norbert Putnam. While working on his album, he works as a session guitarist and singer and the experience makes a profound influence on not only his musicianship, but his songwriting as well.

This record transcends anything that was being recorded in Nashville in 1972. The big hits coming out of Music City that year were “Baby Don’t Get Hooked on Me” by Mac Davis, and probably “Happiest Girl in the Whole USA” by Donna Fargo.

“Home Free” opens with a lush, string-filled arrangement that leads into the sparse “To the Morning”, a piano-based song with a string arrangement that shores up the refrain.

This album was not going to be a typical Nashville-made record. But it was also ahead of the curve of anything coming out of LA, as well.

“Stars” follows “To the Morning”, continuing with the sparse arrangement style. Vocally, Fogelburg’s in the higher registers here, again, much different than what is being recorded next door. This may be a result of Fogelburg being a better vocalist than your typical Mac Davis type. Both songs are thematically introspective, which is in line with the singer-songwriter style of the day. “Stars” is more guitar-based, a basic acoustic style.

The next song heads straight to the edge of country. “More Than Ever” again features Fogelburg’s strong tenor, and his soon-to-be trademark harmonies are present as well. Lots of steel guitar, piano, and guitar on this song.

We head back to “singer-songwriter land” with “By on Your Way”, piano and synth shoring up this ‘break-up’ song. No trucks, dogs or trains here, though.

“Long Way Home (Live in the Country)” goes Nashville from a music standpoint, however lyrically, we have themes of the evil city and the idyllic country. Lots of fiddles and basic bluegrass instrumentation.

The mournful “Looking for a Lady” with its basic acoustic guitar and understated harmonies jumps us back to singer-songwriter land. We seem to be going from ditch to ditch with no middle ground. There are all good songs, but thematically, I’m not sure what was being accomplished.

No sooner do we go from small (guitar, vocals) then we go to large (fiddle and steel guitars) with “Anyway I Love You”, a cute little jaunt back down the country lane. Fogelburg is up to this vocally and lyrically. And now that you are in that sweet country groove, we go back to…

“Wysteria”, a brooding study of a psycho-chick. Well, that’s a bit heavy-handed, but it features classical guitar, strings (not fiddles) and keyboards with a haunting melody featuring the full range of Fogelburg’s voice.

The leads us to the last cut, and it seems that we have one of these songs in every Fogelberg album…the extended story-song that features movements and solos and all that neat stuff that every extremely talented singer-songwriter must have on at least one song on the album. “The River” has dark lyrics and musical theme that is well served by Fogelburg’s vocals. No fiddles here, just piano, guitar, bass, and perhaps some strings hinting in the background.

This is a nice song, heck, they are all nice songs, but you kind of get the impression that Norbert Putnam wasn’t sure which direction he wanted to go with Fogelburg. This is no knock on Putnam, I think Fogelburg was showing such prowess from both sides of the fence that it was difficult to find one theme to go with on this record. Also, “thematic” albums weren’t being produced out of Nashville in the early ‘70’s. Perhaps my expectation of wanting all the songs to be thematically linked is a bit of a stretch.

To appreciate Fogelburg’s growth as a songwriter and musician, I really think you need to listen to “Home Free”. While it might not be a balanced record, it showcases the tremendous potential that Fogelburg in his early 20’s. His strong vocals and technique were just emerging, and his talent for writing, singing, and playing were far beyond anything the industry had seen.

After the album was completed, Fogelburg went back west. I’ve read that John Hammond was not happy with the “country-ness” of the album, which led to Joe Walsh producing the next Fogelburg album, which I’ll get around to appreciating soon.

The First Cut is the Deepest

My two favorite blog-gals , flea over at One Good Thing and frog from frogblog are at odds because flea supports male circumcision (to the extent that her sons are circumcised) and frog appears to hate the entire notion from the depths of her kind-hearted soul.*

Flea has removed a posting about attending an upcoming bris that set the whole thing off.

I hope that these two nice people can reconcile their differences and continue to entertain me...because after all, it's all about entertaining me.

The main problem I have is that I posted a great riff about attending a bris, the escalating costs of circumcision and some other smart ass comments that I wish I would have posted here. I won't even try to re-create them here.

Frog is very passionate about this issue. She is entitled to her position, and I respect her very much. That being said, if we were sire another son (virtually impossible at this point) he would probably be circumcized. Do you know why? BECAUSE IT'S OUR DECISION TO MAKE!!

Artist James' wife, Kathy**, is against it. We still hug when we meet and don't seem to be at each other's throats about it. If they were to ever have a son, I wouldn't dare ask about his foreskin. Do you know why? BECAUSE I WASN'T BORN IN A FUCKING BARN!! I RESPECT THE PRIVACY OF MY FRIENDS, NO MATTER HOW CLOSE WE ARE!! IT IS THEIR DECISION TO MAKE!! IT IS NONE OF MY BUSINESS !! (a novel concept in these times, surely).

I realize the "True Meaning of Circumcision" has been lost over the centuries, (I am so fucking funny), but think of it in these terms, it's offering something to God that is permanent, irreversible and extremely meaningful. My guess is that my parents had it done to me because it was just done. That's not the best excuse, but there you go. I'm very happy with my penis, and I can't say that I losing my foreskin without my express written consent has harmed me in any way. Parents have to make agonizing decsions about their children everyday. That's what being a parent is all about, like it or not.

**I would say, however, if she let me sire a son with her, I'd let her have her way about the circumcision. WHEW WHEW!! I am such a pig!!!!

*I constantly refer to frog's heart as a kind heart because she, in fact, has a kind heart.

Reaching Out...Part One

(I began writing this post in September 2004, coming up on the 20th anniversary of the events that follow. It rambled so much that I abandoned it. I decided to complete it and post it. We had a big snowstorm last night and it reminded me of something)

Admittedly, I possess certain pathologies when it comes to old girlfriends. I'm not talking about stalking here.

I don't think that I've ever had an acrimonious break-up. Sure, feelings got hurt, and someone may have got mad, but all in all, what started as friendship has continued as friendship over the years. I keep in contact with many of the women that broke my heart.

There are two notable exceptions. This is the first one.....

I transferred from a large southern university to a small midwestern university after my junior year. (The many reasons for this may someday be detailed, but let's just say I needed to re-focus on academics in a less distracting setting). I was lucky enough to have dated a few girls, and got somewhat intense with two. After graduation, I couldn't get out of town fast enough. The only friendship I've maintained from that 18 months of self-imposed exile is my best friend, James (then know as simply Jim). We shared many common interests, not limited to music, women, curriculum, beer, and the occasional foray into whatever wayward meds we could lay our hands on (much thanks goes out to James' galpal, who was perscribed all sorts of neat stuff that she didn't want to throw away).

James (Jim) and I were determined to not only make the Dean's List, but we also wanted to become big-time serious songwriters. Big-time serious songwriting appealed to our lazy nature. Write songs, collect royalty checks. This is why we are NOT big-time serious songwriters today. While we had lots of neat song ideas, we had some performance issues (we couldn't sing to save our lives) so we needed to recruit someone with vocal talent to sing on our demos.

Before long, we met Nancy, who was rumored to have a great voice. Nancy looked like a California Beach Girl. Nita was her cute friend. Gorgeous brown eyes. Although I was attracted to Nita, I asked Nancy on a date (out to dinner for my 22nd birthday) for the sole purpose of recruiting her to sing for Jim and me. Jim had the serious hots for Nancy, but had not worked up the courage to ask her out. I figured that I would recruit Nancy into our little cult of music, signal Jim's attraction, and see if Nancy would put a good word in for me to her best friend Nita.

Because I was not the most confident Romeo on campus, it took all my guile and wile to ask Nancy out. And while I assured Jim that my interests were strictly professional, I'm sure he wasn't buying it. Nancy said yes, she'd love to go to dinner, and so we went. I ate Lobster Bisque for the first time. Nancy was attractive, charming, and alluring. We went back to her room, and she sang along while I played guitar. We discovered a mutual affinity for Joni Mitchell, and I taught her OUR BIG SONG. She sang like an angel. It took a lot of self-control (or perhaps self denial) to keep Jim's interests in my thoughts (I was the ultimate wing-man). She was all set to sign up with Jim and I for life when Nita entered the room to say hi. Her brown eyes flashed at me, but I was busy recruiting, damn it. Nancy told me that she and Nita sang together, so maybe Jim and I should write a duet. I told her that we could write any kind of song ("Weddings, Funerals, Bar Mitzvahs" was our slogan) and we would get right to it. Nita soon left, and it was time for me to go, too. We shook hands, and I ran down the stairs to report to Jim that not only did we have one good singer, we had TWO!!. I also reported that dinner, singing, and a handshake was all that transpired. Oh yeah, and she thought Jim was cute.

Within 24 hours, I asked Nita out, and we seemed inseparable for the last 6 weeks of the semester. It turned out that she had a crush on me, and was upset that I asked Nancy out on a date. Nancy and Jim started hanging out, too. Nita and Nancy both graduated that term, and we never got around to recording any songs.

During Winter break, Nita and I wrote nearly daily. She lived in the Quad Cities, I lived in the Northwest Suburbs. We called long distance after 11pm to save money. She started looking for work, and I worked for my sister's boyfriend plowing snow. During break, Nita and Nancy visited a friend in the Western Suburbs, and conspired to see Jim and I as often as possible. We met downtown and spent the entire day sight seeing. We watched Steve and Garry do their radio show. We went to the Hancock at night and we went to Gino's East and we went to the bars on Rush Street. We spent New Year's Eve day downtown as well, and watched the late afternoon news from Arnies on State St. The forecast was for a lot of snow, so we decided to head to my parents house right away to avoid the storm. Jim had never been to my house, but he and Nancy took off in his car, and Nita and I took off in my car. At some point, the storm hit, and Nita and I finally made it home. This was in the days long before cell phones, so I had no way of reaching Jim and helping find the house. Magically, he and Nancy appeared in our driveway, and we celebrated New Years 1985 together. Ricky Nelson was killed that night in a plane crash. I promised Nita that 1985 would be our best year.

After 20+ years, whenever our region braces for a big snowstorm, I think of that night. It was a truly magical time.

While 1985 was a good year, it was not to be for Nita and me. As much as we tried to grow closer, I feared that I would become too distracted from my studies and decided I could not continue the romance. I was SO ready to marry her; but I had to finish college, I had to make the Dean's List, I had to make up for my earlier academic failures. I may have broke her heart. I know I broke mine.

I've always believed that if you've done something in your life that you regret, then you should try to redeem yourself.

Nita went on to get her Masters Degree, and in her late 30's decided to change careers and become a nurse. She was inspired by the nurses who cared for her mother while she was dying with Cancer. She doesn't know that I know this about her. I haven't spoken to her in over 20 years.

I've always believed that if you've done something in your life that you regret, then you should try to redeem yourself.

I'm mailing a letter to Nita today. Just to say hello and tell her that I've Googled her. I'm not looking to rekindle the lost flames of youth. I just want to let her know that she's been thought of, and thought of kindly.

Life is too short not to reach out to those you think kindly of.

Miss you, John

There are places I remember all my life,
Though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I loved them all.

And with all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more.

And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more
In my life I loved you more

Homage to Dan Fogelberg

I was introduced to Dan Fogelberg’s music in 1979. Sean Murphy, my good friend at the time, had a couple of albums. The first one I heard was Netherlands. Being a “band geek”, I was intrigued by any popular music that incorporated an orchestra. It wasn’t long before I jumped into the Fogelberg catalog and became a fan.

As I was also a budding singer/songwriter, I thought Fogelberg* as really cool because not only did he write the songs, he also played a lot of the instruments on the records. And not only could he play several instruments, he played them very well.

Fogelberg had everything that I wanted. He could sing well. He played guitar really well. He was a handsome devil. He wrote (what is now considered to be sappy) romantic ballads that were literate and fit my Archetype of Romantic Love.

I learned a lot about guitar playing from Fogelberg. I would play along with the albums looking at sheet music, amazed that I could make it work. Once, in my dorm room, I played the bridge from “Phoenix” along with Fogelberg as a cute coed came into the room, and she was mightily impressed. If I only had his looks, I would have got lucky. Or so I would like to think.

I recall reciting the lyrics to “There’s a Place in the World for a Gambler” to Lori once before we started dating, and I think she was impressed. Keep in mind that Lori is now married to a doctor who does not play the guitar. He’s a great guy, but I’m just saying he doesn’t play the guitar.

Over the next month or so, I intend to write about the albums that Fogelberg released from 1972-1981. These had the most impact on me and influenced a lot of my own writing and playing style. The ‘reviews’ of these records will include some mundane information regarding technique and zeitgeist, along with what individual songs meant to me on a personal level.

My Fogelberg era ended in 1984 when I left college in Texas and transferred to a smaller school in Illinois. By then I had abandoned the Archetype of Romantic Love that had ultimately failed me (which is a nice way to say that I pulled my head out of my ass and grew up a little bit).

I bought a live performance DVD last year, and enjoyed it very much. He sings in a lower register (don’t we all), and being human, seems to perspire a lot under the lights (don’t we all).

Last year, Fogelberg was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and spent almost a year aggressively fighting it. As of August 2005, his website says that he is healthy again.

*I have never met the man, so I don’t think it is good form for me to refer to him as “Dan”.

On the Fly (over)

Again, the national media portrays Chicagoans as dumbass hayseeds. Maybe we are.

First of all, until last night, I’d never heard of “Jimbo’s”, the South Side bar where FOX placed a camera to capture the reaction of Sox fans during last night’s Game 4. FOX opened the telecast by ‘interviewing’ a female Sox fan as she bragged about the Sox. The woman they spoke to is the “stereotypical” Chicago woman (an “Antoinette”, I call them*): Heavy set, bleached hair in a manly short cut, obviously a smoker (deep, flemmy voice), not especially attractive.

If the situation were reversed and they were in a Houston bar speaking with a woman, she would be a tall, big-haired attractive blonde, buxom, in a western shirt, possibly wearing a cowboy hat, speaking with the cutest drawl (you know, the one that I threw a perfectly good education away for).

At least we didn’t have any car burnings or rampant vandalism with this championship. I guess a World Series win is not cause for looting, unlike NBA championship. (Subtle racism somewhat intended).
-----------------------
*Chicago men are all “Anthony”, or Ant’ny, as it is pronounced.

Go Go Sox

Congratulations to the Chicago White Sox.  We Cub fans will just have to deal with it; and perhaps learn something from it as well.

Swoopes, there it is !

Sheryl Swoopes is a fantastic basketball player and a role model for not only women athletes, but the rest of us as well.

Her private life is hers.  She’s not breaking any laws in my state, and she’s not denigrating my lifestyle.  

Good luck next season, I say.

Wilma !

It's not that I'm tired of all the hurricanes, and I'm not tired of the hurricane victim stories.

Officials in the Keys and southern Florida ordered people to evacuate. Some did, others did not. What I'm tired of is hearing people on the radio who wouldn't leave as requested complain about the intensity of the storm and say "I didn't think it was going to be that bad". Mind you, these were people who had the means to leave, but chose not to.

You people. I'm tired of you.

On the Verge...

I believe that I am ready to explode creatively and produce not only an album, but a screenplay as well.

A marketable screenplay.

In the meantime, stay tuned for a multiple post in praise of the 1972-1979 works of Dan Fogelberg.

But first...

Artist James Plakovic www.plakovic.com gave me a couple of CD's with an eclectic mix of music. One of the tracks was an orchestral arrangement of "Baba O'Riley". I am a huge fan of Pete Townsend (thanks to James) and this is what I must say about that track:

It is often the case that the true genius of an artist is revealed in the interpretation of his works.

Whoever took the time and talent to create this arrangement of Baba is to be cherished and held in awe.

.....As Baba should be.

I am a Total Bastard

The following is sarcasm...I don't really believe this. It's a shame some people take me seriously.

I am not the most sensitive, politically correct guy:

A month ago, Islamist terrorist groups were heralding the destruction caused by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita as the righteous wrath of Allah on the spawn of satan that is America. Approximately 1200 people died as a result of those storms.

The earthquake in Afghanistan, India, and Pakistan (the summer home of Al Queda) caused over 40,000 deaths.

My God is 40 times more powerful than your god. Deal with it.

On a related, politically incorrect note: That region is prone to earthquakes. You'd think that those governments would have adopted and enforced more stringent building codes so entire apartments, schools, buildings, etc wouldn't turn into dust after a big earthquake. You think people are standing around pointing fingers at their governments for failing to keep the poor safe? Yes, I am a bastard.

Seriously, these people need help. Please help.

Eureka

Last night I searched for and found all my music/recording equipment and accessories, and even found a home for them in the office. I'll need to buy batteries for the effects pedals. I also need to re-load my Roxio software onto my computer, because I forgot to do it when I replaced the hard drive last fall.

Wait a minute, where's the mic stand? Either in the basement storage or in the garage. In either place, it's collecting dust.

The photo has nothing to do with my post. It's just a photo I took on a recent jobsite visit to Soldier Field, and it was a beautiful day.

No more dead asses!

Distinguished artist, faithful reader, and all-around good guy James came north for a visit 10 days ago (along with lovely wife and daughter) and we had the chance to hang out and get a few things thought out and talked through.

We paid a visit to Leapin’ Lyrics in Geneva, IL, and now there is another outlet for MusicArt T-Shirts (and hopefully prints and such)!  

We also worked on some of our songs, which are 20 year works in progress.  You know, there are millions of people who write songs together, and they all believe that their songs are good.  We are among them.

“Weddings, Funerals, and Bar Mitzvahs” was our slogan.  We believed (and still do) that we can be professional songwriters.  After our work session Thursday night, I firmly believe we still “have it”.  

I guess the reason I’m not a professional songwriter is because I don’t want it bad enough.  I have a ‘regular’ job, I have a ‘regular’ family, and ‘regular’ responsibilities.  I commend James for wanting to be a professional artist bad enough to find a way to be one.  He has been able to structure a career and family that allows him almost just enough time to be productive and creative.  But he’s the first to admit that it’s very stressful pursuing your dream.

And every time we part company, I feel bad for letting the dream go.  We can do this, but why won’t I get off my dead ass and do it?  For one thing, I love being lazy.  I could create the time to sit down with my 4-track and compose, but I’d rather sit on my rear and vegetate.  Like all the deep thoughts I’m thinking make a bit of difference.  I need to get motivated.  I need to set goals and KEEP THEM!

I have been working on a recording project for a while, well, it’s still in the concept stage.  In a classic instance of putting the cart before the horse, I’ve created the CD cover, picked out all the songs, written liner notes, etc, but haven’t begun any actual recording.  THIS IS SO ME!!!

So tonight, after the city council meeting, I’ll be scrounging through the still-packed boxes in the basement and locate all my recording equipment and accessories.  I’ll find a place to set up a studio area, and as of Oct 1, begin an earnest rehearsal schedule to record this project called (fittingly enough) Woulda Shoulda Coulda.

Turning my back on my gifts is sinful.

Arlo & Janis (& Katrina)

I'm a huge Arlo and Janis fan. In fact, I have a huge crush on Janis; she's very sexy for a pen and ink drawing.

Jimmy Johnson, the genius who created this comic strip, lives in Pass Christian, MS. Rather, that is where his home is. I don't know if he is in his home today or not.

I don't know Jimmy personally, although through his comic strip and website, I have come to know of him, and I admire him very much.

Sometimes we aren't able to grasp the enormity of a disaster because we "turn off" the voices of the strangers who are affected. Jimmy has posted an aerial photograph of Pass Christian with commentary about what buildings used to exist and how neighborhoods were wiped out by Katrina.

The media is busy in other places; we might not see Pass Christian on TV. His website has put a "face" on the disaster that we may be able to relate to.

http://arloandjanis.com/passtour.htm

It begins at home

I received an e-mail from faithful reader James the other day:

"I got quite misty yesterday when (my daughter)came home from school. Her school is gathering pennies in order to raise money. When she came home she did an "extensive" search of the house for pennies. She had just about accepted the fact that she did not find very many. Then she remembered her piggy bank, went up and took out all the pennies. She came downstairs and proudly stated something to the effect that could now help the people hurt by the hurricane. I'm telling you, I hugged and smooched that kid and had to walk away to regain my composure. Egadz! Sometimes the future doesn't seem so bad."

Inspired by his daughters ingenuity and generousity, I decided to discuss this with my kids (ages 9&5). My wife and I explained to them that all these people that we see on TV lost their homes, toys, pets, clothes, books, etc.; and that they were being "asked" to ride on buses many hundreds of miles away to live in an indoor stadium or convention center in a city of someone else's choosing. We reminded our kids that they were very fortunate that we live in a nice home, in a safe town, and have lots of toys, clothes, and a wonderful dog. (Which means a tornado will come and knock my house down next week, because I'm a big believer in jinxes).

We told the kids that we would be giving some extra money at church on Sunday that will be sent to help these families. We asked them if they would consider giving some of the money that is in their piggy banks (yes, they are actual piggy banks) to help these families, too.

My daughter emptied her bank, counted the money, and decided to give about 60% of it. I told her that I was very proud of her generosity, and that her kindness would be returned to her someday.

My son emptied his bank and said that because he has so many nice toys that he didn't need the money, so "those people" could have all of it. Besides, his birthday was only 6 months away, and he would get more money then. $12.67. I thanked him for his generousity and told him that I am indeed a proud father to have such caring children.

They put their money into ziplock bags and proudly put it in the collection basket on Sunday. The folks who count the money each week probably weren't thrilled (although we put slips of paper with the dollar amount in each bag to make it easier to process).

It has been my goal to raise children with a certain "community service conscientiousness". I think I'm on the way.

Thanks again to James and his daughter for the inspiration.

And yes, I'll be sneaking some extra change back into their piggy banks to help rebuild their savings.

Can we just focus?

People are starving, dying, and generally having a lousy time.

Why are we having this debate on whether they are called refugees or evacuees?

Don't we all something more important to do? Like saving them, housing them, and feeding them?

Each time I hear a so-called "community leader" whine about this issue, I want to scream!